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The fatiguing adventures of the day or the somniferous influence of theclergyman's tale operated so strongly on the drowsy tendencies of Mr.Pickwick, that in less than five minutes after he had been shown to hiscomfortable bedroom he fell into a sound and dreamless sleep, fromwhich he was only awakened by the morning sun darting his bright beamsreproachfully into the apartment. Mr. Pickwick was no sluggard, and hesprang like an ardent warrior from his tent-bedstead.

'Pleasant, pleasant country,' sighed the enthusiastic gentleman, as heopened his lattice window. 'Who could live to gaze from day to day onbricks and slates who had once felt the influence of a scene like this?Who could continue to exist where there are no cows but the cows on thechimney-pots; nothing redolent of Pan but pan-tiles; no crop but stonecrop? Who could bear to drag out a life in such a spot? Who, I ask,could endure it?' and, having cross-examined solitude after the mostapproved precedents, at considerable length, Mr. Pickwick thrust hishead out of the lattice and looked around him.

The rich, sweet smell of the hay-ricks rose to his chamber window; thehundred perfumes of the little flower-garden beneath scented the airaround; the deep-green meadows shone in the morning dew that glistenedon every leaf as it trembled in the gentle air; and the birds sang asif every sparkling drop were to them a fountain of inspiration. Mr.Pickwick fell into an enchanting and delicious reverie.

'Hollo!' was the sound that roused him.

He looked to the right, but he saw nobody; his eyes wandered to theleft, and pierced the prospect; he stared into the sky, but he wasn'twanted there; and then he did what a common mind would have done atonce--looked into the garden, and there saw Mr. Wardle. 'How areyou?' said the good-humoured individual, out of breath with his ownanticipations of pleasure.'Beautiful morning, ain't it? Glad to see youup so early. Make haste down, and come out. I'll wait for you here.'Mr. Pickwick needed no second invitation. Ten minutes sufficed for thecompletion of his toilet, and at the expiration of that time he was bythe old gentleman's side.

'Hollo!' said Mr. Pickwick in his turn, seeing that his companion wasarmed with a gun, and that another lay ready on the grass; 'what's goingforward?'

'Why, your friend and I,' replied the host, 'are going out rook-shootingbefore breakfast. He's a very good shot, ain't he?'

'I've heard him say he's a capital one,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'but Inever saw him aim at anything.'

'Well,' said the host, 'I wish he'd come. Joe--Joe!'

The fat boy, who under the exciting influence of the morning did notappear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep, emerged fromthe house.

'Go up, and call the gentleman, and tell him he'll find me and Mr.Pickwick in the rookery. Show the gentleman the way there; d'ye hear?'

The boy departed to execute his commission; and the host, carrying bothguns like a second Robinson Crusoe, led the way from the garden.

'This is the place,' said the old gentleman, pausing after a few minuteswalking, in an avenue of trees. The information was unnecessary; for theincessant cawing of the unconscious rooks sufficiently indicated theirwhereabouts.

The old gentleman laid one gun on the ground, and loaded the other.

'Here they are,' said Mr. Pickwick; and, as he spoke, the forms of Mr.Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle appeared in the distance. The fatboy, not being quite certain which gentleman he was directed to call,had with peculiar sagacity, and to prevent the possibility of anymistake, called them all.

'Come along,' shouted the old gentleman, addressing Mr. Winkle; 'a keenhand like you ought to have been up long ago, even to such poor work asthis.'

Mr. Winkle responded with a forced smile, and took up the spare gun withan expression of countenance which a metaphysical rook, impressed witha foreboding of his approaching death by violence, may be supposedto assume. It might have been keenness, but it looked remarkably likemisery. The old gentleman nodded; and two ragged boys who had beenmarshalled to the spot under the direction of the infant Lambert,forthwith commenced climbing up two of the trees. 'What are these ladsfor?' inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly. He was rather alarmed; for he wasnot quite certain but that the distress of the agricultural interest,about which he had often heard a great deal, might have compelled thesmall boys attached to the soil to earn a precarious and hazardoussubsistence by making marks of themselves for inexperienced sportsmen.'Only to start the game,' replied Mr. Wardle, laughing.

