“Don’t bother the woman,” said the turnkey to Weller; “she’s just come in.”

“A pris’ner!” said Sam.  “Who’s the plaintives?  What for?  Speak up, old feller!”

“Dodson and Fogg,” replied the man.

“Here, Job, Job!” shouted Sam, dashing into the passage, and calling for a man who went errands for the prisoners.  “Run to Mr. Perker’s, Job; I want him directly.  I see some good in this.  Here’s a game!  Hooray!”

Mr. Perker was in Mr. Pickwick’s room betimes next morning.

“Well, now, my dear sir,” said Perker, “the first question I have to ask is whether this woman is to remain here?  It rests solely and wholly and entirely with you.”

“With me!” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.

“Nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, to which no man, and still more no woman, should ever be consigned if I had my will,” resumed Mr. Perker.  “I have seen the woman this morning.  By paying the costs, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages; and, further, a voluntary statement, under her hand, that this business was from the very first fomented and encouraged by these men, Dodson and Fogg.  She entreats me to intercede with you, and implores your pardon.”

Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, there was a low murmuring of voices outside, and a hesitating knock at the door; and Mr. Winkle, Mr. Tupman, and Mr. Snodgrass entering most opportunely, at last, by their united pleadings, Mr. Pickwick was fairly argued out of his resolutions.  At three o’clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little room, and made his way as well as he could through the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached the lodge steps.  He turned here to look about him, and his eye brightened as he did so.  In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not the happier for his sympathy and charity.

As for Sam Weller, having dispatched Job Trotter to procure his formal discharge, his next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild porter, which he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to everybody who would partake of it.  This done, he hurra’d in divers parts of the building until he lost his voice, and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical condition, and followed his master out of the prison.

* * * * *

Tale of Two Cities

      The French Revolution has been the subject of more books than
     any secular event that ever occurred, and two books by English
     writers have brought the passion, the cruelty, and the horror
     of it for all time within the shuddering comprehension of
     English-speaking people.  One is a history that is more than a
     history; the other a