“A delightful walk it was; for it was a pleasant afternoon in June, and their way lay through a deep and shady wood, cooled by the light wind which gently rustled the thick foliage, and enlivened by the songs of the birds that perched upon the boughs.  The ivy and the moss crept in thick clusters over the old trees, and the soft green turf overspread the ground like a silken mat.  They emerged upon an open park, with an ancient hall, displaying the quaint and picturesque architecture of Elizabeth’s time.  Long vistas of stately oaks and elm trees appeared on every side; large herds of deer were cropping the fresh grass; and occasionally a startled hare scoured along the ground, with the speed of the shadows thrown by the light clouds which sweep across a sunny landscape like a passing breath of summer.”

Dickens wrote that charming descriptive passage in 1836, probably whilst spending his honeymoon at Chalk near by, and anyone taking the same walk will find that the words paint the scene perfectly and faithfully to-day, so unspoiled and unaltered is it.  The spot will delight the traveler as much as it did Mr. Pickwick, who exclaimed, as it all came in view:  “If this were the place to which all who are troubled with our friend’s complaint came, I fancy their old attachment to this world would very soon return”; at any rate, his other companions were all agreed upon the point.  “And really,” added Mr. Pickwick, after half an hour’s walking had brought them to the village, “really for a misanthrope’s choice, this is one of the prettiest and most desirable places of residence I ever met with.”

Having been directed to the “Leather Bottle,” “a clean and commodious village ale-house,” the three travellers entered, and at once inquired for a gentleman of the name of Tupman.  In those days the inn was managed by a landlady, who promptly told Tom to “show the gentlemen into the parlour.”

“A stout country lad opened the door at the end of the passage, and the three friends entered a long, low-roofed room, furnished with a large number of high-backed, leather-cushioned chairs, of fantastic shapes, and embellished with a great variety of old portraits and roughly coloured prints of some antiquity.  At the upper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it, well covered with a roast fowl, bacon, ale and et ceteras; and at the table sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had taken his leave of the world as possible.

“On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down his knife and fork, and with a mournful air advanced to meet them.”

Mr. Tupman was quite affected by his friends’ anxiety for his welfare, but any demonstration was nipped in the bud by Mr. Pickwick’s insisting on Mr. Tupman finishing his delicate repast first.  At the conclusion thereof, Mr. Pickwick, “having refreshed himself with a copious draft of ale,” conducted poor Tracy to the churchyard opposite, and pacing to and fro eventually combated his companion’s resolution with a successfully eloquent appeal to him once again to join his friends.