crammed for it, to use a technical but expressive term; he read up for the subject, at my desire, in the Encyclopædia Britannica."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Pickwick; "I was not aware that that valuable work contained any information respecting Chinese metaphysics."
"He read, sir," rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's knee, and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority, "he read for metaphysics under the letter M, and for China under the letter C, and combined his information, sir?"
Mr. Pott's features assumed so much additional grandeur at the recollection of the power and research displayed in the learned effusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before Mr Pickwick felt emboldened to renew the conversation; at length, as the Editor's countenance gradually relaxed into its customary expression of moral supremacy, he ventured to resume the discourse by asking:
"Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so far from home?"
"That object which actuates and animates me in all my gigantic labours, sir," replied Pott, with a calm smile; "my country's good."
"I supposed it was some public mission," observed Mr. Pickwick.
"Yes, sir," resumed Pott, "it is." Here, bending towards Mr. Pickwick, he whispered in a deep hollow voice, "A buff ball, sir, will take place in Birmingham to-morrow evening."
"God bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
"Yes, sir, and supper," added Pott.
"You don't say so!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
Pott nodded portentously.
Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at this disclosure, he was so little versed in local politics that he was unable to form an adequate comprehension of the importance of the dire conspiracy it referred to; observing
