waited for the honourable Samuel Slumkey to step into his carriage. Suddenly the crowd set up a great cheering.
"He has come out," said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; the more so as their position did not enable them to see what was going forward.
Another cheer, much louder.
"He has shaken hands with the men," cried the little agent.
Another cheer, far more vehement.
"He has patted the babies on the head," said Mr. Perker, trembling with anxiety.
A roar of applause that rent the air.
"He has kissed one of 'em!" exclaimed the delighted little man.
A second roar.
"He has kissed another," gasped the excited manager.
A third roar.
"He's kissing 'em all!" screamed the enthusiastic little gentleman. And hailed by the deafening shouts of the multitude, the procession moved on.
How or by what means it became mixed up with the other procession, and how it was ever extricated from the confusion consequent thereupon, is more than we can undertake to describe, inasmuch as Mr. Pickwick's hat was knocked over his eyes, nose, and mouth, by one poke of a Buff flag-staff, very early in the proceedings. He describes himself as being surrounded on every side, when he could catch a glimpse of the scene, by angry and ferocious countenances, by a vast cloud of dust, and by a dense crowd of combatants. He represents himself as being forced from the carriage by some unseen power, and being personally engaged in a pugilistic encounter; but with whom, or how, or why, he is wholly unable to state. He then felt himself forced up some wooden steps by the persons from behind; and on removing his hat, found himself surrounded by his friends, in the very front of the left hand side of the hustings. The right was reserved for the Buff party, and the centre for the Mayor and his
