 Chapter 34 is wholly devoted to a full and faithful report of the memorable trial of Bardal against Pickwick. "'I wonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever he'll be, has got for breakfast,' said Mr. Snodgrass, by way of keeping up a conversation on the eventful morning of the fourteenth of February. "'Ah,' said Perker, I hope he's got a good one.' "'Why so?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. "'Highly important, very important, my dear sir,' replied Perker. "'A good, contented, well-breakfasted juryman is a capital thing to get hold of. "'Intented or hungry, German, my dear sir, always fine for the plaintiff.' "'Blessed my heart,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking very blank. "'What do they do that for?' "'Why, I don't know,' replied the little man coolly. "'Saves time, I suppose. If it's near dinner time the foreman takes out his watch when the jury has retired and says, "'Dear me, gentlemen, ten minutes to five,' I declare. "'I dine at five, gentlemen. "'So do I,' says everybody else, except two men who ought to have dined at three and seem more than half disposed to stand out in consequence. The foreman smiles and puts up his watch. "'Well, gentlemen, what do we say, plaintiff or defendant, gentlemen? "'I rather think, so far as I am concerned, gentlemen. "'I say, I rather think, but don't let that influence you. "'I rather think the plaintiff's the man.' "'Upon this, two or three other men are sure to say that they think so, too, "'because, of course, they do, and then they get on very unanimously and comfortably. "'Ten minutes past nine,' said the little man, looking at his watch. "'Time we were off, my dear sir. "'Breach of promise trial court is generally full in such cases. "'You had better ring for a coach, my dear sir, or we shall be rather late.' Mr. Pickwick immediately rang the bell, and a coach, having been procured, the four Pickwickians and Mr. Perker, ensconced themselves therein, and drove to Guildhall. Sam Weller, Mr. Loudon, and the blue bag following in a cab. "'Loudon,' said Perker, when they reached the outer hall of the court, "'put Mr. Pickwick's friends in the student's box. "'Mr. Pickwick himself had better sit by me. "'This way, my dear sir, this way.' "'Taking Mr. Pickwick by the coat sleeve, the little man led him "'to the low seat just beneath the desks of the king's council, which is constructed for the convenience of attorneys, who from that spot can whisper into the ear of the leading council in the case any instructions that may be necessary during the progress of the trial. The occupants of this seat are invisible to the great body of spectators in as much as they sit on a much lower level than either the barristers or the audience whose seats are raised above the floor. Of course they have their backs to both and their faces towards the judge. "'That's the witness box, I suppose,' said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a kind of pulpit with a brass rail on his left hand. "'That's the witness box,' my dear sir,' replied Perker, disinterring a quantity of papers from the blue bag which Loudon had just deposited at his feet. "'And that,' said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of enclosed seats on his right, "'That's where the jurymen sit, is it not?' "'The identical place,' my dear sir,' replied Perker, tapping the lid of his snuff box. Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation and took a glance at the court. There were already a pretty large sprinkling of spectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen in wigs in the barristers' seats, who presented as a body all that pleasing an extensive variety of nose and whisker for which the bar of England is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen as had a brief to carry carried it in as conspicuous a manner as possible, and occasionally scratched their noses therewith to impress the fact more strongly on the observation of the spectators. Other gentlemen who had no briefs to show carried under their arms goodly octavos with a red label behind, and that under down pie crust colored cover which is technically known as law calf. Others who had neither briefs nor books thrust their hands into their pockets and looked as wise as they conveniently could. Others, again, moved here and there with great restlessness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken thereby the admiration and astonishment of the uninitiated strangers. The whole, to the great wonderment of Mr. Pickwick, were divided into little groups who were chatting and discussing the news of the day in the most unfeeling manner possible, just as if no trial at all were coming on. A bow for Mr. Funke as he entered and took his seat behind the row appropriated to the King's Council attracted Mr. Pickwick's attention, and he had scarcely returned it when Mr. Sargent's snubbin appeared, followed by Mr. Mallard, who half hid the Sargent behind a large crimson bag which he placed on his table, and after shaking hands with Perker withdrew. Then there entered two or three more Sargents, and among them one with a fat body and a red face, who nodded in a friendly manner to Mr. Sargent's snubbin, and said it was a fine morning. Who is that red-faced man who said it was a fine morning and nodded to our Council, whispered Mr. Pickwick? Mr. Sargent Buzzfuzz, replied Perker, he is opposed to us. He leads on the other side. That gentleman behind him is Mr. Skimpen, his junior. Mr. Pickwick was on the point of inquiring with great abhorrence of the man's cold-blooded villainy how Mr. Sargent Buzzfuzz, who was Council for the opposite party, dared to presume to tell Mr. Sargent's snubbin, who was Council for him, that it was a fine morning when he was interrupted by a general rising of the barristers and a loud cry of silence from the officers of the Court. Looking round, he found that this was caused by the entrance of the Judge. Mr. Justice Sterley, who sat in the absence of the Chief Justice occasioned in this position, was a most particularly short man, and so fat that he seemed all face and waistcoat. He rolled in upon two little turned legs, and having bobbed gravely to the bar, who bobbed gravely to him, put his little legs underneath his table, and his little three-cornered hat upon it. And when Mr. Justice Sterley had done this, all you could see of him was two queer little eyes, one broad pink face, and somewhere about half of a big and very comical-looking wig. The Judge had no sooner taken his seat than the officer on the floor of the Court called out, Silence, in a commanding tone, upon which another officer in the gallery cried, Silence, in an angry manner, whereupon three or four more ushers shouted, Silence, in a voice of indignant remonstrance. Just being done, a gentleman in black, who sat below the Judge, proceeded to call over the names of the jury, and after a great deal of bawling it was discovered that only ten special jurymen were present. Upon this Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz prayed to Tails. The gentleman in black then proceeded to press into the special jury two of the common jurymen, and a green grocer and a chemist were caught directly. Answer to your names, gentlemen, that you may be sworn, said the gentleman in black. Richard Upwich. Here, said the green grocer. Thomas Groffin. Here, said the chemist. Take the book, gentlemen. You shall well and truly try. I beg this Court's pardon, said the chemist, who was a tall, thin, yellow-visaged man, but I hope this Court will excuse my attendance. On what grounds, sir, said Mr. Justice Sterley. I have no assistant, my Lord, said the chemist. I can't help that, sir, replied Mr. Justice Sterley. You should hire one. I can't afford it, my Lord, rejoined the chemist. Then you ought to be able to afford it, sir, said the Judge, reddening, for Mr. Justice Sterley's temper bordered on the irritable and brooked not contradiction. I know I ought to do, if I got on as well as I deserved, but I don't, my Lord, answered the chemist. Swear the gentleman, said the Judge, peremptorily. The officer had gotten no further than the you shall well and truly try when he was again interrupted by the chemist. I am to be sworn, my Lord, am I, said the chemist. Certainly, sir, replied the testy little judge. Very well, my Lord, replied the chemist in a resigned manner. Then there will be murder before there's trials over that's all. Swear me, if you please, sir, and sworn the chemist was before the Judge could find words to utter. I merely wanted to observe, my Lord, said the chemist, taking his seat with great deliberation, that I've left nobody but an errand boy in my shop. He is a very nice boy, my Lord, but he is not acquainted with drugs. And I know that the prevailing impression on his mind is that Epsom salts means oxalic acid and syrup of senolodinum. That's all, my Lord. With this, the tall chemist composed himself into a comfortable attitude, and assuming a pleasant expression of countenance, appeared to have prepared himself for the worst. Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the deepest horror when a slight sensation was perceptible in the body of the court, and immediately afterwards Mrs. Bardell, supported by Mrs. Cluppins, was led in and placed in a drooping state at the other end of the seat on which Mr. Pickwick sat. An extra-sized umbrella was then handed in by Mr. Dodson and a pair of patents by Mr. Fogg, each of whom had prepared a most sympathizing and melancholy face for the occasion. Mrs. Sanders then appeared, leading in Master Bardell. At sight of her child, Mrs. Bardell started suddenly recollecting herself. She kissed him in a frantic manner, then relapsing into a state of hysterical imbecility the good lady requested to be informed where she was. In reply to this, Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders turned their heads away and wept, while Messers Dodson and Fogg entreated the plaintiff to compose herself. Sergeant Buzzfuzz rubbed his eyes very hard with a large white handkerchief and gave an appealing look towards the jury, while the judge was visibly affected, and several of the beholders tried to cough down their emotion. Very good notion that, indeed, whispered Perker to Mr. Pickwick. Capital fellows, those Dodson and Fogg, excellent ideas of effect, my dear sir, excellent. As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slow degrees, while Mrs. Cluppins, after a careful survey of Master Bardell's buttons and the buttonholes to which they severally belonged, placed him on the floor of the court in front of his mother, a commanding position in which he could not fail to awaken the full commiseration and sympathy of both judge and jury. This was not done without considerable opposition and many tears on the part of the young gentleman himself, who had certain inward misgivings that the placing him within the full glare of the judge's eye was only a formal prelude to his being immediately ordered away for instant execution, or for transportation beyond the seas during the whole term of his natural life at the very least. Bardell and Pickwick cried the gentleman in black, calling on the case which stood first on the list. I am for the plaintiff, my lord, said Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz. Who is with you, Brother Buzzfuzz, said the judge. Mr. Skimpenbough, to intimate that he was. I appear for the defendant, my lord, said Mr. Sergeant Snubbin. Anybody with you, Brother Snubbin, inquired the court. Mr. Fonkey, my lord, replied Sergeant Snubbin. Sergeant Buzzfuzz and Mr. Skimpenbough for the plaintiff, said the judge, writing down the names in his notebook and reading as he wrote, for the defendant Sergeant Snubbin and Mr. Monkey. Beg your lordships pardon, Fonkey. Oh, very good, said the judge. I never had the pleasure of hearing the gentleman's name before. Here, Mr. Fonkey bowed and smiled, and the judge bowed and smiled, too, and then Mr. Fonkey, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, tried to look as if he didn't know that everybody was gazing at him, a thing which no man ever succeeded in doing yet or in all reasonable probability ever will. Go on, said the judge. The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpen proceeded to open the case, and the case appeared to have very little inside it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he knew completely to himself, and sat down after a lapse of three minutes leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced state of wisdom as they were in before. Sergeant Buzzfuzz then rose with all the majesty and dignity which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and having whispered to Dodson and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the jury. Sergeant Buzzfuzz began by saying that never, in the whole course of his professional experience, never, from the very first moment of his applying himself to the study and practice of the law, had he approached a case with feelings of such deep emotion or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility imposed upon him, a responsibility, he would say, which he could never have supported were he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction so strong that it amounted to positive certainty that the cause of truth and justice, or in other words, the cause of his much injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with the high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw in that box before him. Council usually began this way because it puts the jury on the very best terms with themselves, and makes them think what sharp fellows they must be. A visible effect was produced immediately, several jurymen beginning to take voluminous notes with the utmost eagerness. You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen, continued Sergeant Buzzfuzz, while knowing that from the learned friend alluded to the gentleman of the jury had heard just nothing at all. You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage in which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. But you have not heard from my learned friend in as much as it did not come within my learned friend's province to tell you what are the facts and circumstances of the case. Those facts and circumstances, gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me and proved by the unimpeachable female whom I will place in that box before you. Here, Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz, with a tremendous emphasis on the word box, smote his table with a mighty sound and glanced at Dodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration of the Sergeant and indignant defiance of the defendant. The plaintiff, gentlemen, continued Sergeant Buzzfuzz, in a soft and melancholy voice. The plaintiff is a widow, yes, gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying for many years the esteem and confidence of his sovereign as one of the guardians of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the world to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a custom house can never afford. At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who had been knocked on the head with a quart pot in a public house cellar, the learned sergeant's voice faltered and he proceeded with emotion. Sometime before his death he had stamped his lightness upon a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed excisement, Mrs. Bardell shrank from the world and courted the retirement and tranquility of Goswell Street. And here she placed in her front parlor window a written placard bearing this inscription, Apartments furnished for a single gentleman inquire within. Here Sergeant Buzzfuzz paused while several gentlemen of the jury took a note of the document. There is no date to that, is there, inquired a juror? There is no date, gentlemen, replied Sergeant Buzzfuzz, but I am instructed to say that it was put in the plaintiff's parlor window just this time three years. I entreat the attention of the jury to the wording of this document, Apartments furnished for a single gentleman. Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear, she had no distrust, she had no suspicion, all was confidence and reliance. Mr. Bardell, said the widow, Mr. Bardell was a man of honor, Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself. To single gentleman I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort, and for consolation. In single gentleman I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was when he first won my young and untried affections. To a single gentleman then shall my lodgings be let. Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse, among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen, the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor window. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was at work, before the bill had been in the parlor window three days, three days, gentlemen, a being erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired within, he took the lodgings, and on the very next day he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick, Pickwick, the defendant. Sergeant Buzzfuzz, who had proceeded with such volubility that his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. The silence awoke Mr. Justice Sterley, who immediately wrote down something with a pen without any ink in it, and looked unusually profound, to impress the jury with the belief that he always thought most deeply with his eyes shut. Sergeant Buzzfuzz proceeded, Of this man, Pickwick, I will say little, the subject presents but few attractions, and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you gentlemen the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness and of systematic villainy. Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some time, gave a violent start as if some vague idea of assaulting Sergeant Buzzfuzz in the august presence of justice and law suggested itself to his mind. An admonitory gesture from Perker restrained him, and he listened to the learned gentleman's continuation with a look of indignation which contrasted forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders. I say systematic villainy, gentlemen, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, looking through Mr. Pickwick and talking at him. And when I say systematic villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment and in better taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court will not go down with you, that you will know how to value and how to appreciate them. And let me tell him further, as my Lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel in the discharge of his duty to his client is neither to be intimidated nor bullied nor put down, and that any attempt to do either the one or the other, or the first or the last, will recoil on the head of the attemptor. Be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick or nooks or stokes of styles of Brown or Thompson. This little divergence from the subject in hand had, of course, the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick. Sergeant Buzzfuzz, having partially recovered from the state of moral elevation into which he had last himself, resumed, I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick continued to reside constantly and without interruption or intermission at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for where when it came home, and in short enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that on many occasions he gave half pence, and on some occasions even six pence is to her little boy, and I shall prove to you by a witness whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and after inquiring whether he had won any alley tours or comedies lately, both of which I understand to be a particular species of marbles much prized by the youth of this town, made use of this remarkable expression. How should you like to have another father? I shall prove to you gentlemen that about a year ago Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself from home during long intervals, as if with the intention of gradually breaking off from my client. But I shall show you also that his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong, or that his better feelings conquered if better feelings he has, or that the charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his unmanly intentions by proving to you that on one occasion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms offered her marriage. Finally, however, taking special care that there would be no witness to their solemn contract, and I am in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own friends, most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen, most unwilling witnesses, that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms and soothing her agitation by his caresses and endearments. A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this part of the learned sergeant's address, drawing forth two very small scraps of paper he preceded. And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in the handwriting of the defendant, and which speak volumes indeed. The letters, too, bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervent, eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but the language of affectionate attachment. They are covert, sly, underhanded communications. But fortunately, far more conclusive than if couched in the most glowing language and the most poetic imagery, letters that must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye, letters that were evidently intended at the time by Pickwick to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first. There are ways. 12 o'clock. Dear Mrs. B., chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick. Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick? Chops, gracious heavens, and tomato sauce. Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these? The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be at home till tomorrow. Slow coach. And then follows this very remarkable expression. Don't trouble yourself about the warming pan. The warming pan. Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming pan? When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed by a warming pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful, and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic furniture? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming pan? Unless, as is no doubt the case, it is a mere cover for hidden fire, a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a pre-concerted system of correspondence artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion in which I am not in a condition to explain. And what does this allusion to the slow coach mean? For ought I know it may be a reference to Pickwick himself who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you. Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz paused in this place to see whether the jury smiled at his joke, but as nobody took it but the greengrocer whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned by his having subjected a chaise cart to the process in question on that identical morning, the learned sergeant considered it advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismales before he concluded. But enough of this, gentlemen, said Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz, it is difficult to smile with an aching heart. It is ill-gesting when our deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone, indeed. The bill is down, but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass, but there is no invitation for her to inquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the house, even the voice of the child is hushed. His infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps. His alley tours in his comedies are alight neglected. He forgets the long familiar cry of knuckle down, and at tipped cheese or odd neven, his hand is out. But pickwick, gentlemen, pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street, pickwick, who has choked up the well and thrown ashes on the Sward, pickwick, who comes before you today with his heartless tomato sauce and warming pans, pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen, heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit him. The only recompense you can award to my client, and for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen. With this beautiful peroration, Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz sat down and Mr. Justice Sterley woke up. Call Elizabeth Cluppins, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, rising a minute afterwards with renewed vigor. The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Toppins, another one at a little distance off demanded Elizabeth Jupkins and a third rushed in a breathless state into King Street and screamed for Elizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse. Meanwhile, Mrs. Cluppins, with a combined assistance of Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was hoisted into the witness box. And when she was safely perched on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood on the bottom one with the pocket-hanger chiff and patents in one hand and a glass bottle that might hold about a quarter of a pint of smelling salts in the other, ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes were intently fixed on the judge's face, planted herself close by with a large umbrella, keeping her right thumb pressed on the spring with an earnest countenance as if she were fully prepared to put it up at a moment's notice. Mrs. Cluppins, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, pray compose yourself, ma'am. Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose herself. She sobbed with increased vehemence and gave diverse alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit, or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her. Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, after a few unimportant questions? Do you recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back one pair of stairs on one particular morning in July last when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment? Yes, my lord and jury, I do, replied Mrs. Cluppins. Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first floor front, I believe. Yes, it were, sir, replied Mrs. Cluppins. What were you doing in the back-room, ma'am, inquired the little judge? My lord and jury, said Mrs. Cluppins with interesting agitation, I will not deceive you. You had better not, ma'am, said the little judge. I was there, resumed Mrs. Cluppins, unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell. I had been out with a little basket gentleman to buy three pound of red kidney portades, which was three pound tuppence haypenny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's street door on the jar. On the what, exclaimed the little judge? Partly opened, my lord, said Sergeant Snubbin. She said on the jar, said the little judge, with a cunning look. It's all the same, my lord, said Sergeant Snubbin. The little judge looked doubtful and said he'd make a note of it. Mrs. Cluppins then resumed. I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good morning and went in a promiscuous manner upstairs and into the back room. Gentlemen, there was the sound of voices in the front room and you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz. Begging your pardon, sir, replied Mrs. Cluppins in a majestic manner. I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, sir, and forced themselves upon my ear. Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the voices. Was one of those voices pickwicks? Yes, it were, sir. And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees and by dint of many questions, the conversation with which our readers are already acquainted. The jury looked suspicious and Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz smiled as he sat down. They looked positively awful when Sergeant Snubbin intimated that he should not cross and salmon the witness. For Mr. Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was due to her to say that her account was in substance correct. Mrs. Cluppins, having once broken the ice, thought it a favorable opportunity for entering into a short dissertation on her own domestic affairs. So she straightaway proceeded to inform the court that she was the mother of eight children at that present speaking and that she entertained confident expectations of presenting Mr. Cluppins of the ninth, somewhere about that day six months. At this interesting point, the little judge interposed most irassibly and the effect of the interposition was that both the worthy lady and Mrs. Saunders were politely taken out of court under the escort of Mr. Jackson without further parlay. Nathaniel Winkle said, Mr. Skimpen. Here replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered the witness box and having been duly sworn bowed to the judge with considerable deference. Don't look at me, sir, said the judge sharply in acknowledgment of the salute. Look at the jury. Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate and looked at the place where he thought it most probable the jury might be. For seeing anything in his then state of intellectual complication was wholly out of the question. Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpen, who being a promising young man of two or three and 40, was of course anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed in favor of the other side as much as he could. Now, sir, said Mr. Skimpen, have the goodness to let his lordship know what your name is, will you? And Mr. Skimpen inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the answer and glanced at the jury, meanwhile, as if to imply that he rather expected Mr. Winkle's natural taste for perjury would induce him to give some name which did not belong to him. Winkle replied the witness. What's your Christian name, sir? Angrily inquired the little judge. Nathaniel, sir. Daniel, any other name? Nathaniel, sir, my lord, I mean. Nathaniel, Daniel, or Daniel, Nathaniel? No, my lord, only Nathaniel, not Daniel at all. What did you tell me it was Daniel for then, sir? Inquired the judge. I didn't, my lord, replied Mr. Winkle. You did, sir, replied the judge with a severe frown. How could I have got Daniel on my notes unless you told me so, sir? This argument was, of course, unanswerable. Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my lord, interposed Mr. Skimpen with another glance of the jury. We shall find means to refresh it before we have quite done with him, I daresay. You had better be careful, sir, said the little judge with a sinister look at the witness. Poor Mr. Winkle bowed and endeavored to feign an easiness of man or witch in his then state of confusion gave him rather the air of a disconcerted pickpocket. Now, Mr. Winkle, said Mr. Skimpen, attend to me, if you please, sir, and let me recommend you for your own sake to bear in mind his lordship's injunctions, to be careful. I believe you are a particular friend of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant, are you not? I have known Mr. Pickwick now as well as I recollect at this moment nearly. Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question, are you or are you not a particular friend of the defendants? I was just about to say that will you or will you not answer my question, sir? If you don't answer the question, you'll be committed, sir, and oppose the little judge looking over his notebook. Come, sir, said Mr. Skimpen, yes or no, if you please? Yes, I am, replied Mr. Winkle. Yes, you are, and why couldn't you say that at once, sir? Perhaps you know the plaintiff too, eh, Mr. Winkle? I don't know her, I've seen her. Oh, you don't know her, but you've seen her. Now, I have the goodness to tell the gentleman of the jury what you mean by that, Mr. Winkle. I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick in Goswell Street. How often have you seen her, sir? How often? Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often? I'll repeat the question for you a dozen times if you require it, sir. And the learned gentleman with a firm and steady frown placed his hands on his hips and smiled suspiciously to the jury. On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her 20 times, to which he replied, certainly, more than that. Then he was asked whether he hadn't seen her 100 times, whether he couldn't swear that he had seen her more than 50 times, whether he didn't know that he had seen her at least 75 times, and so forth. The satisfactory conclusion which was arrived at last being that he had better take care of himself and mind what he was about. The witness having been by these means reduced to the requisite ab of nervous perplexity, the examination was continued as follows. Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff's house in Goswell Street on one particular morning in the month of July last? Yes, I do. Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the name of Tubman and another by the name of Snodgrass? Yes, I was. Are they here? Yes, they are, replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly towards the spot where his friends were stationed. Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends, said Mr. Skimpen with another expressive look at the jury. They must tell their stories without any previous consultation with you, if none has yet taken place. Another look at the jury. Now, sir, tell the gentleman of the jury what you saw on entering the defendant's room on this particular morning. Come out with it, sir, we must have it sooner or later. The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in his arms with his hands clasping her waist, replied Mr. Winkle with natural hesitation, and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away. Did you hear the defendant say anything? I heard him calm as his bardelegid creature and I heard him ask her to compose herself for what a situation it was if anybody should calm or words to that effect. Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you, and I beg you to bear in mind his lordship's caution. Will you undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say on the occasion in question, my dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good creature. Compose yourself to this situation for to this situation you must calm or words to that effect. I didn't understand him so certainly, said Mr. Winkle, astounded on this ingenious dovetailing of the few words he had heard. I was on the staircase and couldn't hear distinctly. The impression on my mind is the gentleman of the jury want none of the impressions on your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be a little service to honest straightforward men, interposed Mr. Skimpen. You were on the staircase and didn't distinctly hear, but you will not swear that Pickwick did not make use of the expressions I have quoted. Do I understand that? No, I will not, replied Mr. Winkle, and down sat Mr. Skimpen with a triumphant countenance. Mr. Pickwick's case had not gone off in so particularly happy a manner up to this point that it could very well afford to have any additional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could afford to be placed in a rather better light if possible, Mr. Funky rose for the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out of him will immediately appear. I believe Mr. Winkle, said Mr. Funky, that Mr. Pickwick is not a young man. Oh, no, replied Mr. Winkle, old enough to be my father. You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr. Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or believe that he was about to be married? Oh, no, certainly not, replied Mr. Winkle, with so much eagerness that Mr. Funky ought to have got him out of the box with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold that there are two kinds of particularly bad witnesses, a reluctant witness and a too willing witness. It was Mr. Winkle's fate to figure in both characters. I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle, continued Mr. Funky, in the most smooth and complacent manner. Did you ever see anything in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct towards the opposite sex to induce you to believe that he ever contemplated matrimony of late years in any case? Oh, no, certainly not, replied Mr. Winkle. Has his behavior when females have been in the case always been that of a man who having attained a pretty advanced period of life, content with his own occupations and amusements, treats them only as a father might his daughters? Not the least out of it, replied Mr. Winkle in the fullness of his heart. That is yes, oh yes, certainly. You have never known anything in his behavior towards Mrs. Bardell or any other female in the least degree suspicious, said Mr. Funky, preparing to sit down for Sergeant Snubbin was winking at him. No, replied Mr. Winkle, except on one trifling occasion which I have no doubt might be easily explained. Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Funky had sat down when Sergeant Snubbin had winked at him or Sergeant Buzzfuzz had stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset, which he knew better than to do, observing Mr. Winkle's anxiety and well-knowing it would in all probability lead to something serviceable to him, this unfortunate admission would not have been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle's lips, Mr. Funky sat down and Sergeant Snubbin rather hastily told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared to do with great readiness when Sergeant Buzzfuzz stopped him. Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz. Will your lordship have the goodness to ask him what this one instance of suspicious behavior towards females on the part of this gentleman who is old enough to be his father was? You hear what the learned counsel says, sir, observed the judge turning to the miserable and agonized Mr. Winkle, described the occasion to which you refer. My lord, said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, I'd rather not, perhaps so, said the little judge, but you must. Amid the profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winkle faltered out that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr. Pickwick's being found in a lady's sleeping apartment at midnight, which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of the projected marriage of the lady in question, and had led, he knew, to the whole party being forcibly carried before George Knupkin's Esquire, magistrate and justice of the peace for the borough of hip switch. You may leave the box, sir, said Sergeant Snubbin. Mr. Winkle did leave the box and rushed with delirious haste to the Georgian vulture, where he was discovered some hours after by the waiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal manner with his head buried beneath the sofa cushions. Tracy Tubman and Augusta Snodgrass were severally called into the box, both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy friend, and each was driven to the verge of desperation by excessive badgering. Susanna Saunders was then called and examined by Sergeant Buzzfuzz, and cross-examined by Sergeant Snubbin. Had always said and believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. Bardell, knew that Mrs. Bardell's being engaged to Pickwick was the current topic of conversation in the neighborhood after the fainting in July, had been told it herself by Mrs. Mudbury, which kept a mangle, and Mrs. Bunkin, which clear-starched, but did not see either Mrs. Mudbury or Mrs. Bunkin in court. Had heard Mr. Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have another father, did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keeping company with the baker, but did know that the baker was then a single man and is now married. Couldn't swear that Mrs. Bardell was not very fond of the baker, but should think that the baker was not very fond of Mrs. Bardell or he wouldn't have married somebody else. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morning in July because Pickwick asked her to name the day. Knew that she, witness, fainted away stone dead when Mr. Saunders asked her to name the day and believed that everybody has called herself a lady would do the same under similar circumstances. Heard Pickwick asked the boy the question about the marbles, but upon her oath did not know the difference between an alley tour and a comedy by the court. During the period of her keeping company with Mr. Saunders had received love letters like other ladies. In the course of their correspondence Mr. Saunders had often called her a duck, but never chops nor yet tomato sauce. He was particularly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of chops and tomato sauce he might have called her that as a term of affection. Sergeant Buzzfuzz now rose with more importance than he had yet exhibited if that were possible and vociferated, call Samuel Weller. It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller for Samuel Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was pronounced and placing his hat on the floor and his arms on the rail took a bird's eye view of the bar in a comprehensive survey of the bench with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect. What's your name, sir, inquired the judge. Sam Weller, my lord, replied that gentleman. Do you spell it with a V or a W, inquired the judge. That depends upon the taste and fancy of the spell, my lord, replied Sam. I never had occasion to spell it more than once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a V. Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, quite right, too, Samuel, quite right. Put it down a W, my lord, put it down a W. Who is that who dares address the court? Said the little judge, looking up. Usher, yes, my lord, bring that person here instantly. Yes, my lord. But as the usher didn't find the person, he didn't bring him. And after a great commotion, all the people who had got up to look for the culprit sat down again. The little judge turned to the witness as soon as its indignation would allow him to speak and said, do you know who that was, sir? I rather suspect it was my father, my lord, replied Sam. Do you see him here now? Said the judge. No, I don't, my lord, replied Sam, staring right up into the lantern at the roof of the court. If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him instantly, said the judge. Sam bowed his acknowledgements and turned with unimpaired cheerfulness of countenance towards Sergeant Buzzfuzz. Now, Mr. Weller, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz. Now, sir, replied Sam. I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant in this case. Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller. I mean to speak up, sir, replied Sam. I am in the service of that, Air Gentlemen, and a very good service it is. Little to do and plenty to get, I suppose, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz with jocularity. Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said when they ordered him 350 lashes, replied Sam. You must not tell us what the soldier or any other man said, sir, interposed the judge. It's not evidence. Very good, my lord, replied Sam. Do you recollect anything particular happening on the morning when you were first engaged by the defendant? Hey, Mr. Weller, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz. Yes, I do, sir, replied Sam. Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was. I had a regular new fit out of clothes that morning, gentlemen of the jury, said Sam, and that was a very particular and uncommon circumstance with me in those days. Hereupon there was a general laugh, and the little judge, looking with an angry countenance over his desk, said, you had better be careful, sir. So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my lord, replied Sam, and I was very careful of that, Air Suit of Clothes. Very careful indeed, my lord. The judge looked sternly at Sam for full two minutes, but Sam's features were so perfectly calm and serene that the judge said nothing and motioned Sergeant Buzzfuzz to proceed. Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, folding his arms emphatically and turning half round to the jury as if in mute assurance that he would bother the witness yet? Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of this fainting on the part of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant, which you have heard described by the witnesses? Certainly not, replied Sam. I was in the passage till they called me up and then the old lady was not there. Now attend, Mr. Weller, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, dipping a large pen into the ink stand before him for the purpose of frightening Sam with a show of taking down his answer. You were in the passage and yet saw nothing of what was going forward. Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller? Yes, I have a pair of eyes, replied Sam, and that's just it. If there was a pair of patent double million magnifying gas microscopes of extra power, perhaps I might be able to see through a flight of stairs and a deal door, but being only eyes, you see, my vision's limited. At this answer, which was delivered without the slightest appearance of irritation and with the most complete simplicity and equanimity of manner, the spectators tittered the little judge smiled and Sergeant Buzzfuzz looked particularly foolish. After a short consultation with Dodson and Fogg, the learned Sergeant again turned towards Sam and said with a painful effort to conceal his vexation, now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask you a question on another point, if you please. If you please, sir, rejoin Sam with the utmost good humor. Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night in November last? Oh yes, very well. Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, recovering his spirits. Now I thought we should get at something at last. I rather thought that too, sir, replied Sam, and at this, the spectators tittered again. Well, I suppose you went up to have a little talk about this trial, eh, Mr. Weller, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, looking knowingly at the jury. I went up to pay the rent, but we did get a talking about the trial, replied Sam. Oh, you did get a talking about the trial, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, brightening up with the anticipation of some important discovery. Now, what passed about the trial? Will you have the goodness to tell us, Mr. Weller? With all the pleasure in life, sir, replied Sam. Are there a few unimportant observations from the two virtuous females, as has been examined here today, the ladies gets into a very great state of admiration at the honorable conduct of Mr. Dodson and Fogg, them two gentlemen as is set near you now. This, of course, drew general attention to Dodson and Fogg, who looked as virtuous as possible. The attorneys for the plaintiff, said Mr. Sergeant Buzzfuzz. Well, they spoke in high praise of the honorable conduct of Messers Dodson and Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiff, did they? Yes, said Sam. They said what a very generous thing it was of them to have taken up the case on spec and to charge nothing at all for costs unless they got them out of Mr. Pickwick. At this very unexpected reply, the spectators titted again and Dodson and Fogg, turning very red, leaned over to Sergeant Buzzfuzz and in a hurried manner, whispered something in his ear. You are quite right, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, aloud with affected composure. It's perfectly useless, my lord, attempting to get at any evidence through the impenetrable stupidity of this witness. I will not trouble the court by asking him any more questions. Stand down, sir. Would any other gentlemen like to ask me anything? Inquired Sam, taking up his hat and looking round most deliberately. Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you, said Sergeant Snubbin, laughing. You may go down, sir, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, waving his hand impatiently. Sam went down accordingly after doing Messrs. Dodson and Fogg's case as much harm as he conveniently could and saying just as little respecting Mr. Pickwick as might be, which was precisely the object he had had in view all along. I have no objection to admit, my lord, said Sergeant Snubbin, if it will save the examination of another witness, that Mr. Pickwick has retired from business and is a gentleman of considerable independent property. Very well, said Sergeant Buzzfuzz, putting in the two letters to be read. Then that's my case, my lord. Sergeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant in a very long and a very emphatic address he delivered in which he bestowed the highest possible eulogiums on the conduct and character of Mr. Pickwick. But in as much as our readers are far better able to form a correct estimate of that gentleman's merits and desserts than Sergeant Snubbin could possibly be, we do not feel called upon to enter at any length into the learned gentleman's observations. He attempted to show that the letters which had been exhibited merely related to Mr. Pickwick's dinner or to the preparations for receiving him and his apartments on his return from some country excursion. It is sufficient to add in general terms that he did the best he could for Mr. Pickwick and the best, as everybody knows, on the infallible authority of the old adage could do no more. Mr. Justice sterily summed up in the old established and most approved form. He read as much of his notes to the jury as he could decipher and so short a notice and made running comments on the evidence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell were right, it was perfectly clear that Mr. Pickwick was wrong. And if they thought the evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of credence, they would believe it. And if they didn't, why they wouldn't? If they were satisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had been committed, they would find for the plaintiff with such damages as they thought proper. And if, on the other hand, it appeared to them that no promise of marriage had ever been given, they would find for the defendant with no damages at all. The jury then retired to their private room to talk the matter over. And the judge retired to his private room to refresh himself with a mutton chop and a glass of sherry. An anxious quarter of an hour elapsed. The jury came back. The judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles and gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance and a quickly beating heart. Gentlemen, said the individual in black, are you all agreed upon your verdict? We are, replied the foreman. Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant? For the plaintiff. With what damages, gentlemen? 750 pounds. Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the glasses, folded them into their case, and put them in his pocket. Then, having drawn on his gloves with great nicety and stared at the foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker and the blue bag out of court. They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the court fees. And here, Mr. Pickwick was joined by his friends. Here, too, he encountered Messers Dodson and Fogg, rubbing their hands with every token of outward satisfaction. Well, gentlemen, said Mr. Pickwick. Well, sir, said Dodson, for self and partner. You imagine you'll get your costs, don't you, gentlemen, said Mr. Pickwick. Fogg said they thought it rather probable. Dodson smiled and said they'd try. You may try and try and try again, Messers Dodson and Fogg, said Mr. Pickwick vehemently, but not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get from me if I spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison. Ha-ha, laughed Dodson. You'll think better of that before next term, Mr. Pickwick. Ha-ha-ha, we'll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick, grinned Fogg. Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to be led by his solicitor and friends to the door. And there, assisted into a hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the purpose by the ever-watchful Sam Weller. Sam had put up the steps and was preparing to jump upon the box when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder and, looking round, his father stood before him. The old gentleman's countenance wore a mournful expression as he shook his head gravely and said in warning accents, I knowed what had come of this here motor-doing business. Oh, Sammy, Sammy, I want there a alley-by. End of Chapter 34. Chapter 35 of the Pickwick Papers. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lori Heinrichs. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens. Chapter 35. In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to bath and goes accordingly. But surely my dear sir, said little Parker as he stood in Mr. Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the trial, surely you don't really mean, really inseriously now, an irritation apart, that you won't pay these costs and damages. Not one-half penny, said Mr. Pickwick firmly, not one-half penny. Horor for the principal, as the moneylender said, when he wouldn't renew the bill, observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing away the breakfast things. Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, have the goodness to step downstairs. Certainly, sir, replied Mr. Weller, enacting on Mr. Pickwick's gentle hint, Sam retired. No, Parker, said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of manner. My friends here have endeavored to dissuade me from this determination, but without avail. I shall employ myself as usual until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legal process of execution against me. And if they are vile enough to avail themselves of it and to arrest my person, I shall yield myself up with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart. When can they do this? They can issue execution, my dear sir, for the amount of the damages and tax costs next term, replied Parker, just two months hence, my dear sir. Very good, said Mr. Pickwick. Until that time, my dear fellow, let me hear no more of the matter. And now, continued Mr. Pickwick, looking around on his friends with a good, humorous smile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles could dim or conceal. The only question is, where shall we go next? Mr. Tubman and Mr. Snoggrass were too much affected by their friend's heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yet sufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial to make any observation on any subject. So Mr. Pickwick paused in vain. Well, said that gentleman, if you leave me to suggest our destination, I say bath. I think none of us have ever been there. Nobody had, and as the proposition was warmly seconded by Mr. Parker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick saw little change in gaiety, he would be inclined to think better of his determination, and worse of a debtor's prison. It was carried unanimously, and Sam was at once dispatched to the White Horse cellar to take five places by the half-past seven o'clock coach next morning. There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to be had out. So Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchanged a few compliments with the booking office clerk on the subject of a pewter half-crown, which was tendered him as a portion of his change, walked back to the Georgian vulture where he was pretty busily employed until bedtime and reducing clothes and linen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting his mechanical genius and constructing a variety of ingenious devices for keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks nor hinges. The next day was a very unpropitious morning for a journey, muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses and the stages that were going out and had come through the city were smoking so that the outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper cellars looked moist and smelled moldy. The wet rain ran off the hats of the orange vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach windows and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. The Jews with the 50 bladed pen knives shut them up in despair. The men with the pocket books made pocket books of them. Wash guards and toasting forks were alike at a discount and pencil cases and sponges were a drug in the market. Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or eight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it the moment the coach stopped and finding that they were about 20 minutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for a shell turn into the traveler's room, the last resource of human dejection. The traveler's room at the White Horse cellar is of course uncomfortable. There would be no traveler's room if it were not. It is the right hand parlor into which an aspiring kitchen fireplace appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs, and shovel. It is divided into boxes for the solitary confinement of travelers and is furnished with a clock, a looking glass, and a live waiter, which latter articles kept in a small kennel for washing glasses in a corner of the apartment. One of these boxes was occupied on this particular occasion by a stern-eyed man of about five and forty, who had a bald and glossy forehead with a good deal of black hair at the sides and back of his head and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up to the chin in a brown coat and had a large steel-skinned traveling cap and a great coat and cloak lying on the seat beside him. He looked up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered with a fearsome preemptory air, which was very dignified. And having scrutinized that gentleman and his companions to his entire satisfaction hummed a tune in a manner which seemed to say that he rather suspected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but it wouldn't do. Waiter, said the gentleman with the whiskers. Sir, replied a man with a dirty complexion and a towel of the same emerging from the kennel before mentioned. Some more toast. Yes, sir. Buttered toast, mind, said the gentleman fiercely. Directly, sir, replied the waiter. The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced to the front of the fire and taking his coattails under his arm, looked at his boots and ruminated. I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up, said Mr. Pickwick mildly, addressing Mr. Winkle. Hum, eh, what's that? Said the strange man. I made an observation to my friend, sir, replied Mr. Pickwick, always ready to enter into conversation. I wondered at what house the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you could inform me. Are you going to Bath, said the strange man? I am, sir, replied Mr. Pickwick, and those other gentlemen. They are going also, said Mr. Pickwick. Not inside, I'll be damned if you're going inside, said the strange man. Not all of us, said Mr. Pickwick. No, not all of you, said the strange man emphatically. I'll have taken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal box that only holds four, I'll take a post-chaste and bring an action. I've paid my fare. It won't do. I told the clerk when I took my places that I wouldn't do. I know these things have been done. I know they are done every day. But I was never done, and I never will be. Those who know me best, best know it. Crush me. Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell with great violence and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in five seconds or he'd know the reason why. My good sir, said Mr. Pickwick. You will allow me to observe that this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only taken places inside for two. I am glad to hear it, said the fierce man. I withdraw my expressions. I tender my apology. There's my card. Give me your acquaintance. With great pleasure, sir, replied Mr. Pickwick. We are to be fellow travelers, and I hope we shall find each other's society mutually agreeable. I hope we shall, said the fierce gentleman. I know we shall. I like your looks. They please me. Gentlemen, your hands and names. Know me. Of course an interchange of friendly salutations followed this gracious speech, and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded to inform the friends. In the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences, that his name was Dowler, that he was going to bath on pleasure, that he was formerly in the army, that he had now set up in business as a gentleman, that he lived upon the profits, and that the individual for whom the second place was taken was a personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife. She's a fine woman, said Mr. Dowler. I am proud of her. I have reason. I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging, said Mr. Pickwick with a smile. You shall, replied Dowler. She shall know you. She shall esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. I won her through a rash vow. Thus I saw her. I loved her. I proposed. She refused me. You love another? Spare my blushes. I know him. You do? Very good. If he remains here, I'll skin him. Lord, bless me, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily. Did you skin the gentleman, sir? inquired Mr. Winkle with a very pale face. I wrote him a note. I said it was a painful thing, and so it was. Certainly interposed, Mr. Winkle. I said I had pledged my words as a gentleman to skin him. My character was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in his majesty's service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the necessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He saw that the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I married her. Here's the coach. That's her head. As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had just driven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty face and a bright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on the pavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowler paid his bill and hurried out with his traveling cap, coat, and cloak, and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure their places. Mr. Tubman and Mr. Snodgrass had seen themselves at the back part of the coach. Mr. Winkle had gotten side, and Mr. Pickwick was preparing to follow him when Sam Weller came up to his master and whispering in his ear, beg to speak to him, with an air of the deepest mystery. Well, Sam said, Mr. Pickwick, what's the matter now? Here's Rayther, a rum-go, sir, replied Sam. What? inquired Mr. Pickwick. This here, sir, rejoined Sam. I'm very much afeard, sir, that the proprietor of this here coach is playing some imparence with us. How is that, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. Aren't the names down on the way bill? The names is not only down on the way bill, sir, replied Sam. But they painted one on them up, on the door of the coach. As Sam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door in which the proprietor's name usually appears. And there, sure enough, ingilt letters of a goodly size was the magic name of Pickwick. Dear me, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the quincidus. What a very extraordinary thing! Yes, but that ain't all, said Sam, again directing his master's attention to the coach door. Not content with writing up Pickwick. They put s'moses for it, which I call add an insult to injury. As the parrot said, Vin, they not only took him from his native land, but made him talk the English language afterwards. It's odd enough, certainly, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. But if we stand talking here, we shall lose our places. What, ain't nothing to be done this consequence, sir? exclaimed Sam, perfectly aghast at the coolness in which Mr. Pickwick prepared to ensconce himself inside. Done, said Mr. Pickwick. What shall be done? Ain't nobody to be waft for taking this here liberty, sir? said Mr. Weller, who expected that at least he would have been commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to a pugilistic encounter on the spot. Certainly not replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly, not on any account. Just jump up to your seat directly. I am very much a feared, muttered Sam, to himself as he turned away, that something queers come over the Governor, or he never has stood this so quiet. I hope that your trial hasn't broke his spirit, but it looks bad, very bad. Mr. Weller shook his head gravely, and is worthy of remark as an illustration of the manner in which he took his circumstances to heart, that he did not speak another word until the coach reached the Kensington Turnpike, which was so long a time for him to remain taciturn that the fact may be considered holy and presidented. Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the journey. Mr. Weller related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative of his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to Mrs. Weller in corroboration thereof. When Mrs. Weller invariably brought in, in the form of an impending, some remarkable factor circumstance which Mr. Weller had forgotten, or had perhaps through modesty omitted, for the addenda in every instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a more wonderful fellow than he had made himself out to be. Mr. Pigwick and Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration at intervals, conversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and fascinating person. So what between Mr. Dowler's stories and Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr. Pigwick's good humor, and Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insides contrived to be a very companionable all the way. The outsides did as outsides always do. They were very cheerful and talkative at the beginning of every stage, and very dismal and sleepy in the middle, and very bright and wakeful again towards the end. There was one young gentleman in an India rubber cloak who smoked cigars all day, and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon a great coat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviously unsettled after the second whiff, threw them away when he thought nobody was looking at him. There was a third young man on the box who wished to be learned in cattle, and an old one behind who was familiar with farming. There was a constant succession of Christian names and smocked frocks and white coats who were invited to have a lift by the guard, and who knew every horse and hustler on the road and off it. And there was a dinner which would have been cheap at a half a crown of mouth if any moderate number of mouths could have eaten it in the time. And at 7 o'clock p.m., Mr. Pigwick and his friends and Mr. Dowler and his wife respectfully retired to their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters from their costume might be mistaken for Westminster boys, only they destroyed the illusion by behaving themselves much better. Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding morning when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a request to be allowed permission to introduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followed up the delivery of the card by bringing himself and the friend also. The friend was a charming young man of not much more than fifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent muttons, black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly polished boots. A gold eyeglass was suspended from his neck by a short, broad black ribbon. A gold snuff box was lightly clasped in his left hand, gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers, and a large diamond pin sat in gold glistened in his shirt fro. He had a gold watch and a gold curb chain with large gold seals, and he carried a pliant ebony cane with a gold top. His linen was of the very widest, finest, and stiffest. His wig of the glossiest, blackest, and curliest. His snuff was Princess Mixture, his scent Bouquet du Roy. His features were contracted into a perpetual smile, and his teeth were in such perfect order that it was difficult at a small distance to tell the real from the false. Mr. Pickwick, said Mr. Dowler, my friend, Angelo Cyrus Bantam Esquire, MC. Bantam Mr. Pickwick, know each other. Welcome to Bath, sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most welcome to Bath, sir. It's his long, very long, Mr. Pickwick, since you drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick, remarkable. Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam Esquire, MC, took Mr. Pickwick's hand, retaining it in his, meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a constant succession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind to the trial of letting it go again. It is a very long time since I drank the water, certainly, replied Mr. Pickwick, for, to the best of my knowledge, I was never here before. Never in Bath, Mr. Pickwick, exclaimed the Grand Master, letting the hand fall in astonishment. Never in Bath. Hee-hee, Mr. Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. Hee-hee-hee. Remarkable. To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious, rejoin, Mr. Pickwick. I really never was here before. Oh, I see, exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely pleased. Yes, yes. Good, good. Better and better. You are the gentleman in whom we have heard. Yes, we know you, Mr. Pickwick. We know you. The reports of the trial in those confounded papers thought Mr. Pickwick. They have heard all about me. You are the gentleman residing on Claffham Green, resumed Bantam, who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking cold after port wine, who could not be moved in consequence of acute suffering, and who had the water from the king's bath-bottle at 103 degrees, and sent by wagon to his bedroom and town where he bathed, sneezed, and the same day recovered. Very remarkable. Mr. Pickwick acknowledged a compliment which the supposition implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it. Notwithstanding and taking advantage of a moment's silence on the part of the MC, begged to introduce his friends, Mr. Chapman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snoggrass. An introduction which overwhelmed the MC with delight and honor. Bantam, said Mr. Daller, Mr. Pickwick and his friends or strangers. They must put their names down. Where is the book? The register of the distinguished visitors in Bath will be at the pump room this morning at two o'clock, replied the MC. Will you guide our visitors to that splendid building and enable me to procure their autographs? I will, rejoined Daller. This is a long call. It's time to go. I shall be here again in an hour. Come. As ball nights and the MC again taking Mr. Pickwick's hand as he rose to go, the ball tonight in Bath, our moments snatched from paradise, rendered bewitching by music, beauty, elegance, fashion, etiquette, and, above all, by the absence of tradespeople who are quite inconsistent with paradise, and who have an amalgamation of themselves at the Guildhall every fortnight, which is to say the least remarkable. Good-bye, good-bye. And protesting all the way downstairs that he was most satisfied and most delighted and most overpowered and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bentham, Esquire MC, stepped into a very elegant chariot that waited at the door and rattled off. At the appointed hour Mr. Pickwick and his friends escorted by Daller, repaired to the assembly rooms, and wrote their names down in the book, an instance of condescension at which Angelo Bentham was even more overpowered than before. An instance of admission to that evening's assembly were to have been prepared for the whole party, but as they were not ready, Mr. Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the contrary of Angelo Bentham, to send Sam for them at four o'clock in the afternoon, to the MC's house in Queensquare. Having taken a short walk through the city and arrived at the unanimous conclusion that Park Street was very much like the perpendicular streets of Mansi's in a dream, which he cannot get up for the life of him, they returned to the White Heart, and dispatched Sam on the errand to which his master had pledged him. Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner, and thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets walked with great deliberation to Queensquare, whistling as he went along several of the most popular heirs of the day, as arranged with entirely new movements for that noble instrument, the organ, either mouth or barrel. Arriving at the number in Queensquare to which he had been directed, he left off whistling and gave a cheerful knock, which was instantaneously answered by a powder-headed footman in gorgeous livery and of symmetrical stature. Is this here Mr. Bentham's old feller, inquired Sam Weller nothing abashed by the blaze of splendor which burst upon his sight in the person of the powder-headed footman with the gorgeous livery? Why, young man, was the haughty inquirer of the powder-headed footman? Cause if it is, just you step into him with that air card and say, Mr. Weller's a waitin', will you? said Sam, and, saying it, he very coolly walked into the hall and sat down. The powder-headed footman slammed the door very hard and scowled very grandly. But both the slam and the scowl were lost upon Sam, who was regarding a mahogany, umbrella stand with every outward token of critical approval. Apparently his master's reception of the card had impressed the powder-headed footman in Sam's favor, for when he came back from delivering it he smiled in a friendly manner and said that the answer would be ready directly. Very good, said Sam. Tell the old gentleman not to put himself in perspiration. No hurry, six foot. I've had my dinner. You dine early, sir, said the powder-headed footman. I find I get on better at supper when I does, replied Sam. Have you been long in bath, sir? inquired the powder-headed footman. I have not had the pleasure of hearing of you before. I haven't created any wary, surprising sensations here as yet, rejoins Sam. For me and the other fashionables only come last night. Nice place, sir, said the powder-headed footman. Seems so, observed Sam. Pleasant society, sir, remarked the powder-headed footman. Very agreeable servant, sir. I should think there was, replied Sam, affable, unaffected, say nothing to nobody's sorts of fellers. Oh, very much so. Indeed, sir, said the powder-headed footman, taking Sam's remarks as a high compliment. Very much so, indeed. Do you do anything in this way, sir? inquired the tall footman, producing a small snuff-box with the fox's head on the top of it. Not without sneezing, replied Sam. Why, it IS difficult, sir, I confess, said the tall footman. It may be done by degree, sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carried coffee, sir, for a long time. It looks very like rapesear. Here a sharp peel of the bell reduced the powder-headed footman to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox's head in his pocket and hastening with the humble countenance to Mr. Bantam's study. By the by, whoever knew a man who never read or wrote either, who hadn't got some small-backed parlor which he WOULD call a study. There is the answer, sir, said the powder-headed footman. I'm afraid you'll find it inconveniently large. Don't mention it, said Sam, taking a letter with a small enclosure. It's just possible as exhausted nature may manage to survive it. I hope we shall meet again, sir, said the powder-headed footman, rubbing his hands and following Sam out to the doorstep. You were wary of Blige, and, sir, replied Sam. Now don't allow yourself to be fatigued beyond your powers. There's an ammium will be in. Consider what you owe to society, and don't let yourself be injured by too much work. For the sake of your fellow creatures, keep yourself as quiet as you can. Only think what a loss you would be. With these pathetic words Sam Weller departed. A very singular young man that, said the powder-headed footman looking after Mr. Weller with accountants which clearly showed he could make nothing of him. Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled, winked again, and with an expression of countenance which seemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something or other, walked merrily away. At precisely twenty minutes before eight o'clock that night, Angelo Cyrus Bantam Esquire, the master of the ceremonies, emerged from his chariot at the door of the assembly rooms in the same wig, the same teeth, the same eyeglass, the same watch and seals, the same rings, the same shirt pin, and the same cane. The only observable alterations in his appearance were that he wore a brighter blue coat with a white silk lining, black tights, black silk stockings and pumps, and a white waistcoat, and was, if possible, just a thought more scented. Thus attired the master of ceremonies in strict discharge of the important duties of all his important office, planted himself in the room to receive the company. Bath being full, the company and the six pence for tea poured in in shoals, and the ballroom, the long card room, the octagonal card room, the staircases, and the passages. The hum of many voices and the sound of many feet were perfectly bewildering. Voices rustled, feathers waved, lights shone, and jewels sparkled. There was the music, not of the quadril band, for it had not yet commenced, but the music of soft, tiny footsteps, for now and then a clear, merry laugh, low and gentle, but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in bath or elsewhere. Brilliant eyes lighted up by the pleasurable expectation gleamed from every side. And look where you could, some exquisite form glided gracefully through the throng, and was no sooner lost than it was replaced by another as dainty and bewitching. In the tea room and hevering around the card tables were a vast number of queer old ladies and decrepit old gentlemen, discussing all the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish and gusto which sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure they derived from the occupation. Mingled with these groups were three or four matchmaking mamas appearing to be wholly absorbed by the conversation in which they were taking part, but failing not from time to time to cast an anxious side-long glance upon their daughters, who, remembering the maternal injunction to make the best use of their youth, had already commenced insipient flirtations in the mislaying scarves, putting on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth. Slight matters, apparently, but which may be turned to surprisingly good account by their expert practitioners. Lounging near the doors and remote corners were various knots of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism and stupidity. I am using all sensible people near them with their folly and conceit, and happily thinking themselves the objects of general admiration, a wise and merciful dispensation which no good man will quarrel with. And lastly, seated on some of the back benches where they had already taken up their positions for the evening, were divers unmarried ladies past their grand climatric, who, not dancing because there were no partners for them, and not playing cards lest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in the favorable situation of being able to abuse everybody without reflecting on themselves. And sure, they could abuse everybody because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter and show, of richly dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked floors, gear and dolls, and wax candles, and in all parts of the scene gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiously, in this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling complacently on all, was the sprucily attired person of Angelo Cyrus Bentham Esquire, the master of ceremonies. Stop in the tea room, take your six-pin earth, then lay on hot water and call it tea. Drink it!" said Mr. Dowler in a loud voice directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of a little party with Mrs. Dowler on his arm. Into the tea room Mr. Pickwick turned and catching sight of him, Mr. Bentham corkscrewed his way through the crowd and welcomed him with ecstasy. "'My dear sir, I am highly honoured, Bath is favoured. Mrs. Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on your feathers. Remarkable!' "'Anybody here?' inquired Dowler suspiciously. "'Anybody?' "'The elite of Bath,' Mr. Pickwick, do you see the old lady in the gauze turban?' "'The fat old lady,' inquired Mr. Pickwick innocently. "'Hush, my dear sir, nobody's fat or old in Bath. That's the Dowler girl lady, snuff enough.' "'Is it indeed?' said Mr. Pickwick. "'No less a person,' I assure you,' said the master of ceremonies. "'Hush, draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see this splendidly dressed young man coming this way?' "'The one with the long hair and the particularly small forehead,' inquired Mr. Pickwick. "'The same. The richest young man in Bath at this moment. Young Lord Muttonhead.' "'You don't say so,' said Mr. Pickwick. "'Yes, you'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'll speak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-waste coke and dark moustache, is the honourable Mr. Crushton, his bosom friend. "'How do you do, my lord?' "'Ve way hop, Bantam,' said his lordship. "'It is very warm, my lord,' replied the emcee. "'Confounded,' assented the honourable Mr. Crushton. "'Have you seen his lordship's mail-cart, Mr. Bantam?' inquired the honourable Mr. Crushton after a short pause, during which young Lord Muttonhead had endeavored to stare Mr. Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been reflecting what subjects his lordship could talk about best. "'Dear me, no,' replied the emcee. "'A mail-cart? What's an excellent idea! Remarkable!' "'Guayshashaven,' said his lordship, "'I thought everybody had seen the new mail-cart. It's the neatest, puttiest, gracefulest thing that ever ran upon wheels, painted wed with a queen, Pee-Bald. With a real box for the letters and all complete,' said the honourable Mr. Crushton. "'And a little seat in front with an iron wail for the Dwivel,' added his lordship, "'I dwelled it over to bustle the other morning in a quimson coat, with two servants whiting a quarter of a mile behind, and can found me if the people who didn't wash out of their cottages in a west maipwagwas, to know if I was in the post, glovious, glovious.'" At this anecdote his lordship laughed very heartily, as did the listeners, of course, then drawing his arm through that of the obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Muttonhead, walked away. "'Delightful young man,' his lordship, said the master of ceremonies. "'So I should think,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, dryly. "'The dancing having commenced the necessary introductions having been made, and all the preliminaries arranged. Angelo Bantam rejoined Mr. Pickwick and led him into the card-room. "'Just at that very moment of their entrance, the dowager ladies snuff enough, and two other ladies of an ancient and wist-like appearance were hovering over an unoccupied card-table. And they no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy of Angelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances with each other, seeing that he was precisely the very person they wanted, to make up the rubber. "'My dear Mr. Bantam,' said the dowager ladies snuff enough coaxingly. "'Find us some nice creature to make up this table. There's a good soul.' Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking another way at the moment, so her ladyship nodded her head towards him and frowned expressively. "'My friend Mr. Pickwick, my lady will be most happy, I am sure. Remarkably so,' said the emcee, taking the hint. "'Mr. Pickwick, lady snuff enough.' Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, Miss Bolo. Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and finding escape impossible cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against ladies snuff enough and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby. As the trump card was turned up at the commencement of the second deal, two young ladies hurried into the room and took their stations on either side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair, where they waited patiently until the hand was over. "'Now Jane,' said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of the girls, what is it?' "'I came to ask Ma whether I might dance with the youngest Mr. Crowley,' whispered the prettier and younger of the two. "'Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?' replied the Mama indignantly. "'Haven't you repeatedly heard that his father has eight hundred a year, which dies with him? I am ashamed of you, not on any account.' "'Ma,' whispered the other, who is much older than her sister, and very insipid and artificial, "'Lord Mudd and Mudd has been introduced to me. I said I thought I wasn't engaged, ma'am.' "'You're a sweet pet, my love,' replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, tapping her daughter's cheek with her fan, "'and are always to be trusted. He's immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!' With these words Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter most affectionately, and frowning in a warning matter upon the other sorted her cards. "'Poor Mr. Pickwick! He had never played with three thorough-paced female card-players before. They were so desperately sharp that they quite frightened him. If he played a wrong card, Miss Bolo looked a small armory of daggers, and he stopped to consider which was the right one. Lady Snuff enough would throw herself back in her chair and smile with a mingled glance of impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs. Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders and cough, as much as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin. Then at the end of the very hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance in reposeful sigh why Mr. Pickwick had not returned that diamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed the heart, or led through the honor, or brought out the ace, or played up to the king, or some such thing. And in reply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly unable to plead any justification whatever, having by this time forgotten all about the game. People came and looked on, too, which made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Despite all this, there was a great deal of distracting conversation near the table between Angelo Bantam and the two Mrs. Mattsenter, who being single and singular paid great court to the master of the ceremonies, and the hope of getting a stray partner now and then. All these things, combined with the noises and interruptions of constant comings in and goings out, Mr. Pickwick played rather badly. The cards were against him also, and when they left off at ten minutes past eleven, Miss Bolo rose from the table considerably agitated and went straight home, in a flood of tears and a sedan chair. Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that they had scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick accompanied them to the white heart, and having soothed his feelings with something hot, went to bed, and went to sleep, almost simultaneously.