How Mr. Winkle, instead of shooting at the Pigeon and killing the Crow, shot at the Crow and wounded

           Thefatiguingadventuresofthedayorthesomniferousinfluenceoftheclergyman’staleoperatedsostronglyonthedrowsytendenciesofMr.Pickwick,thatinlessthanfiveminutesafterhehadbeenshowntohiscomfortablebedroomhefellintoasoundanddreamlesssleep,fromwhichhewasonlyawakenedbythemorningsundartinghisbrightbeamsreproachfullyintotheapartment.Mr.Pickwickwasnosluggard,andhespranglikeanardentwarriorfromhistent-bedstead.

           ‘Pleasant,pleasantcountry,’sighedtheenthusiasticgentleman,asheopenedhislatticewindow.‘Whocouldlivetogazefromdaytodayonbricksandslateswhohadoncefelttheinfluenceofascenelikethis?Whocouldcontinuetoexistwheretherearenocowsbutthecowsonthechimney-pots;nothingredolentofPanbutpan-tiles;nocropbutstonecrop?Whocouldbeartodragoutalifeinsuchaspot?Who,Iask,couldendureit?’and,havingcross-examinedsolitudeafterthemostapprovedprecedents,atconsiderablelength,Mr.Pickwickthrusthisheadoutofthelatticeandlookedaroundhim.

           Therich,sweetsmellofthehay-ricksrosetohischamberwindow;thehundredperfumesofthelittleflower-gardenbeneathscentedtheairaround;thedeep-greenmeadowsshoneinthemorningdewthatglistenedoneveryleafasittrembledinthegentleair;andthebirdssangasifeverysparklingdropweretothemafountainofinspiration.Mr.Pickwickfellintoanenchantinganddeliciousreverie.

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