Mr. Sk--n--st--n was in a tremendous passion at what he chose to call my want of respect in allowing him to lie in bed so long, and when he came down to breakfast he was as surly as a bear with a scald head, (as the phrase runs.) He must needs go flying in a passion because the baker had left the wrong bread--for Mrs. Burgess, unfortunately, had taken in a cottage for breakfast--and he would have that it was my fault, and not the woman’s, saying, that I ought to have told her that he never eat anything of a morning but “bricks.” As he was going to office, I asked him whether he would dine at home that day, and what he would have; but he was very sulky, and said that he wouldn’t trouble me again, for that, as he was going into the City, he would take a chop at Joe’s; and when I inquired of him who Joe was, he told me it was the name of a chop-house keeper near the Royal Exchange; on which I remarked that he ought to be ashamed of himself to speak in that familiar way of such people. This made him laugh, so that I thought it was a good opportunity to make friends with him, and told him that if he would promise to come home, that I would get him a beautiful leg of mutton; but he said he thought he should like a nice shoulder, well browned, with onion sauce, for the legs we had had in our house lately had not been fit to be seen. But, knowing that he was partial to one with veal stuffing, I told him that if he would only come home to dinner that day, like a good man, I would give him such a treat--I would promise him to put on the table as fine a leg as he had ever beheld, for I intended to stuff it for him, and would take care that it should be beautifully dressed, and quite a picture to look at--all of which seemed to please him very much, and he left quite in good humour.