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The morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick's sight at eight o'clock,was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits, or to lessen thedepression which the unlooked-for result of his embassy inspired. Thesky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wetand sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if itlacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down,as if it had not even the spirit to pour. A game-cock in the stableyard,deprived of every spark of his accustomed animation, balanced himselfdismally on one leg in a corner; a donkey, moping with drooping headunder the narrow roof of an outhouse, appeared from his meditativeand miserable countenance to be contemplating suicide. In the street,umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and the clicking of pattensand splashing of rain-drops were the only sounds to be heard.

The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation; even Mr.Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the previous day'sexcitement. In his own expressive language he was 'floored.' So was Mr.Ben Allen. So was Mr. Pickwick.

In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the last eveningpaper from London was read and re-read with an intensity of interestonly known in cases of extreme destitution; every inch of the carpet waswalked over with similar perseverance; the windows were looked out of,often enough to justify the imposition of an additional duty upon them;all kinds of topics of conversation were started, and failed; and atlength Mr. Pickwick, when noon had arrived, without a change for thebetter, rang the bell resolutely, and ordered out the chaise.

Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain came down harderthan it had done yet, and although the mud and wet splashed in at theopen windows of the carriage to such an extent that the discomfort wasalmost as great to the pair of insides as to the pair of outsides, stillthere was something in the motion, and the sense of being up and doing,which was so infinitely superior to being pent in a dull room, lookingat the dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed, onstarting, that the change was a great improvement, and wondered how theycould possibly have delayed making it as long as they had done.

When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascended from thehorses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler, whose voice washowever heard to declare from the mist, that he expected the first goldmedal from the Humane Society on their next distribution of rewards,for taking the postboy's hat off; the water descending from the brimof which, the invisible gentleman declared, must have drowned him (thepostboy), but for his great presence of mind in tearing it promptly fromhis head, and drying the gasping man's countenance with a wisp of straw.

'This is pleasant,' said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar, andpulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of a glass ofbrandy just swallowed.

'Wery,' replied Sam composedly.

'You don't seem to mind it,' observed Bob.

'Vy, I don't exactly see no good my mindin' on it 'ud do, sir,' repliedSam.

'That's an unanswerable reason, anyhow,' said Bob.

'Yes, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Wotever is, is right, as the youngnobleman sweetly remarked wen they put him down in the pension list 'coshis mother's uncle's vife's grandfather vunce lit the king's pipe vith aportable tinder-box.' 'Not a bad notion that, Sam,' said Mr. Bob Sawyerapprovingly.

'Just wot the young nobleman said ev'ry quarter-day arterwards for therest of his life,' replied Mr. Weller.

'Wos you ever called in,' inquired Sam, glancing at the driver, after ashort silence, and lowering his voice to a mysterious whisper--'wosyou ever called in, when you wos 'prentice to a sawbones, to wisit apostboy.'

'I don't remember that I ever was,' replied Bob Sawyer.

'You never see a postboy in that 'ere hospital as you WALKED (as theysays o' the ghosts), did you?' demanded Sam.

'No,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'I don't think I ever did.'

'Never know'd a churchyard were there wos a postboy's tombstone, or seea dead postboy, did you?' inquired Sam, pursuing his catechism.

'No,' rejoined Bob, 'I never did.'

'No!' rejoined Sam triumphantly. 'Nor never vill; and there's anotherthing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey. No man never seea dead donkey 'cept the gen'l'm'n in the black silk smalls as know'dthe young 'ooman as kep' a goat; and that wos a French donkey, so werylikely he warn't wun o' the reg'lar breed.'

'Well, what has that got to do with the postboys?' asked Bob Sawyer.

'This here,' replied Sam. 'Without goin' so far as to as-sert, as somewery sensible people do, that postboys and donkeys is both immortal,wot I say is this: that wenever they feels theirselves gettin' stiff andpast their work, they just rides off together, wun postboy to a pair inthe usual way; wot becomes on 'em nobody knows, but it's wery probableas they starts avay to take their pleasure in some other vorld, forthere ain't a man alive as ever see either a donkey or a postboya-takin' his pleasure in this!'

Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, and citing manycurious statistical and other facts in its support, Sam Weller beguiledthe time until they reached Dunchurch, where a dry postboy and freshhorses were procured; the next stage was Daventry, and the nextTowcester; and at the end of each stage it rained harder than it haddone at the beginning.

'I say,' remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coach window, asthey pulled up before the door of the Saracen's Head, Towcester, 'thiswon't do, you know.'

'Bless me!' said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a nap, 'I'm afraidyou're wet.'

'Oh, you are, are you?' returned Bob. 'Yes, I am, a little that way,Uncomfortably damp, perhaps.'

Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streaming from his neck,elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees; and his whole apparel shone so withthe wet, that it might have been mistaken for a full suit of preparedoilskin.

'I AM rather wet,' said Bob, giving himself a shake and casting a littlehydraulic shower around, like a Newfoundland dog just emerged from thewater.

'I think it's quite impossible to go on to-night,' interposed Ben.

'Out of the question, sir,' remarked Sam Weller, coming to assist inthe conference; 'it's a cruelty to animals, sir, to ask 'em to do it.There's beds here, sir,' said Sam, addressing his master, 'everythingclean and comfortable. Wery good little dinner, sir, they can get readyin half an hour--pair of fowls, sir, and a weal cutlet; French beans,'taturs, tart, and tidiness. You'd better stop vere you are, sir, if Imight recommend. Take adwice, sir, as the doctor said.'

The host of the Saracen's Head opportunely appeared at this moment, toconfirm Mr. Weller's statement relative to the accommodations of theestablishment, and to back his entreaties with a variety of dismalconjectures regarding the state of the roads, the doubt of fresh horsesbeing to be had at the next stage, the dead certainty of its raining allnight, the equally mortal certainty of its clearing up in the morning,and other topics of inducement familiar to innkeepers.

'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but I must send a letter to London by someconveyance, so that it may be delivered the very first thing in themorning, or I must go forwards at all hazards.'

The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier than for thegentleman to inclose a letter in a sheet of brown paper, and send it on,either by the mail or the night coach from Birmingham. If the gentlemanwere particularly anxious to have it left as soon as possible, he mightwrite outside, 'To be delivered immediately,' which was sure tobe attended to; or 'Pay the bearer half-a-crown extra for instantdelivery,' which was surer still.

'Very well,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'then we will stop here.'

'Lights in the Sun, John; make up the fire; the gentlemen are wet!'cried the landlord. 'This way, gentlemen; don't trouble yourselves aboutthe postboy now, sir. I'll send him to you when you ring for him, sir.Now, John, the candles.'

The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a fresh log ofwood thrown on. In ten minutes' time, a waiter was laying the clothfor dinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire was blazing brightly,and everything looked (as everything always does, in all decent Englishinns) as if the travellers had been expected, and their comfortsprepared, for days beforehand.

Mr. Pickwick sat down at a side table, and hastily indited a note to Mr.Winkle, merely informing him that he was detained by stress of weather,but would certainly be in London next day; until when he deferred anyaccount of his proceedings. This note was hastily made into a parcel,and despatched to the bar per Mr. Samuel Weller.

Sam left it with the landlady, and was returning to pull his master'sboots off, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, when glancingcasually through a half-opened door, he was arrested by the sight of agentleman with a sandy head who had a large bundle of newspapers lyingon the table before him, and was perusing the leading article of onewith a settled sneer which curled up his nose and all other featuresinto a majestic expression of haughty contempt.

'Hollo!' said Sam, 'I ought to know that 'ere head and them features;the eyeglass, too, and the broad-brimmed tile! Eatansvill to vit, or I'ma Roman.'

