who looked as if she were well skilled, not only in the art and mystery of manufacturing home-made cordials greatly to other people's satisfaction, but of tasting them occasionally very much to her own. A little hard-headed, Ripstone-pippin-faced man, was conversing with a fat old gentleman in one corner; and two or three more old gentlemen, and two or three more old ladies, sat bolt upright and motionless on their chairs, staring very hard at Mr. Pickwick and his fellow-voyagers.
"Mr. Pickwick, mother," said Mr. Wardle, at the very top of his voice.
"Ah!" said the old lady, shaking her head; "I can't hear you."
"Mr. Pickwick, grandma!" screamed both the young ladies together.
"Ah!" exclaimed the old lady. "Well; it don't much matter. He don't care for an old 'ooman like me, I dare say."
"I assure you, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, grasping the old lady's hand, and speaking so loud that the exertion imparted a crimson hue to his benevolent countenance, "I assure you, ma'am, that nothing delights me more than to see a lady of your time of life heading so fine a family, and looking so young and well."
"Ah!" said the old lady, after a short pause; "it's all very fine, I dare say; but I can't hear him."
"Grandma's rather put out now," said Miss Isabella Wardle, in a low tone; "but she'll talk to you presently."
Mr. Pickwick nodded his readiness to humour the infirmities of age, and entered into a general conversation with the other members of the circle.
"Delightful situation this," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Delightful!" echoed Messrs. Snodgrass, Tupman, and Winkle.
"Well, I think it is," said Mr. Wardle.
"There an't a better spot o' ground in all Kent, sir," said
