dinner with their presence; that is to say [here follow the names of a few of his friends, whom he wished to be invited].

“Now, lastly.  In token of their accepting the trusts and offices by these articles conferred upon them, these articles are solemnly and formally signed by Massachusetts Jemmy and by the Gad’s Hill Gasper, as well as by the men themselves.

    “Signed by the Man of Ross, otherwise ——.

    “Signed by the Boston Bantam, otherwise ——.

    “Signed by Massachusetts Jemmy, otherwise ——.

    “Signed by the Gad’s Hill Gasper, otherwise Charles Dickens.

    “Witness to the signatures, ——.”

When he returned to Boston from Baltimore, he proposed that I should accompany him over the walking-ground “at the rate of not less than four miles an hour, for one hour and a half.”  I shall not soon forget the tremendous pace at which he travelled that day.  I have seen a great many walkers, but never one with whom I found it such hard work to keep up.  Of course his object was to stretch out the space as far as possible for our friends to travel on the appointed day.  With watch in hand, Dickens strode on over the Mill Dam toward Newton Centre.  When we reached the turning-point, and had established the extreme limit, we both felt that we had given the men who were to walk in the match excellent good measure.  All along the road people had stared at us, wondering, I suppose, why two men on such a blustering day should be pegging away in the middle of the road as if life depended on the speed they were getting over the ground.  We had walked together many a mile before this, but never at such a rate as on this day.  I had never seen his full power tested before, and I could not but feel great admiration for his walking pluck.  We were both greatly heated, and, seeing a little shop by the roadside, we went in for refreshments.  A few sickly-looking oranges were all we could obtain to quench our thirst, and we seized those and sat down on the shop door-steps, tired and panting.  After a few minutes’ rest we started again and walked back to town.  Thirteen miles’ stretch on a brisk winter day did neither of us any harm, and Dickens was in great spirits over the match that was so soon to come off.  We agreed to walk over the ground again on the appointed day, keeping company with our respective men.  Here is the account that Dickens himself drew up, of that day’s achievement, for the broadside.

THE SPORTING NARRATIVE.

        THE MEN.

“The Boston Bantam (alias Bright Chanticleer) is a young bird, though too old to be caught with chaff.  He comes of a thorough game breed, and has a clear though modest crow.  He pulls down the scale at ten stone and a half and add a pound or two.  His previous performances in the pedestrian line have not been numerous.  He once achieved a neat little match against time