“Will you allow me to note that little romance down, Sir?” said Mr. Snodgrass, deeply affected.

“Certainly, Sir, certainly⁠—fifty more if you like to hear ’em⁠—strange life mine⁠—rather curious history⁠—not extraordinary, but singular.”

In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of parenthesis, when the coach changed horses, did the stranger proceed, until they reached Rochester bridge, by which time the notebooks, both of Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were completely filled with selections from his adventures.

“Magnificent ruin!” said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the poetic fervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of the fine old castle.