The breakfast passed off in silence, for each of the party was brooding over his, or her, own personal grievances. Mrs. Pott was regretting the loss of a beau; Mr. Pott his rash pledge to horsewhip the Independent ; Mr. Winkle his having innocently placed himself in so awkward a situation. Noon approached, and after many adieux and promises to return, he tore himself away.

“If he ever comes back, I’ll poison him,” thought Mr. Pott, as he turned into the little back office where he prepared his thunderbolts.

“If I ever do come back, and mix myself up with these people again,” thought Mr. Winkle, as he wended his way to the Peacock, “I shall deserve to be horsewhipped myself⁠—that’s all.”