That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and begunto strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May, one thousandeight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst likeanother sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and lookedout upon the world beneath. Goswell Street was at his feet, GoswellStreet was on his right hand--as far as the eye could reach, GoswellStreet extended on his left; and the opposite side of Goswell Streetwas over the way. 'Such,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'are the narrow viewsof those philosophers who, content with examining the things that liebefore them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond. As wellmight I be content to gaze on Goswell Street for ever, without oneeffort to penetrate to the hidden countries which on every side surroundit.' And having given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr. Pickwickproceeded to put himself into his clothes, and his clothes into hisportmanteau. Great men are seldom over scrupulous in the arrangement oftheir attire; the operation of shaving, dressing, and coffee-imbibingwas soon performed; and, in another hour, Mr. Pickwick, with hisportmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his greatcoat pocket, and hisnote-book in his waistcoat, ready for the reception of any discoveriesworthy of being noted down, had arrived at the coach-stand in St.Martin's-le-Grand. 'Cab!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Here you are, sir,' shouted a strange specimen of the human race, ina sackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who, with a brass labeland number round his neck, looked as if he were catalogued in somecollection of rarities. This was the waterman. 'Here you are, sir.Now, then, fust cab!' And the first cab having been fetched from thepublic-house, where he had been smoking his first pipe, Mr. Pickwick andhis portmanteau were thrown into the vehicle.

'Golden Cross,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Only a bob's vorth, Tommy,' cried the driver sulkily, for theinformation of his friend the waterman, as the cab drove off.

'How old is that horse, my friend?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, rubbing hisnose with the shilling he had reserved for the fare.

'Forty-two,' replied the driver, eyeing him askant.

'What!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand upon his note-book. Thedriver reiterated his former statement. Mr. Pickwick looked very hardat the man's face, but his features were immovable, so he noted down thefact forthwith. 'And how long do you keep him out at a time?'inquiredMr. Pickwick, searching for further information.

'Two or three veeks,' replied the man.

'Weeks!' said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment, and out came the note-bookagain.

'He lives at Pentonwil 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 o' the cab,' continued thedriver, 'but when he's in it, we bears him up werry tight, and takeshim in werry short, so as he can't werry well fall down; and we've gota pair o' precious large wheels on, so ven he does move, they run afterhim, and he must go on--he can't help it.'

Mr. Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his note-book, withthe view of communicating it to the club, as a singular instance of thetenacity of life in horses under trying circumstances. The entry wasscarcely completed when they reached the Golden Cross. Down jumped thedriver, and out got Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr.Winkle, who had been anxiously waiting the arrival of their illustriousleader, crowded to welcome him.

'Here's your fare,' said Mr. Pickwick, holding out the shilling to thedriver.

What was the learned man's astonishment, when that unaccountable personflung the money on the pavement, and requested in figurative terms to beallowed 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. Tupman.

'Come on!' said the cab-driver, sparring away like clockwork. 'Comeon--all four on you.'

'Here's a lark!' shouted half a dozen hackney coachmen. 'Go to vork,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'twant 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 thecrowd, 'would anybody believe as an informer'ud go about in a man'scab, not only takin' down his number, but ev'ry word he says into thebargain' (a light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick--it was the note-book).

'Did he though?' inquired another cabman.

'Yes, did he,' replied the first; 'and then arter aggerawatin' me toassault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it. But I'll give ithim, if I've six months for it. Come on!' and the cabman dashed his hatupon the ground, with a reckless disregard of his own private property,and knocked Mr. Pickwick's spectacles off, and followed up the attackwith 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. Tupman's waistcoat, and then danced into the road, and then backagain to the pavement, and finally dashed the whole temporary supply ofbreath out of Mr. Winkle's body; and all in half a dozen seconds.

'Where's an officer?' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'Put 'em 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 thewhole time.

The mob hitherto had been passive spectators of the scene, but as theintelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was spread amongthem, they began to canvass with considerable vivacity the propriety ofenforcing the heated pastry-vendor's proposition: and there is no sayingwhat acts of personal aggression they might have committed, had not theaffray been unexpectedly terminated by the interposition of a new-comer.

'What's the fun?' said a rather tall, thin, young man, in a green coat,emerging suddenly from the coach-yard.

'informers!' shouted the crowd again.

'We are not,' roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which, to any dispassionatelistener, carried conviction with it. 'Ain't you, though--ain't you?'said the young man, appealing to Mr. Pickwick, and making his waythrough the crowd by the infallible process of elbowing the countenancesof its component members.

That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real state of thecase.

'Come along, then,' said he of the green coat, lugging Mr. Pickwickafter him by main force, and talking the whole way. Here, No. 924,take your fare, and take yourself off--respectable gentleman--know himwell--none of your nonsense--this way, sir--where's your friends?--alla mistake, I see--never mind--accidents will happen--best regulatedfamilies--never say die--down upon your luck--Pull him UP--Put thatin his pipe--like the flavour--damned rascals.' And with a lengthenedstring of similar broken sentences, delivered with extraordinaryvolubility, the stranger led the way to the traveller's waiting-room,whither he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples.

'Here, waiter!' shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with tremendousviolence, 'glasses round--brandy-and-water, hot and strong, andsweet, and plenty,--eye damaged, Sir? Waiter! raw beef-steak for thegentleman's eye--nothing like raw beef-steak for a bruise, sir; coldlamp-post very good, but lamp-post inconvenient--damned odd standingin the open street half an hour, with your eye against alamp-post--eh,--very good--ha! ha!' And the stranger, without stoppingto take breath, swallowed at a draught full half a pint of the reekingbrandy-and-water, and flung himself into a chair with as much ease as ifnothing uncommon had occurred.

While his three companions were busily engaged in proffering theirthanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to examinehis costume and appearance.

He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his body, and thelength of his legs, gave him the appearance of being much taller. Thegreen 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 thestranger, for the soiled and faded sleeves scarcely reached to hiswrists. It was buttoned closely up to his chin, at the imminent hazardof splitting the back; and an old stock, without a vestige of shirtcollar, ornamented his neck. His scanty black trousers displayed hereand there those shiny patches which bespeak long service, and werestrapped very tightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes, as if toconceal the dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctlyvisible. His long, black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneatheach side of his old pinched-up hat; and glimpses of his bare wristsmight be observed between the tops of his gloves and the cuffs of hiscoat sleeves. His face was thin and haggard; but an indescribable air ofjaunty impudence and perfect self-possession pervaded the whole man.

Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed through hisspectacles (which he had fortunately recovered), and to whom heproceeded, when his friends had exhausted themselves, to return inchosen terms his warmest thanks for his recent assistance.

'Never mind,' said the stranger, cutting the address very short, 'saidenough--no more; smart chap that cabman--handled his fives well; but ifI'd been your friend in the green jemmy--damn me--punch his head,--'codI would,--pig's whisper--pieman too,--no gammon.'

This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the Rochestercoachman, to announce that 'the Commodore' was on the point of starting.

'Commodore!' said the stranger, starting up, 'my coach--placebooked,--one outside--leave you to pay for the brandy-and-water,--wantchange for a five,--bad silver--Brummagem 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 hadresolved to make Rochester their first halting-place too; and havingintimated to their new-found acquaintance that they were journeying tothe 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 on to the roofwith so much precipitation as to impair the gravity of that gentleman'sdeportment very materially.

'Any luggage, Sir?' inquired the coachman. 'Who--I? Brown paper parcelhere, that's all--other luggage gone by water--packing-cases, nailedup--big as houses--heavy, heavy, damned heavy,' replied the stranger, ashe forced into his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel,which presented most suspicious indications of containing one shirt anda handkerchief.

'Heads, heads--take care of your heads!' cried the loquacious stranger,as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formedthe entrance to the coach-yard. 'Terrible place--dangerous work--otherday--five children--mother--tall lady, eating sandwiches--forgot thearch--crash--knock--children look round--mother's head off--sandwichin her hand--no mouth to put it in--head of a family off--shocking,shocking! Looking at Whitehall, sir?--fine place--littlewindow--somebody else's head off there, eh, sir?--he didn't keep a sharplook-out enough either--eh, Sir, eh?'

'I am ruminating,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'on the strange mutability ofhuman affairs.'

'Ah! I see--in at the palace door one day, out at the window thenext. Philosopher, Sir?' 'An observer of human nature, Sir,' said Mr.Pickwick.

'Ah, so am I. Most people are when they've 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 thousandlines--revolution of July--composed it on the spot--Mars by day, Apolloby night--bang the field-piece, twang the lyre.'

'You were present at that glorious scene, sir?' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'Present! think I was;* fired a musket--fired with an idea--rushed intowine shop--wrote it down--back again--whiz, bang--another idea--wineshop again--pen and ink--back again--cut and slash--noble time, Sir.Sportsman, sir?'abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle.

* A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr. Jingle's imagination; this dialogue occurring in the year 1827, and the Revolution in 1830.

'A little, Sir,' replied that gentleman.

'Fine pursuit, sir--fine pursuit.--Dogs, Sir?'

'Not just now,' said Mr. Winkle.

'Ah! you should keep dogs--fine animals--sagacious creatures--dog of myown once--pointer--surprising instinct--out shooting one day--enteringinclosure--whistled--dog stopped--whistled again--Ponto--no go; stockstill--called him--Ponto, Ponto--wouldn't move--dog transfixed--staringat a board--looked up, saw an inscription--"Gamekeeper has orders toshoot all dogs found in this inclosure"--wouldn't pass it--wonderfuldog--valuable dog that--very.'

'Singular circumstance that,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Will you allow me tomake a note of it?'

'Certainly, Sir, certainly--hundred more anecdotes of the sameanimal.--Fine girl, Sir' (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowingsundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside).

'Very!' said Mr. Tupman.

'English girls not so fine as Spanish--noble creatures--jet hair--blackeyes--lovely forms--sweet creatures--beautiful.'

'You have been in Spain, sir?' said Mr. Tracy Tupman.

'Lived there--ages.' 'Many conquests, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman.

'Conquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig--grandee--only daughter--DonnaChristina--splendid creature--loved me to distraction--jealousfather--high-souled daughter--handsome Englishman--Donna Christinain despair--prussic acid--stomach pump in my portmanteau--operationperformed--old Bolaro in ecstasies--consent to our union--join hands andfloods of tears--romantic story--very.'

