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Considering it a matter of delicacy to abstain from introducing eitherBob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the young couple, until they were fullyprepared to expect them, and wishing to spare Arabella's feelings asmuch as possible, Mr. Pickwick proposed that he and Sam should alight inthe neighbourhood of the George and Vulture, and that the two young menshould for the present take up their quarters elsewhere. To this theyvery readily agreed, and the proposition was accordingly acted upon;Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer betaking themselves to a sequesteredpot-shop on the remotest confines of the Borough, behind the bar door ofwhich their names had in other days very often appeared at the head oflong and complex calculations worked in white chalk.

'Dear me, Mr. Weller,' said the pretty housemaid, meeting Sam at thedoor.

'Dear ME I vish it vos, my dear,' replied Sam, dropping behind, to lethis master get out of hearing. 'Wot a sweet-lookin' creetur you are,Mary!'

'Lot, Mr. Weller, what nonsense you do talk!' said Mary. 'Oh! don't, Mr.Weller.'

'Don't what, my dear?' said Sam.

'Why, that,' replied the pretty housemaid. 'Lor, do get along with you.'Thus admonishing him, the pretty housemaid pushed Sam against the wall,declaring that he had tumbled her cap, and put her hair quite out ofcurl.

'And prevented what I was going to say, besides,' added Mary. 'There'sa letter been waiting here for you four days; you hadn't gone away, halfan hour, when it came; and more than that, it's got "immediate," on theoutside.'

'Vere is it, my love?' inquired Sam.

'I took care of it, for you, or I dare say it would have been lostlong before this,' replied Mary. 'There, take it; it's more than youdeserve.'

With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts and fears,and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary produced the letterfrom behind the nicest little muslin tucker possible, and handed it toSam, who thereupon kissed it with much gallantry and devotion.

'My goodness me!' said Mary, adjusting the tucker, and feigningunconsciousness, 'you seem to have grown very fond of it all at once.'

To this Mr. Weller only replied by a wink, the intense meaning of whichno description could convey the faintest idea of; and, sitting himselfdown beside Mary on a window-seat, opened the letter and glanced at thecontents.

'Hollo!' exclaimed Sam, 'wot's all this?'

'Nothing the matter, I hope?' said Mary, peeping over his shoulder.

'Bless them eyes o' yourn!' said Sam, looking up.

'Never mind my eyes; you had much better read your letter,' said thepretty housemaid; and as she said so, she made the eyes twinkle withsuch slyness and beauty that they were perfectly irresistible.

Sam refreshed himself with a kiss, and read as follows:--

'MARKIS GRAN 'By DORKEN 'Wensdy.

'My DEAR SAMMLE,

'I am werry sorry to have the pleasure of being a Bear of ill news yourMother in law cort cold consekens of imprudently settin too long on thedamp grass in the rain a hearing of a shepherd who warnt able to leaveoff till late at night owen to his having vound his-self up vith brandyand vater and not being able to stop his-self till he got a little soberwhich took a many hours to do the doctor says that if she'd svallo'dvarm brandy and vater artervards insted of afore she mightn't have beenno vus her veels wos immedetly greased and everythink done to set heragoin as could be inwented your father had hopes as she vould havevorked round as usual but just as she wos a turnen the corner my boy shetook the wrong road and vent down hill vith a welocity you never see andnotvithstandin that the drag wos put on directly by the medikel manit wornt of no use at all for she paid the last pike at twenty minutesafore six o'clock yesterday evenin havin done the journey wery muchunder the reglar time vich praps was partly owen to her haven taken inwery little luggage by the vay your father says that if you vill comeand see me Sammy he vill take it as a wery great favor for I am werylonely Samivel n. b. he VILL have it spelt that vay vich I say ant rightand as there is sich a many things to settle he is sure your guvner wontobject of course he vill not Sammy for I knows him better so he sendshis dooty in which I join and am Samivel infernally yours

'TONY VELLER.'

'Wot a incomprehensible letter,' said Sam; 'who's to know wot it means,vith all this he-ing and I-ing! It ain't my father's writin', 'cept thishere signater in print letters; that's his.'

'Perhaps he got somebody to write it for him, and signed it himselfafterwards,' said the pretty housemaid.

