‘Nice seasonin’ for sassages, is trousers’ buttons, ma’am.’ ‘They’re my husband’s buttons!’ says the widder beginnin’ to faint, ‘What!’ screams the little old gen’l’m’n, turnin’ wery pale. ‘I see it all,’ says the widder; ‘in a fit of temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into sassages!’ And so he had, Sir,” said

Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr. Pickwick’s horror-stricken countenance, “or else he’d been draw’d into the ingin; but however that might ha’ been, the little, old gen’l’m’n, who had been remarkably partial to sassages all his life, rushed out o’ the shop in a wild state, and was never heerd on arterwards!”