Well, that is odd,’ said Sam; ‘it ‘ud have a wery considerable effect upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that.’ ‘The fact is, my young friend,’ said Mr. Stiggins solemnly, ‘he has an obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could have resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and withstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for providing the infant negroes in the West Indies with flannel waistcoats and moral pocket- handkerchiefs?’ ‘What’s a moral pocket-ankercher?’ said Sam; ‘I never see one o’ them articles o’ furniter.’ ‘Those which combine amusement With instruction, my young friend,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, ‘blending select tales with wood-cuts.’ ‘Oh, I know,’ said Sam; ‘them as hangs up in the linen-drapers’ shops, with beggars’ petitions and all that ‘ere upon ‘em?’ Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent. ‘And he wouldn’t be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn’t he?’ said Sam. ‘Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were--what did he say the infant negroes were?’ said Mrs. Weller. ‘Little humbugs,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected. ‘Said the infant negroes were little humbugs,’ repeated Mrs. Weller. And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of the elder Mr. Weller. A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might have been disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got very weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to go, Mr. Stiggins suddenly recollected that he had a most pressing appointment with the shepherd, and took himself off accordingly. The tea-things had been scarcely put away, and the hearth swept up, when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller, senior, at the door; his legs deposited him in the bar; and his eyes showed him his son. ‘What, Sammy!’ exclaimed the father. ‘What, old Nobs!’ ejaculated the son. And they shook hands heartily. ‘Wery glad to see you, Sammy,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, ‘though how you’ve managed to get over your mother-in-law, is a mystery to me. I only vish you’d write me out the receipt, that’s all.’ ‘Hush!’ said Sam, ‘she’s at home, old feller.’ She ain’t vithin hearin’,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘she always goes and blows up, downstairs, for a couple of hours arter tea; so we’ll just give ourselves a damp, Sammy.’ Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of spirits-and-water, and produced a couple of pipes. The father and son sitting down opposite each other; Sam on one side of the fire, in the high-backed chair, and Mr. Weller, senior, on the other, in an easy ditto, they proceeded to enjoy themselves with all due gravity. ‘Anybody been here, Sammy?’ asked Mr. Weller, senior, dryly, after a long silence. Sam nodded an expressive assent. ‘Red-nosed chap?’ inquired Mr. Weller. Sam nodded again. ‘Amiable man that ‘ere, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, smoking violently. ‘Seems so,’ observed Sam. ‘Good hand at accounts,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Is he?’ said Sam.