The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings up are capital things in our school days, but in after life they are painful enough. Death, self-interest, and fortune’s changes, are every day breaking up many a happy group and scattering them far and wide; and the boys and girls never come back again. We do not mean to say that it was exactly the case in this particular instance; all we wish to inform the reader is, that the different members of the party dispersed to their several homes; that Mr. Pickwick and his friends once more took their seats on the top of the Muggleton coach; and that Arabella Allen repaired to her place of destination, wherever it might have been—we dare say Mr. Winkle knew, but we confess we don’t—under the care and guardianship of her brother Benjamin, and his most intimate and particular friend, Mr. Bob Sawyer. Before they separated, however, that gentleman and Mr. Benjamin Allen drew Mr. Pickwick aside with an air of some mystery; and Mr. Bob Sawyer thrusting his forefinger between two of Mr. Pickwick’s ribs, and thereby displaying his native drollery, and his knowledge of the anatomy of the human frame, at one and the same time, enquired— “I say, old boy, where do you hang out?” Mr. Pickwick replied that he was at present suspended at the George and Vulture. “I wish you’d come and see me,” said Bob Sawyer. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” replied Mr. Pickwick. “There’s my lodgings,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, producing a card, “Lant Street, Borough; it’s near Guy’s, and handy for me you know. Little distance after you’ve passed Saint George’s Church—turns out of the High Street on the right hand side the way.” “I shall find it,” said Mr. Pickwick. “Come on Thursday week, and bring the other chaps with you,” said Mr. Bob Sawyer, “I’m going to have a few medical fellows that night.” Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him to meet the medical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had informed him that he meant to be very cosey, and that his friend Ben was to be one of the party, they shook hands and separated. We feel that in this place we lay ourself open to the enquiry whether Mr. Winkle was whispering, during this brief conversation, to Arabella Allen, and if so, what he said; and furthermore, whether Mr. Snodgrass was conversing apart with Emily Wardle, and if so, what _he_ said. To this, we reply, that whatever they might have said to the ladies, they said nothing at all to Mr. Pickwick or Mr. Tupman for eight-and-twenty miles, and that they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy, and looked gloomy. If our observant lady readers can deduce any satisfactory inferences from these facts, we beg them by all means to do so. [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES