"Nothing the matter," replied Mr. Pickwick. "We-we're -all right.-I say, Wardle, we're all right, an't we?"
"I should think so," replied the jolly host.-"My dears, here's my friend, Mr. Jingle-Mr. Pickwick's friend, Mr. Jingle, come 'pon-little visit."
"Is anything the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, sir?" inquired Emily, with great anxiety.
"Nothing the matter, ma'am," replied the stranger. "Cricket dinner-glorious party-capital songs-old port -claret-good-very good-wine, ma'am-wine."
"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken voice. "It was the salmon." (Somehow or other, it never is the wine, in these cases.)
"Hadn't they better go to bed, ma'am?" inquired Emma. "Two of the boys will carry the gentlemen up stairs." "I won't go to bed," said Mr. Winkle, firmly. "No living boy shall carry me," said Mr. Pickwick, stoutly; and he went on smiling as before. "Hurrah!" gasped Mr. Winkle, faintly. Hurrah!" echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat and dashing it on the floor, and insanely casting his spectacles into the middle of the kitchen.-At this humorous feat he laughed outright. - "Let's-have - 'nother 'nother-bottle," bottle," cried Mr. Winkle, commencing in a very loud key, and ending in a very faint one. His head dropped upon his breast; and, muttering his invincible determination not to go to his bed, and a sanguinary regret that he had not "done for old Tupman" in the morning, he fell fast asleep; in which condition he was borne to his apartment by two voung giants under the personal superintendence of the fat boy, to whose protecting care Mr. Snodgrass shortly afterwards confided his own person. Mr. Pickwick accepted the proffered arm of Mr. Tupman and quietly disappeared, smiling more than ever; and Mr. Wardle, after taking as affectionate a leave of the whole family as if he were ordered for immediate execution, consigned to Mr.
