Down he goes to the Commons, to see the lawyer and draw the blunt--very smart--top boots on--nosegay in his button-hole--broad-brimmed tile--green shawl--quite the gen'l'm'n.

Goes through the archvay, thinking how he should inwest the money--up comes the touter, touches his hat--"Licence, Sir, licence ?"--"What's that ?" says my father.--"Licence, Sir," says he.--"What licence ?" says my father.--"Marriage licence," says the touter.--"Dash my veskit," says my father, "I never thought o' that."-- "I think you wants one, Sir," says the touter.

My father pulls up, and thinks a bit--"No," says he, "damme, I'm too old, b'sides, I'm a many sizes too large," says he.--"Not a bit on it, Sir," says the touter.--"Think not ?" says my father.--"I'm sure not," says he; "we married a gen'l'm'n twice your size, last Monday."-- "Did you, though ?" said my father.--"To be sure, we did," says the touter, "you're a babby to him--this way, sir--this way!"-- and sure enough my father walks arter him, like a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little back office, vere a teller sat among dirty papers, and tin boxes, making believe he was busy.

"Pray take a seat, vile I makes out the affidavit, Sir," says the lawyer.--"Thank'ee, Sir," says my father, and down he sat, and stared with all his eyes, and his mouth vide open, at the names on the boxes.

"What's your name, Sir," says the lawyer.--"Tony Weller," says my father.--"Parish ?" says the lawyer.
"Belle Savage," says my father; for he stopped there wen he drove up, and he know'd nothing about parishes, he didn't.--"And what's the lady's name ?" says the lawyer.