'Stop a minit,' replied Sam, running over the letter again, and pausinghere and there, to reflect, as he did so. 'You've hit it. The gen'l'm'nas wrote it wos a-tellin' all about the misfortun' in a proper vay,and then my father comes a-lookin' over him, and complicates the wholeconcern by puttin' his oar in. That's just the wery sort o' thing he'ddo. You're right, Mary, my dear.'

Having satisfied himself on this point, Sam read the letter all over,once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of its contents for thefirst time, ejaculated thoughtfully, as he folded it up--

'And so the poor creetur's dead! I'm sorry for it. She warn't abad-disposed 'ooman, if them shepherds had let her alone. I'm wery sorryfor it.'

Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner, that the prettyhousemaid cast down her eyes and looked very grave.

'Hows'ever,' said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket with a gentlesigh, 'it wos to be--and wos, as the old lady said arter she'd marriedthe footman. Can't be helped now, can it, Mary?'

Mary shook her head, and sighed too.

'I must apply to the hemperor for leave of absence,' said Sam.

Mary sighed again--the letter was so very affecting.

'Good-bye!' said Sam.

'Good-bye,' rejoined the pretty housemaid, turning her head away.

'Well, shake hands, won't you?' said Sam.

The pretty housemaid put out a hand which, although it was ahousemaid's, was a very small one, and rose to go.

'I shan't be wery long avay,' said Sam.

'You're always away,' said Mary, giving her head the slightest possibletoss in the air. 'You no sooner come, Mr. Weller, than you go again.'

Mr. Weller drew the household beauty closer to him, and entered upon awhispering conversation, which had not proceeded far, when she turnedher face round and condescended to look at him again. When they parted,it was somehow or other indispensably necessary for her to go to herroom, and arrange the cap and curls before she could think of presentingherself to her mistress; which preparatory ceremony she went off toperform, bestowing many nods and smiles on Sam over the banisters as shetripped upstairs.

'I shan't be avay more than a day, or two, Sir, at the furthest,' saidSam, when he had communicated to Mr. Pickwick the intelligence of hisfather's loss.

'As long as may be necessary, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'you have myfull permission to remain.'

Sam bowed.

'You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any assistance tohim in his present situation, I shall be most willing and ready to lendhim any aid in my power,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Thank'ee, sir,' rejoined Sam. 'I'll mention it, sir.'

And with some expressions of mutual good-will and interest, master andman separated.

It was just seven o'clock when Samuel Weller, alighting from the box ofa stage-coach which passed through Dorking, stood within a few hundredyards of the Marquis of Granby. It was a cold, dull evening; the littlestreet looked dreary and dismal; and the mahogany countenance of thenoble and gallant marquis seemed to wear a more sad and melancholyexpression than it was wont to do, as it swung to and fro, creakingmournfully in the wind. The blinds were pulled down, and the shutterspartly closed; of the knot of loungers that usually collected about thedoor, not one was to be seen; the place was silent and desolate.

Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminary questions, Sam walkedsoftly in, and glancing round, he quickly recognised his parent in thedistance.

The widower was seated at a small round table in the little room behindthe bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently fixed upon the fire.The funeral had evidently taken place that day, for attached to his hat,which he still retained on his head, was a hatband measuring about ayard and a half in length, which hung over the top rail of the chairand streamed negligently down. Mr. Weller was in a very abstracted andcontemplative mood. Notwithstanding that Sam called him by name severaltimes, he still continued to smoke with the same fixed and quietcountenance, and was only roused ultimately by his son's placing thepalm of his hand on his shoulder.

'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'you're welcome.'

'I've been a-callin' to you half a dozen times,' said Sam, hanging hishat on a peg, 'but you didn't hear me.'

'No, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully at the fire.'I was in a referee, Sammy.'

'Wot about?' inquired Sam, drawing his chair up to the fire.

'In a referee, Sammy,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, 'regarding HER,Samivel.' Here Mr. Weller jerked his head in the direction of Dorkingchurchyard, in mute explanation that his words referred to the late Mrs.Weller.

'I wos a-thinkin', Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son, withgreat earnestness, over his pipe, as if to assure him that howeverextraordinary and incredible the declaration might appear, it wasnevertheless calmly and deliberately uttered. 'I wos a-thinkin', Sammy,that upon the whole I wos wery sorry she wos gone.'

'Vell, and so you ought to be,' replied Sam.

Mr. Weller nodded his acquiescence in the sentiment, and again fasteninghis eyes on the fire, shrouded himself in a cloud, and mused deeply.

