In a few days,
an election is to take place for the borough of Eatanswill, at
which Mr. Perker, a gentleman whom I lately met, is the agent of
one of the candidates. We will behold, and minutely examine, a
scene so interesting to every Englishman.'
'We will,' was the animated cry of three voices.
Mr. Pickwick looked round him. The attachment and fervour
of his followers lighted up a glow of enthusiasm within him. He
was their leader, and he felt it.
'Let us celebrate this happy meeting with a convivial glass,' said
he. This proposition, like the other, was received with unanimous
applause. Having himself deposited the important stone in a small
deal box, purchased from the landlady for the purpose, he
placed himself in an arm-chair, at the head of the table; and the
evening was devoted to festivity and conversation.
It was past eleven o'clock--a late hour for the little village of
Cobham--when Mr. Pickwick retired to the bedroom which had
been prepared for his reception. He threw open the lattice
window, and setting his light upon the table, fell into a train of
meditation on the hurried events of the two preceding days.
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