the poetic Snodgrass.

'Remorse and misery,' replied the stranger. 'Sudden disappearance--talk
of the whole city--search made everywhere without success--public
fountain in the great square suddenly ceased playing--weeks
elapsed--still a stoppage--workmen employed to clean it--water drawn
off--father-in-law discovered sticking head first in the main pipe,
with a full confession in his right boot--took him out, and the fountain
played away again, as well as ever.'

'Will you allow me to note that little romance down, Sir?' said Mr.
Snodgrass, deeply affected.

'Certainly, Sir, certainly--fifty more if you like to hear 'em--strange
life mine--rather curious history--not extraordinary, but singular.'

In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of parenthesis,
when the coach changed horses, did the stranger proceed, until they
reached Rochester bridge, by which time the note-books, both of Mr.
Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were completely filled with selections from
his adventures.

'Magnificent ruin!' said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the poetic
fervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of the fine old
castle.

'What a sight for an antiquarian!' were the very words which fell from
Mr. Pickwick's mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye.

'Ah! fine place,' said the stranger, 'glorious pile--frowning
walls--tottering arches--dark nooks--crumbling staircases--old cathedral
too--earthy smell--pilgrims' feet wore away the old steps--little
Saxon doors--confessionals like money-takers' boxes at theatres--queer
customers those monks--popes, and lord treasurers, and all sorts of
old fellows, with great red faces, and broken noses, turning up every
day--buff jerkins too--match-locks--sarcophagus--fine place--old
legends too--strange stories: capital;' and the stranger continued to
soliloquise until they reached the Bull Inn, in the High Street, where
the coach stopped.

'Do you remain here, Sir?' inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle.

'Here--not I--but you'd better--good house--nice beds--Wright's next
house, dear--very dear--half-a-crown in the bill if you look at the
waiter--charge you more if you dine at a friend's than they would if you
dined in the coffee-room--rum fellows--very.'

Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a few words; a whisper
passed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass, from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr.
Tupman, and nods of assent were exchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed the