and a glass of hot brandy and water, tallowed my nose, and went to bed.
These prompt and vigorous measures, aided by a naturally strong constitution, were the means of preserving my life; but as for the suit! Well, there, it isn't a suit; its a splash board.
And I did fancy that suit too. But that's just the way. I never do get particularly fond of anything in this world, but what something dreadful happens to it. I had a tame rat when I was a boy, and I loved that animal as only a boy would love an old water rat; and, one day, it fell into a large dish of gooseberry-fool that was standing to cool in the kitchen, and nobody knew what had become of the poor creature, until the second helping.
I do hate wet weather, in town. At least, it is not so much the wet, as the mud, that I object to. Somehow or other, I seem to possess an irresistible alluring power over mud. I have only to show myself in the street on a muddy day to be half smothered by it. It all comes of being so attractive, as the old lady said when she was struck by lightning. Other people can go out on dirty days, and walk about for hours without getting a speck upon themselves; while, if I go across the road, I come back a perfect disgrace to be seen (as, in my boyish days, my poor dear mother used often to tell me). If there were only one dab of mud to be found in the whole of London,
