“Fond!” replied his father. “I can’t keep her avay from me. If I was locked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she’d find means to get at me, Sammy.”

“Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!” observed Sam, smiling.

“I don’t take no pride out on it, Sammy,” replied Mr. Weller, poking the fire vehemently, “it’s a horrid sitiwation. I’m actiwally drove out o’ house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out o’ your poor mother-in-law’s body, ven vun old ’ooman sends me a pot o’ jam, and another a pot o’ jelly, and another brews a blessed large jug o’ camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her own hands.” Mr. Weller paused with an aspect of intense disgust, and looking round, added in a whisper, “They wos all widders, Sammy, all on ’em, ’cept the camomile-tea vun, as wos a single young lady o’ fifty-three.”