The travelling carriage, which, with Jemmy's thirty-seven boxes and my carpet-bag, was pretty well loaded, was sent on board the night before; and we, after breakfasting in Portland Place (little did I think it was the—but, poh! never mind), went down to the Custom House in the other carriage, followed by a hackney-coach and a cab, with the servants and fourteen band-boxes and trunks more, which were to be wanted by my dear girl in the journey. The road down Cheapside and Thames Street need not be described; we saw the Monument, a memento of the wicked popish massacre of Saint Bartholomew;—why erected here I can't think, as Saint Bartholomew's is in Smithfield,—we had a glimpse of Billingsgate, and of the Mansion House, where we saw the two-and-twenty shilling coal-smoke coming out of the chimneys, and were landed at the Custom House in safety. Fourteen porters came out, and each took a package with the greatest civility; calling Jemmy her ladyship, and me your honour; ay, and your honouring and my ladyshipping even my man and the maid in the cab. I somehow felt all over quite melancholy at going away: "Here, my fine fellow," says I to the coachman, who was standing very respectful, holding his hat in one hand and Jemmy's jewel-case in the other, "here, my fine chap," says I, "here's six shillings for you;" for I did not care for the money. "Six what?" says he. "Six shillings, fellow!" shrieks Jemmy; "and twice as much as your fare." "Feller, marm!" says this insolent coachman; "feller yourself, marm: do you think I'm a-going to kill my horses, and break my precious back, and bust my carriage, and carry you, and your kids, and your traps, for six hog?" And with this the monster dropped his hat, with my money in it, and doubling his fist, put it so very near my nose that I really thought he would have made it bleed. "My fare's heighteen shillings," says he, "haint it?—hask hany of these gentlemen." "Why, it ain't more than seventeen and six," says one of the fourteen porters; "but, if the gen'l'man _is_ a gen'l'man, he can't give no less than a suffering any how." I wanted to resist, and Jemmy screamed like a Turk: but, "Holloa!" says one; "What's the row?" says another; "Come, dub up!" roars a third: and I don't mind telling you, in confidence, that I was so frightened that I took out the sovereign and gave it. My man and Jemmy's maid had disappeared by this time; they always do when there's a robbery or a row going on. I was going after them. "Stop, Mr. Ferguson," pipes a young gentleman of about thirteen, with a red livery waistcoat that reached to his ankles, and every variety of button, pin, string, to keep it together: "Stop, Mr. Heff," says he, taking a small pipe out of his mouth, "and don't forgit the cabman." "What's your fare, my lad?" says I. "Why, let's see—yes—ho!—my fare's seven-and-thirty and eightpence eggs— ackly."