might object to the dirt which is their leading characteristic; but to those who view it as an indication of traffic and commercial prosperity, it is truly gratifying."
Punctual to five o'clock came the stranger, and shortly afterwards the dinner. He had divested himself of his brown paper parcel, but had made no alteration in his attire; and was, if possible, more loquacious than ever.
"What's that?" he inquired, as the waiter removed one of the covers.
"Soles—ah!—capital fish—all come from London—stagecoach proprietors get up political dinners—carriage of soles dozens of baskets—cunning fellows. Glass of wine, sir."
"With pleasure," said Mr. Pickwick; and the stranger took wine, first with him, and then with Mr. Snodgrass, and then with Mr. Tupman, and then with Mr. Winkle, and then with the whole party together, almost as rapidly as he talked.
"Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter," said the stranger. "Forms going up—carpenters coming down—lamps, glasses, harps. What's going forward?"
"Ball, sir," said the waiter.
"No, sir, not Assembly, sir. Ball for the benefit of a charity, sir."
"Many fine women in this town, do you know, sir?" inquired Mr. Tupman, with great interest.
"Splendid—capital. Kent, sir—everybody knows Kent—apples, cherries, hops, and women. Glass of wine, sir?"
"With great pleasure," replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger filled, and emptied.
"I should very much like to go," said Mr. Tupman, resuming the subject of the ball, "very much."
"Tickets at the bar, sir," interposed the waiter; "half-a-guinea each, sir."
Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at the festivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened