“Nev’r mind, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, “it’ll be a wery agonisin’ trial to me at my time of life, but I’m pretty tough, that’s vun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked wen the farmer said he wos afeerd he should be obliged to kill him for the London market.”

“Wot’ll be a trial?” inquired Sam.

“To see you married, Sammy⁠—to see you a dilluded wictim, and thinkin’ in your innocence that it’s all wery capital,” replied Mr. Weller. “It’s a dreadful trial to a father’s feelin’s, that ’ere, Sammy⁠—”

“Nonsense,” said Sam. “I ain’t a-goin’ to get married, don’t you fret yourself about that; I know you’re a judge of these things. Order in your pipe and I’ll read you the letter. There!”