Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/83

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POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF THE PICKWICK CLUB
43

TIIK IMCRWICK CLUB. 43

to the pratificution of every botly — aiul when the mine bad gone off, the military and the company followed its example, and went off too.

  • < Now, mind," said the old gentleman, as be shook hands with Mr.

Pickwick at the conclnsion of a conversation which had been carried on at intervals, during the conclusion of the proceedings — ** we shall see you all to-morrow."

" Most certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick.

" You have got the address ? "

" Manor Farm, Dingley Dell," said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his pocket-book.

" That's it," said the old gentleman. " I don't let you off, mind, under a week ; and undertake that you shall see everything worth see- ing. If you've come down for a country life, come to me, and I'll give you plenty of it. Joe — damn that boy, he's gone to sleep again — Joe, help Tom put in the horses."

The horses were put in — the driver mounted — the fat boy clambered up by his side — farewells were exchanged — and the carriage rattled off. As the Pickwickians turned round to take a last glimpse of it, the set- ting sun cast a rich glow on the faces of their entertainers, and fell upon the form of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon his bosom ; and he slumbered again.

CHAPTER V.

A SHORT ONE SHOWING, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HOW MR.

PICKWICK UNDERTOOK TO DRIVE, AND MR. WINKLE TO RIDE; AND HOW THEY BOTH DID IT.

Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick leant over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for breakfast. The scene was indeed one, which might well have charmed a far less reflective mind, than that to which it was presented.

On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of sea-weed hung upon the jagged and j)ointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark, and ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its old might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting and revelry. On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered with corn-fields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows which passed swifily across it, as the thin and half- formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and iparkled as it flowed noiselessly on ; and the oars of the fishern eu

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