“‘Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin’ of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin’ but it.’”
“That’s a wery pretty sentiment,” said the elder Mr. Weller, removing his pipe to make way for the remark.
“Yes, I think it is rayther good,” observed Sam, highly flattered.
“Wot I like in that ’ere style of writin’,” said the elder Mr. Weller, “is that there ain’t no callin’ names in it—no Wenuses, nor nothin’ o’ that kind. Wot’s the good o’ callin’ a young ’ooman a Wenus or a angel, Sammy?”
“Ah! what, indeed?” replied Sam.
“You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a king’s arms at once, which is wery well known to be a col-lection o’ fabulous animals,” added Mr. Weller.
“Just as well,” replied Sam.
“Drive on, Sammy,” said Mr. Weller.
Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows: his father continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom and complacency, which was particularly edifying,
“‘Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike.’”