And so I went on with my severe attack of Neuralgia, getting worse and worse, and making my grand Turk breakfast by himself, and dine by himself--and get out of bed at all hours of the night to give me my delicious tinctures, and never even condescending to speak to him, unless it was to tell him, with a sigh, how ill and weak I felt,--and that I knew it was all owing to my over-exertions about the great big house,--and continually reminding him too that he had only himself to blame for it, as I had given him fair warning of what would be the consequence of his unfeeling meanness,--and then asking him quietly whether it wasn’t better now to pay the money for a footman, instead of seeing his poor, dear, fond, foolish wife suffering so acutely as she was, and having to pay, at least, double or treble as much in those horrid doctor’s bills for her,--and so I went on, I say, until, upon my word, one Monday evening (for I remember Mr. Edward had the boiled knuckle of veal cold for dinner which I’d given him hot on the Sunday), I was lying on the sofa groaning away, and my gentleman was seated by me after dinner, looking quite repentant, and asking me whether I thought Mr. J--pp was doing me good, and a whole troup of other civil things, when I said--with a sigh that seemed to cut him to the quick, thank goodness!--“It’s too late now, Edward _dear_; I told you I was sinking fast, but you wouldn’t believe it then, and now I feel satisfied that I sha’n’t trouble you with my presence here much longer.” “For Heaven’s sake! Carry, my love, don’t go on in that way!” he exclaimed, pressing my hand between his two palms. “Is there anything I can get for you, dearest?” “That footman I spoke to you about,” I replied, “perhaps might have relieved me at one time; but now”--I added, as if in pain, “there is no hope. You will be kind to my little darling toodle-loodle-lumpty, when its poor dear mother’s no more, and take care when the little trot grows up that _she’s_ not killed in this great big house for want of a footman.” Here that Edward gave two or three pathetic snivels, and commenced feeling for his pocket-handkerchief. So as I saw he was beginning to melt, I continued, in a low, solemn voice, “When I am gone, promise me, Edward--you wont marry again--and you will put upon my tombstone that I was a ‘TENDER AND AFFECTIONATE WIFE,’ and ‘UNIVERSALLY REGRETTED’--and now I come to think of it, Edward dear, it would look charming if you were to add those beautiful lines of ‘_Affliction sore long time I bore_,’ and wind up with ‘_she fell a martyr to the want of a footman_,’ brought in nicely somehow.” This, I’m proud to say, was a severe homethrust; and on looking at my fine gentleman, if I didn’t see a beautiful little tear in the corner of each of his eyes; and thank goodness, by staring as hard as ever I could at one of the roses in the carpet, and drawing the air in up my nose, I was lucky enough to squeeze