There's Mrs.Sockley--she 's took ill.

He won't go there--that 's how I've caught him, my dear--but he pays her medicine, and she looks to him the same.

He hate a sick house: but he pity a sick woman.

Now, if I can only please him, I can always look on him as half a Dolphin, to say the least; and perhaps to-morrow I'll tell you who he is, and what, but not to-night; for there's his supper to get over, and that, they say, can be as bad as the busting of one of his own vats.
Awful!' 'What does he eat ?' said Mrs.Mel.
'A pair o' chops.

That seem simple, now, don't it?
And yet they chops make my heart go pitty-pat.' 'The commonest things are the worst done,' said Mrs.Mel.
'It ain't that; but they must be done his particular way, do you see, Mrs.Harrington.Laid close on the fire, he say, so as to keep in the juice.