'Up with you,' said the stranger, assisting Mr Pickwick on to the coach with so much precipitation as to greatly impair the gravity of that gentleman's deportment.

'Any luggage, Sir?' inquired the coachman. 'Who -I ? Brown paper parcel here, that's all - other luggage gone by water - packing-cases, nailed up - big as houses - heavy, heavy, damned heavy,' replied the stranger, as he forced into his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel.

(This parcel presented most suspicious indications of containing one shirt and a handkerchief.)
'Heads, heads - take care of your heads!' cried the loquacious stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard. 'Terrible place - dangerous work - other day - five children - mother - tall lady, eating sandwiches - forgot the arch – crash – knock - children look round...'

'Mother's head off - sandwich in her hand - no mouth to put it in - head of a family off - shocking, shocking!
 
'Looking at Whitehall, sir? - fine place - little window - somebody else's head off there, eh, sir? - he didn't keep a sharp look-out enough either - eh, Sir, eh?'

'I am ruminating,' said Mr Pickwick, 'on the strange mutability of human affairs.'