THE PICKWICK PAPERS (illustrated, complete, and unabridged)

The best sitting-room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark-panelled room with a high chimney-piece, and a capacious chimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patent cabs, wheels and all. At the upper end of the room, seated in a shady bower of holly and evergreens were the two best fiddlers, and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all

Company, you see—company—is—is—it's a very different thing from solitude—ain't it?'

an awful instance of the instability of human greatness,

'Dodson and Fogg,' he repeated mechanically. 'Bardell and Pickwick,' said Mr. Snodgrass, musing.

'That's wot we call tying it up in a small parcel,

we indulge in no hidden sarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up with the pleasure and joy of the occasion, are the many regrets at quitting home, the tears of parting between parent and child, the consciousness of leaving the dearest and kindest friends of the happiest portion of human life, to encounter its cares and troubles with others still untri

'he's in a horrid state o' love; reg'larly comfoozled,

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr. Weller, senior, taking off his hat, 'I hope you've no fault to find with Sammy, Sir?' 'None whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Wery glad to hear it, sir,' replied the old man; 'I took a good deal o' pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streets when he was wery young, and shift for hisself. It's the only wa

And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas brings a brief season of happiness and enjoyment. How many families, whose members have been dispersed and scattered far and wide, in the restless struggles of life, are then reunited, and meet once again in that happy state of companionship and mutual goodwill, which is a source of such pure an