"My and-dat is ansome-touchez là, mon brave. Vat your name, young gentleman?" turning to Mr. Vernon.

66

My name, sir, is Springnot; that's why I sat still when you pitched into your vis-à-vis."

"D―n that ere little son of a pig."

"Who ho, lads!" was a sound that entered the window during this conversation, and no doubt emanated from no less a person than the pilot of the ship, or coachman of the Slapbang.

The inside passengers were now in merry conversation: let us leave them happy, and if my readers are not too proud to come outside for a few miles, I will accompany them. We find, of course, an Oxford man on the box trying to bribe the coachman to let him handle the ribbons; one other Oxonian on the roof, one fat lady, and one thin. Behind sat Sam Weller-I beg his pardon, Mr. Weller, for all coach passengers are gentlemen-the surly gentleman, and a recruiting sergeant of the marines, rigged aloft something like his ship, with pendants of divers colours. He was trying to nail Sam with a shilling. Sam was wide awake, and said, "No go vith you, lobster, in particler." The soldier urged the delights of his marine promenades, and the weight of his knapsack full of prize-money; but Mr. Weller was too old a bird for him, and there was no means of getting the salt on his tail. The cross old man chuckled at the ingenious way in which Mr. Weller repelled the frequent attacks of this amphibious warrior.

The old gentleman advised the sergeant to try his luck with the "boatmen at Oxvurd, as vas a going to pull a match that ere wery evening." The marine smiled, and said, he "vouldn't ave none o' them underdone parsons in his rigement."

"Applepos of a young parson," says Sam; "vhy do 'em call an empty bottle a marine ?"

"'Cause its spirit's flown in its country's sarvice, as the poet said to his empty inkstand," answered the aquatic soldier.

"Vell, that's a good un, howivir," said the cross man.

"Vell, I'm blessed if ve don't empty a bottle togither ven ve gits to Oxvurd; vont ve, soger?" proposed Mr. Weller.

"Ay, ay," agreed the merry marine.

Our readers must not suppose, because we are listening to the conversation behind the coach, that the passengers in front were altogether silent.

There was some allusion, in a loud voice, to the front and hind "boots," which Mr. Weller seemed to think was rather personal; but the rhetoric of our Oxford friends soon set this trifle to rights. The coachman was smoking a cigar, which the front Oxonian observing, and looking back at his chum, said something about "march of intellect." The coachman being rather quick of temper and of hearing, said something about his eyes and limbs, "and vhy mayn't a coachman's intellect march as vell as anybody else's?" It was but momentary, for the coachman's anger and his cigar both ended in smoke. The ladies had been very silent; at last the fatter of the twain opened her lovely mouth, and said, "Coachmin, his there ha hinn call'd the Op Pole hat Hoxvord ?"

“I never hearn on it by that ere name, mam," replied the Jehu of

the Slapbang.

"Vere do you driv to, coachee ?" said the thinner lady. "Ve drives to the Angel, mam,'

was the coachman's answer.

"His that the hinn with ha harch?" inquired the fat lady.

"Yes, mam," said the coachman; "and if you don't duck your head going under the arch, you'll stand a chance a' being a archangel in a crack."

"I fear the Hangel his a hinn too expensive, for ve only wants a cup of tea an a night's login."

The gravity of the Oxonians was a little upset by this exhasperated dialogue; one of them hinted, for fear the ladies might err in their choice, they had better go to the Mitre; but the young men were far too civil to please the ladies, who, by-the-by, were not at all bad looking.

The thin lady was "peculiar grumpy," Sam said, and took offence at the word mitre; and the fat woman, who was generally the speaker that called to order, told them "to keep their hadwise till they vas a haxed to give it." Thus did these fair ladies maintain the dignity of the softer sex by repelling the advances of these youths, who, perhaps, some of these days, may one of them be destined to wear a mitre, and become an episcopal ornament of church and state. Many a man who, in the beginning of college life, has been proud of guiding four quadrupeds on the broad road has in latter life himself filled a stallay, and with credit and honour has guided his flock in a much narrower and more difficult path. But this is a digression from the Oxford road. Would we could have mixed the conversation of the inside passengers with the externals! the medley would have been a rare amalgamation. The French gentleman, all enthusiasm, had his head out of the window, regretting, seriously, that he could not have it out of both at the same time, so anxious was he to lose nothing of our charming island. At last an exclamation was heard, " By Gar, der is de Oxfort, de charmin seat of de science, him beautiful, veni, vidi, vici, vive le Roi!"