'Those wos wery sensible observations as she made, Sammy,' said Mr.Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand, after a long silence.

'Wot observations?' inquired Sam.

'Them as she made, arter she was took ill,' replied the old gentleman.'Wot was they?'

'Somethin' to this here effect. "Veller," she says, "I'm afeeredI've not done by you quite wot I ought to have done; you're a werykind-hearted man, and I might ha' made your home more comfortabler.I begin to see now," she says, "ven it's too late, that if a married'ooman vishes to be religious, she should begin vith dischargin' herdooties at home, and makin' them as is about her cheerful and happy,and that vile she goes to church, or chapel, or wot not, at all propertimes, she should be wery careful not to con-wert this sort o' thinginto a excuse for idleness or self-indulgence. I have done this," shesays, "and I've vasted time and substance on them as has done it morethan me; but I hope ven I'm gone, Veller, that you'll think on me as Iwos afore I know'd them people, and as I raly wos by natur."

'"Susan," says I--I wos took up wery short by this, Samivel; I von'tdeny it, my boy--"Susan," I says, "you've been a wery good vife to me,altogether; don't say nothin' at all about it; keep a good heart, mydear; and you'll live to see me punch that 'ere Stiggins's head yet."She smiled at this, Samivel,' said the old gentleman, stifling a sighwith his pipe, 'but she died arter all!'

'Vell,' said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely consolation, afterthe lapse of three or four minutes, consumed by the old gentleman inslowly shaking his head from side to side, and solemnly smoking, 'vell,gov'nor, ve must all come to it, one day or another.'

'So we must, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller the elder.

'There's a Providence in it all,' said Sam.

'O' course there is,' replied his father, with a nod of grave approval.'Wot 'ud become of the undertakers vithout it, Sammy?'

Lost in the immense field of conjecture opened by this reflection, theelder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, and stirred the fire with ameditative visage.

While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom-looking cook,dressed in mourning, who had been bustling about, in the bar, glidedinto the room, and bestowing many smirks of recognition upon Sam,silently stationed herself at the back of his father's chair, andannounced her presence by a slight cough, the which, being disregarded,was followed by a louder one.

'Hollo!' said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as he lookedround, and hastily drew his chair away. 'Wot's the matter now?'

'Have a cup of tea, there's a good soul,' replied the buxom femalecoaxingly. 'I von't,' replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterousmanner. 'I'll see you--' Mr. Weller hastily checked himself, and addedin a low tone, 'furder fust.'

'Oh, dear, dear! How adwersity does change people!' said the lady,looking upwards.

'It's the only thing 'twixt this and the doctor as shall change mycondition,' muttered Mr. Weller.

'I really never saw a man so cross,' said the buxom female.

'Never mind. It's all for my own good; vich is the reflection vith vichthe penitent school-boy comforted his feelin's ven they flogged him,'rejoined the old gentleman.

The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate and sympathisingair; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether his father really oughtnot to make an effort to keep up, and not give way to that lowness ofspirits.

'You see, Mr. Samuel,' said the buxom female, 'as I was telling himyesterday, he will feel lonely, he can't expect but what he should, sir,but he should keep up a good heart, because, dear me, I'm sure we allpity his loss, and are ready to do anything for him; and there's nosituation in life so bad, Mr. Samuel, that it can't be mended. Whichis what a very worthy person said to me when my husband died.' Here thespeaker, putting her hand before her mouth, coughed again, and lookedaffectionately at the elder Mr. Weller.

'As I don't rekvire any o' your conversation just now, mum, vill youhave the goodness to re-tire?' inquired Mr. Weller, in a grave andsteady voice.

'Well, Mr. Weller,' said the buxom female, 'I'm sure I only spoke to youout of kindness.'

'Wery likely, mum,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Samivel, show the lady out, andshut the door after her.'

This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at once left theroom, and slammed the door behind her, upon which Mr. Weller, senior,falling back in his chair in a violent perspiration, said--

'Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun week--only vun week, myboy--that 'ere 'ooman 'ud marry me by force and wiolence afore it wasover.'

'Wot! is she so wery fond on you?' inquired Sam.

'Fond!' replied his father. 'I can't keep her avay from me. If I waslocked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she'd find meansto get at me, Sammy.'

'Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!' observed Sam, smiling.

'I don't take no pride out on it, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, poking thefire vehemently, 'it's a horrid sitiwation. I'm actiwally drove outo' house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out o' your poormother-in-law's body, ven vun old 'ooman sends me a pot o' jam, andanother a pot o' jelly, and another brews a blessed large jug o'camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her own hands.' Mr. Wellerpaused with an aspect of intense disgust, and looking round, added ina whisper, 'They wos all widders, Sammy, all on 'em, 'cept thecamomile-tea vun, as wos a single young lady o' fifty-three.'

Sam gave a comical look in reply, and the old gentleman having brokenan obstinate lump of coal, with a countenance expressive of as muchearnestness and malice as if it had been the head of one of the widowslast-mentioned, said:

'In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe anyveres but on the box.'

'How are you safer there than anyveres else?' interrupted Sam.

''Cos a coachman's a privileged indiwidual,' replied Mr. Weller, lookingfixedly at his son. ''Cos a coachman may do vithout suspicion wot othermen may not; 'cos a coachman may be on the wery amicablest terms witheighty mile o' females, and yet nobody think that he ever means to marryany vun among 'em. And wot other man can say the same, Sammy?'

'Vell, there's somethin' in that,' said Sam.

'If your gov'nor had been a coachman,' reasoned Mr. Weller, 'do yous'pose as that 'ere jury 'ud ever ha' conwicted him, s'posin' itpossible as the matter could ha' gone to that extremity? They dustn'tha' done it.'

'Wy not?' said Sam, rather disparagingly.

'Wy not!' rejoined Mr. Weller; ''cos it 'ud ha' gone agin theirconsciences. A reg'lar coachman's a sort o' con-nectin' link betwixtsingleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it.'

'Wot! You mean, they're gen'ral favorites, and nobody takes adwantage on'em, p'raps?' said Sam.

His father nodded.

'How it ever come to that 'ere pass,' resumed the parent Weller, 'Ican't say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess such insiniwations,and is alvays looked up to--a-dored I may say--by ev'ry young 'ooman inev'ry town he vurks through, I don't know. I only know that so it is.It's a regulation of natur--a dispensary, as your poor mother-in-lawused to say.'

'A dispensation,' said Sam, correcting the old gentleman.

'Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if you like it better,' returnedMr. Weller; 'I call it a dispensary, and it's always writ up so, atthe places vere they gives you physic for nothin' in your own bottles;that's all.'

With these words, Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe, and oncemore summoning up a meditative expression of countenance, continued asfollows--

'Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o' stoppin hereto be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the same time I donot vish to separate myself from them interestin' members o' societyaltogether, I have come to the determination o' driving the Safety,and puttin' up vunce more at the Bell Savage, vich is my nat'ral bornelement, Sammy.'

'And wot's to become o' the bis'ness?' inquired Sam.

'The bis'ness, Samivel,' replied the old gentleman, 'good-vill, stock,and fixters, vill be sold by private contract; and out o' the money, twohundred pound, agreeable to a rekvest o' your mother-in-law's to me,a little afore she died, vill be invested in your name in--What do youcall them things agin?'

'Wot things?' inquired Sam.

'Them things as is always a-goin' up and down, in the city.'

'Omnibuses?' suggested Sam.

'Nonsense,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Them things as is alvaysa-fluctooatin', and gettin' theirselves inwolved somehow or another viththe national debt, and the chequers bill; and all that.'

'Oh! the funds,' said Sam.

'Ah!' rejoined Mr. Weller, 'the funs; two hundred pounds o' the money isto be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs; four and a half per cent.reduced counsels, Sammy.'

'Wery kind o' the old lady to think o' me,' said Sam, 'and I'm wery muchobliged to her.'

'The rest will be inwested in my name,' continued the elder Mr. Weller;'and wen I'm took off the road, it'll come to you, so take care youdon't spend it all at vunst, my boy, and mind that no widder gets ainklin' o' your fortun', or you're done.'

Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with a moreserene countenance; the disclosure of these matters appearing to haveeased his mind considerably.

'Somebody's a-tappin' at the door,' said Sam.

'Let 'em tap,' replied his father, with dignity.

Sam acted upon the direction. There was another tap, and another, andthen a long row of taps; upon which Sam inquired why the tapper was notadmitted.

'Hush,' whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive looks, 'don't take nonotice on 'em, Sammy, it's vun o' the widders, p'raps.'

No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after a shortlapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was no female head thatwas thrust in at the partially-opened door, but the long black locks andred face of Mr. Stiggins. Mr. Weller's pipe fell from his hands.

