fi' ".'J' '' THE COMEDY OF CHARLES DICKENS Cl^atneU HtnittetBttg iElibcati) 3tl{ata, ^tm Qartt BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE JACOB H. SCHIFF ENDOWMENT FOR THE PROMOTION OF STUDIES IN HUMAN CIVILIZATION 1918 PR 4553.P4r" ""'""">"■"'"'* The comedy of Charles Dickens, a book of 3 1924 013 471 911 The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013471911 THE COMEDY OF CHARLES DICKENS THE COMEDY OF CHARLES DICKENS A BOOK OF CHAPTERS AND EXTRACTS TAKEN FROM THE WRITER'S NOVELS BY HIS DAUGHTER KATE (MRS. PERUGINI) FIRST SERIES s LONDON CHAPMAN & HALL, Ltd. 1906 TO W. S. GILBERT PREFACE In the limited space at my command, it being impossible to include more than a certain number of extracts, I have been compelled to remove from the following pages many scenes taken from the comedy of my father's books, which, at first, I selected for presentation. These I have laid aside with extreme reluctance, unwilling as I am to omit any passages, that have appealed to a large section of his readers, as being among the most delightful in his novels. I have prepared this volume chiefly in the hope that it might fall into the hands of those as yet unacguainted with the author's work ; and with the desire of awakening their interest, I have chosen my quotations from such humorous chapters as would best lead to an understanding of the books from which they are derived ; trusting that his new readers may ultimately turn to the novels themselves, for the continuation of the stories to which this volume is merely an introduction. The notes that precede the extracts, although unnecessary to the majority of my father's public, wUl serve their purpose if they help in rendering each one of his tales, as far as it is here given, clear and accessible to the uninitiated. K. P. October, 1906. LIST OF EXTRACTS BOOK I SKETCHES BY BOZ PASB I. Me. Mmsa and his Ooxtsin 1 BOOK 11 THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF THE PICKWICK CLUB I. Db. Slammek aot) Mb. Winkle 12 II. The Batanswill Election 26 in. Me. Pickwick and the Middle-aged Lady .... 43 IV. Mb. Bob Sawyeb's Bacheloes' Paety 49 V. Baedell against Pickwick 62 :( BOOK III OLIVER TWIST OR, THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS I. Oliveb Twist meets the Aetful Dodgee at Baenet . 82 II. The Pleasant Old Gentleman and his Hopeful Pupils . 87 III. Me. Bumble and Mes. Coenet 93 BOOK IV LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NICHOLAS NICKLEBY ■ I. Inteenal Economy of Dotheboys Hall ' . . . .99 ir. Nicholas and Smike engaged by Vincent Ceummles . Ill III. The Gbbat Bespeak foe Miss Snevellicci . . . .119 IV. Mes. Nickleby and the Mad Gentleman . . .' . 136 X LIST OF EXTRACTS BOOK V THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP PAQB I. Me. CoDLDr and Mk. Shoet 150 n. Mes. Jaklet, Me. Slum, ajto the Wax-woeks . . . 154 III. Dick Swiveliee and "The Maechioness" .... 160 IV. Me. Qtjilp eetuens aftee his supposed Death . . .167 BOOK VI BARNABY RUDGE I. Gabeibi, Vaeden, Dolly, and Me. Tappeetit . . . 174 n. Geip 182 III. Miss Miqqs and Mb. Tappeetit 184 IV. The Sacking of the Maypole 189 BOOK VII THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTm CHUZZLEWIT I. Pecksnifflan Domesticity 197 II. Town and Todgees's 204 III. Maetin disembaeks at the Poet op New Yoek . . . 226 IV. Mes. Gamp in Kingsgate Street 248 BOOK VIII DEALINGS WITH THE FIRM OF DOMBEY AND SON, WHOLESALE, RETAIL, AND FOR EXPORTATION I. Solomon Gills, Waltee Gat, and Captain Cuttle . . 256 II. A Bied's-eyb Glimpse of Miss Tox's Dwelling-place . 259 III. Paul's Education 263 IV. Me. Dombby's Maeei^ge 277 V. Wedding of Bunsby and Mes. MacStinqee . . . 292 LIST OF EXTRACTS xi BOOK IX THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD PAGE I. I AM SENT FROM EOME 297 II. My Fikst Dissipation . . 313 III. I TALI, INTO Captivity 319 IV. Mr. Micawbbr's Gauntlet 329 V. GuK Housekeeping 342 BOOK X BLEAK HOUSE I. Mrs. Jellyby 358 IL "CoAviNSEs" 369 III. Deportment ■. . , . 377 BOOK XI HARD TIMES. FOR THESE TIMES , I. Mr. Bounderby 385 n. Sleaby's Horsemanship . . . . . . . .391 BOOK XII LITTLE DORRIT I. The Father op the Marshalsea 405 II. The Circumlocution Office 414 III. Mr. F.'s Aunt 427 BOOK XIII A TALE OF TWO CITIES I. The Mail 438 xii LIST OF EXTRACTS BOOK XIV GREAT EXPECTATIONS PAGE I. Mb. and Mrs. Job and I 444 II. Pre AND THE Convict on the Marshes .... 449 III. The Pale Young Gentleman 454 IV. Mr. Trabb the Tailor • .457 V. Trabb's Boy 459 VI. Mr. Wemmick's Castle 461 VII. Miss Skutins 465 BOOK XV OUR MUTUAL FRIEND I. The B. Wilfer Family 472 II. Boffin's Bower 484 III. Podsnappery 501 BOOK XVI THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD I. The Nuns' House 517 II. Philanthropy in Minor Canon Corner .... 527 in. Looking fob Lodgings 536 IV. Cloisterham Cathedral 540 THE COMEDY OF CHARLES DICKENS BOOK I SKETCHES BY BOZ Mr, Minns and Ms Cousin, originally called A Dinner at Poplar Walk, ■was the first of those papers that were afterwards collected under the title of' Sketches hy Boz ; and was also the first published piece of all my father's writings. It was brought out in the December number of the Old Monthly Magazine, 1833, and its author has left on record the delight and emotion he felt upon seeing it in print ; he had bought the magazine from a shop in the Strand, and he says, " I walked down toyWestminster-hall, and turned into it for half an hour, because my eyes were so dimmed with joy and pride, that they could not bear the street, and were not fit to be seen there." My father was at this time nearly twenty-one years of age, and was acting as re- porter to a newspaper. The Sketches were continued in later numbers of the Monthly Magazine until February, 1835, when they were carried on in the pages of the Evening Chronicle. In 1836 they were issued in two volumes, with illustrations by George Crnikshank, and published by John Macrone, with a preface dated from Furnival's Inn. In a later preface, written in 1850, my father tells us : " The whole of these Sketches were written and published, one by one, when I was a very young man. They were collected and re- published while I was still a very young man ; and sent into the world with all their imperfections (a good many) on their heads." I MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN Me. Augustus Minns was a bachelor, of about forty as he said — of about eight-and-forty as his friends said. He was always exceedingly Qlean, precise, and tidy; perhaps somewhat prig- gish, and the most retiring man in the world. He usually wore a brown frock-coat without a wrinkle, light inexplicables without a spot, a neat neckerchief with a remarkably neat tie, 2 SKETCHES BY BOZ and boots without a fault ; moreover, he always carried a brown silk umbrella with an ivory handle. He was a clerk in Somerset House, or, as he said himself, he held " a responsible situation imder Government." He had a good and increasing salary, in addition to some £10,000 of his own (invested in the funds), and he occupied a first floor in Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, where he had resided for twenty years, having been in the habit of quarrelling with his landlord the whole time: regularly giving notice of his intention to quit on the first day of every quarter, and as regulaily countermanding it on the second. There were two classes of created objects which he held in the deepest and most immingled horror; these were dogs, and children. He was not imamiable, but he coiild, at any time, have viewed the executioniof a dog, or the assassination of an infant, with the liveliest satisfaction. Their habits were at variance with his love of order ; and his love of order was as powerfiJ. as his love of life. Mr. Augustus Minns had no relations, in or near London, with the exception of his cousin, Mr. Octavius Budden, to whose son, whom he had never seen (for he disliked the father) he had consented to become godfather by proxy. Mr. Budden having realized a moderate fortune by exercising the trade or calling of a com-chandler, and having a great predilection for the country, had purchased a cottage in the vicroity of Stamford Hill, whither he retired with the wife of his bosom, and his only son. Master Alexander Augustus Budden. One evening,^ as Mr. and Mrs. B. were admiring their son, discussing his various merits, talking over his education, and disputing whether the classics should be made an essential part thereof, the lady pressed so strongly upon her husband the propriety of cultivating the friendship of Mr. Minns in behalf of their son, that Mr. Budden at last made up his mind, that it should not be his fault if he and his cousin were not in future more intimate. " I'll break the ice, my love," said Mr. Budden, stirring up the sugar at the bottom of his glass of brandy-and-water, and casting a sidelong look at his spouse to see the effect of the announcement of his determination, " by asking Minns down to dine with us, on Sunday." " Then, pray Budden write to your cousin at once," replied Mrs. Budden. "Who knows, if we could only get him down here, but he might take a fancy to our Alexander, and leave him his property ? — Alick, my dear, take your legs off the rail of the chair ! " MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN 3 " Very true," said Mr. Budden, musing, " very true, indeed, 'my love!" On the following morning, as Mr. Minns was sitting at his breakfast-table, alternately biting his dry toast and casting a look upon the columns of his morning paper, which he always read from the title to the printer's name, he heard a loud knock at the street-door; which was shortly afterwards followed by the entrance of his servant, who put into his hand a particularly small card, on which was engraved in immense letters, " Mr, Octavius Budden, Amelia Cottage (Mrs. B.'s name was Amelia), Poplar "Walk, Stamford Hill." " Budden ! " ejaculated Minns, " what can bring that vulgar man here! — say I'm asleep — say I'm out, and shall never be home again — anything to keep him downstairs." ' " But please, sir, the gentleman's coming up," replied the servant, and the fact was made evident, by an appalling creak^ ing of boots on the staircase accompanied by a pattering noise ; the cause of which, Minns could not, for the life of him divine. "Hem — show the gentleman in," said the unfortunate bachelor. Exit servant, and enter Octavius preceded by a large white dog, dressed in a suit of fleecy hosiery, with pink eyes, large ears, and no perceptible tail. ' The cause of the pattering on the' stairs was but too plain. Mr. Augustus Mians staggered beneath the shock of the dog's appearance. "My dear fellow, how are you?" said Budden, as he entered. He always spoke at the top of his voice, and always said the same thing half-a-dozen times. " How are you, my hearty ? " "How do you do, Mr. Budden? — ^pray take a chair!" politely stammered the discomfited Minns. " Thank you — ^thank you — weU — ^how are you, eh ? " "Uncommonly well, thank you," said Minns, casting a fliaboHcal look at the dog, who, with his hind-legs on the floor, and his fore-paws resting on the table, was dragging a bit of bread-and-butter out of a plate, preparatory to devouring it, ydth the buttered side next the carpet. " Ah, you rogue ! " said Budden to his dog ; "you see, Minns, he's like me, always at home, eh, my boy ? — Egad, I'm precious hot and hungry ! I've walked all the way from Stamford HiU this morning." " Have you breakfasted ? " inquired Minns. 4 SKETCHES BY BOZ " Oh, no ! — came to breakfast with you ; so ring the bell, my dear fellow, will you ? and let's have another cup and saucer, and the cold ham ! — Make myself at home, you see ! " continued Budden, dusting his boots with a table-napkin. " Ha ! — ha ! — ha . — ^"pon my life, I'm hungry." Minns rang the bell, and tried to smUe. " I decidedly never was so hot in my life," continued Octavius, wiping his forehead ; " well, but how are you, Minns ? 'Pon my soul, you wear capitally ! " "D'ye think so?" said Minns; and he tried another smUe. "'Pon my life, I do!" " Mrs. B. and — what's his name — quite well ? " "Alick — my son, you mean; never better — never better. But at such a place as we've got at Poplar Walk, you know, he couldn't be ill if he tried. When I first saw it, by Jove ! it looked so knowing, with the front garden, and the green rail- ings, and the brass knocker, and all that-— I really thought it was a cut above me." " Don't you think you'd like the ham better," intenrupted Minns, " if you cut it the other way 1 " He saw, with feelings which it is impossible to describe that his visitor was cutting or rather maiming the ham, in utter violation of all established rules. " No, thank ye," returned Budden, with the most barbarous indifference to crime, " I prefer it this way, it eats short. But I say, Minns, when will you come down and see us ? You wiU be delighted with the place ; I know you wUl. Amelia and I were talking about you the other night, and Amelia said — another Ivimp of sugar, please ; thank ye — she said, don't you think you could contrive, my dear, to say to Mr. Minns, in a friendly way — come down, sir — damn the dog! he's spoiling your curtains, Minns — -ha ! — ha ! — ha ! " Minns leaped from his seat as though he had received the discharge from a galvanic battery. " Come out, sir ! — ^^go out, hoo ! " cried poor Augustus, keep- ing nevertheless, at a very respectful distance from the dog ; having read of a case of hydrophobia in the paper of that morn- ing. By dint of great exertion, much shouting, and a marvel- lous deal of poking under the tables with a stick and imibrella, the dog was at last dislodged, and placed on the landing outside the door, where he immediately commenced a most appalling howling ; at the same time vehemently scratching the paint off MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN 5 the two nicely- varnished bottom panels, until they resembled the interior of a backgammon-board. " A good dog for the country that ! " coolly observed Buddai to the distracted Minns, " but he's not much used to confine- ment. But now, Minns, when will you come down ? I'll take no denial, positively. Let's see, to-day's Thursday. — ^Will you come on Sunday ? We dine at five, don't say no — do." After a great deal of pressing, Mr. Augustus Minns, driven to despair, accepted the invitation, and promised to be at Poplar Walk on the ensuing Sunday, at a quarter before five to the minute. "Now mind the direction," said Budden: "the coach goes from the Flower-pot, in Bishopsgate Street, every half-hour. When the coach stops at the Swan, you'll see, immediately opposite you, a white house." " Which is your house — I understand," said Minns, wishing to cut short the visit, and the story, at the same time. " No, no, that's not mine ; that's Grogus's, the great iron- monger's. I was going to say — you turned down by the side of the white house till you can't go another step further — mind that ! — and then you turn to your ri^ht, by some stables— well ; close to you, you'U see a wall with 'Bjeware of .the Dog' written on it in large letters — (Minns shuddered) — go along by the side of that wall for about a quarter of a mile — and anybody will show you which is my place." " Very well — thank ye — good-bye." " Be punctual." " Certainly : good morning." " I say, Minns, you've got a card." "Yes, I have; thank ye." And Mr. Octavius Budden departed leaving his cousin looking forward to his visit on the following Sunday, with the feelings of a peinniless poet to the weekly visit of his Scotch landlady. Sunday arrived ; the sky was bright and clear ; crowds of people were hurrying along the streets, intent on their different schemes of pleasure for the day; everything and everybody looked cheerful and happy except Mr. Augustus Minns. The day was fine, but the heat was considerable ; when Mr. Minns had fagged up the shady side of Fleet Street, Cheapside, and Threadneedle Street, he haid become pretty warm, tolerably dusty, and it was getting late into the bargain. By the most extraordinary good fortune, however, a coach was waiting at the Flower-pot, into which Mr. Augustus Minns got, on the solemn 6 SKETCHES BY BOZ assurance of the cad that the vehicle would start in three minutes — that being the very utmost extremity of time it was allowed to wait by Act of Parliament, A quarter of an hour elapsed, and there were no signs of moving. Minns looked at his watch for the sixth time. " Coachman, are you going or not 1 " bawled Mr. Minns, with his head and half his body out of the coach-window. " I)i — erectly, sir," said, the coachman, with his hands in his pockets, looking as much unlike a man in a hurry as possible, " BiU, take them cloths off," Five minutes more, elapsed : at the end of which time the coachman mounted the box, from whence he looked, down the Street, and up the, street, and hailed all the pedestrians for another five minutes, " Coachman ! if you don't go this moment, I shall get out," said Mr. Minns, rendered desperate by the lateness of the hour, and the impossibility of being in Poplar .Walk at the appointed time. " Going this minute, sir," was the reply ;— and, accordingly, the machine trundled on for a couple of hundred yards, and then stopped again. Minns doubled himself up in a comer of the coach, and abandoned himself to his fate, as a child, a mother, a bandbox and a parasol, became his fellow-passengers. The child was an affectionate and an amiable infant ; the little dear mistook Minns for his other parent, and screamed to embrace him, "Be quiet, dear," said the mamma, restraining the im- petuosity of the darling, whose little fat legs were kicking, and stamping, and twining themselves into the most complicated forms, in an ecstasy of impatience* " Be quiet, dear, that's not your papa," " Thank Heaven I am not [ " thought Minns, as the first gleam of pleasure he had. experienced that morning shone like a meteor through his wretchedness. Playfulness was agreeably niingled with affection in the dis- position of the boy. When satisfied that Mr, Minn^ was not his parent, he endeavoured to attract his notice by scraping his drab trousers with his dirty shoes, poking his chest with his mamma's parasol, and other nameless endearments peculiar to infancy, with which he beguiled the tediousness of the ride, apparently very much to his own satisfaction. When the unfortunate gentleman arrived at the Swan, he found to his great dismay, that it was a quarter-past five. The white house, the stables, the "Beware of the Dog," — every MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN 7 landmark was passed, with a rapidity not unusual to a gentle- man of a certain age when too late for dinner. After the lapse of a few minutes, Mr. Minns found himself opposite a yellowr brici; ■ house with a green door, brass knocker, and door-plate, green window-frames and ditto railings', with " a garden " in front, that is to say, a small loose bit of gravelled ground, with one round and two scalene triangular beds, containing a fir-tree, twenty or thirty bulbs, and an unlimited number of marigolds. The taste of Mr. and Mrs. Eudden was further displayed by the appearance of a Cupid on each side of the door, perched upon a heap of large chalk flints, variegated with pink conch-shells. His knock at the door was answered by a stumpy boy, in drab livery, cotton stocking; and high-lows, who, after hanging his hat on one 6f the dozen brass pegs which ornamented the passage, denominated by courtesy " The HaE," ushered him into a front drawing-room commanding a very extensive view of the backs of the neighbouring houses. The usual ceremony of introduction, and so forth, over, Mr. Minns took his seat : not a little agitated at finding that he was the last comer, and, some- how or other, the Lion of about a dozen people, sitting together In a small drawing-room, getting rid, of that most tedious of all time, the time preceding, dinner.; " Well, Brogson," said Budden, addressing an elderly gentle- man in a black coat, drab knee-breeches, and long gaiters, who, under pretence of inspecting the prints in an Annual, had been engaged in satisfying htmseK on the subject of Mr. Minns's general appelarance, by looking at him over the tops of the leaves — '^ Well, Brogson, what do Ministers mean t6 do ? Wni they go out, or what ? " , i" Oh — rwhyr^really, you know, I'm the last person in the world to ask for news. Your cousin, from his situation, is the most likely person to answer the question." Mr. Minns assured the last speaker, that although he was in Somerset House, he possessed no ofiScial communication relative to the projects of his Majesty's Ministers. But his remark was evidently received incredulously ; and no further conjectures being , lazarded on the subject, a long pause ensued, during which , the company occupied themselves in coughing and blowing their nosesy until the. entrance of Mrs. Budden caused a general rise, n ' The ceremony of introduction being over, dinner was announced, and down-stairs the party proceeded accordingly — Mr. Minns escorting Mrs. Budden as far as the drawing-room 8 SKETCHES BY BOZ door, but being prevented, by the narrowness of the staircase, from extending his gallantry any farther. The dinner passed off as such dinners usually do. Ever and anon, amidst the clatter of knives and forks, and the hum of conversation, Mr. B.'s voice might be heard, asking a friend to take wine, and assuring him he was glad to see him ; and a great deal of by-play took place between Mrs. B. and the servants, respecting the removal of the dishes, during which her countenance assumed aU the variations of a weather-glass, from "stormy" to "set fair." Upon the dessert and wine being placed on the table, the servant, in compliance with a significamt look from Mrs. B., brought down " Master Alexander," habited in a sky-blue suit with silver buttons ; and possessing hair of nearly the same colour as the metal. After sundry praises from his mother, and various admonitions as to his behaviour from his father, he was introduced to his godfather, " Well, my little fellow — you are a fine boy, ain't you ? " said Mr. Minns, as happy as a tomtit on birdlime. " Yes." " How old are you ? " "Eight, next We'nsday. How old are you ?" "Alexander," interrupted his mother, "how dare you ask Mr. Minns how old he is ! " ' ,. " He asked me how old / was," said the precocious child, to whom Minns had from that moment internally resolved that he never would bequeath one shilling. As soon as the titter occasioned by the observation had subsided, a little smirking man with red whiskers, sitting at the bottom of the table, who during the whole of dinner had been endeavouring to obtain a listener to some stories about Sheridan, called out, with a very patronising air, " Alick, what part of speech is he." " A verb." " That's a good boy," said Mrs. Budden, with all a mother's pride. " Now, you know what a verb is ? ", " A verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer ; as, I am — I rule^-I am ruled. Give me an apple. Ma." " I'll give you an apple," replied the man with the red whiskers, who was an established friend of the family, or in other words was always invited by Mrs. Budden, whether Mr. Budden liked it or not, " if you'll tell me what is. the meaning of be." " Be ? " said the prodigy, after a little hesitation^ — " an insect that gathers honey." MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN 9 "No, dear," frowned Mrs. Budden; "B double E is the substantive." " I don't think he knows muoh yet. about common sub- stantives," said the smirking gentleman, who thought this an admirable opportunity for letting off a joke. " It's clear he's not very well acquainted with proper names. He ! he ! he ! " " Gentlemen," called out Mr. Budden, from the end of the table, in a stentorian voice, and with a very important air, " will you have the goodness to charge your glasses ? I have a toast to propose." " Hear ! hear ! " cried the gentlemen, passihg the decanters. After they had made the round of the table, Mr. Budden proceeded — " Grentlemen ; there is an individual present " " Hear I hear ! " said the little man with red whiskers. " Pray be quiet, Jones," remonstrated Budden. " I say, gentlemen, there is an individual present," resumed the host, "in whose society, I am sure we must take great delight — and— and— the conversation of that individual must have afforded to every one present, the utmost pleasure." ["Thank Heaven, he does not mean me!" thought Minns, conscious that his dif&dence and exclusiveness had prevented his saying above a dozen words since he entered the house.] "Gentlemen, I am but a humble individual myself, and I perhaps ought to apologise for allowing any individual feelings of fritendship and affection for the person I allude to, to induce me to venture to rise, to propose the health of that person — a person that, I am sure — that is to say, a person whose virtues must endear him to those who know him — and those who have not the pleasure of knowing him, cannot dislike him." " Hear ! hear ! " said the company, in a tone of encourage- ment and approval. " Gentlemen," continued Budden, " my cousin is a man who — ^who is a relation of my own." (Hear ! hear !) Minns groaned audibly. "Who I am most happy to see here, and who, if he were not here, would Certainly have deprived us of the great pleasure we all feel in seeing him. (Loud cries of hear !) Gentlemen, I feel that I have already trespassed on your attention for too long a time. With every feeling— of — with every sentiment of — of " " Gratification " — suggested the friend of the family. " — Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr. Minns." " Standing, gentlemen I " shouted the indefatigable little man 10 SKETCHES BY BOZ with the whiskers — "and with the honours. Take your time from me, if you pleasa Hip ! hip ! hip ! — Za ! — Hip ! hip ! hip !— Za !— Hip ! hip i^Zar^a— a ! " All eyes were now fixed on the subject of the toast, who by gulping down port wine at the imminent hazard of suffocatiod*, endeavoured to conceal his confusion. After as long a pause as decency would admit, he rose, but, as the newspapers some- times say in their reports, " we regret that We are quite unable to give even the substance, of the honourable gentleman's observations." The words " present company— honour — present occasion," and " great happiaess " — ^heard occasionally, and repeated at intervals, with a countenance expressive of the utmost confusion and misery^ eonvtiiced the company that he was making an excellent speech ; and, accordingly, on his resuming his seat, they cried " Bravo ! " and manifested tumultuous applause. Jones, who had been long watching his opportunity, then darted up. " Budden," said . he, " wiU you allow me to propose a toast?" " Certainly," replied Budden, adding in an undertone to Minns right across the table. "Devilish sharp fellow that: you'll be very much pleased with his speechi He talks equally well on any subject." Minns bowed, and Mr. Jones proceeded — I, "It has on several occasionsi in various instances, under many circumstances, and in different companies, fallen to my lot to propose a toast to those by whom, at the time, I have had , the honour to be surrounded. I have sometimes, I will cheerfuUy own — for why should I. deny it? — ^felt the over- whelming nature of the .task I have undertaken, and my own utter incapability to do justice to the subject. If such have been my ' feelings, however, on former' occasions, what must they be now — now — ^under the extraordinary circumstances in which I am placed. (Hear ! hear !) To describe my feelings accurately, would be impossible ; but I cannot give you a better idea of them, gentlemen, than by referring to a circumstance which happens, oddly enough, to occur to my -mind at the moment. On one occasion, when that truly great and illustrious man, Sheridan, was " Now, there is no knowing . what new villainy in the form of a joke would have been heaped on the grave of that very ill-used man, Mr. Sheridan, if the boy in drab had not at that moment entered the room in a breathless state, to report that, MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN n as it was a very wet night, the nine o'clock stage had come round, to know whether there was anybody going to town, as, in that case, he (the nine o'clock) had room for one inside. Mr. Minns started up ; and, despite countless exclamations of surprise, and entreaties to stay, persisted in his determination to accept the vacant place. But, the brown silk umbrella was nowhere to be found ; and as the coachman couldn't wait, he drove back to the Swan, leaving word for Mr. Minns to " run round" and catch him. However, as it did not occur to Mr. Minns for some ten minutes or- so, that he had left the brown sUk umbrella with the ivory handle ia the other coach, coming down ; and, moreover, as he was by no means remark- able . for speed, it is no matter of suiprise that when he accomplished the feat of "running round" to' the Swan, the coach — thelast'coach— had gone without, him. It was somewhere about three o'clock in the morning, when Mr. 'Augustus Minns knocked feebly at the street-door of his lodgings in Tavistock Street, cold, w;et, cross, and miserablei He made his will, next morning, and his professional man informs us, in that strict coijiidence ia which, we inform the public, that neither the name of Mr. Octavius Budden,. nor of Mrs. Amelia Budden, nor of Master Alexander Augustus Budden, appears thereih. ' ' BOOK II THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF THE PICKWICK CLUB In Mr. John Forster's lAfe of Charles Dickens, he mentions two very interesting events connected with my father's career, which took place in tha spring of 1836. He tells us that The Times of the 26th of March gave notice that on the 31st would be published the first shilling number of The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, edited by Boz; and the same journal of a few days later announced that on the 2nd of ^ril Mr. Charles Dickens had married Catherine, the eldest daughter of Mr. George Hogarth. Pickwick was published as a book in November, 1837, by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, with illustrations by Seymour, and after his death by " Phiz " (Mr. Habl6t Browne). It was dedicated to Mr. Serjeant Talfourd. Mr. Pickwick and his three friends, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle, have been elected by the Pickwick Club to act as a corresponding branch thereof, and in that capacity to communicate to the Club " authenti- cated accounts of their journeys, investigations, observations of character and manners, and of the whole of their adventures, together with all tales and papers to which local scenery or associations may give rise, to the Pickwick Club, stationed in London. In pursuance of these objects Mr. Pickwick and his friends travel to Boohester by stage-coach, having made on their journey the acquaintance of a Mr. Jingle, who has rendered them a small service before starting. Mr. Jingle is a plausible but unscrupulous comedian, on his way to Boohester to fulfil a theatrical engagement. They alight at the Bull Inn, and Mr. Pickwick and his friends invite Mr. Jingle to dine with them. There is to be a ball at the inn the same evening, at which Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle agree to be present, Mr. Jingle having, at Mr. Tupman's suggestion, borrowed Mr. Wmkle's dress-coat (ornamented by the Club button) without that gentleman's knowledge. I DR. SLAMMER AND MR. WINKLE " It's a new coat," said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyed himself with great complacency in a cheval glass ; " the first that's been made with our club button," and he called his companion's attention to the large gUt button which displayed a 12 THE PICKWICK PAPERS 13 bust of Mr. Pickwick in the centre, and the letters "P. C' on either side. "P. 0." said the stranger — "queer set out — old fellow's likeness, and 'P. 0.' — ^What does 'P. C stand for — Peculiar coat, eh 1" Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation and great importance, explained the mystic device. " Eather short in the waist, an't it ? " said the stranger, screwing himself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons which, were half-way up his back. " Like a general postman's coat — queer coats those — made by contract —no measuring — mysterious dispensations of Providence-^all the short men get long eoats — all the long men short ones." Eunning on in this way, Mr. Tupman's new corapanion adjusted his dress, or rather the dress of Mr., Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr. Tupman, ascended the staircase leading to the ball- room. " What names, sir ? " said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy Tupman was stepping forward to announce his- own titles, when the stranger prevented him. " No names at all ; " and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, " Names won't do — not known! — very good names in their way, but not great ones — capital names for a small party, but won't make an impression in public assemblies — incog, the thing — Gentlemen from London — distinguished foreigners — anything." The door was thrown open ; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, and the stranger, entered the ball-room. It was a long room, with crimson-covered benchesj and wax candles in glass chandeliers. The musicians were securely confined in an elevated den, and quadrilles were being syste- matically got through by two or three sets of dancers. Two card-tables were made up in the , adjoining, card-room, and two pair of old ladies, and a corresponding number of stout gentle^nen, were executing whist therein. The finjde concluded, the dancers, promenaded the room, and Mr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a comer, to observe the company, " Charming women," said Mr. Tupman. " Wait a minute," said the stranger, " fun presently — nobs not come yet — queer place-^Dock-yard people of upper rank don't kno\r Dock-iyard people of lower rank— Dock-yard people of lower rank don't know small gentry — small gentry don't Jsno-yr tradespeople— Qprnmissiouer don't know anybody." i4 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " Who's tliat little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a fancy dress 1 " itic[uired Mr. Tupman. " Hush, pray — pink eyes — fancy dress — little boy — ^nonsense — ^Ensign 97th — ^Honourable Wilmot Snipe-^great family — Snipes — very." '^Sir Thomas Clubber, Lady Clubber, and the Miss Club- bers ! " shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A great sensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of a tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large lady in blue satin, and two young ladies, on a similar scalei in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue. " Commissioner — ^head of the yard — great man — remarkably great man," whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman's ear, as the charitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to the top of the room. The Honourable Wilmot Snipe and other distinguished genliemen crowded to render homage to the Miss Clubbers ; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright, and looked majestically over his black neckerchief at the assembled company. " Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie," was the next announcement. " What's Mr. SmithieJ? " inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman. " Something iu the yard," replied the stranger. 'Mr. Smithie bowed deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber acknowledged the salute with conscious condescension. Lady Clubber took a telescopic view of Mrs. Smithie and famMy through her eyeglass, and Mrs. Smithie stared in her turn at Mrs. Somebody else, whose husband was not in the Dock-yard at all. "Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder," were the next arrivals. "Head of the Garrison," said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupman's inquiring look. Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Miss Clubbers ; the griseting between Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was of the most affectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir Thomas Clubber exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pair of Alexander Selkirks — " Monarchs of all they surveyed."; While the aristocracy of the place — the Bulders,, and Club- bers, and Snipes — ^were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end of the room, the other classes of society were iinitating their example in other parts of it. The less aristocratic officer^ THE PICKWICK PAPERS 15 of the 97th devoted th^selves to the families of the less im- portant functionaries from the Dock-yard. The solicitors' wives, and the -wine-merchant's wife, headed another grade (the btewer's wife visited the Bulders); and Mrs. Tomlinson, the post-office keeper, seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen the leader of the trade party. One of the most popular personages, in- his own circle, present was a little fat man, with a ring of upright black ' hair round his head, and an extensive bald plain on the top of it- Doctor Slammer, surgeon to the 97th. The doctor took snuff with everybody, chatted with everybody, laughedi danced, made jokes, played whist, did everything, and was everywhere. To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the little doctor added a more important one than any — he was indefatigable in paying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow, whose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most desirable addition to a limited income. Upon the doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupman and his companion had been fixed for some time, when the stranger broke silence. " Lots of money — old girl — pompotis doctor — not a bad idea — good fun," were the intelligible sentences which issued from his lips. Mr. Tupman looked inquisitively in his 'face; " m dance with the widow," said the stranger. " Who is she ? " inquired Mr. Tupman. "Don't know — never saw her in all' my life — out out the doctor — ^here goes." And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and, leaning against a mantel-piece, commenped gazing with an air of respectful and melancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. Mr. Tupman looked oil, in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly ; the little doctor danced with another lady ; the widow dropped her fan, the stranger picked it up, and presented it, — a smile — a bow — a curtsey — a few words of conversation. The stranger walked boldly up to, and returned with, the master of the cetemonie's ; a little introductory pantomime j and the stranger and Mrs, Budger took their places in a quadrille. The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great as it was, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonish- ment of the doctor. The stranger was yoiing, and the widow was flattered. The doctor's attentions were unheeded by thie widow; and the doctor's indignation was wholly lost on his imperturbable rival. Doctor Slammer was paralysed. He, i6 THE PICKWICK PAPERS Doctor Slammer, of the 97th, to be extinguished in a moment, by a man whom nobody had ever seen before, and whom nobody knew even now! Doctor Slammer— Doctor Slammer of the 97th rejected I Impossible! It could not be! Yes, it was; there they were. What! introducing his friend! Could he .believe his eyes ! He looked again, and was under the painful necessity of admitting the veracity of his optics ; Mrs. Budger was dancing with Mr. Tracy Tupman, there was no mistaking the fact. There was the widow before him, bouncing bodily, here and there, with unwonted vigour ; and Mr. Tracy Tupman hopping about, with a face expressive of the most intense solemnity, dancing (as a good many people do) as if a quadrille were not a thing to be laughed at, but a severe trial to the feelings, which it requires inflexible resolution to encounter. Silently and patiently did the doctor bear all this, and all the handings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting for biscuits, and coquetting, that ensued; but, a few seconds after the stranger had disappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, he darted swiftly from the room with every particle of his hitherto-bottled-up indignation effervescing, from all parts of his countenance, in a perspiration of passion. The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside him. He spoke in a low tone, and laughed. The little doctor thirsted for his life. He was exulting. He had triumphed; "Sir!" said the doctor, in an awful voice,, producing a card, and retiring into an angle of the passage, "my name is Slammer, Doctor Slammer, sir — 97th Eegiment — Chatham Barracks — my card, sir, my card." He would have added more, but his indignation choked htm. "Ah!" replied the stranger, coolly, "Slammer — much obliged — polite attention — not ill now. Slammer — but when I am — knock you up." "You — you're a shuffler! sir," gasped the furious doctor, " a poltroon — a coward — a liar — a — a — will nothing induce you to give me your card, sir ! " " Oh [ I see," said the stranger, half aside, " negus too strong here — liberal landlord — very foolish — very — lemonade much better — hot rooms — elderly gentlemen;-rsuff«r for it in the morning — cruel— cruel ; " and he moved on a step or two^ "You are stopping in this house, sir," said the indignant little man ; " you are intoxicated now, sir ; you shaU hear from me in the morning, sir, I shall find you out, sir; I shall find you out." THE PICKWICK PAPERS 17 " Eather you found me out, than found me at home," replied the immoved stranger. Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he fixed his hat on his head with an indignant knock ; and the stranger and Mr. Tupman ascended to the bedroom of the latter to restore the borrowed plumage to the unconscious Winkle. That gentleman was fast asleep; the restoration was soon made. The stranger was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, being quite bewildered with wine, negtis, lights, and ladies, thought the whole affair an exquisite joke. His new friend departed ; and, after experiencing some slight difficulty in finding the orifice in his night-cap, originally intended for the recepjiion of his head, and finally overturning his candle- stick in his struggles to put it on, Mr. Tracy Tupman managed to get into bed by a series of complicated evolutions, and shortly afterwards sank into repose. Seven o'clock had hardly ceased striking on the following morning, when Mr. Pickwick's comprehensive mind was aroused from the state of unconsciousness, in which slumber had plunged it, by a loud knocking at his chamber door. " Who's there ? " said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed. " Boots, sir." " What do you want ? " " Please, sir, can you teU me, which gentleman of your party wears a bright blue dress coat, with a gilt button with P. C. on it?" " It's been given out to brush," thought Mr. Pickwick, " and the man has forgotten whom it belongs to.-^Mr. Winkle," he called out, " next room but two, on the right hand." " Thank'ee, sir," said the Boots, and away he went. " What's the matter ? " cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking at Ms door roused Aim from his oblivious repose. " Can I spqak to Mr, Winkle, sir ? " replied the Boots from the outside. " Winkle — Winkle ! " shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the inner room, " Hallo ! " replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothea. "You're wanted — some one at the door— — " and having exerted himself to articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned round and fell fast asleiep again. "Wanted! " said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, and putting on a few articles of clothing : " wanted ! at this distance from town — who on earth can want me ? " i8 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir," replied the Boots, as Mr. Winkle opened the door, and confronted him 5 " gentleman says he'U not detain you a moment, sir, but he can take no denial," " Very odd ! " said Mr. Winkle ; " I'll be down directly." He hurriedly ■wrapped himself in a travelling-shawi and dressing-gown, and proceeded down-stairs. An old woman and a couple, of waiters were cleaning the . coffee-room, and an ofScer in undress uniform was looking out of the window. He turned round as Mr. Winkle entered, and made a stiff inclination of the head. Having ordered the attendants to retire, and closed the door very carefully, he said, " Mr. Winkle, I presume ? " , " My name is Winkle, sir." "You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you, that I have called here this morning on behalf of my friend, Dr. Slammer, of the 97th." " Doctor Slammer ! " said Mr. Winkle. " Doctor Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion that your conduct of last evening was of a description which no gentleman: could endure: and (he added) which no one gentle- man would pursue towards another." Mr. Winkle's astonishment was too real, and too evident, to escape the observation of Dr. Slammer's friend; he therefore proceeded — " My friend. Doctor Slammer, rec[uested me to add, that he is firmly persuaded you were iutoxicated during a portion of the evening, and possibly unconscious of the extent of the iasult you were guilty of. He commissioned me to say, that should this be pleaded as an excuse for your behaviour, he will consent to accept a written apology, to be penned by you, from my dictation." " A written apology ! " repeated Mr. Winkle, in the most emphatic tone of amazement possible. " Of course you know the alternative," replied the visitor, coolly. " Were you entrusted with this message to me, by name ? " inquired Mr. Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused by this extraordinary conversation. " I was not present myself," replied the visitor, " and in consequence of your firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slammer, I was desired by that gentleman to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat — a bright blue dress coat, with a gilt button, displaying a bust, and the letters ' P. C " THE PICKWICK PAPERS 19 Mr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heard his own costume thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer's friend proceeded : — " Erom the inquiries I made at the bar, just now, I was convinced that the owner of the coat in question arrived here, wit^ three gentlemen, yesterday after- noon. I immediately sent up to the gentleman who was described as appearing 6he head of the party, and he at once referred me to you." K the principal tower of Eochester Castle had suddenly walked from its foundation, and. stationed itself opposite the coffee-room window, Mr. Winkle's surprise would have been as nothing, compared with the profound astonishment with which he had heard this address. His first impression was that his Coat had been stolen. " WiU you allow me to detain you one moment ?" said he. . [ - " Certainly," replied the unwelcome visitor.. Mr. WinMe ran hastily up-stairs, and with a trembling hand opened the bag. There was the coat in its usual .place, but exhibiting, on a close inspection, evident tokens of having been worn^on the preceding night. " It must be so," said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from hi^ hands. ,"I, took too/ much , wine after dinner, and have a very vague recollection of walk:ing abput the streets and smoking a cigar, afterwards. The fact is, I was very drunk;-— I must have changed my coat— gone somewl^ere — rand insulted some- body — I have no doubt of it ; and this message is the terrible consequence." Saying which, Mr, Winkle retraced his steps in the direction of the coffee-room, with the gloomy and dreadful resolve of aqcepting the challenge of the warlike Doctor Slammer, and abiding by the worst consequences that might ensue. To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety of considerations; the first of which was, his reputation with the club. He had always been looked up to as a high authority on aU matters of amusement and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive, or inoffensive ; and if, on this very first occasion of being put to the test, he shrunk back from the trial, beneath his leader's eye, his name and standing were lost for ever. Besides, he remembered to have heard it frequently surmised by the uninitiated in such matters, that- by an understood arrangement between the seconds, the pistols were seldom loaded with ball ; and, furthermore, he reflected that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass to act as his second, and depicted the danger ik 20 THE PI«KWI«K PAPERS glowing terms, that gentleman might possibly communicate the intelligence to Mr. Pickwick, who would certainly lose no time in transmitting it to the local authorities, and thus prevent the killing or maiming of his follower. Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee- room, and intimated his intention of accepting the doctor's challenge, "WiU you refer me to a friend, to arrange the time and place of meeting ? " said the officer. "Quite unnecessary," replied Mr. Winkle; "name them to me, and I can procure the attendance of a friend, after- wards." " Shall we say — stmset this evening 1 " inquired the officer, in a careless tone. " Very good," replied Mr, Winkle ; thinking in his heart it was very bad. " You know Fort Piit ? " " Yes ; I saw it yesterday." " If you will take the trouble to turn into the field which borders the trench, take the foot-path to the left, when you arrive at an angle of the fortification, and keep straight on 'tUl you see me, I will precede you to a secluded place, where the affair can be conducted without fear of interruption." " Fear of interruption ! " thought Mr. Winkle. " Nothing more to arrange, I think," said the officer. * I am not aware of anything more," replied Mr. Winkle. " Good morning." " Good morning ; " and the officer whistled a lively air as he strode away. That morning's breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman was not in a condition to rise, after the unwonted dissipation of the previous night ; Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labour under a poetical depression of spirits ; and even Mr. Pickwick evinced an unusual attachment to silence and soda-water. Mr. Winkle eagerly watched his opportunity. It was not long wanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle, and as Mr. Winkl6 was the only other member of the party disposed to walk, they went out together. " Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle, when they had turned out of the public street, "Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I rely upon your secrecy ? " As he said this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not. THE PKSKWIQSK PAPERS 21 " You can," replied Mr. Snodgrass. " Hear me swear- "No, no," interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his companion's unconsciously pledging himself not to give informa- tion, " don't swear, don't swear ; it's quite unnecessary." Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had, in the spirit of poesy, raised towards the clouds, as he made the above appeal, and assumed an attitude of attention. "I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of honour," said Mr. Winkle. " You shall have it," replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his friend's hand. "With a doctor — Doctor Slammer, of the 97th," said Mr. Winkle, wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible; "an afliair with an officer, seconded by another officer, at sunset this evening, in a lonely field beyond Fort Pitt." " I wUl attend you," said Mr. Snodgrass. He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It is ex- traordinary how cool any party but the principal can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle had forgotten this. He had judged of his friend's feelings by his own. " The consequences may be dreadful," said Mr. Winkle. " I hope not," said Mr. Snodgrass. "The doctor, I believe, is a very good shot," said Mr. Winkle. " Most of these military men are," observed Mr. Snodgrass, calmly ; " but so are you, an't you ? " Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative ; and perceiving that he had not alarmed his companion sufficiently, changed his around. "Snodgrass," he said, in a voice tremulous with emotion, " if I fall, you will find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note for my — for my father." This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected, but he undertook the delivery of the note, as readily as if he had been a Twopenny Postman. "If I fall," said Mr. Winkle, "or if tihe doctor falls, you, my dear friend, wUl be tried as an accessory before the fact. Shall I involve my friend in transportation — possibly for life!" Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this, but his heroism was invindljle. " In the cause of friendship," he fervently exclaimed, " I would brave all dangers." 22 THE PICKWICK PAPERS How Mr. Winkle cursed his companion's devoted friendsliip internally, as they walked silently along, side by side, for some minutes, each immersed in his own meditations ! The morning was wearing away ; he grew desperate. " Snodgrass," he said, stopping suddenly, " do not let me be baulked in this matter — do Twt give information to the local authorities — do Tiot obtain the assistance of several peace officers, to take either me or Doctor Slammer, of the 97th Kegiment, at present quartered in Chatham Barracks, into custody, and thus prevent this duel ; — I say, do not." Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly, as he enthu- sias.tically replied, " Not for worlds ! " A thrUl passed over Mr. Winkle's frame, as the conviction that he had nothing to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was destined to become an animated target, rushed forcibly upon him. The state of the case having been formally explained to Mr. Snodgrass, and a case of satisfa;ction pistols, with the satisfactory accompaniments of powder, ball, and caps, having been hired from a manufacturer in Eochester, the two friends returned to their inn ; Mr. Winkle io ruminate on the approaching struggle, and Mr. Snodgrass to arrange the weapons of war, and put them into proper order for immediate use. It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on their awkward errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to escape observation, and Mr. Snodgrass bore under Ms the instrument of destruction. "Have you got everything?" said Mr. Winkle, in an, agitated tone. " Ev'rything," replied Mr. Snodgrass ; " plenty of ammuni- tion, in case the shots don't take effect. There's a quarter of a pound of powder in the case, and I have got two newpapers in my pocket for the loadings." These were instances of friendship, for which any man might reasonably feel most grateful. The presumption ; is, that the gratitude of Mr. Winkle was too powerful for utter- ance, as he said nothing, but continued to walk on — rather slowly. ' ' "We are in excellent time," said Mr. Snodgrass, as .they climbed the fence of the first, field ; " the sun is just going down." Mr. Winkle looked up at the declining orb, and pain- fully thought of the probability of his " going down " himself, before long. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 23 " There's the ofilcer," exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few minutes' walking. " Where ? " said Mr. Snodgrass, "There; — the gentleman in the blue cloak." Mr. Snod- grass looked in the direction indicated by the forefinger of his friend, and observed a figure, muffled up, as he had described. The officer evinced his consciousness of their presence by slightly beckoning with his hand ; and the two friends followed him at a little distand^, as he walked away. The evening grew more dull every moment, and a melan- choly wind sounded through the deserted fields, like a distant giant whistling for his house'-dog. The sadness of the scene imparted a'sombre tinge to the feelings of Mr. Winkle. He started as they passed the angle of the trench — it looked like a colossal grave. The of&cer turned suddenly from the path, and after climb- ing a paling, and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. Two gentlemen were waiting in it ; one was a little fat man, with black hair ; and the other — a portly personage in a braided surtout — was sitting with perfect ecLuanimity on a camp-stool. "The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose," said Mr. Snodgrass ; "take a drop of brandy." Mr. Winkle seized the wibker bottle which his Mend proffered, and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid. " My friend, sir, Mr. Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle, as the officer appiroached. Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a ciase similar to that which Mr. Snodgrass carried. ' . ' " We have nothing farther to say, sir, I think," he coldly remarked, as he opened the case; "an apology has been resolutely declined." "Nothing, sir," said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather uncomfortable himself. " Will you step forward ? " said the officer. "Certainly,"' replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured, and preliminaries arranged. "Yon, will find these better than your own," said the opposite- second, producing his pistols. "You saw me load them. Do you object to use them ? " " Certainly not," replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved him from considerable embarrassment, for his previous notions of loading a pistol were rather vague and undefined. 24 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " We may place our men, then, I think," observed the ■officer, with as much indifference as if the principals were chess- men, and the seconds players. " I think we may," replied Mr. Snodgrass ; who would have Bflsented to any proposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officer crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snod- grass went up to Mr. Winkle. " It's aU ready," he said,, offering the pistol. " Give me your cloak." "You have got the packet, my dear fellow," said poor Winkle. "All i?ght," said Mr. Snodgrass. "Be steady, and wing him." It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that which bystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street fight, namely, " Go in, and win : " — an admirable thing to recommend, if you only know how to do it. He took off his cloak, however, in silence — it always took a long time to undo, that cloak — and accepted the pistoL The seconds retired, the gentleman on the camp-stool did the same, and the belligerents approached each other. Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It is conjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creatuie intentionally, was the cause of his shutting his eyes when he arrived at the fatal spot ; and that the circumstance of his eyes being closed, prevented his observing the very extraordinary and unaccountable demeanour of Doctor Slammer. That gentleman started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, stared again ; and, finally, shouted " Stop, stop ! " " What's all this ? " said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr. Snodgrass came running up ; " That's not the man." " Not the man ! " said Doctor Slammer's second. " Kot the man ! " said Mr. Snodgrass. " Not the man ! " said the gentleman with the camp-stool in Ms hand. " Certainly not," replied the little doctor. " That's not the person who insulted me last night." " Very extraordinary ! " exclaimed the officer. " Very," said the gentleman with the camp-stool. " The only question is, whether the gentleman, being on the ground, must not be considered, as a matter of form, to be the individual who insulted our friend. Doctor Slammer, yesterday evening, whether he Is reaUy that individual or not:" and having THE PICKWICK PAPERS 25 delivered, this suggestion, with a very sage and mysterious air, the man with the camp-stool took a large pinch of snuff, and looked p^-ofoundly round, with the air of an authority in such matters. Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when he heard his adversary call out for a cessation of hostilities ; and perceiving by what he had afterwards said, that there was, beyond aU question, some mistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the increase of reputation he should inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive of his coming out : he therefore stepped boldly forward, and said-^ " I am not the person. I know it." , "Then, that," said the man with the camp-stool, "is an affront to Doctor Slammer, and a sufficient reeison for proceeding immediately." " Pray be quiet, Payne," said the doctor's second. " Why did you not communieate this fact to me this morning, sir?" " To be sure — to be sure," said the man with the camp-stool, indignantly. " I entreat you to be quiet, Payne," said the other. " May I repeat my question, sir ? " " Because, sir," replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time to deliberate upon his answer, "because, sir, you described an intoxicated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat, which I have the honour, not only to wear, but to have invented — the proposed uniform, sir, of the Pickwick Club fin London, The honour of that uniform I feel bound to maintain, and I therefore, without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offered me." ,1 > "My dear sir," said the good-humoured little doctor, advancing with extended hand, "I honour your gallantry. Permit me to say, si?, that I highly admire your conduct, and extremely regret having caused you the inconvenience of this meeting, to no purpose." J "I beg you won't mention it, sir," said Mr. Winkle. " I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, sir," said the little doctor. "It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, sir," replied Mr. Winkle. Thereupon the doctor and Mr. Winkle shook hands, and then Mr. Winkle and Lieutenant Tappleton (the doctor's second), and then Mr. Winkle and the man with the camp-stool, and, finally, Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass 26 THE PICKWICK PAPERS the last-named gentleman in an excess of admiration at the noble conduct of Ms heroic friend. " I think we may' adjourn," said Lieutenant Tappleton. " Certainly," added the doctor. " Unless," interposed the man with the camp-stool, " unless Mr. Winkle feels himself aggrieved by the challenge; in which case, I subkut, he has a right to satisfaction." Mr. Winkle, with great self-denial, expressed himself quite satisfied already. "Or possibly," said the man with the camp-stool, "the gentleman's second may feel himself affronted with some observations which feU from me at a.n early period of this meeting: if so, I shall be happy to give him satisfaction immediately." Mr. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged with the handsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken last, which he was only induced to decline by his entire contentment with the whole proceedings. The two seconds adjusted the cases, and the whole party left the ground in a much more lively manner than they. had proceeded to it. • Mr. Pickwlck'8 apartments are in Goswell Street, and his landlady is Mrs. Bardell, a widow with one little boy. Mr. Pickwick thinks of keeping a man-servant, but determines to speak with Mrs. Bardelljas to' the expediency of providing him with a lodging m the housCj which he does in so ambiguous a manner that Mrs. Bardell, *ho has for long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a respectful distance, is under the impression Qiat the second person whom he proposes to introduce into his estabhshment is herself, and that this is Mr, Pickwick's deHoate way of making a prpposal of marriage. She immediately throws her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck, bursts into tears, and- faints away, to the consternation not only of that gentleman, but of his three friends, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, who are at .this moment ushered into the room by her youthful son. This awkward situation Mr. Piekwiok endeavours to explain, by relating what, has occurred; but his friends look doubtfully at one anothenand are obviously unconvinced. After Mrs. Bardell recovers, and at Mr. Pickwick's entreaty is led away by the gallant Mr. Tupman,. Sam Weller, who has_been waiting below for an audience with Mr. Pickwick, comes upstairs, and Mr. Pickwick engages as his valet THE PICKWICK PAPERS 27 one of the author's most original characters, and one who helped to gain for his book the world-wide popularity it obtained. Mr. Weller's first experience of his new situation is in going with his master to Eatanswill, where an election is about to take place. II THE EATANSWILL ELECTION It was late in the evening, wlien Mr, Pickwick and his companions, assisted by Sam, dismounted from the ■ roof of the Eatanswill coach. Large blue silk flags were flying from the windows of the Town Arms Inn, and bills were posted' in every sash, intimating, in gigantic letters, that the honourable Samuel Slumkey's committee sat there daily. A crowd of idlers were assembled in the road, looking at a hoarse man in the balcony, who was apparently talking himself very red in the face in Mr. Slumkey's behalf; but the force and point of whose" arguments were somewhat impaired by the perpetual beating of four large drums which Mr. Fizkin's committee had stationed at the street comer. There was a busy little man beside him, though, who took off his hat at inteTvals and motioned to the people to cheer, which they regularly did, most enthusiastically; and as the red-faced gentleman Went on talking till he was redder in the face than ever, it seemed to answer his purpose quite as well as if anybody had heard him. ■ y' ' The Pickwickians had no sooner dismounted, than they were surrounded by a branch mob of the honest and independent, who forthwith set up three deafening cheers, which being re- sponded to by the main body (for it's not at all necessary for a crowd to know what they are cheering about) swelled into a tremendous roar of triumph, which stopped even the red- faced man in the balcony.. ' *' Hurrah 1 " shouted the mob in. conclusion. ' "One cheer more," screamed the little fugleman in the balcony, and out shouted the mob again, as if lungs were cast iron, with steel works. ;, " Slumkey.for ever ! " roared the honest and independent. ■ " Slumkey for ever ! " echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat. ' i " No Fizkin ! " roared the crowd. ' " Certainly not ! " shouted Mr. Pickwiefc 28 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " Hurrah ! " And then there was another roaring, like that of a whole menagerie when the elephant has rung the bell for the cold meat. " Who is Slumkey ? " whispered Mr. Tupman. " I don't know," replied Mr. Pickwick in the same tone. "Hush. Don't ask any questions. It's always best on these occasions to do what the mob do." " But suppose there are two mobs ? " suggested Mr. Snodgrass. "Shout with the largest," replied Mr. Pickwick. Volumes could not have said more. They entered the house, the crowd opening right and left to let them pass, and cheering vociferously. The first object of consideration was to secure quarters for the night. "Can we have beds here?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, sum- moning the waiter. ' "Don't know, sir," replied the man; "afraid we're full, sir — I'll inquire, sir." Away he went for that purpose, and presently returned, to iask whether the gentleman were "Blue." As neither Mr. Pickwick nor his companions took any vital interest in the cause of either candidate, the question was rather a difficult one to 'answer. In this dilemma Mr. Pickwick bethought himself of his new friend, Mr. Perker. ^/'Do you know a gentleman of the name of Perker?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. " Certainly, sir ; Honoiirable Mr. Samuel Slumkey's agent." « He is Blue, I think ? " « Oh yes, sir." " Then we are Blue," said Mr. Pickwick ; but observing that the man looked rather doubtful at this accommodating announcement, he gave him his card, and desired him to present it to Mr. Perker forthwith, if he should happen to be in the house. The waiter retired ; and re-appearing almost immediately with a request that Mr. Pickwick would follow him, led the way to a large room on the first floor, where, seated at a long table (jovered with books and papers, was Mr. Perker. " Ah — ah, my dear sir," said the little man,' advancing to meet him; "very happy to see you, my dear sir, very. Pray sit down. So you have carried your intention into effect. You have come down here to see an election — eh ? " Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative. ^ " Spirited contest, my dear sir," said the little man. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 29 " I am deliglited to hear it," said Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands. "I like to see sturdy patriotism, on whatever side it is called forth; — and so it's a spirited contest ? " " Oh yes," said the little man, " very much so indeed. We have opened all the public-houses in the place, and left our adversary nothing but the beer-shops — masterly stroke of policy that, my dear sir, eh?" — the little man smiled com- placently, and took a large pinch of snuff, "And what are the probabilities as to the result of the contest ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. "Why, doubtful, my dear sir; rather doubtful as yet," replied the little man. " Fizkin's people, have got three-and- thlrty voters in the lock-up coach-house at the White Hart." "In the coach-house!" said Mr. Pickwick, consideraWy astonished by this second stroke of policy. "They keep 'em looked up there till they want 'em," resumed the little man. " The effect of that is, you see, to prevent our getting at them ; and even if we could, it would be of no use, for they keep them very drunk on purpose. Smart fallow Fizkin's agent — very smart fellow indeed." ' Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing, " We are pretty confident, though," said Mr. Perker, sinking his voice almost to a whisper. " We had a little teai-party here,, last night — five-and-forty women, my dear sir — and gave every one of 'em a green parasol when she went away." " A parasol ! " said Mr. Pickwick. " Fact, my dear sir, fact. Five-and-forty green jJarasols, at seven and sixpence a-piece. All women like finery,— extra- ordinary the effect of those parasols. Secured all their husbands, and half their brothers— -beats stockings, and fiannel, and all that sort of thing hollow. My idea, my dear sir, entirely. Hail, rain, or sunshine, you can't walk half a dozen yards up the street, without encountering half a dozen green parasols," Here the little man indulged in a convulsion of mirth, which was only checked by the entrance of a third party. This was a tall, thin man, with a sandy- coloured head inclined to baldness, and a face in which solemn importance was blended with a look of unfathomable profundity. He was dressed in a long brown surtout, with a black cloth waistcoat, and drab trousers. A double eye-glass dangled at his waist- coat ; and on his head he wore a very low-crowned hat with a broad brim. The new-comer was introduced to Mr. Pickwick as Mr. Pott, the editor of the Eatanswill Gazette. After a few 30 THE PICKWICK PAPERS preliminary remarks, Mr. Pott turned round to Mr. Pickwick, and said with solemnity — " This contest excitqs great interest in the metropolis, sir ? " " I believe it does," said Mr. Pickwick. , "To which. I havp reason to know," said Pott, looking jtowards Mr.;Perkerior cprrohoratipn, — " to which I have reason to know that my article of last Saturday in some degree contributed." " Not the least doubt of it," said the little man, " The press is a mighty engine, sir," said Pott. Mr. Pickwick yielded his full assent to the proposition. "But; I trust, sir," said Pott, " that I; have never abused the enormous power I wield. I trust, sir, that I have never pointed the noble instrument which is placed in my hands, against the sacred bosom of private life, or the tender breast of individual ■reputation,;-^! trust, sir, that I have devoted my energies to — to endeavours — humble they may be, humble I know they are — to instil thosp principles of — which— are " Here, the j editor ; of the EatanswUl Gazette, appearing to ramble, Mr. Pickwick came to his relief and said — " Certainly/' " And , w^hat, sir — said Pott—" what, sir, let me ask you as an impartial man, is the state of the public mind in London, with reference to my contest with the Indepehdent ? " " Greatly excited, no doubt," interposed Mr. Perker, with a look of slyness which was very likely accidental. "The contest," said Pott, " shall be prolonged so long as I have health, and strength, and that portion of talent with which I am gifted. From that contest, sir, although it may unsettle men's minds and excite their feelJhigs, and render them in- capable for the discharge of the every-day duties pf ordinary life ; from that contest, sir, I will never shrink, till I< have set my heel upon the Hatanswill Independent. I wish the people of London, and the people of this country to know, sir, that they may rely upon me ; — that I will not desert them, that I am resolved to stand by them, sir, to the last." " Your conduct is most noble, sir," said Mr. Pickwick ; and he grasped the hand of the magnanimous Pott. " You are, sir, I perceive, a man of sense and talent," said Mr. Pott, almost breathless with the vehemence of his patriotic (declaration. " I am most happy, sir, to make the acquaintance of such a man." ^ " And I," said Mr. Pickwick, " feel deeply honoured by this THE PICKWICK: , PAPERS 31 expression of your 'opinion. Allov me, sir, to introdvice you to my feUdw-travellers, the other corresponding members of the club I am proud to have founded." « I shall be delighted/' said ]V[rl.P,ptt. ' Mr., Pickwick withdrew, and retiumng with his friends, pre- sented them in due form tq the editor of the JSaians'tpill Gazette. " JiTow, my dear Pptt," paid little Mr. Perker, " the question is, what are we to dq ;wij;h our friends here ? " " We can stop in this house, I suppose," said Mr. Pickwick. " Not a spare bed in the house, my dpar sir— not a single bed." " Extremely awkward," said Mr. Pickwick. " Very,f' said his feUow-yoyagers. i, " I have. an idea upon this subject,"" sgid Mr. Pott, "which I think may be very sUiCcessfully adopted./ They have two beds at the Peacockyand I can boldly say, on behalf of Mrs.. Pott, that she will be delighted to accommodate Mr. Pickwick and any of his friends, if the other two gentlemen and their servant do not object to shifting, as they best can, at the^ Peaaock*" m * * . « * \ # Mr. Pott's domestic circle was limited to himself and his wife. All men whom mighty genius has worked to, a proud eminence in the world, have usually some little weakness which appears the more conspicuous from the contrast it presents to their general character,^ If Mr. Pott had a weakness, it was, perhaps, that he was rainier too submissive to the somfewhat contemptuous control and, sway of his wife. We do not feel justified in laying any particular stress upon the faqt, because on the present occasion all Mrs. Pott's most winning ways were brought into requisition tp receive the two gentlemen. " My dear," said Mr. Pott, " Mr. Pickwick — Mr. Pickwick of London." Mrs. Pott received Mr. Pickwick's paternal grasp of the hand, with enchanting sweetness : and Mr. Winkle, who had not been announced at all, sUded and bowed,, unnoticed, in an obscure corner. " P. my dear " said Mrs. Pott. ^ "My life," said Mi-. Pott, " Pray introduce the other gentleman." , " I beg a thousand pardons," said Mr. Pott. " Permit me, Mrs. Pott, Mr. . '' " Winkle," said Mr. Pickwick. i "Winkle," echoed Mr. Pott; and the ceremony of intro- duction was complete. 32 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " We owe you many apologies, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, "for disturbing your domestic arrangements at so short a notice." " I beg you won't mention it, sir," replied the feminine Pott, with vivacity. " It is a high treat to me, I assure you, to see any new faces ; living as I do,. from day to day, and week to week, in this dull place, and seeing nobody." " Nobody, my dear! " exclaimed Mr. Pott; archly. " Nobody but you" retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity. " You see, Mr. Pickwick," said the host in explanation of his wife's lament, " that we are in some measure cut off from many enjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake. My public station, as editor of the Hatanswill Gazette, the position which that paper holds in the countay, my constant immersion in the vortex of polities'^ " " P. my dear " interposed Mrs. Pott, "My ]ife " said the editor. " I wish, my dear, you would endeavour to find some topic of conversation in ,wluch these gentlemen might take some rational interest." " But, my love," said Mr. Pott, with great humility, " Mr. Pickwick does take an interest in it." " It's well for him if he can," said Mrs. Pott, emphatically ; "I am wearied out of my life with your politics, and quarrels with the Independent, and nonsense. I am quite astonished, P., at your making such an exhibition of your absurdity." " But, my dear " said Mr. Pott. " Oh, nonsense, don't talk to me ; " said Mrs. Pott. '' Do you play ecarte, sir ? " " I shall be very happy to learn under your tuition," replied Mr. Winkle. " Well, then, draw that little table into this window, and let me get out of hearing of those prosy politics." " Jane," said Mr. Pott, to the servant who brought in candles, " go down into the ofRce, and bring me up the file of the Gazette for Eighteen Hundred and Twenty Eight. I'U read you — " added the editor, turning to Mr. Pickwicks " I'U just read you a few of the leaders I wrote at that time upon the Buff job of appointing a new tollman to the turnpike here ; I rather think they'll amuse you." " I should like to hear them very much, indeed," said Mr. Pickwick. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 33 Up came the file, and down sat the editor, with Mr. Pickwick at his side. We have in vain pored over the leaves of Mr. Pickwick's note-book, in the hope of meeting with a general sunamary of these beautiful compositions. We have every reason to believe that he was perfectly enraptured with the vigour and freshness of the style ; indeed, Mr. Winkle has recorded the fact that his eyes were closed, as if with excess of pleasure, during the whole time of their perusal. The announcement of supper put a stop both to the game at ecarti, and the recapitulation of the beauties of the Eatanswill Gazette. 'Mip. Pott was in the highest spirits and the most agreeable humour. Mr. Winkle had already made considerable progress in her good opinion, and she did not hesitate to inform him, confidentially, that -Mr. Pickwick was " a delightful old dear." These terms convey a familiarity of expression, in which few of those who were intimately acquainted with that colossal-minded man, would have presumed to indulge. We have preserved them, nevertheless, as affording at once a touchingand a convincing proof of the estimation in which he was, held by every class pf society, and me ease with which he made his way to their hearts and feeUngs. It was- a latp hour of the nigl^it — long after Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had fallen asleep in the inmost recesses of the Peacock— when the two friends retired to rest. Slumber soon fell npon the senses of Mr. Winkle, but his feelings , had been excited, and his admiration roused ; and for many hours after sleep had rendered him insensible to earthly objects, the face and figure of the agreeable Mrs. Pott presentied themselves again and again to his wandering imagination. The noise and bustle which ushered in the morning, were sufficient to dispel from the mind of the most romantic visionary in existence, any associations but those which were immediately connected with the rapidly-approaching election. The beating of di;ums, the blowing of horns and trumpets, the shouting of men, and tramping of horses, echoed and re^-echoed through the streets from the earUe^t dawn of day ; and an occasional fight between the light skirmishers of either paxty at once enlivened the pre- parations and agreeably diversified their character. " Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, as his valet appeared at, his bedroom door, just as he was concluding his toilet ; " all alive to-day, I suppose ? " " Eeg'lar game, sir," replied Mr. Weller ; '* our people's a D 34 THE PICKWICK PAPERS col-lecting down at the Town Arms, and they're a hollering themselves hoarse already." " Ah," said Mr. Pickwick, " do they seem devoted , to their party, Sam ? " " Never see such dewotion in my life, sir." " Energetic, eh ? " said Mr. Pickwick. _ ' " Uncommon," replied Sam ; " I never see men eat and drink so much afore. I wonder they a'nt afeer'd o'bustin." " That's the mistaken kindjiess of the gentry here," said Mr. Pickwick. " Wery likely," replied Sam, briefly. " Fine, fresh, hearty fellows they seem," said Mr. Pickwick, glancing from the window. " Wery fresh," replied Sam ; " me, and the two waiters at the Peacock, has been a pumpin' over the independent woters as supped there last night." " Pumping ; over independent voters ! " exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. " Yes," said his attendant, " every man slept vere he fell down ; we dragged 'em out, one by one, this mornin', and put 'em under the pump, and they're in reg'lar fine order, now. ShiUin' a head the committee paid for that 'ere job." " Can such things be 1 " exclaimed the astonished Mr. Pickwick. " Lord bles5 your heart, sir," said Sam, " why where was you half haptized ? — that nothin', that a'nt." " Nothing ? " said Mr. Pickwick. "Nothin' at all, sir," replied his attendant. "The night afore the last day o' the last election here, the opposite party bribed the barmaid at the Town Arms, to hocus the brandy and water of fourteen unpolled electors as was a stoppin' in the house." * " What do you mean by ' hocussing ' brandy and water ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. " Puttin' laud'num in it," replied ISam. " Blessed if she didn't send 'em all to sleep till twelve hours arter the election was over. They took one man up to the booth, in a truck, fast asleep, by way of experiment, but it was no go — they wouldn't poll him; so they brought him back, and put him to bed again." " Strange practices, these," said Mr. Pickwick ; half speak- ing to himself and half addressing Sam. "Not half so strange as a miraculous circumstance as THE PICKWICK PAPERS 35 happened to my own father, at an election time, in this werry place, sir," replied Sam. " What was that ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. ' " Why he drove a coach down here once," said Sam ; " 'lection time came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring down woters from London. Night afore he was a going to drive up, committee on t'other side sends for him quietly, and away he goes vith the messenger, who shows him in ; — large room — ^Ibts of gen'l'm'n — Cheaps of papers, pens and ink, and all that 'ere, ' Ah, Mr. WeUer,' says the gen'l'm'n in the chair, 'glad to see you, sir; how are you?' — 'Werry well, thank'ee, sir,' says my father ; ' I hope you're pretty middlin,' says he.— 'Pretty well, thank'ee, sir,' says the gen'l'm'n; 'sit down, Mr. Weller — ^pray. sit down, sir.' So my father sits down, and he and the gen'l'm'n looks wery hard at each other. 'You don't remember me?' says the gen'l'm'n. — 'Can't say I do,' says my father. — 'Oh, I know you,' says the gen'l'm'n; 'know'd you when you was a boy,' says he. — 'Well, I don't remember you,' says my father.— ' That's very odd,' says the gen'l'm'n. — 'Werry,' says my father. — 'You must have a bad mem'ry, Mr, Weller,' says the gen'l'm'n. — 'WeU, it is a wery bad 'un,' says my father. — 'I thought so,' says thef gen'l'm'n. So then they pours him out a glass of wine, and gammons him about his driving, and gets him into a reg'lar good humour, and at last shoves a twenty-pound note in his hand. ' It's a werry bad road between this and London,' says the gen'l'm'n. — ' Here and there it is a heavy road,' says my father.^ — ' 'Specially near the canal, I think,' says the gen'l'm'n. — ' Nasty bit that 'ere,' says my father. — ' WeU, Mr. Weller,' says the gen'l'm'n, ' you're a wery good whip, and can do what you like with your horses, we know. We're aU wery fond o' you, Mr. Weller, so in case you should have an accident when you're a bringing these here woters down, and should tip 'em over into the canal vithout hurtin' of 'em, this is for yourself,' says he. — ' Gen'l'm'n, you're wery kind,' says my father, 'and I'll drink your health in another glass of wine,' says he ; wich he did, and then buttons up the money, and bows himself out. You wouldn't believe, sir," continued Sam, with a look of ine3q)ressible impudence at his master, " that on the wery day as he came down with them woters, his coach was upset on that 'ere wery spot, and ev'ry man on 'em was turned into the canal." " And got out again ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick, hastily. " Why," replied Sam, very slowly, " I rather think one old 36 THE PICKWICK PAPjERS gen'rm'n was missin' ; I know his hat was found, but I a'n't quite certain whether his head was in it or not. But what I look at, is the hextraordinary, and wonderful coincidence, that axter what that gen'l'm'ii said, my father's coach should be upset in that wery place, and on that wery day ! " " It is, no doubt, a very extraordinary circumstance indeed," said Mr. Pickwick. " But brush my hat, Sam, for I hear Mr. Winkle calling me to breakfast." With these words Mr. Pickwick descended to the parlour, where he found breakfast laid, and the family already assembled. The meal was hastily despatched ; each of the gentlemen's hats was decorated with an enormous blue favour, made up by the fair hands of Mrs. Pott herself; and as Mr. Winkle had under- taken to escort that lady to a house-top, in the immediate vicinity of the hustings, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Pott repaired alone to the Town Arms, from the back window of which, one of Mr. Slumkey's committee was addressing six small boys, and one girl, whom he dignified, at every second sentence, with the imposing title of " men of EatanswiU," whereat the six small boys aforesaid cheered prodigiously. , The stable-yard exhibited unequivocal symptoms of the glory and strength of the EatanswiU Blues. There was a regular army of blue flags, some with one handle, and some with two, exhibiting appropriate devices, in golden characters four feet high, and stout in proportion. There was a grand band of trumpets, bassoons, and drums, marshalled four abreast, and earning their money, if ever men did, especially the drum beaters, who were very muscular. There were bodies of con- stables with blue staves, twenty committee-men with blue scarfs, and a mob of voters with blue cockades. There were electors on horseback, and electors a-foot. There was an open carriage and four, for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey ; and there were four carriage and pair, for his friends and supporters ; and the flags were rustling, and the band was playing, and the constables were swearing, and the twenty committee-men were squabbling, and the mob were shouting, and the horses were backing, and the post-boys perspiring ; and everybody, and everything, then and there assembled, was for the special use, behoof, honour, and renown, of the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, one of the candidates for the representation of the Borough of EatanswiU, in the Commons House of Parliament of the United Kingdom. Loud and long were the cheers, and mighty was the rustling THE PICKWICK PAPERS 37 of one of the blue flags, with " Liberty of the Press " inscribed thereon, when the sandy head of Mr. Pott was discerned in one of the windows, by the mob beneath ; and tremendous was the enthusiasm when the Honourable Samuel Slumkey himself, in top-boots, and a blue neckerchief, advanced and seized the hand of the said Pott, and melodramatically testified by gestures to the crowd, his ineffaceable obligations to the Eatansmll Gazette. "Is everything ready?" said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to Mr. Perker. " Everything, my dear sir," was the little man's reply. " Nothing has been omitted, I hope ? " said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey. " Nothing has been left undone, my dear sir — nothing what- ever. There are twenty washed men at the street door for you to shake hands with ; and six children in arms that you're to pat on the head, and inquire the age of; be particular about the children, my dear sir, — ^it has always a great effect, that sort of thing." " I'U. take care," said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey. " And, perhaps, my dear sir — " said the cautious little man, " perhaps if you could— 1 don't mean to say it's indispensable — but if you could manage to kiss one of 'em, it would produce a very great impression on the crowd." "Wouldn't it have as good an effect if the proposer or seconder did that ? " said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey. " Why, I am afraid it wouldn't," replied the agent ; " if it were done by yourself, my dear sir, I think it would make you very popular." " Very well," said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with a resigned air, " then it must be done. That's all." " Arrange the procession," cried the twenty committee-men. Amidst the cheers of the assembled throng, the band, and the constables, and the committee-men, and the voters, arid the horsemen, and the carriages, took their places — each of the two- horse vehicles being closely packed with as many gentlemen as could manage to stand upright in it ; and that assigned to Mr. Perker, containing Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and about half a dozen of the committee beside. There was a moment of awful suspense as the procession waited for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to step into his carriage. Suddenly the crowd set up a great cheering. "He has come out," said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; 38 THE PICKWICK PAPERS the more so as their position did not enable them to see what was going forward. Another cheer, much louder. "He has shaken hands with the men," cried the little agent. Another cheer, far more vehement. " He has patted the babies on the head," said Mr. Perker, trembling with anxiety. A roar of applause that rent the air. " He has kissed one of 'em ! " exclaimed the delighted little man. A second roar. " He has kissed another," gasped the excited manager. A third roar, " He's kissing 'em all ! " screamed the enthusiastic little gentleman. And hailed by the deafening shouts of the multi- tude, the procession moved on. How or by what means it became mixed up with the other procession, and how it was ever extricated from the confusion consequent thereupon, is more than we can undertake to de- scribe, inasmuch as Mr. Pickwick's hat was knocked over his eyes, nose, and mouth, by one poke of a Buff flag-staff, very early in the proceedings. He describes himself as being sur- rounded on every side, when he could catch a glimpse of the scene, by angry and ferocious countenances, by a vast cloud of dust, and by a dense crowd of combatants. He represents himself as being forced from the carriage by some unseen power, and being personally engaged in a pugilistic encounter ; but with whom, or how, or why, he is wholly unable to state. He then felt himself forced up some wooden steps by the persons from behind ; and on removing his hat, found himself surrounded by his friends, in the very front of the left hand side of the hustings. The right was reserved for the Buff party, and the centre for the Mayor and his ofi&cers; one of whom — the fat crier of Eatanswill — was ringing an enormous bell, by way of commanding sUence, while Mr. Horatio Fizkin, and the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with th'eir hands upon their hearts, were bowing with the utmost affability to the troubled sea of heads that inundated the open space in front ; and from whence arose a storm of groans, and shouts, and yells, and hootings, that would have done honour to an earthquake. " There's Winkle,"^said Mr. Tupman, pulling his friend by the sleeve. /^ THE PICKWICK PAPERS 39 " Where ? " said Mr. Pickwick, pu|iting on his spectacles, which he had fortunately kept in his pocket hitherto. "There," said Mr. Tupman, "on the top of that house." And there, sure enough, in the leaden gutter of a tiled roof, were Mr. Winkle and Mrs. Pott, comfortably seated in a couple of chairs, waving their handkerchiefs in token of recognition— a compliment which Mr. Pickwick returned by kissing his hand to the lady. The proceedings had not yet commenced ; and as an inactive crowd is generally disposed to be jocose, this very innocent action was sufficient to awaken their facetiousness. " Oh, you wicked old rascal," cried one voice, " looking arter the girls, are yoi;i ? " " Oh, you wenerable sinner," cried another. P " Putting on his spectacles to look at a married 'ooman ! " said a third. "I see him a winkin' at her, with his wicked old eye," shouted a fourth. " Look arter your wife, Pott," bellowed a fifth ; — and then there was a roar of laughter. As these taunts were accompanied with invidious compari- sons between Mr. Pickwick and an aged ram, and several witticisms of the like nature ; and as they moreover rather tended to convey reflections upon the honour of an innocent lady, Mr. Pickwick's indignation was excessive ; but as silence was proclaimed at the moment, he contented himself by scorching the mob with a look of pity for their misguided minds, at which they laughed more boisterously tha,n ever. " Silence ! " roared the mayor's attendants. " Whiffin, proclaim silence," said the mayor, with an air of pomp befitting his lofty station. In obedience to this command the crier performed another concerto on the bell, whereupon a gentleman in the crowd called out " mufl^ns ; " which occasioned another laugh, " Gentlemen," said the Mayor, at as loud a pitch as he could possibly force his voice' to, "Gentlemen, Brother electors of the Borough of Eatanswill, We are met here to-day for the purpose of choosing a representative in the room of our late " 'Sere the Mayor was interrupted by a voice in the crowd, " Suc-cess to the Mayor ! " cried a voice, " and may he never desert the nail and sarspan busiaess, as he got his money by." 40 THE PICKWICK PAPERS This allusion to the professional pursuits of the orator was received with a storm of delight, which, with a bell-accompani- ment, rendered the remainder of his speech inaudible, with the exception of the concluding sentence, in which he thanked the meeting for the patient attention with which they had heard him throughout, — an expression of gratitude which elicited another burst of mirth, of about a quarter of an hour's duration. Next, a taU thin gentleman, in a very stiff white necker- chief, after being repeatedly desired by the crowd to " send a boy home, to ask whether he hadn't left his woice under the pillow," begged to nominate a fit and proper person to represent them in Parliament. And when he said it was Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Eizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill, the Eizkinites applauded, and the Slumkeyites groaned, so long, and so loudly, that both he and the seconder might have sung comic songs in lieu of speaking, without anybody's being a bit the wiser. The friends of Horatio^ Eizkin, Esquire, having had their innings, a little choleric, pink-faced man stood forward to propose another fit and proper person to represent the electors of Eatanswill in Parliament ; and very swimmingly the pink- faced gentleman would have got on, if he had not been rather too choleric to entertain a sufficient perception of the fun of the crowd. But after a very few sentences of figurative eloquence, the piak-faced gentleman got from denouncing those who interrupted him in the mob, to exchanging defiances with the gentlemen on the hustings ; whereupon arose an uproar which reduced him to the necessity of expressing his feelings by serious pantomime, which he did, and then left the stage to his seconder, who delivered a written speech of half an hour's length, and wouldn't be stopped, because he had sent it all to the Eatanswill (ra3e^ie,^and the Matanswill Gazette had already printed it, every word. Then Horatio Eizkin, Esquire, of Eizkin Lodge, near Eatans- will, presented himself for the purpose of addressing the electors ; which he no sooner did, than the band employed by the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, commenced performing with a power to , which their strength in the morning was a trifle ; in return for which, the Buff crowd belaboured the heads and shoulders of the Blue crowd; on which the Blue crowd en- deavoured to dispossess themselves of their very impleasant neighbours the Buff crowd; and a scene of struggling, and THE PICKWICK PAPERS 41 pushing, and fighting, sncpeeded, to which we can no more do justice than the Mayor could, although he used imperative orders to twelve constahles to seize the ringleaders, who might amount in number tojtwo hundred and, fifty, or thereabouts. At all these encounters, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Eizkin Lodge, and his friends, waxed fierce and furious; until at last Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, begged to ask his opponent the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, whether that band played by his consent ; which question the Honourable Samuel Slumkey declining to answer, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, shoo.k his fist in the coun- tenance of the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slunikey Hall ; upon which the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, his blood being up, defied Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, to inortal combal At this violation of all known rules and precedents of order, the Mayor commanded another fantasia on the bell, and declared that he would bring before himself, both Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, and the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Ha.ll, and bind them over to keep the peace. Upon this terrific denunciation, the supporters of the two candidates interfered, and after the friends of each party had quarrelled in pairs, for three-quarters of an hour, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, touched his hat to the Honourable Samuel Slunxkey: the Honourable Samuel Slumkey touched Ms to Horatio Fizkin, Esquire : the band was.>topped : the Crowd were partially quieted : and Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, was permitted to proceed. , The speeches of the two candidates, though differing in every other respect, afforded a beautiful tribute to the nierit and high worth of the electors of Eatan^will. Both expressed their opinion that a more independeiit, a more enlightened, a more public-spirited, a more noble-minded, a more disinterested set of men than those who had promised to vote for him, never existed on earth; each darkly hiuted his suspicions that the electors in the opposite interest had certain swinish and bespotted infirmities which rendered them unfit for the exercise of the important duties they were called upon to discharge, Fizkin expressed his readiness to do anything he was wanted ; Slumkey, his determination to do nothing that was asked of him. Both said that the trade, the manttfactUres; the commerce, the prosperity of Eatanswill, would ,^yer be dearer to their hearts than any earthly .object ; and each had it in his power to state, with the utmost confidence, that he was the man who would eventually be returned. 42 THE PICKWICK PAPERS There was a show of hands ; the Mayor decided in favour of the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey HaU. Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, demanded a poU, and a poll was fixed accordingly. Then a vote of thanks was moved to the Mayor for his able conduct in the chair ; and the Mayor devoutly wishing that he had had a chair to display his able conduct in (for he had been standing during the whole pro- ceedings), returned thanks. The processions re-formed, the carriages rolled slowly through the crowd, and its members screeched and shouted after them as their feelings or caprice dictated. During the whole time of the polling, the town was in a perpetual fever of excitement. Everything was conducted on the most liberal and delightful scale. Exciseable articles were remarkably; cheap at all the public-houses; and spring vans paraded the streets for the accommodation of voters who were seized with any temporary dizziness in the head — an epidemic which prevailed among the electors, during the contest, to a most alarming extent, and under the influence of which they might frequently be seen lying on the pavements in a state of utter insensibility. A smaU body of electors remained unpolled on the very last day. They were calculating and reflecting persons, who had not yet been convinced by the arguments of either party, although they had had frequent conferences with each. One hour before the close of the poll, Mr. Perker solicited the honour of a private interview with these intelligent, these noble, these patriotic men. It was granted. His arguments were brief, but satisfactory. They went in a body to the poU ; and when they returned, the Honourable Samuel^Slumkey, of Slumkey HaU, was returned also. _^, _ Mr. Pickvrick and Sam Weller take a journey to Ipswich, in company of a red-haired gentleman of the name of Magnus, and their coach stops at the Great White Horse Inn, where they dismount. The inn is well named, for it is of enormous size, and the rooms and passages in it are innumerahle. Mr. Pickwick is expecting to meet his friends here, but as they have not yet arrived, he and Mr. Magnus agree to dine together in a private room, down a long dark passage. After a pleasant evening, during which Mr. Magnus THE PICKWICK PAPERS 43 becomes confidential, they part for the night; Mr. Magnus retiring " in com- pany with a japanned candlestick to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick and another japanned candlestick were conducted, through a multitude of tortuous mndings, to another." Ill MR. PICKWICK AND THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY " This is your room, sir," said the chamber-^maid. " Very well," replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was a tolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire ; upon the whole, a more comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's short experience of the accommodations of the Great White Horse had led him to' expect. "Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course," said Mr^ Pickwick. " Oh no, sir." "Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night." "Yes, sir." And bidding Mr. Pickwick good night, the chamber-maid retired, and left him alone. Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell into a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his friends, and wondered whether they would joia him; then his mind reverted to Mrs. Martha BardeU; and from that lady it wandered, by a natural process, to the dingy counting- house of Dodson and Fogg. From Dodson and Fogg's it flew off at a tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client ; and then it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep. So he roused himself, and began to imdress, when he recollected he had left his watcsh on the table downstairs. Now, this watch was a special favourite with Mr. Pickwick, having been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, for a greater number of years than we feel called upon to state at present. The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pUlow, or in the watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick's brain. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which' he had just 44 THE PICKWICK PAPERS divested himseK, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietly downstairs. The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratu- late himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore ; room after room did he peep into ; at length, as, he was on the point of giving up the. search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property on the table. Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace his steps to his bed-chamber. If his progress down- ward had been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely more perplexiug. Eows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape, make, and size, branched off in every possible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bed-room door which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within of " Who the devil's that ? " or " What do you want here ? " caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted his atten- tion. He peeped in. Eight at last ! There were two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire stiU burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered away in the drafts of air through which he had passed, and sank into the socket as he closed the door after him. " No matter," said Mr. Pickwick, " I can undress myself just as well by the light of the fire." The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door ; and on the inner side of each was a UttleJ^ath, terminating in a rush- bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a person's getting into, or out. of bed, on that side, if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, 'Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly drawing on his tasseied night-cap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chin the strings which he always had attached to that article of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck upon his mind. Throwing THE PICKWICK PAPERS 45 himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr, Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles that expanded his' amiable features as they shone forth" from beneath the night-cap. " It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himqelf, smiling till he almost cracked the night-cap strings : " It is the best; idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about thos^, staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll." Herej' Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped by a most ynexpected interruption; to wit, the entrance into the ropmipf some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing table, and set down the, light upon it. .,_,-.. . The smile that played .on Mr. Pipkwick's features was in- stantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder- stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so little, noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be ? A robber ? Some evil-minded person who had seen him come up-stairs with a handsome watch in, his hand, perhaps. What was he to do ! The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on the opposite side. Tp this manoeuvre hp accordingly resorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of him coiild be seen than his face and night-cap, and putting on his spectacles, hp mustered up coiiragp, ajxd looked out. , Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady, iii yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their " back-hair." However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it wa^ quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night ; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basjn on the floor, wliere it,, was ghmmering away, like a gigantic light-house in a particularly small piece of water. " Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, " what a dreadful thing!" 46 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " Hem ! " said tlie lady ; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with automaton-like rapidity. " I never met with anything so awful as this," thought poor Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his night-cap, " Never. This is fearful." It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was worse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair ; had carefully enveloped it in a muslin night-cap with a small plaited border; and was gazing pensively on the fire. "This matter is growing alarming," reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself. " I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession of that lady, it is clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room. If I call out, she'll alarm the house ; but if I remain here the consequences will be still more frightful." Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his night-cap to a lady overpowered him, but he had tied those confounded strings in a knot, and, do what he would, he couldn't get it off. The disclosure must be made. There was only one other way of doing it. He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out very loudly^ — • "Ha— hum!" That the lady started at this unexpected soimd was evident, by her falling up against the rush-light shade ; that she per- suaded herself it must have been the effect of imagination was equallyl clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on the fire as before. "Most extraordinary female this," thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in again. " Ha — ^hum ! " These last pounds, so like those in which, as legends inform tis, the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible to he again mistaken for the workings of fancy. "Gracious Heaven!" said the middle-aged lady, "what's that?" " It's — it's — only a gentleman, Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick from behind the curtains. "A gentleman ! " said the lady with a terrific acream. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 47 " It's all over ! " thought Mr. Pickwick. " A strange man ! " shrieked the lady. Another instant and the house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door. " Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremity of his desperation, "Ma'am ! " Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good effect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near th^ door. She must pass it, to reach the stair- case, and she would most undoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr, Pickwick's night- pap driven her back into the remotest corner of the apartment, where she stood staring wildly at Mr, Pickwick, while Mr, Pickwick in his turn stared wUdly at her. " Wretch," said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, " what do you want here ? " "Nothing, Ma'am; nothing, whatever. Ma'am;" said Mr, Pickwick earnestly. " Nothing ! " said the lady, Ipoldng up. "Nothing, Ma'am, upon my honour," said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so energetically that the tassel of his night-cap danced again. " I am almost ready to sink, Ma'am| beneath the confusion of addressing a lady in my night-cap (here the lady hastUy snatched off hers), but I can't get it off. Ma'am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug, in proof of the statement). It is evident to me, Ma'am, now, that I have mistaken this bed-room for my own. I had not been here five minutes. Ma'am, when you suddenly entered it." " If this improbable story be reaUy true, sir," said the lady, sobbing violently, " you will leave it instantly." "I wiU, Ma'am, with the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick. " Instantly, sir," said the lady. " Certainly, Ma'am," interposed Mr. Pickwick very quickly. "Certainly, Ma'am. 1 — I — am very sorry. Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, " to have been the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry. Ma'am." The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick's character was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over his night-cap, after the manner of the old 48 THE PICKWICK PAPERS patrol ; althougli he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and ■waistcoat over his arm ; nothing could subdue his native politeness. "I am exceedingly sorry, Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low. " If you are, sir, you will at once leave the room," said the lady. "Immediately, Ma'am; this instant, Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, openiag the door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in so doing. " I trust, Ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and turning round to bow again : " I trust, Ma'am, that my unblemished character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this " But before Mr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked and bolted. the door behind him. Whatever grounds of self-congratulatipn . Mr. Pickwick might have for having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his present position was by no means enviable. . He was alone, in an open passage, in a strange house, in the middle of the, night, half-dressed ; it was not to be supposed that he could find his, way in perfect darkness to a room which he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if he made the slightest, noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of being shot at, and perhaps kiUed, by some wakeful traveller. He had no resource but to remain where he was until daylight appeared. So after groping his way a few paces down the passage, and, to his infinite , alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for morning as philosophically as he might. He was not destiaed, however, to undergo this additional trial of patience : for he had not been long ensconced in, his present , concealnient when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly cpnverted into joy, however, when he recognised the form of his faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who after sitting up thus late, in conversation with the Boots, who was sittiag up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest. " Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, " Where's my bed-room 1 " Mr. WeUer stared at his master with the most emphatic THE PICKWICK PAPERS 49 surprise ; and it waa not until the question had been repeated three several times, that he turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment. " Sam," said Mr. Pickwick as he got into bed. " I have made one of the most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of." " Wery likely, sir," replied Mr. Weller drily. "But of this I am determined, Sam," said Mr, Pickwick; " that if I were to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself about it, alone, again." " That's the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, sir," replied Mr. Weller. " You rayther want somebody to' look arter you, sir, when your judgment goes out a wisitin'," " What do you mean by that, Sam ? " said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something more ; but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet " Good night." "Good night, sir," replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside the door — shook his head-^walked on — stopped — snuffed the candle — shook his head again— and finally pro- ceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation. Mr. Pickwick and his three friends, have met at Manor Farm during the Christmas holidays, a charming young lady with black eyes, named Miss Arabella AUen. Her brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his friend, Mr. Bob Sawyer, two medical students, also come upon a visit to Mr. Wardle, their host. Before leaving Manor Farm, Mr. Bob Sawjer invites Mr. Pickwick and his followers to a bachelor's party which he is to give at his lodgings in Lant Street, Borough, where he hopes to receive " a few medical fellows." Mr. Pickwick accepts the invitation for himself and his friends, and they keep their engagement. IV MR. BOB sawyer's BACHELOR's PARTY ^' Mr. Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his first-floor front, early on the evening for which he had invited ]5^r. Pickwlcjj ; and }llx, Ben Allen the other. The preparations 50 THE PICKWICK PAPERS for the reception of visitors appeared to be complete. The umbrellas in the passage had been heaped into the little corner outside the back-parlour door; the bonnet and shawl of the landlady's servant had been removed from the banisters ; there were not more than two pairs of pattens on the street-door mat, and a kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burnt cheerfully on the ledge of the staircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself purchased the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had returned home preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the possibility of their delivery at the wrong house. The ptinch was ready-made in a red pan in the bed-room ; a little table, covered with a green baize cloth, had been borrowed from the parlour, to play at cards on ; and thej glasses of the establishment, together with those which had been borrowed for the occasion from the public-house, were all drawn up in a tray, which was deposited on the landing outside the door. Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. Bob Sawyer, as he sat by the fire-side. There was a sympathising expression, too, in the features of Mr. |Ben Allen; as he gazed intently on the coals ; and a tone of melancholy in his voice, as he said, after a long silence : " Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited tiU to-morrow." " That's her malevolence, that's her malevolence," returned Mr. Bob Sawyer, vehemently. " She says that if I can afford to give a party I ought to be able to pay her confounded 'little bill.'" " How long has it been running ? " inquired Mr. Ben Allen, A bill, by the bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that the genius of man ever produced. It would keep On running during the longest lifetime, without ever once Stopping of its own accord. " Only a quarter, and a month or so," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. Mr. Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a search- ing look between the two top bars of the stove. " It'U be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head to let out, when those fellows are here, won't it ? " said Mr. Ben Allen at length. " Horrible," replied Bob Sawyer,- " horrible." A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyeij THE PICKWICK PAPERS 51 looked expressively at his friend, and bade the tapper come in ; whereupon a dirty slipshod girl in black cotton stockings, who might have passed for the neglected daughter of a superannuated dustman in very reduced circumstances, thrust in her head/and said, "Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Kaddle wants to speak to you." ' Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl suddenly disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her a violent pull behind; this mysterious exit was no sooner accomplished, than there was another tap lat the door — a smart, pointed tap, which seemed to say, "Here I am, and in I'm coming." / Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced at his frietfd with a look of abject apprehension, and once more cried " Come in." The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. Bob Sawyer had uttered the words, a little fierce woman bounced into the room, all in a tremble with passion, and pale with rage. " Now, Mr. Sawyer/' said the little fierce woman, trying to appear very calm, " if you'll have the kindness to settle that little bill of mine I'll thank you, because I've gdt my rent to pay this afternoon, and my landlord's awaiting below now." Here the little woman rubbed her hands, and looked steadily over Mr. Bob Sawyer's head, at the wall behind him. ■ "I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Eaddle," said Bob Sawyer, deferentially, " but " " Oh, it isn't any inconvenience," replied the little woman, with a shrill titter. " I didn't want it particular before to-day; leastways, as it has to go t(i jny landlord directly, it was as well for you to keep it, as me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and every gentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, sir, as of course anybody as calls himseK a gentleman, does." Mrs. Eaddle tossed her head, bit her Hps, rubbed her hands harder, and looked at the wall more steadily than ever. It was plain to see, as Mr. Bob Sawyer remarked In a style of eastern allegory on a subsequent occasion, that she was " getting the steam up." " I'm very sorry, Mrs. Eaddle," said Bob Sawyer with all imaginable humility, "but the fact is, that I have been dis- appointed in the City to-day." — Extraordinary place that City. An astonishing number of men always are getting disappointed there. 52 THE PICKWICK PAPERS "Well, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs, Eaddle, planting herself firmly on a purple cauMower in the Kidderminster carpet, " and what's that to me, sir ? " " I — I — have no doubt, Mrs. Eaddle," said Bob Sawyer, blinking this last question, "that before the middle of next week we ahall be able to set ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better system, afterwards." This was all Mrs. Eaddle wanted. She had bustled up to the apartment of the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going into a passion, that, in all probability, payment would have rather disappointed her than otherwise. She was in excellent order for a little relaxation of the kind : having just exchanged a few introductory compliments with Mr. E. in the front kitchen. " Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs, Eaddle, elevating her voice for the information of the neighbours, "do you suppose that I'm a going day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings as never thinks of paying his rent, nor even the vei;y money laid out for the fresh butter and lump sugar that's bought for his breakfast, and the very mUk that's took in, at the street door? Do you suppose a hardworking and indus- trious woman as has lived in this street for twenty year (ten year over the way, and nine year and three quarter in this very house) has nothing else to do, but to work herseK to death after a parcel of lazy idle fellars that are always smoking and drinking, and lounging, when they ought to be glad to turn their hands to anything that would help 'em pay their bills ? Do you " ^" My good soul," interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen, soothingly. " Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, sir, I beg," said Mrs. Eaddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of hsr speech, and addressing the third party with impressive slowness and solemnity. "I am not aweer, sir, that you have any right to address your conversation to me. I don't think I let these apartments to you, sir." " No, you certainly did not," said Mr. Benjamin Allen. " Very good, sir," responded Mrs. Eaddle, with lofty polite- ness. " Then p'raps, sir, you'U confine yourself to breaking the arms and legs of the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself to yourself, sir, or there may be some persons here as will make you, sir." " But you are such an unreasonable woman," remonstrated Mr. Benjamin Allen. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 53 " I beg your parding, young man," said Mrs. Eaddle, in a cold perspiration of anger. " But will you have the goodness jiist to call me that again, sir ? " "I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma'am," replied Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his own account. " I beg your parding, young man," demanded Mrs. Eaddle in a louder and more imperative tone. " But who do you call a woman ? Did you make that remark to me, sir ? " " Why, bless my heart ! " said Mr. Benjamin Allen. " Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir ? " inter- rupted Mrs. Eaddle, with intense fierceness, and throwing the door wide open. " Why, of course I did," replied Mr. Benjamin Allen. "Yes, of course you did," said Mrs; Eaddle, backing gradually to the door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the special behoof of Mr. Eaddle in the kitchen. " Yes, of course you did ! And everybody knows that they may safely insult me in my own 'ouse while my husband sits sleeping down-stairs, and taking no more notice than if I was a dog in the streets. He ought to be ashamed of himself (here Mrs. Eaddle sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated in this way by a parcel of young cutters and carvers of live people's bodies, that disgraces the lodgings (another sob), and leaving her exposed to all manner of abuse; a base, faint-hearted, timorous wretch, that's afraid to come up-stairs, and face the ruffinly creature — that's afraid — that's afraid to come ! " Mrs. Eaddle paused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt had aroused her better half, and, finding that it had not been successful, proceeded to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable : when there came a loud double knock at the street door : whereupon she burst into an hysterical fit of weeping, accompanied with dismal moans, . which was prolonged until the knock had been repeated six times, when, in an uncontrollable burst of mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas, and disappeared int6 the back parlour, closing the door after her with an awful crash. " Does Mr. Sawyer live here ? " said Mr. Pickwick, when the door was opened. " Yes," said the girl, " first floor. It'a the door straight afore you, when you gets to the top of the stairs." Having given this iastruction, the handmaid, who had been brought up aniong the aboriginal inhabitants of Southwark, disappeared, with the candle in her hand, down the kitchen stairs : perfectly satisfied 54 THE PICKWICK PAPERS that she had done everything that could possibly be required of her under the circumstances. Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after several ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain ; and the friends 'stumbled up-stairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been afraid to go down, lest he should be waylaid by Mi's. Eaddle. " How are you ? " said the discomfited student. " Glad to see you, — take care of the glasses." This caution was addressed to Mr. Pickwick, who had put his hat in the tray. " Dear me," said Mr. Pickwick, " I beg your pardon." J ' "Don't mention it, don't mention it," said Bob Sawyer, " I'm rather confined for room here, but you must put up with all that, when you come to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You've seen this gentleman before, I think ? " Mr. Pickwick shook hands with Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his friends followed his example. They had scarcely taken their seats when there was another double knock. "I hope that's Jack Hopkins!" said Mr. Bob Sawyer. " Hush. Yes, it is. Come up. Jack ; come up." I A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins presented himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat> with thunder-and-Hghtning buttons ; and a blue striped shirt, with a white false collar. " You're late, Jack ? " said Mr. Benjamin AUen. " Been detained at Bartholomew's," replied Hopkins. " Anything new ? " " No, nothing particular. Kather a good accident brought into the casualty ward." " What was that, sir ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick, " Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs' window ; — but it's a very fair case — very fair case indeed." " Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover ? " inquired Mr, Pickwick. "No," replied Hopkins, carelessly. "No, I should rather say he wouldn't. .There must be a splendid operation though, to-morrow — magnificent sight if Slasher does it." " You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator ? " said Mr. Pickwick. "Best alive," replied Hopkins, "Took a boy'a leg out of the socket last week— ^boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake — exactly two minutes after it was all over, boy said he THE PICKWICK PAPERS 55 wouldn't lie there! to be made a game of, and he'd tell his mother if they didn't begin." "Dear me !" said Mr. Pickwick, astonished. "Pooh! That's nothing, that ain't," said ; Jack Hopkins. « Is it, Bob 1" " Nothing at all," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. "By the bye, Bob," said Hopkins, with a scarcely per- ceptible glance at Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, "we had a curious accident last night. A child was brought in, who had swallQwed a necklace." " Swallowed what, sir ? " interrupted Mr. JPickwick. "A necklace," replied Jack Hopkins. "Not all at once, you know, that would be too much — ym couldn't swallow .that, if the child did — eh, Mr. Pickwick, ha ! ha ! " Mr. Hopkins appeared highly gratified with his own pleasantry; and con- tmued. "No, the way was this, jffl^^d's parents were pooi? people who lived in a court. Chffl^ eldest sister bought a necklace ; common necklace, made cffllarge black wooden beads. Child, being fond of toys, cribbed me necklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and swallowed a bead. Child thought it capital fun, went back next day, and swallowed another bead." "Bless my heart," said Mr. Pickwick, "what a dreadful thing ! I beg your pardon, sir. Go on." " Next day, child swallowed two beads ; the day after thatj he treated himself to three, and so on, till in a week's time he had gob through the necklace — ^flve-and-twenty beads in alL The sister, who was an [industjious girl, and seldom treated herself to a bit of finery, cried.her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace ; looked high and low for it ; but, I needn't say, didn't find it A few days afterwards, the faniily were at diianer — ■ baked shoulder of mutton, and potatoes' under it-^the child, who wasn't hungry, was playing about the room, when suddenly • there was heard a devU of a noise, like a small haU storm, '^ont do that, my boy,' said the father. 'I ain't a doin' nothing,' said the child. ' Well,' don't do it again,' said the father. There was a short silence, and then the noise began again, worse than ever. ' If you don't mind what I say, my boy,' said the father, ' you'll find yourself in bed, in something less than a pig's whisper,' He gave the child a shake to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as nobody ever heard before. ' Why, damme, it's m the child ! " said the father, ' he's got the croup in the wrong place!' 'No, I haven't, father,' 56 THE PICKWICK PAPERS said the child, beginning to cry, ' it's the necklace ; I swallowed it, father.' — The father caught the child up, and ran with him to the hospital: the beads in the boy's stomach rattling all the way with the jolting ; and the people looking up in the air, and down in the cellars, to see where the unusual sound came from. He's in the hospital now," said Jack Hopkins, " and he makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're obliged to mufle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should wake the patients ! " " That's the most extraordinary case I ever heard of," said Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table. " Oh, that's nothing," said Jack Hopkins ; " is it. Bob ? " I ;, ■ " Certainly not," repKed Mr. Bob Sawyer. " Very singular things occur in our profession, I can assure you, sir," said Hopkins. "So I should be disposed to imagine," replied Mr. Pickwick. Another knock at the door, announced a large-headed young man in a black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in a long stock. The next comer was a gentleman in a shirt em- blazoned with pink anchors, who was closely followed by a pale youth with a plated watchguard. The arrival of a prim person- age in clean linen and cloth boots rendered the party complete. The little table with the green baize cover was wheeled out ; the first instalment of punch was brought in, in a white jug ; and the succeeding three hours were devoted to vvngt-et-wi at six- pence a dozen, which was only once interrupted by a slight dispute between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman with the pink anchors ; in the course of which, the scorbutic youth intimated a burning desire to pull the nose of the gentleman with the emblems of hope : in reply to which, that individual expressed his decided unwillingness to accept of any " sauce " on gratuitous terms, either from the irascible young gentleman with the scorbutic countenance, or any other person who was ornamental with a head. When the last " natural "had been declared, and the profit and loss account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satis- faction of all parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitors squeezed themselves into corners while it was getting ready. It was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine. Rrst of all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen asleep with her face on the kitchen table ; this took a little time, THE PICKWICK PAPERS 57 and, even when she did answer the bell, another quarter of an hour was consumed in fruitless endeavours to impart to her a faint and distant glimmering of reason. The man to whom the order for the oysters had been sent, had not been told to open them ; it is a very difBicult thing to open an oyster with a limp knife or a two-pronged fork ; and very little was done in this way. Very little of the beef was done either ; and the ham (which was also from the German-sausage shop round the comer) was in a similar predicament. However, there was plenty of porter iu a tin can ; and the cheese went a great way, for it was very strong. So upon the whole, perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such matters usually are. After supper, another jug of punch was put upon the table, together with a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles of spirits. Then, there was an awful pause; and this awful pause was occasioned by a very common occurrence in this sort of places, but a very embarrassing one notwithstanding. The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses. The establish- ment boasted four; we do not record the circumstance as at all derogatory to Mrs. Eaddle, for there never was a lodging- house yet, that was not short of glasses. The landlady's glasses were little thia blown glass tumblers, and those which had been borrowed from the public-house were great, dropsical, bloated articles, each supported on a huge gouty leg. This would have been in itself sufficient to have, possessed the company with the real state of affairs ; but the young woman of all work had pre- vented the possibility of any nusconception arising in the mind of any gentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging every man's glass away, long' before he had finished his beer, and audibly stating, despite the winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob Sawyer, that it was to be conveyed dqwn-stalrs, and washed forthwith. It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim man in the cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting to make a joke during the whole time the round game lasted, saw his opportunity, and availed himself of it. The instant the glasses disappeared, he commenced a long story about a great public character, whose name he had forgotten, making a parti- cularly happy reply to another eminent and illustrious individual whom he had never been able to identify. He enlarged at some length and with great minuteness upon divers collateral circumstances, distantly connected with the anecdote in hand, but for the life of him he couldn't recollect at that precise S8 THE PICKWICK PAPERS moment what the anecdote was, although he had been in the habit of telling the story with great a,pplause for the last ten years. ' " Dear me," said the prim man in the cloth boots, " it is a very extraordinary circumstance." " I am sorry you have forgotten it," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, glancing eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise of glasses jingling ; " very sorry." ., "So am I," responded the prim man, "because I know it would have"iaflbrded so much amusement. Never mind ; I dare say I shall manage to recollect it, in the course of half-an-hour or so." The prim man arrived at this point, just as the glasses came back, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attention during the whole time, said he should very much like to hear the end of it, for, so far as it went, it was, without exception, the very best story he had ever heard. The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree of equanimity which he had not possessed since his interview with his landlady. His face brightened up, and he began to feel quite convivial. " Now, Betsy," said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and dispersing at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses the girl had collected in the centre of the table ; " now, Betsy, the warm water: be brisk, there's a good girl." " You, can't have no warm water," replied Betsy. " No warm water ! " exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer. " No," said the girl, with a shake of the head which ex- pressed a, more decided negative than the most copious language could"have conveyed. " Missis Kaddle said you warn't to have none." The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests imparted new courage to the host. " Bring up the warm water instantly — instantly ! ", said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with desperate sternness. "No. I can't," replied the girl; "Missis Eaddle raked out the kitchen fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle." *' Oh, never mind ; never mind. Pray don't disturb yourself about such a trifle," said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of Bob Sawyer's passions, as depicted in his countenance, " cold water will do very well." " Oh, admirably," said Mr. Benjamin Allen. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 59 " My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mental derangement)" remarked Bob Sawyer with a ghastly gmile; " and I fear I must give her warning." "No, don't," aaid Ben Allen. " I fear I must," said Bob with heroic firmness. " TU pay her what I owe her, and give her warning to-morrow morning." Poor feUow ! how devoutly he wished he could ! Mr. Bob Sawyer's heart-sickening attempts to rally under this last blow, communicated a dispiriting influence to the company, the greater part of whom, with the view of raising their spirits, attached themselves with extra cordiality to the cold brandy and water, the first perceptible effects of which were displayed in a renewal of hostilities between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman in the shirt. The belligerents vented their feelings of mutual contempt, for some time, in a variety of frownings and snortings, until at last the scorbutic youth felt it necessary to come to a more explicit understanding on the matter ; when the following clear ^inderstandirig took place. " Sawyer," said the scorbutic youth, in a loud voice. " WeU, Noddy," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. " I should be very sorry. Sawyer," said Mr, Noddy, " to create any unpleasantness at any friend's table, and much less at yours. Sawyer— very ; but I must take this opportunity of informing Mr. Gunter that he is no gentleman." " And I should be very sorry, Sawyer, to create any dist turbance in the street in which you reside," said Mr. Gunter, "but I'm afraid I shall be under the necessity of alarming the neighbours by thioYdng the person who has just spoken, out o' window." " What do you mean by that, sir ? " inquired Mr. Noddy. "What I say, sir," replied l&r. Gunter. "I should IDie to see you do it, sir," said Mr. Noddy. "You shall feel me do it in half a minute, sir,", replied Mr. Gunter. " I request that you'll favour me with your card, sir," said Mr. Noddy. ' " ru do nothing of the kind, sir," replied Mr. Gunter. " Why not, sir ? "inquired Mr. Noddy. "Because you'll stick it up over your chimney-piece, and delude your visitors into the false belief that a gentleman has been to see you, sir," replied Mr. Gunter. " Sir, a aiend of mine shall wait on you in the morning," said Mr. Noddy. 6o THE PICKWICK PAPERS "Sir, I'm very much obliged to you for the caution, and I'll leave particidar directions with the servant to lock up the spoons," replied Mr. Gunter. At this point the remainder of the guests interposed,' and remonstrated with both parties on the impropriety of their con- duct ; on which . Mr. Noddy begged to state that hislfather was quite as respectable as Mr. Gunter's father ; to which Mr. Gunter replied that his father was to the fuU as respectable as Mr. Noddy's father, and that his father's son was as good a man as Mr. Noddy, any day^n the week. As this announcement seemed the prelude to a recommencement of the dispute, there was another interference on the part of the company ; and a vast quantity of talking and clamouring einsued, in the course of which Mr. Noddy gradually allowed his feelings to overpower him, and professed that he had ever entertained a devoted personal attachment towards Mr. Gunter. To this Mr. Gunter replied that, upon the whole, he rather preferred Mr. Noddy to his own brother; on hearing which admission, Mr. Noddy magnanimously rose from his seat, and proffered his hand to Mr. Gunter. Mr. Gunter grasped it with affecting fervour ; and everybody said that the whole dispute had been conducted in a manner which was highly honourable tp both parties concerned. "Now," said Jack Hopkins, "just to set us going again. Bob, I don't mind singiag a song." And Hopkins, incited thereto, by tumultuous applause, plunged himself at once into "The King, God bless Mm," which he sang as loud as he could, to a novel air, compounded of "The Bay of Biscay," and a "A Eueg he would." The chorus was the essence of the song ; and, as each gentleman sang it to the tune he knew best, the effect was very striking indeed. It was at the end of the chorus to, the first verse, that Mr. Pickwick held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as soon as sUence was restored, " Hush ! I beg your pardon. I thought I heard somebody calling from up-stairs." A profound silence immediately ensued ; and Mr. Bob Sawyer was observed to turn pale. " I think I hear it now," said Mr. Pickwick. " Have the goodness to open the door." The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject was removed. " Mr. Sawyer ! Mr. Sawyer ! " screamed a voice from the two-pair landing. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 6i "It's my lajadlady," said Bob Sawyer, looking round him with great dismay. " Yes, Mrs. Eaddle." " What do you mean by this, Mr., Sawyer ? " replied the voice, with great shrillness and rapidity of utterance. " Ain't it enough to be swindled out of one's rent, and money lent out of pocket besides, and abused and insulted by your friends that dares to caU themselves men : without having the house turned out of window, and noise enough made to bring the fire-, engines here, at two o'clock in the morning? — Turn them wretches away." "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said the voice of Mr. Eaddle, which appeared to proceed from beneath some distant bed-clothes. " Ashamed of themselves ! " said Mrs. Eaddle. " Why don't you go down and knock 'em every one down-stairs ? You would, if you was a man." " I should .if I was a dozen men, my dear," replied Mr. Eaddle, pacifically, "but they've the advantage of me in numbers, my dear." "Ugh, you coward!" repHed Mrs. Eaddle, with supreme contempt. " Bo you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer ? " "They're going, Mrs. Eaddle, they're going," said the miserable Bob. "I am afraid you'd better go," said Bob Sawyer to his friends. " I thought you were making too much noise." " It's a very unfortunate thing," said the prim man. " Just as we were getting so comfortable too ! " The prim man was just beginning to have a dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten. , "It's hardly to be borne," said the prim man, looking round. " Hardly to be borne, is it ? " "Not to be endured," replied Jack Hopkins; "let's have the other verse. Bob. Come, here goes ! " "No, no, Jack, don't," interposed Bob Sawyer; "it's a capital song, but I am afraid we had better not have the jOther verse. They are very violent people, the people of the jhouse." , " Shall I step up-stairs, and pitch into the landlord 1 " inquired Hopkins, "or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the -staircase ? You may command me, Bob." " I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and good nature, Hopkins," said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, 62 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " but I think the best plan to avoid any furthw dispute is for us to break up at once." "Now, Mr. Sawyer I" screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Eaddle, " are them brutes going ? " " They're only looking for their hata, Mrs. Eaddle," said Bob ; *' they're going directly." " Going 1 " said Mrs. Eaddle, thrusting her night-cap over the banister just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr.] Tupman, emerged from the sitting-room. "Going! what did they ever come for ? " " My dear ma'am," remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up. " Get along with you, you old wretch 1 " replied Mrs. Eaddle, hastily withdrawing the night-cap. "Old enough to be his grandfather, you willin ! You're worse than any of 'em." Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so hurried down-stairs into the street, whither he was closely followed by Mr. Tuprdan, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. The visitors having aU departed, in compliance with the rather pressing request of Mrs. Eaddle, the luckless Mr. Bob Sawyer was left alone, to meditate on the probable events of to-morrow, and the pleasures of the evening. "We have arrived at the interesting point in Mr. Pickwick's history, when an action for breach of promise of marriage is brought against him by Mrs. Bardell ; and although the following scene is extremely well known, it is quoted here, because no account of Mr. Pickwick seems to be complete without its introduction. V BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK "Bardell and Pickwick," cried the gentleman in black, calling on the case, which stood first on the list. " I am for the plaintiff, my Lord," said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz. "Who is with you, brother Buzfuz ? "^ said the judge. Mr. Skimpin bowed, to intimate that he was. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 63 " I appear for the defendant, my Lord," said Mr. Serjeant Snubbin. "Anybody with, you, brother Snubbin?" inquired the court. " Mr. Phunky, my Lord," replied Serjeant Snubbin, "Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin for the plaintiff," said the judge, writing down the names in his note-book, and reading as he wrote; "for the defendant, Serjeant Snubbin and Mr. Monkey." " Beg you Lordship's pardon, Phunky." ' " Oh, very good," said the judge ; " I never had the pleasure* of hearing the gentleman's name before." Here Mr. Phunky bowed and smiled, and the judge bowed and smiled too, and then Mr. Phunky, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, tried to look as if he didn't know that everybody was gazing at him : a thing which no man ever succeeded in doing yet, or in all reasonable probability, ever will. "Go. on," said the judge. The ushers again called sUeince, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded to " open the case ; " and the case appeared to have very little inside it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he knew, completely to himself, and sat down, after a lapse of three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced stage of wisdom as they were in before. Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and having whispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the Serjeant , Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole course of his professional experience — never, from the very first moment of his applying himself to the study, and practice of the law — ^had he approached a case with feelings of such deep emotion, or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility im- posed upon him — a responsibility, he would say, which he could never have supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction so strong that it amounted to positive certainty that the cause of truth and justice, or, in other words, the cause of his much-injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with the high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw in that box before him. Counsel usually begin in this way, because it' puts the jury on the very best terms with themselves, and makes them think what sharp fellows they must be. A visible effect was 64 THE PICKWICK PAPERS produced immediately; several jurymen beginning to take voluminous notes with the utmost eagerness. " You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen," con- tinued Serjeant Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the learned friend alluded to, the gentlemen of the jury had heard just nothing at all — "you have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at £1500. But you have not heard from my learned friend, inasmuch as it did not come withiu my learned friend's province to tell you, what are the facts and circumstances of the case. Those facts and cir- cumstances, gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and proved by the unimpeachable female whom I wUl place in that box before you." Here Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis on the word "box," |smote his table with a mighty sound, and glanced at Dodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration of the Serjeant, and indignant defiance of the defendant. "The plaintiff, gentlemen," continued Serjeant Buzfuz, in a soft and melancholy voice, " the plaintiff is a widow ; yes, gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for many years, the esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians of his royal revenues, glided almost imper- ceptibly from the world, to seek, elsewhere for that repose and peace which a custom-house can never afford." At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who had been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a public-house cellar, the learned Serjeant's voice faltered, and he proceeded with emotion — / " Some time before his death, he had stamped his likeness upon a little boy. With this little boy, the ordy pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, and courted the retirement and tranquillity of Goswell Street ; and here she placed ia her front parlour-wiadow a written placard, bearing this inscription — 'Apartments furnished for a single gentleman. Inquire within.'" Here Serjeant Buzfuz paused, while several gentlemen of the jury took a note of the document. " There is no date to that, is there, sir ? " inquired a juror. "There is no date, gentlemen," replied Serjeant Buzfuz; "but I am instructed to say that it was put in the plaintiff's parlour-window just this time three years. I entreat the at- tention of the jury to the wording of this document. ' Apart- ments furnished ion a single gentlenjaq, ' ! Mrs. BardeU's, THE PICKWICK PAPERS 65 opiniona of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable quaUtiea of her lost husband; She had no fear — she had no distrust — she had no suspicion — all was confidence and reliance. 'Mr. Bardell,' said the widow; 'Mr. Bardell was a man of honour — Mr. Bardell was a man of his word — Mr. Bardell was no deceiver — Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort, and for consola- tion — in siagle gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let.' Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse (among. the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught the innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the biU up in her parlour-window. Did it remain there long ? No. The serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was at work. Before the biU had been in the parlour- window three days- — three days — gentlemen — a Being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the very next day he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick — Pickwick, the defendant." Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility that his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. Arhe silence awoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh, who immediately / wrote down something with a pen without any ink in it, and looked imusuaUy profound, to impress the jury with the belief that he always thought most deeply with his eyes shut. Serjeant Buzfuz proceeded, "Of this man Pickwick I wUl say little; ithe subject presents but few attrsictions ; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness, and of systematic villainy." Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some time, gave a violent start, as if some vague idea of assault- ing Serjeant Buzfuz, in the august presence of justice and law, suggested itseK to his mind. An admonitory gesture from Perker restrained him, and he listened to .the learned gentle- man's continuation with a look of indignation, which contrasted F 66 THE PICKWICK PAPERS forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins ' and Mrs. Sanders. " I say systematic villainy, gentlemen," said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking through Mr. Pickwick, and talking at him ; " and when I say systematic vUlainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am ioformed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in better taste, if he had stopped away. Let me teU him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court wiE. not go down with you ; that you wiU know how to value and how to appreciate them ; and let me tell him further, as my Lord will tell you, gentle- men, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be intimidated nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other, or the first, or the last, wUl recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson." This little divergence from the subject in hand, had of course the intended effect of turning aU eyes to Mr. Pick- wick. Serjeant Buzfuz, having partially recovered from the state of moral elevation into which he had lashed himself, resumed : " I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear, when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many occasions, he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences, to her little boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and, after inquiring whether he had won any alley tors or commoneys lately (both of which I understand to be a particular species of marbles much prized by the youth of this town), made use of this remarkable expression : ' How shotdd you like to have another father ? ' I shall prove to you, gentlemen, that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself from home, d\iring long intervals, as if with the intention of gradually breaking off from my client ; but I THE PICKWICK PAPERS 67 shall show you also, that his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong, or that his better feelings conquered, if better feelings he has, or that the charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his unmanly intentions ; by proving to you, that on one occasion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms, offered her marriage : previously, however, taking special care that there, should be. no witness to their solemn contract ; and I am ia a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own friends, — most iinwiUing witnesses, gentlemen — ^most unwUling- witnessesv— that on that momiag he was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and endearments." A visible impression was produciBd upon the auditors by this part of the learned Serjeant's address. Drawing forth two very small scraps of paper, he proceeded — "And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in the hand-writing of the defendant, and which speak volumes indeed. These letters, too, bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervent, eloquent epistles, breath- ing nothing but the. language of affectionate attachment. They are covert, sly, underhanded communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive than if couched in . the most glowing language and the most poetic imagery— letters that must be viewed with a cautious . and suspicious eye — ^letters that were evidently intended at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first :: — ' Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B. — Chops, and Toniata sauce. Yours, PlOKWlOK.' Gentle^ men, what does this mean ? Chops and Tomata sauce. Yours, Pickwick! Chops! Gracious heavens! and Tomata sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these ? The next has no date whatever; which is in itself suspicious. ' Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be at hoine tUl to-morrow. Slow coach.' And then follows this very remarkable expression. ' Don't trouble yourseK about the warming-pan.' The^ warming-pan ! Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan ? When was the peace of mind of man or Woman broken or. dis- turbed liqr.a warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful, and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic furniture? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to 68 THE PICKWICK PAPERS agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire — a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a precon- certed system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion, and which I am not in a condition to explain ? And what does this allusion to the slow coach mean ? For aught I know, it may be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you ! " Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the jury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer, whose sensitiveness on the subject was very pro- bably occasioned by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question on that identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered it advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before he concluded. " But enough of this, gentlemen," said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, " it is difficult to smile with an aching heart ; it is Ul jesting when our deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone indeed. The bill "is down — but there is no tenant. EKgible single gentlemen pass and repass — but there is no invitation for them to inquire within or with- out. All is gloom and silence within the house ; even the voice of the child is hushed j,Jiis infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps ; his ' alley tors ' and his ' commoneys ' are alike neglected ; he forget the long familiar cry of ' knuckle down,' and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street — Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward — Pick- wick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless Tomata sauce and warming-pans — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen — heavy damages^is the only punishment with which you can visit him ; the only recom- pense you can award to my client. And for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right- feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a con- templative jury of her qivilised countrymen." With this THE PICKWICK PAPERS 69 beautiful peroration, Mr, Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh woke up, " Call Elizabeth Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a minute afterwards, with renewed vigour. The iiearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins ;' another one, at a little distance off, demanded EUzabeth Jupkins ; and a third rushed in a breathless state into King Street, and screamed for Elizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse. Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr, Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was hoisted into the witness-box ; and when she was safely perched on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood on the bottom one, with the pocket handkerchief and pattens in one hand, and a glass bottle that might hold about|a quarter of a pint of smelling salts in the other, ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes were intently fixed on the judge's face, planted herself close by, with the large umbrella : keeping her right thumb pressed on the spring with an earnest countenance, as if she were fully prepared to put it up at a moment's notice. " Mrs. Cluppins," said Serjeant ^Buzfuz, " pray compose yourself, ma'am." Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose herself she sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave divers alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit, or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being ' too many for her. " Do you recoUect, Mrs. Cluppins ? " said Seqeant Buzfuz, after a few unimportant questions, " do you recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in July last, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment ? " "Yes, my Lord and Jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins. "Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe ? " " Yes, it were, sir," replied Mrs. Cluppins. " What were you doing in the back room, ma'am ? " inquired the little judge. "My Lord and Jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting agitation, " I will not deceive you." " You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge. "I was there," resumed Airs. Cluppins, "unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pound , of red kidney purbaties which was three pound tuppense ha'penny, when I see Mrs. BardeU's street door on the jar." 70 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " On the what ? " exclaimed the little judge. " Partly open, my Lord," said Serjeant Snubbin. "She said on the jar," said the little judge, with a cunning look. " It's all the same, my Lord," said Serjeant Snubbin. The little judge looked doubtful, and said he'd make a note of it. Mrs. Gluppins then resumed — "I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good momin', and went, in a permiscuous manner, up-staifs, and into the back room. Gentlemen, there was the sound of voices in the front room, and " "And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Gluppins?" said Serjeant Buzfuz. "Beggin' your pardon, sir," replied Mrs. Gluppins, in a majestic manner, " I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, sir, and forced themselves upon my ear." "Well, Mrs. Gluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the voices. Was one of those voices, Pickwick's %" " Yes, it were, sir." And Mrs. Gluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated, by slow degrees, and by dint of many questions, the conversation with which our readers are already acquainted. The jury looked suspicious, and Mr, Serjeant Buzfuz smiled and sat down. They looked positively awful when Serjeant Snubbin intimated that he should not cross-examine the witness, for Mr. Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was due to her to say, that her account was in substance correct. Mrs. Gluppins having -once broken the ice, thought it a favourable opportunity for entering into a short dissertation on her own domestic affairs; so, she straightway proceeded to inform the court that she was the mother of eight children at that present speaking, and that she entertained confident expectations of presenting Mr. Gluppins with a ninth, some- where about that day six months. At this interesting point, the little judge interposed most irascibly ; and the effect of the interposition was, that both the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were poUtely taken out of court, under the escort of Mr. Jackson, without further parley. " Nathaniel Winkle ! " said Mr. Skimpin. "Here!" replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered the witness-box, and having been duly sworn, bowed to the judge with considerable deference. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 71 "Don't look at me, sir," saidthe judge, sharply, in aoknow- ledginent of the salute ; " look at the jury." Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place where he thought it, mpst probable the jury might be; for seeing anything in his then state of intellectual complication was wholly out of the; question. - -, :[:i'i: . Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being a promising young man of two or three and forty, was of course anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed in favour of the other side^ as much as he could. " Nowj sir," said Mr. Skimpid,. "have the goodness: to let his Lordship and the jury Ifnaw what your name is, will you ? " and Mr. Skimpin inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the answer, and glanced at the jury mean- while, as if to imply 'that he rather expected Mr. Winkle's natural taste foi; perjury would induce him to give some name which did not belong to him. " Winkle," replied the witness. . " What's your Christian name, sir ? " angrily inquired the little judge. "Nathaniel, sir." " Daniel, — any other name ? " " Nathaniel, sir — my Lord, I mean." " Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel ? " " No, my Lord, only Nathaniel ; not Daniel at all." "What did you tell. me it was Daniel for, then, sir?" inquired the judge. ; " I didn't, my Lord," replied Mr. Winkle. "You did, sir," replied , the , judge, with a severe frown. " How could I have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, sir?" , , This argument, was, of course, unanswerable. " Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord," inter- posed.Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. " We shall find means to refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say." ; "You had better be careful,' sir," said the little judge, with a sinister loojs at the witness- Poor Mir. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easiness of manner, wfhich, in his then state of confusion, gave him rather the air of a disconcerted pickpocket. "Now, Mr. Winkle,", said Mr. Skimpin, "attend to me, if you please, sir ; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, 72 THE PICKWICK PAPERS to bear in mind Ms Lordship's injunction to be carefal. I believe you are a particular friend of Pickwick, the defendant, are you not ? " ; "I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this moment, nearly " " Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or are you not, a particular friend of the defendant's ? " " I was just about to say, that " " WUl you, or will you not, answer my question, sir ? " " If you don't answer the question you'll be committed, sir," interposed the little judge, looking over his note-book. " Come, sir," said Mr. Skimpin, " yes or no, if you please." " Yes, I am," replied Mr. Winkle. " Yes, you are. And why couldn't you say |that at once, sir ? Perhaps you know the plaintiff, too ? Eh, Mr. Winkle ? " " I don't know her ; I've seen her." " Oh, you don't know her, but you've seen her ? Now, have the goodness to tell'the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that, Mr. Winkle." "I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick in Goswell Street." " How often have you seen her, sir ? " "How often?" " Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often ? I'll repeat the question for you a dozen times, if you require it, sir." And the learned gentleman, with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled suspiciously at the jury. On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating, customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times, to which he replied, "Certainly, — more than that." Then he was asked whether he hadn't seen her a hundred times — whether he couldn't swear that he had seen her more than fifty times — whether he didn't know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times — and so forth; the satis- factory conclusion which was arrived at, at last, being, that he had better take care of ;himself, and mind what he was about. The witness having been by these means reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination was continued as follows : THE PICKWICK PAPERS 73 " Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember oalliag on the de- fendant Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiffs house in Goswell Street, on one particular morning, in the month of Julylast?" "Yes, I do." . "Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the name of Tupman, and another of the name of Snodgrass ? " "Yes, I was." "Are they here?" " Yes, they are," replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly towards the spot where his friends were stationed. "Pray attend to' me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends," said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look at the jury. " They must tell their stories without any previous con- sultation with you, i^ none has yet taken place (another look at the jury). Now, sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering the defendant's room, on this particular morn- ing. Come ; out with it, sir ; we must have it', sooner or later." " The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holdiag the plaintiff in his arms, with his hands clasping her waist," replied Mr. Winkle, with natural hesitation, "and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away." " Did you hear the defendant say anything ? " " I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I' heard him ask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if anybody should come, or words to that effect." " Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you, and I beg you to bear in mind his Lordship's caution. Will you undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say on the occasion in question, 'My dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good creature ; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation you must come,' or' words to that effect? " " I — I didn't understand him so, certainly," said Mr. Winkle, astounded at this ingenious dovetailing of the few words he had heard. " I was on the staircase, and couldn't hear distinctly ; the impression on my mind is " "The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of fittle ser- vice to honest, straightforward men," interposed' Mr. Skimpin. " You were on the staircase, and didn't distinctly hear ; but you wiU not swear that Pickwick, did. not make use of the expressions I have quoted ? Do I understand that ? " ' 74 THE PICKWICK PAPERS " No, I will not," replied Mr. Winkle ; and down sat Mr. Skimpin with a triumphant countenance. Mx. Pickwick's case had not gone off in so particularly happy a manner up to this point that it could very well afford to have any additional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could afford to be J)laced in a xAthev hetter Hght, if possible, Mr. Phunky rose for the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out of him, will immediately, appear. "I believe, Mr. Winkle," said Mr. Phunky, "that Mr. Pickwick is not a young man ? " " Oh no," replied Mr. Winkle ; " old enough to , be my father." , . " You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr. Pickwick a long time. -Had you ever any reason to suppose or believe that he was about to be married ? " .; "Oh, no ; certainly not," replied Mr. Winkle with so much eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold that there are two kinds of partifcula,rly bad witnesses: a reluctant witness, and a taorwilling witness.; it was Mr, Winkle's fate to figure in both characters. " I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle," continued Mr. Phunky in a most smooth and complacent manner. " Did you ever see anything in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct towards the opposite sex, to induce you to believe that he ever contemplated matrimony of late years, in ?iny case ? " " Oh no ; certainly not," replied Mr. Winkle. .., . "Has his behaviour, when. females have been in the case, always been that of a man, who, having attained a pretty advanced period of life, content with his own occupations and amuseinents, treats them only as a father might his daughters ? " " Not the least doubt of it," replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of his heart. " That is — yes — oh yes — ^certainly." "You have never known anything in his behaviour towards Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree sus- picious ? " said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down ; for Serjeant Shubbin was winking at iiim. "N — n — no," replied Mr. Winkle, " except on one trifling occasion, which, I have no doubt, might be easUy explained." , : Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when Serjeant Snubbin winked at Hiioa^ or if Sergeant Buzfuz had stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which he THE PICKWICK PAPERS 75 knew better tlian to do; observing Mr. Winkle's anxiety, and well knowing it would, in all probability, lead to something serviceable to him), this unfortunate admission would not have been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. WinkLe's lips, Mr. Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped' him. " Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay ! "said Serjeant Buzfuz, " will your Lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of suspicious behaviour towards females on the part of this gentleman, who is old enough to be his father, was ? " "You hear what the learned counsel says, sir," observed the judgey turning to the miserable and agonised Mr, Winkle. " Describe the occasion to which you refer." " My Lord," said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, " I — I'd rather not." ' " Perhaps so," said the little judge ; " but you must." Amid the! profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winkle faltered out, that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr. Pickwick's being found in a lady's sleeping apartment at mid- night; which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of the projected marriage of the lady in question, and had led, he knew, to the whole party being forcibly carried before George Nupkins, Esq., magistrate and justice of the peace, for the borough of Ipswich ! " You may leave the box, sir," said Serjeant Snubbin. Mr. Winkle did leave the box, and rushed with delirious haste to the George and Vulture, where he was discovered some hours after, by the waiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal manner, with his head buried beneath the sofa cushions. Tracy Tupman; and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally called into the box ; both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy friend ; and each was driven to the verge of desperation by excessive badgering. '■ Susannah Sanders was then called, arid examined by Serjeant Buzfuz, and cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin. Had always said and believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. Bardell ; knew that Mrs. Bardell's being engaged to Pickwick was the current topic of conversation in the neighbourhpod, after the fainting in July ; had been told it herself* by Mrs. Mudberry which kept a mangle, and Mrs. Bunkin which clear- starched, but did not see either Mrs. Mudberry or Mrs. Bunkin in court. Had heard Pickwick ask the little boy how he should 76. THE PICKWICK PAPERS like to have another father. Did not know that Mrs. BardeU was at that time keeping company with the baker, but did know that the baker was then a single man and is now married. Couldn't swear that Mrs. Bardell was not very fond of the baker, but should think that the baker was not very fond of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn't have married somebody else. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morning in July, because Pickwick asked her to name the day; knew that she (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr^ Sanders asked her to name the day, and believed that everybody as called herself a lady would do the same, under similar circumstances. Heard Pickwick ask the boy the question about the marbles, but upon her oath did not know the difference between an alley tor and a commoney. By the Court. — During the period of her keeping company with Mr. Sanders, had received love letters, like other ladies. In the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called her a " duck," but never " chops," nor yet " tomata sauce." He was particidarly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of chops and tomata saucOj he might have called her that, as a tdrm of affection. ' Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had yet exhibited, if that were possible, and vociferated, "Call Samuel Weller." It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller ; for Samuel Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was pronounced ; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on the rail, took a bird's-eye view of the bar, and a comprehensive survey of the bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect. " What's your name, sir ? " inquired the judge. " Sam Weller, my Lord," replied that gentleman. "Do you spell it with a 'V or a 'W'1" inquired the judge. " That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my Lord," replied Sam ; " I never had occasion to spell it more than once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a ' V.' " Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, " Quite right too, Samivel, quite right. Put it down a we, my Lord, put it down a we." "Who is that, who dares to address the court?" said the little judge, looking up. " Usher," " Yes, my Lord." THE PICKWICK PAPERS 77 " Bring that person here instantly." " Yes, my Lord." ■" But as the usher didn't find thejperson, he didn't bring him ; and, after a great commotion, all the people who had got up to look for the culprit, sat down again. The little judge, turned to the witness as soon as his indignation would allow him Jo speak, and said — " Do you know who that was, sir ? " " I iayther suspect it was my father, my Lord," replied Sam. " Do you see him here now ? " said the judgeJ " No, I don't, my Lord," replied Sam, staring right up into the lantern in the roof of the court. " If you could have pointed him out, I would have com- mitted him instantly," said the judge. Sam bowed his acknowledgitoents and turned, with un- impaired cheerfulness of countenance, towards Serjeant Buzfuz. " Now, Mr. WeUer," said Serjeant Buzfuz. " Now, sir," replied Sam,. "I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant in this case. Speak up, if you please, Mr. WeUer." " I mean to speak up, sir," replied Sam ; " I am in the service 0' that 'ere gen'l'm'n, and a wery good service it is." "Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose ? " said Serjeant Buzfuz, with jocularity. " Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam. " You must not tell us what the soldier, or any other man, said, sir," interposed the judge ; " it's not evidence." "Wery good, my Lord,". replied Sam. "Do you recollect anything particular happening 'on the morning when you were first engaged by the defenqaiit ; eh, Mr. Weller ? " said Serjeant Buzfuz. " Yes I do, sir," replied Sam. " Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was." "I had a reg'lar new fit out o' clothes that momin', gen'l'm'n of the jury," said Sam, "and that was a wery partickler. and uncommon circumstance vith me in those days." Hereupon there was a general laugh ; and the little judge, looking with an angry countenance over his desk, said, "You had better be careful, sir." " So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my Lord," replied Sam ; "and I was wery careful o' that 'ere suit 0' clothes;- wery careful indeed, my Lord." 78 THE PICKWICK PAPERS The judge looked sternly at Sam for fuU two minutes; but Sam's features were so perfectly calm and serene that the judge said nothing, and motioned Serjeant Buzfuz to proceed. "Do you mean to tell me, Mr. WeUer," said Serjeant Buzfuz, folding his arms emphatically, and turning half-round to the jury, as if in mute assurance that he would bother the witness yet: "Do^you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of this fainting on the part of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant, which you have heard described by the witnesses ? " " Certainly not," replied Sam, " I was in the passage till they called me up, and then the old lady was not there." " Now, attend, Mr. WeUer," said Serjeant Buzfuz, dipping a large pen into the inkstand before him, for the purpose of frightening Sam with a show of taking down his answer. " You were in the passage, and yet saw nothing of what was going forward. Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller ? " " Yes, I have a pair of eyes," replied Sam, " and that's just it. If they wos a pair o' patent double million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'raps I might be able to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door ; but bein' only eyes, you see, my wision's limited." At this answer, which was delivered without the slightest appearance of irritation, and with the most complete simplicity and equanimity of manner, the spectators tittered, the little judge smiled, and Serjeant Buzfuz looked particularly^ foolish. After a short consultation with Dodson and Fogg, the learned Serjeant again turned towards Sam, and said, with a paidful effort to'conceal his vexation, " Now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask you a question on. another point, if you please." " If you please, sir," rejoined Sam, with the utmost good- humour. " Do you remember going up to Mrs, BardeU's house, one night in November last ? " " Oh yes, wery well." "Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller," said Serjeant Buzfuz, recovering his spirits; "I thought we should get at something at last." " i rayther thought that, too, sir," replied Sam ; and at tMs the spectators tittered again. " Well ; I suppose you went up to have a little talk about this trial — eh, Mr. Weller?" said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly at the jury. THE PICKWICK PAPERS 79 " I went up to pay the rent ; biit we did get a talkin' about the trial," replied Sam. " Oh, you did get a talking about the trial," said Sergeant Buzfuz, brightening up with the anticipation of some important discovery. "Now what passed about the trial; wiU you have the goodness to tell us, Mr. WeUerl" ■/ . " Vith all the pleasure in life, sir," replied Sam.. " Arter a few unimportant obserwations from the two wirtuous females as has been examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a very, great state 0' admiration at the honourable conduct of Mr. Dodson and T"ogg — ^them two gen'l'm'n as is settin' near'you now." Thig, of coui^se, drew general attention to Dodson and Togg, who looked as virtuous as possible. '' ".The attorneys for the plaintiff/' said Mr. Serjeant Buzftiz. " Well ! They spoke in high praise of the honourable conduct of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiff, did they?" "Yes," said Sam, "they said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge nothing at aU for costs, unless they 'got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick." ■ ' . At this very unexpected reply, the' spectators tittered again, and Dodson arid Fogg, turning very red, leant over to Serjeant Buzfuz, and in a hurried manner whispered something in his ear. ■ . ^ ; "You are qtute right," said Serjeant Buzfuz aloud, with affected composure. " It's perfectly useless, my Lord, attempting to get at any evidence through the impenetrable stupidity of this witness. I will not trouble the court by asking him any more qttestions. Stand down, sir." [ r " Wotild any other gen'l'm'n like to ask me anythin' ? " inquired Sam, taking up his hat, and looking round most deliberately. ^ • + " Not I, Mr, Weller, thank you," said 'Serjeant Snubbin, laughing. ■ .- " You vaaf go down, sir," said Serjeant Buzfuz, waving his hand impatiently. Sam went down accordingly, after doing Messrs. Dodson and Fogg's case as much harm as he con-' Veniently' could, and saying just as little respecting Mr. Pickwick as might be, which was precisely the object he had had in view all along. "I have no objection to admit, iny Lord," said Serjeant Snubbin, "if it wiU save the examination of another witness. 8o THE PICKWICK PAPERS that Mr. Pickwick haa retired from business, and is a gentleman of considerable independent property." " Very well," said Serjeant Buzfuz, putting in the two letters to be read, " then that's my case, my lord." Serjeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant; and a very long and a very emphatic address he delivered, in which he bestowed the highest possible eulogiums on the conduct and character of Mr. Pickwick ; but inasmuch as our readers are far better able to form a correct estimate of that gentleman's merits and deserts, than Serjeant Snubbin could possibly be, we do not feel called upon to enter at any length into the learned gentleman's observations. He attempted to show that the letters which had been exhibited, merely related to Mr. Pickwick's dinner, or to the preparations for receiving him in his apartments on his return from some country excursion. It is sufficient to add in general terms, that he did the best he could for Mr. Pickwick ; and the best, as everybody knows, on the infallible authority of the old adage, could do no more. Mr. Justice Stareleigh ' summed up, in the old-established and most approved form. He read as much of his notes to the jury as he could deciphei: on so short a notice, and made running comments on the evidence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell were right, it was perfectly clear that Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and if they thought the evidence of Mrs. Oluppins worthy of credence they would believe it, and, if they didn't, why they wouldn't. If theyi were satisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had been committed, they would find for the plaintiff with such damages as they thought proper ; and if, on the other hand, it appeared to them that no promise of marriage had ever been given, they would find for the defendant with no damages at all. The jury then retired to their private room to talk the matter over, and the judge retired to Ms private room, to refresh himself with a mutton chop and a glass of sherry. An anxious quarter of an hour elapsed ; the jury came back ; the jndge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, and gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance and a quickly beating heart. , "Gentlemen," said the individual in black, "are you all. agreed upon your verdict ? " " We are," replied the foreman. "Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant ? " THE PICKWICK PAPERS 8i " For the plaintiff." " With what damages, gentlemen ? " " Seven hundred and fifty pounds." Mr. Pickwick took off his , spectacles, carefully wiped the glasses, folded them into their case, and put them in his pocket ; then having drawn on his gloves with; great nicety, and stared at the; foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker and the blue bag out of court. . . . Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to be led by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there assisted into a hackney-coach, which had been fetched forithe purpose, by the ever-watchful Sam Weller. Sam had put up the stepp, and was preparing to jump upon the box, when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder ; and looking round, his father stood before him. The old gentleman's countenance wore a mournful expression, as he shook his head gravely, and said, in warning accents — " I know*d what ,'ud come o' this here mode o' doin' bisness. Oh Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi ! " BOOK III OLIVER TWIST OR THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS By BOZ Under this title, the story Erst appeared in Benttey's Miscellany, 1837 and 1838, but in the latter yearj when it was brought out in book form, it Was called Oliver Twist. By Gha/rles Dickens. From this time my father dropped the Boz, and substituted his own signature to all his- writings. The tale was illustrated by George Cruikshank. A third edition, with a preface, was published by Messrs. Chapman and Hall. Oliver Twist, whose name is invented and bestowed upon him by Mr. Bumble, the parish beadle, is born in a workhouse' and his poor young mother dies in giving him birth. After her death :one of the workhouse nurses steals from the body a wedding ring, and a gold locket, with the word " Agnes " engraved on the inside, which also contains two locks of hair. When this woman is herself dying, she confesses to the matron what she has done, and she dies with the pawnbroker's duplicate for the trinkets in her hand. The matron, who is a worldly wise woman, thinks " something may come of this," and she redeems the articles, keeping the secret to herself until late in the book, when she discloses it to a man named Monks, who has his own reasons for hating Oliver and wishing him ill. Meanwhile the little orphan has shared the fate of many poor children who at the time his history was written, were brought up by the parish authorities. He is ill-treated and half-starved, and after suffering years of misery, is apprenticed to a Mr. Sowerberry, from whose service he runs away, the result of a quarrel he has had with a fellow apprentice, a wretched bully of a boy, who has the impudence to insult tlie memory of Oliver's mother. Oliver, usually a gentle-tempered lad, fires up at this, and after soundly punishing his cowardly enemy, leaves Mr. Sower- berry's shop and wanders away, he knows not whither. He walks for seven days, and reaches Bamet quite exhausted ; he sits down to rest on a doorstep, and notices that an odd-looking boy from the other side of the road is closely observing him. Presently the boy crosses over to where he is, and addresses him in the following words : — I OLIVER TWIST MEETS THE ARTFUL DODGER AT BARNET " Hullo, my covey ! What's the row ? " The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer, was about his own age : but one of the queerest looking boya Si OLIVER TWIST 83 thafc Oliver had ever seen; He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced bojr enough; and as d.wty_ a juvenile as one would wish to see ; but- he had about him aU the airs and manners of a man. He was short of his age : with rather bow- legs, and little, ' sharp, ugly eyes. ,, His hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightly, that it threatened to faU off every moment — and would have done so, very often> if the wearer had not had a knack of every now land then giving his head a sudden twitch, which brought it back to its old place again. He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands out of the sleeves : apparently with the ultimate view of thrust- ing them into the pockets of his corduroy trousers ; for there he kept them. He was, altogether, as roystering and swagger- ing a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six, or something less, in his bluchers. "Hullo, my covey! What's the row?" said this strange young gentleman to OhiVer. "I am very hungry and tired," replied Oliver: :the tears standing in his eyes as he spoke. ■" I have Walked a long \fray. I have been walking these seven days." "Wajking forsivin days!" said the young gentleman. "Oh, I see. JBeak's .order, eh? But," he added, noticing Oliver's look of surprise, "I suppose you don't know what a beak is, my flash compan-i-on." ' Oliver mildly replied* irthat hei had always heard a bird's mouth described by the term, in question." "My eyes, how green!" exclaimed the young gentleman. " Why, a beak's a tag,dg'strate ; and when you walk by a beak's order, it's not straight forerd, but always^ agoing up,, and nivir a coming down agin. Was you never on the mill ? " . .; " What mill ? " inquired Oliver. , . "What mill ! Why, the mill-^thfe mill as takes up so little room that it'll work inside a. Stone Jug ; and always goes better when the wind's low with people, than when. it's high; acos then.t^ey can't get workmen. But come," said, the young gentleman.; "you want grub> and you shall have it. I'm at low-water-mark, myself— only one bob. and a magpie; but, as far CIS it goes,,;I'U fork out and stump. Up with you on your pins.. There! Now then!, Morrice!" Assisting Oliver to rise,- the young gentleman took him to an adjacent chandler's shop, where he purchased a sufficiency of ready-dressed ham and. a half-quartetn loaf, or, aa h6 himself 84 OLIVER TWIST expressed it, " a fourpenny bran ! " the ham being kept clean and preserved from dust, by the ingenious expedient of making a hole in the loaf by pulling out a portion of the crumb, and stuffing it therein. : Taking the bread under his arm, the young gentleman turned into a small public-house, and led the way to a tap-room in the rear of the premises. Here, a pot of beer was brought in, by direction of the mysterious youth; and Oliver, falling to, at his new friend's bidding, made a long and hearty meal, during the progress of which, the strange boy eyed him from time to time with great attention. " Going to London ? " said the strange boy, when Oliver had at length concluded. "Yes." " Got any lodgings ? " "No." " Money ? " "No." The strange boy whistled ; and put his arms Into his pockets, as far as the big coat-sleeves would let them go. " Do you live in London ? "inquired Oliver. "Yes. I do, when I'm at home," replied the boy, "I suppose you want some place to sleep in to-night, don't you ? " "I do, indeed," answered Oliver. "I have not slept under a roof since I left the country." "Don't fret your eyelids on that score," said the young gentlemaii. " I've got to be in London to-night ; and 1 know a 'spectable old genelman as lives there; wot'U give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the ■ change— -that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you. And don't he know ine ? Oh, no ! Not in the least ! By ho means. Certainly not ! " The young gentleman smUed, as if to intimate that the latter fragments of discourse were playfully ironical; and finished the beer as he did so. This unexpected ofifer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted ; especially as it was immediately followed up, by the assurance that the old gentleman already referred to, would doubtless provide Oliver with a comfortable place, without loss of time.- . This led to a more friendly and confidential dialogue ; from which Oliver discovered that his friend's name was Jack Dawkins, and that he was a peculiar pet and proteg& of the eldeply gentleman before mentioned. Mr. Dawkins's appearance did not say a vast deal in favour of the comforts which his patron's interest obtained for those OLIVER TWIST 85 whom he took under his protection; but, as he ha4 a rather flighty and dissolute mode of conversing, and furthermore avowed that among his intimate friends he was better known by the sobriquet of "The Artful Dodger," Oliver concluded that, being of a dissipated and careless turn, the moral precepts of his benefactor had hitherto been thrown away upon him. Under this impression, he secretly resolved to cultivate the good opinion of the old gentleman as quickly as possible ; a,nd, if he found the Dodger incorrigible, as he more than haK suspected he should, to decline the honour of his further acquaintance. As John Dawkins objected to their entering London before nightfall, it was nearly eleven o'clock when they reached the turnpike at Islington. They crossed from the Angel into St. John's Eoad; struck down the small street which terminates at Sadler's Wells Theatre ; through Exmouth Street and Coppice ■Eow ; down the little court by the side of the workhouse ; across the classic ground which once bore the name of Hockley-in-the- Hole ; thence into Little Saffron HOI ; and so into Saffron Hill the Great: along which the Dodger scudded at a rapid pace, directing Oliver to foUow close at his heels. Although Oliver had enough to occupy his attention in keeping sight of his leader, he could not help bestowing a few hasty glances on either side of the way, as he passed along. A dirtier or more wretched : place he had never seen. . The street was very narrow^^nd muddy, and the agjyas jmpregn ated with filthy odours. There were a gOod many smaTTsn^^ but the onlystock in trade appeared to be heaps of children, who, even at that time "^^T^j^bJl ;?PrP :ffff'^^'"8 ^^ "".d ^pii^^^ the doors, or screaming from the inside. Tte sole places that seemed to prosper, aimSTthe general blight of the place, were the public-houses ; and in them, the lowest orders of Irish were wrangling with might and main. Covered ways and yards, which here and there diverged from the main street, disclosed little knots of houses, where drunken men and women were positively wallowing in filth; and from several of the door- ways, great ill-looking fellows were cautiously emerging, bound, to all appearance, on no very well-disposed or harmless errands. Oliver was just considering whether he hadn't better run away, when they reached the bottom > of the bill. His con- ductor, catching him by the arm, pushed open the door of a house near Field Lane; and, drawing him into the passage, closed it behind them. 86 OLIVER TWIST "Now, then!" cried a voice from below, in reply to a whistle from the Dodger. " Plummy and slam ! " was the reply. This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was right ; for the light of a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at the remote end of the passage ; and a man's face peeped out, from where a balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had been broken away. " There's two on you," said the man, thrusting the candle farther out, and shading his' eyes with his hand. " Who's the t'other one ? " " A new pal," replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver forward. " Where did he come from ? " " Greenland. Is Fagin up-stairs ? " " Yes, he's a sortin' the wipes. Up with you ! " The candle was drawn back, and the face disappeared. Oliver, groping his way with one hand, and having the other firmly grasped by his compa,nion, ascended with much difficulty the dark and broken stairs: which his conductor mounted with an ease and expedition that showed he was well acquainted with them. He threw open the door of a back* room, and drew Oliver in after him. The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly black with age and dirt. There was a deal table before the file': upon which were a candle, stuck in a ginger-beer bottle, two or three pewter pots, a loaf and butter, and a plate. In a frying-pan, which was on the fire, and which was secured to the mantel- shelf by a string, some sausages were cooking ; and standing over them, with a toasting-fork in his hand, was a very old shrivelled Jew, whose villainous-looking and repulsive face was obscured by a quantity of matted red hair. He! was dressed in a greasy flannel gown, with his throat bare ; and seemed to be dividing his attention between the frying-pan and a Clothes- horse, over which a great number of silk handkerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds made of old sacks were huddled side by side on the floor. Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger, smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged' men. These aU crowded about their associate as he whispered a few words to the Jew ; and then turned round and grinned at Oliver. So did the Jew himself, toasting-fork in hand. "This is him, Fagin," said Jack; Dawkins; "my friend Oliver Twist." OLIVER TWIST 87 The Jew grinned ; and, iaaking a low. obeisance to Oliver, took him by the hand, and hoped he should have the honour of his intimate acquaintance. Upon this, the yoiiing gentlemen with the pipes came round him, and shook both his hands very hard — espebially the one in which he held his little bundle.. One young gentleman was very anxious to hang up his cap for him ; and another was so obliging as to put his i hands in his pockets, in order that, as he was very tired,- he ■ might not have the trouble of emptying them, himself, when he went to bed- These civilities would puobably have been extended much farther, but for a liberal exercise of the Jew's toasting-fork on the heads and shoulders of the affectionate youths who offered them. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very," said the Jew. "Dodger, take off the sausages ; and draw a tub near the fire for Oliver. Ah, you're a^staring! at the poofcet-handkerchiefs ! eh, my dear ! There are a good many of; 'em, ain't there ? We've just looked 'em out, ready for the wash ; that's all, Oliver ; that's all.! Ha! ha! ha!" The latter part of this speech, was haUed by a boisterous shout from aU the hopeful pupUs of the merry old, gentletiian. In the midst of which they went to supper. Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him a glass of hot gin and water: telling him he must drink it off directly, because another gentleman wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. Immediatelyi afterwards he felt himself gently lifted on to one of the. sacks; and then he sunk into a deep sleep, ' II THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS It was late next morning when Oliver awoke, from a sound, long sleep. There was no; oth^r person in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling some coffee in a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to himself as he stirred it round and round, with an iron spoon. He would stop every now and then to listen when there was the least noise below : and when he had 88 OLIVER TWIST satisfied himself, he would go on, whistling and stirring again, as before. Although Oliver had roused himseK from sleep, he was not thoroughly awake. There is a drowsy state, between sleeping and waking, when you dream more in five minutes with your eyes haK open, and yourself half conscious of everything that is passing around you, than you would in five nights with your eyes fast closed, and your senses wrapt in perfect unconscious- ness. At such times, a mortal knows just enough of what his mind is doing, to form some glimmering conception of its mighty tpowers, its bounding from earth and spuming tim« and space, when freed from the restraint of its corporeal associate. Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew with his half-closed eyes ; heard his low whistling ; and recog- nised the sound of the spoon grating against the salucepan's sides; and yet the self-same senses were mentally engaged, at the same time, in busy action with almost everybddy he had ever known. When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob. Standing, then, in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes, as if he did not well know how to employ himself, he turned round and looked at Oliver, and called him by his name. He did not answer, and was to all appearance asleep. ;^ After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to the door : which he fastened. He then jdrew forth : as it seemed to Oliver, from some trap in the fioor : a small box, which he placed carefully on the table. His eyes glistened as he raised the Hd, and looked in. Dragging an old' chair to the table, he sat down ; and took from it ajmagnificent gold watch, sparkling with jewels. " Aha I " said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and dis- torting every feature with a,' hideous grin. " Clever dogs ! Clever dogs 1 Staunch to the last ! Never told the old parson where they were. Never peached upon old Fagin ! And why should they ? It wouldn't have loosened the knot, or kept the drop up, a minute longer. No, no, no ! Fine fellows 1 Fine fellows ! " With these, and bther muttered reflections of the like nature^ the Jew once more deposited the watch in its place of safety: At least half-a-dozen more were severally drawn forth from the same box, and surveyed with equal pleasure; besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and other articles of jewellery, of such OLIVER TWIST 89 magnificent materials, and costly workmanship, that Oliver had no idea, even of their names. Having replaced these trinkets, thei Jew took out another : so small that it lay in the palm of his hand. There, seemed to be some very minute inscription on it ; for the Jew laid it flat upon the table, and, shading it with his hand, pored over it, long and earnestly. At length he put it down^ as if despairing of success ; and, leaning back in his chair, muttered : "What a fine thing, capital punishment is! Dead men never repent ; dead men never bring awkward stories to lighfe Ah, it's a fine thing for the trade ! Five of 'em strung up in a row, and none left to play booty, or turn white-livered ! " As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes, which had been staring vacantly before him, fell on Oliver's face ; the boy's eyes were fixed on his in mute curiosity ; and although the recognition was only for an instant — for the briefest space of time that can possibly be conceived — it was enough to show the old man that he had been observed. He closed the lid of the box with a loud clash ; and, laying his hand on a bread knife which was on: the table, started furiously up. He trembled very much though ; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see that the knife quivered in the air. "What's that?" said the Jew. "What do you watch me for? \yihy areyou awake? What have you seen? Speak out, boy ! Quick — qjiick ! for your life ! " "I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir," tepHed Oliver, meekly. " I am very soity if I have disturbed you, sir." " You were not awake an hour ago ? " said the Jew, scowling fiercely on the boy. " No ! No, indeed ! " replied Oliver. " Are you sure ? " cried the Jew : with a still fiercer look than before : and a threatening attitude. . " Upon my word I was not, sir," replied Oliver, eartiestly. " I was not. Indeed, sir." "Tush, tush, my dear!" said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner, and playing with the knife a little, before he laid it down ; as if to induce the' belief that he had caught it up, in mere sport. " Of course I know that; my dear. ■• I only tried to frighten you. You're a brave boy. Ha ! ha ! you're a brave boy, Oliver ! " The Jew rubbed his hands with a chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the box, notwithstanding. " Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear? " said the Jew, laying his hand upon it after a short pause. go OLIVER TWIST " Yes, sir," replied Oliver. " Ah ! " said the Jew, turning rather pale. " They— they're mine, Oliver ; my little property. All I have to live upon, in my old age. The folks call me a miser, my dear. — Only a miser ; that's alL" Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a decided miser to live in such a dirty place, with so many watches ; but, thinking that perhaps his fondness for the Dodger and the other boys, cost him a good deal of money, he only cast a deferential look at the Jew, and asked if he might get up. "Certainly, my dear, certainly," replied the old gentle- man. "Stay. There's a pitcher of water in the comer by the door. Bring it here ; and I'll give you a basin to wash in, my dear." Oliver got up ; walked across the room ; and stooped for an instant to raise the pitcher. When he turned his head, the. boss was gone. He had scarcely washed himself, and made everything tidy, by emptying the basin out of the window, agreeahly to the Jew's directions, when the Dodger returned : accompanied by a very sprightly young friend, whom Oliver had seen^moking on the previous night, and who was now formally introduced to him as Charley Bates. ' The four sat down, to breakfast, on the coffee, and some hot rolls and ham which the Dodger had brought home in the crown of his hat. ■ " Well," said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver, and addriess- ing himself to the Dodger, " I hope you've been at work this morning, my dears ? " " Hard," replied the Dodger, " As NaUsj" added Charley Bates. " Good boys, good boys !" said the Jew. "What have yon got. Dodger?" ; "A couple of pocket-books," replied that young gentleman. " Lined ? " inquired the Jew, with eagerness. " Pretty weU," replied the Dodger, producing two pocket- books ; one green, and the other red. " Not so heavy as they might be," said the Jew, after: look- ing at the insides carefully; " but very neat and nicely made. Ingenious workman, ain't he, Oliver ? " ■ "Very, indeed, sir," said Oliver. At which Mr. Charles Bates laughed uproariously; very much to the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing to laugh at, in anything that had passed. OLIVER TWIST 91 ' " And what have ybu got, my dear ? "• said Fagin to Charley Bates, . ' ■ . ■ ., , ' ,! " Wipes," replied Master Bateb ; at the same time producing four pocket-handkerchiefs. " "Well," said the Jew, inspecting ' them clbsely; 'f they're very good ones, very. You haven't marked them well, though; Charley; so the marks shall be picked out with a needle, and we'll teach Oliver how to do it. ShaU us, Oliver, eh? Ha! ha! ha!" : ,■ ' " If you please, sir," said Oliver. '"You'd like to be able to make pocket-handkerchiefs as easy as Charley Bates, wouldn't you, my dear?" said the Jew. '''■''' ''.'■•■■ ' ' ' ■ '.•• ' " Very much, . indeed, if you'll teach me, sir," replied Oliver. -- v ,■ ; ; ,, ,, Master Bates saw something so exquisitely' ludicrous in this reply, that he burst into another laugh ; which laugh; meeting the coffee he was drinking, and carrying it down some wrong bhannel, very nearly terminated in his premature suffocation. ' " He is so jolly green' ! " " said Charley when he recovered, as an apology to the company for his unpolite behaviour. The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver's haif over his eyes, and said he'd know better, by-and-by; upon which the old gentleman, observing Oliver's colour mounting, changed the subject by asking whether there had ' been ihuch of a crowd at the execution that morning ? This made him wonder more and more; for it was plain from thei replies of the two boys that they had both been there; and' Oliver naturally wondered how they could" possibly' have found time to be so very industrious. ' ' . When the breakfast was cleared away, the merry old gentle- man and the two boys played at a very CTirious and uncommon game, which was performed in this way. The merry old gentle^ man, placing a snuff-box-in one pocket of his trousers, a note- case in 'the other, and a watch in his waistcoat pocket, with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a mock (fiamond pin in his shirt : buttoned his coat tight round him, and putting his spectacle-case and handkerchief in his pockets, trotted up and down the room with a stick, in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about the streets any hour in the day.j Sometimes he stopped at the fire-place, and sometimes at the door, making believe that he was starilig with all his might into 92 OLIVER TWIST shop-windows. At such times, he would look constantly round him, for feax of thieves, and would keep slapping all his pockets in turn, to see that he hadn't lost anything, in such a very funny and natural manner, that Oliver laughed tiU the tears ran down his face. All this time, the two boys followed hirii closely about : getting out of his sight, so nimbly, every time he turned round, that it was impossible to follow their motions. At last, the Dodger trod upon his toes, or ran upon his boot accidentallyj while Charley Bates^stumbled up agaiust him behind ; and in that one moment they took from him, with the most extraordi- nary rapidity^ snuff-box, note-case, watch-guard, chains shirt'pin, pocket-handkerchief — even the spectacle-case. If the old gentle- man felt a hand iu any one of his pockets, he cried out where it was ; and then the game began all over again. When this game had been played a great many times, a couple of young ladies called to see the young gentlemen ; one of whom was named Bet, and the other Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair, not very neatly turned up behind, and were rather untidy about the shoes and stockings.- They were not exactly pretty, perhaps ; but they had a great deal of colour in their faces, and looked quite stout and hearty. Being remark- ably free and agreeable in their manners, Oliver thought them very nice girls indeed. As there is no doubt they were. The visitors stopped a long time. Spirits were produced, in consequence of one of the young ladies complaining of a cold- ness in her inside ; and the conversation took a very convivial and improving turn. At length, Charley Bates expressed his opioion that it was time to pad the hoof. This, it occurred to Oliver, must be French forigoing out ; for/ directly afterwards, the Dodger, and Charley,^ and the two young ladies, went away together, having been kindly furnished by the amiable old Jew with money to spend. ' " There, my dear," said Eagin. , " That's a pleasant Ufe,^isn't it ? They have gone out for the day." " Have they done work, sir ? " inquired Oliver. " Yes," said the Jew ; " that is, unless they should unex- pectedly come across any, when they are out ; and they won't neglect it, if they do, my dear, depend up&n it. Make.'emyour modelsy my dear. Make 'em. your models,';' itappiug the fire- shovel on the hearth to add force to his words:;," do everything they bid you, and take their advice in all matters---especially the Dodger's, my dear. He'll be a great man himself, and will make you one too, if you take pattern by him. — Is my OLIVER TWIST 93 liandkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my dear?" said the Jew, stopping short. " Yes, sir," said Oliver. " See if you can take it out, withoiit my feeling it : as you saw them d6, when we were at play this morning." Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one hand, as he had seen the Dodger hold it, and drew the handkerchief lightly out of it with the other. " Is it gone ? " cried the Jew, 1 " Here it is, sir," said Oliver, showing it in his hand. "You're a clever boy, my dear," said the playful old gentle- man, |)atting Oliver on the head approvingly. " 1 never saw a sharper lad. Here's a shiUiug for you. If yoil go on, in this way, you'U be the greatest man of the time. Aid now come here, and I'll show you how to take the marks out of the handkerchiefs." Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman's pocket in play, had to do with his chances of being a great man. But, thinking that the Jew, being" so much his senior, must know best, he followed him quietly to the table, and was soon deeply involved in his new study. I Mr. Bumble the parish beadle, and Mis. Gorney, matron of the workhouse in which Oliver was .bom, enjoy a, sociable little i meal together in Mrs. Oorney's private sitting-room. Their conversation is interrupted at an inter- esting moment, and Mr. Bumble, left to himself for a time, finds a pleasant Occupation in becoming better acquainted with his surroundings. Ill MR. BUMBLE AND MRS. CORNEY " Dear me ! " exclaimed thematron, " is that Mr. Bumble ? " " At your service, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and to shake the) show off his coat ; and who no^ made his appearance, bearing the cocked hat in one hand and a bundle in the other. " Shall I shut the door, ma'am ? " The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be 94 OLIVER TWIST any inlpropfiety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble, with closed doors. Mr. Bumble taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, shut it without permission. " Hard weather, Mr., Bumble," said the matron. "Hard, indeed, ma'am," replied the beadle. ."Anti-poro- chial weather this, ma'am. We. have given away, Mrs. Corney, we have given away a matter of twenty quartern loaves and a cheese and a half, this very blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are not contented." " Of course not. When would. they be, Mr. Bumble ? " said the matron, sipping her, tea. . , ;;, . ; i . . "; When, indeed, ma'am ! " rejoined Mr. Bumble. " Why here's ; one man that, in consideration of his wife and large family, has a quartern. loaf and a good pound of cheese, fuU weight. Is he grateful, ma'am ? Js. he grateful? Not a copper farthing's worth of it ! What does he do, ma'ani, but ask for a few coals; if it's only a pocket handkerchief fuU, he says! Coals ! . What would, he do with , coals ? Toast his cheese with 'em, and tjien come back for more. That's the way i with these people, ma'am ; give, 'em a apron full of coals to-day, and they'll come back for another, the day after to-morrow, as brazen as alabaster." ' J The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intel- ligible simile ; and the beadle went on. " I never," said Mr. Bumble, " see anything like the piich it's got to. The day afore yesterday, a man — ^you have been a married woman, ma'am, and .1 may mention it to you: — a man, with hardly a rag upon his back (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor), goes 'to our overseer's door when he has got company Coming to dinner;' and says, he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn't go away, and shocked the company very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes and half a pint of oatmeal. ' My heart ! ' says the ungrateful villain, ' what's the use of this to me 1 You might as well give me a pair of iron spectacles ! ' ' Very good,' says our overseer, taking 'em away again, ' you won't get anything else here.' ' Then I'll die in the. streets!.' says the vagrant. ' Oh no, you won't,' says our overseer." ■. ,..,."Ha! ha! That was very good! So like Mr. Grannett, .wasn't it ? " interposed the matron. " WeU, Mr. Bumble ? " "Well, ma'am," ' rejoined the beadle, ,"he went away; and he did die in the streets. There's a obstinate .pamper for you !," "It beats anything I could have believed," observed the OLIVER TWIST 95 matron emphatically., "But don't you tHnk out-of-doOr relief a very bad thing, any way, Mr. Bumble ? You're a gentleman of experience, and ought to know. Come." " Mrs. Comey," said the beadle, smiling as men smUe who are conscious of superior informatibn, " out-of-door relief, properly managed;: properly paanaged, ma'am : is the porochikl safe- guardj, The great, principle of out-ofrdoor relief is, to give the paupers exactly what they don't want ; and then they get tired of CQming." , . , ("Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Corney. "Well, that is a good one, too !" : "Yes, Betwixt you and me, ma'am," returned Mr. Bumble, " that's the great priuciple ; and that's the reason why, if you look at , any cases that get iuto them owdaciou^ newspapers, you always observe that sick families have been reliev^ with slices of cheese. That's the rule now, Mrs. Comey, all over the country. But, however,'! said the beadle, stopping to unpack his bundle, " these are of&eial secrets, ma'am ; not to be spoken of; except, as I may say, among the porochial officers, such as ourselves, This is the port wine, ma'am, that the 1 board ordered for the infirmary ; real, fresh, genuine port wine ; only out of the cask this forenoon ; clear as a bell, and no sediment ! " Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumblfl placed theiQ both on the top of a chest of drawers ; folded the handkerchief in which they had. heen wrapped ; put it carefully in his pocket ; and took up his hat, as if to go. "You'll have; a very cpld walky Mr. Bumble," said the matron. "It blows, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-colla,r,' " enough to cut one's ears off." The matron, looked, from! the little kettle, to the beadle, who was moving towards the door;, and as the beadle coughed, preparatory to bidding her good-night, bashfully inq^uired whether— whether he wouldn't take a cup of tea ? Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again ; laid his hat and stick upon a chair ; and drew another chair up to the table. .As he Mowly seated- himself, he looked; at the lady. ,. She: fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again, and slightly smiled. ^ ; . Mrs. Cipmey rose to get another Cup aaid saucer from the closet. . As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beadle ;;6he;cblou3;ed, and applied herself to 96 OLIVER TWIST the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed — louder this time than he had coughed yet. "Sweet? Mr. Bumble?" incLuired the matron, taking up the sugar-basin. "Very sweet, indeed, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble. Hei fixed his eyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this ; and if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that beadle at that moment. The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr, Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendour of his shorts^ began to eat and drink ; varying these amusements, occasionally, by fetching a ;deep sigh ; which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but, on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea and toast department. " You have a cat, ma'am, I see," said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one who, in the centre of her family, was basking Isefore the fire ; " and kittens too, I declare ! " " I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can't think," replied the matron. " They're so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, that they are quite companions for me." " Very nice animals, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble, approv- ingly ; " so very domestic." " Oh, yes ! " rejoined the matron with enthusiasm ; " so fond of their home too, that it's quite a pleasure, I'm sure." "Mrs. Corney, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time with his teaspoon, "I mean to say this, ma'am; that any cat, or kitten, that could live with you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must be an ass, ma'am." " Oh, Mr. Bumble ! " remonstrated Mrs. Corney. " It's of no use disguising facts, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity which made him doubly impressive ; " I would drown it myself, with pleasure." " Then you're a cruel man," said the matron vivaciously, as she held out her hand for the beadle's cup ; " and a very hard- hearted man besides." "Hard-hearted, ma'am?" said Mr. Bumble, "Hard?" Mr. Bumble resigned his cup without another word ; squeezed Mrs. Corney's little finger as she took it ; and inflicted two open-handed slaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and hitched his chair a very little morsel farther from the fire. It was a round table ; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble OLIVER TWIST 97 had been sitting 'opposite each other, with no great space between them, and' fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, in'receding from' the fire, and still keeping atithe table, increased the distance between himself and Mrs. Comey.; which proceeding, some prudent readers wiU doubtless be disposed to admire, and to consider an act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble's part : he being in some sort tempted by time, place and oppor- tunity, to give utterance to certain soft nothings, which however well they may become the lips of the light and thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord mayors, and other great public functionaries, but more particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a beadle : who (as is well known) should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all. ' Whatever were Mr. Bumble's intentions, however (and no doubt they were of the best): it unfortunately happened, as has been twice before remarked, that the table^ was a round one ; consequently Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself and the matron; and, continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, brought his chair, in time, close to that in which the matron was seated, Indeed, the two chairs touched ; and when they did so, Mr. Bumble stopped. Now, if the matron had'inoved her chair to tlie'r^ht, she would have been scorched byi the fire ; and if to the left, she must have fallen into Mr. Bumble's arms ; so (being a discreet matron, and no doubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance) she remained where shfe was, and handed Mr. Bumble another Bup of tea..' ; . ■ " Hard-heairtedi Mrs. Gomey 1 " said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea, and looking up into the matron's face j " are you hard- tiearted, Mrs. Corhey ? " "Dear me!'^ exclaimed the matron, "what a very carious question from a single man. What can you want to know for, Mr Bumble?" < The beadle drank: his tea to the last drop ; finished a piece 3f toast; whieked the crumbs of£' his knees; wiped his lips; ind deliberately kissed the matron. :-"Mr. Bumble!" cried that discreet lady in a whisper; for ?he fright was so great, that she had quite lost her voice, "Mr. Bumble, I shall scream 1 " Mr. Bumble made no reply ; but s. a slow and dignified manner, put his arm roimd the matron's, iv^aist. a 98 OLIVER TWIST As the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of course she would have screamed at this additional boldness, but that the exertion was rendered unnecessary by a hasty knocking at the door : which was no sooner heard, than Mr. Bumble darted, with much agility, to the Wine bottles, and began dusting them with great violence : while the matron sharply demanded who was there. It is worthy, of remark, as a curious physical instance of the efficacy of a sudden surprise in. counteracting the effects of extreme fear, that her voice had quite recovered all its official asperity.;, "If you please, mistress," said a withered old female pauper, hideously ugly : putting her head in at the door, " Old Sally is a-going fast." ^ "Well, what's that to md ? " angrily demanded the matron. " I can't keep her alive, can II" "No, no, mistress," rejdied the old woman, "nobody can; she's far beyond the reach of help. I've seen a many people die; little babes and great strong men; and I know when death's a-coming, well enough. But she's troubled in her mind : and when the fits are not on her, — and that's not often, for she is dying- very hard,-r-she says she has got something to tell, which you must hear. She'll never die q.niet tiU you come, mistress." At this intelligence, the worthy Mrs. Corney; muttered a variety of invectives . against old women who couldn!t even die without purposely annoying their betters ; and,, muffling herself in a thick shawl which she hastily caught up, briefly requested Mr. Bumble tp stay .till she caijae back, lest anything particular should occur. Bidding the messenger walk fast, and not be all night hobbling up the' stairs, she followed her from the room with a very ill grace, scolding all the way. . , Mr. Bumble's conduct on being left to himself, was rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the teaspoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the genuine metal,; and, having satisfied his curiosity on these points, put on, his cocked, hat comer-wise, and danced with much gravity, four distinct times round the table. Having gone through this very extraordinjary performance, he took off the cocked hat again, and,: spreading himself before the fire with his back towards it, seemed.to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory of the furniture. BOOK IV LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NICHOLAS NICKLEBY On his birthday, the 7th February, 1838, the author wrote to Mr, ForSter : — " I have begun. I wrote four slips last night,' so. you see the beginning is made, and, ^hat is more, I can go on, so I hope the book is in training at last." The story was finished in October, 1839, when it, was brought out coiuplete, with a dedication to William Charles Macf eady. It was illustrated by HablSt Browne, and was published by Messrs. Chapman and Hall. • Mr. Nicholas Niofcleby, a gentleman who hfis been living in the country all his life, has just died, leaving his wife and two children in very straitened circumstances. Mrs. Nickleby comes to London hoping that her brother-in- law Ralph, a hard avaricious man of whom she knows nothing, having never seen him, will be induced to -help her son and daughter in their need, Balph. visits Mrs. Nickleby at 'the house of Miss La Creevy, a miniature painter, and is introduced to his nephew Nicholas and to his beautiful niece Kate. For Nicholas, who is too manly and straightforward to please him, he conceives an immediate aversion, but offers to help the widow and her daughter by obtaining work for Kate, if Nicholas will go away and seek em- ployment for himself.' ^his he is most willing to do, as he fears to become a burden upon his .mothei:. Balph draws from his pocket an advertisement he had put into it that morning, which states that Mr. Wackford Squeers, a schoolmaster living at Dotheboys Hall, near Greta Bridge, Yorkshire^ is in want of an assistant. Salary £5. In spite of the meagreness of this sum, Nicholas feels it his duty to, accompany his uncle upon a visit to Mr. Squeers, ,who is staying at "The Saracen's Head," Snow HiU; and although not favourably impressed by the manners and appearance of the schoolmaster, he accepts the situation, and travels to Yorkshire next' day with Mr, Squeers and some BmsJl boys who are also going to the school. I INTERNAL ECONOMY OF DOTHEBOYS HALL • ■ ' " ' ' A EIDE of two hundred and. odd miles in severe weather, is one of the best softeners of a hard hed that iagentiity can devise. Perhaps it is even a sweetener of dreams, for those which hovered over the rough couch of Nicholas, and whispered their 99 100 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY airy nothings in his ear, were of an agreeable and happy kind He was making his fortune very fast indeed, when the faint glimmer of an expiring candle shone before his eyes, and a voice he had no diflSculty in recognising as part and parcel of Mr. Squeers, admonished him that it was time to rise. " Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers. " Has morning come already ? " asked Nicholas, sitting up in bed. " Ah ! that has it," replied Squeers, " and ready iced too. Now, Nickleby, come ; tumble up, will you ? " Nicholas needed no further admonition, but " tumbled up " at once, and proceeded to dress himself by the light of the taper, which Mr. Squeers earned in his hand. "Here's a pretty go," said that gentleman; "the pump's froze." "Indeed!" said Nicholas, not much interested in'. the intelligence. "Yes" replied Squeers. "You can't wash yourself, this morning. ' " Not wash myself! " exclaimed Nicholas. "No, not a bit of it," rejoined Squeers tartly.' "So" you must be content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys, pon't stand staring at me, but do look sharp, will you ? " Offering no further observation, Nicholas huddled on his clothes. Squeers, meanwhile, opened the shutters and blew the candle out; when the voice of his amiable consort was heard in the passage, demanding admittance. " Come in, my love," said Squeers. Mrs. Squeers came in, still habited in the primitive night- jacket which had displayed the symmetry of her figure on the previous night, and further ornamented with a beaver bonnet of some antiquity, which she wore.with much ease and lightness, on the top of the nightcap before mentioned. "Drat the things," said the lady, opening the cupboard; " I can't find the school spoon anywhere." " Never mind it, my dear," observed Squeers in a soothing manner ; " it's of no consequence." " No consequence, why how you talk ! " retorted Mrs. Squeers sharply ; " isn't it brimstone morning ? " " I forgot, my dear," rejoined Squeers ; " yes, it certainly is. We purify the boys' bloods now and then, Nickleby." " Purify fiddlesticks' ends," said his lady. " Don't think. NICHOLAS NICKLEBY loi young man, that we go to the expense, of flower of brimstone and molasses, just to purify them; because if you think we carry on the business in that way, you'll find yourself mistaken, and so I tell you plainly." " My dear," said Squeers frowning. ■ " Hem ! " " Oh ! nonsense," rejoined Mrs. Squeers. " If the young man comes to be a teacher here, let him understa,nd, at once, that we don't want any foolery about the boys. They have the brimstone and treacle, partly because if they hadn't something or other in the way of medicine they'd be always ailing and giving a world of trouble, and partly because it spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than breakfast and dinner. So, it does them good and us good at the same time, and that's fair enough, I'm sure." Having given this explanation, Mrs, Squeers put her head into the closet and instituted a stricter search after the spoon, in which Mr. Squeers assisted. A few words passed between them while they were thus engaged, but as their voices were par,tially stifled by the cupboard; all that Nicholas 'could dis- tinguish was, that Mr. Squeers said what Mrs. Squeers had said was injudicious, and that Mrs. Squeers said what Mr. Squeers said was " stuff." A vast deal of searching, and rummaging ensued, aM it proving fruitless, Smike * was called in, and pushed by Mrs. Squeers, and boxed by Mr. Squeers ; which course of treatment brightening his inteUeets, enabled him to suggest that possibly Mrs. Squeers might have the spoon iu her pocket, as indeed turned out to be the case. As Mrs. Squeers had previously protested, however, that she was quite certain she had not got It, Snuke received another box on the ear for presuming^ to contradict his mistress, together with a promise of a sound thrashing if he were not more respectful in future ; so that he took nothing very advantageous by his mgtion. "A most invaluable woman, that, Nickleby," said Squeers when his consort had hurried laway, pushing the drudge before her; " Indeed, sir !" observed Nicholas. ' " I don't know her equal," said Squeers ; " I do not know her equal. That woman, Nickleby, is always the same — always the same bustling, lively, active, saving creetur that you see her now." Nicholas sighed involuntarily at the thought of the agreeable domestic prospect thus opemed to him; but- Squeers • A poor drudge. 102 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY was, fortunately, too mucli occupied ■with his own reflections to perceive it. " It's my way to sky, when I am up in London," continued Squeers, " tiiat to them boys she is a mother. But she is more than a mother to them ; ten times more. She does things for them boys, Nickleby, that I don't believe half the mothers going, would do for their own sons." " I shoiild think they would not, sir," answered Nicholas. Now, the fact was, that both Mr. and Mrs. Squeers viewed the boys iu the light of their proper and natural enemies ; or, in other words, they held and considered that their business and profession was to get as much from every boy as could by possibility be screwed out of him. On this point they were both agreed, and behaved iu unison accordingly. The only difference between them was, that Mrs. Squeers waged war against the enemy openly and fearlessly, and that Squeers covered his rascality, even at home, with a spice of his habitual deceit ; as if he redly had a notion of some day or other being able to take himself in, and persuade his own mind that he was a very good fellow. " But come," said Squeers, interruptiag the progress of some thoughts to this effect in the mind of his usher, " let's go to the school-room; and lend me a hand with my school coat, will you?" Nicholas assisted his master to put on an old fustian shooting-jacket, which he took down from a peg in the passage ; and Squeers, arming himself with his cane, led the way across a yard, to a door in the rear of the house. " There," said the schoolmaster as they stepped ia together ; " this is our shop, Nickleby ! " It was such a crowded scene, and there were so many objects to attract attention, that, at first, Nicholas stared about him, reaUy without seeing anything at all. By degrees, however, the place resolved itself into a bare and dirty room, with a couple of windows, whereof a tenth part might be of glass, the remainder being stopped up with old copybooks and paiper. There were a couple of long old rickety desks, cut and notched, and inked, and damaged, in every possible way ; two or three forms; a detached desk for Squeers; and another for his assistant. The ceiling was supported, like that of a bam, by cross beams and rafters; and the walls were so stained and discoloured, that it was impossible to tell whether they had ever been touched with paint or whitewash. NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 103 But the pupils — the young noblemen ! How the last faint traces of hope, the remotest glimmering of any good to be derived from his efforts in this den, faded from the mind of Nicholas as he looked in dismay around! Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, children with the countenances of old men, deformities with iron upon their limbs, boys of stunted growth, and others whose long meagre legs woilld hardly bear their stooping bodies, aU crowded on the view together ; there were the bleared eye,, the hare-lip, .the crooked foot, and every ugliness or distortion that told of unnatural aversion conceived by parents for their offspring, or of young lives which, from the earliest dawn of infancy, had been one horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. There were little faces which should have been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering; there was childhood with the light of its eye quenched, its beauty gone, and its helplessness alone remaining'; there were vicious-faced boys, brooding, with leaden eyes, like malefactors in a jail ; and there were young creatures on whom the sins of their frail parents had descended, weeping even for the mercenary nurses they had known, and lonesome even in their loneliness. With every kindly sympathy and affection blasted in its birth, with every young and healthy feeling flogged and starved down, with every revengeful passion that can fester in swollen hearts, eating its evil way to their core in silence, what an incipient Hell was breeding here ! And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its grotesque features, which, in a less interested observer than Nicholas, might have provoked a smile. Mrs. Squeers stood at one of the desks, presiding over an immense basin of brimstone and treacle, of which delicious compound she administered a large instalment to each boy in succession : using for the purpose a common wooden spoon, which might have been originally manufactured for some gigantic top, and which widened every young gentleman's mouth considerably : they being aU obliged, under heavy corporal penalties, to take in the whole of the bowl at a gasp. In another corner, huddled together for com- panionship, were the little boys who had arrived on the pre- ceding night, three of them in very large leather breeches, and two in old trousers, a something tighter fit than drawers are usually worn ; at no great distance from these was seated the juyiBiule son and heir of Mr. Squeers — a striking likeness of his father — kicking, with great vigour, under the hands of Smike, who was fitting upon him a pair aS new boots that bore a most 104 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY suspicious resemblance to those which the least of the little boys had worn on the journey down — as the little boy himseli seemed to think, for he was regarding the appropriation with a look of most rueful amazement. Besides these, there was a long row of boys waiting, with countenances of no pleasant anticipation, to be treacled; and another file, who had just escaped from the infliction, making a variety of wry mouths indicative of anything but satisfaction. The whole were attired in such motley, ill- sorted, , extraordinary garments, as would have been irresistibly ridiculous, but for the foul appearance of dirt, disorder, and disease, with which they were associated. " Now," said Squeers, giving the desk a great rap with his cane, which made half the little boys nearly jump out of their boots, " is that physicking over ? " "Just over," said Mrs. Squeers, choking the last boy in her hurry, and tapping the crown of his head with the wooden spoon to restore him. " Here, you Smike ; take away now. Look sharp ! " Smike shuffled out with the basin, and Mrs. Squeers having called up a little boy with a curly head, and wiped her hands upon it, hurried out after him into a species of wash-house, where there was a small fire and a large kettle, together with a number of little wooden bowls which were arranged upon a board. Into these bowls, Mrs. Squeers, assisted by the hungry servant, poured a brown composition, which looked like diluted pincushions without the covers, and was called porridge. A minute wedge of brown bread was inserted in each bowl, and when they had eaten their porridge by means of the bread, the boys ate the bread itself, and had finished their breakfast; whereupon Mr. Squeers said, in a solemn voice, " For what we have received, may the Lord make us truly thankful 1 " — and went away to his own. Nicholas distended his stomach with a bowl of porridge, for much the same reason which induces some savages to swal- low earth — lest they should be inconveniently hungry when there is nothing to eat. Having further disposed of a slice of bread and butter, allotted to him in virtue of his office, he sat himself down, to wait for school-time. He could not but observe how silent and sad the boys all seemed to be. There was none of the noise and clamour of a school-room ; none of its boisterous play, or hearty mirth. The children sat croudijng and 'shivering together, and seemed to NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 105 lack the spirit to move about. The only pupil who evinced the slightest tendency towards locomotion or playfulness was Master Squeers, and as hjs chief amusement was to tread' upon the other boys' toes in his new bootSj his flow of spirits was rather disagreeable than otherwise. > . After. some half-hoiir's delay, Mr. Squeers reappeared, and the boys tpok their places and their books, , of which latter commodity the average might be about one to eight learnersi A few minutes having elapsed, during • which Mr. Squeers looked very profound, as if he had a perfect apprehension of what was inside all the books, and could say every word of their contents by heart if he only chose to take the troubloj that gentleman called up the first class. Obedient to this summons there ranged themselves in front of the schoolmaster's desk, haK a dozen scarecrows, out at kneea and elbows, one of whoni placed q, torn amd filthy book beneath his learned eye. . ■. ■ .1 : . " This is the first class in; English iSpelling and philosophy, Nickleby," said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to ,stahd beside him. "We'll get up a Latin one, and hand that over to you. Now,, then, where's the first boy ? " " Please, sir, he's cleaning the back pajlour window," said the temporary head of the philosophical! class.; " So he is, to be sure," rejoined Squeers. " We go upon the practical mode of teaching, Nickleby ; the regular , education system, C-l-C'-a-n, clean, verb active, to make bright, to scour. W-i-n, win, d-e-r, der, winder, a casement. When the boy knows this out of book,- he goes and does it. It's just the same piinciple as the use of the globes. Where's the second boy ? " " Please, sir, he's weeding the garden," replied a small boy, "To be' sure," said Squeers, by no means disconcerted, " So ,he is. ' B-o-t, hot, t-i^n, tin, bottin, n^e-y, ney, bottinney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. . When he has learned that bottinney meansa knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's our system, Nickleby ; what do you think of it 1 " "ilt's a very useful one, at any rate," answered Nicholas. "I believe i, you," rejoined Squeers,' not remarking the em- phasis of his usher. " Third boy, what's a horse ? " /" A beasti sir," replied the boy. " So it is," said Squeers. " Ain't it, Nickleby ? " '! I believe there. is no doubt of that, sir," answered Nicholas. " Of course there isn't," said Squeers. "A horse is a quad- rjiped, and quadruped's Latin for beast; as everybody that's lo6 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY gone through the grammar, knows, or else Where's the use of having grammars at all ? " " Where, indeed ! " said Nicholas abstractedly. ' "As you're perfect in that," resumed Squeers, turiung to the boy, " go and look after my horse, and irub him down well, or m rub you down; The rest of the class go and draw water up, tiU sonaebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing-day to-morrow, and they want the coppers filled." So Baying, he' dismissed the first class to their experiHlents in practical philosophy, and eyed Nicholas with a look, half cunning and half doubtful, as if he were not altogether certain what he might think of him by this time. " That's the way we do it, NicMeby," he said, after a pause. Nicholas shrugged his shoulders in a manner that was scarcely perceptible, and 'said he saw it was. " And a very good way it iSj too," said Squeers. " Now, just take them fourteen little boys and hear them some reading, because, you know, you must begin to be useful. Idling' about here, won't do;" ' • Mr. Squeers said this, as if it had suddenly occurred to Mm, either that he must not say too much to his assistant; or that his assistant did not say enough to him in praise of the establishment. The children were arranged in a semicircle round the new master, and' he was soon listening to their dull, drawling, hesitating recital- of those stories of engrossing interest which are to be found in the more antiquated spelling books. • ■ In this exciting oecupatibn," the morning lagged heavily oh. At one o'clock, the boys^ having previously had their appetites thoroughly taken away by stir-about and potatoes, sat down in the' kitchen to some hard salt beef, of 'which Nicholas was graciously permitted to take his portion to his own solitary desk, to eat it there in peace. After this, there was another hour of crouching in the schobl-roOm and shivering with cold, and then school began: aigain. ' - It was Mr. Squeers's custom' to call the boys together,' and make a sort of report, after every half-yearly visit to the ndetro- polis, regarding the relations and friends he had seen, the news he had heard, the letters he had' brought down, the biUs' which had been paid, the accounts which- had been left unpaid, and so forth. - This solemn- proceeding always took place in the afternoon of the day -succeeding his return; perhaps, because the boys acquired strength of mind- from the 'Suspense of the NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 107 morning, or, possibly, because Mr. Squeers himSelf acquired greater sternness and inflexibility from certain warm potations in' whicli he was wonfc to iadulge after his early dinner. Be this as it may, the boys were recalled from house-wiadow, garden, stable, and cow-yard, and the school were assembled in full conclave, when ' Mr. Squeers, with a small bundle of papers Sn his hand, and Mrs. S. following with a pair of canes, entered' the room and proclaimed silence. "Let any boy speak a word without leave," said Mr. Squeers, mildly, " and I'll take the skin off his back." This special proclamation had the desired effect, and a. deathlike silence immediately prevailed, in the midst of which Mr. Squeers went on to say : '^ ' "Boys, I've been to London, and have returned to' my family and you, a,s strong and well as ever." According to half-yearly custom, the boys gave three feeble cheers at. this refreshing intelligence. Such cheers! Sighs of extra strength with the cliill on; " I have seen the parents' of sOme boys," continued Squeers, turning over his papers, '* and they're sO glad to hear how their sons are getting on, that there's no prospect at all of their' going away, which of course is a very pleasant thing to reflect upon, for all parties." ';,■<•;. Two or three hands went to two or three eyes' when Squeers said this, but the greater part of the young gentleinen having no particular parents to speak of, were wholly un- iaterested in th^ thing one way or other. "I have had disappointments to contend against," said SqueersI, looking very grim ; " Bolder's father was two pounds ten short. Wherein Bolder?" ' ' ' '' ,. '''■: ,/"fil!ere he is', please, sir," rejoined twenty Officious voices; Boys are very like men to be sure. ■ : ' " Come here. Bolder," said Squeers. An unhealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, stepped from his place to the master's desk, and raised his eye^ imploringly to Squeers's fece : his own, quite^ white from the rapid IjeSlting of his heart. '■ ' ' '■•"' '' "Bolder," said Squeers, speaking very slowly, for he was considering, as the saying goes, where to have him. " Bolder, if your father thinks that because^ — why, what's this, Sir ? " ^' . _ As Squeers spoke, he' caught up the boy's hand by the ciiff of his jacket, and' surveyed it with an edifying aspect of horror and disgust. ' . • c io8 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY " What do you call this, sir ? " demanded the schoolmaster administering a cut with the cane to expedite the reply. "I can't help it, indeed, sir," rejoined the boy, crying. " They will come ; it's the dirty work I think, sir — at least I don't know what it is, sir, but it's not my fault." " Bolder," said Squeers, tucking up his wristbands, and moistening the palm of his right hand to get a Igood grip of the cane, "you are an incorrigible young scoundrel, and as the last thrashing did you no good, we must see what another will do towards beating it out of you." With this, and wholly disregarding a piteous cry for mercy, Mr. Squeers fell upon the boy and caned him soundly: not leaving off indeed, until his arm was tired out. " There," said Squeers, when he had quite done ; " rub away as hard as you like, you won't rub that off in a hurry. Oh 1 you won't hold that noise, won't you ? Put him out, Smike." The drudge knew better from long experience, than to hesitate about obeying, so he bundled the victim out by a side door, and Mr. Squeers perched himseK again oh his own stool, supported by Mrs. Squeers, who occupied another at his side. "Now let us see," said Squeers. "A letter for Cobbey. Stand up, Cobbey." Another boy stood up, and eyed the letter very hard while Squeers made a mental abstract of the same. " Oh ! " said Squeers : " Cobbey's grandmother is dead, and his uncle John has took to drinking, which is all the news his sister sends, except eighteenpence, which will just pay for that broken square of glass. Mrs. Squeers, my dear, wUl you take the money 1 " The worthy lady pocketed the eighteenpence with a most business-like air, and Squeers passed on to the next boy, as coolly as possible. "Graymarsh," said Squeers, "he's the next. Stand up, Giaymarsh." Another boy stood up, and the schoolmaster looked over the letter as before. " Graymarsh's maternal aunt," said Squeers, when he had possessed himself of the contents, " is very glad to hear he's so well and happy, and 'sends her respectful compliments to Mrs, Squeers, and thinks she must be an angel. She likewise thinks Mr. Squeers is too good for this world; but hopes he may long be spared to carry on the business. Would have sent the two pair of stockings as desired, but is short of money, so forwards NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 109 a tract instead, and hopes Graymarsh will put his trust' in Pro- vidence. Hopes, above all, that he will study in everything to please Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, and look upon them as his only friends; and that he will love Master Squeers; and not object to sleeping five in a bed, which no Christian should. 'Ah!" said Squeers, folding it up, "a delightful letter. Very affecting indeed." It was affecting in one sense, for Graymarsh's maternal aunt was strongly supposed, by her more intimate friends, to be no other than his ' maternal parent 5 ■ Squeers, however, without alluding to this part of the story (which would have sounded immoral before boys), proceeded with the business by calliag out " Mobbs," whereupon another boy rose, and Graymarsh resumed his seat. " Mobbs's mother-in-law," a^d Squeers, " took to her bed on hearing tha,t he wouldn't eat fat, and has been very ill ever sincfe. She wishes to know, by an early post, where he expects to go to, if he quarrels, with his vittles; and with what feelings he could turn up his nose at the cow's liver broth, after his good master had asked a blessing on it. This was told her in the London newspapers — not by Mr. Squeers, for he is too kind and too good to set anybody against anybody — and it has vexed her so much, Mobbs can't think. She ia sorry to find he is discon- tented, which is sinful and horrid, and hopes Mr. Squeers will •flog him into a happier state of mini 5 with this view, she has also stopped his halfpenny a week pocket-money, and given a double-bladed kiufe with a corkscrew in it to the Mission- aries, which she had bought on purpose- for him." " A sulky state of feeling," said Squeers, after a terrible pause, during which he had mdistened the palm of his right- hand again, "won't do. Cheerfulness and contentment must be kept up. Mobbs, come to me ! " Mobbs moved slowly towards the desk, rubbing his eyes in anticipation of good cause for doing so ; and he soon afterwards retired by. the side door, with as good cause as a boy need have. Mr. Squeers then proceeded to open a miscellaneous collec- tion of letters ; some enclosing money, which Mrs. Squeers " took care of ; " and others referring to small articles of apparel, as caps and so forth, all of which the same lady stated to be too large, or too small, and calculated for nobody but young Squeers, who would appear indeed to have had most accommodating limbs, since everything that came into the school fitted him no NICHOLAS NICKLEBY to a nicety. His head, in particular, must have been singu- larly elastic, for hats and caps of all dimensions were alike to mm. This business despatched^ a few slovenly lessons were per- formed, and Squeers retired to his fireside, leaving Nicholas to take care of the boys in the school-room, which was very cold, and where a meal of bread and cheese was served out shortly after dark. There was a smaU stove at. that comer of the, room which was pearest to the master's desk, and by it Nicholas sat down, so depressed and self-degraded by thfe consciousness of his posi- tion, that if death could have come upon him at that time, he would have been almost happy to meet it. The cruelty of which he had been an unwilling witness, the coarse and ruf&anly behaviour of Squeers even in his best moods, the filthy place, the sightjs and sounds about him, all contributed to this state of feeling ; but when he recollected that, being there as an assistant, he actually seemed— no matter what' unhappy train of circum- stances had brought him to that pass — to be the aider and abettor of a system which filled him with honest disgust and indignation, he loathed himself, andNfelt, for the moment, as jihough the mere consciousness ' of his present situation must, ihrcjugh all time to, come, prevent his raising hi^ head agaia. . • But, for the present, his resolve was taken, and the resolu- tion he had formed on the preceding night remained undisturbed. He had written to his mother and sister, announcing the safe conclusion of his journey, and saying as little about Dotheboys Hall, and saying that little as cheerfully, as he possibly could. He hoped that by remaining where he was, he might do some good, even there ; at all eveiits, others depended too much on his uqde's favour, to admit, of his awakening. hig wrath just then. When Nicholas leaves Dotheboys Hall after thrashing the sehoolmastei' for his brutal treatment of Smike, he is followed by that poor creature, who begs for permission to remain by his side. Nicholas cannot resist his prayer, and together they go to Lbndon, where Nicholas meets with his imcle, who endeavours to make Kate and Mrs. Nickleby believe aU the evil that Mr. Squeers and his family have reported concerning his conduct. , : As Nicholas can obtaiur no permanent employment in London, he and NICHOLAS NICKLEBY iii Smike start walking to Portsmouth, where it 13 probabje they may find some work on board ship; and we presently see theid at a little roadside inn, twelve miles from the town. II NICHOLAS ANB SMIKE ENGAGED BY VINCENT CRUMMLES , The landlord led thein. iiifep. the feitcHen, ancjas there was agood fire he remarked that, it was very cold. If there had happened to bje a bad one he would have observed that it was very warm. , , " What can you give us for supper ? " was Nicholas's natural question. . 1 . "Why— ;what wq^d you like 1," was the, laiidlprd'si no less natural answer. ' ; ,. -.i v' :.. ' ; Nicholas suggested cold wefit, but there was , no colc^ mesaj;^— poached eggs, but there w;ere no eggs-t—mutton chops, but there wasn't a.mutton chop within three miles, though there had been more last week than they knew ■v^hat to do with, and would be an ^extraordinary supply the day .after; to-morrpw. . " Then," said Nicholas, " I must leave it entirely to you, as 1 would have done, ^at first, if you had allowed me." !"Why, then I'll, tell you ]^hat," rejoined the landlord, ".There's a gentlemahin the parlour that's ordered a hot beief- steak pudding, and potatoes, at nine( There's more of it than he can manage,, and I have very little doubt t^at if I ask leaye, you can sup with him. I'll do that, in a minute." ,"No, no," said Nicholas, 'detaiaiing him. "I wpuld rather not, I — at least — pshaw! why cannot I speak out? Here; you see that I am .tr^v^lHng in- a very huml^lenianner, and have made my way hithpr on foqt... It is more thg,n probable, I think, that the gentleman, may not relish my company ; and although I am the dusty figure you see, I am too proud to thr:a8t myself into his." _■.'_■,, ^: ' . i " Lord love ypu,",said die landlord, " jt'a only Mr. Crummies ; A^ isn't particular." , , ; "Is he not?'* asked Nicholas, on whose mind, to tell the truth, the prpspect of the savoury pudding was making .some impressien. , . , , 1: ; > , " ,. "Not he," replied the, landlpr4, , "He'll like, your way of talking, I knjijw. , But .we'll soon see all about that. Just wait a minute." 113 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY The landlord hurried into the parlour, without Staying for further permission, nor did Nicholas strive to prevent him: wisely consideringjthat supper, under the circumstances, was too serious a matter to trifle with. It was not long before the host returned, in a condition of much excitement. " All right," he said in a low voice. " I knew he would. You'U see something' rather worth seeing, in there. Ecod, how they are a going of it ! " There' was no time to inq^uire to what this exclamation, which was delivered in a very rapturoils tone, referred ; for he had already thrown open 'the door of the room; into which Nicholas, followed by Smike with the bundle on his shoulder (he carried it about with him as vigilantly as if it had been a sack of gold), straightway repaired. Nicholas was prepared for something odd, but not for some- thing quite so odd as the sight he encountered. At the upper end of the room, were a couple of boys, one of them very tall and the other very short, both dressed as sailors-^or at least as theatrical sailors, with belts, buckles, pigtails, and pistols com- plete— ^fighting what is called in pla,y-bills a-telrific combat, with two of those short broads'words with,' basket hilts 'which are commonly used at our minor theatres. The short boy had gained a great advantage over the tall boy, who was reduced to mortal strait, and both were overlookeid by a largte heavy man, perched- against the corner of a table, who emphatically adjured them to strike a little more fire out of the swords, and they couldn't fail to bring the i house down, on the very first night. , - ' "Mr. Vincent Crummies," said the landlord with an air of great deference.' "This is^the young gentleman." ' ' Mr. Vincent Crummies received Nicholas with an inclina- tion of the he&,d, something between the courtesy of a Eomai emperor and the nod of a pot companion ; and bade, the land- lord shut the door and begone. " There's a picture," said Mr. Crummies, motioning Nicholas not to advance and spoil it. "The little 'un has him; if the big 'un doesn't knock under, in three secondsi he's a dead man. Do that again, boys." The two combatants went, to work afresh, and chopped away untn the swords emitted a shower of sparks : to the great satis- faction of Mr. Crummies, who appeared to consider this a very great point indeed. The engagement commenced with about two hundred chops administered by the short sailor and the tall NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 113 sailor alternately, without proohfcing any particular result, until the short sailor was chopped down on one knee ; but this was nothing to him, for he worked himself about on the one tnee with the assistance of his left hand, and fought most desperately until the tall sailor chopped his sword out of his grasp. lifow, the inference was, that the short sailor, reduced to this extremity, would give in at once and cry quarter, but, instead of that, ho all of a sudden drew a large pistol from his belt and presented it at the face of the tall sailor, who was so overcome at this (not expecting it) that he let the short sailor pick up his sword and begin again. Then, the chopping recommenced, and a variety of fancy chops were administered on both sides ; such as chops dealt with the left hand, and under the leg, and over the right shoulder, and over the left ; and when the short sailor made a vigorous cut at the tall sailor's legs, which would have shaved them clean off if it had taken effect, the tail sailor jumped over the short sailor's sword, wherefore to balance the matter, and make it all fair, the tall sailor administered the same cut, and the short sailor jumped over Ms sword. After this, there was a good deal of dodging about, and hitching up of the in- expressibles in the absence of braces, and then the short sailor (who was the moral character evidently, for he always had the best of it) made a violent demonstration and closed with the tall sailor, who, after a few unavailing struggles, went down, and expired in great torture as the short sailor put his foot upon ■ hi^ breast, and bored a hole in him through and through. " That'll be a double encore if you take care, boys," said Mr. Crummies. " You had better get your wind now and change your clothes." Having addressed these words to the combatants, he saluted Nicholas, who then observed that the face of Mr. Crummies was quite proportionate in size to his body ; that he had a very full under-lip, a hoarse voice, as though he were in the habit of shouting very much, and very short black hair, shaved off nearly to the crown of his head — to admit (as he afterwards learnt) of his more easily weariag character wigs of any shape or pattern. " What do you think of that, sir ? " inquired, Mr. Crummies, " Very good, indeed — capital/' answered Nicholas. " You won't see such boys as those very bften, I think," said Mr. Qrummles. I 114 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY Nicholas assented — observing, that if they were a little better match " Match ! " cried Mr. Crummies. " I mean if they were a little more of a size," said Nicholas, explaining himself. " Size ! " repeated Mr. Crummies ; " why it's the essence of the combat that there should be a foot or two between them. How are you to get up the sympathies of the audience in a legitimate manner, if there isn't a little man contend- ing against a big one — unless there's at Jeast five to one, and we haven't hands enough for that business in our company," " I see," replied Nicholas. " I beg your pardon. That didn't occur to me, 1 confess." "It's the main point," said Mr. Crummies, "I open at Portsmouth the day after to-morrow. If you're going there, look into the theatre, and see how that'll teU." Nicholas promised to do so, if he could, and drawing a chair near the fire, fell into conversation with the manager at once. He was very talkative and communicative, stimulated perhaps, not only by his natural disposition, bat by the spirits and water|he sipped very plentifully, or the snuff he took in large quantities from a piece of whitey-brown paper in his waistcoat pocket. He laid open his affairs without the smallest reserve, and descanted at some length upon the merits of his company, and the acquire- ments of his family ; of both of which, the two broadsword boys formed an honourable portion. There was to be a gathering, it seemed, of the different ladies and gentlemen at Portsmouth on the morrow, whither the father and sons were proceeding (not for the regvilar season, but in the course of a wandering specula- tion), after fulfilling an engagement at Guildford with^the greatest applause. . " You are going that way ? " asked the manager. " Ye-yes," said Nicholas. " Yes, I am." "Do you know the town at all?" inquired the manager, who seemed to consider himself entitled to the same degree of confidence as he had himself exhibited. " No," replied Nicholas, " Never there ? " "Never." Mr. Vincent Crummies gave a short dry cough, as much as to say, " If you won't be communicativp, you won't ; " and took so many pinches of snuff from the piece of paper, on^ NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 115 after another, that Nicholas quite woiidered where it a^ went to. While he was thus, engaged, Mr. Crummies looked, from time to time, withj , great interest at Smike, with whom he had appeared considerably struck from the first. He had now fallen asleep, and was nodding in his chair. " Excuse my saying so," said the manager, leaning over to Nicholas, and sinking Ms voice, " but what a capital countenance your friend has got ! " " Poor feilow ! " said Nicholas, with a half-smile, " I wish it were a little more plump, and less haggard." " Plump !" exclaiped the manager, quite horrified, " you'd spoil it for, ever." "Do you think so?" , , ,, , ; "Think so, ^ir! Why, as he is now,", said the manager striking his knee emphatically ; "without a pad upon his body, and hardly ra touch of paint upon his face, he'd make such an aetqr' for the starved business as was never seen in this country. Only let him be tolerably well up in the Apothecary in Eomeo and Juliet with ^ the slightest possible dab of red on the tip of his nose, and' he'd be certain of three rounds the moment he put his head out of the practicable door in the front grooves 0. P." ,,; I "You view Mm with a professional eye," said Nicholas, laugMng. "And well I may," rejoined, the manager, "I never saw a young fellow so regularly cut out for that line, since I've been in the profession. And I played the heavy cMldren when I was eighteen months old." „ The appearance of the beef-steak puddiug, wMch came in simultaneously with the junior Vincent Crummleses, turned the conversation to other matters, and indeed, for a time, stopped it altogether. These two young gentlemen wielded their knives and forks with scarcely less address, than, their broadswords, and as, the whole party Were quite, as sharp-set as either class of weapons, there was no time for talking until the supper had been disposed of. The; Master Crummleses had no sooner swallowed the last procurable morsel pi food, than they evinced, by various half- suppressed yawns and .stretcMngs of their limbs, an obvious inclination to retire for the night, wMch Smike had betrayed still more strongly : he having, in the course of the meal, fallen asleep several times while in .the very act of eating. Nicholas ii6 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY therefore proposed that they should break up at once, but the manager woidd by no means hear of it ; vowing that he had promised himself the pleasure of inviting his new acquaintance to share a bowl of punch, and that if he declined, he should deem it very unhandsome behaviour. "Let them go," said Mr. Vincent Crummies, "and we'll have it snugly and cosily together by the fire." Nicholas was not much disposed to sleep — being in truth too anxious — so, after a little demur, he accepted the offer, and having exchanged a shake of the hand with the young Crumm- leses, and the manager having on his part bestowed a most iaffectionate benediction on Smike, he sat himself down opposite to that gentleman by the fireside to assist in emptying the bowl, which soon afterwards appeared, steaming in a maimer which was quite exhilarating to behold, and sending forth a most grateful and inviting fragrance. But, despite the puiich and the manager, who told a variety of stories, and smoked tpbacco from a pipe, and inhaled it in the shape of snuff, with a most astonishing powet, Nicholas was absent and dispirited. His thoughts were in his old home, and when they reverted to his present condition, the uncertainty of the morrow cast a gloom upon him, which his utmost efforts were unable to dispel. His attention wandered; although he heard the manager's voice, he was deaf to what he said ; and when Mr. Vincent Crummies concluded the history of some long adventure with a loud laugh, and an inquiry what Nicholas would have done under the same circumstances, he was obliged to make the best apology in his power, and to confess his entire ignorance of all he had been talking about. " Why, so I saw," observed Mr. Crummies. " You're uneasy in your mind; What's the matter ? " Nicholas could not refrain from smiling at the abruptness of the question; but, thinking it scarcely worth while to parry it, owned that he was under some apprehensions lest he might not succeed in the object which had brought him to that part of the country. " And what's that ? " asked the manager. " Getting something to do which will keep me and my poor feUow-traveller in the common necessaaies of life," said Nicholas. " That's the truth. You guessed it long ago, I dare say, so I may as weU have the credit of telling it you with a good grace." " What's to be got tp dp at Portsmputh more than anywhere NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 117 ilse ? " asked Mr. Vincent Crummies, melting the sealing-wax in the stem of his pipe in the candley and rolling it out afresh yith his little finger. " There are many vessels leavinlg the port, I suppose," replied iTicholas. " I shall try for a berth in some ship or other. There is meat and drink there, at all events," " Salt meat and new rum ; pease-pudding and chaff-biscuits," aid the manager, taking a whiff at his pipe to keep it alight, ,nd returning to his work, of embellishment. . "One may do worse than that," said Nicholas. "I can ough it, I believe, as well as most young men of my age and )revious habits." "You need be able to," said the manager, "if you go on )oard ship ; but you won't." "Why not?" " Because there's not a skippdt or mate that would think iTou worth your salt, when he could get a practised hand,", replied the manager; "and they as plentiful there, as the )ysters in the streets." "What do you mean?" asked Nicholas, alarmed by this jrediction, and the confident tone in which it had been uttered. ' Men are not bom able seamen. They must be reared, I suppose ? " ' Mr. Vincent Crummies nodded his head. " They must ; but Qotat your age, or from young gentlemen like you." There was a pause. The countenance of Nicholas fell, and lie gazed ruefully at the fire. " Does no other profession occur to you, which a young man of your figure and address could take up easily, and see the world to advantage in 1 " asked the manager. ■ "No,'i' said; Nicholas, shaking his head, "Why, then, I'll tell you one," said Mr. Crummies, throwing his pipe into the fire, and raising his voice. "The stage." " The stage ! " cried Nicholas, In a voice almost as loud. "The theatrical profession," said Mr. Vincent CrummleSi " I am in the theatrical profession myself, my wife is in the theatrical profession, my children are in the theatrical, pror fession. I had a dog that lived and died in it from a puppy , and my chaise-pony goes on, in Timour the Tartar, I'll bring you out, and your friend too. Say the, word., I want a novelty." ni " I don't know anything about it,'' rejoined Nicholas, whose ii8 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY breath had been almost taken away, by this sudden proposal. " I never acted a part in my life, except at echool." " There's genteel comedy in your walk and manner, juvenile tragedy in your eye, and toudh-and-go faree in your laugh," said Mr. Vincent Crummies. "You'll do as well as if you had thought of nothing else but the lamps, from your birth downwards." Nicholas thought of the small amount of small change that would remain in his pocket after paying the tavern bill : and he hesitated. '' " You can be useful to us in a hundred ways," said Mr. Crummies. " Think what capital biUs a man of your education could write for the shop-windows." "Well, I think I could manage that department," said Nicholas. "To be sure you could," replied Mi. Crummies. "Tor further particulars see small hand-bills ' — we might have half a volume in every one of 'em. Pieces too ; why, you could write us a piece to bring out the whole strength of the company, whenever we wanted one." ' " I am not quite so confident about that," replied Nicholas. " But I dare say I could scribble something now and then, that would suit you." r "fWe'U have a new show-piece out directly," said the manager. "Let me see — peculiar resources of this establish- ment — new and splendid scenery — you must manage to introduce a real pump and two washing-tubs." " Into the piece ? " said Nicholas. " Yes," replied the manager. " I bought 'em cheap, at a sale the other day, and they'll come in admirably. That's the London plan. They look up some dresses, and properties, and have a piece written to fit 'em. Most of the theatres keep an aiithbr on purpose." " Indeed ! " cried Nicholas. " Oh yes," said the manager ; " a common thing. It'll look very well in the bills in separate lines — Eeal pump ! — Splendid tubs ! — Great attraction ! You don't happen to be anything of an artist, do you ? " "That is not one of my accomplishment^," rejoined Nicholas. "Ah! Then it can't be helped," said the manager. "If you had been, we might have had a large woodcut of the last scene for the posters, showing the whole depth of the stage, with NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 119 the pump and tubs in the middle; but however, if you're not, it can't be helped." " What should I get for all this ? " inquired Nicholas, after a f6w moments' reflection. " Could I live by it ? " " Live by it ! " said the manager! " Like a prince ! With your own salary, and your friend's, and your writings, you'd make— ah'! you'd make a pound a week ! " _ "You don't say so!" " I do indeed, and if we had a run of good houses, neai'ly double the money." ' '■ Nicholas shrugged his shoulders; but sheer destitution was before him; and if he could summon fortitude to tindergo the extremes of want and hardship, for what had he rescued his helpless charge if it were only to bear as hard a fate as that from which he liad wrested himi It was easy to think of seventy miles as nothing, when he was in the same town with the man who had treated him so ill and roused his bitterest thoughts; but now, it seemed far enough. What if he went abroad, and his mother or Kate were to die the' whUe ? Without more deliberation, he hastily declared that it was a bargain, and gave Mr. Vincent Crummies his hand upon it. Nicholas, who has taken fbr a time the name of Johnson, and his com- panion Smike, are kindly welcomed by Mrs. Vincent Crummies, and are introduced to Miss Ninetta Crummies (the infant phtopmenon), Mr. Folair, Mr. Lenville,:Mis8 Sneyellicci, Miss Ledroofe, and the other ladies and gentle- meii of the company. Nicholas is given a French play to translate, and goes for a memorable walk ; he also makes his first appearance upon any stage. m THE GREAT BESPEAK FOR MISS SNEVELLICCI Nicholas was up betimes 'in the morning; but he had scarcely begun to dress,, not withstanding,, when he heard foot- steps 'ascending the stairs, and was presently saluted by the vOices of Mr. Folate the pantomimist, and Mr. Lenville the tragedian. 120 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY " House, house, house ! " cried Mr. Folair. " What, ho ! within there ! " said Mr. Lenville, in a deep voice. " Confound these fellows ! " thought Nicholas ; " they have come to breakfast, I suppose. I'll open the door directly, if you'll wait an instant." The gentlemen entreated him not to hurry himself; and, to beguile the interval, had a fencing bout with their walking- sticks on the very small landing-place : to the unspeakable discomposure of all the other lodgers down-stairs. " Here, come in," said Nicholas, when he had completed his toilet. "In the name of aU that's horrible, don't make that noise outside." "An imcommon snug little box this," said Mr. Lenville, stepping into the front room, and taking his hat off,: before he could get in at all. " Pernicious snug." "For a man at aU particular in such matters, it might be a trifle too snug," said Nicholas ; " for, although it is, undoubtedly, a great convenience to be able to reach anythiiig you want from the ceiling or the floor, or either side of the room, without haying to move from your chair, still these advantages can only be had in an apartment of the most limited size." " It isn't a bit too confined for a single man," returned Mr. Lenville. " That reminds me, — my wife, Mr. Johnson, — I hope she'll have some good part in this piece of yours ? " " I glanced at the French copy last night," said Nicholas. " It looks very good, I think." " What do you meto to do for me, old fellow ? " asked Mr. LenvUle, poking the struggling fire with his walking-stick, and afterwards wiping it on the skirt of his coat. "Anything in the gruff and grumble way ? " " You turn your wife and child out of doors," said Nicholas ; " and in a fit of rage and jealotsy, stab your eldest son in the library." " Do I though ! " exclaimed Mr. Lenville. " That's very good business." "After which," said Nicholas, "you are troubled with remorse till the last act, and then you make up your mind to destroy yourself. But, just as you are raising the pistol to your head, a clock Strikes — ten." "I see," cried Mr. Lenville. "Very good." " You pause," said Nicholas ; " you recollect to have heard a clock strike ten in your infancy. The pisfol falls from your NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 121 hand — ^you are overcome — you burs^ into tears, and become a virtuous and exemplary character for ever afterwards." , , "Capital! " sfiid J^r. Lenville: "that's a sure card, a sure card. Get the curtain down with a touch of nature like that, and it'll be a triumphant success." "Is there anything good for mel" inquired Mr. Folair, anxiously. " Let me see," said Nicholas. , •You play the faithful and attached .servant ; you are turned out of doors with the wife and child." "Always coupled with that infernal phenomenon," sighed Mr. Folair; " and we go into poor lodgings, where I won't take any wages, and talk sentiment, I suppose ? " ; " Why — ^yes," replied Nicholas; "that is the course of the piece." " I must have a dance of some kind, you know," said Mr. Fdair. " You'll have. to introduce one for the phenomenon, sp- you'd better, make a ^ast^ecfewaj, and save time." " There's nothing easier than that," said Mr, , Lenville, observing the disturbed looks of the young dramatist. " Upon my word I don't see hqw it's to be* done," rejoined Nicholas. " Why, isn't it obvious ? " reasoned Mr. Lenville. " Gad- zooks, who can help seeing, the way to do it? — you astonish me ! You get the distressed lady, and the little child, and the attached servant, into the poor lodgings, don't you ? — Well, look here. The . distressed lady sinks into a chair, and buries her face in her pocket-handkerchief- — ' What makes you weep, mamma?' says the child. 'Don't weep, mamma, or you'll make me weep too ! ' — ' And me ! ' says the faithful servant, rubbing his eyes with his arm. ' What can we do to raise your spirits, dear mamma ? ' says the little child. ' Aye, what can we do ? ' says J the faithful servant. ' Oh, Pierre ! ' says the distressed lady; 'would that I could shake off these painful thoughts.' — ' Try, ma'am, try,' says the faithful servant ; ' rouse yourself, madam ; be amused.'—' I will,' says the lady, ' I will learn to suffer with fortitude. Do you remember that dance, my honest friend, which, in happier days, you practised with this sweet angel ? It never failed . to calm my spirits then. Oh ! let me see it once again before I die ! ' — There it is-^cue for the band, before I die, — and, off they go. That's the regular thing ; isn't it. Tommy ? " "That's it," replied Mr. Folair. "The distressed lady, 122 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY overpowered by old recollections, faints at the end of the dance, and you close ia with a picture." Profiting by these and other leSsons, which were the result of the personal experience of the two actors, "Nicholas willingly gave them the best breakfast he could, and, when he at length got rid of them, applied himself to his task : by no means dis- pleased to find that it was so much easier than he had at first supposed. He worked very hard aU day, and did not leave his room until the evening, when he went down to the theatre, whither Smike had repaired before him to go on with another gentleman as a general rebellion. Here all the people were so mtich changed, that hfe scarcely knew them. False hair, false colour, false calvesj, false muscles —they had become different beings. Mr. Lenville was a blooni- ing warrior of most exquisite proportions ; Mr. Crummies, his large face shaded by a profusion Of bldck hair, a Highland out- law of most majestic bearing ; one of the old gentlemen a gaoler, and the other a venerable patriarch ; the comic countryman, a fighting-mai. of great valour, relieved by a touch of humour; each of the Master Grummleses a prince in his own right ; and the low-spirited lover, a desponding captive! There was a gorgeous banquet ready spread for the third act, consisting of two pasteboard vases, one plate of biscuits, a black bottle, and a vinegar cruet ; and^ in short, everything was on a scale of the utmost splendour and preparation. Nicholas was standing with his back to the curtain, now contemplating the first scene, which was a Gothic archway, about two feet shorter than Mr. Crummies, through which that gentleman was to make his first entrancej and now listening to a couple of people who were cracking nuts in the gallery, Wondering whether they made the whole audience, when the manager himself walked familiarly up and accosted him. " Been in front to-night ? " said Mr. Crummies. " No," replied Nicholas, " not yet. ' I am going to see the play." " We've had a pretty good Let," said Mr. Crummies, " Four front places in, the centre, and the whole of the stage-box." " Oh, indeed ! " said Nicholas ; " a family, I suppose ? " "Yes," replied Mr. Crummies, "yes. It's an affecting fhihg. There are six children, and they never come unless the phenomenon plays." ' ■ It would have been dif&cult for any party, family or NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 123 otherwise, to have visited the theatre on a night when the phenomenon did not play, inasmuch as she always sustained one, ^nd not uncommonly two or three, characters, every night ; but NJcholas, sympathising with the feelings of a father, refrained from hinting at this trifling circumatance, and Mr. Crummies continued to talk, uninterrupted^ hy him. t " Six," said that gentleman ;' " Pa and Ma eight, aunt nine, governess ten, grandfather and' grandmother twelve. Then, there's the footman, who stands outside, with a bag of oranges and a jug of toast-and- water, and sees the play for' nothing through the little pane of glas'sUn the box-door — ^it's cheap at a guinea ; they gain- by -taking a box."" ' "I wonder you allow so many,"' observed Nicholas. " There's no help' for it," replied Mr. Crummies ; " it's always' expected in the country. If there are six children, six people come to hold' them in their laps. ' A family-b6x carries double always. Eing in the oi^chestra, Grudden ! " ' - That usdEul lady did as she was requested, and shortly after* wards the timing of three fiddles was heard. Which' process having been protracted as long as it was supposed that the patience of the aiudience could poasibly bear it, was put a stop to by anothet' jerk of the bell, which, being the signal to begin in earnest, set the orchestra playing a variety of popular airs, with involuntary variations. If Mdholas had been' astonished at the alteration for the better which the gentlemen displayed, the transformation of the ladies was still more extraordinary. When, from a snug corner of the manager's box, he beheld Miss Snevellicoi in all the glories of white milslin 'with a golden hem, and Mrs. Crummies in all the dignity of the outlaw's wife, a,nd Mis^ Bravassa in aU the sweetness of Miss Snevellicei's confidential friend, and Miss Belvawney in' the white siiks of a page doing duty everywhere and swearing to live and die in the service of everybody, he could scarcely contain his admiration, which testified itself in great applause, and the closest possible attention to the business of the sciene. The plot was most interesting. It belonged to no particular age, people, or country, and was perhaps the more delightful on that account, as nobody's previous information could afford the remotest glimmering of what would ever cOme of it.' An outlaw had been very successful in doing something somewhere, and- came home in triumph, to the sound of shouts and fiddles, to greet his wife— a lady of mascuKne mind, who talked a good deal about her father's bones, which it seemed 124 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY were unburied, though whether from a peculiar taste on the pg,rt of the old gentleman himself, or the reprehensible neglect of his relations, did not appear. This outlaw's wife was, somehow or other, mixed up with, a patriarch, living in a castle a long w:ay off, and this patriarch was the father of several of the characters, but he didn't exactly know which, and was uncertain whether he had brought up the right ones in his castile, or the wrong ones ; he rather inclined to the latter opinion, and, being uneasy, relieved his mind with a banquet, during which solemnity some- body in. a cloak said " Beware ! " 'which somebody was known by nobody (except the audience) to be the outlaw himself, who had come there, for reasons unexplained, but possibly with an eye to the spoons. There was an agreeable little surprise in the way of certain love-passages between the desponding captive and Miss . Snevellicci, and thei comic fighting-man and Miss Bravassa ; besides which, Mr. Lenville had several very tragic scenes in the dark, while on throat-cutting expeditions, which were all baffled by the skUl aad bravery of the comic fighfing-man (who overheard whatever was said all through the piece) and the intrepidity of Miss Snevellicci, who adopted tights, and therein repaired to the prison, of her captive lover, with a small basket of refreshments and a dark lantern. At last, it came out that the patriarch was the man who had treated the bones of the outlaw's father-La-law with so much disre^ect, for which cause and reason the outlaw's wife repaired to his castle to kill him, and so got into a dark, room, where, after a good deal of groping in the dark, everybody got hold of, everybody else, and tdok them for somebody besides, which occasioned a vast quantity of confusion, with some pistolling, loss pf life, and torchlight ; after which, the patriarch ca.me forward, and observing, with a know- ing look, that he knew all about his children now, and would tell them whje;n they got inside, said that there could not be a more appropriate occasion for niarrying the young people than that ; and therefore he joinedtheir hands, with the full consent of the iadefatigable page, who (being the only other person sur- viving) pointed with his cap into the clouds, and his right hand to the ground ; thereby invoking, a blessing and giving the cue for the curtain to come down, which it did, amidst general applause. . '■ " What did you think of that ? '' asked Mr. Crummies, when Nicholas went round, to the stagp again. Mr.: prummles was very red and hot^ ipT your; outlaws are desperate fellpws to shout. ! . NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 125 "I think it was very capital indeed," replied Nicholas; " Miss SneveUicci in particular was uncommonly good." " She's a genius," said Mr. Crummies ; " quite a genius, that girl. By the bye, I've been thinking of bringing out that pieCe of yours on her bespeak night." "When? "asked Nicholas, ' '■ ' "The night of her bespeak. Her benefit night, when her friends and patrons bespeak the play," said Mr. Crummies. "Oh ! I understand," replied Nicholas, " You see," said Mr. Crummies, " it's sure to go, on such an occasion, and even if it should not work' up qi^te as well as we expect, why it will be her risk, you' know, and not ours." " Yours, you mean," said Nicholas. " I said mine, didn't I ? " returned. Mr. Crummies. " Neixt Monday week. ■ What do ■ you say ? You'U have done it, and are sure to he up in the lover's , part, long before th^t time." ' " ' ' ' "I don't know about 'long before,'" repUed Nicholas ; "but hy that time I think I can undertake' to be ready." " Very good," pursued Mr. Crummies, " then we'll; call that settled. -Now, I want to ask yOu something else. There's a little — ^what shall I call it — a little canvassing takes place on these occasions." , , , ■ " Among the patrons, I suppose ? " said Nicholas. " Among the patrons ; and the fact is, that Snevellicci has had so many bespeaks in this place, that she wants an attraction. Shb had a bespeak when her mother-iri-law died, and a bespeak when her uncle died ; and Mrs. Crummies and myself have had bespeaks on the anniversary of the phenomenon's birthday, and our wedding-day, and occasions of that description, so- that, in fact, there's some difficulty in getting a good one. Now; won't you help this poor girl, Mi. Johnson?" said Crummies, sitting Mmself down on a drum, and taking a great pinch of snuff, as he looked him steadily in the face. ' " How do you mean ? " rejoined Nicholas. "Don't you think you could spare half-an-hour to-morrow inoiming, to call with her at the houses of one or two of the princijial people ? " murmured the manager in a , persuasive tone. "Oh dear me," isaid Nicholas, with an air of very strong objedtion, " I shouldn't like to do that." "The infant will accompany her," said Mr. Crummies. " The moment it was suggest^ to me, I gave permission for the 126 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY infant to go, There will not be the smallest impropriety — Miss Snevellicci, sir, is the very soul of honour. It would be of material service— ^the gentleman from London— author of the new piece- — actor in the new piece — first appearance on any boards — it would lead to a great bespeak, Mr. Johnson." ,, ^ "I am very sorry to throw a damp upon the prospects of anybody, and more especially a lady," replied Nicholas ;- "but really I must decidedly object to making one of the canvassing party." • , "What does Mr. Johnson say, Vincent?" inquired a voice close to his ear j. and, lookiug. round, he found Mrs. Crummies and Miss Snevellicci herself standing behind him. " He has some objection, my dear," replied Mr. Oruimnles, looking at NicholSiS. ; , . "Objection!" exclaimed Mrs. Crummies. "Can it be possible?" J ■ , ; , "Oh, 1 hope not!" cried Miss Snevellicci. "You surely are not so cruel— oh, dear me ! — ^Well, I — to think of that now, after all one's looking forward to it ! " " Mr. Johnson will not persist, my dear," said Mrs. Crvimmles. " Think better of him than to suppose it. G^antry, humanity, all the best feelings of his nature,: must be enlisted in this interesting cause." " Which moves even a manager," said Mr, Crummies, smiling. " And a manager's wife," added Mrs. Crummies, in her accustomed tragedy tones, "Come, come,^ you wiU relent, I know you will." , . " It is not in my nature," said Nicholas, moved by these appeals, "to resist a,ny: entreaty, unless it, is to do someth,ing positively wrong ; and, beyond , a feeling of pride, I know nothing which should prevent my doing this, I know nobody here, and nobody knows me. So be it then,r I yield." Miss Snevellicci was at once, overwhelmed with blushes and expressions of gratitude, of yluch latter commodity neither Mr. nor Mrs. Crummies was by any means sparing. It was arranged that Nicholas should call upon her, at her lodgings, at eleven next; morning, and soon after- they parted : he to return home to his authorship : Miss Snevellicci to dress for the after-piece : and the disinterested manager and-his yife to discuss the probable gains of the forthcoming bespeak, of which they were to have two-thirds of the profits by solemn treaty of agjreement. At the stipulated hour next iiiorning, Nicholas repaired to NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 127 the lodgings of Miss SneveUicci,' which were in a place called Lombard Street, at the house of a tailor. A strong smell of ironing pervaded the little passage ; and the tailor's . daijghter, who opened the door appeared, in that flutter of spirits which is so often attendant upon the periodical getting up of a family's linen. "Miss SneveUicci lives here, I believe?" said Nicholas, when the door was opened. ']'■,'. The tailor's daughter replied in the afirmative. "Will you have the goodness to let her kno^ that Mr. Johnson is here ? " said Nicholas.. "Oh, if you please, you're to come up-stairs," replied the tailor's daughter, with a smile. - , Nicholas followed the young lady, and was shown into a small apartment on the first floor, communicating with a back room; in which, as he judged, from a certain half^rsubdued clinking sound, as of cups and saucers. Miss SnevelHoCi was then taking her breakfast in bed. " You're to wait, if you please," said the tailor's daughter, after a short period of absence, during which the clinking in the_bg.ck-room had ceased, and had been^succeeded by whisper- ing— "She won't be long." As she spoke she pulled up the. window-blind, and having by this means (as she thought) diverted Mr. Johnson's attention from the room to the street, caught up some articles which were airing on the fender,, and had very much the appearance of stockings, and darted off. As there, were not many objects of interest outside the window, Nicholas looked about the room with more curiosity than he might otherwise have bestowed upon it. On the sofa lay an old guitar, several thumbed pieces of music, and a scattered litter of curl-papers : together with a ponfused heap of play-bnis, and a pair of soiled white satia shoes with large blue rosettes. Han^g over the back of a chair was a half- finished muslin apron with little pockets ornamented with red ribbons, such as waiting-women wear on the stage, and (by consequence) are never s'een with anywhere else. In one comer stood the diminutive pair, of top-boots in which Miss Snevellicci was accustomed to enact the little jockey, and, folded on a chair; hard by, was a small parcel, which bore a very suspicious resemblance to the companion smalls. But the most interesting, object of all, was, perhaps, the open scrap-book, displayed in the midst of some theatrical 128 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY duodecimos that were strewn upon the table ; and pasted into which scrap-book were various critical notices of Miss Snevel- licci's acting, extracted from different provincial journals, to- gether with one poetic address in her honour, commencing — Sing, God of Love, and tell me in what dearth Thrice-gifted Snbvelucci came on earth, To thrlfl us with her smile, her tear, her eye. Sing, God of Love, and tell me quickly why. Besides this effusionj there were innumerable complimentary allusions, also extracted from newspapers, such as — " We observe from an advertisement in another part of our paper of to-day, that the charming and highly-talented Miss Snevellioci takes her benefit on Wednesday, for which occasion she has put forth a bill of fare that might kindle exhilaration in the breast of a misanthrope. In the confidence that our fellow-townsmen have not lost that high appreciation of public utUity and private worth, for which they have long been so pre-eminently dis- tinguished, we predict that this charmiag actress wUl be greeted with a bumper." "To Correspondents. — J. S. is misinformed when he supposes that the highly-gifted and beautiful Miss SnevelUcci, nightly captivating all hearts at our pretty and commodious little theatre, is Tiot the same lady to whom the young gentleman of immense fortune, residing vdthin a hundred mUes of the good city of York, lately made honourable pro- posals. We have reason to know that Miss Snevellicci is the lady who was implicated in that mysterious and romantic affair, and whose conduct on that occasion did no less honour to her head and heart, than do her histrionic triumphs to her brilliant genius." A copious assortment of such paragraphs as these, with long bills of benefits all ending with " Come Early," in large capitals; formed the principal contents of Miss SneveUici's scrap-book. Nicholas had read a great many of these scraps, and was absorbed in a circumstantial and melancholy account of the train of events which had led to Miss SneveUicci's spraining ■ her ankle by ^slipping on a piece of orange-peel flung by a monster in human form, (so the paper said,) upon the stage at Winchester,— when that young lady herself, attired in the coal-scuttle bonnet and walking-dress complete, tripped into the room, with a thousand apologies for having detained him so long after the appointed time. '"But reaUy," said Miss SneveUicqi, "my darling L^d, who NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 129. lives with me here, was taken so very ill in the night that I thought she would have expired in my arms." "Such a fate is almost to be envied," returned Mcholas, " but I am very sorry to hear it nevertheless." " What a creature you are to flatter ! " said Miss SneveUicci, buttoning her glove in much confusion. " If it be flattery to admire your charms and accomplish- ments," rejoined Mcholas, laying his hand upon the scrap-book, " you have better specimens of it here." " Oh you cruel creature, 'to read such things as those ! I'm almost ashamed to look you in the face afterwards, positively I am," said Miss SnevelHcci, seizing the book and putting it away in a closet. " How careless of Led ! How could she be so naughty ! " " I thought you had kindly left it here, on purpose for me to read," said Nicholas. And reaUy it did seem possible. " I wouldn't have had you see it for the world ! " rejoined Miss SneveUicci. " I never was so vexed — never ! But she is such a careless thing, there'is no trusting her." The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the phenomenon, who had discreietly remained in the bedroom up to this moment, and now presented herself, with much grace and lightness, beariug in her hand a very little green parasol with a broad fringe border, and no handle. After a few words of course, they sallied into the street. The phenomenon was rather a troublesome companion, for first the right sandal came down, and then the left, and these mischances being repaired, one leg of the little white trousers was discovered to be longer than the other; besides these acci- dents, the green parasol was dropped down an iron grating, and only fished up again, with great difficulty and by dmt of much exertion. However, it was impossible to scold her, as she was the manager's daughter, so Nicholas took it aU in perfect good humour, and walked on, with Miss SneveUicci, arm in arm on one side, and the offending infant on the other. The first house to which they bent their steps, was situated in a terrace of respectable appearance. Miss SneveUicci's modest double-knock was answered by a foot-boy, who, in reply to her inquiry whether Mrs. Curdle was at home, opened his eyes very wide, grinned very much, and said he didn't know, but he'd inquire. With this, he ■ showed them into a parlour where he kept them waiting, until the two women-servants had repaired thither, under false pretences, to see the play-actors j K 130 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY and having compared notes with them in the passage, and joined in a vast quantity of whispering and giggling, he at length went up-stairs with Miss SneveUicci's name. Now, Mrs. Curdle was supposed, by those who were best informed on such points, to possess quite the London taste in matters relatiag to literature and the drama; and as to Mr. Curdle, he had written a pamphlet of sixty-four pages, post octavo, on the character of the Nurse's deceased husband in Eomeo and Juliet, with an inquiry whether he really had been a " merry man " in i his life-time, or whether it was merely his widow's affectionate partiality that induced her so to report him. He had likewise proved, that by altering the received mode of punctuation, any one of Shakespeare's plays could be made quite different, and the sense completely changed ; it is needless to say, therefore, that he was a great critic, and a very profound and most original thinker. "Well, Miss SneveUicci," said Mrs. Curdle, entering the parlour, " and how do you do ? " Miss SneveUicci made a graceful obeisance, and hoped Mrs. Curdle was well, .as also Mr. Curdle, who at the same time appeared. Mrs. Curdle was dressed in a morning wrapper, with a little cap stuck upon the tpp of her head. Mr. Curdle wore a loose robe on his back, and his right fore-finger oil his forehead, after the portraits of Sterne, to whom somebody or other had once said he bore a striking resemblance. " I ventured to call, for the purpose of asking whether you would put your name to my bespeak, ma'am/' said Miss SneveUicci, producing documents. ' " Oh ! I really don't know what to say," replied Mrs. Curdle. " It's not as if the theatre was in its high and palmy days — you needn't stand, Miss SneveUicci— ^the drama is gone, perfectly gone." " As an exquisite embodiment of the poet's visions, and a realisation of human inteUectuaUty, gUding with refulgent light our dreamy moments, and laying open a new and magic world before the mental eye, the drama is gone, perfectly gone," said Mr. Curdle. - "What man is there, now living, who can -present before us all those changing and prismatic colours with which the character of Hamlet is invested?" exclaimed Mrs. Curdle. "What man indeed — upon the stage," said Mr. Curdle, with a small reservation in favour of himself. " Hamlet ! Pooh ! ridiculous! Hamlet is gone, perfectly gone." NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 131 Quite overcome by these dismal reflections, Mr. and Mrs. Curdle sighed, and sat for some short time without speaking. At length, the lady, turning to Miss Snevellicci, inq^uired what play she proposed to have. "Quite a new one," said Miss Snevellicci, "of which this gentleman is the author, and in which he plays ; being his first appearance on any stage. Mr. Johnson is the gentleman's name." "I hope you have preserved the unities, sir?" said Mr. Curdle. " The original piece is a French one," said Nicholas. " There is abundance of incident, sprightly dialogue, strongly-marked characters " " — ^All unavailing without a strict observance of the unities, sir," returned Mr. Curdle. " The unities of the drama, before everything." " Might I ask you," said Mcholas, hesitating between the respect he ought to assume, and his love of the whimsical, " might I ask you what the imities are ? " Mr* Curdle coughed and considered. " The unities, sir," he said, " are a completeness — a kind of a universal dovetailedness with regard to place and time — a sort of a general oneness, if I may be allowed to use so strong an expression. I take those to be the dramatic unities, so far as. I haVe been enabled to bestow attention upon them, and I have read much upon the subject, and thought much. I find, running through the per- formances of this child," said Mr. Curdle, turning to the phenomenon, " a unity^^of feeling, a breadth, a light and shade, a warmth of colouring, a tonq, a harmony, a glow, an artistical development of original conceptions, which I look for, in vain, among older performers. I don't know whether I make myself understood ? " " Perfectly," replied Mcholas. "Just so," said Mr. Curdle, pulling up his neckcloth. " That is my definition of the unities of the drama." Mrs. Curdle had sat listening to this lucid explanation with great complacency. It being finished, she inquired what Mr. Curdle thought, about putting down their names. " I don't know, my dear ; upon my .word, I don't know," said Mr. Curdle. "If we do, it must be distinctly understood that we do not pledge ourselves to the quality of the perform- ances. Let it go forth to the world, that we do not give them the sanction of our names, but that we confer the distinction 132 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY merely upon Miss Snevellicci. That being clearly stated, I take it to be, as it were, a duty, that we should extend our patronage to a degraded stage, even for the sake of the associa- tions with which it is entwined. Have you got two-and-six- pence for half-a-crown. Miss Snevellicoi ? " said Mr. Curdle, turning over four of those pieces of money. Miss Snevellicci felt in all the corners of the pink reticule, but there was nothing in any of them. Nicholas murmured a jest about his being an author, and thought it best not to go through the form of feeling in his own pockets at all. " Let me see,", said Mr. Curdle ; " twice four's eight — four shillings a-piece to the boxes. Miss Snevellicci, is exceedingly dear in the present state of the drama — three half-crowns is seven-and-six ; we shall not differ about sixpence, I suppose ? Sixpence will not part us. Miss SneveUicci ? " Poor Miss SneveUicci took the three half-crowns, with many smiles and bends, and Mrs. Curdle, adding several supple- - mentary directions relative to keeping the places for them and dusting the seat, and sending two clean bills as soon as they came out, rang the bell, as a signal for breaking up the conference. "Odd people those," said Nicholas, when they got clear, of the house. " I assure you," said Miss Snevellicci, taking his arm, " that I think myself very lucky, they did not owe aU the money instead of being sixpence short. Now, if you were to succeed, they would give people to understand that they had always patronised you ; and if you were to fail, they would have been quite certain of that from the very beginning." At the next house they visited they were ia great glory ; for, there, resided the six children who were so enraptured with the public actions of the phenomenony^and who, being called down from the nursery to be treated with a private view of that young lady, proceeded to poke their fingers into her eyes, and tread upon her toes, and show her many other little attentions peculiar to their time of life. "I shall certainly persuade Mr. Borum to take a private box," said the lady of the house, after a most gracious reception. " I shaU. only take two of the children, and will make up the rest of the party, of gentlemen — your admirers. Miss Snevellicci. Augustus, you naughty boy, leave the little girl alone." This was addressed to a young gentleman who was pinching NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 133 the phenomenon behind, apparently with the view of ascertaining whether she was real. " I am sure you must be very tired," said the mamma, turning to Miss Snevellicci. " I cannot think of allowing you to go, without first taking a glass of wine. Fie, Charlotte, I am ashamed of you ! Miss Lane, my dear, pray see to the children." Miss Lane was the governess, and this entreaty was rendered necessary by the abrupt behaviour of the youngest Miss BorUm, who, having filched the phenomenon's little green parasol, was now carrying it bodily off, while the distracted infant looked helplessly on. "I am sure, where you ever learnt to act as you do," said good-natured Mrs. Borum, turning again to Miss Snevelliecd, " I cannot understand (Emma, don't stare so) ; laughing in one piece, and crying in the next, and so natural in all — oh, dear ! " "I am very happy to hear you express so favourable au opinion," said Miss Snevellicci. " It's quite delightful to think you like it." " Like it ! " cried Mrs. Borum. " Who can help liking it \ I would go to the play, twice a week if I could : I dote upon it. Only you're too affecting sometimes. You do put me in such a state — into such fits of crying ! Goodness gracious me, Miss Lane, how can you let them torment that poor child so ! " The phenomenon was really in a fair way of being torn limb from limb ; for two strong little boys, one holding on by each of her hands, were dragging her in different directions as a trial of strength. However, Miss Lane (who had herseK been too much occupied in contemplating the grown-up actors, to pay the necessary attention to these proceedings) rescued the unhappy infant at this juncture, who, being recruited with a glass of wine, was shortly afterwards taken away by her friends, after sustaining no more serious damage than a flattening of the pink gauze bonnet, and a rather extensive creasing of the white frock and trousers. It was a trying morning ; for there were a great many calls to make, and everybody wanted a different thing. Some wanted tragedies, and others comedies; some objected to dancing; some wanted scarcely anything else. Some thought the comic singer decidedly low, and others hoped he would have more to do than he usually had. Some people wouldn't promise to go, because other people wouldn't promise to go; and other people wouldn't go at all, because other people went. At 134 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY length, and by little and little, omitting something in this place, and adding something in that, Miss Snevellicci pledged herself to a bQl of fare which was comprehensive enough, if it had no other merit (it included among other trifles, ;four pieces, divers songs, a few combats, and several dances) ; and they returned home, pretty well exhausted with the business of the day. Nicholas worked away at the piece, which was speedily put into rehearsal, and then worked away at his own part, which he studied with great perseverance and acted— as the whole com- pany said— to perfection. And at length the great day arrived. The crier was sent round, in the morning, to proclaim the enter- tainments with soimd of bell in all the thoroughfares ; and extra bUls of three feet long by niae inches wide, were dispersed in all directions, flung down all the areas, thrust under all the knockers, and developed in all the shops. They were placarded on all the walls too, though not with complete success, for an illiterate person having undertaken this of6.ce during the indisposition of the regular bill-sticker, a part were posted sideways, and the remainder upside down. At half-past five, there was a rush of four people to the gallery-door; at a quarter before six, there were at least a dozen ; at six o'clock the kicks were terrific ; and when the elder Master Crummies opened the door, he was obliged to run behind it for his life. Fifteen shillings were taken by Mrs. ^rudden in the first ten minutes. Behind the scenes, the same unwonted excitement prevailed. Miss Snevellicci was in such a perspiration that the paint would scarcely stay on her face. Mrs. Crummies was so nervous that she could hardly remember her part. Miss Bravassa's ringlets came out of ctu:1 with the heat and anxiety ; even Mr. Crummies himself kept peeping through the hole in the curtain, and running back, every now and then, to announce that another man had come into the pit. At last, the orchestra left off, and the curtain rose upon the new piece. The first scene, in which there was nobody par- ticular, passed . off calmly enough, but when Miss Snevellicci went on in the second, accompanied by the phenomenon as chUd, what a roar of applause broke out ! The people in the Borum box rose as one man, waving their hats and handkerchiefs, and uttering shouts of " Bravo ! " Mrs. Borum and the governess cast wreaths upon the stage, of which, some fluttered into the lamps, and one crowned the temples of a fat gentleman in the NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 135 pit, who, looking eagerly towards the scene, remained uncon- scious of the honour ; the tailor and his family kicked at the panels of the upper boxes till they threatened to come out altogether ; the very ginger-beer boy remained transfixed in the centre of the hpuse ; a young officer, supposed to entertain a passion for Miss Snevellicci, stuck his glass in his eye as though to hide a tear. Again and again Miss Snevellicci curtseyed lower and lower, and again aud again the applause came down, louder and louder. At length, when the pheno- menon picked up one of the smoking wreaths and put it on, sideways, over Mas Snevellicci's eye, it reached its climax, and the play proceeded* But when Nicholas came on for his crack scene with Mrs. Crummies, what a clapping of hands there was ! When Mrs Crummies (who was his unworthy mother) sneered, and called him " presumptuous boy," and he , defied her, what a tumult of applause came oh ! When he quarrelled with the other gentle- man about the young lady, and producing a case of pistols, said, that if he was a gentleman, he would fight him in that drawing-room, until the furniture was sprinkled with the blood of one, if not of two — how boxes, pit, and gallery joined in pne most vigorous cheer! When he called his mother names, jjecause she wouldn't give up ;the young lady's prpperty, and she relenting, ca,used him to relent likewise, and fall, down on one knee and ask. her blessing,, how the ladies in the audience sobbed! When he was hid behind the curtain in the dark, and the wicked relation poked a sharp sword in every direction, save where his legs were plainly visible, what a thrjll, of anxious fear ran through ;the house! ' His air, his figure, his walk, his look, everything he said or did, was the subject of commenda- tion. G?here was a round, of applause every time he spoke. And wjien, at last, in the pump-and-tub scene, Mrs. Grudden lighted the blue fire,. and all the unemployed members of the company came in, and tumbled down jn various directions — not because that had anything to do with the plot, but in order to finish off with a tableau — ^the audience (who had by this time increased considerably) gave vent to suph a shout of enthusiasm, as hadipjot been heard in thos^ walls for many and many a day. In short, the success both of new , piece and new actor was complete, and when Miss Snevelligci was called for at the end of the play, Nicholas led her on, and divided the applause. 