There sat the man who had traced to their source the mighty ponds of Hampstead, and agitated the scientific world with his Theory of Tittlebats, as calm and unmoved as the deep waters of the one on a frosty day, or as a solitary specimen of the other in the innermost recesses of an earthen jar. And how much more interesting did the spectacle become, when he started into full life and animation as a simultaneous call for 'Pickwick' burst from his followers.

That illustrious man slowly mounted onto the chair on which he had been previously seated, and addressed the club which he himself had founded. What a study for an artist did that exciting scene present! The eloquent Pickwick, with one hand gracefully concealed behind his coat tails, and the other waving in air to assist his glowing declamation; his elevated position revealing those tights and gaiters.

Had these clothed an ordinary man, might have passed without comment, but which, when Pickwick wore them inspired involuntary awe and respect. Pickwick was surrounded by the men who had volunteered to share the perils of his travels, and who were destined to participate in the glories of his discoveries.