costume, was inexpressibly absurd. Another man, evidently very
drunk, who had probably been tumbled into bed by his companions, was
sitting up between the sheets, warbling as much as he could recollect
of a comic song, with the most intensely sentimental feeling and
expression; while a third, seated on one of the bedsteads, was
applauding both performers with the air of a profound connoisseur, and
encouraging them by such ebullitions of feeling as had already roused
Mr. Pickwick from his sleep.

This last man was an admirable specimen of a class of gentry which never
can be seen in full perfection but in such places--they may be met
with, in an imperfect state, occasionally about stable-yards and
Public-houses; but they never attain their full bloom except in these
hot-beds, which would almost seem to be considerately provided by the
legislature for the sole purpose of rearing them.

He was a tall fellow, with an olive complexion, long dark hair, and very
thick bushy whiskers meeting under his chin. He wore no neckerchief, as
he had been playing rackets all day, and his Open shirt collar
displayed their full luxuriance. On his head he wore one of the common
eighteenpenny French skull-caps, with a gaudy tassel dangling therefrom,
very happily in keeping with a common fustian coat. His legs,
which, being long, were afflicted with weakness, graced a pair of
Oxford-mixture trousers, made to show the full symmetry of those
limbs. Being somewhat negligently braced, however, and, moreover, but
imperfectly buttoned, they fell in a series of not the most graceful
folds over a pair of shoes sufficiently down at heel to display a pair
of very soiled white stockings. There was a rakish, vagabond smartness,
and a kind of boastful rascality, about the whole man, that was worth a
mine of gold.

This figure was the first to perceive that Mr. Pickwick was looking
on; upon which he winked to the Zephyr, and entreated him, with mock
gravity, not to wake the gentleman. 'Why, bless the gentleman's honest
heart and soul!' said the Zephyr, turning round and affecting the
extremity of surprise; 'the gentleman is awake. Hem, Shakespeare! How do
you do, Sir? How is Mary and Sarah, sir? and the dear old lady at home,
Sir? Will you have the kindness to put my compliments into the first
little parcel you're sending that way, sir, and say that I would have
sent 'em before, only I was afraid they might be broken in the wagon,
sir?'

'Don't ove