he amiable Pickwick would have done; in
fact like something he _did_ do and felt, when he repaired to Eatanswill
for the election. On entering the town he at once chose his party, and
took it up enthusiastically. "With his usual foresight and sagacity,"
like Dr. Johnson, he had chosen a fortunately desirable moment for his
visit. "Slumkey for ever," roared the honest and independent. "Slumkey
for ever!" echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat. "No Fizkin," roared
the crowd. "Certainly not," shouted Mr. Pickwick. "Who is Slumkey?"
whispered Mr. Tupman. "I don't know," said Mr. Pickwick, in the same
tone. "Hush! don't ask any questions. It's always best on these
occasions to do what the mob do." "But suppose there are two mobs,"
suggested Mr. Snodgrass. "Shout with the largest," replied Mr. Pickwick.
Volumes could not have said more. On asking for rooms at the Town Arms,
which was the Great White Horse, Mr. Pickwick was asked "was he Blue."
Mr. Pickwick in reply, asked for Perker. "He is blue I think." "O yes,
sir." "Then _we_ are blue," said Mr. Pickwick, but observing the man
looked rather doubtful at this accommodating account he gave him his
card. Perker arranged everything. "Spirited contest, my dear sir," he
said, "I am delighted to hear it," said Mr. Pickwick. "I like to see
sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is called forth." Later, we are
told, Mr. Pickwick entered heart and soul into the business, and, like
the sage, caught the prevailing excitement. "Although _no great partisan
of either side_, Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently fired by Mr. Pott's
enthusiasm to apply his whole time and attention to the proceedings,
etc." All this, of course, does not correspond exactly, but the spirit
of the selections are the same.

The Doctor it is known, would go out at midnight with his friends
Beauclerk and Layton to have what he called "a rouze," and Garrick was
humorously apprehensive that he would have to bail out his old friend
from the watchhouse. Mr. Pickwick had many a "rouze" with his followers.
And Johnson himself, in the matter of drink, was at one time as bad as
Mr. Pickwick, only he had a better head, and could "carry his liquor
discreetly," like the Baron of Bradwardine. He had actually to give up
drink on account of this tendency to excess.

PICKWICKIAN ORIGINALS.

There is a shrewd remark of the late Bishop Norwich, Dean Stanley's
father, that to catch and describe the tone