tip ’em over into the canal vithout hurtin’ of ’em, this is for yourself,’ says he.⁠—‘Gen’l’m’n, you’re wery kind,’ says my father, ‘and I’ll drink your health in another glass of wine,’ says he; vich he did, and then buttons up the money, and bows himself out. You wouldn’t believe, sir,” continued Sam, with a look of inexpressible impudence at his master, “that on the wery day as he came down with them woters, his coach was upset on that ’ere wery spot, and ev’ry man on ’em was turned into the canal.”

“And got out again?” inquired Mr. Pickwick hastily.

“Why,” replied Sam very slowly, “I rather think one old gen’l’m’n was missin’; I know his hat was found, but I ain’t quite certain whether his head was in it or not. But what I look at is the hex-traordinary and wonderful coincidence, that arter what that gen’l’m’n said, my father’s coach should be upset in that wery place, and on that wery day!”