'How's mother-in-law ?' 'Wy, I'll tell you what, Sammy,' said Mr.Weller, senior, with much solemnity in his manner; 'there never was a nicer woman as a widder, than that 'ere second wentur o' mine--a sweet creetur she was, Sammy; all I can say on her now, is, that as she was such an uncommon pleasant widder, it's a great pity she ever changed her condition.

She don't act as a vife, Sammy.' 'Don't she, though ?' inquired Mr.Weller, junior.
The elder Mr.Weller shook his head, as he replied with a sigh, 'I've done it once too often, Sammy; I've done it once too often.

Take example by your father, my boy, and be wery careful o' widders all your life, 'specially if they've kept a public-house, Sammy.' Having delivered this parental advice with great pathos, Mr.Weller, senior, refilled his pipe from a tin box he carried in his pocket; and, lighting his fresh pipe from the ashes of the old One, commenced smoking at a great rate.
'Beg your pardon, sir,' he said, renewing the subject, and addressing Mr.Pickwick, after a considerable pause, 'nothin' personal, I hope, sir; I hope you ha'n't got a widder, sir.' 'Not I,' replied Mr.Pickwick, laughing; and while Mr.Pickwick laughed, Sam Weller informed his parent in a whisper, of the relation in which he stood towards that gentleman.
'Beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr.Weller, senior, taking off his hat, 'I hope you've no fault to find with Sammy, Sir ?' 'None whatever,' said Mr.Pickwick.
'Wery glad to hear it, sir,' replied the old man; 'I took a good deal o' pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streets when he was wery young, and shift for hisself.

It's the only way to make a boy sharp, sir.' 'Rather a dangerous process, I should imagine,' said Mr.Pickwick, with a smile.
'And not a wery sure one, neither,' added Mr.Weller; 'I got reg'larly done the other day.' 'No!' said his father.
'I did,' said the son; and he proceeded to relate, in as few words as possible, how he had fallen a ready dupe to the stratagems of Job Trotter.
Mr.Weller, senior, listened to the tale with the most profound attention, and, at its termination, said-- 'Worn't one o' these chaps slim and tall, with long hair, and the gift o' the gab wery gallopin' ?' Mr.Pickwick did not quite understand the last item of description, but, comprehending the first, said 'Yes,' at a venture.
'T' other's a black-haired chap in mulberry livery, with a wery large head ?' 'Yes, yes, he is,' said Mr.Pickwick and Sam, with great earnestness.
'Then I know where they are, and that's all about it,' said Mr.Weller; 'they're at Ipswich, safe enough, them two.' 'No!' said Mr.Pickwick.
'Fact,' said Mr.Weller, 'and I'll tell you how I know it.

I work an Ipswich coach now and then for a friend o' mine.