expressive of as much earnestness and malice as if it had been the head of one of the widows last-mentioned, said:
"In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe anyveres but on the box."
"How are you safer there than anyveres else?" interrupted Sam.
"'Cos a coachman's a privileged indiwidual," replied Mr. Weller, looking fixedly at his son. "'Cos a coachman may do vithout suspicion wot other men may not; 'cos a coachman may be on the wery amicablest terms with eighty mile o' females, and yet nobody think that he ever means to marry any vun among 'em. And wot other man can say the same, Sammy?"
"Vell, there's somethin' in that," said Sam.
"If your gov'ner had been a coachman," reasoned Mr. Weller, "do you's'pose as that 'ere jury 'ud ever ha' conwicted him, s'posin' it possible as the matter could ha' gone to that extremity? They dustn't ha' done it."
"Wy not?" said Sam, rather disparagingly.
"Wy not!" rejoined Mr. Weller; "'cos it 'ud ha' gone agin their consciences. A reg'lar coachman's a sort o' connectin' link betwixt singleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it."
"Wot! You mean, they're gen'ral fav'rites, and nobody takes advantage on 'em, p'raps?" said Sam.
His father nodded.
"How it ever come to that 'ere pass," resumed the parent Weller,, "I can't say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess such insiniwations, and is alvays looked up to—adored I may say—by ev'ry young 'ooman in ev'ry town he vurks through, I don't know. I only know that so it is. It's a reg'lation of natur—a dispensary, as your poor mother-in-law used to say."
"A dispensation," said Sam, correcting the old gentleman. 'Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if you like it better," returned Mr. Weller; "I call it a dispensary, and it's alvays
