WHEN

his early morning walk he found that his three companions had risen and were waiting for him in the breakfast room. They sat down to the meal; and broiled ham, eggs, coffee, and sundries began to disappear with an alarming rapidity which testified to the excellence of the fare.

"Now, about Manor Farm," said Mr. Pickwick. "How shall we go?"

"We had better consult the waiter, perhaps,"

said Mr. Tupman; and the waiter was summoned accordingly.

"Manor Farm, Dingley Dell, gentlemen

fifteen

miles, gentlemen - crossroad. A post chaise, sir?" "Post chaise won't hold more than two," said Mr. Pickwick.

"True, sir- beg pardon, sir. Very nice fourwheel chaise, sir - seat for two behind - one in front for the gentleman that drives - oh! beg your pardon, sir that will only hold three."

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

"Perhaps one of you gentlemen would like to ride, sir," suggested the waiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle. "Very good saddle horse, sir."

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

Now Mr. Winkle, in the lowest recesses of his heart, had serious doubts of his equestrian skill; but, as he would not have them even suspected on any account, he replied, with great hardihood, "Certainly. I should enjoy it above all things."

Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate.

"Let them be at the door at eleven," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Very well, sir," answered the waiter.

The travelers finished their breakfast and ascended to their respective bedrooms to prepare for their approaching expedition. At exactly eleven o'clock the waiter entered and announced that the chaise was

ready - an announcement which the vehicle itself confirmed by forthwith appearing before the door in charge of a red-faced hostler.

It was a funny little box on four wheels, with a low box like a wine bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for one in front. It was drawn by an immense horse, displaying great symmetry of bone. The hostler's assistant stood near, holding by the bridle another immense horse, ready saddled for Mr. Winkle. "Bless my soul!" said Mr. Pickwick. "Who's to drive? I never thought of that.”

"Oh! you of course," said Mr. Tupman.

"Of course," said Mr. Snodgrass.

"I!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

"Not the slightest fear, sir," interposed the hostler. "Warrant him quiet, sir; a hinfant 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 wagon load of monkeys with their tails burnt off.” No further assurance was necessary. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass got into the bin, and Mr. Pickwick ascended to his perch.

"Now, shiny Villiam," said the hostler to his assistant, "give the gentleman the ribbons." "Shiny Villiam" - probably so called from his sleek hair and oily countenance - placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick's left hand; and the master hostler thrust a whip into his right.

"Wo-o!" cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced an inclination to back into the barroom window.

"Wo-o!" echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass. "It's only his playfulness, gentlemen," said the hostler, encouragingly. "Jist kitch hold on him, Villiam." The assistant curbed the animal's impetuosity, while his chief ran to assist Mr. Winkle in mounting. ""Tother side, sir, if you please!"

"Blowed if the gentleman worn't a gettin' up on the wrong side," remarked a passing postboy to the grinning waiter.

Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle with about as much effort as would have been required to get up on the side of a modern battleship.

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

"All right," answered Mr. Winkle, faintly.

"Let 'em go!" cried the hostler; and away went chaise and saddlehorse, with Mr. Pickwick on the box of one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other. "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 along the road in the strangest manner with his head towards one side of the way and his tail towards the other.

Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to look about. His entire attention was concentrated in the management

of the animal attached to the chaise. Besides jerking his head up and down in a very disagreeable manner, the beast had a singular habit of darting suddenly, every now and then, to the side of the road, and then rushing forward at a speed that it was impossible to control.

"What can he mean by this?" inquired Mr. Snodgrass, after the horse had performed this maneuver for the twentieth time.

"I don't know," answered Mr. Tupman; "but it looks a little like shying, don't it?"

Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a shout from Mr. Pickwick:

"Woo! I've dropped my whip!"

At that moment, Mr. Winkle, with his hat over his ears, came trotting up on the tall horse.

"Winkle," cried Mr. Snodgrass, "get down and pick up the whip- that's a good fellow."

Winkle pulled at the bridle of the tall horse till he was black in the face; and having at length stopped him, dismounted, picked up the whip and handed it to Mr. Pickwick. Then, grasping the reins, he prepared to remount.

But now, it suddenly occurred to the horse that he could perform the journey as much to his own satisfaction without a rider as with one; and no sooner had Mr. Winkle touched the reins than he slipped them over his head, and darted backward to their full length. "Poor fellow," said Mr. Winkle, soothingly. "Poor fellow! good old horse!"