"And with too good reason," added Mrs. Weller, gravely.
Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned heavily.
"He is a dreadful reprobate," said Mrs. Weller.
"A man of wrath!" exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. He took a large semi-circular bite out of the toast, and groaned again.
Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the reverend Mr. Stiggins something to groan for, but he repressed his inclination, and merely asked, "What's the old 'un up to, now?"
"Up to, indeed!" said Mrs. Weller. "Oh, he has a hard heart. Night after night does this excellent man—don't frown, Mr. Stiggins: I will say you are an excellent man—come and sit here, for hours together, and it has not the least effect upon him."
"Well, that is odd," said Sam; "it 'ud have a wery considerable effect upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that."
"The fact is, my young friend," said Mr. Stiggins, solemnly, "he has an obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could have resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and withstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for providing the infant negroes in the West Indies with flannel waistcoats and moral pocket handkerchiefs?"
"What's a moral pocket ankercher?" said Sam; "I never see one o' them articles o' furniter."
"Those which combine amusement with instruction, my young friend," replied Mr. Stiggins: "blending select tales with wood-cuts."
"Oh, I know," said Sam; "them as hangs up in the linendrapers' shops, with beggars' petitions and all that 'ere upon 'em?"
Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.
"And he wouldn't be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn't he?" said Sam.
