had been assured on this head, he felt a solemn presentiment, first,

that the red bag was mislaid, and next that the striped bag had been

stolen, and then that the brown-paper parcel 'had come untied.' At

length when he had received ocular demonstration of the groundless

nature of each and every of these suspicions, he consented to climb

up to the roof of the coach, observing that now he had taken

everything off his mind, he felt quite comfortable and happy.

You're given to nervousness, ain't you, Sir?' inquired Mr Weller,

senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to his place.

Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,' said the stranger,

but I am all right now - quite right.'

Well, that's a blessin', said Mr Weller. 'Sammy, help your master up

to the box; t'other leg, Sir, that's it; give us your hand, Sir. Up with

you. You was a lighter weight when you was a boy, sir.' 'True enough,

that, Mr Weller,' said the breathless Mr Pickwick good-humouredly, as

he took his seat on the box beside him.

Jump up in front, Sammy,' said Mr Weller. 'Now Villam, run 'em out.

Take care o' the archvay, gen'l'm'n. ‘Heads,’ as the pieman says.

That'll do, Villam. Let 'em alone.' And away went the coach up

Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of that pretty

densely populated quarter.

'Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, Sir,' said Sam, with a touch of

the hat, which always preceded his entering into conversation with his

master.

It is not indeed, Sam,' replied Mr Pickwick, surveying the crowded

and filthy street through which they were passing.

It's a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,' said Sam, 'that poverty and

oysters always seem to go together.'

'I don't understand you, Sam,' said Mr Pickwick.

What I mean, sir,' said Sam, 'is, that the poorer a place is, the greater

call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here's a oyster-stall

to every half-dozen houses. The street's lined vith 'em. Blessed if I

don't think that ven a man's wery poor, he rushes out of his lodgings,

and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation.'

To be sure he does,' said Mr Weller, senior; 'and it's just the same vith

pickled salmon!'

The Pickwick Papers