Askerne, or Askeron, a neat little village seven miles from Doncaster, on the Selby road, celebrated for its sulphurous spring――which rises from a fine piece of water called Askerne Pool, and which is much visited by patients afflicted with rheumatism and other diseases――was the first grand halting-place, and here, at the “White Swan,” had Bendigo, under the _surveillance_ of Peter Taylor, of Liverpool, taken up his abode. In and about this house an immense multitude had assembled. Caunt had travelled further afield, and at the “Hawke Arms,” a new inn about two miles further, had pitched his tent, attended by young Molyneaux, the black, his honoured parent, and divers other staunch and sturdy friends. The ring was formed in a field a short distance from the road, about half way between the “Swan” and the “Hawke,” by the Liverpool Commissary, and all looked well. Soon after ten o’clock we made our appearance at the “Swan” in a post-chaise, and drove up to the motley group in front of the house. Our appearance was no doubt suspicious, and from the scowling looks of some of the “hard-ups” with whose private signs we were unacquainted, we were evidently regarded with more fear than affection. At last, recollecting that we had seen Izzy Lazarus down the road, and knowing that he is regularly installed as a publican in Sheffield, we asked for him, in order that he might be our cicerone to his friends. The “poy” soon made his appearance, being a full stone heavier than when he left town, and recognising us, he made known the agreeable intelligence that “’twas t’editor of Bell’s Loife in Lunnon”――an announcement so unexpected, and apparently so agreeable, that when we descended from our trap we verily believe the sudden appearance of a hippopotamus would not have excited more astonishment. “What,” cried one, “is that t’editor of Bell’s Loife? Well, I’m dom’d if I didn’t take un for a gentleman!”――while another declared he “thought it were summat worse, for he took un for a _beak_, or summat o’ that koind.” Our opinion was not asked as to our notions of these critics; but certainly had we been put to our oath we should have said they were some of the “unwashed from the Hardware Country,” who had come thus far to perform their ablutions in the Pool of Askerne――a ceremony which the dust of the roads, and the hasty manner in which they had performed their toilets preparatory to their “stopping up all night to be up early in the morning,” rendered requisite.