Sam was taken with a troublesome cough, at once, for the purpose ofattracting the gentleman's attention; the gentleman starting at thesound, raised his head and his eyeglass, and disclosed to view theprofound and thoughtful features of Mr. Pott, of the Eatanswill GAZETTE.

'Beggin' your pardon, sir,' said Sam, advancing with a bow, 'my master'shere, Mr. Pott.'

'Hush! hush!' cried Pott, drawing Sam into the room, and closing thedoor, with a countenance of mysterious dread and apprehension.

'Wot's the matter, Sir?' inquired Sam, looking vacantly about him.

'Not a whisper of my name,' replied Pott; 'this is a buff neighbourhood.If the excited and irritable populace knew I was here, I should be tornto pieces.'

'No! Vould you, sir?' inquired Sam.

'I should be the victim of their fury,' replied Pott. 'Now young man,what of your master?'

'He's a-stopping here to-night on his vay to town, with a couple offriends,' replied Sam.

'Is Mr. Winkle one of them?' inquired Pott, with a slight frown.

'No, Sir. Mr. Vinkle stops at home now,' rejoined Sam. 'He's married.'

'Married!' exclaimed Pott, with frightful vehemence. He stopped, smileddarkly, and added, in a low, vindictive tone, 'It serves him right!'Having given vent to this cruel ebullition of deadly malice andcold-blooded triumph over a fallen enemy, Mr. Pott inquired whether Mr.Pickwick's friends were 'blue?' Receiving a most satisfactory answerin the affirmative from Sam, who knew as much about the matter as Potthimself, he consented to accompany him to Mr. Pickwick's room, wherea hearty welcome awaited him, and an agreement to club their dinnerstogether was at once made and ratified.

'And how are matters going on in Eatanswill?' inquired Mr. Pickwick,when Pott had taken a seat near the fire, and the whole party had gottheir wet boots off, and dry slippers on. 'Is the INDEPENDENT still inbeing?'

'The INDEPENDENT, sir,' replied Pott, 'is still dragging on a wretchedand lingering career. Abhorred and despised by even the few who arecognisant of its miserable and disgraceful existence, stifled by thevery filth it so profusely scatters, rendered deaf and blind by theexhalations of its own slime, the obscene journal, happily unconsciousof its degraded state, is rapidly sinking beneath that treacherousmud which, while it seems to give it a firm standing with the low anddebased classes of society, is nevertheless rising above its detestedhead, and will speedily engulf it for ever.'

Having delivered this manifesto (which formed a portion of his lastweek's leader) with vehement articulation, the editor paused to takebreath, and looked majestically at Bob Sawyer.

'You are a young man, sir,' said Pott.

Mr. Bob Sawyer nodded.

'So are you, sir,' said Pott, addressing Mr. Ben Allen.

Ben admitted the soft impeachment.

'And are both deeply imbued with those blue principles, which, so longas I live, I have pledged myself to the people of these kingdoms tosupport and to maintain?' suggested Pott.

'Why, I don't exactly know about that,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'I am--'

'Not buff, Mr. Pickwick,' interrupted Pott, drawing back his chair,'your friend is not buff, sir?'

'No, no,' rejoined Bob, 'I'm a kind of plaid at present; a compound ofall sorts of colours.'

'A waverer,' said Pott solemnly, 'a waverer. I should like to show youa series of eight articles, Sir, that have appeared in the EatanswillGAZETTE. I think I may venture to say that you would not be long inestablishing your opinions on a firm and solid blue basis, sir.' 'Idare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to the end of them,'responded Bob.

Mr. Pott looked dubiously at Bob Sawyer for some seconds, and, turningto Mr. Pickwick, said--

'You have seen the literary articles which have appeared at intervals inthe Eatanswill GAZETTE in the course of the last three months, andwhich have excited such general--I may say such universal--attention andadmiration?'

'Why,' replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by the question, 'thefact is, I have been so much engaged in other ways, that I really havenot had an opportunity of perusing them.'

'You should do so, Sir,' said Pott, with a severe countenance.

