Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1879-12-24

then carefully pulling it up again, in
forms the other inside that they'r
going to change directly; on whicl
the other inside wakes himself up, ant
determines to postpone his next nal
until after the stoppage. Again TIN
bugle sounds Justify forth, and rouse
the cottager's wife and children, VIII,
peep out at the house door and watcl
the coach till it turns the corner, whel
they once more crouch round the fire
and throw on another log of wooC
against father comes home while
father himself, full mile off, has jus
exchanged a friendly nod with tn,
coachman, and turned round to take ;
good long stare at the vehicle as i
whirls away.
And now the bugle plays lively
air as the coach rattles through the ill
paved street of country town, anC
the coachman, undoing the buckle
which keeps his ribands together, pre-
pares to throw them off the moment
he stops. Mr.. Pickwick energies from
his coat collar, and looks about hin
with great curiosity ; perceiving which
the coachman informs Mr.. Pickwick o.
the name of the town, and tells him il
was market-day yesterday, both o.
which pieces of information Mr.. Pick
wick retails to his fellow-passengers
whereupon they emerge from theiI
coat collars too, and look about them
also. Mr.. Winkle, who sits at the ex-
treme edge, with one leg dangling in
the air, is nearly precipitated into the
street as the coach twists round the
sharp corner by the cheesemonger's
shop, and turns into the market-plaee
and before Mr. Snodgrass, who sits
next to him, has recovered from his
alarm, they pull up at the inn yard
where the fresh horses, with cloths on
are already waiting The coachman
throws down the reins and gets down
himself, and the other outside passen.
gers drop down also, except those who
have no great confidence in their abil.
ity to get up again, and they remain
where they are, and stamp their feet
against the coach to warm them
looking, with longing eyes and red
noses, at the bright fire in the inn bar,
and the sprigs of holly with red ber-
ries which ornament the window
But the guard has delivered at the
corn Dealers shop the brown-paper
packet he took out of the little pouch
which hangs over his shoulder by a
leathern strap; and has seen the horses
carefully put to; and has thrown on the
pavement the saddle which was brought
from London on the coach-roof; and has
assisted in the conference between the
coachman and the hostler about the
grey mare that hurt her off fore-leg last
Tuesday; and he and Mr.. Weller are all
right behind, and the coachman is al
right in front, and the old gentleman
inside, who has kept the window down
full two inches all this time, has pulled
it up again, and the cloths are off, and
they are all ready for starting, except
the "two stout gentlemen" whom the
coachman inquiries after with some i'm
patience. Hereupon the coachman, and
the guard, and Sam Weller. and Mr.
Wrinkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, and all the
hostlers, and every one of the idlers
who are more in humber than all the
others put together, shout for the miss
ing gentlemen as loud as they car
bawl. A distant response is heard from
the yard, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
Tupman come running down it quite
out of breath, for they have been hav
ing a glass of ale apiece, and Mr.. Pick
wick's fingers are so cold that he has
been full five minutes before he could
find the sixpence to pay for it. The
coachman shouts an admonitory "Now
then, gen'l'm'n!" the guard re-echoes
it; the old gentleman inside thinks it g
very extraordinary thing that people
wtU get down when they know there
isn't time for it; Mr.. Pickwick strug
giles up on one side, Mr.. Tupman or
the other; Mr.. Winkle cries "Al
right y and off they start. Shawls are
pulled up, coat collars are readjusted
the pavement ceases, the houses disap
pear, and they are once again dashine
along the open road. with the fresf
clear air blowing in their faces, and
gladdening their very hearts within
them
Such was the progress of Mr.. Pick
wick and his friends by the Muggletor
Telegraph, on their way to Dingley
Dell and at three O'Clock that after
noon they all stood, high and dry, SAFE
and sound, hale and hearty, upon tn,
steps of the Blue Lion, having taker
on the road quite enough of ale ant
brandy to enable them to bid defiance
to the frost that was binding up th'
earth in its iron letters, and weaving
its beautiful network upon the tree
and hedges. Mr. Pickwick was busily
engaged in counting the barrels o
oysters and experimenting the disin
terment of the Goldfish, when he fel
himself gently pulled by the skirts o
the coat. Looking round, he discovere'
that the individual who resorted t.
this mode of catching his attention wa
no other than Mr.. Wardle's favorit
page, better known to the readers @
this unvarnished history, by the dis
tinguished appellation of the fat boy
"AhA!" said Mr. Pickwick.
Aha :" said the fat boy.
As he said it, he glanced from tn
Goldfish to the oyster barrels, and chucl
led joyously, He was fatter than eve1
"Well, you look rosy enough, m
young friend" said Mr.. Pickwick.
'I've been asleep, right in front {
the tap-room fire." replied the fat boy
who had heated himself to the colo
of a new chimney pot, in the cours
of an hours nap Master sent m
over with the shay-cart, to carry you
luggage up to the house. He'd ha' SCI
some saddle horses, but he though
you'd rather walk, being cold day
Eyes, yes" said Mr. Pickwicl
hastily, for he remembered how the
had travelled over nearly the san