 Chapter 1 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. This reading by Deborah Lynn, Northern Lower Michigan, February 2007. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens. The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club. Chapter 1. The Pickwickians. The first ray of light which illumines the gloom and converts into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of the public career of the immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved, is derived from the perusal of the following entry in the transactions of the Pickwick Club, which the editor of these papers feels the highest pleasure in laying before his readers, as a proof of the careful attention, indefatigable assiduity, and nice discrimination with which his search among the multifarious documents confided to him has been conducted. May 12, 1827. Joseph Smiggers Esquire PVP MPC, Perpetual Vice President, Member Pickwick Club, presiding. The following resolutions unanimously agreed to. That this association has heard read with feelings of unmingled satisfaction and unqualified approval, the paper communicated by Samuel Pickwick Esquire, GCMPC, General Chairman Member Pickwick Club, entitled, Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Pond, with some observations on the theory of Tittlebats, and that this association does hereby return its warmest thanks to the said Samuel Pickwick Esquire, GCMPC, for the same. That while this association is deeply sensible of the advantages which must accrue to the cause of science, from the production to which they have just diverted, no less than from the unwirried researches of Samuel Pickwick Esquire, GCMPC, in Hornsey, Highgate, Rickston, and Camberwell, they cannot but entertain a lively sense of the inestimable benefits which must inevitably result from carrying the speculations of that learned man into a wider field, from extending his travels and consequently enlarging his sphere of observation to the advancement of knowledge and the diffusion of learning. That, with the view just mentioned, this association has taken into its serious consideration a proposal emanating from the aforesaid Samuel Pickwick Esquire, GCMPC, and three other Pickwickians here and after named for forming a new branch of United Pickwickians under the title of The Corresponding Society of the Pickwick Club. That the said proposal has received the sanction and approval of this association. That the corresponding society of the Pickwick Club is therefore hereby constituted, and that Samuel Pickwick Esquire, GCMPC, Tracy Tubman Esquire, MPC, Augusta Snodgrass Esquire, MPC, and Nathaniel Winkle Esquire, MPC, are hereby nominated and appointed members of the same, and that they be requested to forward from time to time authenticated accounts of their journeys and investigations, of their observations of character and manners, and of the whole of their adventures, together with all tales and papers to which local scenery or associations may give rise to the Pickwick Club stationed in London. That this association cordially recognizes the principle of every member of the corresponding society defraying his own traveling expenses, and that it sees no objection whatever to the members of the said society pursuing their inquiries for any length of time they please upon the same terms. That the members of the aforesaid corresponding society be and are hereby informed that their proposal to pay the postage of their letters and the carriage of their parcels has been deliberated upon by this association. That this association considers such proposal worthy of the great minds from which it emanated, and that it hereby signifies its perfect acquiescence therein. A casual observer adds the secretary to whose notes we are indebted for the following account. A casual observer might possibly have remarked nothing extraordinary in the bald head and circular spectacles which were intently turned towards his, the secretary's face, during the reading of the above resolutions. To those who knew that the gigantic brain of Pickwick was working beneath that forehead and that the beaming eyes of Pickwick were twinkling behind those glasses, the sight was indeed an interesting one. There sat the man who had traced to their source the mighty ponds of Hampstead and agitated the scientific world with his theory of tittle-bats as calm and unmoved as the deep waters of the one on a frosty day or as a solitary specimen of the other in the inmost recesses of an earthen jar. And how much more interesting did the spectacle become when, starting into full life and animation as a simultaneous call for Pickwick burst from his followers? That illustrious man slowly mounted into the Windsor chair on which he had been previously seated and addressed the club himself had founded. What a study for an artist did that exciting scene present. The eloquent Pickwick with one hand gracefully concealed behind his coattails and the other waving in air to assist his glowing declamation his elevated position revealing those tights and gaiters which had they clothed an ordinary man might have passed without observation but which, when Pickwick clothed them, if we may use the expression, inspired involuntary awe and respect. Surrounded by the men who had volunteered to share the perils of his travels and who were destined to participate in the glories of his discoveries. On his right sat Mr. Tracy Tupman, the two susceptible Tupman, who, to the wisdom and experience of mature years, supered the enthusiasm and ardor of a boy in the most interesting and pardonable of human weaknesses, love. Time and feeding had expanded that once romantic form. The black silk waistcoat had become more and more developed. Inch by inch had the gold watch chain beneath it disappeared from within the range of Tupman's vision and gradually had the capacious chin encroached upon the borders of the white cravat. But the soul of Tupman had known no change. Admiration of the fair sex was still its ruling passion. On the left of his great leader set the poetic snodgrass and near him again the sporting winkle, the former poetically enveloped in a mysterious blue cloak with a canine skin collar and the latter communicating additional luster to a new green shooting coat, plaid neckerchief and closely fitted drabs. Mr. Pickwick's oration upon this occasion, together with the debate thereon, is entered on the transactions of the club. Both bear a strong affinity to the discussions of other celebrated bodies. And, as it is always interesting to trace a resemblance between the proceedings of great men, we transfer the entry to these pages. Mr. Pickwick observed, says the secretary, that fame was dear to the heart of every man. Poetic fame was dear to the heart of his friend snodgrass, the fame of conquest was equally dear to his friend Tupman, and the desire of earning fame in the sports of the field, the air and the water, was uppermost in the breast of his friend winkle. He, Mr. Pickwick, would not deny that he was influenced by human passions and human feelings. Cheers! Possibly by human weaknesses, loud cries of, No! But this he would say, that if ever the fire of self-importance broke out in his bosom, the desire to benefit the human race in preference effectually quenched it. The praise of mankind was his swing, philanthropy was his insurance office, vehement cheering. He had felt some pride, he acknowledged it freely, and let his enemies make the most of it. He had felt some pride when he presented his tittle baddie in theory to the world. It might be celebrated, or it might not. A cry of it is, and great cheering. He would take the assertion of that honorable Pickwickian, whose voice he had just heard, it was celebrated. But, if the fame of that treatise were to extend to the farthest confines of the known world, the pride with which he should reflect on the authorship of that production would be as nothing, compared with the pride with which he looked around him on this, the proudest moment of his existence. Cheers! He was a humble individual. No, no! Still, he could not but feel that they had selected him for a service of great honor and of some danger. Traveling was in a troubled state, and the minds of coachmen were unsettled. Let them look abroad and contemplate the scenes which were enacting around them. Stagecoaches were upsetting in all directions, horses were bolting, boats were overturning, and boilers were bursting. Cheers! A voice! No! No! Cheers! Let that honorable Pickwickian who cried no so loudly come forward and deny it if he could. Cheers! Who was it that cried no? Enthusiastic cheering. Was it some vain and disappointed man? He would not say, Haberdasher. Loud cheers! Who jealous of the praise which had been perhaps undeservedly bestowed on his, Mr. Pickwick's researches and smarting under the censure which had been heaped upon his own, feeble attempts at rivalry now took this vile and columnist mode of— Mr. Blotten of Aldgate rose to order. Did the honorable Pickwickian allude to him? Cries of order! Chair! Yes! No! Go on! Leave off! Etc. Mr. Pickwick would not put up to be put down by clamor. He had alluded to the honorable gentleman. Great excitement! Mr. Blotten would only say then that he repelled the honorable gentleman's false and scurrilous accusation with profound contempt. Great cheering! The honorable gentleman was a humbug. Immense confusion and loud cries of chair and order. Mr. A. Snodgrass rose to order. He threw himself upon the chair. Here! He wished to know whether this disgraceful contest between two members of that club should be allowed to continue. Here! Here! The chairman was quite sure the honorable Pickwickian would withdraw the expression he had just made use of. Mr. Blotten, with all possible respect for the chair, was quite sure he would not. The chairman felt at his imperative duty to demand of the honorable gentleman whether he had used the expression which had just escaped him in a common sense. Mr. Blotten had no hesitation in saying that he had not. He had used the word in its Pickwickian sense. Here! Here! He was bound to acknowledge that personally he entertained the highest regard and esteem for the honorable gentleman. He had merely considered him a humbug in a Pickwickian point of view. Here! Here! Mr. Pickwick felt much gratified by the fair, candid, and full explanation of his honorable friend. He begged it to be at once understood that his own observations had been merely intended to bear a Pickwickian construction. Here! Here the entry terminates, as we have no doubt the debate did also after arriving at such a highly satisfactory and intelligible point. We have no official statement of the facts which the reader will find recorded in the next chapter, but they have been carefully collated from letters and other manuscript authorities, so unquestionably genuine as to justify their narration in a connected form. