of an elderly
gentleman, Mr. Peter Magnus, between whom and Mr. Pickwick, as we
learn from his faithful servant, there had for many years been a cloud
or misunderstanding on account of some lady whose marriage with Mr.
Magnus Mr. Pickwick had unwittingly frustrated. This injury, if
injury there was, Mr. Magnus had buried in the grave, and had rushed
to Dulwich to lend his heartfelt sympathy. Such things go far to
reconcile one to human nature, if such reconcilement be incumbent. A
deputation from the Dulwich Literary and Scientific Association, of
which Mr. Pickwick was Perpetual President, walked in the procession.
Passing the well-known Greyhound Inn, one of Mr. Pickwick's favourite
haunts, it was noticed the blinds were drawn down.

We copy from the _Eatanswill Gazette_ the following admirable tribute
to Mr. Pickwick's merit, from the vigorous pen, as we understand, of
its Editor, Mr. Pott:--"Not only in Dulwich, but in Eatanswill, is
there mourning, to-day. We have lost Pickwick--Pickwick the true and
the Blue. For Blue he was, to the very core and marrow of his bones,
and it was we ourselves, who first permeated him with real Blue
principles. Many a time and oft has he sat at our feet, drinking in
with rapture, almost, the stray scraps of immortal doctrine with which
we favoured him. Is it not an open secret that, but for Pickwick's
exertions--exertions which laid the foundations of the disease which
ultimately carried him off--our late admirable member, the Honourable
Samuel Slumkey, would not have been returned? The _Gazette_, it is
true, first burst open the breach, in which Pickwick threw himself,
waving his flag on high, and led us on to victory. Of course, our
verminous contemporary, the _Independent_, will scoff, and wipe its
shoes on the illustrious dead. Of course, the mangey creature--ceasing
the while from its perennial self-scratching--will hoot something
derogatory. Let it sneer, yelp aloud in its impotent hog-like manner;
let it root with its filthy snout among the heaps of garbage where it
loves to make its unclean haunt in unspeakable Buffery. 'Twill not
serve--the noisome fumes will stifle it."

We regret to say that these prognostications of Mr. Pott's were but
too soon, and too fatally realised, for in almost the next issue of
the _Independent_, we find a scandalous and indecent at