Jinkins, Mr. A character in "The Bagman's Story;" a rascally adventurer with a wife and six babes, all of them small ones, who tries to marry a buxom widow, the landlady of a roadside inn, but is prevented by Tom Smart, who marries her himself. (Ch. xiv.) Joe, the Fat Boy. Servant to Mr. Wardle; a youth of astonishing obesity and voracity, who has a way of going to sleep on the slightest provocation, and in all sorts of places and attitudes. Mr Wardle, having met Mr. Pickwick and his friends at a grand review at Rochester, invites them into his carriage for a lunch.

"Joe, Joe." said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, and tha besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. "Damn that boy! he's gone to sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir,-in the leg, if you please. nothing else wakes him. Thank you! Undo the hamper, Joe."

The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the compression of a portion of his leg between the finger and thumb of Mr. Winkle, rolled off the box once again, and proceeded to unpack the hamper, with more expedition than could have been expected from his previous inactivity.

"Now, we must sit close," said the stout gentleman. After a great many jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of blushing at sundry jocose proposals that the ladies should sit in the gentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed down in the barouche; and the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who had mounted up behind for the purpose) into the carriage.

"Now, Joe, knives and forks!" The knives and forks were handed in; and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were each furnished with those useful implements.

"Plates, Joe, plates!" A similar process employed in the distribution of 'he crockery.

"Now, Joe, the fowls.- Damn that boy! he's gone to sleep again. Joe, Joe!" (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) "Come, hand in the eatables."

There was something in the sound of the last word, which roused the unctuous boy. He jumped up; and the leaden eyes, which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks, leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.

"Now, make haste," said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was hanging fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy sighed deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly consigned it to his master.

John. A low pantomime actor, and an habitual drunkard, whose death is described in "The Stroller's Tale," related to Mr. Pickwick and his friends by Mr Hutley. (Ch. iii.)

Kate. A character in the story of "The Parish Clerk; " cousin to Maria Lobbs. (Ch. xvii.)

Lobbs, Maria. A character in Mr. Pickwick's story of "The Par

ish Clerk;

a pretty girl, beloved by Nathaniel Pipkin, and alse by her cousin Henry, whom she marries. (Ch. xvii.)

Lobbs, Old. Father to Maria Lobbs; a rich saddler, and a terrible old fellow when his pride is injured, or his blood is up. (Ch. xvii.) Lowten, Mr. A puffy-faced young man, clerk to Mr. Perker. (Ch. xx, xxi, xxxi, xxxiv, xl, xlvii, liii, liv.)

Lucas, Solomon. A costumer. (Ch. xv.)

Luffey, Mr. Vice-president of the Dingley Dell Cricket Club. (Ch. vii.)

Magnus, Peter. A red-haired man, with an inquisitive nose and blue spectacles, who is a fellow-traveller with Mr. Pickwick from London to Ipswich. The two gentlemen chat cosily on the road, and dine together on their arrival at "The Great White Horse inn. Mr. Magnus, being naturally of a very communicative disposition, and made more so by the brandy and water he drinks, confidentially informs Mr. Pickwick that he has come down to Ipswich to propose to a certain lady who is even then in the same house. The next morning at breakfast he recurs to the same subject, and the following conversation takes place :·

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done this sort of thing in your time?" said Mr. Magnus.

"You mean proposing?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Yes."

"Never!" said Mr. Pickwick with great energy,

"never!"

"You have no idea, then, how it's best to begin?" said Mr. Magnus. "Why," said Mr. Pickwick, "I may have formed some ideas upon the subject; but, as I have never submitted them to the test of experience, I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate your proceedings by them."

"I should feel very much obliged to you for any advice," said Mr. Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of which was verging on the five min. utes past.

Well, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with which that great man could, when he pleased, render his remarks so deeply impres sive, I should conimence, sir, with a tribute to the lady's beauty and excellent qualities; from them, sir, I should diverge to my own unworthiness."