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 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 Deborah Lynn. The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. Chapter 2. The first day's journey and the first evening's adventures with their consequences. That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen and begun to strike a light on the morning of the 13th of May 1827, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst like another sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and looked out upon the world beneath. Goswell Street was at his feet. Goswell Street was on his right hand, as far as the eye could reach. Goswell Street extended on his left, and the opposite side of Goswell Street was over the way. Such thought, Mr. Pickwick, are the narrow views of those philosophers who, content with examining the things that lie before them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond. As well might I be content to gaze on Goswell Street forever without one effort to penetrate to the hidden countries which on every side surround it. And having given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to put himself into his clothes and his clothes into his portmanteau. Great men are seldom overscrupulous in the arrangement of their attire. The operation of shaving, dressing, and coffee and biving was soon performed. And in another hour Mr. Pickwick, with his portmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his greatcoat pocket, and his notebook in his waistcoat, ready for the reception of any discoveries worthy of being noted down, had arrived at the coach stand in St. Martin's La Grande. Cab, said Mr. Pickwick. Here you are, sir, shouted a strange specimen of the human race in a sackcloth coat and apron of the same, who, with a brass label and number round his neck, looked as if he were catalogued in some collection of rarities. This was the waterman. Here you are, sir. Now then, first cab. And the first cab, having been fetched from the public house where he had been smoking his first pipe, Mr. Pickwick and his portmanteau were thrown into the vehicle. Golden cross, said Mr. Pickwick. Only a bob's worth, Tommy, cried the driver sulkily for the information of his friend the waterman as the cab drove off. How old is that horse, my friend, inquired Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his nose with the shilling he had reserved for the fair. Forty-two, replied the driver, eyeing him a scant. What? ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand upon his notebook. The driver re-iterated his former statement. Mr. Pickwick looked very hard at the man's face, but his features were immovable, so he noted down the fact forthwith. And how long do you keep him out at a time, inquired Mr. Pickwick, searching for further information. Two or three weeks, replied the man. Weeks, said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment, and out came the notebook again. He lives at Pettinwell when he's at home, observed the driver coolly, but we seldom takes him home on account of his weakness. On account of his weakness, reiterated the perplexed Mr. Pickwick. He always falls down when he's took out of the cab, continued the driver, but when he's in it, we bearish him up wary, tight, and takes him in wary, short, so as he can't wary, we'll fall down. And we've got a pair of precious, large wheels on, so when he does move, they run after him, and he must go on, he can't help it. Mr. Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his notebook, with the view of communicating it to the club, as a singular instance of the tenacity of life in horses under trying circumstances. The entry was scarcely completed when they reached the Golden Cross. Down jumped the driver and out got Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Tubman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle, who had been anxiously waiting the arrival of their illustrious leader, crowded to welcome him. Here's your fare, said Mr. Pickwick, holding out the shilling to the driver. What was the learned man's astonishment when that unaccountable person flung the money on the pavement and requested, in figurative terms, to be allowed the pleasure of fighting him, Mr. Pickwick, for the amount? You are mad, said Mr. Snodgrass, or drunk, said Mr. Winkle, or both, said Mr. Tubman. Come on, said the cab driver, sparring away like clockwork. Come on, all four on ya. Here's a lark, shouted half a dozen hackney coachmen. What a work, Sam, and they crowded with great glee round the party. What's the row, Sam, inquired one gentleman in black calico sleeves. Row, replied the cabman, what did he want my number for? I didn't want your number, said the astonished Mr. Pickwick. What did you take it for, then? inquired the cabman. I didn't take it, said Mr. Pickwick, indignantly. Would anybody believe, continued the cab driver, appealing to the crowd. Would anybody believe, as an informer, to go about in a man's cab, not only taking down his number, but every word he says into the bargain? A light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick. It was the notebook. Did he, though, inquired another cabman? Yes, did he, replied the first, and then, after aggravating me to assault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it. But I'll give it him a five, six months for it. Come on, and the cabman dashed his hat upon the ground with a reckless disregard of his own private property and knocked Mr. Pickwick's spectacles off and followed up the attack with a blow on Mr. Pickwick's nose and another on Mr. Pickwick's chest and a third in Mr. Snodgrass's eye and a fourth by way of variety in Mr. Tubman's waistcoat and then danced into the road and then back again to the pavement and finally dashed the whole temporary supply of breath out of Mr. Wickle's body and all in half a dozen seconds. Where's an officer? said Mr. Snodgrass. Put him under the pump, suggested a hot pieman. You shall smart for this, gasped Mr. Pickwick. Informers shouted the crowd. Come on, cried the cabman, who had been sparring without cessation the whole time. The mob hitherto had been passive spectators of the scene, but as the intelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was spread among them, they began to canvas with considerable vivacity the propriety of enforcing the heated pastry vendor's proposition. And there is no saying what acts of personal aggression they might have committed had not the affray been unexpectedly terminated by the interposition of a newcomer. What's the fun? said a rather tall, thin young man in a green coat emerging suddenly from the coachyard. Informers shouted the crowd again. We are not, roared Mr. Pickwick in a tone which to any dispassionate listener carried conviction with it. Ain't you, though? Ain't you? said the young man, appealing to Mr. Pickwick and making his way through the crowd by the infallible process of elbowing the countenances of its component members. That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real state of the case. Come along, then, said he of the green coat, lugging Mr. Pickwick after him by main force and talking the whole way. Here, number 924, take your fare and take yourself off. Respectable gentlemen, know him well, none of your nonsense. This way, sir, where's your friends? All a mistake, I see. Never mind, accidents will happen. Best regulated families never say die. Down upon your luck, pull him up, put that in his pipe like the flavor, damned rascals, and with a lengthened string of similar broken sentences delivered with extraordinary volubility, the stranger led the way to the traveler's waiting room whither he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples. Here, waiter, shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with tremendous violence. Glasses brown, brandy and water, hot and strong and sweet and plenty. Eye damaged, sir? Waiter, raw beef steak for the gentleman's eye. Nothing like raw beef steak for a bruise, sir. Cold lamp post, very good, but lamp post inconvenient. Damned odd standing in the open street half an hour with your eye against the lamp post, eh? Good, ha-ha! And the stranger, without stopping to take breath, swallowed at a draft full half a pint of the reeking brandy and water and flung himself into a chair with as much ease as if nothing uncommon had occurred. While his three companions were busily engaged in proffering their thanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to examine his costume and appearance. He was about the middle height, the thinness of his body and the length of his legs gave him the appearance of being much taller. The green coat had been a smart dress garment in the days of swallow-tails, but had evidently in those times adorned a much shorter man than the stranger, for the soiled and faded sleeves scarcely reached to his wrists. It was buttoned closely up to his chin at the imminent hazard of splitting the back and an old stock without a vestige of shirt collar ornamented his neck. His scanty black trousers displayed here and there those shiny patches which bespeak long service and were strapped very tightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes as if to conceal the dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctly visible. His long black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneath each side of his old pinched-up hat and glimpses of his bare wrists might be observed between the tops of his gloves and the cuffs of his coat sleeves. His face was thin and haggard, but an indescribable air of jaunty impudence and perfect self-possession pervaded the whole man. Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spectacles, which he had fortunately recovered, and to whom he proceeded when his friends had exhausted themselves to return in chosen terms his warmest thanks for his recent assistance. Never mind, said the stranger, cutting the address very short. Said enough no more, smart chap that cabman handled his fives well, but if I'd been your friend in the green jemmy, damn me, punch his head, caught I would, pigs whisper, Pieman to, no gammon. This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the Rochester coachman to announce that the Commodore was on the point of starting. Commodore, said the stranger, starting up, my coach, place booked, one outside, leave you to pay for the brandy and water, want change for a five, bad silver. Brummer jem buttons won't do, no go, eh, and he shook his head most knowingly. Now it so happened that Mr. Pickwick and his three companions had resolved to make Rochester their first halting-place, too, and having intimated to their newfound acquaintance that they were journeying to the same city, they agreed to occupy the seat at the back of the coach where they could all sit together. Up with you, said the stranger, assisting Mr. Pickwick onto the roof with so much precipitation to impair the gravity of that gentleman's deportment very materially. Any luggage, sir, inquired the coachman. Who, I? Brown paper parcel here, that's all, other luggage gone by water, packing cases nailed up, big as houses, heavy, heavy, damned heavy, replied the stranger as he forced into his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel, which presented most suspicious indications containing one shirt and a handkerchief. Heads, heads, take care of your heads, cried the loquacious stranger as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the entrance to the coachyard. Terrible place, dangerous work. Other day, five children, mother, tall lady, eating sandwiches, forgot the arch, crashed, knocked, children look round mother's head off, sandwich in her hand, no mouth to put it in, head of a family off, shocking, shocking. Looking at Whitehall, sir, fine place, little window, somebody else's head off there, eh sir, he didn't keep a sharp look out enough either, eh sir, eh? I am ruminating, said Mr. Pickwick, on the strange mutability of human affairs. Ah, I see, in at the palace door one day, out at the wind of the next, philosopher, sir? An observer of human nature, sir, said Mr. Pickwick. Ah, so am I, most people are when they have little to do and less to get. Poet, sir? My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn, said Mr. Pickwick. So have I, said the stranger, epic poem, ten thousand lines, revolution