ratitude for years of labour and
study in behalf of the masses. I alight wet and weary; no enthusiastic
crowds press forward to greet their champion; the church bells are
silent; the very name elicits no responsive feeling in their torpid
bosoms. 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 cause
for ever.'

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

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

'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 the
house 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 the
landlord to that humble apartment, and throwing himself on a settle by
the fireside, resumed his countenance of scorn, and began to read and
drink in silent dignity.

Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen's Head at that
moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity, happened to
behold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchen fire, and Pott
slightly elevated with wine in another room; upon which the malicious
demon, darting down into the last-mentioned apartment with inconceivable
rapidity, passed at once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and prompted
him 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, would
it?' 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 his
glass in his hand, at once betook themselves to the kitchen, with Sam
Weller heading the procession to show them the way.

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

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

'That reptile!' replied Pott.

'What reptile?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him for fear he should
tread on some overgrown black beetle,