at last released, "rushed with delirious haste"
to the hotel, "where he was discovered some hours after by the waiter,
groaning in a hollow and dismal manner, with his head buried beneath the
sofa cushions"--not a word was said in the Reading.

A flavour of the fun of Mrs. Sanders's evidence was given, but only a
passing flavour of it, in reference to Mr. Sanders having, in the course
of their correspondence, often called her duck, but never chops, nor yet
tomato-sauce--he being particularly fond of ducks--though possibly, if
he had been equally fond of chops and tomato-sauce, he might have called
her that instead, as a term of affection.

_The_ evidence of all, however, was that of Sam Weller, no less to
the enjoyment of the Author, it was plain to see, than to that of his
hearers. After old Weller's hoarse and guttural cry from the gallery,
"Put it down a wee, my lord," in answer to the inquiry whether the
immortal surname was to be spelt with a V. or a W.; Sam's quiet "I
rayther suspect it was my father, my lord," came with irresistible
effect from the Reader, as also did his recollection of something "wery
partickler" having happened on the memorable morning, out of which had
sprung the whole of this trial of Bardell v. Pickwick, namely, that he
himself that day had "a reg'lar new fit out o' clothes." Beyond all the
other Wellerisms, however, was Sam's overwhelmingly conclusive answer to
counsel's inquiry in regard to his not having seen what occurred, though
he himself, at the time, was in the passage, "Have you a pair of eyes,
Mr. Weller?" "Yes, I _have_ a pair of eyes; and that's just it If they
wos a pair o' patent double-million magnifying gas microscopes of hextra
power, p'r'aps I might be able to see through two flights o' stairs
and a deal door; but _bein'_ only eyes, you see, my wision's limited."
Better by far, in our estimation, nevertheless, than the smart Cockney
facetiousness of the inimitable Sam; better than the old coachman's
closing lamentation, "Vy worn't there a alleybi?" better than Mr.
Winkle, or Mrs. Cluppins, or Serjeant Buzfuz, or than all the rest
of those engaged in any capacity in the trial, put together, was the
irascible little Judge, with the blinking eyes and the monotonous
voice--himself, in his very _pose_, obviously, "all face and waistcoat."
Than Mr. Justice Stareleigh there was, in the whole of this most
humorous of all the Readings, no more highly comic impersonation.