'Is the lady in England now, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom thedescription of her charms had produced a powerful impression.

'Dead, sir--dead,' said the stranger, applying to his right eye thebrief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. 'Never recovered thestomach pump--undermined constitution--fell a victim.'

'And her father?' inquired the poetic Snodgrass.

'Remorse and misery,' replied the stranger. 'Sudden disappearance--talkof the whole city--search made everywhere without success--publicfountain in the great square suddenly ceased playing--weekselapsed--still a stoppage--workmen employed to clean it--water drawnoff--father-in-law discovered sticking head first in the main pipe,with a full confession in his right boot--took him out, and the fountainplayed away again, as well as ever.'

'Will you allow me to note that little romance down, Sir?' said Mr.Snodgrass, deeply affected.

'Certainly, Sir, certainly--fifty more if you like to hear 'em--strangelife mine--rather curious history--not extraordinary, but singular.'

In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of parenthesis,when the coach changed horses, did the stranger proceed, until theyreached Rochester bridge, by which time the note-books, both of Mr.Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were completely filled with selections fromhis adventures.

'Magnificent ruin!' said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the poeticfervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of the fine oldcastle.

'What a sight for an antiquarian!' were the very words which fell fromMr. Pickwick's mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye.

'Ah! fine place,' said the stranger, 'glorious pile--frowningwalls--tottering arches--dark nooks--crumbling staircases--old cathedraltoo--earthy smell--pilgrims' feet wore away the old steps--littleSaxon doors--confessionals like money-takers' boxes at theatres--queercustomers those monks--popes, and lord treasurers, and all sorts ofold fellows, with great red faces, and broken noses, turning up everyday--buff jerkins too--match-locks--sarcophagus--fine place--oldlegends too--strange stories: capital;' and the stranger continued tosoliloquise until they reached the Bull Inn, in the High Street, wherethe coach stopped.

'Do you remain here, Sir?' inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle.

'Here--not I--but you'd better--good house--nice beds--Wright's nexthouse, dear--very dear--half-a-crown in the bill if you look at thewaiter--charge you more if you dine at a friend's than they would if youdined in the coffee-room--rum fellows--very.'

Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a few words; a whisperpassed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass, from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr.Tupman, and nods of assent were exchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed thestranger.

'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 beggingthe favour of your company at dinner?'

'Great pleasure--not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl andmushrooms--capital thing! What time?'

'Let me see,' replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, 'it is nownearly three. Shall we say five?'

'Suit me excellently,' said the stranger, 'five precisely--tillthen--care of yourselves;' and lifting the pinched-up hat a few inchesfrom his head, and carelessly replacing it very much on one side, thestranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out of his pocket,walked briskly up the yard, and turned into the High Street.

'Evidently a traveller in many countries, and a close observer of menand 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. Tupman said nothing; but he thought of Donna Christina, the stomachpump, and the fountain; and his eyes filled with tears.

A private sitting-room having been engaged, bedrooms inspected, anddinner ordered, the party walked out to view the city and adjoiningneighbourhood.

We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwick's notes ofthe four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, that hisimpressions of their appearance differ in any material point from thoseof other travellers who have gone over the same ground. His generaldescription is easily abridged.

'The principal productions of these towns,' says Mr. Pickwick, 'appearto be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and dockyardmen. The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the public streets aremarine stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, and oysters. The streetspresent a lively and animated appearance, occasioned chiefly by theconviviality of the military. It is truly delightful to a philanthropicmind to see these gallant men staggering along under the influence ofan overflow both of animal and ardent spirits; more especially when weremember that the following them about, and jesting with them, affords acheap and innocent amusement for the boy population. Nothing,' adds Mr.Pickwick, 'can exceed their good-humour. It was but the day before myarrival that one of them had been most grossly insulted in the houseof a publican. The barmaid had positively refused to draw him any moreliquor; in return for which he had (merely in playfulness) drawn hisbayonet, and wounded the girl in the shoulder. And yet this fine fellowwas the very first to go down to the house next morning and express hisreadiness to overlook the matter, and forget what had occurred!

'The consumption of tobacco in these towns,' continues Mr. Pickwick,'must be very great, and the smell which pervades the streets must beexceedingly delicious to those who are extremely fond of smoking. Asuperficial traveller might object to the dirt, which is their leadingcharacteristic; but to those who view it as an indication of traffic andcommercial prosperity, it is truly gratifying.'

Punctual to five o'clock came the stranger, and shortly afterwards thedinner. He had divested himself of his brown paper parcel, but had madeno alteration in his attire, and was, if possible, more loquacious thanever.

'What's that?' he inquired, as the waiter removed one of the covers.

'Soles, Sir.'

'Soles--ah!--capital fish--all come from London-stage-coach proprietorsget up political dinners--carriage of soles--dozens of baskets--cunningfellows. Glass of wine, Sir.'

'With pleasure,' said Mr. Pickwick; and the stranger took wine, firstwith him, and then with Mr. Snodgrass, and then with Mr. Tupman, andthen with Mr. Winkle, and then with the whole party together, almost asrapidly as he talked.

'Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter,' said the stranger. 'Formsgoing up--carpenters coming down--lamps, glasses, harps. What's goingforward?'

'Ball, Sir,' said the waiter.

'Assembly, eh?'

'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. Tupman,with great interest.

'Splendid--capital. Kent, sir--everybody knows Kent--apples, cherries,hops, and women. Glass of wine, Sir!'

'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger filled, andemptied.

'I should very much like to go,' said Mr. Tupman, resuming the subjectof the ball, 'very much.'

'Tickets at the bar, Sir,' interposed the waiter; 'half-a-guinea each,Sir.'

Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at thefestivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of Mr.Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he applied himselfwith great interest to the port wine and dessert, which had just beenplaced on the table. The waiter withdrew, and the party were left toenjoy the cosy couple of hours succeeding dinner.

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said the stranger, 'bottle stands--pass itround--way of the sun--through the button-hole--no heeltaps,' and heemptied his glass, which he had filled about two minutes before, andpoured 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, thePickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt every moment more disposedfor the ball. Mr. Pickwick's countenance glowed with an expressionof universal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass fell fastasleep.

'They're beginning upstairs,' said the stranger--'hear thecompany--fiddles tuning--now the harp--there they go.' The varioussounds which found their way downstairs announced the commencement ofthe first quadrille.

'How I should like to go,' said Mr. Tupman again.

'So should I,' said the stranger--'confounded luggage,--heavysmacks--nothing to go in--odd, ain't it?'

Now general benevolence was one of the leading features of thePickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for the zealousmanner in which he observed so noble a principle than Mr. Tracy Tupman.The number of instances recorded on the Transactions of the Society, inwhich that excellent man referred objects of charity to the housesof other members for left-off garments or pecuniary relief is almostincredible. 'I should be very happy to lend you a change of apparel forthe purpose,' said Mr. Tracy Tupman, 'but you are rather slim, and Iam--'

'Rather fat--grown-up Bacchus--cut the leaves--dismounted from the tub,and adopted kersey, eh?--not double distilled, but double milled--ha!ha! pass the wine.'

Whether Mr. Tupman was somewhat indignant at the peremptory tone inwhich he was desired to pass the wine which the stranger passed soquickly away, or whether he felt very properly scandalised at aninfluential member of the Pickwick Club being ignominiously comparedto a dismounted Bacchus, is a fact not yet completely ascertained. Hepassed the wine, coughed twice, and looked at the stranger for severalseconds with a stern intensity; as that individual, however, appearedperfectly collected, and quite calm under his searching glance, hegradually relaxed, and reverted to the subject of the ball.

'I was about to observe, Sir,' he said, 'that though my apparel wouldbe too large, a suit of my friend Mr. Winkle's would, perhaps, fit youbetter.'

The stranger took Mr. Winkle's measure with his eye, and that featureglistened with satisfaction as he said, 'Just the thing.'

Mr. Tupman looked round him. The wine, which had exerted its somniferousinfluence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, had stolen upon the sensesof Mr. Pickwick. That gentleman had gradually passed through thevarious stages which precede the lethargy produced by dinner, and itsconsequences. He had undergone the ordinary transitions from the heightof conviviality to the depth of misery, and from the depth of misery tothe height of conviviality. Like a gas-lamp in the street, with the windin the pipe, he had exhibited for a moment an unnatural brilliancy, thensank so low as to be scarcely discernible; after a short interval, hehad burst out again, to enlighten for a moment; then flickered with anuncertain, staggering sort of light, and then gone out altogether. Hishead was sunk upon his bosom, and perpetual snoring, with a partialchoke occasionally, were the only audible indications of the great man'spresence.

The temptation to be present at the ball, and to form his firstimpressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies, was strong upon Mr.Tupman. The temptation to take the stranger with him was equally great.He was wholly unacquainted with the place and its inhabitants, and thestranger seemed to possess as great a knowledge of both as if he hadlived there from his infancy. Mr. Winkle was asleep, and Mr. Tupman hadhad sufficient experience in such matters to know that the moment heawoke he would, in the ordinary course of nature, roll heavily tobed. He was undecided. 'Fill your glass, and pass the wine,' said theindefatigable visitor.

Mr. Tupman did as he was requested; and the additional stimulus of thelast glass settled his determination.

'Winkle's bedroom is inside mine,' said Mr. Tupman; 'I couldn't makehim understand what I wanted, if I woke him now, but I know he has adress-suit in a carpet bag; and supposing you wore it to the ball, andtook it off when we returned, I could replace it without troubling himat all about the matter.'

'Capital,' said the stranger, 'famous plan--damned oddsituation--fourteen coats in the packing-cases, and obliged to wearanother man's--very good notion, that--very.'

'We must purchase our tickets,' said Mr. Tupman.

'Not worth while splitting a guinea,' said the stranger, 'toss who shallpay for both--I call; you spin--first time--woman--woman--bewitchingwoman,' and down came the sovereign with the dragon (called by courtesya woman) uppermost.

Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered chambercandlesticks. In another quarter of an hour the stranger was completelyarrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel Winkle's.

