ore shook his head most learnedly.

'Leave off rattlin' that 'ere nob o' yourn, if you don't want it to
come off the springs altogether,' said Sam impatiently, 'and behave
reasonable. I vent all the vay down to the Markis o' Granby, arter you,
last night.'

'Did you see the Marchioness o' Granby, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller,
with a sigh.

'Yes, I did,' replied Sam.

'How wos the dear creetur a-lookin'?'

'Wery queer,' said Sam. 'I think she's a-injurin' herself gradivally
vith too much o' that 'ere pine-apple rum, and other strong medicines of
the same natur.'

'You don't mean that, Sammy?' said the senior earnestly.

'I do, indeed,' replied the junior. Mr. Weller seized his son's hand,
clasped it, and let it fall. There was an expression on his countenance
in doing so--not of dismay or apprehension, but partaking more of the
sweet and gentle character of hope. A gleam of resignation, and even
of cheerfulness, passed over his face too, as he slowly said, 'I ain't
quite certain, Sammy; I wouldn't like to say I wos altogether positive,
in case of any subsekent disappointment, but I rayther think, my boy, I
rayther think, that the shepherd's got the liver complaint!'

'Does he look bad?' inquired Sam.

'He's uncommon pale,' replied his father, ''cept about the nose,
which is redder than ever. His appetite is wery so-so, but he imbibes
wonderful.'

Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on Mr. Weller's
mind, as he said this; for he looked gloomy and thoughtful; but he very
shortly recovered, as was testified by a perfect alphabet of winks, in
which he was only wont to indulge when particularly pleased.

'Vell, now,' said Sam, 'about my affair. Just open them ears o' yourn,
and don't say nothin' till I've done.' With this preface, Sam related,
as succinctly as he could, the last memorable conversation he had had
with Mr. Pickwick.

'Stop there by himself, poor creetur!' exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller,
'without nobody to take his part! It can't be done, Samivel, it can't be
done.'

'O' course it can't,' asserted Sam: 'I know'd that, afore I came.' 'Why,
they'll eat him up alive, Sammy,'exclaimed Mr. Weller.

Sam nodded his concurrence in the opinion.

'He goes in rayther raw, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller metaphorically, 'and
he'll come out, done so ex-ceedin' brown, that his most formiliar
friends won't know him. Roast pigeon's nothin' to it, Sammy.'

Again Sam Weller nodded.

'It oughtn't t