'To what?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Why, in plain English, to frighten the rooks.'

'Oh, is that all?'

'You are satisfied?'

'Quite.'

'Very well. Shall I begin?'

'If you please,' said Mr. Winkle, glad of any respite.

'Stand aside, then. Now for it.'

The boy shouted, and shook a branch with a nest on it. Half a dozenyoung rooks in violent conversation, flew out to ask what the matterwas. The old gentleman fired by way of reply. Down fell one bird, andoff flew the others.

'Take him up, Joe,' said the old gentleman.

There was a smile upon the youth's face as he advanced. Indistinctvisions of rook-pie floated through his imagination. He laughed as heretired with the bird--it was a plump one.

'Now, Mr. Winkle,' said the host, reloading his own gun. 'Fire away.'

Mr. Winkle advanced, and levelled his gun. Mr. Pickwick and his friendscowered involuntarily to escape damage from the heavy fall of rooks,which they felt quite certain would be occasioned by the devastatingbarrel of their friend. There was a solemn pause--a shout--a flapping ofwings--a faint click.

'Hollo!' said the old gentleman.

'Won't it go?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Missed fire,' said Mr. Winkle, who was very pale--probably fromdisappointment.

'Odd,' said the old gentleman, taking the gun. 'Never knew one of themmiss fire before. Why, I don't see anything of the cap.' 'Bless mysoul!' said Mr. Winkle, 'I declare I forgot the cap!'

The slight omission was rectified. Mr. Pickwick crouched again. Mr.Winkle stepped forward with an air of determination and resolution; andMr. Tupman looked out from behind a tree. The boy shouted; four birdsflew out. Mr. Winkle fired. There was a scream as of an individual--nota rook--in corporal anguish. Mr. Tupman had saved the lives ofinnumerable unoffending birds by receiving a portion of the charge inhis left arm.

To describe the confusion that ensued would be impossible. To tellhow Mr. Pickwick in the first transports of emotion called Mr. Winkle'Wretch!' how Mr. Tupman lay prostrate on the ground; and how Mr. Winkleknelt horror-stricken beside him; how Mr. Tupman called distractedlyupon some feminine Christian name, and then opened first one eye, andthen the other, and then fell back and shut them both--all this would beas difficult to describe in detail, as it would be to depict the gradualrecovering of the unfortunate individual, the binding up of his armwith pocket-handkerchiefs, and the conveying him back by slow degreessupported by the arms of his anxious friends.

They drew near the house. The ladies were at the garden gate, waitingfor their arrival and their breakfast. The spinster aunt appeared; shesmiled, and beckoned them to walk quicker. 'Twas evident she knew notof the disaster. Poor thing! there are times when ignorance is blissindeed.

They approached nearer.

'Why, what is the matter with the little old gentleman?' said IsabellaWardle. The spinster aunt heeded not the remark; she thought it appliedto Mr. Pickwick. In her eyes Tracy Tupman was a youth; she viewed hisyears through a diminishing glass.

'Don't be frightened,' called out the old host, fearful of alarming hisdaughters. The little party had crowded so completely round Mr. Tupman,that they could not yet clearly discern the nature of the accident.

'Don't be frightened,' said the host.

'What's the matter?' screamed the ladies.

'Mr. Tupman has met with a little accident; that's all.'

The spinster aunt uttered a piercing scream, burst into an hystericlaugh, and fell backwards in the arms of her nieces.

'Throw some cold water over her,' said the old gentleman.

'No, no,' murmured the spinster aunt; 'I am better now. Bella, Emily--asurgeon! Is he wounded?--Is he dead?--Is he--Ha, ha, ha!' Herethe spinster aunt burst into fit number two, of hysteric laughterinterspersed with screams.

'Calm yourself,' said Mr. Tupman, affected almost to tears by thisexpression of sympathy with his sufferings. 'Dear, dear madam, calmyourself.'

