The noise and bustle which ushered in the morning were sufficient to dispel from the mind of the most romantic visionary in existence, any associations but those which were immediately connected with the rapidly-approaching election. The beating of drums, the blowing of horns and trumpets, the shouting of men, and tramping of horses, echoed and reechoed through the streets from the earliest dawn of day; and an occasional fight between the light skirmishers of either party at once enlivened the preparations, and agreeably diversified their character.

“Well, Sam,” said Mr. Pickwick, as his valet appeared at his bedroom door, just as he was concluding his toilet; “all alive today, I suppose?”

“Reg’lar game, sir,” replied Mr. Weller; “our people’s a-collecting down at the Town Arms, and they’re a-hollering themselves hoarse already.”