wery best intentions, as the gen'l'm'n said ven he run away from his wife 'cos she seemed unhappy with him,'

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr. Weller, senior, taking off his hat, 'I hope you've no fault to find with Sammy, Sir?' 'None whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Wery glad to hear it, sir,' replied the old man; 'I took a good deal o' pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streets when he was wery young, and shift for hisself. It's the only

and they sank beneath the unnatural devotion of their youthful energies to their dry old books?

'If I ever do come back, and mix myself up with these people again,'thought Mr. Winkle, as he wended his way to the Peacock, 'I shall deserve to be horsewhipped myself—that's all.'

'That's wot we call tying it up in a small parcel,

'why, I think he's the wictim o' connubiality, as Blue Beard's domestic chaplain said, vith a tear of pity, ven he buried him.'

for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original, and I am rather proud of him.'

The best sitting-room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark-panelled room with a high chimney-piece, and a capacious chimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patent cabs, wheels and all. At the upper end of the room, seated in a shady bower of holly and evergreens were the two best fiddlers, and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all

idling about, apparently persuading himself that he was doing something with a spade and a wheel-barrow.