Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were
completely filled with selections from his adventures.
'Magnificent ruin!' said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the
poetic fervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of
the fine old castle.
'What a sight for an antiquarian!' were the very words which
fell from Mr. Pickwick's mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye.
'Ah! fine place,' said the stranger, 'glorious pile--frowning
walls--tottering arches--dark nooks--crumbling staircases--old
cathedral too--earthy smell--pilgrims' feet wore away the old
steps--little Saxon doors--confessionals like money-takers'
boxes at theatres--queer customers those monks--popes, and
lord treasurers, and all sorts of old fellows, with great red faces,
and broken noses, turning up every day--buff jerkins too--
match-locks--sarcophagus--fine place--old legends too--strange
stories: capital;' and the stranger continued to soliloquise until
they reached the Bull Inn, in the High Street, where the coach stopped.
'Do you remain here, Sir?' inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle.
'Here--not I--but you'd better--good house--nice beds--
Wright's next house, dear--very dear--half-a-crown in the bill if
you look at the waiter--charge you more if you dine at a friend's
than they would if you dined in the coffee-room--rum fellows--very.
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