Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/717

607 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 60?

Trundles ; and the ceremony having been performed, the coaches rattled back to Mr. Pickwick's to breakfast, where little Mr. Perker already awaited them.

Here, all the light clouds of the more solemn part of the proceedings passed away ; every face shone forth joyously, and nothing was to be heard but congratulations and commendations. Everything was so beautiful ! The lawn in front, the garden behind, the miniature con- servatory, the dining-room, the drawing-room, the bed-rooms, the smoking-room, and above all the study with its pictures and easy chairs, and odd cabinets, and queer tables, and books out of number, with a large cheerful window opening upon a pleasant lawn and commanding a pretty landscape, just dotted here and there with little houses almost hidden by the trees ; and then the curtains, and the carpets, and the chairs, and the sofas ! Everything was so beautiful, so compact, so neat and in such exquisite taste, said every body, that there really was no deciding what to admire most.

And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, his countenance lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man, woman, or child, could resist : himself the happiest of the group, shaking hands over and over again with the same people, and when his own were not so employed, rubbing them with pleasure ; turning round in a different direction at every fresh expression of gratification or curiosity, and inspiring every body with his looks of gladness and delight.

Breakfast is announced. Mr. Pickwick leads the old lady (who has been very eloquent on the subject of Lady Tollinglower), to the top of a long table ; Wardle takes the bottom, the friends arrange themselves on either side, Sam takes his station behind his master's chair, the laughter and talking cease ; Mr. Pickwick having said grace, pauses for an instant and looks round him. As he does so, the tears roll down his cheeks in the fullness of his joy.

Let us leave our old friend in one of those moments of unmixed happiness, of which, if we seek them, there are ever some to cheer our transitory existence here. There are dark shadows on the ©arth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men, like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the light ; we, who have no such optical powers, are better pleased to take our last parting look at the visionary companions of many solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of the world is blazing full upon them.

It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world and attain even the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose them in the course of nature. It is the fate of all authors or chroniclers to create imaginary friends, and lose them in the course of art. Nor is this the full extent of their misfortunes ; for they are required to furnish an account of them besides.

In compliance with this custom — unquestionably a bad one — we subjoin a few biographical words in relation to the party at Mr. Pick- wick's assembled.