Very good," said Mr. Magnus.

"Unworthiness for her only, mind, sir," resumed Mr. Pickwick; "for to show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a brief review of my past life and present condition. I should argue, by analogy, that, to anybody else, I must be a very desirable object. I should then expatiate on the warmth of my love and the depth of my devotion. Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand."

"Yes, I see," said Mr. Magnus: "that would be a very great point."

"I should then, sir," continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as the subject presented itself in more glowing colors before him,-"I should then. sir, come

to the plain and simple question, Will you have me?' I think I am justified In assuming, that, upon this, she would turn away her head."

"You think that may be taken for granted?" said Mr. Magnus; "because, if she did not do that at the right place, it would be embarrassing."

"I think she would," said Mr. Pickwick. Upon this, sir, I should squeeze her hand, and I think. I think, Mr. Magnus, that after I had done that. suppos ing there was no refusal, I should gently draw away the handkerchief, which my slight knowledge of human nature leads me to suppose the lady would be applying to her eyes at the moment, and steal a respectful kiss. I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus; and, at this particular point, I am decidedly of opinion, that, if the lady were going to take me at all, she would murmur into my ear a bashful accept

ane."

Mr. Magnus started, gazed on Mr. Pickwick's intelligent face for a short time in silence, and then (the dial pointing to the ten minutes past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed desperately from the room.

Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the small hand of the clock, following the latter part of his example, had arrived at the figure which indicates the half-hour, when the door suddenly opened. He turned round to greet Mr. Peter Magnus, and encountered, in his stead, the joyous face of Mr. Tupman, the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and the intellectual lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass.

As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped into the room. "My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of, - Mr. Magnus," said Mr. Pickwick. "Your servant, gentlemen," said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high state of excitement. "Mr. l'ickwick, allow me to speak to you, one moment, sir." As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. Pickwick's buttonaole, and, drawing him into a window-recess, said,

"Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick: I followed your advice to the very letter." "And it was all correct, was it?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"It was, sir,

could not possibly have been better,” replied Mr. Magnus. Pickwick, she is mine!"

6. Mr.

"I congratulate you with all my heart," replied Mr. Pickwick, warmly shaking his new friend by the hand.

"You must see her, sir," said Mr. Magnus: "this way, if you please. Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen." And, hurrying on in this way, Mr. Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He paused at the next door in the passage, and tapped gently thereat.

"Come in," said a female voice. And in they went.

Now, it has unfortunately happened that Mr. Pickwick, on the night of their arrival, had occasion to leave his room to get his watch, which he had left on a table down stairs. Returning in the dark, he lost his way, and groped about in search of his room for a long time.

A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bedroom-door which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from witnin, of" Who the devil's that?" or "What do you want here?" caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted ais attention. He peeped in-right at last! There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered away in the draughts of air through

which he had passed, and sunk into the socket just as he closed the door after him. "No matter," said Mr. Pickwick: "I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire."

The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on the inner side of each was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a person's getting into or out of bed on that side, if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pick wick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and. slowly drawing on his tasselled night-cap, secured it firmly on his head by tying beneath his chin the strings which he had always attached to that article of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck upon his mind; and, throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles which expanded his amiable features as they shone forth from beneath the night-cap.

"It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked the nightcap-strings, -"it is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll!" Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humor, when he was sud denly stopped by a most unexpected interruption; to wit, the entrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing-table, and set down the light upon it.

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly, and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? A robber! Some evil minded person who had seen him come up stairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do!

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious visitor, with the least danger of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed. and peeping out from between the curtains on the opposite side. To this manœuvre he accordingly resorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hands, so that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and night-cap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage and looked out.

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their back hair." However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly small iece of water.

"Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, "what a dreadful thing!"

"Hem!" said the old lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with automaton. Mike rapidity.

"I never met with any thing so awful as this!" thought poor Mr. Pickwick the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his night-cap, —“never! This is tearful!"

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was going for ward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was worse than