pickwick

There is a repose about Lant street in the Borough, which sheds a gentle melancholy on the soul.

There are always a good many houses to let in the street and it is a by-street too, and it's dullness is soothing.

A house in Lant street would not come within the denomination of a first-rate residence in the strict acceptation of the term;

but it is a most desirable spot nevertheless. If a man wished to abstract himself from the world - to remove himself from within the reach

of temptation- to place himself beyond the possibility of any inducement to look out of the window- he should by all means go to Lant street

In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear starchers a sprinkling of journeyman bookbinders, one or two prison agents for the Insolvent

Court, several small housekeepers who are employed in the Docks, a handful of mantua-makers and a seasoning of jobbing tailors.

The majority of the inhabitants either direct their energies to the letting of furnished apartments or devote themselves to the healthful and

invigorating pursuit of mangling. The chief features in the still life of the street are green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates

and bell-handles; the principle specimens of animated nature, the pot boy, the muffin youth and the baked-potato man.

The population is migratory, usually disappearing by night.

His Majesty's revenues are seldom collected in this happy valley; the rents are dubious; and water communication is very frequently cut off.

***

Gentlemen, there is an old story - none the worse for being true - regarding a fine young Irish Gentleman, who being asked if he coud play the fiddle, replied he had no doubt he could, but couldn't exactly say, for certain, because he had never tried.

***

It was quite dark when Mr. Pickwick roused himself sufficiently to look out of the window. The straggling cottages by the road-side,

the dingy hue of every object visible, the murky atmosphere, the paths of cinders and brick-dust, the deep red glow of furnace fires in the

distance, the volumes of dense smoke issuing heavily from high toppling chimneys, blackening and obscuring everything around;

the glare of distant lights, the ponderous wagons which toiled along the road, laden with clashing rods of iron, or piled with heavy goods

- all betokened their rapid approach to the great working town of Birmingham.

***

Mr Pickwick, having said grace, pauses for an instant, and looks around 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.