'It is his voice!' exclaimed the spinster aunt; and strong symptoms offit number three developed themselves forthwith.

'Do not agitate yourself, I entreat you, dearest madam,' said Mr. Tupmansoothingly. 'I am very little hurt, I assure you.'

'Then you are not dead!' ejaculated the hysterical lady. 'Oh, say youare not dead!'

'Don't be a fool, Rachael,' interposed Mr. Wardle, rather more roughlythan was consistent with the poetic nature of the scene. 'What thedevil's the use of his saying he isn't dead?'

'No, no, I am not,' said Mr. Tupman. 'I require no assistance but yours.Let me lean on your arm.' He added, in a whisper, 'Oh, Miss Rachael!'The agitated female advanced, and offered her arm. They turned into thebreakfast parlour. Mr. Tracy Tupman gently pressed her hand to his lips,and sank upon the sofa.

'Are you faint?' inquired the anxious Rachael.

'No,' said Mr. Tupman. 'It is nothing. I shall be better presently.' Heclosed his eyes.

'He sleeps,' murmured the spinster aunt. (His organs of vision had beenclosed nearly twenty seconds.) 'Dear--dear--Mr. Tupman!'

Mr. Tupman jumped up--'Oh, say those words again!' he exclaimed.

The lady started. 'Surely you did not hear them!' she said bashfully.

'Oh, yes, I did!' replied Mr. Tupman; 'repeat them. If you would haveme recover, repeat them.' 'Hush!' said the lady. 'My brother.' Mr. TracyTupman resumed his former position; and Mr. Wardle, accompanied by asurgeon, entered the room.

The arm was examined, the wound dressed, and pronounced to be a veryslight one; and the minds of the company having been thus satisfied,they proceeded to satisfy their appetites with countenances to which anexpression of cheerfulness was again restored. Mr. Pickwick alonewas silent and reserved. Doubt and distrust were exhibited in hiscountenance. His confidence in Mr. Winkle had been shaken--greatlyshaken--by the proceedings of the morning. 'Are you a cricketer?'inquired Mr. Wardle of the marksman.

At any other time, Mr. Winkle would have replied in the affirmative. Hefelt the delicacy of his situation, and modestly replied, 'No.'

'Are you, sir?' inquired Mr. Snodgrass.

'I was once upon a time,' replied the host; 'but I have given it up now.I subscribe to the club here, but I don't play.'

'The grand match is played to-day, I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'It is,' replied the host. 'Of course you would like to see it.'

'I, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'am delighted to view any sportswhich may be safely indulged in, and in which the impotent effects ofunskilful people do not endanger human life.' Mr. Pickwick paused,and looked steadily on Mr. Winkle, who quailed beneath his leader'ssearching glance. The great man withdrew his eyes after a few minutes,and added: 'Shall we be justified in leaving our wounded friend to thecare of the ladies?'

'You cannot leave me in better hands,' said Mr. Tupman.

'Quite impossible,' said Mr. Snodgrass.

It was therefore settled that Mr. Tupman should be left at home incharge of the females; and that the remainder of the guests, under theguidance of Mr. Wardle, should proceed to the spot where was to be heldthat trial of skill, which had roused all Muggleton from its torpor, andinoculated Dingley Dell with a fever of excitement.

As their walk, which was not above two miles long, lay through shadylanes and sequestered footpaths, and as their conversation turned uponthe delightful scenery by which they were on every side surrounded, Mr.Pickwick was almost inclined to regret the expedition they had used,when he found himself in the main street of the town of Muggleton.Everybody whose genius has a topographical bent knows perfectly wellthat Muggleton is a corporate town, with a mayor, burgesses, andfreemen; and anybody who has consulted the addresses of the mayor to thefreemen, or the freemen to the mayor, or both to the corporation, orall three to Parliament, will learn from thence what they ought to haveknown before, that Muggleton is an ancient and loyal borough, minglinga zealous advocacy of Christian principles with a devoted attachment tocommercial rights; in demonstration whereof, the mayor, corporation,and other inhabitants, have presented at divers times, no fewer than onethousand four hundred and twenty petitions against the continuance ofnegro slavery abroad, and an equal number against any interference withthe factory system at home; sixty-eight in favour of the sale of livingsin the Church, and eighty-six for abolishing Sunday trading in thestreet.

