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‘
Follow
me
instantly
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Tupman
,
if
I
stay
at
Bury
,
you
can
join
me
there
,
when
I
write
.
Till
then
,
good
-
bye
!
’
Remonstrances
were
useless
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
roused
,
and
his
mind
was
made
up
.
Mr
.
Tupman
returned
to
his
companions
;
and
in
another
hour
had
drowned
all
present
recollection
of
Mr
.
Alfred
Jingle
,
or
Mr
.
Charles
Fitz
–
Marshall
,
in
an
exhilarating
quadrille
and
a
bottle
of
champagne
.
By
that
time
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
and
Sam
Weller
,
perched
on
the
outside
of
a
stage
-
coach
,
were
every
succeeding
minute
placing
a
less
and
less
distance
between
themselves
and
the
good
old
town
of
Bury
St
.
Edmunds
.
There
is
no
month
in
the
whole
year
in
which
nature
wears
a
more
beautiful
appearance
than
in
the
month
of
August
.
Spring
has
many
beauties
,
and
May
is
a
fresh
and
blooming
month
,
but
the
charms
of
this
time
of
year
are
enhanced
by
their
contrast
with
the
winter
season
.
August
has
no
such
advantage
.
It
comes
when
we
remember
nothing
but
clear
skies
,
green
fields
,
and
sweet
-
smelling
flowers
—
when
the
recollection
of
snow
,
and
ice
,
and
bleak
winds
,
has
faded
from
our
minds
as
completely
as
they
have
disappeared
from
the
earth
—
and
yet
what
a
pleasant
time
it
is
!
Orchards
and
cornfields
ring
with
the
hum
of
labour
;
trees
bend
beneath
the
thick
clusters
of
rich
fruit
which
bow
their
branches
to
the
ground
;
and
the
corn
,
piled
in
graceful
sheaves
,
or
waving
in
every
light
breath
that
sweeps
above
it
,
as
if
it
wooed
the
sickle
,
tinges
the
landscape
with
a
golden
hue
.
A
mellow
softness
appears
to
hang
over
the
whole
earth
;
the
influence
of
the
season
seems
to
extend
itself
to
the
very
wagon
,
whose
slow
motion
across
the
well
-
reaped
field
is
perceptible
only
to
the
eye
,
but
strikes
with
no
harsh
sound
upon
the
ear
.
As
the
coach
rolls
swiftly
past
the
fields
and
orchards
which
skirt
the
road
,
groups
of
women
and
children
,
piling
the
fruit
in
sieves
,
or
gathering
the
scattered
ears
of
corn
,
pause
for
an
instant
from
their
labour
,
and
shading
the
sun
-
burned
face
with
a
still
browner
hand
,
gaze
upon
the
passengers
with
curious
eyes
,
while
some
stout
urchin
,
too
small
to
work
,
but
too
mischievous
to
be
left
at
home
,
scrambles
over
the
side
of
the
basket
in
which
he
has
been
deposited
for
security
,
and
kicks
and
screams
with
delight
.
The
reaper
stops
in
his
work
,
and
stands
with
folded
arms
,
looking
at
the
vehicle
as
it
whirls
past
;
and
the
rough
cart
-
horses
bestow
a
sleepy
glance
upon
the
smart
coach
team
,
which
says
as
plainly
as
a
horse
’
s
glance
can
,
‘
It
’
s
all
very
fine
to
look
at
,
but
slow
going
,
over
a
heavy
field
,
is
better
than
warm
work
like
that
,
upon
a
dusty
road
,
after
all
.
’
You
cast
a
look
behind
you
,
as
you
turn
a
corner
of
the
road
.
The
women
and
children
have
resumed
their
labour
;
the
reaper
once
more
stoops
to
his
work
;
the
cart
-
horses
have
moved
on
;
and
all
are
again
in
motion
.
The
influence
of
a
scene
like
this
,
was
not
lost
upon
the
well
-
regulated
mind
of
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
Intent
upon
the
resolution
he
had
formed
,
of
exposing
the
real
character
of
the
nefarious
Jingle
,
in
any
quarter
in
which
he
might
be
pursuing
his
fraudulent
designs
,
he
sat
at
first
taciturn
and
contemplative
,
brooding
over
the
means
by
which
his
purpose
could
be
best
attained
.
By
degrees
his
attention
grew
more
and
more
attracted
by
the
objects
around
him
;
and
at
last
he
derived
as
much
enjoyment
from
the
ride
,
as
if
it
had
been
undertaken
for
the
pleasantest
reason
in
the
world
.
‘
Delightful
prospect
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Beats
the
chimbley
-
pots
,
Sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
,
touching
his
hat
.
‘
I
suppose
you
have
hardly
seen
anything
but
chimney
-
pots
and
bricks
and
mortar
all
your
life
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
smiling
.
‘
I
worn
’
t
always
a
boots
,
sir
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
with
a
shake
of
the
head
.
‘
I
wos
a
vaginer
’
s
boy
,
once
.
’
‘
When
was
that
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