of July, composed it on the spot, Mars by day, Apollo by night, bang the field piece, twang the lyre. You were present at that glorious scene, sir, said Mr. Snodgrass? Present? Think I was? Footnote, a remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr. Jingle's imagination, this dialogue occurring in the year 1827 and the revolution in 1830. End of footnote. Fired a musket, fired with an idea, rushed into wine shop, wrote it down, back again, whiz, bang, another idea, wine shop again, pen and ink, back again, cut and slash, noble time, sir. Sportsman, sir? Abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle? A little, sir, replied that gentleman. Fine pursuit, sir, fine pursuit, dog, sir? Not just now, said Mr. Winkle. Ah, you should keep dogs, fine animals, sagacious creatures, dog of my own once, pointer, surprising instinct. Out shooting one day, entering enclosure, whistled, dog stopped, whistled again. Ponto, no go, stock still, called him. Ponto, Ponto, wouldn't move, dog transfixed, staring at a board, looked up, saw an inscription. Gamekeeper has orders to shoot all dogs found in this enclosure. Wouldn't pass it, wonderful dog, valuable dog, that, very. Singular circumstance, that, said Mr. Pickwick. Will you allow me to make a note of it? Certainly, sirs, certainly, hundred more anecdotes of the same animal. Fine girl, sir, to Mr. Tracy Topman, who had been bestowing sundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside. Very, said Mr. Topman. English girls, not so fine as Spanish, noble creatures, jet hair, black eyes, lovely forms, sweet creatures. Beautiful. You have been in Spain, sirs, said Mr. Tracy Topman. Lived there ages. Many conquests, sir, inquired Mr. Topman. Conquests, thousands. Don Ballaro Fiskeg, grandee, only daughter, Donna Christina, splendid creature, loved me to distraction, jealous father, high-sold daughter, handsome Englishman, Donna Christina in despair, presic acid, stomach pumping my portmanteau, operation performed, old Ballaro in ecstasies, consent to our union, joint hands and floods of tears, romantic story, very. Is the lady in England now, sir? inquired Mr. Topman, on whom the description of her charms had produced a powerful impression. Dead, sir, dead, said the stranger, applying to his right eye the brief remnant of a very old Canberra cankerchief. Never recovered the stomach pump, undermined constitution, fellow victim. And her father inquired the poetic snodgrass. Remorse and misery, replied the stranger, sudden disappearance, talk of the whole city, search made everywhere without success, public fountain in the great square suddenly ceased playing, weeks elapsed, still a stoppage, workmen employed to clean it, water drawn off, father-in-law discovered sticking headfirst in the main pipe with a full confession in his right boot, took him out and the fountain played away again as well as ever. Will you allow me to note that little romance down, sir? said Mr. Snodgrass, deeply affected. Certainly, sirs, certainly. Fifty more if you like to hear them. Strange life, mine, rather curious history, not extraordinary but singular. In this strain was an occasional glass of ale by way of parenthesis when the coats changed horses did the stranger proceed until they reached Rochester Bridge, by which time the notebooks, both of Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were completely filled with selections from his adventures. Magnificent ruin, said Mr. Augusta Snodgrass, with all the poetic fervor that distinguished him when they came in sight of the fine old castle. What a sight for an antiquarian, with the very words which fell from Mr. Pickwick's mouth as he applied his telescope to his eye. Ah, fine place, said the stranger. Glorious pile, frowning walls, tottering arches, dark nooks, crumbling staircases, old cathedral too, earthy smell, pilgrims' feet, war-away the old steps, little sacks and doors, confessionals like money takers' boxes at theaters, queer customers, those monks, popes and lord treasurers and all sorts of old fellows with great red faces and broken noses turning up every day, buff jerkins too, matchlocks, sarcophagus, fine place, old legends too, strange stories, capital. And the stranger continued to soliloquize until they reached the bull inn in the high street, where the coach stopped. Do you remain here, sir? inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle. Here, not I, but you'd better, good house, nice beds, rights next door, dear, very dear, half a crown in the bill if you look at the waiter, charge you more if you dine at a friend's than they would if you dined in the coffee room. Rum fellows, very. Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick and murmured a few words, a whisper passed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr. Tubman, and nods of assent were exchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed the stranger. You rendered us a very important service this morning, sir, said he. Will you allow us to offer a slight mark of our gratitude by begging the favor of your company at dinner? Great pleasure! Not presumed to dictate, but broiled foul and mushrooms, capital thing, what time? Let me see, replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch. It is now nearly three, shall we say five? Suit me excellently, said the stranger, five precisely, till then, care of yourselves, and lifting the pinched-up hat a few inches from his head and carelessly replacing it very much on one side. The stranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out of his pocket, walked briskly up the yard and turned into the high street. Evidently a traveler in many countries and a close observer of men in things, said Mr. Pickwick. I should like to see his poem, said Mr. Snodgrass. I should like to have seen that dog, said Mr. Winkle. Mr. Tubman said nothing, but he thought of Donna Christina, the stomach pump in the fountain, and his eyes filled with tears. A private sitting-room having been engaged, bedrooms inspected, and dinner ordered, the party walked out to view the city and the joining neighborhood. We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwick's notes of the four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, that his impressions of their appearance differ in any material point from those of other travelers who have gone over the same ground. His general description is easily abridged. The principal productions of these towns, says Mr. Pickwick, appear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and dockyard men. The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the public streets are marine stores, hard bake, apples, flat fish, and oysters. The streets present a lively and animated appearance occasioned chiefly by the conviviality of the military. It is truly delightful to a philanthropic mind to see these gallant men staggering along under the influence of an overflow both of animal and ardent spirits. More especially when we remember that the following them about and jesting with them affords a cheap and innocent amusement for the boy population. Nothing, adds Mr. Pickwick, can exceed their good humor. It was but the day before my arrival that one of them had been most grossly insulted in the house of a publican. The barmaid had positively refused to draw him any more liquor, in return for which he had, merely in playfulness, drawn his bayonet, and wounded the girl in the shoulder, and yet this fine fellow was the very first to go down to the house next morning and express his readiness to overlook the matter and forget what had occurred. The consumption of tobacco in these towns, continues Mr. Pickwick, will be very great and the smell which pervades the streets must be exceedingly delicious to those who are extremely fond of smoking. A superficial traveler might object to the dirt which is their leading characteristic, but to those who view it as an indication of traffic and commercial prosperity it is truly gratifying. Punctual to five o'clock came the stranger, and shortly afterwards the dinner. He had divested himself to the castle, but had made no alteration in his attire and was, if possible, more loquacious than ever. What's that, he inquired, as the waiter removed one of the covers? Souls, sir. Souls, ah, capital fish! All come from London. Stagecoach proprietors get up political dinners, carriage of souls, dozens of baskets, cunning fellows, glass of wine, sir. Pleasure, said Mr. Pickwick, and the stranger took wine, first with him and then with Mr. Snodgrass, and then with Mr. Tubman, and then with Mr. Winkle, and then with the whole party together almost as rapidly as he talked. Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter, said the stranger, forms going up, cuppiners coming down, lamps, glasses, harps, what's going forward? Ball, sir, said the waiter. No, sir, not assembly, sir. Ball for the benefit of a charity, sir. Many fine women in this town, do you know, sir? Inquired Mr. Tubman with great interest. Splendid capital. Kent, sir, everybody knows. Kent, apples, cherries, hops, and women. Glass of wine, sir? With great pleasure, replied Mr. Tubman, the stranger filled and emptied. I should very much like to go, said Mr. Tubman, resuming the subject of the ball, very much. Tickets at the bar, sir, interposed the waiter, half a guinea each, sir. Mr. Tubman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at the festivity, but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of Mr. Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he applied himself with great interest to the port wine and dessert which had just been placed on the table. The waiter withdrew, and the party were left to enjoy the cozy couple of hours succeeding dinner. Beg your pardon, sir, said the stranger. Bottle stands, pass it round, way of the sun, through the buttonhole, no heel taps, and he emptied his glass which he had filled about two minutes before and poured out another, with the air of a man who was used to it. The wine was passed and a fresh supply ordered. The visitor talked. The Pickwickians listened. Every moment more disposed for the ball. Mr. Pickwick's countenance glowed with an expression of universal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast asleep. They're beginning upstairs, said the stranger. Hear the company? Fiddles tuning? Now the harp? There they go. The various sounds which found their way downstairs announced the commencement of the first quadrill. How I should like to go, said Mr. Tubman again. So should I, said the stranger. Count founded luggage-heavy smacks. Nothing to go in. Ah, dain't it? Now, General Benevolence was one of the leading features of the Pickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for the zealous manner in which he observed so noble a principle than Mr. Tracy Tubman. The number of instances recorded on the transactions of the society in which that excellent man referred objects of charity of other members for left-off garments or pecuniary relief is almost incredible. I should be very happy to lend you a change of apparel for the purpose, said Mr. Tracy Tubman. But you are rather slim, and I am rather fat, grown-up, bockous, cut the leaves, dismounted from the tub, and adopted curcier, not double distilled, but double milled, ha-ha, past the wine. Well, there Mr. Tubman was somewhat indignant at the peremptory tone in which he was desired to pass the wine, which the stranger passed so quickly away, or whether he felt very properly scandalized at an influential member of the Pickwick Club being ignominiously compared to a dismounted bockous is a fact not yet completely ascertained. He passed the wine, coughed twice, and looked at the stranger for several seconds with a stern intensity. As that individual, however, appeared perfectly collected and very calm under his searching glance, he gradually relaxed and reverted to the subject of the ball. I was about to observe, sir, he said, that though my apparel would be too large, a suit of my friend Mr. Winkles would, perhaps, fit you better. The stranger took Mr. Winkles measure with his eye, and that featured glistened with satisfaction as he said, just the thing. Mr. Tubman looked round him. The wine, which had exerted its omniferous influence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, had stolen upon the senses of Mr. Pickwick. That gentleman had gradually passed through the various stages which preceded the lethargy produced by dinner and its consequences. He had undergone the ordinary transitions from the height of conviviality to the depth of misery and from the depth of misery to the height of conviviality, with his lamp in the street with the wind in the pipe he had exhibited for a moment an unnatural brilliancy then sank so low as to be scarcely discernible. After a short interval he had burst out again to enlighten for a moment then flickered with an uncertain staggering sort of light and then gone out altogether. His head was sunk upon his bosom and perpetual snoring with a partial choke occasionally of the great man's presence. The temptation to be present at the ball and to form his first impressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies was strong upon Mr. Tubman. The temptation to take the stranger with him was equally great. He was wholly unacquainted with the place and its inhabitants and the stranger seemed to possess as great a knowledge of both as if he had lived there from his infancy. Mr. Winkle was asleep and Mr. Tubman had had sufficient experience in such matters to know that the moment he awoke he would in the ordinary course of nature roll heavily to bed. He was undecided. Fill your glass and pass the wine, said the indifatigable visitor. Mr. Tubman did as he was requested and the additional stimulus of the last glass settled his determination. Winkle's bedroom is inside mine, said Mr. Tubman. I don't understand what I wanted if I woke him now, but I know he has a dress suit and a carpet bag, and supposing you wore it to the ball and took it off when we returned. I could replace it without troubling him at all about the matter. Capital, said the stranger, famous plan, damned odd situation, fourteen coats in the packing-cases and obliged to wear another man's very good notion that, very. We must purchase our tickets, Mr. Tubman. Not worth while splitting a guinea, said the stranger. Toss who shall pay for both, I call, you spin, first time, woman, woman, bewitching woman, and down came the southern with the dragon called by courtesy a woman uppermost. Mr. Tubman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered chamber candlesticks. In another quarter of an hour the stranger was completely arrayed it's a new coat, said Mr. Tubman, as the stranger surveyed himself with great complacency and a chival glass, the first that's been made with our club button, and he called his companion's attention to the large, gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr. Pickwick in the center and the letters P.C. on either side. P.C., said the stranger, queer set out, old fellow's likeness, and P.C. what does P.C. stand for? Mr. Tubman with rising indignation and great importance explained the mystic device. Rather short in the waist, ain't it? said the stranger, screwing himself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons which were halfway up his back. Like a general postman's coat, queer coats those made by contract, no measuring. Mysterious dispensations of providence, all the short men get long coats, all the long men short ones. Running on in this way, Mr. Tubman's new companion adjusted his dress, or rather the dress of Mr. Winkle, and accompanied by Mr. Tubman ascended the staircase leading to the ballroom. What names, sir? said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy Tubman was stepping forward to announce his own titles when the stranger prevented him. No names at all. And then he whispered Mr. Tubman, do not know, very good names in their way but not great ones. Capital names for a small party but won't make an impression in public assemblies. Incog the thing. Gentleman from London, distinguished foreigners, anything. The door was thrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tubman and the stranger entered the ballroom. It was a long room with crimson covered benches and wax candles and glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined at a den and quadrills were being systematically got through by two or three sets of dancers. Two card tables were made up in the adjoining card room and two pair of old ladies and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen were executing wists therein. The finale concluded the dancers promenaded the room and Mr. Tubman and his companions stationed themselves in a corner to observe the company. Charming women, Mr. Tubman. Wait a minute, said the stranger. Fun presently, knobs not come yet. Queer place. Dockyard people of upper rank don't know. Dockyard people of lower rank. Dockyard people of lower rank don't know small gentry. Small gentry don't know tradespeople. Commissioner don't know anybody. Who's that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes and a fancy dress? Mr. Tubman. Hush, pray, pink eyes, fancy dress, nonsense. Ensign, 97th. Honorable Wilmot Snipe, great family. Snipes, very. Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Mrs. Clubber. Shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons. A large lady in blue satin in a pale and fashionably made dresses of the same hue. Commissioner, head of the yard, great man, remarkably great man, whispered the stranger in Mr. Tubman's ear, as the charitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. The honorable Wilmot Snipe and other distinguished gentlemen crowded to render homage to the Mrs. Clubber, and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright and looked majestically over his black kerchief at the assembled company. Mr. Smithy? Mrs. Smithy? And the Mrs. Smithy? was the next announcement. What's Mr. Smithy? inquired Mr. Tracy Tubman. Something in the yard, replied the stranger. Mr. Smithy bowed deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber, and Sir Thomas Clubber acknowledged the salute with conscious condescension. Lady Clubber took a telescopic view of the Mrs. Smithy and family through her eyeglass, and Mrs. Smithy stared in her turn at Mrs. somebody else whose husband was not in the dockyard at all. Colonel Boulder, Mrs. Colonel Boulder, and Mrs. Boulder were the next derivals. Head of the garrison said the stranger and replied to Mr. Tubman's inquiring look. Mrs. Boulder was warmly welcomed by the Mrs. Clubber. The greeting between Mrs. Colonel Boulder and Lady Clubber was of the most affectionate description. Colonel Boulder and Sir Thomas Clubber exchanged snuff boxes and looked very much like a pair of Alexander Selkirks, monarchs of all they surveyed. While the aristocracy of the place, the Boulders and Clubbers and Snipes were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end of the room, the other classes of society were imitating their example in other parts of it. These aristocratic officers of the 97th devoted themselves to the families of the less important functionaries from the dockyard. The solicitor's wives and the wine merchant's wife headed another grade. The brewer's wife visited the Boulders and Mrs. Tomlinson, the post office keeper, seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen the leader of the trade party. One of the most popular personages in his own circle present was a fat man with a ring of upright black hair around his head and an extensive bald plane on the top of it. Dr. Slammer, surgeon to the 97th. The doctor took snuff with everybody, chatted with everybody, laughed, danced, made jokes, played wist, did everything and was everywhere. To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the little doctor added a more important one than any. He was fatigable and paying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow whose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most desirable addition to a limited income. Upon the doctor and the widow the eyes of both Mr. Tubman and his companion had been fixed for some time when the stranger broke silence. Lots of money, old girl, pompous doctor, not a bad idea, good fun were the intelligible sentences which issued from his lips. Mr. Tubman looked inquisitively in his face. I'll dance with the widow, said the stranger. Who is she? inquired Mr. Tubman. Don't know, never saw her in all my life. Cut out the doctor, here goes. And the stranger, forthwith, crossed the room and, leaning against the mantelpiece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful and melancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. Mr. Tubman looked on in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly. The little doctor danced with another lady. The widow dropped her fan. The stranger picked it up and presented it. A smile, a bow, a curtsy, a few words of conversation. The stranger walked boldly up to and returned with the master of the ceremonies, a little introductory pantomime, and the stranger in Mrs. Budger took their places in a quadrill. The surprise of Mr. Tubman at the summery proceeding, great as it was, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the doctor. The stranger was young and the widow was flattered. The doctor's attentions were unheeded by the widow and the doctor's indignation was wholly lost on his imperturbable rival. Dr. Slammer was paralyzed. He, Dr. Slammer of the ninety-seventh to be extinguished in a moment whom nobody had ever seen before and whom nobody knew even now. Dr. Slammer, Dr. Slammer of the ninety-seventh rejected impossible. It could not be. Yes it was. There they were. What? Introducing his friend? Could he believe his eyes? He looked again and was under the painful necessity of admitting the veracity of his optics. Mrs. Budger was dancing with Mr. Tracy Tubman. There was no mistaking the fact. There was the widow before him bouncing bodily here and there with unwanted vigor and Mr. Tracy Tubman hopping about with a face expressive of the most intense solemnity, dancing, as a good many people do, as if a quadril were not a thing to be left at but a severe trial to the feelings which it requires inflexible resolution to encounter. Silently and patiently did the doctor bear all this and all the handings of negus and watching for glasses and darting for biscuits and coquettin that ensued. But a few seconds after the stranger had disappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, he darted swiftly from the room with every particle of his hitherto bottled up indignation effervescing from all parts of his countenance in a perspiration of passion. The stranger was returning and Mr. Tubman was beside him. He spoke in a low tone and laughed. The little doctor thirsted for his life. He was exulting. He had triumphed. Sir, said the doctor in an awful voice, producing a card and retiring into an angle of the passage, my name is Slammer, Dr. Slammer, Sir, 97th Regiment, Chatham Barracks, my card, Sir, my card. He would have added more but his indignation choked him. Ah, replied the stranger coolly, Slammer, much obliged, polite attention, not ill now, Slammer, but when I am, knock you up. You? You're a shuffler, Sir, gasped the furious doctor, a paltrune, a coward, a liar, will nothing induce you to give me your card, Sir. Oh, I see, said the stranger, half a side. Negg is too strong here. Liberal landlord, very foolish, very lemonade much better. Hot rooms, elderly gentlemen suffer for it in the morning, cruel, cruel, and he moved on a step or two. You are stopping in this house, Sir, said the indignant little man. You are intoxicated now, Sir. You shall hear from me in the morning, Sir. I shall find you out, Sir. I shall find you out. Rather you found me out than found me at home, replied the unmoved stranger. Dr. Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he fixed his hand on his head with an indignant knock, and Mr. Tubman ascended to the bedroom of the latter to restore the borrowed plumage to the unconscious winkle. That gentleman was fast asleep, the restoration was soon made, the stranger was extremely jocos, and Mr. Tracy Tubman, being quite bewildered with wine, nagas, lights, and ladies, thought the whole affair was an exquisite joke. His new friend departed, and after experiencing some slight difficulty in finding the datecap, originally intended for the reception of his head, and finally overturning his candlestick and his struggles to put it on, Mr. Tracy Tubman managed to get into bed by a series of complicated evolutions, and shortly afterwards sank into repose. Seven o'clock had hardly ceased striking on the following morning when Mr. Pickwick's comprehensive mind was aroused from the state of unconsciousness which Slumber had plunged it by a loud knocking at his chamber door. Who's there? said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed. Boots, sir. What do you want? Please, sir, can you tell me which gentleman of your party wears a bright blue dress coat with a gilt button with P.C. on it? It's been given out to Brush, thought Mr. Pickwick, and the man has forgotten whom it belongs to. Mr. Winkle, he called out, too, on the right hand. Thank you, sir, said the Boots in a way he went. What's the matter? cried Mr. Tubman as a loud knocking at his door roused him from his oblivious repose. Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir? replied Boots from the outside. Winkle! Winkle! shouted Mr. Tubman calling into the inner room. Hello! replied a faint voice from within the bedclothes. You're wanted, someone at the door. And having exerted himself to articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tubman turned round and fell fast asleep again. Wanted! said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed and putting on a few articles of clothing. Wanted! at this distance from town who on earth can want me? Gentlemen in the coffee room, sir, replied the Boots as Mr. Winkle opened the door and confronted him. Gentlemen says he'll not detain you a moment, sir, but he can take no denial. Very odd, said Mr. Winkle. I'll be down directly. He hurriedly wrapped himself in a traveling shawl and dressing gown and proceeded downstairs. An old woman and a couple of waiters were cleaning the coffee room and an officer in undressed uniform was looking out of the window. He turned round as Mr. Winkle entered and made a stiff inclination of the head. Having ordered the attendance to retire and closed the door very carefully, he said, Mr. Winkle, I presume? My name is Winkle, sir. You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you that I have called here this morning on behalf of my friend Dr. Slammer of the 97th. Dr. Slammer, said Mr. Winkle, Dr. Slammer, he begged me to express his opinion that your conduct last evening was of a description which no gentleman could endure and, he added, which no one gentleman would pursue towards another. Mr. Winkle's astonishment was too real and too evident to escape the observation of Dr. Slammer's friend. He therefore proceeded. My friend, Dr. Slammer, requested me to add that he was firmly persuaded you were intoxicated during a portion of the possibly unconscious of the extent of the insult you were guilty of. He commissioned me to say that should this be pleaded as an excuse for your behavior, he will consent to accept a written apology to be penned by you from my dictation. A written apology, repeated Mr. Winkle in the most emphatic tone of amazement possible. Of course you know the alternative, replied the visitor coolly. And to me by name, inquired Mr. Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused by this extraordinary conversation. I was not present myself, replied the visitor, and in consequence of your firm refusal to give your card to Dr. Slammer, I was desired by that gentleman to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat, a bright blue dress coat with a guilt button displaying a bust and the letters P.C. actually staggered with astonishment as he heard his own costume, thus minutely described. Dr. Slammer's friend proceeded. From the inquiries I made at the bar just now, I was convinced that the owner of the coat in question arrived here with three gentlemen yesterday afternoon. I immediately sent up to the gentleman who was described as appearing the head of the party, and he at once referred me to you. If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walked from its foundation and stationed itself opposite the coffee room window, Mr. Winkle's surprise would have been as nothing compared with the profound astonishment with which he had heard this address. His first impression was that his coat had been stolen. Will you allow me to detain you one moment, said he? Certainly, replied the unwelcome visitor. Mr. Winkle ran hastily upstairs and with a trembling hand opened the bag. There was a coat in its usual place, but exhibiting on a close inspection, evident tokens of having been worn on the preceding night. It must be so, said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from his hands. I took too much wine after dinner and have a very vague recollection of walking about the streets and smoking a cigar afterwards. The fact is I was very drunk. I must have changed my coat, gone somewhere and insulted somebody. I have no doubt of it. And this message is a terrible consequence, saying which Mr. Winkle retraced his steps in the direction of the coffee-room with the gloomy and dreadful resolve of accepting the challenge of the warlike Dr. Slammer and abiding by the worst consequences that might ensue. To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety of considerations, the first of which was his reputation with the club. He had always been looked up to as a high authority on all matters of amusement and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive, or inoffensive. And if on this very first occasion of being put to the test he shrunk back from the trial beneath his leader's eye his name and standing were lost forever. Besides, he remembered to have heard it frequently surmised by the uninitiated in such matters that by an understood arrangement between the seconds the pistols were seldom loaded with ball and furthermore he reflected that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass to act as his second and depicted the danger in glowing terms that gentleman might possibly communicate the intelligence to Mr. Pickwick who would certainly lose no time in transmitting it to the local authorities and thus prevent the killing or maiming of his follower. Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room and intimated his intention of accepting the doctor's challenge. He asked me to a friend to arrange the time and place of meeting said the officer. Quite unnecessary, replied Mr. Winkle named them to me and I can procure the attendance of a friend afterwards. Shall we say sunset this evening inquired the officer in a careless tone? Very good. Replied Mr. Winkle thinking in his heart it was very bad. You know Fort Pitt? Yes, I saw it yesterday. You will take the trouble to turn into the field which borders the trenched take the footpath to the left when you arrive at an angle of the fortification and keep straight on till you see me I will precede you to a secluded place where the affair can be conducted without fear of interruption. Fear of interruption thought Mr. Winkle. Nothing more to arrange, I think said the officer. I am not aware of anything more replied Mr. Winkle. Good morning. And the officer whistled a lively air as he strode away. That morning's breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tubman was not in a condition to rise after the unwanted dissipation of the previous night. Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labor under a poetical depression of spirits and even Mr. Pickwick evinced an unusual attachment to silence and soda water. Mr. Winkle eagerly watched his opportunity. It was not long wanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle and as Mr. Winkle was the only other member of the party disposed to walk they went out together. Snodgrass said Mr. Winkle when they had turned out of the public street Snodgrass, my dear fellow can I rely upon your secrecy? As he said this he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not. You can? replied Mr. Snodgrass hear me swear no no interrupted Winkle terrified at the idea of his companions unconsciously pledging himself not to give information. Don't swear don't swear it's quite unnecessary. Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had in the spirit of pose he raised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal and assumed an attitude of attention. I want your assistance my dear fellow in an affair of honor said Mr. Winkle you shall have it replied Mr. Snodgrass clasping his friend's hand with a doctor Dr. Slammer of the 97th said Mr. Winkle wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible an affair with an officer seconded by another officer at sunset this evening in a lonely field beyond Fort Pitt I will attend you said Mr. Snodgrass he was astonished by what he means to smade it is extraordinary how cool any party but the principal can be in such cases Mr. Winkle had forgotten this he had judged of his friend's feelings by his own the consequences may be dreadful said Mr. Winkle I hope not said Mr. Snodgrass the doctor I believe is a very good shot said Mr. Winkle most of these military men are observed Mr. Snodgrass calmly so are you ain't you Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative and perceiving that he had not alarmed his companion sufficiently changed his ground Snodgrass he said in a voice tremulous with emotion if I fall you will find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note for my for my father this attack was a failure also Mr. Snodgrass was affected but he undertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been a company postman if I fall said Mr. Winkle or if the doctor falls you my dear friend will be tried as an accessory before the fact shall I involve my friend in transportation possibly for life Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this but his heroism was invincible in the cause of friendship he fervently exclaimed I would brave all dangers how Mr. Winkle cursed his companions devoted friendship internally as they walked silently along side by side for some minutes each immersed in his own meditations the morning was wearing away he grew desperate Snodgrass he said suddenly do not let me be balked in this matter do not give information to the local authorities do not obtain the assistance of the officers to take either me or Dr. Slammer of the 97th Regiment at present quartered in chatham barracks