135 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY Nicholas has fallea upon more prosperous times. He has met with the brothers Cheeryble, those kind and benevolent men who have taken him into their counting-house, where he delights the heart of their old clerk, Tim Linkinwater, by dotting all his small " i's " and crossing every " t " as he writes it. The two brothers have let a cottage and garden, their property at Bow, to the Nicklebys at a very low rent, and here Mrs. Nickleby, Biate^ Nicholas, and Smike lead a new and happy life. On a certain occasion Mrs. Nickleby being in a confidential mood^ describes to her son the strange behaviour of a gentleman living in the next house, who is in the constant habit of throwing cucumbers and vegetable marrows into their garden ; and one evening, Mrs. Nickleby says, as she was walking there alone, he called gently over the" wall proposing marriage and an elopement. Nicholas is indignant, and exclaims, "Absurd old idiot 1 " but Mrs. Nickleby in her own mind is not entirely of his opinion. IV MRS. NICKLEBY AND THE MAD GENTLEMAN Ever since her last momentous conversation with her son, Mrs. Nickleby had begun to display unusual care in the adornment of her person, gradually superadding to those staid and matronly habiliments which had, up to that time, formed her ordinary attire, a variety of embellishments and decorations, slight per- haps in themselves, but, taken together, and considered with reference to the subject of her disclosure, of no mean importance. Even her black dress assumed something of a deadty-Hvely air from the jaunty style in which it was worn; and, eked out as its lingering attractions were, by a prudent disposal, here and there, of certain juvenile ornaments of little or no value, which had, for that reason alone, escaped the general wreck and been permitted to slumber peacefully in odd comers of old drawers and boxes where daylight seldom shone, her motiming garments assumed quite a- new character. From being the outward tokens of respect and sorrow for the dead, they became con- verted into signals of very slaughterous and killing designs upon the living. Mrs. Mckleby might have been stimulated to this proceed* ing by a lofty sense of duty, and impiulses of unquestionable excellence. She might, by this time, have become impressed with the sinfulness of. long indulgence in unvailing woe, or the necessity of setting a propel* example of neatness and decorum to her blooming daughter. Considerations of duty and respon- sibilitiy apart, the change might have taken its rise in feelings of the purest and most disinterested charity. The gentleman NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 137 next door- had been vilified by Nicholas ; rudely stigmatised as a dotard and an idiot ; and for these attacks upon his under- standing, Mrs, Nickleby was, in some sortj accountable. She might have felt that it was the act, of a good Christian to show, by all means in her power, that the abused gentleman was neither the one nor the other. And what better means could she adopt, towards so virtuous and laudable an end, than prov- ing to all men, in her own person, that his passion , was the most rational and reasonable in the world, and just the very result, of all others, which discreet and thinking persons might have foreseen, from her incautiously displayiug her matured charms, without reserve, under the very eye, as it were, of an ardent and too-susceptible man ? " Ah ! " said Mrs. Mckleby, gravely shaking her head ; " if Nicholas knew what his poor dear papa suffered before we were engaged, when I used to hate him, he would have a little more feeling. Shall I ever forget the morning I looked scornfully at him when he offered to carry my parasol ? Or that night when I frowned at him? It was a mercy he didn't emigrate. It very nearly drove him to it." Whether the deceased might not have been better off if he had emigrated in his bachelor days, was a question which his relict did not stop to consider; for Kate entered the room, with her work-box, ia. this stage of her reflections ; and a much slighter interruption, or no interruption at aU, would have diverted Mrs. Nickleby's thoughts into a new channel at any time. " Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby ; " I don't know how it is, but a fine warm summer day like this, with the birds sing- ing in every direction, always puts me in mind of roast pig, with sage and onion sauce, and made gravy." " That's a curious association of ideas, is it not, mamma ? " "Upon my word, my dear, I don't know," replied Mrs. Nickleby. " Eoast pig — let me see. On the day five weeks after you were christened, we had a roast — no that couldn't have been a pig, either, because I recollect there were a pair of them to carve, and your poor papa and I could never have thought of sitting down to two pigs — ^they must have been partridges. Eoast pig ! I hardly think we ever could have had one, now I come to remember, for your papa could never bear the Sight of them in the shops, and used to say that they always put him in mind of very little babie^,i only the pigs had much fairer coiaplexions; and he had a horror of little babies, too, because te couldn't very well afford any increase to his ?38 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY family, and had a natural dislike to the subject. It's very odd now, what can have put that in my head ! I recollect dining once at Mrs. Bevan's, in that bi;oad street round the corner by the coachmaker's, where the tipsy man fell through the cellar- flap of an empty house nearly a week before the quarter-day, and wasn't found till the new tenant went in — and we had roast pig there. It must be that, I think, that reminds me of it, especially as there was a little bird in the room that would keep on singing all the, time of dinner — at least, not a little bird, for it was a parrot, and he didn't sing exactly, for he talked and swore dreadfully ; but I think it must be that. Indeed I am sure it must. , Shouldn't you say so, my dear ? " " I should say there was not a doubt about it, mamma," re- turned Kate.i with a cheerful smile. " No ; but do you think so, Kate ? " said Mrs. Mckleby, with as much gravity as if it were a question of the most imminent and thrilling interest. " If you don't, say so at once, you know ; because it's just as well to be correct, particularly on a point of this kind, which is very curious and worth settling wMle one thinks about it." Kate laughingly replied that she was quite convinced ; and as her mamma still appeared undetermined whether it was not absolutely essential that the subject should be renewed, pro- posed that they should take their work into the summer-housei and enjoy the beauty of the afternoon. Mrs. Nickleby readily assented, and to the summer-house they repaired, without further discussion. , ; " Well, I wiE; say/' observed Mrs. Mckleby, as she took her seat, " that there never was such a good creature as Smike, Upon my word, the pains he has taken in putting this little arbour to rights, and training the sweetest flowers about it, are beyond anything I could have • I wish he wouldn't put all the gravel on your side, Kate, my dear, though, and leave nothing but mould for me." " Dear mamma," returned Kate, hastily, " take this seat— dor-^to oblige me, mamma." " No, indeed, my dear. I shall keep my own side,", said Mrs. Nickleby. , " Well ! I declare ! " Kate looked up inquiringly. " If he hasn't been," said Mrs. Nickleby, " and got, from somewhere or other, a couple of roots of those flowers that I said I was so fond of, the other night, and asked you if you were not — no, that y(M said you were so fond of, the other night, and NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 1,39 asked me if I wasn't — it's the same thing. Now, upon my word, I take that as very kind and attentive indeed ! I don't see," added Mrs. Niokleby, looking narrowly about her, "any of them, on my side, but I suppose they grow best near the gravel. You may depend upon it they do, K,ate, and that's the reason they are all near you, and he has put the gravel therci because it's the sunny side. Upon my word, that's very clever . ixow ! I shouldn't have had half so much, thought myself! " " Mamma," said Kate, bending over her -v^ork so that her face was almost hidden, " before you were married " " Dear me, Kate," interrupted Mrs. Nickleby, " what in the name of goodness graciousness makes you fly off to the time before. I was married, when I'm tailking to you about his thoughtfulness jand attention to me ? You don't seem to take the smallest interest in, the garden." " Oh ! mamma," , said Kate, raising her face again, " you ]kn.pw I do." " WeU then, my dear, why don't you praise tte neatness ajid prettiness with which it's kept ? " said Mrs. Mckleby, " How very odd you are^ iSate ! " , , , " I do praise it, mamma," answered Kate, gently. " Poor feUow!" " I scarcely ever hear you, my dear," retorted Mrs, Nickleby ; " that's 3.11 I've got.to say." By thi^ time the good lady had been a long while upon one topic, so sh^, fell at once into her daughter's little trap, if trap it were, and inqiuiired what she; had been going to say. -. , . ,, , ,.; ■ : , " About what, mamma ? " sai^,. Kate, who had apparently quite forgptten her diversion. . / , ;,, " Lor, Kate, my dear," returned her mother, " why, you're .asle,ep[or stupids' About. the time before I was married/' " Oh yes ! " said Kate,, " I remember. I was going to ask, mamma, before you were- married, had you many suitors ? " , . "Suitors, my fiear!" cried Mrs. Nickleby, with a smUe of wonderful complacency. " First and last, Kate, I must have had a dozen a,t least." " Mamma ! " returned Kate, in a tone of remonstrance. " I had indeed, my dear," said Mr^. Nickleby ; "not includ- ing your poor papa, or a young gentleman who used to go, at that time, ,tq the same dancing-school, aiid ■wh.O'Would send gold watches and bracelets to our house in gilt-edged paper (which were always returned), and who afterwards unfortunately, went out to Botany Bay in a cadet sMp — a convict ship I mean^and 140 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY escaped into a bush and killed sheep (I don't know how they got there), and was going to be hung, only he accidentally choked himself, and, the government pardoned him. Then there was young Lukin," said Mrs. Nickleby, beginning with her left thumb and checking off the names on her fingers — " Mogley — Tipslark— Cabbery — Smifser " Having now reached her little finger, Mrs. Mckleby was carrying the account over to the other hand, when a loud " Hem ! " which appeared to come from the very foundation of the garden-wall, gave both herself and her daughter a violent start. " Mamma ! what was that ? " said Kate, in a low tone of voice. " Upon my word, my dear," returned Mrs. Nickleby, con- siderably startled, "imless it was the gentleman belonging to the next house, I don't know what it could possibly " " A — hem ! " cried the same voice ; and that, not in the tone of an ordinary clearing of the throat, but in a kind of bellow, which woke up all the echoes in the neighbourhood, and was prolonged to an extent which must have made the unseen bellower quite black in the face. "I understand it now, my dear," said Mrs. Mckleby, laying her hand on Kate's ; " don't be alarmed, my love, it's not directed to you, and is not intended to frighten anybody. Let us give everybody their due, Kate ; I am bound to say that." So saying, Mrs. Mckleby nodded her head, and patted the back of her daughter's hand, a great many times, and looked as if she could tell something vastly important if she chose, but had self-denial, thank Heaven ; and wouldn't do it. " What do you mean, mamma ? " demanded Kate, in evident surprise. " Don't be flurried, my dear," replied Mrs. Mckleby, looking towards the garden- wall, " for you see Tm not, and if it would be excusable in anybody to be flurried, it certainly would — under all the circumstances — be excusable in me, but I am not, Kate, — ^not at all." " It seems designed to attract our attention, mamma," said Kate. " It is designed to attract our attention, my dear ; at least," rejoined Mrs. Mckleby, drawing herself up, and pattihg her daughter's hand more blandly than before, "to attract the attention of one of us. Hem ! you needn't be at all uneasy, my dear." Kate looked very much perplexed, and was apparently NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 141 about to ask for further explanation, when a shouting and scuffling noise, as of an elderly gentleman whooping, and kicking up his legs on loose gravel, with great violence, was heard to proceed from the same direction as the former sounds ; and, before they had subsided, a large cucumber was seen to shoot up in the air with the velocity of a sky-rocket, whence it descended, tumbling over and over, untU it fell at Mrs, Nickleby's feet. This remarkable appearance was succeeded by another of a precisely similar description ; then a fine vegetable marrow, of unusuaUy large dimensions, was seen to whirl aloft, and come toppling down; then, several cucumbers shot up together; and finally, the air was darkened by a shower of onions, turnip- radishes, and other small vegetables, which feU rolling and scattering, and bumping about, in all directions. As Kate rose from her seat, in some alarm, and caught her mother's hand to run with her into the house, she felt herself rather retarded than assisted in her intention : and following the direction of Mrs. Nickleby's eyes, was quite terrified by the apparition of an old black velvet cap, which, ' by slow degrees, as if its wearer were ascending a ladder or pair of steps, rose above the wall dividing their garden from that of the next cottage (which, like their own, was a detached building), and was gradually followed by a very large head, and an old face in which were a pair of most extraordinary grey eyes : very wild, very wide open, and rolling in their sockets, with a dull languishing leering look, most ugly to behold. "Mamma!" cried Kate, really terrified for the moment, " why do you stop, why do you lose an instant ? Mamma, pray come in ! " " Kate, my dear," returned her mother, stiU holding back, " how can you be so foolish ? I'm ashamed of you. How do you suppose you are ever to get through life, if you're such a coward as this ! What do you want, sir ? " said Mrs. Mckleby, addressing the intruder with a sort of simpering displeasure. " How dare you loqk into this garden ? " " Queen of my soul," replied the stranger, folding his hands together, " this goblet sip ! " "Nonsense, sir," said Mrs. Nickleby. "Kate, my love, pray be quiet." " Won't you sip the goblet ? " urged the stranger, with his head imploringly on one side, and his right hand on his breast. "Oh, do eip the goblet!" 142 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY " I shall nob consent to do anything of the kind, sir," said Mrs. Niokleby. " Pray, begone," " Why is it," said the old gentleman, coming up a step higher, and leaning his elbows on the wall, with as much com- placency as if he were looking out of the window, " why is it that beauty is always obdurate, even when admiration is as honourable and respectful as mine ? " Here he smiled, kissed his hand, and made several low bows. " Is it owing to the bees, who, when the honey season is over, and they are supposed to have been killed with brimstone, in reality fly to Barbary and lull the captive Moors to sleep with their drowsy songs ? Or is it," he added, ■ dropping his voice almost to a whisper, " in consequence of the statue at Charing Cross having been lately seen, on the Stock Exchange at midnight, walking arm-in-arm with the Pump from Aldgate, in a riding-habit ? " " Mamma," murmured Kate, " do you hear hiTn ? " " Hush, my dear ! " replied Mrs. Mckleby, in the same tone of voice, " he is very polite, and I think that was a quotation from the poets. Pray, don't worry me so — ^you'U pinch my arm black and blue. Go away, sir ! " " Quite away ? " said the gentleman, with a languishing look. "Oh! quite away?" " Yes," returned Mrs. Mckleby, " certainly. You have no business here. This is private property, sir; you ought to know that." " I do know," said the old gentleman, laying his finger on his nose, with an air of familiarity, most reprehensible, " that this is a sacred and enchanted spot, where the most divine charms" — ^here he kissed his hand and bowed again^ — "waft meUifluousness over the neighbours' gardens, and force the fruit and vegetables into premature existence. That fact I am acquainted with. But will you permit me, fairest creature, to ask you one question, in the absence of the planet Venus, who. has gone on business to the Horse Guards, and would other- wise — -jealous of your superior charms — interpose between us ? " " Kate," observed Mrs. Nickleby, turning to her daughter, " it's very awkward, positively. I really don't know what to say to this gentleman. One ought to be civil, you know." " Dear mamma," rejoined Kate, " don't say a word to him, but let us run away, as fast as we can, and shut ourselves up till Nicholas comes home." Mrs. Mckleby looked very grand, nob to say contemptuous, at this humiliating proposal ; and, turning to the old gentleman,' NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 143 who had watched them during these whispers with absorbing eagerness, said — "If you will conduct yourself, sir, like the gentlefidan I should imagine you to be, from your language and^-^and — appearance (quite the counterpart of your grandpapa, K;ate, my dear, in his best days), and will put your (Question to me in- plain words, I wiU answer it." . ' If Mrs. Nickleby's exceUent papa had borne, ■ in his best, days, a resemblance to the neighbour ' now looking- over the waU, he must have been, to say the least, a very queer-looking old gentleman in his prirde. Perhaps Kate thought so, for she ventured to glance at his living portrait with some attention, as he took off his black velvet cap, and, exhibiting a perfectly* bald head, made a long series of bows, each accompanied with a fresh kiss of the hand. After exhausting himself, to all appearance, with this fatiguing performance, he covered his head once more; pulled the cap very carefully over the tips of his ears, and resuming his former attitude, said — " The question is " Here he broke off to look round in every direction, and' satisfy himself beyond all doubt that there were no listeners near. Assured that there were not, he tapped his nose several times, accompanying, the action with a cunning look, as though- congratulating himself on his caution ; and stretching out his neck, said in a loud whisper — " Are you a princess ? " - "You are mocking me, sir," replied Mrs. Nickleby, makings a feint of retreating towards the house. " No, but are you ? " said the old gentleman. " You know I am not, sir," replied Mrs. Mckleby. " Then are you any relation to the Archbishop of Canter- bury ? " inquired the old gentleman with great anxiety. " Or to the Pope of Eome ? Or the Speaker of the House of Commons ? Torgiv© me, if I am wrong, but I was told you were niece to the Commissioners of Paving, and daughter-in- law to the Lord Mayor and Court of Common Council, which would account for your relationship to all three." ' " Whoever has spread such reports, sir," returned ' Mrs. Nickleby, with some warmth, " has taken great liberties with my name, and one which I am sure my son Nicholas, if he was aware of it, would not allow fof an instant. The idea!" said Mrs. Nickleby, drawing herself up. " Niece to the Commis- sioners of Paving ! " 144 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY " Pray, mamma, come away ! " whispered Kate. " ' Pray, mamma ! ' Nonsense, Kate," said Mrs. Nickleby, angrily, "but that's just the way. If they had said I was niece to a piping bullfinch, what would you care ! But I have no sympathy," whimpered Mrs. Nickleby, " I don't expect it, that's one thmg." " Tears ! " cried the old gentleman, with such an energetic jump, that he fell down two or three steps and grated his chin against the wall. " Catch the crystal globules — catch 'em — bottle 'em up — cork 'em tight — put sealing-wax on the top — seal 'em with a cupid — label 'em ' Best quality ' — and stow 'em away in the fourteen bin, with a bar of iron on the top to keep the thunder off 1" Issuing these commands, as if there were a dozen attendants all actively engaged in their execution, he turned his velvet cap inside out, put it on with great dignity so as to obscure his right eye and three-fourths of his nose, and sticking his arms akimbo, looked very fiercely at a sparrow hard by, till the bird flew away, when he put his cap in his pocket with an air of great satisfaction, and addressed himself with respectful demeanour to Mrs. Nickleby. " Beautiful madam," such were his words, " if I have made any mistake with regard to your family or connections, I humbly beseech you to pardon me. If I supposed you to be related to Foreign Powers or Native Boards, it is because you have a manner, a carriage, a dignity, which you will excuse my saying that none but yourself (with the single exception perhaps of the tragic muse, when playing extemporaneously on the barrel organ before the East India Company) can parallel. I am not a youth, ma'am, as you see ; and although beings like you can never grow old, I venture to presume that we are fitted for each other." " EgaUy, Kate, my love ! " said Mrs. Nickleby faintly, and looking another way. " I have estates, ma'am," said the old gentleman, flourishing his right hand negligently, as if he made very light of such matters, and speaking very fast ; "jewels, light-houses, fish- ponds, a whalery of my own in the North Sea, and several oyster-beds of great profit in the Pacific Ocean. If you wUl have the kindness to step, down to the Eoyal Exchange and to take the cocked hat off the stoutest beadle's head, you will find my card in the lining of the crown, wrapped up in a piece of blue paper. My walking-stick is also to be seen on application to the chaplain of the House of Commons, who is strictly NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 145 forbidden to take any money for shoifring it. I have enemies about me, ma'am," he looked towards his house and spoke very low, " who attack me on all occasions, and wish to secure my property. If you bless me with your hand and heart, you can apply to the Lord Chancellor or caU out the military if necessary — sending my toothpick to the commander-in-chief will be sufficient — and so clear the house of them before the ceremony is performed. After that, love bliss and rapture; rapture love and bliss. Be miae, be mine ! " ' Eepeating these last words with great rapture and enthu- siasm, the old gentleman put on his black velvet cap again, and looking up into the sky in a hasty manner, said something that was not quite intelligible concerning a balloon he expected, and which was rather after its time. " Be mine, be mine ! " repeated the old gentleman. " Kate, my dear," said Mrs. Nickleby, " I have hardly the power to speak ; but it is necessary for the happiness of all parties that this matter should be at rest for ever." " Surely there is no necessity for you to say one word, mamma ? " reasoned Kate. " You will allow me, my dear, if you please, to judge for myself," said Mrs, Nickleby. " Be mine, be mine ! " cried the old gentleman. "It can scarcely be expected, sir," said Mrs. Nickleby, fixing her eyes modestly on the ground, " that I should teU a stranger whether I feel flattered and obliged by such pnoposals, or not. They certainly are made under very singular circum- etances; still at the same time, as far as it goes, and to a certain extent of course," (Mrs. Mckleby's customary qualifica- tion,) " they must be gratifying and agreeable to one's feelings." " Be mine, be mine," cried the old gentleman. " Gog and Magog, Gog and Magog. Be mine, be mine ! " " It wiU be sufficient for me to say, sir," resumed Mrs. Nickleby, with perfect seriousness — " and I'm sure you'll see the propriety of taking an answer and going away — that I have made up my mind to remain a widow, and to devote myself to my children. You may not suppose I am the mother of two children — ^indeed many people have doubted it, and said that nothing on earth could ever make 'em believe it possible — but it is the case, and they are both grown up. We shall be very glad to have you for a neighbour — very glad ; delighted, I'm sure — but in any other character it's quite impossible, quite. As to my being young enough to marry again, that perhaps L 146 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY may be so, or it may not be ; but I couldn't think of it for an instant, not on any account whatever. I said I never would, and I never will. It's a very painful thing to have to reject proposals, and I would much rather that none were made ; at the same time this is the answer that I determined long ago to make, and this is the answer I shall always give." These observations were partly addressed to the old gentle- man, partly to Kate, and partly delivered in soliloquy. Towiards their conclusion, the suitor evinced a very irreverent degree of ina;ttention, and Mrs. Mckleby had scarcely finished speaking, when, to the great terror both of that lady and her daughter, he suddenly flung off his coat, and springing on the top of the wall, threw himself into an attitude which displayed his small clothes and grey worsteads to the fullest advantage, and con- cluded by standing on one leg, and repeating his favourite bellowjwith increased vehemence. While he was still dwelling on the last note, and embellish- ing it with a prolonged flourish, a dirty hand was observed to glide stealthily and swiftly along the top of the wall, as if in pursuit of a fly, land then to clasp with the utmost dexterity one of the old gentleman's ankles. This done, the companion hand appeared, and clasped the other ankle. Thus encumbered, the old gentleman lifted his legs awk- wardly once or twice, as if they were very clumsy and imperfect pieces of machinery, and then looking down on his own side of the wall, burst into a loud laugh. " It's you, is it ? " sa;id the old gentleman. " Yes, it's me," replied a gruff voice. " How's the Emperor of Tartary ? " said the old gentleman. ' " Oh ! he's much the same as usual," was the reply. " No better and no worse." " The young Prince of China," said the old gentleman, with much interest. "Is he reconciled to his father-in-law, the great potato salesman ? " " No," answered the gruff voice ; " and he says he never will be, that's more." " If that's the case," observed the old gentleman, " perhaps I'd better come down." " Well," said the man on the other side, " I think you had, perhaps." One of the hands being then cautiously unclasped, the old gentleman dropped into a sitting posture, and was looking round to smile and bow to Mrs. Nickleby, when he disappeared NICHOLAS NICKLEBY 147 with some precipitation, as if his legs had been pulled from below. Very much relieved by his disappearance, Kate was turning' to speak to her mamma, when the dirty hands again became visible, siJid were immediately followed by the figure of a coarse squat man, who ascended by the steps which had been recently occupied by their singular neighbour. " Beg your pardon, ladies," said this new-comer, grinning and touching his hat, " Has he been making love to either ofyou?" " Yes," said Kate. " Ah ! " rejoined the man, taking his handkerchief out of his hat and wiping his face, " he always will, you know. Nothing wiU prevent his making love." " I need not ask you if he is out of his mind, poor creature," said Kate. " Why no," replied the man, looking into his hat, throwing his handkerchief in at one dab, and putting it on again. " That's pretty plain, that is." " Has he been long so ? " asked Kate. "^A long while." " And is there no hope for Mln ? " said Kate, compas- sionately. ' . " Not a bit, and don't deserve to be," replied the keeper. " He's a deal pleasanter without his senses than with 'em. He was the cruellest, wickedest, out-and-outerest old flint that ever drawed breath." "Indeed! "said Kate. " By George ! " repMed the keeper, shaking his head so emphatically that he was obliged to frown to keep his hat on, " I never came across such a vagabond, and my mate says the same. Broke his poor wife's heart, turned his daughters out of doors, drove his sons into the streets ; it was a blessing he went mad at last, through evil tempers, and covetousness, and selfish- ness, and guzzling, and drinking, or he'd have drove many others so. Hope for him, an old rip ! There isn't too much hope going, but I'll bet a crown that what there is, is saved for more deserving chaps than him, anyhow." With which confession of his faith, the keeper shook his head again, as much as to say that nothing short of this would do, if things were to go on at aU ; and touching his hat sulkily — not that he was in an ill-humour, but that his subject ruffled him — descended the ladder, and took it away. 148 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY During this conversation, Mrs. Nickleby had regarded the man with a severe and stedfast look. She now heaved a pro- found sigh, and pursing up her lips, shook her head in a slow and doubtful manner. " Poor creature ! " said Kate. " Ah ! poor iudeed ! " rejoined Mrs. Mckleby. " It's shameful that such things should be allowed. Shameful ! " " How can they be helped, mamma"? " said Kate, mournfully. " The infirmities of nature " " Nature ! " said Mrs. Nickleby. " What ! Do you suppose this poor gentleman is out of his mind ? " " Can anybody who sees him entertain any other opinion, mamma ? " "Why then, I just teU you this, Kate," returned Mrs. Nickleby, " that he is nothing of the kind, and I am surprised you can be so imposed upon. It's some plot of these people to possess themselves of his property — didn't he say so himseK ? He may be a little odd and flighty, perhaps, many of us are that ; but downright mad ! and express himself as he does, respectfully, and in quite poetical language, and making offers with so much thought, and care, and prudence — not as if he ran into the streets, and went down upon his knees to the first chit of a girl he met, as a madman would ! No, no, Kate, there's a great deal too much method in his madness ; depend upon that, my dear." BOOK V THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP This tale made its first appearance in the weekly numbers of my father's publication, Master Sumphrey's Clock, 1840, and was afterwards brought out in book form by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, with illustrations by George Cattermole and Habl6t Browne. Master Humphrey's Clock was discontinued with the closing of Barnaby Budge. The Old Curiosity Shop was inscribed to Samuel Bogers the poet " Little Nell " is the grandchild of the old man who keeps the curiosity shop, a gloomy place, where he leaves her every night upon some mysterious errand about which she knows nothing, when she is left entirely alone. Nell has a brother, Fred Trent, a scapegrace, between whom and his grandfather there are constant quarrels. Fred believes the old man to be rich and a miser, and that he mU leave all his money to Nell, whereas he is in truth not rich but very poor, for what money he earns, or borrows from a grotesque- looking, wicked dwarf, named Qmlp, he gambles away, and it is at the gaming-table he hopes to make a fortune for his grandchild. Fred, for his own selfish ends, proposes to his intimate friend, Dick Swiveller, an irresponsible young fellow, that one day, when Nell is older, he shall make her his wife ; and Mr. Swiveller, who has a prior attachment, but is in needy circumstances, agrees to the schelne. Meanwhile Quilp, who is as cunning as he is ugly, teUs bis meek young' wife that she is to get out of Nell, in a conversation to which he will listen, some details concerning the old man's life, for he wonders greatly why the money he lends him so quickly disappears. In this way the dwarf becomes possessed of what he wants to know, and pays a visit to the curiosity shop, where he tells the old man that he will lend to him no more, having dis- covered his secret through Kit (to whem he bears a grudge), an honest hard- working lad, who helps in the shop, and is devoted to his master and to " Miss Nell." The old man has a serious illness, brought about through despair and sorrow, and while he lies between life and death, Quilp seizes upon his goods and installs himself in his house ; but the old man recovers, iliough with a weakened mind, and one day tells Nell that he is ready to do as she once proposed, and go away with her far from the gloomy city to the green fields and woods, where they will be at peace together. They wander some way into the country, and one evening at sunset find themselves at the entrance of a churchyard, through which a path leads to the town where they are to pass the night. 149 150 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP MR. CODLIN AND MR. SHORT The old man and the child quitted the gravel-path, and strayed among the tombs ; for there the ground was soft, and easy to their tired feet. As they passed behind the church, they heard voices near at hand, and presently came on those who had spoken. They were two men who were seated in easy attitudes upon the grass, and so busily engaged as to be at first unconscious of intruders. It was not' difficult to divine that they were of a class of itinerant showmen^-exhibitors of the freaks of Punch — for, perched cross-legged upon a tombstone behind them, was a figure of that hero himself, his nose and chin as hooked and his face as beaming as usual. Perhaps his imperturbable character was never more strikingly developed, for he preserved, his usual equable smile notwithstanding that his body was dangling in a most uncomfortable position, all loose and limp and shapeless, while his long peaked cap, unequally balanced against his exceedingly slight legs, threatened every instant to bring him toppling down. In part scattered upon the ground at the feet of the two men, and in part jumbled together in a long flat box, were the other persons of the drama. The hero's wife and one child, the hobby-horse, the doctor, the foreign gentleman, who not being familiar with the language is unable in the represeiitation to express his ideas otherwise than by the utterance of the word " Shallabalah " three distinct times, the radical neighbour who will by no means admit that a tin bell is an organ, the executioner, and the devil, were all here. Their owners had evidently come to that spot to make some needful repairs in the stage arrangements, for one of them was engaged in binding together a small gallows with thread, while the other was intent upon fixing a new black wig, with the aid of a small hammer and some tacks, upon the head of the radical neighbour, who had been beaten bald. They raised their eyes when the old man and his young companion were close upon them, and pausing in their work, returned their looks of curiosity. One of them, the actual exhibitor no doubt, was a little merry-faced man with a twink- ling eye and a red nose, who seemed to have unconsciously THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 151 imbibed something of his hero's character. The other — that was he who took the money — had rafchte a careful and cautious look, which was perhaps inseparable from his occupation also. ' I 'The mejry man was the i first to greet the stranger^ with a nod ; and following the old man's eyes, he observed that perhaps that was the first time he had ever seen a Punch off the stage. (Punch, it may be remarked, seemed to be pointing with the tip of his cap to a most flourishing epitaph, and to be chuckling over it with all his heart) "Why do you come here to do this?" said the old. man, ^tting down beside them, and looking at: the figures with extreme delight. "Why you see," rejoined the little man, "we're putting up for to-night at the public-house yonder, and it wouldn't do to let ,'.em see the present company undergoing repair." , . "No?" cried the old man, making signs; to Nell to listen, " why not, eh ? why not ? " i " Because it would destroy all the delusion, and take away all the interest, wouldn't it ? " replied the little man. " Would you care a ha'penny for the Lord Chancellor; if you know'd him in private and without his wig ? — certainly not." . " Good ! " said the old man, venturing to touch one of the puppets, and drawing away his hand with a shrill laugh. " Are you going to show 'em to-night? are you ? " ."That is the intention, governor," replied, the other, "and unless I'm much mistaken, Tommy Codlin is a calculating at this minute what we've lost through your coming upon us. Cheer up. Tommy, it can't be much." ' . , The little man accompanied these latter words vrith a wink, expressive of the estimate he had formed of the travellers' finances. To this Mr. Codliij, who had a surly, grumbling; manner, replied, as he twitched i Punch off the tombstone. and flung him into the box — " I don't care if we haven't loi^ a farden, but you're too free. If you stood in front of the curtain and see the public's faces as I do, you'd know human natur' better." " Ah ! it's been the spoiling of you. Tommy, your taking to that branch," rejoined his companion. . "When you played the ghost in the reg'lar drama in the fairs, you believed in every- thing — except ghosts. But now you're a universal mistruster. / never see a man so changed." 152 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP "Never mind," said Mr. Oodlin, with the air of a discon- tented philosopher. " I know better now, and p'raps I'm sorry for it." Turning over the figures in the box like one who knew and despised them, Mr. Codlin drew one forth and held it up for the inspection of his fiiend. " Look here ; here's all this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again. You haven't got a needle and thread I suppose ? " The little man shook his head, and scratched it ruefully as he contemplated this severe indisposition of a principal per- former. Seeing that they were at a loss, the child said timidly— "I have a needle, sir, in my basket, and thread too. Will you let me try to mend it for you? I think I can do it neater than you could." Even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge against a proposal so seasonable. Nelly, kneeling down beside the box, was soon busily engaged in her task, and accomplishing it to a miracle. "Wliile she was thus engaged, the merry little man looked at her with an interest which did not appear to be diminished when he glanced at her helpless companion. When she had finished her work he thanked her, and inquired whither they were travelling. " N — no further to-night, I think," said the child, looking towards her grandfather. " If you're wanting a place to stop at," the man remarked, " I should advise you to take up at the same house with us. That's it. The long, low, white house there. It's very cheap." The old man, notwithstanding his fatigue, would have re- mained in the churchyard all night if his new acquaintances had remained there too. As he yielded to this suggestion a ready and rapturous assent, they all rose and walked away together ; he keeping close to the box of puppets in which he was quite absorbed, the merry little man carrying it slung over his arm by a strap attached to it for the purpose, NeUy having hold of her grandfather's hand, and Mr. Codlin sauntering slowly behind, casting up at the church-tower and neighbouring trees such looks as he was accustomed in town-practice to direct to drawing-room and nursery windows, when seeking for a profitable spot on which to plant the show. The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and land- lady who made no objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Kelly's beauty and were at once prepossessed in her behalf. THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 153 There was no other company in the kitchen but the two show- men, and the child felt very thankful that they had fallen upon siich good quarters. The landlady was very' much astonished to learn that they had come all the way from London, and appeared to have no little curiosity touching their farther destination. The child parried her inquiries as well as she could, and with no great trouble, for finding that they appeared to give her pain, the old lady desisted. "These two gentlemen have ordered supper in an hour's time," she said, taking her into the bar ; " and your best plan win be to sup with them. Meanwhile you shaU have a little taste of something that'll do you good, for I'm sure you must want it after aU you've gone through to-day. Now, don't look after the old gentleman, because when you've drank that, he shall have some too." As nothing could induce the child to leave him alone, how- ever, or to touch anything in which he was not the first and greatest sharer, the old lady was obKged to help him first. When they had been thus refreshed, the whole house hurried away into an empty stable where the show stood, and where, by the light of a few flaring candles stuck round a hoop which hung by a line from the ceHiag, it was to be forthwith exhibited, And now Mr. Thomas CodUn, the misanthrope, after blowing away at the Pan's pipes until he was intensely wretched, took his station on one side of the checked drapery which concealed the mover of the figures, and putting his hands in his pockety prepared to reply to all questions and remarks of Punch, and to make a dismal feint of being his most intimate private frieiid, of believing in him to the fullest and most unlimited extent, of knowing that he enjoyed day and night a merry and glorious existence in that temple, and that he was at all times and under every circumstance the same intelligent and joyful person that the spectators then beheld him. All this Mj. Codlm did with the air of a man who has made up his mind for the worst and was quite resigned ; his eye slowly wandering about during the briskest repartee to observe the effect upon the audience, and particularly the impression made upon the landlord and land- lady, which might be productive of very important results in connection with the supper. Upon this head, however, he had no cause for any anxiety, for the whole performance was applauded to the echo, and voluntary contributions were showered in with a liberality Missing Page 156 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP ways, quite overhung the pavement. The streets were very clean, very sunny, very empty, and very dull. A few idle men lounged about the two inns, and the empty market-place, and the tradesmen's doors, and some old people were dozing in chairs outside an almshouse wall ; but scarcely any passengers who seemed bent on going anywhere, or to have any object in view, went by ; and if perchance some straggler did, his foot- steps echoed on the hot bright pavement for minutes afterwards. Nothing seemed to be going on but the clocks, and they had such drowsy faces, such heavy lazy hands, and such cracked voices that they surely must have been too slow. The very dogs were all asleep, and the flies, drunk with moist sugar in the grocer's shop, forgot their wings and hriskness, and baked to death in dusty corners of the window. Eumbling along with most unwonted noise, the caravan stopped at last at the place of exhibition, where Nell dismounted amidst an admiring group of children, who evidently supposed her to be an important item of the curiosities, and were fully impressed with the belief that her grandfather was a cunning device in wax. The chests were taken out with all convenient despatch, and taken in to be unlocked by Mrs. Jarley, who, attended by George and another man in velveteen shorts and a drab hat ornamented ■*?ith turnpike tickets, were waiting to dispose their contents (consisting of red festoons and other ornamental devices in upholstery work) to the best advantage in the decoration of the room. They all got to work without loss of time, and very busy they were. As the stupendous collection were yet concealed by cloths, lest the envious dust should injure their complexions, Nell bestirred herself to assist in the embellishment of the room, in which her grandfather also was of great service. The two men being well used to it, did a great deal in a short time; and Mrs. Jarley served out the tin tacks from a linen pocket like a toU-coUector's which she wore for the purpose, and encouraged her assistants to renewed exertion. WhUe they were thus employed, a tallish gentleman with a hook nose and black hair, dressed in a military surtout very short and tight in the sleeves, and which had once been frogged and braided all over, but was now sadly shorn of its garniture and quite threadbare — dressed too in ancient grey pantaloons fitting tight to the leg, and a pair of pumps in the winter of their feXistence — ^looked in at the door and smiled affably. Mrs. Jarley's back being then towards him, the military gentleman THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 157 shook his forefinger as a sign that her myrmidons were not to apprise her of his presence, and stealing up close behind her, tapped her on the neck, and cried playfully "Boh ! " " What, Mr. Slum ! " cried the lady of ; the wax- work. " Lor ! who'd have thought of seeing you here ? " "Ton my soul and honour," said Mr. Slum, "that's a good, remark. "'Pon my soul and honour, that's a wise remark. Who woMMliave thought it? George, my faithful feller, how are you ? " George received this advance with a surly indifference, observing that he was well enough for the matter of that, and hammering lustUy all the time. "I came here," said the military gentleman, turning to Mrs. Jarley, — " 'pon my soul and honour I hardly know what I came here for. It would puzzle me to tell you, it would by Gad, I wanted a little inspiration, a little freshening xip, a little change of ideas, and 'Pon my soul and honour," said the military gentleman, checking himself and looking round the room, " what a devilish classical thing this is ! By Gad, it's quite Minervian ! " "It'll look well enough when it comes to be finished," observed Mrs. Jarley. "Well enough!" said Mr. Slum. "Will you believe me when I say it's the delight of my life to have dabbled in poetry^ when I think I've exercised my pen upon this charming theme ? By the way — any orders ? Is there any little thing I can do for you?" "It comes so very expensive, sir," replied Mrs. Jarley, "and I reaUy don't thmk it does much good," " Hush ! No, no ! " returned Mr. Slum, elevating his hand. "No fibs, rU not hear it, l)on't say it don't do good. ,Don't say it. . I know better ! " " I don't think it does," said Mrs. Jarley. "Ha, ha!" cried Mr. Slum, "you're giving way, you're coming down. Ask the perfuHiers, ask the blacking-makers, ask the hatters, ask the old lottery-office-keepers-^-ask any uian among 'em what my poetry has done for him, and mark my words, he blesses the name of Slum. If he's an honest man, he raises his eyes to heaven, and blesses the name of Slum-^- mark that! You are acquainted with Westminster Abbey, Mrs. Jarley ? " " Yes, surely," " Then upon my soul and honour, ma'am, you'll find in a iS8 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP certain angle of that dreary pile, called Poets' Corner, a few smaller names than Slum," retorted that gentleman, tapping himself expressively on the forehead to imply that there was some slight quantity of brain behind it. " I've got a little trifle here, now," said Mr. Slum, taking off his hat which was full of scraps of paper, " a little trifle here, thrown off in the heat of the moment, which I should say was exactly the thing you wanted to set this place on fire with. It's an acrostic — the name at this moment is Warren, but the idea's a con- vertible one, and a positive inspiration for Jarley, Have the acrostic." " I suppose it's very dear," said Mrs. Jarley. "Five shillings," returned Mr. Slum, using his pencil as a tooth-pick. " Cheaper than any prose." "I couldn't give more than three," said Mrs. Jarley. " — And six," retorted Slum. " Come; Three-and-six." Mrs. Jarley was not proof aigainst the poet's insinuating manner, and Mr. Slum entered the order in a small note-book as a three-and^sixpenny one. Mr. Slum then withdrew to alter the acrostic, after taking a most affectionate leave of his patroness, and promising to return, as soon as he possibly could, with a fair copy for the printer. As his presence had not interfered with or interrupted the preparations, they were now far advanced, and were completed shortly after his departure. When the festoons were all put up as tastily as they might be, the stupendous collection was uncovered, and there were displayed, on a raised platform some two feet from the floor, running round the room and parted from the rude public by a crimson rope breast-high, divers sprightly efflgies of celebrated characters, singly and in groups, clad' 'in glittering dresses of various climes and times, and standing more or less unsteadily upon their legs, with their eyes very wide open, and their nostiils very 'much inflated, and the muscles of their legs and arms very strongly developed, and all their countenances expressing great surprise. All the gentle- men were very pigeon-breasted and very blue about the beards ; and all the ladies were miraculous figures ; and all the ladies and aU the gentlemen were looking intensely nowhere, and staring with extraordinary earnestness at nothing. Wlien Nell had exhausted her first raptures at this glorious sight, Mrs. Jarley ordered the room to be cleared of all but herself and the child, and, sitting herself down in an arm-chair in the centre, fdrnially invested Nell with a willow wand, long THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 159 used by herself for pointing out the characters, and was at great pains to instruct her in her duty. "Thati" said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, as Nell touched a figure at the beginning of the platform, " is an un- fortunate Maid of Honour in the Time of iQueen ElizEtbeth, who died from pricking her finger in consequence of working upon a Sunday. Observe the blood which is trickling from her finger*' also the gold-eyed needle of the feridd, With which' she is at work.'' I . All this, Nell repeated twice or thrice : pointing to the finger and the Ueedle at the right times : and then passed on to the next. "That; ladies and gentlemen," said Mrs. Jarley^ "is Jasper Packlemerton of atrocious memory, who courted and married fourteen wives, and destroyed thism aU, by tickling the soles of their feet when they were sleeping in the consciousness of innocence and virtue. On being brought to the scaffold and asked if he was sorry for what he had done, he replied yes, he was sorry for having let 'em off so easy, and hoped all Christian husbands would pardon him the offence. Let this be a warning to all ■yoting ladies to be particular in the character of the gentlemenof their choice. Observe that his fingers are curled as if in the act of tickling, and that his face is represented with a wink, as he appeared when committing his barbarous murders." When Nell knew all about Mr. Packlemerton, and could say it without faltering, Mrs. Jarley passed on to the fat man, and then to the thin man, the tall man, the short man, the old lady who died of dancing at a hundred and thirty-two, the wild boy of the woods, the woman who poisoned fourteen families with pickled walnuts, and other historical characters and in- teresting but misguided individuals. And so well did Nell profit by her instructions, and so apt was she to remember them, that by the time they had been shut up together for a couple of hours, she was in full possession of the history of the whole establishment, and perfectly competent to the enlighten- ment of visitors. Mrs. Jarley was not slow to express her admiration at this happy result, and carried her young friend and pupil to inspect the remaining arrangements within doors, by virtue of which the passage had been already converted into a grove of green- baize hung with the inscriptions she had already seen (Mr. Slum's productions), and a highly ornamented table placed at the upper end for Mrs. Jarley herself, at which she was to i6o THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP preside and take the money, in company with his Majesty King George the Third, Mr. Grimaldi as clown, Mary Queen of Scots, an anonymous gentleman of the Quaker persuasion, and Mr. Pitt holding in his hand a correct model of the bill for the imposition'of the window duty. The preparations without doors had not been neglected either; a nun of great personal at- tractions was telling her beads on the little portico over the door; and a brigand with the blackest possible head of hair, and the clearest possible complexion, was at that moment going round the town in a cart, consulting the miniature of a lady. It now only remained that Mr. Slum's compositions should be judiciously distributed; that the pathetic effusions should find their way to all private, houses and tradespeople ; and that the parody commencing "If I know'd a donkey," should be confined to the taverns, and circulated only among the lawyers' clerks and choice spirits of the place. When this had been done, and Mrs. Jarley had waited upon the boarding-schools in person, with a handbill composed expressly for them, in which it was distinctly proved that wax-work refined the mind, culti- vated the taste, and enlarged the sphere of the human under- standing, that indefatigable lady sat down to dinner, and drank out of the suspicious bottle to a flourishing campaign. Mr. Swiveller has an aunt in the country who sends him money from time to time, but suddenly the supplies are stopped, . and in an affectionate letter she informs him that she has made a new will, in which his name does not appear. Qnilp procures him a situation as clerk to Mr. Sampson Brass a rascally solicitor, Quilp being one of his best clients. Miss Brass is her brother's " clerk, assistant, house-keeper, secretary, confidential plotter, adviser, intriguer, and bill-of-cost increaser — a kind of amazon at common law." They keep in their service one poor little underfed slavey of a girl. With these people Mr. Swiveller passes his days, and in their house we find him one evening when Mr. and Miss Brass are away from home. Ill DICK SWIVELLER AND "THE MARCHIONESS** While these acts and deeds were in progress in and out of the office of Sampson Brass, Eichard Swiveller, being often left alone therein, began to find the time hang heavy on his hands. THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP i6i For the better preservation of his cheerfulness therefore, and to prevent his faculties from rusting, he provided himself with a cribbage-board and pack of cards, and accustomed himself to play at cribbage with a dummy, for twenty, thirty, or sometimes even fifty thousand pounds a side, besides many hazardous bets to a considerable amount. As these games were very silently conducted, notwithstand- ing the magnitude of the interests involved, Mr. Swiveller began to think that on those evenings when Mr. and Miss Brass were out (and they often went out now) he heard a kind of snorting ox hard-breathing sound in the direction of the door, which it occurred to him, after some reflection, must proceed from the small servant, who always had a cold from damp living. Look- ing intently that way one night, he plainly distinguished an eye gleaming and glistening at the keyhole ; and having now no doubt that his suspicions were correct, he stole softly to the door, and pounced upon her before she was aware of his approach. " Oh ! I didn't mean any harm indeed, upon my word I didn't," cried the small servant, struggling like a much larger one. " It's so very duU down-stairs. Please don't you tell uppn me, please don't." " Tell upon you ! " said Dick. " Do you mean to say you were looking through the keyhole for company ? " " Yes, upon my word I was," replied the small servant. " How long have you been cooling your eye there ? " said Dick. " Oh ever since you first began to play them cards, and long before." Vague recollections of several fantastic exercises with which he had refreshed himself after the fatigues of business, and to aU of which, no doubt, the small servant was a party, rather disconcerted Mr. SwiveUer ; but he was not very sensitive on such points, and recovered himself speedily. "Well,— come in" — ^he said, after a little consideration. " Here — sit down, and I'll teach you how to play." "Oh! Idursn't.do it," rejoined the small servant; "Miss SaUy 'ud kUl me, if she know'd I come up here." " Have you got a fire down-stairs ? " said Dick. " A very little one," replied the. small servant. - " Miss Sally couldn't kill me if she know'd I went down there, so I'll come," said Eichard, putting the cards iuto his pocket. " Why, how thin you are ! What do you mean by it ? " M i62 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP "It an't my fault." " Could you eat any bread and meat ? " said Dick, taking down his hat. "Yes? Ah! I thought so. Did you ever taste beer ? " " I had a sip of it once," said the small servant. " Here's a state of things ! " cried Mr. SwiveUer, raising his eyes to the ceiling. " She never tasted it — it can't be tasted in a sip ! Why, how old are you ? " "I don't know." Mr. SwiveUer opened his eyes very wide, and appeared thoughtful for a moment ; then, bidding the child mind the door until he: came back, vanished straightway. Presently, he returned, followed by the boy from the public- house, who bore in one hand a plate of bread and beef, and in the other a great pot, filled with some very fragrant compound, which sent forth a grateful steam, and was indeed choice purl, made after a particular recipe which Mr. SwiveUer had imparted to the landlord, at a period when he was deep in his books and desirous to conciliate his friendship. Believing the boy of his burden at the door, and charging ^his little companion to fasten it to prevent surprise, Mr. SwiveUer followed her into the kitchen. " There ! " said Eichard, putting the plate before her. " First of all clear that oif, and then you'll see what's next." The smaU servant needed no second bidding, and the plate was soon empty. " Next," said Dick, handing the purl, " take a puU at that ; but moderate your transports^ you know, for you're not used to it. WeU, is it good ? " "Oh ! isn't it ? " said the smaU servant. Mr. SwiveUer appeared gratified b^yond^ aU expression by this reply, and took a long draught himself : steadfastly regard- ing his companion whUe he did so. These preliminaries disposed of, he appUed himself to teaching her the game, which she soon learnt, tolerably well, being both sharj)-witted and cimning. ., !' .; . i / ' "Now," said Mr. SwiveUer, putting two sixpences into a saucer, and trimming the wretched candle, when the cards had been cut and dealt, "those are the stakes. If you win, you get 'em aU. If I win, I get 'em. To make it seem more real and pleasant, I shall caU you the Marchioness, do you hear ? " The smaU servant nodded. ' ■ " Then, Marchioness," said Mr. SwiveUer, "fire away ! " ' THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 163 The Marchioness, holding hej" cards veiy tight in both hands, considered which to play, and Mr. Swiveller, assuming the gay and fashionable air which such society required, took another pull at the tankard, and waited for her lead. Mr. Swiveller and his partner played several rubbers with varyiag success, until the loss of three sixpences, the gradual sinking of the purl, and the striking of ten o'clock, combined toirender that gentleman mindful of the flight of Time, and the expediency of withdrawing before Mr. Sampson and Miss Sally Brass returned. . ., > "With which object' in view. Marchioness," said Mr.' Swiveller gravely, "I shall ask your ladyship's permission to put the board in my pocket, and to retire from the presence when I have finished this tankard ; merely observing, Marchioness, that since life like a river is flowing, I care not how fast it rolls on, ma'am, on, while such purl on the bank stiH is growing, and such eyes light the waves as they run. Marchioness, your health. You wiLL excuse my wearing my hat, but the palace is dampj and the marble floor is — ^if I may be allowed the expression — sloppy." As a precaution against this latter inconvenience, Mr. Swiveller had been sitting for some time with his feet on the hob, in which attitude he now gave utterance to these apolo-i getic observations, and slowly sipped the last choice drops of nectar. . . • "The Baron Sampsono Brasso and his fair sister are (you tell me) at the Play ? " said Mr. Swiveller, leaning his left*arm heavily upon the table,: and raising his voice and his right-leg after the manner of a theatrical bandit. The Marchioness nodded. " Ha ! " said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous frown. " 'Tis well. Marchioness! — but no matter. Some wine there. Ho!" He illustrated these melodramatic morsels, by handing the tankard to himself with great huinility, receiving it haughtily; drinking from it thirstily, and smacking his Ups fiercely. ' The small servant, who was not so weU acquainted with theatrical conventionalities as Mr. Swiveller (having indeed never seen a play, or heard one spoken of, except by chance through chioks of doors and in other forbidden places), was rather alarmed by demonstrations so novel in their nature, and showed her concern so plainly in her looks, that Mr. Swiveller felt it. necessary to discharge his brigand manner for one more suitable to private life, as he asked — 1 64 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP "Do they often go where glory waits 'em, and leave you here ? " " Oh, yes ; I believe you they do," returned the small servant. " Miss Sally's such a one-er for that, she is." " Such a what ? " said Dick. " Such a one-er," returned the Marchioness. After a moment's reflection, Mr. SwiveUer determined to forego his responsible duty of setting her right, and to suffer her to talk on ; as it was evident that her tongue was loosened by the purl, and her opportunities for conversation were not so frequent as to render a momentary check of little consequence. "They sometimes go to see Mr. Quilp," said the small servant with a shrewd look ; " they go to a many places, bless you!" " Is Mr. Brass a wunner ? " said Dick. "Not half what Miss Sally is, he isn't/' replied the small servant, shaking her head. " Bless you, he'd never do anything without her." " Oh ! He wouldn't, wouldn't he ? " said Dick. "Miss Sally keeps him in such order," said the smaU servant ; " he always asks her advice, he does ; and he catches it sometimes. Bless you, you wouldn't believe how much he catches it." " I suppose," said Dick, " that they consult together, a good deal, and talk about a great many people — about me for instance, sometimes, eh, Marchioness ? " The Marchioness nodded amazingly. " Complimentary ? " said Mr. SwiveUer. The Marchioness changed the motion of her head, which had not yet left off nodding, and suddenly began to shake it from side to side, with a vehemence which threatened to dislocate her neck. "Humph!" Dick muttered. "Would it be any breach of confidence. Marchioness, to relate what they say of the humble individual who has now the honour to ? " "Miss Sally says you're a funny chap," replied his friend. "Well, Marchioness," said Mr. SwiveUer, "that's not un- pomplimentary. Merriment, Marchioness, is not a bad or a degrading quality. Old King Cole was himself a merry old soul, if we may put any faith in the pages of history." "But she says," pursued his companion, "that you an't-to be trusted." THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 165 "Why, really, Marchioness," said Mr Swiveller, thought- fully ; " several ladies and gentlemen — ^not exactly professional persons, but tradespeople, ma'am, tradespeople — ^have made the same remark. The obscure citizen who keeps the hotel over the way, inclined strongly to that opinion to-night when I ordered him to prepare the banquet. It's a popular prejudice, Marchioness ; and yet I am sure I don't know why, for I have been trusted in my time to a considerable amount, and I can safely say that I never forsook my trust until it deserted me — never. Mr. Brass is of the same opinion, I suppose ? " His friend nodded again, with a cunning look which seemed to hint that Mr. Brass held stronger opinions on the subject than his sister; and seeming to recollect herself, added im- ploringly, " But don't you ever tell upon me, or I shall be beat to death." " Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, rising, " the word of a gentleman is as good as his bond — sometimes better, as in the present case, where his bond might prove but a doubtful sorb of security. I am your friend, and I hope we shall play many more rubbers together in this same saloon. But, Marchioness," added Eichard, stopping in his way to the door, and wheeling slowly roimd upon the small servant, who was following ^th the candle ; " it occurs to me that you must be in the constant habit of airing your eye at keyholes, to know all this." "I only wanted," replied the trembling Marchioness, "to know where the key of the safe was hid ; that was all ; and I wouldn't have taken much, if I had found it — only enough to squench my hunger." " You didn't find it then ? " said Dick. " But of course you didn't, or you'd be plumper. Good-night, Marchioness. Fare thee well, and if for ever, then for ever fare thee well- — and put up the chain. Marchioness, in case of accidents." With this parting injunction, Mr. Swiveller emerged from the house ; and feeling that he had by this time taken quite as much to drink as promised to be good for his constitution (purl being a rather strong and heady compound), wisely resolved to betake himself to his lodgings, and to bed at once. Homeward he Went therefore ; and his apartments (for he still retained the plural fiction) being at no great distance from the office, he was soon seated in his own bed-chamber, where, having pulled off one boot and forgotten the other^ he fell into deep cogitation. " This Marchioness," said Mr. SwiveUer, folding his arms, "is a very extraordinaiy person — surrounded by mysteries, 1 66 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP ignorant of the taste of beer, unacquainted with her own name (which is less remarkable), and talang a limited view of society through the keyholes of doors — can these things be her destiny, or has some unknown person started an opposition to the decrees of fate ? It is a most inscrutable and unmitigated staggerer ! " When his meditations had attained this satisfactory point, he became aware of his remaining boot, of which, with unimpaired solemnity he proceeded to divest himself ; shaking his head with exceeding gravity all the time, and sighing deeply. " These rubbers," said Mr. Swiveller, putting on his night- Cap in exactly the same style as he wore his hat, " remind me of the matrimonial fireside. Cheggs's wife plays cribbage ; all- fours likewise. She rings the changes on 'em now. Prom sport to sport they hurry her, to banish her regrets, and when they win a smile from her, they think that she forgets— but she don't. By this time, I should say," added Eichard, getting his left cheek into profile, and looking complaeeintly at the reflection of a very little scrap of whisker in the looking-glass ; " by this time, I should say, the iron has entered into her soul. It serves her right !" / Melting from this stern and obdurate, into the tender and pathetic mood, Mr. Swiveller groaned a little, walked wildly up and down, and even made a show of tearing his hair, which, however, he thought better of, and wrenched the tassel from his nightcap instead. At last, undressing himself with a gloomy resolution, he got into bed. Some men in his blighted position would have taken to drinking; but as Mr. Swiveller had taken to that before, he only took, on receiving the news that Sophy Wackles Was lost to him for ever, to playing the flute ; thinking after mature consideration that it was a good, sound, dismal occupation, not only in imison with his own sad thoughts, but calculated to awaken a fellow-feeling in the bosoms of his neighbours. In pursuance of this resolution, he now drew a little table to his bedside, and arranging the light and a small oblong music-book to the best advantage, took Ms flute from its box, and began to play most mgurnfuUy. The, air was "^'Away with melancholy" — a composition, whichj when it, is played very slowly on the flute, in bed, with the further disadvantage of being performed by a gentleman but imperfectly acquainted with the instrument, who repeats one note a great many times before he can find the next, has not a lively effect. Yet, for half the night, or more, Mr. THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 167 Swiveller, lying sciiaetimes on his back with his eyes upon the ceiling, and sometimes half out of bed to correct himself by the book, played this unhappy tune over and over again ; never leaving off, save for a minute or two at a time to take breath and soliloquise about the Marchioness, and then beginning again with renewed vigour. It was not until he had quite exhausted his several subjects of : meditation, and had breathed irito the flute the whole sentiment of the purl down to its very dregs, and had nearly maddened the people of the house, and at both the next doorg, and over the way,T— that he shut up the music- book, extinguished the candle, and finding himself greatly lightened and relieved in his mind, turned round and fell asleep. Quilp returns to hia home when least expectedj He arrives outside his house, and seeing lights in the windows, and hearing several voices in earnest conversation, among which he thinks he can distinguish the tones of men, the jealous dwarf hopes to steal upon his wife unawares. IV MR. QUILP RETURNS AFTER HIS SUPPOSED DEATH A very low and gentle rap received no answer from within. But after a second application to the knocker, no louder than the first, the door was softly opened by the boy from the wharf, whom Quilp instantlygagged with one hand, and dragged into the street with the. other. " You'll throttle me, master," whispered the boy. " Let go, will you?" , . " Who's up-stairs, you dog ? " retorted Quilp in the same tone. "Tell me. And' don't speak above your breath, or I'll choke you in good earnest." 1 V The boy, could only point to the window, and reply with a stifled giggle, expressive of; Such intense enjoyment, ^that Quilp clutched him by the thrciat again and might have carried his threat into execution, or at least have made very good progress towards that end, but for the boy's nimbly extricating himself i68 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP from his grasp, and fortifying himself behind the nearest post, at which, after some fruitless attempts to catch him by the hair of the head, his master was obliged to come to a parley. " Will you answer me ? " said Quilp. " What's going on, above ? " " You won't let one speak," replied the boy. " They — ha, ha, ha ! — they think you're — you're dead. Ha, ha, ha ! " " Dead ! " cried Quilp, relaxing into a grim laugh himself. " No. Do they ? Do they really, you dog ? " " They think you're — you're drowned," replied the boy, who in his malicious nature had a strong infusion of his master. " You was last seen on the brink of the wharf, and they think you tumbled over. Ha, ha ! " The prospect of playing the spy under such delicious cir- cumstances, and of disappointing them all by walking in alive, gave more delight to Quilp than the greatest stroke of good fortune could possibly have inspired him with. He was no less tickled than his hopeful assistant, and they both stood for some seconds, grinning and gasping and wagging their heads at each other, on either side of the post, like an unmatchable pair of Chinese idols. "Not a word," said Quilp, making towards the door on tip-toe. "Not a sound, not so much as a creaking board, or a stumble against a cobweb. Drowned, eh, Mrs. Quilp ! Drowned ! " So saying, he blew out the candle, kicked off his shoes, and groped his way up-stairs ; leaving his delighted young friend in an ecstasy of somersaults on the pavement. The bed-room door on the staircase being unlocked, Mr, QuUp slipped in, and planted himself behind the door of com- munication between that chamber and the sitting-room, which standing ajar to render both more airy, and having a very con- venient chink (of which he had often availed himself for purposes of espial, and had indeed enlarged with his pocket- knife), enabled him not only to hear, but to see distinctly, what was passing. Applying his eye to this convenient place, he descried Mr. Brass * seated at the table with pen, ink, and paper, and the case-bottle of rum — ^his own case-bottle, and his own particular Jamaica — convenient to his hand; with hot water, fragrant lemons, white lump-sugar, and all things fitting ; from which choice materials, Sampson, by no means insensible to their * Mr. Quilp's legal adviser. THE OLD, CURIOSITY SHOP 169 claims upon his attention, had compounded a mighty glass of punch reeking hot ; which he was at that very moment stirring up with a tea-spoon, and contemplating with looks in which a faint assumption of sentimental regret, struggled but weakly with a bland and comfortable joy. At the same table, with both her elbows upon it, was Mrs. Jiniwin ; * no longer sipping other people's punch feloniously with tea-spoons, but taking deep draughts from a jorum of her own ; while her daughter — not exactly with ashes on her head, or sackcloth on her back, but preserving a very decent and becoming appearance of sorrow nevertheless — was reclining in an easy-chair, and soothing her grief with a smaller allowance of the same glib liquid. There were also present, a couple of waterside men, bearing between them certain machines called drags ; even these fellows were accommodated with a stiff glass a-piece ; and as they drank with a great relish, and were naturally of a red-nosed, pimple-faced, convivial look, their presence rather increased than detracted from that decided appearance of comfort, which was the great characteristic of the party. " If I could poison that dear old lady's rum-and-water," murmured Quilp, " I'd die happy." " Ah ! " said Mr. Brass, breaking the silence, and raising his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh, " who knows but he may be looking down upon us now? Who knows but he may be surveying of us from — ^from somewheres or another, and con- templating us with a watchful eye ? Oh Lor ! " Here Mr. Brass stopped to drink half his punch, and then resumed ; looking at the other half, as he spoke, with a dejected smile. "I can almost fancy," said the lawyer shaking his head, " that I see his eye glistening down at the very bottom of my liquor. When shall we look upon his like again? Never, never ! One minute we are here " — holding his tumbler before his eyes — " the next we are there " — gulping down its contents, and striking himself emphatically a little below the chest — ■" in the silent tomb. To think that I should be drinking his very rum ! It seems Uke a dream." With the view, no doubt, of testing the reality of his posi- tion, Mr. Brass pushed his tumbler as he spoke towards Mrs. Jiniwin ; for the purpose of being replenished ; and turned towards the attendant mariners. ■ " The search has been quite Unsuccessful then ? " * Mrs. Quilp's mother. 170 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP " Quite, master. But I should say that if he turns up any- where, he'll come ashore somewhere about <3trinidge to-morrow, at ebb-tide, eh, mate ? " The other gentleman assented, observing that he was expected at the Hospital, and that several pensioners would be ready to receive him whenever he arrived. " Then we have nothing for it but resignation/' said Mr. Brass ; " nothing but resignation, and expectation. It would be a comfort to have his body; it would be a dreary comfort." " Oh, beyond a doubt," assented Mrs. Jiniwin hastily ; " if we once had that, we should be quite sure." " With regard to the descriptive advertisement," said Samp- som Brd,ss, taking up his pen. ?' It is a melancholy pleasure to recall his traits. Eespeeting his legs now— — 1 '' " Crooked, certainly," said Mrs. Jiniwin. " Do you think they were crooked ? " said Brass, in an insinuating tone. " I • think I see them now coming up the street very wide apart, in nankeen pantaloons a little shrunk and without straps. Ah ! what a vale of tears we live in. Do we say crooked 1 " " I think they were a little so," observed , Mrs, Quilp with a sob. " Legs crooked," said Brass, writing as he spoke. " Large head, short body, legs crooked ■ " " Very, crooked," suggested Mrs; Jiniwin. " We'll not say very crookedj ma'am," said Brass piously. " Let us not bear hard upon the weaknesses of the deceased. He is gone,': ma'am, to where his legs will never come in question. — ^We will content ourselves with crooked, Mrs. Jiniwin." "I thought you wanted the truth," said the old lady. "That's all." " Bless your eyes, how I love you," muttered Qmlp. " There she goes again. Nothing but punch ! " '-'This is an occupation," said the lawyer, laying down his pen and emptying his glass, " which seems to bring him before my eyes like the Ghost of Hamlet's father, in the very clothes that he wore on work-a-days. His coat,' his waistcoat, his shoes and stockings, his trousers, his hat, his wit and humour, his pathos and his umbrella, aU come before me like visions of my youth. His linen ! " said Mr. Brass smUing fondly at the wall, "his linen which was always of a particular colour, for such was his whim and fancy — ^how plain I see his linen now ! " THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 171 "You had better go on, s|r," gaid Mrs. Jiniwin impatiently. "True, ma'am, true," cried Mr, Brass. ■ " Oiu- , faculties tuust not freeze with grief. I'll trouble you for a little more of that, ma'^m. A question now arises, "with relation to his nose." " Flat,'' said Mrs. Jiniwin, , : . " Aquiline ! " cried Quilp, thrusting in his head; and striking ihe feature with his fist. " Aquiline, you hag. Do you see it ? Do you call this flat ? Do you ? Eh ? " " Oh capital, capital ! " shouted Brass, from the mere force jf habit. " Excellent ! How very good he is ! He's a most remarkable man — so extremely whimsical ! Such an amazing power of taking people by surprise ! " Quilp paid no regard whatever to these compliments, nor to the dubious and frightened look into which the lawyer gradually subsided, nor to the shrieks of his wife and mother-in-law, nor to the latter's running from the room, nor to the former's Fainting away. Keeping his eye fixed on Sampson Brass, he H^alked up to the table, and beginning with his glass, drank off the contents, and went regularly round until he had emptied the other two, when he seized the case-bottle, and hugging it under his arm, surveyed him with a most extraordinary leer. " Not yet, Sampson," said Quilp. " Not just yet ! " " Oh very good indeed ! " cried Brass, recovering his spirits a little. "Ha ha ha! Oh exceedingly goodl There's not another man alive who would carry it off like that. A most difficult position to carry off. But he has such a flow of good- humour, such an amazing flow ! " " Good-night," said the dwarf, nodding expressively. " Good-night, sir, good-night," cried the lawyer, retreating backwards towards the door. " This is a joyful occasion indeed, extremely joyful. Ha ha ha ! oh, very rich, very rich indeed, remarkably so ! " Waiting until Mr. Brass's ejaculations died away in the distance (for he continued to pour them out, all the way down- stairs), Quilp advanced towards the two men, who yet lingered in a kind of stupid amazement. " Have you been dragging the river all day, gentlemen ? " said the dwarf, holding the door open with great politeness. " And yesterday too, master." "Dear me you've had a deal of trouble. Pray consider everything yours that you find upon the — upon the body. Good-night!" 172 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP The men looked at each other, but had evidently no inclina- tion to argue the point just then, and shuffled 'out of the room. The speedy clearance effected, Quilp locked the doors; and still embracing the case-bottle with shrugged-up shoulders and folded arms, stood looking at his insensible wife like a dis- mounted nightmare. BOOK VI BARNABY RUDGE Bwnmby Budge ran its course in the pages qf Master Bumphrfiy^s Clock weekly, and was published as a book in 1841. My father bad some' difficulty with the story at first, but towards the closing chapters warmed to his work and wrote to Mr. Forster: "I have just burnt into Newgate, and am going in the next number to tear the prisoners out by the hair of their heads." Then follows another letter : " I have let all the prisoners out of Newgate, burnt down Lord Mansfield's and played the very devil. ... I feel qiiite smoky when I am at woi'k." . ' The story is supposed to take place in 1775, and opens with a description of the Maypole Inn standing, on the borders of Bpping Forest. Here we find John WUIet, a slow obstinate man, and his son Joe, a fine young fellow but treated by his fathei* as a little boy, We are introduced to the guests, some old cronies who look in every eveniing to Smoke atid drink. There is a young gentleman among them to-night,' of handsome and graceful appearance, and a stranger of not so: agreeable a presence. The young man soon takes his departure, and the stranger- contuju^s the? questions he has been asking con- cerning the large house (the Warren) that stands about a mile from the inn. We learn that Mr. G-eoffrey Haredale lives there, with his niece Miss Emma, the daughter of his elder brother Eueben,= who' twenty-two years ago, when she was an infant, was murdered in the house by his gardener it is supposed, who disappeared and has never since' been heard of. After hstening to tins story the stranger leaves for London on horseback, and the next we see of him is on the road, where he rides so recklessly as nearly to bear down upon a vehicle driven by sturdy Gabribl Varden a lobk- smith ; they have a stormy discussion, arid the stranger, who appears to have met with the old man before, sets spurs to his horse and gallops away. Varden then repairs tO' the Maypole, and on his return journey ineets with a fresh adventure. He is jogging comfortably along when he hears a cry for help, and urging forward his little horse arrives at a spot where he sees two men, one exteridfed on the ground, arid the other, a strange- fantastic figure, hovering near him with a torch in his hand which he waves in the air. In this figure Varden recognizes Bamaby Eudge, a heiripless imbecile lad who shudders at the sight of blood,, and canndt be induced to touch the wounded mariljdng on the road. Bamaby makes Varden understand that the young man has been robbed and the robber has fled towards the city. Varden examines the prostrate form and finds that he b^s a wound in his side and is in a fajiating condition. 173 174 BARNABY RUDGE Bamaby says that he knows him, and as Barnaby's mother lives not far off, Varden, after covering the body, persuades the poor lad to help him in lifting the disabled man into his chaise, and together they bear him to her house. Our next meeting with Gabriel Varden is in his own quaint home and shop, in Clerkenwell, GABRIEL VARDEN, DOLLY, AND MR. TAPPERTIT Theee was not a neater, more scrupulously tidy, or more punctiliously ordered house, in Clerkenwell, in London, in all England. There were not cleaner wiadows, or whiter floors, or brighter Stoves, or more highly shining articles of furniture in 6ld mt^hogany ; -there was not more rubbiag, scrubbing, burnish- ing and poUshtng, in the whole street put together. Nor was this excellence attained without some cost and trouble and great expenditure of voice, as the. neighbouris were fre(Juently reminded when the good lady of the - house overlooked and assisted in its being put to rights on cleaning days — which were usually from Monday morning tiU Saturday night, both days inclusive. Leaning against the door-post of this, his dwelling, the locksmith stood early on the morning after he had met with the wounded man, ^gazing disconsolately at a great wooden emblem of a key, painted in vivid yellow to resemble gold; which dangled from the house-front, and swung to and fro with a mournful creaking noise, as if complaining that it had nothiug to unlock.; Sometimes, he looked: over his shoulder into the shop, which was so dark and dingy with numerous tokens of his trade, and so blackened by the sinoke of a little forge, near which his 'prentice was at wprlk, ■ that it would have been difficult for one unused to such espials to. have distinguished anything but various tools of uncouth make and shape, great bundhes of- rusty keys, fragihents' of iron, half-finished locks, and such-like, things, wbiqh garnished the walls and hung in clusters from the ceiling. , , !,, After a long and patient: contemplation of the golden key, and many such • backward ' glances, Gabriel stepped iato the road, and stole a look at the upper windows. One of thein chanced to be thrown open at the moment, and a roguish face met his ; a face lighted iip by the loveliest pair of sparkling eyes that ever locksmith looked • ufon ; the face of a ptetty, BARNABY RUDGE 175 laughing, girl ; dimpled and fresh, and healthful — the very im- personation of good-humour and blooming beauty. "Hush!" she whispered, bending forward and pointing archly to the window underneath, " Mother is still asleep." " Still,! my dear," returned the locksmith in the same tone. " You talk as if she had been asleep all night, instead of little more than half-an-hour. But I'm very thankful. Sleep's a blessiag-i— no doubt about it." The last few words he muttered to himself. ' " How cruel of you to keep us up so late this morning, and never tell us where you were, or send us word ! " said the girl. " Ah, Dolly, Dolly ! ": returned the locksmith,- shaking his head, and smiling, " how cruel of you to run up-^tairs to bed I Come down to DreaMast^ madcap, and come down lightly, or you'll wake your mother. She must be tired, I am sure— /am." . Keeping these latter words to himself, and returning his daughter's nod, he was passing into the workshop, with the smile she had awakened still beaming on his face, when he just caught sight of his 'prentice's brown-paper cap ducking down to avoid observation, and shrinking from the window back to its former place, which the wearer no sooner reached than he began to hammer lustily. " Listening again, Simon ! " said Gabriel to himself. " That's bad. ' What in the name of wonder does he expect the girl to say, that I always catch him listening when sAe speaks, and never at any other time ? A bad habit, Sim, a sneaking, under-' handed way. Ah ! you may hammer, but you won't beat that out of me, if you work at it tiU your tune's up ! " > So saying, and shaking his head gravely, he re-entered the workshop, and confronted the subject of these remarks. "There's enough of that just now,'' said the locksmith. "You needn't make any more of that Confounded clatter: Breakfast's ready." > " Sir," said Sim, looking up with amazing politeness, and a peculiar little bow cut short off at the neck. " I shall attend you immediately." " I suppose," muttered Gabriel, " that's out of the 'Prentice's Garland, or the 'Prentice's Delight, or the 'Prentice's Warbler, or the 'Prentice's Guide to the Gallows, or some such improving text-book. Now he's going to beautify himself— here's a precious locksmith !" 176 BARNABY RUDGE Quite unconscious that his master was looking on from the dark corner by the parlour-door, Sim threw off the paper cap, sprang from his seat, and in two extraordinary steps, something between skating and minuet-dancing, bounded to a washing- place at the other end of the shop, and there removed from his face and hands all traces of his previous work — practising the same step all the time with the utmost gravity. This done, he drew from some concealed place a little scrap of looking-glass, and with its assistance arranged his hair, and ascertained the exact state of a little carbuncle on his nose. Haviug now com- pleted his toilet, he placed the fragment of mirror on a low bench, and looked over his shoulder at so much of his legs; as could be reflected in that small compass, with the .greatest possible complacency and satisfaction. Sim, as he was called in the locksmith's family, or Mr. Simon Tappertit, as he called himself, and required all men to style him out of doors, on holidays, and Sundays out, — was an old-fashioned, thin-faced, sleek-haired, sharp-nosed, small-eyed little fellow, very little more than five feet high, and thoroughly convinced in his own mind that he was above the middle size ; rather tall, in fact, than otherwise. Of his figure, which was well enough formed, though somewhat of the leanest, he enter- tained the highest admiration; and with his legs, which, in knee-breeches, were perfect curiosities of Uttleness, he was enraptured to a degree amounting to enthusiasm. He also had some majestic, shadowy ideas, which had never been quite fathomed by his intimate friends, concerning the power of his /eye. Indeed he had been known to go so far as to Ijoast that he could utterly quell and subdue the haughtiest beauty by a simple process, which he termed " eyeing her over ; " but it must be added, that neither of this faculty, nor of the power he claimed to have, through the same gift, of vanquishing and heaving down dumb animals, even in a rabid state, had he ever furnished evidence , which could be deemed quite satisfactory and con- clusive. It may be inferred from these premises, that in the small body of Mr. Tappertit there was locked up an ambitious and aspiring soul. As certain liquors, confined in casks too cramped in their dimensions, will ferment, and fret, and chafe in their imprisonment, so the spiritual essence or soul of Mr. Tappertit woTild sometimes fume within that precious cask, his body, untU, with great foam and froth and splutter, it would force a vent, and carry all before it. It was his custom to remark, in BARNABY RUDGE 177 reference to any one of these occasions, that his soul had got j into his head; and in this novel kind of intoxication many scrapes and mishaps befel him which he had frequently con- cealed with no small difficulty from his worthy master. Sim Tappertit, among the other fancies upon which his before- mentioned soul was for ever feasting and regaling itself (and which fancies, like the liver of Prometheus, grew as they were fed upon), had a mighty notion of his order; and had been heard by the servant-maid openly expressing his regret that the 'prentices no longer carried clubs wherewith to mace the citizens: that was his strong expression. He was likewise reported to have said that in former times a stigma had been cast upon the body by the execution of George Barnwell, to which they should not have basely submitted, but should have demanded him of the legislature — tempei^ately at first ; then by an appeal to arms, if necessary— ^to be dealt with as they in their wisdom might think fit. These thoughts always led him to consider what a glorious engine the 'prentices might yet become if they had but a master-spirit at their head ; and then he would darkly, and to the terror of his hearers, hint at certain reckless fellows that he knew of, and at a certain Lion Heart ready to become their captain, who, once afoot, would make the Lord Mayor tremble on his throne. In respect of dress and personal decoration, Sim Tappertit was no less of an adventurous and enterprising character. He had been seen, beyond dispute, to pull off ruffles of the finest quality at the corner of the street on Sunday nights, and to put them carefully in his pocket before returning home ; and it was quite notorious that on all great holiday occasions it was his habit to exchange his plain steel knee-buckles for a pair of glittering paste, under cover of a friendly post, planted most con- veniently in that same spot. Add to this that he was in years just twenty, in his looks much older, and in conceit at least two hundred; that he had no objection to be jested with, touchtag his admiration of his master's daughter; and had even, when called upon at a certain obscure tavern to pledge the lady whom he honoured with his love, toasted, with many wiaks and leers, a fair creature whose Christian name, he said, began with a D — ; — and as much is known of Sim Tappertit, who has by this time followed the locksmith in to breakfast, as is necessary to be known in making his acquaintance. It was a substantial meal ; for, over and above the ordinary tea equipage, the board creaked- beneath the weight of a jolly N 178 BARNABY RUDGE round of beef, a ham of the first magnitude, and sundry towers of buttered Yorkshire cake, piled slice upon slice in most alluring order* There was also a goodly jug of well-browned clay, fashioned into the form of an old gentleman, not by any means unlike the locksmith, atop of whose bald head was a fine white froth answering to his wig, indicative, beyond dispute, of sparkling home-brewed ale. But, better far than fair home- brewed, or Yorkshire cake, or ham, or beef, or anything to eat or drink that earth or air or water can supply, there sat, pre- siding over all, the locksmith's rosy daughter, before whose dark eyes even beef grew insignificant, and malt became as nothing. Fathers should never kiss their daughters when young men are by. It's too much. There are bounds to human endurance. So thought Sim Tappertit when Gabriel drew those rosy lips to his — those lips within Sim's reach from day to day, and yet so far off. He had a respect for his master, but he wished the Yorkshire cake might choke him. " Father," said the locksmith's daughter, when this salute was over, and they took theic seats at table, " What is this I hear about last night ? " "All true, my dear; true as the Gospel, Doll." " Young Mr. Chester robbed, and lying wounded in the road, when you came up ! " " Ay — Mr. Edward. And beside him, Bamaby, calling for help with all his might. It was well it happened as it did ; for the road's a lonely one, the hour was late, and, the night beiag cold, and poor Barflaby even less sensible than usual from surprise and fright, the young gentleman might have met his death in a very short time." " I dread to think of it ! " cried his daughter with a shudder. " How did you know him ? " " Know him ! " returned the locksmith. " I didn't know him — ^how could I ? I had never seen him, often as I had heard and spoken of him. I took him to Mrs. Eudge's ; and [she no sooner saw him than the truth came out." " Miss Emma, father — If this news should reach her, enlarged upon as it is sure to be, she will go distracted." "Why, lookye there again, how a man suffers for being good-natured," said the locksmith. " Miss Emma was with her uncle at the masquerade at Carlisle House, where she had gone, as the people at the Warren told me, sorely against her will. What does your blockhead father when he and Mrs. Eudge have laid their heads together, but goes there when he ought to bf^ BARNABY RUDGE 179 abed, makes interest with his friend the doorkeeper, slips him on a mask and domino, and mixes with the masquers." " And like himself to do so ! " cried the girl, putting her fair arm round his aeck, and giving him a most enthusiastic kiss. " Like himself! " repeated Gabriel, affecting to grumble, bufc evidently delighted with the part he had takeh> arid with her praise. "Very like himself— so your mother said. However, he mingled with the crowd, and prettily worried and badgered he was, I warrant you, with people squeaking, ' Don't you know me ? ' and ' I've found you out,' and all that kind of nonsense in his ears. He might have wandered on till now, but in a little room there was a young lady who had taken off her mask, on account of the place being very warm, and was sitting there alone." " And that was she 1 " said his daughter hastily. " And that was she," replied the locksmith ; " and I no sooner whispered to her what the matter was — as softly, Doll, and with nearly as much art as you could have used yourself — than she gives a kind of scream and faints away."' ' ' "What did you do — what happened next?'' asked his daughter. " Why, the masks came flocking round, with a general noise and hubbub, and I thought myself in luck to get clear off, that's all," rejoined the locksmith. "What happened when I reached home you . may guess, if you didn't hear it. Ah !' Well, it's a poor heart that never rejoices. — Put Toby this way, my dear."' This Toby' was the, brown jug of which previous mention has been made. Applying his lips to the' worthy old gentle- man's benevolent forehead, the locksmith, who had all, this time been ravaging among the eatables, kept them there so long, at the same time raising the vessel slowly in the air, that at lerigth Toby stood on his head upon his 'nose, when he sniacked liis lips, and set him on the table again with fond reluctance. Although Sam Tappertit had taken no share in this con- versation, no part of it being addressed to him, he had not been wanting in such silent manifestations of astonishment, as he deemed most conipatible with the favourable display of his eyes. Regarding the pause which now ensued, as a particularly advantageous opportunity for doing great execution with them upon the locksmith's daughter (who he had no doubt was looking at him in mute admiration), he began to screw and twist his face, and especially those features, into i8o BARNABY RUDGE such extraordinary, hideous, and unparalleled contortions, that Gabriel, who happened to look towards him, was stricken with amazement. " Why, what the devil's the matter with the lad ? " cried the locksmith- " Is he choking ? " " Who ? " demanded Sim, with some disdain. " Who ? why, you," returned his master. " What do you mean by making those horrible faces over your breakfast ? " "Faces are matters of taste, sir," said Mr. Tappertit, rather discomfited; not the less so because he Sfiw the locksmith's daughter smiling. " Sim," rejoined Gabriel, laughing heartily. " Don't be a fool, for I'd rather see you in your senses. These young fellows," he added, turning to his daughter, " are always com- mitting some folly or another. There was a quarrel between Joe Willet and old John last jiight — though I can't say Joe was much in fault either. He'U be missing one of these mornings, and will have gone away upon some wild-goose errand, seeking his fortune. — Why, what's the matter, Doll ? You are making faces now. The girls are as bad as the boys every bit ! " " It's the tea," said Dolly, turning alternately very red and very white, which is no doubt the effect of a slight scald — " so very hot." Mr. Tappertit looked immensely big at a quartern loaf on the table, and breathed hard. " Is that all ? " returned the locksmith. " Put some more nulk in it. — Yes, I am sorry for Joe, because he is a likely young fellow, and galas upon one every time one sees him. But he'U staxt off, you'll find. Indeed he told me as much himself!" " Indeed ! " cried DoUy in a faint voice. " In — deed ! " " Is the tea ticklLag your throat still, my dear ? " said the locksmith. But, before his daughter could make him any answer, she was taken with a troublesome cough, and it was such a very unpleasant cough, that, when she left off, the tears were starting in her bright eyes. The good-natured locksmith was stifl patting her on the back and applying such gentle restoratives, when a message arrived from Mrs. Varden, making known to all whom it might concern, that she felt too much indisposed to rise after her great agitation and anxiety of the previous night 5 and therefore desired to be immediately accommodated BARNABY RUDGE i8i with the little black tea-pot of strong mixed tea, a couple of rounds of buttered toast, a middling-sized dish of beef and ham cut thin, and the Protestant Manual in two volumes post octavo. like some other ladies who in remote ages flourished upon this globe, Mrs. Varden was most devout when most ill-tempered. Whenever she and her husband were at unusual variance, then the Protestant Manual was in high feather. Knowing from experience what these requests portended, the triumvirate broke, up; Dolly, to see the orders executed with all despatch; Gabriel, to some out-of-door work in his little chaise ; and Sim, to his daily duty in the workshop, to which retreat he carried the big look,'although the loaf remained behind. Indeed the big look increased immensely, and when he had tied his apron on, became quite gigantic. It was not until he had several times walked up and down with folded arms, and the longest strides he could take, and had kicked a great many small articles out of his way, that his lip began to curl. At length, a gloomy derision came upon his features, and he smiled ; uttering meanwhile with supreme contempt the monosyllable "Joe!" "I eyed her over, while he talked about the fellow," he said, " and that was of course the reason of her being confused. Joe!" He walked up and down again much quicker than before, and if possible with longer strides ; sometimes stopping to take a glance at his legs, and sometimes to jerk out, and cast from him, another " Joe ! " In the course of a quarter of an hour or so he again assimied the paper cap and tried to work. No. It could not be done. "I'U do nothing to-day," said Mr. Tappertit, dashing it down again, " but grind. I'll grind up all the tools. Grinding will suit my present humour well. Joe ! " Whirr-r-r-r. The grindstone was soon in motion; the sparks were flying off in showers. This was the occupation for his heated spirit. Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r. " Something will come of this ! " said Mr. Tappertit, pausing as if in triumph, and wiping his heated face upon his sleeve. " Something will come of this. I hope it mayn't be huitnan gore ! " Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. 1 82 BARNABY RUDGE Gabriel Varden visits Mrs. Rudge's house one evening to ascertain the progress of Mr. Edward Chester's recovery, and while he is talking with the young man^ is suddenly startled by a strange voice. The original of Barnaby's raven was a bird the author kept in hie garden at Devonshire Terrace, which unfortunately died during the writing of this tale, but was replaced by another almost as clever. II GRIP "Halloa!" cried a hoarse voice in Ms ear. "Halloa, halloa, halloa ! Bow wow wow. What's the matter here ? Hal-loa ! " The speaker — who made the locksmith start as if he had seen some supernatural agent — was a large raven, who had perched upon the top of the easy-chair, unseen by him and Edward, and listened with a polite attention and a most extra- ordinary appearance of comprehending every word, to all they had said up to this point; turning his head from one to the other, as if his office were to judge between them, and it were of the very last importance that he should not lose a word. " Look at Tiim ! " said Varden, divided between admiration of the bird and a kind of fear of him. " Was there ever such a knowing imp as that ? Oh he's a dreadful feUow ! " The raven, with his head very much on one side, and his bright eye shining like a diamond, preserved a thoughtful silence for a few seconds, and then replied in a voice so hoarse and distant, that it seemed to come through his thick feathers rather than out of his mouth. " Halloa, halloa, halloa ! What's the matter here ? Keep up your spirits. Never say die. Bow wow Wow. I'm a devil, I'm a devil, I'm a devil. Hurrah ! " — And then, as if exulting in his infernal character, he began to whistle. " I more than half believe he speaks the truth. Upon my word I do," said Varden. " Do you see how he looks at me, as if he knew what I was saying ? " To which the bird, balancing himself on tip-toe, as it were, and moving his body up and down in a sort of grave dance, rejoined, " I'm a devil, I'm a devU, I'm a devil," and flapped his wings against his sides as if he were btu-sting with laughter. Barnaby clapped his hands, and fairly rolled upon the ground in an ecstasy of delight. BARNABY RUDGE 183 " Strange companions, sir," said the locksmith, shaking his head, and looking from one to the oliier. "The bird has all the wit." , " Strange indeed ! " said Edward, holding out his fore-finger to the raven, who, in acknowledgment of the attention, made a dive at it immediately with his iron bill. " Is he old ? " "A mere boy, sir," replied the locksmith. "A hundred and twenty, or thereabouts. Call him, down, Barnaby, my man." "CaU him!" echoed Barnaby, sitting Upright upon the floor, and staring vacantly at Gabriel, as he thrust his hair back from his face. " But who can make him come ? He calls me, and makes me go where he will. He goes on before, and I follow. He's the master, and I'm the man. Is that the truth. Grip?" The raven gave a short, comfortable, confidential kind of croak ; — a most expressive croak, which seemed to say, " You needn't let these fellows into our secrets. We understand each other. It's all right." " I make Mm, come ? " cried Barnaby, pointing to the bird. " Him, who never goes to sleep, or so much as winks ! — Why, any time of night, you may see his eyes in my dark room, shining Kke two sparks. ' And every night, and all night too, he's broad-awake, talking to himself, thiaking what he shall do to-morrow, where we shall go, and what he shall steal, and hide, and bury. / make Mm, come ? Ha ha ha ! " On second thoughts, the bird appeared disposed to come of himself. After a short survey of the ground, and a few sidelong looks at the ceiling and at everybody present in turn, he fluttered to the floor, and went to Barnaby — ^not in a hop, or walk, or run, but in a pace like that of a very particular gentle- man with exceedingly tight boots on, trying to walk fast over loose pebbles. Then, stepping into his extended hand, and condescending to be held out at arm's-length, he gave vent to a succession of sounds, not unHke the drawing of some eight or ten dozen of long corks, and again asserted his brimstone birth and parentage with great distinctness. »84 BARNABY RUDGE Sim Tappertit creeps stealthily from the locksmith's house one evening to attend a meeting of the 'Prentice Knights, which takes place in a drinking^ cellar and skittle-ground, kepi by a blind man called Stagg, where Sim is honoured by the appellation of " Captain," and where a novice called Mark Gilbert is about to be received into the secret society. The novice has had his ears pulled by his master, Thomas Curzon, for looking at his daughter; Curzon is denounced, and " the noble captain " causes his rival Joe Willet to be proscribed, and 'Prentice Knights are forbidden to succour, help, or hold communion vfith him, and are on the contrary on pain of excommunication, required to molest, hurt, wrong, and annoy him, whensoever and wheresoever they can. Miss_ Miggs, who is Mrs. Varden's maid, has been a witness of Sim Tappertit's departure, and being of an inquisitive and jealous nature, shg takes her measures accordingly. Ill MISS MIGGS AND MR. TAPPERTIT Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome, in their soarings tip and down, all obstacles of distance, time, and , place. Thrice blessed be this last consideration, since iC enables us to follow the disdainful Miggs even into the sanctity of her chamber, and to hold her in sweet companionship through the dreary watches of the night ! Miss Miggs, having undone her mistress, as she phrased it (which means, assisted to undress her), and having seen her comfortably to bed in the back-room on the first-floor, withdrew to her own apartment, in the attic story. Notwithstanding her declaration in the locksmith's presence, she was in no mood for sleep; so, putting her light upon the table and withdrawing the little window-curtain, she gazed out pensively at the wUd night sky. Perhaps she wondered what star was destined for her habitation when she had run her little course below ; perhaps speculated which of those glimmering spheres might be the natal orb of Mr. Tappertit ; perhaps marvelled how they could gaze down on that perfidious creature, man, and not sicken and turn green as chemists' lamp's ; perhaps thought of nothing in particular. Whatever she thought about, there she sat, until her attention, alive to anything connected with the insinuating 'prentice, was attracted by a noise in the next room to her own — ^his room ; the room in which he slept, and dreamed — it might be, sometimes dreamed of her. BARNABY RUDGE 185 That he was not dreaming now, unless he was taking a walk in his sleep, was clear, for every now and then there came a shuffling noise, as though he were engaged in polishing thei whitewashed wall ; then a gentle creaking of his door ; then the faintest indication of his stealthy footsteps on the landing- place outside. Noting this latter circumstance. Miss Miggs turned pale and shuddered, as mistrusting his intentions ; and more than once exclaimed, below her breath, "Oh! what a Providence it is, as I am bolted in 1 " — which, owing doubtless to her alarm, was a confusion of ideas on her part between a bolt audits use ; for though there was one on the door, it was not fastened. Miss Miggs's sense of hearing, however, having as sharp an edge! as her temper, and, being of the same snappish and suspicious kind, very soon informed her that the footsteps passed her door, and appealed to have some object quite' separate and disconnected frbm herself. At this discovery she became more alarmed than ever, and was about to give utterance to those cries of " Thieves ! " and " Murder ! " which she had hitherto restrained, when it occurred to her to look softly out, and see that her fears had some good palpable foundation. Lookiag out accordingly, and stretching her neck over the hand-rail, she descried, to her great amazement, Mr. Tappertit completely dressed, stealing down-stairs, one step at a time, with his shoes in one hand and a lamp in the other. Following him with her eyes, and going down a little way herself to get the better of an intervening angle, she beheld him thrust his head in at the parlour-door, draw it back again with great swiftness, and immediately begin a retreat up-stairs with all possible expedition. " Here's mysteries ! " said the damsel, when she was safe in her own room again, quite out of breath. " Oh gracious, here's, mysteries ! " _ ^ The prospect of finding anybody out in anything, would have kept Miss Mi^gs awake under the influence of henbane. Presently, she heard the step again, as she would have done if it had been that of a feather endowed with motion and walking down on tip-toe. Then gliding out as before, she again beheld the retreating figuretof the 'prentice ; again he looked cautiously in at the parlour-door, but this time instead of retreating, he. passed in and. disappeared. Miggs was back in her room, and had her head out of the' i86 BARNABY RUDGE windo'w, before an elderly gentleman could have winked and recovered from it. Out he came at the street-door, shut it carefully behind him, tried it with his knee, and swaggered off, putting something in his pocket as he went along. At this spectacle Miggs cried " Gracious ! " again, and then " Goodness gracious ! " and then " Goodness gracious me ! " and then, candle in hand, went down-stairs as he had done. Coming to the workshop, she saw the lamp burning on the forge, and everything as Sim had left it. " Why I wish I inay only have a walking; funeral, and never be bulled decent with a mourning-coach and feathers, if the boy hasn't been and made a key for his own self ! " cried Miggs. « Oh the little villain ! " . This conclusion was not arrived at without consideration, and much peeping and peering about ; nor was it unassisted by the recollection that she had on several occasions come upon the 'prentice suddenly, and found him busy at some mysterious occupation. Lest the. fact of Miss Miggs calling him, on whom she stooped to cast a favourable eye, a boy, should create surprise in any breast, it may be observed that she invariably affected to regard all male bipeds under thirty as mere chits and infants ; which phenomenon is not unusual in ladies of Miss Miggs's temper, and is indeed generally found to be the associate of such iadomitable and savage virtue. Miss Miggs deliberated within herself for some little time, looking hard at the shop-door while she did so, as though her eyes and thoughts were both upon it ; and then, taking a sheet of paper from a drawer, twisted it into a long thin spiral tube. Having filled this instrument with a quantity of small coal-dust from the forge, she approached the door, and dropping on one knee before it, dexterously blew into the keyhole as much of these fine ashes as the lock would hold. When she had filled it to the brim in a very workmanlike and skilful manner, she crept up-stairs again, and chuckled as she went. " There !" cried Miggs, rubbing her hands, "now let's see whether you won't be glad to take some notice of me, mister. He; he, he ! You'll have eyes for somebody besides Miss Dolly now, I think. A fat-faced puss she is, as ever / come across ! " As she uttered this criticism, she glanced. approvingly. at her small' mirror, as who should say, I thank my stars that can't be s,aid of me! — as it certainly could not; for Miss Miggs's style of beauty was of that kind which Mr. Tappertit himself had not inaptly termed, in private,' " scraggy." BARNABY RUDGE 187 " I don't go to bed this night ! " said Miggs, wrapping herself in a shawl, and drawing a couple of chairs near the window, flouncing down upon one, and putting her feet upon the other, " till you come home, my lad. I wouldn't/' said Miggs viciously, " no, not for five-and-forty pound ! " ■ With that, and with an expression of face in which a great number of opposite ingredients, such -as mischief, cunning, malice, triumph, and patient expectation, were all mixed up together in a kind of physiognomical punch, Miss Migga, composed herself toiwait and listen,- like some fair ogress ■vrho had set a trap and was watching for a nibble from a plump young traveller. She sat there, with perfect composure, all night; At length, just upon break of day, there was aifbotstep in the street, and presently she could hear Mr. Tappertit stop at the door. Then she could make but that he tried his key^that he was blowing into it— rthat he knocked it on the nearest post to beat the 'dust out — that he took it under a lamp to look at it — that he poked bits of stick into the lock to clear it — that he peeped into the keyhole, first with one eye, and ithen with the other — that he tried the key again—that he couldn't turn it, and what was worse, couldn't get it out — that he bent it — that then it was much less disposed to come out than before — that he gave it a mighty twist and a great pull, and then it came out so suddenly that he staggered backwards — that he kicked the door — that he shook it — finally; that he smote his forehead, and sat down on the step in despair. When this crisis had arriVed; Miss Miggs, affecting to be exhausted with terror, and to cling to the window-sill for support, put out her night-capi and demanded in- a faint Voice who was there. ' Mr, Tappertit cried "Hush!" and, backing' into the road^ exhorted her in frenzied pantomime to secrecy and-sUetfce. " Tell me one thing," said Miggs. " Is it thieves ? " ' ; " No — no — no ! " cried' Mr> Tappertit. "Then," said Miggs, more faiiitly than before, "it's fire; Where. is it, sir? It's near this room, I know. I've a good consoience, sir, and would much rather die than gb down a ladder. All I wish is, respecting my love to my married sister. Golden Lion Court, number twenty-si-vin, second beU-handle on the right-hand door-post." " Miggfl ! " cried Mr. Tappertit, " don't you know me ? Sim, you know — Sim " 1 88 BARNABY RUDGE " Oh ! what about hijn ? " cried Miggs, clasping her hands. " Is he in any danger ? Is he in the midst of flames and blazes ! Oh graciousj gracious ! " " Why I'm here, an't 1 1 " rejoined Mr. Tappertit, knocking himself on the breast. " Doit't you see me ? What a fool you are, Miggs ! " " There ! " cried Miggs, unmindful of this compliment; " Why — so it Goodness, what is the meaning of If you please, mim, here's — r- " "No, no!" cried Mr. Tappertit, standing on tip-toe, as if by that means he, in the street, were any nearer being able to stop the mouth of Miggs in the garret. " Don't I—rl've been out without leave, and something or another's the matter with the look. Come down, and undo the shop-windo'w, that I may get in that way." " I dursn't do it, Simmun," cried Miggs — for that was her pronunciation of his Christian name. "I dursn't do it, indeed: You know as well as anybody, how particular . I am. And to come down in the dead of night, when the house is wrapped in slumbers and welled in obscurity." And there she stopped and shivered, for her modesty caught cold at the very thought. " But Miggs," cried Mr. Tappertit, getting under the lamp that she might see his eyes. " My darling Miggs " Miggs screamed slightly.. " — That! love so much, and never can help thinking of,'- and it is impossible to describe the use he m&,de of his eyes when he said this — " do — for my sake, do." " Oh Simmun," cried Miggs, " this is worse than all, I know if I come down, you'll go, and " " And what, my precious ? " said Mr., Tappertit. " And try," said Miggs, hysterically, " to kiss me, or some such dreadfulness ; I know you will! " " I swear I won't," said Mr. Tappertit, with remarkable earnestness. "Upon my soul I won't. It's getting broad day, and the watchman's waking up. AugeUc Miggs ! If you'll only come and let me in, I promise you 'faithfully and truly I won't." '. Miss Miggs, whose gentle heart was touched, did not wait for the oath (knowing how strong the temptation was, ' and fearing he might, forswear himsel/), but tripped lightly down the stairs, and with her own fair hands drew: back the rough fastenings of the workshop-window. Having helped the way- ward 'prentice in, she faintly articulated the words " Simmun BARNABY RUDGE 189 is safe ! " and yielding to her woman's nature, immediately became insensible. "I knew I sHould quench. her," said Sim, rather embarrassed by this circumstance. " Of course I was certain it would come to this, but there was nothing else to be'done— if I hadn't eyed her over,; she wouldn't have come down. Here. Keep up a minutCi Mi^s. What a ' slippery figure she is ! There's no holding her, comfortably. Do keep up a miniite, Miggs, will you?" ! As Miggs, however, was deaf to all entreaties, Mr. Tappe^tit leant her against the wall as one might dispose of' a walking- stick or umbrella, until he had secured- the window, when he took her in his arms again, and, in short stages and with great diflfieulty — arising from her being taU, and his being short, and perhaps in, some ddgree fromthat peculiar physical conformation on which he had already remarked^carried her np-stairs, and planting her in the same umbrella or w'alking-'Stick fashion, just inside her own door, left her tb her repose. ; "He may be as cool as he likes," said Miss Miggs, recover- ing as soon as- she was left alone ; /' but I'm in his confidence and he can't help himself, nor couldn'^i if he was twenty Simmunses ! " Old John WiUet of the Maypole Inn is, ip spite of his extreme obstinapy, obliged to believe " the evidence of his senses," and although he has invariably contradicted the rumours he has hea,rd concerning the riots in London — the "No Popery Eiots," as they were' sometimes called — he is disagreeably awakened to the fact of their existence, by a mass of men surrounding the old place and despoiling; it of every article of the slightest value it contains. On the evening when fte rioters appear, he is seated in the inn with his particular, cronies, Solomon Daisy, Mr. Cobb, and Mr. Parkes. It is well for hiijj that Hugh, who was once in his service, is among the rioters, or he might have fallen a victim to the zeal of Mr. Dennis the hangman', who keeps his pro- fession a secret among his companions. IV THE SACKING OF THE MAYPOLE "Do you" think, sir," said Mr. WUlet, looking hard at Solomon Daisy — ^for it was his custom in cases of- personal altercation to fasten upon the smallest man in the party — " do you think, sir, that I'm a born fool ? " 1 90 BARNABY RUDGE " No, no, Johimy," returned Solomon, looking round upon the little circle of which he formed a part : " We all know better than that. You're no fool, Johnny^ No, no ! " Mr. Cobb and Mr. Parkes shook their heads in unison^ muttering, "No, no, Johnny, not you ! " But as such compli.' ments had usually the effect of making Mr. Willet rather more dogged than before, he surveyed them with a look of deep disdain, and returned for answer : "Then what do you mean by coming here, and teUing me that this evening you're a;-going to walk up to London together — you three — you — and have the evidence of your' own senses ? An't," said Mr, Willet, putting, his pipe, in his mouth with an air of solemn disgust, " an't the evidence of my senses enough for you?" " But we haven't got it, Johnny," pleaded Parkes, humbly. . " You haven't got it, sir? " repeated Mr. Willet, eyeing him from top to toe. " You haven't got it, sir ? You have got it, sir. Don't I tell you that His blessed Majesty King Geoirge, the Third would no more stand a rioting and rollicking in his streets, than he'd stand : being crowed/ over by his own Parliament?" " Yes, Johnny, but that's your sense — not your senses," said the adventurous Mr. Parkes. "How do you know," retorted John with great dignity. " You're a contradicting pretty free, you are, sir. How do you know which it is ? I'm not aware I ever told you, sir." Mr. Pajrkes, finding himself in the position of having got into metaphysics without exactly seeiag his way out of them,, stammered forth an apology and retreated from the argument.. There then ensued a silence of some ten minutes or a quarter' of an hour, at the expiration of which period Mr. Willet was observed to rumble and shake with laughter, and presently remarked, in reference to his late adversary, " that he hoped he had tackled him enough." Thereupon Messrs. Cobb and Daisy laughed, and nodded, and Parkes was looked upon as thoroughly and effectually put down. "Do you suppose if all this was true, that Mr. Haredale would be constantly away from home, as he is ? " said John, after another silence. " Do you think he wouldn't be afraid to leave his house with them two young women in it,* and only a couple of men, or so ? " " Ay, but then you know," returned Solomon Daisy, " his * Miss Haredale, and Dolly Varden, -vvlii) is on a visit at the Warren. BARNABY RUDGE 191 house is a goodish wa,y out of liOndoa, and they do say that the rioters won't go more than two mile, or three at the, farthest, oif the stones. Besides, you know, some of the Catholic gentle- folks have actually sent trinkets and such-like down here for safety — at least, so the story goes," ! [i " The story goes ! " said Mr. WiUet testily. " Yes, sir. The story goes that you saw a ghost last March. But nobody believes it." "Well!" said Solomon, rising, to divert the attention of his two friends, who tittered at this retort : "believed or disbelieved, it's true ; and true or not, if we mean to go to London, we must be going at once. So shake hands, Johnny, and good-night." " I shall shake hands," returned the landlord, puttiag his into his pockets, "with no man as goes to London on such nonsensical errands." The three cronies were thefeforereduced to the necessity of shaking his elbows ; ; halting performed that ceremony, and brought from the house their hats, and. sticks, and great-coats> they bade him good-night and departed; promising to bring him on the morrow full and true accounts of the real state of the city, and if it were quiet, to give him the full merit of his victory. John WiUet looked after them, as they plodded along the road in the rich glow of asummer evening ; and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, laughed inwardly' at their folly, until his sides were sore. When he had quite exhausted himself-^— which took some timfe, for he laughed as slowly as he thought,' and spoke — he sat -himself comfortably with his back to the house, put his legs upon the benchi then his apron over his face, and feU sound asleep. How long he slept, matters not; but it was for no brief space, for when he awoke, the rich light had faded, the sombre hues of night were failing fast upon the landscape, and a few bright stars were already twinkling overhead. The birds: were aU at roost, the daisies on the green had closed their fairy hoods, the honeysuckle twining round the porbh exhaled its perfume in a twofold degree^ as though it lost its coyness at that silent time and loved to shed its fragrance on the night ; the ivy scarcely^ stirred its deep green leaves. How tranquil, and how beautiful it was ! Was there no sound in the air, besides the gentle rustling of the trees and the grasshopper's merry chirp ? Hark ! Some- tihing very faint aiid distant, not imlike the murmuring in a 192 BARNABY RUDGE sea-shell. Now it grew louder, fainter now, and now it alto- gether died away. Presently, it came again, subsided, came once more, grew louder, fainter — swelled into a roar. It was on the road, and varied with its windings. All at once it burst into a distinct sound — the voices, and the tramping feet of many men. It is questionable whether old John Willet, even then, would have thought of the rioters but for the cries of his cook and housemaid, who ran screaming up-stairs and locked them- selves iato one of the old garrets, — shrieking dismally when they had done so, by way of rendering their place of refuge perfectly secret and secure. These two females did afterwards depone that Mr. Willet in his consternation uttered but one word, and called that up the stairs ia a stentorian voice, six distinct times. But as this word was a monosyllable, which, however inoffensive when applied to the quadruped it denotes, is highly reprehensible when used in connection with females of unimpeachable character, many persons were inclined to believe that the young women laboured under some hallucina- tion caused by excessive fear; and that their ears deceived them. Be this as it may, John Willet, in whom the very uttermost extent of dull-headed perplexity supplied the place of courage, stationed himself in the porch, and waited for their coming up. Once, it dimly occurred to him that there was a kind of door to the house, which had a lock and bolts; and at the same time some shadowy ideas of shutters to the lower windows, flitted through his brain. But he stood stock still, looking down the road in the direction in which the noise was rapidly advancing, and did not so much as take his hands out of his pockets. He had not to wait long. A dark mass, looming through a cloud of dust, soon became visible ; the mob quickened their pace ; shouting and whooping Uke savages, they came rushing on pell-mell ; and in a few seconds he was bandied from h^nd to hand, in the heart of a crowd of men. " Halloa ! " cried a voice he knew, as the man who spoke came cleaving through the throng. " Where is he ? Give him to me. Don't hurt him. How now, old Jack ! Ha ha ha ! " Mr. Willet looked at him, and saw it was Hugh; but he Baid nothing, and thought nothing. " These lads are thirsty and must drink ! " cried Hugh, thrusting him back towards the house. " Bustle, Jack, bustle, BARNABY RUDGE 193 Show us the best — the very best— the over-proof that you keep for your own drinking, Jack ! " John faintly articulated the words, " Who's to pay ? " " He says ' Who's to pay ? ' " cried Hugh^ with a roar of \ laughter which was loudly echoed by the crowd. Then turning to John, he added, " Pay! Why, nobody." John stared round at the mass of faces — some grinning, some fierce, some lighted up by torches, some indistinct, some dusky and shadowy : some looking at him, some at his house, some at each other — and while he was, as he thought, in the very act of doing sd, found himself, without any consciousness of having moved, in the bar ; sitting down in an arm-chair, and watching the destruction of his property, as if it were some queer play or entertainment, of an astonishing and stupefying nature, but having no reference to himself — that he could make out — at all. Yes. Here was the bar^ — the bar that the boldest never entered without special invitation^-the sanctuary, the mystery, the hallowed ground : here it was, crammed with men, clubs, sticks, torches, pistols; filled with a deafening noise, oaths, shouts, screams, hootings; changed all at once into a bear- garden, a mad-house, an infernal temple: men darting in and out, by door and window, smashing the glass, turning the taps, drinking liquor out of China punchbowls, sitting astride of casks, smoking private and personal pipes, cutting down the sacred grove of lemons, hacking and hewing at the celebrated cheese, breaking open' inviolable drawers, putting things in their pockets which didn't belong to them, dividing his own money before his own eyes, wantonly wasting, breaking, pulling down and tearing up : nothing quiet, nothing private : men every- where — above, below, overhead, in the bedrooms, in the kitchen, in the yard, in the stables — clambering in at windows when there were doors wide open; dropping out of windows when the stairs were handy ; leaping over the bannisters into chasms of passages : new faces and figures presenting themselves every iiistant — some yelling, some singing, some fighting, some break-' ing glass and crockery, some laying the dust with the liquor they couldn't drink, some ringing the bells till they pulled them down, others beating them with pokers tiU they beat them iiito fragments : more men still — more, more, more — swarming on like insects : noise, smoke, light, darkness, frolic, anger, laughter, groans, plunder, fear, and ruin ! Nearly all the time while John looked on at this bewildering 194 BARNABY RUDGE scene, Hugh kept near him ; and though he was the loudest, wildest, most destructive villaia there, he saved his old master's bones a score of times. Nay, even when Mr. Tappertit, excited by liquor, came up, and in assertion of his prerogative politely kicked John Willet on the shins, Hugh bade him return the compliment ; and if old John had had sufficient presence of mind to understand this whispered direction, and to profit by it, he might no doubt, under Hugh's protection, have done so with impunity. At length the band began to re-assemble outside the house, and to call to those within, to join them, for they were losing time. These murmurs increasing, and attaining a high pitch, Hugh, and some of those who yet liagered in the bar, and who plainly were the leaders of the troop, took counsel together, apart, as to what was to be done with John, to keep him quiet until their Chigwell work was over. Some proposed to set the house on fire and leave him in it ; others, that he should be reduced to a state of temporary insensibility, by knocking on the head ; others, that he should be sworn to sit where he was until to-morrow at the same hour ; others again, that he should be gagged and taken off with them, under a sufficient guard. All these propositions being overruled, it was conclude(^, at last, to bind him in his chair, and the word was passed for Dennis. " Look'ee here. Jack ! " said Hugh, striding up to him : " We are going to tie you, hand and foot, but otherwise you won't be hurt. D'ye hear 1 " John Willet looked at another man, as if he didn't know which was the speaker, and muttered something about an ordinary every Sunday at two o'clock. " You won't be hurt I tell you. Jack — do you hear me ? " roared Hugh, impressing the assurance upon him by means of a heavy blow on the back. " He's so dead scared, he's wool- gathering, I, think. Give him a drop of something to drink here. Hand over, one of you." A glass of liquor being passed forward, Hugh poured the contents down old John's throat. Mr. Willet feebly smacked his lips, thrust his hand into his pocket, and inquired what was to pay ; adding, as he looked vacantly round, that he believed there was a trifle of broken glass — " He's out of his senses for the time, it's my belief," said Hugh, after shaking him, without any visible effect upon his system, until his keys rattled in his pocket. "Where's that Dennis ? " BARNABY RUDGE 195 The word was again passed, and presently Mr. Dennis, with a long cord bound about his middle, something after the manner of a friar, came hurryiog in, attelided by a body-guard of half-a- dozen of his men. . ,.,, "Come! Be alive here!" cried Hugh, stamping his foot upon the ground. "Make haste!" ^ : , Dennis, with a wink and a nod, unwound the cord from about his person, and raising his eyes to the ceiling, looked all over it, and round the walls and cornice, with a curious eye ; then shook his head. '■ , ■ • "Move, man, can't you!" cried Hugh, with another im- patient stamp of his foot. " Are we to wait here, till the cry has gone for ten miles round, and our work's interrupted ? " "It's all very fine talking, brother," answered Dennis, stepping towards him ; " but unless — " and here he whispered in his ear — " unless we do it over the door, it can't be done at all in this here room." " What can't ? " Hugh demanded. " What can't ! " retorted Dennis. " Why, the old man can't." " Why, you weren't going to hang him ! " cried Hugh. " No, brother ? " returned the hangman with a stare. " What else?" Hugh made no answer, but snatching the rope from his companion's hand, proceeded to bind old John himself ; but his very first move was so bungling and unskilful, that Mr. Dennis entreated, almost with tears in his eyes, that he might be per- mitted to perform the duty. Hugh consenting, he achieved it in a twinkling. " There," he said, looking mournfully at John WiUet, who displayed no more emotion in his bonds than he had shown out of them. " That's what I call pretty and workmanlike. He's quite a picter now. But, brother, just a word with ^you — now that he's ready trussed, as one may say, wouldn't it be better for all parties if we was to work him off? It would read uncommon well in the newspapers, it would indeed. The public would think a great deal more on us ! " Hugh, inferring what his companion meant, rather from his gestures than his technical mode of expressing himself (to which, as he was ignorant of his calling, he wanted the clue), rejected this proposition for the second time, and gave the word " Forward ! " which was echoed by a hundred voices from ■ypithoat. 196 BARNABY RUDGE " To the Warren ! " shouted Dennis as he ran out, followed by the rest. " A witness's house, my lads ! " A loud yell followed, and the whole throng hurried o£f, mad for pillage and destruction. Hugh lingered behind for a few moments to stimulate himself with more drink, and to set all the taps running, a few of which had accidentally been spared ; then, glancing round the despoiled and plundered room, through whose shattered window the rioters had thrust the Maypole itself, — for even that had been sawn down, — lighted a torch, clapped the mute and motionless John Willet on the back, and waving his light above his head, and uttering a fierce shout, hastened after his companions. BOOK VII THE LIFE ANI> ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT MaHin Ckwademt was begun in January, 1843, and finished in July, 1844, when the completed work, which had been brought out in monthly portions, was published by Messrs. Chapman and Hall with a preface, and a dedication to Miss Burdett Coutts. It was illustrated by HablSt Browne. Mr. Pecksniff, a cousin of old Martin Chuzzlewit, lives in a small Wiltshire village not far from Salisbxury. Mr. Pecksniff is an architect and "land surveyor " as he calls himself on his business cards, but his professional engagements (apart from the collecting of rents) are confined almost exclu- sively to the reception of pupils. His knowledge of architecture is not ex- tensive, but his peculiar genius is shown in the "ensnaring of parents and guardians and in the pocketing of premiums." He is a widower, and his family consists of two daughters named respectively Charity and Mercy. Tom Pinch, a pupil, who has for Mr. Pecksniff unbounded veneration (destined, however, to be rudely shaken), makes one of his household, and John Westlock, another pupil, who does not share Tom's admu-ation, is about to take his departure from the architect's house, young Martin Chuzzlewit (old Martin's grandson) being on his way to fill the vacant place. Tom Pinch meets Martin upon his arrival at Salisbury, and drives him to Mr. Pecksniffs, where they find the learned man and his fair daughters deeply absorbed in their several occupations. I PECKSNIFFIAN DOMESTICITY Mr. Pecksniff had clearly not expected them for hours to come ! for he was surrounded by open books, and was glancing' from volume to volume, with a black-lead pencil in his mouth, and a pair of compasses in his hand, at^a vast number of mathematical diagrams, of such extraordinary shapes that they looked like designs for fireworks. Neither had Miss Charity expected them, for she was busied, with a capacious wicker basket before her, 197 1 98 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT in making impracticable night-caps for the poor. Neither had Miss Mercy expected them, for she was sitting upon her stool, tying on the — oh good gracious ! — ^the petticoat of a large doll that she was dressing for a neighbour's child : really, quite a grown-up doll, which made it more confusing : and had its little bonnet dangling by the ribbon from one of her fair curls, to which she had fastened it, lest it should be lost, or sat upon. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to conceive a family so thoroughly taken by surprise. as the Pecksniffs were, on this occasion. " teless my life ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, looking up, and gradu- ally exchanging his abstracted face for one of joyful recognition. " Here already ! Mattin, my dear ' boy, I am delighted to welcome, you to my poor house ! " With this kind greeting, Mr. Pecksniff fairly took him to his arms, and patted him several times upon the back with his right hand the while, as if to express that his feelings during the embrace were too much for utterance. " But here," he said, recovering, " are my daughters, Martin : my two only children, whom (if you ever saw them) you have not beheld — ah, these sad family divisions!; — since you were infants together. Nay, my dears, why blush at being detected in your everyday pursuits ? We had prepared io give you the reception of ;a visitor, Martin, in our little room of state,", said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling, "hut I like this better, I like this better!" Oh blessed star of Innocence, wherever you may be, how did you glitter in your home of ether, when the two Miss Pecksniffs put forth, each her lUy^and, and gave the same, with, mantling cheeks, to Martin ! How did you twinkle, as if fluttering with sympathy, when Mercy, reminded of the bonnet in her hair, hid her fair face and turned her head aside : the while her gentle sister plucked it out, and smote her, with a sister's soft reproof, upon her buxom shoulder ! "And how," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning round after the contemplation of these passages, and taking Mr. Pinch in a friendly manner by the elbow, " how has our friend here used you,MaBtin?" "iVery well indeed, sir. We are on the best terms, I assure you." ".Old Tom Pinch ! " said Mr. Pecksniff,. looking on him with affectionate sadness. " Ah ,! It seems , but yesterday that Thomas was a ;boy, fresh from a scholastic course. Yet years MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 199 have passed, 1 think, since Thomas Pinch and I first walked the world together ! " Mr. Piach could say nothiag. He was too much moved. But he pressed his master's hand, and tried to thank him. " And Thomas Pinch and I," said Mr. Pecksniff, in a deeper voice, " wUl wailk it yet, in mutual faithfulness and friendship ! And if it comes to pass that either of us be run over, in any of those busy crossings which divide the streets of life, the other will convey him to the hospital ia Hope, and sit beside his bed in Bounty?" - " Well, well, well ! " he added in a happier tonei, as he shook Mr. Pinch's elbow, hard. " No more of this ! Martin, my dear friendj that you may be at home within these walls, let me show you how we live, and where. Come !" With that he took up a lighted candle, and, attended by his young relative, prepared to leave the room. 'At the door, he stopped. " You'll bear us company, Tom Pinch ? " Ay, cheerfully, though it had been to death, would Tom have followed him : glad to lay down his life for such a man ! " This," said Mr. Pecksniff, opening the door of an opposite parlour, " is the little room of state, I mentioned to you. My girls have pride in it, Martin ! This," openiag another door, " is the little chamber in which my works (slight things at best) have been concocted. Portrait of myself by Spiller. Bust by Spoker. The latter is considered a good likenfess. I seem to recognise sonlething' about the left-hand corner of the nose, myself." Martin thought it was very like, but scarcely intellectual enough. Mr. Pecksniff observed that the same fault had been found with it before. It was remarkable it should have struck his young relation too. He was glad to see he had an eye for art. " Various books you observe," said Mr. Pecksniff, waving his hand towards the wall, " connected with our pursuit. I have scribbled myself, but have not yet published. Be careful how you come upstairs. This," opening another door, "is my chamber. I read here when the family suppose I have retired to rest. Sometimes I injure my health, rather more than I can CLuite justify to myself, by doing so ; but art is long and time is short. Every facility you see for jotting down crude notions, even here." These latter words were explained by his pointing to a small 20Q MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT round table on which were a lamp, divers sheets of paper, a piece of India-rubber, and a case of instruments : all piit ready, in case an architectural idea should come into Mr. PecksniiFs head in the night ; in which event he would instantly leap out of bed, and fix it for ever. Mr. Pecksniff opened another door on the , same floor, and shut it again, all at once, as if it were a Blue Chamber. But before he had well done so, he looked smilingly round, and said "Why not?" Martin couldn't say why not, because he didn't know any- thing at all about it. So Mr. Pecksniff answered himself, by throwing open the door, and saying : " My daughters' room. A poor first-floor to us, but. a bower to them. Very neat. Very airy. Plants you observe ; hyacinths; books again; birdg," These birds, by the bye, comprised, in all, one staggering old sparrow without a tail, which had been borrowed expressly from the kitchen. "Such trifles as girls love are here. Nothing more. Those who seek heartless splendour, would seek here in vain." With that he led them to the floor above, " This," said Mr. Pecksniff, throwing wide the door of the memorable two-pair front ; " is a room where some talent has been developed, I believe. This is a room in which an idea for a steeple occurred to me, that I may one day give to the world. We work here, my dear Martin. Some architects have been bred in this room : a few, I think, Mr. Pinch ? " Tom fully assented ; and, what is more, fully believed it. " You see," said Mr. Pecksniff, passing the candle rapidly from roll to roll of paper, " some traces of our doings here, Salisbury Cathedral from the north. From the south. From the east, From the west, I'rom the south-east. From the nor'-west. A bridge. An almshouse. A jail. A church. A powder-magazine. A wine-cellar. A portico, A summer- house. An ice-house. Plans, elevations, sections, every kind of thing. And this," he added, having ilay this time reached another large chamber on the same stoiy, with four little beds in it, "this is your room, of which, Mr. Pinch here, is the quiet sharer, A southern aspect ; a charming prospect ; Mr. Pinch's little library, you perceive; everything agreeable , and appro- priate. If there is any additional comfort you would desire to have here at any time, pray mention it. Even to strangers, far less to you, my dear Martin, there is no restriction on that point," ; ■• , ' MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 201 It was undoubtedly true, and may be Stated in corroboration of Mr. Pecksniff, that any pilpil had the most liberal permission to mention anything in this way that suggested itself to hia fancy. Some young gentlemen :had gone on mentioning' the very same thing for five years without ever being stopped. ; [ '-'The domestic -assistants,'' said ' Mr. ' Pecksniff, "sleep above; and that is all.".. After which, and listening com-* placently as he went, to the encomiums .passed; by his young friend on the arrangements generally, he . led the way to the parlour again. Here a great change had. taken plade; for festive prepara- tions on' a! rather extensive scale were already pdmpleted, and the two Miss Pecksniffs were awaiting their return with hospit- able looks. There were two bottles of; currant wine, white and red; a dish of sandwiches (very long and vfery slim). ; another of apples; another of captain's biscuits (which are always a moist and jovial sort of viaind) ; a plate of oranges cut up small and gritty with powdered: sugar ; and a highly geological home^ made cake. The magnitude of these preparations quite took away Tom Pinch's breath: for though the new pupils; were usually let down softly, as one may say, particularly in the wine department, which had so many stages of declension,Uhat some- times a young gentleman was a whole fortioight -in getting to the pump ; still this was a banquet ; a sort of Lord Mayor's feast in private life ; a something to think of, and hold on by, afterwards. To this entertainment, which apart from its own intrinsic merits, had the additional choice quality, that it was in strict keepiQg with the night, being bothlight and cool, Mr. Pecksniff besought the company to do full justice. " Martin," ha said, " will seat himself between you two, my dears, and Mr. Pinch will come by me. Let us drink to our new inmate, and may we be happy, together ! Martin, my dear friend, my love to you ! Mr. Pinch, S you spare the bottle we shall quarrel." '• ' . . ' And trying (in hi»' regard for the feeliags of the rest) to look as if the wine were not acid and didn't make hiih' wink, Mr. Pecksniff did honour to his own toast. "This," he said, in allusion to the party, not the wine, "is a mingling that repays. one for much disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry." Here he took a captain's biscuit. "It is a poor heart that never rejoices; and our hearts are not poor. No!" 202 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT With such stimulants to merriment did he beguile the time,. and do the honours of the table ; while Mr. Pinch, perhaps to assure himself that what he. saw and heard was holiday reality, and not a charming dream, ate of everything, and in particular disposed of the slim sandwiches to a surprising extent. Nor was he stinted in his draughts of wine; but on the ooiitraiy, remembering Mr. Pecksniff's speech, attacked the bottle with such vigour, that every time he filled his glass anew. Miss Charity, despite her amiable resolves, could not repress a fixed and stony glare, as if her eyes had rested on a ghost. Mr. Pecksniff also became thoughtful' at those moments, not to say dejected : but. as he knew the vintage, it ' is very likely he may have been speculating on the probable condition of Mr; Pinch upon the- morrow, and discussing within himself the best remedies for colic. : Martin and the young, ladies were excellent friends already, and compared recollections of . their . childish days, to their mutual liveliness and entertainment. Miss Mercy laughed immensely at everything that was said ; and sometimes, after glancing at the happy face of Mr. Pinch, was seized with such fits of mirth as brought her to the very confines of hysterics. But for these bursts of gaiety, her sister, in her better sense, reproved her ; observing, in an angry whisper, that it was far from being a theme for jest ; and that she had no patience with the creature; though it generally ended in her laughing too — but much more moderately — and saying, that indeed it was a little too ridiculous and intolerable to be serious about. At length it became high time to remember the first clause of that great discovery made by the ancient philosopher, for securing health, riches, and wisdom ; the infallibility of which has been for generations verified by the enormous fortunes, constantly! amassed by chimney-sweepers and other persons who get up early and go to bed betimes. The young ladies accordingly rose, and having taken leave of Mr. Chuzzlewit with mubh sweetness, and of their father with much duty, and of Mr. Pinch with much. condescension, retired to their bower. Mr. Pecksniff insisted on accompanying his young friend up-stairs, for personal superintendence of his comforts ; and taking him by the arm, coiiducted him once more to his bed- room, followed by Mr. Pinch, who bore the light. "Mr. Pinch,:' said Pecksniff, seating himself with folded arms on one of the spare beds. " I don't see any snuffers in MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 203 that candlestick. Will you oblige me by going down, and asking for a pair ? " Mr. Pinch, only too happy to be useful, went off directly. "You wiU excuse Thomas Pinch's want of polish, Martin," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a smile of patronage and pity, as soon as he had left the room. " He means well." " He is a very good fellow, sir." "Oh yes," said Mr. Pecksniff. "Yes. Thomas Pinch means well. He is very grateful. I have never regretted having befriended Thjomas Pinch." " I should thiak you never would, sir." "No," said Mr, Pecksniff. "No. I hope not. Poor fellow, he is always disposed to do his best ; but he is not gifted. You will make him useful to you, Martin, if you please. If Thomas has a fault, it is that he is sometimes a little apt to forget his position. But that is soon eheciked. Worthy, soul! You will find ; hiai easy to manage. Good-night ! " " Good-night, sir." By this time Mr. Pinch had returned with the snuffers. " And. good-night to you, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff. " And soimd sleep to you both. Bless you ! 