'I will,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'They appeared in the form of a copious review of a work on Chinesemetaphysics, Sir,' said Pott.

'Oh,' observed Mr. Pickwick; 'from your pen, I hope?'

'From the pen of my critic, Sir,' rejoined Pott, with dignity.

'An abstruse subject, I should conceive,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Very, Sir,' responded Pott, looking intensely sage. 'He CRAMMED for it,to use a technical but expressive term; he read up for the subject, atmy desire, in the "Encyclopaedia Britannica."'

'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'I was not aware that that valuable workcontained any information respecting Chinese metaphysics.'

'He read, Sir,' rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's knee,and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority--'he read formetaphysics under the letter M, and for China under the letter C, andcombined his information, Sir!'

Mr. Pott's features assumed so much additional grandeur at therecollection of the power and research displayed in the learnedeffusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before Mr. Pickwickfelt emboldened to renew the conversation; at length, as the editor'scountenance gradually relaxed into its customary expression of moralsupremacy, he ventured to resume the discourse by asking--

'Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so far fromhome?'

'That object which actuates and animates me in all my gigantic labours,Sir,' replied Pott, with a calm smile: 'my country's good.' 'I supposedit was some public mission,' observed Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes, Sir,' resumed Pott, 'it is.' Here, bending towards Mr. Pickwick,he whispered in a deep, hollow voice, 'A Buff ball, Sir, will take placein Birmingham to-morrow evening.'

'God bless me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes, Sir, and supper,' added Pott.

'You don't say so!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.

Pott nodded portentously.

Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at this disclosure,he was so little versed in local politics that he was unable to forman adequate comprehension of the importance of the dire conspiracy itreferred to; observing which, Mr. Pott, drawing forth the last number ofthe Eatanswill GAZETTE, and referring to the same, delivered himself ofthe following paragraph:--

HOLE-AND-CORNER BUFFERY.

'A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his black venomin the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the fair name of ourdistinguished and excellent representative, the Honourable Mr.Slumkey--that Slumkey whom we, long before he gained his present nobleand exalted position, predicted would one day be, as he now is, at oncehis country's brightest honour, and her proudest boast: alike her bolddefender and her honest pride--our reptile contemporary, we say,has made himself merry, at the expense of a superbly embossed platedcoal-scuttle, which has been presented to that glorious man by hisenraptured constituents, and towards the purchase of which, the namelesswretch insinuates, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey himself contributed,through a confidential friend of his butler's, more than three-fourthsof the whole sum subscribed. Why, does not the crawling creature see,that even if this be the fact, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey only appearsin a still more amiable and radiant light than before, if that bepossible? Does not even his obtuseness perceive that this amiable andtouching desire to carry out the wishes of the constituent body, mustfor ever endear him to the hearts and souls of such of his fellowtownsmen as are not worse than swine; or, in other words, who are not asdebased as our contemporary himself? But such is the wretched trickeryof hole-and-corner Buffery! These are not its only artifices. Treason isabroad. We boldly state, now that we are goaded to the disclosure, andwe throw ourselves on the country and its constables for protection--weboldly state that secret preparations are at this moment in progress fora Buff ball; which is to be held in a Buff town, in the very heart andcentre of a Buff population; which is to be conducted by a Buff masterof the ceremonies; which is to be attended by four ultra Buff members ofParliament, and the admission to which, is to be by Buff tickets! Doesour fiendish contemporary wince? Let him writhe, in impotent malice, aswe pen the words, WE WILL BE THERE.'

'There, Sir,' said Pott, folding up the paper quite exhausted, 'that isthe state of the case!'

The landlord and waiter entering at the moment with dinner, caused Mr.Pott to lay his finger on his lips, in token that he considered his lifein Mr. Pickwick's hands, and depended on his secrecy. Messrs. BobSawyer and Benjamin Allen, who had irreverently fallen asleep during thereading of the quotation from the Eatanswill GAZETTE, and the discussionwhich followed it, were roused by the mere whispering of the talismanicword 'Dinner' in their ears; and to dinner they went with good digestionwaiting on appetite, and health on both, and a waiter on all three.

