“Ah! I see—in at the palace door one day, out at the window the next. Philosopher, sir?”

“An observer of human nature, sir,” said Mr. Pickwick.

“Ah, so am I. Most people are when they’ve little to do and less to get. Poet, sir?”

“My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn,” said Mr. Pickwick.

“So have I,” said the stranger. “Epic poem,—ten thousand lines—revolution of July—composed it on the spot—Mars by day, Apollo by night,—bang the field-piece, twang the lyre.”

“You were present at that glorious scene, sir?” said Mr. Snodgrass.

“Present! think I was;3 fired a musket,—fired with an idea,—rushed[15] into wine shop—wrote it down—back again—whiz, bang—another idea—wine shop again—pen and ink—back again—cut and slash—noble time, sir. Sportsman, sir?” abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle.

[15]

3 A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr. Jingle’s imagination, this dialogue occurring in the year 1827, and the Revolution in 1830.

3

“A little, sir,” replied that gentleman.

“Fine pursuit, sir,—fine pursuit.—Dogs, sir?”

“Not just now,” said Mr. Winkle.

“Ah! you should keep dogs—fine animals—sagacious creatures—dog of my own once—Pointer—surprising instinct—out shooting one day—entering enclosure—whistled—dog stopped—whistled again—Ponto—no go; stock still—called him—Ponto, Ponto—wouldn’t move—dog transfixed—staring at a board—looked up, saw an inscription—‘Gamekeeper has orders to shoot all dogs found in this enclosure’—wouldn’t pass it—wonderful dog—valuable dog that—very.”

“Singular circumstance that,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Will you allow me to make a note of it?”

“Certainly, sir, certainly—hundred more anecdotes of the same animal.—Fine girl, sir” (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowing sundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside).

“Very!” said Mr. Tupman.

“English girls not so fine as Spanish—noble creatures—jet hair—black eyes—lovely forms—sweet creatures—beautiful.”

“You have been in Spain, sir?” said Mr. Tracy Tupman.

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