Mr. Pickwick stood in the principal street of this illustrious town,and gazed with an air of curiosity, not unmixed with interest, on theobjects around him. There was an open square for the market-place; andin the centre of it, a large inn with a sign-post in front, displayingan object very common in art, but rarely met with in nature--to wit,a blue lion, with three bow legs in the air, balancing himself on theextreme point of the centre claw of his fourth foot. There were, withinsight, an auctioneer's and fire-agency office, a corn-factor's,a linen-draper's, a saddler's, a distiller's, a grocer's, and ashoe-shop--the last-mentioned warehouse being also appropriated tothe diffusion of hats, bonnets, wearing apparel, cotton umbrellas,and useful knowledge. There was a red brick house with a small pavedcourtyard in front, which anybody might have known belonged to theattorney; and there was, moreover, another red brick house with Venetianblinds, and a large brass door-plate with a very legible announcementthat it belonged to the surgeon. A few boys were making their way to thecricket-field; and two or three shopkeepers who were standing at theirdoors looked as if they should like to be making their way to the samespot, as indeed to all appearance they might have done, without losingany great amount of custom thereby. Mr. Pickwick having paused tomake these observations, to be noted down at a more convenient period,hastened to rejoin his friends, who had turned out of the main street,and were already within sight of the field of battle.

The wickets were pitched, and so were a couple of marquees for therest and refreshment of the contending parties. The game had not yetcommenced. Two or three Dingley Dellers, and All-Muggletonians, wereamusing themselves with a majestic air by throwing the ball carelesslyfrom hand to hand; and several other gentlemen dressed like them, instraw hats, flannel jackets, and white trousers--a costume in which theylooked very much like amateur stone-masons--were sprinkled about thetents, towards one of which Mr. Wardle conducted the party.

Several dozen of 'How-are-you's?' hailed the old gentleman's arrival;and a general raising of the straw hats, and bending forward of theflannel jackets, followed his introduction of his guests as gentlemenfrom London, who were extremely anxious to witness the proceedings ofthe day, with which, he had no doubt, they would be greatly delighted.

'You had better step into the marquee, I think, Sir,' said one verystout gentleman, whose body and legs looked like half a gigantic roll offlannel, elevated on a couple of inflated pillow-cases.

'You'll find it much pleasanter, Sir,' urged another stout gentleman,who strongly resembled the other half of the roll of flannel aforesaid.

'You're very good,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'This way,' said the first speaker; 'they notch in here--it's thebest place in the whole field;' and the cricketer, panting on before,preceded them to the tent.

'Capital game--smart sport--fine exercise--very,' were the words whichfell upon Mr. Pickwick's ear as he entered the tent; and the firstobject that met his eyes was his green-coated friend of the Rochestercoach, holding forth, to the no small delight and edification of aselect circle of the chosen of All-Muggleton. His dress was slightlyimproved, and he wore boots; but there was no mistaking him.

The stranger recognised his friends immediately; and, darting forwardand seizing Mr. Pickwick by the hand, dragged him to a seat withhis usual impetuosity, talking all the while as if the whole of thearrangements were under his especial patronage and direction.

'This way--this way--capital fun--lots of beer--hogsheads; rounds ofbeef--bullocks; mustard--cart-loads; glorious day--down with you--makeyourself at home--glad to see you--very.'

Mr. Pickwick sat down as he was bid, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrassalso complied with the directions of their mysterious friend. Mr. Wardlelooked on in silent wonder.

'Mr. Wardle--a friend of mine,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Friend of yours!--My dear sir, how are you?--Friend of myfriend's--give me your hand, sir'--and the stranger grasped Mr. Wardle'shand with all the fervour of a close intimacy of many years, and thenstepped back a pace or two as if to take a full survey of his face andfigure, and then shook hands with him again, if possible, more warmlythan before.