into custody and thus prevent this duel I say do not Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly as he enthusiastically replied not for worlds a thrill passed over Mr. Winkle's frame as the conviction that he had nothing to hope from his friend's fears and that he was destined to become rushed forcibly upon him the state of the case having been formally explained to Mr. Snodgrass and a case of satisfactory pistols with the satisfactory accompaniments of powder, ball, and caps having been hired from a manufacturer in Rochester the two friends returned to their inn Mr. Winkle to ruminate on the approaching struggle and Mr. Snodgrass to arrange the weapons of war and put them into proper order and use it was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on their awkward errand Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to escape observation and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his the instruments of destruction have you got everything said Mr. Winkle in an agitated tone everything replied Mr. Snodgrass plenty of ammunition in case the shots don't take effect a quarter of a pound of powder in the case and I have got two newspapers in my pocket for the loadings these were instances of friendship for which any man might reasonably feel most grateful the presumption is that the gratitude of Mr. Winkle was too powerful for utterance as he said nothing but continued to walk on rather slowly we are in excellent time said Mr. Snodgrass as they climbed to the fence of the first field just going down Mr. Winkle looked up at the declining orb and painfully thought of the probability of his going down himself before long there's the officer exclaimed Mr. Winkle after a few minutes walking where should Mr. Snodgrass there the gentleman in the blue cloak Mr. Snodgrass looked in the direction indicated by the forefinger of his friend and observed a figure muffled up and described the officer evinced his consciousness of their presence by slightly beckoning with his hand and the two friends followed him at a little distance as he walked away the evening grew more dull every moment and a melancholy wind sounded through the deserted fields like a distant giant whistling for his house dog the sadness of the scene imparted a somber tinge to the feelings of Mr. Winkle as they passed the angle of the trench it looked like a colossal grave the officer turned suddenly from the path and after climbing a pailing and scaling a hedge entered a secluded field two gentlemen were waiting in it one was a little fat man with black hair and the other a portly personage in a braided search out was sitting with perfect equanimity on a camp stool the other party in a surgeon said Mr. Snodgrass take a drop of brandy Mr. Winkle seized the wicker bottle which his friend proffered and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid my friend sir Mr. Snodgrass said Mr. Winkle as the officer approached Dr. Slammer's friend bowed and produced a case similar to that which Mr. Snodgrass carried we have nothing further to say sir I think he coldly remarked as he opened the case the apology has been resolutely declined nothing sir said Mr. Snodgrass began to feel rather uncomfortable himself will you step forward said the officer certainly replied Mr. Snodgrass the ground was measured and preliminaries arranged you will find these better than your own said the opposite second producing his pistols you saw me load them do you object to use them certainly not replied Mr. Snodgrass the offer relieved him from considerable embarrassment for his previous notions of loading a pistol were rather vague and undefined we may place our men then I think observe the officer with as much indifference as if the principles were chess men and the second's players I think we may replied Mr. Snodgrass who would have ascended to any proposition because he knew nothing about the matter the officer crossed to Dr. Slammer and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle it's already said he offering the pistol give me your cloak you have got the packet my dear fellow said poor Winkle alright said Mr. Snodgrass be steady and wing him it occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that which bystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street fight namely go in and win admirable thing to recommend if you only know how to do it he took off his cloak however in silence it always took a long time to undo that cloak and accepted the pistol the second's retired the gentleman on the camp stool did the same and the belligerents approached each other Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity it is conjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow creature intentionally was the cause of his shutting his eyes when he arrived at the fatal spot and that the circumstance of his eyes being closed prevented his observing the very extraordinary and unaccountable demeanor of Dr. Slammer that gentleman started, stared retreated, rubbed his eyes stared again and finally shouted stop stop what's all this said Dr. Slammer as his friend and Mr. Snodgrass came running up that's not the man not the man said Dr. Slammer's second not the man said Mr. Snodgrass not the man said the gentleman with the camp stool in his hand certainly not, replied the little doctor that's not the person who insulted me last night very extraordinary exclaimed the officer very said the gentleman with the camp stool the only question is whether the gentleman being on the ground must not be considered as a matter of form to be the individual who insulted our friend Dr. Slammer yesterday evening whether he is really that individual or not and having delivered this suggestion with a very sage and mysterious air the man with the camp stool took a large pinch of snuff and looked profoundly round with the air of an authority in such matters now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes and his ears too when he heard his adversary call out an accusation of hostilities and perceiving by what he had afterwards said that there was beyond all questions some mistake in the matter he at once foresaw the increase of reputation he should inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive of his coming out he therefore stepped boldly forward and said I am not the person I know it then that said the man with the camp stool is in affront to Dr. Slammer and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately pray be quiet pain said the doctor second why did you not communicate this fact to me this morning sir to be sure to be sure said the man with the camp stool indignantly I entreat you to be quiet pain said the other may I repeat my question sir because sir replied Mr. Winkle who had had time to deliberate upon his answer because sir you described an intoxicated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I have the honor not only to wear but to have invented the proposed uniform sir of the Pickwick club in London the honor of that uniform I feel bound to maintain and I therefore without inquiry accepted the challenge which you offered me my dear sir said the good humored little doctor advancing with extended hand your gallantry permit me to say sir that I highly admire your conduct and extremely regret having caused you the inconvenience of this meeting to no purpose I beg you won't mention it sir said Mr. Winkle I shall feel proud of your acquaintance sir said the little doctor it will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you sir replied Mr. Winkle there upon the doctor and Mr. Winkle shook hands and then Mr. Winkle and Lieutenant Tappleton the doctor's second and then Mr. Winkle and the man with the camp stool and finally Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass the last name gentlemen in an excess of admiration at the noble conduct of his heroic friend I think we may adjourn said Lieutenant Tappleton certainly added the doctor unless interposed the man with the camp stool unless Mr. Winkle feels himself aggrieved by the challenge in which case I submit he has a right to satisfaction Mr. Winkle with great self-denial expressed himself quite satisfied already or possibly said the man with the camp stool the gentleman's second may feel himself affronted with some observations which fell from me at an early period of this meeting if so I shall be happy to give him satisfaction immediately Mr. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged with the handsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken last which he was only induced to decline by his entire contentment with the whole proceedings the two seconds adjusted the cases and the whole party left the ground in a much more lively manner than they had proceeded to it do you remain long here inquired Dr. Slammer of Mr. Winkle as they walked on most amicably together the day after tomorrow was the reply I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your friend at my rooms and of spending a pleasant evening with you after this awkward mistake said the little doctor are you disengaged this evening we have some friends here replied Mr. Winkle and I should not like to leave them tonight perhaps you and your friend will join us at the ball with great pleasure said the little doctor will ten o'clock be too late one hour oh dear no said Mr. Winkle I shall be most happy to introduce you to my friends Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Topman it will give me great pleasure I am sure replied Dr. Slammer little suspecting who Mr. Topman was you will be sure to come said Mr. Snodgrass oh certainly by this time they had reached the road cordial farewells were exchanged in the party separated Dr. Slammer and his friends repaired to the barracks and Mr. Winkle accompanied by Mr. Snodgrass returned to their inn end of chapter 2 recording by Deborah Lynn Northern Lower Michigan February 2007 chapter 3 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 Deborah Lynn the Pickwick papers by Charles Dickens chapter 3 a new acquaintance the stroller's tale a disagreeable interruption and an unpleasant encounter Mr. Pickwick had felt some apprehensions in consequence of the unusual absence of his two friends which their mysterious behavior during the whole morning had by no means tended to diminish it was therefore with more than ordinary pleasure that he rose to greet them when they again entered and with more than ordinary interest that he inquired what had occurred to detain them from his society in reply to his questions on this point Mr. Snodgrass was about to offer an historical account of the circumstances just now detailed when he was suddenly checked by observing that there were present gentlemen and their stagecoach companion of the preceding day but another stranger of equally singular appearance it was a care-worn looking man whose shallow face and deeply sunken eyes were rendered still more striking than nature had made them by the straight black hair which hung in matted disorder halfway down his face his eyes were almost unnaturally bright and piercing and his jaws were so long in length that an observer would have supposed that he was drawing the flesh of his face in for a moment by some contraction of the muscles if his half-opened mouth an immovable expression had not announced that it was his ordinary appearance round his neck he wore a green shawl with the large ends straggling over his chest and making their appearance occasionally beneath the worn button holes his waistcoat his upper garment was a long black shirt out and below it he wore wide drab trousers and large boots running rapidly to seed it was on this