"Dingley Dell, gentlemen-fifteen miles, gentlemen, crossroad-post chaise, sir?"

"Post chaise won't hold more than two," said Mr. Pickwick. "True, sir, beg pardon, sir. Very nice four-wheeled chaise, sir seat for two behind one in front for the gentleman that drives-oh! beg pardon, sir- that'll only hold three."

"What's to be done?" said Mr. Snodgrass.

"Perhaps one of the gentlemen like to ride, sir," suggested the waiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle; "very good saddle horses, sir any of Mr. Wardle's men coming to Rochester, bring 'em back, sir."

"The very thing," said Mr. Pickwick. "Winkle, will you go on horseback?"

Now Mr. Winkle hid certain misgivings in the very lowest recesses of his heart, relative to his equestrian skill; but as he would not have them even suspected on any account, he at once replied with great hardihood, "Certainly. I should enjoy it, of all things."

Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate; there was no recourse. “Let them be at the door by eleven," said Mr. Pickwick. "Very well, sir," replied the waiter.

The waiter retired, the breakfast concluded; and the travelers ascended to their respective bedrooms, to prepare a change of clothing to take with them on their approaching expedition.

Mr. Pickwick had made his preliminary arrangements, and was looking over the coffee-room blinds at the passengers in the street when the waiter entered, and announced that the chaise was ready an announcement which the vehicle itself confirmed by forthwith appearing before the coffee-room blinds aforesaid.

It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low place like a wine bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for one in front, drawn by an immense brown horse: apparently a near relative of the one in the chaise, was another ready saddled for Mr. Winkle.

"Bless my soul!" said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood on the pavement while the coats were being put in. "Bless my soul! who's to drive? I never thought of that."

“Oh! you, of course," said Mr. Tupman. "Of course," said Snodgrass.

"I!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

"Not the slightest fear, sir," interposed the hostler. "Warrant him quiet, sir; an infant in arms might drive him."

"He don't shy, does he?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"Shy, sir? He wouldn't shy if he was to meet a vaggin-load of monkeys, with their tails burnt off."

The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass got into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his perch, and deposited his feet on a floor-clothed shelf, erected beneath it for that purpose.

"Now, shiny Villiam," said the hostler to the deputy hostler, "give the gen❜lm'n the ribbons." "Shiny Villiam” so called, probably, from his sleek hair and oily countenance - placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick's left hand, and the upper hostler thrust a whip into his right.

"Woo!" cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced a decided inclination to back into the coffee-room window. "Woo!" echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass, from the bin.

"Only his playfulness, gen'lm'n," said the head hostler en

couragingly; "just kitch hold on him, Villiam." The deputy restrained the animal's impetuosity, and the principal ran to assist Mr. Winkle in mounting.

"T'other side, sir, if you please."

"Blowed if the gen'lm'n worn't gettin' up on the wrong side," whispered a grinning post-boy, to the inexpressibly gratified waiter.

Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into the saddle, with about as much difficulty as he would have experienced in getting up the side of a first-rate man-o'-war.

"All right?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment that it was all wrong.

"All right,” replied Mr. Winkle faintly.

"Let 'em go,” cried the hostler. "Hold him in, sir"; and away went the chaise, and the saddle horse, with Mr. Pickwick on the box of the one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to the delight and gratification of the whole inn yard.

"What makes him go sideways?" said Mr. Snodgrass in the bin to Mr. Winkle in the saddle.

"I can't imagine," replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was drifting up the street in the most mysterious manner side first, with his head toward one side of the way, and his tail toward the other.

Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any other particular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in the management of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayed various peculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander but by no means equally amusing to any one seated behind him. Besides constantly jerking his head up, in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable manner, and tugging at the reins to an extent

which rendered it a matter of great difficulty for Mr. Pickwick to hold them, he had a singular propensity for darting now and then to the side of the road, then stopping short, and then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which it was wholly impossible to control.

"What can he mean by this?” said Mr. Snodgrass, when the horse had executed his maneuver for the twentieth time.

"I don't know," replied Mr. Tupman; "it looks very like shying, don't it?" Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a shout from Mr. Pickwick.

"Woo," said that gentleman, "I have dropped my whip."

"Winkle," cried Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trotting up on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all over, as if he would shake to pieces with the violence of the exercise, "pick up the whip, there's a good fellow.” Mr. Winkle pulled at the bridle of the tall horse till he was black in the face; and, having at length succeeded in stopping him, dismounted, handed the whip to Mr. Pickwick, and, grasping the reins, prepared to remount.

Now, whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of his disposition, was desirous of having a little innocent recreation with Mr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he could perform the journey as much to his own satisfaction without a rider as with one, are points upon which we can arrive at no definite and distinct conclusion. By whatever motives the animal was actuated, certain it is that no sooner had Mr. Winkle touched the reins than he slipped them over his head, and darted backward at their full length.

"Poor fellow," said Mr. Winkle soothingly, "poor fellow, good old horse." The poor "fellow" was proof against flattery:

the more Mr. Winkle tried to get nearer him the more he sidled away; and, notwithstanding all kinds of coaxing and wheedling, there were Mr. Winkle and the good old horse going round and round each other for ten minutes; at the end of which time each was precisely at the same distance from one another as when they first commenced an unsatisfactory sort of thing under any circumstances, but particularly so in a lonely road, where no assistance can be procured.

"What am I to do?" shouted Mr. Winkle, after the dodging had been prolonged for a long time. "What am I to do? I can't get him."

"You had better lead him till you come to a turnpike," replied Mr. Pickwick from the chaise.

"But he won't come," roared Mr. Winkle. "Do come, and hold him."

Mr. Pickwick was the impersonation of kindness and humanity; he threw the reins on his horse's back, and, having descended from his seat, carefully drew the chaise into the hedge, lest anything should come along the road, and stepped back to the assistance of his distressed companion, leaving Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in the vehicle.

The horse no sooner saw Mr. Pickwick advancing toward him with the chaise whip in his hand, than he exchanged the rotary movement in which he had previously indulged for a retrograde movement of so determined a character that it at once drew Mr. Winkle, who was still at the end of the bridle, at a rather quicker rate than fast walking, in the direction from which they had just come. Mr. Pickwick ran to his assistance, but the faster Mr. Pickwick ran forward, the faster the horse ran backward.