g was so beautiful, so compact, so
neat, and in such exquisite taste, said everybody, 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 hands were not
so employed, rubbing them with pleasure: turning round in a different
direction at every fresh expression of gratification or curiosity, and
inspiring everybody 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 Tollimglower) 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 earth, 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. Pickwick's
assembled.

Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, being fully received into favour by the old
gentleman, were shortly afterwards installed in a newly-built house, not
half a mile from Mr. Pickwick's. Mr. Winkle, being engaged in the city
as agent or town correspondent of his father, exchanged his old costume
for the ordinary dress of Englishmen, and pre