uncouth looking person that Mr. Winkle's eye rested and it was towards him that Mr. Pickwick extended his hand when he said a friend of our friends here we discovered this morning that our friend was connected with the theater he is not desirous to have it generally known and this gentleman is a member of the same profession he was about to favor us with a little anecdote connected with it when you entered lots of anecdote said the green-coated stranger of the day before advancing to Mr. Winkle and speaking in a low and confidential tone rum fellow does the heavy business no actor, strange man all sorts of miseries may we call him on the circuit Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass politely welcomed the gentleman elegantly designated as dismal gemmy and calling for brandy and water in imitation of the remainder of the company seated themselves at the table now sir said Mr. Pickwick will you oblige us by proceeding with what you were going to relate the dismal individual took a dirty roll of paper from his pocket and turning to Mr. Snodgrass who had just taken out his notebook said in a hollow voice perfectly in keeping with his outward man are you the poet I do a little in that way replied Mr. Snodgrass rather taken aback by the abruptness of the question poetry makes life what light and music do the stage stripped the one of the false embellishments and the other of its illusions and what is there real in either to live or care for very true sir replied Mr. Snodgrass to be before the footlights continued the dismal man is like sitting at a grand court show and admiring the silken dresses of the gaudy throng to be behind them is to be the people who make that finery uncared for and unknown and left to sink or swim to starve or live as fortune wills it certainly said Mr. Snodgrass for the sunken eye of the dismal man rested on him and he felt it necessary to say something go on jemmy said the spanish traveler like black eyed susan all in the downs no croaking speak out look lively will you make another glass before you begin sir said Mr. Pickwick the dismal man took the hint and having mixed the glass of brandy and water and slowly swallowed half of it opened the roll of paper and proceeded partly to read and partly to relate the following incident which we find recorded on the transactions of the club as the strollers tail the strollers tail there is nothing of the marvelous in what I am going to relate sir the dismal man there is nothing even uncommon in it want and sickness are too common in all situations of life to deserve more notice than is usually bestowed on the most ordinary vicissitudes of human nature I have thrown these few notes together because the subject of them was well known to me for many years I traced his progress downwards, step by step until at last he reached that excess of destitution from which he never rose again the man of whom I speak was a low pantomime actor and like many people of his class habitual drunkard in his better days before he had become enfeebled by dissipation and emaciated by disease he had been in the receipt of a good salary which if he had been careful and prudent he might have continued to receive for some years not many because these men either die early or by unnaturally taxing their bodily energies lose prematurely those physical powers on which alone they can depend for subsistence his besetting sin gained so fast upon him however that it was found impossible to employ him in the situations in which he really was useful to the theater the public house had a fascination for him which he could not resist neglected disease and hopeless poverty were as certain to be his portion as death itself if he persevered in the same course yet he did persevere and the result may be guessed he could obtain no engagement and he wanted bread everybody who is at all acquainted with theatrical matters knows what a host of shabby poverty stricken men hang about the stage of a large establishment not regularly engaged actors but ballet people procession men tumblers and so forth taken on during the run of a pantomime or an Easter piece and are then discharged until the production of some heavy spectacle occasions a new demand for their services to this mode of life the man was compelled to resort and taking the chair every night at some low theatrical house at once put him in possession of a few more shillings weekly and enabled him to gratify his old propensity even this resource shortly failed him his irregularities were too great to admit of his earning the wretched pittance he might thus have procured and he was actually reduced to a state bordering on starvation only procuring a trifle occasionally by borrowing it of some old companion or by obtaining an appearance at one or other of the commonest of the minor theaters and when he did earn anything it was spent in the old way about this time in the words of a year no one knew how I had a short engagement at one of the theaters on the surrey side of the water and here I saw this man whom I had lost sight of for some time for I had been traveling in the provinces and he had been skulking in the lanes and alleys of London I was dressed to leave the house and was crossing the stage on my way out when he tapped me on the shoulder never shall I forget the repulsive sight that met my eye he turned round he was dressed for the pantomimes in all the absurdity of a clown's costume the spectral figures and the dance of death the most frightful shapes that the ableist painter ever portrayed on canvas never presented an appearance half so ghastly his bloated body and shrunken legs their deformity enhanced a hundredfold by the fantastic dress the glassy eyes contrasting fearfully with the thick white paint with which the face was besmeared the grotesquely ornamented head trembling with paralysis and the long skinny hands rubbed with white chalk all gave him a hideous and unnatural appearance of which no description could convey an adequate idea and which to this day I shuddered to think of his voice was hollow and tremulous as he took me aside and in broken words recounted a long catalog of sickness and privations terminating as usual with an urgent request for the loan of a trifling sum of money I put a few shillings in his hand and as I turned away I heard the roar of laughter which followed his first tumble on the stage a few nights afterwards a boy put a dirty scrap of paper in my hand on which were scrawled a few words in pencil intimating that the man was dangerously ill and begging me after the performance to take him away begging me after the performance to see him at his logics in some street I forget the name of it now at no great distance from the theater I promised to comply as soon as I could get away and after the curtain fell sallied forth on my melancholy errand it was late for I had been playing in the last piece and as it was a benefit night the performances had been protracted to an unusual length it was a dark cold night with a chilled damp wind which blew the rain heavily against the windows and house fronts pools of water had collected in the narrow and little frequented streets and as many of the thinly scattered oil lamps had been blown out by the violence of the wind the walk was not only a comfortless but a most uncertain one I had fortunately taken the right course however and succeeded after a little difficulty in finding the house to which I had been directed a coal shed with one story above it in the back room of which lay the object of my search a wretched looking woman the man's wife met me on the stairs and telling me that he had just fallen into a kind of dose led me softly in and placed a chair for me at the bedside the sick man was lying with his face turned towards the wall and as he took no heed of my presence I had leisure to observe the place in which I found myself he was lying on an old bedstead which turned up during the day the tattered remains of a checked curtain were drawn round the bed's head to exclude the wind which however made its way into the comfortless room through the numerous chinks in the door and blew it to and fro every instant there was a low cinder fire in a rusty unfixed grate and an old three-cornered stained table with some medicine bottles, a broken glass and a few other domestic articles was drawn out before it a little child was sleeping on a temporary bed which had been made for it on the floor and the woman sat on a chair by its side there were a couple of shelves with a few plates and cups and saucers and a pair of staged shoes and a couple of foils hung beneath them with the exception of little heaps of rags and bundles which had been carelessly thrown into the corners of the room these were the only things in the apartment I had had time to note these little particulars and to mark the heavy breathing and feverish startings of the sick man before he was aware of my presence in the restless attempts to procure some easy resting place for his head he tossed his hand out of the bed and it fell on mine and stared eagerly in my face Mr. Huttley John said his wife Mr. Huttley that you sent for tonight you know ah said the invalid passing his hand across his forehead Huttley Huttley let me see he seemed endeavouring to collect his thoughts for a few seconds and then grasping me tightly by the wrist said don't leave me don't leave me old fellow she'll murder me I know she will has he been long so said I addressing his weeping wife since yesterday night she replied John John don't you know me don't let her come near me said the man with the shutter as she stooped over him drive her away I can't bear her near me he stared wildly at her with a look of deadly apprehension and then whispered in my ear I beat her gem I beat her yesterday many times before I have starved her and the boy too and now I am weak and helpless Gem she'll murder me for it I know she will if you'd seen her cry as I have you'd know it too keep her off he relaxed his grasp and sank back exhausted on the pillow I knew but too well what all this meant if I could have entertained any doubt of it for an instant one glance at the woman's pale face I would have sufficiently explained the real state of the case you had better stand aside said I to the poor creature you can do him no good perhaps you will be calmer if he does not see you she retired out of the man's sight he opened his eyes after a few seconds and looked anxiously round is she gone he eagerly inquired yes yes said I she shall not hurt you tell you what Gem said the man in a low voice she does hurt me there's something in her eyes wakes such a dreadful fear in my heart that it drives me mad all last night her large staring eyes and pale face were close to mine wherever I turned they turned and whenever I started up for my sleep she was at the bedside looking at me he drew me closer to him as he said in a deep alarmed whisper Gem she must be an evil spirit devil, hush, I know she is if she had been a woman she would have died long ago no woman could have borne what she has I sickened at the thought of the long course of cruelty and neglect which must have occurred to produce such an impression on such a man I could say nothing in reply for who could offer hope or consolation to the abject being before me I sat there for upwards of hours during which time he tossed about murmuring exclamations of pain or impatience restlessly throwing his arms here and there and turning constantly from side to side at length he fell into that state of partial unconsciousness in which the mind wanders uneasily from scene to scene and from place to place without the control