at a smart gallop,
the horses tossing their heads and rattling the harness, as if in
exhilaration at the rapidity of the motion; while the coachman, holding
whip and reins in one hand, takes off his hat with the other, and
resting it on his knees, pulls out his handkerchief, and wipes his
forehead, partly because he has a habit of doing it, and partly because
it's as well to show the passengers how cool he is, and what an easy
thing it is to drive four-in-hand, when you have had as much practice as
he has. Having done this very leisurely (otherwise the effect would be
materially impaired), he replaces his handkerchief, pulls on his hat,
adjusts his gloves, squares his elbows, cracks the whip again, and on
they speed, more merrily than before. A few small houses, scattered on
either side of the road, betoken the entrance to some town or village.
The lively notes of the guard's key-bugle vibrate in the clear cold air,
and wake up the old gentleman inside, who, carefully letting down the
window-sash half-way, and standing sentry over the air, takes a short
peep out, and then carefully pulling it up again, informs the other
inside that they're going to change directly; on which the other inside
wakes himself up, and determines to postpone his next nap until after
the stoppage. Again the bugle sounds lustily forth, and rouses the
cottager's wife and children, who peep out at the house door, and watch
the coach till it turns the corner, when they once more crouch round
the blazing fire, and throw on another log of wood against father
comes home; while father himself, a full mile off, has just exchanged
a friendly nod with the coachman, and turned round to take a good long
stare at the vehicle as it whirls away.

And now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles through the
ill-paved streets of a country town; and the coachman, undoing the
buckle which keeps his ribands together, prepares to throw them off the
moment he stops. Mr. Pickwick emerges from his coat collar, and looks
about him with great curiosity; perceiving which, the coachman informs
Mr. Pickwick of the name of the town, and tells him it was market-day
yesterday, both of which pieces of information Mr. Pickwick retails to
his fellow-passengers; whereupon they emerge from their coat collars
too, and look about them also. Mr. Winkle, who sits at the extreme
edge, with one leg dangling in the air, is nearly precipitated into the
street, as the coach twists