nce to heart, that he did not speak another word until the
coach reached the Kensington turnpike. Which was so long a time for
him to remain taciturn, that the fact may be considered wholly
unprecedented.

Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the journey. Mr.
Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative of his own
personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to Mrs. Dowler in
corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowler invariably brought in, in the
form of an appendix, some remarkable fact or circumstance which Mr.
Dowler had forgotten, or had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the
addenda in every instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a more
wonderful fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals conversed with
Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and fascinating person. So,
what between Mr. Dowler's stories, and Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr.
Pickwick's good-humour, and Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insides
contrived to be very companionable all the way. The outsides did
as outsides always do. They were very cheerful and talkative at the
beginning of every stage, and very dismal and sleepy in the middle,
and very bright and wakeful again towards the end. There was one young
gentleman in an India-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars all day; and there
was another young gentleman in a parody upon a greatcoat, who lighted a
good many, and feeling obviously unsettled after the second whiff, threw
them away when he thought nobody was looking at him. There was a third
young man on the box who wished to be learned in cattle; and an old one
behind, who was familiar with farming. There was a constant succession
of Christian names in smock-frocks and white coats, who were invited to
have a 'lift' by the guard, and who knew every horse and hostler on the
road and off it; and there was a dinner which would have been cheap at
half-a-crown a mouth, if any moderate number of mouths could have eaten
it in the time. And at seven o'clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and his friends,
and Mr. Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to their private
sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room,
Bath, where the waiters, from their costume, might be mistaken for
Westminster boys, only they destroy the illusion by behaving themselves
much better. Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding
morning, when a waiter