'Ah! I see - in at the palace door one day, out at the window the next. Are you a philosopher, Sir?'

'An observer of human nature, Sir,' said Mr Pickwick.

'Ah, so am I. Most people are when they've little to do. Are you also a poet, Sir?'

'My friend Mr Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn,' said Mr Pickwick.

'So have I,' said the stranger. 'I wrote an epic poem - ten thousand lines - revolution of July in France - composed it on the spot - I was Mars by day, Apollo by night - bang the fieldpiece, twang the lyre.'

'You were present at that glorious scene, Sir?' said Mr Snodgrass.

'Present! think I was; fired a musket - was fired with an idea - rushed into wine shop - wrote it down - back again - whiz, bang - another idea - wine shop again - pen and ink - back again - cut and slash - noble time, Sir. You a sportsman, Sir ?' He abruptly turned to Mr Winkle.

'A little, Sir,' replied that gentleman.

'Fine pursuit, Sir - fine pursuit. - You keep dogs, Sir?'