‘I have thought so, often,’ said the dismal man, without noticing the action. ‘The calm, cool water seems to me to murmur an invitation to repose and rest. A bound, a splash, a brief struggle; there is an eddy for an instant, it gradually subsides into a gentle ripple; the waters have closed above your head, and the world has closed upon your miseries and misfortunes for ever.’ The sunken eye of the dismal man flashed brightly as he spoke, but the momentary excitement quickly subsided; and he turned calmly away, as he said-- ‘There--enough of that. I wish to see you on another subject. You invited me to read that paper, the night before last, and listened attentively while I did so.’ ‘I did,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘and I certainly thought--’ ‘I asked for no opinion,’ said the dismal man, interrupting him, ‘and I want none. You are travelling for amusement and instruction. Suppose I forward you a curious manuscript--observe, not curious because wild or improbable, but curious as a leaf from the romance of real life--would you communicate it to the club, of which you have spoken so frequently?’ ‘Certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘if you wished it; and it would be entered on their transactions.’ ‘You shall have it,’ replied the dismal man. ‘Your address;’ and, Mr. Pickwick having communicated their probable route, the dismal man carefully noted it down in a greasy pocket-book, and, resisting Mr. Pickwick’s pressing invitation to breakfast, left that gentleman at his inn, and walked slowly away. Mr. Pickwick found that his three companions had risen, and were waiting his arrival to commence breakfast, which was ready laid in tempting display. They sat down to the meal; and broiled ham, eggs, tea, coffee and sundries, began to disappear with a rapidity which at once bore testimony to the excellence of the fare, and the appetites of its consumers. ‘Now, about Manor Farm,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘How shall we go?’ ‘We had better consult the waiter, perhaps,’ said Mr. Tupman; and the waiter was summoned accordingly. ‘Dingley Dell, gentlemen--fifteen miles, gentlemen--cross road--post- chaise, sir?’ ‘Post-chaise won’t hold more than two,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘True, sir--beg your pardon, sir.--Very nice four-wheel chaise, sir-- seat for two behind--one in front for the gentleman that drives--oh! beg your pardon, sir--that’ll only hold three.’ ‘What’s to be done?’ said Mr. Snodgrass. ‘Perhaps one of the gentlemen would like to ride, sir?’ suggested the waiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle; ‘very good saddle-horses, sir--any of Mr. Wardle’s men coming to Rochester, bring ‘em back, Sir.’ ‘The very thing,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Winkle, will you go on horseback?’ Now Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in the very lowest recesses of his own heart, relative to his equestrian skill; but, as he would not have them even suspected, on any account, he at once replied with great hardihood, ‘Certainly. I should enjoy it of all things.’