e dark and filthy
ditch that drags its slime along, beneath the foundations of this
prison; I could not be more forgotten or unheeded than I am here. I am
a dead man; dead to society, without the pity they bestow on those whose
souls have passed to judgment. Friends to see me! My God! I have sunk,
from the prime of life into old age, in this place, and there is not one
to raise his hand above my bed when I lie dead upon it, and say, "It is
a blessing he is gone!"'

The excitement, which had cast an unwonted light over the man's face,
while he spoke, subsided as he concluded; and pressing his withered
hands together in a hasty and disordered manner, he shuffled from the
room.

'Rides rather rusty,' said Mr. Roker, with a smile. 'Ah! they're like
the elephants. They feel it now and then, and it makes 'em wild!'

Having made this deeply-sympathising remark, Mr. Roker entered upon his
arrangements with such expedition, that in a short time the room
was furnished with a carpet, six chairs, a table, a sofa bedstead, a
tea-kettle, and various small articles, on hire, at the very reasonable
rate of seven-and-twenty shillings and sixpence per week.

'Now, is there anything more we can do for you?' inquired Mr. Roker,
looking round with great satisfaction, and gaily chinking the first
week's hire in his closed fist.

'Why, yes,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been musing deeply for some time.
'Are there any people here who run on errands, and so forth?'

'Outside, do you mean?' inquired Mr. Roker.

'Yes. I mean who are able to go outside. Not prisoners.'

'Yes, there is,' said Roker. 'There's an unfortunate devil, who has got
a friend on the poor side, that's glad to do anything of that sort. He's
been running odd jobs, and that, for the last two months. Shall I send
him?'

'If you please,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick. 'Stay; no. The poor side, you
say? I should like to see it. I'll go to him myself.'

The poor side of a debtor's prison is, as its name imports, that in
which the most miserable and abject class of debtors are confined.
A prisoner having declared upon the poor side, pays neither rent nor
chummage. His fees, upon entering and leaving the jail, are reduced in
amount, and he becomes entitled to a share of some small quantities
of food: to provide which, a few charitable persons have, from time to
time, left trifling legacies in their wills. Most of our readers will
remember, that, until within a very few years past,