Of course the foolish Trundle was put aside; the lady went and suffered no harm. This proves that Trundle was the _mari de la femme_, with no will of his own. At Dulwich Church, the bridegroom was met "by the bride, the maids, the Winkles, the Wardles, and Trundles," always to be last and insignificant. In course of time we are told that Mr. Pickwick was much troubled at first by the numerous applications made to him to act as Godfather to the offspring of his friends! These came from Mr. Winkle, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Trundle. Last of course. Poor soul! We can see him, grown elderly, sitting at his own table, smiling or silent, or with an occasional "yes, my dear," "certainly, my dear," "by all means, my dear." CHAPTER VI. MUGGLETON AND ITS CRICKET The situation and real name of Muggleton has always been a hotly debated point; many have been the speculations and many the suggestions as to the original. I was once inclined to adopt Gravesend, on the statement of the author's daughter, that, one day, driving with her father towards Cobham, he said that "it was here that Mr. Pickwick dropped his whip." Cobham would be on the way to Gravesend. Now what was Muggleton? A large town, with Mayor, Burgesses, and Freemen--an ancient and loyal Borough, much given to petitioning Parliament. It is insinuated that these petitions were guided by Stiggins-like instincts--"a zealous advocacy of Christian principles combined with a devoted attachment to commercial rights. Hence they were against negro slavery abroad and _for_ the factory system at home. They were for abolishing Sunday trading in the streets, and for maintaining the sale of church livings." A member of Boz's family has assured me that Maidstone was in the author's mind: it is only some eight miles from Rochester. But "The Bull" waiter informed the Pickwickians that Muggleton was nearly double the distance, or fifteen miles; while Gravesend is about six miles from Rochester--so the evidence of distance does not help us. Where, too, did Mr. Pickwick drop his whip? The Pickwickian enthusiast can ascertain this--'an he will--by a little calculation. After leaving "The Bull," the tall quadruped exercised his "manoeuvre" of darting to the side of the road, rushing forward for some minutes--_twenty times_--which would cover about an hour. In the etching, there is a picture of the spot--a hedge-lined road. Mr. Pickwick and his friends had to walk the whole way; yet they arrived late in the afternoon. No one could walk from Rochester to Maidstone in that time.