of reason but still without being able to divest itself of an indescribable sense of present suffering finding from his incoherent wanderings that this was the case and knowing that in all probability the fever would not grow immediately worse I left him promising his miserable wife that I would repeat my visit next evening and if necessary sit up with the patient during the night I kept my promise the last four and twenty hours had produced a frightful alteration the eyes though deeply sunk and heavy shown with a luster frightful to behold the lips were parched and cracked in many places the hard dry skin glowed with a burning heat and there was an almost unearthly air of wild anxiety in the man's face indicating even more strongly the ravages of the disease the fever was at its height I took the seat I had occupied the night before and there I sat for hours listening to sounds which must strike deep to the heart of the most callous among human beings the awful ravings of a dying man from what I had heard of the medical attendants opinion I knew there was no hope for him I was sitting by his deathbed I saw the wasted limbs which a few hours before had been distorted for the amusement of a boisterous gallery writhing under the torches of a burning fever clowns shrill laugh blending with the low murmurings of the dying man it is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the ordinary occupations and pursuits of health when the body lies before you weak and helpless but when those occupations are of a character the most strongly opposed to anything we associate with grave and solemn ideas the impression produced is infinitely more powerful the theater and the public house of the chief themes of the wretched man's wanderings it was evening he fancied he had a part to play that night it was late and he must leave home instantly why did they hold him and prevent his going he should lose the money he must go no they would not let him he hid his face in his burning hands and feebly bemoaned his own weakness and the cruelty of his persecutors a short pause a few doggerel rhymes the last he had ever learned he rose in bed drew up his withered limbs and rolled about in uncouth positions he was acting he was at the theater a minute silenced and he murmured the burden of some roaring song he had reached the old house at last how hot the room was he had been ill very ill but he was well now and happy fill up his glass who was that that dashed it from his lips it was the same persecutor that had followed him before he fell back upon his pillow and moaned aloud a short period of oblivion and he was wandering through a tedious maze of low arched rooms so low sometimes that he must creep upon his hands and knees to make his way along it was close and dark and every way he turned some obstacle impeded his progress there were insects too hideous crawling things the eyes that stared upon him and filled the very air around glistening horribly amidst the thick darkness of the place the walls and ceiling were alive with reptiles the vault expanded to an enormous size frightful figures flitted to and fro and the faces of men he knew rendered hideous by jibing and mouthing peered out from among them they were searing him with heated irons and binding cords till the blood started and he struggled madly for life at the close of one of these paroxysms when I had with great difficulty held him down in his bed he sank into what appeared to be a slumber overpowered with watching and exertion I had closed my eyes for a few minutes when I felt a violent clutch on my shoulder I awoke instantly he had raised himself up so as to seat himself in bed a dreadful change to come over his face but consciousness had returned for he evidently knew me the child who had been long since disturbed by his ravings rose from its little bed and ran towards its father screaming with fright the mother hastily caught it in her arms lest he should injure it in the violence of his insanity but terrified by the alteration of his features stood transfixed he grasped my shoulder convulsively and striking his breast with the other hand made a desperate attempt to articulate it was unavailing he extended his arm towards them and made another violent effort there was a rattling noise in the throat a glare of the eye a short stifled groan and he fell back dead it would afford us the highest justification to be enabled to record Mr. Pickwick's opinion of the foregoing anecdote we have little doubt that we should have been enabled to present it to our readers but for a most unfortunate occurrence Mr. Pickwick had replaced on the table the glass which during the last few sentences of the tale he had retained in his hand and had just made up his mind to speak indeed we have the authority of Mr. Snodgrass's notebook stating that he had actually opened his mouth when the waiter entered the room and said some gentlemen sir it has been conjectured that Mr. Pickwick was on the point of delivering some remarks which would have enlightened the world if not the Tams when he was thus interrupted for he gazed sternly on the waiter's countenance and then looked round on the company generally as if seeking for information relative to the newcomers oh said Mr. Winkle rising some friends of mine show them in very pleasant fellows added Mr. Winkle after the waiter had retired officers of the 97th whose acquaintance I made rather oddly this morning you will like them very much Mr. Pickwick's equanimity was at once restored the waiter returned and ushered three gentlemen into the room Lieutenant Tapleton said Mr. Winkle Lieutenant Tapleton Mr. Pickwick Dr. Payne Mr. Pickwick Mr. Snodgrass you have seen before my friend Mr. Tubman Dr. Payne Dr. Slammer Mr. Pickwick Mr. Tubman Dr. Slam here Mr. Winkle suddenly paused for strong emotion was visible on the countenance both of Mr. Tubman and the doctor I have met this gentleman before said the doctor with marked emphasis indeed said Mr. Winkle and that person too if I am not mistaken said the doctor bestowing a scrutinizing glance on the green coated stranger I think I gave that person a very pressing invitation last night which he thought proper to decline saying which the doctor scowled magnanimously on the stranger and whispered his friend Lieutenant Tapleton you don't say so said that gentleman at the conclusion of the whisper I do indeed replied Dr. Slammer you are bound to kick him on the spot remembered the owner of the camp stool with great importance do be quiet Payne interposed the lieutenant will you allow me to ask you sir he said addressing Mr. Pickwick who was considerably mystified by this very unpolite by play will you allow me to ask you sir whether that person belongs to your party no sir replied Mr. Pickwick he is a guest of ours he is a member of your club or I am mistaken said the lieutenant inquiringly certainly not responded Mr. Pickwick and never wears your club button said the lieutenant no never replied the astonished Mr. Pickwick the lieutenant Tapleton turned round to his friend Dr. Slammer with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulder as if implying some doubt of the accuracy of his recollection the little doctor looked wrathful but confounded and Mr. Payne gazed with a ferocious aspect on the beaming countenance of the unconscious Pickwick sir said the doctor suddenly addressing Mr. Tubman in a tone which made that gentleman as perceptibly as if a pin had been cunningly inserted in the calf of his leg you were at the ball here last night Mr. Tubman gasped a faint affirmative looking very hard at Mr. Pickwick all the while that person was your companion said the doctor pointing to the still unmoved stranger Mr. Tubman admitted the fact now sir said the doctor to the stranger I asked you once again in the presence of these gentlemen whether you choose to give me your card and to receive the treatment of a gentleman or whether you impose upon me the necessity of personally chastising you on the spot stay sir said Mr. Pickwick I really cannot allow this matter to go any further without some explanation Tubman recounted the circumstances Mr. Tubman as solemnly adjourned stated the case in a few words touched slightly on the borrowing of the coat expatiated largely on its having been done after dinner wound up with a little penitence on his own account and left the stranger to clear himself as best he could he was apparently about to proceed to do so when Lieutenant Tappleton who had been eyeing him with great curiosity said with considerable scorn haven't I seen you at the theater sir certainly replied the unabashed stranger he is a strolling actor said the lieutenant contemptuously turning to Dr. Slammer he acts in the peace that the officers of the 52nd get up at the Rochester Theater tomorrow night you cannot proceed in this affair Slammer impossible White said the dignified pain sorry to have placed you in this disagreeable situation said Lieutenant Tappleton addressing Mr. Pickwick allow me to suggest that the best way of avoiding a recurrence of such scenes and future will be to be more select in the choice of your companions good evening sir and the lieutenant bounced out of the room and allow me to say sir said the irascible Dr. Paine that if I had been Tappleton or if I had been Slammer close sir and the nose of every man in this company I would sir every man pain is my name sir Dr. Paine of the 43rd good evening sir having concluded this speech and uttered the last three words and allowed key he stalked majestically after his friend closely followed by Dr. Slammer who said nothing but contented himself by withering the company with a look rising rage and bewilderment had swelled the noble breast of Mr. Pickwick almost to the bursting of his waistcoat during the delivery of the above defiance he stood transfixed to the spot gazing on vacancy the closing of the door recalled him to himself he rushed forward with fury in his looks and fire in his eye his hand was upon the lock of the door in another instant it would have been on the throat of Dr. Paine of the 43rd had not Mr. Snodgrass seized his revered leader by the coattail and dragged him backwards restrain him Mr. Snodgrass he must not peril his distinguished life in such a cause as this let me go said Mr. Pickwick hold him tight and by the united efforts of the whole company Mr. Pickwick was forced into an arm chair leave him alone stranger, brandy and water jolly old gentlemen lots of pluck, swallow this ah, capital stuff having previously tested the virtues of a bumper which had been mixed by the dismal man the stranger applied the glass to Mr. Pickwick's mouth and the remainder of its contents rapidly disappeared there was a short pause the brandy and water had done its work the amiable countenance of Mr. Pickwick was fast recovering from his customary expression they are not worth your notice said the dismal man you are right sir replied Mr. Pickwick they are not I am ashamed to have been betrayed into this warmth of feeling draw your chair up to the table sir the dismal man readily complied a circle was again formed round the table and harmony once more prevailed some lingering irritability appeared to find a resting place in Mr. Winkle's bosom occasioned possibly by the temporary abstraction of his coat though it is scarcely reasonable to suppose that so slight a circumstance can have excited even a passing feeling of anger in a Pickwickian's breast with this exception their good humor was completely restored and the evening concluded with the conviviality with which it had begun End of Chapter 3 Recording by Debra Lynn Northern Lower Michigan February 2007