night—bang the field-piece, twang the lyre.’      

       ‘You were present at that glorious scene, sir?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.     

       ‘Present! think I was;* fired a musket—fired with an idea—rushed 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.     

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

       ‘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 inclosure—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 inclosure”—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.     

       ‘Lived there—ages.’      

       ‘Many conquests, sir?’ inquired Mr. Tupman.     

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