No, I doan't, Sir,' replied the man civilly. 'It was here long afore I was

born, or any on us.'

Mr Pickwick glanced triumphantly at his companion.

'You - you - are not particularly attached to it, I dare say,' said Mr

Pickwick, trembling with anxiety. 'You wouldn't mind selling it, now?'

'Ah! but who'd buy it?' inquired the man, with an expression of face

which he probably meant to be very cunning.

I'll give you ten shillings for it, at once,' said Mr Pickwick, 'if you

would take it up for me.'

The astonishment of the village may be easily imagined, when (the

little stone having been raised with one wrench of a spade) Mr

Pickwick, by dint of great personal exertion, bore it with his own

hands to the inn, and after having carefully washed it, deposited it on

the table.

The exultation and joy of the Pickwickians knew no bounds, when

their patience and assiduity, their washing and scraping, were

crowned with success. The stone was uneven and broken, and the

letters were straggling and irregular, but the following fragment of an

inscription was clearly to be deciphered: -

[cross] B I L S T u m P S H I S. M. ARK

Mr Pickwick's eyes sparkled with delight, as he sat and gloated over

the treasure he had discovered. He had attained one of the greatest

objects of his ambition. In a county known to abound in the remains

of the early ages; in a village in which there still existed some

memorials of the olden time, he - he, the chairman of the Pickwick

Club - had discovered a strange and curious inscription of

unquestionable antiquity, which had wholly escaped the observation

of the many learned men who had preceded him. He could hardly

trust the evidence of his senses.

This - this,' said he, 'determines me. We return to town to-morrow.'

To-morrow!' exclaimed his admiring followers.

To-morrow,' said Mr Pickwick. 'This treasure must be at once

deposited where it can be thoroughly investigated and properly

understood. I have another reason for this step. In a few days, an

election is to take place for the borough of Eatanswill, at which Mr

Perker, a gentleman whom I lately met, is the agent of one of the

The Pickwick Papers