Where, if you please, shall we “wisit” first? It is hard to choose, since there is so much to choose from. We may ramble about London town, where, like Mr. Weller, our guide is “werry much at home.” If so, we are sure to encounter a host of old cronies. Perhaps we shall see the great Buzfuz entering court, all in his wig and silk, nodding with lofty condescension to his struggling brother, Mr. T. Traddles, which latter is bringing “Sophy and the girls” to set Gray’s Inn a-blooming. Or Tom Pinch going towards Fountain Court to meet the waiting Ruth. Or David Copperfield joyously ushering J. Steerforth into his rooms in the Adelphi. Or Captain Cuttle steering for the sign of the “Wooden Midshipman,” which he may eventually find (and make a note of) at its new moorings in the Minories. Or Dick Swiveller, poor soul, loafing to his dingy lodgings. Or that precious pair, Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen, startling the sullen repose of Lant Street with bacchanalian revelry. And, if the London Dickens’ Land palls, doth not this most inviting country stretch to all points of the compass? Northward goes yonder well-appointed coach, whereof the driver has just been escorted from a certain public-house in Portugal Street by a mottle-faced man, in company with two or three other persons of stout and weather-beaten aspect—the driver himself being stouter and more weather-beaten than all. Let us take the box-seat by his side, and lead him on to talk of “shepherds in wolves’ clothing,” until presently he tools us into Ipswich, pulling up under the sign of that “rapacious animal” the Great White Horse. In Ipswich we may catch a glimpse of a mulberry-coloured livery slinking by St. Clement’s Church, and guess therefrom that one Alfred Jingle is here at his old game of laying siege to the hearts of susceptible females with money. Here, too, behind that green gate in Angel Lane, resides the pretty housemaid soon to become Mrs. Sam Weller. But we must not linger in Ipswich. Yarmouth lies before us, with its phantom boat-house still upturned on the waste places towards the sea, with Little Em’ly, and the Peggottys, and with Mr. Barkis waiting in the Market Place to jog us out to sleepy “Blunderstone.”