The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almost imperceptibledegrees, until the aperture was just wide enough to admit of the passageof his lank body, when he glided into the room and closed it after him,with great care and gentleness. Turning towards Sam, and raising hishands and eyes in token of the unspeakable sorrow with which he regardedthe calamity that had befallen the family, he carried the high-backedchair to his old corner by the fire, and, seating himself on the veryedge, drew forth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied the same tohis optics.

While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back in hischair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his knees, and hiswhole countenance expressive of absorbing and overwhelming astonishment.Sam sat opposite him in perfect silence, waiting, with eager curiosity,for the termination of the scene.

Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before his eyes for someminutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then, mastering his feelings bya strong effort, put it in his pocket and buttoned it up. After this, hestirred the fire; after that, he rubbed his hands and looked at Sam.

'Oh, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence, in avery low voice, 'here's a sorrowful affliction!'

Sam nodded very slightly.

'For the man of wrath, too!' added Mr. Stiggins; 'it makes a vessel'sheart bleed!' Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur somethingrelative to making a vessel's nose bleed; but Mr. Stiggins heard himnot. 'Do you know, young man,' whispered Mr. Stiggins, drawing his chaircloser to Sam, 'whether she has left Emanuel anything?'

'Who's he?' inquired Sam.

'The chapel,' replied Mr. Stiggins; 'our chapel; our fold, Mr. Samuel.'

'She hasn't left the fold nothin', nor the shepherd nothin', nor theanimals nothin',' said Sam decisively; 'nor the dogs neither.'

Mr. Stiggins looked slily at Sam; glanced at the old gentleman, who wassitting with his eyes closed, as if asleep; and drawing his chair stillnearer, said--

'Nothing for ME, Mr. Samuel?'

Sam shook his head.

'I think there's something,' said Stiggins, turning as pale as he couldturn. 'Consider, Mr. Samuel; no little token?'

'Not so much as the vorth o' that 'ere old umberella o' yourn,' repliedSam.

'Perhaps,' said Mr. Stiggins hesitatingly, after a few moments' deepthought, 'perhaps she recommended me to the care of the man of wrath,Mr. Samuel?'

'I think that's wery likely, from what he said,' rejoined Sam; 'he wosa-speakin' about you, jist now.'

'Was he, though?' exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up. 'Ah! He's changed,I dare say. We might live very comfortably together now, Mr. Samuel,eh? I could take care of his property when you are away--good care, yousee.'

Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response.

Sam nodded, and Mr. Weller the elder gave vent to an extraordinarysound, which, being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor agrowl, seemed to partake in some degree of the character of all four.

Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood to betokenremorse or repentance, looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept,smiled, wept again, and then, walking softly across the room to awell-remembered shelf in one corner, took down a tumbler, and with greatdeliberation put four lumps of sugar in it. Having got thus far, helooked about him again, and sighed grievously; with that, he walkedsoftly into the bar, and presently returning with the tumbler half fullof pine-apple rum, advanced to the kettle which was singing gaily on thehob, mixed his grog, stirred it, sipped it, sat down, and taking a longand hearty pull at the rum-and-water, stopped for breath.

The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make various strange anduncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a single word duringthese proceedings; but when Stiggins stopped for breath, he darted uponhim, and snatching the tumbler from his hand, threw the remainder of therum-and-water in his face, and the glass itself into the grate. Then,seizing the reverend gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fellto kicking him most furiously, accompanying every application of histop-boot to Mr. Stiggins's person, with sundry violent and incoherentanathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body.

'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'put my hat on tight for me.'

Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hatband more firmly on hisfather's head, and the old gentleman, resuming his kicking with greateragility than before, tumbled with Mr. Stiggins through the bar, andthrough the passage, out at the front door, and so into the street--thekicking continuing the whole way, and increasing in vehemence, ratherthan diminishing, every time the top-boot was lifted.

It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed manwrithing in Mr. Weller's grasp, and his whole frame quivering withanguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; it was a still moreexciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller, after a powerful struggle,immersing Mr. Stiggins's head in a horse-trough full of water, andholding it there, until he was half suffocated.

'There!' said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one mostcomplicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins to withdrawhis head from the trough, 'send any vun o' them lazy shepherds here, andI'll pound him to a jelly first, and drownd him artervards! Sammy, helpme in, and fill me a small glass of brandy. I'm out o' breath, my boy.'