In the course of the dinner and the sitting which succeeded it, Mr. Pottdescending, for a few moments, to domestic topics, informed Mr. Pickwickthat the air of Eatanswill not agreeing with his lady, she was thenengaged in making a tour of different fashionable watering-places witha view to the recovery of her wonted health and spirits; this wasa delicate veiling of the fact that Mrs. Pott, acting upon heroften-repeated threat of separation, had, in virtue of an arrangementnegotiated by her brother, the lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott,permanently retired with the faithful bodyguard upon one moiety or halfpart of the annual income and profits arising from the editorship andsale of the Eatanswill GAZETTE.

While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and other matters,enlivening the conversation from time to time with various extracts fromhis own lucubrations, a stern stranger, calling from the window of astage-coach, outward bound, which halted at the inn to deliver packages,requested to know whether if he stopped short on his journey andremained there for the night, he could be furnished with the necessaryaccommodation of a bed and bedstead.

'Certainly, sir,' replied the landlord.

'I can, can I?' inquired the stranger, who seemed habitually suspiciousin look and manner.

'No doubt of it, Sir,' replied the landlord.

'Good,' said the stranger. 'Coachman, I get down here. Guard, mycarpet-bag!'

Bidding the other passengers good-night, in a rather snappish manner,the stranger alighted. He was a shortish gentleman, with very stiffblack hair cut in the porcupine or blacking-brush style, and standingstiff and straight all over his head; his aspect was pompous andthreatening; his manner was peremptory; his eyes were sharp andrestless; and his whole bearing bespoke a feeling of great confidence inhimself, and a consciousness of immeasurable superiority over all otherpeople.

This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned to thepatriotic Mr. Pott; and the waiter remarked, in dumb astonishment at thesingular coincidence, that he had no sooner lighted the candles thanthe gentleman, diving into his hat, drew forth a newspaper, and beganto read it with the very same expression of indignant scorn, which,upon the majestic features of Pott, had paralysed his energies an hourbefore. The man observed too, that, whereas Mr. Pott's scorn hadbeen roused by a newspaper headed the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT, thisgentleman's withering contempt was awakened by a newspaper entitled theEatanswill GAZETTE.

'Send the landlord,' said the stranger.

'Yes, sir,' rejoined the waiter.

The landlord was sent, and came.

'Are you the landlord?' inquired the gentleman.

'I am sir,' replied the landlord.

'My name is Slurk,' said the gentleman.

The landlord slightly inclined his head.

'Slurk, sir,' repeated the gentleman haughtily. 'Do you know me now,man?'

The landlord scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, and at thestranger, and smiled feebly.

'Do you know me, man?' inquired the stranger angrily.

The landlord made a strong effort, and at length replied,

'Well, Sir, I do not know you.'

'Great Heaven!' said the stranger, dashing his clenched fist upon thetable. 'And this is popularity!'

The landlord took a step or two towards the door; the stranger fixinghis eyes upon him, resumed.

'This,' said the stranger--'this is gratitude for years of labour andstudy in behalf of the masses. I alight wet and weary; no enthusiasticcrowds press forward to greet their champion; the church bells aresilent; the very name elicits no responsive feeling in their torpidbosoms. It is enough,' said the agitated Mr. Slurk, pacing to and fro,'to curdle the ink in one's pen, and induce one to abandon their causefor ever.'

'Did you say brandy-and-water, Sir?' said the landlord, venturing ahint.

'Rum,' said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. 'Have you got a fireanywhere?'

'We can light one directly, Sir,' said the landlord.

'Which will throw out no heat until it is bed-time,' interrupted Mr.Slurk. 'Is there anybody in the kitchen?'

Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had gone, and thehouse door was closed for the night.