'It's a new coat,' said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyed himselfwith great complacency in a cheval glass; 'the first that's been madewith our club button,' and he called his companions' attention to thelarge gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr. Pickwick in the centre,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--Peculiar Coat, eh?'

Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation and great importance, explained themystic device.

'Rather short in the waist, ain't it?' said the stranger, screwinghimself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons,which were half-way up his back. 'Like a general postman's coat--queercoats those--made by contract--no measuring--mysterious dispensationsof Providence--all the short men get long coats--all the long men shortones.' Running on in this way, Mr. Tupman's new companion adjustedhis dress, or rather the dress of Mr. Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr.Tupman, ascended the staircase leading to the ballroom.

'What names, sir?' said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy Tupman wasstepping forward to announce his own titles, when the stranger preventedhim.

'No names at all;' and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, 'names won'tdo--not known--very good names in their way, but not great ones--capitalnames for a small party, but won't make an impression in publicassemblies--incog. the thing--gentlemen from London--distinguishedforeigners--anything.' The door was thrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tupmanand the stranger entered the ballroom.

It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles inglass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevatedden, and quadrilles were being systematically got through by two orthree sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the adjoiningcard-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number ofstout gentlemen, were executing whist therein.

The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupmanand his companion stationed themselves in a corner to observe thecompany.

'Charming women,' said Mr. Tupman.

'Wait a minute,' said the stranger, 'fun presently--nobs not comeyet--queer place--dockyard people of upper rank don't know dockyardpeople of lower rank--dockyard people of lower rank don't know smallgentry--small gentry don't know tradespeople--commissioner don't knowanybody.'

'Who's that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancydress?'inquired Mr. Tupman.

'Hush, pray--pink eyes--fancy dress--little boy--nonsense--ensign97th--Honourable Wilmot Snipe--great family--Snipes--very.'

'Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Misses Clubber!' shouted theman at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was createdthroughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coatand bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies, ona similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue.

'Commissioner--head of the yard--great man--remarkably great man,'whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman's ear, as the charitable committeeushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. TheHonourable Wilmot Snipe, and other distinguished gentlemen crowded torender homage to the Misses Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stoodbolt upright, and looked majestically over his black kerchief at theassembled company.

'Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,' was the nextannouncement.

'What's Mr. Smithie?' inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman.

'Something in the yard,' replied the stranger. Mr. Smithie boweddeferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber acknowledgedthe salute with conscious condescension. Lady Clubber took a telescopicview of Mrs. Smithie and family through her eye-glass and Mrs. Smithiestared in her turn at Mrs. Somebody-else, whose husband was not in thedockyard at all.

'Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder,' were the nextarrivals.

'Head of the garrison,' said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupman'sinquiring look.

Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Misses Clubber; the greetingbetween Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was of the mostaffectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir Thomas Clubberexchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pair of AlexanderSelkirks--'Monarchs of all they surveyed.'

While the aristocracy of the place--the Bulders, and Clubbers, andSnipes--were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end of the room,the other classes of society were imitating their example in other partsof it. The less aristocratic officers of the 97th devoted themselves tothe families of the less important functionaries from the dockyard. Thesolicitors' wives, and the wine-merchant's wife, headed another grade(the brewer's wife visited the Bulders); and Mrs. Tomlinson, thepost-office keeper, seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen theleader of the trade party.

One of the most popular personages, in his own circle, present, was alittle fat man, with a ring of upright black hair round his head, andan extensive bald plain on the top of it--Doctor Slammer, surgeon tothe 97th. The doctor took snuff with everybody, chatted with everybody,laughed, danced, made jokes, played whist, did everything, and waseverywhere. To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the littledoctor added a more important one than any--he was indefatigable inpaying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow,whose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most desirableaddition to a limited income.

Upon the doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupman and hiscompanion 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. Tupmanlooked inquisitively in his face. 'I'll dance with the widow,' said thestranger.

'Who is she?' inquired Mr. Tupman.

'Don't know--never saw her in all my life--cut out the doctor--heregoes.' And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and, leaningagainst a mantel-piece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful andmelancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. Mr.Tupman looked on, in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly;the little doctor danced with another lady; the widow dropped herfan; the stranger picked it up, and presented it--a smile--a bow--acurtsey--a few words of conversation. The stranger walked boldly up to,and returned with, the master of the ceremonies; a little introductorypantomime; and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their places in aquadrille.

The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great as itwas, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the doctor. Thestranger was young, and the widow was flattered. The doctor's attentionswere unheeded by the widow; and the doctor's indignation was wholly loston his imperturbable rival. Doctor Slammer was paralysed. He, DoctorSlammer, of the 97th, to be extinguished in a moment, by a man whomnobody had ever seen before, and whom nobody knew even now! DoctorSlammer--Doctor Slammer of the 97th rejected! Impossible! It could notbe! Yes, it was; there they were. What! introducing his friend! Could hebelieve his eyes! He looked again, and was under the painful necessityof admitting the veracity of his optics; Mrs. Budger was dancing withMr. Tracy Tupman; there was no mistaking the fact. There was the widowbefore him, bouncing bodily here and there, with unwonted vigour; andMr. Tracy Tupman hopping about, with a face expressive of the mostintense solemnity, dancing (as a good many people do) as if a quadrillewere not a thing to be laughed 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 thehandings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting for biscuits,and coquetting, that ensued; but, a few seconds after the stranger haddisappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, he darted swiftly fromthe room with every particle of his hitherto-bottled-up indignationeffervescing, from all parts of his countenance, in a perspiration ofpassion.