'Bless you ! " Invoking this benediction on the heads of his young friends with great fervour; he withdrew. to his own room; whUe they, beiag tired, soon fell asleep. If 'Martin dreamed at all, some clew to the matter of his visibns may possibly, be gathered from, the after-pages of this histbry. Those of Thomas Pinch were all, of holidays, .church organs, and seraphic Pecksniffs. It was sometime before Mr. Pecksniff dreamed at all, or even sought his pUlow, as he ,sat for full two hours before the fire in his own chamber, looking . at the coals and thiaking deeply. But he, tob, slept and dreamed at last. Thus in the quiet hours of the night, one house shuts in as many incoherent and incongruous fancies as a madman's head. 204 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Mr. Pecksnifif is called to London " on professional business." He takes his daughters with him, and they put up at a commercial boarding-house near the Monument, kept by Mrs. Todgers, an old friend.. II TOWN AND TODGERS'S It being the second day of their stay in London, the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers were by this time highly confidential, insomuch that the last-named lady had already communicated the particulars of three early disappointments of a tender nature ; and had furthermore possessed her young friends with a general summary of the life, conduct, and character of Mr; Todgers, who, it seemed, had cut his matrimonial career rather short, by unlawfully running away from his happiness, and establishing himseK in foreign countries as a bachelor, " Your pa was once a little particular in his attentions, my dears," said Mrs. Todgers : " but to be your ma was too much happiness denied me. You'd hardly know who this was done for, perhaps ? " She called their attention to an oval miniature, like a little blister, which was tacked up over the kettle-holder, and in which there was a dreamy shadowing forth of her own visage. " It's a speaking likeness ! " cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. "It was considered so once," said Mrs. Todgers, warming herself in a gentlemanly manner at the fire: "but I hardly thought you would have known it, my loves." They would have known it anywhere. If they could have met with it in the street, or seen it in a shop-window, they would have cried, " Good gracious ! Mrs. Todgers ! " " Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc with the features, my dear Miss Pecksniffs," said Mrs. Todgers. " The gravy alone, is enough to add twenty years to one's age, I do assure you." " Lor ! " cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. "The anxiety of that one item, my dears," said Mrs, Todgers, " keeps the mind continually upon the stretch. There is no such passion in human nature, as the passion for gravy among commercial gentlemen. It's nothing to say a joint won't yield — a whole animal wouldn't yield — the amount of gravy they expect each day at dinner. And what I have MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 205 undergone in consequence," cried Mrs. Todgers, raising her eyes and shaking her head, " no one would believe ! " " Just like Mr. Pinch, Merry ! " said Charity. " We have always noticed it in him, you remember ? " " Yes, my dear," giggled Merry, " but we have never given it him, you know." " You, my dears, having to deal with your pa's pupils who can't help themselTes, are able to take your own way," said Mrs. Todgers, " but in a commercial establishment, where any gentleman may say, any Saturday evening, ' Mrs, Todgers, this day week we part, in consequence of the cheese,' it is not so easy to preserve a pleasant understanding. You pa was kind enough," added the good lady, " to invite me to take a ride with you to-day; and I think he mentioned that you were going to caU upon Miss Pinch. Any relation to the gentleman you were speaking of just now. Miss Pecksniff? " "For goodness' sake, Mrs. Todgers," interposed the lively Merry, " don't call him a gentleman. My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman ! The idea ! " "What a wicked girl you are!" cried Mrs. Todgers, em- bracing her with great affection. " You are quite a quiz, I do declare ! My dear Miss Pecksniff, what a happiness your sister's spirits must be to your pa and self ! " " He's the most hideous, goggle-eyed creature, Mrs. Todgers, in existence," resumed Merry: "quite an ogre. The ugliest awkwardest, frightfullest being, you can imagine. This is his sister, so I leave you to suppose what she is. I shall be obliged to laugh outright, I know I shall ! " cried the charming girl, " I never shall be able to keep, my countenance. The notion of a Miss Pinch presuming to exist at aU is sufBcient to kill one, but to see her— oh my stars ! " Mrs. Todgers laughed immensely at the dear love's humour, and declared she was quite afraid of her, that she was. She was so very severe. '~ " Who is severe ? " cried a voice at the door. " There is no such thing as severity in our family, I hope ! " And then Mr. Pecksniff peeped smilingly into the room, and said, " May I come in, Mrs. Todgers ? " Mrs. Todgers almost screamed) for the little door of com- munication between that room and the inner one being wide open, there was a full disclosure of the sofa bedstead in all its monstrous impropriety. But she had the presence of mind to clqse this portal in the twinkling of an eye ; and having done 2o6 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT so, said, though not without confusion, " Oh yes, Mr. Pecksniff, you can come in, if you please." "How are we to-day," said Mr. Pecksniff, jocosely 5 "and what are our plans ? Axe we ready to go and see Tom JPinch's sister ? Ha, ha, ha ! Poor Thomas Pinch ! " " Are we ready," returned Mrs. Todgers, nodding her head with mysterious intelligence, " to send a favourable reply to Mr, Jinkins's round-robin ? That's the first question, Mr. Pecksniff." "Why Mr. Jinkins's robin, my dear madam?" asked Mr. Pecksniff, putting one arm round Mercy, and the other round Mrs. Todgers: whom he seemed, in the abstraction of the moment, to mistake. for Charity-. " Why Mr. Jinkins's ? " " Because he began to get it up, and indeed always takes the lead iu the house," said Mrs. Todgers, playfully. "That's why, sir." " Jinkins is a man of superior talents," observed Mr. Pecksnitf. " I have conceived a great regard for Jinkins. I take Jinkins's desire to pay polite attention to my daughters, as an additional proof of the friendly feeling of Jinkins, Mrs. Todgers." "Well now," returned that lady, "having said so much, you must say the rest, Mr. Pecksniff: so teU the dear young ladies all about it." > . With these words, she gently eluded Mr. Pecksniff's grasp, and took Miss Charity into her own embrace ; though whether she was impelled to this proceeding solely by the irrepressible affection she had conceived for that young lady, or whether it, had any reference to a lowering, not to say distinctly spiteful expression which had been visible ia her face for some moments, has never been exactly ascertained. Be this as it may, Mr. Pecksniff went on' to iiiforin his daughters of the purport and history of the round-robin aforesaid, which was in brief, thafe the commercial gentlemen who helped to make up the sum and substance of that noun of multitude or signifying ihany, called Todgers's, desired the honour of their presence at the general; table, so long as they remaiued in the house, and besought that they would grace the board at dinner-tiine next day, the same being Sunday. He further said, that Mrs. Todgers being a consenting party to this invitation, he was willing, for his part,i to accept it ; and so left them that he might write his gracious answer, the while. they armed themselves with their best bonnets for the utter defeat arid overthrow of Miss Pinch. = > Tom Pinch's sister was governess ia a family, a lofty family ; perhaps the wealthiest brass and copper founder's family known MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 207 to mankind. They lived at Camberwell ; in a house so big and fierce, that its mere outside, like the outside of a giant's castle, struck terror into vulgar minds and made bold persons quail'.' There was a great front-gate ; with.a great bell, whosehandle was in itself a note of admiration'; and a great lodge;' which being close to the house, rather spoilt the lobk-out certainly, but! made the look-in tremendous. At this entry, a igreati porter kept constant watch, and ward; and when he gave the visitor high leave to pass, he rang a second great bell, responsive to whose note a. great footman appeaifed, in due time at'thei ^eat hall-door, with such great tags upon , his liveried shoulder that he was perpetually entangling and hooking himself ^ among the chairs and tables, and led a life of torment which could scarcely have been surpassed, if he had been a blue-bottle in a'world of cobwebs. _ To this mansion, Mr. Pecksniff, accom;^aiiied by his daughters and Mrs. Todgers, drove gallantly in a one-horse fly. Thei fore- going ceremonies having been all performed, they were ushered into the house ; and so, by degrees, they got at last into a small room with books in it, where Mr. Pinch's sifter was at. that moment, instructing her eldest pupil : to wit, a premature little woman of thirteen years old, who had; already arrived at such a pitch of whalebone and education that she had nothing girlish about her: which was a source of great rejoicing to all- hefr relations and' friends. "Visitors for Miss Pinch!" said the footman. He must have been an ingenious young man, for he said it very cleverly : with a nice discrimination betwben the cold respect with which he would have announced visitors to the family, and the warm personal interest with which he would have announced visitors' to, the cook. " Visitors for Miss Pinch ! " Miss Pinch rose hastily; ■with such tokens of agitaition as plainly declared that her list of callers was not numerous. , At the same time, the little pupil became alarmingly upright, and prepared herself to take mental notes of all that might be said and done. For the lady of the establishment was curious in thC' natmal history and habits of the animal called Governess; andr encouraged her daughters to report thereon whenever; occasion served ; which was,' in reference to all parties concerned, very laudable, improving, and pleasant. * It is a melancholy fact; but it must be related,; that Mr^ Pinch's sister was not at all ugly. On the conti'ary,'' she had, a 2o8 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT good face ; a very mild and prepossessing face ; and a pretty little figure — slight and short, but remarkable for its neatness. There was something of her brother, much of him indeed, in a certain gentleness of manner, and iu her look of timid trustful- ness ; but she, was so far froin being a fright, or a dowdy, or a horror, or anything else, predicted by the two Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies naturally regarded her with great in- dignation, feeliug that this was by no means what they had come to see. Miss Mercy, as having the larger share of gaiety, bore up the best against this disappointment, and carried it off, in out- ward show at least, with a titter ; but her sister, not caring to hide her disdain, expressed it pretty openly in her looks. As to Mrs. Todgers, she leaned on Mr. Pecksnifffs arm and pre- served a kind of genteel grimness, suitable to any State of mind, and involving any shade of opinion. "Don't be alarmed, Miss Pinch," said Mr. Pecksniff, taking her hand condescendingly in one of his, and patting it with the other. " I have called to see you, in pursuance of a promise given to yovir brother, Thomas Pinch. My name — compose yourself, Miss Pinch — ^is Pecksniff." The good man emphasised these words as though he would have said, " You see in me, young person, the benefactor of your race ; the patron of your house ; the preserver of your brother, who is fed with manna daily from my table ; and in right of whom there is a considerable baliance in my favour at present standing in the books beyond the sky. But I have no pride, for I can afford to do without it ! " The poor girl felt it all as if it had been Gospel Truth. Her brother writing in the fulness of his simple heart, had often told her so, and how much more ! As Mr. Pecksniff ceased to speak, she hung her head, and dropped a tear upon his hand. "Oh very weU, Miss Pinch!" thought the sharp pupil, " crying before strangers, as if you didn't like the situation ! " "Thomas is well," said Mr. Pecksniff; "and sends his love and this letter. I cannot say, poor fellow, that he will ever be distinguished in our profession ; but he has the wUl to do well, which is the next thing to having the power ; and, therefore, we must bear with him.i Eh ? " " I know he has the will, sir," said Tom Pinch's sister, " and I know how kindly and considerate you cherish it, for which neither he nor I can ever be grateful enough, as we very often say in writing to each other. The young ladies too," she added. MARTIN CHtfZZLEWiT 209 glancing gratefully at his two daughters, " I know h6w much we owe to them." " My dears,"' said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to them with a smile ; " Thomas's sister is saying something you will be glad to hear, I think." " We can't take any merit to ourselves, papa ! " cried Cherry, as they both apprised Tom Piach's sister, with a curtsey, that they would feel obliged if she would keep her distance. " Mr. Piach's being so well provided for is owing to you alone, and we can only say how glad we are to hear that he is as grateful as he ought to h&." "Oh very well, Miss Pinch!" thought the pupil again. " Got a grateful brother, living on other people's kindness ! " " It was very kind of you," said Tom Pinch's sister, with Tom's own simplicity, and Tom's own smile, " to come here : very kind indeed: though how great a kindness you have done me in gratifying my wish to see you, and to thank you with my own lips, you, who make so light of benefits conferred, can scarcely think." "Very grateful; very pleasant; very proper," murmured Mr. Pecksniff. \ " It makes me happy too," said Euth Pinch, who now that her first surprise was over, had a chatty, cheerful way with her, and a single-hearted desire to look upon the best side of every- thing, wMch was the very moral and image of Tom ; " very happy to think that you will be able to tell him how more than comfortably I am situated here, and how unnecessary it is that he should ever waste a regret on my being cast upon my own resources. Dear me ! So long as I heard that he was happy, and he heard that I was," said Tom's sister, " we could both bear, without one impatient or complaining thought, a great deal more than ever we have had to endure, I am very certain." And if ever the plain truth were spoken on this occasionally false earth, Tom's sister spoke it when she said that. " Ah ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, whose eyes had in the mean- time wandered to the pupil ; " certainly. And how do you do, my very interesting child ? " " Quite weU, I thank you, sir," replied that frosty innocent. " A sweet face this, my dears," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to his daughters. " A charming manner ! " Both young ladies had been in ecstasies with the scion of a wealthy house (through whom the nearest road and shortest cut to her parents might be supposed to lie) from the first. Mrs. V 210 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Todgers vowed that anything one quarter so angelic she had never seen. " She wanted but a pair of wings, a dear," said that good woman, " to be a young syrup j " meaning, possibly, young sylph, or seraph. "If you will give that to your distinguished parents, my amiable little friend," said Mr. Pecksniff, producing one of his professional cards, " and will say that I and my daughters — — " "And Mrs. Todgers, pa," said Merry. "And Mrs. Todgers, of London," added Mr. Pecksniff; "that I, and my daughters, and Mrs. Todgers, of London, did not intrude upon them, as our object simply was to take some notice of Miss Pinch, whose brother is a young man in my employ- ment ; but that I could not leave this very chaste mansion, without adding my humble tribute, as an Architect, to the correctness and elegance of the owner's taste, and to his just appreciation of that beautiful art to the cultivation of which I have devoted a life, and to the promotion of whose glory and advancement I have sacrificed a — a fortune — I shall be very much obliged to you." " Missis's compliments to Miss Pinch," said the footman, suddenly appearing, and speaking in exactly the same key as before, " and begs to know wot my young lady is a learning of just now." " Oh ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, " Here is the young man. JSe wiU take the card. With my compHments, if you please, young man. My dears, we are interrupting the studies. Let us go." Some confusion was occasioned for an instant by Mrs. Todgers's unstrapping her little flat hand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting the " young man " with one of her own cards, which, in addition to certain detailed information relative to the terms of the commercial establishment, bore a foot-note to the effect that M. T. took that opportunity of thanking those gentlemen who had honoured her with their favours, and begged they would have the goodness, if satisfied with the table, to recom- mend her to thsir friends. But Mr. Pecksniff, with admirable presence of mind, recovered this document, and buttoned it up in his own pocket. Then he said to Miss Pinch : with more condescension and kindness than ever, for it was desirable the footman should eipressly understand that they were not friends of hers, but patrons— " Good morning. Good-bye. God bless you ! You may MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 211 depend upon my continued protection of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind quite at ease. Miss Pinch ! " "Thank you,' said Tom's sister heartily: "a thousand times." " Not at all," he retorted, patting her gently on the head. " Don't mention it. You will make me angry if you do. My sweet child," to the pupil, "farewell! That fairy creature," said Mr. Pecksniff, looMng in his pensive mood hard at the footman, as if he meant 'hmx, "h^s shed a vision on my path, refulgent in its nature, and not easily to be obliterated. My dears, are you ready ? " They were not quite ready yet, for they were still caressing the pupil. But they tore themselves away at length; and sweeping past Miss Pinch with each a haughty inclination of the head and a curtsey strangled in its birth, flounced into the passage. The young man had rather a long job in showing them out ; for Mr. Pecksniff's delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that he could not help often stopping (particularly when they were near the parlour-door) and giving it expression, in a loud voice and very learned terms. Indeed, he delivered, between the study and the hall, a familiar exposition of the whole science of architecture as applied to dwelliag-houses, and was yet in the freshness of his eloquence when they reached the garden. " If you look," said Mr. Pecksniff, backing from the steps, with his head on one side and his eyes half-shut that he might the better take in the proportions of the exterior : " If you look, my dears, at the cornice which supports the roof, and observe the airiness of its construction, especially where it sweeps the southern angle of the building, you will feel with me — How do you do, sir ? I hope you're well ? " Interrupting himself with these words, he very politely bowed to a middle-aged gentleman at an upper window, to whom he spoke: not because the gentleman could hear him (for he certainly could not), but as an appropriate accompani- ment to his salutation. " I have no doubt, my dears," said Mr. Pecksniff, feigning to point out other beauties with his hand, "that this is the proprietor. I should be glad to know him. It might lead to something. Is he looking this way. Charity ? " " He is opening the window, pa ! " "Ha, ha!" cried Mr. Pecksniff softly. "All right! He 212 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT has found I'm professional. He heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don't look ! With regard to the fluted pUlars in the portico, my dears " " HaUo ! " cried the gentleman. " Sir, your servant ! " said Mr, Pecksniff, taking off his hat. " I am proud to make your acc[uaintance," " Come off the grass, will you ! " roared the gentleman. " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, doubtful of his having heard aright. " Did you 1 " " Gome off the grass ! " repeated the gentleman, warmly. " We are unwUling to intrude, sir," Mr. Pecksmith smilingly began. / " But you are intruding," returned the other, " unwarrant- ably intruding — trespassing. You see a gravel walk, don't you 1 What do you think it's meant for ? Open the gate there ! Show that party out ! " With that he clapped down the window again, and dis- appeared. Mr. Pecksniff put on his hat, and walked with great de- liberation and in profound silence to the fly, gazing at the clouds as he went, with great interest. After helping his daughters and Mrs. Todgers into that conveyance, he stood looking at it for some moments, as if he were not quite certain whether it was a carriage or a temple ; but, having settled this point in his mind, he got into his place, spread Ms hands out on his knees, and smiled upon the three beholders. But, his daughters, less tranqml-minded, burst into a torrent of indignation. This came, they said, of cherishing such creatures as the Pinches. This came of lowering themselves to their l^el. This came of putting themselves in the humili- ating position of seeming to know such bold, audacious, cunning, dreadful girls as that. They had expected this. They had predicted it to Mrs. Todgers, as she (Todgers) could depone, that very morning. To this, they added, that the owner of the house, supposing them to be Miss Pinch's friends, had acted, in their opiaion, quite correctly, and had done no more than, under such circumstances, might reasonably have been expected. To that they added (with a trifling incon- sistency), that he was a brute and a bear ; and then they merged into a flood of tears, which swept away all wandering epithets before it. As to Mr. Pecksniff, he told them in the fly, that a good action was its own reward ; and rather gave them to understand. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 213 that if he could have been kicked in such a cause, he would have liked it all the better. But this was no comfort to the young ladies, who scolded violently the whole way back, and even exhibited, more than once, a keen desire to attack the devoted Mrs. Todgers : on whose personal appearance, but particularly on whose offending card and hand-basket, they were secretly incHned to lay the blame of half their failure. Todgers's was ia a great bustle that evening, partly owing to some additional domestic preparations for the morrow, and partly to the excitement always inseparable in that house from Saturday night, when every gentleman's linen arrived at a different hour in its own little bundle, with his private account planed on the outside. There was always a great clinking of pattens down-stairs, too, untU midnight, or so, on Saturdays ; together with a frequent gleaming of mysterious lights in the area ; much working at the pump ; and a constant jangling of the iron handle of the pail. Shrill altercations from time to time arose between Mrs. Todgers and unknown females in remote back-kitchens ; and sounds were occasionally heard, in- dicative of small articles of ironmongery and hardware being thrown at the boy. It was the custom of that youth on Satur- days, to roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, and pervade all parts of the house in an apron of coarse green baize ; more- over, he was more strongly tempted on Saturdays than on other days (it being a busy time), to make excursive bolts into the neighbouring alleys when he answered the door, and there to play at leap-frog and other sports with vagrant lads, until pursued and brought back by the hair of his head, or the lobe of his ear ; thus, he was quite a conspicuous feature among the peculiar incidents of the last day in the week at Todgers's. He was especially so on this particular Saturday evening, and honoured the Miss Pecksniffs with a deal of notice ; seldom passing the door of Mrs. Todgers's private room, where they sat alone before the fire, working by the light of a solitary candle, without putting in his head and greeting them with some such compliments as "There you are agin!" "An't it nice?" and similar humorous attentions. " I say," he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, "young ladies, there's soup to-morrow. She's a making it now. An't she a putting in the water ? Oh ! not at all neither ! " In the course of answering another knock, he thrust in his head again. 214 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT "I say! There's fowls to-morrow. Not skinny ones. Oh no ! " Presently he called through the keyhole — " There's a fish to-morrow. Just come. Don't eat none of him ! " And, with this special warning, vanished again. By-and-by, he returned to lay the cloth for supper : it having been arranged between Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies, that they should partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that apartment. He entertaiaed them on this occasion by thrusting the lighted candle into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of transparency ; after the performance of which feat, he went on with his professional duties : brightening every knife as he laid it on the table, by breathing on the blade and afterwards polishiag the same on the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching collation would be of " rather a spicy sort." " Will it be long before it's ready, Bailey ? " asked Mercy. " No," said Bailey, " it is cooked. When I come up, she was dodging among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of 'em." But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering against the wall ; and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly before him. "Oh you little villain!" said that lady. "Oh you bad, false boy ! " " No worse than yerself," retorted Bailey, guarding his head, on a principle invented by Mr. Thomas Cribb. " Ah ! Come now ! Do that agin, wUl yer ? " "He's the most dreadful child," said Mrs. Todgers, settiag down the dish, " I ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, and teach him such things, that I'm afraid nothing but hanging will ever do him any good." " Won't it ! " cried Bailey. " Oh ! Yes ! Wot do you go a lowerin' the table-beer for then, and destroying my cOn- stitooshun V \ " Gro down-stairs, you vicious boy," said Mrs. Todgers, holding the door open. " Do you hear me ? Go along ! " After two or three dexterous feints, he went, and was seen no more that night, save once, when he brought up some tumblers and hot water, and much disturbed the two Miss Pecksniffs by squinting hideously behind the back of the MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 215 unconscious Mrs. Tbdgers. Having done this justice to Ms wounded feelings, he retired underground : where, in company with a swarm of black heetl6s and a kitchen candle, he em- ployed his faculties in cleaning boots and brushing clothes until the night was far advanced, * * « m * * The usual Sunday dinner-hour at Todgers's was two o'clock ; a suitable time, it was considered, for all parties ; convenient to Mrs. Todgers, on account of the baker's ; an(i convenient to the gentlemenj with reference "to their afternoon engagements. But on the Sunday which ' was to iritroduce the two Miss Pecksniffs to a full' knowledge of Todgers's and its society, the dinner was postponed Until Ave, in order that everything might be as genteel as the occasion demanded. When the hour drew nigh, Bailey, testifying great excite- ment, appeared in a complete suit of cast-off clothes several sizes too large for him, and in particular, mounted a clean shirt of such extraordinary magnitude, that one of the gentle- men (remarkable for his ready wit) called him " collars " on the spot. At about a quarter before five, a deputation, con- sisting of Mr. Jinkins, and another gentleman whose name wels Gander, knocked at the door of Mrs. Tbdgers's room, and, being formally introduced to the two Miss Pecksniffs by their parent who was in waiting, besought the honour of conducting them up-stairs. The drawing-room at Todgers's was out of the common style ; so much so indeed, that you would hardly have taken it to be a drawing-room, unless you were told so by somebody who was in the secret. It was floor-clothed all over ; and the ceiling, including a great beam in the middle, was papered. Besides the three little windows, with seats in them, commanding the opposite archway, there was another window looking point- blank, without any compromise at all about it, into Jinkins's bedroom; and high up, all along one side of the wall, was a strip of panes of glass, two-deep, giving light to the staircase^ There were the oddest closets possible, with little casements in them like eight-day clocks, lurking in the wainscot and taking the shape of the stairs ; and the very door itself (which was painted black) had two great glass eyes iu its forehead, with 'an inquisitive green pupil in the middle of each. Here, the gentlemen were all assembled. There was a general cry of "Hear, hear!" and "Bravo, Jink!" when Mr. Jinkins appeared with Ohaxity on his arm : which became quite 2i6 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT rapturous as Mr. Gander followed, escorting Mercy, and Mr. Pecksniff brought up the rear with Mrs. Todgers. Then, the presentations took place. They included a gentle- man of a sporting turn, who propounded questions on jockey subjects to the editors of Sunday papers, which were regarded by his friends as rather stiff things to answer ; and they included a gentleman of a theatrical turn, who had once entertained serious thoughts of " coming out," but had been kept in by the wickedness of human nature ; and they included a gentleman of a debating turn, who was strong at speech-making; and a gentleman of a literary turn, who wrote squibs upon the rest, and knew the weak side of everybody's character but his own. There was a gentleman of a vocal turn, and a gentleman of a smoking turn, and a gentleman of a convivial turn ; some of the gentlemen had a turn for whist, and a large proportion of the gentlemen had a strong turn for billiards and betting. They had aU, it may be presumed, a turn for business ; being aU commercially employed in one way or other ; and had, every one in his own way, a decided turn for pleasure to boot. Mr. Jinkins was of a fashionable turn ; being a regular frequenter of the Parks on Sundays, and knowing a great many carriages by sight. He spoke mysteriously, too, of splendid women, and was suspected of having once committed himself with a countess. Mr. Gander was of a witty turn, being indeed the gentleman who had originated the sally about " collars; " which, sparkling pleasantry was now retailed from mouth to mouth, under the title of Gander's Last, and was received in all parts of the room with great applause. Mr. Jinkins, it may be added, was much the oldest of the party : being a fish-salesman's book-keeper, aged forty. He was the oldest boarder also; and in right' of his double seniority, took the lead in the house, as Mrs. Todgers had already said. There was considerable delay in the production of dinner, and poor Mrs. Todgers, being reproached in confidence by Jinkins, slipped in and out, at least twenty times to see about it ; always coming back as though she had no such thiag upon her mind, and hadn't been out at all. But there was no hitch in the conversation, nevertheless ; for one gentleman, who travelled in the perfumery line, exhibited an interesting nick- nack, in the way of a remarkable cake of shaving-soap which he had lately met with in Germany ; and the gentleman of a literary turn repeated (by desire) some sarcastic stanzas he had recently produced on the freezing of the tank at the back of MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 217 the house. These amusements, with the miscellaneous con- versation arising out of them, passed the time splendidly, until dinner was announced by Bailey in these terms — "Thewittlesisup!" On which notice they immediately descended to the banquet- hall ; some of the more facetious spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as if they were ladies, in imitation of the fortunate possessors of the two Miss Pecksniifs. Mr. Pecksniff said grace : a short and pious grace, invoking a blessing on the appetites of those present, and committing all persons who had nothing to eat, to the care of Providence : whose business (so said the grace, in effect) it clearly was, to look after them. This done, they fell to, with less ceremony than appetite ; the table groaning beneath the weight, not only of the delicacies whereof the Miss Pecksniffs had been previously forewarned, but of boiled beef, roast veal, bacon, pies, and abundance of such heavy vegetables as are favourably known to housekeepers for their satisfying qualities. Besides which, there were bottles of stout, bottles of wine, bottles of ale, and divers other strong drinks, native and foreign. All this was highly agreeable to the two Miss Pecksniffs, who were in immense request ; sitting one on either hand of Mr. Jinkins at the bottom of the table ; and who were called upon to take wine with some new admirer every minute. They had hardly ever felt so pleasant, and so full of conversation, in their lives; Mercy, in particular, was imcommonly briUiant, and said so many good things in the way of lively repartee that she was looked upon as a prodigy. " In short," as that young lady observed, " they felt now, indeed, that they were in London, and for the first time too." Their yoimg friend Bailey sympathised in these feelings to the fullest extent, and, abating nothing of his patronage, gave them every encouragement in his power : fayouring them, when the general attention was diverted from hi^ proceedings, with many nods and winks and other tokens of recognition, and occasionally touching his nose with a corkscrew, as if to express the Bacchanalian character of the meeting. In truth, perhaps even the spirits of the two Miss Pecksniffs, and the hungry watchfulness of Mrs. Todgers, were less worthy of note than the proceedings of this remarkable boy, whom nothing dis- concerted or put out of his way. If any piece of crockery, a dish or otherwise, chanced to slip through his hands (which happened once or twice), he let it go with perfect good breeding. 2l8 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT and never added to the painful emotions of the company by exhibiting the least regret. Nor did he, -by hurrying to and fro, disturb the repose of the assembly, as many well-trained servants do ; on the contrary, feeling the hopelessness of waiting upon so large a party, he left the gentlemen to help themselves to what they wanted, and seldom stirred from behind Mr. Jinkins's chair: where, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs planted pretty wide apart, he led the laughter, and enjoyed the conversation. The dessert was splendid. No waiting either. The puddiiig- plates had been washed in a little tub outside the door while cheese was on, and though they were moist and. warm with friction, still there they were again, up to the mark, and true to time. Quarts of almonds ; dozens of oranges ; pounds of raisins; stacks of biffins ; soup-plates full of nuts — Oh, Todgers's could do it when it chose ! Mind that. Then more wine came on ; red wines and white wines ; and a large china bowl of punch, brewed by the gentleman of a convivial turn, who adjured the Miss Pecksniffs not to be despondent on account of its dimensions, as there were materials in the house for the decoction of half-a-dozen more of the same size. Good gracious, how they laughed ! How they coughed when they sipped it, because it was ' so strong ; and how they laughed again when somebody vowed that but for its colour it might have been mistaken, in regard of its innocuous qualities, for new milk ! What a shout of " No ! " burst from the gentle- men when they pathetically implored Mr. Jinkiiis to suffer them to qualify it with hot water; and how blushingly, by little and little, did each of them drink her whole glassful, down to its very dregs ! ' Now comes the trying time. The sun, as Mr. Jinkihs says (gentlemanly creature, Jinkins — ^never at a loss !), is about to leave the firmament. "Miss Pecksniff!" says Mrs. Todgers, softly, " will you ? " " Oh dear, no more, Mrs. Todgers." Mrs. Todgers rises ; the two Miss Pecksniffs rise ; all rise. Miss Mercy Pecksniff looks downward for her scarf. Where is it? Dear me, where can it be? Sweet girl, she has it on; not on her fair neck, but loose upon her ilowing figure. A dozen hands assist her. She is all confusion. The youngest gentleman in company thirsts ^o mUrder Jinkins. She skips and joins her sister at the door. Her sister has her arm about the waist of Mrs. Todgers. She winds her arm around her sister. Diana, what a picture ! The last things visible MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 219 are a shape and a skip. "Gentlemen, let us drink the ladies ! " The enthusiasm is tremendous. The gentleman of a debat- ing turn rises in the midst, and suddenly lets loose a tide of eloquence which bears down everything before it. He is reminded of a toast — a toast to which they will respond. There is an individual present ; he has him in his eye ; to whom they owe a debt of gratitude. He repeats it — a debt of gratitude. Their rugged natures have been softened and ameliorated that day, by the society of lovely woman. There is a gentleman in company whom two accomplished and delightful females regard with veneration, as the fountain of their existence. Yes; when yet the two Miss Pecksniffs lisped in language scarce intelli- gible, they called that individual "father!" There is great applause. He gives them " Mr. Pecksniff, and God bless him ! " They all shake hands with Mr. Pecksniff, as they drink the toast. The youngest gentleman in company does so with a thrill; for he feels that a mysterious influence pervades the man who claims that being in the pink, scarf for his daughter. What saith Mr. Pecksniff in reply? Or rather let the question be. What leaves he unsaid ? Nothing. More punch is called for,, and produced, and drunk. Enthusiasm mounts still higher. Every man comes out freely in his own character. The gentleman of a theatrical turn recites. The vocal gentle- man regales them with a song. Gander leaves the Gander of all former feasts whole leagues behind. H& rises to propose a toast. It is, The Father of Todgers's. It is their common friend Jink. It is Old Jink, if he may call him by that familiar and endearing appellation. The youngest gentleman: in company utters a frantic negative. He won't have it — he can't bear it — it mustn't be. But his depth of feeling is misuuderstood. He is supposed to be a little elevated ; andhobody heeds him. Mr. Jinkins thanks them from his heart. It is, by many degrees, the proudest day in his humble career.. When he looks around him on the present occasion, he feels that he wants words in which to express his gratitude. One thing he will say. He hopes it has been shown that Todgers's can be true to itself ; and that, an opportunity arising, it can come out quite as strong as its neighbours— perhaps stronger. He reminds them, amidst thunders of encouragement, that they have heard of a somewhat similar establishment in Cannon Street; and that they have heard it praised. He wishes to draw no invidious comparisons ; he would be the last man to do it ; but 220 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT when that Cannon Street establishment shall be able to produce such a combination of wit and beauty as has graced that board that day, and shall be able to serve up (all things considered) such a dinner as that of which they have just partaken, he will be happy to talk to it. Until then, gentlemen, he will stick to Todgers's. More punch, more enthusiasm, more speeches. Everybody's health is drunk, saving the youngest gentleman's in company. He sits apart, with his elbow on the back of a vacant chair, and glares disdainfully at Jinkins. Gander, in a convulsing speech, gives them the health of Bailey junior; hiccups are heard ; and a glass is broken. Mr. Jinkins feels that it is time to join the ladies. He proposes, as a final sentiment, Mrs. Todgers. She is worthy to be remembered separately. Hear, hear. So she is : no doubt of it. They all find fault with her at other times ; but every man feels, now, that he could die in her defence. They go up-stairs, where they are not expected so soon ; for Mrs. Todgers is asleep, Miss Charity is adjusting her hair, and Mercy, who has made a sofa of one of the window-seats, is in a gracefully recumbent attitude. She is rising hastily, when Mr. Jinkins implores her, for all their sakes, not to stir; she looks too graceful and too lovely, he remarks, to be disturbed. She laughs, and yields, and fans herseK, and drops her fan, and there is a rush to pick it up. Being now installed, by one consent, as the beauty of the party, she is cruel and capricious, and sends gentlemen on messages to other gentlemen, and forgets all about them before they can return with the answer, and invents a thousand tortures, rending their hearts to pieces. Bailey brings up the tea and coffee. There is a small cluster of admirers round Charity ; but they are only those who cannot get near her sister. The youngest gentleman in company is pale, but collected, and stiU sits apart ; for his spirit loves to hold communion with itself, and his soul recoils from noisy revellers. She has a consciousness of his presence and his adora- tion. He sees it flashing sometimes in the corner of her eye. Have a care, Jinkins, ere you provoke a desperate man to frenzy ! Mr. Pecksniff had followed his younger friends up-stairs, and taken a chair at the side of Mrs. Todgers. He had also spilt a cup of coffee over his legs without appearing to be aware of the circumstance ; nor did he seem to know tfiat there was muffin on his knee. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 221 "And how have they used you down-stairs, sir?" asked the hostess. "Theix conduct has been such,- my dear madalm," said Mr. Pecksniff, " as I can never think of without emotion, or remember without a tear. Oh, Mrs, Todgers 1 " " My goodness ! " exclaimed that lady. " How low you are in your spirits, sir ! " " I am a man, my dear madam," said Mr. Pecksniff, shedding tears, and speaking with an imperfect articulation, " but I am also a father. I am also a widower. My feelings, Mrs. Todgers, will not consent to be entirely smothered, like the young children in the Tower. They are grown up, and the more I press the bolster on them, the more they look round the comer of it." He suddenly became conscious of the bit of muffin, and stared at it intently : shaking his head the while, in a forlorn and imbecile manner, as if he regarded it as his evil genius, and mildly reproached it. "She was beautiful, Mrs. Todgers," he said, turning his glazed eye again- upon her, without the least preliminary notice. " She had a small property." " So I have heard," cried Mrs. Todgers with great sympathy. " Those are her daughters," said Mr. Pecksniff, pointing out the young ladies with increased emotion. Mrs. Todgers had no doubt of it. " Mercy and Charity," said Mr. Pecksniff, " Charity and Mercy. Not unholy names, I hope ? " "Mr. Pecksniff!" cried Mrs. Todgers. "What a ghastly smile ? Are you ill, sir ? " ' He pressed his hand upon her arm, and answered in a solemn manner, and a faint voice, " chronic." " ChoHc ? " cried the frightened Mrs. Todgers. " Chron-ic," he repeated with some difficulty, " Chron-io. A chronic disorder. I have been its victim from chUdhood, It is carrying me to my grave." " Heaven forbid ! " cried Mrs. Todgers, " Yes, it-is," said Mr. Pecksniff, reckless with despair. " I am rather glad of it, upon the whole. You are like her, Mrs. Todgers/' " Don't squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr. Pecksniff. If any of the gentlemen should notice us." "For her sake," said Mr. Pecksniff.' "Permit me. In honour of her memory. For the sake of a voice from the 222 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT tomb. You are very like her, Mrs. Todgers! What a world this is ! " " Ah 1 Indeed you may say that 1 " cried Mrs. Todgers. " I'm afraid it is a vaia and thoughtless world," said Mr, Pecksniff, overflowing with despondency. " These young people about us. Oh ! what sense have they of their responsibilities ? None. Give me your other hand, Mrs. Todgers." The lady hesitated, and said " she didn't like." " Has a voice from the grave no influence ? " said Mr. Peck- sniff, with dismal tenderness. " This is irreligious ! My dear creature." " Hush ! " Tirged Mrs. Todgers. " Eeally you mustn't." " It's not me," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Don't suppose it's me : it's the voice ; it's her voice." Mrs. Pecksniff deceased, must have had an unusually thick and husky voice for a lady, and rather a stuttering voice, and to say the truth somewhat of a drunken voice, if it had ever borne much resemblance to that in which Mr. Pecksniff spoke just then. But perhaps this was delusion on his part. " It has been a day of enjoyment, Mrs. Todgers, but stiU it has been a day of torture. It has reminded me of my loneliness. What am I in the world ? " "An excellent gentleman, Mr. Pecksniff," said Mrs. Todgers. " There is consolation in that too," cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Ami?" " There is no better man living," said Mrs. Todgers, " I am sure." Mr. Pecksniff smiled through his tears, and slightly shook his head. " You are very good," he said, " thank you. It is a great happiness to me, Mrs. Todgers, to make young people happy. The happiness of my pupils is my chief object. I dote upon 'em. They dote upon me too. Sometimes." " Always," said Mrs. Todgers. " When they say they haven't improved, ma'am," whispered Mr. Pecksniff, looking at her with profound mystery, and motioning to her to advance her ear a little closer to his moutL " When they say they haven't improved, ma'am, and the pre- mium was too high, they lie ! I shouldn't wish it to be men- tioned 5 you wiU understand me ; but I say to you as to an old friend, they lie." " Base wretches they must be ! " said Mrs. Todgers. " Madam," said Mr. Pecksniff, " you axe right. I respect MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 223 you for that observation,. A word in your ear. To Parents and Guardians, — This is in confidence,. Mrs, Todgers ?" " The strictest, of course ! " cried that lady., " To Parents and G-uardians," repeated Mr, Pecksniff, " An eligible opportunity now offers, which unites the advantages of the best practical architectural education with the comforts of a home, and the constant association with some, who, however humble their sphere and limited their capacity — observe ! — are not unmindful of their moral responsibilities," Mrs. Todgers looked a little puzzled to know what this might mean, as well she might ; for it was, as the reader may perchance remember, Mr, Pecksniffs usual form of advertise- ment when he wanted a pupil; and seemed to have no particular reference, at present, to anything. But Mr. Peck- sniff held up his finger as a caution to her not to interrupt him, " Do you know any parent or guardian, Mrs. Todgers," said Mr. Pecksniff, " who desires to avail himself of such an oppor- tunity for a young gentleman ? An orphan would be preferred. Do you know of any orphan with three or four hu;idred pound ? " Mrs, Todgers reflected, and shook her head. " When you hear of an orphan with three or four hundred pound," said Mr. Pecksniff, "let that dear orphan's friends apply, by letter post-paid, to S. P., Post-of&ce, Salisbiuy. I don't know who he is, exactly. Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Todgers," said Mr. Pecksniff, falling heavily against her: "Chronic — chronic! Let's have a little drop of something to drink." " Bless my life, Miss Pecksniffs ! " cried Mrs. Todgers, aloud, " your dear pa's took very poorly ! " Mr. Pecksniff straightened himself by a surprising effort, as everyone turned hastily towards him; and standing on his feet, regarded the assembly with a look of ineffable wisdom. Gradually it gave place to a smile; a feeble, help- less, melancholy smile ; blandj almost to sickliness.: " Do not repine, my friends," said Mr, Pecksniff, tenderly, " Do not weep for me. It is chronic," And with these words, after making a futile attempt to pull off his shoes, he fell into_ the fire-place. The youngest gentleman in company had him out in a second. Yes, before a hair upon his head was singed, he had him on the hearthrug. — Her ffither ! 224 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT She was almost beside herself. So was her sister. Jinkins consoled them both. They all consoled them. Everybody had something to say, except the youngest gentleman in company, who with a noble self-devotion did the heavy work, and held up Mr. Pecksniff's head without being taken notice of by anybody. At last they gathered round, and agreed to carry him up-stairs to bed. The youngest gentleman in company was rebuked by Jinkins for tearing Mr. Pecksniff 's coat I Ha, ha ! But no matter. They carf ied him up-stairs, and crushed the youngest gentle- man at every step. His bedroom was at the top of the house, and it was a long way ; but they got him there in course of time. He asked them frequently upon the road for a little drop of something to drink. It seemed an idiosyncrasy. The youngest gentleman in company proposed a draught of water. Mr. Pecksniff called him opprobrious names for the suggestion. ^ Jinkins and Gander took the rest upon themselves, and made him as comfortable as they could, on the outside of his bed ; and when he seemed disposed to sleep, they left him. But before they had all gained the bottom of the staircase, a vision of Mr. Pecksniff, strangely attired, was seen to flutter on the top landing. He desired to collect their sentiments, it seemed, upon the nature of human life. "My friends," cried Mr. Pecksniff, looking over the banisters, " let us improve our minds by mutual inquiry and discussion. Let us be moral. Let us contemplate existence. Where is Jinkins ? " " Here," cried that gentleman. " Go to bed again ! " " To bed ! " said Mr. Pecksniff. " Bed ! 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I hear him complain, you have woke me too soon, I must slumber again. If any young orphan will repeat the remainder of that simple piece from Doctor Watts's collection an eligible opportunity now offers." Nobody volunteered. " This is very soothing," said Mr. Pecksniff, after a pause. " Extremely so. Cool and refreshing ; particularly to the legs ! The legs of the human subject, my friends, are a beautiful pro- duction. Compare them with wooden legs, and observe the difference between the anatomy of nature and the anatomy of art. Do you know," said Mr. Pecksniff, leaning over the banisters, with an odd recollection of his familiar manner among new pupils at home, " that I should very much like to MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 225 see Mrs. Todgers's notion of a wooden leg, if perfectly agreeable to herself!" As it appeared impossible to entertain any reasonable hopes of him after this speech, Mr. Jinkins and Mr. Gander went up- stairs again, and once more got him into bed. But they had not descended to the second-floor before he was out again ; nor, when they had repeated the process, had they descended the first flight, before he was out again. In a word, as often as he was shut up in his own room, he darted out afresh, charged with some new moral sentiment, which he continually repeated over the banisters, with extraordinary relish, and an irrepressible desire for the improvement of his fellow-creatures that nothing could subdue. Under these circumstances, when they had got him into bed for the thirtieth time or so, Mr. Jinkins held him, while his companion went down-stairs in search of Bailey, with whom he presently returned. That youth, having been apprised of the service required of him, was in great spirits, and brought up a stool, a candle, and his supper; to the end that he might keep watch outside the bedroom-door with tolerable comfort. When he had completed his arrangements, they locked Mr. Pecksniff in, and left the key on the outside ; chargiing the young page to listen attentively for symptoms of an apoplectic nature, with which the patient might be troubled, and, in case of any such presenting themselves, to summon them without delay. To which Mr. Bailey modestly replied that " he hoped he knowed wot o'clock it wos in gineral, and didn't date his letters to his friends, from Todgers's, for nothing." Young Martia Chuzzlewit having been dieinherited by his grandfather, determines upon seeking his fortune in America, Mark Tapley, once in Mrs. Lupin's service at the Blue Dragon, but whose eccentric humour disposed him to quarrel with his place for flie reason that there was no credit in being "jolly " in such comfortable quarters, proposes to accompany Martin. Mark has saved a little money and asks for no wages. Martin tries to dissuade him from going, but Mark is firm in his determination, and together they cross the Allantlcj Mark congratulating himself upon at last obtaming a Q 226 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Bituation in whioli his peculiar capacity for enjoyment under depressing cir- cumstances will find a favourable opening. They disembark at New York,^ where Martin is introduced to a number of very remarkable men, and to a charming American gentleman. Ill MARTIN DISEMBARKS AT THE PORT OF NEW YORK Some trifling excitement prevailed upon the very brink and margin of the land of liberty ; for an alderman had been elected the day before; and Party Feeling naturally running rather high on such an exciting occasion, the friends of the disappointed candidate had found it necessary to assert the great principles of Purity of Election and Freedom of Opinion by breakiag a few legs and arms, and furthermore pursuing one obnoxious gentle- man through the streets with the design of slitting his nose. These good-humoured little outbursts of the popular fancy were not in themselves sufficiently remarkable to create any great stir, after the lapse of a whole night; but they found fresh life and notoriety in the breath of the newsboys, who not only proclaimed them with shrill yells in all the highways . and by-ways of the town, upon the wharves and among the shippiag, but on the deck and down in the cabins of the steam-boat,; which, before she touched the shore, was boarded and overrun by a legion of those young citizens. "Here's this morning's New York Sewer!" cried one. " Here's this morning's New York Stabber ! Here's the New York Family Spy! Here's the New York Private Listener! Here's the New York Peeper ! Here's the New York Plunderer 1 Here's the New York Key-hole Eeporter ! Here's the New York Eowdy Journal ! Here's all the New York papers ! Here's full particulars of the patriotic loco-foco movement yesterday, in which the whigs was so chawed up; and the last Alabama gouging case ; and the interesting Arkansas dooel with Bowie knives; and all the Political, Commercial, and Fashionable News. Here they are! Here they are! Here's the papers, here's the papers ! " " Here's the Sewer ! " cried another. " Here's the New York Sewer ! Here's some of the twelfth thousand of to-day's Sewer, with the best accounts of the markets, and all the shipping news, and four whole columns of country correspondence, and a fuU account of the BaU at Mrs. White's last night, where all the MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 227 beauty and fashion of New York was assembled; with the Sewer's own particulars of the private lives of all the ladies that was there ! Here's the Sewer ! Here's some of the twelfth thousand of the New York Sewer ! Here's the Sewer's exposure of the Wall Street Gang, and the Sewer's exposure of the "Washington Gang, and the Sewer's exclusive account of a flagrant act of dishonesty committed by the Secretary of State when he was eight years old ; now communicated, at a great expense, by his own nurse. Here's the Sewer ! Here's the New York Sewer, in its twelfth thousand, with a whole column of New Yorkers to be shown up, and all their names printed! Here's the Sewer's article upon the Judge that tried Mm, day afore yester- day, for libel, and the Sewer's tribute to the independent Jury that didn't convict him, and the Sewer's account of what they might have expected if they had ! Here's the Sewer, here's the Sewer! Here's the wide-awake Sewer; always on the look-out; the leading Journal of the United States, now in its twelfth thousand, and still a printing off. Here's the New York Sewer ! " " It is in such enlightened means," said a voice almost in Martin's ear, " that the bubbling passions of my country find a vent." Martin turned involuntarily, and saw, standing close at his side, a sallow gentleman, with sunken cheeks, black hair, small twinkling eyes, and a singular expression hovering about that region of his face, which was not a frown, nor a leer, and yet might have been mistaken at the first glance for either. Indeed it would have been difficult, on a much closer acquaintance, to describe it in any more satisfactory terms than as a mixed expression of vulgar cunning and conceit. This gentleman wore a rather broad-brimmed hat for the greater wisdom of his ap- pearance ; and had his arms folded for the greater impressiveness of his attitude. He was somewhat shabbily dressed in a blue surtout reaching nearly to his ankles, short loose trousers, of the same colour, and a faded buff waistcoat, through which a discoloured shirt-frill struggled to force itself into notice, as asserting an equality pf civil rights with the other portions of Ijis dress, and maintaining a declaration of Independence on its own account. His feet, which were of. unusually large propor- tions, were leisurely crossed before him as hQ half leaned against, half sat upon,, the steamboat's bulwark; and his thick cane, shod with a mighty ferrule at one end and armed with a great metal knob at the other, depended from a line-and-tassel on his wrist. Thus attired, and thus composed into an aspect of 228 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT great 'profundity, the gentleman twitched up the right-hand corner of his mouth and his right-eye, simultaneously, and said, once more — " It is in such enlightened means, that the bubbling passions of my country find a vent." As he looked at Martin, and nobody else was by, Martin inclined his head and said : "YouaUudeto ?" " To the Palladium of rational Liberty at home, sir, and the dread of Foreign oppression abroad," returned the gentleman, as he pointed with his cane to an uncommonly dirty neWsboy with one eye. " To the Envy of the world, sir, and the leaders of Human Civilisation. Let me ask you, sir," he added, bring- ing the ferrule of his stick heavily upon the deck with the air of a man who must not be equivocated with, " how do you like my Country ? " " I am hardly prepared to answer that question yet," said Martin, " seeing that I have not been ashore." " Well, I should expect you were not prepared, sir," said the gentleman, "to behold such signs of National Prosperity as those ? " He pointed to the vessels lying at the wharves ; and then gave a vague flourish with his stick, as if he would include the air and water, generally, in this remark. " Eeally," said Martin, " I don't know. Yes. I think I was." The gentleman glanced at him with a knowing look, and said he liked his policy. It was natural, he said, and it pleased him as a philosopher to observe the prejudices of human nature. "You have brought, I see, sir," he said, turning round towards Martin, and resting his chin on the top of his stick, " the usual amount of misery and poverty and ignorance and crime, to be located in the bosom, of the Great Eepublic. Well, sir ! let 'em come on in ship-loads from the old country. When vessels are about to founder, the rats are said to leave 'em. There is considerable truth, I find, in that remark." " The old ship wUl keep afloat for a year or two longer yet, perhaps," said Martin with a smile, partly occasioned by what the gentleman said, and partly by his manner of saying it, which was odd enough, for he emphasised aU the small words and syllables in his discourse, and left the others to take care of themselves : as if he thought the larger parts of speech could be trusted alone, but the little ones required to be constantly looked after. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 229 " Hope ia said by the poet, sir," observed the gentleman, " to be the nurse of Young Desire." Martin signified that he had heard of the cardinal virtue in question serving occasionally in that domestic capacity. " She will not rear her infant in the present instance, sir, you'U find," observed the gentleman. ' " Time will show," said Martin. The gentleman nodded his head, gravely ; and said, " What is your name, sir ? " Martin told him. " How old are you, sir ? " Martin told him. " What is your profession, sir ? " Martin told him that, also. " What is your destination, sir ? " incLuired the gentleman. " Eeally," said Martin, laughing, " I can't satisfy you in that particular, for I don't know it myself." " Yes ? " said the gentleman, " No," said Martin. The gentleman adjusted his cane under his left-arm, and took a more deliberate an^i complete survey of Martin than he had yet had leisure to make. When he had completed his inspection, he put out his right-hand, shook Martin's hand, and said: " My name is Colonel Diver, sir. I am the Editor of the New York Eowdy Journal." Martin received the communication with that degree of respect which an announcement so distinguished appeared to demand. " The New York Eowdy Journal, sir," resumed the colonel, " is, as I expect you know, the organ of our aristocracy in this city." " Oh ! there is an aristocracy here, then ? " said Martin. " Of what is it composed ? " " Of intelligence, sir," replied the colonel ; " of intelligence and virtue. And of their necessary consequence in this republic. Dollars, sir." Martin was very glad to hear this, feeling well assured that if intelligence and virtue led, as a matter of course, to the acquisition of dollars, he would speedily become a great capitalist. He was about to express the gratification such news afforded him, when he was interrupted by the captain of the ship, who came up at the moment to shake hands with the colonel ; 230 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT and who, seeing a well-dressed stranger on the deck (for Martin had thrown aside his cloak), shook hands with him also. This was an unspeakable relief to Martin, who, in spite of the acknowledged supremacy of Intelligence and Virtue in that happy country, would have been deeply mortified to appear before Colonel Diver in the poor character of a steerage passenger. " Well, cap'en ! " said the colonel. " Well, colonel!" cried the captain. "You're looking most uncommon bright, sir. I can hardly realise its being you, and that's a fact." " A good passage, cap'en ? " inquired the colonel, taking him aside. " Well now ! It was a pretty spanking run, sir," said, or rather sung, the captain, who was a genuine New Englander : " con-siderin the weather." " Yes ? " said the colonel. " Well ! It was, sir," said the captain. " I've just now sent a boy up to your office with the passenger-list, colonel." " You haven't got another boy to spare, p'raps, cap'en ? " said the colonel, in a tone almost amounting to severity, " I guess there air a dozen if you want 'em, colonel," said the captain, " One moderate big 'un could convey a dozen of champagne, perhaps," observed the colonel, musing, " to my office. You said a spanking run, I think ? " " Well, so I did," was the reply. " It's very nigh you know," observed the coloiiel. " I'm glad it was a spanking run, cap'en. Don't mind about quarts jf you're short of 'em. The boy can as well bring four-and- twenty pints, and travel twice as once. — A first-rate spanker, cap'en, was it ? Yes ? " "A most e — tarnal spanker," said the skipper. " I admire at your good fortun, cap'en. You might loan me a corkscrew at the same time, and half-a-dozen glasses if you liked. However bad the elements combine against my country's noble packet-ship, The Screw, sir," said the colonel, turning to Martin, and drawing a flourish on the surface of the deck with his cane, her " passage either way, is almost certain to eventuate a spanker ! " The captain, who had the Sewer below at that moment, lunching expensively in one cabin, while the amiable Stabber was drinking himself into a state of blind madness in another, took a cordial leave of his friend the colonel, and hurried away MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 231 to despatch the champagne : well-knowing (as; it afterwards appeared) that if he failed to conciliate the editor of the Eowdy Journal, that potentate would denounce him and his ship in large capitals before he was a day older ; and would probably assault the memory of his mother alsOj who had not been dead more than twenty years. The colonel being again left alone with Martin, checked him as he was moving away, and offered, in consideration of his being an Englishman, to Show him the town and to introduce him, u such were his desire, to a genteel boarding-house. But before they entered on these proceedings (he said), he would beseech the honour of his company at the office of the Eowdy Journal, to partake of a bottle of champagne of his own importation: All this was so extremely kind and hospitable, that Martin, though it was quite early in the morning, readily acquiesced. So, instructing Mark,- who was deeply engaged with his friend and her three children, that when he had done assisting them, and had cleared the baggage, he was to wait for further orders at the Eowdy Journal' Office, Martiti accompanied his new friend on shore. They made their way as they best could throtigh the melan- choly crowd of emigrants upon the wharf — who, grouped about their beds and boxes, with the bare ground below them and the bare sky above, might have fallen from another planet, for any- thing they knew of the country — and walked for some short distance along a busy street, bounded on one side by the quays and shipping ; aiid on the other by a long row of staring red- brick storehouses and offices, ornamented with more black boards and white letters, and more white boards and black letters, than Martin had ever seen before, in fifty times the space. Presently they turned up a narrow street, and presently into other narrow streets, until at last 'they stopped before a house whereon was painted in great characters, "Eowdy JOUENAL." ' ' The colonel, who had walked the whole way with one hand in his breast, his head occasionally wagging frOm side to side, and his hat thrown back upon his ears, like a man who was oppressed to inconvenience by a, sense of his own greatness, led the way 'up a dark and dirty flight of stairs into a room of similar character, all littered and bestrewn with odds and ends of newspapers and other crumpled fragments, both in proof and manuscript. Behind a mangy old writing-stable in this apartment, sat a figure with a stump of a pen in its mouth 232 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT and a great pair of scissors in its right hand, clipping anc slicing at a file of Eowdy Journals ; and it was such a laughable figure that Martin had some difficulty in preserving his gravity, though conscious of the close observation of Colonel Diver. The individual who sat clipping and slicing as aforesaic at the Eowdy Journals, was a small young gentleman of very juvenile appearance, and unwholesomely pale in the face; partly, perhaps, from intense thought, but partly, there is nc doubt, from the excessive use of tobacco, which he was at thai moment chewing vigorously. He wore his shirt-collar turnec down over a black ribbon ; and his lank hair, a fragile crop was not only smoothed and parted back from his brow, thai none of the Poetry of his aspect might be lost, but had, here and there, been grubbed up by the roots : which accounted fo] his loftiest developments being somewhat pimply. He hac that order of nose on which the envy of mankind has bestowec the appellation " snub," and it was very much turned up al the end, as with a lofty scorn. Upon the upper Up of thii young gentleman, were tokens of a sandy down : so very, verj smooth and scant, that, though encouraged to the utmost, il looked more like a recent trace of gingerbread, than the fai promise of a moustache; and this conjecture, his apparentlj tender age went far to strengthen. He was intent upon his work. Every time he snapped the great pair of scissors, he made a corresponding motion with his jaws, which gave him s very terrible appearance. Martin was not long in determining within himself that thi£ must be Colonel Diver's son ; the hope of the family, and future mainspring of the Eowdy Journal, Indeed he had begun tc say that he presumed this was the colonel's little boy, and that it was very pleasant to see him playing at editor in all the guilelessness of childhood, when the colonel proudly interposed and said — " My "War Correspondent, sir. Mr. Jefferson Brick 1 " Martin could not help starting at this unexpected announce- ment, and the consciousness of the irretrievable mistake he had nearly made. Mr. Brick seemed pleased with the sensation he produced upon the stranger, and shook hands with him, with an air of patronage designed to reassure him, and to let him know that there was no occasion to be frightened, for he (Brick) wouldn't hurt him. " You have heard of Jefferson Brick I see, sir," quoth the MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 233 colonel, with a smile. "England has heard of Jefferson Brick. Europe has heard of Jefferson Brick. Let me see. When did you leave England, sir ? " '• Five weeks ago," eaid Martin. "Five weeks ago," repeated the colonel, thoughtfully; as he took his seat upon the table, and swung his legs; " Now let me ask you, sir, which of Mr. Brick's articles had become at that time the most obnoxious to the British Parliament and the Court of Saint James ? " " Upon my word," said Martin, " I- — " " I have reason to know, sir," interrupted the colonel, " that the aristocratic circles of your country quail before the name of Jefferson Brick. I should like to be informed, sir, from your lips, which of his sentiments has struck the deadliest blow " "At the hundred heads of the Hydra of Corruption now grovelljing in the dust beneath the lance of Eeason, and spouting up to the universal arch above us, its sanguinary gore," said Mr. Brick, putting on a little blue cloth cap with a glazed front, and quoting his last article. " The libation of freedom. Brick," hinted the colonel. " Must sometimes be quaffed in blood, colonel," cried Brick. And when he said " blood," he gave the great pair of scissors a sharp snap, as if they said blood too, and were quite of his opinion. This done, they both looked at Martin, pausing for a reply. " Upon my life," said Martin, who had by this time quite recovered his usual coolness, " I can't give you any satisfactory information about it ; for the truth is that I " " Stop ! " cried the colonel, glancing sternly at his war correspondent, and giving his head one shake after every sentence. "That you never heard of Jefferson Brick, sir. That you never read Jefferson Brick, sir. That you never saw the Eowdy Journal, sir. That you never knew, sir, of its mighty influence upon the cabinets of Eu — rope. Yes ? " " That's what I was about to observe, certainly," said Martin. "Keep cool, Jefferson," said the colonel gravely, "Don't bust! oh you Europeans! Arter that, let's have a glass of wine ! " So saying, ;he got down from the table, and produced, from a basket outside the door, a bottle of champagne, and three glasses. " Mr. Jefferson Brick, sir," said the colonel, filling Martin's 234 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT glass and his own, and pushing the bottle to that gentleman, " will give us a sentiment." " Well, sir ! " cried the war correspondent, " since you have concluded to call upon me, I will respond, I will give you, sir, The Eowdy Journal and its brethren ; the well of Truth, whose waters are black from being composed of printers' ink, but are quite clear enough for my country to behold the shadow of her Destiny reflected in." " Hear, hear ! " cried the colonel, with great complacency. "There are flowery compon6nts, sir, in the language of my friend?" " Very much sb, indeed," said Martin. "There is to-day's Eowdy, sir," observed the colonel, handing him a paper. " You'll find Jefferson Brick ab his usual post in the van of human civilisation and moral purity." The colonel was by this time seated on the table again. Mr. Brick also took up a position on that same piece of furniture ; and they fell to drinking pretty hard. They often looked at Martin as he read the paper, and then at each other. When he laid it down, which was not until they had finished a second bottle, the colonel asked him what he thought of it. "Why, it's horribly personal," said Martin. The colonel seemed much flattered by this remark; and said he hoped it was, " We are independent here, sir," said Mr. Jefferson Brick, " We do as we like." " If. I may judge from this specimen," returned Martin, " there must be a few thousands here, rather the reverse of independent, who do as they don't like." "Well ! They yield to the mighty mind of the Popular Instructor, sir," said the Colonel. " They rile up, sometimes ; but in general we have a hold upon our citizens, both in public and in private life, which is as much one bf the ennobling institutions of our happy country a,s^ " " As nigger slavery itself," suggested Mr. Brick. " En — tirely so," remarked the colonel. " Pray," said Martin, after some hesitation, " may I venture to ask, with reference to a case I observe in this paper of yours, whether the Popular Instructor often deals in — I am at a loss to express it without giving you offence-^in forgery ? In forged letters, for instance," he pursued, for the colonel was perfectly calm and quite at his ease, " solemnly purporting to have been written at recent periods by living men ? " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 23s " Well, sir ! " replied the colonel, " It does, now and then." "And the popiUar instructed; what do they do?" asked Martin. " Buy 'em ! " said the colonel. Mr. Jefferson Brick expectorated and laughed; the former copiously, the latter approvingly. "Buy 'em by hundreds of thousands," resumed the colonel. " We are a smart people here, and can appreciate smartness." " Is smartness American for forgery ? " asked Martin. " Well ! " said the colonel, " I expect it's American for a good many things that you call by other names. But you can't help yourselves in Europe. We can." " And do, sometimes," thought Martin. " You help your- selves with very little ceremony, too ! " "At aU events, whatever name we choose to employ," said the colonel, stooping down to roll the third fempty bottle into a corner after the other two, " I suppose the art of forgery was not invented here, sir 1 " " I suppose not," replied Martin. " Nor any other kind of smartness, I reckon ■? " " Invented ! No, I presume not." " WeU ! " said the colonel ; " theit we got it all from the old country, and the old country's to blame for it, and not the new 'un. There's an end of that. Now, if Mr. Jefferson Brick and you will be so good as clear, I'U come out last, and lock the door." Eightly interpretiBg this as the signal for their departure, Martin walked down-stairs after the war correspondent, who preceded him with great majesty. The colonel following, they left the Eowdy Journal Office and walked forth into the streets : Martin feeling doubtful whether he ought to kick the colonel for having presumed to speak to him, or whether it came within the bounds of possibility that he and his establishment could be among the boasted usages of that regeneratted land. It was clear that Colonel Diver, in the security of his strong position, and in his perfect understanding of the public senti- ment, cared very little what Martin or anybody else thought about him. His high-spiced wares were made to sell, and they sold ; and his thousands of readers could as rationally charge their delight in filth upon him, as a glutton can shift upon his cook the responsibility of his beastly excess. Nothing would have delighted the colonel more than to be told that no -such man as he, could walk in high success the streets of any other 236 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT country in the world : for that would only have been a logical assurance to him of the correct adaptation of his labours to the prevailing taste, and of his being strictly and peculiarly a national feature of America. They walked a mUe or more along a handsome street which the colonel said was called Broadway, and which Mr. Jefferson Brick said " whipped the universe." Turning, at length, into one of the numerous streets which branched from this main thoroughfare, they stopped before a rather mean-looking house with jalousie blinds to every window; a flight of ^ steps before the green street-door; a shining white ornament on the rails on either side like a petrified pine-apple, polished ; a little oblong plate of the same material over the knocker, whereon the name of " Pawkins " was engraved ; and four accidental pigs looking down the area. The colonel knocked . at this house with the air of a man who lived there ; and an Irish girl popped her head out of one of the top windows to see who it was. Pending her journey down-stairs, the pigs were joined by two or three friends from the next street, in company with whom they lay down sociably in the gutter. " Is the major in-doors ? " inquired the colonel, as he entered. " Is it the master, sir ? " returned the girl, with a hesitation which seemed to imply that they were rather flush of majors in that establishment. f The master ! " said Colonel Diver, stopping short and looking round at his war correspondent. " Oh ! The depressing institutions of that British empire, colonel ! " said Jefferson Brick. " Master ! " " What's the matter with the word 1 " asked Martin. "I should hope it was never heard in our country, sir: that's aU," said Jefferson Brick : " except when it is used by some degraded Help, as new to the blessings of our form of government, as this Help is. There are no masters here." " All ' owners,' are they ? " said Martin. Mr. Jefferson Brick followed in the Eowdy Journal's foot- steps without returning any answer. Martin took the same course, thinking as he went, that perhaps the free and inde- pendent citizens, who in their moral elevation, owned the colonel for their master, might render better homage to the goddess. Liberty, in nightly dreams upon the oven of a Eussian Serf. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 237 The colonel led the way into a room at the back of the house upon the ground-floor, light, and of fair dimensions, but exquisitely uncomfortable : having nothing in it but the four cold white walls and ceiling, a mean carpet, a dreary waste of dining-table reaching from end to end, and a bewildering col- lection of cane-bottomed chairs. In the further region of this banqueting-hall was a stove, garnished on either side with a great brass spittoon, and shaped in itself like three little iron baixels set up on end in a fender, and joined together on the principle of the Siamese Twins. Before it, swinging himself in a rocking-chair, lounged a large gentleman with his hat on, who amused himself by spitting alternately into the spittoon on the right-hand of the stove, and the spittoon on the left, and then working his way back again in the same order. A negro lad in a soiled white jacket was busily engaged in placing on the table two long rows of knives and forks, relieved at intervals by jugs of water ; and as he travelled down one side of this festive board, he straightened with his dirty hands the dirtier cloth, which was all askew, and had not been removed since breakfast. The atmosphere of this room was rendered intensely hot and stifling by the stove ; but being further flavoured by a sickly gush of soup from the kitchen, and by such remote suggestions of tobacco as lingered within the brazen receptacles already mentioned, it became, to a stranger's senses, almost insupportable. The gentleman in the rocking-chair having hla back towards them, and being much engaged in his intellectual pastime, was not aware of their approach until the colonel walking up to the stove, contributed his mite towards the support of the left- hand spittoon, just as the major — ^for it was the major — bore down upon it. Major Pawkins then reserved his fire, and looking upward, said, with a peculiar air of quiet weariness, like a man who had been up all night — an air which Martin had already observed both in the colonel and Mr. Jefferson Brick — "Well, colonel!" " Here is a gentleman from England, major," the colonel replied, "who has concluded to locate himself here if the amount of compensation suits him," "I am glad to see you, sir," observed the major, shaking hands with Martin, and not moving a muscle of his face. " You are pretty bright, I hope ? " " Never better," said Martin. 238 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT " You are never likely to be," returned the major. " You ■will see the sun shine here." "I think. I remember to have seen it shine at home some- times," said Martin, smiling. " I think not," replied the major. He said so with a stoical indiEference certainly, but still in a tone of firmness which admitted of no further dispute on that point. When he had thus settled the question, he put liis hat a little on one side for the greater I convenience of scratching his head, and saluted Mr. Jefferson Brick with a lazy nod. Major Pawkins (a gentleman of Pennsylvanian origin) was distinguished by a very large skull, and a great mass of yellow forehead ; in deference to which commodities, it was currently held in bar-rooms and other such places of resort, that the major was a man of huge sagacity. He was further to be known by a heavy eye and a dull slow manner ; and for. being a man of that kind who, mentally speaking, requires a deal of room to turn himself in. But, in trading on his stock of wisdom, he invariably proceeded on the principle of putting all the goods he had (and more) into his window ; and that went a great way with his constituency of admirers. It went a great way, perhaps, with Mr. Jefferson Brick, who took occasion to whisper in Martin's ear — " One of the most remarkable men in our country, sir ! " It must not be supposed, however, that the perpetual ex- hibition in the market-place of all his stock-in-trade for sale or hire, was the major's sole claim to a very large share of sympathy and support. He was a great politician ; and the one article of his creed, in reference to all public obligations involving the good faith and integrity of his country, was, " run a moist pen slick through everything, and start fresh." This made him a patriot. In commercial affairs he was a bold speculator. In plainer words he had a most distinguished genius for swindling, and could start a bank, or negotiate a loan, or form a land-jobbing company (entailing ruin, pestilence, and death, on hundreds of families), with any gifted creature in the Union. This made him an admirable man of business. He could hang about a bar-room, discussing the affairs of the nation, for twelve hours together; and in that time could hold forth with more intolerable dulness, chew more tobacco, smoke more tobacco, drink more rum-toddy, mint julip, gin-sling, and cock-tail, than any private gentleman of his acquaintance. This made him an orator and a man of the people. In a word, MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 5239 the major was a rising character, and a popular character, and was in a fair way to be sent hy the popular party to the State House of New York, if not in the end to Washington itself. But as a man's private prosperity does not always keep pace with his patriotic devotion to public affairs ; and as fraudulent transactions have their downs as well as ups, the major was occasionally under a cloud. Hence, just now, Mrs. Pawkins kept a boarding-house, and Major Pawkins rather "loafed " his time away, than otherwise, "You have come to visit our country, sir, at a season of great commercial depression," said the major. " At an alarming crisis," said the colonel. "At a period of unprecedented sta^ation," said Mr. Jefferson Brick. " I am sorry to hear that," returned Martin. " It's not likely to last, I hope ? " Martin knew nothing . about America, or he would have known perfectly well that if its individual citizens, to a man, are to be believed, it always is depressed, and always is stag- nated, and always is at an alarming crisis, and never was otherwise ; though as a bpdy they are ready to make oath upon the Evangelists at any hour of the day or night, that it is the most thriving and prosperous of all countries on the habitable globe. " It's not likely to last, I hope 1 " said Martin. " Well ! " returned the major, " I expect we shall get along somehow, and come right in the end." " We are an elastic country," said the Eowdy Journal. " We are a young lion," said Mr. Jefferson Brick. " We have revivifying and vigorous principles within our- selves," observed the major. "Shall we drink a bitter afore dinner, colonel ? " The colonel assenting to this proposal with great alacrity, Major Pawkins proposed an adjournment to a neighbouring bar-room, which, as he observed, waS;" only in the next block." He then referred Martin to Mrs. Pawkins for all particulars connected withth^ rate of board and Ipdging, and infoi^med hini that he would have the pleasure of seeing that lady at dinner, which would soon be ready, as the dinner hour was two o'clock, and it only wanted a quarter now. This reminded him that if the bitter were to be taken at all, there was no time to lose ; so he walked off without more ado, and left, them to follow if they thought proper. 240 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Wlien the major rose from his rocking-chair before the stove and so disturbed the hot air and balmy whiff of soup which fanned their brows, the odour of stale tobacco became so decidedly prevalent as to leave no doubt of its proceeding mainly from that gentleman's attire. Indeed, as Martin walked behind him to the bar-room, he could not help thinking that the great square major, in his listlessness and languor, looked very much like a stale weed himseK : such as might be hoed out of the public garden, with great advantage to the decent growth of that preserve, and tossed on some congenial dunghill. They encoimtered more weeds in the bar-room, some of whom (being thirsty souls as well as dirty) were pretty stale in one sense, and pretty fresh in another. Among them was a gentleman who, as Martin gathered from the conversation that took place over the bitter, started that afternoon for the Far West on a six months' business tour ; and who, as his outfit and equipment for this journey, had just such another shiny hat and just such another little pale valise, as had composed the luggage of the gentleman who came from England in The Screw. They were walking back very leisurely ; Martin arm-in-arm with Mr. Jefferson Brick, and the major and the colonel side- by-side before them ; when, as they came within a house or two of the major's residence, they heard a bell ringing violently. The instant this sound struck upon their ears, the colonel and the major darted off, dashed up the steps and in at the street- door (which stood ajar) like lunatics ; while Mr. Jefferson Brick, detaching his arm from Martin's, made a precipitate dive in the same direction, and vanished also. " Good Heaven ! " thought Martin. " The premises are on fire ! It was an alarm-bell ! " But there was no smoke to be seen, nor any flame, nor was there any smell of fire. As Martin faltered on the pavement, three more gentlemen, with horror and agitation depicted in their faces, came plunging wildly round the street-comer; jostled each other on the steps; struggled for an instant ; and rushed into the house, in a confused heap of arms and legs. Unable to bear it any longer, Martin followed. Even in his rapid progress, he was run down, thrust aside, and passed, by two more gentlemen, stark mad, as it appeared with fierce excitement. " Where is it ? " cried Martin, breathlessly, to a negro whom he encountered in the passage. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 241 "In a eatin-room, sa. 'Kernel, sa, him kep a seat 'side himself, sa." " A seat ! " cried Martin. " lor a dinnar, sa." Martin stared at him for a moment, and burst into a hearty laugh ; to which the negro, out of his natural good-humour and desire to please, so heartily responded, that his teeth shone like a gleam of light. " You're the pleasantest fellow I have seen yet," said Martin, clapping him on the back, " and give me a better appetite than bitters." With this sentiment he walked into the dining-room and slipped into a chair next the colonel, which that gentleman (by this time nearly through his dinner) had turned down in reserve for him, with its back against the table. It was a numerous company, eighteen or twenty perhaps. Of these some five or six were ladies, who sat wedged together in a little phalanx by themselves. All the knives and forks were working away at a rate that was quite alarming ; very few words were spoken ; and everybody seemed to eat his utmost in self-defence, as if a famine were expected to set in before breakfast-time to-morrow morning, and it had become high time to assert the first law of nature. • The poultry, which may perhaps be considered to have formed the staple of the enter- tainment — for there was a turkey at the top, a pair of ducks at the bottom, and two fowls in the middle — disappeared as rapidly as if every bird had had the use of its wings, and had flown in desperation down a human throat. The oysters, stewed and pickled, leaped from their capacious reservoirs, and slid by scores into the mouths of the assembly. The sharpest pickles vanished, whole cucumbers at once, like sugar-plums, and no man winked his eye. Great heaps of indigestible matter melted away as ice before the sun. It was a solemn and an awful thing to see. Dyspeptic individuals bolted their food in wedges ; feeding, not themselves, but broods of nightmares, who were continually standing at livery within them. Spare men, with lank and rigid cheeks, came out unsatisfied from the destruction of heavy dishes, and glared with watchful eyes upon the pastry. What Mrs. Pawkins felt each day at dinner-time is hidden from all human knowledge. But she had one comfort. It was very soon over. When the colonel had finished his dinner, which event took place while Martin, who had sent his plate for some turkey, was ■yraiting to begin, he asls^d him what he thought of the boarders, 242 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT who were from all parts of the Union, and whether he would like to know any particulars concerning them, ' " Pray," said Martin, " who is that sickly little girl opposite, with the tight round eyes ? I don't see anybody here, who looks like her mother, or who seems to have charge of her." " Do you mean the matron in blue, sir ? " asked the colonel, with emphasis. " That is Mrs. Jefferson Brick, sir." " No, no," said Martin, " I mean the little girl, like a doll — directly opposite." "Well, sir! "cried the colonel- "That is Mrs. Jefferson Brick." Martin glanced at the colonel's face, but he was quite serious. " Bless my soul ! I suppose there wiU be a young Brick then, one of these days ? " said Martin. " There are two young Bricks already, sir," returned the colonel. The matron looked so uncommonly like a child herself, that Martin could not help saying as much. " Yes, sir," returned the colonel, "but some institutions develop human natur: others re — tard it." "Jefferson Brick," he observed after a short silence, in commendation of his correspondent, "is one of the most remarkable men in our country, sir ! " This had passed almost in a whisper, for the distinguished gentleman alluded to, sat on Martin's other hand. " Pray, Mr. Brick," said Martin turning to him, and asking a question more for conversation's sake than from any feeling of interest in its subject, " who is that : " he was going to say " young " but thought it prudent to eschew the word : " that very short gentleman yonder, with the red nose ? " " That is Pro — fessor MuUit, sir," replied Jefferson.' " May I ask what he is professor of ?i" asked Martin. " Of education, sir," said JefferBon Brick. "A sort of schoolmaster, possibly?" Martin ventured to observe. " He ia a man of fine moral elements, sir, and not commonly endowed," said the war correspondent. " He felt it necessary, at the last election for Presidentj to repudiate and denounce his father, who voted on the wrong interest. He has since written some powerful pamphlets, under the signature of '^Suttirb,' or Brutus reversed. He is one of the most' remarkable men in our country, sir." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 243 " There seem to be plenty of 'em," thought Martin, " at any rate." Pursuing his inquiries, Martin found that there were no fewer th^n four majors present, two colonels, one general, and a captain, so that he could not help thiuking how strongly officered the American militia must be; and wondering very much whether the officers commanded ea6h other; or if they did not, wheriB on earth the privates came fromJ There seemed to be no man there without : a title : for those who had not attained to military honours were either doctors, professors, or reverends. Three very hard and disagreeable gentlemen were on missions from neighbouring States ; one on monetary affairs, one on political, one on sectarian. Among the ladies, there were Mrs. Pawkins, who was very straight, bony, and silent ; and a wiry-faced old damsel, who held strong sentiments touch- ing the rights of women, and had diffused the same in lectures ; but the rest were strangely devoid of individual traits of characteri insomuch that any one of them might have changed minds with the other, and nobody would have found it out. These, by the way, were the only members of the party who did not appear to be among the most remarkable people in the country; Several of the gentlemen got up, one. by one, and walked off as they swallowed their last morsel ; . pausing generally by the stove for a minute or so to refresh themselves at the brass spittons. A few sedentary characters,; howeVier, remained at table full a quarter of an hour, and did not rise until the ladies rose, when all stood up. " Where are they going ? " asked Martin, in the ear of Mr. Jefferson Brick. - " To their bedrooms, sir." "Is there no dessert, or other interval of conversation?" asked Martin, who was disposed to enjoy himself after his long voyage. " We are a busy people here, sir, and have no time for that," was the reply. So the ladies passed out in single file ; Mr. Jefferson Brick and such other married i genl^emen as were left, acknowledging the departure of theirother halves by anod ; and there was an end of thmn. Martin r thought this an uncomfortable custom, but he kept his opinion to himself for the present, being anxious to hear, and inform himself by, the conversation of the busy gentlemen, who now lounged about the stove as if a great 244 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT weight had been taken off their minds by the withdrawal of the other sex ; and who made a plentiful use of the spittoons and their toothpicks. It was rather barren of interest, to say the truth ; and the •greater part of it may be summed up in one word — dollars. All their cares, hopes, joys, affections, virtues, and associations, seemed to be melted down into dollars. Whatever the chance contributions that fell into the slow cauldron of their talk, they made the gruel thick and slab with dollars. Men were weighed by their dollars, measures gauged by their, dollars ; life was auctioneered, appraised, put up, and knocked down for its dollars. The next respectable thing to dollars was any venture having their attainment for its end. The more of that worthless ballast, honour and fair-dealing, which any man cast overboard from the ship of his Good Name and Good Intent, the more ample stowage-room he had for dollars. Make commerce one huge lie and mighty theft. Deface the banner of the nation for an idle rag ; pollute it star by star ; and cut out stripe by stripe as from the arm of a degradeid soldier. Do anything for doUara ! What is a flag to them f One who rides at all hazards of limb and life in the chase of a fox, will prefer to ride recklessly at most times. So it was with these gentlemen. He was the greatest patriot, in their eyes, who brawled the loudest, and who cared the least for decency. He was their champion, who in the brutal fury of his own pursuit, could cast no stigma upon them, for the hot knavery of theirs. Thus, Martin learned in the five minutes' straggling talk about the stove, that to barry pistols into legisla- tive assemblies, and swords in sticks, and other such peaceful toys ; to seize opponents by the throat, as dogs or rats might do; to bluster, bully, and overbear by personal assaHment; were glowing deeds. Not thrusts and stabs at Freedom, striking far deeper into her House of Life than any sultan's scimitar could reach ; but rare incense on her altars, having a grateful scent in patriotic nostrils, and curling upward to the seventh heaven of Fame. Once or twice, when there was a pause, Martin asked such questions as naturally occurred to him, being a stranger, about the national poets, the theatre, 'literature, and the arts. But the information whiph these gentlemen were in a condition to give him on such topics, did not extend beyond the effusions of such master-spirits of the time, as Colonel Diver, Mr. Jefferson Prigk, apd others ; renoi^nxed as it appeared, for excellence in MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 245 the achievement of a peculiar style of broadside-essay called " a screamer." " We are a busy people, sir," said one of the captains, whp was from the West, " and have no time for reading mere notions. We don't mind 'em if they come to us in newspapers along with almighty strong stuff of another sort, but darn your books." Here the general, who appeared to grow quite faint at the bare thought of reading anything which was neither mercantile nor political, and was not in a newspaper, inquired "if any gentleman would drink some ? " Most of the company, con- sidering this a very choice and seasonable idea, lounged out, one by one, to the bar-room in the next block. Thence they probably went to their stores and counting-houses ; thence to the bar-room again, to talk once more of dollars, and enlarge their minds with the perusal and discussion of screamers ; and thence each man to snore in the bosom of his own family, " Which would seem," said Martin, pursuing the current of his own thoughts, " to be the principal recreation they enjoy in common." With that, he fell a-musing again on dollars, demagogues, and bar-rooms; debating witiiin himself whether busy people of this class were really as busy as they claimed to be, or only had an inaptitude for social and domestic pleasure. It was a difficult question to solve ; and the mere fact of its being strongly presented to his mind by all that he had seen and heard, was not encouraging. He sat down at the deserted board, and becoming more and more despondent, as he thought of all the uncertainties and difficulties of his precarious situation, sighed heavily. Now, there had been at the dinner-table a middle-aged man with a dark eye and a sunbiu-nt face, who had attracted Martin's attention by&ving something very engaging and honest in the expressioii of his features ; but of whom he could learn nothing from either of his neighbours, who seemed to consider him quite beneath their notice. He had taken no part in the conversation round the stove, nor had he gone forth with the rest ; and now, when he heard Martin sigh for the third or fourth time, he interposed with some casual remark, as if he desired, without obtruding himself' upon a stranger's notice, to engage him in cheerful conversation if he could, His motive was so obvious, and yet so delicately expressed, that Martin felt really grateful to him, and showed him so, in the manner of his reply. 246 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT " I will not ask you/j said this gentleman with a smile, as he rose and moved towards him, " how you like my country, for I can quite anticipate youx feeling on that point. But, as I am an American, and consequently bound to begin with a question, rU ask you how you like the colonel ? " " You are so very frank," returned Martin, " that I have no hesitation in saying I don't like him at all. Though I must add that I am beholden to him for his civility in bringktg me here — and arranging for my stay, on pretty reasonable terms, by the way," he added : remembering that the colonel had whispered him to that effect, before going out. "Not much beholden," said the stranger drily. "The colonel occasionally boards packet-ships, I have heard, to glean the latest information for his journal ; and he occasionally brings strangers to board here, I believe, with a view to the little per-' centage which attaches to those good offices ; and which the hostess deducts from his weekly biU. I don't offend you, I hope ? " he added, seeing that Martin reddened. " My dear sir," returned Martin, as they shook hands, " how is that possible ? To tell you the truth, I — am- " " Yes ? " said the gentleman, sitting down beside him. " I am rather at a loss, since I must speak plainly," said Martin, getting the better of his hesitation, " to know how this colonel escapes being beaten." " Well ! He has been beaten once or twice," remarked the gentleman quietly. " He is one of a class of men, in whom our own Franklin so long ago as ten years before the close of the last century, foresaw our danger and disgrace. Perhaps you don't know that Franklin, in very severe terms, published his opinion that those who were slandered by such fellows as this colonel, having no sufficient remedy in the administration of this country's laws or in the decent and right-minded feeling of its people, were justified in retorting on such public nuisances by means of a stout cudgel ? " " I was not aware of that," said Martin, " but I am very glad to know it, and I think it worthy of his memory ; especially " Here he hesitated again. " Go on," said the other, smiling as if he knew what stuck in Martin's throat. "Especially," pursued Martin, "as I can already understand that it may have required great courage, even in his time, to write freely on any question which was not a party one in this very free country." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 247 "Some courage, no doubt," returned his new friend. " Do you think it would require any to do so, now ? " "Indeed I think it would; and not a little," said Martin. "You are right. So very rigljt, that I beUeve ho satirist could! breathe this air. If another Juvenal or Swift could rise up among ua to-mortow, he would be hunted down. If you have any knowledge of our literature, and can give me the name of a,ny man, American born and bred, who has anatomised our foUies as a people, and not as this or that party ; and who has escaped the_ foulest and most brutal slander, the most inveterate hatred and intolerant pursuit ; it wiU be a| strange name in my ears, believe, me. In some cases I could ng,me to you, where a native writer has ventured on the most harmless and good- humoured illustrations of our vices or defects, it has been found necessary to announce, that in a second edition the passage has been expunged, or altered, or explained away, or patched into praise." " And how has this been brought about ? " asked Martin, in dismay. " Think of what you have seen and heard to-day, beginning with the colonel," said his friend, " and ask yourself. How they came about, is another question. Heaven forbid that they should be samples of the intelligence and virtue of America, but they come uppermost, and in great numbers^ and too often represent it. Will you walk ? " There was a cordial candour in his manner, and an engaging confidence that it would not be abused ; a manly bearing on his own part, and a simple reHanceon the manly faith of a stranger ; which Martin had never seen before. He , Jinked his arm readUy in that of the American gentleman^ and they walked out together. 248 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Mrs. Gamp, a nurse, prepares tea for her friend, Mrs. Betsey Prig. Mrs. Prig is not in the best of tempers, and so far forgets herself as to betray incredulity upon the subject of Mrs. Harris, a lady, whose existence is generally supposed to be " a phantom of Mrs. Gamp's brain." This strange behaviour and want of behef on Mrs. Prig's part being more than human nature can endure, Mrs. Gamp denounces her friend, and they part in anger. IV MRS. GAMP IN KINGSGATE STREET Mrs. Gamp's apartment in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn, wore, metaphorically speaking, a robe of state. It was swept and garnished for the reception of a visitor. That visitor was Betsey Prig : Mrs. Prig, of Bartlemy's ; or as some said Barklemy's, or as some said Bardlemy's : for by all these endearing and familiar appellations, had the hospital of Saint Bartholomew become a household word among the sisterhood which Betsey Prig adorned. Mrs. Gamp's apartment was not a spacious one, but, to a contented mind, a closet is a palace ; and the first-floor front at Mr. Sweedlepipe's may have been, in the imagination of Mrs. Gamp, a stately pile. If it were not exactly that, to rest- less intellects, it at least comprised as much acccommodation as any person, not sanguine to insanity, could have looked for, in a room of its dimensions. For only keep the bedstead always in your mind ; and you were safe. That was the grand secret. Eemembering the bedstead, you might even stoop to look under the little round table for anything you had dropped, without hurting yourself much against the chest of drawers, or qualifying as a patient of Saint Bartholomew, by falling into the fixe. Visitors were much assisted in their cautious efforts to preserve an unflagging recollection of this piece of furniture, by its size : which was great. It was not a turn-up bedstead, nor yet a French bedstead, nor yet a four-post bedstead, but what is poetically called a tent : the sacking whereof, was low and bulgy, insomuch that Mrs. Gamp's box would not go under it, but stopped half-way, in a manner which while it did violence to the reason, likewise endangered the legs, of a stranger. The frame too, which would have supported the canopy and hangings if therb had been any, was ornamented with divers pippins carved in timber, which on the slightest MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 249 provocation, and frequently on none at all, came tumbling down ; harassing the peaceful guest with inexplicable terrors. . . . The chairs in Mrs. Gamp's apartment were extremely large and broad-backed, which was more than a sufficient reason for there being but two in number. They were both elbow-chairs, of ancient mahogany ; and were chiefly valuable for the slippery nature of their seats, which had been originally horsehair, but were now covered with a shiuy substance of a bluish tint, from which the visitor began to slide away with a dismayed countenance, immediately after sitting down. What Mrs. Gamp wanted in chairs she made up in bandboxes ; of which she had a great collection, devoted to the reception of various miscellaneous valuables, which were not, however, as well pro- tected as the good woman, by a pleasant fiction, seemed to think: for, though every bandbox had a carefully-closed lid, not one among them had a bottom : owing to which cause, the property within was merely, as it were, extinguished. The chest of drawers having been originally made to stand upon the top of another chest, had a dwarfish, elfin look, alone ; but, in regard of its security, it had a great advantage over the band- boxes, for assail the handles had been long ago pulled off, it was very difEtcult to get at its contents. This indeed was only to be done by one of two devices ; either by tilting the whole structure forward until all the drawers fell out together, or by opening them singly with knives, like oysters. . . . A pair of bellows, a pair of pattens, a toasting-fork, a kettle, a pap-boat, a spoon for the administration of medicine to the refractory, and lastly, Mrs, Gamp's umbrella, which as some- thing of great price and rarity was displayed with particular ostentation, completed the decorations of the chimney-piece and adjacent wall. Towards these objects, Mrs. Gamp raised her eyes in satisfaction when she had arranged the tea-board, and had concluded her arrangements for the reception of Betsey Prig, even unto the setting forth of two pounds of Newcastle salmon, intensely pickled. ... ' "There's the Uttle bell a ringing now," said Mrs. Gamp. " My precious Betsey, how late you are ! " The worthy Mrs. Prig replied, with some asperity, "that if perwerse people went off dead, when they was least expected, it wam't no fault of her'n." And further, " that it was quite aggrawation enough to be made late when one was dropping for one's tea, without hearing on it again." Mrs. Gamp, deriving from this exhibition of repartee some 250 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT clue to the state of Mrs. Prig's feelings, instantly conducted her up-stairs : deeming that the sight of pickled salmon might work a softening change. But Betsey Prig expected pickled salmon. It was obvious that she did ; for her first words, after glancing at the table, were — " I know'd she wouldn't have a coucumber ! " Mrs. Gamp changed colour, and sat down upon the bedstead. . " Lord bless you, Betsey Prig, your words is true. I quite forgot it ! " Mrs. Prig, looking stedfaatly at her friend, put her hand in her pocket, and, with an air of surly triumph dxew forth either the oldest of lettuces or youngest of cabbages, but at any rate, a green vegetable of an expansive nature, and of such magnifi- cent proportions that she was obliged to shut it up like an umbrella before she could pull it out. She also produced a handful of mustard and cress, a trifle of the herb called dande- lion, three bunches of radishes, an onion rather larger than an average turnip, three substantial slices of beetroot, and a short prong or antler of celery ; the whole of this garden-stuff having been publicly exhibited, but a short time before, as a twopenny salad, and purchased by Mrs. Prig, on condition that the vendor could get it: all into her pocket. Which had been happily accomplished, in High Holborn, to the breathless interest of a hackney-coach-stand. And she laid so little stress on this sur- prising forethought, that she did not even smile, but returning her pocket into its accustomed sphere, merely recommended that these productions of nature should be sliced up, for immediate consumption, in plenty of vinegar. "And don't go a dropping none of your snuff in it," said Mrs. Prig. "In gruel, barley-water, apple-tea, mutton-broth, and that, it don't signify. It stimilates a patient. But I don't relish it myself." "Why, Betsey Prig!" cried Mrs. Gamp, "how can you talk so?" " Why, ain't your patients, wotever their diseases is, always a sneezin' their wery heads off, along of your snuff?" said Mrs. Prig. " And wot if they are ? " said Mrs. Gamp. "Nothing if they are," said Mrs. Prig. " But don't deny it Sairah." " Who deniges of it ? " Mrs. Gamp inquired. Mrs. Prig returned no answer. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ^51 " Who deniges of it, Betsey ? " Mrs. Gamp inquired 'again; Then Mrs. Gamp, by reversing the. question, imparted a deeper and more awful character, of solemnity to the same. "Betsey, who deniges of it?" It was the nearest possible approach to a very decided difference of opinion between these ladies; but Mrs. Prig's impatience for the meal being greater at the moment than her impatience of contradiction, she replied, for the present, "Nobody, if you don't, Sairah," and -prepared herseK for tea. For a quarrel can be taken, up at any tiiae, but a limited quantity of salmon cannot. ... • Her toUet was simple. She had merely ; to " chuck " her bonnet and shawl upon the bed; give her hair two pulls, one upon, the right side and one upon the left, as if she were ringing a couple of bells ; and all was done. The tea was already made, Mrs. Gamp was not long over the salad, and they were soon at the height of their repast. The temper of both parties was improved, for the time being, by the enjoyments of the table. When the meal came to a termination (which it was pretty long in doing), and Mrs. Gamp having cleared away, produced the tea-pot from the top- shelf, simultaneously with a couple of wincrglasses, they were quite amiable. " Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, filKng her own glass, and pass- ing the tea-pot, ."I wiU now propoge a toast. My frequent pardner, -Betsey Prig ! " "Which, altering the. name to Sairah Gamp; I drink," said Mrs. Prig, " with love and tenderness." From this moment symptoms of inflammation began to lurk in the nose of each lady; and perhaps, notwithstanding all appearances to the contrary, in the temper also. "Now, Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, "joining business with pleasure, wot is this case in which you wants me ? " Mrs. Gamp betraying in her face some intention of returning an evasive answer, Betsey added — " Is it Mrs, Harris ? " " No, Betsey Prig, it ain't," was Mrs. Gamp's reply. " Well ! " said Mrs. Prig, with a short laugh. " I'^m glad, of that, at any rate." "Why should you be glad of that, Betsey?" Mrs. Gamp retorted, warmly. " She is unbeknown to you except by hear- say, why should you be glad ? If you have anythink to say contrairy to the character of Mrs. Harris, which well I knows 252 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT behind her back, afore her face, or anywheres, is not to be impeaged, out with it, Betsy. I have know'd that sweetest and best of women," said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her head, and shedding tears, " ever since afore her First, which Mr. Harris who was dreadful timid went and stopped his ears in a empty dog-kennel, and never took his hands away or come out once tUl he was showed the baby, wen bein* took with fits, the doctor collared him and laid him on his back upon the airy stones, and she was told to ease her mind, his owls was organs. And I have know'd her, Betsey Prig, when he has hurt her feelin' art by sayin' of his Ninth that it was one too many, if not two, while that dear innocent was cooin' in his face, which thrive it did though bandy, but I have never know'd as you had occagion to be glad, Betsy, on accounts of Mrs. Harris not requiring you. Eequire she never will, depend upon it, for her constant words in sickness is, and will be ' Send for Satrey ! ' " During this touching address, Mrs. Prig adroitly feigning to be the victim of that absence of mind which has its origin in excessive attention to one topic, helped herself from the tea-pot without appearing to observe it. Mrs. Gamp observed it, how- ever, and came to a premature close in consequence. " Well it ain't her, it seems," said Mrs. Prig, coldly : " who is it then ? " " You have heerd me mention, Betsey," Mrs. Gamp replied, after glancing in an expressive and marked manner at the tea-pot, " a person as I took care on at the time as you and me was pardners off and on, in that there fever at the Bull ? " " Old Snuffey," Mrs. Prig observed. Sarah Gamp looked at her with an eye of fire, for she saw in this mistake of Mrs. Prig, another wilful and malignant stab at that same weakness or custom of hers, an ungenerous allusion to which, on the part of Betsey, had first disturbed their harmony that evening. And she saw it still more clearly, when, politely but firmly correcting that lady by the distinct enuncia- tion of the word " Ohuffey," * Mrs. Prig received the correction with a diabolical laugh. The best among us have their failings, and it must be conceded of Mrs. Prig, that if there were a blemish in the goodness of her disposition, it was a habit she had of not bestowing all its sharp and acid properties upon her patients (as a thoroughly amiable woman would have done), but of keeping a considerable remainder for the service of her friends, * Chuffey : old Anthony Chuzzlewit's clerk. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 253 Highly pickled salmon, and lettuces chopped 'up in vinegar, may, as viands possessing some acidity of their own, have encouraged and increased this failing in Mrs. Prig ; and every application to the tearpot, certainly did ; for it was often re- marked of her by her friends, that she was most contradictory when most elevated. It is certain that her countenance became about this time derisive and defiant, and that she sat with her ' arms folded, and one eye shut up, in a somewhat offensive, because.obtrusively intelligent, manner. Mrs. Gamp observing this, felt it the more necessary that Mrs. Prig should know her place, and be made sensible of her exact station in society, as well as of her obligations to herself. She therefore assumed an air of greater patronage and im- portance, and she went on to answer Mrs. Prig a little more in detail. "Mr. Chuffey, Betsy," said Mrs. Gamp, "is weak in his mind. Excuge me if I makes remark, that he may neither be so weak as people thinks, nor people may not think he is so weak as they pretends, and what I knows, I knows ; and what you don't, you don't; so do not ask me, Beisey. But Mr. Chuffey's friends has made propojals for his bein' took care on, and has said to me, ' Mrs. Gamp, will you undertake it 1 We couldn't think,' they says, ' of trusting him to nobody but you, for, Sairey, you are gold as has passed the furnage. Will you undertake it, at your own price, day and night, and by your own seK ? ' ' Ko,' I says, ' I will not. Do not reckon on it. There is,' I says, ' but one creetur in the world as I would undertake on sech terms, and her name is Harris. But,' I says, 'I am acquainted with a friend, whose name is Betsey Prig, that I can recommend, and will assist me. Betsey,' I says, 'is always to be trusted, under me, and will be guided as I could desire.' " Here Mrs. Prig, without any abatement of her offensive manner, again counterfeited abstraction of mind, and stretched out her hand to the tea-pot. It was more than Mrs. Gamp could bear. She stopped the hand of Mrs. Prig with her own, and said, with great feeling — " No, Betsey ! Drink fair, wotever you do ! " Mrs. Prig, thus bafled, threw herself back in her chair, and closing the same eye more emphatically, and folding her arms tighter, suffered her head to roll slowly from side to side, while she surveyed her friend with a contemptuous smile. Mrs. Gamp resumed ; 254 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT " Mrs. Harris, Betsey " " Bother Mrs. Harris ! " said Betsey Prig. Mrs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and indignation; when Mrs. Prig, shutting her eye still closer, and folding her arms stUl tighter, uttered these memorable and tremendous words : " I don't believe there's no sich a person ! " After the utterance of which expressions, she leaned forward, and snapped her fingers once, twice, thrice; each time nearer to the face of Mrs. Gamp, and then rose to put on her bonnet, as one who felt that there was now a gulf between them, which nothing could ever bridge across. The shock of this blow was so violent and sudden, that Mrs, Gamp sat staring at nothing with uplifted eyes, and her mouth open as if she were gasping for breath, until Betsey Prig^ad put on her bonnet and her shawl, and was gathering the latter about her throat. Then Mrs. Gamp rose — morally and physically rose — and denounced her. " What ! " said Mrs. Gamp, " you bage creetur, have I know'd Mrs. Harris five and thirty year, to be told at last that there ain't no sech a person livin' ? Have I stood her friend in all her troubles, great and small, for it to come at last to sech a end as thisj which her own sweet picter tanging up afore you all the time, to shame your Bragian words ? .But well you mayn't believe there's no sech a creetur, for she wouldn't demean herself to look at you, and often has she said, when I have made mention of your name, which, to my sinful sorrow, I have done, ' What, Sairey Gamp ! debage yourself to her ! ' Go along with you ! " " I'm a goin', ma'am, ain't I ? " said Mrs. Prig, stopping as she said it. " You had better, ma'am," said Mrs. Gamp. "Do you know who you're talking to, ma'am?" inquired her visitor. " Aperiently," said Mrs. Gamp, surveying her with scorn from head to foot, " to Betsey Prig. Aperiently so. I know her. No one better. Go along with you ! " " And you was a going to take me under you ! " cried Mrs. Prig, surveying Mrs. Gamp from head to foot in her turn. " You was, was you ? Oh, how kind ! Why, deuce take your imperence," Said Mrs. Prig, with a rapid change from banter to ferocity, " what do you mean ? " " Go along with you ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " I blush for you." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 255 " You had better blush a little for yourself, while you are about it ! " said Mrs. Prig. " You and yotir Chuffeys ! What, the poor old creetur isn't mad enough, isn't he ? ^a ! " " He'd very soon be mad enough, if you had anythink to do with him," said Mrs. Gamp. " And that's what I was wanted for, is it ? " cried Mrs. Prig, triumphantly. "Yes. But you'll find yourself deceived. I won't go near him. We shall see how you get on without me. I won't have nothink to do with him." "You never spoke a truer word than that!" said Mrs. Gamp. " Go along with you ! " She was prevented from witnessing the actual retirement of Mrs. Prig from the room, notjWithstanding the great desire she had expressed to behold it, by that lady, in. her angry with- drawal, coming into contact with the bedstead, and bringing down the previously-mentioned pippins ; three or four of which came rattling on the head of Mrs. Gamp so smartly, that when she recovered from this wooden shower-bath, Mrs. Prig was gone. BOOK VIII DOMBEY AND SON Bomhey was begun in 1846, at Lausanne, from which place my father wrote to Mr. Forster : " By the way, as I was unpacking the big box I took hold of a book and said to them (meaning my mother and aunt), now whatever passage my thumb rests on, I shall take as having reference to my work." It was " Tristram Shandy," and opened at these words, " What a work it is likely to turn out ! Let us begin it ! " Dorribey was issued in twenty monthly parts and was published as a book in April, 1848, by Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, with a preface, and a dedication to Lady Normanby. The story was illustrated by Habl6t Browne. Mr. Dombey is a widower, his wife having recently died in giving birth'to her second child Paul, a dehcate infant on whom Mr. Dombey's hopes and ambitions are centred, for as he says, " the House will once again be not only in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son ! " For his daughter Florence, Mr. Dombey cares little, although she is a pretty, lovable child of six years of age. Mrs. Polly Toodle, or " Richards," as she is called in the Dombey household, has been chosen by Mrs. Chick, Mr. Dombey's sister, and her friend Miss Tox, to act as foster-mother to little Paul and now reigns supreme in the nursery where black-eyed Susan Nipper, Florence's young attendant, is already installed. At about the same time that these events are taking place in Mr. Dombey's private residence, a lad of fourteen named Walter Gay has been received into the firm of Dombey and Son. Walter is the nephew of old Solomon Gills, a ship's instrument maker, who lives near the great Bast India House, and has outside his shop the wooden efBgy of a little midship- man. In the following extract we are introduced to Walter and his uncle. It is half-past five o'clock in the afternoon, their dinner-hour, and to celebrate the occasion of Walter's first day in his new employment, old Sol brings from the cellar a bottle of his wonderful Madeira. I SOl-OMON GILLS, WALTER GAY, AND CAPTAIN CUTTLE But an addition to the little party now made its appearance, in the shape of a gentleman in a wide suit of blue, with a hook instead of a hand attached to his right wrist ; very bushy blaol^ 256 DOMBEY AND SON 257 eyebrows ; and a thick stick in his left hand, cdvered all over (like his nose) with knobs. He wore a loose black silk hand- kerchief round his neck, and such a very large coarse shirt collar, that it looked like a small sail. He was evidently the person for whom the spare wine-glass was iatended, and evi- dently knew it ; for having taken off his rough outer cokt, and hung up, on a particular peg behind the door, such a hard glazed hat as a sympathetic person's head might ache at the sight of, and which left a red rim round his own forehead as if he had been wearing a tight basin, he brought a chair to where the clean glass was, and sat himself down behind it. He was usually addressed as Captain, this visitor; and had been a pilot, or a skipper, or a privateer's-man, or all three perhaps ; apd was a very salt-looking man indeed. His face, remarkable for a brown solidity, brightened as he shook hands with uncle and nephew ; but he seemed to be of a laconic disposition, and merely said : "How goes it 1" " All well," said Mr. Gills, pushing the bottle towards him. He took it up, and having surveyed and smelt it, said with extraordinary expression — "The?" " The," returned the instruinent-nlaker. Upon that he whistled as he filled his glass, and seemed to think they were making hoUday indeed. " Wal'r ! " he said, arranging his hair (which was thin) with his hook, and then pointing it at the instrument-maker, " look at him ! Love ! Honour ! And Obey ! Overhaul your cate- chism till you find that passage, and when found turn the leaf down. Success, my boy ! " He was so perfectly satisfied both with his quotation and his reference to it, that he could not help t-epeating the words again in a low voice, and saying he had forgotten. 'em these forty year. " But I never wanted two or three words in my life that I didn't know where to lay my hand upon 'em. Gills," he observed. " it comes of not wasting language as some do." The reflection perhaps reminded him that he had better, like young Nerval's father, "increase his Btore." At any rate he became sUent, and remained so, until old Sol went out into, the shop to light it up, when he turned to Walter, and said, without any introductory remark : " I suppose he could make a clock if he tried ? " s 25B DOMBEY AND SON " I shouldn't wonder. Captain Cuttle," returned the bpy. "And it would go ! " said Captain Cuttle, making a species of serpent in the air with his hooli. "Lord, how thatjOlocls would go!" , . i For a moment or two he seemed quite lost in contemplating the pace of this ideal timepiece, and sat looking at the boy aS if his face were the dial. "But he's chock-full of science," he observed, waving his hook towards the stock-in-trade. " Lopk ye here ! H^rei's a collection of 'em. Earth, air, or water. It's all one. Only say where you'll have it. Up in a balloon ? There you are. Down in a bell? There you are. B'ye want to put the JSTorth Star in a pair of scales and weigh it ? He'll do it for you." It may be gathered from these remarks that Captain Cuttle's reverence for the stock of instruments was profound, and that his philosophy knew little or no distinction between trading in it and inventing it. " Ah ! " he said, with a sigh, " it's a fine thing to understand 'em. And yet it's a fine thing not to understand 'em. 1 hardly know which, is best. It's so comfortable to sit here and feel that you might be weighed, measured, magni;^ed, electrified, polarised, played the very devil with : and never know how." Nothing short of the wonderful Madeira, combined with the occasion (which rendered it desirable to improve and expand Walter's mind), could have ever loosened his tongue to the extent of giving utterance to this prodigious oration. He seemed quite amazed himself at the manner in which it opened up to , view the sources of the taciturn delight he had had in eating Sunday dinners in. that parlour for ten years. Becoming a sadder and a wiser man, he mused and held Joia peace. . , "Come!" cried the subject of, his admira,tion, returning. " Before you have your glass of grog, Ned, we must finish the bottle." "Stand by!" said Ned, fiUing his glass. "Give the boy some more." " No more, thank'e, uncle ! " , "Yes, yes," said Sol, "a little more. "We'll finish the bottle, to the house, Ned — ^Walter's house. Why it may be his house one of these days, in,:part. Who knovys ? Sir Eichard Whittington married has master's daughter;" " Turn again Whittingtoui Lord Mayor^ of London, and when you are old you will never depart from it," interposed the captain. " Wal'r ! Overhaul the book, my lad." POMBEY AND SON 259 "And, although Mr. Dombey hasn't a daughter," Sol hegan* "Yes, y©3,. he has, uncle," said the boy," reddening and laughing. ' , . . "Has he?" cried the old man. "^ Indeed I think he has too." " Oh ! I know he has," said the bpy. " Some of 'em were talking about it in the office to-day. And they do say, unele and Captain Cuttle," lowering his voice, " that he's taken a dislike to her, and that she's left, unnoticed, among the servants, and that his miad's so set aU the while upon having his son in the House, that although he's only a baby now, he is going to have balances struck oftenerthan folrmerly, and the books kept closei? than they, used to be, and has even been seen (when he thought he wasn't) walking in the Pocks, looking at his ships and pro- perty and aU that, as if he were exulting like, over What he and his son will possess together. That's what they say. Of course I don't know." "He knows all about her already, you see," said, the instrument-maker. ' ; .. "Nonsense, uncle," cried the boyi still reddening and laugh- ing, boylike. " How can I help hearing what they tell me ? " " The son's a little in our way at present, I'm afraid, Ned," said the old man, humouring the joke, " Very much," said the captain. ! " Nevertheless, we'll drink him/' pursued Sol. " So, here's to Dombey and Son." " Oh, very well, uncle," said the boy, merrily. " Since you have introduced the mention Of her, and have connected me with her, and have said that I know all about her, I shall make bold to amend the toast. So here's to Dombey-^— and Son — and Daughter," II A bird's-eye glimpse of miss tox's dwelling-place J ALSO OF THE STATE OF MISS TOx's AFFECTIONS Miss Tox inhabited a dark little house that had been squeezed, at some remote period of English history, into a fashionable neighbourhood at the west end of the town, where it stood in 26o DOMBEY AND SON the shade like a poor relation of the great street round the corner, coldly looked down upon by mighty mansions. It was not exactly in a court, and it was not exactly in a yard ; but it was in the dullest of No-Thoroughfares, rendered anxious and haggard by distant double knocks. The name of this retire- ment, where grass grew between the chinks in the stone pavement, was Princess's Place ; and in Princess's Place was Princess's Chapel, with a tinkling bell, where sometimes as many aa five-and-twenty people attended service on a Sunday. The Princess's Arms was also there, and much resorted to by splendid footmen. A sedan chair was kept inside the railing before the Princess's Arms, but it had never come out within the memory of man ; and on fine mornings, the top of every rail (there were eight-and-forty, as Miss Tox had often counted) was decorated with a pewter-pot. There was another private house besides Miss Tox's in Princess's Place: not to mention an immense pair of gates, with an immense pair of lion-headed knockers on them, which were never opened by any chance, and were supposed to constitute a disused entrance to somebody's stables. Indeed, there was a smack of stabling in the air of Princess's Place ; and Miss Tox's bedroom (which was at the back) commanded a vista of mews, where hostlers, at whatever sort of work engaged, were continually accompanying themselves with effervescent noises ; and where the most domestic and confidential garments of coachmen and their wives and families, usually hung, like Macbeth's banners, on the outward walls. At this other private house in Princess's Place, tenanted by a retired butler who had married a housekeeper, apartments were let furnished, to a single gentleman : to wit, a wooden- featured, blue-faced major, with his eyes starting out of his head, in whom Miss Tox recognised, as she herself expressed it, " something so truly military ; " and between whom and herself, an occasional interchange of newspapers and pamphlets, and such Platonic dalliance, was effected through the medium of a dark servant of the major's, who Miss Tox was quite content to classify as a "native," without connecting him with any geographical idea whatever. Perhaps there never was a smaller entry and staircase, than the entry and staircase of Miss Tox's house. Perhaps, taken altogether, from top to bottom, it was the most inconvenient little house in Englaind, and the crookedest; but then, Miss Tox said, what a situation ! There was very little daylight to DOMBEY AND SON 261 be got there in the winter : no sun at the best of times : air was out of the question, and traffic was walled out. StUl Miss Tox said, think of the situation ! So said the blue-faced major, whose eyes were starting out of, his head: who gloried in Princess's Place: and who delighted to turn the conversation at his club, whenever he could, to something connected with some of the great people in the great street round the corner, that he might have the satisfaction of saying they were his neighbours. The dingy tenement inhabited by Miss Tox was her own ; having been devised and bequeathed to her by the deceased owner of the fishy eye in the locket, of whom a miniature portrait, with a powdered head and a pigtail, balanced the kettle-holder on opposite sides of the parlour fireplace. The greater part of the furniture was of the powde^red-head and pigtail period : comprising a plate-warmer, always languishing and sprawling its four attenuated bow-legs in somebody's way ; and an obsolete harpsichord, illuminated round the maker's name with a painted garland of sweet peas. Although Major Bagstock had arrived at what is called in polite literature, the grand meridian of life, and was proceeding on his journey downhiU with hardly any throat, and a very rigid pair of jaw-bones, and long-flapped elephantine ears, and his eyes and complexion in the state of artificial excitement already mentioned, he was mightily proud of a,wakening an interest in Miss Tox, and tickled his vanity with the fiction that she was a splendid woman, who had her eye on him. This he had several times hinted at the club: in connection with little jocularities, of which old Joe Bagstock, old Joey Bagstock, old J. Bagstock, old Josh Bagstock, or so forth, was the perpetual theme : it beings as it were, the major's stronghold and donjon- keep of light humour, to be on the most familiar terms with his own name. " Joey B., sir," the major would say, with a flourish of his walking-stick, "is worth a dozen of you. If you had a few more of the Bagstock breed among you, sir, you'd be none the worse for it. Old Joe, sir, needn't look far for a wife even now, if he was on the look-out ; but he's hard-hearted, sir, is Joe — he's tough, sir, tough, and de-vilish sly ! " After such a declaration wheezing sounds would be heard ; and the major's blue would deepen into purple, while his eyes strained and started convulsively. Notwithstanding hia very liberal laudation of himself, 262 DOMBEY AND SON however, the majbr was selfish. It may be doubted whether there ever was a more entirely selfish person at heart; or at stomach is perhaps a better expression, seeing that he was more decidedly endowed with that latter organ than with the former. He had no idea of being overlooked or slighted by anybody ; least of all, had he the remotest comprehension of being over- looked and slighted by Mis^ Tox. And yet, Miss Tox, as it appeared, forgot him — gradually forgot him. She began to forget him soon after her discovery of the Toodle family. She continued to forget him Up to the time of the christening. She went on forgetting him with Compound interest after that. Something or somebody had superseded him as a source of interest. " Good morning, ma'am," said the major, meeting Miss Tox in Princess's Place, some weeks after the changes chronicled in the last chapter. " Good morning, sir," said Miss Tox ; very coldly. " Joie Bagstock, ma'am," observed the major, with his usual gallantry, " has not had the happiness of bowing to you at your window, for a considerable petiod. Joe has been hardly used, ma'am. His sun has been behind a clOud." Miss Tox inclined her head ; but very coldly indeed. "Joe's luminary has been out of town, ma'am, perhaps," inquired the major. "II out of town 1 oh no, I have not been out of town," said Miss Tox. " I have been much engaged lately. My time is nearly all devoted to some very intimate friends, I am afraid I have none to sparfe, even now. Good morning, sir ! " As Miss Tox, with her most fascinating step and carriage, disappeared from Princess's Place, the major stood looking after her with a bluer face than ever : muttering and growling some not at all complimentary remarks. " Why, damme, sir," said the major, rolling his lobster eyes round and round Princess's Place, and apostrophising its fragrant air, " six months ago, the woman loved the ground Josh Bagstock walked on. What's the meaning of it ? " ' The major decided, after some consideration, that it meant man-traps ; that it meant plotting and snaring ; that Miss Tox was digging pitfalls. " But you won't catch Joe, ma'am," said the major. "He's tough, ma'am, tough, is J. B, Tough, and de-vUish sly ! " over which reflection he chuckled for the rest qf the day. DOMBEY AND SON 263 When Paul is six years old he is removed ffom the care of Mrs. Pipohin, a lady ■who keeps "an infantine boarding-house of a very select desoiipdon" at Brighton, to Doctor Blimbei's establishment in the same town. His father, sister, and Mrs. Pipchin take him to the school, and while Doctor Blimber accompanies his guests to the door, little Pa,nl remains seated on a table in the doctor's study, listening to the loud clock in the hall, which' seems to be gravely repeating the Doctor's inquiry, " How, is, my, lit, tie, friend ? how, is, my^ lit, tie, friend ? " nil Paul's education After the lapse of some ifliiiutes, which appeared an immense time to littl0 Paul Dombey on the table. Doctor Blimber came back. The Doctor's walk was stately, and calculated to impress the juvenile mind with solemn feeliiigs. , It was a sort of march ; but when the Doctor put out his right foot, he gravely turned upon his axis, with a semicircular sweep towards the left ; and when he put out hia left foot, he turned in the same manner towards the right. So that he seemed, at every stride he took, to look about him as though he were saying, " Can anybody have the goodness to indicate any subject, in any directSon, on which I am uninformed ? I rather think not." Mrs. Blimber and Miss Blimber came back in the Doctor's company ; and the Doctor, lifting his new pupil off the table, delivered him over to Miss Blimber. " Cornelia," said the Doctor, " Dombey will be your charge at first. Bring him on, Cornelia, bring him on." Miss Blimber received her young ward froln the Doctor's hands; and Paul, feeling that the spectacles were surveying him, cast down his eyes. " How old are yoii, Dombey ? " said Miss Blimber. " Six," answered Paul, wondering, as he stole a glance at the young lady, "^vhy her hair didn't growlong llike Florence's, and why she waS like a boy. " How much do you know of your Latin Grammar, Dom- bey ? " said Miss Blimber. " None of it/' answered Paul. Fefeling that the answer was a shock to Miss Blimber's sensibility, h6 looked up at the three faces that were looking down at him, and said : "I haven't been well. I have been a weak child. I couldn't learn a Latin Grammar when I was out, every day, with old 26+. DOMBEY AND SON Glubb. I wish you'd tell old Glubb to come and see me, if you please." " What a dreadfully low name ! " said Mrs. Blimber. " Un-, classical to a degree ! Who is the monster, child ? " " What monster ? " inquired Paul. " Glubb," said Mrs. Blimber, with a great disrelish. " He's no more a monster than you are," returned Paul. " What ! " cried the Doctor, in a terrible voice. " Aye, aye, aye? Aha! What's that?" Paul was dreadfully frightened ; but still he made a stand for the absent Glubb, though he did it trembling. " He's a very nice old man, ma'am," he said. " He used to draw my couch. He knows all about the deep sea, and the fish that are in it, and the great monsters that come and lie on rocks in the sun, and dive into the water again when they're startled, blowing and splashing so, that they can be heard for miles. There are some creatures," said Paul, warming with his subject, " I don't know how many yards long, and I forget their names, but Plorence knows, that pretend to be in distress ; and when a man goes near them, out of compassion, they open their great jaws, and attack him. But all he has got to do," said Paul, boldly tendering this information to the very Doctor himself, " is to keep on turning as he runs away, and then, as they turn slowly, because they are so long, and can't bend, he's sure to beat them. And though old Glubb don't know why the sea should make me think of my mamma that's dead, or what it is that it is always saying— always saying ! he knows a great deal about it. And I wish," the child concluded, with a sudden falling of his countenance, and failing in his animation, as he looked like one forlorn, upon the three strange faces, " that you'd let old Glubb come here to see me, for I know him very well, and he knows me." " Ha ! " said the Doctor, shaking his head : " this is bad, but study will do much." Mrs. Blimber opined, with something of a shiver, that he was an unaccountable child ; and, allowing for the difference of visage, looked at him pretty much as Mrs. Pipchin had been used to do. "Take him round the house, Cornelia," said the Doctor, "and familiarise him with his new sphere. Go with that young lady, Dombey." Dombey obeyed ; giving his hand to the abstruse Cornelia, and looking at her sideways, with timid curiosity, as they went DOMBEY AND SON 265 away together. For her spectacles, by reason of Ijhe glistening of the glasses, made her so mysterious, that, he didn't know where she was looking, and was not indeed quite sure that she, had any eyes at all, behind them. Comeha took him first to the schoolroom, which was situated at the back of the hall, and was approached through two baize doors, which deadened and muffled the young gentle- men's voices. Here, there were eight young gentlemen in various stages of mental prostration, all very hard at work, and very grave indeed. Toots, as an old hand, had a desk to himself in one corner : and a magnificent man, of immense age, he looked, in Paul's young eyes, behind it. Mr. Feeder, B.A., who sat at another little desk, had his Virgil stop on, and was slowly grinding that tune to four young gentlemen. Of the remaining four, two, who grasped their foreheads convulsively, were engaged in solving mathematical problems ; one with his face like a dirty window, from much crying, was endeavouring to flounder through a hopeless number of lines before dinner ; and one sat looking at his task in stony stupefaction and despair-; — which it seemed had been his con- dition ever since breakfast-time. The appearance of a new boy did, not create the sensation that might have been expected. Mr. Feeder, B.A. (who was in the habit of shaving his head for coolness, and had nothing but little bristles on it), gave him a bony hand, and told him he was glad to see him — which Paul would have been very glad to have told him, if he could have done so with the least sincerity. Then Paul, instructed by Cornelia, shook hands with the four young gentlemen at Mr. Feeder's desk; then with the two young gentlemen at work on the problems, who were very feverish ; then with the young gentleman at work against time, who was very inky ; and, lastly with the young gentleman in a state of stupefaction, who was flabby and quite cold. Paul having been already introduced to Toots, that pupil merely chuckled and breathed hard, as his custom was, and pursued the occupation in which he was engaged. It was not a severe one; for on account of his having "gone through"' so much (in more senses than one), and also of his ha,ving, as before hinted, left off blowing in his prime. Toots, now had licence to pursue his own course of st;udy : which was chiefly to write long letters to himself from persons of distinction, ad' dressed " P. Toots, Esquire, Brighton, Sussex," and to preserve them in his desk with great care. 266 DOMBEY AND SON These ceremonies passed, Cornelia led Paul up-stairs to the top of the house ; which was rather a slow journey, on account of Paul being obliged to land both feet on every stair, before he mounted another. But they reached their journey's end at last; and there, in a front-room, looking over the wild sea, Cornelia showed him a nice little bed with white hangings, close to the window, on which there was already beautifully written on a card in round text — down-strokes very thick, and up-strokes very fine — Dombey; while two other little bed- steads in the same room were announced, through like means, as respectively appertaining unto Bkiggs and Tozee. . Just as they got dbwh-stairs again into the hall, Paul saw the weak-eyed young man who had given that mortal offence to Mrs. Pipchin, suddenly seize a very large drumstick, and fly at a gong that was hanging, up, as if he had gone mad, or wanted vengeance. Instead of receiving warning, however, or being instantly taken into custody, the young man left off unchecked, after having made a dreadful noise. Then Cornelia Blimber said to Dombey thaj; dinner would be ready in a quarter of an hour, and perhaps he had better go into the schoolroom among his "friends." So Dombey, deferentially passing the great clock which was still as anxious as ever to know how he found himself, opened the schoolroom door a very little way, and strayed in, like a lost boy : shutting it after him with some difSculty. His friends were all dispersed about the room except the stony friend, who remained immovable. Mr. Feeder was stretching himself ta his grey gown, as if, regardless of expense, he were resolved to puU the sleeves off. . " Heigh ho hum 1 " cried Mr. Feeder,' shaking himself like a cart-horse, " oh dear me, dear me I Ya-a-a-ah ! " ' Paul was quite alarmed by Mr. Feeder's. yawning; it was done on such a great scale, and he was so terribly in earnest. All the boys too (Toots excepted) seemed knocked up, and were getting ready fpr dinner — some newly tying their neckcloths, which were Tery stiff indeed; and others ■washing their hands br brushing their hair, in an adjoining ante-chamber — as if they didn't think they should enjoy it dt 411. Young Toots who was ready beforehand,, and had therefore nothing to do, and had leisure to. bestow upon Paul, said, with heavy good-nature : " Sit down, Dombey." " Thank you, sir," said Paul. DOMBEY AND SON 267 His endeavouring to hoist himself on to a very high window- seat, and his slipping . down again, appeared to prepare Toots's mind for the reception of a discovery. " You're a very small chap," said Mr. Toots. "Yes, sir, I'm smaU," returned Paid. " Thank you, sir." For Toots had lifted him into the seat, and done it kindly too. ' "Who's your tailor?" inquired Toots, after looking at him for some moments. " It's a woman that has made my clothes as yet," said Paul. " My sister's dressmaker." "My tailor's Burgess and Co.," said Toots. "Fash'nable. But very dear." Paul had wit enough; to shake his head, as if he would have said it was easy to see that ; and indeed he thought so. " Your father's regularly rich, ain't he ? " inquired Mr. Toots. " Yes, SIT," said Paul, " He's Dombey and. Son." " And which ? " demanded Tbots. " And Son, sir," replied Paul. Mr. Toots made one or two attempts, in a low voice, to fix the firm in his mind ; but not quite succeeding, said he would get PaTil to mention the name again to-morrow morning, as it was rather important. And indeed he purposed nothi,ng less than writing himself a private and confidential letter from Dombey and Son immediately. By this time the other pupils (always excepting the stony boy) gathered round. They were polite, but pale; and spoke low ; and they were so depressed, in their spirits, that in com- parison with the general tone of that company. Master Bither- stone * was a perfect Miller, or Complete Jest Book. And yet he had a sense of injury upon him, too, had BitherstOne. "You sleep in my room, don't you?" asked a solemn young gentleman, vrhose shirt-collar curled up the lobes of his ears. " Master Briggs ? " inquired Pfeiul. " Tozer," said the young gentleman. Paul answered yes ; and Tozer, pointing out the stony pupil, said that was Briggs. Paul had already felt, certain that it must be either Briggs or Tozer, though he didn't know why. " Is yours a strong constitution ?." inquired Tozer. Paul said he thought not. Tozer replied that he thought not also judging from Paul's looks, and that it was a pity, fbr it need be. He then asked Paul if he were going to begin with * A young boarder at Mrs. tipohin's establishmentl 268 DOMBEY AND SON Cornelia ; &nd on Paul saying " yes," all the young gentlemen (Briggs excepted) gave a low groan. It was drowned in the tintinnahulation of the gong, which sounding again with great fury, there was a general move towards the dining-room ; stiQ excepting Briggs the stony hoy, who remained where he we^s, and as he was ; and on its way to whom Paul presently encountered a round of bread, genteelly served on a plate and napkin, and with a silver fork lying cross- wise on the top of it. Doctor Blimber was already in'his place in the dining-room, at the top of the table, with Miss Blimber and Mrs. Blimber on either side of him. Mr. Feeder in a black coat was at the bottom. Paul's chair was next to Miss Blimber ; but it being found, when he sat in it, that his eyebrows were not much above the level of the table-cloth, some books were brought in from the doctor's study, on which he was elevated, and on which he always sat from that time — carrying them in and out himself on after occasions, like a little elephant and castle. Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner began. There was some nice soup ; also roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every young gentleman had a massive silver fork, and a napkin ; and all the arrangements were stately and handsome. In particular, there was a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave quite a winey flavour to the table beer ; he poured it out so superbly. Nobody spoke, unless spoken to, except Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber, who conversed occasionally. Whenever a young gentleman was not actually engaged with his knife and fork or spoon, his eye, with an irresistible attrac- tion, sought the eye of Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, or Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. " Toots appeared to be the only ei^ception to this rule. He sat next Mr. Feeder on Paul's side of the table, and frequently looked behind and before the intervening boys to catch a glimpse of Paul. Only once duriug dinner was there any conversation that included the young gentlemen. It happened at the epoch of tlie cheesOj when the Doctor, having taken a glass of port wine, and hemmed twice or thrice, said : " It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Eomans " At the mention of this terrible -people, their implacable enemies, every young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the Doctor, with an assumption of the deepest interest. One of the number who happened to be drinking, and who caught the DOMBEY AND SON 269 Doctor's eye glaring at him through the side of his tumbler, left off so hastily that he was convulsed for some moments, and in the sequel ruined Doctor Blimber's point. " It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder," said , the Doctor, beginning again slowly, "that the Eomans, in those gorgeous and' prof use entertaimnents of which we read in the days of the emperors, when luxury had attained a height imknown before or since, and when whole provinces were ravaged to supply the splendid means of one imperial banquet " Here the offender, who had been swelling and straining,' and waiting in vain for a full stop, broke out violently. "Johnson," said Mr. Feeder, in a low reproachful voice, " take some water." , The Doctor, looking very stern, made a pause until the water was brought, and then resumed — " And when, Mr. Feeder " But Mr. Feeder, who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who knew that the Doctor would never come to a period before the young gentlemen until he had finished all he meant to say, couldn't keep his eye off Johnson ; -and thus was caught in the fact of not looking at the Doctor, who con- sequently stopped. " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Feeder, reddening. " I beg your pardon. Doctor Bliinber." " And when," said the Doctor, raisiilg his voice, " when, sir, as we read, and have no reason to doubt — incredible as it may appear to the- vulgar of our time — the brother of Vitellius prepared for him a feast, in which were served, 6f fish, two thousand dishes " " Take some water, Jphnfeon — dishes, sir," said Mr. Feeder, " Of various sorts of fowl, five thousand dishes." " Or try a crust of bread," said Mr. Feeder. " And one dish," pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his voice still higher as he looked aU round, the table, " called, from its enormous dimensions, the Shield of Minerva, and made, among other costly ingredients, of the brains of pheasants " " Ow, ow, ow I " (from JohnsonX "Woodcocks " " Ow, ow, ow ! " " The sounds of the fish called scan " " You'll burst some vessel in your head," said Mr. Feeder. " You had better let it come." '■■' "And this spawn of the lamprey, brought from the 270 DOMBEY AND SON Carpathian Sea/' pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice; " when we read of costly entertainments such as these, and still remember, that we have a Titus— — " "What would be your mother's feelings if you died of apoplexy ! " said Mr, Peeder. " A Domitian " " And you're blue, you know," said Mr. Feeder. " A Nero, a Tiberius, a Caligula, a Heliogabalus, and many more," pursued the Doctor; "it is, Mr. Feeder — ^if you are doing me the honour to attend — ^remarkable : very remarkable, sir But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst at that moment into such an overwhelming fit of coughing, that although both his immediate neighbours thumped him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself held a glass of water to his lips, and the butler walked him up and down several times between his own chair and the sideboard, like, a sentry, it was full five minutes before he was moderately composed, and then there was a profound silence. " Gentleman," said Doctor Blimber, " rise for grace ! Cor- nelia, lift Dombey down " — nothing of whom but his scalp was accordingly seen above the table-cloth. "Johnson will repeat to me to-morrow morning before breakfast, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first chapter of the Epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We wUl resume our studies, Mr. Feeder, in half an hour." The young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. Mr. Feeder did likewise. During the half-hour, the young gentlemen, broken into pairs, loitered arm-in-arm up and down a small piece of ground behind the house, or endeavoured to kindle a spark of animation in the breast of Briggs. But nothing happened so vulgar as play. Punctually at the appointed time, the gong was sounded, and the studies, under the joint auspices of Doctor Blimber and Mr. Feeder, were resumed. As the Olympic game of lounging up and down had been cut shorter than usual that day, on Johnson's account, they all went out for a walk before tea. Even Briggs (though he hadn't begun yet) partook of this dissipation ; in the enjoyment of which he looked over the cliff two or three times darkly. Doctor Blimber accompanied them ; and Paul had the honour of being taken in tow by the Doctor himself ; a distinguished state of things, in which he looked very little and feeble. Tea was served in a style no less polite than the, dinner j DOMBEY ANDi . SQN 271 and after tea,, the young gentlemen rising and bowing as before, withdrew to fetch up the unfinished taska of that day, or to get up the akeady looming tasks of to-morrow. In thp meantime Mr. Feeder withdrew to h;s own room;, and Paul sat in a corner wondering whether Florence was thipking of him, and what they were aU about at Mrs. Pipchin's. , Mr. Toots, who had been detained by an important letter, from the Duke of WeUington, fofu^^d P9.UI out after a time j and having looked at him: for a long while, as before, inquired if he. was fond of waistcoats. , ; Paul said " Yes, sir." , , "SoamI,".s,aidToots. , . . .^ No word more spake Toots thatnight; buthe stood lopking at Paul as if he liked him; and as tWre was; company in that, and Paul was not inclined to t?i]Js,it answered hia purpose better than conversation. , . , , At eight o'clock or so, the gong sounded; again fpr prayers in the dining-room, where the bulkier afterwards presided over a side-table, on which bread and cheese and beer were, spread for st^ch young geptlemen as desire^, to partake of those re- freshments. The ceremonies concluded by the Doetpr's saying, " Gentlemen, we will resun^e our studies at seven tOi-morrow ; " and then, for the first timp, Paul sa\\( Qpifaelia Blimber's eye, and saw that it was upon him. When the Doctor had ,sa,id these words, " (3-entlemen, we will resume our studies at seven to-morrow/' the pupils bowed again,, and went to bed. , . 1 , In the confidence of their own room up-stairg, Briggs said his head ached ready to split, and that he should wish himself dead if it wasn't for his mother, and a blfickbird he had at home. Tozer, didn't say much, but he sighed a good deal, and told Paul to look oiit, for his turn would come to-morrow. After uttering those prophetic words, he undressed himself moodily, and got into bed. Briggs was in his bed too, and Paul in his bed too, before the weak-eyed: young man appeared to take away the candle, when he wished them good night and pleasant dreams. But his benevolent wishes were in vain, as far as Briggs and Tozer were concerned; for Paul, who lay awake for a long while, and often woke afterwards, found thati Briggs was ridden by his lepson as a nightmare rand that Tozer, who6& mind, was affected in h^s sleep by similar causes, in a minor degree, taUced unknown tongues, or scraps of Greek and Latin-;-it was all one to Paul— which, in the silence of night, had an inexpressibly wicked and guijlty effect. 272 DOMBEY AND SON Paul had sunk into a sweet sleep, and dreamed that he was walking hand in hand with Florence through beautiful gardens, when they came to a large sunflower which suddenly expanded itself into a gong, and began to gbund.. Opening his eyes, he found that it was a dark, windy morning, with a drizzling rain : and that the real gong was giving dreadful note of preparation, down in the hall. So he got up directly, and found Briggs with hardly any eyes, for nightmare and grief had made his face puffy, putting Ms boots on: while Tozer stood shivering and rubbing his shoulders in a very bad humour. Poor Paul couldn't dress himseK easily, not being used to it, and asked them if they would have the goodness to tie some strings for him ; but as Briggs merely said " Bother ! " and Tozer, " Oh yes ! " he went down when he was otherwise ready, to the next story, where he saw a pretty young woman in leather gloves, cleaning a stove. The young wdman seemed surprised at his appearance, and asked hiin where his mother was. When Paul told her she was dead, she took her gloves off, and did what he wanted ; and furthermore rubbed his hands to warm them; and gave him a kiss ; and told him whenever he wanted anything of that sort — meaning in the dressing way — to ask for 'MeKa; which Paul, thanking her very much, said he certainly would. He then proceeded softly on his journey down-stairs, towards the room in which the young gentlemen resumed their studies, when, pass- ing by a door that stood ajar, a voice from within cried, " Is that Dombey ? " , On Paul replying, " Yes, ma'am : " for he knew the voice to be Miss Blimber's: Miss Blimber said, "Come in, Dombey." And in he went. Miss Blimber presented exactly the appearance she had pre- sented yesterday, except that she wore a shawl. Her little light curls were as crisp as ever, and she had already her spectacles on, which made Paul wonder whether she went to bed in them. She had a cool little sitting-room of her own up there, with some books in it, and no fire. But Miss Blimber was never cold, and never sleepy. " Now, Dombey," said Miss Blio^ber, " I am going out for a constitutional" • Paul wondered what that was, and why she didn't send the footman out to get it in such unfavourable weather. But he made no observation on the subject : his attention being devoted to a little pile of new books on which Miss Blimber appeared to have been recently engaged. DOMBEY AND SON 273 " These are yours, Dombey," said Miss Blimber. "All of 'em, ma'am ? " said Paul. " Yes," returned Miss Blimber ; " and Mr. Feeder will look you out some more very soon, if you are as studious as I expect you will l)e, Dombey." " Thank you, ma'am," said Paul. " I am going out for a constitutional," resumed Miss Blimber ; " and while I am gone, that is to say in the interval between this and breakfast, Dombey, I wish you to read over what I have marked in these books, and to tell me if you quite understand what you have got to learn. Don't lose time, Dombey, for you have none to spare, but take them down-stairs, and begin directly." " Yes, ma'am," answered Paul. There were so many of them, that although Paul put one hand under the bottom book and his other hand and his chin on the top book, and hugged them all closely, the middle book slipped out before he reached the door, and then they all tumbled down on the floor. Miss Blimber said," Oh, Dombey, Dombey, this is really very careless ! " and piled them up afresh for him ; and this time, by dint of balancing them with great nicety,: Paul got out of the room, and down a few stairs before two of them escaped again. But he held the rest so tight, that he only left one more on the first floor, and one in the passage ; and when he had got the main body down into the schoolroom, he set oif up- stairs again to collect the stragglers. Having at last amassed the whole library, and climbed into his place, he fell to work, encouraged by a remark from Tozer to the effect that he " was in for it now ; " which was the only interruption he received till breakfast-time. At that meal, for which he had no appetite^ everything was quite as solemn and genteel as at the others ; and when it was finished, he followed Miss Blimber up-stairs. " Now, Dombey," said Miss Blimber. " How have you got on with those books ? " They comprised a little English, and a deal of Latin — names of things, declensions of articles and substantives, exercises thereon, and preliminary rules — a trifle of orthography, a glance at ancient history, a wink or two at modern ditto, a few tables, two or three weights and measures, and a little general informa- tion. When poor Paul had spelt out number two, he found he had no idea of number one; fragments whereof afterwards obtruded themselves into number three, which slided into number four, which grafted itself on to number two. So that T 274 DOMBEY AND SON whether twenty Eomuluses made a Eemus, or hie hsec hoc was troy weight, or a verb always agreed with an ancient Briton, or three times four was Taurus a bull, were open questions with him. " Oh, Dombey, Dombey ! " said Miss Blimber, " this is very shocking." " If you' jflease," said Paul, " I think if I might sometimes talk a little to old Glubb, I should be able to do better." " Nonsense, Dombey," said Miss Blimber. " I couldn't hear of it. This is not the place for Glubbs of any kind. You must take the books down, I suppose, Dombey, one by 6ne, and per- fect yourself in the day's instalment of subject A, before you turn at all to subject B. And now take away the top book, if you please, Dombey, and return when you are master of the theme." Miss Blimber expressed her opinions on the subject of Paul's uninstruoted state with a gloomy delight, as if she had expected this result, and were glad to find that they must be in constant communication. Paul withdrew with the top task, as he was told, and laboured away at it, down below ; sometimes remem- bering every word of it, and sometimes forgetting it aU, and everything else besides: until at last he ventured up-stairs again to repeat the lesson, when it was nearly all driven out of his head before he began, by Miss Blimber's shutting up the book, and saying, " Go on, Dombey 1 " a proceeding so suggestive of the knowledge inside of her, that Paul looked upon the young Jady with consternation, as a kind of learned Guy Faux, or .artificial Bogle, stuffed full of scholastic straw. He acqiutted himself very well, nevertheless; and Miss Blimber, commending him as giving promise of getting on fast, immediately provided him with subject B ; from which he passed to C, and even D before dinner. It was hard work, resuming his studies, soon after dinner ; and he felt giddy and confused and drowsy and dull. But all the other youngl gentlemen had similar sensations, and were obliged to resume their studies too, if there were any comfort in that. It was a wonder that the great clock in the hall, instead of being constant to its first inquiry, never said, "Gentlemen, we wiU now resume our studies," for that phrase was often enough repeated in its neigh- bourhood. The studies went round like a mighty wheel, and the young gentlemen were always stretched upon it. i After tea there were exercises again, and preparations for next day by candle-light. And in due course there was bed; DOMBEY AND SON 275 where, but for thatjesumpibipn of the studies which took place in ijrearas, were rest and sweet forgetJEulness, . Oh Saturdays ! Oh happy Saturdays, when Florence always came at noon, and never would, in any weather, stay away, though Mrs. Pipchin snarled and growled, and wor;cied her bitterly. Those, Saturdays were Sabbaths for at least two little Ghristians among ajl the: Jews, and did the holy Sabbath Work of strengthening and knittingtijpia brother's and a sister's love. ' iNot even Sunday, nights^^ha^ heavy Sunday nights^ whose shadow dairkened ■. the first waking burst of light on Sunday mornings — could mar those precious. Saturdays. Whether it was the great sea-shore, where they* sat, and strolled together ; or whether it was only Mrs. Pipchm's dull back-room, in which she sang to him sO softly,: with his drowsy head upon her arm ; Paul never cared. It was Florence. That was all he thought of. So, on Sunday nights, when the Doctor's dark door stood agape to sWaJ,low him up for another week, the time was come for taking leave- of Florence ; no one else, i .Mrs. Wickam* had been drafted home to the house in town, and Miss Mpper, now a smart young woman, had come down. To many a single combat with Mrs. Pipchin, did Miss Nipper gallantly devote herself ; and if ever Mrs, Pipchin in all her lif6 had found her matchii she; had fotmd it now. Miss Nipper threw. away the scabbaJEd the first morning, she arose in Mrs. Pipchin's house. ! She asked and gave no quarter. She said it must be war, and war it was; and Mrs, Pipchin lived from that timie in : the midst of surprises, . harassings, and defiances, and skirmishing attacks that caine bouncing in upon her from the passage, even in unguarded moments of chops, and carried.desolation to, her very toast. ! Miss Nipper had. returned one Sunday night with Florence, from iwalking back with Paul to the Doctor's, when Florence todk from her bosom a little piece of paper, on which she had pencilled down some words* -',■,■'■■ ; ■<■■ "See here, Susan," she s said. ; "These are the names of the little books that Paul brings home to do those long exercises with, when Tieiis so tired. I copied them last; night while he was. writing." > . ' ' >. • . v Don't show 'em to me, Miss Floy, if you please," returned Nipper, " Td' as soon see Mxs. Pipchin.f' . . ; "I want you to buy them for me, I Susan, if you. will, to^ morrow morning, I have money enough,'' said Florence. ■' i!,iL>. • Paul's nurse. ., 276 DOMBEY AND SON "Why, goodness gracious me, Miss Floy," returned Miss Nipper, " how can you talk like that, when you have books upon books already, and masterses and missesses a teaching of you everything continual, though my belief is that your pa, Miss Dombey, never would have learnt you nothing, never would have thought of it, unless you'd asked him — ^when. he couldn't well refuse ; but giving consent when asked, and offering when unasked, miss, is quite two things ; I may not have my object- tions to a young man's keeping company with me, and when he puts the question, may say ' yes,' but that's not saying ' would you be so kind as like me.' " "But you can buy me the books, Susan; and you wiU, when you know I want them." " Well, miss, and why do you want 'em ? " replied Nipper j adding, in a lower voice, "If it was to fling at Mrs. Pipchin'a head, I'd buy a cart-load." " I think I could perhaps give Paul some help, Susan, if I had these books," said Florence, "and make the coming week a little easier to him. At least I want to try. So buy them for me, dear, and I will never forget how kind it was of you to doit!" It must have been a harder heart than Susan Nipper's that could have rejected the little purse Florence held out with thesei words, or the gentle look of entreaty with which she seconded her petition. Susan put the purse in her pocket without reply, and trotted out at once upon her errand. The books were not easy to procure: and the answer at several shops was, either that they were just out of them, or that they never kept them, or that they had had a great many last month, or that they expected a great many next week. But Susan was not easily baffled in such an entei^risei ; and having entrapped a white-haired youth, iii a black calico apron, from a library where she was known, to accompany her in her quest, she led him such a life in going up and down, that he exerted himself to the utmost, if it were only to. get rid of her ; and finally enabled her to return home in triumj)h. With these treasures then, after her own daily lessons were over, Florence sat down at night to track Paul's footsteps through the thorny ways of learning; and being possessed of a naturally quick and sound capacity, and taught by that most wonderful of masters, love, it was not long, before she gained upon Paul's heels, and caught and passed him. . Not a word of this was breathed to Mrs. Pipchin : but many DOMBEY AND SON 277 a night when they were all in bed, and when Miss Nipper, with herihair in papers and herself asleep in some uncomfortable atti- tude, reposed unconscious by her sidS ; and when the chinking ashes in the grate were cold and grey; and when the candles were burnt down and guttering out | — Florence tried so hard to be a substitute for one small Dombey, that her fortitude and perseverance might have almost won her a free right to bear the name herself. And high was her reward, when one Saturday evening, as little Paul was sitting down as usual to "resume his studies," she sat down .by his side, and showed him all that was so rough, made smooth, and all that was so dark, made clear and plain, before him. It was nothing but a startled look in Paul's wan face — a flush — a smile — and then a close embrace — but God knows how her heart leaped up at this rich payment for her trouble. "Oh, Floy! " cried her brother, "how I love you! How I love you, Floy ! " "And I you, dear!" " Oh ! I am sure of that,_ Floy."^ He said no more about it, but all that evening sat close by her, very quiet ; and in the night he called out from his little room within hers, three or four times, that he loved her. Poor little Paul Dombey lived only a short time after leaving Doctor Blimber's school for the holidays; the delicate boy gradually faded away and died in his sister's arms. ' It is now some time since his death, and Mr. Dombey is about to be married to Edith Granger, the widowed daughter of Mrs. Skewton, to whom he was introduced by Major Bagstock. Florence hopes much from this marriage, ior Edith, although cold and haughty in her manner to most ' people, has been kind to her ; and she dreams that she may yet reach to a place in her father's^ heart, thi'ongh the gracious influence of his beautiful wife. ■' IV MR. DOMBEy's marriage Dawn, with its passionless blank face, steals shivering to the church beneath which lies the dust of little Paul and his mother, and looks In at the windows, It is cold and dark. Night 278 DOMBEY AND SON crouches yet, upon the paivement, and broods; sombre and heavy, in nooks and corners of the building. The steeple-clock, perched up above the houses, emergi:^ from beneath another of the countless ripples in the tide'wS time that regularly roll and break on the eternal shore, is greyly visible, like a stone beacon; recording how the sea flows on ;- but within doors, dawn, at first, can only peep at night, and see that it is there. Hovering feebly round the church, and looking in, dawn moans and weeps for its short reign, and its tears trickle on the window-glass, and the trees against the church-wall bow their heads, and wring their many hands in sympathy. Night, grow- ing pale before it, gradually fades out of the church, but Imgers in the vaults below, and sits upon the cofi&ns. And now comes bright day, burnishing the steeple-clock, and reddeining the spire, and drying up the tears of dawn, and stifling its complaining; and the scared dawn, followiug the night, and chasing it from its last refuge, shrinks into, the vaults itself and hides, with a frightened face, among the dead, until night returns, refreshed, to drive it out. ' ' ■.> And now, the mice, who have been' busier with 4h6 prayer- books than their proper owners, and with the hassocks, more worn by their little teeth than by human knees, hide their bright eyes in their holes, and gather close together in affright at i the re- sounding clashing of the church-door. For the beadle, that man of power, comes early this morning with the sexton ; and Mrs. Miff, the wheezy little pew-opener — a mighty dry old lady, sparely dressed, with not an inch of fulness anywhere about her -^is also here, and has been waiting at the church'-gater half an hour, as her place isj for the beadle. A vinegary face has Mrs. Miff, and a mortified bonnet, and eke a thirsty soul for sixpences and shillings. Beckoning to stray people to come into pews, has, given- ]\^s, Miff, an air of mystery; and there is reservation in the eye of Mrs. Miff, as always knowing of a softer seat, but, having her suspicions of the fee. There is no such fact as Mr. Miff, nor has there been, these twenty years, and Mrs. Miff would rather not allude to him. He held some bad opinions, it would seem, about free seats ; and though Mrs. Miff hopes he may be gone upwards, she couldn't positively undertake to say so, . Busy is Mrs. Miff this morning at the church-door, beatrag and dusting- the altar-cloth, the carpet, and the ■cushions';rand much has Mrs; Miff to say, about the wedding they are going to have. Mrs.' Miff is told, that the new furniture and alteration,s DOMBEY AND SON 279 in tlie house cost Ml five thousand pound if they cost a penny ; and Mrs. Miff has heard, upon the best authority, that the lady hasn't got a sixpence wherewithal to bless herself. Mrs. Miff remembers, likewise, as if it had happened yesterday, the first wife's funeral, and then' the christeiiing, and then the other funeral; and Mrs. Miff says, by the bye She'll soap-and- water that 'ere tablet presently, amidst the company arrive. Mr. Sownds, the beadle, who is sittings in the sun upon the church steps all this time (and seldom does anything else, except,, in cold weather, sitting by the fire), approves (rf Mrs. Miff's discourse, and asks if Mrs. Miff has heard it said, that the lady is uncommon handsome? The information Mrs. Miff has received, being of this nature, Mr. Sownds the beadle, who, though orthodox and corpulent, is still an admirer of female beauty, observes, with unction, yes, he hears she is a spanker — an expression that seems somewhat forcible to Mrs. Miff, or would, from any lips but those of Mr. Sownds the beadle. In Mr. Dombey's house, at this same time, there is great stir and bustle, more especially among the women: not one of whom has had a wink of sleep since four o'elocki and all of whom were fuU dressed before six. Mr. Towlinson * is an object of greater consideration than usual to the housemaid, and the cook says at breakfast-time that one wedding makes manyj which the housemaid can't believe, and don't think true at all. Mr. Towlinson reserves his sentiments on this question ; being rendered sotaethirig- gloomy by the engagement of a foreigner with whiskers (Mr, Towlinson is whiskerless himself), who had been hired to accompany the happy pair to Paris, and who is busy packing the new chariot. In respect of this per- sonage, Mr. TowHnson admits, presently, that he never knew of any good that ever come of foreigners ; and being charged by the ladies with prejudice, says, look at Bonaparte who was at the head of 'em, and see what he was always up to ! Which the housemaid says is very true. ■ The pastry-cook is hard at work in the funereal room in Brook Street, and the very taU young men are busy looking on; One of the Very tall young men already smells of sherry, and his eyes have a tendency to become fixed in his head, and to stare at objects without seeing them. The very tall young man is conscious of this failing in himself ; and informs his comrade that it's his " exciseman." The very taU young man would say excitement, but his speech isi hazy. * A footman. 28o DOMBEY AND SON The men who play the bells have got scent of the marriage ; and the marrow-bones and cleavers too ; and a brass band too. The first, are practising in a back settlement near Battle Bridge ; the second, put themselves in communication, through their chief, with Mr. Towlinson, to whom they offer terms to be bought off; and the third, in the person of an artful trombone, lurks and dodges round the corner, waiting for some traitor tradesman to reveal the place and hour of breakfast, for a bribe. Expectation and excitement extend further yet, and take a wider range. From Balls Pond, Mr. Perch * brings Mrs. Perch to spend the day with Mr. Dombey's servants, and accompany them, surreptitiously, to see the wedding. In Mr. Toots's lodg- ings, Mr. Toots attires himseK as if he were at least the bride- groom ; determined to behold the spectacle in splendour from a secret corner of the gallery, and thither to convey the Chicken ; t for it is Mr. Toots's desperate intent to point out Florence to the Chicken, then and there, and openly to say, " Now, Chicken, I will not deceive you any longer ; the friend I have sometiines mentioned to you is myself; Miss Dombey is the object of my passion ; what are your opinions. Chicken, in this state of things, and what, on the spot, do you advise ? " The so-much-to-be- astonished Chicken, in the meanwhile, dips his beak into a tankard of strong beer, in Mr. Toots's kitchen, and pecks up two pounds, of beefsteaks. In Princess's Place, Miss Tox is up and doing ; for she too, though in sore distress, is resolved to put a shilling in the hands of Mrs. Miff, and see the ceremony which has a cruel fascination for her, from some lonely corner. The quarters of the wooden midshipman are all alive ; for Captain Cuttle, in his aiikle-jacks and with a huge shirt collar, is seated at his breakfast, listening to Eob the Grinder $ as he reads the marriage service to him beforehand, under orders, to the end that the captain may perfectly understand the solemnity he is about to witness : for which purpose, the captain gravely lays injunctions on his chaplain, from time to time,, to " put, about," or to " overhaul that 'ere article again," or to stick to his own duty, and leave the Amens to him, the captain ; one of which he repeats, whenever a pause is made by Eob the Grinder, with sonorous satisfaction. Besides all this, and much more, twenty nursery-maids in Mr. Dombey's street alone, have promised twenty families of • Mr. Dombey's messenger. t The Game Chicken : Mr. Toots's sporting friend. j Son oflittle Paul's foster-mother. DOMBEY AND SON 281 little ■women, whose instinctive iaterest in nuptials dates from their cradles, that they shall go and see the marriage. Truly, Mr. Sownds the beadle has good reason to feel himself in ofi&ce, as he suns his portly figure on the church steps> waiting for the marriage hour. Truly, Mrs. Miff has cause to pounce on an unlucky dwarf chUd, with a giant baby^ who peeps in at the porch, and drive her forth with indignation ! Cousin Feenix* has come over from abroad, expressly to attend the marriage. Cousin Feenix was a man about town, forty years ago ; ^ but he is still so juvenile in figure and in manner, and so well got up, that strangers, are amazed when they discover latent wrinkles in his lordship's face, and crows' feet in his eyes ; and first observe him^ not exactly certain when he walks across a room, of going quite straight to where he wants to go. But cousin Feenix,; getting, up at half -past seven o'clock or soj is quite another thmg irom cousin Feenix got up ; and very dim, indeed, he looks, while being shaved at Long's Hotel, in Bond Street. , , Mr. Dombey leaves his dressing-robm, amidst a general whisking away of the women on the staircase, who disperse in aU directions, with a great rustling of skirts, except MrSi Perch, who, being (but that she always is) in an interesting situation, is not nimble, and is obliged to face him, and is ready to sink with confusion as she curtseys; — may Heaven avert all evil consequences from the house of Perch! Mr. Dombey walks up to the drawing-room, to bide. Ms 1 time; (SrorgCous are Mr. Dombey's new blue coat, fawn-coloured pantaloons, and lilac waistcoat ; and a. whisper goes about the house, that Mr. Doinbey's hair is curled. A double knock announces the arrival of the major,, who is gorgeous too, and wears a whole geranium in his button-hole^ and has his hair curled tight and crisp, as well the native knows. " Bombey ! " says the major, putting out both hands, " How are you ? " " Major," says Mr. Dombey, " how are You ! " " By Jove, sir," says the major, " Joey B. is. in such case this morning, sir," — and here he hits himself hard, upon ; the breast — "in such case this morning,. sir, that, damme, Dombey, he has half a mind to make a double marriage of it, sir, and take the mother." .;: ■ Mr, Dombey smile?; but faintly, even for him; for Mr. • Edith's cousin. ,. ■ ' 282 DOMBEY AND SON Dombey feels that he is going to be related to the mother, and that,' under those ciroumstarioes, she' is not to be joked about. "Dombey," is'ays the major, seeing this, "I give you. joy. I congratulate you, Dombey. By the Lord, sir," ^ays the major, "you are more to be envied, this day, than any man in England ! " ■ ' Here again Mr. Dombey's assent is qualified; because he is going to confer a great distinction on a lady;. and, no, doubt, she is to be envied most. . ' ; ) "As to Edith Granger, sir," pursues the major, "thfere is not a woman in all Europe but might— ^and would, sir, you will allow Bagstock to add— audi would give her ears, and her ear-rings, too, t6 be in Edith Granger's place." " You are good enough t& say so, major," says Mr. Domibey, ; "Dombey," returns the inajdr, "you know it. Let us have no false delicacy. You know it. Do you know it, or do you not, Dombey ? " say's the major, almost in a passion. " Oh, really, major — — " "Damme, sir," retorts the major, "do you know that fact; or do you not? Dombey! Is old Joe your friend? Are we on that footing of nrirelqerved intimacy, Dombey, that may justify a man — a blunt old Joseph B., sir— in; speaking out ; or am I to take open order, Dombey, and to keep my distance, and to stand on forms ? " '■ ( , , ' "My dear Major Bagstock," says Mr. Dombey^ with ' a gratified air, "you are quite warm." ' ' "By Gad, sir," says the major,' "I am wairm. Joseph B. does hot deny it, Dombey. He is. warm. This is an occasion; sir,. that calls forth all the honest sympathies remaining in an old, infernal, battered, used up, invalided, J. B. carcase. .And I tell you what, Dombey — at such a time a man must blurt out what he feels, or put a muzzle on; and Joseph. Bagstock tells you to your face; iDombey, as he tells his club behind; your back, that he never will be muzzled when Paul Dombey is in questibn. Now, dainme, sir?," concludes the major, with great firmness, " what do you make of that ? " - , ;. ., " Major," says Mr.' Dombey, " I assure you that I am really obliged to you. -I had no ideaf of 'checking your > loo, partial friendship." " ' "• ; ■ - ■.'' "Not too partial, sir!" exclaims the choleric major. " Dombeyi, r deny it." i. "Your friendship I will say then," pursues Mr. Dombey, ''on any account. Nor can I forget^ major, on Buch an occasion as the present, how much I am indebted to it." DOMBEY AND SON ^83 " Domb&y," says the major, with appropriate action, " that is the hand of Joseph Bagatock:. of plaiti old Joey B., sir, if you like that better!' That is' th^: hand of which His Eoyal Highness the late Duke of Yorkidid me the honour to ohservei sir, to His Eoj^al Highness, the late Duke of Kent, that, it was the hand o£ Josh. : a rough and tough, and .possibly an uip-tOT snuff, old vagabond, Dbmbey,! may the present moment be the least unhappy of our lives..' Godibless yoU,!"'^: :■ ■ , , . Now enters Mtj Carker,^' gbrgeous' likewise; ar^d .smUinglike a wedding-guest indeed. He. can scarcely let Mr. iDombey's hand go, he is so congratulatory ; and he shakes; the; imajor's hand so heartily at the same time; that 'his voice shakes too, in accord with his aims, as it' comes sliding jCxord between his teeth. ■ ■• '"■> ■ ■ ■■..{ji .;■ ' ' , '1 ■. , . ' ■, ■ , , " The very day is auspicious,"- says Mr. , Oarker: " The brightest and inost 'genial vi'eather ! I hopsijl iam inot a moment late?" ■ ' ' ■ ■'-■ - . . ■,,(» " Punctual to your time, sirj" says the major. ,1 , ■ lo . ,1 " I am rejoiced, I am sure," says .Mr. iQarfceri/ ;" I was afraid I might be a few/seGondsi after the fl,pipt)inted- tinl6ii foyifl; was delayed by a procession of waggons; 'apd I :tOQk the liberty Of riding! tound to Brook Stfeef-^this tO!Mr.!Dombey-ir^''to leave a few poor rarities of flowers for Mrs. Dombey,, A man in my position, and so distinguished as to be invited here, is proud to offer some homage in iacknowledgment of Ms i^assalage f '^and as I have no doubt Mrs. Dombey is iOverwhelmed with what is costly and magnificent;?' with Tastifange- glance at his ipatroQ;; "I hope the ; very poverty -ef: my offering, may find favour for it."' ' '"'i ;.M'^ ••-.' ■ li,' ■::■ ■.:,,! . ..,,rr v, "Mrs. Dombey, that is to be," returns Mr. Doiilbey, con- descendingly, " wili be' very senaiblfe of your attention, Caxker, I am sure." '■' '' .■■' ■ 1' i-' - .-ic .'; "And if she is to be 'Mrs. ^Dombey this morning, sir," says the major,' putting down hisoofffee-^cupi and looking>at his watch, "it's high time we were off!:" ,■■■■ ' > -■' 'in ;■.,";■ iii Forth, in a barouche,' ^ ride M±. Dombey, Major Bag^took, and Mr.' Carker, to the church.i Mr. Sbwnds jfchfe beiadie has long risen' froni the ' steps^ and is in waiting Tvith 1 fhis! cooked hat in his hand. MrsiMiff curtseys and proposes chains in the vestry. Mr. Dombey- prefers remaioing in the' chilrbh.; As he looks lip at the organ,. Mrss' Tox iin; the gallery shrinks 'behind the fat leg of a cherub on a monumerity . with cheeks like a •' ' ' ^ Mr. Dombey's business manager. ,i - 284 DOMBEY AND SON young Wind. Captain Cuttle, on the contrary, stands up and waves his hook, in token of welcome and encouragement. Mr. Toots informs the Chicken, behind his hand, that the middle gentleman, he in the fawn-coloured pantaloons, is the father of his love. The Chicken hoarsely whispers Mr, Toots that he's as stiff a cove as ever he see, but that it is within the resources of Science to double him up, with one blow in the waistcoat. Mr. Sownds and Mrs. Miff are eyeing Mr. Dombey from a little distance, when the noise of approaching wheels is heard, and Mr. Sownds goes out, Mrs. Miff, meeting Mr. Dombey's eye as it is withdrawn from the presumptuous maniac up-stairs, who salutes him with so much urbanity, drops a curtsey, and informs him that she believes his " good lady " is come. Then there is a crowding and a whispering at the door, and the good lady enters, with a haughty step. There is no sign upon her face, of last night's suffering ; there is no trace in her manner, of the woman on the bended knees reposing her wild head, in beautiful abandonment, upon the pillow of the sleejang girl. That girl, all gentle and lovely, is at her side — a striking contrast to her own disdainful and defiant figure, standing there, composed, erect, inscrutable of will, resplendent and majestic in the zenith of its channs, yet beating down, and treading on, the admiration that it challenges. ... < i " 'Who giveth this woman to be married to this man ? ' " Cousin Feenix does that. He has come from Baden- Baden on purpose. " Confound it," cousin Feenix, says — good- natured creature, cousin Feenis— " when we do get a rich City fellow into the family, let us show him some attention ; let us ■do something for him." " / give this woman to be inarried to this man," saith cousin Feenix therefore. Cousin Feenix, meaning to go in a straight line, but turning off sideways by reason of his wilful legs, gives the wrong woman to be married to this man, at first — to wit, a bridesmaid of some condition, distantly connected with the family, and ten years Mrs. Skewtbn'^ junior— but Mrs. Miff, interposing her mortified - bonnet, dexterously turns him back, and runs him, as on castors, full at the "good lady:" whom cousin Feenix giveth to be married to this man accordingly. And will they in the sight of heaven— — ? Aye, that they will : !&. Dombey says he will. And what says Edith? /S%,ewill; , ■ So, from that day forward^ for better for worse, for richer for DOMBEY AND SON 285 poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, tiU. death do them part, they plight their troth to one another, and are married. In a firm, free hand, the bride subscribes her name in the register, when they adjourn to the vestry. " There an't a many ladies comes here," Mrs. Miff says with a curtsey— to look at Mrs. Miff, at such a season, is to make her mortified bonnet go down with a dip — "writes their names like this good lady I" Mr. Sownds the beadle thinks it is a truly spanking signature, and worthy of the writer — this, however, between himself and conscience. Florence si^s too, but unapplauded, for her hand shakes. All the party sign; Cousin Feenix last; who puts his noble name into a wrong place, and enrols himself as having been born that morning. ... The carjiages are once more at the church door. Mr. Dombey, with his bride upon his arm, conducts her through the twenty families of little women who are on the steps, and every one of whom remembers the fashion and the colour of her every article of dress from that moment, and reproduces it on her doll, who is for ever being married. Cleopatra * and cousin Feenix enter the same carriage. The major hands into a second carriage, Florence, and the bridesmaid who so narrowly escaped being given away by mistake, and then enters it him- self, and is followed by Mr. Oarker. . Horses prance and cap6r ; coachmen and footmen shine in fluttering favours, flowers, and new-made liveries. Away they dash and rattle through the streets : and as they pass along, a thousand heads are turned to look at thein, and a thousand sober moralists revenge themselves for not being married too, that morning, by re- flecting that these people little think such happiness can't last. Miss Tox emerges from behind the cherub's leg, when all is quiet, and comes slowly down from the gallery. Miss Tox'a eyes are red, and ier pocket-handkerchief is damp. She is wounded, but not exasperated, and she hopes they may be happy. She quite admits to herself the. ^beauty of the bride, and her own comparatively feeble and faded attractions ; but the stately image of Mr. Dombey in his lilac waistcoat, and his fawri-coloured pantaloons, is present to her mind, and Miss Tox weeps afresh, behind her veil, on her way home to Princess's Place. Captain Cuttle, having joined in all the amens and • Mis. Skewton. ' 386 DOMBEY AND SON responses, with a devoilt growl, feels much improved .by, his Migious exercises; and in a peaceful fralme of mind, pervades the body of the church, glazed hat in hand, and reads the tablet' to the memory of littlfe^Paul. The gallant Mr. Toots, attended by the faithful Chicken, leaves the buildiog in torments of love. The Chicken is as yet.unable to elaborate a scheme for wiiming Elorence, but ihis first idea has gained ^dssessioh of him, and he thinks the doubling up of , Mr. Dombey would be a move in the right direction. Mr. Dombey's servants come out of their hiding^plaGes, and prepare to rush to Brook Street, when they are delayed by symptoms of indis- position on the part of Mrs, Perch, who entreats a glass of water, and becomes alanning j Mrs. Perch gets better soon, however, and is borne away ; and Mrs. Miff, and Mr. Sownds the beadle, sit upon the steps to count., what 3 they have gained, by the affair, and talk, it over, while the sexton tolls a funeral. , ' ■ * * • ii-;.i ,.* : » ■ #. ■ Now, there are more congratillations on this happiest of days, and more company, though not much 5 and now they leave the drawing-room, and range themselves 1 at table in the dark-brown dining-rOom, which no confectioner can brighten up, let him garnish ,the exhausted negroes with as many flowers and love-knots as he will. The pastry-cook has done his duty like a man, though, and a rich breakfast is set. forth. Mr, and Mrs. Chick have joiaed the party, among others. Mrs. Chick, admires that Edith should be, by nature, such a perfect Dombey ; and .is affable and; con- fidential to Mrs. Skewton,. whose jnindi is relieved 'of a great load, and who takes her share of the champagne. ■ The very tall young man who suffered from excitement early, is better ; but a vague sentiment of repentance has seized upon him, and he hates the other very tall young man, and wrests dishes from him by violence, and takes a grim delight in disobli^g the company. The company are cool and cahn, and dO not outrage the black hatchments of pictures looking down upon them, by any excess of mirth. Cousin Peenix and the major are the gayest there; but Mr. Carker has a smile for the whole table. He has an especial smile' for the bride,, who very, very seldom meets it, ,,':!• Cousin Feeiux rises, when the company have' breakfasted, and the servants have left the room ; and Wonderfully young he looks, with his white wtistbands, almost covering his hands DOMBEY. AND SON 287 (otli^Ewise ratter; bony), and the bloom of,'th0 pliampagne in his cheeks. ■ ,, .■■ .,■ , . ' ■• ; , ^ ;•' ; , ,. " Upon my honour/': says cojisin Feenix,:" although it's an unusual sort of thing in aj private gentleman's house, I must beg leave to call upon you to drink what is usually eJillad; a— in fact a toast." •:,,], t i The major ^very hoarsely indicates his approval. Mr. Carker, bending- his ihead forward over the table in the direction of Cousin: OFeenix, siiiiles and nods a great many times. ■' "A— in fact it's not a >" GOusin Teenix beginning again, thus, comes to a dead stop. , .. ^ ; "Hear, hear !" says the majors in a tone of conviction^ . Mr. Carker softly claps his hands, and bendiug forward over the table again, smiles airid nods, a great: many moreltimes than iDefore, as if he were particnUirly .struck by this last observation) and desired personally to express his sense of the good it has done him. : ; • '>; 'I- "It is," says cousin FeetuXj/'an occasion in fact, when the general usages .of life may be a little departed from, without impropriety; and although I never was an orator in my life, and when I was in the House of Commons,; and had ithe honour of seconding the address, was — in fact, was laid up for a fort- night with the consciousness of failure- " . l-.j ■.:.,■ The major and Mr. Cariker are so much del^hted by this fragment of personal history^ that cousin Feenix laughs, and addressing them individually, goes on to say — "And in point of fact, when I was devilish ill— stiU,"you know, I feel that a duty devolves upon me.. And when a duty devolves upon an Englishman, he is bouind to getiout of it, in my opinion, in the best way he can. Well ! our family has had the gratification, to-da;y, of connecting itself, in th© person {of my lovely and accompushed relative, whom I now see— in point of fact, present-'^ — '' ' ' . i Here there is general applause. "Present," repeats cousin Feenix, feeling that it is a neat pointiwhioh will bear repetition,-T-" with one who — that is to say, with a man, at whom the finger of scorn can never-T— in fact, with my honourable friend Dombey, if he willi allow me to call him so." . , ' ,'. . ...:.'..' Cousin Feenix bows to Mr, Dombey ; Mr. Dombey solemnly retxirns'the bow; everybody is more or less, gratified and affected by this extraordinary, and perhaps unprecedented, appeal to the feelings^ 288 DOMBEY AND SON ' "I have not," says cousin Feenix, "enjoyed those oppor- tunities which I could have desired, of cultivating the acquaint- ance of my friend Dombey, and studying those qualities which do equal honour to his head, and, in point of fact, to his heart ; for it has been my misfortune to be, as we used to say in my time in the House of Commons, when it was not the custom to allude to the Lords, and when the order of parlianientary pro- ceedings was perhaps better observed than it is now — to be in — in point of fact," says cousin Feenix, cherishing his joke, with great slyness, and finally bringing it out with a jerk, "'in another place ' ! " The major falls into convulsions, and is recovered with difficulty. "But I know sufficient of my friend Dombey," resumes cousin Feenix in a graver tone, as if he had suddenly become a sadder and wiser man, "to know that he is, in point of fact, what may be emphatically called a — a merchant — :a British merchant — and a — and a man. And although I have been resident abroad for some years (it would give me great pleasure to receive my friend Dombey, and everybody here, at Baden- Baden, and to have, an opportunity of making 'em known to the Grand Duke), still I know enough, I flatter myself, of my lovely and accomplished relative, to know that she possesses every requisite to make a man happy, and that her marriage with my friend Dombey is one of inclination and affection on both sides." Many smiles and nods from Mr. Carker. " Therefore," says cousin Feenix, " I congratulate the family of which I am a member, on the acquisition of my friend Dombey. I congratulate my friend Dombey on his union with my lovely and accomplished relative who possesses every requi- site to make a man happy ; and I take the liberty of calling on, you all, in point of fact, to congratulate both my friend Dombey and my lovely and accomplished relative, on the present occasion." The speech of cousin Feenix is received with great applause, and Mr. Dombey returns thanks on behalf of himself and Mrs. Dombey. J. B. shortly afterwards proposes , Mrs. Skewton. The breakfast languishes when that is done, the violated hatchments are avenged, and Edith rises to assume her travel- ling dress. All the servants in the meantime, have been breakfasting below. Champagne has grown too common among them to be mentioned, and roast fowls, raised pies, and lobster-salad, have DOMBEY AND SON ,289 become mere drugs. The very tall young man has recovered his spirits, and again alludes to ^he exciseman. His comrade's eye begins to emulate his own, and he, too, stares at objects without taking cognizance thereof. There is a general redness in the faces of the ladies ; in the face of JMrs. Perch particularly, who is joyous and beaming, and lifted so far above the cares of life, that if she were asked just now to direct a wayfarer to Balls Pond, where her own cares lodge, she would have some difficulty in recalling the way. Mr. Towliuson has proposed the happy pair ; to which the silver-headed butler has responded neatly, and with emotion ; for he half begins to think he is an old retainer of the family, and that he is bound to be affected by these changes. The whole party, a,nd especially the ladies, are very frolicsome. Mr. Dombey's cook, who generally takes the lead in society, has said, it is impossible to settle down after this, and, why not go, in a party, to the play ? Everybody (Mrs. Perch included) has agreed to this : even the native, who is tigerish in his drink, and who alarms the ladies (Mrs. Perch particularly) by the rolling of his eyes. One of the very tall young men has even proposed a ball after the play, and it presents itself to no one (Mrs. Perch included) in the light of an impossibility. Words have arisen between the housemaid and Mr. Towlinson ; she, on the authority ,of an old saw, assert- ing marriages to be made in heaven ; he, affecting to trace the manufacture elsewhere ; he, supposing that she says so, because she thinks of being married her own self : she, saying, Lord forbid, at any rate, that she should ever marry hvm. To calm these flying taunts, the silver-headed butler rises to propose the health of Mr. Towlinson, whom to know is to esteem, and to esteem is to wish well settled , in life with the object of his choice, wherever (here the silver-headed butler eyes the house- maid) she may be. Mr. Towlinson returns thanks in a speech repletei with feeling, of which the peroration turns on foreigners, regarding whom he says they may find favour, sometimes with weak and inconstant intellects that can be led by hair, but all he hopes, is, he may never hear of no foreigner never boning nothiag put of no travelling chariot. The eye of Mr. Towlinson is so severe and so expressive here, that the housemaid is turn- ing hysterical, when she and all the rest,, roused by the intelK- gence that the bride is going away, hurry up-stairs to witness her departure. The chariot is at the door ; the bride is descending to the hall, where Mr. Dombey waits for her. Florence is ready on u 290 DOMBEY AND SON the staircase to depart too ; and Miss Mpper, who has held a middle state between the parlour and the kitchen, is prepared to accompany her. As Edith appears, Florence hastens towards her, to bid her farewell. . . . Mrs. Skewton, overpowered by her feelings as a mother, sinks on her sofa in the Cleopatra attitude, when the clatter of the chariot wheels is lost, and sheds several tears. The major, coming with the rest of the company from the table, endeavours to comfort her ; but she will not be comforted on any terms, and so the major takes his leave. Cousin Eeenix takes his leave, and Mr. Carker takes his leave. The guests all go away. Cleopatra, left alone, feels a little giddy from her strong emotion, and falls asleep. Giddiness prevails below-stairs too. The very tall young man whose excitement came on so soon, appears to have his head glued to the table in the pantry, and cannot be detached from it. A violent revulsion has taken place in the spirits of Mrs. Perch, who is low on account of Mr. Perch, and tells cook that she fears he is not so much attached to his home, as he used to be, when they were only nine in family. Mr. Towlinson has a singing in his ears and a large wheel going round and round inside his head. The housemaid wishes it wasn't wicked to wish that one was dead. There is a general delusion likewise, in these lower regions, on the subject of time ; everybody conceiving that it ought to be, at the earliest, ten o'clock at night, whereas it is not yet three in the afternoon. A shadowy idea of wickedness com- mitted, haunts every individual in the party ; and each one secretly thinks the other a companion in guilt, whom it would be agreeable to avoid. No man or woman has the hardihood to hint at the projected visit to- the play. Any one reviving the notion of the ball, would be scouted as a malignant idiot. Mrs. Skewton sleeps up-stairs, two hours afterwards, and naps' are not yet over in the kitchen. The hatchments in the dining-room look down on crumbs, dirty plates, spillings of wine, half-thawed ice, stale discoloured heel-taps, scraps of lobster, drumsticks of fowls, and pensive jellies, graidually resolving themselves into a lukewarm gummy soup. The marriage is, by this time, almost as denuded of its show and garnish as the breakfast. Mr. Dombey's servants moralise so much about it, and are so repentant over their early tea, at home, that by eight o'clock or so, they settle down into confirmed seriousness; and Mr. Perch, arriving at that time from the City, fresh and DOMBEY AND SON izgi jocular, with a white waistcoat and a comic song, ready to spend the evening, and prepared for any amount of dissipation, is amazed to' find himself coldly received, and Mrs. Perch but poorly, and to have the pleasing duty of escorting that lady home by the next omnibus. Night closes in. Florence having rambled through the handsome" house, from room to room, seeks her own chamber, where the care of Edith has surrounded her with luxuries and comforts ; and divesting herself of her handsome dress, puts on her old simple mourning for dear Paul, and sits down to read, with Diogenes winking and blinking on the ground beside her. But Florence cannot read to-night. The house seems strange and new, and there are loud echoes in it. There is a shadow on her heart : she knows not why or what ; but it is heavy. Florence shuts her book, and gruff Diogenes, who takes that for a signal, puts his paws upon her lap, and rubs his ears against her caressing hands. But Florence cannot see him plainly, for there is a mist between her eyes and him, and her dead brother and dead mother shine in it like angels. • Walter, too, poor wandering shipwrecked boy, oh, where is he ? The major don't know ; that's for certain ; and don't care. The major, having choked and slumbered, all the afternoon, has taken a late dinner at }u.s club, and now sits over his pint of wine, driving a modest young man, with a fresh-coloured face, at the next table (who would give a handsome sum to be able to rise and go away, but cannot do it) to the verge of madness, by anecdotes of Bagstock, sir, at Dombey's wedding, and old Joe's devilish gentlemanly friend. Lord Feenix. WMle cousin Feenix, who ought to be at Long's, and ih bed, finds himself, instead, at a gaming-table, where his wilful legs have taken him, perhaps, in his own despite. 292 DOMBEY AND SON Captain' Cuttle has much cause for reflection, and being In a contempla- tive mood, takes a solitary walk. He is singing soffly under his breath the ballad of " Lovely Peg," when he is suddenly transfixed and rendered speech- less by a triumphant procession that he beholds advancing towards him, in which the principal figures are Mrs. MacStiuger, his redoubtable landlady, from whom he had happily escaped with the assistance of Mr. Bunsby, and that philosopher liimself, to whose aid the Captain in his turn would now gladly come, if only Mr. Bunsby could be induced to act up to the courage of his opinions. WEDDING OF BUNSBY AND MRS. MACSTINGER This awful demonstration was headed by that determined woman, Mrs. MacStinger, who, preserving a countenance of inexorable resolution, and wearing conspicuously attached to her obdurate bosom a stupendous watch and appendages, which the captain recognised at a glance as the property of Bunsby, conducted under her arm no other than that sagacious mariner ; he, with the distraught and melancholy visage of a captive borne into a foreign land, meekly resigning himself to her will. Behind them appeared the young MacStingers, in a body, exulting. Behind them, two ladies of a terrible and stedfast aspect, leading between them a short gentleman in a tall hat, who likewise exulted. In the wake, appeared Bunsby's boy, bearing umbrellas. The whole were in good marching order ; and a dreadful smartness that pervaded the party would have sufficiently announced, if the intrepid countenances of the ladies had been wanting, that it was a procession of sacrifice, and that the victim was Bunsby. The first impulse of the captain was to run away. This also appeared to be the first impulse of Bunsby, hopeless as its execution must have proved. But a cry of recognition proceed- ing from the party, and Alexander MacStinger running up to the captain with open arms, the captain struck. " Well, Cap'en Cuttle ! " said Mrs. MacStinger. " This is indeed a meeting ! I bear no malice now. Cap'en Cuttle — you needn't fear that I'm a going to cast any reflections. I hope to go to the altar in another spirit." Here Mrs. MacStinger paused, and drawing herself up, and inflating her bosom with a long breath, said, in allusion to the victim "My 'usband, Cap'en Cuttle ! " DOMBEY AND SON 293- . The abject Bunsby looked neither to the right nor to the left, nor at his bride, nor at his friend, but straight before him at nothing. The captain patting' out his hand, Bunsby put out his; but, in answer to the captain's greeting, spake no word. " Cap'en Cuttle," said Mrs. MacStinger, "if you would wish to heal up past animosities, and to see the last of your friend, my 'usband, as a single person, we should be 'appy of your company to chapet Here is a lady here," said Mrs. MacStinger, turning round to the more intrepid of the two, " my bridesmaid, that will be glad of your protection, Cap'en Cuttle." The short gentleman in the tall hat, who it appeared was' the husband of the other lady, and who evidently exulted at the reduction of a fellow-creature to his own condition, gave place at this, and resigned the lady to Captain Cuttle. The lady immediately seized him, and, observing that there was no time to lose, gave the word, in a strong voice, to advance. The captain's concern for his friend, not unmingled, at first, with some concern for himself — for a shadowy terror that he might be married by violence, possessed him, until his know- ledge of the service came to Ms relief, and remembering the legal obligation of saying, "I will," he felt himself personally safe so long as he resolved, if asked any question, distinctly to reply " I won't " — threw him into a profuse perspiration ; and rendered him, for a time, insensible to the movements of the procession, of which he now formed a feature, and to the con- versation of his fair oompauion. But as he became less agitated, he learnt from this lady that she was the widow of a Mr. Bokum, who had held an employment in the Custom House ; that she was the dearest friend of Mrs. MacStinger, whom she considered a pattern for her sex ; that she had often heard of the captain, and now hoped he had repented of his past life ; that she trusted Mr. Bunsby knew what a blessing he had gained, but that she feared men seldom did know what such blessings were, until they had lost them ; with more to the same purpose. All this time, the eeiptain could not but observe that Mrs. Bokum kept her eyes steadily on the bridegroom, and that whenever they came near a court or other narrow turning which appeared favourable for flight, she was on the alert to cut him off if he attempted to escape. The other lady, too, as well as her husband, the short gentlenaan with the tall hat, was plainly on guard, according to a preconcerted plan ; and the wretched man was so secured by Mrs. MacStinger, that any effort at self- preservation by flight was rendered futile. This, indeed, was 294 DOMBEY AND SON apparent to the mere populace, wlio expressed their percep- tion of the fact by jeers and cries ; to all of which, the dread MacStinger was inflexibly indifferent, while Bunsby himself appeared in a state of unconsciousness. The captain made many attempts to accost the philosopher, if only in a monosyllable or a signal ; but always failed, in consequence of the vigilance of the guard, and the difficulty, at all times peculiar to Bunsby's constitution, of having his atten- tion aroused by any outward and visible sign whatever. Thus they approached the chapel, a neat whitewashed edifice, recently engaged by the Eeverend Melchisedech Howler, who had con- sented, on very urgent solicitation, to give the world another two years of existence, but had informed his followers that, then, it must positively go. While the Eeverend Melchisedech was offering up some extemporary orisons, the captain found an opportunity of growling in the bridegroom's ear : " What cheer, my lad, what cheer ? " To which Bunsby replied, with a forgetfulness of the Eeverend Melchisedech, which nothing but his desperate circumstances could have excused — "D— dbad." "Jack Bunsby," whispered the captain, "do you do this here, o' your own free will ? " Mr. Bunsby answered " No," " Why do you do it, then, my lad ? " inquired the captain, not unnaturally. Bunsby, stOl looking, and always looking with an immov- able countenance, at the opposite side of the world, made no reply. " Why not sheer off ? " said the captain. "Eh?" whispered Bunsby, with a momentary gleam of hope. " Sheer off," said the captain. " Where's the good ? " retorted the forlorn sage. " She'd capter me agen." " Try !" replied the captain. "Cheer up! Gome! Now's your time. Sheer off. Jack Bunsby ! " Jack Bunsby, however, instead of profiting by the advice, said in a doleful whisper : " It all began in that there chest o' yourn. Why did I ever conwoy her into port that night ? " " My lad," faltered the captain, " I thought as you had come DOMBEY AND SON 295 over her ; not as she had come over you. A man as has got such opinions as you have ! " Mr. Bunsby merely uttered a suppressed groan. "Come!" said the captain, nudging him with his elbow, "now'syour timet Sheer off! I'll cover your retreat. The time's a flying. Bunsby !, It's for liberty. Will you once ? " Bunsby was immovable. " Bunsby ! " whispered the captain, " will you twice ? " Bunsby wouldn't twice. " Bunsby ! " urged, the captain, " it's for liberty ; will you three times ? Now or never ! " , Bunsby didn't then, and didn't ever; for Mrs. MacStinger immediately afterwards married him. One of the most frightful circumstances of the ceremony to the captain, was the deadly interest exhibited therein by Juliana MacStinger; and the fatal concentration of her faculties, with which that promising child, already the im£(,ge of her parent, observed the whole proceedings. The captain saw in this a succession of man-trap^ stretching, out infinitely; a series of ages of oppression and coercion, through which the seafaring line was doomed. It was a more memorable sight than the unflinching steadiness of Mrs. Bokum and the other lady, the exultation of the short gentleman in the tall hat, or even the fell inflexibility of Mrs. MacStinger. The Master Mac- Stingers understood little of what was going on, and cared less; being chiefly engaged, during the ceremony, in treading on one another's half-boots ; but the contrast afforded by those wretched infants only set off and adorned the precocious woman in Juliana. Another year or two, the captain thought, and to lodge where that child was, would be destruction. The ceremony was concluded by a general spring of the young family on Mr. Bunsby, whom they hailed by the endear- ing name of father, and from whom they solicited half-pence. These -gushes of affection over, the procession was about to issue forth again, when it was delayed for some little time by an unexpected transport on the part of Alexander MacStinger. That dear child, it seemed, connecting a chapel with tombstones, when it was entered for any purpose apart from the ordinary religious exercises, could not be persuaded but that his mother was now to be decently interred, and lost to him for ever. In the anguish of this conviction, he screamed with astonishing force, and turned black m the face. However touchiiig these marks of a tender disposition were to his mother, it was not ia 296 DOMBEY AND SON the character of that remarkable woman to permit her recogni- tion of them to degenerate into weakness. Therefore, after vainly endeavouring to convince his reason by shakes, pokes, bawlmgs-out, aild similar applications to his head, she led him into the air, and tried another method ; which was manifested to the marriage party by a quick succession of sharp sounds, resembling applause, and subsequently, by their seeing Alexander in contact with the coolest paving-stone in the court, greatly flushed, and loudly lamenting. The procession being then in a condition to form itself once more, and repair to Brig Place where a marriage feast was in readiness, returned as it had come ; not without the receipt, by Bunsby, of many humorous congratulations from the populace on his recently-acquired happiness. The captain accompanied it as far as the house-door, but, being made uneasy by the gentler manner of Mrs. Bokum, who, now that she was relieved from her engrossing duty^-for the watchfulness and alacrity of the ladies sensibly diminished when the bridegroom was safely married^r-had greater leisure to show an interest in his behalf, there left it and the captive ; faintly pleading an appointment, and promising to return presently. The captain had another cause for uneasiness, in remorsefully reflecting that he had been the first means of Bunsby's entrapment, though certainly with- out intending it, and through his unbounded faith in the resources of that philosopher. BOOK IX THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD David Gopperfield was issued in monthly parts from May, 1849, to November, 1850, •when the completed work was published by Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, with an inscription to Mr. and Mrs. Watson of Eock- ingham. It was illustrated by HablSt Browne. My father's interest in this story was great and of a peculiarly personal character, for some of little David's experiences were taken from his own childish recollections, and these, in spite of the humour that is in them, constitute the saddest portion of the book. As he neared the end of his task he wrote to Mr. Forster : " I am within three pages of the shore, and am strangely divided, as usual in such cases, between sorrow and joy. Oh, my dear Forster, if I were to say half of what Oopperfield makes me feel to-night, how strangely, even to you, I should be turned inside out 1 I seem to be sending some part of myself into the Shadowy World." David Copperfleld is a posthumous chUd, and is bom at Blunderstone Eookery, in Suffolk, where we find his mother on the eve of his birth. She is ■ feeling very despondent about herself when she receives a visit from Miss Betsey Trotwood, her dead husband's aunt. Miss Trotwood is eccentric and abrupt, and signifies her intention of becoming godmother to the child shortly to be born. She has made up her mind entirely to her own satisfaction that this child is to be a girl, and is to be named Betsey Trotwood Oopperfield ; but her hopes are disappointed, and when she hears that a boy has come into the world, she leaves the Bookery in disgust, and is seen there no more. When David is still a child, his mother, who is young and pretty, makes new friends, and David is introduced to one of them,' a Mr. Murdstone, with " beautiful black hair and whiskers." In spite of these adornments, David is not prepossessed in his favour, nor is Peggotty, his mother's servant, who, soon after this gentleman has made his first appearance, proposes that David shall accompany her upon a visit to her brother, Mr. Peggotty, who lives at Yar- mouth. David's mother agrees to the proposal, and they start on their journey. I AM SENT FROM HOME The carrier's horse was the laziest horse in the world, I should hope, and shuffled along, with his head down, as if he liked to keep people waiting to whom the packages were directed. I 297 298 DAVID COPPERFIELD fancied, indeed, that lie sometimes chuckled audibly over this reflection, but the carrier said he was only troubled with a cough. The carrier had a way of keeping his head down, like his horse, and of drooping sleepily forward as he drove, with one of his arms on each of his knees, I say " drove," but it struck me that the cart would have gone to Yarmouth quite as well with- out him, for the horse did all that ; and as to conversation, he had no idea of it but whistling. Peggotty-had a basket of refreshments on her knee, which would have lasted us out handsomely, if we had been going to London by the same conveyance. We ate a good deal, and slept a good deal. Peggotty always went to sleep with her chin upon the handle of the basket, her hold of which never relaxed ; and I could not have believed unless I had heard her do it, that one defenceless woman could have snored so much. We made so many deviations up and down lanes, and were such a long time delivering a bedstead at a public-house, and calling at other places, that I was quite tired, and very glad, when we saw Yarmouth. It looked rather spongy and soppy, I thought, as I carried my eye over the great dull waste that lay across the river; and I could not help wondering, if the world were really as round as my geography-book said, how any part of it came to be so flat. But I reflected that Yarmouth, might be situated at one of the poles ; which would account for it. As we drew a little nearer, and saw the whole adjacent prospect lying a straight low line under the sky, I hinted to Peggotty that a mound or so might have improved it; and also that if the land had been a little more separated from the sea, and the town and the tide h^d not been« quite so much mixed up, like toast and water, it would have been nicer. But Peggotty said, with greater emphasis than usual, that we must take things as we found them, and that, for her part, she was proud to call herself a Yarmouth Bloater. When we got into the street (which was strange enough to me), and smelt the fish, and pitch, and oakum, and tar, and saw the saUors walking about, and the carts jingling up and down over the stones, I felt that I had done so busy a place an in- justice ; and said as much to Peggotty, who h^ard my expressions of delight with great complacency, and told me it was well known (I suppose to those who had; the good fortune to be born Bloaters) that Yarmouth was, upon the whole, the finest place in the imiverse. DAVID COPPERFIELD 299 "Here's my Am!"* screamed Peggotty, "growed out of knowledge ! " He was waiting for us, in fact, at the public-house; and asked me how I found myself, like an old acquaintance. I did not feel, at first, that I knew him as well as he knew me, because he had never come to our house since the night I was bom, and naturally heTiad the advantage of me. But our intimacy was much advanced by his taking me on his back to carry me home. He was, now, a huge, strong fellow of six feet high, broad in proportion, and round-shouldered; but with a simpering boy's face arid curly light hair that gave him quite a sheepish look. He was dressed in a canvas jacket, and a pair of such very stiff trousers that they would have stood quite as well alone, without any legs in them. And you couldn't so properly have said he wore a hat, as that he was covered in atop, like an old bmlding, with something pitchy. Ham carried me on his back and a small box of ours under his arm, and Peggotty carrying another small box of ours, we turned down lanes bestrewn with bits of chips and little hillocks of sand, and went past gas-works, rope-walks, boat-builders' yards, shipwrights' yards, ship-breakers' yards, caulkers' yards, riggers' lofts, smiths' forges, and a great litter of such places, until we came out upon the dull waste I had already seen at a distance ; when Ham said — " Yen's our house, Mas'r Davy ! " I looked in all directions, as far as I could stare over the wUdemess, and away at the sea, and away at the river, but no house could / make out. There was a black barge, or some ' other kind of superannuated boat, not far off, high and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chimney and smoking very cosily; but npthing else in the way of a habitation that was visible to me. . " That's not it ? " .said I. " That ship-looking thing ? " , " That's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham. ' If it had been Aladdin's palace, roc's egg and all, I suppose I could not have been more charmed with the romantic idea of living in it* There was a delightful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there were little windows in it; but the wonderful charm of it was, that it was a real boat which had no doubt been upon the water hundreds of times, and which had never been intended to be lived in, on dry land. That was the * The author says : " Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, but she spoke of him as a morsel Of English Grammar." 300 DAVID COPPERFIELD captivation of it to me. If it had ever been meant to be lived in, I might have thought it small, or inconvenient, or lonely ; but never having been designed for any such use, it became a perfect abode. It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. There was a table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and on the chest of drawers there was a tea-tray with a painting on it of a lady with a parasol, taking a walk with a military- looking child who was trundling a hoop. The tray was kept from tumbling down, by a Bible; and the tray, if it had tumbled down, would have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and a teapot that were grouped around the book. On the walls there were some common coloured pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects ; such as I have never seen since in the hands of pedlars, without seeing the whole interior of Peggotty's brother's house again, at one view. Abraham in red going to sacrifice Isaac in blue, and Daniel in yellow cast into a den of green lions, were the most prominent of these. Over the little mantel-shelf, was a picture of the Sarah Jane lugger, built at Sunderland, with a real little wooden stern stuck on to it ; a work of art, combining composition with carpentry, which I considered to be one of the most enviable possessions that the world could afford. There were some hooks in the beams of the ceiling, the use of which I did not divine then ; and some lockers and boxes and conveniences of that sort, which served for seats and eked out the chairs. All this, I saw in the first glance after I crossed the thres- hold — child-like, according to my theory — and then Peggotty opened a little door and showed me my bedroom. It was the completest and most desirable bedroom ever seen — in the stern of the vessel ; with a little window, where the rudder used to go through; a little looking-glass, just the right height for me, nailed against the wall, and framed with oyster-shells ; a little bed, which there was just room enough to get into ; and a nose- gay of seaweed in a blue mug on the table. The walls were whitewashed as white as milk, and the patchwork counterpane made my eyes quite ache with its brightness. One thing I particularly noticed in this delightful house, was the smell of fish ; which was so searching, that when I took out my pocket- handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it smelt exactly as if it had wrapped up a lobster. On my imparting this discovery in confidence to Peggotty, she informed me that her brother, dealt in lobsters, crabs, and crawfish ; and I afterwards found that a DAVID COPPERFIELD 301 heap of these creatures, in a state of wonderful conglomeration with one another, and never leaving off pinching whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be found in a little wooden out- house where the pots and kettles were kept. We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, whom I had seen curtseying at the door when I was on Ham's back, about a quarter of a mile off. Likewise by a most beautiful little girl (or I thought her so), with a necklace of blue beads on, who wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to, but ran away and hid herself. By-and-by, when we had dined in a sumptuous manner off boiled dabs, melted butter, and potatoes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with a very good- natured face came home. As he called Peggotty " Lass," and gave her a hearty smack on the cheek, I had no doubt, from the general propriety of her conduct, that he was her brother ; and so he turned out — beiug presently introduced to me as Mr. Peggotty, the master of the house. " Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Peggotty. " You'll find us rough, sir, but you'll find us ready." I thanked him, and replied that I was sure I should be happy in such a delightful place. " How's your ma, sir ? " said Mr. Peggotty. " Did you leave her pretty jolly 1" I gave Mr. Peggotty to understand that she was as jolly as I could wish, and that she desired her compliments — which was a polite fiction on my part. " I'm much obleeged to her, I'm sure," said Mr. Peggetty. " Well, sir, if you can make out here, for a fortnut, 'long wi' her," nodding at his sister, " and Ham, and little Em'ly, we shall be proud of your company." Haying done the honours of his house in this hospitable manner, Mr. Peggotty went out to wash himself in a kettleful of hot water, remarking that "cold would never get his muck off." He soon returned, greatly improved in appearance ; but so rubicund, that I couldn't help thinking his face had this in common with the lobsters, crabs, and crawfish — that it went into the hot water very black and came out very red. After tea, when the door was shut and all was made snug (the nights being cold and misty now), it seemed to me the most delicious retreat that the imagination of man could conceive. To hear the wind getting up out at sea, to know that the fog was creeping over the desolate flat outside, and to look at the fire and think that there was no house near but this one, and 302 DAVID COPPERFIELD this one a boat, was like enchantment. Little Em'ly had over- come her shyness, and was sitting by my side upon the lowest and least of the lockers, which was just large enough for us two, and just fitted into the chimney comer. Mrs. Peggotty, with the white apron, was knitting on the opposite side of the fire. Peggotty at her needlework was as much at home with Saint Paul's and the bit of wax-candle, as if they had never known any other roof. Ham, who had been giving me my first lesson in all-fours, was trying to recollect a scheme of telling fortunes with the dirty cards, and was printing off fishy impressions of his thumb on all the cards he turned. Mr. Peggotty was smoking his pipe. I felt it was a time for conversation and confidence, " Mr. Peggotty ! " says I. " Sir," says he. " Did you give your son the name of Ham, because you lived in a sort of ark ? " Mr. Peggotty seemed to think it a deep idea, but answered : " No, sir. I never giv him no name." " Who gave him that name, then ? " said I, putting question number two of the catechism to Mr. Peggotty. " Why, sir, his father giv it him," said Mr. Peggotty. " I thought you were his father ! " " My brother Joe was his father," said Mr. Peggotty. " Dead, Mr. Peggotty ? " I hinted, after a respectful pause. " Drowndead," said Mr. Peggotty. I was very much surprised that Mr. Peggotty was not Ham's father, and began to wonder whether I was mistaken about his relationship to anybody else there. I was so curious to know, that I made up my mind to haVe it out with Mr. Peggotty. " Little Em'ly," I said, glancing at her. " She is your daughter, isn't she, Mr. Peggotty ? " " No, sir. My brother-in-law, Tom, was her father." I couldn'tihelp it. " —Dead, Mr. Peggotty ? " I hinted, after another respectful silence. " Drowndead," said Mr. Peggotty. I felt the difBculty of resuming the subject, but had not got to the bottom of it yet, and must get to the bottom somehow. So I said : " Haven't you any children, Mr. Peggotty ? " "No, master," he answered, with a short laugh. "I'm a bacheldore." "A bachelor! " I said, astonished. " Why, who's that, Mr. DAVID COPPERFIELD 303 Peggotty?" Pointing to the person in the apron who was knitting. " That's Missis Gummidge," said Mr. Peggotty. " Gummidge, Mr. Peggotty ? " But at this point Peggotty — I mean my own peculiar Peggotty — made such impressive motions to me not to ask any more questions, that I could only sit and look at all the silent company, until it was time to go to bed. Then, in the privacy of my own little cabin, she informed me that Ham and Em'ly were an orphan nephew and niece, whom my host had at different times adopted in their chUdhood, wh^n they were left destitute ; and that Mrs. Gummidge was the widow of his partner in a boat, who had died very poor. He was but a poor man himself, said Peggotty, but as good as gold and as true as steel — those were her similes. The only subject, she informed me, on which he ever showed a violent teinper or swore an oath, was this generosity of his ; and if it were ever referred to, by any one of them, he struck the table a heavy blow with his right hand (had split it on one such occasion), and swore a dreadful oath that he would be " Gormed " if he didn't cut and run for good, if it was ever mentioned again. It appeared, in answer to my inquiries, that nobody had the least idea of the etymology of this terrible verb passive to be gormed ; but that they aill regarded it as constituting a most solemn imprecation. I was very sensible of my entertainer's goodness, and listened to the woman's going to bed in another little crib like mine at the opposite end of the boat, and to him and Ham hanging up two hammocks for themselves on the hooks I had noticed in the roof, in a very luxurious state of mind, enhanced by my being sleepy. As slumber ^adually stole upon me, I heard the wind howling out at sea and coming on across the flat so fiercely, that I had a lazy apprehension of the great deep rising in the night. But I bethought myself that I was in a boat, after all ; and that a man like Mr. Peggotty was not a bad person to have on board if anything did hapf)en. • Nothing' happened, however, worse than morning. Almost as soon as it shone upon the oyster-shell frame of my mirror I was out of bed, and out with little Em'ly, picking up stones upon the beach. " You're quite a sailor, I suppose ? " I said to Em'ly. I don't know that I supposed anything of the kind, but I felt it an act of gallantry to say something ; and a shining sail close to us 304 DAVID COPPERFIELD made such a pretty little image of itself, at the moment, in her bright eye, that it came into my head to say this. " No," replied Em'ly, shaking her head, " I'm afraid of the sea." "Afraid!" I said, with a becoming air of boldness, and looking very big at the mighty ocean. " / an't ! " " Ah.\ but it's cruel," said Em'ly, "I have seen it very cruel to some of our men. I have seen it tear a boat as big as our house all to pieces." " I hope it wasn't the boat that " " That father was drownded in ? " said Em'ly. " No. Not that one. I never see that boat." " Nor him ? " I asked her. little Em'ly shook her head. " Not to remember ! " Here was a coincidence ! I immediately went into an explanation how I had never seen my own father ; and how my mother and I had always lived by ourselves in the happiest state imaginable, and lived so then, and always meant to live so ; and how my father's grave was in the churchyard near our house, and shaded by a tree, beneath the boughs of which I had walked and heard the birds sing many a pleasant morning. But there were some differences between Em'ly's orphanhood and mine, it appeared. She had lost her mother before her father ; and where her father's grave was no one knew, except that it was somewhere in the depths of the sea. " Besides," said Em'ly as she looked about for shells and pebbles, "your father was a gentleman and your mother is a lady; and my father was a fisherman and my mother was a fisherman's daughter, and my uncle Dan is a fisherman." " Dan is Mr. Peggotty, is he ? " said I. " Uncle Dan — yonder," answered Em'ly, nodding at the b,oat-house. "Yes. I mean him. He must be very good, I should think 1 " " Good ? " said Em'ly. " If I was ever to be a lady, I'd give him a sky-blue coat with diamond buttons, nankeen trousers, a red velvet waistcoat, a cocked hat, a large gold watch, a silver pipe, and a box of money." I said I had no doubt that Mr. Peggotty well deserved these treasures. I must acknowledge that I felt it difficult to picture him quite at his ease in the raiment proposed for him by his grateful little niece, and that I was particularly doubtful of the policy of the cocked hat ; but I kept these sentiments to myself. DAVID COPPERFIELD 305 Little Em'ly had stopped and looked up^ at the sky in her enumeration of these articles, as if they were a glorious vision. We went on again, picking up shells and pebbles. " You would like to be a lady ? " I said. Emily, looked at me, and laughed and nodded " yes." " I should like it very much. We would all be gentlefolks together, then. Me, and uncle, and Ham, and Mrs. Gummidge. We wouldn't mind then, when there come stormy weather. — Not for our own sakes, I mean. We would for the poor fishermen's, to be sure, and we'd help 'em with money when they come to any hurt." This seemed to me to be a very satisfactory, and therefore not at all improbable, picture. I expressed my pleasure in the contemplation of it, and little Eni'ly was emboldened to say, shyly, " Don't you think you are afraid of the sea, now ? " It was quiet enough to reassure me, but I have no doubt if I had seen a moderately large wave come tumbling in, I should have taken to my heels, with an awful recollection of her drowned relations. However, I said " No," and I added, " You don't seem to be, either, though you say you are ; " — for she was walking much too near the brink of a sort of old jetty or wooden causeway we had strolled upon, and I was afraid of her falling over. " I'm not afraid- in this way," said little Eni'ly- " But I wake when it blows, and tremble to think of imcle Dan and Ham, and believe I hear 'em crying out for help; That's why I should like so much to be a lady. But I'm not afraid in this way. Not a bit. Look here ! " She started from my side, and ran along a jagged timber which protruded from the place we stood upon, and overhung the deep water at some height, without the least defence. The incident is so impressed on my remembrance, that if I were a draughtsman I could draw its form here, I dare say, accurately as it was that day, and little Em'ly springing forward to her destruction (as it appeared to me), with a look that I have never forgotten, directed far out to sea. The light, bold, fluttering little figure turned and came back safe to me, and I soon laughed &% my fears, and at the cry I had uttered; fruitlessly in any case, for there was no one near. But there have been times since, in my manhood, many times there have been, when I have thought. Is it possible,; among the possibilities of hidden things, that in the sudden rashness of the 3o6 DAVID COPPERFIELD child and her wild look so far off, there was any merciful attraction of her into danger, any tempting her towards him permitted on the part of her dead father, that her life might have a chance of ending that day. There has been a time since when I have wondered whether, if the life before her could have been revealed to me at a glance, and so revealed as that a child could fully comprehend it, and if her preservation could have depended on a motion of my hand, I ought to have held it up to save her. There has been a time since — I do not say it lasted long, but it has been — ^when I have asked myself the question, would it have been better for little Em'ly to have had the waters close bove her head that morning in my sight ; and when I have answered Yes. This may be prematures I have set it down too soon, perhaps. But let it stand. We strolled a long way, and loaded ourselves with things that we thought curious, and put some stranded starfish care- fully back into the water — I hardly know enough of the race at this moment to be quite certain whether they had reason to feel obliged to us for doing so, or the reverse^-and then made our way home to Mr. Peggotty's dwelling. We stopped under the lee of the lobster-outhouse to exchange an innocent kiss, and went in to breakfast glowing with health and pleasure. " Like two young mavishes," Mr. Peggotty said. I knew this meant, in our local dialect, like two young thrushes, and received it as a compliment. Of course I was in love with little Em'ly. I am sure I loved that baby quite as truly, quite as tenderly, with greater purity and more disinterestedness, than can enter into the best love of a later timie of life, high and ennobling as it is. I am sure my fancy raised up something round that blue-eyed mite of a chUd, which etherealised, and made a very angel of her. If, any sunny forenoon, she had spread a little pair of wings, and flown away before my eyes, I don't think I should have regarded it as much more than I had reason to expect. We used to walk about that dim old flat at Yarmouth in a loving manner, hours and hours. The days sported by us, as if Time had not grown up himself yet, but were a ohUd too, and always at play, I told Em'ly I adored her, and that unless she confessed she adored me I should be reduced to the necessity of killing myself with a sword. She said she did, and I have no doubt she did. As to any sense of inequality, or youthfulness, or other DAVID COPPERFIELD 307 difficulty in our ways little- Em'ly and I had no sucli trouble, because we had no future. We made no more provision for growing older, than we did for glowing younger. We were the admiration of Mrs. Gummidge and Peggotty, who used to whisper of an evening when we sat loviagly, on our little locker side by side; " Lor ! wasn't it beautiful ! " Mr. Peggotty smiled at us from behind hia pipe, and Ham grinned all the evening and did nothing else. They had something of the sort of pleasure in us, I suppose, that thfey might have had in a pretty toy, or a pocket model of the Colosseum. I soon found out that Mrs. Gummidge did not always make herself so agreeable as she might have been effected to do, under the, citcmnstances df her residence with Mr. Peggotty. Mrs. Gummidge's was rather a fretful disposition, and she whimpered more sqmietimes than was comfortable for other parties in so small an establishment; I was very sorry for 1 her ; but there were moments when it would have been more agree- able, I thought, if Mrs. Gummidge had had a convenient apartment of her own to retire to, and had stopped there until her spirits revived. ' ' Mr. Peggotty went occasionally to a public-house called The Willing Mind. I discovered this, by his being out on the second or third evening of our visit, and by Mrs. Gummidge's looking up a,t' the Dutch clock, bfetween eight and nine, and saying he was there, and that, what waS ' more, she had known in the morning he would go there. Mrs. Gummidge had been in.a low state all day, and had burst into tears in the forenoon, when the fire smoked. " I am a lone lorn creetur'," ■were Mrs. Gummidge's words; when that unpleasant occurrence took place, " and everythink goes contrairy with me." ■ .- -'"''Oh, it'll soon leave off," said Peggotty — I again mean our Peggotty — ",and besides, you know, its 'not more disagreeable to "ybu than to us." ' - : -'r "I feel.it more," said Mrs. Gummidge. . •" It was a very Cold day, with cutting blasts of wind. Mrs. Gummidge's peculiar comer of the fireside seeined to me to be the warmest and snuggest in the place, as her chair was certainly the easiest, but it didn't suit her that day at all. She was constantly complainiag bjf the cold, and of its oCcasiordng' a visitation in her back which she called " the creeps." At last she shed tears on that Subject, ahd said again that she was " a lone lorn creetur' and everythink went contrairy with her." 3o8 DAVID COPPERFIELD "It is certainly very cold," said Peggotty. "Everybody must feel it so." " I feel it more than other people," said Mrs. Gummidge. So at dinner; when Mrs. Gummidge was always, helped immediately after me, to whom, the preference was given as a visitor of distinction. The fish were small and bony, and the potatoes were a little burnt. We all- acknowledged that we felt this something of a disappointment; but Mrs. Gummidge said she felt it more than we did,a,nd shed tears again, and made that former declaration with great bitterness. Accordingly, when Mr. Peggotty came home about nine o'clock, this unfortunate Mrs. GummidgjB was knitting in her corner, in a very wretched and miserable condition. Peggotty had been working cheerfully. Ham had been patching up a great pair of water-boots ; and I, with little Em'ly, by my side, had been reading to them. Mrs. Gummidge had never made any other remark than a forlorn sigh, and had never raised her eyes since tea. "Well, mates," said Mr. Peggotty, taking his seat, "and how are you 1 " We all said something, or looked something, to welcome him, except Mrs. Gummidge, who only shook her head over her knitting. " What's amiss ? " said Mr. Peggotty, with a clasp of his hands. " dheer up, old mawther ! " (Mr. Peggotty meant old girl.) Mrs. Gummidge did not appear to be able to cheer up. She took out an old black silk handkerchief and wiped her eyes ; but instead of putting it in her pocket, kept it out, and wiped them again, and stUl kept it out, ready for use. " What's amiss, dame ? " said Mr. Peggotty. " Nothing," returned Mrs. Gummidge. " You've come from The Willing Mind, Dan'l ? " "Why yes, I've took a short spell at The Willing Mind to-nfeht," said Mr. Peggotty. "I'm sorry I should drive you there," said Mrs. Gummidge. " Drive ! I don't want no driving," returned Mr. Peggotty> with an honest laugh. " I only go too ready." "Very ready," said Mrs. Gummidge, shaking her head, and wiping her eyes. " Yes, yes, very ready. I am sorry it should be along of me that you're so ready." " Along o' you ! It an'fc along o' you ! " said Mr. Peggotty. " Don't ye believe a bit on it." DAVID GOPPERFIELD 309 " Yes; yes, it is," cried Mrs. Gummidge.' " I know what I am. I know that I am a lone lorn creetur', and not only that every- thinkgoes 'contrairy with me, but that I go contrairy with everybody. Yes, yes, I feel more than other people do, and I show it more. It's my misfortim'." I really couldn't help thinking, as I sat taking in all this, that the misfortune extended to some other members of that family besides Mrs. Gummidge. But Mr. Peggotty made no such retort, only answering with another entreaty to Mrs. Gummidge to cheer up. " I an't what I could wish myself to be," said Mrs. Gum- inidge. " I am far from it. I know what I am. My troubles has made me contrairy. I feel my troubles, and they make me contrairy. I wish I didn't feel 'eni, but I do. I wish I could be hardened to 'em, but I an't. I make the house uncomfort- able. I don't wonder at it. I've made your sister so all day, and Master Davy." Here I was suddenly melted, and rpared out, "No, you haven't, Mrs. Gummidge," in great mental distress. "It's far iFrom right that I should. do it," said Mrs. Gum- midge. " It an't a fit return. I had better go into the house and die. I am a lone lorn creetur', and had much better not make myself contrairy here. If thinks must go contrairy with me, and I must go contrairy myself, let me go contrairy in my parish. Dan'l, I'd better gO into the house, and die and be a riddance ! " Mrs. Gummidge retired with 'these words, and betook her- self to bed.- When she was gone, Mr. Peggotty, who had not eixhibited a trace of any feeling but the profoundest sympathy, looked round upon us, and nodding his head with a lively expression of that sentiment still animating his face, said in a Whisper: ■ " She's been thinking of the old 'un ! " I did not quite understaM what old one Mrs. Gummidge was supposed to have fixed her mind upon, until Peggotty, on seeing me to bed; explained that it was the late Mr. Gummidge ; and that her brother always took that for a received truth on such occasions, and that it always' had a; moving effect upon him. Some time after he was in his hammock that night, I heard him myself repeat to Ham, "Poor thing! She's been thinking of the old 'un !" And whenever Mrs. Gummidge was overcome in a similar manner during the remainder of our stay (which hapjiened some few times), he always said the same 310 DAVID COPPERFIELD tMng in extenuation of the circumstance, and always with the tenderest commiseration. So the fortnight slipped away, varied by, nothing but the variation of the tide, which altered Mr. Peggotty's times of going out and coming in, and ajLtered Ham's engagements, also. When the latter was unemployed, he sometimes walked with us to show us the boats a,nd ships, and once or twice he tooi^iusfora row. I don't know why one slight set of) impressions should |he more particularly associated with a place than, another, though I believe this obtains with most people,. in reference, espeitjiaily to the associations of their childhpod;.,: I never hear the; name, or read the name, of Yarmouth, but I am reminded of a certain Sunday morning on the beach, the bells- ringing for , church, little Em'ly leaning on my shoulder, Ham lazUy dropping, stones into the water, and the sun, away at sea, just breaking through the heavy mist, and showing us ,the ships, like their own shadows. ' !- , At last the day came for going home. I bore up against the separation from Mr. Peggotty ,and Mrs. Gummidge, but my agony of mind at leaving Mttle Em'ly was piercing. We went arm-in-arm to the public-house where the carrier put up, and I promised, on the road, to write to, her. (I redeemed that promise afterwards, in characters rlaxger than those, in which apartments are usually announced in manuscript, as , being, to let.) We were greatly overcome at parting; and if ever, in my life, I have had a void made in my heart, I had one made that day> Now, all the time I had been on my visit, I had>been un- grateful to my home again, and had rthought little gr nothing about it. But I was no sooner turned towards it, than my reproachful young conscience seenied to point, that way with a steady finger; and I felt, aU the more for the sinking of my spirits, that it was my nest, and that my mother -was my comforter and friend. ' This gained upon me as we went. along; so that the nearer we drew, and the more familiar the objects; became, that, we passed, the more excited I was to get there, and to run intoiher arms. But Peggotty, instead of sharing, in these transports, tried to check them (though very kindly), and looked confused and out of sorts. .:■'....■ ,• , ;., Blunderstone Kookery' would come, however, in spite of her, when the carrier's horse pleased^ — and did. How vyell I recollect it, on a cold grey afternoon, with a dull sky, threatening rain ! The door opened, and I looked, half laughing and, half DAVID COPPERFIELD 3" crying in my pleasant agitation, for my mother. It was not she, but a strange servant. " Why, Peggobty ! " I said, ruefully, " isn't she come home ? " "Yes, yes. Master Davy," said Peggotty. "She's come home. Wait a bit. Master Davy, and I'll— I'll tell you some- thing." Between her agitation, and her natural awkwardness in getting out of the cart, Peggotty was making a most extra- ordinary festoon of herself, but I felt too blank and strange to teU her so. When she had got down, she took me by the hand ; led me, wondering, into the kitchen ; and shut the door. "Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened. '" What's the matter ? " " Nothing's the matter, bless you. Master Davy, dear ! " she answered, assuming an air of sprightliness. " Something's the matter, I'm sure. Where's mamma ? " " Where's mamma, Master Davy ? " repeated Peggotty. "Yes. Why hasn't she come out to the gate, and what have we come in here for? Oh, Peggotty ! " My eyes were full, and I felt as if I were going to tumble down. " Bless the precious boy ! " cried Peggotty, taking hold of me. " What is it ? Speak, my pet ! " " Not dead, too ! Oh, she's not dead, Peggotty ? " Peggotty cried out No! with an astonishing volume of voice ; and then sat down, and began to pant, and said I had given her a turn. I gave her a hug to take away the turn, or to give her another turn in the right direction, and then stood before her, looking at her in anxious inquiry. "You see, dear, I should have told you before now," said Peggotty, " but I hadn't an opportunity. I ought to have made it, perhaps; but I couldn't azackly" — that was always the substitute for exactly, in Peggotty's militia of words — " bring my mind to it." " Go on, Peggotty," said I, more frightened than before. " Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a shaking hand, and speaking in a breathless sort of way. " What do you think ? You have got a Pa ! " I trembled, and turned white. Something — I don't know what, or how — connected with the grave in the churchyard, and the raising of the dead, seemed to strike me Hke an unwhole- some wind. "A new one," said Peggotty. 312 DAVID COPPERFIELD " A new one ? " I repeated. Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing somethin j that was very hard, and, puttiag out her hand, said : " Come and see him." " I don't want to see him." — " And your mamma," said Peggotty. I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlour, where she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other, Mr. Murdstone. My mother dropped her work, and arose hurriedly, but timidly I thought. " Now, Clara my dear," said Mr. Murdstone. " EecoUect ! control yourself, always control yourself ! Davy boy, how do you do ? " I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, -I went and kissed my mother : she kissed me, patted me gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I could not look at her, I could not look at him, I knew quite well that he was looking at us both ; and I turned to the window and looked out there at some shrubs that were drooping their heads in the cold. As soon as I could creep away, I crept up-stairs. My old dear bedroom was changed, and I was to lie a long way off. I rambled down-stairs to find anything that was like itself, so altered it all seemed ; and roamed into the yard. I very soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was filled up with a great dog — deep-mouthed and black-haired like Him — and he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprang out to get at me. David soon gets into disgrace with his stepfather, and is sent away to Mr. Oreakle's establishment, Salem House, Blackheath ; hut upon his mother's death he is withdrawn from school and put into the warehouse of Murdstone and G-rinby, where he becomes a poor little drudge, set to work with unedu- cated boys and inen, and where all his hopes of becoming learned and dis- tinguished are crushed. He suffers very keenly, and at length determines npon running away to his aunt. Miss Betsey Trotwood, who lives near Dover. His aunt adopts him, and has him well taught at Doctor Strong's school, Canterbury, where he boards with Mr. Wickfield, who lives with his only child Agnes ; the good angel of David's life. When his education is finished he is made a proctor, and enters the office of Messrs. Spenlow and Jorkins, Doctors' Commons. Meanwhile, Miss Trotwood has taken a set of chambers DAVID COPPERFIELD 313 for him in Bnokimgham Street, Adelphi, and here he receives a visit from Steerforth, an old sehoolfello*, who promises to come back •vyith two of his friends, and dine with him. David consults Mrs. Crupp, his landlady, upon the all-important subject of the dinner. II MY FIRST DISSIPATION When he was gone, I rang for Mr^. Crupp,* and acc(uainted her with my desperate design, Mrs. Crupp said, in the first place, of course it was well known she couldn't be expected to wait, but she knew a handy young' man, who she thought could be prevailed upon to do it, and whose terms would be five shillings, and what I pleased. I said, certainly we would have him.' Next, Mrs. Crupp 8a,id it was clear she couldn't be in two places at once (which I felt to be reasonable), and that "a young gal" stationed iu the pa,ntry with a bed-room candle there, never to desist from washing plates. Would be indispens- able. I said, what would be the expense of this young female, and Mrs. Crupp said she supposed .eightieen-peiice would neither make me nor break me. I said I supposed not ; and (hat was settled. Then Mrs. Crupp said, Now about the dinner. ' ' It was a remarkable instance of want of forethought on the part of the ironmonger who had made Mrs. ,Crupp's kitchen fire-place, that it was capable of cooking nothing but chops and mashed potatoes^ As to a fish-kettle, Mrs. Crupp said, well! would I only come and look at the range ? She couldn't say fairer than that. Would I come and look at it ? ' As I should not have been much the wiser if I had looked at it, I declined, and said, "Nevermind fish.". But' Mrs. Crupp said, Don't say that ; oysters was in, and why not them .? So that was settled. Mrs. Crupp then said what she would recommend li^ould be this. A pair of hot roast fowls-^from the pastry-cook's ; a dish of stewed beef, with vegetables — from the pastry-feook's ; two little comer things," as a raised pie and a dish of kidneys— from the paStry-cook's ; a tart, and (if I liked) a shape of jelly — from the pastry-cook's. This, Mrs. Crupp said, would leave her at full liberty to concentrate her mind on the potatoes, and to serve up the cheese and celery as she could wish to see if done. I acted on Mrs. Crupp's opinion, and, gave the order at the pastry-cook's myself. Walking- along the Strand, afterwards, and observing 'a htod mottled substance in the window of a ham 314 DAVID COPPERFIELD and beef shop, whicli resembled marble, but was labelled " Mock Turtle," I went in and bought a slab of it, whicli I have since seen reason to believe would have sufficed for fifteen people. This preparation, Mrs. Crupp, after some difficulty, consented to warm up ; and it shrunk so much in a liquid state, that we found it what Steerforth called " rather a tight fit " for four. These preparations happily completed, I bought a little dessert in Covent Garden Market, and gave a rather extensive order at a retail wine-merchant's in that vicinity. When I came home in the afternoon, and saw the bottles drawn up in a square on the pantry-floor, they looked so numerous (though there were two missing, which made Mrs. Crupp very uncomfort- able), that I was absolutely frightened at them. One of Steerforth's friends was named Grainger, and the other Markham. They were both very gay and lively fellows ; Grainger, something older than Steerforth ; Markham, youthful- looking, and I should say not more than twenty. I observed that the latter always spoke of himself indefinitely, as " a man," and seldom or never in the first person singular. " A man might get on very well here, Mr. Oopperfield," said Markham — meaning himself, " It's not a bad situation," said I, " and the rooms are really comiiiodious." "I hope you have both brought appetites with you ?" said Steerforth. "Upon my honour," returned Markham, "town seems to sharpen a man's appetite. A man is hungry all day long. A man is perpetually eating." Being a little embarrassed at first, and feeling much too young to preside, I made Steerforth take the head of the table when dinner was announced, and seated myself opposite to him. Everything was very good ; we did not spare the wine ; and he exerted himself so brilliantly to make the thing pass off well, that there was no pause in our festivity. . I was not quite such good company during dinner as I could have wished to be, for my chair was opposite the door, and my attention was distracted by observing that the handy young man went' out of the room very often, and that his shadow always presented itself, immedi- ately afterwards, on the wall of the entry, with a bottle at its mouth. The " young gal " likewise occasioned me some uneasi- ness: not so much by neglecting to wash the plates, as by breaking them. For being of an inqiusitive disposition, and unable to confine herself (as her positive instructions were) to DAVID COPPERFIELD 315 the pantry, she was constantly peering in at ns, and constantly imagining herself detected; in which belief, she several times retired upon the plates (with which she had carefully paved the floor), and did a great deal of destructidn. . . ; > , These, however, were small drawbacks^ and easily forgotten when the cloth was cleared, and the; dessert put on the, table ;; at which :period of the isntertainmeht the handy young man was discovered to be speechless. Giving him private directions to Seek the society of Mrs, Cruppj and to remove the "young gal " to the basement also, I abandoned myself toienjoyment. , . . ' I began, by being singularly cheerful and light-hearted ; all sorts of half-forgotten tlungs to talk about,' came rushihg into my mind' a;nd made me >hold forth in a most unwonted manner, I laughed heartily at my own jokes, and everybody else's ; called Steerforth to order for not; passing the wine; made! several engagements to go toOxfbrd; announced that I meant to have a dinner-party exactly like that, once a week! Until further notice; and madly took so much snuff out of Grainger's box, that I was obliged to go into the pantry, and have a private fit of sneezing ten minutes long. r . ,• I went on',, by passing-'the wine faster and' faster yet, and continually starting up with a corkscrew to open niore wine, long before any was needed. .^ I proposed Steerforth's health, I said he was my dearest friend/ the protector of my boyhood, and the companion of my prime. I said I was delighted to propose his health. I said I owed him more obligaitions than I oouM ever repay, and held him 'in a higher admiration than I could ever express. I finished by saying,;" I'll give you Steerforth ! God bless him! Hurrah!" 'We gave him three times three, and anothery and a good one to finish with. I broke my glass in going round. the 'table to shake hdndsi with him, arid I said (in two words) " Steerforth, you'retheguidingfetarofinyexistence," ■ I went on; by finding suddenly that somebody was in the middle.of a song, Markham was the singer, and he sang "When the heart of a;man is depressed with care." . He said, when he had sung it, he woidd give us '' Woman ! " I took. Bbjeetion to that, and I couldn't allow it. I said it was not a respectful way of proposing the toast, and I would never permit that toast to be drunk in my house otherwise than as " The Ladies ! " I was very high with him, mainly I think because I saw Steer- forth and Grainger laughing at me^or at him^i— ^or at both of us. He said a man was not to be dictated to. I said a man was. He said a man was not to be irisulted, then. I said he 3i6 DAVID COPPERFIELD was right there — never under my roof, where the Lares were sacred, and the laws of hospitality paramount. He said it was no derogation from a man's dignity to confess that I was a devilish good fellow. I instantly proposed his health. Somebody was smoking. We were all smoking. / was smoking, and trying to suppress a rising tendency to shudder. Steerf orth had made a speech about me, in the course of which I had been affected alinost to tears. I returned thanks, and hoped' the present company would dine with me to-morrow, and the day. after-^-each day at five o'clock, that we might enjoy the pleasures of conversation and society through a long evening. I felt called upon to propose an individual. I would give them my aunt. Miss Betsey Trot wood, the best of her sex! Somebody was leania'g out of my bed-room window, refreshing his forehead against the cool stone of the parapet, and feeling the air upon his face. It was myself. I was addressing myself as " Copperfield," and sayings "Why did you try to smoke? You might have known you couldn't do it." Now, somebody was unsteadily contempktting his features in the lookiag-^glass. That was I too. I was very pale in the looking-glass ; my eyes had A vacant appearance ; and my hair — only my hak-, nothing else — looked drunk. .Somebody said to me, " Let us go to the theatre, Copper- field ! " There was no bed-rpom before me, but again the jingling table covered with glasses; the lamp; Grainger on my right hand, Markham on my left, and Steerforth opposite — all sitting in a mist, and a long way off. The theatre ? To be sure. The very thing. . Come along ! But they must excuse me if I saw everybody out first, and turned the lamp off — in case of fire. Owing to some confusion in the dark, the door was gone. I was feeling for it in the window-curtains, when Steerforth, laughing, took me by the arm and led me out. We went down- stairs, one behind another. Near the bottom, somebody fell, and rolled down. Somebody else said it was Copperfield. I was angry at that false report, until finding myself on my back in the passage, I began to think there might be some foundation for it. A very foggy night, with great rings round the lamps in the streets ! There was an indistinct talk of its being wet. / considered it frosty. Steerforth dusted me under a lamp-post, and put my hat into shape, which somebody produced from somewhere in a most extraordinary manner, for I hadn't haid it on before. Steerforth then said," You are all right; Copperfield, are you not ? " and I told him, " Neverberrer." DAVID COPPERFIELD 317 A man, sitting in a pigeons-hole place, looked out of the fog, and took money feom somebody, inquiring if I; was one of the gentlbnien paid for, and appearing rather doubtful (as I remember in the glimpse I had of him) whether to take the money for me or not. •' Shortly afterwards, we were very high up in a very hot theatre, looking down into a large pit, that seemed to mp to smoke ; the people with whom it was crammed were so in- distinct. There was a great stage,,too, looking very clean and smooth: after the streets ; and there were people upon it, talking about something or other, but not at all intelligibly. There was an abundance of bright lights, and there was music, and there were ladies down in the boxes, and I don't know what more. The whole building looked to me, as if it were learning to swim ; it conducted itself in such an unaccountable manner, when I tried: to steady it. 1;. i- On somebody's motion, we resolved to go down-stairs to the dress-boxes, where the ladies were. A gentleman lounging, full dressed, on a sofa, with an opera-glass in his hand, passed before my view, and also my own figure at full length in a glass. Then I was being ushered into one of these boxes, and found myself saying something as I sat. down, and people about me crying "Silence ! " to somebody, and ladies casting indignant, glances at me, and — what ! yes ! — ^Agnes, sitting on the seat before me, in the same box, with a lady and gentleman beside her, whom I didn't know. I see her face now, better than I did then, I dare say, with its indelible look of regret and wonder turned upon me. " Agnes ! " I said, thickly, " Lorblessmer ! Agnes ! " ' " Hush ! Pray ! " she answered, I could not conceive why. " You disturb the company. Look at the stage I" I tried, on her iujunption, to fix it,' and to, hear something of what was going on there, but quite in vain. I looked at her again by-and-by, and saw her shrink into her corner, and put her gloved hand to her forehead. "Agnes ! " I said. " I'mafraidyou'renorwell." "Yes, yes. Do not mind me, Trotwood," she returned. " Listen ! Axe you goiug away soon ? " : " Amigoarawaysoo ?" I repeated. "Yes." I had a stupid intention of replying that I was goipg to wait, to hand her down-stairs. I suppose I expressed it some- how; for, after she had looked at me attentively for a little whUe, she appeared to understand, and replied in a low tone : " I know you will do as I ask you, if I tell you I am very 31 8 DAVID COPPERFIELD earnest in it. Go away now, Trotwood, for my sake, and ask your friends to take you home." ' . She had so far improved me, for the time, that though I was angry with her, I felt ashamed, and with a short "Goori!" (which I intended for "Good-night!") got up arid went away.^ They followed, and I stepped at once out of the box-door into my bedroom, where only Steerforth was with me, helping me to undress, and where I was by turns telling him that Agnes was my sister, and aidjuring him to bring the corkscrew, that I might open another bottle of wine. n How somebody, lying in my bed, lay saying and doing all this over again, at' cross-purposes, in a feverish dream all night — ^th& bed a rocking sea that was never still! iHoWj as that somebody slowly settled down into myselfjdid I begin toparchy and feel as if my outer covering of skin were a hard board ; my tongue the bottom of an empty kettle, furred with long service, and burniiig uj) over a slow fire; the palms of my hands, hot' plates of metal' which no ice could cool ! But the agony of mind, the remorse, and shame I felt, when I became conscious next day ! My horror of having committed a thousand offences I had forgotten, and which nothing could ever expiate — my recollection of -that indeUble look which AgUes had given me-'-the torturing impossibility of communi- cating with her; not knowing, beast that I was, how she came to be in London, or where she stayed — my disgust of the very sight of the room where the revel had been held— my racking head — the sriiellof sinoke, the sight of glasses, the iinpossibiUty of going out, or even getting up ! Oh, what a day it was ! Oh, what an evening, when I sat down by my fire to a basin of mutton broth, dimpled all over with fat, and thought I was going the way of my predecessoTj and should succeed to his dismal stoty as well as to his chambers, and had half a mind to rush express to Dover and reveal all ! What an evening, when Mrs. Crupp, coniing in to take away the broth-basin, produced one kidney on a cheese-plate as the entire remains of yesterday's feast, and I was really inclined to fall upon her nankeen breast; and say, in heartfelt penitence, " Oh, Mrs. Crupp, Mrs. Crupp, never mind the broken meats ! I am very miserable ! "-^only that I doubted, even at that pass, if Mrs. Crupp were quite the sort of woman to confide in ! ' DAVID COPPERFIELD 319 The folio-wing extract requires no explanation beyond reminding the readers of the story that David has accepted an invitation from Mr. SpeHlow, who is a widower with one daughter, to stay with him at his house in Norwood, to which place theiy drive together one Saturday afternoon. Here David passes a most blissful time, which is not even disturbed by the unsympathetic presence of Miss Murdstbne. Ill I FALL INTO CAPTIVITY There was a lovely garden to Mr. Spenlow's house; and though that was not the best time of the year for seeing a garden, it was so beautifully kept, that I was quite enchanted. There was a charming lawn, there were clusters of trees, and there were perspective, walks that I could just distinguish in the dark, arched over with trelHs-work,, on which shinibs and flowers grew in the growing season. • "Here Miss Spehlow walks by herself," I thought. " Dear me ! " We went into the house, which was cheerfully lighted up, and into a hall where there were all sorts of hats,. caps, great-i coats, plaids, gloves, whips, and walking-sticks. " Where is Miss Dora?" said Mr. Spenlow to the servant. /'Dora!" I thought. " What a beautiful name ! " We turned into a room near at hand (I think it was the identical breakfast-room, made memorable by the brown East Indian sherry),* and I heard a voice say, " Mr.,Copperfield, my daughter Dora, and my daughter Dora's confidential friend ! " It was, no doubt, Mr. Spenlow's voice, but I didn't know it, and I didn't care whose it was. All was over in a moment. I had fulfilled my destiny, I was a captive and a slave. I loved Dora Spenlow to distraction ! i She was more than human to me. She was a I'airy, a Sylph, I don't know what she was — anything that no one ever saw, and everything that everybody ever wanted. I was swallowed up in an abyss of love in an instant. There was no pausing on the brink; no looking down, or looking back; I was gone, headlong, before I had sense to say a word to her. * Mr. Tiffey, a clerk at Spenlow and Jorkins, said, " that he had drank brown East ladaa, sherry there of a quality so precious as to make a man wink." 320 DAVID COPPERFIELD " I," observed a well-remembered voice, when I had bowed and murmured something,, "have seen Mx. Copperfield before." The speaker was not Dora. No; the confidential friend, Miss Murdstohe ! I don't think I was much astonished. To the best of my judgment, no capacity of astonishment was left in me. There was nothing worth mentioning in the material world, but Dora Spenlow, to be astonished about. I said, " How do you do. Miss Murdstone ? I hope you are well." She answered, " Very well." I said, " How is Mr. Murdstone ? " She replied, " My brother is robust, I am obliged to you." Mr. Spenlow, who, I suppose, had been surprised to see us recognise each other, then put in his word. "I am glad to find," he said, "Copperfield, that you and Miss Murdstone are already acquainted." " Mr. Copperfield and myself," said Miss Murdstone, with severe composure, " are connections. We were once slightly- acquainted. It was in his childish days. Circumstances have separated us since. I should not have known him." I replied that I should have known her, anywhere. Which was true enough. "Miss Murdstone has had the goodness," said Mr. Spenlow to me, "to accept the of&ce^-if I may so describe it — of my daughter Dora's confidential friend. My daughter Dora having, unhappily, no mother. Miss Murdstone is obliging enough to become her companion and protector." A passing thought occurred to me that Miss Murdstone, like the pocket-iustrument called a life-preserver, was not so much designed for purposes of protection as of assault. But as I had none but passing thoughts for any subject save Dora, I glanced at her, directly afterwards, and was thinking that I saw, in her prettily pettish manner, that she was not very much inclined to be particularly confidential to her companion and protector, when a bell rang, which Mr. Spenlow said was the first dinner-bell, and so carried me off to dress. The idea of dressing one's self, or doing anything in the way of action, in that state of love, was a little too ridiculous. I could only sit down before my fire, biting the key of my carpet-bag, and think of the captivatiag, girlish, bright-eyed, lovely Dora. What a form she had, what a face she had, what a graceful, variable, enchanting manner ! The bell rang again so soon that I made a mere scramble of my dressing, instead of the careful operation I could have DAVID COPPERFIELD 321 wished under the circumstances, and went down-sfcairs. There was some company. Dora was talking to an old gentleman with a grey head. Grey as he was — and a great-grandfather into the bargain, for he said so — I was madly jealous of him. What a state of mind I was in ! I was jealous of every- body. I couldn't bear the idea of anybody knowing Mr. Spenlow better than I did. It was torturing to me to hear them talk of occurrences in which I had had no share. When a most amiable person, with a highly polished bald head, asked me across the dinner-table, if that were the first occasion of my seeing the grounds, I could have done anything to him that was savage and revengeful. I don't remember who was there, except Dora. I have not the least idea what we had for dinner, besides Dora. My impression is, that I dined off Dora entirely, and sent away half-a-dozen plates untouched. I sat next to her. I talked to her. She had the most delightful little voice, the gayest little laugh, the pleasantest and most fascinating little ways, that ever led a lost youth into hopeless slavery. She was rather diminutive altogether. So much the more precious, I thought. When she went out of the rooiii with Miss Murdstone (no other ladies were of the party), I fell into a reverie, only dis- turbed by the cruel apprehension that Miss Murdstone would disparage me to her. The amiable creature with the polished head told me a long story, which I think was about gardening. I think I heard him say, " my gardener," several times. I seemed to pay the deepest attention to him, but I was wander- ing in a garden of Eden all the while, with Dora. My apprehensions of being disparaged to the object of my engrossing affection were revived when we weat into the drawing-room, by the grim and distant aspect of Miss Murd- stone. But I was relieved of them in an unexpected manner. "David Gopperfield," said Miss Murdstone, beckoning me aside into a window. " A word." I confronted Miss Murdstone alone. "David Gopperfield," said Miss Murdstone, "1 need not enlarge upon family circumstances. They are not a tempting subject." " Far from it, ma'am," I returned. " Far from it," assented Miss Murdstone. " I do not wish to revive the memory of past differences, or of past outrages. I have received outrages from a person — a female, I am sorry to say, for the' credit of my sex— who is not to be mentioned Y 322 DAVID COPPERFIELD ■without scorn and disgust; and therefore I would rather not mention her." I felt very fiery on my aunt's account ; but I said it would certainly be better, if Miss Murdstone pleased, not to mention her. I could not hear her disrespectfully mentioned, I added, without expressing my opinion in a decided tone. Miss Murdstone shut her eyes, and disdainfully inclined her head ; then, slowly opening her eyes, resumed : " David Copperfield, I shall not attempt to disguise the fact, that I formed an unfavourable opinion of you in your childhood. It may have been a mistaken one, or you may have ceased to justify it. That is not in question between us now. I belong to a family remarkable, I believe, for some firmness ; and I am not the creature of circumstance or change. I may have my opinion of you. You may have your opinion of me." I inclined my head, in my turn. " But it is not necessary," said Miss Murdstone, " that these opinions should come into collision here. Under existing circumstances, it is as well on all accounts that they should not. As the chances of life have brought us together again, and may bring us together on other occasions, I would say, let us meet here as distant acquaintances. Family circumstances are a sufficient reason for our only meeting on that footing, and it is quite unnecessary that either of us should make the other the subject of remark. Do you approve of this ? " "Miss Murdstone," I returned, "I think you and Mr. Murdstone used me very cruelly, and treated my mother with, great unkindness. I shall always think so, as long as I live, But I quite agree in what you propose." , Miss Murdstone shut her eyes again, and bent her head. Then, just touching the back of my hand with the tips of her cold, stiff fingers, she walked away, arranging the little fetters on her wrists and round her neck; which seemed to be the same set, in exactly the same state, as when I had seen her last. These reminded me, in reference to Miss Murdstone's nature, of the fetters over a jail-door; suggesting on the outside, to all beholders, what was to be expected within. All I know of the rest of the evening is, that I heard the empress of my heart sing, enchanted ballads in the Trench language, generally to the effect that, whatever was the matter, we ought always to dance, Ta ra la, Ta ra la ! accompanying herself on a glorified instrument, resembling a guitar. That I was lost in blissful delirium. That I refused refreshment. DAVID COPPERFIELD 323 That my soul recoiled from punch particularly. That when Miss Murdstone took her into custody and led her away,. she smiled and gave me her delicious hand. That I caught a view of myself in a mirror, looking perfectly imbecile . and , idiotic. That I retired to bed ia a most maudlin state of mind, and got up in a crisis of feeble infatuation. It was a fine morning, and early, and I thought I would go. and take a stroll down one of those wire-arched walks, and indulge my passion by dwelling on her image. On my way through the hall, I encountered her little dog, who was called Jip — short for Gipsy. I approached him tenderly, foi^ I loved even him; but he showed his whole set of teeth, got under a chair expressly to snarl, and wouldn't hear of the least familiarity. The garden was cool and solitary. I walked about, wonder- ing what my feelings of happiness would be, if I could ever become engaged to this dear wonder. As to marriage, and fortune, and all that, I beKeve I was almost as innocently undesigning then, as when I loved little Em'ly. To be allowed to call her " Dora," to write to her, to dote upon and worship her, to have reason to thiuk that when she was with other people she was yet mindful of me, seemed to me the summit of human ambijiion — I am sure it was the summit of mine. There is no doubt whatever that I was a lackadaisical young spooney ; but there was a purity of hept in all this still, that prevents my having quite a contemptuous recollection of it, let me laugh as I may. I had not been walking long, when I turned a corner, and met her. I tingle again from head to foot as my recollection turns that comer, and my pen shakes in my hand. , "You — are — out early, Miss Spenlow," said I. "It's so stupid at home," she replied, "and Miss Murdstone is so absurd ! She talks such nonsense about it's being necessary for the day to be aired, before I come out. Aired!" (She laughed, here, in the most melodious manner.) " On a Sunday morning, when I don't practise, I must do something. So I told papa last night I must come out. Besides, it's the brightest time of the whole day. Don't you think so ? " I hazarded a bold flight, and said (not without stammering) that it was very bright to me then, though it had been very dark to me a minute before. " Do you mean a compliment ? " vsaid Dora, " or that the weather has really changed ? " 324 DAVID COPPERFIELD I stammered worse than before, in replying that I meant no compliment, but the plain truth ; though I was not aware of any change having taken place in the weather. It was in the state of my own feelings, I added bashfully: to clench the explanation. I never saw such curls — how could I, for there never were such curls ! — as those she shook out to hide her blushes. As to the straw hat and blue ribbons which was on the top of the curls, if I could only have hung it up in my room in Buckingham Street, what a priceless possession it would have been ! " You have just come home from Paris," said I. " Yes," said she. " Have you ever been there ? " "No." " Oh ! I hope you'll go soon ! You would like it so much ! " Traces of deep-seated anguish appeared in my countenance. That she should hope I would go, that she should think it possible I could, go, was insupportable. I depreciated Paris ; I depreciated France. I said I wouldn't leave England, under existing circumstances, for any earthly consideration. Nothing should induce me. In short, she was shaking the curls again, when the little dog came running along the walk to our relief. He was mortally jealous of me, and persisted in barking at me. She took him up in her arms — oh my goodness ! — and caressed him, but he persisted upon barking still. He wouldn't let me touch him, when I tried ; and then she beat him. It increased my sufferings greatly to see the pats she gave him for punishment on the bridge of his blunt nose, while he winked his eyes, and licked her hand, and still growled withia himself like a little double-bass. At length he was quiet — well he might be with her dimpled chin upon his head ! — and we walked away to look at a greenhouse. " You are not very intimate with Miss Murdstone, are you ? " said Dora. " My pet." (The two last words were to the dog. Oh if they had only been to me !) " No," I replied. " Not at all so." " She is a tiresome creature," said Dora, pouting. " I can't think what papa can have been about, when he chose such a vexatious thing to be my companion. Who wants a protector ? I am sure / don't want a protector. Jip can protect me a great deal better than Miss Murdstone, — can't you, Jip, dear ? " He only winked lazily, when she kissed his ball of a head. " Papa calls her my confidential friend, but I am sure she is DAVID COPPERFIELD 325 no such thing — is she, Jip. We are not going to confide in any such cross people, Jip and I. We mean to bestow our confidence where we like, and to find out our own friends, instead of having them found out for us — don't we, Jip 1 " Jip made a comfortable noise, in answer, a little like a tea- kettle when it sings. As for me, every word was a new heap of fetters, rivetted above the last. " It is very hard, because we have not a kind mamma, that we are to have, instead, a sulky, gloomy old thing like Miss Murdstone, always following us about — isn't it, Jip ? Never mind, Jip. We won't be confidential, and we'll make ourselves as happy as we can in spite of her, and we'll teaze her, and not please her — won't we, Jip ? " If it had lasted any longer, I think I must have gone down on my knees on the gravel, with the probability before me of grazing them, and of being presently ejected from the premises besides. But, by good fortune the greenhouse was not far off, and these words brought us to it. It contained quite a show of beautiful geraniums. We loitered along in front of them, and Dora often stopped to admire this one or that one, and I stopped to admire the same one, and Dora, laughing, held the dog up childishly, to smell the flowers ; and if we were not all three in Fairyland, certainly I was. The scent of a geranium leaf, at this day, strikes me with a half -comical, half -serious wonder as to what change has come over me in a moment ; and then I see a straw hat and blue ribbons, and a quantity of curls, and a little black dog being held up, in two slender arms, against a bank of blossoms and bright leaves. Miss Murdstone had been looking for us. She found us here ; and presented her uncongenial cheek, the little wrinkles in it filled with hair powder, to Dora to be kissed. Then she took Dora's arm in hers, and marched us in to breakfast as if it were a soldier's funeral. How many cups of tea I drank, because Dora made it, I don't know. But, I perfectly remember that I sat swilling tea until my whole nervous system, if I had had any in those days, must have gone by the board. By-and-by we went to church. Miss Murdstone was between Dora and me in the pew ; but I heard her sing, and the congregation vanished. A sermon was delivered — about Dora, of course^-and I am afraid that is all I know of the service. We had a quiet day. No company, a walk, a family dinner 326 DAVID COPPERFIELD of four, and an evening of looking over books and pictures; Miss Murdstone with a homily before her, and her eye upon us, keeping guard vigilantly. Ah ! little did Mr. Spenlow imagine, when he sat opposite to me after dinner that day, with his pocket-handkerchief over his head, how fervently I was embracing him, in my fancy, as his son-in-law ! Little did he think, when I took leave of him at night, that he had just given his full consent to my being engaged to Dora, and that I was invoking blessings on his head ! We departed early in the morning, for we had a salvage case coming on in the Admiralty Court, requiring a rather accurate knowledge of the whole science of navigation, in which (as we couldn't be expected to know much about those matters in the Commons) the judge had entreated two old Trinity Masters, for charity's sake, to come and help him out. Dora was at the breakfast-table to make the tea again, however ; and I had the melancholy pleasure of taking off my hat to her in the phaeton, as she stood on the door-step with Jip in her arms. What the Admiralty was to me that day ; what nonsense I made of our case in my mind, as I listened to it ; how I saw " DoEA " engraved upon the blade of the silver oar which they lay upon the table, as the emblem of that high jurisdiction ; and how I felt when Mr. Spenlow went home without me (I had had an insane hope that he might take me back again), as if I were a mariner myself, and the ship' to which I belonged had sailed away and left me on a desert island ; I shall make no fruitless effort to describe. If that sleepy old Court could rouse itself, and present in any visible form the day-dreams I have had in it about Dora, it would reveal my truth. I don't mean the dreams that I dreamed on that day alone, but day after day, from week to week, and term to term. I went there, not to attend to what was going on, but to think about Dora. K ever I bestowed a thought upon the cases, as they dragged their slow length before me, it was only to wonder, in the matrimonial cases (remembering Dora), how it was that married people could ever be otherwise than happy ; and, in the Prerogative cases, to consider, if the money in question had been left to me, what were the foremost steps I should immediately have taken in regard to Dora. Within the first week of my passion, I bought four sumptuous waistcoats — not for myself ; / had no pride in them; for Dora — and took to wearing straw- coloured kid gloves in the streets, and laid the foundations of all the corns I have ever had. If the boots I wore at that period DAVID COPPERFIELD 327 could only be produced and compared with the natural size of my feet, they would show what the state of my heart was, in a most .affecting manner. And yet, wretched cripple as I made myself by this act of homage to Dora, I walked miles upon miles daily in the hope of seeing her. Not .only was I soon as well known on the Norwood Eoad as the postmen on that beat, but I pervaded London likewise. I walked about the streets where the best shops for ladies were, I haunted the Bazaar like an unquiet spirit, I fagged through the Park again and again, long after I was quite knocked up. Sometimes, at long intervals and on rare occasions, I saw her. Perhaps I saw her glove waved in a carriage-window ; perhaps I met her, walked with her and Miss Murdstone a little way,! and spoke to ter. In the latter case I was always very miserable afterwards, to think that I had said nothing- to the purpose ; or that she had no idea of the extent of my devotion, or that she cared nothing Eibout me. I was always looking out, as may be supposed, for another invitation to Mr. Spenlow's house. I was always being disappointed, for I got none. Mrs. Crupp must have been a woman of penetration; for when this attachment was but a few weeks old, and I had not had the courage to write more explicitly even to Agnes, than that I had been to Mr. Spenlow's house, " whose family," I added, " consists of one daughter ; " — I say Mrs. Crupp must have been a woman of penetration, for, even in that early stage, she found it out. She came up to me one evening, when I was very low, to ask (she being then afflicted with the disorder I have mentioned) if I could oblige her with a little tincture of cardamums mixed with rhubarb, and flavoured with seven drops of the essence of cloves, which was the best remedy for her complaint ; — or, if I had not siich a thing by me, with a little brandy, which was the next best. It was not, she remarked, so palatable to her, but it was the next best. As I had never even heard of the first remedy, and always had the second in the closet, I gave Mrs. Crupp a glass of the second, which (that I might have no suspicion of its being devoted to any improper use) she begail to take' in my presence. " Cheer up, sir," said Mrs. Crupp. " I can't abear to see you so, sir : I'm a mother myself." I did not quite perceive the application of this fact to myself, but I smiled on Mrs. Crupp, as benignly as was in my power. 328 DAVID COPPERFIELD " Come, sir," said Mrs. Crupp. " Excuse me. I know what it is, sir. There's a lady in the case." " Mrs. Crupp ? " I returned, reddening. " Oh, bless you ! Keep a good heart, sir ! " said Mrs. Crupp, nodding encouragement. "ITever say die, sir! If she don't smile upon you, there's a many as will. You're a young gentle- man to be smiled on, Mr. CopperfuU, and you must learn your walue, sir." Mrs. Crupp always called me Mr. CopperfuU: firstly, no doubt, because it was not my name ; and secondly, I am inclined to think, in some indistinct association with a washing-day. " What makes you suppose there is any young lady in the case, Mrs. Crupp ? " said I. " Mr. Copperfull," said Mrs. Crupp, with a great deal of feeling, " I'm a mother myself." For some time Mrs. Crupp could only lay her hand upon her nankeen bosom, and fortify herself against returning pain with sips of her medicine. At length she spoke again. " When the present set were took for you by your dear aunt, Mr. Copperfull," said Mrs. Crupp, " my remark were, I had now found summun I could care for. 'Thank Ev'in!' were the expression, ' I have now found summun I can care for ! ' — You don't eat enough, sir, nor yet drink." " Is that what you found your supposition on, Mrs. Crupp ? " said I. " Sir," said Mrs. Crupp, in a tone approaching to severity, " I've laundressed other young gentlemen besides yourself. A young gentlemen may be over-careful of himself, or he may be under-careful of himself. He may brush his hair too regular, or too imregular. He may wear his boots much too large for him, or much too small. That is according as the young gentle- man has his original character formed. But let him go to which extreme he may, sir, there's a young lady in both of em." Mrs. Crupp shook her head in such a determined manner, that I had not an inch of 'vantage-ground left. " It was but the gentleman which died here before yourself," said Mrs. Crupp, " that fell in love — with a barmaid — and had his waistcoats took in directly, though much swelled by drinking." "Mrs. Crupp," said I, "I must beg you not to connect the young lady in my case with a barmaid, or anything of that sort, if you please." DAVID COPPERFIELD 329 " Mr. CopperfuU," returned Mrs. Crupp, , " I'm a mother myself, and not likely. I ask your pardon, sir, if I intrude. I should never wish to intrude where I were not welcome. But you are a young gentleman, Mr. CopperfuU, and my adwice to you is, to cheer up, sir, to keep a good heart, and to know your own walue. If you was to take to something, sir," said Mrs. Crupp, " if you was to take to skittles, now, which is healthy, you might find it divert your miad, and do you good." With these words, Mrs. Crupp, affecting to be very careful of the brandy — which was all gone — thanked me with a majestic curtsey, and retired. As her figure disappeared into the gloom of the entry, this counsel certainly presented itself to my mind in the light of a slight liberty on IVfcs. Crupp's part ; but, at the same time, I was content to receive it, in another point of view, as a word to the wise, and a warning in future to keep my secret better. Tommy Traddles,. another of David's Bohoolfellows, is living in a little street near the Veterinary College, Camden Town. He is reading for the bar, and is engaged to be married to a curate's daughter, " one of ten down in Devonshire." Traddles boards with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, David's old friends, whose acquaintance he made during the unhappy Murdstone and Grinby days. He invites them and Traddles to dinner, wluch is interrupted by the entrance of Steerforth's servant, the respectable Littimer, whose presence does not add to the gaiety of the entertainment. IV MR. MICAWBEr's gauntlet At the appointed time, my three visitors arrived together. Mr. Micawber with more shirt-collar than usual, and a new ribbon to his eyeglass ; Mrs. Micawber with her cap in a whity- brown paper parcel; Traddles carrying the parcel, and supporting Mrs. Micawber on his arm. They were all delighted with my residence. When I conducted Mrs. Micawber to my dressing- table, and she saw the scale on which it was prepared for her, she was in such raptures, that she called Mr. Micawber to come in and look. " My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, "this Is luxurious. 330 DAVID COPPERFIELD This is a way of life which reminds me of the period when I was myself in a state of celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber had not yet been solicited to plight her faith at the Hymeneal altar." "He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, archly. " He cannot answer for others." " My dear," returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, " I have no desire to answer for others. I am too well aware that when, in the inscrutable decrees of Fate, you were reserved for me, it is possible you may have been reserved for one, destined, after a protracted struggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniary involvements of a complicated nature. I understand your allusion, my love. I regret it, but I can bear it." " Micawber ! " exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. " Have I deserved this ? I, who never have deserted you ; who never mil desert you, Micawber ! " "My love," said Mr. Micawber, much affected, "you will forgive, and our old and tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure, forgive, the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent collision with the Minion of Power — in other words, with a ribald turncock attached to the water-works — and will pity, not condemn, its excesses." Mr. Micawber then embraced Mrs. Micawber, and pressed my hand ; leaving me to infer from this broken allusion that his domestic supply of water had been cut, off that afternoon, in consequence of default in the payment of the company's rates. To divert his thoughts from this melancholy subject, I informed Mr. Micawber that I relied upon him for a bowl of punch, and led him to the lemons. His recent despondency, not to say despair, was gone in a moment. I never saw a man so thoroughly enjoy himself amid the fragrance of lemon-peel and sugar, the odour of burning rum, and the steam of boiling water, as Mr. Micawber did that afternoon. It was wonderful to see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud of these delicate fumes, as he stirred, and mixed, and tasted, and looked as if he were making, instead of punch, a fortune for his family down to the latest posterity. As to Mrs. Micawber, I don't know whether it was the effect Of the cap, or the lavender-water, or the pins, or the fire,- or the wax-candles, but she came out of my room, comparatively speaking, lovely. And the lark was never gayer than that excellent woman. I suppose — I never ventured to inquire, but I suppose — ^that Mrs. Crupp, after frying the soles, was taken ill. Because we DAVID COPPERFIELD 331 broke down at that point. The leg of mutton came up very red within, and very pale without : besides having a foreign substance of a gritty nature sprinkled over it, as if it had had a fall into the ashes of that remarkable kitchen fire-place. But we were not in a condition to judge of this fact from the appearance of the gravy, forasmuch as the "young gal" had dropped it aU upon the stairs — where it remained, by the bye, in a long train, untU it was worn out. The pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie : the crust being like a disappointing head, phreno- logically speaking : full of lumps and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, the banquet was such a failure that I should have been quite unhappy — about the failure, I mean, for I was always unhappy about Dora — if I had not been relieved by the great good-humour of my company, and by a bright suggestion from Mr. Micawber, " My dear frieiid dopperfield," said Mr. Micawber, " accidents will occur in the bestvregulated families ; and in families not regulated by that pervading influence which sanctifies while it enhances the^a — I would say in short, by the influence of Woman, in the lofty character of Wife, they may be expected with confidence, and must be borne with philosophy. If you will allow me to take the liberty of remarking that there are few comestibles better, in their way, than a Devil, and that I believe, with a little division of labour, we could accomplish a good one if the young person in attendance could produce a gridiron, I would put it, to you, that this little misfortune may be easily repaired." There was a gridkon in the pantry, on which my morning rasher of bacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, and immediately applied ourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber's idea into effect. The division of labour to which he had referred was this: — Traddles cut the mutton into slices; Mr. Micawber (who could do anything of this sort to perfedtion) covered them' with pepper, mustard, salt, and cayenne ; I put them on the gridiron, turned them with a fork, and took them off, under Mr. Micawber's direction ; and Mrs. Micawber heated, and continually stirred, some mushroom ketchup in a little saucepan. When we had slices enough done to begin upon, we fell-to, with our sleeves still tucked up at the wrists, more slices sputtering and blazing on the fire, and our attention divided between the mutton on ou;- plates, and the mutton then preparing. What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it, the bustle of it, the frequent starting Up to look after it, the 332 DAVID COPPERFIELD frequent sitting down to dispose of it as the crisp slices came off the gridiron hot and hot, the being so busy, so flushed with the fire, so amused, and in the midst of such a tempting noise and savour, we Teduced the leg of mutton to the bone. My own appetite came back miraculously. I am ashamed to record it, but I really believe I forgot Dora for a little while. I am satisfied that Mr. and Mrs. Micawber could not have enjoyed the feast more, if they had sold a bed to provide it. Traddles laughed as heartily, almost the whole time, as he ate and worked. Indeed we all did, all at once ; and I dare say there never was a greater success. We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all busily engaged, in our several departments, endeavouring to bring the last batch of slices to a state of perfection that should crown the feast, when I was aware of a strange presence in the room, and my eyes encountered those of the staid Littimer, standing hat in hand before me. " What's the matter ? " I involuntarily asked. " I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my master not here, sir ? " "No." " Have you not seen him, sir ? " " No ; don't you come from him ? " " Not immediately so, sir." " Did he tell you you would find him here ? " " Not exactly so, sir. But I should think he might be here to-morrow, as he has not been here to-day." " Is he coming up from Oxford ? " "I beg, sir," he returned respectfully, "that you will be seated, and allow me to do this." With which he took the fork from my unresisting hand, and bent over the gridiron, as if his whole attention were concentrated on it. We should not have been much discomposed, I dare say, by the appearance of Steerforth himself, but we became in a moment the meekest of the meek before his respectable serving-man. Mr. Micawber, humming a tune, to show that he was quite at ease, subsided into his chair, with the handle of a hastily con- cealed fork sticking out of the bosom of his coat, as if he had stabbed himself. Mrs. Micawber put on her brown gloves, and assumed a genteel languor. Traddles ran his greasy hands through his hair, and stood it bolt upright, and stared in con- fusion on the table-cloth. As for me, I was a mere infant at the head of my own table ; and hardly ventured to glance at the DAVID COPPERFIELD 333 respectable phenomenon, who had come from Heaven knows where, to put my establishment to rights. Meanwhile he took the mutton off the gridiron, and gravely handed it round. We all took some, but our appreciation of it was gone, and we merely made a show of eating it. As we se3>erally pushed away our plates, he noiselessly removed them, and set on the cheese. He took that off, too, when it was done with ; cleared the table ; piled everything on the dumb-waiter ; gave us our wine-glasses ; and, of his own accord, wheeled the dumb-waiter into the pantry. All thiq was done in a perfect manner, and he never raised his eyes from what he was about. Yet, his very elbows, when he had his back towards me, seemed to teem with the expression of his fixed opinion that I was extremely young. " Can I do anything more, sir ? " I thanked him and said. No; but would he take no dinner himself ? " None, I am obliged to you, sir. I wish you good night, sir." He comprehended everybody present, in the respectful bow with which he followed these words, and disappeared. My visitors seemed to breathe more freely when he was gone ; but my own relief was very great, for besides the constraint, arising from that extraordinary sense of being at a disadvantage which I always had in this man's presence, my conscience had em- barrassed me with whispers that I had mistrusted his master, and I could not repress a vague uneasy dread that he might find it out. How was it, having so little in reality to conceal, that I always did feel as if this man were finding me out ? Mr. Micawber roused me from this reflection, by bestowing many encomiums on the absent Littimer as a most respectable fellow, and a thoroughly admir-^le servant. Mr. Micawber, I may remark, had taken his full share of the general bow, and had received it with infinite condescension. "But punch, my dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, tasting it, " like time and tide, waits for no man. Ah ! it is at the present moment in high fiavour. My love, will you give me your opinion ? " Mrs. Micawber pronounced it excellent. "Then I will drink," said Mr. Micawber, "if my friend Copperfield will permit me to take that social liberty, to the days when my friend Copperfield and myself were younger, and fought our way in the world side by side. I may say, of myself 334 DAVID COPPERFIELD and Copperfield, in words we have sung together before now, that ' We twa' hae ruu about the braes And pu'd the gowans fine ' — in a figurative point of view — on several occasions. I am not exactly aware," said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll in his voice, and the old indescribable air of saying something genteel, " what gowans may be, but I have no doubt that Copperfield and myself would freq^uently have taken a pull at them, if it had been feasible." Mr. Micawber, at the then present moment, took a pull at his punch. So we all did : Traddles evidently lost in wondering at what distant time Mr. Micawber and I could have been comrades in the battle of the world. " Ahem!" said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat, and warm- ing with the punch and with the fire. " My dear, another glass ? " Mrs. Micawber said it must be very little ; but we couldn't allow that, so it was a glassful. "As we are quite confidential here, Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, sipping her punch, " Mr. Traddles being a part of our domesticity, I should much like to have your opinion on Mr. Micawber's prospects. For corn," said Mrs. Micawber argumentatively, " as I have repeatedly said to Mr. Micawber, may be gentlemanly, but it is not remunerative. Commission to the extent of two and ninepence in a fortnight cannot, how- ever limited our ideas, be considered remunerative." We were all agreed upon that. " Then," said Mrs. Micawber, who prided herself on taking a clear view of things, and keeping Mr. Micawber straight by her woman's wisdom, when he might otherwise go a little crooked, " then I ask myself this question. If corn is not to be relied upon, what is ? Are coals to be relied upon ? Not at all. We have turned our attention to that experiment, on the suggestion of my family, and we find it fallacious." Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets, eyed us aside, and nodded his head, as much as to say that the case was very clearly put. " The articles of corn and coals," said Mrs. Micawber, still more argumentatively, " being equally out of the question, Mr. ' Copperfield, I naturally look round the world, and say, ' What is there in which a person of Mr. Micawber's talent is likely to succeed ? ' And I exclude the doing anything on commission, because commission is not a certainty. What is best suited to o DAVID COPPERFIELD 335 a person of Mr. Miqawber's peculiar temperament is, I am con- vinced, a certainty." Traddles and I both expressed, by a feeling murmur, that this great discovery was no doubt true of Mr. Micawber, and that it did him much credit. " I will not conceal from you, my dear Mn Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, "that /have long felt the brewing business to be particularly adapted to Mr. Micawber., Look; at Barclay and Perkins! Look at Truman, Hanbury, and Buxton! It is on that extensive footing that Mr. Micawber, I know from my own knowledge of him, is calculated to shine; and the profits,, 3^ am told, are e-NOE — mous! Bub if Mr., Micawber cannot get into those firms — which decline to answer bis letters, when he offers his services even in an inferior capacity-^what is, the use of dwelling upon that idea ? If one. I may have a conviction that Mr, Micawber's manners " " Hem ! Eeally, my dear," interposed Mr. Micawber. " My love, be silent," said Mrs. Micawber, laying her brown glove on his hand. "I may have a conviction, Mr. Copperfield, that Mr. Micawber's manners peculiarly qualify him for the. banking business. I may argue within, myself, that if J had a deposit at a banking-house, the manners of Mr. Micawber, as representing that banking-house, would inspire confidencci and must" extend the connection. But if the various banking-houses refuse to avail themselves of Mj- Micawber's abilities, or receive the offer of them with contumely, what is the use of dwelHng upon that idea ? None. As to originating a hanking business, I may know that there are members of my famfly who, if they chose to place their money in Mr. Micawber's hands, might found an establishment of that description. But if they do not choose to place their money in Mr. Micawber's hands— which they don't — what is the use of that? Agaid I contend that we are no farther advanced than we were before," I shook my head, and said, " Not a bit." Traddles also shook his head, and said, " Not a bit." " What do I deduce from this ? " Mrs. Mica\yber went on to say, still with the same air of putting a case lucidly, , " What is the conclusion, my dear Mr. Copperfield, to which I am irresistibly brought ? Am I wrong in saying, it is clear that we must live ? " I answered " Not at all!" and Traddles answered "Not at all ! " and I found myself afterwards sagely adding, alone, that a person must either live or die. 336 DAVID COPPERFIELD " Justi so," returned Mrs. Micawber. " It is precisely that. And the fact is, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that we can mt live without something widely different from existing circumstances shortly turning up. Now I am convinced, myself, and this I have pointed out to Mr. Micawber several times of late, that things cannot be expected to turn up of themselves. We must, in a measure, assist to turn them up. I may be wrong, but I have formed that opinion." Both Traddles and I applauded it highly, "Very well," said Mrs. Micawber. "Then what do I re- commend? Here is Mr. Micawber with a variety of qualiiica- tions — ^with great talent " " Eeally, my love," said Mr. Micawber, " Pray, my dear, allow me to conclude. Here is Mr. Micawber, vdth a variety of qualifications, with great talent — / should say, with genius, but that may be the partiality of a wife " Traddles and I both murmured " No." " And here is Mr. Micawber without any suitable position or employment. Where does that respo^Qsibility rest ? Clearly on society. Then I would make a fact so disgraceful known, and boldly challenge society to set it right. It appears to me, my dear Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, forcibly, " that what Mr. Micawber has to do, is -to throw down the gauntlet to society, and say, in effect, ' Show me who will take that up. Let the party immediately step forward.' " I ventured to ask Mrs. Micawber how this was to be done. " By advertising," said Mrs. Micawber — " in all the papers. It appears to me, that what Mr. Micawber has to do, in justice "to himself, in justice to his family, and I will even go so far as to say in justice to society, by which he has been hitherto over- looked, is to advertise in all the papers ; to describe himself plainly as so-and-so, with such and such qualifications, and to put it thus : ' N^ow employ me, on remunerative terms, and address, post-paid, to W. M., Post Office, Camden Town.' " " This idea of Mrs. Micawber's, my dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, making his shirt-collar meet in front of his chin, and glancing at me sideways, " is, in fact, the Leap to which I alluded, when I last had the pleasure of seeing you." " Advertising is rather expensive," I remarked, dubiously. " Exactly so ! " said Mrs. Micawber, preserving the same logical air, "Quite true, my dear Mr, Copperfield! I have made the identical observation to Mr. Micawber, It is for that DAVID COPPERFIELD 337 reason especially, that I think Mr. Micawber ought (as I have already said, in justice to himself, in justice to his family, and in justice to society) to raise a certain sum of money — on a bill." Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair, trifled with his eye-glass, and cast his eyes up at the ceiling ; but I thought him observant of Traddles, too, who was looking at the fire. "If no member of my family," said Mrs. Micawber, "is possessed of sufficient natural feeling to negotiate that bill — I believe there is a better business term to express what I mean " Mr. Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling, suggested " Discount." "To discount that bill," said Mrs. Micawber, "then my opinion is, that Mr. Micawber should go into the City, should take that bill into the Money Market, and should dispose of it for what he can get. If the individuals in the Money Market oblige Mr. Micawber to sustain a great sacrifice, that is between themselves and their consciences. I view it, steadily, as an investment. I recommend Mr. Micawber, my dear Mr. Copper- field, to do the same ; to regard it as an investment which is sure of return, and to make up his mind to any sacrifice." I felt, but I, am sure I don't know why, that this was self- denying and devoted in Mrs. Micawber, and I uttered a murmur to that effect. Traddles, who took his tone from me, did like- wise, still looking at the fire. " I will not," said Mrs. Micawber, finishing her punch, and gathering her scarf about her shoulders, preparatory to her with- drawal to my bed-room : " I will not protract these remarks on the subject of Mr. Micawber's pecuniary affairs. At your fire- side, my dear Mr. Copperfield, and in the presence of Mr. Traddles, who, though not so old a friend, is quite one of our- selves, I could not refrain from making you acquainted with the course / advise Mi*. Micawber to take. I feel that the time is arrived when Mr. Micawber should exert himself and — I will add — assert himself, and it appears to me that these are the means. I am aware that I am merely a female, and that a masculine judgment is, usually considered more competent to the discussion of such questions ; still I must not forget that, when I lived at home with my papa and mamma, my papa was in the habit of saying, ' Emma's form is fragile, but her grasp of a subject is inferior to none.' That my papa was too partial, I well know ; but that he was an observer of character in z 338 DAVID COPPERFIELD some degree, my duty and my reason equally forbid me to doubt." With these words, and Resisting our entreaties that she would grace the remaining circulation of the punch with her presence, Mrs. Micawber retired to my bedroom. And really I felt that she was a noble woman — the sort of woman who might have been a Eoman matron, and done all manner of heroic things, in times of public trouble. In the fervour of this impression, I congratulated Mr. Micawber on the treasure he possessed. So did Traddles. Mr. Micawber extended his hand to each of us in succession, and then covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief, which I think had more snuff upon it than he was aware of. He then returned to the punch, in the highest state of exhilaration. He was full of eloquence. He gave us to understand that in our children we lived again, and that, under the pressure of pecuniary difficulties, any accession to their number was doubly welcome. He said that Mrs. Micawber had latterly had her doubts on this point, but that he had dispelled them, and reassured her. As to her family, they were totally unworthy of her, and their sentiments were utterly indifferent to 'him, and they might; — I quote his own expression — go to the devil. Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. He said Traddles's was a character, to the steady virtues of which he (Mr. Micawber) could lay no claim, but which, he thanked Heaven, he could admire. He feelingly alluded to the young lady, unknown, whom Traddles had honoured with his affection, and who had reciprocated that affection by honouring and blessing Traddles with her affection. Mr. Micawber pledged her. So did I. Traddles thanked us both,' by saying, with a simplicity and honesty I had sense enough to be quite charmed with, " I am very much obliged to you indeed. And I do assure you, she's the dearest girl ! " Mr. Micawber took an early opportunity, after that, of hinting, with the utmost delicacy and ceremony, at the state of my affections. Nothing but the serious assurance of his friend Copperfield to the contrary, he observed, could deprive him of the impression that his friend Copperfield loved and was beloved. After feeling very hot and uncomfortable for some time, and after a good deal of blushing, stammering, and denying, I said, having my glass in my hand, " Well, I would give them D. ! " which so excited and gratified Mr. Micawber, that he ran with a glass of punch into tny bedroom, in order DAVID COPPERFIELD 339 that Mrs. Micawber might drink D.> -who drank it with enthu- siasm, crying from witl^in, in a shrill voice, " Hear, hear ! My dear Mr. Copperfield, I' am delighted. Hear ! " and tapping at the wall, by way of applause. Out conversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; Mr. Micawber telling us that he found Camden Town incon- venient, and that the first thing he contemplated doing, when the advertisement should have been the cause of something satisfactpry turning up, was to move. He mentioned a terrace at the western end of Oxford Street, fronting Hyde Park, on which he had always had his eye, but which he did not expect to attain immediately, as it would rec[uire a large establishment. There would probably be an interval, he explained, in which he should content himself with the upper part of a house, over some respectable place of business^say in Piccadilly-^whieh 'would be a cheerful situation for Mrs. Micawber ; and where, by throwing out a bow window, or carrying up the roof another story, or making some little alteration of that sort, they might live, comfortably and reputably, for a few years. Whatever was reserved for him, he expressly said, or wherever his abode might be, we might rely on this — there would always be a room for Traddles, and a knife and fork ,for me. We acknowledged his kindness ; and he begged us to forgive his having launched into these practical and business-like details, and to excuse it as natural in one who was making entirely new arrangements in life. Mrs. Micawber, tapping at the wall again, to know if tea were ready, broke up this particular phase of our friendly con- versation. She made tea for us in a most agreeable manner ; and, whenever 1 went near her, in handing about the tea-cups and bread-and-butter, asked me, in a whisper, whether D. was fair, or dark, or whether she was short, or tall : or something of that kiad ; which I think I liked. After tea, we discussed a variety of topics before the fire ; and Mrs. Micawber was good ienough to sing us (in a small, thin, flat voice, which I remem- bered to have considered, when I first knew her, the very table-beer of acoustics) the favourite ballads of "The Dashing White Serjeant," and " Little Tafflin." For both of these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived at home with her papa and mamma. Mr. Micawber told us, that when he heard her sing the first one, on the first occasion of his seeing her beneath the parental roof, she had attracted his attention in an extraordinary degree ; but that when it came to 340 DAVID COPPERFIELD Little TafSin, he had resolved to win that woman or perish in the attempt. It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs. Micawber rose to replace her cap in the whity-brown paper parcel, and to put on her bonnet. Mr. Micawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting on his great-coat, to slip a letter into my hand, with a wMsperdd request that I would read it at my leisure. I also took the opportunity of my holding a candle over the banisters to light them down, when Mr. Micawber was going, first leading Mrs. Micawber, and Traddles was following with the cap, to detain Traddles for a moment on the top of the stairs. " Traddles," said I, " Mr. Micawber don't mean any harm, poor fellow ; but, if I were you, I wouldn't lend him anything." " My dear Copperfield," returned Traddles, smiling, " I haven't got anything to lend." " You have got a name, you know," said !.- " Oh ! You call that something to lend ? " returned Traddles, with a thoughtful look. " Certainly." " Oh ! " said Traddles. " Yes, to be sure ? I am very much obliged to you, Copperfield ; but — I am afraid I haye lent him that already." " For the bill that is to be a certain investment ? " I inquired. " No," said Traddles. " Not for that one. This Is the first I have heard of that one. I have been thinking that he will most likely propose that one, on the way home. Mine's another." " I hope there will be nothing wrong about It," said I. " I hope not," said Traddles. " I should think not, though, because he told me, only the other day, that it. was provided for. That was Mr. Micawber's expression. ' Provided for.' " Mr. Micawber looking up at this juncture to where we were standing, I had only time to repeat my caution. Traddles thanked me, and descended. But' I was much afraid, when I observed the good-natured manner in which he went down with the cap in his hand, and gave Mrs. Micawber his arm, that he would be carried into the Money Market neck and heels. , . . y I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber's letter tumbled on the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the seaFand read as follows. It was dated an hour and a half before dinner. I am not sure whether I have mentioned that, when DAVID COPPERFIELD 341 Mr. Micawber was at any particularly desperate crisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology : which he seem^ to think equiyalent to winding up his affairs. " Sir^-for I dare not say my dear Copperfield, " It is expedient that I should inform you that the under- signed is Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the premature knowledge of his calamitous position, you may observe in him this day ; but hope has sunk beneath the horizon, and the undersigned is Crushed. " The present communication is penned within the personal range (I cannot call it the society) of an individual, in a state closely bordering on intoxication, employed by a broker. That individual is in legal possession of the premises, under a distress for rent. His inventory includes, not only the chattels and effects of every description belonging to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this babitation, but also those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles, lodger, a member of the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple. " If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, which is now 'commended' (in the language of an immortal "Writer) to the lips of the undersigned, it would be found in the fact, that a friendly acceptance granted to the undersigned, by the before-mentioned Mj. Thomas Traddles, for the sum of £23 4s. 9^d. is overdue, and is not provided for. Also, in the fact, that the living responsibilities clinging to the undersigned, wUl, in the course of nature, be increased by the sum of one more helpless victim; whose miserable appearance may be looked for — In round numbers — at the expiration of a period not exceeding six lunar months from the present date. "After premising this much, it would be a work of superero- gation to add, that dust and ashes are for ever scattered "On "The "Head "Of "WiLKiNS Micawber." 342 DjAVID COPPERFIELD Mr. Spenlow haa died, leaving no will and no fortune. Dora lives with her aunts Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa, her father's sisters, and it is to these ladies that David writes, hegging for their sanction to an engagement het^een himself and Dora. The aunts are kind and give their consent. Dora is introduced to Agnes, who treats her most lovingly, and to Miss Trbtwood, who is affectionate and amiahle. David and Dora are at length married, and David has gained all that he most longed for in the world. V OUR HOUSEKEEPING It was a strange condition of things, the honeymoon being over, and the bridesmaids gone home, when I found myself sitting down in my own small house with Dora ; quite thrown out of employment, as I may say, in respect of the delicious old occupation of making love. It seemed such an extraordinary thing to have Dora always there. It was so unaccountable not to be obliged ]to go out to see her, not to have any occasion to be tormenting myself about her, not to have to write to her, not to be scheming and devising opportunities of being alone with her. Sometimes of an evening, when I looked up from my writing, and saw her seated opposite,, I would lean back in my chair, and think how queer it was that there we were, alone together as a matter of course — nobody's business any more — all the romance of our engagement put away upon a shelf, to rust — no one to please but one another — one another to please, for life. I When there was a debate, and I was kept out very late, it seemed so strange to me, as I was walking home, to, think that Dora was at home ! It was such a wonderful thiog, at first, to have her coming softly down to talk to me as I ate my supper. It was such a stupendous thing to know for certain that she put her hair in papers. It was altogether such an astonishing event to see her do it ! I doubt whether two young birds could have known less about keeping house, than I and my pretty Dora did. We had a servant, of course. She kept house for us. I have still a latent belief that she must have been Mrs. Crupp's daughter in. disguise, we had such an awful time of it with Mary Anne. Her name was Paragon. Her nature was represented to us, when we engaged her, as being feebly expressed in her name. DAVID COPPERFIELD 343 She had a written character, as large as a proclamation ; and, according to this document, could do everything of , a dpniestie nature that ever I heard of, and a great many' things that I never did hear of. She was a woman in the prim^ pfJife; of a severe countenance ; and subject (particularly in the arms) to a sort of perpetual measles or flery rash. She had a cousin in the Life Guards, with such long legs that he looked like the after- noon shadow of somebody else. His shell-jacket was as much too little for hitn as he was too big for the premises. He made the cottage smaller than it need have been, by being so very much out of proportion to it. Besides' which, the waUs were not thick, and whenever he passed the evening at our house, we always knew of it by hearing one continual growl in the kitchen. Our treasure was warranted sober and hqnest. I am theror fore willing to believe that she was in a fit when we found her under the boiler ; and that the deficient tea-spoons were attribu- table to the dustman. But she preyed upon our minds dreadfully. We felt our inexperience, and were unable to help ourselves. We should have been at her mercy, if she had had any ; biit, she was a remorseless woman, and had none. She was the cause of our first little q^uarrel. " My dearest life," I said one day to Dora, " do you think Mary Anne has any idea of time ? " , " Why, Doady ? " inc[uired. Dora, looking upj innocently, from her drawing. "My love, because it's five, and we were to have .dined at four." : Dora glanced wistfully at the clock, and hinted that she thought it was too fast. " On the contrary,, my love," said- 1, referring to my watch, "it's a few minutes too slow." My little wife came and sat upon my knee, to, coax me to be quiet, and drew a line with her pencil down the middle of my nose; but I couldn't dine off that, though it was very agreeable. " Don't you think, my dear," said I, " it would be better for you to remonstrate with Mary Anne ? " " Oh no, please ! , I couldn't, Doady ! " said Dora. - " Why not, my Ipve ? " I gently asked, " Oh, because I am such a little goose," said Dora, " and she knows I am ! " 344 DAVID COPPERFIELD I thought this sentiment so incompatible with the establish- ment of any system of check on Mary Anne, that I frowned a little. " Oh, what ugly wrinkles in my bad boy's forehead ! " said Dora, and still being on my knee, she traced them with her pencil; putting it to her rosy lips to ma,ke it mark blacker, and working at my forehead with a quaint little mockery of being industrious, that quite delighted me in spitfe of myself. " There's a good child," said Dora, " it makes its face so much prettier to laugh." " But, my love," said I. "No, no! please!" cried Dora, with a kiss, "don't be a naughty Blue Beard I Don't be serious ! " " My precious wife," said I, " we must be serious sometimes. Come ! Sit down on this chair, close beside me ! Give me the pencil ! There ! Now let us talk sensibly. You know, dear; " what a little hand it was to hold, and what a tiny wedding-ring it was to see ! " You know, my love, it is not exactly comfort- able to have to go out without one's dinner. Now, is it ? " " N — n — no ! " replied Dora, faintly. " My love, how you tremble ! " " Because I know you're going to scold me," exclaimed Dora, in a piteous voice. " My sweet, I am only going to reason." ~ " Oh, but reasoning is worse than scolding ! " exclaimed Dora, in despair. " I didn't marry to be reasoned with. If you meant to reason with such a poor little thing as I am, you ought to have told me so, you cruel boy ! " I tried to pacify Dora, but she turned away her face, and shook her curls from side to side, and said, " You cruel, cruel boy ! " so many times, that I really did not exactly know what, to do : so I took a few turns up and down the room in my uncertainty, and came back again. " Dora, my darling ! " "No, I am not your darling. Because you must be sorry that you married me, or else you wouldn't reason with me ! " returned Dora. I felt so injured by the inconsequential nature of this charge, that it gave me courage to be grave. " Now, my own Dora," said I, " you are very childish, and are talking nonsense. You must remember, I am sure, that I was obliged to go out yesterday when dinner was half over ; and that, the day before, I was made quite unwell by being obliged DAVID COPPERFIELD 345 to eat underdone veal in a hurry ; to-day, I don't dine at all — and I am afraid to say how long we waited for breakfast— and then, the water didn't boil I don't mean to reproach you, my dear, but this is not comfortable." " Oh, you cruel, cruel boy, to say I am a disagreeable wife ! " cried Dora. "Now, my dear Dora, you must know that I never said that!" " You said I wasn't comfortable ! " said Dora. " I said the housekeeping was not comfortable." "It's exactly the same thing!" cried Dora. And she evidently thought so, for she wept most grievously, I took another turn across the room, full of love for my pretty wife, and distracted by self-accusatory inclinations to knock my head against the door. I sat down again, and said — " I am not blaming you, Dora. We have both a great deal to learn. I am only trying to show you, my dear, that you must — you really must " (I was resolved not to give this up) " accustom yourself to look after Mary Anne. Likewise to act a little for yourself, and me." " I wonder, I do, at your making such ungrateful speeches," sobbed Dora. " When you know that the other day, when you said you would like a little bit of fish, I went out myself, miles and miles, and ordered it, to surprise you." " And it was very kind of you, my own darling," said I. " I felt it so much that I Wouldn't on any account have even mentioned that you bought a salmon — which was too much for two. Or that it cost one pound six — which was more than we can afford." " You enjoyed it very much," sobbed Dora. " And you said I was a mouse," " And I'll say so again, my love," I returned, " a thousand times ! " But I had wounded Dora's soft little heart, and she was not to be comforted. She was so pathetic in her sobbing and be- wailing, that I felt as if I had said I don't know what to hurt her. I was obliged to hurry away ; I was kept out late ; and I felt all night such pangs of remorse as made me miserable. I had the conscience of an assassin, and was haunted by a vague sense of enormous wickedness. It was two or three hours past midnight when I got home. I found my aunt, in our house, sitting up for me. " Is anything the matter, aunt ? " said I, alarmed. 346 DAVID COPPERFIELD " Nothipg, Trot," she replied. " Sit down, sit down. Little Blossom has been rather out pf spirits, and I have been keeping her company. That's all," I leaned my head upon my hand ; and felt more sorry and downcast, as I sat looking at the fire, than I could have supposed possible so soon after the fulfilment of my brightest hopes. As I sat thinking, I happened to meet my aunt's eyes, which were resting on my face. There was an anxious expression in them,, but it cleared directly. " I assure you, aunt," said I, " I have been quite unhappy myself all night, to think of Dora's being so. But I had no other intention than to speak to her tenderly and lovingly, about our home-affairs." My aunt nodded encouragement. " You must have patience. Trot," said she. " Of course. Heaven knows I don't mean to be unreason- able, aunt ! " " No, no," said my aunt. " But Little Blossom is a very tender little blossom, and the wind must be gentle with her." I thanked my good aunt, in my heart, for her tenderness towards my wife ; and I was sure that she knew I did. "Don't you think, aunt," said I, after some further con- templation of the fire, " that you could advise and counsel Dora, a little, for our mutua,l advantage, now and then ? " " Trot," returned my aunt, with some emotion, " no ! Don't ask me such a thing." Her tone was so very earnest that I raised my eyes in surprise. " I look back on my life, child," said my aunt, " and I think of some who are in their graves, with whom I might iiave been on kinder terms. If I judged harshly of other people's mistakes in marriage, it may have been because I had bitter reason to judge harshly of my own. Let that pass. I have been a grumpy, frumpy, wayward sort of a woman, a good many years. I am still, and I always shall be. But you and I have done one another some good. Trot — at all events, you have done me good, my dear ; and division must not come between us, at this time of day." " Division between us ! " cried I. " Child, child ! " said my aunt, smoothing her dress, " how soon it might come between us, or how unhappy I might make our Little Blossom, if I meddled in anything, a prophet couldn't say. I want our pet to like me, and be as gay as a butterfly. DAVID COPPERFIELt) 347 Eemember your own home, in that second marriage ; and never do both me and her the injury you have hinted at ! " I comprehended, at once, that my aunt was right; and I comprehended the full extent of her generous feeling towards my dear wife. " These are early days, Trot," she pursued,, " and Eome was not built in a day, nor in a year. You have chosen freely for yourself ; " a cloud passed over her face for a moment, I thought ; " and you have chosen a very pretty and a very affectionate creature. ,It will be your duty, and it will be your pleasure too — of course I know that ; .1 am not delivering a lecture— to estimate her (as you chose her) by the qualities she has, and not by the qualities she may not have. The latter you must develop in her, if you can. And if yo^ cannot, child," here my aunt rubbed her nose, " you must just accustom yourself to do without 'em. But remember, my dear, your future is between you two. No one can assist you ; you are to work it out for yourselves. This is marriage, J'rot ; and Hea,ven bless you both in it, for a pair of babes in the wood as you are ! " My aunt said this in a sprightly way, and gave me a kiss to ratify the blessing. " Now," said she, "light my little lantern, and see me into my band-box by the garden path;" for there, was a communi- cation between our cottages in that direction. "Give Betsey Trotwood's love to Blossom, whenyou come back; and whatever you do. Trot, never dream of setting. Betsey up as a scarecrow, for if Zeversaw her in the glass, she's, quite grim, enough and gaunt enough in ^er private capacity ! " With this my aunt tied her head up in' a handkerchief, with which she was accustomed to make . a bundle of it on such occasions ; and I escorted her home^ As she stood in her garden, holding up her little lantern to light me back, I thought her observation of me had an anxious air again; but I was too much occupied in pondering' on what she had; said, and too much impressed— for the first time,, in reality — by the convic- tion that Dora and I had indeed to work out our future for ourselves, and that no one could assist us, to take much notice ofit. ' Dora came stealing down in her, little slippers, to meet me, now that I was alone ; and cried upon my shoulder, and said I had been hard-hearted and she had been naughty ; and I said much the same thing in effectij I. believe ; and we made it; up, and agreed that, out first little difference was to be our last, and 348 DAVID COPPERFIELD that we were never to have another if we lived a hundred- years. The next domestic trial we went through, was the Ordeal of Servants. Mary Anne's cousin deserted into our coal-hole, and was brought out, to our great amazement, by a piquet of his companions in arms, who took him away handcuffed in a procession that covered our front-garden with ignominy. This nerved me to get rid of Mary Anne, who went so mildly, on receipt of wages, that I was surprised, until I found out about the tea-spoons, and also about the little sums she had borrowed in my name of the tradespeople without authority. After an interval of Mrs. Kidgerbury — the oldest inhabitant of Kentish Town, I believe, who went out charing, but was too feeble to execute her conceptions of that art — we foimd another treasure, who was one of the most amiable of women, but who generally made a point of falling either up or down the kitchen-stairs with the tray, and almost plunged into the parlour, as into a bath, with the tea-things. The ravages committed by this unfortunate rendering her dismissal necessary, she was succeeded (with intervals of Mrs. Kidgerbury) by a long line of Incapables ; terminating in a young person of genteel appearance, who went to Greenwich Fair in Dora's bonnet. After whom I remember nothing but an average equality of failure. Everybody we had anything to do with seemed to cheat us. Otu- appearance in a shop was a signal for the damaged goods to be brought out immediately. If we bought a lobster, it was full of water. All our meat turned out to be tough, and there was hardly any crust to our loaves. In search of the principle on which joints ought to be roasted, to be roasted enough, and not too much, I myself referred to the Cookery Book, and found it there established as the allowance of a quarter of an hour to every pound, and say a quarter over. But the principle always failed us by some curious fatality, and we never could hit any medium between redness and cinders. I had reason to believe that in accomplishing these failures we incurred a far greater expense than if we had achieved a series of triumphs. It appeared to me, on looking over the tradesmen's books, as if we might have kept the basement story paved with butter, such was the extensive scale of our consumption of that article. I don't know whether the Excise returns of the period may have exhibited any increase in the demand for pepper ; but n our performances did not affect the market, I shoidd say several families must have left off using DAVID COPPERf][ELD 349 it. And the most ■wonderful fact of all was, that we never had anything, in the housa As to the washerwoman pawning the clothes, and coming in a state of penitent intoxication to apologise, I suppose that might have happened several times to anybody. Also the chimney on fire, the parish engine, and perjury on the part of the beadle. But I apprehend that we were personally unfor- tunate in engaging a servant with a taste for cordials, who swelled our running account for porter at the public-house by such inexplicable items as "quartern rum shrub (Mrs. C);" " Half-quartern gin and cloves (Mrs. C.) ; " " Glass rum and peppermint (Mrs. 0.) ; " — the parentheses always referring to Dora, who was supposed, it appeared on explanation, to have imbibed the whole of these refreshments. One of our first feats in the housekeeping way was a little dinner to Traddles. I met him in town, and asked bim to walk out with me that afternoon. He readily consenting, I wrote to Dora, saying I would briag him home. It was pleasant weather, and on the road we made my domestic happiness the theme of conversation. Traddles w&,s very full of it; and said, that, picturing himself with such a home, and Sophy waiting and preparing for him, he could think of nothing wanting to complete his bliss. I could not have wished for a prettier little wife at the opposite end of the table, but I certainly could have wished, when. we sat down, for a little more room. I did not know how it was, but though there were only two of us, we were at once always cramped for room, and yet had always room enough to lose everything in. I suspect it may have been because nothing had a place of its own, except Jip's pagoda, which invariably' blocked up the main thoroughfare. On the present occasion, Traddles was so hemmed in by the pagoda and the guitar-case, and Dora's flpwer-paintiag, and my writiug-table, that I had serious doubts of the possibility of his using Ms knife and fork ; but he protested, with his own good-humour, "Oceans of room, Coppertield ! I assure you, oceans ! " There was another thing I could have wished ; namely, that ' Jip had never been encouraged to walk about the table-cloth during dinner. I began to think there was something disorderly, in his being there at all, even if he had not been in the habit of putting his foot iu the salt or the melted-butter. On this occasion he seemed to think he was introduced expressly to keep Traddles at bay ; and> he barked at my old friend, and 350 DAVID COPPERFIELD made short runs at his plate, with such undaunted pertinacity, that he may be said to have engrossed the conversation. However, as I knew how tender-hearted my dear Dora was, and how.sensitive she would be to any slight upon her favourite, I hinted no objection. For similar reasons I made no allusion to the skirmishing plates upon the floor ; or to the disreputable appearance of the castors, which were aU at sixes and sevens, and looked drunk ; or to the further blockade of Traddles by wandering vegetable dishes and jugs. I could not help wonder- ing in my own mind, as I contemplated the boUed leg of mutton before me, previous to carving it, how it came to pass that our joints of meat were of such extraordinary shapes — and whether our butcher contracted for all the deformed sheep that came into the world ; but I kept my reflections to myself. " My love," said I to Dora, " what have you got in that dish ? " I could not imagine why Dora had been making tempting little faces at me, 'as if she wanted to kiss me. " Oysters, dear," said Dora, timidly. " Was that yov/r thought ? " said I, delighted. " Ye-yes, Doady," said Dora. " There never was a happier one ! " I exclaimed, laying down the carving-knife and fork. " There is nothing Traddles likes so much ! " " Ye-yes, Doady," said Dora, " and so I bought a beautiful little barrel of them, and the man said they were very good. But I — I am afraid there's something the matter with them. They don't seem right." Here Dora shook her head, and diamonds twinkled in her eyes. " They are only opened in both shells," said I. " Take the top one off, my love." " But it won't come";off," said Dora, trying very hard, and looking very much distressed. "Do you know, Copperfield," said Traddles, cheerfully examining the dish, " I think it is in consequence-^they are capital oysters, but I think it is in consequence — of their never having been opened." They never had been opened ; and we had no oyster-knives — and couldn't have used them if we had ; so we looked at the oysters and ate the mutton. At least we ate as much of it as was done, and made up with capers. If I had permitted him, I am satisfied that Traddles would have made a perfect savage of himself, and eaten a plateful of raw meat, to express enjoy- ment of the repast ; but I would hear of no such immolation on DAVID COPPERFIELD 351 the altar of friendship ; and we had a course of bacon instead ; there happening, by good fortune, to be cold bacon in the larder. My poor little wife was in such affliction when she thought I should be annoyed, and in such a state of joy when she found I was not, that the discomfiture I had subdued very soon vanished, and we passed a happy evening ; Dora sitting with her arm on my chaii? while Traddles and I discussed a glass of wine, and taking every opportunity of whispering in my ear that it was so good of me not to be a cruel, cross old boy. By- and-by she made tea for us ; which it was so pretty to see her do, as if she was busying herself with a set of doll's tea-things, that I was not particular about the quality of the beverage. Then Traddles and I played a game or two at cribbage; and Dora singing to the guitar the while, it seemed to me as if our courtship and marriage were a tender dream of mine, and the night when I first listened to her voice were not yet over. When Traddles went away, and I came back into the parlour from seeing him out, my wifei' planted her chair close to mine, and sat down by my side. " I am very sorry," she said. " Will yOu try to teach me, Doady?" " I must teach myself first, Dora," said I. " I am as bad as you, love." "Ah! But you can learn," she returned; "and you are a clever, clever man ! " " Nonsense, mouse ! " said I. " I wish," resumed my wife, after a long sUenee, " that I could have gone down into the country for a whole year, and lived with Agnes ! " Her hands were clasped upon my shoulder, and her chin rested on them, and her blue eyes looked quietly into mine. "Why so?" I asked. " I think she might have improved me, and I think I might have learned from her," said Dora. " All in good time, my love. Agnes has had her father to take care of for these many years, you should remember. Even when she was quite a child, she was the Agnes whom we know," said I. " Will you call me a name I want you to call me ? " inquired Dora, without moving. " What is it ? " I asked with a smile. " It's a stupid name," she said, shaking her curls for a moment. "Child-wife." 352 DAVID COPPERFIELD I laughingly asked my child-wife what her fancy was in desiring to be so called. She answered without moving, other- wise than as the arm I twined about her may have brought her blue eyes nearer to me : " I don't mean, you sUly fellow, that you should use the name instead of Dora. I only mean that you should think of me that way. When you are going to be angry with me, say to yourself, ' it's only my chQd-wife ! ' When I am very dis- appointing, say, ' I knew, a long time ago, that she would make but a child-wife ! ' When you miss what I should like to be, and I think can never be, say, ' still my foolish child-wife loves me ! ' For indeed I do." I had not been serious with her ; having no idea, untU now, that she was serious herself. But her affectionate nature was so happy in what I now said to her with my whole heart, that her face became a laughing one before her glittering eyes were dry. She was soon my child-wife indeed ; sitting down on the floor outside the Chinese house, ringing all the little bells one after another, to punish Jip for his recent bad behaviour ; while Jip lay blinking in the doorway with his head out, even too lazy to be teased. This appeal of Dora's made a strong impression on me, I look back on the time I write of ; I invoke the innocent figure that I dearly loved, to come out from the mists and shadows of the past, and turn its gentle head towards me once again ; and I can still declare that this one little speech was constantly in my memory. I may not have used it to the best account ; I was young and inexperienced; but I never turned a deaf ear to its artless pleading. Dora told me, shortly afterwards, that she was going to be a wonderful housekeeper. Accordingly, she polished the tablets, pointed the pencil, bought an immense account-book, carefully stitched up with a needle and thread all the leaves of the Cookery Book which Jip had torn, and made quite a desperate little attempt "to be good," as she called it. But the figures had the old obstinate propensity — they would not add up. When she had entered two or three laborious items in the account-book, Jip would walk over thei'^age, wagging his tail, and smear them all out. Her own little right-hand middle finger got steeped to the very bone in ink ; and I think that was the only decided result obtained. Sometimes, of an evening, when I was at home and at work —for I wrote a good deal now, and was beginning in a small DAVID COPPERFIELD 353 way to be known as a writer — I would lay down my pen, and watch my child-wife trying to be good. First of all, she would bring out the immense account-book, and lay it down upon the table, with a deep sigh. Then she would open it at the place where Jip had made it illegible last night, and call Jip up to look at his misdeeds. This would occasion a diversion in Jip's favour, and some inking of his nose, perhaps, as a penalty. Then she would tell Jip to lie down on the table instantly, " like a lion " — which was one of his tricks, though I cannot say the likeness was striking — and, if he were in an obedient humour, he would obey. Then she would take up a pen, and begin to write, and find a hair in it. Then she would take up another pen, and begin to write, and find that it spluttered'. Then she would take up another pen, and begin to write, and say in a low voice, " Oh, it's a talking pen, and will disturb Doady ! " And then she would give it up as a bad job, and put the account-book away, after pretending to crush the lion with it. Or, if she were in a very sedate and serious state of mind, she would sit down with the tablets, and a little basket of bills, and other documents, which looked more like curl-papers than anything else, and endeavour to get some result out of them. After severely comparing one with another, and making entries on the tablets, and blotting them out, and counting all the fingers of her left hand over and over again, backwards and forwards, she would be so vexed and discouraged, and would look so unhappy, that it gave me pain to see her bright face clouded — and for me ! — and I would go softly to her, and say : " What's the matter, Dora ? " Dora would look up hopelessly, and reply, " They won't come right. They make my head ache so. And they won't do anything I want ! " Then I would say, " Now let us try together. Let me show you, Dora." Then I would commence a practical demonstration, to which Dgra would pay profound attention, perhaps for five minutes ; when she would begin to be dreadfully tired, and would lighten the subject by curling my hair, or trying the effect of my face with my shirt-collar turned down. If I tacitly checked this playfulness, and persisted, she would look so scared and discon- solate, as she became more and more bewildered, that the remem- brance of her natural gaiety when I first strayed into her path, and of her being my child-wife, would come reproachfully upon me ; and I would lay the pencil down, and call for the guitar. 2 A 354 DAVID COPPERFIELD I had a great deal of work . to do, and had many anxieties, but the same considerations made me keep them to myself. I am far from sure, now, that it was right to do this, but I did it for my child- wife's sake. I search my breast, and I commit its secrets, if I know them, without any reservation to this paper. The old unhappy loss or want of something had, I am conscious, some place in my heart ; but not to the embitterment of my life. When I walked alone in the fine weather, and thought of the summer days when all the air had been filled with my boyish enchantment, I did miss something of the realisation of my dreams ; but I thought it was a softened glory of the past, which nothing could have thrown upon the present time. I did feel, sometimes, for a little while,, that I could have wished my wife had been my counsellor ; had had more character and purpose, to sustain me, and improve me by ; had been endowed with power to fill up the void which somewhere seemed to be about me ; but I felt as if this were an unearthly consummation of my happiness, that never had been meant to be, and never could have been. I was a boyish husband as to years. I had known the softening influence of no other sorrows or experiences than those recorded in these leaves. If I did any wrong, as I may have done much, I did it in mistaken love, and in my want of wisdom. I write the exact truth. It would avail me nothing to extenuate it now. Thus it was that I took upon myself the toils and cares of our life, and had no partner in them. We lived much as before, in reference to our scrambling household arrangements ; but I had got used to those, and Dora I was pleased to see was seldom vexed now. She was bright and cheerful in the old childish way, loved me dearly, and was happy with her old trifles. When the debates were heavy — I mean as to length, not quality, for in the last respect they were not often otherwise — and I went home la/te, Dora would never -rest when she heard my footsteps, but would always come down-stairs to meet me. When my evenings were unoccupied by the pursuit for which I had qualifled myself with so much pains, and I was engaged in writing at home, she would sit quietly near me, however late the hour, and be so mute, that I woiild often think she had dropped asleep. But generally, when I raised my head, I saw her blue eyes lookiug at me with the quiet attention of which I have already spoken. DAVID COPPERFIELD 355 " Oh, what a weary boy ! " said Bora one night!, when 1 met her eyes as I was shutting up my desk. " What a weary girl ! " said I. " That's more to the purpose. You miist go to bed another time, my love. It's far too late for you." " No, don't send me to bed ! " pleaded Dora, coming to my side. "Pray, don't do that!" "Dora!" To my amazement she was sobbing on my neck. " Not well", my dear 1 not happy ? " " Yes ! quite well, and very happy ! " said Dora. " But say you'll let me stop, and see you write." "Why, what a sight for such bright eyes at midnight! " I replied. • " Are they bright, though ? " returned Dora, laughing. " I'm so glad they're bright." , ; , "Little Vanity !"sMd I. But it was not vanity ; it was only harmless delight in my admiration. I knew that very well, before she told me so. "If you think them pretty, say I may always stop, and see you write ! " said Dora. " Do you think them pretty ? " " Very pretty." '' Then let me always stop and see you writOi" " I am afraid that won't improve their brightness, Dora." "Yes, it will! Because, you clever boy, you'll not forget me then, while you are full of silent fancies. Will you mind it, if I say something very, very silly ? — ^more than usual ? " inquired Dora, peeping over my shoulder into my face. " What wonderful thing is that ? " said I. "Please let me hold the pens," said Dora. " I want to have something to do with aU those many hours when you are so industrious. May I hold the pens ? " The remembrance of her pretty joy when I said Yes, brings tears into my eyes. The next time I sat down to write, and regularly afterwards, she sat in her old place, with a spare bundle of pens at her side. Her triumph in this connection with my work, and her delight when I wanted a new pen — which I very of ten feigned to do — suggested to me a new way of pleasing my child-wife. I occasionally made a pretence of wanting a page or two of manuscript copied. Then Dora was in her glory. The preparations she made for this great work, the aprons she put on, the bibs she borrowed from the kitchen to keep off the ink, the time she took, the innumerable stoppages 356 DAVID COPPERFIELD she made to have a laugh with Jip as if he understood it all, her conviction that her work was incomplete unless she signed her name at the end, and the way in which she would bring it to me, like a school-copy, and then, when I praised it, clasp me round the neck, are touching recollections to me, simple as they might appear to other men. She took possession of the keys soon after this, and went jingling about the house with the whole bunch in a little basket, tied to her slender waist. I seldom found that the places to which they belonged were locked, or that they were of any use except as a plaything for Jip — but Dora was pleased, and that pleased me. She was quite satisfied that a good deal was effected by this make-belief of housekeeping ; and was as merry as if we had been keeping a baby-house, for a joke. So we went on. Dora was hardly less affectionate to my aunt than to me, and often told her of the time when she was afraid she was "a cross old thing." I never saw my aunt unbend more systematically to anyone. She courted Jip, though Jip never responded; listened, day after day, to the guitar, though I am afraid she had no taste for music ; never attacked the Incapables, though the temptation must have been severe; went wonderful distances on foot to purchase, as surprises, any trifles that she found out Dora wanted; and never came in by the garden, and missed her from the room, but she would call out, at the foot of the stairs, in a voice that sounded cheerfully all over the house : "Where's Little Blossom ? " BOOK X BLEAK HOUSE Bleak Souse was issued ia monthly portions from March, 1852, to Sep- tember, 1853, when it was published as a book, with a preface, and a dedication to the author's " Companipns in the Guild of Literature and Art." It was illustrated by Habl6t Browne, and the publishers were Messrs. Bradbury and Evans. On a foggy November day in London there sits in the High Court of Chancery, the Lord High Chancellor. Before him is the cause of Jarndyce and Jarndyce, a suit that casts its shadow upon several of the characters in the story. This suit has been going on for many years — so many that it has passed into;a joke among the members of the legal profession^ — "the only good that has ever come of it." During part of the time that this great cause has been in progress, there has been living in the house of her godmother at Windsor, a little girl called Esther Summerson, who is harshly treated, and never allowed to associate with children, and never , spoken to about her parents, except upon one occasion, when her stern godmother makes her understand that her life is a blighted one, and that it would be better had she never been born. When Esther is almost fourteen her godmother dies, and she receives a visit from Mr. Kenge (of Kenge and Carboy), who announces that Mr. Jarndyce, a highly humane though singular man, being aware of her desolate position, proposes to place her at a first-rate establishment where her education shall be completed, and her comfort secured. Esther gratefully accepts his offer, and goes to a school near Beading, where she passes six happy years. At the end of this time she is sent a letter from Kenge and Carboy informing her that Mr. Jarndyce is about to receive into his house a ward in the cause of Jarndyce and Jarndyce, for whom he desires to secure an eligible companion, and that he will be glad of her services in this capacity. Esther proceeds to London and reaches the city when it is enveloped in a dense fog. Mr. Guppy, a clerk, meets her, and takes her to the office of Kenge and Carboy, informuag her that she is to appear before the Lord Chancellor. Before this interview takes place, she is introduced to Miss Ada Clare, the beautiful girl with whonl she is to live as companion, and to Ada's distant cousin, Richard Carstone. Both these young people are wards in Chancery, and it is for them that the Chancellor presently makes out an order giving them permission to reside with their relative, Mr. Jarndyce. They have met to-day, as they now meet Esther, for the first time, and after passing a night in town, are all three to travel down to Bleak House', in Hertfordshire. 3S7 358 BLEAK HOUSE MRS. JELLYBY We were to pass the night, Mr. Kenge told us when we arrived in his room, at Mrs. Jellyby's ; and then he turned to me, and said he took it for granted I knew who Mrs. Jellyby was ? " I really don't, sir," I returned. " Perhaps Mr. Carstone — or Miss Clare " But no, they knew nothing whatever about Mrs. Jellyby. " In-deed ! Mrs. Jellyby," said Mr. Kenge, standing with his back to the fire, and casting his eyes over the dusty hearth- rug as if it were Mrs. Jellyby's biography, " is a lady of very remarkable strength of character, who devotes herself entirely to the public. She has devoted herself to an extensive variety of public subjects, at various times, and is at present (until something else attracts her) devoted to the subject of Africa; with a view to the general ciiltivation of the coffee berry — and, the natives — and the happy settlement, on the banks of the African rivers, of our superabundant home population. Mr. Jarndyce, who is desirous to aid any work that is considered likely to be a good work, and who is much sought after by philanthropists, has, I believe, a very high opinion of Mrs. Jellyby." Mr. Kenge, adjusting his cravat, then looked at us. " And Mr. Jellyby, sir ? " suggested Eichard. " Ah ! Mr. Jellyby," said Mr. Kenge, " is— a — I don't know that I can describe him to you better than by saying that he is the husband of Mrs. Jellyby." " A nonentity, sir ? " said Eichard, with a droll look. " I don't say that," returned Mr. Kenge, gravely. " I can't say that, indeed, for I know nothing whatever of Mr. Jellyby. I never, to my knowledge, had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Jellyby. He may be a very superior man ; but he is, so to speakj merged — Merged — in the more shining qualities of his wife." Mr. Kenge proceeded to tell us that as the road to Bleak House would have been very long, dark, and tedious, on such an evening, and as we had been travelling already, Mr. Jarndyce had himself proposed this arrangement. A carriage would be at Mr. Jellyby's to convey us out of town, early in the forenoon of to-morrow. He then rang a little bell, and the young gentleman came BLEAK HOUSE 359 in. Addressing him by the name of Guppy, Mr. Kenge in- quired whether Miss Summerson's boxes and the rest of the baggage had been "sent round." Mr. Guppy said yes, they had been sent round, and a coach was waiting to take us round too, as soon as we pleased. "Then it only remains," said Mr. Kenge, shaking hands with us, " for me to express my lively satisfaction in (good day, Miss Clare!) the arrangement'this day concluded, and m.j(good- bye to you, Miss Summerson !) lively hope that it will conduce to the happiness, the (glad to have had the honour of making your acquaintance, Mr. Carstone !) welfare, the advantage in all points of view, of all concerned 1 Guppy, see the party safely there." " "Where is ' there,' Mr. Guppy ? " said Eichard, as we went down-stairs. "No distance," said Mr. Guppy; "round in Thavies' Inn, you know." "I can't say I know where it isj for I come from Win- chester, and am strange in London." " Only round the corner," said Mr. Guppy. " We just twist up Chancery Lane, and cut along Holborn, and there we are in four minutes' time, as near as a -toucher. This is about a Londoti particular »ow, ain't it, miss?" He seemed quite delighted with it on my account. " The fog is very: dense, indeed !*' said I. "Not that it affects you, though, I'm sure," said Mr. Guppy, putting up the steps. " On the contrary, it seems to do you good, niiss, judging from your appearance." I knew he meant well in paying me this compliment, so I laughed at myself for blushing at it, when he had shut the door and got upon the box ; and we all three laughed, and chatted about our inexperience, and the strangeness of London, until we turned up under an archway, to our destination : a narrow street of high houses, like an oblong cistern to hold the fog. There was a confused little crowd of people, principally children, gathered about the house at which we ' stopped, which had a tarnished brass plate on the door, with the inscription, Jellyby. " Don't be frightened ! " said Mr. Guppy, looking in at the coach-window. " One of the young Jellybys been and got his head through the area railings ! " " poor child," said I, " let me out, if you please ! " " Pray be careful of yourself, miss. The young Jellybys are always up to something," said Mr. Guppy. 36o BLEAK HOUSE I made my way to the poor child, who was one of the dirtiest little unfortunates I ever saw, and found him very hot and frightened, and crying loudly, fixed by the neck between two iron railings, while a inilkman and a beadle, with the kindest intentions possible, were endeavouring to drag him back by the legs, under a general impression that his skull was compressible by those means. As I found (after pacifying him) that he was a little boy, with a naturally large head, I thought that, perhaps, where his head could go, his body could follow, and mentioned that the best mode of extrication might be to push him forward. This was so favourably received by the milkman and beadle, that he would immediately have been pushed into the area, if I had not held his pinafore, while Eichard and Mr. Guppy ran down through the kitchen, to catch him when he should be released. At last he was happily got down without any acci- dent, and then he began to beat Mx. Guppy with a hoop-stick in quite a frantic manner. Nobody had appeared belonging to the house, except a person in pattens, who had been poking at the chUd from below with a broom ; I don't know with what object, and I don't think she did. I therefore supposed that Mrs. Jelly by was not at home ; and was quite surprised when the person appeared in the passage without the pattens, and going up to the back room on the first floor, before Ada and me, announced us as, " Them two young ladies. Missis Jellyby ! " We passed several more children on the way up, whom it was difficult to avoid treading on in the dark ; and as we came into Mrs. Jellyby's presence, one of the poor little things fell down-stairs — down a whole flight (as it sounded to me), with a great noise. Mrs. Jellyby, whose face reflected none of the uneasiness which we could not help showing in our own faces, as the dear child's head recorded its passage with a bump on every stair — Eichard afterwards said he counted seven, besides one for the landing — received us with perfect equanimity. She was a pretty, very diminutive, plump woman, of from forty to fifty, with handsome eyes, though they had a curious habit of seem- ing to look a long way off. As if — I am quoting Eichard again — they could see nothing nearer than Africa ! " I am very glad indeed," said Mrs. Jellyby, in an agreeable voice, " to have the pleasure of receiving you. I have a great respect for Mr. Jarndyce ; and no one in whom he is interested can be an object of indifference to me." We expressed our acknowledgments, and sat down behind BLEAK HOUSE 361 the door where there was a lame invalid of a sofa, Mrs. Jellyby had very good hair, but was too much occupied with her African duties to brush it. The shawl in which she had been so loosely muffledj dropped on to her chair when she advanced to us ; and as she turned to resume her seat, we could not help noticing that her dress didn't nearly meet up the back, and that the open space was railed across with a lattice-work of stay-lace — like a summer-house. The room, which was strewn with papers and nearly filled by a great writing-table covered with similar litter, was, I must say, not only very untidy, but very dirty. We were obliged to take notice of that with our sense of sight, even while, with our sense of hearing, we followed the poor child who had tumbled down-stairs: I thmk into the back kitchen, where somebody seemed to stifle him. But what principally struck us was a jaded, and Unhealthy- looking, though by no means plain girl, at the writing-table, who sat biting the feather of her pen, and staring at us. I suppose nobody ever was in such a state of ink. And, from her tumbled hair to her pretty feet, which were disiigured with frayed and ibroken satin slippers trodden down at heel, she really seemed to have no article of dress upon her, from a pin upwards, that was in its proper condition or its right place. "You find me, my dears," said Mrs. Jellyby, snuffing the two great office candles in tin, candlesticks which made the room taste strongly of hot tallow (the fire had gone out, and there was nothing in the grate but ashes, a bundle of wood, and a poker), "you find me, my dears, as usual, very busy; but that you will excuse. The African project at present employs my whole time. It involves me in correspondence with public bodies, and with private individuals anxious for the welfare of their species all over the country. I am happy to say it is advancing. We hope by this time next year to have from a hundred and fifty to two hundred healthy families cultivating coffee and educating the natives of Borrioboola-Gha, on the left bank of the Niger." As Ada said nothing, but looked at me, I said it must be very gratifying. " It is gratifying," said Mrs. JeUyby. " It involves the devotion of all my energies, such as they are; but that is nothing, so that it succeeds; and I am more confident of success every day. Do you know. Miss Summerson, I almost wonder that you never turned your thoughts to Africa." 362 BLEAK HOUSE This application of the subject was really so unexpected to me, that I was quite at a loss how to receive it. I hinted that the climate " The finest climate in the world ! " said Mrs. Jellyby. "Indeed, ma'am?" "Certainly. With precaution," said Mrs. Jellyby. "You may go into Holborn, without precaution, and be run over. You may go into Holborn, with precaution, and never be run over. Just so with Africa." I said, " No doubt." — I meant as to Holborn. " If you would like," said Mrs. JeUyby, putting a number of papers towards us, " to look over some remarks on that head, and on the general subject (which have been extensively circu- lated), while I finish a letter I am now dictating — ^to my eldest daughter, who is my amanuensis " The girl at the table left off biting her pen, and made a return to our recognition, which was half bashful and half sulky. " — I shall then have finished for the present," proceeded Mrs. Jellyby, with a sweet smile ; " though my work is never done. Where are you, Caddy ? " " ' Presents her compliments to Mr. Swallow, and begs ' " said Caddy. "'And begs,'" said Mrs. Jellyby, dictating, "'to. inform him, in reference to his letter of inquiry on the African project,' — No, Peepy ! Not on any account ! " Peepy (so self-named) was the unfortunate child who had fallen down-stairs, who now interrupted the correspondence by presenting himself, with a strip of plaister on his forehead, to exhibit his wounded knees, in which Ada and I did not know which to pity most — the bruises or the dirt. Mrs. Jellyby merely added, with the serene composure with which she said everything, " Go along, you naughty Peepy ! " and fixed her fine eyes on Africa again. However, as she at once proceeded with her dictation, and as I interrupted nothing by doing it, I ventured quietly to stop poor Peepy as he was going out, and to take him up to nurse. He looked very much astonished at it, and at Ada's kissing him ; but soon fell fast asleep in my arms, sobbing at longer and longer intervals, imtil he was quiet. I ■ was so occupied with Peepy that I lost the letter in detail, though I -derived such a general impression from it of the momentous importance of Africa, and the utter insignificance of all other places and BLEAK HOUSE 363 things, that I felt quite ashamed to have thought so little about it. " Six o'clock ! " said Mrs. Jelly by. " And our dinner hour is nominally (for we diue at all hours) five ! Caddy, show Miss Clare and Miss Summerson their rooms. You will like to make some change, perhaps ? You will excuse me, I know, being so much occupied. 0, that very bad child ! Pray put him down. Miss Summerson ! " I begged permission to retain him, truly saying that he was not at all troublesome; and carried him up-stairs and laid him on my bed. Ada and I had two upper rooms, with a door of com- munication between. They were excessively bare and disorderly, and the curtain to my window was fastened up with a fork. " You would like some hot water, wouldn't you ? " said Miss Jellyby, looking round for a jug with a handle to it, but looking in vain. " If it is not being troublesome," said we. "0, it's not the trouble," returned Miss Jellyby; "the question is, if there is any." The evening was so very cold, and the rooms had such a marshy smell, that I must confess it was a little miserable; and Ada was half cryifag. We soon laughed, however, and were busily unpacking, when Miss Jellyby came back to say, that she was sorry there was no hot water ; but they couldn't find the kettle, and the boiler was out of order. We begged hei' not to mention it, and made all the- haste we could to get down to the fixe again. But all the little children had come up to the landing outside, to look at the phenomenon of Peepy lying on my bed ; and our attention was distracted by the constant apparition of noses and fingers, in situations of danger between the hinges of the doors. It was impossible to shut the door of either room ; for my lock, with no knob to it, looked as if it wanted to be wound up; and though the handle of Ada's went round and round with the greatest smoothness, it was attended with no effect whatever on the door. Therefore I proposed to the children that they should come in and be very good at my table, and I would tell them the story of Little Eed Eiding Hood while I dressed; which they did, and were as quiet as mice, including Peepy, who awoke opportunely before the appearance of the wolf. When we went down-stairs we found a mug, with "A Present from Tunbridge Wells " on it, lighted up in the stair- case window with a floating wick ; and a young woman, with 364 BLEAK HOUSE a swelled face bound up in a flannel bandage, blowing the fire of the drawing-room (now connected by an open door with Mrs. Jellyby's room), and choaking dreadfully. It smoked to that degree in short, that we all sat coughing and crying with the windows open for half an hour ; during which Mrs. Jellyby, with the same sweetness of temper, directed letters about Africa. Her being so employed was, I must say, a great relief to me ; for Kichard told us that he had washed his hands in a pie-dish, and that they had found the kettle on his dressing- table ; and he made Ada laugh so, that they made me laugh in the most ridiculous manner. Soon after seven o'clock we went down to dinner; care- fully, by Mrs. Jellyby's advice ; for the stair-carpets, besides being very deficient in stair-wires, were so torn as to be absolute traps. We had a fine codfish, a piece of roast beef, a dish of cutlets, and a pudding ; an excellent dinner, if it had had any cooking to speak of, but it was almost raw. The young woman with the flannel bandage waited, and dropped everything on the table wherever it happened to go, and never moved it again until she put it on the stairs. The person I had seen in pattens (who I suppose to have been the cook) frequently came and skirmished with her at the door, and there appeared to be ill-will between them. All through dinner ; which was long, in consequence of such accidents as the dish of potatoes being mislaid in the coal scuttle, and the handle of the corkscrew coming off, and striking the young woman in the chin ; Mrs. Jellyby preserved the evenness of her disposition. She told us a great deal that was interesting about Borrioboola-Gha and the natives; and received so many letters that Eichard, who sat by her, saw four envelopes in the gravy at once. Some of the letters were proceedings of ladies' committees, or resolutions of ladies' meetings, which she read to us ; others were applications from people excited in various ways about the cultivation of coffee, and natives ; others required answers, and these she sent her eldest daughter from the table three or four times to write. She was full of business, and undoubtedly was, as she had told us, devoted to the cause. I was a little curious to know who a mild bald gentleman in spectacles was, who dropped into a vacant chair (there was no top or bottom in particular) after the fish was taken away, and seemed passively to submit himself to Borrioboola-Gha, but not to be actively interested in that settlement. As he never BLEAK HOUSE 365 spoke a word, he might have been a native, but for his com- plexion. It was not until we left the table, and he remained alone with Eichard, that the possibility of his being Mr. Jellyby ever entered my head. But he wets Mr. Jellyby ; and a loqua- cious young man called Mr. Quale, with large shiuing knobs for temples, and his hair all brushed to the back of his head, who came in the evening, and told Ada he was a philanthropist, also informed her that he called the matrimonial alliance of Mrs. Jellyby with Mr. Jellyby the union of mind and matter. This young man, besides having a great deal to say for himself about Africa, and a project of his for teaching the coffee colonists to teach the natives to turn piano-forte legs and establish an export trade, delighted in drawing Mrs. Jellyby out by saying, " I believe now, Mrs. Jellyby, you have received as many as from one hundred and fifty to two hundred letters respecting Africa in a single day, have • you not ? " or, " If my niemory does not deceive me, Mrs. Jellyby, you once mentioned that you had sent off five thousand circulars from one post- office at one time ? " — always repeating Mrs. Jellyby's answer to us like an interpreter. , During the whole evening, Mr. Jellyby sat in a corner with his head against the wall, as if he were subject to low spirits. It seemed that he had several times opened his mouth when alone with Eichard, after dinner, as if he had something on his mind ; but had always shut it again, to Eichard's extreme confusiotn, without saying anything. Mrs. Jellyby, sitting in quite a nest of waste paper, drank, coffee all the evening, and dictated at intervals to her eldest daughter. She also held a discussion with Mr. Quale; of which the subject seemed to be — if I understood it — ^the Brotherhood of Humanity ; and gave utterance to some beau- tiful sentiments. I was not so attentive an auditor as I might have wished to be, however, for Peepy and the other children came flocking about Ada and me in a corner of the drawing- room to ask for another story ; so we sat down among them, and told them in whispers Fuss in Boots and I don't know what else, until Mrs. Jellyby accidentally remembering them, sent them to bed. As Peepy cried for me to take him to bed, I carried him up-stairs, where the young woman with the flannel bandage charged into the midst of the little family like a dragon, and overturned them into cribs. After that, I occupied myself in making oar room a little tidy, and in coaxing a very cross fire that had been lighted, to bum; which at last it did, quite brightly. On my return 366 BLEAK HOUSE down-stairs, I felt that Mrs. Jellyby looked down upon me rather, for being so frivolous ; and I was sorry for it ; though at the same time I knew that I had no higher pretensions. It was nearly midnight before we found an opportunity of going to bed ; and even then we left Mrs. Jellyby among her papers drinking coffee, and Miss Jellyby biting the feather of her pen. " What a strange house ! " said Ada, when we got up-stairs, " How curious of my cousin Jamdyee to send us here ! " " My love," said I, " it quite confuses me. I want to under- stand it, and I can't understand it at all." " What ? " asked Ada, with her pretty smile. "All this, my dear," said I. "It must be very good of Mrs. Jellyby to take such pains about a scheme for the benefit of Natives— and yet — Peepy and the housekeeping ! " Ada laughed ; and put her arm about my neck, as I stood looking at the fire; and told me I was a quiet, dear, good creature, and had won her heart. "You are so thoughtful, Esther," she said, "and yet so cheerful! and you do so much, so unpretendingly ! You would make a home out of even this house." My simple darling ! She was quite unconscious that she only praised herself, and that it was in the goodness of her own heart that she made so much of me ! " May I ask you a question ? " said I, when we had sat before the fire a little while. " Five hundred," said Ada. "Your cousin, Mr. Jamdyee. I owe so much to him. Would you mind describing him to me ? " Shaking her golden hair, Ada turned her eyes upon me with such laughing wonder, that I was full of wonder too — partly at her beauty, partly at her surprise. " Esther ! " she cried. "My dear!" " You want a description of my cousin Jarndyce ? " " My dear, I never saw him." " And / never saw him ! " returned Ada. Well, to be sure ! No, she had never seen him. Young as she was when her mama died, she remembered how the tears would come into her eyes, when she spoke of him, and of the noble generosity of his character, which she had said was to be trusted above all earthly things ; and Ada trusted it. Her cousin Jarndyce had written BLEAK HOUSE 367 to her a few months ago,-^"a plain, honest letter," Ada said — proposing the arrangement we were now to enter on, and telliag her that, " in time it might heal some of the wounds made by the miserable Chancery suit." She had replied, gratefully accepting his proposal. Eichard had received a similar letter, and had made a similar response. He had seen Mr. Jarndyce once, but only once, five years ago, at Winchester school. He had told Ada, when they were leaning on the screen before the fire where I found them, that he recollected him as " a bluff, rosy fellow." This was the utmost description Ada could give me. It set me thinking so, that when Ada was asleep, I still remained before the fire, wondermg and wondering about Bleak House, and wondering and wondering that yesterday morning should seem so long ago. I don't know where my thoughts had wandered, when they were recalled by a tap at the door. I opened it softly, and found Miss Jellyby shivering there, with a broken candle in a broken candlestick in one hand, and an egg-cup in the other. " Good-night ! " she said, very sulkily. "Good-night! ''said I. " May I come in ? " she shortly and unexpectedly asked me in the same sulky way. " Certainly," said I. " Don't wake Miss Clare." She would not sit down, but stood by the fire, dipping her inky middle finger in the egg-cup, which contained vinegar, and smearing it over the ink stains on her face ; frowning, tte whole time, and looking Very gloomy. " I wish Africa was dead ! " she said, on a sudden. I was going to remonstrate. " I do ! " she said. " Don't talk to me. Miss Summerson. I hate it and detest it. It's a beast ! " I told her she was tired, and I was sorry. I put my hand upon her head, and touched her forehead, and said it was hot now, but would be cool to-morrow. She still stood, pouting and frowning at me ; but presently put down her egg-cup, and turned softly towards the bed where Ada lay. " She is very pretty ! " she said, with the same knitted brow, and in the same uncivil manner. I assented with a" smile. " An orphan. Ain't she ? " "Yes." " But knows a quantity, I suppose ? Can dance, and play 368 BLEAK HOUSE music, and sing ? She can talk French, I suppose, and do geography, and globes, and needlework, and everything 1 " • '?No doubt," said I. " / can't," she returned. " I can't do anything hardly, except write. I'm always writing for Ma. I wonder you two were not ashamed of yourselves to come in this afternoon, and see me able to do nothing else. It was like your ill-nature. Yet you think yourselves very fine, I dare say ! " I could see that the poor girl was near crying, and I re- sumed my chair without speaking, and looked at her (I hope) as mildly as I felt towards her. " It's disgraeefuV she said. " You know it is. The whole house is disgraceful. The children are disgraceful. I'm dis- graceful. Pa's miserable, and no wonder ! PrisciUa drinks — she's always drinking. It's a great shame and a great story of you, if you say you didn't smell her to-day. It was as bad as a public-house, waiting at dinner ; you know it was ! " " My dear, I don't know it," said I. " You do," she said, very shortly. " You shan't say you don't. You do!" " 0, my dear ! " said I, " if you won't let me speak " "You're speaking now. You know you are. Don't tell stories. Miss Summerson." "My dear," said I, "as long as you won't hear me out " " I don't want to hear you out." " O yes, I think you do," said I, " because that would be so very unreasonable. I did not know what you tell me, because the servant did not come near me at dinner ; but I don't doubt what you tell me, and I am sorry to hear it." " You needn't make a merit of that," said she. " No, my dear," said I. " That would be very foolish." She was still standing by the bed, and now stooped down (but stiU with the same discontented face) and kissed Ada. That done, she came softly back, and stood by the side of my chair. Her bosom was heaving in. a distressful manner that I greatly pitied ; but I thought it better not to speak. " I wish I was dead ! " she broke out. " I wish we were aU dead. It would be a great deal better for us." In a moment afterwards, she knelt on the ground at my side, hid her face in my dress, passionately begged my pardon, and wept. I comforted her, and would have raised her, but she cried, No, no ; she wanted to stay there ! " You used to teach girls," she said. " If you could only BLEAK HOUSE 369 have taught me, I could have learnt from you ! I am so very miserable, and I like you so much ! " I could not persuade her to sit by me, or to do anything but move a ragged stool to where she was kneeling, and take that, and still hold my dress in the same manner. , By degrees, the poor tired girl fell asleep ; and then I contrived to raise her; head so that it. should rest on my lap, and to cover us both with shawls. The fire went out, and all night long she slumbered thus before the ashy grate. . At first I was painfully awake, and vainly tried to lose myself, with my eyes closed, among the scenes of the day. At length, by slow degrees, they became indistinct and mingled. I began to lose the identity of the sleeper resting on me. Now it was Ada ; now, one of my old Eeading friends from whom I could not believe I ,had so recently parted. . . . Lastly, it was no one, and I was no one. The purblind day was feebly struggling with the fog, when I opened my eyes to encounter those of a dirty-faced little spectre fixed upon me. Peepy had scaled his crib, and crept down in his bedgown and cap, and was so cold that his teeth were chattering as if he had cut them all. When Esther, Ada, and Eiohard reach Bleak. House they find that one other guest is staying with Mr. Jarndyoe. This is Mr. Harold Skimpole, described by his host as a fresh, simple, enthusiastic creature, unfortunate in his affairs, unfortunate in his pursuits, but in his fine guileless inaptitude for all worldly affairs.Ja perfect child. Mr. Skimpole is a delightful companion, and enchants them by the spontaneous gaiety of his conversation and by his charm of manner. He owns to two infirmities : one is, that he has no idea of time, the other that he has no idea of money. "In consequence of which, he never kept an appointment, never could transact any business, and never knew the value of anything! " In the evening they have a little concert, for among his accomplishments Mr. Skimpole can play the piano and violoncello, and Ada has a beautiful voice. After a time, Esther misses from the room first Mr. Skimpole, and then Bichard, and while she is wondering how Bichard can keep away so long from Ada's singing, a maid looks in at the door and says, " If you please, miss, could you spare a minute ? " II When I was shut out with her ia the hall, she said, holding up her hands, "Oh if you please, miss, Mr. Carstone says would you come up-stairs to Mr. Skimpole's room. He has l/een took, miss ! " 2b 370 BLEAK HOUSE " Took?" said L " Took, miss, sudden," said the maid. I was apprehensive that his illness might be of a dan- gerous kind ; but of course, I begged her to be quiet and not disturb any one ; and collected myself, as I followed her quickly up-stairs, sufficiently to consider what were the best remedies to be applied if it should prove to be a fit. She threw open a door, and I went into a chamber ; where, to my unspeakable surprise, instead of finding Mr, Skimpole stretched upon the bed, or prostrate on the floor, I found him standing before the fire smiling at Eichard, while Eichard, with a face of great em- barrassment, looked at a person on the sofa, in a white greats coa.t, with smooth hair upon his head and not much of it, which he was wiping smoother, and making less of, with a pocket- handkerchief. " Miss Summerson," said Eichard, hurriedly, " I am glad you are come. You will be able to advise us. Our friend, Mr. Skimpole — don't be alarmed ! — is arrested for debt." " And, really, my dear Miss Summerson," said Mr. Skim- pole, with his agreeable candour, " I never was in a situation, in which that excellent sense, and quiet habit of method and usefulness, which anybody must observe in you who has the happiness of being a quarter of an hour in your society, was more needed." The person on the sofa; who appeared to have a cold in his head, gave such a very loud snort, that he startled me. "Are you arrested for much, sir?" I inquired of Mr. Skimpole. "My dear Miss Summerson," said he, shaking his head pleasantly, " I don't know. Some pounds, odd shillings, and half-pence, I think, were mentioned." " It's twenty-four pound, sixteen, and seven-pence ha'penny," observed the stranger. " That's wot it is." " And it sounds — somehow it sounds," said Mr. Skimpole, " like a small sum ? " The strange man said nothing, but made another snort. It was such a powerful one, that it seemed quite to lift him out of his seat. " Mr. Skimpole," said Eichard to me, " has a delicacy in applying to my cousin Jamdyce, because he has la,tely — I think, sir, I understood you that you had lately " "Oh, yes!" returned Mr. Skimpole, smiling. "Though I forgot how much it was, and when it was. Jaxudjae woulc^ BLEAK HOUSE 371 readily do it again ; but I have the epicure-like feeling that I would prefer a novelty in help ; that I would rather," and he looked at Eiohard and me, " develop generosity in! a new sbil, and in a new form of flowdr." " What do you think will be best. Miss Summerson ^ " said Eichard, aside. I ventured to inquire, generally, before replying, what would happen if the money were not produced. ' " Jail," said the,stra,nge man, coolly putting his handkerchief into his hat, which was on the floor at his feet. " Or Coavinses." " May I ask sir, what is • " " Coavinses ? " said the strange man. " A 'ouse." Eichard and I looked at one another again. It was a most singular thing that the arrest was our embarrassment, and not Mr. Skimpole's. He observed us with a genial interest; but there seemed, if I may venture on such a contradiction, nothing selfish in it. He had entirely washed his hands of .the difficulty, and it had' become ours. ;, . " I thought," he suggested, as if good-naturedly to help us out, "that being partners in a Chancery suit concerning (as people say) a large amount of property, Mr. Eichard or his beautiful cousin, or both, could sign something, or make over something, or give' some sort of undertaking, or pledge, or bond ? I don't know What the business name of it may be, but I sup- pose there is some instrument withiiL their power thiat would settle this?" " Not a bit on it," said the strange man. " Eeally ? " returned Mr. Skinlpole. " That seems odd, now, to one who is no judge of these things ! " , " Odd or even," said the stranger, grufily, " I tell you, not a bit on it!" "Keep your temper,' my good fellow, keep your' temper ! " Mr. Skimpde gently reasoned with him, as he made a little drawing of his head on the fly-leaf of a book, " Don't be rufiled by your bccu'pation. We can separate you from your office; we can separate the individual from the pursuit. We are not so prejudiced as to suppose that in private, life you are otherwise than a very estimable man, with a great deal of poetry in your nature, of which you may not be conscious.". The stranger only answered with another violent snort ; whether ia acceptance of the poetry-tribute, or in disdainful rejection of it, he did not express to me. ! " Now, my dear Miss Summerson, and my dear Mr, Eichard," 372 BLEAK HOUSE said Mr. Skimpole, gaily, innocently, and confidingly, as he looked at his drawing with his head on one side ; " here you see me utterly incapable of helping myself, and entirely in your hands ! I only ask to be free; The butterflies are free. Man- kind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies ! " "My dear Miss Summerson," said Eichard, in a whisper, " I have ten pounds that I received from Mr. Kenge. I must try what that will do." I possessed fifteen pounds, odd shillings, which I had saved from my quarterly allowance during several years. I had always thought that some accident might happen which would throw me, suddenly, without any relation, or any property, on the world ; and had always tried to keep some little money by me, that I might not be quite penniless. I told Eichard of my having this little store, and having no present need of it ; and I asked him delicately to inform Mr. Skimpole, while I should be gone to fetch it, that we would have the pleasure of paying his debt. When I came back, Mr. Skimpole kissed my hand, and seemed quite touched. Not on his own account (I was again aware of that perplexing and extraordinary contradiction), but on ours; as if personal considerations were impossible with him, and the contemplation of our happiness alone affected him. Eichard, begging me, for the greater grace of the transaction, as he said, to settle with Coavinses (as Mr. Skimpole now jocularly called him), I counted out the money and received the necessary acknowledgment. This, too, delighted Mr. Skimpole. His compliments were so delicately administered, that I blushed less than I might have done; and settled with the stranger in the white coat, without making any mistakes. He put the money in his pocket, and shortly said, " Well, then, I'll wish you a good-evening, miss." " My friend," said Mr. Skimpole, standing with his back to the fire, after giving up the sketch when it was half finished, " I should like to ask you something, without offence." I think the reply was, " Cut away, then ! " " Did you know this morning, now, that you were coming out on this errand ? " said Mr. Skimpole. " Know'd it yes'day aft'noon at tea-time," said Coavinses. " It didn't affect your appetite ? Didn't make you at aU. uneasy ? " ^ " Not a bit," said Coavinses. " I know'd if you wos missed BLEAK HOUSE 373 to-day, you wouldn't be missed to-morrow. A day makes no such odds." " But when you came down here," proceeded Mr. Skimpole, " it was a fine day. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the lights and shadows were passing across the fields, the birds were singing." "Ifobody said they warn't, in my hearing," returned Coavinses. " No," observed Mr. Skimpole. " But what did you think upon the road ? " ' " Wot do you mean ? " growled Coavinses, with an appear- ance of strong resentment. " Think ! I've got enough to do, and little enough to get for it, without thinking. Thinking ! " (with profound contempt.) " Then you didn't think, at all events," proceeded Mr. Skim- pole, " to this effect. ' Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine ; loves to hear the wind blow ; loves to watch the chang- ing lights and shadows ; loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature's great cathedral. And does it seem to me that I am about to deprive Harold Skimpole of his share in such posses- sions, which are his only birthright ! ' You thought nothing to that efiect ? " " I — certainly — did— not," said Coavinses, whose doggedness in utterly renouncing the idea was of that intense kind, that he could only give adequate expression to it by putting a long interval between each word, and accompanying the last with a jerk that might have dislocated his neck. " Very odd and very curious, the mental process is, in you men of business ! " said Mr. Skimpole, thoughtfully. " Thank you, my friend. Good-night." As our absence had been long enough already to seem strange down-stairs, I returned at once, and found Ada sitting at work by the fireside talking to her cousin John. Mr. Skimpole presently appeared, and Kichard shortly after him. I was sufficiently engaged, during the remainder of the evening, in taking my first lesson in backgammon from Mr. Jarndyce, who was very fond of the game, and from whom I wished of course to learn it as quickly as I could, in order that I might be of the very small use of being able to play when he had no better adversary. But I thought, occasionally when Mr. Skimpole played some fragments of his own compositions ; or when, both at the piano and the violoncello, and at our table, he preserved, with an absence of all effort, his delightful spirits and his easy 374 BLEAK HOUSE .flow of conversation; that Eicha,rd and I seemed to retain the transferred impression of having been arrested since dinner, and that it wEls very curious altogether;. It was late before we separated : for when Ada was going ;at eleven o'clock, Mr. Skimpole went to the piano, and rattled, hilariously, that the best of all ways, to lengthen our days^ was to steal a few hours from Night, my dear ! , It was past twelve before he took his candle and his radiant face out of the room:; and I think he might have kept us therej if he had seen fit, until daybreak. Ada and Eiehard were lingering for a few moments by the fire, wondering whether Mrs, JeUyby had yet finished her dictation for the day, when Mr. Jarndyce, who had been out of the room, returiied. " Oh, dear me, what's this, what's this ! " he said, rubbing his head and walking about with his good-humoured vexation. " What's this they tell me ? Eick, my boy, Esther, my dear, what have you been doing ? Why did you do it ? How could you do it ? How much apiece was it ? — The wind's round again. I feel it all over me ! " ■ . We neither of us quite knew what to answer, " Come, Eick, come ! I must settle this before I sleep. How much are you out of pocket ? You two made the money up, you know! Why did you? How could you? — Lord, yes, it's due east — must be ! " " Eeally, sir," said Eiehard, " I don't think it would be honourable in me to tell you, Mr, Skimpole relied upon us " "Lord bless you, my dear boy! He relies upon every- body ! " sa,id Mr. Jarndyce, giving his head a great rub, and stopping short. "Indeed, sir?" " Everybody ! And he'll be in the same scrape again, next week!" said Mr. Jarndyce, walking again at a great pace, with a candle in his hand that had gone out. "He's always in the same scrape. He was born in' the same scrape. I verily believe that the announcement in the newspapers when his mother was confined, was 'On Tuesday last, at her residence in Botheration Buildings, Mrs. Skimpole of a son in difficulties.' " Eiehard laughed heartily, but added, " Still, sir, I don't want to shake his confidenpe, or to break his confidence ; and if I submit to, your better knoiyledge again, that I ought to keep his secret, I hope you will consider before you press me any more. Of BLEAK HOUSE 375 comse, if you do press me, sir, I shall know I am wrong, and will tell you " " Well ! " cried Mr. Jamdyce, stopping again, and making several absent endeavours to put his candlestick in his pocket. " I — here ! Take it away, my dear. I, don't know what I am about with it ; it's all the wind — invariably has that effect-r- I won't press youj Eick ; you may be right. But really — to get hold of you and Esther — and to squeeze you like a couple of tender young Saint Michael's oranges ! — It'll blow a gale in the course of the night ! " , He was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets, as if he were going to keep them there a long time ; and taking them out again, and vehemently rubbing them all over his head. I ventured to take this opportunity of hinting that Mr. Skimpole, betag in all such matters, quite a child " Eh, my dear ? " said Mr. Jarndyoe, catching at the word. " — Being quite a child, sir," said I, " and so different from other people " "You are right!" said Mr. Jamdyce, brightening. "Your woman's wit hits the mark. He is a child — an absolute child. I told you he was a child, you know, when J first mentioned him." Certainly! certainly! we said. : " And he is a child. Now, isn't he ? " asked Mr. Jarndyoe, brightening more and more. He was indeed, we said. " When you come to think of it, it's the height of childish- ness in you — I mean me — " said Mr. Jamdyce, " to regard him for a moment as a man. You can't make hvm responsible. The idea of Harold Skimpole with designs or plans, or knowledge of consequences ! Ha, ha, ha ! " * ' It was so delicious to see the clouds about his bright face clearing, and to see him so heartily pleased, and to know, as it was impossible not to know, that the source of his pleasure was the goodness which was tortured by condemning, or mistrusting, or secretly accusing any one, that I saw the tears in Ada's eyes, while she echoed his laugh, and felt them in my own. "Why, what a cod's head and shoulders I am," said Mr. Jarndyoe, " to require reminding of it ! The whole business shows the child from beginning to end. Nobody but a child would have thought of singling you two out for parties in the affair ! Nobody but a child would have thought of yowr having the money ! If it had been a thousand pounds, it would have 376 BLEAK HOUSE been just the same ! " said Mr. Jarndyce, with his whole face in a glow. "We all confirmed it from our night's experience. " To be sure, to be sure ! " said Mr. Jarndyce. " However, Eick, Esther, and you, too, Ada, for I don't know that even your little purse is safe from his inexperience — I must have a promise all round, that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more. No advances ! Not even sixpences." We all promised faithfully ; Eichard, with a merry glance at me, touching his pocket, as if to remind me that there, was no danger of our transgressing. " As to Skimpole," said Mr. Jarndyce, " a habitable doll's house, with good board, and a few tin people to get into debt . with and borrow money of, would set the boy up in life. He is in a child's sleep by this time, I suppose ; it's time I should take my craftier head to my more worldly pillow. Good-night, my dears. God bless you ! " He peeped in again, with a smiling face, before we had lighted our CEtndles, and said, " ! I have been looking at the weather-cock. I find it was a false alarm about the wind. It's in the south ! " And went away singing to himself. Ada and I agreed, as we talked together for a little while up-stairs, that this caprice about the wind was a fiction ; and that he used the pretence to account for any disappointment he could not conceal, rather than he would blame the real cause of it, or disparage or depreciate any one. We thought this very characteristic of his eccentric gentleness ; and of the difierence between him and those petulant people who make the weather and the winds (particularly that unlucky wind which he had chosen for such a different purpose) the stalking-horses of their splenetic and gloomy humours. BLEAK HOUSE 377 Miss Caddy Jellyby and her brother Peepy come to see Esther and Ada while they are staying in London, tmd Caddy confides to them that she is secretly engaged to Mr. Prince Turveydrop, so named, in remembrance of the Prince Regent, adored by old Mr. Turveydrop on account of his " deport- ment." The yo>mg man is a dancing master, and Esther goes with Caddy to the dancing academy, where she is introduced to Prince, and to his dis- tinguished father. Ill DEPORTMENT I found the academy established in a sufficiently dingy house at the corner of an archway, with busts in all the stair- case windows. In the same house there were also established, as I gathered from the plates on the door, a drawing-master, a coal-merchant (there was, certainly, no room for his coals), and a lithographic artist. On the plate which, in size and situation, took precedence of all the rest, I read, Mr. Tueveydkop. The door was open, and the hall was blocked up by a grand piano, a harp, and several other musical instruments in cases, aU in progress of removal, and all looking rakish in the daylight. Miss Jellyby informed me that the academy had been lent, last night, for a concert. We went up-stairs — it had been quite a fine house once, when it was anybody's business to keep it clean and fresh, and nobody's business to smoke in it all day — and into Mr. Turvey- drop's great room, which was built out into a mews at the back, and was lighted by a skylight. It was a bare, resounding room, smelling of stables ; with cane forms along the walls ; and the walls ornamented at regular intervals with painted lyres, and little cut-glass branches for candles, which seemed to be shedding their old-fashioned drops as other branches might shed autumn leaves. Several young lady pupils, ranging from thirteen or fourteen years of age to two or three and twenty, were assembled; and I was looking among them for their instructor, when Caddy, piaching my arm, repeated the cere- mony of introduction. " Miss Summerson, Mr. Prince Turvey- drop!" I curtseyed to a little blue-eyed fair man of youthful appearance, with flaxen hair parted in the middle, and curling at the ends all round his head. He had a little fiddle, which we used to call at school a kit, under his left arm, and its 378 BLEAK HOUSE little bow in the same hand. His little dancing-shoes were particularly diminutive, and he had a little innocent, feminiae manner, which not only appealed to me in an anuable way, but made this singular effect upon me: that I received the impression that he was like his mother, and that his mother had not been much considered or well used. " I am very happy to see Miss Jellyby's friend," he said, bowing low to me. " I began to fear," with timid tenderness, "as it was past the usual time, that Miss Jellyby was not coming." " I beg you will have the goodness to attribute that to me, who have detained her, and to receive my excuses, sir," said I. «0 dear! "said he. "And pray," I entreated, " do not allow me to be the cause of any more delay." With that apology I withdrew to a seat between Peepy (who, being well used to it, had already climbed into a comer place) and an old lady of a censorious countenance, whose two nieces were in the class, and who was very indignant with Peepy's boots. Prince Turveydrop then tinkled the strings of his kit with his iingers, and the young ladies stood up to dance. Just then, there appeared from a side door, old Mr. Turveydrop, in the full lustre of his Deportment. He was a fat old gentleman with a false complexion, false teeth, false whiskers, and a wig. He had a fur collar, and he had a padded breast to his coat, which only wanted a star or a broad blue ribbon to be complete. He was pinched in, and swelled out, and got up, and strapped down, as much as he could possibly bear. He had such a neckcloth on (puffing his very eyes out of their natural shape), and his chin and even his ears so sunk into it, that it seemed as though he must inevitably double up, if it were cast loose. He had, imder his arm, a hat of great size and weight, shelving downward from the crown to the brim ; and in his hand a pair of white gloves, with which he flapped it, as he stood poised on one leg, in a high-shouldered, round-elbowed state of elegance not to be surpassed. He had a cane, he had an eye-glass, he had a snuff-box, he had rings, he had wristbands, he had everything but any touch of nature ; he was not like youth, he was not like age, he was not like anything in the world but a model of Deportment. "Father! A visitor. Miss Jellyby's friend, Miss Sum- merson." BLEAK HOUSE 379 , " Distinguished," said Mr. Turveydrop, " by Miss Summer- son's presence." As lie bowed to me in that tight state, I almost believe I saw creases come into the whites of his eyes. "My father," said the son, aside, to me, with quite an affecting belief in him, " is a celebrated character. My father is greatly admired." " Qo on. Prince ! Go on ! " said Mr. Turveydrop, standing with his back to the fire, and waving his gloves condescendingly. " Go on, my son ! " At tljis command, or by this gracious pennisgion, the lesson went on., Prince Turveydrop sometimes played the kit, dancing ; sometimes played the piano, standing ; sometimes hummed the tune with what little breath he could spare, while he set a pupil right ; always conscientiously moved with the least proficient tliipugh every step and every part of the figure ; and never rested for an instant. His distinguished father did nothing ■vsrhatever, but stand before the fire, a model of Deportment. " And he never does anything else," said the old lady of the censorious countenance. " Yet would you believe that it's his name on the door-plate ? " " His son's name is the same, you know," said I. " He wouldn't, let his son have any name, if he could take it from him," returned the old lady. "Look at the son's dress!" It certainly was plain — threadbare — almost shabby. " Yet the father must be garnished and tricked out," said the old lady, " because of his Deportment. I'd deport him ! Transport him would be better ! " I felt curious to know more, concerning this person. I asked, " Does he give lessons in Deportment, now ? " " Now ! " returned the old lady, shortly.' " Never did." After a moment's consideration, I suggested that perhaps fencing had been his accomplishment ? "I don't believe he can fence at all, ma'am," said the old iady. , , I looked surprised .and inquisitive. The old lady, becoming more and more incensed against the Master of Deportment as she dwelt upon the subject, gave me some particulars of his career, with strong assurances that they were mildly stated. He had married a meek little dancing-mistress, with a tolerable connexion (having never in his life before done any- thing but deport himself), and had worked her to death, or had, at the best, suffered her to work herself to death, to maintain him in those expenses which were indispensable to his position. 38o BLEAK HOUSE At once to exhibit his Deportment to the best models, and to keep the best models constantly before himself, he found it necessary to frequent all public places of fashionable and loung- ing resort ; to be seen at Brighton and elsewhere at fashionable times ; and to lead an idle; life in the very best clothes. To enable him to do this, the affectionate little dancing^mistress had toiled and laboured, and would have toiled and laboured to that hour, if her strength had lasted so long. For, the main- spring of the story was, that, in spite of the man's absorbing selfishness, his wife (overpowered by his Deportment) had, to the last, believed in him, and had, on her death-bed, in the most moving terms, confided him to their son as one who had an inextinguishable claim upon him, and whom he could never regard with too much pride and deference. The son, inheriting his mother's belief, and having the Deportment always before him, had lived and grown in the same faith, and now, at thirty years of age, worked for his father twelve hours a-day, and looked up to him with veneration on the old imaginary pinnacle. " The airs the fellow gives himself ! " said my informant, shaking her head at old Mr. Turveydrop with speechless indig- nation as he drew on his tight gloves : of course unconscious of the homage she was rendering. " He fully believes he is one of the aristocracy ! And he is so condescending to the son he so egregiously deludes, that you might suppose him the most virtuous of parents. ! " said the old lady, apostrophising him with infinite vehemence, " I could bite you ! " I could not help being amused, though I heard the old lady out with feelings of real concern. It was difficult to doubt her, with the father and son before me. What I might have thought of them without the old lady's account, or what I might have thought of the old lady's account without them, I cannot say. There was a fitness of things in the whole that carried conviction with it. My eyes were yet wandering, from young Mr. Turveydrop working so hard, to old Mr. Turveydrop deporting himself so beautifully, when the latter came ambling up to me, and entered into conversation. He asked me, first of all, whether I conferred a charm and a distinction on London by residing in it? I did not think it necessary to reply that I was perfectly aware I should not do that, in any case, but merely told him where I did reside. " A lady so graceful and accomplished," he said, kissing his BLEAK HOUSE 381 right glove, and afterwards extending it towards the pupils, " will look leniently on the deficiencies here. We do our best to polish — polish — polish ! " He sat down beside me ; taking some pains to sit on the form, I thought, in imitation of the print of his illustrious model on the sofa. And really he did look very like it. " To polish' — ^polish — ^poHs^h ! " he repeated, taking a pinch of snuff and gently fluttering his fingers. " But we are not — if I may say so, to one formed to be graceful both by Nature and Art ; " with the high-shouldered bow, which it seemed impos- sible for him to make without lifting up his eyebrows and shutting his eyes — " we are not what we used to be in point of Deportment." " Aie we not, sir ? " said I. "We have degenerated," he returned, shaking his head, which he could do, to a very limited extent, in his cravat. " A levelling age is not favourable to Deportment. It develops vulgarity. Perhaps I speak with some little partiality. It may not be for me to say that I have been called, for some years now. Gentleman Turveydrop ; or that His Eoyal Highness the Prince Eegent did me the honour to inquire, on my re- moving my hat as he drove out of the Pavilion at Brighton (that fine building), 'Who is he ? Who the Devil is he ? . Why don't I know him ? Why hasn't he thirty thousand a-year ? ' But these are little matters of anecdote — the general property, ma'am, — still repeated, occasionally, among the upper classes." " Indeed ? " said I. He replied with the high-shouldered bow. " Where what is left among us of Deportment," he added, "still lingers. England — alas, my country ! — ^has degenerated very much, and is degenerating every day. She has not many gentlemen left. We are few. I see nothing to succeed us, but a race of weavers." " One might hope that the race of gentlemen would be perpetuated here," said I. " You are very good," he smiled, with the high-shouldered bow again. " You flatter me. But, no — no ! I have never been able to imbue my poor boy with that part of his art. Heaven forbid that I should disparage my dear child, but he has — ^no Deportment." " He appears to be an excellent master," I observed. "Understand me, my dear madam, he is an excellent master. All that can be acquired, he has acquired. All that 382 BLEAK HOUSE can be imparted, he can impart. But there ar& things" — ^he took another pinch of snuff and made the bow againj as if to add, " this kind of thing, for instance." I glanced towards the centre of the room, where Miss Jellyby's lover, now engaged with single pupils, was undergoing greater drudgery than ever. " My amiable child," murmured Mr. Turveydrop, adjusting the cravat. " Your son is indefatigable," said I. " It is my reward," said Mr. Turveydrop, " to hear you say so. In some respects, he treads in the footsteps of his sainted mother. She was a devoted creature. But Wooinan, lovely Wooman," said Mr. Turveydrop, with very disagreeable gallantry, " what a sex you are ! " I rose and joined Miss Jellyby, who was, by this time, putting on her bonnet. The time allotted to a lesson having fully blapsed, there was a general putting on of bonnets. When Miss Jellyby and the unfortunate Prince found an opportunity to become betrothed I don't know, but they certainly found none, on this occasion, to exchange a dozen words. " My dear," said Mr. Turveydrop benignly to his son, " do you know the hour ? " " No, father." The son had no watch. The father had a handsome gold one, which he puUed out, with an air that was an example to mankind. " My son," said he, " it's two o'clock. EecoUect your school at Kensington at three." "That's time enough for me, father," said Prince. "I can take a morsel of dinner, standing, and be off." " My dear boy," returned his father, " you must be very quick. You will find the cold mutton on the table." " Thank you, father. Are yow off now, father ? " " Yes, my dear. I suppose," said Mr. Turveydrop, shutting his eyes and lifting up his shoulders, with modest conscious- ness, "that I must show myself, as usual, about town." " You had better dine out comfortably, somewhere," said his son. " My dear child, I intend to. I shall take my little meal, I I think, at the" French house, in the Opera Colonnade." " That's right. Good-bye, father ! " said Prince, shaking hands. " Good-bye, my son. Bless you ! " Mr. Turveydrop said this in iquite a pious manner, and it BLEAK HOUSE 383 seemed to do his son good ; who, in parting from him, was so pleased with him, so dutiful to him, and so proud of him, that I almost felt as if it were an unkindness to the younger man not to be able to believe implicitly in the elder. The few moments that were occupied by Prince in taking leave of us (and particularly of one of us, as I saw, being in the secret), enhanced my favourable impression of his almost childish character. I felt a liking for him, and a compassion for him, as he put his little kit in his pocket^-^and with it his desire to stay a little while with Caddy — and went away good-humouredly to his cold mutton and his school at Kensington, that made me scarcely less irate with his father than the censorious old lady. The father opened the room-door for us, and bowed us out, in a manner, I must acknowledge, worthy of his shining original. In the same style he presently passed us on the other side of the street, on his way to the aristocratic part of the town, where he was going to show himself among the few other gentlemen left. For some moments, I was so lost in reconsidering what I had heard and seen in Newman Street, that I was quite unable to talk to Caddy, or even to fix my attention on what she said to me : especially when I began to inquire in my mind whether there were, or ever had been, any other gentlemen, not in the dancing profession, who lived and founded a reputation entirely on their Deportment. This became so bewildering, and suggested the possibility of so many Mr. Turveydrops, that I said, " Esther, you inust make up your mind to abandon this subject altogether, and attend to Caddy." I accordingly did so, and we chatted all the rest of the way to Lincoln's Inn. BOOK XI HARD TIMES, FOR THESE TIMES This tale appeared in weekly portions in Household Words between the dates of the 1st April and the 12th August, 1854, when it was published complete as a book, with an inscription to Thomas Carlyle. It was brought out by Messrs. Bradbury and Evans. " Now what 1 want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girla nothing but facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts : nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the prin- ciple on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir ! " These are the opening words of the story, and are spoken by Mr. Thomas Gradgrind, "a man of realities," and addressed to a schoolmaster in Mr. Gradgrind's model school; but even here, where Facts are all powerful,' Fancy sometimes creeps shyly in, for " Girl number twenty," Sissy Jupe — or^ as she is called in the school, Ceciha Jupe — daughter of a man in the " horse- riding," admits upon being questioned, that she would carpet her room with a representation of flowers, because she is fond of them, they being very pretty, and she would fancy — Cecilia is told that she must not fancy — and as she is youthful and timid, she is abashed and says no more ; Mr. M'Choakumchild proceeding to give his first lesson on Facts, to the admiration of himself and Mr. Gradgrind. The latter gentleman lives at Stone Lodge, Coketown, with his wife and five little Gradgrinds, who learn everything that it is right for them to know, according to the rigid code of their father, and nothing that might in the smallest degree stimulate their imaginations or lend a little colour to the grey monotony of their lives. But Mr. Gradgrind is entirely pleased so far with the results of his teaching, both at home and in the model school he has just left, and he walks towards Stone Lodge in a highly satisfied state of mind. And yet there may be something lacking in his system after all, for as he passes a certain wooden pavilion with a flag floating from its summit which announces to the world that this is " Sleary's Horse- Kiding," where Signer Jupe (Sissy's father) is this afternoon " to elucidate the diverting accomplishments of his highly-trained performing dog Merry- legs," he sees among the children who are attempting to peep in at the hidden glories of the place, two of his own flesh and blood ; " his metallurgi- cal Louisa, and his mathematical Thomas," the girl looking through a hole in a deal boaxd, and the boy abasing himself on the ground, " to catch but e^ 384 HARD TIMES 385 hoof of the graceful equestrian Tyrolean flower act." ,,The wretched little delinquents are led home by their horrified and amazed father, who repeats at intervals '"What would Mr. Bounderby sayl' — as if Mr. Bounderby had been Mrs. Grundy," MR. BOUNDERBY Not being Mrs. Grundy, who was Mr. Bounderby ? Why, Mr. Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom friend, as a man perfectly devoid of sentiment can approach that spiritual relationship towards another man per- fectly devoid of sentiment. So near was Mr. Bounderby-^or, if the reader should prefer it, so far off. He was a rich man : banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not. A big, loud man, with a stare, and a metallic laugh. A man made out of a coarse material, which seemed to have been stretched to make so much of him. . A man with a great puffed head and forehead, swelled veins in his temples, and such a strained skin to his face that it seemed to hold his eyes open, and lift his eyebrows up. A man with a pervading appearance on him of betdg inflated like a balloon, and ready to start. A man who could never sufficiently vaunt Mmself a self-made man. A man who was always proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his old ignorance and his old poverty. A man who was the BuUy of humility. A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend, Mr. Bounderby looked older ; his seven or eight and forty might have had the seven or eight added to it again, without surpris- ing anybody. He had not much hair. One might have fancied he had talked it off; and that what was left, all standing up in disorder, was in that condition from being constantly blown about by his windy boastfulness. In the formal draw^g-room of Stone Lodge, standing on the hearth-rug, warming himself before the fire, Mr Bounderby delivered some observations to Mrs. Gradgrind on the circum- stance of its being his birthday^ He stood before the fire, partly because it was a cool spring afternoon, though the sun shpne ; partly because the shade of Stone Lodge was always haunted by the ghost of damp mortar ; partly because he thus took up a commanding position, from ; which to subdue Mrs. Gradgnnd. 2g 386 HARD TIMES " I hadn't a shoe to my foot. As to a stocking, I didn't know such a thing by name. I passed the day in a ditch, and the night in a pigsty. That's the way I spent my tenth hirthday, Not that a ditch was new to me, for I was born in a ditch." Mrs. Gradgrind, a little, thin, white, pink-eyed bundle of shawls, of surpassing feebleness, mental and bodily ; who was always taking physic without any efifect, and who, whenever she showed a symptom of coming to life, was invariably stuimed by some weighty piece of fact tumbling on her ; Mrs. Gradgrind hoped it was a dry ditch ? "No ! As wet as a sop. A foot of water in it," said Mr. Bounderby. " Enough to give a baby cold," Mrs. Gradgrind considered. " Cold ? I was born with inflammation of the lui^s, and of everything else, I believe, that was capable of inflammation," returned Mr. Bounderby. " For years, ma'am, I was one of the most miserable little wretches ever seen. I was so sickly, that I was always moaning and groaning. I was so ragged and dirty, that you wouldn't have touched me with a pair of tongs." Mrs. ' Gradgrind faintly looked at the tongs, as the most appropriate thing her imbecility could think of doing. " How I fough.t through it, I don't know," said Bounderby. "I was determined, I suppose. I have been a determined character in later life, and I suppose I was then. Here I am, Mrs. Gradgrind, anyhow, and nobody to thank for my being here, but myself ." Mrs. Gradgrind meekly and weakly hoped that his mother " My mother ? Bolted, ma'am ! " said Bounderby. Mrs, Gradgrind, stunned as usual, collapsed and gave it up. " My mother left me to my grandmother," said Bounderby ; "and, according to the best of my remembrance, my grand- mother was the wickedest and the worst old woman that ever lived. If I got a little pair of shoes by any chance, she would take 'em off and sell 'em for drink. Why, I have known that grandmother of mine lie in her bed and drink her four-teen glasses of liquor before breakfast ! " Mrs. Gradgrind, weakly smiling, and giving no other sign of vitality, looked (as she always did) like an indifferently executed transparency of a small female figure, without enough light behind it. "She kept a chandler's shop," pursued Bounderby, "and kept me in an egg-box. That was the cot of my infancy; an HARD TIMES 387 old egg-box. ' As soon as I was big enough to run away, of co\irse 1 ran away. Then I became a young vagabond ; and instead of one old woman knocking me about and starving me, everybody; of all ages knocked me about and ■starved me. They were right; they had no business to do anything else. I was a nuisance, an incumbrance, and a pest. I know that very, well." His pride in having at any time of his life achieved such a great social distinction as to be a nuisance, an inoumbrailce, and a pest,; was only to be satisfied by three sonorous repetitions of the boast. . ■ . : . . "I was to pull thro'ugh it I' suppose, Mrs. Gradgrind. Whether I was to doit or not, ma'am, I did it. I pulled through' it, though nobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond, errand-boy, vagabond, labourer, porter, clerk, chief manager, small partner, Josiah Boundeirby of Coketown. Those' are the antecedents, and the culmination. Josiah Bounderby of Coketown learnt his' letters from the outsides of the shops, Mrs. Gradgrind, and was first able to tell the time upon a dial-plate, from studying the steeple clock of St. Giles's Church,' London; under the direction of a , drunken cripple, who was a convicted thief, and an in- corrigible vagrant. Tell Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, of your district schools and your model schools, and your training schools, and your whole kettle-of-fish of schools ; and Josiah Boimderby of Coketown, tells you plainly, all right, all correct — he hadn't such advantages.^— but let us have hard-headed,' solid-fisted people — the educatibn; that made him won't do for everybody! hd knows well — such and such his education was, however, and you may force him to swallow boiling fat, but you shall never force him to suppress the facts of his: life." Being heated when he arrived at this climax, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown stopped. He stopped just as his eminently practical friend, still accompanied by the two. young culprits, entered the room. His eminently practical friend, on seeing him, stopped also, and gave Louisa a reproachful look that plainly said, " Behold your Bounderby ! " , "Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "wha,t's the matter? What is young Thomas in the dumps' about 1" He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa. " We were peeping at the circus," muttered Louisa, haughtily, without lifting up her eyes, " and father caught us." "And Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband in a lofty manner, " I should as soon have expected to find my children reading poetry." 388 HARD TIMES " Dear me," whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. " How can you, Louisa and Thomas ! I wonder at you. I declare you're enough to make one regret ever having had a family at all. I have a great mind to say I wish I hadn't. Then what would you have done, I should like to know/' Mr. Gradgrind did not seem favourably impressed by these cogent remarks. He frowned impatiently. " As if, with my head in its present throbbing state, you couldn't go and look at the shells and minerals and things pro- vided for you, instead of circuses ! " said Mrs. Gradgrind. " You know, as well as I do, no young people have circus masters, or keep circuses in cabinets, or attend lectures about circuses. What can you possibly want to know of circuses then ? I am sure you have enough to do, if that's what you want. With my head in its present state, I couldn't remember the mere names of half the facts you have got to attend to." " That's the reason ! " pouted Louisa. " Don't tell me that's the reason, because it can be nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Gradgrind. " Go and be somethingological directly." Mrs. Gradgrind was not a scientific character, and usually dismissed her children to their studies with this general injunction to choose their pursuit. In truth, Mrs. Gradgrind's stock of facts in general was woefully defective ; but Mr. Gradgrind in raising her to her high matrimonial position, had been influenced by two reasons. Firstly, she was most satisfactory as a question of figures ; and, secondly, she had " no nonsense " about her. By nonsense he meant fancy ; and truly it is probable she was as free from any alloy of that nature, as any human being not arrived at the perfection of an absolute idiot, ever was. The simple circumstance of being left alone with her husband and Mr. Bounderby, was sufficient to stun this admirable lady again without collision between herself and any other fact. So, she once more died away, and nobody minded her. " Bounderby," said Mr. Gradgrind, drawing a chair to th^ fireside, " you are always so interested in my young people — particularly in Louisa — that I make no apology for saying to you, I am very much vexed by this discovery. I have systemati- cally devoted myseK (as you know) to the education of the reason of my family. The reason is (as you know) the only faculty to which education should be addressed. And yet, Bounderby, it would appear from the unexpected circumstance of to-day, though in itself a trifling one, as if something had HARD TIMES 389 crept into Thomas's and Louisa's minds which is — or rather, which is not — I don't know that I can express myself better than by saying — which has never been intended to be developed, and in which their reason has no part." " There certainly is no reason in looking with interest at a parcel of vagabonds," returned Bounderby. " When I was a vagabond myself, nobody looked with any interest at me ; I know that," "Then comes the question," said the eminently practical father, with his eyes on the fire, "in what has this vulgar curiosity its rise ? " ' " I'll tell you in what. In idle imagination." "I hope not," said the eminently practical; "I confess, however, that the misgiving has crossed me on my way home." " In idle imagination, G-radgrind," repeated Bounderby. " A very bad thing for anybody, but a cursed bad thing for a girl like Louisa. I should ask Mrs. Gradgrind's pardon for strong expressions, but that she knows very well I am not a refined character. Whoever expects refinement in me will be dis- appointed. I hadn't a refined bringing up/' " Whether," said Mr. Gradgrind, pondering with his hands in his pockets, and his cavernous eyes on the fire, " whether any instructor or servant can have suggested anything ? Whether Louisa or Thomas can have been reading anything? Whether, in spite of all precautions, any idle story-book can have got into the house ? Because, in minds that have been practically formed by rule and line, from the cradle upwards, this is so curious, so incomprehensible." " Stop a bit ! " cried Bounderby, who all this time had been standing, as before, on the hearth, bursting at the very furniture of the room with explosive humility, 't You have one of those strollers' children in the school.'' " Cecilia Jupe, by name," said Mr. Gradgrind, with some- thing of a stricken look at his friend. " Now, stop a bit ! " cried Bounderby again. " How did she come there ? " "Why, the fact is, I saw the girl myself, for the first time, only just now. She specially applied here at the house to be admitted, as not regularly belonging to our town, and — ^yes, you are right, Bounderby, you are right." " Now, stop a bit ! " cried Bounderby, once more. " Louisa saw her when she came ? '■ 3^0 HARD TIMES " Louisa certainly did see her, for she meiitioried the applica- tion to me.. But Louisa saw her, I have no doubt, in Mrst Gradgrind's presence." " Pray, Mrs. Gradgrind/ 1 said Bounderby, " what passed ? '' "Oh, my poor health!" returned Mrs. Gradgrind. "The girl wanted to come to the school, and Mr. Gradgriiid. wanted girls to come, to the school, and Louisa and Thomas both said that the girl wanted to come, and that Mr. Gradgrind wanted girls, to come, and how was it possible to contradict them when such was the fact!" , „ ' ;; .' .. ,, i "Now I tell you what, Gradgrind!" said Mr. Bounderby. " Turn this girl to the right-about, and there's an end of it." " I am much of your opinion/' . " Do it at once," said Bounderby, " has always been my motto from a chUd. When I thought I would run away from my egg-box and my grandmother, I did it at once. Do you- the same. Do this at once ! " "Are you walking?" asked his friend. "I have "the father's address. Perhaps you would not mind walking to town with me?" " Not the least in the world," said Mr. Bounderby; " as long as you do it at once ! ". , So Mr. Bounderby threw on his hat — he always threw it on, as expressing a man who had been far too busily employed in making himself, to. acquire any fashion of wearing his hat — and with his hands • in his pockets, sauntered out into the hall. " I never wear gloves," it was his custom to say. " I didn't climb up the ladder; in ^^^m. Shouldn't be so high' up, if I had." Being left to saunter in the hall a minute or two while Mr. Gradgrind went upstairs for the- address, he opened the door of the children's study and looked into that serene floorclothed apartment, which, notwithstanding its book-cases and its cabinets and its variety of learned and philosophical; appliances, had much of the genial Aspect of a room devoted to hair-cutting. Louisa languidly leaned upon the window looking out, without looking at anything, while young Thomas stood sniffing revenge- fully at the fire. Adam Smith and Malthus, two younger Gradgrinds, were out at lecture in custody; and little Jane, after manufacturing a gbod deal of moist pipe-clay on her face with slate-penpil and tears, had fallen asleep over vulgar fractions. "It's all right now, Louisa: it's all right, young Thomas," said Mr. Bounderby ; " you won't do so any more. I'll answer HARD TIMES 391 for its being all over with father. Well, Louisa, that's worth a kiss isn't it ? " "You can take one, Mr. Bounderby," returned [Louisa,, when she had coldly paused, and slowly walked across the room, and ungraciously raised her cheek towards him, with her face turned away. " Always my pet ; ain't you, Louisa ? " said Mr. Bounderby. " Grood-byej Louisa ! " He went his way, but she stood on the same spot, rubbing the cheek he had MssSd; with her haaidkerchief, until it was burning red. She was stiE doing this, five minutes afterwards. " What are you about, Loo 1 " her brother sulkily remon- strated. " You'U rub a hole in your face." " You inay cut the piece out with your penknife if you like, T'om. I wouldn't cry 1 " Mr. Gradgrind and Mr. Bounderby are on their way to find Sissy Jupfi's fatter, when they come suddenly upon the girl herself, as she is running away irom a boy called Bitzer (one of the boys in attendance at Mr. Grad- grind's model school), who has been frightening her by making " cruel faces." Mr. Gradgrind sends the boy about Ms business, and then addresses Sissy Jupe. II sleary's horsemanship "Now, girl;" said Mr. Gradgrind, "take this gentleman and me to your father's ; we are going there. What have you got in that bottle you are carrying ? " '^ Gin," said Mr. Bounderby. " Dear, no, sir ! It's the nine oils." " The what ? " cried Mr. Bounderby. "The nine oils, sir. To rub father with." Then, said Mr. Bounderby, with a loud short laughj " What the devil do you rub your father with nine oils for ? " felt's what our people always use, sir, when they get any hurts in the ring," replied the girl, looking over her shoulder, to- assure herself' that her pursuer was gone. "They bruise themselves very bad sometimes/' 392 HARD TIMES "Serve 'em right," said Mr. Bounderby, "for being idle." She glanced up at his face, with mingled astonishment and dread. " By George ! " said Mr. Bounderby, " when I was four or five years younger than you, I had worse bruises upon me than ten oils, twenty oils, forty oils, would have rubbed off. I didn't get 'em by posture-making, but by being banged about. There was no rope-dancing for me ; I danced on the bare ground and was larruped with the rope." Mr. Gradgrind, though hard enough, was by no means so rough a man as Mr. Bounderby. Hia character was. not uhkindi all things considered; it niight have been a very kind one indeed, if he had only made some round mistake in the arithmetic that balanced it, years ago. He said, in what he meant for a reassuring tone, as they ' turned down a narrow road, " And this is Pod's End ; is it, Jupe ! " " This is it, sir, and — if you wouldn't mind, sir — this is the house." She stopped, at twilight, at the door of a mean little public- house, with dim red lights in it. As haggard and as shabby, as if, for want of custom, it had itself taken to drinking, and had gone the way all drunkards go, and was Very near the end of it. " It's only crossing the bar, sir, and up the stairs, if you wouldn't mind, and waiting there for a moment till I get a candle. If you should hear a dog, sir, it's only Merrylegs, and he only barks." " Merrylegs and nine oils, eh ! " said Mr. Bounderby, entering last with bis metallic laugh. " Pretty well this, for a self-made man ! " The name of the public-house was the Pegasus's Arms. The Pegasus's legs might have been more to the purpose ; but, underneath the winged horse upon the signboard, the Pegasus's Arms was inscribed in Eoman letters. Beneath that inscription again, in a flowing scroU, the painter had touched off the lines : Good malt makes good beer, , Walk in, and they'll draw it here : Qood wine makes good brandy, Give us a call, and you'll find it handy. Framed and glazed upon the wall behind the dingy little bar, was another Pegasus— a theatrical one — with real gauze let in for his wings, golden stars stuck on all over him, and his ethereal harness made of red silk. ^ HARD TIMES 393 As it had grown too dusky without, to see the sign, and as it had not grown light. enough within to see the picture, Mr. Gradgrind and Mr; Bounderby received no' offenee from these idealities. They followed the girl up some steep corner-stairs without meeting anyone, andstoppfed' in the dark while she went on for a candle. They expected every moment to hear Merrylegs give tongue, but the highly trained performing dog had not barked when the girl and the candle appeared togethe]?. "Father is not in our room, sir," she Said, with a face of great surprise. ■ ■ " If you wouldn't mrad walking in, I'll find him directly." ' They walked in ; and Sissy, having set two chairs for them, sped away with aquick light step. It was a mean, shabbily furnished room, with a bed in it. The white night-cap, em- bellished with two peacock's feathers and a pigtail bolt upright, in which Signer Jupe had that very afternoon enlivened the varied performances with his chaste Shaksperian quips and retorts, hung upon a nail; but no other portion of his wardrobe, or other token of himself or his pursuits, was to be seen anywhere. As to Merrylegs, that respectable ancestor of the highly trained animal who went aboard: the ;ark, might have beeii accidentally shut'oiit of'it, for any sign of a dog that was manifesttq eye or ear inthe PegaSus's Arms. ."ij: ; They heard the doors of rooms above,' ripening and: shutting as Sissy went from one to another in quest of her father ;' and presently they heard voices expressing surprise.-; She came bounding down agaia in a great hurry, opened; a battered and mangy old hair trunk, found' itl empty, and looked round with her hands clasped and her fate fuU of terror. ,.,,.; " Father must, have gone down to the. Booth, sir. I don't know why he should go there, but. he. must be there ; I'll, bring him in a minute ! " . She was gone dii-ectly; without her bonnet ; with her long, dark,; childish hair streaming behind her. " What does she mean ! '^said. Mr. Gradgrind. " Back in a minute ? It's more than a mQe off." ^i )!■ Before Mr. Bounderby could reply^ a yoimg man appeared at the door, and introducing himself with the words, '* By your leaves, gentlenien ! " tealked in with his hands in his pockets. His face, close-shaven, thin, and sallow, was shaded iby a great quantity of dark hair,, brushed into a (roll all round his head, and parted up the. centre. His. legs ,were very robust^ but shorter than legs of goodnproportions should have been. His chest and back were as much too broad, as his legs were too 394 HARD TIMES short. He was dressed in a ^Newmarket coat and tight-fitting trousers ; wore a shawl round his neck ; smelt of lamp-oil, straw, orange-peely horses' provender, and sawdust ; and looked a most remarkable sort of Centaur, compounded of the stable and the play-house. Where the one began, and the other ended, nobody could have told with any precision. This gentle- man was mentioned in the bills :of the day as Mr. E. W. B. Childers, so justly celebrated for. his daring vaulting act as the Wild Huntsman of the North American Prairies;: in which popular performance, a diminutive boy with an old face, who now accompanied him, assisted as his infant son : being carried upside down over his father's shoulder, by one foot, and held by the crown of his head, heels upwards, in the palm of his father's hand, according to the violent paternal manner in which wild huntsmen may be observed to fondle their offspring. Made up with curls, wreaths,, wings, white bismuth, and car- mine, this hopeful yoting pierson soared into so pleasing, a Ciipid as to constitute the.. chief delight of the maternal part of the sJ)ectatora; but in private, where- his characteristics were a. ptecQcious cutaway coat and an extremely gruff, voice,, he became?of the Turf, turfy. - < ,"By your leaves, gentlemen," said Mr. E. W. B. Childers, glancing round the room,' "It was you, I believe, that were wishing to see Jupe ! " " It was," said Mr. Gradgrind. " His daughter has gone to fetch him, but I can't wait ; therefore, if you please, I wUl leave a message for him with you." " You see, my friend," Mr. Bounderby put in, " we are the kind of people who know the value of time, and you are the kind of people who don't know the value of time." " I have not," retorted Mr. Childers, after surveying him from head to foot, " the honour of knowing you — but if you mean that you can make more money' of your time than I can of mine, I should judge from your appearance, that you are about right." " And when you have made it, you can keep it too, I should think," said Cupid " Kidderminster, stow that ! " said Mr. Childers. (Master Kidderminster was Cupid's: mortal name.) "What does he come here cheeking lis for, then?" cried Master Kidderminster, showing a very irascible temperament. "If you want to cheek us, pay your ochre at the doors and take it out." HARD TIMES 395 "Kidderminster," said Mr. ChUders, raising his voice, " stow that !— 'Sir," to Mr. Gradguind, " I was addressing myself to you. You may or you may not be aware (for perhaps you have not been much in the audience), that Jupe has missed his tip very often, lately." " Has — ^what has he missed ? " asked Mr. Gradgrind, glancing at the potent Bounderby for assistance. " Missed his tip." . " Offered at the Garters four times last mght, and never done 'em onee," said Mr. Kidderminster. " Missed his tip at the bsinner^, too, and was loose in his ponging." "Didn't do what he ought to do. iWas short in his leaps and bad in his tumbling," Mr. Childers interpretted. " Oh ! " said Mr. Gradgrind, « that is tip, is it ? " "In a general way that's missing his tip," Mr. E. W. B, Childers answered. ■ ; "Nine oils, Merrylegs, missing tips, garters, banners, and Ponging, eh?" ejaculated Bounderby, with his laugh of laughs. " Queer sort of company, too, for a man who has raised himself." "I^ower yourself, then," retorted Oupid.: "Oh Lord! if you've raised yourself so high as all that comes to, let yourself down a bit." "This is a veiry obtrusive lad! " said Mr. Gradgrind, turning, and knitting his brows on him. "We'd have had a 'yotog gentleman to meet you, if we had known you were coniing," retorted Master Kidderminster, nothing abashed. "It's a pity you don't have a bespeak, being so particular. You're on the Tight- Jeff, ain't you ? " "What 'does this unmannerly boy mean," asked Mr. Grad- grind, eyeing him in a sort of desperation, " by Tight- Jeff ? " " There 1 Get out, get out ! " said Mr. Childers, thrusting his young friend from the rbom, rather in the prairie manner. " Tight-Jeff or Slack-Jeff, it don't much signify : it's only tight- rope and slack-rdpe. You were going to give me a message for Jupe?" "Yes, I was." "Then," continued Mr. Childers, quickly, "my opinion is, he will never receive it. Do you know much of him ? " " I never saw the man in my life." ' " ' " I doubt if you ever will see him now. It's pretty plain to me> he's off." : . ■ . "Do you mean that he has deserted his daughter? " " Ay ! I mean," said Mr. Childers^ with a nod, " that he has 396 HARD TIMES cut. He was goosed last night, he was googed the night before last, he was goosed to-day. He has lately got in the. way of being always goosed, and he can't stand it" "Why has he been — so very much — Goosed?" asked Mr. Gradgrind, forcing the word out of himself,, with great solemnity and reluctance. " His joints are turning stiff, and he is getting used up," said Childers. " He has his points as a Cackler still,^ but he can't get a living out of them'' " A Cackler ! " Bounderby repeated. " Here we go again ! " "A speaker, if the gentleman likes it better," said Mr. E. W. B. Childers, superciliously throwing the interpretation over his shoulder, and accompanying it with a shake of his long hair — which all shook at once. " Now, it's a reinarkable fact, sir,.that it cut that man deeper, to know that his daughter knew of his being goosed, than to go through with it." , " Good ! 'i interrupted Mr. Bounderby. " This is good, Gradgrind ! A man so fond of his daughter, that he runs away from her ! This is^ devilish good ! Ha ! ha ! Now, I'll tell you what, young mail. I haven't always, occupied my present station of Ufe. I know what these things are; You maybe astonished to hear it, but my mother ran away from me." E. W. B. Childers replied poiiitedly, that he was not at all astonished to hear it. in " Very well," said Bounderby. " I was born in a ditch, and my mother ran away from me. Do I excuse her for it ? No. Have I ever excused her for it? Not I. What do I call her for it ? I call her probably th^ very worst ; woman that ever lived in the world, except my drunken grandmother. There's no family pride about me, there's no imaginative sentimental humbug about me. I call a spade a spade; and I call the mother of Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, without any fear or' any favour, what I should call her if she had been the mother of Dick Jones of Wapping. ■ So, with this man. He is a runaway rogue and a vagabond, that's what he is, in English." "It's all the same to me what he is or what he is not, whether in English or whether in French," retorted Mr. E. W. B. Childers, facing about. " I am telling your i friend what's the fact ; if you don't like to hear it, you can avail yourself of the open air. You give it mouth enough, you do ; but give it mouth in your own building at least,'' remonstrated, E. W. B. with stern irony. " Don't give it mouth in this building, till you're HARD TIMES 397 called upon. You have got some building of your own, I dare say, now ? " "Perhaps so," replied Mr. Bounderby, rattling his money and laughing. " Then give it mouth in your own building, will you, if you please ? " said Childers. " Because this isn't a strong building, and too much of you might bring it down ! " Eyeing Mr. Bounderby from head to foot again, he turned from him, as from a man finally disposed of, to Mr.Gradgrind. " Jupe sent his daughter out on an errand not an hour ago, and then was seen to slip out himself, with his hat over his eyes, and a bundle tied up in a handkerchief under his arm. She will never believe it of him, but .he has cut away ,and left her." " Prayj" said Mr. Gradgrind, " why will she never believe it of him?" " Because those two were one. Because they were never asunder. BecausCj up to this time, he seemed to dote upon her," said Childers, taking a step or two to look, into the empty trunk. Both Mr. Childers and Master , Kidderminster walked in a curious manner ; with their legs wider apart than the general run of men, and with a very knowing assumption of being stiff in the knees. This walk was common to all the male members of Sleary's company, and was understood to express, that they were always on horseback. "Poor Sissy! He had better have apprenticed her," said Childers, giving his hair another shake, as he looked up frpm the empty box. "Now, he leaves her without anything, to take toi" " It Is creditable to you, who have never been apprenticed, to express that opinion," returned Mr. Gradgrind, approvingly. " / never apprenticed 1 I was apprenticed when I was seven year old." " Oh ! Indeed ? " said Mr. Gradgrind, rather resentfully, as having been defrauded of his good opinion. "I was not aware of its being the custom to apprentice young- persons to " " Idleness/' Mr. Bounderby put in with a loud laugh. " Noj by the Lord Harry ! Nor I ! " " Her father always had it in his head," resumed Childers, feigning unconsciousness of Mr. Bounderby's existence, " that she was to be tai:^ht the deuce-and-all of education. How it got into his head, I can't say; I can only say that it never got out. He has. been picking up a bit of reading for herj here — 398 HARD TIMES and a bit of writtag for her, there^-^and a bit of ciphering for her, somewhere else — these seven years." Mr. E. W. B. Childers took one of his hands out of his pockets, stroked his face and chin, and looked, with a good deal of doubt and a little hope, at Mr. Gradgrind. From the first he had sought to conciliate that gentleman, for the sake of the deserted girl. "When Sissy got into the school here," he pursued, "her father was as pleased as Pvmch. ' I couldn't altogether make out why, myself, as we were not stationary here, being "but comers and goers anywhere. I suppose, however, he had this move in his mind — ^he was always half-cracked — and then con- sidered her provided for. If you should happen to have looked in to-night, for the purpose of telling him that you were going to do her any little service," said Mr. Childers, strokiiig his face again, and repeating his look, "it would be very fortunate and well-timed ; very fortimate and well-timed," " On the contrary," returned Mr. Gradgrind. " I came to tell him that her connections made her not an' object for the school, and that she must not attend any more. Still, if her father really has left her, without any connivance on her part — Bounderby, let me have a word with you." Upon this, Mr. Childers politely betook himself, with his equestrian walk, to the landmg outside' the door, and stood there stroking his face, and softly whistlitig. While thus engaged, he overheard such phrases in Mr. Bounderby's voice as " No. I say no. I advise you not. I say by no means." While, from Mr. Gradgrind, he heard in his much lower tone the words, " But even as an example to Loiusa, of what this pursuit which has been the subject of a vulgar curiosity, leads to and ends in. Think of it, Bounderby, in' that point of view." Meanwhile, the various members of Slear/s company gradually gathered together from the upper regions, where they were quartered, and, from standing about, talking in low voices to one another and to Mr. Childers, gradually insinuated them- selves and him into the room. There were two or three hand- some young women among them, with their two or three husbands, and their two or three mothers, and their eight or nine little children, who did the fairy business when required. The father of one of the families was in the habit of balancing the father of another of the families on, the top of a great pole; the father of a third family often made- a pyrainidof both those fathers, with Master Kidderminster for the apex, and HARD TIMES 399 himself for the base ; all the fathers could daace upon rolling cafeks, stand upon bottles, catch khiveS and balls>: twirl hand- basins, ride upon anything^ jump 'over everything, and stick at nothing. AU the mothers could (and did) dance, upon the slack wire and the tight-rope, and perform rapid acts on bare-backed steeds ; none of them were at all, particular inxespect of shewing their legs ; and one of them, alone in a . Greek chariot, drove six in hand into every town they came to. They all assumed to be mighty rakish and knowing, they were not very tidy in their private dresses, they were not at aU orderly jn their domestic arrangements, and the combined literature of the whole company would have produced but a poor letter on, any .subject. Yet there was a remarkable gentleness and c^ldishness about these people, a special inaptitude for any kind of sharp practice; and an untiring readiness to help and pity one. another, deserv- ing often of as much respect, and always of as. much generous construction, as the every-day virtues of any class of people in the world.. , ; Last of all appeared' Mr. Sleary : a stdut man as alrea,dy mentioned, with one fixed eye, and one loose eye, a voice (if it can be called so) like the efforts of a. broken, old pair of bellows, k flabby. surface, and a muddled head which was never sober and never drunk. "Thc[uire! " saidMr. Sleary, who was troubled with asthma, and whose breath came far too thick and heavy for the letter s, " Your thervant ! Thith ith. a bad pie the of bithnith,- thith ith. You've heard of my Clown; and hith dog being thuppothed to have morrithed ? " .i ' . . ( / He addressed Mr. Gradgrind, who answered "Yes.", V.. " Well, Thquirei" he returned, taking off his hat, and rubbing the Iming with, his pocket-handkerchief, which he kept inside for the purpose. ,, "Ith it your intenthion to do anything for the poor girl, Thquire ? " "I shall have' something to propose to her when she comes back," said Mr. Gradgrind. "Glad to hear it, Thquire. Not that I want to get rid 6i the child, any more than I want tq thtand in her way. I'm willing to take her prentith, though at her age ith late. My voithe ith a little huthky, Thquire, and not eathy heard, by them ath don't know me ; but if you'd been chilled, and heated, heated and chilled, chilled alnd heated' in the ring when you wath young, ath often ath I have been, t/o^w voithe wouldn't have lathted outj Thquire, no more than mine." 400 HARD TIMES " I dare say not," said Mr. Gradgrind. , .. "What thall it be, Thquire,' while you wait? ■ Thall it be Therry ? Give it a name, Thquir^ ! " said Mr. Sleary, with hospitable ease. ,, ' "Nothing for me, I thank you," 6aid Mp, Gradgrind. "Don't thay nothing, Thqiiire. What doth your ;friend thay? If you haven't took your feed yet, have a glath; of bitterth." ■ si ■ Here his daughter Josephine — a pretty fair-haired' girl of eighteen, who had been tied on a horse; at two years old, and had made a will at twelve, which she always carried about with' her, expressive of her dying desire to be drawn to the grave by the two piebald ponies — cried, i "Father, 'hush! she has come back!" Then caihe Sissy Jupe, running into the room as she had run out of it. And when she saw them all assembled, and saw their looks, and saw no father theroj she broke into a most deplorable cry and took refuge on the bosom of the most accomplished tight-rope lady (herself in the family-way), who knelt down on the floor 'to nurse her, and to weep over her. "Ith an infernal thame, upon my thoul it ith," said Sleary. "0 my dear father, my good kind father, where are you gone? You are gone to try to do me some, good, I know! You are gone away for my sake, I am sure ! And how miserable and helpless you wUl be without me, poor, poor father, unto, you come back 1 " It was so pathetic to hear her saying many things of this kind, with her face turned upward, and her arms stretched out as if she were trying to stop Ms departing shadow and em- brace it, that no one spoke a word until Mr. Bounderby (growing impatient) took the case in hand. "Kow, good people all," said he, "this is wanton waste of time. Let the girl understand the fact. Let her take it from me, if you like, who have been run away from, myself. Here, what's your name ! Your father has absconded — deserted you — ■ and you mustn't expect to see him again as long as you live." They cared so little for plain Fact, these people, and were in that advanced State of degeneracy .on the subject, that instead of being impressed. by the .speaker's strong common sense, they took it in extraordioary dudgeon. The men muttered "Shame! "■ and the women " Brute ! " and Sleary, in some haste, communi- cated the following hint, apart to Mr. Bounderby. " I tell you what, Thquire.. To thpeak plain to you, my opinion ith that you had better cut it thort, and drop it. They're a very good natur'd people, my people, but they're acouthtomed HARD TIMES 401 to be quick in their movementh ; and if you don't act upon my advithe, I'm damned if I don't believe they'll pith you out 0' winder." Mr. Bounderby being restrained by this mild suggestion, Mr. Gradgrind found an opening for his eminently practical exposition of the subject. , " It is of no moment," said he, " whether this person is to be expected back at any time, or the contrary. He is gone away, and there is no present expectation of his return. That, I believe, is agreed on all hands." " Thath agreed, Thquire. Thtick to that ! " From Sleary. " Well then. I, who came here to inform the father of the poor girl, Jupe, that she could not be received at the school any more, in consequence of there being practical objections, into which I need not enter, to the reception there of the children of persons so employed, am prepared in these altered circumstances to make a proposal. I am willing to take charge of you, Jupe, and to educate you, and provide for you. The only condition (over and above your good behaviour) I make is, that you decide now, at once, whether to accompany me or remain here. Also, that if you accompany me now, it is understood that you com- municate no more with any of your friends who are here present. These observations comprise the whole of the case." " At the thame time," said Sleary, " I mutht put in my word, Thquire, tho that both thides of the banner may be equally theen. If you like, Thethilia, to be prentitht, you know the natur of the work and you know your companionth. Emma Gordon, in whothe lap you're a^ lying at prethent, would be a mother to you, and Joth'phine would be a thithter to you. I don't pretend to be of the angel breed mythelf, and I don't thay but what, when you mith'd your tip, you'd find me cut up rough, and thwear an oath or two at you. But what I thay, Thquire, ith, that good tempered or bad tempered, I never did a horthe a injury yet, no more than thwearing at him went, and that I don't expect I thaU begin otherwithe at my time of life, with a rider. I never wath much of a Cackler, Thquire, and I have thed my thay." The latter part of this speech was addressed to Mr. Grad- grind, who received it with a grave inclination of his head, and then remarked : " The only observation I wUl make to you, Jupe, in the way of influencing your decision, is, that it is highly desirable to have a sound practical education, and that even your father 2d 402 HARD TIMES himself (from what I understand) appears, on your behalf, to have known and felt that much." The last words had a visible effect upon her. She stopped in her wild crying, a little detached herself from Emma Gordon, and turned her face full upon her patron. The whole company perceived the force of the change, and drew a long breath to- gether, that plaiiily said, "she will go ! " ■ " Be sure you know your own mind, Jupe," Mr. Gradgrind cautioned her ; " I say no more. Be sure you know your own mind ! " " AVhen father comes back," cried the girl, bursting into tears again after a minute's silence, " how will he ever find me if I go away I " - " You may be quite at ease," said Mr. Gradgrind, calmly ; he worked out the whole matter like a sum : " you may be quite at ease, Jupe, on that score. In such a case, your father, I apprehend, must find out Mr. " " Thleary. Thath my name, Thquire. Not athamed of it. Known all over England, and alwayth paythe ith way," " Must find out Mr. Sleary, who would then let him know where; you went. I should have no power of keeping you against his wish, and he would have no difiBculty, at any time, in finding Mr. Thomas Gradgrind of Coketown. I am well known." " Well known," assented Mr. Sleary, rolling his loose eye, "You're one of the thort, Thquire, that keepth a prethiouth thight of money out of the houthe. But never mind that at prethent." There was another silence; and then she exclaimed, sobbing with her hands before her face, " Oh give me my clothes, give me my clothes, and let me go away before I break my heart ! " The women sadly bestirred themselves to get the clothes together — it was soon done, for they were not many — ^^and to pack them in a basket which had often travelled with them. Sissy sat all the time, upon the ground, still sobbing, and cover- ing her eyes. Mr. Gradgrind and his friend Bounderby stood near the door, ready to take her away. Mr. Sleary stood in the middle of the room, with the male members of the company about him, exaiotly as he would have stood in the centre of the ring during his daughter Josephine's performance. He wanted nothing but Ms whip. The basket padked in silence, they brought her bonnet to her, and smoothed her disordered hair, and put it on. Then HARD TIMES 403 they presssed about her, and bent over her in very natural attitudes, kissing and embracing her : and brought the children to take leave of her ; and were a tender-hearted, simple, foolish set of -women altogether. " Now, Jupe," said Mr. Gradgrind. " If you are quite determined, come ! " But she had to take farewell of the male part of the company yet, and every one of them had to unfold his arms (for they all assumed the professional attitude when they found themselves near Sleary), and gave her a parting kiss — Master Elidderminster excepted, in whose young nature there was an original flavour of the misanthrope, who was also known to have harboured matrimonial views, and who moodily withdrew. Mr. Sleary was reserved until the last. Opening his arms wide, he took her by both hands, and would have sprung her up and down, after the riding-master manner of congratulating young ladies on their dismounting from a rapid act ; but there was no rebound in Sissy, and she only stood before him crying. " Good-bye, my dear ! " said Sleary. " You'll make your fortun, I hope, and none of our poor folkth will ever trouble you, I'll pound it. I with your father hadn't taken hith dog with him; ith a iQ-conwenienth to have the dog out of the bnith. But on thecond thoughth, he wouldn't have performed without hith mathter, tho ith ath broad ath ith long ! " With that he regarded her attentively with his fixed eye, surveyed his company with his loose one, kissed her, shook his head, and handed her to Mr. Gradgrind as to a horse. " There the ith, Thquire,'\he said, sweeping her with a pro- fessional glance as if she were being adjusted in her seat, " and the'U do you juthtithe. Good-bye, ThethiUa ! " "Good-bye, Cecilia!" "Good-bye, Sissy!" "God bless you, dear ! " In a variety of voices from all the room. But the riding-master eye had observed the bottle of the nine oils in her bosom, and he now interposed with " Leave the bottle, my dear ; ith large to carry ; it wiU be of no uthe to you now. Give it to me ! " " No, no ! " she said, in another burst of tears. " Oh, no ! Pray let me keep it for father tiU he comes back 1 He will want it when he comes back. He had never thought of going away, when he sent me for it. I must keep it for him, if you please ! " "Thobeit, my dear. (You thee how it ith, Thquire.) Fare- well, Thethilia I My latht wordth to you ith thith, Thtick to 404 HARD TIMES the termth of your engagement, be obedient to the Thquire, and forget uth. But if, when you're grown up and married and well off, you come upon any horthe-riding ever, don't be hard upon it, don't be croth with it, give it a Bethpeak if you can, and think you might do wurth. People mutht be amuthed, Thquire, thomehow," continued Sleary, rendered more pursy than ever, by so much talking ; " they can't be alwayth a working, nor yet they can't be alwayth a learning. Make the betht of uth ; not the wurtht. I've got my living out of the horthe-riding all my life, I know ; but I conthider that I lay down the philothophy of the thubject when I thay to you, Thquire, make the betht of uth : not the wurtht ! " The Sleary philosophy was propounded as they went down- stairs ; and the fixed eye of Philosophy — and its rolling eye, too — soon lost the three figures and the basket in the darkness of the street. BOOK XII LITTLE DORRIT The first monthly number of Little Dorrit appeared in December, 1855. The tale was continued through the year 1856, and up to June, 1857, when it was published by Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, with a preface, and a dedication to Clarkson Stanfield. The book was illustrated by Hablot Browne. At the beginning of the Btory, we are told how some travellers are detained by the laws of quarantine in the hot, staring, dusty town of Marseilles, having come from the East, the land of plague. One of these is Mr. Arthur Clennam, an Englishman, who has spent many years of his life in China ; he regains his liberty on the day we make his acquaintance, and comes to London, where an accidental meeting leads him to visit Mr. William Dorrit, presently described as living in the Marshalsear prison for debtors, a building that stood for a long time in the Borough of Southwark, but is gone now, and as my father says in his book, "the world is none the worse without it." THE FATHER OF THE MARSHALSEA Theeb had been taken to the Marshalsea Prison, long before the day when the sun shone on Marseilles and on the opening of this narrative, a debtor with whom this narrative has some concern. He was, at that time, a very amiable and very helpless middle-aged gentleman, who , was going out again directly. Necessarily, he was going out again directly, because the Marshalsea lock never turned upon a debtor who was not. He brought in a portmanteau with him, which he doubted its being worth while to unpack ; he was so perfectly clear — like all the rest of them, the turnkey on the lock said — that he was going out again directly. He was a shy, retiring man; well-looking, though In an effeminate style ; with a mild voice, curling hair, and irresolute 405 4o6 LITTLE DORRIT hands — rings upon the fingers in those days — which nervously wandered to his trembling lip a hundred times, in the first half- hour of his acquaintance with the jail. His principal anxiety was about his wife. " Do you think, sir," he asked the turnkey, " that she will be very much shocked, if she should come to the gate to-morrow morning ? " The turnkey gave it as a result of his experience that some of 'em was and some of 'em wasn't. In general, more no than yes. "What like is she, you see?" he philosophically asked : " that's what it hinges on." " She is very delicate and inexperienced indeed." " That," said the turnkey, " is agen her." " She is so little used to go out alone," said the debtor, " that I am at a loss to think how she will ever make her way here, if she walks." " P'raps," quoth the turnkey, " she'll take a ackney coach." " Perhaps." The irresolute fingers went to the trembling lip. " I hope she will. She may not think of it." " Or p'raps," said the turnkey, offering his suggestions from the top of his well-worn wooden stool, as he might have offered them to a child for whose weakness he felt a compassion, "p'raps she'll get her brother, or her sister, to come along with her." " She has no brother" or sister." " Niece, nevy, cousin, serwant, young 'ooman, greengrocer. — Dash it ! One or another on 'em," said the turnkey, repudiating beforehand the refusal of all his suggestions. " I fear — I hope it is not against the rules — that she will bring the children." " The children ? " said the turnkey. " And the rules ? Why, lord set you up like a corner pin, we've a reg'lar playground o' children here. Children ? Why, we swarm with 'em. How many a you got 1 " " Two," said the debtor, lifting his irresolute hand to his lip again, and turning into the prison. The turnkey followed him with his eyes. "And you another," he observed to himself, " which makes three on you'. And your wife another, I'll lay a crown. Which makes four on you. And another coming, I'll lay half-a-crown. Which'll make five on you. And I'll go another seven and sixpence to name which is the helplesSest, the unborn baby or you ! "■- He was right in all his particulars. She came next day LITTLE DORRIT 407 with a little boy of three years old, and a little girl of two, and he stood entirely corroborated. " Got a room now ; haven't you ? " the turnkey asked the debtor after a week or two. " Yes, I have got a very good room." "Any little sticks a coming, to furnish it?" said the turnkey. " I expect a few necessary articles of furniture to be delivered by the carrier, this afternoon." " Missis and little 'uns a coming, to keep you company ? " asked the turnkey. "Why, yes, we think it better that we should not be scattered, even for a few weeks." " Even for a few weeks, of course," replied the turnkey. And he followed him again with his eyes, and nodded his head seven times when he was gone. The affairs of this debtor were perplexed by a partnership, of which he knew no more than that he had invested money in it ; by legal matters of assignment and settlement, conveyance here and conveyance there, suspicion of unlawful preference of creditors in this direction, and of mysterious spiriting away of property in that ; and as nobody on the face of- the earth could be more ineaipable of explaining any single item in the heap of confusion than the debtor himself,- nothing comprehensible could be made of his case. To question him in detail, and endeavour to reconcile his answers ; to closet him with account- ants and sharp practitioners, learned in the wiles of insolvency and bankruptcy ; was only to put the case out at compound interest of inconiprehensibflity. The irresolute fingers fluttered more and more ineffectually about the trembling lip on every such occasion, and the sharpest practitioners gave him up as a hopeless job. " Out ? " said the turnkey, " Ae'll never get out. Unless his creditors take him by the shoulders and shove him out." He had been there five or six months, when he came running to this turnkey one forenoon to tell him, breathless and pale, that his wife was ill. "As anybody might a known she would be," said the turnkey. "We intended," he returned, "that she should go to a country lodging only to-morrow. What am I to do ! Oh, good heaven, what am I to do ! " " Don't waste your time in clasping your hands and biting 4o8 LITTLE DORRIT your fingers," responded the practical turnkey, taking him by the elbow, " but come along with me." The turnkey conducted him — trembling from head to foot, and constantly crying under his breath, What was he to do ! while his irresolute fingers bedabbled the tears upon his face — up one of the common staircases in the prison, to a door on the garret story. Upon which door the turnkey knocked with the handle of his key. " Come in ! " cried a voice inside. The turnkey opening the door, disclosed in a wretched, ill- smelling little room, two hoarse, puffy, red-faced personages seated at a rickety table, playing at all-fours, smoking pipes, and drinking brandy. " Doctor," said the turnkey, " here's a gentleman's wife in want of you without a minute's loss of time ! " The doctor's friend was in the positive degree of hoarseness, puffiness, red-facedness, all-fours, tobacco, dirt, and brandy ; the doctor in the comparative — hoarser, puflBer, more red-faced, more all-fourey, tobaccoer, dirtier, and brandier. The doctor was amazingly shabby, in a torn and darned rough-weather sea- jacket, out at elbows and eminently short of buttons (he had been in his time the experienced surgeon carried by a passenger ship), the dirtiest white trousers conceivable by mortal man, carpet slippers, and no visible linen. "Childbed?" said the doctor. " I'm the boy ! " With that the doctor took a comb from the chimney-piece and stuck his hair upright — which appeared to be his way of washing himself — produced a pro- fessional chest or case, of most abject appearance, from the cupboard where his cup and saucer and coals were, settled his chin in the frowsy wrapper round his neck, and became a ghastly medical scarecrow. The doctor and the debtor ran down-stairs leaving the turnkey to return to the lock, and made for the debtor's room. . . . "A very nice little girl indeed," said the doctor; "little, but well-formed. Halloa, Mrs. Bangham ! * You're looking queer ! You be off, ma'am, this minute, and fetch a little more brandy, or we shall have you in hysterics." By this time, the rings had begun to fall from the debtor's irresolute hands, like leaves from a wintry tree. Not one was left upon them that night, when he put something that chinked into the doctor's greasy palm. In the meantime Mrs. Bangham • Charwoman and messenger. LITTLE DORRIT 409 had been out an errand to a neighbouring establishment de- corated with three golden balls, where she was very well known. "Thank you," said the doctor, "thank you. Your good lady is quite composed. Doing charmingly." " I am very happy and very thankful to know it," said the debtor, " though I little thought once, that " " That a child would be born to you in a place like this ? " said the doctor. " Bah, bah, sir, what does it signify ? , A little more elbow-room is all we want here. We are quiet here ; we don't get badgered here ; there's no knocker here, sir, to be hammered at by creditors and bring a man's heart into his mouth. Nobody comes here to ask if a man's at home, and to say he'll stand on the door mat till he is. Nobody writes threatening letters about money to this place. It's freedom, sir, it's freedom ! I have' had to-day's practice at home and abroad, on a march, and aboard ship, and I'll tell you this : I don't know that I have ever pursued it under such quiet cir- cumstances, as here this day. Elsewhere, people are restless, worried, hurried about, anxious respecting one thing, anxious respecting another. Nothing of the kind here, sir. We have done aU that — we know the worst of it ; we have got to the bottom, we can't fall, and what have we found ? Peace. That's the word for it. Peace." With this profession of faith, the doctor, who was an old jail-bird, and was more sodden than usual, and had the additional and unusual stimulus of money in his pocket, returned to his associate and chum in hoarseness, puffiness, red-faoedness, all-fours, tobacco, dirt, and brandy. Now, the debtor was a very different man from the doctor, but he had already begun to travel, by his opposite segment of the circle, to the same point. Crushed at first by his im- prisonment, he had soon found a dull relief in it. He was under lock and key; but the lock and key that kept him in, kept numbers of his troubles out. If he had been a man with strength of purpose to face those troubles and fight them, he might have broken the net that held him, or broken his heart ; but being what he was, he languidly slippied into this smooth descent, and never more took one step upward. When he was relieved of the perplexed affairs that nothing would make plain, through having them returned upon his hands by a dozen agents in succession who could make neither beginning, middle, nor end of them, or him, he found his miserable place of refuge a quieter refuge than it had been 410 LITTLE DORRIT before. He had unpacked the portmanteau long ago ; and his elder children now played regularly about the yard, and everyr body knew the baby, and claimed a kind of proprietorship in her. "Why, I'm getting proud of you," said his friend the turnkey, one day. " You'll be the oldest inhabitant soon. The Marshalsea wouldn't be like the Marshalsea now, without you and your family." The turnkey really was proud of him. He would mention him in laudatory terms to new comers, when his back was turned. " You took notice of him," he would say, " that went out of the Lodge just now ? " New comer would probably answer Yes. " Brought up as a gentleman, he was, if ever a man was. Ed'cated at no end of expense. Went into the Marshal's house once, to try a new piano for him. Played it, I understand, like one o'clock — beautiful. As to languages — speaks anything. We've had a Frenchman here in his time, and it's my opinion he knowed more French than the Frenchman did^ We've had an Italian here in his time, and he shut Mm up in about half a minuta You'U find some characters behind other locks, I don't say you won't; but if you want the top sawyer, in such respects as I've mentioned, you must come to the Marshalsea." When his youngest child was eight years old, his wife, who had long been languishing away — of her own inherent weak- ness, not that she retained any greater sensitiveness as to her place of abode than he did — went upon a visit to a poor friend and old nurse in the country, and died there. He remained shut up in his room for a fortnight afterwards ; and an attor- ney's clerk, who was going through the Insolvent Court, en- grossed an address of condolence to him, which looked like a Lease, and which all the prisoners signed. When he appeared again he was greyer (he had soon begun to turn grey) ; and the turnkey noticed that his hands went often to his trembling lips again, as they had used to do when he first came in. But he got pretty well over it in a month or two ; and in the mean- time the children played about the yard as regularly as ever, but in black. • Then Mrs. Bangham, long popular medium of communica- tion with the outer world, began to be infirm, and to be found oftener than usual comatose on pavements, with her basket of purchases spUt, and the change of her clients ninepence short. His son began to supersede Mrs. Bangham, and to execute LITTLE DORRIT 411 commissions in a knowing manner, and to be of the prison prisonous and of the streets streety. ' ' Time went on, and the turnkey began to fail. His, chest swelled, and his legs got weak, and he was short of breath.' The well-worn wooden stool was " beyOnd Mm," he complained. He sat in an arm-ehair with a cushion, aind sometiines wheezed so, for minutes together, that he couldn't turn the key. When he was overpower&d by these fits, the debtor often turned it for him. ' ,, , "You and me," said the turnkey, one showy winter's night, when the lodge, with a bright file in it, was pretty full of company, "is the oldest inhabitants. I wasn't here myself, above seven year before you. I shan't last long. When I'm off the lock for good and all, you'll be the Father of the Marshalsea." The turnkey went off the lock of this world, next day. His words were remembered and repeated ; and tradition afterwards handed down from generation to generation — aMarshalsea genera- tion might be calculated as about three mOnths-^that the shabby old debtor with the soft manner and the white hair, was the Father of the Marshalsea. ■ And he grew to be proud of the title. If ^ any impostor had arisen to claim it, he would have shed tears in resentment of the attempt to deprive him of his rights. A disposition began to be perceived in him, to exaggerate the number of years he had been there; it was generally understood that you must deduct a few from his account; he was vain, the; fleeting generations of debtors said. All new comers were presented to him. He was punctilious in the exaction of this ceremony. ■ The wits would perform the office of introduction with overcharged pomp and politeness, but they could not easily overstep his sense rif its^ gravity. He received them in his poor room (h'e disliked an introdubtion in the mere yard, as informal — a thing that might happen to any- body), with a kind of bowed-down beneficence. They were welcome to the Marshalsea, he would tell them. Yes, he was the Father of the place. So the world was kind enough to call him ; and so he was, if more than twenty years of residence gave him a claim to the title. It looked small at first, but there was very good company there — among a mixture — -necessarily a mixture — and very good air. It became a not unusual circumstance for letters to be put under his door at night, enclosing half-a-crown, two half-crowns. 412 LITTLE DORRIT now and then at long intervals even half-a-sovereign, for the Father of the Marshalsea. " With the compliments of a collegian taking leave." He received the gifts as tributes, from admirers, to a public character. Sometimes these correspondents assumed facetious names, as the Brick, Bellows, Old Gooseberry, Wide- awake, Snooks, Mops, Cutaway, the Dogs-meat Man; but he considered this in bad taste, and was always a little hurt by it. In the fulness of time, this correspondence showing signs of wearing out, and seeming to require an effort on the part of the correspondents to which in the hurried circumstances of departure many of them might not be equal, he established the custom of attending coUegians of a certain standing, to the gate, and taking leave of them there. The collegian under treatment, after shaking hands, would occasionally stop to wrap up something in a bit of paper, and would come back again, calling " Hi ! " He would look round surprised. " Me ? " he would say, with a smile. By this time the collegian would be up with him, and he would paternally add, " What have you forgotten ? What can I do for you ? " " I forgot to leave this," the collegian would usually return* " for the Father of the Marshalsea." " My good sir," he would rejoin, " he is infinitely obliged to you.!' But, to the last, the irresolute hand of old wotdd remain in the pocket into which he had slipped the money, during two or three turns about the yard, lest the transaction should be too conspicuous to the general body of collegians. One afternoon he had been doing the honours of the place to a rather large party of collegians, who happened to be going out, when, as he was coming back, he encountered one from the poor side who had been taken in execution for a small sum a week before, had " settled " in the course of that afternoon, and was going out too. The man was a mere Plasterer in his working-dress ; had his wife with him, and a bundle ; and was in high spirits. " God bless you, sir," he said in passing. " And you," benignantly returned the Father of the Mar- They were pretty far divided, going their several ways, when the Plasterer called out, " I say ! — sir ! " and came back to him. " It an't much," said the Plasterer, putting a little pile of halfpence in his hand, " but it's well meant." The Father of the Marshalsea had never been offered tribute LITTLE DORRIT 413 in copper yet. His children often had, and with his perfect acquiescence it had gone into the common purse, to buy meat that he had eaten, and drink that he had drunk; but fustian splashed with white lime, bestowing halfpence on him, front to front, was new. " How dare you ! " he said to the Inan, and feebly burst into tears. The Plasterer turned him towards the wall, that his face might not be seen ; and the action was so delicate, and the man was so penetrated with repentance, and asked pardon so honestly, that he could make him no less acknowledgment than, " I know you meant it kindly. Say no more." "Bless your soiil, sir," urged the Plasterer, "I did indeed. I'd do more by you than the rest of^ 'em do, I fancy." " What would you do ? " he asked. " I'd come back to see you, after I was let out," "Give me the money again," said the other, eagerly,:" and I'll keep it, and never spend it. Thank you for it, thank you,! I shall see you again ? " " If I live a week you shall." They shook hands and parted. The coUegians, assemble^ in Symposium in the Snuggery that night, marvelled what had happened to their Father; ; he walked so late in the shadows of the yard, and seemed so downcast. Little Dorrit, or Amy as she was christened, is the child who was born in the Marshalaea^ Although the youngest of the family, she has. acted as mother to her wilful sister, and graceless brother, and spends all the time she is not working at her needle in looking after them and her father. She is employed by Mrs. Clennam; and at his mother's house Arthur meets her, becomes interested in her historj";, arid endeavours to find out some informa- tion respecting Mr. Dorrit's affairs from a certain Government ofSee. In reading my father's well-known chapter on The Circumlocution Office, it i^ interiesting to remember what Mr. Forster tells us respecting Little Dorrit. My father wrote to him saying : " I was Itidicrously foiled here the other night in a resolution I have kept for twenty years not to know of any attack upon myself, by stumbling, before I could pick myself up, on a short extract in the Glole from Blackwood's Magazine, informing me that Little Dorrit is ' twaddle.' I was sufficiently put out by it to be angry with myself for being such a fool, and then pleased with myself for having so long been constant to a good resolution." Mr. Forster goes on to say, " There was a scene that made itself part of 414 LITTLE DORRIT hifltory not four months after his death, which, if he could have lived to hear of it, might have more than consoled him. It was the meeting of Bismarck and Jules Favre under the walls of Paris. The Prussian was waiting to open Are on the city ; the Frenchman was engaged in the arduous task of showing the wisdom of not doing it ; and " we learn," say the papers of the day,* " that while the two eminent statesmen were trying to find a basis of negotiation, Von Moltke was seated in a corner reading Little Bop-it. Who vnil doubt that the chapter on ' How not to do it ' was then absorbing the old soldier's attention ? " II THE CIRCUMLOCUTION OFFICE The Circumlocution Ofi&ce was (as everybody knows without being told) the most important Departtaent under Government. No public business of any kind could possibly be done at any time, without the acquiescence of the Circumlocution Of&ce. Its finger, was in the largest public pie, and in the smallest public tart. It was equally impossible to do the plainest right and to undo the plainest wrong, ^thout the express authority of the Circumlocution Office. If another Giinpowder Plot had been discovered half an hour before the lighting of the match, nobody would have been justified in saving the parliament until there had been half a score of 'boards, half a bushel of minutes, several sacks of official memoranda, and a family-vault full of ungrammatical correspondence, on the part of the Circumlocution Office. This glorious establishment had been early in the field, when the one sublime principle involving the difficult art of govern- ing a country, was first distinctly revealed to statesmen. It Kad been foremost to study that bright revelation, and to carry its shining influence through the whole of the official proceed- ings. Whatever was required to be done, the Circumlocution Office was beforehand with all the- public departments in the art of perceiviag — how not to do it. Through this delicate perception, through the tact with which it invariably seized it, and through the genius with which it always acted on it, the Circunjlocution Office had risen to over-top all the public departments; and the public condition had risen to be — what it was. It is true that How not to do it was the great study and • Fall Mall Gazette of 3rd of October, and Paris Letter of 25th of Sep- tember, 1870. LITTLE DORRIT 415 object of all public departments and professional politicians all round the Circumlocution Ofi&ce. It is true that every new premier and every new government> coming in because they had upheld a certain thing as necessary to be done, were no sooner come in than they applied their utmost faculties to dis- covering How not to do it. It is true that from the moment when a general election was over, every returned man who had been ravtog. on hustings because it hadn't been done, and who had been asking the friends of the honoura,ble gentleman in the opposite interest on pain of impeachment to tell him . why it hadn't been done, and who had been asserting that id; must be done, and who had been jpledging himself; that it should be done, began to devise, How it was not to be done. It is true that the debates, of both Houses of Parliament the whole session through, uniformly tended to the protracted deliberation. How not to do it. It is true that the royal speech at the opening of such session virtually said. My lords and gentlemen, you have a considerable stroke of work to do, and you will please to retire to your respective chambers, and discuss, How not to do it. It is true that the royal speech, at the close of such session, virtually said, My lords and gentlemen, you have through several laborious months been considering with great loyalty and patriotism, How not to do it, and you have found out ; and with the blessing of Providence upon the harvest (natural, not political), I Jiow dismiss you. All this is true, but the Circum- locution Office went beyond it. Because the Circumlocution OfBce went, on mechanically, every day, keeping this wonderful, all-sufficient wheel of states- manship. How not to' do it, in motion. Because the Circumlo- cution Office was down upon any ill-advised public servant who was: going to do it, or who appeared to be by any surprising accident in remote danger of doing it, with a minute, and a memorandum, and a letter of instructions, that extinguished him. It was this spirit of national efficiency in the, Circumlocu- tion Office that had gradually led to its having something to do with everything. Mechanicians, natural philosophers, soldiers, sailors, petitioners, memorialists,; people with grievances, people who wanted to prevent grievances, people whoi wanted to redress grievances, jobbing people, jobbed people, people who couldn't get rewarded for merit, and people who couldn't get punished for demerit, were all indiscriminately tucked up under the foolscap paper of the Circumlocution Office. Numbers of people were lost in the Circumlocution Office. 41 6 LITTLE DORRIT Unfortunates with wrongs, or with projects for the general welfare (and they had better have had wrongs at first, than have taken that bitter English recipe for certainly getting them), who in slow lapse of time and agony had passed safely through other public departments; who, according to rule had been bullied in this, over-reached by that, and evaded by the other ; got referred at last to the Circumlocution Office, and never reappeared in the light of day. Boards sat upon them, secretaries minuted upon them, commissioners gabbled about them, clerks registered, entered,; checked, and ticked them off, and they melted away. In short, all the business of the country went through the Circumlocution Office, except the business that never came out of it ; and its name was Legion. Sometimes, angry spirits attacked the Circumlocution Office. Sometimes parliamentary questions were asked about it, and even parliamentary motions made or threatened about it, by demagogues so low and ignorant as to hold that the real recipe of government was. How to do it Then would the noble lord, or right honourable gentleman, in whose department it was to defend the Circumlocution Office, put an orange in his pocket, and make a regular field-day of the occasion. Then would he come down to that house with a slap upon the table, and meet the honourable gentleman foot to foot. Then would he be there to tell that honourable gentleman that the Circumlocution Office not only was blameless in this matter, but was commendable in this matter, was extoUable to the skies in this matter. Then would he be there to tell that honourable gentleman, that, although the Circumlocution Office was invariably right and wholly right, it never was so right as in this matter. Then would he be there to tell that honourable gentleman that it would have been more to his honour, more to his credit, more to his good taste, more to his good sense, more to half the dictionary of commonplaces, if he had left the Circumlocution Office alone, and never approached this matter. Then would he keep one eye upon a coach or crammer from the Circumlocution Office sitting below the bar, and smash the honourable gentle- man with the Circumlocution Office accoimt of this matter. And although one of two things always happened ; namely, either that the Circumlocution Office had nothing to say and said it, or that it had something to say of which the noble lord, or right honourable gentleman, blundered one half and forgot the other ; the Circumlocution Office was almost voted immacu- late, by an accommodating majority. LITTLE DORRIT 417 Such a nursery of statesmen had the Department become in virtue of a long career of this nature, that several solemn lords had attained the reputation of being quite Unearthly prodigies of business, solely from having practised, How not to do' it, at the head of the Circumlocution Ofilee. As to the minor priests and acolytes of that temple, the result of all this was that they stood divided into two classes, and, down to the junior mes- senger, either believed in the Circumlocution Office as a heaven- born institution, that had an absolute right to do whatever it liked; or took refuge in total infidelity, and considered it a flagrant nuisance. The Barnacle family had for some time helped to administer the Circumlocution Office. The Tite Barnacle Branch, indeed, considered themselves in a general way as having vested rights in that direction, and took it iU if any other famUy had much to say to it. The Barnacles were a very high family, and a very large family. They were dispersed all over the public offices, and held all sorts of public places. Either the nation was under a load of obligation to the Barnacles, or. the Barnacles were under a load of obUgation to the nation. ' It was not quite unanimously settled which ; the Barnacles having theii' opinion, the Elation theirs. ' • ' The Mr. Tite Barnacle who atthei period now in question usually coached or crammed the statesman at the head of the Circumlocution. Office, • when that noble ' or right ■ honourable individualsat a little uneasily in hifeJ saddle, by reason 'of some vagabond making a tilt at him in a ne\7spaper/was more flush of blood than naoney. As a Barnacle he had his place, which was a snug 'thing* enough; and as a Barnacle he had of course put in his son Barnacle Junior, in the office. But he had inter- married with a branch of the StiltstalliiilgSj who were '• also better endowed in a sanguineous poiilt of view than with real or personal property, and of this marriage there had been issue. Barnacle Junior, and three young ladies. What with the patrician requirements of Barnacle Junior, the three young ladies, Mrs. Tite Barnacle nee Stiltstalking, and himself, Mr. Tite Barnacle found the intervals betWeen quarter day and quarter day rather longer than he could have desired ; a circum- stance which he always attributed to the country's parsimony. For Mr. Tite Barnacle, Mr. Arthur Olennam made his fifth inquiry one day at the Circumlocution Office ; having on previous occasions awaited that gentleman successively' in a hall, a glass case, a waiting room, and a fire-proof passage where 2e 41 8 LITTLE DORRIT the department seemed to keep its wind. On this occasion Mr. Barnacle was not engaged, as he had been before, with the noble prodigy at the head of the Department ; but was absent. Barnacle Junior, however, was announced as a lesser star, yet visible above the office horizon. With Barnacle Junior, he signified his desire to confer ; and found that young gentleman singeing the calves of his legs at the parental fire, and supporting his spine against the mantel- shelf. It was a comfortable room, handsomely furnished in the higher official manner; and presenting stately suggestions of the absent Barnacle, in the thick carpet, the leather-covered desk to sit at, the leather-covered desk to stand at, the formid- able easy- chair and hearth-rug, the interposed screen, the torn- up papers, the dispatch-boxes with little labels sticking out of them, like medicine bottles or dead game, the pervading smell of leather and mahogany, and a general bamboozling air of How not to do it. The ; present Barnacle, holding Mr. Clennam's card in his hand, had a youthful aspect, apd the fluffiest little whisker, perhaps, that ever was seen. Such a downy tip was on his callow chin, that he seemed half fledged like a young bird ; and a compassionate observer might have urged, that if he had not singed the calves of his legs, he would have died of cold. He had a superior eye-glass dangling roupd his neck, but unfortu- nately had such flat orbits to his eyes, and such limp little eyelids, ,that it wouldn't stick in when he put it up, but kept tumbling out against his, waistcoat buttons with a click that discomposed him very much. " Oh, I say. Look here ! My father's not in the way, and won't be in the way to-day," said Barnacle Junior. " Is this anything that I can do ? " (Click ! Eye-glass down. Barnacle Junior quite frightened and feeling aU round himself, but not able to find it.) "You are very good," said Arthur Clennam. "I wish however to see Mr. Barnacle." "But i say. Look here! You haven't got any appoint- ipaent, you know," said Barnacle Junior. (By this time he had found the eye-glass, and put it up again.) i "No," said Arthur Clennam. "That is what I wish to have." " But I say.. Look here ! Is this public business ? " asked Barnacle Junior. LITTLE PORRIT 419 (Click ! Bye-glass down again. Barnacle Junipr in that state of search after it, that Mr. Clennam felt it useless to reply at present.) ., ,,, "Is itj" said Barnacle Junior, taking heed of, his visitor's brown face, " anything about — Tonnage — or that sort of thing ? " (Pausing for a reply, he opened his right eye with his hand, and stiiql? , his glass in it, in that inflammatory manner that his eye began watering dreadfully.) " No," said ikithur, " it is nothing about tonnage." "Then look her^. Is it private business ? " , " I really am not sure. It relates to a Mr. Dorrit." "Look here, I tell you ^jfhat! You. had better call at our house, if you are going that way. Twenty-four, Mews Street, Grosvenor Square. My, father's got a slight touch of the gout, and is kept at home by it." . . (The misguided young Barnacle evidently going blind on his eye-glass side, but ashamed to make any further alteration in his painful arrangements.) "Thank ypu. I will call there, now. Goodrmoming." Young Barnacle seemed discomfited at this, as not having at all expected him to go. ,, "You are quite sure," said Barnacle Junior, calling after him when he got to the door, unwilling wholly to relinquish the bright business idea he had conceived ; " that it's nothing about Tonnage ? " " Quite sure." With w.hioh assurance, and rather wondering what might have taken place if it had been anything about tonnage, Mr. Clennam withdrew to pursue his inquiries. M^ws, Street, Grosvenor Square, was not absolutely Grosvenor Square itself, \m.t it was very near it. . It was a hideous little street of dead wall, stables, and dungMUs, with lofts over coach- houses inhabited by coachmen's families, who had a passion for drying clothes, and decorating their windowrsills with miniature turnpike-gates. The principal chimney-sweep of that fashion- able quarter lived at the blind end of Mews Street ; and the same corner contained an establishment much frequented about early morning and twilight, for the purpose of wine-bottles and kitchen-stuff. Punch's shows used to lean against the dead waU in Mews Street, while their proprietors were dining else- where ; and the dogs of the 'neighbourhood made appointments to. meet in the same , locality. Yet there were two or three small airless houses at the entrance end of Mews Street, which 420 LITTLE DORRIT went at enormous rents on account of their being abject hangers- on to a fashionable situation ; and whenever one of these fearful little coops was to be let (which seldom happened, for they were in great request), the house agent advertised it as a gentlemanly residence in the most aristocratic part of town, inhabited solely by the elite of the beau monde. If a gentlemanly residence coming strictly within this narrow margin, had not been essential to the blood of the Barnacles, this particular branch would have had a pretty wide selection among let us say ten thousand houses, offering fifty times the accommodation for a third of the money. As it was, Mr. Barnacle, finding his gentlemanly residence extremely in- convenient, and extremely dear, always laid it, as a public servant, at the door of the country, and adduced it as another instance of the country's parsimony. Arthur Clennam came to a squeezed house, with a ram- shackle bowed front, little dingy windows, and a little dark area like a damp waistcoat-pocket, which he found to be number twenty-four, Mews Street, Grosvenor' Square. To the sense of smell, the house was like a sort of bottle filled with a strong distillation of mews; and when the footman opened the door, he seemed to take the stopper out. The footman was to the Grosvenor Square footmen, what the house was to the Grosvenor Square houses. Admirable in his way, his way was a back and a bye way. His gorgeousness was not unmixed with dirt ; and both in complexion and consistency, he had suffered from the closeness of his pantry. A sallow flabbiness was upon him, when he took the stopper out, and presented the bottle to Mr. Clennam's nose. " Be so good as to give that card to Mr. Tite Barnacle, and to say that I have just now seen the younger Mr. Barnacle who- recommended me to call here." The footman (who had as many large buttons with the Barnacle crest upon them, on the flaps of his pocketSi as if he were the family strong box, and carried the plate and jewels about with him buttoned up) pondered over the card a little ; then said, "Walk in." It required some judgment to do it without butting the inner hall-door open, and in the consequent mental confusion and physical darkness slipping down the kitchen stairs. The visitor, however, brought himself up safely on the door-mat Still the footman said " Walk in," so the visitor followed him. At the inner hall-door, another bottle seemed to be presented LITTLE DORRIT 421. and another stopper taken out. This second vial appeared to be filled with concentrated provisions, and extract of Sink from tihe pantry. After a skirmish in the narrow passage, occasioned by the footman's opening the door of the dismal dining-room with confidence, finding some one there with consternation, and backing on the visitor with disorder, the visitor was shut up, pending his announcement, in a close back parlour. There he had an opportunity of refreshing himself with both the bottles at once, looking out at a low blinding back wall three feet off, and speculating on the number of Barnacle families within the bills of mortality who lived in such hutches of their own free flunkey choice. , Mr. Barnacle would see him. Would he walk up-stairs ? He would, and he did ; and in the drawing-room, with his leg on a rest, he found Mr. Barnacle himself, the express image and presentment of How not to do it. Mr. Barnacle dated from a better time, when the country was not so parsimonious, and the Circumlocution Office was not so badgered. He wound and wound folds of white cravat round his neck, as he wound and wound folds of tape and paper round the neck of the country. His wristbands and collar were oppressive, his voice and manner were oppressive. He had a large watch-chain and bunch of seals, a coat buttoned up to inconvenience, a waistcoat buttoned up to inconvenience, an unwrinkled pair of trousers, a stiff pair of boots. He was altogether splendid, massive, overpowering, and impracticabld. He seemed to have been sitting for his portrait to Sir Thomas, Lawrence aU the days of his life. " Mr. Clennam ? " said Mr. Barnacle. " Be seated." Mr. Clennam became seated. "You have called on me, I believe," said Mr. Barnacle, " at the Circumlocution — " giving it the air, of a word of about five-and-twenty syllables, " Office." " I have taken that liberty." Mr. Barnacle solemnly bent his head as who should say, " I do not deny that it is a liberty ; proceed to take another liberty, and let me know your business." " AUow me to observe that I have been for some years in China, am quite a stranger at home, and have no personal motive or interest in the inquiry I am about to make." Mr. Barnacle tapped his fingers on the table, and, as if he were now sitting for his portrait to a new and strange artist, g,ppeared to say to his visitor, " If you will be good enough 422 LITTLE DORRIT to take me with my present lofty expression, I shall feel obliged." "I have found a debtor in the Marshalsea prison of the name of Dorrit, who has been there many years. I wish to investigate his confused affairs, so far as to ascertain whether it may not be possible, after this lapse of time, to ameliorate his unhappy condition. The name of Mr. Tite Barnacle has been mentioned to me as representing some highly influential interest among his creditors. Am I correctly informed ? " It being one of the principles of the Circumlocution Office never, on any account whatever, to give a straightforward answer, Mr. Barnacle said, " Possibly." " On behalf of the Crown, may I ask, or as a private individual?" " The Circumlocution Department, sir," Mr. Barnacle replied, " may have possibly recommended — possibly — I cannot say — that some public claim against the insolvent estate of a firm or copartnership to which this person may have belonged, should be enforced. The question may have been^ in the course of official business, referred to the Circumlocution Department for its consideration. The iOepattinent may have either originated, or confirmed, a Minute nla,king that recommendation." " I assume this to be the case, then." " The Circumlocution Department," said Mr. Barnacle, " is not responsible for any gentleman's assuiliptions." " May I inquire how I can obtain official information as to the real state of the case ? " " It is competent," said Mr. Barnacle, " to any member of the — Public," mentioning that obscure body with reluctance, as his natural enemy, " to memorialise the Circumlocution Depart- ment. Such formalities as are required to be observed in so doing, may be known on application to the proper branch of that Department." " Which is the proper branch? " " I must refer yOu," returned Mr. Barnacle, ringing the bell, " to the Department itself for a fomial answer to that inquiry." "Excuse my mentioning " " The Department is accessible to the — Public," Mr. Barnacle was always checked a little by that Wjord of impertinent sigili- fication, " if the-^Publio approaches it according to the official forms ; if the — Public does not approach it according to' the official forms, the— Public has itself to blame." LITTLE DORRIT 423 Mr. Barnacle made him a severe bow, as a wounded man of family, a wounded man of place, and a wounded man of a gentlemanly residence all roiled into one; and he made Mr. Barnacle a bow, and was shut out into Mews Street by the flabby footman. Having got to this pass, he resolved as an exercise in perseverance, to betake himself again to the Circumlocution Office, and tiy what satisfaction he could get there. So he went back to the Circumlocution Office, and once more sent up his card to Barnacle Junior by a messenger who took it very ill indeed that he should come back again, and who was eating mashed potatoes and gravy behind a partition by the hall fire. He was re-admitted to the presence of Barnacle Junior, and found that young gentleman singeing his knees now, and gaping his weary way on to four o'clock. " I say. Look here. You stick to us in a devil of a manner," said Barnacle Junior, looking over his shoulder. " I want to know " "Look here. Upon my soul you mustn't come into the place saying you want to know, you know," remonstrated Barnacle Junior, turiiing about and putting up the eye-glass. " I want to ,know," said Arthur Clennam, who had made up his mind to persistence in one short form of words, " the precise nature of the claim of the Crown against a prisoner for debt named Dorrit." "I say. Look here. You really are going it at a great pace, you know. Egad you havei't got an appointment," said Barnacle Junior, as if the thing were growing serious. " I want to know," said Arthur. And repeEited his case. Barnacle Junior stared at him until his eye-glass fell out, and then put it in again and stared at him until it fell out again. "You have no right to come this sort ef move," he then observed with the greatest weatness. " Look here. "What do you mean? You told me you didn't know whether it was public business or not," " I have now ascertained that, it is public business," returned the suitor, "and I want to know"— arid again repeated his monotonous inquiry^ Its effect upon y^ouhg Barnacle was to make him repeat in a defenceless way, "Look here!. Upon my soul ypu mustn't come into the place, saying you, want to know, you know ! " The effect of that upon Arthur Clennam was to make him repeat his inquiry in exactly the same words and tone as before. 424 LITTLE DORRIT The effect of that upon, young Barnacle was to make him a wonderful spectacle of failure and helplessness. " Well, I tell you what. Look here. You had better try, the Secretarial Department," he said at last, sidling to the bell and ringing it. " Jenkinson," to the mashed potatoes mes- senger, " Mr. Wobbler ! " Arthur Clennam, who now felt that he had devoted himseK to the storming of the Circumlocutioli Office, and must go through with it, accompanied the : messenger to another floor of the building, where that functionary pointed out Mr. Wobbler's room. He entered that apartment, and, found two gentlemen sitting face to face at a large and easy desk, one of whom was polishing a gun-barrel on his pocket-handkerchief, while the other was spreading marmalade on bread with a paper-knife. " Mr. Wobbler ? " inquired the suitor. Both gentlemen glanced at him, and seemed surprised at his assurance. " So he went," said the gentleman with the gun-barrel, who was an extremely deliberate speaker, " down to his cousin's place, and took the Dog with him by rail. Inestimable Dog. Flew at the port,er fellow when he was put into the dog-box, and flew at the guard when he was taken out. He got half-a- dozen fellows into a Barn, and a good supply of Eats, and timed the Dog. Finding the Dog able to do it immensely, made the match, and heavily backed the Dog. When the match came off, some devil of a. fellow was bought over, Sir, Dog was made drunk, Dog's, master was, cleaned out." " Mr. Wobbler ? " inquired the suitor. The gentleman who was spreading the marmalade returned, without looking up from that occ^pation, " What did he call the Dog?" " Called him Lovely," said the other gentleman. " Said the Dog was the perfect picture of the old aunt from whom he had expectations. Found him partic^larly like her when hocussed." " Mr. Wobbler ? " said the suitor. Both gentlemen laughed for some time. The gentleman' with the gun-barrel, considering it on inspection in a satis- factory state, referred it to the other ; receiving confirmation of his views, he fitted it into its place in the case before him, and took out the stock and polished that, softly whistling. " Mr. Wobbler 1 " said the suitor. " What's the matter ? " then said Mr. Wobbler, with his mouth full. LITTLE DORRIT 425. "I want to know^ — -" and Arthur Clennam again mechani- cally set forth what he wanted to know. " Can't inform you," observed Mr. "Vyobbler, apparently to his lunch. "Never heard of it. Nothing at all to do with it. Better try Mr. Clive, second door on, the left in the next passage." . ■ "Perhaps he will give me the: same answer." "Very likely. Don't know anything about it/.' said Mr., "Wobbler. The suitor turned away and had left the room, when the gentleman with the gun, called out " Mister! Hallo .'" He looked in again. " Shut the door after you. You're letting in a devil of a draught here ! " A few steps brought him to the second door on the left in the next passage. In that room he found three gentlemen; number one doing nothing particular, number two doing nothing particular, number three doing nothing particular. They seemed, however, to be more directly concerned than the others had been in the effective execution of the great prin- ciple of the office, as there was an awful inner apartment with a double door, in which the Circumlocution Sages appeared to be assembled in councU, and out of which there was an im-, posing coming of papers, and into which there was an imposing going of papers, almost constantly ; wherein another gentleman, number four, was the active instrument. " I want to know," said Arthur Clennam,T— and again stated his case in the same barrel-organ way. As number one referred him to number two, and as number two referred him to number three, he had occasion to state it three times before they all referred ,him to, number four., To whom he stated it again. Number four was a vivacious, well-looking, ^ell-dressed, agreeable young fellow — he was a Barnacle, but on the more sprightly side of the family — ^and he said in an easy way, " Oh !, you had better not bother yourself about it, I think." " Not bother myself about it ? " " No ! I recommend you not to bother yourself about it." This was such a new point of view that Arthur Clennam found himself at a loss how to receive it. " You can if you like* I can give you plenty of forms to fill up. Lots of 'em here. You can have a dozen if you like, Bjit you'll never go on with it," said number four. 426 LITTLE DORRIT "Would it be such hopeless work? Excuse me; I am a stranger in England." " I don't say it would be hopeless," returned number four, with a frank smile. "I don't express an opinion about that ; I only express an opinion about you. / don't think you'd go on with it. However, of course, you can do as you like. I sup- pose there was a failure in the performance of a contract, or something of that kind, was there ? " " I really don't know." " Well ! That you can find out. Then you'll find out what Department the contract was in, and then you'll find out all about it there." " I beg your pardon. How shall I find out ? " "Why, you'll— you'll ask till they tell you. Then you'll memorialise that Department (according to regular forms which you'll find out) for leave to memorialise this Department. If you get it (whaoh you may after' a time), that memorial must be entered in that Departnieht, sfint to be registered in this Department, sent back to be signed by that Department, sent back to be countersigned by this Department, and then it will begin to be regularly before that Department. You'll* fiud out when the business passes through each of these stages, by asking at both Departments till thiey tell you." " But surely this is not the way to do the business," Arthur Clennam could not help saying. This airy young Barnlacle Vras quite entertained by his siniplicity in supposing for a iaoment that it was. This light in hand young Barnacle knew perfectly that it was not. This touchiand go young Barnacle had " got up" the Department in a private secretaryship, that he ;inight be ready for any little bit of fat that came to hand; and he fully understood the Department to be a politico-diplomatic hocus pocus piece of machinery, for the assistance of the nobs in keeping off the sUobs. This dashing young Barnacle, in a word, was likely to become a statesman, and to make a figure. " When the business is regularly before that Department, whatever it is," pursued this bright young Barnacle, " then you can watch it from time to time thiough' that Departmient. When it comes regularly before this Department, then you must watch it from time to time through this Department. We shall have to refer it right apd left; and when we refer it any- where, then you'll have to look it up. . When it comes back to us at any time, then you had better look us up. When it sticks LITTLE DORRIT 427 anywhere, you'll have to try to givei it a jog. When you write to another Department about it, and then to this Department about it, and don't hear anything satisfactory about it, why then you had better — keep on writing/' ■ ' ' Arthur Clennam looked very doubtful indeed. " But I am obliged to you at any rate,'' said he, "for your politeness." " Not at all," replied this dhgd,ging yoUng Batnacle. "Try the thing, and see how you like it. It will be in your power to give it up at any time, if you don't like it. You had better take a lot of forms aVay with you. Give htm a lot of forms ! " With which instruction to number two, this sparkling young Barnacle took a fresh handful of papers from numbers one und three, and carried them into the sanctuary, ta offer to the presiding Idol of the Circumlocution Office. Many years ago, before Arthur Clennam went to China, he was in love with Flora daughter of Mr. Cashy, "the Patriarch," but although his afFection w;as returned, the young people were separated, and Flora married a Mr. Finching, whp is now dead, Arthur Glennani has never entirely fprgptt^n, his first love ; but when Ke sees her kgain his ideal is shattered, for the Flprai he now meets is a very different Flora to the one he knew ; in spite, however of her affectation and silliness, the new Flora is kind and good-natured, ancl her amiable qualities appear in her gentle treatment of "Jffir. F.'s aunt,'' and her interest in Little Dorrit. Ill MRS. F.'S AUNT The return of Mr.Gasby, with his daughter Flora, put an end to these meditations. Clennam's eyes no sooner fell upon the subject of his old passion, than it ' shivisred and broke to pieces. Most men will be found sufficiently true to themselves to be true to an old idea. It is "no proof of an inconstant mind, but exactly the opposite, when the idea will not bear close coin- parison with the reality, and the contrast is a fatal shock to it. Such as Clennam's case. In his youth he had ardently loved this woman, and had heaped upon her all the locked-up wealth 428 LITTLE DORRIT of his affection and imagination. That wealth had been, in his desert home, like Eobinson Crusoe's money ; exchangeable with no one, lying idle in the dark to rust, untU he poured it out for; her. Ever siuee that memorable time, though he had, until the night of his arrival, as completely dismissed her from any associa- tion with his Present or Future as if she had been dead (which , she might easily have been for anything he knew), he had kept the old fancy of the Past unchanged, in its old sacred place. And now, after all, the last of the Patriarchs coolly walked into the parlour, saying in effect, " Be good enough to throw it down and dance upon it. This is Flora." Flora, always tall, had grown to be very broad too, and short of breath ; but that was not much. Flora, whom he had left a lily, had become a peony; but that was not much. Flora, who had seemed enchanting in all she said and thought, was diffuse and silly. That was much. Flora, who had been spoiled and artless long ago, was determined to be spoiled and artless now. That was a fatal blow. This is Flora ! " I am sure," giggled Flora, tossing her head with a carica- ture of her girlish manner, such as a mummer might have presented at her own funeral, if she had lived and died in classical antiquity, " I am ashamed to see Mr. Clennam, I am a mere fright, I know he'll find me fearfully changed, I am actually an old woman, it's shocking to be so found out, it's really shocking ! " He assured her that she was Just what he had expected, and that time had not stood still with himself. " Oh ! But with a gentleman it's so different and really you look so amazingly well that you have no right to say anjnbhing of the kind, while, as to me you know — oh ! " cried Flora with a little scream, " I am dreadful 1 " The Patriarch, apparently not yet understanding his own part in the drama under representation, glowed with vacant serenity. " But if we talk of not having changed," said Flora, who, whatever she said, never once came to a full stop, " look at Papa, is not Papa precisely what he was when you went away, isn't it cruel and unnatural of Papa to be such a reproach to his own child, if we go on in this way much longer people who don't know us will begin to suppose that I am Papa's Mama ! " That must be a long time hence, Arthur considered. " Oh Mr. Clennam you insinoerest of creatures," said Flora, LITTLE DORRIT 429 " I perceive already you have not lost your old way of paying compliments, your old way when you used to pretend to he so sentimentally struck you know — ^at least I don't mean that, I — oh I don't know what I mean ! " Here Flora tittered confusedly, and gave him one of her old glances. The Patriarch, as if he now began to perceive that his part in the piece was to get off the stage as soon as might he, rose, and went to the door by which Pancks had worked out, hailing that Tug by name. He received an answer from some little Dock beyond, and was towed out of sight directly. " You mustn't think of going yet," said Flora — Arthur had looked at his hat, being in a ludicrous dismay, and not knowing what to do; "you could never be so unkmd as to think of going, Arthur^ — I mean Mr. Arthur — or I suppose Mr. Clennam would be far more proper — but I am sure I don't know what I'm saying — without a word about the dear old days gone for ever, however when I come to think of it I dare say it would •be much better not to speak of them and it's highly probable that you have some much more agreeable engagement and pray let Me be the last person in the world to interfere with it though there was a time, but I am running into nonsense' again." Was it possible that Flora could have been such a chatterer, in theidays she referred to? Could there have been anything like her present disjointed volubility, in the fascinations that had captivated him ? " Indeed I have little doubt," said Flora, running on with astonishing speed, and pointing her conversation with nothing but commas, and very few of them, " that you are married to some Chinese lady, being in China so long and being in business and naturally desirous to settle and extend your connection nothing was more likely than that you should propose to a Chinese lady and nothing was more natural I am sure than that the Chinese lady should accept you and think herself very well off too, I only hope she's not a Pagodian dissenter." " I am not," returned Arthur, smiling in spite of himself, " married to any lady. Flora." " Gh good gracious me I hope you never kept yourself a bachelor so long on my account!" tittered Flora; "but of course you never did why should you, pray don't answer, I don't know where I'm running to, oh do tell me something about the Chinese ladies whether their eyes are really so long and narrow always putting me in mind of mother-of-pearl fish at cards and 430 LITTLE DORRIT do they really wear tails down their back and plaited too or is it only the men, and when they pull their hair so very tight off their foreheads don't they hurt themselves^ and why do they stick little bells all over their bridges and temples and hats and things or don't they really do it ! " Flora gave him another of her old glanises. Instantly she went on again, as if he had spoken in reply for some time. " Then it's all true and they really do ! good gracious Arthur ! — pray excuse me — old habit— Mr.. Clennam far more proper — ^what a country to live in for so long a time, and with so many lanterns and umbrellas too how very dark and wet the climate ought to be and no doubt actually is, and the sums of money that must be made by those two trades where everybody carries them and hangs them everywhere, the little shoes too and the feet screwed back in infancy is quite surprising, what a traveller you are ! " In his ridiculous distress, Clennam received another of the old glances, without in the least knowing what to do with it. " Dear dear," said Flora, " only to think of the changes at home : Arthur — cannot overcome it, seems so natural, Mr, Clennam far .more proper — since you became familiar with the Chinese customs and language wMch I am persuaded you speak like a Native if not better for you were always quick and clever though immensely difficult no doubt, I am sure the tea chests alone would kill me if I tried, such changes Arthur — I am doing it again, seems so natural, most improper — as no one could have believed, who could have ever imagined Mrs. Finching when I can't imagine it myself ! " " Is that your married name ? " asked Arthur, struck, in the midst of all this, by a certain warmth of heart that expressed itself in her tone when she referred, however oddly, to the youthful relation in which they had stood to one another. "Finching?" " Finching oh yes isn't it a dreadful name, but as Mr. F said when he proposed to me which he did seven times and handsomely consented I must say to be what he used to call on liking twelve months after all, he wasn't answerable for it and couldn't help it could he. Excellent man, not at aU like you but excellent man ! " Flora, had at last talked herself out of breath for one moment. One moment; for she recovered breath in the act of raising a minute corner of her pocket-handkerchief to her LITTLE DORRIT 431 eye, as a tribute to the ghost of the departed Mr. I", and began again. ; , "No one could dispute, >A.rthur — Mr. Clennam — that it's quite right you should be formally friendly to me under the ^tered circumstances and indeed you coiUdn't be anything else, at least I suppose not you ought to know, but I can't help recalling that there was a time when things were very dififerent." , , " My dear Mrs. Fiuohing," Arthur began, struck by the good tone again. " Oh, not that nasty ugly name, say Flora ! " "Flora. I assure you, Flora, I am happy in seeing you once more, and in finding that, like me, you have not forgotten the old foolish dreams, when we saw all before us in the light of our youth and hope." - , . " You don't seem so," pouted Flora, " you take it very coolly, but however I know you are disappointed in me, I suppose the Chiaqse , ladies— Ma,ndarines3es if you call them ?p — are the cause or perhaps I am the cause myself, it's, just as likely." : : , " No, no," Clennam entreated, " don't say that." " Oh I must you know," said Flora, in a positive ton6, " what nonsense not to, I ^pow I am not what you expected, I iknow that very well" ■ , In the midst of her rapidity, she had found that out with the quick perception of a cleverer woman. The inconsistent and profoundly unreasonable way in which she instantly went on, nevertheless, to interweave their long-abandoned boy and girl relations with their present interview, made Clennam feel as if he were lightheaded, " One remark,", said Flora, giving their conversation, with- out the slightest notice and to the great terror of Clennam, the tone of a love-quarrel, " I wish to makei,'.one explanation I wish to pffOT, when your Mama came and made a scene of it with my Papa and when 1 was called down intb^he little break- fast-room where: they were looking at one another with your Mama's parasol between them seated on two chairs like mad bulls what was I to do ? " "My dear Mrs. Finohing," urged Clennam— ." all so long ago and so long concluded, is it worth while seriously to " " I can't Arthur," returned Flora, " be denounced as heart- less by the whple society of China without setting myself' right when I have the opportunity of doing so, and you must be very 432 LITTLE DORRIT well aware that there was Paul and Virginia which had to be returned and which was returned without note or comment, not that I mean to say you could have written to me watched as I was but if it had only come back with a red wafer on the cover I should have known that it meant Come to Pekin Nankeen and "What's the third place barefoot." "My dear Mrs. rinohing, you were not to blame, and I never blamed you. We were both too young, too dependent and helpless, to do anything but accept our separation. — Pray think how long ago," gently remonstrated Arthur. " One more remark," proceeded Flora with unsl^ckened volubility, "I wish to make, one more explanation I wish to offer, for five days I had a cold in the head frOm crying which I passed entirely in the back drawing-room — there is the back drawing-room still on the first floor and still at the back of the house to confirm my' words— when that dreary period had passed a lull succeeded years rolled on and Mr. F became acquainted with us at a mutual friend's, he was all attention he called next day he soon began to call three evenings a week and to send in little things for supper, it was not love on Mr. F's part it was adoration, Mr. F proposed with the full approval of Papa and what could I do ?" " Nothing whatever," said Arthur, with the cheerfulest readiness, "but what you did. Let an old friend assure you of his full conviction that you did quite right." " One last remark," proceeded Flora, rejecting common- place life with a wave of her hand, " I wish to make, one last explanation I wish to offer, there was a time ere Mr. F first paid attentions incapable of being mistaken, but that is past and was not to be, dear Mr. Clennam you no longer wear a golden chain you are free I trust you may be happy, here is Papa who is always tiresome and putting in his nose everywhere where he is not wanted." With th^se words, and with a hasty gesture fraught with timid caution — such a gesture had Clennam's eyes been familiar with in the old time — poor Flora left herself/ at eighteen years of age, a long long way behind again ; and came to a full stop at last. Or rather, she left about half of herself at eighteen years of age behind,^ and grafted the rest on to the relict of the late Mr. F ; thus making a moral mermaid of herself, which her once boy-lover contemplated with feelings wherein his sense of the sorrowful and his sense of the comical were curiously blended. LITTLE DORRIT 433 For example. As if there were a secret understanding between herself and Olennam of the most thrilling nature ; as if the first of a train of post-chaises and four, extending all the way to Scotland, were at that moment round the corner ; and as if she couldn't (and wouldn't) have walked into the Parish Church with him, under the shade of the family umbrella, with the Patriarchal blessing on her head, and the perfect concurrence of all mankind; Flora comforted her soul with agonies of mysterious signalling, expressing dread of discovery. With the sensation of becoming more and more lightheaded every minute, Olennam saw the relict of the late Mr. F enjoying herself in the most wonderful manner, by putting herself and him in their old places, and going through all the old perform- ances — now, when the stage was dusty, when the scenery was faded, when the youthful actors were dead, when the orchestra was empty, when the lights were out. And still, through all this grotesque revival of what he remembered as having once been prettUy natural to her, he could not but feel that it revived at sight of him, and that there was a tender memory in it. The Patriarch insisted on his staying to dinner, and Flora signalled " Yes ! " Olennam so wished he could have done more than stay to dinner — so heartily wished he could have found the Flora that had been, or that never had been — that he thought the least atonement he could make for the disappoint- ment he almost felt ashamed of, was to give himself up to the family desire. Therefore, he stayed to dinner. Pancks dined with them.* Pancks steamed out of his little dock at a quarter before six, and bore straight down for the Patriarch, who happened to be then driving, in an inane manner, through a stagnant account of Bleeding Heart Yard. Pancks instantly made fast to him and hauled him out. " Bleeding Heart Yard ? " said Pancks, with a puff and a snort. "It's a troublesome property. Don't pay you badly, but rents are very hard to get there. You have more trouble with that one place, than with all the places belonging to you." V Just as the big ship in tow gets the credit, with most spectators, of being the powerful object, so the Patriarch usually seemed to have said himself whatever Fancks said for him. " Indeed ? " returned Olennam, upon whom this impression was so efiBciently made by a mere gleam of the polished head, * Paucksis the " Patriarch's " collector of rents. 2 F 434 LITTLE DORRIT that he spoke the ship instead of the Tug. " The people are so poor there ? " " Ycm can't say, you know," snorted Pancks, taking one of his dirty hands out of his rusty iron-grey pockets to bite his nails, if he could find any, and turning his beads of eyes upon his employer, " whether they're poor or not. They say they are, but they all say that. When a man says he's rich, you're generally sure he isn't. Besides, if they are poor, you can't help it. You'd be poor, yourself if you didn't get your rents." " True enough," said Arthur. "You're not going to keep open house for all the poor of London," pursued Pancksi " You're not going to lodge 'em for nothing. You're hot going to open your gates wide and let 'em come free. Not if you know it, you ain't." Mr. Casby shook his head, in placid and benignant generality. "If a man takes a room of you at half-arcrown a week, and when the week comes round hasn't got the half-crown, you say to that man, Why have you got the room, then? If you haven't got the one thing, why have you got the other ? WTiat have you been and" done with your money ? What do you mean by it 1 What are you up to ? That's what y(yu, say to a man of that sort ; and if you didn't say it, more shame for you ! " Mr. Pancks here made a singular and startling noise, produced by a strong blowing effort in the region of the nose, unattended by any result but that acoustic one. " You have some extent of such property about the east and north-east here, I believe ? " said Clennam, doubtful which of the two to address. "Oh, pretty well," said Pancks. "You're not particular to east or north-east, any point of the compass will do for you. What you want is a good investment and a quick return. ' You take it where y6u can find it. You ain't nice as to situation — not you;" There was a fourth and most original figure in the Patriarchal tent, who also appeared before dinner. This was an amazing little old woman, with a face like a staring wooden doll too cheap for expression, and a stiff yellow wig perched unevenly on the top of her head, as if the child who owned the doll had driven a tack through it anywhere, so that it only got fastened on. Another remarkable thing in this little old woman was, that the same child seemed to have damaged her face in two or three places, with some blunt instrument in the nature of g, LITTLE DORRIT 435 spoon; her countenaiioe, and particularly the tip of her nose, presenting tiie phenomena of several dints, generally answering to the bowl of that article. A further remarkable thing in this little old woman was, that she had no name but Mr. Fs Aunt. She broke upon the visitor's view under the following circumstances : Flora said when the first dish was being put on the table, perhaps Mr. Clennam might not have heard that Mr. F had left her a legacy? Clennam in return implied his hope that Mr. F had endowed the wife whom he adored, with the greater part of his worldly substance, if not with all. Flora said, oh yes, she didn't mean that,' Mr. F had made a beautiful will, but he had left her as a separate legacy^ his Aunt. She then went out of the room to fetch the legacy, and, on her return, rather triumphantly presented " Mr. F's Aunt." > The major characteristics discoverable by the stranger in Mr. F's Aimt, were extreme severity and grim taciturnity; sometimes interrupted by a propensity to offer remarks in a deep warning voice, which, being totally uncalled for by any- thing said by anybody, aiid traceable to no association of ideas, confounded and terrified the mind. Mr, F's Aunt may have thrown in these observations on some system of her own, and it may have been ingenious, or even subtle ; but the key to it was wanted. The neatly-served and well-cooked dinner (for everything about the Patriarchal household promoted quiet digestion) began with some soup, some fried soles, a butter-boat of shrimp sauce, and a dish of potatoes.. The conversation still turned on the receipt of rents. Mr. F's Aunt, after regarding the company for ten minutes with a malevolent gaze, delivered the following fearful remark. " When we lived at Henley, Barnes's gander was stole by tinkers." Mr. Pancks courageously nodded his head and said, " All right, ma'am." But the effect of this mysterious communication upon Clennam was absolutely to frighten him. And another circumstance invested this old lady with peculiar terrors. Though; she was always staring, she never acknowledged that she saw any individual. The polite and attentive strangei? would desire, say, to consult her inclinations on the subject of potatoes. His expressive action would be hopelessly lost upon her, and what could he do ? No man could say, " Mr. Fa Aunt, will you permit meV Every man retired from the spoon, as Clennam did, cowed and baffled. 436 LITTLE DORRIT There was mutix)n, a steak, and an apple-pie — nothing in the remotest way connected with ganders — and the dianer went on like a disenchanted feast, as it truly was. Once upon a time Clennam had sat at that table taking no heed of anything but Mora ; now the principal heed he took of Flora was, to observe, against his will, that she was very fond of porter, that she combined a great deal of sherry with sentiment, and that if she were a little overgrown, it was upon substantial grounds. The last of the Patriarchs had always been a mighty eater, and he disposed of an immense quantity of solid food with the benignity of a good soul who was feeding some one else. Mr. Pancks, who was always in a hurry, and who referred at intervals to a little dirty note-book which he kept beside him (perhaps containing the names of the defaulters he meant to look up by way of dessert), took in his victuals much as if he were coaling ; with a good deal of noise, a good deal of dropping about, and a puff and a snort occasionally, as if he were nearly ready to steam away. ' , i All through dinner, Flora combined her present appetite for eating and drinking, with her past appetite for romantic love, in a way that made Clennam afraid to lift his eyes from his plate ; since he could not look towards her without receiving some glance of mysterious meaning or warning, as if they were engaged in a plot. Mr. F's Aunt sat' silently defying him with an aspect of the greatest bitterness, until the removal of the cloth and the appearance of the dtecanters, when she originated another observation — struck into the conversation like a clock, without consulting anybody. Flora had just said, " Mr. Clennam, will you give me a glass of port for Mr. F's Aunt." " The Monunlent near London Bridge," that lady instantly proclaimed, " was put up arter the Great Fire of London ; and the Great Fire of London was not the fire in which your uncle George's workshops was burned down." Mr. Pancks,. with his former courage, said "Indeed, ma'am ? All right ! " But appearing to be incensed by imaginary contradiction, or other Ul-usage, Mr. Fs Aunt, instead of re- lapsing into silence, made the following additional proclamation : "I hate a fool!" She imparted to this sentiment, in itself almost Solomonic, so extremely injurious and personal a character, by levelling it straight at the visitor's head, that it became necessary to lead Mr. F's Aunt from the room. This was quietly done by Flora ; LITTLE DORRIT 437 Mr. Fs Aunt offering no resistance, but inquiring on her way out " What he come there for, then ? " with implacable animosity. When Flora returned, she explained that her legacy was a clever old lady, but was sometimes a little singular, and " took dislikes" — peculiarities of which Flora seemed to be proud rather than otherwise. As Flora's good nature shone in the case, Clennam had no fault to find with the old lady for elicit- ing it, now that he was relieved from the terrors of her presence ; and they took a glass or two of wine in peace. Fore- seeing then that the Pancks would shortly get under weigh, and that the Patriarch would go to sleep, he pleaded the neces- sity of visiting his mother, and asked Mr. Pancks in which direction he was going ? " " Citywards, sir," said Pancks. " Shall we walk together ? " paid Arthur, " Quite agreeable," said Pancks. Meanwhile Flora was murmuring in rapid snatches for his ear, that there was a time' and that the past was a yawning gulf however and that a golden chain ho longer bound him and thati she revered the memory of the late Mr. F and that she should be at home to-morrow at half-past one and that the decrees of Fate were beyond recalland that she considered nothing so im- probable as that he ever walked on the north-west side of Gray's-Inn Gardens at, exactly four o'clock in the, afternoon.. He tried at parting to give; his hand in frankness to the existing Flora— not the vanished Flora, or the Mermaid — but Flora wouldn't have it, couldn't have it, was wholly destitute of the power of separating herself and him from their bygone cha- racters. He left the house miserably enough; and so much more lightheaded than ever, that if it had not. been his good fortune to be towed -'away, he might, for the first qixarter of ian; hour, have drifted anywhere. BOOK XIII A TALE OF TWO CITIES In 1859, this story was brought out in the weekly numbers of All the Year Bound, and was published complete as a book with illustrations by HablSt Browne, and a dedication to Lord John Russell. On the 11th March, 1859, my father says in a letter written to Mr. Forster, " This is merely to certify that I have got exactiy the name for the story that is wanted ; exactly what will fit the opening to a T — ' A Tale of Two Cities.' " , This dramatic story, which closes with the tragic death of one of its principal characters, should scarcely be included under the title of The Comedy, of Charles Dic/cens, being indeed the exception to my father's books; for in it are few of those humorous scenes or touches, that we associate so cloSely with his writings, while such fan as we occasionally find in its pages is usually of a grim quality. The plan of the present volume, howeyer, would, be in- complete, were I to omit one book from the series of my father's novels ; I Hberefore introduce A Tale of two Cities, though I am aware that in being cbmpelled to quote only from the lighter portion of the work, I do but scant justice to the wide and grave interest ofi the story. It was the author's intention in this tale to rely less upon his characters, than upon his incidents, and his resolve that his actors should be expressed mpre by the story, than by diailogue, is the cause of the book appearing at first sight to be strangely tmlike most of his novels ; but although we may here searfeH in vain for the comedy that his admirers aU love in his books, the power and tragedy of the scenes that take place during the French Revolution carry us along with resistless force ; and there are few sympathetic readers of the story who have not been touched by Carton's death, or have not felt the heroism and noble devotion of his sacrifice. For the reasons I have stated I do not enter upon any explanatory notes concerning the plot ; the one extract I give is taken from the opening of the tale. THE MAIL It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late ia November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's HiU. He walked uphill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the 438 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 439 passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walk- ing exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, a,nd the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Eeins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbad a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Eeason ; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty. With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they weris falUilg to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the drivCT rested them and brought them to a standi with a wary " Wo-ho ! sb-ho then ! " the near leader violently shook his head and everything ' upon it — like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the eoach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind. • / ' There was a steaming mist in all the hoUows, atid it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the air- in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of an un- wholesome sea might do. Itwas dense enough to shutout everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings, and a few yards of road ; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into it, as if they had made it all. Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hiU by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheek-bones and over the ears, and wore jack-boots. No one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like ; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days^ travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice,: for anybody on the road might be a robber or in a league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could pro- duce somebody in " the Captain's'" pay, ran^g from the land- lord to the lowest stable nondescript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard pf the Dover mail thought to himself, that IWday night in November,' one thousand seven 440 A TALE OF TWO CITIES hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-cheat before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass. The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they aU suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses ; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey. " Wo-ho ! " said the coachman. " So, then ! One more pull and you're at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it ! — Joe ! " " HaUoa ! " the guard replied. " What o'clock do you make it, Joe ? " " Ten minutes, good, past eleven." "My blood ! " ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shooter's yet ! Tst ! Yah ! Get on with you ! " The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman. The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach -door to let the passengers in. " Tst ! Joe ! " cried the coachman in a warning voice, look- ing down from his box. " What do you say, Tom ? " They both listened. " I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe." " / say a horse at a gallop, Tom," returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. " Gentlemen ! In the king's name, all of you ! " With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive, A TALE OF TWO CITIES 441 ' The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in ; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of it ; they remained in the road below him. They kll looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up hia ears and looked back, without contradicting. The stillness consequent on the cessation of th6 rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of the nighti made it very , quiet indeed. The panting of the horses com- municated a trenlulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard ; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation. The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill. " So-ho ! " the guard sang out, as loud as he , could roar. "Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!" The pace was suddenly checked, and, with, much splashing and floundering, a man's voice called from the inist, " Is that the Dover mail ? " " Never you mind what it is ! " the guard retorted. "What are you ? " " Is that the Dover mail ? " " Why do you want to know ? " " I want a passenger, if it is." " What passenger ? " " Mr. Jarvis Lorry." Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman,, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully. " Keep where you are," the guard called to the voice in the mist, " because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight." "What is the matter?" asked the- passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. " Who wants me ? Is it Jerry ? " ("I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry," growled, the guard to himself. " He's hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.") " Yes, Mr. Lorry." " What is the matter ? " 442 A TALE OF TWO CITIES " A despatch sent after you from over yonder, T. and Co." "I know this messenger, guard," said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road — assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. " He may come close ; there's nothing wrong/' "I hope there ain't, but I can't make so 'Nation sure of that," said the guard, in gruff soliloquy. " Hallo you ! " "Well! And hallo you!" said Jerry, more hoarsely than before. " Come on at a footpace 1 d'ye mind me ? And if you've got holsters to that saddle o' yourn, don't let me see your hand go nigh 'em. For I'm a devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now let's look »t you." The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small folded paper. The rider's horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man. " Guard ! " said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence. The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answered curtly, " Sir." "There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank. You must know Tellson's Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to drink. I may read this?" " If so be as you're quick, sir," He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and read — first to himself and then aloud : " ' Wait at Dover for Mam'selle.' It's not long, you see, guard. Jerry; say that my answer was, eecalled to life." . : Jerry started in his saddle. "That's a Blazing strange answer, too," said he, at his hoarsest. "Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good-night." With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in ; not at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted their watches and purses in their boots, A TALE OF TWO CITIES 443 and were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the hazard of originating any other kind of action. The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to the supple- mentary pistols that he wore in hia belt, looked to a sma^er chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smith's tools, a couple of torches, ; and a tinder-box. , For he was furnished with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out> which did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep the flint and 'steel sparks well off the straWj and get a light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes. " Tom !" softly over the coach-roof. ' "Hallo, Joe." " Did you hear the message ? " "I did,, Joe." , , "What did you make of it, Tom?" : " Nothing at all, Joe." "That's a coincidence, too," the guard mused, "for. I made the same of it myself." , . „, ,i.; , i,;.,. Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted mean- while, not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding about half a gallon. After stand- ing with the bridle over his heavily-^splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing and the night was quite still againy heittiirned to walk down the hill. ' , " After that there gallop' from Temple Bar, 'old lady, I won't trustyour fore-legs till I get you on the level," said this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare. " ' Eecalled to life.' That's a Blazing strange message. Much of ithat' wouldn't do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You'd be in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry ! " ' BOOK XIV GREAT EXPECTATIONS The opening scene of Qr eat Expectations is laid at Cooling, seven miles from Gad's Hill Place, where my father ■wrote the story, which was first issued in the wpekly numbers of All the Tear Boiimd, at the end of 1860, and was continued up to August, 1861, when itappeared in book form. The, following year it was brought out in a single volume, illustrated by Mr. Marcus Stone. The tale was dedicated to Chauncy Hare Tlownshend, and the publishers were Messrs. Chapman and Hall. The little boy Philip Pirrip, or Pip as he is called, lives with his married sister and her husband Joe Gargeiy, the village blacksmith. On the evening when we first see him, Pip has had an awful meeting in the churchyard with a fearful man " all in coarse grey with a great iron on his leg," who commands Pip, upon pain of death if he disobeys, to bring hitti a hie, and some " wittles " to the old Battery on the marshes early next morning,' and he frightens the child with threats of a young man his companion, who is still more dreadful than himself. HayiBg sworn Pip to secrecy, this terrible being allows him to go home, where he suffers much from the tyranny of his sister, and the prickings of his conscience. MR. AND MRS. JOE AND I My sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread-and-butter for us, that never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hard and fast against her bib — where it sometimes got a pin into it, and sometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our moutis. Then she took some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf, in an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaister — using both sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming and moulding the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife a final smart wipe on the edge of the plaister, and then sawed a very thick round off the loaf : which she finally, before separating from the loaf, hewed into two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other. On the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not 444 GREAT EXPECTATIONS 445 eat my slice. I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful aequaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knew Mrs. Joe's housekeeping to be of the strictest kind; and that my larcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe. Therefore I resolved to put my hunk of bread-and-butter down the leg of my trousers. The effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose, I found to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leap from the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water. And it was made the more difiBcult by the unconscious Joe. In our already-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in his good-natured ooinpanionship with me, it was our evening habit to compare the way we bit through our slices, by silently holding theni up to each other's admira- tion now and then^— which stimulated us to new exertions. To-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fast-diminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly com- petition ; but he found me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and my untouched bread-and-butter on the other. At last, I desperately considered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it had best be done in the least improbable manner consistent with the circumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked at me, and got my bread-and-butter down my leg. Joe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my loss of appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which he didn't seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer than usual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down like a pill. He was about to take another bite, stnd had just got his head on one side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he saw that my bread-and-butter was gone. The wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold of his bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister's observation. "What's the matter now?" said she, smartly, as she put down her cup. " I say, you know ! " muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in a very serious remonstrance. "Pip, old chap! You'll do' yourself a misshief* It'll stick somewhere. You can't have chawed it, Pip." " What's the matter now ? " riepeated my sister, more sharply than before., 446 GREAT EXPECTATIONS " If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I'd recommend you to do it," said Joe, all aghast. " Manners is manners, but still your elth's yOur elth." By this timej.my sister was quite despera.te, so she pounced on Joe, and, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a little while against the wall behind him ; while I sat in the corner, looking guiltily on. " Now, perhaps you'll mention what's the matter," said my sister, out of breath, " you staring great stuck pig." ! Joe looked at her in a helpless way; then took a helpless bite, and looked at me again. ■ "You know, Pip,'' said Joe, soleinnly, With his last bite in his cheek, and speaking in: a confidential voice, as if we two- wei;e quite alone, "you and me is always friends, and I'd be the. last to teH upon you, any time. ' But such a — ^ " he moved his chair, and looked about the 'floor between us, and then again at me — " such a most uncommon bolt as that! " " Been bolting his food, has he ? " cried my sister. " You know, old chap," said Joe, lookihg at me, and not at Mrs. Joe, with his bite still in his cheek, " I Bolted, myself, when I was your age — frequent — and as a boy I've been among a many Bolters ; but I never see your bolting equal yet, Pip, and it's a mercy you ain't Bolted dead." My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair ; saying nothing more than the awful words, " You come along and be dosed." Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine medicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard ; haAdng a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a, choice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like a new fence. On this particular evening, the urgency of my case demanded a pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greatei; comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would be held in a boot-jack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and meditating before the fire), " because he had had a turn." Judging from myself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if hei had had none before. Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy ; but when, in the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates GREAT EXPECTATIONS 447 with another secret burden ddwn the leg of ^his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe — I never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never 'thought of any of the housekeeping property as his — united to the necessity of always 'kpeping one hand on my bread-and-butter as I sat, or when I was ordtered about the kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then, as- the marsh wind's made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the voice outsidie; of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to secrecy, declaring that he couldn't and wouldn't starve until to-morrow, bub must' be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his hainds> in me, should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should mistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart and liver to-night, instead of to-morrow ! If ever any- body's hair stood on end with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps,! nobody^S' ever did? , It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it witibi the load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the load on Ms leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the bread-and-butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away, and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom. "Hark!" said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm in the chimney-corner before being sent up to bed ; " was that great guns, Joe ? " " Ah ! " said Joe. " There's another conwict off." " What does that mean> Joe ? " said I. Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said snappishly, " Escaped. Escaped." Administering the definition like Tar-water. While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needle-, work, I put my mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, " What's a convict 1 " Joe put his mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer, that I could make out nothing of it but the single word, " Pip." " There was a conwict off last night," said Joe, aloud, " after sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they're firing warning of another." " Who's firmg ? " said I. " Prat that boy," interposed my sister, frowning at me over 448 GREAT EXPECTATIONS her work, " what a questioner he is. Ask ao questions, and you'll be told no lies. It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be told lies by her, even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite, unless there was company. At this point, Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word that looked to me like " sulks." There- fore, I naturally pointed to Mrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying " her ? " But Joe wouldn't hear of that at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, and shook the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make nothing of the word. " Mrs. Joe," said I, a^ a last resort, " I should like to know — if you wouldn't much mind — where the firing comes from? " " Lord bless the boy ! " exclaimed my sister, as if she didn't quite mean that, but rather the contrary. " From the Hulks ! " " Oh-h ! " said I, looking at Joe. " Hulks ! " Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, " Well, I told you so." " And please what's Hulks ? " said I. " That's the way with this boy ! " exclaimed my sister, pointing me out with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. " Answer him one question, and he'll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, right 'cross th' meshes." We always used that name for marshes in our country. " I wonder who's put into prison-ships, and why they're put there ? " said I, in a general way, and with quiet desperation. It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose, " I tell you what, young fellow," said she; " I didn't bring you up by hand to badger people's lives out. It would be blame to me, and not praise, if I had. , People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad ; and they always begin by asking questions. Now, you get along to bed ! " GREAT EXPECTATIONS 449 In order to redeem his promise to the fearful man with the iron on his leg, Pip is obliged to steal food from his sister's pantry, and a file from the forge, and with the eatables wrapt up in a bundle, he repairs next morning to the Battery on the marshes. II PIP AND THE CONVICT ON THE MARSHES It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief. Now I saw the damp lying on the bare hedges and spare grass, like a coarser sort of spiders' webs ; hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade. On every rail and gate, wet lay clammy, and the marsh-mist was so thick, that the wooden finger on the post directing people to our village — a direction which they never accepted, for they never came there — was invisible to me until I was quite close under it. Then, as I looked up at it, while it dripped, it seemed to my oppressed conscience like a phantom devoting me to the Hulks. The mist was heavier yet when I got out upoh the marshes, so that instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me. This was very disagreeable to a guUty mind. The gates and dykes and banks came bursting at me through the mist, as if they cried as plainly as could be, "A boy with Somebody-else's pork pie ! Stop him ! " The cattle came upon me with like suddenness, staring out of their eyes, and steaming out of their nostrils, " Holloa, young thief ! " One black ox, with a white cravat on — who even had to my awakened con- science something of a clerical air — fixed me so obstinately with his eyes, and moved his blunt head round in such an accusatory manner as I moved round, that I blubbered out to him, "I couldn't help it, sir ! It wasn't for myself I took it ! " Upon which- he put down his head, blew a cloud of smoke out of his nose, and vanished with a kick-up of his hind-legs and a flourish of his tail. All this time I was getting on towards tlpie river ; but how- ever fasjt I went, I couldn't warm my feet, to which the damp cold seemed riveted, £is the mn wa^ riveted tq the leg of the 450 GREAT EXPECTATIONS man I was running to meet. I knew my way to the Battery, pretty straight, for I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and Joe, sitting on an old gun, had told me that when I was 'prentice to him, regularly bound, we would have such Larks there ! However, in the confusion of the mist, I found myself at last too far to the right, and consequently had to try back along the river-side, on the bank of loose stones above the mud and the stakes that staked the tide out. Making my way along here with all despatch, I had just crossed a ditch which I knew to be very near the Battery, and had just scrambled up the mound beyond the ditch, when I saw the man sitting before me. His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded, and was nodding forward, heavy with sleep. I thought he would be more glad if I came upon him with his breakfast, in that unexpected manner, so I went forward softly and touched him on the shoulder. He instantly jumped up, and it was not the same man, but another man ! And yet this man was dressed in coarse grey, too, and had a great iron on his leg, and was lame, and hoarse, and cold, and was everything that the other man was ; except that he had not the same face, and had a flat, broad-brimmedj low-crowned felt hat on. AH this I saw in a moment, for I had only a moment to see it in : he swore an oath at me, made a hit at me — it was a round, weak blow that missed me and almost knocked himself down, for it made him stumble-^and then he ran into the inist, stumbling twice as he went, and I lost him. " It's the young man ! " I thought, feeling my heart shoot as I identified him. I dare say I should have felt a pain in my liver, too, if I had known where it was. I was soon at the Battery, after that, and there was the right man — hugging himself and limping to and fro, as if he had never all night left off hugging and limping — waiting for me. He was awfully cold, to be sure. I half expected to see him drop down before my face and die ,of deadly cold. His eyes looked so awfully hungry, too, that when I handed him the file and he laid it down on the grass,. it occurred to me he would have tried to eat it, if he had not seen my bundle. He did not turn me upside down, this time, to get at what I had, but left me right side upwards while I opened the bundle and emptied my pockets. " What's in the bottle, boy ? " said he. "Brandy," said I- He was already handing mince-meat down his throat in the GREAT EXPECTATIONS 451 most curious manner — more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent hurry, than a man who was eating it — but he left off to take some of the liquor. He shivered all the while so violently, that it was quite as much as he could do to keep the neck of the bottle between his teeth, without biting it off. " I think you have got the ague," said I. > " I'm much of your opinion, boy>" said he. " It's bad about here," I told him. " You've been lying out on the meshes, and they're dreadful fi,guish. Eheumatio too." " I'll eat my breakfast afore they're the death of me," said he. " I'd do that if I was going to be strung up to that there gallows as there is over there, directly afterwards. I'll beat the shivers so far, J'll bet you." He was gobbling mincemeat, meat bone, bread, cheese, and pork pie, all at once : Staring distrustfully while he did so at the mist all round us, and often stopping — even stopping his jaws — to listen. Some real or fancied sound, some clink upon the river or breathing of beast upon the marsh, now gave him a start, and he said, suddenly : " You're not a deceiving imp ? You brought no one Avith you?" " No, sir ! No ! " " Nor giv' no one the office to follow you ? " "No!" "Well," said he, "I believe you. You'd be but a fierce young hound indeed, if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched warmint, hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched warmint is ! " Something clicked in his throat as if he had works in him like a -clock, and was going to strike. And he smeared his ragged rough sleeve over his eyes. Pitying his desolation, and watching him as he gradually settled down upon the pie, I made bold to say, " I am glad you enjoy it." " Did you speak ? " " I said; I was glad you enjoyed it," " Thankee, my boy, I do." I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food ; and I now noticed a decided similarity between the dog's way of eating,' and the man's. The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog. He swallowed, or rather snapped up, pvery mouthful, too soon and too fast ; and he looked sideways 452 GREAT EXPECTATIONS here and there while he ate, as if he thought there was danger in every direction of somebody's coming to take the pie away. He was altogether too unsettled in his mind over it, to appreciate it comfortably, I thought, or to have anybody to dine with him, without making a chop with his jaws at the visitor. In all of which particulars he was very like the dog. "I am afraid you won't leave any of it for him," said I, timidly ; after a silence during which I had hesitated as to the politeness of making the remark. " There's no more to be got where that came from." It was the certainty of this fact that impelled me to offer the hint. " Leave any for him ? Who's him 1 " said my friend, stopping in his crunching of pie-crust. " The young man. That you spoke of. That was hid with you." > " Oh ah ! " he returned, with something like a gruff laugh. " Him ? Yes, yes ! He don't want no wittles." " I thought he looked as if he did," said I. The man stopped eating, and regarded me with the keenest scrutiny and the greatest surprise, "Looked? When?" " Just now." "Where?" " Yonder," said I, pointing ; " over there, where I found him nodding asleep, and thought it was you." He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his first idea about cutting my throat had revived. " Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat," I explained, trembling; "and — and" — I was very anxious to put this delicately — " and with — the same reason for wanting to borrow a file. Didn't you hear the cannon last night ? " " Then, there was firing ! " he said to himself. " I wonder you shouldn't have been sure of that," I returned, " for we heard it up at home, and that's further away, and we were shut in besides." " Why, see now ! " said he. " When a man's alone on these flats, with a light head and a light stomach, perishing of cold and want, he hears nothin' all night, but guns firing, and voices calling. Hears? He sees the soldiers, with their red coats lighted up by the torches carried afore, closing in round him. Hears his number called, hears himself challenged, hears the rattle of the muskets, Jiears the orders ' Mg,k^ ready ! Present | GREAT EXPECTATIONS 453 Cover him steady, men!' and. is laid hands on — and there's nothin' ! Why, if I see one pursuing party last night— coming up in order. Damn 'em, with their tramp, tramp — I see a hundred. And as to firing 1 Why, I see the mist shake with the cannon, arter it was broad day. — But this man;" he had said all the rest as if he had forgotten my being there ; " did you notice anything in him ? " " He had a badly bruised face," said I, recalling what I Hardly knew I knew. "Not here?" exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek mercilessly, with the flat of his hand. "Yes, there!" "Where is he?" He crammed what little food was left, into the breast of his grey jacket. " Show me the way he went. I'll pull him down, like a bloodhound. Curse this iron on my sore leg ! Give us hold of the file, boy." I indicated in what direction the mist had shrouded the other man, and he looked up at it for an instant. But he was down on the rank wet grass, filing at his iron like a madman, and not minding me or minding his own leg, which had an old chafe upon it and was bloody, but which he handled as roughly as if it had no more feeling in it than the file. I was very much afraid of him again, now that he had worked himself into this fierce hurry, and I was likewise very much afraid of keeping away from home any longer. I told him I must go, but he took no notice, so I thought the best thing I could do was to slip off. The last I saw of him, his head was bent over his knee and he was working hard at his fetter, muttering impatient imprecations at it and his leg. The last I heard of him, I stopped in the mist to listen, and the file was stUl going. Pip is older now, and Miss Haversham, a rich and very eccentric lady, has him to her house occasionally, to help her in walking up and down her rooms, and to wheel her about them iu a garden chair. With Miss Haver- sham there lives a beautiful young girl named Estella, who scorns Pip and calls him " a common labouring boy," but it is Miss Haversham's whim to set them to play at cards together, and when the game is finished Pip is taken down-stairs, given food, and allowed to wander through the deserted garden ; 454 GREAT EXPECTATIONS he is doing this one day when he looks in at what he supposes is a disused window, and to his surprise finds himself " exchanging a broad stare with a pale yovmg gentleman with red eyelids and light hair." Ill , THE PALE YOUNG GENTLEMAN This pale young gentleman quickly disappeared, and re- appeared beside me. He liad been at his books when I had found myself staring at him, and I now saw that he was inky. " Halloa ! " said he, " young fellow ! " Halloa being a general observation which I had usually observed to be best answered by itself, / said " Halloa ! " politely omitting young fellow. " Who let you in ? " said he. " Miss Estella." " Who gave you leave to prowl abou^? " " Miss Estella." " Come and fight," said the pale young gentleman. What could I do but follow him? I have often asked myself the question since: but, what else could I do? His manner was so final and I was so astonished, that I followed where he led, as if I had been under a spell. " Stop a minute; though," he said, wheeling round before he had gone many paces. " I ought to give you a reason for fighting, too. There it is ! " In a most irritating manner he instantly slapped his hands against one toother, daintily flung one of his legs up behind him, pulled my hair, slapped his hands again, dipped his head, and butted it into my stomach. The bull-like proceeding last mentioned, besides that it was unquestionably to be regarded in the light of liberty, was par- ticularly disagreeable just after bread and meat. I therefore hit out at him, and was going to hit out again, when he said, "Aha! Would you?" and began dancing backwards and forwards in a manner quite unparalleled within my limited experience. " Laws of the game ! " said he. Here, he skipped from his left leg on to his right. " Eegular rules ! " Here, he skipped from his right leg on to his left. " Come to the ground, and go through the preliminaries ! " Here, he dodged backwards and forwards, and did all sorts of things while I looked helplessly at him. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 455 I was secretly afraid of him when I saw him so dexterous ; but, I felt morally and physically convinced that his light head of hair could have had no business in the pit of my stomach, and that I had a right to consider it irrelevant when so obtruded on my attention. ' ' Therefore, I followed him without a word to a retired nook of the garden, formed by the junction of two walls- and screened by some rubbish. On his asking me if I was satisfied with the ground, and on my replying Yes, he begged my leave to absent himself for a moment, and quickly returned with a bottle of water and a sponge dipped in vinegar. " Available for both," he said, placing these against the wall. And then fell to pulling off, not only his jacket and waistcoat, but his shirt too, in a manner at once light-hearted, business- like, and bloodthirsty. Although he did not look very healthy — having pimples on his face, and a breaking out on his mouth — these dreadful preparations CLiiite appalled me. I judged him to be about my own age, but he was much tdller, and he had a way of spinning himself about that was full of appearance. For the rest, he was a young gentleman in a grey suit (when not denuded for battle), with his elbows, knees, wrists, and heels considerably in advance of the rest of him as to development. My heart failed me when I saw him squaring at me with every demonstration of mechanical nicety, and eyeing my anatomy as if he were minutely choosiag his bone. I never have been so surprised in my life, as I was when I let out the first blow, and saw him lying on his back, looking up at me with a bloody nose and his face exceedingly fore-shortened. But, he was on his feet directly, and after sponging himself with a great show of dexterity began squaring again. The second greatest surprise I have ever had in my life was seeing him on his back again, looking up at me out of a black eye. His spirit inspired me with great respect. He seemed to have no strength, and he never once hit me hard, and he was always knocked down ; but, he would be up again in a moment, sponging himself or drinking out of the water-bottle, with the greatest satisfaction iu seconding himself accordiag to form, and then came at me with an air and a show that made me believe he really was going to do for me at last. He got heavily bruised, for I am sorry to record that the more I hit him, the harder I hit him ; but, he came up again and again and again, until at last he got a bad fall with the back of his head against the wall. Even after that crisis in our affairs, he got up and 456 GREAT EXPECTATIONS turned round and round confusedly a few times, not knowing where I was ; but finally went on his knees to his sponge and threw it up ; at the same time panting out, " That means you have won." He seemed so brave and innocent, that although I had not proposed the contest, I felt but a gloomy satisfaction in my victory. Indeed, I go so far as to hope that I regarded myself while dressing, as a species of savage young wolf, or other wild beast. However, I got dressed, darkly wiping my sanguinary face at intervals, and I said, " Can I help you ? " and he said, "No, thankee," and I said, "Good afternoon," and he said, " Same to you." When I got into the court-yard, I found EsteUa waiting with the keys. But, she neither asked me where I had been, nor why I had kept her waiting ; and there was a bright flush upon her face, as though something had happened to delight her. Instead of going straight to the gate, too, she stepped back into the passage, and beckoned me. " Come here ! You may kiss me if you like." I kissed her cheek as she turned it to me. I think I would have gone through a great deal to kiss her cheek. But, I felt that the kiss was given to the coarse common boy as a piece of money might have been, and that it was worth nothing. Pip is disBatisfied with his life, chiefly on Estella's account, for she has filled bis mind with ambitious desires. He feels acutely that he is " common " — a mere apprentice to a blacksmith — with no hope of ever rising in the world, or of associating on equal terms with the girl who treats him 80 disdainfully. But a change is about to take place in his prospects, for there arrives from London a lawyer, Mr. Jaggers, who informs the blacksmith and his appren- tice that Pip is to come into a handsome property and is to be removed at once from the village, and brought up as a young gentleman of great expecta- tions. The conditions attached to his acceptance of this good fortune, and of a sum of money already in the lawyer's hands for his suitable maintenance, are simply that he- is always to be called Pip, and that he is never to inquire the name of his benefactor, which will be disclosed at the proper time. Naturally enough Pip supposes that he owes his happiness to Miss Havers- ham, the only rich friend he has, and he accepts the conditions. Mr. Jaggers GREAT EXPECTATIONS 457 recommends bim to get some new clothes, and to come to town at the end of a week ; in pursuance of these directions Pip pays a visit to Mr. Trabb the tailor. IV MR. TRABB THE TAILOR "Well!" said Mr. Trabb, in a hail-fellow-well-met kind of way. " How are you, and what can I do for you ? " Mr. Trabb had sliced his hot roll into three feather beds, and was slipping butter in between the blankets, and covering it up. He was a prosperous old bachelor, and his open window looked (into a prosperous little garden and orchard, and there was a prosperous iron safe let into the wall at the side of his fireplace, and I did not doubt that heaps of his prosperity were put away in it in bags. " Mr. Trabb," said I, " it's an unpleasant thing to have to mention, because it looks like boasting ; but I have come into a handsome property." A change passed over Mr. Trabb. He forgot the butter in bed, got up from the bedside, and wiped his fingers on the table- cloth, exclaiming, " Lord bless my soul ! " " I am going up to my guardian in London," said I, casually drawing some guineas out of my pocket and looking at them ; " and I want a fashionable suit of clothes to go in. I wish to pay for them," I added — otherwise I thought he might only pretend to make them — " with ready money." " My dear sir," said Mj:. Trabb, as he respectfully bent his body, opened his arms, and took the liberty of touching me on the outside of each elbow, " don't hurt me by mentioning that. May I venture to congratulate you? Would you do me the favour of stepping into the shop ? " Mr. Trabb's boy was the most audacious boy in all that countryside. When I had entered he was sweeping the shop, and he had sweetened his labours by sweeping over me. He was still sweeping when I came out into the shop with Mr. Trabb, and he knocked the broom against all possible corners and obstacles, to express (as I understood it) eq^uality with any blacksmith, alive or dead. " Hold that noise," said Mr. Trabb, with the greatest stern- ness, " or I'll knock your head off ! Do me the favour to be 458 GREAT EXPECTATIONS seated, sir. Now, this," said Mr. Trabb, taking down a roll of cloth, and tiding it out in a flowing manner over the counter, preparatory to getting his hand under it to show the gloss, " is a very sweet article. I can recommend it for your p\irpose, sir, because it really is extra super. But you shall see some others. Give me Number Four, you ! " (To the boy, and with a dread- fully severe stare; foreseeing the danger of that miscreant's brushing me with it, or making some other sign of familiarity.) Mr. Trabb never removed his stern eye from the boy until he had deposited number four on the counter and was at a safe distance again. Then, he commanded him to bring number five, and number eight. " And let me have none of your tricks here," said Mr. Trabb, " or you shall repent it, you young scoundrel, the longest day you have to live." Mr. Trabb then bent over number four, and in a sort of deferential confidence recommended it to me as a light airticle for summer wear, an article much in vogue among the nobility and gentry, an article that it would ever be an honour to him to reflect upon a distinguished fellow-townsman's (if he might claim me for a fellow-townsman) having worn. "Are you bringing numbers five and eight, you vagabond," said Mr. Trabb to the boy after that, "or shall I kick you out of the shop and bring them myself ?" I selected the materials for a suit, with the assistance of Mr. Trabb's judgment, and re-entered the parlour to be measured. For, although Mr. Trabb had my measure already, and had pre- viously been quite contented with it, he said aipologefcically that it " wouldn't do under existing circumstances, sir — wouldn't do at all." So, Mr. Trabb measured and calculated me in the parlour, as if I were an estate and he the finest species of surveyor, and gave himself such a world of trouble that I felt thai no suit of clothes could possibly remunerate him for his pains. When he had at last done and had appointed to send the articles to Mr. Pumblechook's * on the Thursday evening, he said, with his hand upon the parlour lock, "I know, sir, that London gentlemen cannot be expected to patronise local work, as a rule ; but if you would give me a turn now and then in the quality of a townsman, I should greatly esteem it. Good- morning, sir, much obliged; — Door ! " The last word was flung at the boy, who had not the least notion what it meant. But I saw him collapse as his master rubbed me out with his hands, and my first decided experience * Ml'. Pumblechook is Joe Gargery's uncle. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 459 of the stupendous power of money, was, that it had morally laid upon his back, Trabb's boy. Later on in the book Pip finds liimself in the old town once more, and meets again with Trabb's boy, who conducts himself in the following singular manner. TRABB S BOY It was interesting to be in the quiet old town once more, and it was not disagreeable to be here tod there suddenly recognised and stared after. One or two of the tradespeople even darted out of their shops, and went a little way down the street before me, that they might turn, as if they had forgotten something, and pass me face to face^on which occasions I don't know whether they or I made the worse pretence ; they of not doing it, or I of not seeing it. Still my position was a dis- tinguished one, and I Was not at all dissatisfied with it, until Fate threw me in the way of that unlimited miscreant, Trabb's boy. ' /» Casting my eyes along the Street at a certain point of my progress, I ' beheld Trabb's boy approatehing,' lashrag himself with an empty blue bag. Deeming that a serene ahd unconscious contemplation of him would best beseem me, and would be most likely to quell his evil mind, I advanced with that expression of countenance, and was rather congratulating myself on my success, when suddenly the knees of Trabb's boy smote together, his hair uprose, his cap fell off, he trem!bled violently in every limb, staggered out into the road, and crying to the populace, " Hold me ! I'm so frightened! " feigned to be in a paroxysm of terror and contrition, occasioned by the dignity of my appearance. As I passed him, his teeth loudly chattered in his head, and with every mark of extreme humiliation, he prostrated himself in the dust. This was a hard thing to bear, but this was nothing. I had not advanced another two hundred yards, when, to my inex- pressible terror, amazement, and indignation, I again beheld Trabb's boy approaching. He was coming round a narrow 46o GREAT EXPECTATIONS corner. His blue bag was slung over his shoulder, honest industry beamed in his eyes, a determination to proceed to Trabb's with cheerful briskness was indicated in his gait. With a shock he became aware of me, and was severely visited as before ; but this time his motion was rotatory, and he staggered round and round me with knees more afflicted, and with up- lifted hands as if beseeching for mercy. His sufferings were hailed with the greatest joy by a knot of spectators, and I felt utterly confounded. I had not got as much further down the street as the post- office, when I again beheld Trabb's boy shooting round by a back way. This time, he was entirely changed. He wore the blue bag in the manner of my great-coat, and was strutting along the pavement towards me on the opposite side of the street, attended by a company of delighted young friends to whom he from time to time exclaimed, with a wave of his hand, " Don't know yah ! " Words cannot state the amount of aggravation and injury wreaked upon me by Trabb's boy, when, passing abreast of me, he pulled up his shirt-collar, twu^ied his side-hair, stuck an arm akimbo, and smirked extravagantly by, vrriggling his elbows and body, and drawling to his attendants, " Don't know yah, don't know yah, pon my soul don't know yah ! " The disgrace attendant on his immediately afterwards taking to crowing and pursuing me across the bridge with crows, as from an exceedingly dejected fowl who had known me when I was a blacksmith, culminated the disgrace with which I left the town, and was, so to speak, ejected by it into the open country. But unless I had taken the life of Trabb's boy on that occasion, I really do not even now see what I could have done save endure. To have struggled vnth him in the street, or to have exacted any lower recompense from him than his heart's best blood, would have been futile and degrading. Moreover, he was a boy whom no man could hurt ; an invulnerable and dodging serpent who, when chased into a corner, flew out again between his captor's legs, scornfully yelping. I wrote, however, to Mr. Trabb by next day's post, to say that Mr. Pip must decline to deal further with one who could so far forget what he owed to the best interests of society, as to employ a boy who excited Loathing in every respectable mind. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 461 Mr. Jaggers the lawyer has his ofBoe in Little Britain near Smithfield, and Mr. Wemmick is his head clerk. Mr. Wemmick has a slit of a mouth like the opening in a post-office and is as hard and dry a man of husiness as it is possible to find, but Mr. Wemmick is a very different and far less agree- able a person in Little Britain than he is in his own home, where he lives with his old father. He invites Pip to visit him, and they walk together to bis house at Walworth. VI MR, WEMMICk's castle It appeared to be a collection of black lanes, ditches, and little gardens, and to present the aspect of a rather dull retire- ment. Wemmick's house was a little wooden cottage in the midst of plots of garden, and the top of it was cut out and painted like a battery mounted with guns. " My own doing," said Wemmick. " Looks pretty ; don't it ? " I highly commended it. I think it was the smallest house I ever saw; with the queerest gothic windows (by far the greater part of them sham), and a gothic door, almost too small to get in at. " That's a real flagstaff, you see," said Wemmick, " and on Sundays I run up a real flag. . Then look here. After I have crossed this bridge, I hoist it up — so — and cut off the communi- cation." The bridge was a plank, and it crossed a chasm about four feet wide, and two deep. But it was very pleasant to see the pride with which he hoisted it up, and made it fast ; smiling as he did so, with a relish, and not merely mechanically. "At nine o'clock every night, Greenwich time," said Wemmick, " the gun fires. There he is, you see ! And when you hear him go, I thiak you'll say he's a Stinger." The piece of ordnance referred to, was mounted in a separate fortress, constructed of lattice-work. It was protected from the weather by an ingenious little tarpaulin contrivance in the nature of an umbrella. " Then, at the back," said Wemmick, " out of sight, so as not to impede the idea of fortifications — for it's a principle with me, if you have an idea, carry it out and ^eep it up — J dpn't kjip-vy whether that's your opinion— — 7 '■ 462 GREAT EXPECTATIONS I said, decidedly. " — At the back, there's a pig, and there are fowls and rabbits ; then I knock together my own little frame, you see, and grow cucumbers ; and you'll judge at supper what sort of a salad I can raise. So, sir," said Wemmick, smiling again, but seriously, too, as he shook his head, "if you can suppose the little place besieged, it would hold out a devil of a time in point of provisions." Then, he conducted me to a bower about a dozen yards off, but which was approached by such ingenious twists of path that it took quite a long time to get at; and in this retreat our glasses were already set forth. Our punch was cooling in an ornamental lake, on whose margin the bower was, raised. This piece of water (with an island in the middle which might have been the salad for supper) was of a circular form, and he had constructed a fountain in it, which, when you set a little mill going and took a bork out of a pipe, played, to that powerful extent that it made the back of youar hand quite wet; " I am my own engiueer, and my own carpenter, and my own plumber, and my own gardener, and my own Jack of all Trades," said Wemmick, in acknowledging my compliments. " Well, it's a good thing, you know. It brushes the Newgate cobwebs away, and pleases the Aged. Tou wouldn't mind being at once introduced to the Aged, would you ? It wouldn't put you out ? " I expressed the readiness I felt, and we went into the castle. There, we found, sitting by a fire, a very old man in a flannel coat : clean, cheerful, comfortable, and well cared for, but intensely deaf. " Well, aged parent," said Wemmick, shaking hands with him in. a cordial and jocose way, " how am you ? " " AU right, John ; all right ! " replied the old man. " Here's Mr. Pip, aged parent," said Weimmick, " and I wish you could hear his name. Nod away at him, Mr. Pip ; that's what he likes. Nod away at him, if you please, like winking ! " " This is a fine place of my son's, sir," cried the old man, while I nodded as hard as I possibly could. " This is a pretty pleasure-ground, sir. This spot and these beautiful works upon it ought to be kept together by the Nation, after my son's time, for the people's enjoyment." " You're as proud of it as Punch ; ain't you, Aged ? " said Wemmick, contemplating the old man, with his hard face really GREAT EXPECTATIONS 463 softened ; " the/re's a, nod for you ; " giving him a tl-emendous one ; " there's another for you," giving him a still more tremendous one; "you like that, don't. you 1 If you're not tired, Mr. Pip — though I know it's tiring to strangers — will you tip him one more? You can't think how it pleases him." I tipped him several more, and he was in great spirits. We left him bestirring himself to feed the fowls, and we sat down to our punch in the arbour; where Wemmiok told me as he smoked a pipe^ that it had taken him a good many years to bring the property up to its present pitch of perfection. " Is it your own, Mr. Wemmiok ? " ; " yes," said Wemmick, " I have got hold of it, a bit at a time. It's a freehold, by George ! " " Is it, indeed ? I hope Mr. Jaggers admires it ? " "Never seen it," said Wemmiok. "Never heard of it. Never seen the Aged. Never heard of him. No ; the office is one thing, and private Life is another. When I go into the office, I leave the Castle behind me, and whien I come into the Castle, I leave the office behind me. If it's not in aily way disagreeable to you, you'll oblige me by doing the same. I don't wish it professionally spoken about." 1 Of course I felt my good faith involved in the: observance of his req[uest. The punch being very nice, we sat there drinking it and talking, until it was almost nine o'clock. " Gettiag near gun-fire," said Wemmick then, as he laid down iiispipe; "it's the Aged's treat." Proceeding into the Castle again we found the Aged heating the poker, with expectant eyes, as a preliminary to the per- formance of this great nightly ceremony. Wemmiok. stood with his watch in his hand until the moment was come for him to itake the red-hot poker from the Aged, and repair to the battery. He took it, and went out, and presently the Stinger went off with a bapg that shook the crazy little box of, a cottage as if it must fall to pieces, and made every glass and teacup in it ring. Upon this the Aged — who I believe would have been blown out of his arm-chair but for holding on by the elbows — cried out exultingly, " He's fired ! I heerd him ! " and I nodded at the old gentleman until it is no figure of speech to declare that I absolutely could not see him. The interval between that time and supper, Wei^omick devoted to showing me his collection of curiosities. They were mostly of a felonious character ; comprising the pen with which 464 GREAT EXPECTATIONS a celebrated forgery had been committed, a distinguished razor or two, some locks of hair, and several manuscript confessions written under condemnation — upon which Mr. Wemmick set particular value as being, to use his own words, " every one of 'em Lies, sir." These were agreeably dispersed among small specimens of china and glass, various neat trifles made by the proprietor of the museum, and some tobacco-stoppers carved by the Aged. They were all displayed in that chamber of the Castle into which I had been first inducted, and which served, not only as the general sitting-room, but as the kitchen too, if I might judge from a saucepan on the hob, and a brazen bijou over the fireplace designed for the suspension of a roasting- jack. ' There was a neat little girl in attendance, who looked after the Aged in the day. When she had laid the supper-cloth, the bridge was 'lowered to give her the means of egress, and she withdrew for the night. The supper was excellent ; and though the Castle was rather subject to dry-rot, insomuch that it tasted like a bad nut, and though the pig might have been farther off, I was heartily pleased with my whole entertainment. Nor was there any drawback on my little turret bedroom, beyond there being such a very thin ceUing between me and the flagstaff, that when I lay down on my back in bed, it seemed as if I had to balance that pole on my forehead all night. Wemmick was up early in the morning, and I am afraid I heard him cleaning my boots. After that, he fell to gardening, and I saw him from my gothic window pretending to employ the Aged, and nodding at him in a most devoted manner. Our breakfast was as good as the supper, and at half-past eight precisely we started for Little Britain. By degrees, Wemmick got dryer and harder as we went along, and his mouth tightened into a post-of&ce again. At last, when we got to his place of business and he pulled out his key from his coat-collar, he looked as unconscious of his Walworth property as if the Castle and the drawbridge and the arbour and the lake and the fountain and the Aged, had all been blown into space together by the last discharge of the Stinger. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 465 Pip is anxious to help his friend Herbert Pocket (the pale young gentle- man), and thinks that Wemmick may put him in the way of doing so ; but as he knows it would be unwise to broach such a subject in Little Britain, he goes to the Castle, where the sympathetic side of Mr. Wemmick's character is more easily approached. VII MISS SKIFFINS Deeming Sunday the best day for taking Mr. Wemmick's Walworth sentiments, I devoted the next ensuing Sunday after- noon to a pilgrimage to the Castle. On arriving before the battlements, I found the Union Jack flying and the drawbridge up, but undeterred by this show of defiance and resistance, I rang at the gate, and was admitted in a most pacific manner by the Aged. , " My son, sir," said the old man, after securing the draw-' bridge, "rather had it in his mind that you might happen to drop in, and he left word that he would soon be home from his afternoon's walk. He is very regular in his walks, is my son. Very regular in everything, is my son." I nodded at the old gentleman as Wemmick himself might have nodded, and we went in and sat down by the fireside. "You made acquaintance with my son, sir," said the old man, in his chirping way, while he warmed his hands at the blaze, " at his office, I expect ? " I nodded. " Hah ! I have heerd that my son is a wonderful hand at his business, sir ? " I nodded hard. " Yes ; so they tell me. His business is the Law ? " I nodded harder. " Which makes it more surprising in my son," said the old man, " for he was not brought up to the Law, but to the Wine-Coopering." Curious to know how the old gentleman stood informed concerning the reputation of Mr. Jaggers, I roared that name at him. He threw me into the greatest confusion by laughing heartily and replying in a very sprightly manner, " No, to be sure ; you're right." And to this hour I have not the faintest notion of what he meant, or what joke he thought I had made. As I could not sit there nodding at him perpetually, without making some other attempt to interest him, I shouted an inquiry whether his own calling in life had been "the Wine-Cooperiiig." By dint of straining that term out of myself several times and 2 H 466 GREAT EXPECTATIONS tapping the old gentleman on the chest to associate it with him, I at last succeeded in making my mieaning understood. " No," said the old gentleraan ; " the warehousing, the ware- housing. First, over yonder;" he appeared to mean up the chimney, but I believe he intended to refer me to Liverpool; " and then in the City of London here. However, having an infirmity — for I am hard of hearing, sir — — " I expressed in pantomime the greatest astonishment. " — Yes, hard of hearing ; having that infirmity coming upon me, my son he went into the Law, and he took charge of me, and he by little and little made out this elegant and beautiful property. But returning to what you said, you know," pursued the old man, again laughing heartily, " what I say is. No, to be sure; you're right." I was modestly wondering whether my utmost ingenuity would have enabled me to say anything that would have amused him half as much as this imaginary pleasantry, when I was startled by a sudden click in the wall on one side of the chimney, and the ghostly tumbling open of a little wooden flap with "John" upon it. The old man, following my eyes, cried with great triumph, " My son's come home ! " and we both went out to the drawbridge. It was worth any money to see Wemmick waving a salute to me from the other side of the moat, when we might have shaken hands across it with the greatest ease. The Aged was so delighted to work the drawbridge, that I made no offer to assist him, but stood quiet until Wemmick had come across, and had presented me to Miss SkifBins : a lady by whom he was accompanied. Miss Skiffins was of a wooden appearance, and was, like her escort, in the post-office branch of the service. She might have been some two or three years younger than Wemmick, and I judged her to stand possessed of portable property. The cut of her dress from the waist upward, both before and, behind, made her figure very like a boy's kite ; and I might have pronounced her gown a little too decidedly orange, and her gloves a little too intensely green. But she seemed to be a good sort of fellow, and showed a high regard for the Aged. I was not long in discovering that she was a frequent visitor at the Castle ; for, on our going in, and my complimenting Wemmick on his ingenious contrivance for announcing himself to the Aged, he begged me to give my attention for a moment to the other side of the chimney, and disappeared. Presently another click came, GREAT EXPECTATIONS 467 and another little door tmnbled open with "Miss Skiffins" on it ; then Miss Skiffins shut up and John tumbled open ; then Miss Skiffins and John both tumbled open together, and finally shut up together. On Wemmick's return from working these mechanical appliances, I expressed the ■ great admiration with which I regarded them, and he said, "Well, you know, they're both pleasant and useful to the Aged. And by George, sir, it's a thing worth, mentioning, that of all the people who come to this gate, the secret of those pulls is only known to the Aged, Miss Skiffins, and me ! " ' "And Mr. "Wemmick made them," added Miss Skiffins, " with his own hands out of his own head." While Miss Skiffins was taking off her bonnet (she retained her green gloves during the evening as an outward and visible sign that thelre w;as company), Wemmick irivited. me to take a walk with him round the property, and see how the island looked in winter- time. Thinking^ that he did this to give me an opportunity of taking his Walworth sentiments,,! seized the opportunity as soon as we were out of the Castle. Having thought of the matter with care, I approached my subject as if I had never hinted at it before. I iaformed Wemmick that J was anxious in behalf of Herbert Pocket, and I told him how we had first met, and how we had fought. I glanced at Herbert's home, and at Ms character, and at his having no means but such as he was dependent on his father for : those, uncertain and unpunctual. I alluded to the advantages I had derived in my first rawness and ignorance from his society, and I. confessed tbatl feared I had but ill repaid them, and that he might have done better without me and my expectations. Keeping Miss Havisham in the back- ground at a great distance,.! still hinted at the possibility of my having competed with him in his prospects, and at the certainty of his possessing a generous soul, and being far above any inean distrusts, retaliations, or designs. For all these reasons (I told Wemmick), and because he was my young companion and friend, and I had a great affection for him, I wished my own good fortune to reflect some rays upon him, and therefore ! sought advice from Wemmick's experience and knowledge of men .and affairs, how I could best try with my resources to help Herbert to some present income — say of a hundred a year, to keep him in good hope and heart — and gradually to buy him on to some small partnership. ! begged Wemmick, in conclusion, to understand- that my help must 468 GREAT EXPECTATIONS always be rendered without Herbert's knowledge or suspicion, and that there was no one else in the world with whom I could advise. I wound up by laying my hand upon his shoulder, and saying " I can't help confiding in you ; though I know it must be troublesome to you ; but that is your fault ; in having ever brought me here." Wemmick was silent for a little while, and then said with a kind of start, " Well, you know, Mr. Pip, I must tell you one thing. This is devilish good of you." " Say you'll help me to be good then," said I. " Ecod," replied Wemmick, shaking his head, " that's not my trade." " Nor is this your trading-place," said I. "You are right," he returned. "You hit the nail on the head. Mr. Pip, I'll put on my considering cap, and I think all you want to do may be done by degrees. Skiffins (that's her brother) is an accountant and agent. I'll look him up and go to work for you." " I thank you ten thousand times." " On the contrary," said he, " I thank you, for though we are strictly in our private and personal capacity, still it may be mentioned that there are Newgate cobwebs about, and it brushes them away." After a little further conversation to the same effect, we returned into the Castle, where we found Miss Skiffins preparing tea. The responsible duty of making the toast was delegated to the Aged, and that excellent old gentleman was so intent upon it that he seemed to be in some danger of melting his eyes. It was no nominal meal that we were going to make, but a vigorous reality. The Aged prepared such a haystack of buttered toast, that I could scarcely see him over it as it simmered on an iron stand hooked on to the top-bar; while Miss Skiffins brewed such a jorum of tea, that the pig in the back premises became strongly excited, and repeatedly expressed his desire to participate in the entertainment. The flag had been struck, and the gun had been fired, at the right moment of time, and I felt as snugly cut off from the rest of Walworth as if the moat were thirty feet wide by as many deep. Nothing disturbed the tranquillity of the Castle, but the occasional tumbling open of John and Miss Skiffins: which little doors were a prey to some spasmodic infirmity that made me sympathetically uncomfortable until I got used to it. I inferred from the methodical nature of Miss Skiffins's GREAT EXPECTATIONS 469 arrangements that she made tea there every Sunday night ; and I rather suspected that a classic brooch she wore, representing the profile of an undesirable female with a very straight nose and a very new moon, was a piece of portable property that had been given her by Wemmick. We ate the whole of the toast, and drank tea in proportion, and it was delightful to see how warm and greasy we all got after it. The Aged especially, might have passed for some clean old chief of a savage tribe, just oiled. After a short pause of repose. Miss SkifBns — in the absence of the little servant, who, it seemed, retired to the bosom of her family on Sunday after- noons — ^washed up the tea-things, in a trifling lady-like amateur manner that compromised none of us. Then, she put on her gloves again, and we drew round the fire, and Wemmick said, " Now, Aged Parent, tip ua the paper." Wemmick explained to me whUe the Aged got his spectacles out, that this was according to custom, and that it gave the old gentleman infinite satisfaction to read the news aloud. " I won't offer an apology," said Wemmick, "for he isn't capable of many pleasures — are you. Aged P. ? " "All right, John, all right," returned the old man, seeing himself spoken to. " Only tip him a nod every now and then when he looks off his paper," said Wemmick, " and he'll be as happy as a king. We are all attention. Aged One." " All right, John, all right ! " returned the cheerful old man : so busy and so pleased, that it really was quite charming. The Aged's reading reminded me of the classes at Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt's, with the pleasanter peculiarity that it seemed to come through a keyhole. As he wanted the candles close ^to him, and as he was always on the verge of putting either his head or the newspaper into them, he required as much watching as a powder-mill. But Wemmick was equally un- tiring and gentle in his vigUance, and the Aged read on, quite unconscious of his many rescues. Whenever he looked at us, we all expressed the greatest interest and amazement, and nodded until he resumed again. As Wemmick and Miss Skififins sat side by side, and as I sat in a shadowy corner, I observed a slow and gradual elongation of Mr. Wemmick's mouth, powerfully suggestive of his slowly and gradually stealing his arm round Miss Skiffin's waist. In course of time I saw his hand appear on the other side of Miss Skiffins ; but at that moment Miss Skiffins neatly stopped him 470 GREAT EXPECTATIONS with the gree^ glove, unwound his arm again as if it were an article of dress, and with the greatest deliberation laid it on the table before her. Miss Skif&ns's composure while she did this was one of the most remarkable sights I have ever seen, and if I could have thought the act consistent with abstraction of mind, I should have deemed that Miss Skiffins performed it mechanically. By-and-by, I noticed Wemmick's arm beginning to disappear again, and gradually fading out of view. Shortly afterwards, his mouth began to widen again. After an interval of suspense on my part that was quite enthralling and alinost painful, I saw his hand appear on the other side of Miss Skiffins. In- stantly, Miss Skiffins stoppeid it with the neatness of a placid boxer, took off that girdle or cestus as before, and laid it on the table. Taking the table to represent the path of virtue, I am justified in stating that during the whole time of the Aged's reading, Wemmick's arm was straying from the path of virtue and being recalled to it by Miss Skiffins. At last the Aged read himself into a' light slumber. This was the time for Wemmick to produce a little kettle, a tray of glasses, and a black bottle with a porcelain-topped cork, repre- senting some clerical dignity of a rubicund and social aspect. With the aid of these appliances we all had something warm to drink : including the Aged, who was soon awake again. Miss Skiffins mixed, and I observed that she and Wemmick drank out of one glass. Of course I knew better than to offer to see Miss Skiffins home, and under the circumstances I thought I had best go first : which I did, taking a cordial leave of the Aged, and ha,ving passed a pleasant evening. Before a week was out, I received a note from Wemmick, dated Walworth, stating that he hoped he had inade some advance in that matter appertaining to our private and personal capacities, and that he would be glad if I could come and see him again upon it. So, I went out to Walworth agaia, and yet again, and yet again, and I saw him by appointment in ,the City several times, but never held any communication with him on the subject ia or near Little Britain. The upshot was, that we found a worthy young merchant or shipping-broker, not long established in business, who wanted intelligent help, and who wanted capital, and who in due course of time and receipt would want a partner. Between him and me, secret articles were signed of which Herbert was the subject, and I paid him half of my five hundred pounds down, and engaged for sundry GREAT EXPECTATIONS 471 other payments : some, to fall due at certain dates out of my income : some contingent on my coming into my property. Miss Skiffins's brother conducted the |negotiation. Wemmick pervaded it throughout, but never appeared in it. The whole business was so cleverly managed, that Herbert had not t»he least suspicion of my hand being in it. I never shall forget the radiant face with which he came home one afternoon, and told me as a mighty piece of news, of his having fallen in with one Clarriker (the young merchant's name), and of Clarriker's having shown an extraordinary inclination towards him, and of his belief that the opening had come at last. Day by day as his hopes grew stronger and his face brighter, he must have thought me a more and more affectionate friend, for I had the greatest difficulty in restraining my tears of triumph when I saw him so happy. At lepgth, the thing teing done, and he having that day entered Clarriker's House, and he having talked to me for a whole evening in a flush of pleasure and success, I did, really cry in good earnest when I went to bed, to think that my expectations had done some good to somebody. BOOK XV OUR MUTUAL FRIEND Ov,r Mutual Friend was issued in monthly parts from May, 1864, until November, 1865, when it was published in two volumes by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, with illustrations by Mr. Marcus Stone. The book was inscribed to .Sir James Emerson Tennent, The story is concerned with the adventures of John Harmon, who, under the terms of his father's eccentric will, must marry Miss Bella Wilfer, a young girl he has never seen, or the property will pass to the testator's old servant Boffin, who would be sole residuary legatee, were John dead, or were he not to fulfil the condition imposed by his father. On his way home from the Cape, where he had lived since he was a boy, John is erroneously supposed to have been drowned ; he takes advantage of the rumour of his own death to become acquainted with the disposition of the girl his father has desired him to marry, and for this good purpose assumes the name :of John Eokesmith, having first called himself Julius Handford. He arranges to lodge at the house of Bella's parents, in the hope of ingratiating himself in her favour before she becomes aware that as John Harmon he is entitled to a large fortune. The first we see of Bella is in her father's home at Holloway, soon after the announcement of John's death. THE R. WILFER FAMILY Eeginald Wilfek Is a name with rather a grand sound, sug- gesting on first acquaintance brasses in country churches, scrolls in stained-glass windows, and generally the De Wilfers who came over with the Conqueror. For, it is a remarkable fact in genealogy that no De Any ones ever came over with Anybody else. But, the Eeginald Wilfer family were of such common-place extraction and pursuits that their, forefathers had for generations modestly subsisted on the Docks, the Excise Office, and the Custom House, and the existing E. Wilfer was a poor clerk. 