I hope you will, Sammy. I hope you will,' returned Mr Weller. 'Here's

your health, Sammy, and may you speedily vipe off the disgrace as

you've inflicted on the family name.' In honour of this toast Mr Weller

imbibed at a draught, at least two-thirds of a newly-arrived pint, and

handed it over to his son, to dispose of the remainder, which he

instantaneously did.

'And now, Sammy,' said Mr Weller, consulting a large double- faced

silver watch that hung at the end of the copper chain. 'Now it's time I

was up at the office to get my vay-bill and see the coach loaded; for

coaches, Sammy, is like guns - they requires to be loaded with wery

great care, afore they go off.'

At this parental and professional joke, Mr Weller, junior, smiled a filial

smile. His revered parent continued in a solemn tone -

I'm a-goin' to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there's no telling ven I

shall see you again. Your mother-in-law may ha' been too much for

me, or a thousand things may have happened by the time you next

hears any news o' the celebrated Mr Veller o' the Bell Savage. The

family name depends wery much upon you, Samivel, and I hope you'll

do wot's right by it. Upon all little pints o' breedin', I know I may trust

you as vell as if it was my own self. So I've only this here one little bit

of adwice to give you. If ever you gets to up'ards o' fifty, and feels

disposed to go a-marryin' anybody - no matter who - jist you shut

yourself up in your own room, if you've got one, and pison yourself off

hand. Hangin's wulgar, so don't you have nothin' to say to that. Pison

yourself, Samivel, my boy, pison yourself, and you'll be glad on it

arterwards.' With these affecting words, Mr Weller looked steadfastly

on his son, and turning slowly upon his heel, disappeared from his

sight.

In the contemplative mood which these words had awakened, Mr

Samuel Weller walked forth from the Great White Horse when his

father had left him; and bending his steps towards St. Clement's

Church, endeavoured to dissipate his melancholy, by strolling among

its ancient precincts. He had loitered about, for some time, when he

found himself in a retired spot - a kind of courtyard of venerable

appearance - which he discovered had no other outlet than the

turning by which he had entered. He was about retracing his steps,

when he was suddenly transfixed to the spot by a sudden appearance;

and the mode and manner of this appearance, we now proceed to

relate.

Mr Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses now

and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some

healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or threw open a

bedroom window, when the green gate of a garden at the bottom of the

The Pickwick Papers