"That ere French mounseer makes use of all the v's in the French lingo," said the coachman, as he threw a shilling to the gaping turnpike-keeper.

Fast sped the Slapbang, and the noise of the wheels prevented my collecting any more of the agreeable conversation of my companions, as the coach rattled over the pavement. The fastidious reader may ask, how did you, Mr. Winkle, being inside the Slapbang, note down the conversation that took place outside the said coach? All I can say in my defence is, that not possessing the power of ubiquity, I trusted to Sam Weller's memory for the recital of such part of that conversation as I have recorded in this chapter. The coach is now halting for the night at the dearest Angel that ever came on earth. My legs are cramped!

Monsieur de Beaureste excused himself from supping with his companions de voyage, and calling for a glass of sugar and water, and a tookpick, retired to bed, having promised to meet Mr. Pickwick at Cheltenham in less than a week. Mr. Vernon took his leave, and a porter with him, to carry his luggage to his worthy governor's house, who was then residing in Oxford for the benefit of his son's education. The Angel Inn resembled an ant heap, so constant was the ingress and egress of black-gowned and black-capped youngsters. So many were the various rings for and calls to the very few waiters, that every one seemed requiring, and none satisfied. Mr. Pickwick and myself humbly craved for cold meat and pickles; but a good two hours revolved on the coffee-room clock before that simple demand could be gratified, and then not such a thing as a potato to be got with it. Being thus, as it were, starved, I said, "Mr. Pickwick, as we can get nothing to eat, let's turn our thoughts to drinking;" and we literally were obliged to appease our appetites with punch and biscuits, mere sea- · men's fare. Such hardships are scarcely to be credited in the enlightened age in which we live. A gentleman sat at the next table to us, whose benevolent and learned expression of countenance quite captivated us. We inquired his name of the waiter, who told us he was no less a personage than Dean Coplestone, the head of Oriel. As I had been at school with this most erudite and learned character's nephews, I ventured to make myself known to him, and had little difficulty in persuading him to join our party, and to assist us in the suction of the liquid prepared. The fame of Mr. Pickwick had previously reached the dean, so we were soon as cordially united as three legs of a tripod. It would be difficult to describe the charming evening we spent; we conversed in Latin and Greek, which latter the dean had nearly all to himself, as Mr. Pickwick and myself had quite forgotten that mellifluous language. I reminded the dean of the comprehensive verse we had made together at his brother's school on the subject "Echo." I had made the latter part of the verse, or stolen it from the Gradus, I forget which, and the dean afterwards made the three first words. It ran thus

"Visa licet nullis, auditur ab omnibus Echo."

What could be more conclusive, more pithy, more short, "multum in parvo?" Nothing more could be written on the subject; and whilst other boys were being flogged for sixteen bad prosy verses, I came off with "éclat" for my joint-stock concise line.

The dean invited us to Oriel the next day; but our object was to drink at the fountain of Cheltenham the waters of health. We were compelled, therefore, to decline this polite and pressing invitation. Midnight was fast drawing on, and the dean's wig was getting a little on one side. Some young men near us were talking at us in a most unbecoming way. The words "old full-blossomed cauliflower" reached

the dean's ears; whether the dean thought this vegetable was applied to him or not, I cannot divine; but certain it is, that after this remark he took his hat and cane, and wished us a good night's rest. I was vexed at this, as the conversation of Mr. Pickwick was just getting animated, and would in all probability have instructed the dean in some new lights. We rang, and ordered candlesticks and a warmingpan; we were then shown to a double-bedded room, which the chambermaid assured us 66 was the only single room in the ouse

left."

