it
is not generally known when and how Boz obtained it.

There is a small hamlet some few miles from Bath and 97 from London--which
is 106 miles away from Bath--bearing the name of "Pickwick." The Bath
coach, by the way, started from the White Horse Cellars, Piccadilly, at
half-past seven in the morning, and took just twelve hours for the
journey. Now it is made by the Great Western in two! Here, many years
ago, at the time of the story, was "Pickwick House, the seat of C. N.
Loscombe, Esq.," and also "Pickwick Lodge," where dwelt Captain Fenton.
Boz had never seen or heard of such places, but all the same they
indirectly furnished him with the name. A mail-coach guard found an
infant on the road in this place, and gave it the name of "Pickwick." The
word "Pickwick" contains the common terminal "wick," as in "Warwick," and
which means a village or hamlet of some kind. Pickwick, however, has
long since disappeared from the face of the map. Probably, after the
year 1837, folk did not relish dating their letters from a spot of such
humorous memories.

This Moses Pickwick was taken into the service of the coaching hotel, the
White Hart, gradually devoted himself to the horse and coaching business,
and, at the time of Boz's or Mr. Pickwick's visit, was the actual
proprietor of the coaches on the road. "The name," said Sam, "is not
only down on the vay-bill, sir, but they've painted vun on 'em on the
door of the coach." As Sam spoke he pointed to that part of the door on
which the proprietor's name usually appears, and there, sure enough, in
gilt letters of a goodly size, was the magic name of PICKWICK. "Dear
me," said Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the coincidence, "what a very
extraordinary thing!" "Yes; but that ain't all," said Sam, again
directing his master's attention to the coach-door. "Not content with
writin' up 'Pickwick,' they put 'Moses' afore it, which I calls adding
insult to injury." "It's odd enough, certainly," said Mr. Pickwick. When
he was casting about for a good name for his venture, it recurred to him
as having a quaint oddity and uncanniness. And thus it is that we owe to
Bath, and to Bath only, this celebrated name. It is said that he rushed
into the publisher's office, exultingly proclaiming his selection.

Few cities have had their society and manners sketched by such eminent
pens as Bath--Smollett, Miss Burney, Miss Austen, and Boz. The old walls
and houses are thus made to li