ould not be moved in consequence of acute suffering, and
who had the water from the King's Bath bottled at 103 degrees, and _sent
by waggon to his bedroom in Town_; when he bathed, sneezed, and same day
recovered." This is grotesque enough and farcical, but without much
meaning. On another occasion we are told that Tupman was casting certain
"_Anti_-Pickwickian glances" at the servant maids, which is unmeaning. No
doubt, _Un_-Pickwickian was intended.

Why is there no "Pickwick Club" in London? It might be worth trying, and
would be more successful than even the Johnson Club. There is surely
genuine "stuff" to work on. Our friends in America, who are Pickwickian
_quand meme_, have established the "All-Around Dickens Club." The
members seem to be ladies, though there are a number of honorary members
of the other sex, which include members of "Boz's" own family, with Mr.
Kitton, Mr. W. Hughes, Mr. Charles Kent, myself, and some more. The
device of the club is "Boz's" own book-plate, and the "flower" of the
club is his favourite geranium. The President is Mrs. Adelaide Garland;
and some very interesting papers, to judge from their titles, have been
read, such as "Bath and its Associations with Landor," "The City of
Bristol with its Literary Associations," "The Excursion to the Tea
Gardens of Hampstead," prefaced by a description of the historic old inn,
"Poem by Charles Kent," "Dickens at Gad's Hill," "A Description of
Birmingham, its Institutions, and Dickens' Interest therein"; with a
"Reading of Mr. Pickwick's Mission to Birmingham, Coventry and the
adjacent Warwickshire Country," etc. There is also a very clever series
of examination questions by the President in imitation of Calverley's.

"Had Mr. Pickwick loved?" Mr. Lang asks; "it is natural to believe that
he had never proposed, never. His heart, however bruised, was neither
broken nor embittered." His temperament was certainly affectionate--if
not absolutely amatory: he certainly never missed an opportunity where a
kiss was practicable.

But stay! has anyone noted that on the wall of his room at Dulwich, there
hangs the portrait of a lady--just over this might seem to mean
something. But on looking close, we see it is the dear filial old
fellow's mother. A striking likeness, and she has spectacles like her
celebrated son.

As all papers connected with the Pickwick era are scarce and meagre--for
the reason that no one was then thinking of "Boz"; an