The Pickwickians had no sooner dismounted than they were surrounded by a branch mob of the honest and independent, who forthwith set up three deafening cheers, which being responded to by the main body (for it’s not at all necessary for a crowd to know what they are cheering about), swelled into a tremendous roar of triumph, which stopped even the red-faced man in the balcony.

“Hurrah!” shouted the mob, in conclusion.

“One cheer more,” screamed the little fugleman in the balcony, and out shouted the mob again, as if lungs were cast-iron, with steel works.

“Slumkey forever!” roared the honest and independent.

“Slumkey forever!” echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat.

“No Fizkin!” roared the crowd.