I shall work down to Ipswich the day arter to-morrow, Sir,' said Mr

Weller the elder, 'from the Bull in Whitechapel; and if you really mean

to go, you'd better go with me.'

'So we had,' said Mr Pickwick; 'very true; I can write to Bury, and tell

them to meet me at Ipswich. We will go with you. But don't hurry

away, Mr Weller; won't you take anything?'

You're wery good, Sir,' replied Mr W., stopping short; - 'perhaps a

small glass of brandy to drink your health, and success to Sammy,

Sir, wouldn't be amiss.'

'Certainly not,' replied Mr Pickwick. 'A glass of brandy here!' The

brandy was brought; and Mr Weller, after pulling his hair to Mr

Pickwick, and nodding to Sam, jerked it down his capacious throat as

if it had been a small thimbleful. 'Well done, father,' said Sam, 'take

care, old fellow, or you'll have a touch of your old complaint, the gout.'

I've found a sov'rin' cure for that, Sammy,' said Mr Weller, setting

down the glass.

'A sovereign cure for the gout,' said Mr Pickwick, hastily producing his

note-book - 'what is it?'

The gout, Sir,' replied Mr Weller, 'the gout is a complaint as arises

from too much ease and comfort. If ever you're attacked with the gout,

sir, jist you marry a widder as has got a good loud woice, with a

decent notion of usin' it, and you'll never have the gout agin. It's a

capital prescription, sir. I takes it reg'lar, and I can warrant it to drive

away any illness as is caused by too much jollity.' Having imparted

this valuable secret, Mr Weller drained his glass once more, produced

a laboured wink, sighed deeply, and slowly retired.

Well, what do you think of what your father says, Sam?' inquired Mr

Pickwick, with a smile.

Think, Sir!' replied Mr Weller; '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.'

There was no replying to this very apposite conclusion, and, therefore,

Mr Pickwick, after settling the reckoning, resumed his walk to Gray's

Inn. By the time he reached its secluded groves, however, eight o'clock

had struck, and the unbroken stream of gentlemen in muddy high-

lows, soiled white hats, and rusty apparel, who were pouring towards

the different avenues of egress, warned him that the majority of the

offices had closed for that day.

The Pickwick Papers