to get married ran in the family and couldn't be helped, which calmed Mr. Weller's feelings, and caused his grief to subside. We should be rather disposed to say that the result was attained by combining the two sources of consolation, for he repeated the second in a low tone, very frequently; ringing the bell meanwhile, to order in the first. He then divested himself of his upper coat; and lighting the pipe and placing himself in front of the fire with his back towards it, so that he could feel its full heat, and recline against the mantelpiece at the same time, turned towards Sam, and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softening influence of tobacco, requested him to "fire away."
Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections, and began with a very theatrical air:
"'Lovely———.'"
"Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. "A double glass o' the inwariable, my dear."
'Very well, sir," replied the girl; who with great quickness appeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared.
"They seem to know your ways here," observed Sam.
"Yes," replied his father, "I've been here before, in my time. Go on, Sammy."
"Lovely creetur,"" repeated Sam.
"'Tain't in poetry, is it?" interposed his father.
"No, no," replied Sam.
"Werry glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. "Poetry's unnat'ral; no man ever talked poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin' day, or Warren's blackin', or Rowland's oil, or some o' them low fellows; never you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy."
Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam once more commenced, and read as follows:
"'Lovely creetur i feel myself a dammed'—."
"That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth.
"No; it ain't 'dammed'," observed Sam, holding the letter
