f tobaccorequested him to ‘fire away.’
Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections
and began with a very theatrical air—
‘“Lovely—“‘
‘Stop’ said Mr. Wellerringing the bell. ‘A double glass o’ the
inwariablemy dear.’
‘Very wellsir’ replied the girl; who with great quickness
appearedvanishedreturnedand disappeared.
‘They seem to know your ways here’ observed Sam.
‘Yes’ replied his father‘I’ve been here beforein my time. Go
onSammy.’
‘“Lovely creetur”’ repeated Sam.
‘’Tain’t in poetryis it?’ interposed his father.
‘Nono’ replied Sam.
‘Wery glad to hear it’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Poetry’s unnat’ral; no
man ever talked poetry ’cept a beadle on boxin’-dayor Warren’s
blackin’or Rowland’s oilor some of them low fellows; never you
let yourself down to talk poetrymy boy. Begin aginSammy.’
Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnityand Sam
once more commencedand read as follows:
‘“Lovely creetur I feel myself a damned—”’
‘That ain’t proper’ said Mr. Wellertaking his pipe from his
mouth.
‘No; it ain’t “damned”’ observed Samholding the letter up to
the light‘it’s
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