'Well; and how came you here?' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile inwhich benevolence struggled with surprise. 'Come,' replied thestranger--'stopping at Crown--Crown at Muggleton--met a party--flanneljackets--white trousers--anchovy sandwiches--devilled kidney--splendidfellows--glorious.'

Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently versed in the stranger's system ofstenography to infer from this rapid and disjointed communicationthat he had, somehow or other, contracted an acquaintance with theAll-Muggletons, which he had converted, by a process peculiar tohimself, into that extent of good-fellowship on which a generalinvitation may be easily founded. His curiosity was therefore satisfied,and putting on his spectacles he prepared himself to watch the playwhich was just commencing.

All-Muggleton had the first innings; and the interest became intensewhen Mr. Dumkins and Mr. Podder, two of the most renowned members ofthat most distinguished club, walked, bat in hand, to their respectivewickets. Mr. Luffey, the highest ornament of Dingley Dell, was pitchedto bowl against the redoubtable Dumkins, and Mr. Struggles was selectedto do the same kind office for the hitherto unconquered Podder. Severalplayers were stationed, to 'look out,' in different parts of the field,and each fixed himself into the proper attitude by placing one hand oneach knee, and stooping very much as if he were 'making a back' forsome beginner at leap-frog. All the regular players do this sort ofthing;--indeed it is generally supposed that it is quite impossible tolook out properly in any other position.

The umpires were stationed behind the wickets; the scorers were preparedto notch the runs; a breathless silence ensued. Mr. Luffey retired a fewpaces behind the wicket of the passive Podder, and applied the ballto his right eye for several seconds. Dumkins confidently awaited itscoming with his eyes fixed on the motions of Luffey.

'Play!' suddenly cried the bowler. The ball flew from his hand straightand swift towards the centre stump of the wicket. The wary Dumkins wason the alert: it fell upon the tip of the bat, and bounded far away overthe heads of the scouts, who had just stooped low enough to let it flyover them.

'Run--run--another.--Now, then throw her up--up with her--stopthere--another--no--yes--no--throw her up, throw her up!'--Such werethe shouts which followed the stroke; and at the conclusion of whichAll-Muggleton had scored two. Nor was Podder behindhand in earninglaurels wherewith to garnish himself and Muggleton. He blocked thedoubtful balls, missed the bad ones, took the good ones, and sent themflying to all parts of the field. The scouts were hot and tired; thebowlers were changed and bowled till their arms ached; but Dumkins andPodder remained unconquered. Did an elderly gentleman essay to stop theprogress of the ball, it rolled between his legs or slipped betweenhis fingers. Did a slim gentleman try to catch it, it struck him on thenose, and bounded pleasantly off with redoubled violence, while the slimgentleman's eyes filled with water, and his form writhed with anguish.Was it thrown straight up to the wicket, Dumkins had reached it beforethe ball. In short, when Dumkins was caught out, and Podder stumpedout, All-Muggleton had notched some fifty-four, while the score of theDingley Dellers was as blank as their faces. The advantage was too greatto be recovered. In vain did the eager Luffey, and the enthusiasticStruggles, do all that skill and experience could suggest, to regain theground Dingley Dell had lost in the contest--it was of no avail; and inan early period of the winning game Dingley Dell gave in, and allowedthe superior prowess of All-Muggleton.

The stranger, meanwhile, had been eating, drinking, and talking, withoutcessation. At every good stroke he expressed his satisfaction andapproval of the player in a most condescending and patronising manner,which could not fail to have been highly gratifying to the partyconcerned; while at every bad attempt at a catch, and every failure tostop the ball, he launched his personal displeasure at the head of thedevoted individual in such denunciations as--'Ah, ah!--stupid'--'Now,butter-fingers'--'Muff'--'Humbug'--and so forth--ejaculations whichseemed to establish him in the opinion of all around, as a mostexcellent and undeniable judge of the whole art and mystery of the noblegame of cricket.

'Capital game--well played--some strokes admirable,' said the stranger,as both sides crowded into the tent, at the conclusion of the game.

'You have played it, sir?' inquired Mr. Wardle, who had been much amusedby his loquacity. 'Played it! Think I have--thousands of times--nothere--West Indies--exciting thing--hot work--very.' 'It must be rather awarm pursuit in such a climate,' observed Mr. Pickwick.

'Warm!--red hot--scorching--glowing. Played a match once--singlewicket--friend the colonel--Sir Thomas Blazo--who should get thegreatest number of runs.--Won the toss--first innings--seven o'clockA.m.--six natives to look out--went in; kept in--heat intense--nativesall fainted--taken away--fresh half-dozen ordered--fainted also--Blazobowling--supported by two natives--couldn't bowl me out--faintedtoo--cleared away the colonel--wouldn't give in--faithfulattendant--Quanko Samba--last man left--sun so hot, bat inblisters, ball scorched brown--five hundred and seventy runs--ratherexhausted--Quanko mustered up last remaining strength--bowled meout--had a bath, and went out to dinner.'

'And what became of what's-his-name, Sir?' inquired an old gentleman.

'Blazo?'

'No--the other gentleman.' 'Quanko Samba?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Poor Quanko--never recovered it--bowled on, on my account--bowled off,on his own--died, sir.' Here the stranger buried his countenance in abrown jug, but whether to hide his emotion or imbibe its contents, wecannot distinctly affirm. We only know that he paused suddenly, drew along and deep breath, and looked anxiously on, as two of the principalmembers of the Dingley Dell club approached Mr. Pickwick, and said--

'We are about to partake of a plain dinner at the Blue Lion, Sir; wehope you and your friends will join us.' 'Of course,' said Mr. Wardle,'among our friends we include Mr.--;' and he looked towards thestranger.

'Jingle,' said that versatile gentleman, taking the hint at once.'Jingle--Alfred Jingle, Esq., of No Hall, Nowhere.'

'I shall be very happy, I am sure,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'So shall I,'said Mr. Alfred Jingle, drawing one arm through Mr. Pickwick's, andanother through Mr. Wardle's, as he whispered confidentially in the earof the former gentleman:--

'Devilish good dinner--cold, but capital--peeped into the room thismorning--fowls and pies, and all that sort of thing--pleasant fellowsthese--well behaved, too--very.'

There being no further preliminaries to arrange, the company straggledinto the town in little knots of twos and threes; and within a quarterof an hour were all seated in the great room of the Blue Lion Inn,Muggleton--Mr. Dumkins acting as chairman, and Mr. Luffey officiating asvice.

There was a vast deal of talking and rattling of knives and forks, andplates; a great running about of three ponderous-headed waiters, and arapid disappearance of the substantial viands on the table; to each andevery of which item of confusion, the facetious Mr. Jingle lent the aidof half-a-dozen ordinary men at least. When everybody had eaten as muchas possible, the cloth was removed, bottles, glasses, and dessert wereplaced on the table; and the waiters withdrew to 'clear away,'or inother words, to appropriate to their own private use and emolumentwhatever remnants of the eatables and drinkables they could contrive tolay their hands on.

Amidst the general hum of mirth and conversation that ensued, there wasa little man with a puffy Say-nothing-to-me,-or-I'll-contradict-you sortof countenance, who remained very quiet; occasionally looking roundhim when the conversation slackened, as if he contemplated putting insomething very weighty; and now and then bursting into a short coughof inexpressible grandeur. At length, during a moment of comparativesilence, the little man called out in a very loud, solemn voice,--

'Mr. Luffey!'

Everybody was hushed into a profound stillness as the individualaddressed, replied--

'Sir!'

'I wish to address a few words to you, Sir, if you will entreat thegentlemen to fill their glasses.'

Mr. Jingle uttered a patronising 'Hear, hear,' which was responded toby the remainder of the company; and the glasses having been filled,the vice-president assumed an air of wisdom in a state of profoundattention; and said--

'Mr. Staple.'

