streets were wet
and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it
lacked 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 himself
dismally on one leg in a corner; a donkey, moping with drooping head
under the narrow roof of an outhouse, appeared from his meditative
and miserable countenance to be contemplating suicide. In the street,
umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and the clicking of pattens
and 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's
excitement. 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 evening
paper from London was read and re-read with an intensity of interest
only known in cases of extreme destitution; every inch of the carpet was
walked 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 at
length Mr. Pickwick, when noon had arrived, without a change for the
better, rang the bell resolutely, and ordered out the chaise.

Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain came down harder
than it had done yet, and although the mud and wet splashed in at the
open windows of the carriage to such an extent that the discomfort was
almost as great to the pair of insides as to the pair of outsides, still
there 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, looking
at the dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed, on
starting, that the change was a great improvement, and wondered how they
could possibly have delayed making it as long as they had done.

When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascended from the
horses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler, whose voice was
however heard to declare from the mist, that he expected the first gold
medal from the Humane Society on their next distribution of rewards,
for taking the postboy's hat off; the water descending from the brim
of which, the invisible gentlema