'I will drink my rum-and-water,' said Mr. Slurk, 'by the kitchen fire.'So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked solemnly behind thelandlord to that humble apartment, and throwing himself on a settle bythe fireside, resumed his countenance of scorn, and began to read anddrink in silent dignity.

Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen's Head at thatmoment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity, happened tobehold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchen fire, and Pottslightly elevated with wine in another room; upon which the maliciousdemon, darting down into the last-mentioned apartment with inconceivablerapidity, passed at once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and promptedhim for his (the demon's) own evil purpose to speak as follows:--

'I say, we've let the fire out. It's uncommonly cold after the rain,isn't it?'

'It really is,' replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering.

'It wouldn't be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire, wouldit?' said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demon aforesaid.

'It would be particularly comfortable, I think,' replied Mr. Pickwick.'Mr. Pott, what do you say?'

Mr. Pott yielded a ready assent; and all four travellers, each with hisglass in his hand, at once betook themselves to the kitchen, with SamWeller heading the procession to show them the way.

The stranger was still reading; he looked up and started. Mr. Pottstarted.

'What's the matter?' whispered Mr. Pickwick.

'That reptile!' replied Pott.

'What reptile?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him for fear he shouldtread on some overgrown black beetle, or dropsical spider.

'That reptile,' whispered Pott, catching Mr. Pickwick by the arm, andpointing towards the stranger. 'That reptile Slurk, of the INDEPENDENT!'

'Perhaps we had better retire,' whispered Mr. Pickwick.

'Never, Sir,' rejoined Pott, pot-valiant in a double sense--'never.'With these words, Mr. Pott took up his position on an opposite settle,and selecting one from a little bundle of newspapers, began to readagainst his enemy.

Mr. Pott, of course read the INDEPENDENT, and Mr. Slurk, of course, readthe GAZETTE; and each gentleman audibly expressed his contempt at theother's compositions by bitter laughs and sarcastic sniffs; whencethey proceeded to more open expressions of opinion, such as 'absurd,''wretched,' 'atrocity,' 'humbug,' 'knavery', 'dirt,' 'filth,' 'slime,''ditch-water,' and other critical remarks of the like nature.

Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld these symptoms ofrivalry and hatred, with a degree of delight which imparted greatadditional relish to the cigars at which they were puffing mostvigorously. The moment they began to flag, the mischievous Mr. BobSawyer, addressing Slurk with great politeness, said--

'Will you allow me to look at your paper, Sir, when you have quite donewith it?'

'You will find very little to repay you for your trouble in thiscontemptible THING, sir,' replied Slurk, bestowing a Satanic frown onPott.

'You shall have this presently,' said Pott, looking up, pale with rage,and quivering in his speech, from the same cause. 'Ha! ha! you will beamused with this FELLOW'S audacity.'

Terrible emphasis was laid upon 'thing' and 'fellow'; and the faces ofboth editors began to glow with defiance.

'The ribaldry of this miserable man is despicably disgusting,' saidPott, pretending to address Bob Sawyer, and scowling upon Slurk. Here,Mr. Slurk laughed very heartily, and folding up the paper so as to getat a fresh column conveniently, said, that the blockhead really amusedhim.

'What an impudent blunderer this fellow is,' said Pott, turning frompink to crimson.

'Did you ever read any of this man's foolery, Sir?' inquired Slurk ofBob Sawyer.

'Never,' replied Bob; 'is it very bad?'

'Oh, shocking! shocking!' rejoined Slurk.

'Really! Dear me, this is too atrocious!' exclaimed Pott, at thisjuncture; still feigning to be absorbed in his reading.

'If you can wade through a few sentences of malice, meanness, falsehood,perjury, treachery, and cant,' said Slurk, handing the paper to Bob,'you will, perhaps, be somewhat repaid by a laugh at the style of thisungrammatical twaddler.'

'What's that you said, Sir?' inquired Mr. Pott, looking up, tremblingall over with passion.

