CHAPTER V.A SHORT ONE--SHOWING, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HOW Mr.PICKWICK.
UNDERTOOK TO DRIVE, AND Mr.WINKLE TO RIDE, AND HOW THEY BOTH DID IT Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr.Pickwick leaned over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for breakfast.

The scene was indeed one which might well have charmed a far less reflective mind, than that to which it was presented.
On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy masses.

Huge knots of seaweed hung upon the jagged and pointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark and ruined battlements.

Behind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its old might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting and revelry.

On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered with cornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it as the thin and half-formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun.