“Well,” continued his progenitor, looking round him very cautiously, “you and I’ll go, punctiwal to the time. The deputy-shepherd won’t, Sammy; the deputy-shepherd won’t.” Here Mr. Weller was seized with a paroxysm of chuckles, which gradually terminated in as near an approach to a choke as an elderly gentleman can, with safety, sustain.

“Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my born days,” exclaimed Sam, rubbing the old gentleman’s back, hard enough to set him on fire with the friction. “What are you a-laughin’ at, corpilence?”