And so we went on as merry as Crickets, till I began to think of two Things at once; that is to say, of two Dozen--the Anagram before me--and Sausage Rolls, Oyster Patties, stewed Sweetbreads, and so forth for Supper; and to be sensible that I must go and look after them. Just then, I noticed a distressed look cross _Prue's_ Face at some little Attention Mr. _Fenwick_ paid Mrs. _Gatty_. "Dear me, how foolish of you, _Prue_," thought I, "to be vexed by Anything like that! Why, he cares very little about _you_, and Nothing at all for _her_!" And, stealing from my Seat, I was about to withdraw quietly to the Kitchen, when suddenly the Parlour-Door flies wide open, and on the Threshold stands my poor _Father_, with a Face as red as his Waistcoat, who after giving an amazed Glance round about him, exclaims: "Hoity-toity! Who are all these young Fellows, amusing themselves in my _Chinese_ Parlour?" I thought Mr. _Caryl_ would have gone into Fits with suppressed Laughter. "Sir," said he, advancing and bowing, "I as the chief Intruder, beg to introduce myself by the Name of Mr. _Paul Caryl_, of the _Inner Temple_, at your Service; and this is my Friend and your Lodger, Mr. _Fenwick_, whom I have made a Call upon. The other Gentleman, you will perceive, is your Family Physician." "You seem all monstrous merry and mightily at Home with one another," says my _Father_, who evidently had, as was but too common, taken a little too much; "I almost seem like an Interloper in my own House; however, I don't care if I have a cheerful Glass with you to improve our Acquaintance. Hallo! where's my Chair gone? I had like to have sat down upon the Floor." "Here, Sir," said _Gatty_, hastily rising. "Here, Sir? and who are _you_, Madam? I don't remember ever to have seen your Face before; not an ugly one, neither! Pray, are you Mrs. _Paul Caryl_?" "Oh no, Sir!" "Who then? Mrs. ... Mrs. ... I shall forget my own Name next; hum! Hallo! Why, where are my Senses?" Mr. _Caryl_ and Mr. _Fenwick_ looked at him in Amazement; while _we_ knew what he missed, well enough. "Where are they?" reiterated he, raising his Voice very loud, and stamping the Floor. "Woman!" addressing my _Mother_, "where, I say, are my Five Senses?" "Dear Mr. _Honeywood_, they're safe in the China Cupboard," began my _Mother_, which set Mr. _Caryl_ off in an inextinguishable Fit of Laughter. "Are these your Manners, Sir?" cries my _Father_, fiercely turning upon him. "'Pon my Honour, I'm ashamed of them," says Mr. _Caryl_, covering his Face in his Cambric Handkerchief.