THE PICKWICK CLUB.
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air, iiiul rough-drieil in a close closet, is as dangerous as it is peculiar. Mr. Pickwick was laid up with an attack of rheumatism.
But although the bodily powers of the great man were thus impaired, his mental energies retained their pristine vigour. His spirits were elastic ; his good humour was restored. Even the vexation consequent upon his recent adventure had vanished from his mind ; and he could join in the hearty laughter which any allusion to it excited in Mr. VV^ardle, without anger and without embarrassment. Nay, more. During the two days Mr. Pickwick was confined to his bed, Sam was his constant attendant. On the first, he endeavoured to amuse his master by anecdote and conversation ; on the second Mr. Pickwick demanded his writing-desk, and pen and ink, and was deeply engaged during the whole day. On the third, being able to sit up in his bed- chamber, he despatched his valet with a message to Mr. VVardle and Mr. Trundle, intimating that if they would take their wine there, that evening, they would greatly oblige him. The invitation was most willingly accepted ; and when they were seated over their wine, Mr Pickwick with sundry blushes, produced the following little tale, as having been "edited" by himself, during his recent indisposition, from his notes of Mr. Weller's unsophisticated recital.
" THE PARISH CLERK A TALE OF TRUE LOVE.
" Once upon a time, in a very small country town, at a considerable distance from London, there lived a little man named Nathaniel Pipkin, who was the parish clerk of the little town, and lived in a little house in the little high street, within ten minutes' walk of the little church ; and who was to be found every day from nine till four, teaching a little learning to the little boys. Nathaniel Pipkin was a harmless, inoffensive, good-natured being, with a turned-up nose, and rather turned-in legs, a cast in his eye, and a halt in his gait ; and he divided his time between the church and his school, verily believing that there existed not, on the face of the earth, so clever a man as the curate, so imposing an apartment as the vestiy-room, or so well-ordered a semi- nary as his own. Once, and only once, in his life, Nathaniel Pipkin had seen a bishop — a real bishop, with his arms in lawn sleeves, and his head in a wig. He had seen him walk, and heard him talk at a confirmation, on which momentous occasion Nathaniel Pipkin was so overcome with reverence and awe, when the aforesaid bishop laid his hand on his head, that he fainted right clean away, and was borne out of church in the arras of the beadle.
" This was a great event, a tremendous era, in Nathaniel Pipkin's life, and it was about the only one that had ever occurred to ruffle the smooth current of his quiet existence, when happening one fine after- noon, in a fit of mental abstraction, to raise his eyes from the slate on which he was devising some tremendous problem in compound addition for an offending urchin to solve, they suddenly rested on the blooming countenance of Maria Lobbs, the only daughter of old Lobbs the groat saddler over the way. Now, the eyes of Mr. Pipkins had rested on the pretty face of Maria Lobbs many a time and oft before, at church and elsewhere : but the eyes of Marin Lobbs had ncv(M- looked so briglit,
