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Chapter VII
How Mr Winkle, Instead Of Shooting At The Pigeon And Killing
The Crow, Shot At The Crow And Wounded The Pigeon; How The
Dingley Dell Cricket Club Played All-Muggleton, And How All-
Muggleton Dined At The Dingley Dell Expense; With Other
Interesting And Instructive Matters
The fatiguing adventures of the day or the somniferous influence of
the clergyman's tale operated so strongly on the drowsy tendencies of
Mr Pickwick, that in less than five minutes after he had been shown to
his comfortable bedroom he fell into a sound and dreamless sleep,
from which he was only awakened by the morning sun darting his
bright beams reproachfully into the apartment. Mr Pickwick was no
sluggard, and he sprang like an ardent warrior from his tent-
bedstead.
'Pleasant, pleasant country,' sighed the enthusiastic gentleman, as he
opened his lattice window. 'Who could live to gaze from day to day on
bricks and slates who had once felt the influence of a scene like this?
Who could continue to exist where there are no cows but the cows on
the chimney-pots; nothing redolent of Pan but pan-tiles; no crop but
stone crop? Who could bear to drag out a life in such a spot? Who, I
ask, could endure it?' and, having cross-examined solitude after the
most approved precedents, at considerable length, Mr Pickwick thrust
his head out of the lattice and looked around him.
The rich, sweet smell of the hay-ricks rose to his chamber window; the
hundred perfumes of the little flower-garden beneath scented the air
around; the deep-green meadows shone in the morning dew that
glistened on every leaf as it trembled in the gentle air; and the birds
sang as if every sparkling drop were to them a fountain of inspiration.
Mr Pickwick fell into an enchanting and delicious reverie.
'
Hollo!' was the sound that roused him.
He looked to the right, but he saw nobody; his eyes wandered to the
left, and pierced the prospect; he stared into the sky, but he wasn't
wanted there; and then he did what a common mind would have done
at once - looked into the garden, and there saw Mr Wardle. 'How are
you?' said the good-humoured individual, out of breath with his own
anticipations of pleasure.'Beautiful morning, ain't it? Glad to see you
up so early. Make haste down, and come out. I'll wait for you here.' Mr
Pickwick needed no second invitation. Ten minutes sufficed for the
completion of his toilet, and at the expiration of that time he was by
the old gentleman's side.
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