“With great pleasure,” said Mr. Pickwick; the satisfaction of whose countenance, after drinking it, bore testimony to the sincerity of the reply.

“Good,” said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips. “Very good. I’ll take another. Cool; very cool. Come, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Pickwick, still retaining his hold upon the jar, “a toast. Our friends at Dingley Dell.”

The toast was drunk with loud acclamations.

“I’ll tell you what I shall do, to get up my shooting again,” said Mr. Winkle, who was eating bread and ham with a pocketknife. “I’ll put a stuffed partridge on the top of a post, and practise at it, beginning at a short distance, and lengthening it by degrees. I understand it’s capital practice.”