arter the tea was over, they sang another hymn, and then the shepherd began to preach: and wery well he did it, considerin’ how heavy them muffins must have lied on his chest. Presently he pulls up, all of a sudden, and hollers out, “Where is the sinner; where is the mis’rable sinner?” Upon which, all the women looked at me, and began to groan as if they was a-dying. I thought it was rather sing’ler, but howsoever, I says nothing. Presently he pulls up again, and lookin’ wery hard at me, says, “Where is the sinner; where is the mis’rable sinner?” and all the women groans again, ten times louder than afore. I got rather savage at this, so I takes a step or two for’ard and says, “My friend,” says I, “did you apply that ‘ere obserwation to me?” ‘Stead of beggin’ my pardon as any gen’l’m’n would ha’ done, he got more abusive than ever:--called me a wessel, Sammy--a wessel of wrath--and all sorts o’ names. So my blood being reg’larly up, I first gave him two or three for himself, and then two or three more to hand over to the man with the red nose, and walked off. I wish you could ha’ heard how the women screamed, Sammy, ven they picked up the shepherd from underneath the table--Hollo! here’s the governor, the size of life.’ As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, and entered the yard. ‘Fine mornin’, Sir,’ said Mr. Weller, senior. ‘Beautiful indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Beautiful indeed,’ echoes a red-haired man with an inquisitive nose and green spectacles, who had unpacked himself from a cab at the same moment as Mr. Pickwick. ‘Going to Ipswich, Sir?’ ‘I am,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Extraordinary coincidence. So am I.’ Mr. Pickwick bowed. ‘Going outside?’ said the red-haired man. Mr. Pickwick bowed again. ‘Bless my soul, how remarkable--I am going outside, too,’ said the red- haired man; ‘we are positively going together.’ And the red-haired man, who was an important-looking, sharp-nosed, mysterious-spoken personage, with a bird-like habit of giving his head a jerk every time he said anything, smiled as if he had made one of the strangest discoveries that ever fell to the lot of human wisdom. ‘I am happy in the prospect of your company, Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Ah,’ said the new-comer, ‘it’s a good thing for both of us, isn’t it? Company, you see--company--is--is--it’s a very different thing from solitude--ain’t it?’ ‘There’s no denying that ‘ere,’ said Mr. Weller, joining in the conversation, with an affable smile. ‘That’s what I call a self-evident proposition, as the dog’s-meat man said, when the housemaid told him he warn’t a gentleman.’ ‘Ah,’ said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from head to foot with a supercilious look. ‘Friend of yours, sir?’ ‘Not exactly a friend,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, in a low tone. ‘The fact is, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good many liberties; for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original, and I am rather proud of him.’