'Sir,' said the little man, rising, 'I wish to address what I have tosay to you and not to our worthy chairman, because our worthy chairmanis in some measure--I may say in a great degree--the subject of what Ihave to say, or I may say to--to--' 'State,' suggested Mr. Jingle.

'Yes, to state,' said the little man, 'I thank my honourable friend, ifhe will allow me to call him so (four hears and one certainly fromMr. Jingle), for the suggestion. Sir, I am a Deller--a Dingley Deller(cheers). I cannot lay claim to the honour of forming an item in thepopulation of Muggleton; nor, Sir, I will frankly admit, do I covet thathonour: and I will tell you why, Sir (hear); to Muggleton I will readilyconcede all these honours and distinctions to which it can fairlylay claim--they are too numerous and too well known to require aid orrecapitulation from me. But, sir, while we remember that Muggleton hasgiven birth to a Dumkins and a Podder, let us never forget that DingleyDell can boast a Luffey and a Struggles. (Vociferous cheering.) Let menot be considered as wishing to detract from the merits of the formergentlemen. Sir, I envy them the luxury of their own feelings on thisoccasion. (Cheers.) Every gentleman who hears me, is probably acquaintedwith the reply made by an individual, who--to use an ordinary figure ofspeech--"hung out" in a tub, to the emperor Alexander:--"if I were notDiogenes," said he, "I would be Alexander." I can well imagine thesegentlemen to say, "If I were not Dumkins I would be Luffey; if I werenot Podder I would be Struggles." (Enthusiasm.) But, gentlemen ofMuggleton, is it in cricket alone that your fellow-townsmen standpre-eminent? Have you never heard of Dumkins and determination? Have younever been taught to associate Podder with property? (Great applause.)Have you never, when struggling for your rights, your liberties, andyour privileges, been reduced, if only for an instant, to misgivingand despair? And when you have been thus depressed, has not the name ofDumkins laid afresh within your breast the fire which had just gone out;and has not a word from that man lighted it again as brightly as if ithad never expired? (Great cheering.) Gentlemen, I beg to surround witha rich halo of enthusiastic cheering the united names of "Dumkins andPodder."'

Here the little man ceased, and here the company commenced a raising ofvoices, and thumping of tables, which lasted with little intermissionduring the remainder of the evening. Other toasts were drunk. Mr. Luffeyand Mr. Struggles, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Jingle, were, each in his turn,the subject of unqualified eulogium; and each in due course returnedthanks for the honour.

Enthusiastic as we are in the noble cause to which we have devotedourselves, we should have felt a sensation of pride which we cannotexpress, and a consciousness of having done something to meritimmortality of which we are now deprived, could we have laid thefaintest outline on these addresses before our ardent readers. Mr.Snodgrass, as usual, took a great mass of notes, which would no doubthave afforded most useful and valuable information, had not the burningeloquence of the words or the feverish influence of the wine made thatgentleman's hand so extremely unsteady, as to render his writingnearly unintelligible, and his style wholly so. By dint of patientinvestigation, we have been enabled to trace some characters bearing afaint resemblance to the names of the speakers; and we can only discernan entry of a song (supposed to have been sung by Mr. Jingle), in whichthe words 'bowl' 'sparkling' 'ruby' 'bright' and 'wine' are frequentlyrepeated at short intervals. We fancy, too, that we can discern at thevery end of the notes, some indistinct reference to 'broiled bones'; andthen the words 'cold' 'without' occur: but as any hypothesis we couldfound upon them must necessarily rest upon mere conjecture, we are notdisposed to indulge in any of the speculations to which they may giverise.

We will therefore return to Mr. Tupman; merely adding that withinsome few minutes before twelve o'clock that night, the convocation ofworthies of Dingley Dell and Muggleton were heard to sing, with greatfeeling and emphasis, the beautiful and pathetic national air of

'We won't go home till morning, We won't go home till morning, We won't go home till morning, Till daylight doth appear.'