'What's that to you, sir?' replied Slurk.

'Ungrammatical twaddler, was it, sir?' said Pott.

'Yes, sir, it was,' replied Slurk; 'and BLUE BORE, Sir, if you like thatbetter; ha! ha!'

Mr. Pott retorted not a word at this jocose insult, but deliberatelyfolded up his copy of the INDEPENDENT, flattened it carefully down,crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it with great ceremony, and flungit into the fire.

'There, sir,' said Pott, retreating from the stove, 'and that's the wayI would serve the viper who produces it, if I were not, fortunately forhim, restrained by the laws of my country.'

'Serve him so, sir!' cried Slurk, starting up. 'Those laws shall neverbe appealed to by him, sir, in such a case. Serve him so, sir!'

'Hear! hear!' said Bob Sawyer.

'Nothing can be fairer,' observed Mr. Ben Allen.

'Serve him so, sir!' reiterated Slurk, in a loud voice.

Mr. Pott darted a look of contempt, which might have withered an anchor.

'Serve him so, sir!' reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice than before.

'I will not, sir,' rejoined Pott.

'Oh, you won't, won't you, sir?' said Mr. Slurk, in a taunting manner;'you hear this, gentlemen! He won't; not that he's afraid--, oh, no! heWON'T. Ha! ha!'

'I consider you, sir,' said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, 'I consideryou a viper. I look upon you, sir, as a man who has placed himselfbeyond the pale of society, by his most audacious, disgraceful, andabominable public conduct. I view you, sir, personally and politically,in no other light than as a most unparalleled and unmitigated viper.'

The indignant Independent did not wait to hear the end of this personaldenunciation; for, catching up his carpet-bag, which was well stuffedwith movables, he swung it in the air as Pott turned away, and, lettingit fall with a circular sweep on his head, just at that particular angleof the bag where a good thick hairbrush happened to be packed, caused asharp crash to be heard throughout the kitchen, and brought him at onceto the ground.

'Gentlemen,' cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and seizedthe fire-shovel--'gentlemen! Consider, for Heaven'ssake--help--Sam--here--pray, gentlemen--interfere, somebody.'

Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed between theinfuriated combatants just in time to receive the carpet-bag on oneside of his body, and the fire-shovel on the other. Whether therepresentatives of the public feeling of Eatanswill were blinded byanimosity, or (being both acute reasoners) saw the advantage of having athird party between them to bear all the blows, certain it is that theypaid not the slightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying eachother with great spirit, plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovel mostfearlessly. Mr. Pickwick would unquestionably have suffered severely forhis humane interference, if Mr. Weller, attracted by his master'scries, had not rushed in at the moment, and, snatching up a meal--sack,effectually stopped the conflict by drawing it over the head andshoulders of the mighty Pott, and clasping him tight round theshoulders.

'Take away that 'ere bag from the t'other madman,' said Sam to Ben Allenand Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but dodge round the group, eachwith a tortoise-shell lancet in his hand, ready to bleed the first manstunned. 'Give it up, you wretched little creetur, or I'll smother youin it.'

Awed by these threats, and quite out of breath, the INDEPENDENT sufferedhimself to be disarmed; and Mr. Weller, removing the extinguisher fromPott, set him free with a caution.

'You take yourselves off to bed quietly,' said Sam, 'or I'll put youboth in it, and let you fight it out vith the mouth tied, as I voulda dozen sich, if they played these games. And you have the goodness tocome this here way, sir, if you please.'

Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm, and led him off,while the rival editors were severally removed to their beds by thelandlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen;breathing, as they went away, many sanguinary threats, and making vagueappointments for mortal combat next day. When they came to think itover, however, it occurred to them that they could do it much betterin print, so they recommenced deadly hostilities without delay; and allEatanswill rung with their boldness--on paper.

They had taken themselves off in separate coaches, early next morning,before the other travellers were stirring; and the weather havingnow cleared up, the chaise companions once more turned their faces toLondon.