y, Apollo
by night--bang the field-piece, twang the lyre.'

'You were present at that glorious scene, sir?' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'Present! think I was;* fired a musket--fired with an idea--rushed into
wine shop--wrote it down--back again--whiz, bang--another idea--wine
shop again--pen and ink--back again--cut and slash--noble time, Sir.
Sportsman, sir?'abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle.

* A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr.
Jingle's imagination; this dialogue occurring in the year
1827, and the Revolution in 1830.

'A little, Sir,' replied that gentleman.

'Fine pursuit, sir--fine pursuit.--Dogs, Sir?'

'Not just now,' said Mr. Winkle.

'Ah! you should keep dogs--fine animals--sagacious creatures--dog of my
own once--pointer--surprising instinct--out shooting one day--entering
inclosure--whistled--dog stopped--whistled again--Ponto--no go; stock
still--called him--Ponto, Ponto--wouldn't move--dog transfixed--staring
at a board--looked up, saw an inscription--"Gamekeeper has orders to
shoot all dogs found in this inclosure"--wouldn't pass it--wonderful
dog--valuable dog that--very.'

'Singular circumstance that,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Will you allow me to
make a note of it?'

'Certainly, Sir, certainly--hundred more anecdotes of the same
animal.--Fine girl, Sir' (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowing
sundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside).

'Very!' said Mr. Tupman.

'English girls not so fine as Spanish--noble creatures--jet hair--black
eyes--lovely forms--sweet creatures--beautiful.'

'You have been in Spain, sir?' said Mr. Tracy Tupman.

'Lived there--ages.' 'Many conquests, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman.

'Conquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig--grandee--only daughter--Donna
Christina--splendid creature--loved me to distraction--jealous
father--high-souled daughter--handsome Englishman--Donna Christina
in despair--prussic acid--stomach pump in my portmanteau--operation
performed--old Bolaro in ecstasies--consent to our union--join hands and
floods of tears--romantic story--very.'

'Is the lady in England now, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom the
description of her charms had produced a powerful impression.

'Dead, sir--dead,' said the stranger, applying to his right eye the
brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. 'Never recovered the
stomach pump--undermined constitution--fell a victim.'

'And her father?' inquired