The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside him. He spoke ina low tone, and laughed. The little doctor thirsted for his life. He wasexulting. He had triumphed.

'Sir!' said the doctor, in an awful voice, producing a card, andretiring into an angle of the passage, 'my name is Slammer, DoctorSlammer, 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--politeattention--not ill now, Slammer--but when I am--knock you up.'

'You--you're a shuffler, sir,' gasped the furious doctor, 'a poltroon--acoward--a liar--a--a--will nothing induce you to give me your card,sir!' 'Oh! I see,' said the stranger, half aside, 'negus too stronghere--liberal landlord--very foolish--very--lemonade much better--hotrooms--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 unmovedstranger.

Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he fixed his hat on hishead with an indignant knock; and the stranger and Mr. Tupman ascendedto the bedroom of the latter to restore the borrowed plumage to theunconscious Winkle.

That gentleman was fast asleep; the restoration was soon made. Thestranger was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, being quitebewildered with wine, negus, lights, and ladies, thought the wholeaffair was an exquisite joke. His new friend departed; and, afterexperiencing some slight difficulty in finding the orifice in hisnightcap, originally intended for the reception of his head, and finallyoverturning his candlestick in his struggles to put it on, Mr. TracyTupman 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 ofunconsciousness, in which slumber had plunged it, by a loud knocking athis 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 abright 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 hasforgotten whom it belongs to.' 'Mr. Winkle,'he called out, 'next roombut two, on the right hand.' 'Thank'ee, sir,' said the Boots, and awayhe went.

'What's the matter?' cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking at his doorroused hint from his oblivious repose.

'Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?' replied Boots from the outside.

'Winkle--Winkle!' shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the inner room.'Hollo!' replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes.

'You're wanted--some one at the door;' and, having exerted himself toarticulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned round and fell fast asleepagain.

'Wanted!' said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, and putting ona few articles of clothing; 'wanted! at this distance from town--who onearth can want me?'

'Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir,' replied the Boots, as Mr. Winkleopened the door and confronted him; 'gentleman says he'll not detain youa moment, Sir, but he can take no denial.'

'Very odd!' said Mr. Winkle; 'I'll be down directly.'

He hurriedly wrapped himself in a travelling-shawl and dressing-gown,and proceeded downstairs. An old woman and a couple of waiters werecleaning the coffee-room, and an officer in undress uniform was lookingout of the window. He turned round as Mr. Winkle entered, and made astiff inclination of the head. Having ordered the attendants 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 calledhere this morning on behalf of my friend, Doctor Slammer, of the 97th.'

'Doctor Slammer!' said Mr. Winkle.

'Doctor Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion that your conductof 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 theobservation of Doctor Slammer's friend; he therefore proceeded--'Myfriend, Doctor Slammer, requested me to add, that he was firmlypersuaded you were intoxicated during a portion of the evening, andpossibly unconscious of the extent of the insult you were guilty of.He commissioned me to say, that should this be pleaded as an excusefor your behaviour, he will consent to accept a written apology, to bepenned by you, from my dictation.'

'A written apology!' repeated Mr. Winkle, in the most emphatic tone ofamazement possible.

'Of course you know the alternative,' replied the visitor coolly.

'Were you intrusted with this message to me by name?' inquired Mr.Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused by this extraordinaryconversation.

'I was not present myself,' replied the visitor, 'and in consequence ofyour firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slammer, I was desired bythat gentleman to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat--a brightblue dress-coat, with a gilt button displaying a bust, and the letters"P. C."'

Mr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heard hisown costume thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer's friendproceeded:--'From the inquiries I made at the bar, just now, I wasconvinced that the owner of the coat in question arrived here, withthree gentlemen, yesterday afternoon. I immediately sent up to thegentleman who was described as appearing the head of the party, and heat once referred me to you.'

If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walked from itsfoundation, and stationed itself opposite the coffee-room window, Mr.Winkle's surprise would have been as nothing compared with the profoundastonishment with which he had heard this address. His first impressionwas that his coat had been stolen. 'Will you allow me to detain you onemoment?' said he.

'Certainly,' replied the unwelcome visitor.

Mr. Winkle ran hastily upstairs, and with a trembling hand opened thebag. There was the coat in its usual place, but exhibiting, on a closeinspection, 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 recollectionof walking about the streets, and smoking a cigar afterwards. The factis, I was very drunk;--I must have changed my coat--gone somewhere--andinsulted somebody--I have no doubt of it; and this message is theterrible consequence.' Saying which, Mr. Winkle retraced his steps inthe direction of the coffee-room, with the gloomy and dreadful resolveof accepting the challenge of the warlike Doctor Slammer, and abiding bythe worst consequences that might ensue.

