dinner; the Norrington's, with whom I was engaged, being punctual people. "No matter; I'll pack it to-night." 'Twas well I came to that determination; for the instant I entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Norrington rang the bell, and just said to the servant who appeared at its summons--"Dinner:" a dissyllable which, when so uttered, timed, and accompanied, is a polite hint that the dinner has not been improved by your late arrival. My story, however, had arrived there before me; and I must do my friends the justice to say, that all that kindness could do for me, under the circumstances, was done. Two or three times, indeed, Mark looked at me full in the face, and laughed outright, without any apparent cause for such a manifestation of mirth; and once when, after a few glasses of wine, I had almost ceased to think of the fate that awaited me, Miss Adelaide suddenly inquired, "Do you _really_ start at five?--isn't that rather early?"--"_Rather_," replied I, with all the composure I could assume. But for a smile, and a sly look at her papa, I might have attributed the distressing question to thoughtlessness, rather than a deliberate desire to inflict pain. To parody a well-known line, I may say that, upon the whole-- "To me this Twelfth-night was no night of mirth." Before twelve o'clock, I left a pleasant circle, revelling in all the delights of Twelfth-cake, pam-loo, king-and-queen, and forfeits, to pack my portmanteau, "And inly ruminate the morning's danger!" The individual who, at this time, so ably filled the important office of "Boots," at the hotel, was a character. Be it remembered that, in his youth, he had been discharged from his place for omitting to call a gentleman, who was to go by one of the morning coaches, and who, thereby, missed his journey. This misfortune made a lasting impression on the intelligent mind of Mr. Boots. "Boots," said I in a mournful tone, "you must call me at four o'clock." "Do'ee want to get up, zur?" inquired he, with a broad Somersetshire twang. "_Want_ indeed! no; but I must." "Well, zur, I'll _carl_ 'ee; but will 'ee get up when I _do_ carl?" "Why, to be sure I will." "That be all very well to zay over-night, zur; but it bean't at all the zame thing when _marnen_ do come. I knoa that of old, zur. Gemmen doan't like it, zur, when the time do come--that I tell 'ee." "_Like_ it! who imagines they should?" "Well, zur, if you be as sure to get up as I be to carl 'ee, you'll not knoa what two minutes arter vore means in your bed. Sure as ever clock strikes, I'll have 'ee out, dang'd if I doan't! Good night, zur;" and _exit_ Boots. "And now I'll pack my portmanteau."