Captain Maxwell was an old acquaintance of Mr. Witherington--had dined at his house in company with the Templemores, and therefore had extracted quite enough information from the negroes to know where to direct them. 'By the blood of my ancestors! they'll be here to-night,' cried Mr. Witherington; 'and I have saved my journey. What is to be done? better tell Mary to get rooms ready: d'ye hear, William; beds for one little boy and two niggers.' 'Yes, sir,' replied William; 'but where are the black people to be put?' 'Put! I don't care; one may sleep with cook, the other with Mary.' 'Very well, sir, I'll tell them,' replied William, hastening away, delighted at the row which he anticipated in the kitchen. 'If you please, sir,' observed Jonathan, 'one of the negroes is, I believe, a man.' 'Well, what then?' 'Only, sir, the maids may object to sleep with him.' 'By all the plagues of the Witheringtons! this is true; well, you may take him, Jonathan--you like that colour.' 'Not in the dark, sir,' replied Jonathan, with a bow. 'Well then, let them sleep together; so that affair is settled.' 'Are they man and wife, sir?' said the butler. 'The devil take them both! how should I know? Let me have my breakfast, and we'll talk over the matter by and by.' Mr. Witherington applied to his eggs and muffin, eating his breakfast as fast as he could, without knowing why; but the reason was that he was puzzled and perplexed with the anticipated arrival, and longed to think quietly over the dilemma, for it was a dilemma to an old bachelor. As soon as he had swallowed his second cup of tea he put himself into his easy-chair, in an easy attitude, and was very soon soliloquising as follows:-- 'By the blood of the Witheringtons! what am I, an old bachelor, to do with a baby, and a wet-nurse as black as the ace of spades, and another black fellow in the bargain? Send him back again! yes, that's best? but the child--woke every morning at five o'clock with its squalling--obliged to kiss it three times a day--pleasant!--and then that nigger of a nurse--thick lips--kissing child all day, and then holding it out to me--ignorant as a cow--if the child has the stomach-ache she'll cram a pepper-pod down its throat--West India fashion--children never without the stomach-ache--my poor, poor cousin!--what has become of her and the other child, too?--wish they may pick her up, poor dear! and then she will come and take care of her own children--don't know what to do--great mind to send for sister Moggy--but she's so _fussy_--won't be in a hurry. Think again.' Here Mr. Witherington was interrupted by two taps at the door. 'Come in,' said he; and the cook, with her face as red as if she had been dressing a dinner for eighteen, made her appearance without the usual clean apron. 'If you please, sir,' said she, curtseying, 'I will thank you to suit yourself with another cook.' 'Oh, very well,' replied Mr. Witherington, angry at the interruption.