To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety ofconsiderations, the first of which was his reputation with the club.He had always been looked up to as a high authority on all matters ofamusement and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive, or inoffensive;and if, on this very first occasion of being put to the test, he shrunkback from the trial, beneath his leader's eye, his name and standingwere lost for ever. Besides, he remembered to have heard it frequentlysurmised by the uninitiated in such matters that by an understoodarrangement between the seconds, the pistols were seldom loaded withball; and, furthermore, he reflected that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrassto act as his second, and depicted the danger in glowing terms, thatgentleman might possibly communicate the intelligence to Mr. Pickwick,who would certainly lose no time in transmitting it to the localauthorities, and thus prevent the killing or maiming of his follower.

Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room, andintimated his intention of accepting the doctor's challenge.

'Will you refer me to a friend, to arrange the time and place ofmeeting?' said the officer.

'Quite unnecessary,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'name them to me, and I canprocure the attendance of a friend afterwards.'

'Shall we say--sunset this evening?' inquired the officer, in a carelesstone.

'Very good,' replied Mr. Winkle, thinking in his heart it was very bad.

'You know Fort Pitt?'

'Yes; I saw it yesterday.'

'If you will take the trouble to turn into the field which borders thetrench, take the foot-path to the left when you arrive at an angle ofthe fortification, and keep straight on, till you see me, I will precedeyou to a secluded place, where the affair can be conducted without fearof 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.'

'Good-morning;' and the officer whistled a lively air as he strode away.

That morning's breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman was not in acondition to rise, after the unwonted dissipation of the previous night;Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labour under a poetical depression of spirits;and even Mr. Pickwick evinced an unusual attachment to silence andsoda-water. Mr. Winkle eagerly watched his opportunity: it was not longwanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle, and as Mr. Winklewas the only other member of the party disposed to walk, they went outtogether. 'Snodgrass,' said Mr. Winkle, when they had turned out ofthe public street. 'Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I rely upon yoursecrecy?' As he said this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he couldnot.

'You can,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. 'Hear me swear--'

'No, no,' interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his companion'sunconsciously 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 poesy,raised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal, and assumed anattitude of attention.

'I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of honour,' saidMr. Winkle.

'You shall have it,' replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his friend's hand.

'With a doctor--Doctor Slammer, of the 97th,' said Mr. Winkle, wishingto make the matter appear as solemn as possible; 'an affair with anofficer, seconded by another officer, at sunset this evening, in alonely field beyond Fort Pitt.'

'I will attend you,' said Mr. Snodgrass.

He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It is extraordinary howcool any party but the principal can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle hadforgotten 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; 'butso are you, ain't you?' Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative; andperceiving that he had not alarmed his companion sufficiently, changedhis 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 formy--for my father.'

This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected, but heundertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been atwopenny postman.

'If I fall,' said Mr. Winkle, 'or if the doctor falls, you, my dearfriend, will be tried as an accessory before the fact. Shall I involvemy friend in transportation--possibly for life!' Mr. Snodgrass winceda little at this, but his heroism was invincible. 'In the cause offriendship,' he fervently exclaimed, 'I would brave all dangers.'

How Mr. Winkle cursed his companion's devoted friendship internally,as they walked silently along, side by side, for some minutes, eachimmersed in his own meditations! The morning was wearing away; he grewdesperate.

'Snodgrass,' he said, stopping suddenly, 'do not let me be balked inthis matter--do not give information to the local authorities--do notobtain the assistance of several peace officers, to take either me orDoctor Slammer, of the 97th Regiment, at present quartered in ChathamBarracks, into custody, and thus prevent this duel!--I say, do not.'

Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly, as he enthusiasticallyreplied, 'Not for worlds!'

A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle's frame as the conviction that he hadnothing to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was destined tobecome an animated target, 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 accompanimentsof powder, ball, and caps, having been hired from a manufacturer inRochester, the two friends returned to their inn; Mr. Winkle to ruminateon the approaching struggle, and Mr. Snodgrass to arrange the weapons ofwar, and put them into proper order for immediate use.

it was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on theirawkward errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to escapeobservation, and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his the instruments ofdestruction.

'Have you got everything?' said Mr. Winkle, in an agitated tone.

'Everything,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; 'plenty of ammunition, in case theshots don't take effect. There's a quarter of a pound of powder in thecase, and I have got two newspapers in my pocket for the loadings.'

These were instances of friendship for which any man might reasonablyfeel most grateful. The presumption is, that the gratitude of Mr. Winklewas too powerful for utterance, as he said nothing, but continued towalk on--rather slowly.

'We are in excellent time,' said Mr. Snodgrass, as they climbed thefence of the first field;'the sun is just going down.' Mr. Winkle lookedup 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 minuteswalking. 'Where?' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'There--the gentleman in the blue cloak.' Mr. Snodgrass looked in thedirection indicated by the forefinger of his friend, and observeda figure, muffled up, as he had described. The officer evinced hisconsciousness of their presence by slightly beckoning with his hand; andthe two friends followed him at a little distance, as he walked away.

The evening grew more dull every moment, and a melancholy wind soundedthrough the deserted fields, like a distant giant whistling for hishouse-dog. The sadness of the scene imparted a sombre tinge to thefeelings of Mr. Winkle. He started as they passed the angle of thetrench--it looked like a colossal grave.

