Namby's horse was "a bay, a well-looking animal enough, but with something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him." The horses which took the hackney coach to the Fleet jolted along as hackney coaches usually do. "The horses 'went better,' the driver said, 'when they had anything before them.' They must have gone at a most extraordinary pace when there was nothing." Visiting the Fleet with Mrs. Weller and the deputy Shepherd, Mr. Weller drove up from Dorking with the old piebald in his chaise cart, which, after long delay, was brought out for the return journey. "If he stands at livery much longer he'll stand at nothin' as we go back." There is a capital scene at the opening of Chapter XLVI., when the "cabrioilet" was drawing up at Mrs. Bardell's, and where so much that is dramatic is "got out" of such a simple incident between the contending directions. IV.--Mr. Pickwick in Silk Stockings. How well Boz knew how to touch the chords of human character--a power that certainly needs long experience to work--is shown by the scene at Wardle's dance, where Mr. Pickwick is nettled by Tupman's remarking that he was wearing "pumps" for the first time. "_You_ in silk stockings," said that gentleman. Mr. Pickwick had just called attention to the change which he considered a sort of public event to be admired by all. "See this great man condescending to our frivolous tastes," and his host had noted it in a flattering way. "You mean to dance?" But Tupman did not look at it in this respectful way--he made a joke of it! "_You_ in silk stockings." This was insolent to the grave, great man and philosopher, so he turned sharply on his familiar: "And why not, sir--why not?" This with warmth. The foolish Tupman, still inclined to be jocose, said, "Oh, of course, there is no reason why you shouldn't wear them"--a most awkward speech--as who should say, "This is a free country--a man can wear a night cap in public if he chooses." "I imagine not, sir--I imagine not," said Mr. Pickwick, in a _very peremptory_ tone. Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was a serious matter, so he looked grave, and said _they were a pretty pattern_. How natural is all this! And still more so his leader's reply. "I hope they are," he said, fixing his eyes upon his friend, "You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, _as_ stockings, I trust, sir." The frightened Tupman said, "Certainly not, Oh, certainly not," and walked away. Mr. Pickwick's face resumed its customary benign expression. This little picture of weakness in an eminent man is characteristic. For observe, when Tupman showed the folly of wearing a "two inch tail" to the brigand's coat, Mr. Pickwick was furious, told him he was too old and too fat; but when someone remarks on _his_ silk stockings he gets deeply offended. His vanity is touched, there should have been no remark, or, at least, only of admiration. He was, in fact, one of those flattered