We each had a glass of egg flip, and then, feeling thirsty, drank some toast and water, which latter must have disagreed with us, for we both passed a feverish and restless night. The next morning, whilst Sam was shaving Mr. Pickwick, we were much annoyed by his informing us of his having treated the marine sergeant to so much gin and water, that one of his majesty's best red jackets had been spoilt by the reaction of that liquor-the deceitful qualities of which Mr. Pickwick tried in his kind manner to impress Sam's mind with, earnestly exhorting him to reform his evil ways, and to enrol himself as a teetotaler in the Temperance Society, which Sam replied he should be happy to do as soon as his master would set him the example. Servants are really very provoking, as if they could not discern a palpable difference between gentlemen imbibing a certain portion of soft cordials, and their depraved habits of swallowing beer, purl, gin, and such other corrosive and pernicious liquids. The gin palace is a pandemonium, the sink of infamy and iniquity. "I do not hesitate to say," said a learned divine, " that without gin and its votaries, the calendar of crime would be diminished by one half. Do away with gin and beer, and there would not be a single poor man in England.” Ireland and Scotland are quite another matter, for that's an affair of whisky. Alas! when will man understand the benefit of abstemiousness? Our breakfast was light, as usual-chocolate, oysters, and broiled turkeys' legs. At the next table to us sat our friend Monsieur de Beaureste, taking coffee, and fingers of dried toast.

"How pernicious this strong coffee must be!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, after having exchanged friendly greetings with our Gallic neighbour.

66

I shall stop von veek here to learn de mistress of de Oxfor," said the Gaul.

“Our coach does not go to Cheltenham till the middle of the day," said Mr. Pickwick.

"We had better walk out together, monsieur," added I.

"Vid all my art—I shall get my ombrella, and join you in de pig's vispare." Saying this, monsieur disappeared with a bow.

"It is astonishing how well he speaks English," said Mr. Pickwick. "Perfectly astounding," echoed I.

Monsieur soon returned, singing Malbrook, and joined us for a short exploring perambulation.

Weller asked leave to accompany us, not having seen anything of Oxford, except the tap-room of the Angel. On first sallying into the high street, Sam could not help exclaiming, "Vonderful old colleagues these here buildings; some ut like petrified sponges."

"He not speak de English vary plain ?" remarked monsieur, in an inquiring tone.

"No silence, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Bless my art, tis vary old place de Pompee look quite moderne compare to dese olle cheeses."

"Ah! and Cesar too," said Sam Weller, "put me in mind of the nigger who said, 'dim two dogs, Cesar and Pompey, very much like massa, 'specially Pompey.'

66

Silence, pray, Sam-pray hold your tongue," interposed good Mr. Pickwick.

"Vat him say, Cesar no build Oxfor?" inquired monsieur.

Two stage-coaches racing through the town prevented Mr. Pickwick's trying to explain matters. It was lucky it so happened, as the task was of no ordinary difficulty. Having visited the library, Mr. Pickwick proposed to Monsieur de Beaureste to go to the theatre. But this was overruled by monsieur declaring he "would not vaste his valble time in de playhouse; he vas sick to death of de Kean, de Kemble, and de Moder Goose." Mr. Pickwick took some pains to explain to monsieur the nature of the academic theatre, and that the gravity of the dons did not admit of comedians within the precincts of their learned establishment. At last monsieur exclaimed, “I honderstan, he call thetre cause he not thetre- Lucus e non lucendo.'"

"French agin by George," says Sam, "as the girl said ven the little pig cried ́oui.'”

"Do be quiet, my dear Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, who always grew very endearing when he was losing his temper.

The church of St. Mary, or rather the clock of St. Mary's church, reminded us that time and stage-coaches wait for no man. We therefore bent our steps toward our angelic hotel. The morning being very fine, we took inside places, but preferred going outside. The inside of the coach was empty, with the exception of a little girl two years and a half old. She held on her lap a reticule, on which was a large card sewn, and on the card was written in legible characters, " From the Green Man, Oxford Street, to the care of Messrs. Matthews and Gardiner, Grocers, High Street, Cheltenham.”

"Poor little interesting creature!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick," sent thus to travel with no more care than if it were a cod's head and shoulders. Is the little dear hungry?" And the kind-hearted man rushed into a pastrycook's shop, and there buying eighteen-penny worth of things most unwholesome, "provisioned " our little inside passenger, who remained a little Alexander Selkirk-" monarch of all it surveyed."

Mr. Weller had retained the box seat of honour for Mr. Pickwick by the simple process of throwing a great-coat thereon. Now-a-days that seat is not so easily obtained, especially at Oxford, where a silver key must be employed, as if it were a private box to another stage. The roof, as it is termed, was divided into three, though not into three equal thirds, inasmuch as a lusty Welch cattle-drover took to himself one half for his third, the other half being equally divided between Sam Weller and myself. The hind part of the coach was empty—a