The officer turned suddenly from the path, and after climbing a paling,and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. Two gentlemen werewaiting in it; one was a little, fat man, with black hair; and theother--a portly personage in a braided surtout--was sitting with perfectequanimity on a camp-stool.

'The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose,' said Mr. Snodgrass; 'takea drop of brandy.' Mr. Winkle seized the wicker bottle which his friendproffered, and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid.

'My friend, Sir, Mr. Snodgrass,' said Mr. Winkle, as the officerapproached. Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a case similarto that which Mr. Snodgrass carried.

'We have nothing further to say, Sir, I think,' he coldly remarked, ashe opened the case; 'an apology has been resolutely declined.'

'Nothing, Sir,' said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel ratheruncomfortable himself.

'Will you step forward?' said the officer.

'Certainly,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured, andpreliminaries arranged. 'You will find these better than your own,' saidthe opposite second, producing his pistols. 'You saw me load them. Doyou object to use them?'

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved him fromconsiderable embarrassment, for his previous notions of loading a pistolwere rather vague and undefined.

'We may place our men, then, I think,' observed the officer, with asmuch indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and the secondsplayers.

'I think we may,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have assented toany proposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officercrossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle.

'It's all ready,' said he, offering the pistol. 'Give me your cloak.'

'You have got the packet, my dear fellow,' said poor Winkle. 'Allright,' said Mr. Snodgrass. 'Be steady, and wing him.'

It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that whichbystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street fight,namely, 'Go in, and win'--an admirable thing to recommend, if you onlyknow how to do it. He took off his cloak, however, in silence--italways took a long time to undo that cloak--and accepted the pistol. Theseconds retired, the gentleman on the camp-stool did the same, and thebelligerents approached each other.

Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It is conjecturedthat his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature intentionally was thecause of his shutting his eyes when he arrived at the fatal spot; andthat the circumstance of his eyes being closed, prevented his observingthe very extraordinary and unaccountable demeanour of Doctor Slammer.That gentleman started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, staredagain, and, finally, shouted, 'Stop, stop!'

'What's all this?' said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr. Snodgrasscame running up; 'that's not the man.'

'Not the man!' said Doctor 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 whoinsulted 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, asa matter of form, to be the individual who insulted our friend, DoctorSlammer, yesterday evening, whether he is really that individualor not;' and having delivered this suggestion, with a very sage andmysterious air, the man with the camp-stool took a large pinch ofsnuff, and looked profoundly round, with the air of an authority in suchmatters.

Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when he heard hisadversary call out for a cessation of hostilities; and perceiving bywhat he had afterwards said that there was, beyond all question, somemistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the increase of reputation heshould inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive of his comingout; 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 an affront to DoctorSlammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately.'

'Pray be quiet, Payne,' said the doctor's second. 'Why did you notcommunicate 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, Payne,' said the other. 'May I repeat myquestion, Sir?'

'Because, Sir,' replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time to deliberateupon his answer, 'because, Sir, you described an intoxicated andungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I have the honour, not onlyto wear but to have invented--the proposed uniform, Sir, of the PickwickClub in London. The honour of that uniform I feel bound to maintain, andI therefore, without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offeredme.'

'My dear Sir,' said the good-humoured little doctor advancing withextended hand, 'I honour your gallantry. Permit me to say, Sir, that Ihighly admire your conduct, and extremely regret having caused you theinconvenience 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. Thereupon 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-named gentleman in an excess of admiration at thenoble 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. Winklefeels himself aggrieved by the challenge; in which case, I submit, hehas a right to satisfaction.'

Mr. Winkle, with great self-denial, expressed himself quite satisfiedalready. 'Or possibly,' said the man with the camp-stool, 'thegentleman's second may feel himself affronted with some observationswhich fell from me at an early period of this meeting; if so, I shall behappy to give him satisfaction immediately.'

Mr. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged with thehandsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken last, which he was onlyinduced to decline by his entire contentment with the whole proceedings.The two seconds adjusted the cases, and the whole party left the groundin a much more lively manner than they had proceeded to it.

'Do you remain long here?' inquired Doctor Slammer of Mr. Winkle, asthey walked on most amicably together.

'I think we shall leave here the day after to-morrow,' was the reply.

'I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your friend at myrooms, and of spending a pleasant evening with you, after this awkwardmistake,' said the little doctor; 'are you disengaged this evening?'

'We have some friends here,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'and I should not liketo leave them to-night. Perhaps you and your friend will join us at theBull.'

'With great pleasure,' said the little doctor; 'will ten o'clock be toolate to look in for half an hour?'

'Oh dear, no,' said Mr. Winkle. 'I shall be most happy to introduce youto my friends, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman.'

'It will give me great pleasure, I am sure,' replied Doctor Slammer,little suspecting who Mr. Tupman was.

'You will be sure to come?' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'Oh, certainly.'

By this time they had reached the road. Cordial farewells wereexchanged, and the party separated. Doctor Slammer and his friendsrepaired to the barracks, and Mr. Winkle, accompanied by Mr. Snodgrass,returned to their inn.