472 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 473 So poor a, clerk, through having a limited salary and an unlimited family, that he had never yet attained the modest object of his ambition : which was, to wear a complete new suit of clothes, hats and boots included, at one tirtle. His black hat was brown before he could afford a coat, his pantaloons were white at the seams and knees before he could buy a pair of boots, his boots had worn but before he could treat himself to new pantaloons, and by the time he worked round to the hat again, that shining modern article roofed-in an ancient ruin of various periods. If the conventional Cherub could ever grow up and be clothed, he might be photographed as a portrait of Wilfer. His chubby, smooth, innocent appearance was a reason for his being always treated with condescension when he was not put down. A stranger entering his own poor house at about ten o'clock p.m. might have been surprised to find him sitting up to supper. So boyish was he in his curves and proportions, that his old schoolmaster meeting him in Cheapside, might have been unable to withstand the temptation of caning him on the spot. In short, he was the conventional cherub, after the supposititious' shoot just mentioned, rather grey, with signs of care on his expression, and in decidedly insolvent circumstances. He was shy, and unwilling to own to the name of Reginald, as being too aspiring and self-assertive a name. In his signature he used only the initial E., and imparted what it really stood for, to none but chosen friends, under the seal of confidence. Out of this, the facetious habit had arisen in the neighbourhood surrounding Mincing Lane of making Christian names for him of adjectives and participles beginning with E. Some of these •were more or less appropriate: as Eusty, Eetiring, Euddy, Eound, Eipe, Eidiculous, Euminative; others derived their point from their want of application: as Eaging, Eattling, Eoaring, Eaffish. But, his popular name was Eumty, which in a moment of inspiration had been bestowed upon him by a gentleman of convivial habits connected with the drug market, as the beginning of a social chorus, his leading part in the execution of which had led this gentleman to the Temple of Tame, and of which the whole expressive burden ran : " Eumty iddity, row dow dow, Sing toodlely, teedlely, bow wow wow." Thus he was constantly addressed, even in minor notes on busi- ness, as "Dear Eumty;" in answer to which, he sedately signed himself, " Yours truly, E. Wilfer." . . . 474 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND E, Wilfer locked up his desk one evening, and putting his bunch of keys in his pocket much as if it were his peg-top, made for home. His home was in the HoUoway region north of London, and then divided from it by, fields, and trees* Between Battle Bridge and that part of the Holloway district in which he dwelt, was a tract of suburban Sahara, where tiles and bricks were burnt, bones were boiled, carpets were beat, rubbish was shot, dogs were fought, and dust was heaped by contractors. Skirting the border of this desert, by the way he took, when the light of its kiln-fires made lurid smears on the fog, E. Wilfer sighed and shobk his head. "Ah me!" said he, "what might have been is not what is ! " With which commentary on human life, indicating an ex- perience of it not exclusively his own, he made the best of his way to the end of his journey. ' Mrs. Wilfer was, of course, a tall woman and an angular. Her lord being cherubic, she was necessarily majestic, according to the principle which matrimonially unites contrasts. She was much given to tying up her head in a pocket-handkerchief, knotted imder the chin. This head-gear, in conjimction with a pair of gloves worn within doors, she seemed to consider as at once a kind of armour against misfortune (invariably assuming it when in low spirits or difficulties), and as a species of full dress. It was therefore with some sinking of the spirit that her husband beheld her thus heroically attired, putting down her candle in the little hall, and coming down the doorsteps through the little front court to open the gate for him. Something had gone wrong with the houserdoor, for E» Wilfer stopped on the steps, staring at it, and cried : "Hal— loa!.?" " Yes," said Mrs. Wilfer, " the man came himself with a pair of pincers, and took it off, and took it away. He said that as he had no expectation of ever being paid for it, and as he had an order for another Ladies' School door-plate, it was better (burnished up) for the interests of all parties." ' " Perhaps it was, my dear ; what do you think ? " " You are master here, E. W.," returned his wife. " It is as you think ; not as I do. Perhaps it might have been better if the man had taken the door too." " My dear, we couldn't have done without the door." "Couldn't we?" " Why, my dear ! Oould we ? " OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 475 " It is as you think, E. W. ; not as I do." With those suh- missive words, the dutiful wife preceded him down a few stairs to a little basement front room, half kitchen, half parlour, where a girl of about nineteen, with an exceedingly pretty figure and face, but with an impatient and petulant expression both in her face and in her shoulders (which in her sex and at her age are very expressive of discontent), set playing draughts with a younger girl, who was the youngest of the House of Wilfer. Not to encumber this page by teUingi off the Wilfers in detail and casting them up in the gross, it is enough, for the present that the rest were what is called " out in the world," in Various ways, and that they were. Many. So many, that when one of his dutiful children called in to see him, E. "Wilfer generally seemed to say to himself, after a little mental arithmetic, " Oh ! here's another of 'em ! " before adding aloud, " How de do, John," or Susan, as the case might be. " Well, Piggywiggies," said E. W., " how de do to-night ? What I was thinking of, my dear," to Mrs. Wilfer already seated in a corner with folded gloves, " was, that as we have let our first floor so well, and as we have now no place in which you could teach pupils, even if pupUs " "The milkman said he knew of two young ladies of the highest respectability who were in search of a suitable establish- ment, and he took a card," interposed Mrs. Wilfer, with severe monotony, as if she were reading an Act of Parliament aloud. "TeU your father whether it was' last Monday, Bella." "But we never heard any more of it, ma," said Bellaj the elder girl. " In addition to which, my dear," her husband urged, " if you have no place to pint two young persons into " "Pardon me," Mrs. Wilfer again interposed; "they were not young persons. Two yotmg ladies of the highest respect- ability. Tell your father, Bella, whether the mUkman said so." "My dear, it is the same thing." " No, it is not," said Mrs. Wilfer, with the same impressive monotony. " Pardon me ! " , " I mean, my dear, it is the same thing as to space. As to space. If you have no space in which to piit two youthful fellow-creatures, however eminently respectable, which I do not doubt, where are those youthful fellow-creatures to be accommo- dated ? I carry it no further than that,. And solely looking at it," said her husband, making the stipulation at once in a con- ciliatory, complimentary, and argumentative tone — "as I am 476 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND sure you will agree, my love — from a fellow-creature point of view, my dear." " I have nothing more to say," returned Mrs. Wilfer, with a meek renunciatory action of her gloves. " It is as you think, E. W. ; not as I do." Here, the huffing of Miss Bella and the loss of three of her men at a swoop, aggravated by the coronation of an opponent, led to that young lady's jerking the draught-board and pieces off the table : which her sister went down on her knees to pick up, " Poor Bella ! " said Mrs. Wilfer. " And poor Lavinia, perhaps, my dear ? " suggested E. W. " Pardon me," said Mrs. Wilfer, " no ! " It was one of the worthy woman's specialities that she had an amazing power of gratifying her splenetic or worldly-minded humours by extolling her own family : which she thus proceeded, in the present case, to do. "No, E. W. Lavinia has not known the trial that Bella has known. The trial that your daughter Bella has undergone, is, perhaps, without a parallel, and has been borne, I will say, Nobly. When you see your daughter Bella in her black dress, which she alone of all the family wears, and when you remember the circumstances which have led to her wearing it, and when you know how those circumstances have been sustained, then, E. W., lay your head upon your pillow, and say, 'Poor Lavinia ! ' " Here, Miss Lavinia, from her kneeling situation under the table, put in that she didn't want to be " poored by pa," or anybody else. " I am sure you do not, my dear," returned her mother, " for you have a fine brave spirit. And your sister Cecilia has a fine brave spirit of another kind, a spirit of pure devotion, a beau-ti-ful spirit! The self-sacrifice of Cecilia reveals a pure and womanly character, very seldom equalled, never surpassed. I have now in my pocket a letter from your sister Cecilia, received this morning — received three months after her marriage, poor child ! — in which she tells me that her husband must un- expectedly shelter under their roof his reduced aunt. ' But I will be true to him, mamma,' she touchingly writes, ' I will not leave him, I must not forget that he is my husband. Let his aunt come ! ' If this is not pathetic, if this is not woman's devotion ! " The good lady waved her gloves in a sense of the impossibility of saying more, and tied the pocket- handkerchief over her head in a tighter knot under her chin. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 477 Bella, who was now seated on the rug to warm herself, with her brown eyes on the fire and a handful of her brown curls in her mouth, laughed at this, and then pouted and half cried. ^ "I am sure," said she, "though you have no feeling for me, pa, I am one of the most unfortunate girls that ever lived. You know how poor we are" (it is probable he did, having some reason to know it !), " and what a glimpse of wealth I had, and how it melted away, and how I am here in this ridiculous mourning — which I hate! — a kind of a widow who never was married. And yet you don't feel for me. — Yes you do, yes you do." This abrupt change was occasioned by her father's face. She stopped to puU him down from his chair in an attitude highly favourable to strangulation, and to give him a kiss and a pat or two on the cheek. " But you ought to feel for me, you know, pa." "My dear, I do." " Yes, and I say you ought to. If they had only left me alone and told me nothing about it, it would have mattered much less. But that nasty Mr. Lightwood feels it his duty, as he says, to write and tell me what is in reserve for me, and then I am obliged to get rid of George Sampson." Here Lavinia, rising to the surface with the last draught- man rescued, interposed, " You never oared for George Sampson, BeUa." " And did I say I did, miss ? " Then, pouting again, with the curls in her mouth : " George Sampson was very fond of me, and admired me very much, and put up with everything I did to him." "You were rude enough to him," Lavinia again interposed. " And did I say I wasn't, miss ? I am not setting up to be sentimental about George Sampson. I only say George Sampson was better than nothing." " You didn't show him that you thought even that," Lavinia again interposed. "You are a chit and a little idiot," returned Bella, " or you wouldn't make such a dolly speech. What did you expect me to do ? Wait till you are a woman, and don't talk about what you don't understand. You only show your ignorance ! " Then whimpering again, and at intervals biting the curls, and stop- ping to look how much was bitten off, " It's a shame! There never was such a hard case! I shouldn't care so much if it 478 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND wasn't so ridiculous. It was ridiculous enough to have a stranger coming over to marry me, whether he liked it or not. It was ridiculous enough to know what an embarrassing meet- ing it would be, and how we never could pretend to have an inclination of our own, either of us. It was ridiculous enough to kiiQW I shouldn't like him — how could I like him, left to him in a wUl, like a dozen of spoons, with everything cut and dried beforehand, like orange chips. Talk : of orange flowers indeed ! ' I declare again it's a shame ! Those ridictdous points would have been smoothed away by the money, for I love money, and want money-r-want it dreadfully, I hate to be poor, and we are degradingly poor, offensively poor, miserably poor, beastly poor. Biit here I am, left with all the ridiculous parts of the situation remaining, and added to them all, this ridiculous dress! And if the truth was known, when the Harmon murder was all over the town, and people were, specu- lating on its being suicide, I dare day those impudent wretches at the clubs and places made jokes about the miserable creature's having preferred a watery grave to me. It's likely enough they took such liberties ; I shouldn't wonder ! I declare it's a very hard case indeed, and I am a most unfortunate girl. The idea of being a kind of widow, and never having been married ! And the idea of being as poor as ever after all, and going into black, besides, for a man I never saw, and should have hated — as far as ?ie was concerned — if I had seen ! " The young lady's lamentations were choked at this point by a knuckle, knocking at the half-open door of the room. The knuckle had knocked two or three times already, but had not been heard. " Who is it ? " said Mrs. Wilfer, in her Act-of-Parliament manner. " Enter ! " A gentleman coming in, Miss Bella, with a short and sharp exclamation, scrambled off the hearth-rug and massed the bitten curls together in their right place on her neck. " The servant girl had her key in the door as I came up, and directed me to this room, telling me I was expected. I am afraid I should have asked her to announce me." "Pardon me," returned Mrs. Wilfer. "Not at all. Two of my daughters. K. W., this is the gentleman who has taken your first-floor. He was so good as to make an appointment for to-night, when you would be at home." A dark gentleman. Thirty at the utmost. An expressive, one might say handsome, face. A very bad manner. In the OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 479. last degree constrained, reserved, diffident, troubled. His eyes were on Miss Bella for an instant, and then looked at the ground as he addressed the master of the house. "Seeing that I am quite satisfied, Mr. Wilfer, with the, rooms, and with their situation, and with their price, J suppose a memorandum between us of two or three lines, and a payment down, will bind the bargain ? , I wish to send in furniture without delay." ' Two or three times during this short address, the cherub addressed had made chubby motions towards a chair. The gentleman now took it, laying a hesitating hand on a corner of the table, and with another hesitating hand lifting the crown of his hat to his lips, and drawing it before his mouth. "The gentleman, K. W.," said Mrs. Wilfer, "proposes to take your apartments by the quarter. A quarter's notice on either side." "Shall I mention, sir," insinuated the landlord, , expect- ing it to be received as a matter of course, "the form of a reference ? " " I think," returned the gentleman, after a pause, " that a reference is not necessary ; neither, to say the truth, is it con- venient, for I am a stranger in ^London. I require no reference from you, and perhaps, therefore, you will require none from me. That will be fair on both sides. Indeed, I show the; greater confidence of the two, for I will pay in advance what- ever you please, and I am going to trust my furniture here. Whereas, if you were in embarrassed circumstances — this is merely supposititious " Conscience causing E. Wilfer to colour, Mrs. Wilfer, from a corner (she always got into stately corners) came to the rescue with a deep-toned " Per-fectly." " —Why then I— might lose it." " Well ! " observed E. Wilfer, cheerfully, " money and goods are certainly the best of references." " Do you think they are, the best, pa ? " asked Miss Bella, in a low' voice, and without looking over her shoulder as she warmed her foot on the fender. " Among the best, my dear." " I should have thought, myself, it was so easy to add the usual kind of one," said Bella, with a toss of her curls. The gentleman listened to her, with a face of marked atten- tion, though he neither looked up. nor changed his attitude. He sat, still and silent,, until his future landlord accepted his 48o OUR MUTUAL FRIEND proposals, and brought writing materials to complete the business. He sat, still and silent, while the landlord wrote. When the agreement was ready in dupUeate (the landlord having worked at it like some cherubic scribe, in what is con- ventionly called a doubtful, which means a not at all doubtful. Old Master), it was signed by the contracting parties, Bella looking on as scornful witness. The contracting parties were E. Wilfer, and John Eokesmith, Esquire. When it came to Bella's turn to sign her name, Mr. Eoke- smith, who was standing, as he had sat, with a hesitating hand upon the table, looked at her stealthily, but narrowly. He looked at the pretty figure bending down over the paper and saying, " Where am I to go, pa ? Here, in this comer ? " He looked at the beautiful brown hair, shading the coquettish face ; he looked at the free dash of the signature, which was a bold one for a woman's ; and then they looked at one another. " Much obliged to you. Miss Wilfer." "Obliged?" " I have given you so much trouble." " Signing my name ? Yes, certainly. But I am your land- lord's daughter, sir." As there was nothing more to do but pay eight sovereigns in earnest of the bargain, pocket the agreement, appoint a time for the arrival of his furniture and himself, and go, Mr. Eokesmith did that as awkwardly as it might be done, and was escorted by his landlord to the outer air- When E. Wilfer returned, candle- stick in hand, to the bosom of his family, he found the bosom agitated. " Pa," said Bella, " we have got a Murderer for a tenant." " Pa," said Lavinia, " we have got a Eobber." " To see him unable for his life to look anybody in the face," said Bella. " There never was such an exhibition." " My dears," said their father, " he is a diffident gentleman, and I should say particularly so in the society of girls of your age." " Nonsense, our age ! " cried Bella impatiently. " What's that got to do with him ? " "Besides, we are not of the same age: — which age?" demanded Lavinia. " Never yo% mind, Lavvy," retorted Bella ; " you wait till you are of an age to ask such questions. Pa, mark my words ! Between Mr. Eokesmith and me, there is a natural antipathy and a deep distrust ; and something wUl come of it ! " OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 481 " My dear, and girls," said the cherub-patriarch, " beliween Mr. Eokesmith and me, there is a matter of eight sovereigns, and something for supper shall come of it, if you'll agree upon the article." This was a neat and happy turn to give the subject, treats being rare in the WUfer household, where a monotonous appear- ance of Dutch-cheese at ten o'clock in the evening had been rather frequently commented on by the dimpled shoulders of Miss Bella. Indeed, the modest Dutchman himself seemed conscious of his want of variety, and generally came before the family in a state of apologetic perspiration. After some dis- cussion on the relative merits of veal-cutlet, sweet-bread, and lobster, a decision was pronounced in favour of veal-cutlet. Mrs. Wilfer then solemnly divested herself of her handkerchief and gloves, as a preliminary sacrifice to preparing the frying- pan, and E. W. himself went out to purchase the viand. He soon returned, bearing the same in a fresh cabbage-leaf, where it coyly embraced a rasher of ham. Melodious sounds were not long in rising from the frying-pan on the fire, or ip seeming, as the firelight danced in the meUow halls of a couple of full bottles on the table, to play appropriate dance-music. The cloth was laid by Lawy. / Bella, as the acknowledged ornament of the family, employed both her hands in giving her hair an additional wave while sitting in the easiest chair, and occasionally threw in a direction touching the supper : as, " Very brown, ma ; " or, to her sister, " Put the salt-cellar straight, miss, and don't be a dowdy Kttle puss." Meantime her father, chinking Mr. Eokesmith's gold as he sat expectant between his knife and fork, remarked that six of those sovereigns came just in time for their landlord, and stood them in a Httle pile on the white tablecloth to look at. " I hate our landlord ! " said Bella. But observing a fall in her father's face, she went and sat down by him at the table, and began touching up his hair with the handle of a fork. It was one of the girl's spoilt ways to be always arranging the family's hair^perhaps because her own was so pretty, and occupied so much of her attention. " You deserve to have a house of your own ; don't you, poor pa?" " I don't deserve it better than another, my dear." " At any rate I, for one, want it more than another," said Bella, holding him by the chin, as she stuck his flaxen hair on end, "and I grudge this money going to the Monster that 2l 482 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND swallows up so much, when we all want — Everything. And if you say (as you want to say ; I know you want to say so, pa) 'that's neither reasonable nor honest, Bella,' then I answer, ' Maybe not, pa — very likely — but it's one of the consequences of being poor, and of thoroughly hating and detesting to be poor, and that's my case.' Now, you look lovely, pa; why don't you always wear your hair like that 1 And here's the cutlet ! If it isn't very brown, ma, I can't eat it, and must have a bit put back to be done expressly." However, as it was brown, even to Bella's taste, the young lady graciously partook of it without reconsignment to the frying-pan, and also, in due course, of the contents of the two bottles : whereof one held Scotch ale and the other rum. The latter perfume, with the fostering aid of boiling water and lemon- peel, diffused itself throughout the room, and became so highly concentrated around the warm fireside, that the wind passing over the house roof must have rushed off charged with a delicious whiff of it, after buzzing like a great bee at that particular chimney-pot. " Pa," said Bella, sipping the fragrant mixture and warming her favourite ankle ; " when old Mr. Harmon made such a fool of me (not to mention himself as he is dead), what do you suppose he did it for ? " " Impossible to say, my dear. As I have told you times out of number since his will was brought to light, I doubt if I ever exchanged a hundred words with the old gentleman. If it was his whim to surprise us, his whim succeeded. For he certainly did it." " And I was stamping my foot and screaming, when he first took notice of me ; was I ? " said Bella, contemplating the ankle before mentioned. " You were stamping your little foot, my dear, and screaming with your little voice, and laying into me with your little bonnet, which you had snatched off for the purpose," returned her father, as if the remembrance gave a relish to the rum ; "you were doing this one Sunday morning when I took you out, because I didn't go the exact way you wanted, when the old gentleman, sitting on a seat near, said, ' That's a nice girl ; that's a very nice girl ; promising girl ! ' And so you were, my dear." " And then he asked my name, did he, pa ? " " Then he asked your name, my dear, and mine ; and on other Sunday mornings, when we walked his way, we saw him again, and — and really that's all." OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 483 As tliat was all the riim and water, too, or, in other words, as E. W. delicately signified that his glass was empty by throwing hack his head and standing the glass upside dpwn on his nose and upper lip, it might have been charitable in Mrs. Wilfer to suggest replenishment. But that heroine briefly; suggesting " Bedtime " instead, the bottles were put away, and the family retired ; she cherubically escorted, like some severe saint in a painting, or merely human matron allegorically treated. " And by this time to-morrow," said Lavinia, when the two girls were alone in their room, " we shall have Mr. Eokesmith here, and shall be expecting to have our throats cut." "You needn't stand between me and the candle for all that," retorted Bella. " This is another of the consequences of being poor ! The idea of a girl with a really fine head of hair, having to do it by one flat candle and a few inches of looking- glass ! " " You caught George Sampson with it, Bella, bad ap your means of dressing it are." " You low little thing. Caught George Sampson with it ! Pon't talk about catching people, miss, till your own time for catching — as you call it — comes." "Perhaps it has come," muttered Lavvy, with a toss of her head. " What did you say ? " asked Bella, very sharply, " What did you say, miss 1" Lawy declining equally to repeat or to explain, Bella gradually lapsed over her hair-dressing into a soliloquy on the miseries of being poor, as exemplified in having nothing to put on, nothing to go out in, nothiag to dress by, only a nasty box to dress at, instead of a commodious dressing-table, and being obliged to take in suspicious lodgers. On the last grievance as her climax she laid great stress — and might have laid greater, had she known that if Mr. Julius Handford had a twin brother upon earth, Mr. John Eokesmith was the man. 484 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND Mr. BofiSn as we already know has come into a large property. He feels that his limited education scarcely qualifies him to hold with dignity that position in the world of fashion to which his wife aspires, but finds an unex- pected way of improving his knowledge of literature, upon making the acquaihtance of Mr. Silas Wegg. II boffin's bower Over against a London house, a corner house not far from Cavendish Square, a man with a wooden leg had sat for some years, with his remaining foot in a basket in cold weather, picking up a living on this wise : — Every morning at eight o'clock, he stumped to the corner, carrying a chair, a clothes- horse, a pair of trestles, a board, a basket, and an umbrella, all strapped together. Separating these, the board and trestles became a counter, the basket supplied the few small lots of fruit and sweets that he offered for sale upon it and became a foot-warmer, the imfolded clothes-horse displayed a choice collection of halfpenny ballads and became a screen, and the etool planted within it became his post for the rest of the day. All weathers saw the man at the post. This is to be accepted in a double sense, for he contrived a back to his wooden stool by placing it against the lamp-post. When the weather was wet, he put up his umbrella over his stock-in-trade, not over himself; when the weather was dry, he furled that faded article, tied it round with a piece of yarn, and laid it cross-wise under the trestles : where it looked like an unwholesomely- forced lettuce that had lost in colour and crispness what it had gained in size. He had established his right to the corner by imperceptible prescription. He had never varied his ground an inch, but had in the beginning dif&dently taken the corner upon which the side of the house gave. A howling corner in the winter time, a dusty corner in the summer time, an undesirable corner at the best of times. Shelterless fragments of straw and paper got up revolving storms there, when the main street was at peace ; and the water-cart, as if it were drunk or short-sighted, came blundering and jolting round it, making it muddy when all else was clean. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 485 On the front of his sale-board hung a little placard, like a kettle-holder, bearing the inscription in his own small text : Errands gone On withfi Delity By Ladies and Oentl&men I remain ,. Yov/r humhle Serv Silas Wegg. He had not only settled it with himself in the course of time, that he was errand-goer by appointment to the house /at the corner (though he received such commissions not half-a-dozen times in a year, and then only as some servant's deputy), but also that he was one of the house's retainers and owed vassalage to it and was bound to leal and loyal interest in it. For this reason, he always spoke of it as " Our House," and, though his knowledge of its affairs was mostly speculative and all wrong, claimed to be in its confidence. On similar grounds he never beheld an inmate at any one of its windows but he touched his hat. Yet, he knew so little about the inmates that he gave them names of his own invention : as " Miss Elizabeth," " Master G-eorge," " Aunt Jane," " Uncle Parker " — having no authoirity whatever for any such designations, but particularly the last — to which, as a natural consequence, he stuck witibi great obstinacy. , , Over the house itself, he exercised the same imaginary power as over its inhabitants and their affairs. He had never been in it, the length of a piece of fat black water-pipe which trailed itself over the area door into a damp stone passage, and had rather the air of a leech on the house that had " taken " wonderfully; but this was no impediment to his arranging it according to a plan of his own. It was a great dingy house with a quantity of dim side window and blank back premises, and it cost his mind a world of trouble so to lay it out as to • a9Count for everything in its external appearance. But, this once done, was quite satisfactory, and he rested persuaded that he knew his way about the house blindfold : from the barred garrets in the high roof, to the two iron extinguishers before the main, door — Which seemed to request all lively visitors to have the kindness to put themselves out, before entering. 486 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND Assuredly, this stall of Silas Wegg's was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little stalls in London. It gave you the face-ache to look at his apples, the stomach-ache to look at his oranges, the tooth-ache to look at his nuts. Of the latter com- modity he had always a grim little heap, on which lay a little wooden measure which had no discernable inside, and was con- sidered to represent the penn'orth appointed hy Magna Charta. Whether from too much east wind or no — it was an easterly corner - — the stall, the stock, and the keeper, were all as dry as the Desert. Wegg was a knotty man, and a close-grained, with a face carved out of very hard material, that had just as much - play of expression as a watchman's rattle. When he laughed, certain jerks occurred in it, and the rattle sprung. Sooth to say, he was so wooden a man that he seemed to have taken his wooden leg naturally, and rather suggested to the fanciful observer, that he might be expected — if his development re- ceived no untimely check — to be completely set up with a pair of wooden legs in about six months. Mr. Wegg was an observant person, or, as he himself said, " took a powerful sight of notice." He saluted all his regular passers-by every day, as he sat on his stool backed-up by the lamp-post ; and on the adaptable character of these salutes he greatly plumed himself. Thus, to the rector, he addressed a bow, compounded of lay deference, and a slight touch of the shady preliminary meditation at church ; to the doctor, a confidential bow, as to a gentleman whose acquaintance with his inside he begged respectfully to acknowledge; before the quality he delighted to abase himself ; and for Uncle Parker, who was in the army (at least, so he had settled it), he put his open hand to the side of his hat, in a military manner which that angry- eyed buttoned-up inflammatory-faced old gentleman appeared but imperfectly to appreciate. The only article in which Silas dealt, that was not hard, was gingerbread. On a certain day, some wretched infant having purchased the damp gingerbread-horse (fearfully out of condition), and the adhesive bird-cage, which had been exposed for the day's sale, he had taken a tin box from under his stool to produce a relay of those dreadful specimens, and was going • to look in at the lid, when he said to himself, pausing : " Oh ! Here you are again ! " The words referred to a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning, coming comically ambling towards the corner, dressed in a pea overcoat, and carrying a large stick. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 487 He wore thick shoes, and thick leather gaiters, and thick gloves like a hedger's. Both as to his dress and to himself, he was of an overlapping rhinoceros build, with folds in his cheeks, and his forehead, and his eyelids, and his lips, and his ears ; but with bright, eager, childishly-inquiring grey eyes, under his ragged eyebrows, and broad-brimmed hat. A very odd-looking old fellow altogether. " Here you are again," repeated Mr. Wegg, musing. " And what are you now ? Are you in the Funns, or where are you ? Have you lately come to settle in this neighbourhood, or do you own to another neighbourhood? Are you in, independent circumstances, or is it wasting the motions of a bow on you ? Come ! I'll speculate ! I'll invest a bow in you." Which Mr. Wegg, having replaced his tin box, accordingly did, as he rose to bait his gingerbread-trap for some other devoted infant. The salute was acknowledged with : " Morning, sir ! Morning ! Morning ! " ("Calls me Sir!" said' Mr. Wegg to himself. "He won't answer. A bow gone ! ") " Morning, morning, morniiig ! " " Appears to be rather a 'arty old cock, too," said Mr. Wegg, as before. " Good-morning to you, sir." " Do you remember me, then ? " asked his new acquaintance, stopping in his amble, one-sided, before the stall, and speaking in a pouncing way, though with great good-humour. "I have noticed you go past our house, sir, several times in the course of the last week or so." " Our house," repeated the other. " Meaning- ? " " Yes," said Mr. Wegg, nodding, as the other pointed the clumsy forefinger of his right glove at the comer house. " Oh ! N'ow, what," pursued the old fellow, in an inquisi- tive manner, carrying his knotted stick in his left arm as if it were a baby, " what do they allow you now ? " "It's job work that I do for our house," returned Silas, drily, and with reticence ; " it's not yet brought to an exact allowance." " Oh ! It's not yet brought to an exact allowance ? No ! It's not yet brought to an exact allowanced Oh ! — Morning, morning, morning ! " ''Appears to be rather a cracked old cock," thought Silas, qualifying his former good opinion, as the other ambled off. But, in a moment he was back again with the question : . " How did you get your wooden leg ? " 488 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND Mr. "W^g replied (tartly to this personal inquiry), " In an accident." " Do you like it ? " " Well ; I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg made answer, in a sort of desperation occasioned by the singularity of the question. " He hasn't," repeated the other to his knotted stick, as he gave it a hug : " he hasn't got — ha ! — ha ! — to keep it warm ! Did you ever hear of the name of Bofi&n ? " " No," said Mr. Wegg, who was growing restive under this examination. " I never did hear of the name of BofiBn." "Do you like it?" " Why no," retorted Mr. Wegg, again approaching despera- tion ; " I can't say I do." " Why don't you like it ? " " I don't know why I don't," retorted Mr. Wegg, approaching frenzy, " but I don't at all." "Now, I'll tell you something that'll make you sorry for that," said the stranger, smiling. " My name's BofSn." " I can't help it ! " .returned Mr. Wegg. Implying in his manner the offensive addition, " and if I could, I wouldn't." "But there's another chance for you," said Mr. Boffin, smiling still. " Do you like the name of Nicodemus ? Think it over. Mck, or Noddy." " It is not, sir," Mr. Wegg rejoined, as he sat down on his stool, with an air of gentle resignation, combined with melan- choly candour ; " it is not a name as I could wish any one that I had a respect for, to call me by ; but there may be persons that would not view it with the same objections. — I don't know why," Mr. Wegg added, anticipating another question. "Noddy Boffin," said that gentleman. "Noddy. That's my name. Noddy — or Nick — Boffin. What's your name ? " " Silas Wegg. — I don't," said Mr. Wegg, bestirring himself to take the same precaution as before, " I don't know why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg." " Now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, hugging his stick closer, " I want to make a sort of offer to you. Do you remember when you first see me ? " The wooden Wegg looked at him with a meditative eye, and also with a softened air as descrying possibility of profit. " Let me think. I ain't quite sure, and yet I generally take a powerful sight of notice, too. Was it on a Monday morning, when the butcher-boy had been to our house for orders, and bought a OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 489 ballad of me, which, being unacquainted with the tune, I run it over to him ? " " Eight, Wegg, right ! But he bought more than one." " Yes, to be sure, sir ; he bought several ; and wishing to lay out Ms money to the best, he took my opinion to guide his choice, and we went over the coUiection together. To be sure we did. Here was him as it might be, and here was myself as it might be, and there was you, Mr. Boffin, as you identically are, with your self-same stick under your very same arm, and your very same back towards us. To -^be — sure ! " added Mr, Wegg, looking a little round Mr. Boffin, to take him in the rear, and identify this last extraordinary coincidence, "your wery self -same back ! " "What do you think I was doing, Wegg?" " I shoidd judge, sir, that you might be glancing your eye down the street." ' " No, Wegg. I was a listening." : : " Was you, indeed ? " said Mr. W6gg, dubiously. " Not in a dishonourable way, Wegg, because you was singing to the butcher ; and you wouldn't sing secrets to a butcher in the street, you know." " It never happened that I' did so yet, to the best of my remembrance," said Mr. Wegg, cautiously. "But I might do it. A man can't say what he might ■wigh to do some day or another." (This, not to release any little advantage he might derive from Mr. Boffin's avowal.) " Well," repeated Boffin, " I was a listening to you and to him. And what do you — you haven't got another stool, have you ? I'm rather thick in my breath." "I haven't got another, but you're welcome to this," said Wegg, resigning it. " It's a treat to me to stand." " Lard ! " exclaimed Mr. Boffin, in a tone of great enjoyment, as he settled himself down, still nursing his stick like a baby, " it's a pleasant place, this ! And then to be shut in on each side, with these baILads,like so many book-leaf blinkers! Why, it's delightful!" " If I am not mistakeia, sir," Mr. Wegg delicately hinted, resting a hand on his stall, and bending over the discursive Boffin, " you alluded to some offer or another that was in your mind.? " "I'm coming to it! All righti . I'm coming to it ! I was going to say that when I listened that morning, I listened with hadmiration amounting to haw. I thought to 490 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND myself, 'Here's a man witli a wooden leg — a literary man with '" " N^not exactly so, sir," said Mr. Wegg. "Why, you know every one of these songs by name and by tune, and if you want to read or to ^ng any one on 'em off straight, you've only to whip on your spectacles and do it ! " cried Mr. Boffin. " I see you at it ! " " Well, sir," returned Mr. Wegg, with a conscious inclina- tion of the head ; " we'll say literary, then." " ' A literary man— m^A a wooden leg — and all Print is open to him ! ' That's what I thought to myself, that morning," pursued Mr. Boffin, leaning forward to describe, vmcramped by the clothes-horse, as large an arc as his right arm could make ; " ' all Print is open to him ! ' And it is, ain't it ? " " Why, truly, sir," Mr. Wegg admitted with modesty ; " I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print, that I wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing." " On the spot ?" said Mr, Boffin. " On the spot." "I'know'd it! Then consider this. Here am I, a man without a wooden leg, and yet all print is shut to me." " Indeed, sir ? " Mr. Wegg returned with increasing self- complacency. " Education neglected ? " " Neg— -lected ! " repeated Boffin, with emphasis. " That ain't no word for it. I don't mean to say but what if you showed me a B, I could so far give you change for it, as to answer Boffin." "Come, come, sir," said Mr. Wegg, throwing in a little encouragement, " that's something, too." "It's something," answered Mr. Boffin, "but I'll take my oath it ain't much." " Perhaps it's not as much as could be wished by an in- quiring mind, sir," Mr. Wegg admitted. " Now, look here. I'm retired from business. Me and Mrs. Boffin— Henerietty Boffin — which her father's name was Henery, and her mother's name was Hetty, and so you get it — we live on a compittance, under the will of a diseased governor." " Gentleman dead, sir ? " "Man alive, don't I tell you? A diseased governor? Now, it's too late for me to begin shovelling and sifting at alphabeds and grammar-books. I'm getting to be a old bird, and I want to take it easy. But I want some reading — some OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 491 fine bold reading, some splendid book in a gorging Lord- Mayor' s-Show of woUumes " (probably meaning gorgeous, but misled by association of ideas) ; ""as'll reach, right down your pint of view, and take time to go by you. How can I get that reading, Wegg ? By," tapping him on the breast with the head of his thick stick, " paying a man trtdy qualified to do it, so much an hour (say twopence) to come and do it." " Hem ! Flattered, sir, I am sure," said Wegg, beginning to regard himself in quite a new light. "Hem ! This is the offer you mentioned, sir ? " "Yes. Do you like it?" " I am considering of it, Mr. Boffin." " I don't," said Boffin, in a free-handed manner, " want to tie a literary man — with a wooden leg^— down too tight.. A halfpenny an hour shan't part us. The hours are your own to choose, after you've done for the day with your house here. I live over Maiden Lane way — out HoUoway direction — and you've only got to go East-and-by-North when you've finished here, and you're there. Twopence half -penny an hour," said Boffin, taking a piece of chalk from his pocket and getting off the stool to work the sum on the top of it in his own way ; "two long 'uns aiid a short 'un — twopence half-penny ; two short 'uns is a long 'un, and two two long 'uns is four long 'uns — making five long 'uns ; six nights a week at five long 'uns a night," scoring them all down separately, " and you mount up to thirty long 'uns. A round 'un ! Half-a;-crown ! " Pointing to this result as a large and satisfactory one, Mr. Boffin smeared it out with his moistened glove, and sat down on the remains. " Half a crown," said Wegg, meditating, " Yes. (It ain't much, sir.) Half a crown." ' "Per week, you know." "Per week. Yes. As to the amount of strain upon the intellect now. Was you thinking at all of poetry ? " Mr. Wegg inquired, musing. " Would it come dearer 1 " Mr. Boffin asked. "It would come dearer," Mr. Wegg returned. "Por when a person comes to grind off poetry night after night, it is but right he should expect to be paid for its weakening effect on his mind." "To tell you the truth, Wegg," said Boffin, "I wasn't thinking of poetry, except in so far as this :— If you was to happen now and then to feel ypurself in the mind to tip me 492 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND and Mrs. Boffin one of your ballads, why then we should drop into poetry." " I follow you,. sir," said Wegg. "But not being a regular musical professional, I should be loath to engage myself for that ; and therefore when I dropped into poetry, I should ask to be considered so fur in the light of a friend." "At this, Mr. Boffin's eyes sparkled, and he shook Silas earnestly by the hand : protesting that it was more than he could have asked, and that he took it very kindly indeed. "What do you think of the terms, Wegg?" Mr, Boffin then demanded, with unconcealed anxiety. Silas, who had stimulated this anxiety by his hard reserve of manner, and who had begun to understand his man very well, replied with an air; as if he were saying something extraordinarily generous and great : " Mr. Boffin, I never bargain." "So I should have thought of you!" said Mr. Boffin, admiringly. " No, sir. I never did 'aggie and I never will 'aggie. Con- sequently I meet you at once, free and fair, with — Done, for double the money ! " Mr. Boffin seemed a little unprepared for this conclusion, but assented, with the remark, "You know better what it ought to be than I do, Wegg," and again shook hands with him upon it. " Could you begin to-night, Wegg ? " he then demanded. " Yes, sir," said Mr. Wegg, careful to leave all the eagerness to him. " I see no difficulty if you wish it. You are provided with the needful implement — a book, sir ? " " Bought him at a sale," said Mr. Boffin. " Eight woUumes. Bed and gold. Purple ribbon in every woUume, to keep the place where you leave off. Do you know him ? " " The book's name, sir ? " inquired Silas. " I thought you might have know'd him without it," said Mr. Boffin, slightly disappointed. " His name is Decline-and- Fall-Off-The-Eooshan-Empire." (Mr. Boffin went over these stones slowly and with much caution.) " Ay indeed 1 " said Mr. Wegg, nodding his head with an air of friendly recognition. " You know him, Wegg ? " "I haven't been not to say right slap through him, very lately," Mr. Wegg made answer, "having been otherways employed, Mr. Boffin. But know him ? Old familiar declining OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 493 and falling off the Eooshan ? Eather, sir ! Ever since I was not so higli as your stick. Ever since my eldest brother left our cottage to enlist into the army. On which occasion, as the ballad that 'was made about it describes : " Beside that cottage door, Mr. BofiBn, A girl was on her knees ; She held aloft a snowy scarf, Sir, Which (my eldest brother noticed) fluttered in the breeze. She breathed a prayer for him, Mr. Boffin ; A prayer he coold not hear. And my eldest brother lean'd upon his sword, Mr. Boffin, And wiped away a tear." Much impressed by this family circumstance, and also by the friendly disposition of Mr. Wegg, as exemplified in his so soon dropping into poetry, Mr. Boffin again shook hands with that ligneous sharper, and besought him to name his hour. Mr, Wegg named eight. "Where I live," said Mr. Bof&n, is called The Bower. Boffin's Bower is the name Mrs. Boffin christened it when we come into it as a property. If you should meet with anybody that don't know it by that name (which hardly anybody does), when you've got nigh upon about a odd mile, or say and a quarter if you like, up Maiden Lane, Battle Bridge, ask for Harmony Jail, and you'll be put right. I shall expect you, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, clapping him on the shoulder with the greatest enthusiasm, " most jyfuUy. I shall have no peace or patience till you come. Pnnt is now opening ahead of me. This night, a literary man — with a wooden leg — "he bestowed an admiring look upon that decoration, as if it greatly enhanced the relish of Mr. Wegg's attainments — " wiU begin to lead me a new life! My fist again, Wegg. Morning, morning, morning ! " Left alone at his. stall as the other ambled off, Mr. Wegg subsided into his screen, produced a small pocket-handkerchief of a penitentiaUy-scrubbing character, and took himself by, the nose with a thoughtful aspect. Also, whUe he still grasped that feature, he directed several thoughtful looks down the street, after the retiring figure of Mr. Boffin. But, profound gravity sat enthroned on Wegg's countenance. For, while he considered within himself that this was an old feUow of rare simplicity, that this was an opportunity to be improved, and that here might be money to be got beyond present calculation, still he compromised himself by no admission that his new 494 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND engagement was at all out of his way, or involved the least element of the ridiculous. Mr. Wegg would even have picked a handsome quarrel with any one who should have challenged his deep acquaintance with those aforesaid eight volumes of Decliue and Fall. His gravity was unusual, portentous, and immeasurable, not because he admitted any doubt of himself, but because he perceived it necessary to forestall any doubt of himself in others. And herein he ranged with that very numerous class of impostors, who are quite as determined to keep up appearances to themselves, as to their neighbours. A certain loftiness, likewise, took possession of Mr. Wegg ; a condescending sense of being in request as an official ex- pounder of mysteries. It did not move him to commercial greatness, but rather to littleness, insomuch that if it had been within the possibilities of things for the wooden measure to hold fewer nuts than usual, it would have done so that day. But, when night came, and with her veiled eyes beheld him stumping towards Boffin's Bower, he was elated too. The Bower was as difficult to find, as Fair Eosamond's without the clue. Mr. Wegg, having reached the quarter indicated, inquired for the Bower half-a-dozen times without the least success, until he remembered to ask for Harmony Jail. This occasioned a quick change in the spirits of a hoarse gentleman and a donkey, whom he had much perplexed. " Why, yer mean Old Harmon's, do yer ? " said the hoarse gentleman, who was driving. his donkey in a truck, with a carrot for a whip. " Why didn't yer . niver say so ? Eddard and me is a goin' by Mm .' Jump in." Mr. We^. complied, and the hoarse gentleman invited his attention to the third person in company, thus : "Now, you look at Eddard's ears. What was it as you named, agin ? Whisper." Mr. Wegg whispered, " Boffin's Bower." "Eddard! (keep yer hi on his ears) cut away to Boffin's Bower!" Edward, with his ears lying back, remained im- movable. "Eddard! (keep- yer hi on his ears) cut away to Old Harmon's." Edward instantly pricked up his ears to their utmost, and rattled off at such a pace that Mr. Wegg's conversation was jolted out of him in a most dislocated state. " Was-it-Ev-verajail ? " asked Mr. Wegg, holding on. " Not a proper jail, wot you and me would get committed OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 495 to," returned his escort ; " they giv' it the name on accounts of Old Harmon living solitary there." " And-why-did-they-caUitharm-Ony ? " asked Wegg. " On accounts of his never agreeing with nohody. Like a speeches of chaff. Harmon's - Jail ; Harmony Jail. Working it round like." " Do you know-Mist-Erboff-in 1 " asked Wegg. , . " I should think so ! Everybody do about here. Eddard knows him. (Keep yer hi on his ears.) Noddy Bofidn, Eddard!" The effect of the name was so very alarming, in respect of causing a temporary disappearance of Edward's head, casting his hind hoofs in the air, greatly accelerating the pace and increasing the jolting, that Mr^ Wegg was fain to devote his attention exclusively to holding on, and to relinquish his desire of ascertaining whether this homage to Boffin was to be considered complimentary or the reverse. Presently, Edward stopped at a galteway, and Wegg dis- discreetly lost no time in slipping out. at the back of the truck. The moment he was landed, his 1 late driver with a wave of the carrot, said " Supper, Eddard ! " and he, the hind hoofs, the truck, and Edward, all seemed to fly into the air together, in a kind of apotheosis. Pushiiig the gate, which stood ajar, Wegg looked into an enclosed space where certain tall dark mounds rose high against the sky, and where the pathway to the Bower was indicated, as the moonlight showed, between two lines of broken crockery set in ashes. A white figure advancing along this, path, piroved to be nothing more ghostly than Mr. Boffin, easily attired for the pursuit of knowledge, in. an undress garment of short white smock-frock. Having received his literary friend with great cordiality, he conducted him; to the interior of the Bower and ^there presented him to Mrs. Boffin : — a stout lady of a rubicund and cheerful aspect, dressed (to Mr. Wegg's consternation) in a low evening dress of sable satin, and a large black velvet hat and feathers. " Mrs. Boffin, Wegg," said Boffin,; " is a highflyer at Eashion. And her make is subh, that she does it credit.^^ As to myself, I ain't yet as Fash'nable as I may come to be. Henerietty, old lady, this is the gentleman that's a going to decline and fall off the Rooshan Empire." • "And I am sure I hope it'll do you both good/' said Mrs- Boffin. 496 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND It was the queerest of rooms, fitted and furnished more like a luxurious amateur tap-room than anything else within the ken of Silas Wegg. There were two wooden settles by the fire, one on either side of it, with a corresponding table before each. On one of these tables, the eight volumes were ranged flat, in a row, like a galvanic battery ; on the other, certain squat case- bottles of inviting appearance seemed to stand on tiptoe to exchange glances with Mr. Wegg over a front row of tumblers and a basin of white sugar. On the hob, a kettle steamed ; on the hearth, a cat reposed. Eacing the fire between the settles, a sofa, a footstool, and a little table, formed a centrepiece devoted to Mrs. BofiELn. They were garish in taste and colour, but were expensive articles of drawing-room furniture that had a very odd look beside the settles and the flaring gaslight pendent from the ceiling. There was a flowery carpet on the floor; but, instead of reaching to the fireside, its glowing vegetation stopped short at Mrs. . Bof&n's footstool, and gave place to a region of sand and sawdust. Mr. Wegg also noticed, with admiring eyes, that, while the floweiy land displayed such hollow ornamentation as stuffed birds and waxen fruits under glass shades, there were, in the territory where vegetation ceased, compensatory shelves on which the best part of a large pie and likewise of a cold joint were plainly discernible among other solids. The room itself was large, though low ; and the heavy frames of its old-fashioned windows, and the heavy beams in its crooked ceiling, seemed to indicate that it had once been a house of some mark standing alone in the coimtry. " Do you like it, Wegg ? " asked Mr. Bof&n, in his pouncing manner. " I admire it greatly, sir," said Wegg. " Peculiar comfort at this fireside, sir." " Do you understand it, Wegg ? " " Why, in a general way, sir," Mr. Wegg was beginning slowly and knowingly, with his head stuck on one side, as evasive people do begin, when the other cut him short : " You don't understand it, Wegg, and I'll explain it. These arrangements is made by mutual consent between Mrs. Bofi&n and me. Mrs. Boffin, as I've mentioned,, is a highflyer at Fashion ; at present I'm not. I don't go higher than comfort, and comfort of the sort that I'm equal to the enjoyment of. Well then. Where would be the good of Mrs. Boffin and me quarrelling over it? We never did quarrel, before we come into Boffin's Bower as a property : why quarrel when we have OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 497 come into Boffin's Bower as a property ? So Mrs. Boffin, she keeps up her part of the room, in her way ; I keep up my part of the room in mine. In consequence of which we have at once, Sociability (I should go melancholy mad without Mrs. BofOn), Fashion, and Comfort. If I get by degrees to be a highflyer at Fashion, then Mrs. Boffin will by degrees come for'arder. If Mrs. Boffin should ever be less of a dab at Fashion than she is at the present time, then Mrs. Boffin's carpet would go back'arder. If we should both continny as we are, why then here we are, and give us a kiss, old lady." Mrs. Boffin, who, perpetually smiling, had approached and drawn her plump arm through her lord's, most willingly com- plied. Fashion, in the form of her black velvet hat and feathers, tried to prevent it ; but got deservedly crushed in the endeavour. " So now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, wiping his mouth with an air of much refreshment, "you begin to know us as we are. This is a charming spot, is the Bower, but you must get to appreciate it by degrees. It's a spot to find out the merits of, little by little, and a new 'un every day. There's a serpentining walk up each of the mounds, that gives you the yard and neigh- bourhood changing every moment. When you get to the top, there's a view of the neighbouring premises, not to be surpassed. The premises of Mrs. Boffin's late fatheri (Canine Provision Trade), you look down into, as if they was your own. And the top of the High Mound is crowned with a lattice-work Arbour, in which, if you don't read out loud many a book in the summer, ay, and as a friend, drop many a time into poetry too, it shan't be my fault. Now, what'U you read on ? " " Thank you, sir," returned Wegg, as if there were nothing new in his reading, at all. " I generally do it on gin and water." " Keeps the organ moist, does it, Wegg ? " asked Mr. Boffin with innocent eagerness. " N-no, sir," replied Wegg, coolly, " I should hardly describe it so, sir. I should say, mellers it. Mellers it, is the word I should employ, Mr. Boffin." His wooden, conceit and craft kept exact pace with the delighted expectation of his victim. The visions rising before his mercenary mind, of the many ways in which this connection was to be turned to account, never obscured the foremost idea natural to a dull over-reaching man, that he must not make bjgiself tQO cheap, 2k 498 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND Mrs. Boffin's Fashion, as a less inexorable deity than the idol usually worshipped under that name, did not forbid her mixing for her literary guest, or asking if he found the result to his liking. On his returning a gracious answer and taking his place at the literary settle, Mr. Boffin began to compose himself as a listener, at the opposite settle, with exultant eyes. " Sorry to deprive you of a pipe, Wegg," he said, filling his own, " but you can't do both together. Oh ! and another thing t forgot to name ! When you come in here of an evening, and look round you, and notice anything on a shelf that happens to catch your fancy, mention it." Wegg, who had been going to put on his spectacles, immedi- ately laid them down, with the sprightly observation : " You read my thoughts, sir. Bo my eyes deceive me, or is that object up there a — a pie ? It can't be a pie." " Yes, it's a pie, Wegg," replied Mr. Boffin, with a glance of some little discomfiture at the Decline and Fall. " Save I lost my smell for fruits, or is it a apple pie, sir ? " asked Wegg. " It's a veal and ham pie," said Mr. Boffin. " Is it, indeed, sir ? And it would be hard, sir, to name the pie that is a better pie than a weal and hammer," said Mr. Wegg, nodding his head emotionally. " Have some, Wegg ? " " Thank you, Mr. Boffin, I think I will, at your invitation. I wouldn't at any other party's, at the present juncture ; but at yours, sir ! — And meaty jelly too, especially when a little salt, which is the case where there's ham, is mellering to the organ, is very mellering to the organ." Mr. Wegg did not say what organ, but spoke with a cheerful generality. So the pie was brought down, and the worthy Mr. Boffin exercised his patience until Wegg, in the exercise of his knife and fork, had finished the dish : only profitiag by the oppor- tunity to inform Wegg that although it was not strictly Fashion- able to keep the contents of a larder thus exposed to view, he (Mr. Boffin) considered it hospitable : for the reason, that instead of saying, in a comparatively unmeaning manner, to a visitor, " There are such and such edibles down-stairs ; wiU. you have anything up ? " you took the bold practical course of saying, " Cast your eye along the shelves, and, if you see anything you like there, have it down." And now, Mr. Wegg at length pushed away his plate and put OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 499 on his spectacles, and Mr. Boffin lighted his pipe and looked ■with beaming eyes into the opening world before him, and Mrs. Boffin reclined in a fashionable manner on her sofa : as one who' would be part of the audience if she found she could, and would go to sleep if she found she couldn't. " Hem ! " began Wegg. " This, Mr. Boffin and Lady, is the first chapter of the first woUume of the Decline and Fall off " here he looked hard at the book, and stopped. " What's the matter, Wegg 1 " " Why, it comes into my miad, do you know, sir," said Wegg with an air of insinuating frankness (having first again looked hard at the book), " that you made a little mistake this morning, which I had meant to set you right in, only something put it out of my head. I think you said Eooshan Empire, sir ? " " It is Eooshan ; ain't it, Wegg ? " " No, sir. Eoman. Eoman." " What's the difference, Wegg ? " "The difference, sir?" Mr. Wegg was faltering and in danger of breaking down, when a bright thought flashed upon him. " The difference, sir ? There you place me in a diffi- culty, Mr. Boffin. Suffice- it to observe, that the difference is best postponed to some other occasion when Mrs. Boffin does not honour us with her compa,ny. In Mrs. Boffin's presence, sir, we had better drop it." Mr. Wegg thus came out of his disadvantage with quite a chivalrous air, and not only that, but by dint of repeating with a manly delicacy, " In Mrs. Boffin's presence, sir, we had better drop it ! " turned the disadvantage on Boffin, who felt that he had committed himself in a very painful manner. Then, Mr. Wegg, in a dry unflinching way, entered on his task; going straight across country at everything that came before him ; taking all the hard words, biographical and geographical; getting rather shaken by Hadrian, Trajan, and the Antonines ; stumbling at Polybius (pronounced Polly Beeious, and supposed by Mr. Boffin to be a Eoman virgin, and by Mrs. Boffin to be responsible for that necessity, of dropping it) ; heavily unseated by Titijs Antoninus Pius ; up again and galloping smoothly with Augustus ; finally, getting over the ground weU vsrith Commodus; who, under the appellation of Commodious, was held by Mr. Boffin to have been quite un- worthy of his English origin, and " not to have acted up to hisi name" in his government of the Eoman people. With the death of this personage, Mr. Wegg terininated his first reading; 500 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND long before which consummation several total eclipses of Mrs. Boffin's candle behind her black velvet disc, would have been very alarming, but for beiug regularly accompanied by a potent smell of burnt pens when her feathers took fire, which acted as a restorative and woke her. Mr. Wegg having read on by rote and attached as few ideas as possible to the text, came out of the encounter fresh ; but, Mr. Boffin, who had soon laid down his unfinished pipe, and had ever since sat latently staring with his eyes and mind at the confounding enol?mities of the Eomans, was so severely punished that he could hardly wish his literary friend Good-night, and articulate " To-morrow." " Commodious," gasped Mr. Boffin, staring at the moon, after letting Wegg out of the gate and fastening it : " Commodious fights in that wild-beast-show, seven hundred and thirty-five times, in one character only ! As if that wasn't stunning enough, a hundred lions is turned into the same wild-beast- show all at once ! As if that wasn't stunning enough. Com- modious, in another character, kills 'em all off in a hundred goes ! As if that wasn't stunning enough, Vittle-us (and well named too) eats six millions' worth, English money, in seven months ! Wegg takes it easy, but upon-my-soul to a old bird like myself these are scarers. And even now that Commodious is strangled, I don't see a way to our bettering ourselves.'' Mr. Boffin added as he turned his pensive steps towards the Bower and shook his head, " I didn't think this morning there was half so many Scarers in Print. But I'm in for it now ! " Miss Georgiana Podsnap is eighteen years of age, and to celebrate the event her parents give a party which Georgiana being under the shadow of "Podsnappery " is unable to enjoy. Mrs. Lammle, acting upon a slight hint conveyed to her by her crafty husband, attaches herself to the girl, who finds almost before she is aware of it that she is confiding all her grievances to her new friend. Mrs. Lammle was a mature young lady with an annuity of one hundred and fifteen pounds, when she was introduced to Mr. Lammle, a gentleman living upon his wits. They met at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Veneering, who led them to believe that in marrying one another they would OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 501 each come into property. They discovered their mistake after marriage, but agreed to hide their disappointment and to work together in furtherance of any scheme that might bring them in moneyi III PODSNAPPERY Mr. Podsnap waa well to do, and stood very high in Mr. Pod- snap's opinion. Beginning with a good inheritance, he had married a good inheritance, and had thriven exceedingly in the Marine Insurance way, and was quite satisfied. He never could make out why everybody was not quite satisfied, and he felt conscious that he set a brilliant social example in being particularly well satisfied with most things, and, above all other things, with himself. Thus happily acquainted with his own merit and importance, Mr. Podsnap settled that whatever he put behind him he put out of existence. There was a dignified conclusiveness — not to add a grand convenience — in this way of getting rid of dis- agreeables, which had done much towards estabKshing Mr. Podsnap in his lofty place in Mr. Podsnap's satisfaction. " I don't want to know about it ; I don't choose to discuss it ; I don't admit it ! " Mr. Podsnap had even acquired a peculiar flourish of his right arm in often clearing the world of its most difficult problems, by sweeping them behind him (and conse- quently sheer away) with those words and a flushed face. For they affionted him. Mr. Podsnap's world was not a very large world, morally ; no, nor even geographically : seeing that although his business was sustained upon commerce with other countries, he con- sidered other countries, with that important reservation, a mistake, and of their manners and customs would conclusively observe, " Not English ! " when. Presto ! with a flourish of the arm, and a flush of the face, they were swept away. Elsewise, the world got up at eight, shaved close at a quarter-past, break- fasted at nine, went to the City at ten, came home at half -past five, and dined at seven. Mr. Podsnap's notions of the Arts in their integrity might have been -stated thus. Literature ; large print, respectively descriptive of getting up at eight, shaving close at a quarter-past, breakfasting at nine, going to the City at ten, coming home at half -past five, and dining at seven. Painting and Sculpture; models and portraits representing 502 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND Professors of getting up at eight, shaving close at a quarter- past, breakfasting at nine, going to the City at ten, coming home at half -past five, and dining at seven. Music; a respectable performance (without variations) on stringed and wind instru- ments, sedately expressive of getting up at eight, shaving close at a quarter-past, breakfasting at nine, going to the City at ten, coming home at half-past five, and dining at seven. Nothing else to be permitted to those same vagrants the Arts, on pain of excommunication. Nothing else To Be — anywhere ! As a so eminently respectable man, Mr. Podsnap was sensible of its being required of him to take Providence under his pro- tection. Consequently he always knew exactly what Providence meant. Inferior and less respectable men might fall short of that mark, but Mr. Podsnap was always up to it. And it was very remarkable (and must have been very comfortable) that what Providence meant, was invariably what Mr. Podsnap meant. These may be said to have been the articles of a faith and school which the present chapter takes the liberty of calling, after its representative man, Podsnappery. They were confiiied within close bounds, as Mr. Podsnap's own head was confined by his shirt-collar ; and they were enunciated with a sounding pomp that smacked of the creaking of Mr. Podsnap's own boots. There was a Miss Podsnap. And this young rocking-horse was being trained in her mother's art of prancing in a stately manner without ever getting on. But the high parental action was not yet imparted to her, and in truth she was but an under- sized damsel, with high shoulders, low spirits, chilled elbows, and a rasped surface of nose, who seemed to take occasional frosty peeps out of childhood into womanhood, and to shrink back again, overcome by her mother's head-dress and her father from head to foot — crushed by the mere dead- weight of Podsnappery. A certain institution in Mr. Podsnap's mind which he called " the young person " may be considered to have been embodied in Miss Podsnap, his daughter. It was an inconvenient and exacting institution, as requiring everything in the universe to be filed down and fitted to it. The question about everything was, would it bring a blush into the cheek of the young person ? And the inconvenience of the young person was, that, according to Mr. Podsnap, she seemed always liable to burst into blushes when there was no need at all. There appeared to be no line of demarcation between the young person's excessive innocence, OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 503 and another person's guiltiest knowledge. Take Mr. Podsnap's word for it, and the soberest tints of drab, white, lilac, and grey, were all flaming red to this troublesome Bull of a young person. The Podsnaps lived in a shady angle adjoining Portman Square. They were a kind of people certain to dwell in the shade, wherever they dwelt. Miss Podsnap's life had beeuj from her first appearance on this planet, altogether of a shady order ; for, Mr. Podsnap's young person was likely to get little good out of association with other young persons, and had therefore been restricted to companionship with not very con- genial older persons, and with massive furniture. Miss Pod- snap's early views of life being principally derived from the reflections of it in her father's boots, and in the walnut and rosewood tables of the dim drawing-rooms, and in their swarthy giants of looking-glasses, were of a sombre cast ; and it was not wonderful that now, when she was on most days solemnly tooled through the Park by the side of her mother in a great tall custard-coloured phaeton, she showed above the apron of that vehicle like a dejected young person sitting up in, bed to take a startled look at things in general, and very strongly desiring to get her head under the counterpane again. Said Mr. Podsnap to Mrs. Podsnap, " Georgiana is almost eighteen." Said Mrs. Podsnap to Mr. Podsnap, assenting, "Almost eighteen." . Said Mr. Podsnap then to Mrs. Podsnap, ''Eeally I think we should have some people on Georgiana's birthday." Said Mrs. Podsnap then to Mr. Podsnap, "Which will enable us to clear off all those people who are due." So it came to pass that Mr. and Mrs. Podsnap requested the honour of the company of seventeen friends of their souls at dinner ; and that they substituted other friends of the|r souls for such of the seventeen original friends of their souls as deeply regretted that a prior engagement prevented their having the honour of dining with Mr. and Mrs. Podsnap, in pursuance of their kind invitation; and that Mrs. Podgnap said of all these inconsolable personages, as she checked them off with a pencil in her list, "Asked, at any rate, and got rid of ; " and that they successfully disposed of a good many friends of their souls in this way, and felt their consciences much lightened. There were still other friends of their souls who were not entitled to be asked to dinner, but had a claim to be invited to 504' OUR MUTUAL FRIEND come and take a haunch of mutton vapour-bath at half -past nine. For the clearing off of these worthies, Mrs. Podsnap added a small and early evening to the dinner, and looked in at the music-shop to bespeak a well-conducted automaton to come and play quadrUles for a carpet dance. Mr. and Mrs. Veneering, and Mr. and Mrs. Veneering's bran-new bride and bridegroom, were of the dinner company ; but the Podsnap establishment had nothing else in common with the Veneerings. Mr. Podsnap could tolerate taste in a mushroom man who stood in need of that sort of thing, but was far above it himself. Hideous solidity was the characteristic of the Podsnap plate. Everything was made to look as heavy as it could, and to take up as much room as possible. Every- thing said boastfully, " Here you have as much of me in my ugliness as if I were only lead ; but I am so many ounces of precious metal worth so much an ounce ; — wouldn't you like to melt me down ? " A corpulent straddling epergne, blotched all over as if it had broken out in an eruption rather than been ornamented, delivered this address from an unsightly silver platform in the centre of the table. Four silver wine-coolers, each furnished with four staring heads, each head obtrusively carrying a big silver ring in each of its ears, conveyed the sentiment up and down the table, and handed it on to the pot- bellied silver salt-ceUars. All the big silver spoons and forks widened the mouths of the company expressly for the purpose of thrusting the sentiment down their throats with every morsel they ate. The majority of the guests were like the plate, and included several heavy articles weighing ever so much. But there was a foreign gentleman among them : whom Mr. Podsnap had invited after much debate with himself — believing the whole European continent to be in mortal alliance against the young person — and there was a droll disposition, not only on the' part of Mr. Podsnap, but of everybody else, to treat him as if he were a child who was hard of hearing. As a delicate concession to this unfortunately-born foreigner, Mr. Podsnap, in receiving him, had presented his wife as "Madame Podsnap;" also his daughter as "Mademoiselle Podsnap," with some inclination to add " ma fiUe," in which bold venture, however, he checked himself. The Veneerings being at that time the only other arrivals, he had added (in a condescendingly explanatory manner), "Monsieur Vey-nair- reeng," and had then subsided into English. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 50S "How Do You Like London?" Mr. Podsnap now inquired from his station of host, as if he were administering something in the nature of a powder or potion to the deaf child ; " London, Londres, London ? " ' The foreign gentleman admired it. " You find it Very Large ? " said Mr. Podsnap, spaciously. The foreign gentleman found it very large. "And Very Eich?" The foreign gentleman found it, without doubt, enorm^ment riche. " Enormously Eich, We say," returned Mr. Podsnap, in a condescending manner. " Our English adverbs do Not termi- nate ill Mong, and We Pronounce the ' ch ' as if there were a ' t ' before it. We Say Eitch." " Eeetch," remarked the foreign gentleman. "And Do You Find, Sir," pursued Mr. Podsnap, with dignity, " Many Evidences that Strike You, of our British Con- stitution in the Streets Of The World's Metropolis, London, Londres, London 1 " The foreign gentleman begged to be pardoned, but did not altogether understand. "The Constitution Britannique," Mr. Podsnap explained, as - if he were teaching in an infant school. " We Say British, ^put You Say Britannique, You Know " (forgivingly, as if that were not his fault), " The Constitution, Sir." The foreign gentleman said, " Mais, yees ; I know eem." A youngish sallowish gentleman in spectacles, with a lumpy forehead, seated in a supplementary chair at a corner of, the table, here caused a profound sensation by saying, in a raised voice, " EsKEE," and then stopping dead. "Mais oui," said the foreign gentleman, turning towards him. " Est-ce que ? Quoi done 1 " But the gentleman with the lumpy forehead having for the time delivered himself of all that he found behind his lumps, spake for the time no more. "I Was Inquiring," said Mr. Podsnap, resuming the thread of his discourse, " Whether You Have Observed in our Streets £^s We should say, Upon our Pavvy as You would say, any Tokens " The foreign gentleman with patient courtesy entreated pardon ; " But what was tokenz ? " "Marks," said Mr. Podsnap; "Signs, you know, Appear- ances—Traces." 5o6 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND " 4I1 ! Of a Orse ? " inquired the foreign gentleman. " We call it Horse," said Mr. Podsnap, ynth forbearance. " In England^ Angleterre, England, We Aspirate the ' H,' and We Say 'Horse.' dnly our Lower Classes Say ' Orse ! '" " Pardon," said the foreign gentleman ; " I am alwiz ■wrong ! " " Our Language," said Mr. Podsnap, with a gracious con- sciousness of being' always right, "is Difficult. Ours is a Copious Language, and Trying to Strangers. I will not Purs)ie my Question." But the lumpy gentleman, unwilling to give it up, again madly said, " Esker," and again spake no more. " It merely referred,", Mr. Podsnap explained, with a sense of meritorious proprietorship, "to Our Constitution, Sir. We Englishmen are Very Proud of our Constitution, Sir, It Was Bestowed Upon Us By Providence. No Other Country is so FavoTired as This Country." " And ozer countries ? — " the foreign gentleman was beginning, when Mr. Podsnap put him right again. "We do not say Ozer; we say Other: the letters are 'T' and ' H ; ' you say Tay and Aish, You Know ; " (stni with clemency). "The sound is ' th '— ' th ! ' " " And othesr countries," said the foreign gentleman. " They do how?" " They do, Sir," returned Mr. Podsnap, gravely shaking his head; "they do — I am sorry to be obliged to say it — as they do." " It was a little particular of Providence," said the foreign gentleman, laughing ; " for the frontier is not large." " Undoubtedly," assented Mr. Podsnap ; " But So it is. I)b was the Charter of the Land. This Island was Blest, Sir, to the Direct Exclusion of such Other Countries as — as there may happen to be. And if we were all Englishmen present, I would say," added Mr. Podsnap, looking round upon his compatriots, and sounding solemnly with his theme, "that there is in th^ Englishman a combination of qualities, a modesty, an indepen- dence, a responsibility, a repose, combined with an absence of everything calculated to call, a blush into the cheek of a young person, which one would seek in vain among the Nations of the Earth." , , Having delivered this little summary, Mr. Podsnap's face flushed, as he thought of the remote possibility of its being at all qualified by any prejudiced citizen of any other coimtry j OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 507 3Jid, with his favourite right-arm flourish, he put the rest of Europe and the whole of Asia, Africa, and America nowhere. The audience were muqh edified by this passage of words ; aiid Mr. Podsnap, feeling that he was, in rather remarkable force to-day, became smiling and conversational. "Has anything more been heard, Veneering," he inquired, " of the lucky legatee ? " "Nothing more," returned Yeneering, "than th^t he has come into possession of the property. I am told people now call him The Golden Dustman. , I mentioned to you some time ago, I think, that the young lady whose intended husband was murdered is daughter to a clerk of mine 1 " " Yes, you ,told me that," said Podsnap; " and by the bye, I wish you would tell it' again here, for it's a curious coincidence — curious that the first news of the discovery should have been brought straight to your table (when I was there), and curious that one of your people should have been so nearly interested in it. Just relate that, wUl you ? " Yeneering was more than ready to doit, for he had prospered exceedingly upon the Harmon Murder, and had turned the social distinction it conferred upon him to the account of making several dozen of brand-new bosom-friends. Indeed, such another lucky hit would almost have set him, up in that way to his satisfaction. So, addressing himself to the most desirable of his neighbours, while Mrs. Yeneering secured the next most desirable, he plunged into the case, and emerged from it twenty minutes afterwards -^th a Bank Director, in his arms. In the mean time, Mrs. Yeneering had dived into the same waters for a wealthy Ship-Broker, and. had brought him up, safe and sound, by the hair. Then Mrs. Yeneering had to relate, to a larger circle, how she had been to see the girl, and how she was really pretty, and (considering her station) presentable. And this she did with such a successful display of her eight aquiline fingers and their encircling jewels, ithat she happily laid hold of a drifting General. Officer, his wife and daughter, and not only restored their animation which had become suspended, but made them lively friends within an hour. ; Although Mr. Podsnap would in a general way have highly disapproved of Bodies in rivers as ineligible topics with reference to the cheek of the young person, he had, as one may say, a share in this affair which inade him a part proprietor. As its returns were immediate, too, in the way of restraining 5o8 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND the company from speechless contemplation of the wine-coolers, it paid, and he was satisfied. And now the haunch of mutton vapour-bath having received a gamey infusion, and a few last touches of sweets and coffee, was quite ready, and the bathers came; but not before the discreet automaton had got behind the bars of the piano music- desk, and there presented the appearance of a captive languish- ing in a rosewood jail. And who now so pleasant or so well assorted as Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lammle, he aU sparkle, she all gracious contentment, both at occasional intervals exchanging looks like partners at cards, who played a game against All England. There was not much youth among the bathers, but there was no youth (the young person always excepted) in the articles of Podsnappery. Bald bathers folded their arms and talked to Mr. Podsnap on the hearthrug ; sleek-whiskered bathers, with hats in their hands, lunged at Mrs. Podsnap and retreated; prowling bathers went about looking into ornamental boxes and bowls as if they had suspicions of larceny on the part of the Podsnaps, and expected to find something they had lost at the bottom ; bathers of the gentler sex sat silently comparing ivory shoulders. All this time and always, poor little Miss Podsnap, whose tiny efforts (if she had made any) were swallowed up in the magnificence of her mother's rocking, kept herself as much out of sight and mind as she could, and appeared to be counting on many dismal returns of the day. It was somehow under- stood, as a secret article in the state proprieties of Podsnappery, that nothing must be said about the day. Consequently this young damsel's nativity was hushed up and looked over, as if it were agreed on all hands that it would have been better that she had never been born. The Lammles were so fond of the dear Veneerings that they could not for some time detach themselves from those excellent friends; but at length, either a very open smile on Mr. Lammle's part, or a very secret elevation of one of his ginger- ous eyebrows — certainly the one or the other — seemed to say to Mrs. Lammle, "Why don't you play?" And so, looking about her, she saw Miss Podsnap, and seeming to say respon- sively, " That card ? " and to be answered " Yes," went and sat beside Miss Podsnap. Mrs. Lammle was overjoyed to escape into a corner for a little quiet talk. It promised to be a very quiet talk, for Miss Podsnap OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 509 replied in a flutter, " Oh ! Indeed, it's very kind of you, but I am afraid I don't talk." " Let us make a begiimiag," said the insinuating Mrs, Lammle, with her best smile. "Oh! I am afraid you'll find me very duU. But Ma talks!" That was plainly to be seen, for Ma was talking then at her usual canter, with arched head and mane, opened eyes and nostrils. " Fond of reading perhaps ? " "Yes. At least I — don't mind that so much," returned Miss Podsnap. " M — m — m — m — music." So insinuating was Mrs. Lammle that she got half-a-dozen ms into the word before she got it out. " I haven't nerve to play even if I could. Ma plays." (At exactly the same canter, and with a certain flourishing appearance of doing something, Ma did, in fact, occasionally take a rock upon the instrument.) " Of course you like dancing ? " " Oh no, I don't," said Miss Podsnap. " No ? With your youth and attractions ? Truly, my dear, you surprise me ! " " I can't say," observed Miss Podsnap, after hesitating con- siderably, and stealing several timid looks at Mrs. Lammle's carefully arranged face, " how I might have liked it if I had been a — you won't mention it, will you ? " " My dear ! Never ! " " No, I am sure you won't. I can't say then how I should have liked it, if I had been a chimney-sweep on May-day." " Gracious ! " was the exclamation which amazement elicited from Mrs. Lammle. " There ! I knew you'd wonder. But you won't mention it, will you ? " " Upon my word, my love," said Mrs. Lammle, " you make me ten times more desirous, now I talk to you, to know you weU, than I was when I sat over yonder looking at you. How I wish we could be real friends! Try me as a real friend. Come! Don't fancy me a frumpy old married woman, my dear; I was married but the other day, you know; I am dressed as a bride now, you see. About the chimney-sweeps ? " "Hush! Ma'Uhear." " She can't hear from where she sits." 510 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND "Don't you be too sure of that," said Miss Podsnap,- in a lower voice. "Well, what I mean is, that they seem to enjoy it." " And that perhaps you would have enjoyed it, if you had been one of them ? " Miss Podsnap nodded significantly. " Then, you don't enjoy it now ? " " How is it possible ? " said Miss Podsnap. " Oh, it is such a dreadful thing ! If I was wicked enough — and strong enough — to kill anybody, it should be my partner." This was such an entirely new view of the Terpsichorean art as socially practised, that Mrs. Lammle looked at her young friend in some astonishment. Her young friend sat nervously twiddling her fingers in a pinioned attitude, as if she were trying to hide her elbows. But this latter Utopian object (in short sleeves) always appeared to be the great inoffensive aim of her existence. "It sounds horrid, don't it?" said Miss Podsnap, with a penitential face. Mrs. Lammle, not very well knowing what to answer, resolved herself into a look of smiling encouragement. " But it is, and it always has been," pursued Miss Podsnap, " such a trial to me ! I so dread being awful. And it is so awful ! No one knows what I suffered at Madame Sauteuse's, where I learnt to dance and make presentation-curtseys, and other dreadful things — or at least where they tried to teach me. Ma can do it." "At any rate, my love," said Mrs. Lammle, soothingly, " that's over." " Yes, it's over," returned Miss Podsnap, " but there's nothing gained by that. It's worse here than at Madame Sauteuse's. Ma was there, and Ma's here ; but Pa wasn't there, and company wasn't there, and there were not real partners there. Oh, there's Ma speaking to the man at the piano ! Oh, there's Ma going up to somebody ! Oh, I know she's going to bring him to me ! Oh, please don't, please don't, please don't ! Oh, keep away, keep away, keep away ! " These pious ejaculations Miss Podsnap uttered with her eyes closed, and her head leaning back against the wall. But the Ogre advanced under the pilotage of Ma, and Ma said, "Georgiana, Mr. Grompus," and the Ogre clutched his victim and bore her off to his castle in the top couple. Then the discreet automaton who had surveyed his ground, played a OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 511 blossomless tuneless " set," and sixteen disciples of Podsnappery went through' the figures of — 1, Getting up at eight and shaving close at a quarter-past— 2, Breakfasting at nine — 3, Going to the City at ten — 4, Coming home at half-past five — 5, Dining at seven, and the grand chain. While these solemnities were in progress, Mr^ Alfred Lamm^e (most loving of husbands) approached the chair of Mrs. Alfred Lammle (most loving of wives), and bending, over the back of it, trifled for some seconds with Mrs. Lamnile's bracelet. Slightly in contrast with this brief airy toying, one might have noticed a certain dark attention in Mrs. Lammle'S face as she said some words with her eyes on Mr. Lammle's waistcoat, and seemed in return to receive some lesson. But it was all done as a breath passes from a mirror. And now, the grand chain riveted to the last Knk, the discreet automaton ceased, and the sixteen, two and two, took a walk among the furniture. And herein the unconsciousness of the Ogre Grompus was pleasantly conspicuous; for, that complacent monster, believing that he was giving Miss Podsnap a treat, prolonged to the utmost stretch of possibility a peri- patetic account of an archery meeting ; while his victim, heading the procession of sixteen as it slowly circled about, like a revolving funeral, never raised her eyes except once to steal a glance at Mrs. Lammle, expressive of intense despair. At length the procession was dissolved by the violent arrival of a nutmeg, before which the drawing-room door bounced open as if it were a cannon-ball; and while that fragrant article, dispersed through several glasses of coloured warm water, was going the round of society. Miss Podsnap returned to her seat by her new friend. ' " Oh, my goodness," said Miss Podsnap. " That's over ! I hope you didn't look at me." " My dear, why not ? " " Oh, I know all about myself," said Miss Podsnap. " I'll tell you something I know about you, my dear," returned Mrs. Lammle in her winning way, "and that is, you are most unnecessarily shy." " Ma aru't," said Miss Podsnap. " — I detest you ! Go along ! " This shot was levelled under her breath at the-gallant Grompus for bestowing an insinuating smile upon her in, passing. " Pardon me if I scarcely see, my dear Miss Podsnap," Mrs Lammle was beginning when the young lady interposed. 512 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND " If we are going to be real friends (and I suppose we are, for you are the only person who ever proposed it) don't let us be awful. It's awful enough to he Miss Podsnap, without being called so. Call me Georgiana." " Dearest Georgiana " Mrs. Lammle began again. " Thank you," said Miss Podsnap. " Dearest Georgiana, pardon me if I scarcely see, my love, why your mamma's not being shy is a reason why you should be." " Don't you really see that ? " asked Miss Podsnap, plucking at her fingers in a troubled manner, and furtively casting her eyes now on Mrs. Lammle, now on the ground. " Then perhaps it isn't ? " " My dearest Georgiana, you defer much too readily to my poor opinion. Indeed it is not even an opinion, darliug, for it is only a confession of my dulness." " Oh, you are not dull," returned Miss Podsnap. " / am dull, but you couldn't have made me talk if you were." Some little touch of conscience answering this perception of her having gained a purpose, called bloom enough into Mrs. Lammle's face to make it look brighter as she sat smiling her best smile on her dear Georgiana, and shaking her head with an affectionate playfulness. Not that it meant anything, but that Georgiana seemed to like it. " What I mean is," pursued Georgiana, " that Ma being so endowed with awfulness, and Pa being so endowed with awful- ness, and there being so much awfulness everywhere — I mean, at least, everywhere where I am — perhaps it makes me who am so' deficient in awfulness, and frightened at it — I say it very badly — I don't know whether you can understand what I mean ? " " Perfectly, dearest Georgiana ! " Mrs. Lammle was proceed- ing with every reassuring wile, when the head of that young lady suddenly went back against the waU again, and her eyes closed. " Oh ! there's Ma being awful with somebody with a glass in his eye ! Oh, I know she's going to bring him here ! Oh, don't bring him, don't bring Mm! Oh, he'll be my partner with his glass in his eye ! Oh, what shall I do ! " This time Georgiana accompanied her ejaculations with taps of her feet upon the floor, and was altogether in quite a desperate condition. But, there was no escape from the majestic Mrs. Podsnap's production of an ambling stranger, witb pne eye screwed up OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 513 into extinction and the other framed and glazed, who, having looked down out of that organ, as if he descried Miss Podsnap at the bottom of some perpendicular shaft, brought her to the surface, and ambled off with her. And then the, captive at the piano played another " set," expressive of his mournful aspira- tions after freedom, and other sixteen went through the former melancholy motions, and the ambler took Miss Podsnap for a furniture walk, as if he had struck out an entirely original conception. In the mean time a stray personage of a meek demeanour, who had wandered to the hearthrug and got among the heads of tribes assembled there in conference with Mr. Podsnap, eliminated Mr. Podsnap's flush and flourish by a highly unpoUte remark ; no less than a reference to the circumstance that some half-dozen people had lately died in the streets, of starvation. It was clearly ill-timed, after dinner. It was not adapted to the cheek of the young person. It was not in good taste. " I don't believe it," said Mr. Podsnap, putting it behind him. The meek man was afraid we must take it as proved, because there were the Inquests and the Registrar's returns. " Then it was their own fault," said Mr. Podsnap. Veneering and other elders of tribes commended this way out of it. At once a short cut and a broad road. The man of meek demeanour intimated that truly it would seem from the facts as if starvation had been forced upon the culprits in question — as if, in their wretched manner, they had made their weak protests against it — as if they would have taken the liberty of staving it off if they could — as if they would rather not have been starved upon the whole, if perfectly agreeable to all parties. " There is not," said Mr. Podsnap, flushing angrily, " there is not a country in the world, sir, where so noble a provision is made for the poor as an this country." The meek man wias quite willing to concede that, but per- haps it rendered the matter even worse, as showing that there must be something appallingly wrong somewhere. " Where ? " said Mr. Podsnap. The meek man hinted "Wouldn't it be well to try, very seriously, to find out where 1 " " Ah ! " said Mr. Podsnap. " Easy to say somewhere ; not so easy to say where ! But I see what you are driving at. I 2 L 514 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND knew it from the first. Centralization. No. Never with my consent. Not English." An approving murmur arose from the heads of tribes; as saying, " There you have him ! Hold him ! " He was not aware (the meek man submitted of himself) that he was driving at any ization. He had no favourite ization that he knew of. But he certainly was more staggered by these terrible occurrences than he was by names, of howsoever so many syllables. Might he ask, was dying of destitution and neglect necessarily English ? "You know what the population of London is, I suppose," said Mr. Podsnap. The meek man supposed he did, but supposed that had absolutely nothing to do with it, if its laws were well ad- ministered. "And you know; at least I hope you know," said Mr. Podsnap, with severity, " that Providence has declared that you shall have the poor always with you ? " The meek man also hoped he knew that. " I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Podsnap, with a portentous air. " I am glad to hear it. It will render you cautious how you fly in the face of Providence." In reference to that absurd and Irreverent conventional phrase, the meek man said, for which Mr. Podsnap was not responsible, he the meek man had no fear of doing anything so impossible; but But Mr. Podsnap felt that the time had come for flush- ing and flourishing this meek man down for good. So he said: " I must decline to pursue this painful discussion. It is not pleasant to my feelings. It is repugnant to my feelings. I have said that I do not admit these things. I have also said that if they do occur (not that I admit it), the fault lies with the sufferers themselves. It is not for ms" — Mr. Podsnap pointed " me " forcibly, as adding by implication though it may be all very well for you — " it is not for me to impugn the work- ings of Providence. I know better than that, I trust, and I have mentioned what the intentions of Providence are. Be- sides," said Mr. Podsnap, flushing high up among his hair-brushes, with a strong consciousness of personal affront, " the subject is a very disagreeable one. I will 'go so far as to say it is an odious one. It is not one to be introduced among our wives and young persons, and I " He finished with that flourish OUR MUTUAL FRIEND 515 of his arm which added more expressively than any words, And I remove it from the face of the earth. Simultaneously with this quenching of the meek man's ineffectual fire, Georgiana having left the ambler up a lane of sofa, in a No Thoroughfare of back drawiug-room, to find his own way out, came back to Mrs. Lammle. And who should be with Mrs. Lammle, but Mr. Lammle. So fond of her ! " Alfred, my love, here is my friend. Georgiana, dearest girl, you must like my husband next to me." Mr. Lammle was proud to be so soon distinguished by this special commendation to Miss Podsnap's favour. But if Mr. Lammle were prone to be jealous of his dear Sophronia's friend- ships, he would be jealous of her feeUng towards Miss Podsnap. " Say Georgiana, darling ? " interposed his wife. " Towards — shall I ? Georgiana," Mr. Lammle uttered the name, with a delicate curve of his right hand, from his lips outward. " For never have I known Sophronia (who is not apt to take sudden likings) so attracted and so captivated as she is by — shall I once more ? — ^Georgiana." The object of this homage sat uneasily enough in receipt of it, and then said, turning to Mrs. Lammle, much embarrassed : " I wonder what you like me for ! I am sure I can't thiak." " Dearest Georgiana, for yourself. For your difference from all around you." " Well ! That may be. For I think I like you for your dLEferenoe from all around me," said Georgiana with a smile of relief. " We must be going with the rest," observed Mrs. Lammle, rising with a show of unwillingness, amidst a general dispersal. " We are real friends, Georgiana dear." " Eeal." " Good-night, dear girl ! " She had established an attraction over the shriiiking nature upon which her smiling eyes were fixed, for Georgiana held her hand while she answered in a secret and half-frightened tone : "Don't forget me when you are gone away. And come again soon. Good-night ! " Charming to see Mr. and Mrs. Lammle taking leave so gracefully, and going down the stairs so lovingly and sweetly. Not qiilite so charming to see their smiling faces fall and brood as they dropped moodily into separate corners of their little carriage. But to be sure that was a sight behind the scenes, which nobody saw, and which nobody was meant to see. Si6 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND Certain big, heavy vehicles, builfe on the model of the Podsnap plate, took away the heavy articles of guests weighing ever so much ; and the less valuable articles got away after their various manners ; and the Podsnap plate was put to bed. As Mr. Podsnap stood with his back to the drawing-room fire, pulling up his shirt-collar, like a veritable cock of the walk literally pluming himself in the midst of his possessions, nothing would have astonished him more than an intimation that Miss Podsnap, or any other young person properly born and bred, could not be exactly put away like the plate, brought out like the plate, polished like the plate, counted, weighed, and valued like the plate. That such a young person could possibly have a morbid vacancy in the heart for anything younger than the plate, or less monotonous than the plate ; or that such a young person's thoughts could try to scale the region bounded on the north, south, east, and west, by the plate ; was a monstrous imagination which he would on the spot have flourished into space. This perhaps in some sort arose from Mr. Podsnap's blushing young person being, so to speak, all cheek : whereas there is a possibility that there may be young persons of a rather more complex organization. If Mr. Podsnap, pulling up his shirt-collar, could only have heard himself called " that fellow " in a certain short dialogue which passed between Mr. and Mrs. Lammle in their opposite comers of their little carriage, rolling home ! " Sophronia, are you awake ? " " Am I likely to be asleep, sir ? " " Very likely, I should think, after that fellow's company. Attend to what I am going to say." "I have attended to what you have already said, have I not ? What else have I been doing all night ? " "Attend, I tell you" (in a raised voice), "to what I am going to say. Keep close to that idiot girl. Keep her under your thumb. You have her fast, and you are not to let her go. Do you hear ? " " I hear you." " I foresee there is money to be made out of this, besides taking that fellow down a peg. We owe each other money, you know." Mrs. Lammle winced a little at the reminder, but only enough to shake her scents and essences anew into the atmo- sphere of the little carriage, as she settled herself afresh into her own dark comer. BOOK XVI THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD Edwin Brood, the last of my father's writings, was begun at Gad's Hill Place in 1869, and was carried on up to the day before his death, which took place on June 9, 1870. The story was to have consisted of twelve monthly parts, with illustrations by Mr. Luke Fildes, and a cover by Mr. Charles A. Collins. Only six of these numbers were finished, and this half of a story was published by Messrs. Chapman and Hall. Edwin Drood and Rosa Bud, two very young people, have been affianced since they were mere children by their fathers, two dear friends who were both widowers, and are now dead, Kosa has for her guardian Mr. Grewgious a lawyer, who once loved her mother, and Edwin's uncle is a certain John Jasper living in Oloisterham. He is Lay Precentor at the Cathedral, has a beautiful voice, is a good musician, and leads the Choir. Jasper is apparently devoted to his nephew, but in his heart is jealous of him, for he is secretly madly in love with Rosa who fears and dislikes him. This feeling of re- pulsion is a right instinct, for though respected in the town, Jasper is a morbid gloomy man addicted to the terrible vice of opium-smoking. Rosa has been for some time a pupil-boarder at Miss Twinkleton's " Seminary for Young Ladies," at the Nuns' House, Cloisterham, where she is loved by pupils and teachers alike, for she is an engaging little creature, with a warm heart, whose only faults are those of a very young girl, accustomed to be petted and made much of all her life. Although soon to be married, Edwin and Rosa are not either of them in love. The knowledge that the engagement between them is not of their making frets them both, and they begin to recognize with sorrow that its continuation can but lead to their future unhappiness. I THE nuns' house In the midst of Cloisterhain stands the Nuns' House : a venerable brick edifice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from the legend of its conventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its old courtyard is a resplendent brass plate 517 5i8 EDWIN DROOD flashing forth the legend : " Seminary for Young Ladies. Miss Twinkleton." The house-front is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so shining and staring, that the general result has reminded imaginative strangers of a battered old beau with a large modern eye-glass stuck in his blind eye. "Whether the nuns of yore, being of a submissive rather than a stiff-necked generation, habitually bent their contemplative heads to avoid collision with the beams in the low ceilings of the many chambers of their House; whether they sat in its long low windows tellrag their beads for their mortification, instead of making necklaces of them for their adornment; whether they were ever walled up alive in odd angles and jutting gables of the building for having some ineradicable leaven of busy mother Nature in them which has kept the fermentiag world alive ever since; these may be matters of interest to its haunting ghosts (if any), but constitute no item in Miss Twinkleton's half-yearly accounts. They are neither of Miss Twinkleton's inclusive regulars, nor of her extras. The lady who undertakes the poetical department of the establishment at so much (or so little) a quarter has no pieces in her list of recitals bearing on such unprofitable questions. As, in some cases of drunkenness, and in others of animal magnetism, there are two states of consciousness which never clash, but each of which pursues its separate course as though it were continuous instead of broken (thus, if I hide my watch when I am drunk, I must be drunk again before I can remember where), so Miss Twinkleton has two distinct and separate phases of being. Every night, the moment the young ladies have retired to rest, does Miss Twinkleton smarten up her curls a little, brighten up her eyes a little, and become a sprightlier Miss Twinkleton than the young ladies have ever seen. Every night, at the same hour, does Miss Twinkleton resume the topics of the previous night, comprehending the tenderer scandal of Cloisterham, of which she 1ms no knowledge whatever by day, and references to a certain season at Tunbridge Wells (airily called by Miss Twinkleton in this state of her existence " The Wells "), notably the season wherein a certain finished gentleman (compassionately called by Miss Twinkleton, in this stage of her existence, "Foolish Mr. Porters") revealed a homage of the heart, whereof Miss Twinkleton, in her scholastic state of existence, is as ignorant as a granite pillar. Miss Twinkleton's companion in both states of existence, and equally adaptable to either, is one Mrs. Tisher : a deferential widow EDWIN DROOD 519 with a weak back, a chronic sigh, and a suppressed voice, who looks after the young ladies' wardrobes, and leads them to infer that she has seen better days. Perhaps this Is the reason why it is an article of faith with the servants, handed down from race to race, that the departed Tisher was a hairdresser. The pet pupil of the Nuns' House is Miss Eosa Bud, of oourse called Eosebud ; wonderfully pretty, wonderfully childish, wonderfully whimsical. An awkward interest (awkward because romantic) attaches to Miss Bud in the minds of the yoimg ladies, on account of its being known to them that a husband has been chosen for her by will and bequest, and that her guardian is bound down to bestow her on that husband when he comes of age. Miss Twinkleton, in her seminarial state of existence, has combated the romantic aspect of this destiny by affecting to shake her head over it behind Miss Bud's dimpled shoulders, and to brood on the unhappy lot of that doomed little victim. But with no better effect-^possibly some unfelt touch of foolish Mr. Porters has undermined the endeavour — than to iavoke from the young ladies an unanimous bedchamber cry of/'O, what a pretending old thing Miss Twinkleton is, my dear ! " The Nuns' House is never in such a state of flutter as when this allotted husband calls to see Kttle Eosebud. (It is unanimously understood by the young ladies that he is lawfully entitled to this privilege, and that if Miss Twinkleton disputed it, she would be instantly taken up and transported.) When his ring at the gate-bell is expected, or takes place, every young lady who can, under any pretence, look out of window, looks out of window ; while every young lady who is " practising," practises out of time ; and the French clasa becomes so demora- lised that the mark goes round as brisklyias the bottle at a convivial party in the last century. On the afternoon of the day next after the dinner of two at the gatehouse, the bell is rung with the usual fluttering results. " Mr. Edwin Drood to see Miss Eosa " This is the announcement of the parlour-maid in chief. Miss Twinkleton, with an exemplary air of melancholy on her, turns to the sacrifice, and says: "You may go down, my dear." Miss Bud goes down, followed by all eyes. Mr. Edwin Drood is waiting in Miss Twinkleton's own parlour : a dainty room, with nothing more directly scholastic in it than a terrestrial and a celestial globe. These expressive machines imply (to parents and guardians) that even when 520 EDWIN DROOD Miss Twinkleton retires into the bosom of privacy, duty may at any moment compel her to become a sort of Wandering Jewess, scouring the earth and soaring through the skies in search of knowledge for her pupils. The last new maid, who has never seen the young gentleman Miss Eosa is engaged to, and who is making his acquaintance between the hinges of the open door, left open for the purpose, stumbles guiltily down the kitchen stairs, as a charming little apparition, with its face concealed by a little silk apron thrown over its head, glides into the parlour. " ! it is so ridiculous ! " says the apparition, stopping and shrinking. " Don't, Eddy ! " " Don't what, Eosa ? " " Don't come any nearer, please. It is so absurd." "What is absurd, Eosa ?" " The whole thing is. It is so absurd to be an engaged orphan ; and it is so absurd to have the girls and the servants scuttling about after one, like mice in the wainscot ; and it is so absurd to be called upon ! " The apparition appears to have a thumb in the corner of its mouth while making this complaint. " You give me an affectionate reception. Pussy, I must say." " Well, I will in a minute, Eddy, but I can't just yet. How are you ? " (very shortly.) " I am unable to reply that I am much the better for seeing you. Pussy, inasmuch as I see nothing of you." This second remonstrance brings a dark bright pouting eye out from a corner of the apron ; but it swiftly becomes invisible again, as the apparition exclaims : " good gracious ! you have had half your hair cut off ! " " I should have done better to have had my head cut off, I think," said Edwin, rumpling the hair in question, with a fierce glance at the looking-glass, and giving an impatient stamp. " Shall I go ? " " No ; you needn't go just yet, Eddy. The girls would all be asking questions why you went." " Once for all, Eosa, will you uncover that ridiculous little head of yours and give me a welcome 1 " The apron is puUed off the childish head, as its wearer replies : " You're very welcome, Eddy. There ! I'm sure that's nice. Shake hands. No, I can't kiss you, because I've got an acidulated drop in my mouth." " Are you at all glad to see me, Pussy ? " EDWIN DROOD 521 "0, yes, I'm dreadfully glad. — Go and sit down. — Miss Twinkleton." It is the custom of that excellent lady when these visits occur, to appear every three minutes, either in her own person or in that of Mrs. Tisher, and lay an offering on the shrine of Propriety by affecting to look for some desiderated article. On the present occasion Miss Twinkleton, gracefully gliding in and out, says in passing : " How do you do, Mr. Drood ? Very glad indeed to have the pleasure. Pray excuse me. Tweezers. Thank you!" " I got the gloves last evening, Eddy, and I like them very much. They are beauties." "Well, that's something," the affianced replies, half grum- bling, " The smallest encouragement thankfully received. And how did you pass your birthday. Pussy ? " "Delightfully! Everybody gave me a present. And we had a feast. And we had a ball at night." " A feast and a ball, eh ? These occasions seem to go off tolerably well without me. Pussy." " De-lightfully ! " cries Eosa, in a q^uite spontaneous manner, and .without the least pretence of reserve. " Hah ! And what was the feast ? " " Tarts, oranges, jellies, and shrimps." " Any partners at the ball ? " " We danced with one another, of course, sir. But some of the girls made game to be their brothers. It was so droll ! " " Did anybody make game to be " " To be you ? dear yes ! " cries Eosa, laughing with great enjoyment. " That was the first thing done." " I hope she did it pretty well," says Edwin rabher doubt- fully. "0, it was excellent! — I wouldn't dance with you, you know." Edwin scarcely seems to see the force of this ; begs to know if he may take the liberty to ask why ? " Because I was so tired of you," returns Eosa. But she quickly adds, and pleadingly too, seeing displeasure in his face : "Dear Eddy, you were just as tired of me, you know." " Did I say so, Eosa ? " " Say so ! Do you ever say sq ? No, you only showed it. 0, she did it so well ! " cries Eosa, in a sudden ecstasy with her counterfeit betrothed. " It strikes me that she must be a devilish Impudent girl," 522 EDWIN DROOD says Edwin Drood. " And so, Pussy, you have passed your last birthday ia this old house." " Ah, yes ! " Eosa clasps hei hands, looks down with a sigh, and shakes her head. " You seem to be sorry, Eosa." " I am sorry for the poor old place. Somehow, I feel as if it would miss me, when I am gone so far away, so young." " Perhaps we had better stop short, Eosa ? " She looks up at him with a swift bright look ; next moment shakes her head, sighs, and looks down again. " That is to say, is it. Pussy, that we are both resigned ? " She nods her head again, and after a short silence, quaintly bursts out with : " You know we must be married, and married from here, Eddy, or the poor girls will be so dreadfiilly dis- appointed ! " For the moment there is more of compassion, both for her and for himself, in her affianced husband's face, than there is of love. He checks the look, and asks : " ShaU I take you out for a walk, Eosa dear ? " Eosa dear does not seem at all clear on this point, until her face, which has been comically reflective, brightens. " 0, yes, Eddy ; let us go for a walk ! And I tell you what we'll do. You shall pretend that you are engaged to somebody else, and I'll pretend that I am not engaged to anybody, and then we shan't quarrel." " Do you think that will prevent our falling out, Eosa ? " " I know it will. Hush ! Pretend to look out of window — Mrs. Tisher!" Through a fortuitous concourse of accidents, the matronly Tisher heaves in sight, says, in rustling through the room like the legendary ghost of a dowager in silken skirts : " I hope I see Mr. Drood well j though I needn't ask, if I may judge from his complexion. I trust I disturb no one ; but there was a paper- knife — 0, thank you, I am sure!" and disappears with her prize. " One other thing you must do, Eddy, to oblige me," says Eosebud. " The moment we get into the street, you must put me outside, and keep close to the house yourself — squeeze and graze yourself against it." " By all means, Eosa, if you wish it. Might I ask wky ? " " ! because I don't want the girls to see you." "It's a fine day; but would you like me to carry an umbrella up ? " EDWIN DROOD 523 "Don't be foolish, sir. You haven't got polished leather hoots on," pouting, with one shoulder raised. " Perhaps that might escape the notice of the girls, even if they did see me," remarks Edwin, looking down at his boots with a sudden distaste for them. " Nothing escapes their notice, sir. And then I know what would happen. Some of them would begin reflecting on me by saying (for they are free) that they never wiU on any account engage themselves to lovers without polished leather boots. Hark ! Miss Twinkleton. I'll ask for leave." That discreet lady being indeed heard without, inquiring of nobody in a blandly conveisatiomal tone as she advances : " Eh ? Indeed ! Are you quite sure you saw my mother-of-pearl button- holder on the work-table in my room ? " is at once solicited for walking leave, and graciously accords it. And soon the young couple go out of the Nuns' House, taking all precautions against the discovery of the so vitally defective boots of Mr. Edwin Drood : precautions, let us hope, effective for the peace of Mrs. Edwin Drood that is to be. " Which way shall we take, Eosa 1 " Eosa replies : " I want to go to the Lumps-of-Delight shop." "To the -?" "A Turkish sweetmeat, sir. My gracious me, don't you understand anything ? Call yourself an Engineer, and not know that?" " Why, how should I know it, Eosa 1 " " Because I am very fond of them. But ! I forgot what we are to pretend. No, you needn't know anything about them; never mind." So he is gloomily borne off to the Lumps-of-Delight shop, where Eosa makes her purchase, and, after offering some to him (which he rather indignantly declines), begins to partake of it with great 2est: previously taking off and rolling up a pair of little pink gloves, like rose-leaves, and occasionally putting her little pink fingers to her rosy lips, to cleanse them from the Dust of Delight that comes off the Lumps. " Now, be a good-tempered Eddy, and pretend. And so you are engaged ? " ' " And so I am engaged." "Is she nice?" " Charming." "Tall?" " Immensely taU ! " Eosa being short. 524 EDWIN DROOD "Must be gawky, I should tMnk," is Kosa's quiet com- mentary. " I beg your pardon ; not at all," contradiction rising in him. " What is termed a fine woman; a splendid woman." " Big nose, no doubt," is the quiet commentary again. " Not a little one, certainly," is the quick reply. (Eosa's being a little one.) " Long pale nose, with a red knob in the middle. / know the sort of nose," says Kosa, with a satisfied nod, and tranquilly enjoying the Lumps. " You don't know the sort of nose, Kosa," with some warmth ; " because it's nothing of the kind." " Not a pale nose, Eddy ? " " No." Determined not to assent. " A red nose ? ! I don't like red noses. However ; to be sure she can always powder it." "She would scorn to powder it," says Edwin, becoming heated. " Would she ? What a stupid thing she must be ! Is she stupid in everything ? " "No; in nothing." After a pause, in which the whimsically wicked face has not been unobservant of him, Eosa says : " And this most sensible of creatures likes the idea of being carried off to Egypt ; does she, Eddy ? " "Yes. She takes a sensible interest in triumphs of engineering skill : espeoiaUy when they are to change the whole condition of an undeveloped country." "Lor!" says Eosa, shrugging her shoulders, with a little laugh of wonder. " Do you object," Edwin inquires, with a majestic turn of his eyes downward upon the fairy figure : " do you object, Eosa, to her feeling that interest ? " "Object? my dear Eddy! But really, doesn't she hate boilers and things ? " " I can answer for her not being bo idiotic as to hate Boilers," he returns with angry emphasis ; " though I cannot answer for her views about Things ; really not understanding what Things are meant." " But don't she hate Arabs, and Turks, and Fellahs, and people ? " " Certainly not." Very firmly. " At least she must hate the Pyramids ? Come, Eddy ? " EDWIN DROOD 525 *' Why should she be such a little — tall, I mean — goose, as to hate the Pyramids, Eosa ? " " Ah ! you should hear Miss Twinkleton," often nodding her head, and much enjoying the Lumps, " bore about them, and then you wouldn't ask. Tiresome old burying-grounds ; Isises, and Ibises, and Cheopses, and Pharaohses ; who cares about them ? And then there was Belzoni, or somebody, dragged out by the legs, half-choked with bats and dust. ' All the girls say : Serve him right, and hope it hurt him, and wish he had been quite choked." The two youthful figures, side by side, but not now arm-in- arm, wander discontentedly about the old Close; and each sometimes stops and slowly imprints a deeper footstep in the fallen leaves. " Well ! " says Edwin, after a lengthy silence. " According to custom. We can't get on, Eosa." Eosa tosses her head, and says she don't want to get on. " That's a pretty sentiment, Eosa, considering." " Considering what ? " " If I say what, you'll go wrong again." " You'll go wrong, you mean, Eddy. Don't be ungenerous." " Ungenerous ! I like that ! " " Then I don't like that, and so I tell you plainly," Eosa pouts. "Now, Eosa, I put it to you. Who disparaged my pro- fession, my destination " " You are not going to be buried in the Pyramids, I hope ? " she interrupts, arching her delicate eyebrows. " You never said you were. If you are, why haven't you mentioned it to me ? I can't find out your plans by instinct." " Now, Eosa, you know very well what I mean, my dear." " Well then, why did you begin with your detestable red- nosed giantesses ? And she would, she would, she would, she would, she would powder it!" cries Eosa, in a little burst of comical contradictory spleen. " Somehow or other, I never can come right in these discus- sions," says Edwin, sighing and becoming resigned. " How is it possible, sir, that you ever can come right when you're always wrong ? And as to Belzoni, I suppose he's dead ; — I'm sure I hope he is — and how can his legs or his chokes concern you ? " " It is nearly time for your return, Eosa. We have not had a, very happy walk, have we ? " 526 EDWIN DROOD " A happy walk ? A detestably unhappy walk, sir. If I go up-stairs the moment I get in and cry till I can't take my dancing lesson, you are responsible, mind." " Let us be friends, Eosa." " Ah ! " cries Eosa, shaking her head, and bursting into real tears, " I wish we could be friends ! It's because we can't be friends, that we try one another so. I am a young little thing, Eddy, to have an old heartache ; but I really, really have, some- times. Don't be angry. I know you have one yourself too often. We should both of us have done better, if What is to be had been left What might have been. I am quite a little serious thing now, and not teasing you. Let each of us forbear, this one time, on our own account, and on the other's ! " Disarmed by this glimpse of a woman's nature in the spoilt child, though for an instant disposed to resent it as seeming to involve the enforced infliction of himself upon her, Edwin Drood stands watching her as she childishly cries and sobs, with both hands to the handkerehief at her eyes, and then — she becoming more composed, and indeed beginning in her young Inconstancy to laugh at herself for having been so moved — leads her to a seat hard by, under the elm-trees. " One clear word of understanding. Pussy dear. I am not clever out of my own line — now I come to think of it, I don't know that I am particularly clever in it — but I want to do right. There is not — there may be — I reaUy don't see my way to what I want to say, but I must say it before we part — there is not any other young " "0 no, Eddy! It's generous of you to ask me; but no, no, no ! " They have come very near to the Cathedral windows, and at this moment the organ and the choir sound out sublimely. As they sit listening to the solemn swell, the confidence of last night rises in young Edwin Drood's mind, and he thinks how unlike this music is to that discordance. " I fancy I can distiaguish Jack's voice," is his remark in a low tone in connection with the train of thought. " Take me back at once, please," urges his Affianced, quickly " laying her light hand upon his wrist. " They will iall be comiag out directly ; let us get away. 0, what a resounding chord ! But don't let us stop to listen to it ; let us get away ! " Her hurry is over as soon as they have passed out of the Close. They go arm-in-arm now, gravely and deliberately enough, along the old High Street, to the Nuns' House. At thg EDWIN DROOD 527 gate, the street being within sight empty, Edwin bends down his face to Eosebud's. She remonstrates, kughing, and is a childish schoolgirl again. - " Eddy, no. I'm too sticky to be kissed. But give me your hand, and I'll blow a kiss into that." He does so. She breathes a light breath into it and asks, retaining it and looking into it : — " Now say, what do you see ? " "See, Eosa?" "Why, I thought you Egyptian boys could look into a hand and see all sorts of phantoms. Can't you see a happy Future ? " For certain, neither of them sees a happy Present, as the gate opens and closes, and one goes in, and the other goes away. Neville and Helena Landlesa. who now come tp^ Cloisterham are twin brother and Bister. They have led an unhappy existence in Ceylon -Hthere they were cruelly treated by their stepfather, from wliom they had several times run away ; he' is dead when we meet with them, and they have lately been placed under the guardianship of Mr. Hbneyfl^under, a distinguished philanthropist. On these strangely excitable, and. impulsive young people, the unobtrusive goodness of Mr. Orisparkle makes a fjrofound impressib'n ; and when in the course of the story the whole world of Cloisterham turns from Neville with abhorrence and Buspioion^ the Minor Canon, who believes in his innocence; remains his friend. ; r, : ; II PHILANTHROPY IN MINOR CANON CORNER The Keverend Septimus Crisparkle (Spptimus, because six little brother Orisparkles before him went out, one by one, as they were bom, like six weak little rushlights, as they were lighted), having broken the thin morning ice near Cloisterham Weil with his amiable head, much to the invlgoration of his frame, was now assisting his circulation by bpxing at a looking- glass with great science and prowess. A fresh and healthy portrait the looking-glass presented of the Eeverend Septimus, 528 EDWIN DROOD feinting and dodging with the utmost artfulness, and hitting out from the shoulder with the utmost straightness, while his radiant features teemed with innocence, and soft-hearted benevo- lence beamed from his boxing-gloves. It was scarcely breakfast-time yet, for Mrs. Crisparkle — mother, not wife of the Eeverend Septimus — was only just down, and waiting for the urn. Indeed, the Eeverend Septimus left off at this very moment to take the pretty old lady's enter- ing face between his boxing-gloves and kiss it. Having done so with tenderness, the Eeverend Septimus turned to again, countering with his left, and putting in his right, in a tre- mendous manner. " I say, every morning of my li:^e, that you'll do it at last, Sept," remarked the old lady, looking on ; " and so you will." " Do what. Ma dear ? " " Break the pier-glass, or burst a blood-vessel." "Neither, please God, Ma dear. Here's wind, Ma. Look at this!" In a concluding round of great severity, the Eeverend Septimus administered and escaped all sorts of punishment, and wound up by getting the old lady's cap into Chancery — such is the technical term used in scientific circles by the learned in the Noble Art — with a lightness of touch that hardly stirred the lightest lavender or cherry riband on it. Magnanimously releasing the defeated, just in time to get his gloves into a drawer and feign to be looking out of window in a contem- plative state of mind when a servant entered, the Eeverend Septimus then gave place to the urn and other preparations for breakfast. These completed, and the two alone again, it was pleasant to see (or would have been, if there had been any one to see it, which there never was) the old lady standing to say the Lord's Prayer aloud, and her son. Minor Canon never- theless, standing with bent head to hear it, he being within five years of forty : much as he had stood to hear the same words from the same lips when he was within five months of four. What is prettier than an old lady — except a young lady — when her eyes are bright, when her figure is trim and compact, when her face is cheerful and cahn, when her dress is as the dress of a china shepherdess : so dainty in its colours, so indi- vidually assorted to herself, so neatly moulded on her ? Nothing is prettier, thought the good Minor Canon frequently, when taking his seat at table opposite his long-widowed mother. Her thought at such times may be condensed into the two EDWIN DROOD 529 words that oftenest did duty together in all her conversations : "My Sept!" They were a good p^ir to sit breakfasting together in Minor Canon Comer, Cloisterham. For Minor Canon Corner was a quiet place in the shadow of the Cathedral, which the cawing of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of rare passers, the sound of the Cathedral bell, or the roll of the Cathedral organ, seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence. Swaggering fighting men had had their centuries of ramping and raving about Minor Canon Comer, and beaten serfs had had their centuries of drudging and dying there, and powerful monks had had their centuries of being sometimes useful and sometimes harmful there, and behold they were all gone out of Minor Canon Corner, and so much the better. Perhaps one of the highest uses of their ever having been there, was, that there might be left behind, that blessed air of tranquillity which pervaded Minor Canon Comer, and that serenely romantic state of the mind — productive for the most part of pity and forbearance— rwhich is engendered by a sorrowful story that is all told, or a pathetic play 'that is played out. . Eed-brick walls harmoniously toned down in colour by time, strong-rooted ivy, latticed windows, panelled rooms, big oaken beams in little places, and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish trees, were the principal sur- roundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisparkle and the Eeverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast. "And what. Ma dear," inquired the Minor Canon, giving proof of a wholesome and vigorous appetite, " does the letter say?" The pretty old lady, after reading.it, had just, laid it down upon the breakfast-cloth.! She handed it ' over to her son. Now, the old lady was exceedingly proud of her bright eyes being so clear that she could read writing without spectacles., Her son was also so proud of the circumstance, and so dutifully: bent on her deriving the utmost' possible gratification from it, that he had invented the pretence that he himself could Twt read writing without spectacles. Therefore he now assumed a pair, of grave and ' prodigious proportions, which not only seriously inconvenienced his nose and his breakfast, but seriously impeded his perusal of the letter. Tor, he had, the eyes of a microscope and a telescope combined, when they were unassisted. 2 M 530 EDWIN DROOD " It's from Mr. Honeythunder, of course," said the old lady, folding her arms. " Of course," assented her son. He then lamely read on : " ' Haven of Philanthropy, " ' Chief Offices, London, WecineBday. " * Deae Madam, " ' I write in the — ; ' In the what's this ? What does he write in ? " " In the chair," said the old lady. The Eeverend Septimus took off his spectacles, that he might see her face, as he exclaimed : " Why, what should he write in ? " "Bless me, bless me, Sept," returned the old lady, "you don't see the context ! Give it back to me, my dear." G-lad to get his spectacles off (for they always made his eyes water), her son obeyed : murmuring that his sight for reading manuscript got worse and worse daUy. " ' I write,' " his mother went on, reading very perspicuously and precisely, "'from the chair, to which I shall probably be confined for some hours.' " Septimus looked at the row of chairs against the wall, with a half-protesting and half-appealing countenance. "'We have,'" the old lady read on with a little extra emphasis, " ' a meeting of our Convened Chief Composite Com- mittee of Central and District Philanthropists, at our Head Haven as above 5 and it is their unanimous pleasure that I take the chair.' " Septimus breathed more freely, and muttered : " O ! if he comes to that, let him." " ' Not to lose a day's post, I take the opportunity of a long report being read, denouncing a public miscreant ' " "It is a most extraordinary thing," interposed the gentle Minor Canon, laying down his knife and folk to rub Ms ear in a vexed manner, "that these Philanthropists are always denouncing somebody. And it is another most extraordinary thing that they are always so violently flush of miscreants ! " " ' Denouncing a public miiscreant ' " — the old lady resumed, " ' to get our little affairs of business off my mind. I have spoken with my two wards, Neville and Helena Landless, on the subject of their defective education, and they give in to the plan proposed; as I should have taken good care they did, whether they liked it or not.' " EDWIN DROOD 531 " And it is another most extraordinaxy thing," remarked the Minor Canon in the same tone as before, " that these philan- thropists are so igiven to seizing their fellow-creatures by the scruff of the neck, and (as one may say) bumping them into the paths of peace.-^I beg your pardon, Ma dear, for interrupting," " ' Therefore, dear Madam, you will please prepare your son, the Eev. Mr. Septimus, to expect IsTeville as' an inmate to be read with, on Monday next. On the same day Helena will accompany him to Cloisterham, to take up her quarters at the Nuns' House, the' establishment recommended by yourself and son jointly. Please likewise to prepare for her reception and tuition there. The terms in both cases are understood to be exactly as stated to me in writing by yourself, when I opened a correspondence with you on this subject; after the honour of being introduced to you at your sister's house in town here. With compliments to the Eev. Mr. Septimus, I am. Dear Madam, Your affectionate brother (In Philanthropy), Luke HONEYTHUNDEE.' " "Well, Ma," said Septimus, after a little more rubbittg of his ear, " we must try it. There can be no doubt that we have room for an inmate, and that I have time to bestow upon him, and inclination too. I must confess to feeling rather glad that he is not Mr. Honeythunder himself. Though that seems wretchedly prejudiced — does it not ?■ — for I never saw him. Is he a large man. Ma ? " " I should call him a large man, my dear," the old lady repKed after some hesitation, "but that his voice is so much larger." "Than himself? "Than anybody." " Hah ! " said Septimus. And finished his- breakfast as if the flavour of the Superior Family Souchong, and also of the ham and toast and eggs, were a little on the wane. "I aru sure you wiU agree with me, Ma," said Mr. Cri- spatkle, after thinking the matter over, " that the first thing to be done, is, to put these young people as much at their ease as possible. There is nothing disinterested in the notion, because we cannot be at our ease with them unless they are at their ease with us. Now, Jasper's neiphew is down here at present; and like takes to like, and youth takes to' 'youth. He is a cordial young fellow, and we will have him to meet the brother and sister at dinner. 'Thalt's three. We can't think of asking him. 532 EDWIN DROOD without asking Jasper. That's four. Add Miss Twinkleton and the fairy bride that is to be, and that's six;. Add our two selves, and that's eight. Would eight at a friendly dinner at all put you out, Ma ? " "Nine would, Sept," returned . the old lady, visibly nervous. " My dear Ma, I particularise eight." " The exact size of the table and the room, my dear." So it was settled that way ; and when Mr. Crisparkle called with his mother upon Miss Twinkleton, to arrange for the reception of Miss Helena Landless at the Nuns' House, the two other invitations having reference to that establishment were proffered and accepted. Miss Twinkleton did indeed glance at the globes, as regretting that they were not formed to be taken out into society ; but became reconciled to leaving them behind. Instructions were then despatched to the Philanthropist for the departure and arrival, in good time for dinner, of Mr. Neville and Miss Helena ; and stock for soup became fragrant in the air of Minor Canon Corner. . In those days there was no railway to Cloisterham, and Mr. Sapsea said there never would be. Mr. Sapsea said more ; he said there never should be. And yet, marvellous to consider, it has come to pass, in these days, that Express Trains don't think Cloisterham worth stopping at, but yell and whirl through it on their larger errands, casting the dust off their wheels as a testimony against its insignificance. Some remote fragment of Main Line to somewhere; else, there was, which was going to ruin the Money Market if it failed, and Church and State if it succeeded, and (of course) the Constitution, whether or no ; but even that had already so unsettled Cloisterham trafi&c, that the traffic, deserting the high road, came sneaking in from' an iinprecedented part of the coufitry by a back stablerway, for many yeaM labelled at the comer : " Beware of the Dog," To this ignominious avenue of approach, Mr. Crisparkle repaired, awaiting the arrival of a short, squat omnibus, with a disproportionate heap of luggage on the roof — Hke a little Elephant with infinitely too much Castle — which was then the, daily service between Cloisterham, and external mankind. As this vehicle lumbered up, Mr. Crisparkle could hardly see anything else of it for a large outside passenger seated on the box, with his elbows squared, and his hands on his knees, com- pressing the driver into a most uncomfortably small compass, and glowering about him with a strongly-marked face. EDWIN DROOD ^3J "Is this Cloisterhain ? " demanded the passenger, in a tremendous, voice. " It is," replied the drivi^r, rirbbing himself as if he ached, after throwiog the reins to the ostler. "And I never was so glad to see it." "TeU your master to make his box-Seat wider, then," returned the passenger. " Your master is morally bound— and ought to be ifegally, imder ruinous penalties — to provide for the comfort of his ffeUow-man." The driver instituted, with the petlms of his hands, a super- ficial perquisition into the state of his skeleton ; which seemed to make him anxious. " HaVe I sat upon you ? " asked the passenger. " You have," said the driver, as if he didn't like it at all. " Take that card, my friend." "I think I won't deprive you on it," returned the driver, casting his eyes over it with' no great favour, without taking it. " What's the good of it'to me ?" " Be a Member of that Society," said -the" passenger. " What shall I get by it ? " asked the driver. " Brotherhood," returned the passenger, in a ferocious voice. "Thankee," said the driver, very deUberately, as he got down ; " my mother was contented with myself, and so am I. I don't want no brothers." ' " But you must have them," replied the passenger, also descending, " whether you like it or not. I am your brother." " i say ! " expostulated the driver, becoming more chafed in temper, " not too fur ! The worm will, when " But here Mr. Crisparkle interposed, remonstrating aside, in a friendly voice : " Joe, Joe, Joe ! don't forget yourself, Joe, my good fellow ! " and then, when Joe peaceably touched his hat, accosting the passenger with : " Mr. Honeythiihder ? " " That is my name, sir."' " My name is Crisparkle." " Eeverend Mr. Septimus ? Glad to see you, sir, Neville and Helena are inside: Having a little succumbed of late, under the pressure of my public labours, I thought I would take a mouthful of fresh air, and come down with them, and return at night. So you are the Eeverend Mr. Septimus, are you ? " surveying him on the. whole with disappointment, and twisting a double eyeglass by its ribbon, as if he were roasting it, but not otherwise using it. "Hah! I expected to see you older, sir." 534 EDWIN DROOD " I hope you will," was the good-humoured reply, " Eh ? " demanded Mr. Honeythunder. " Only a poor little joke. Not worth repeating." , , "Joke? Ay; I never see a joke," Mr. Honeythunder irowningly retorted. " A' joke is wasted upon me, ^ir. Where, are they? Helena and Neville, come here! Mr. Crisparkle has come down to meet you." ,- - An unusually handsome lithe young fellow, and an unusually handsome lithe girl ; much aUke ; both very dark, and very rich in colour; she of almost the gipsy type; something un- tamed about them both ; a certain air upon them of hunter and huntress ; yet withal a certain air of being the, objects of the chase, rather than the followers. Slender, supple, quick of eye and limb; half shy, half defiant; fierce of look; an inde- finable kind of pause coming and going on their whole expression, both of face and fonn, which might be equally; Ukened to the pause before a crouch or a bou;cw.; The tough mental npteg made in the first five minutes by Mr. Crisparkle would ha,ve read thus, verbatim. ... Mrs. Crisparkle had need of her own share of philanthropy when she beheld this very large and yery loud excrescence on the little party. Always soihething in the nature of a Boil upon the face of society, Mr. Honeythunder expanded into an inflammatory Wen in Minor Canon Corner; Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by, public imbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures,: " Curse your souls and bodies, come h^rei and be blessed ! " , still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine. You were to abolish military force, but you .were .firsis to bring all com- manding officers who liad done their duty, to trial by court- martial for that offence, and shoot, them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war u^on them, and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep off the facp of the eartli a,ll legislators, jurists, and judges, who were of the, contrary opinion.^ You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn't, or conscientiously couldn't, be concordant. You were to love your brother as jourself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and calling him all manner of names. Above all things, you, were to do nothing in privat^^ or on your own account. You were to go to EDWIN DROOD 535 the offices of the Haven of PMlanthropy, and put your name down as a Member and a Professing Philanthropist. Then, you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of membership and your riband and medal, and were evermore to live upon a platform, and evermore to say what Mr. Honeythunder said, and what the Treasurer said, and what the sub-Treasurer saidj and what the Committee said, and what the sub-Committee said, and what the Secretary said, and what the Vice-Secretary said. And this was usually said in the unanimously-carried . resolution under hand and seal, to the effect: "That this assembled Body of Professing Philanthropists views, with indignant scorn and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing abhorrence" — in short, the baseness of all those who do not belong to it, and pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possible about them, without being at all particular as to facts. The dinner was a most doleful breakdown. The philan- thropist deranged the symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way of the waiting, blocked up the thoroughfare, and drove Mr. Tope (who assisted the parlour-maid) to the verge of distraction by passing plates and dishes on, over his own head. Nobody could talk to anybody, because he held forth to every- body at once, as if the company had no individual existence, but were a Meeting. He impounded the Eeverend Mr. Septimus, as an official personage to be addressed, or kind of human peg to hang his oratorical hat on, and fell into the exasperating habit, common among such orators, of impersonating him as a wicked and weak opponent. Thus, he would ask : " And will you, sir, now stultify yourself by telling me " — and so forth, when the innocent man had not opened his lips, nor meant to open them. Or he would say: "Ifow see, sir, to what a position you are reduced. I will leave you no escape. After exhausting all the resources of fraud and falsehood, during years upon years ; after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such as the world has not often witnessed ; you have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the most degraded of mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy ! " Whereat the unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in part perplexed ; while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state, in which there was no flavour or solidity, and very little resistance. But the gush of philanthropy that burst forth when the 536 EDWIN DROOD departure of Mr. Honeythunder began to impend, must have been highly gratifying to the feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was produced, by the special activity of Mr. Tope, a full hour before he wanted it. Mr. Crisparkle sat with his watch in his hand for about the same period, lest he should overstay his time. The four young people were unanimous in believing that the Cathedral clock struck three-quarters, when it actually struck but one. Miss Twinkleton estimated the distance to the omnibus at five-and-twenty minutes' walk, when it was really five. The affectionate kindness of the whole circle hustled him into his greatcoat, and shoved him out into the moonlight, as if he were a fugitive traitor with whom they sympathised, and a troop of horse were at the back door. Mr. Crisparkle and his new charge, who took him to the omnibus, were so 'fervent in their apprehensions of his catching cold, that they shut him up in it instantly and left him, with still half- an-hour to spare. Edwin Drood has disappeared, and is supposed to have been murdered, but by whom no one knows. Suspicion has fallen upon Neville Landless, as Edwin was last seen in his company, but there is no direct evidence to convict him of the crime. One day Eosa is alone at the Nuns' House, it being holiday time, and Miss Twinkleton having gone to a picnic, when a maid announces that Mr. Jasper has called, and is waiting below. Eosa would prefer not to see him, but as he is already downstairs, she tells the servant to show him into the garden, which the windows of the house overlook. Here, standing by the sun-dial, Jasper declares his mad passion for Eosa, and so alarms her by his looks, and words, that she determines upon travelling to London to seek refuge with her guardian ; for she fears Jasper, and has a horrible suspicion of him in her mind, which she shrinks from admitting even to herself. Eosa reaches Staple Inn,, her guardian's address, in the evening, and after passing the night at an hotel in Fumival's Inn, she goes next day, accom- panied by Mr. Grewgious, to seek for lodgings. Ill LOOKING FOR LODGINGS As Mr. Grewgious's idea of looking at a furnished lodging was to get on the opposite side of the street to a house with a suitable bill in the window, and stare at it ; and then work his way tortuously to the back of the house, and stare at that ; and EDWIN DROOD 537 then not to go in, but make similar trials of another house, with the same result ; their progress was but slow. At length he bethought himself of a widowed cousin, divers times removed, of Mr. Bazzard's, who had onoe solicited his influence in the lodger world, and who lived in Southampton Street, Bloomsbury Square. The lady's name, stated in uncompromising capitals of considerable size on a brass door-plate, and yet not lucidly as to sex or condition, was Billickin. Personal iaintness, and an overpowering personal candour, were the distinguishing features of Mrs. Billickin's organisation. She came languishing out of her own exclusive back parlour, with the air of having been expressly brought-to for the purpose, from an accumulation of several swoons. "I hope I see you well, sir," said Mrs. Billickin, recognising her visitor with a bend. " Thank you, quite welL And you, ma'am ? " returned Mr. Griewgious. " I am as well," said Mrs. BiUickin, becoming aspirational with excess of faintness, " as I hever ham." " My ward and an elderly lady," said Mr. Grewgious, " wish to find a genteel lodging for a month or so. Have you any apartments available, ma'am ? " "Mr. Grewgious," returned Mrs. Billickin, "I will hot deceive you ; far from it. I have apartments availahle." This with the air of adding : " Convey me to the stake, if you will ; but while I live, I will be candid." " And now, what apartments, ma'am? " asked Mr. Grewgious, cosily. To tame a certain severity apparent on the part of Mrs. BillicMn. , " There Is this sitting-room — .which, call it what you will, it is. the front parlour. Miss," said Mrs. Billickin, impressing Eosa into the conversation : " the back parlour being what I cling to and never part with ; and there is two bedrooms at the top of the 'ouse with gas laid on. I do not tell you that your bedroom floors is firm, for firm they are not. The gas-fitter himself allowed, that to make a firm job, he must go right under your jistes, and it were not worth the outlay as a yearly tenant so to do. The piping. is carried above your jistes, and it is best that it should be made known to you." Mr. Grewgious and Eosa exchanged looks of some dismay, though they had not the least idea what latent horrors 'this carriage of the piping might involve. Mrs. Billickin put her hand to her heart, as having eased it of a load. 38 EDWIN DROOD "Well ! The roof; is all right, no doubt," said Mr. Grew- ious, plucking up a little. " Mr. Gre\5^gious," returned Mrs. Billickin, " if I was to tell ou, sir, that to have nothink above you is to have a floor above ou, I should put a deception upon you which I will not do. fo, sir. Your slates WILL rattle loose at that elewation in nndy weather, do your utmost, best or worst ! I defy you, sir, be ou what you may, to keep your slates tight, try how you can." lere Mrs. Billickin, having been warm with Mr. Grewgious, ooled a little, not to abuse the moral power she held over him. ' Consequent," proceeded Mrs. Billickin, more mildly, but still irmly in her incorruptible candour : " consequent it woidd be vjprse than of no use for me to trapse and travel up to the top )f the 'ouse with you, and for you to say, ' Mrs. BiUiekin, what itain do I notice in the ceiling, for a stain I do consider it ? ' md for me to answer, ' I do not understand you, sir.' No, sir, I yill not be so underhand. I do understand you before you pint t out. , It is the wet, sir. It do come in, and it do not come n. You may lay dry there half your lifetime ; but the time yill come, and it is best that you should know it, when a iripping sop would be no name for you." Mr. Grewgious looked much disgraced by being prefigured n this pickle. " Have yon any other apartments, ma'am ? " he asked. " Mr. Grewgious," returned Mrs. Billickin, with much solemnity. " I have. You ask me have I, and my open and my honest, answer air, I have. The first and second floors is wacant, and sweet rooms." ; < '' " Come, come ! There's nothing against them," said Mr, Grewgious, coniforting himself. " Mr. GrewgiouBj"" replied Mrs. Billickin, " pardon me, there is the stairs. Unless your mind is prepared for the stairs, it will lead to inevitable disappoiutnient. You cannot, Miss," said Mrs. Billickin, addressing Eosa reproachfully, "place a first floor, and far less a second, on the level footing of a parlour. No, you cannot do it, Miss, it is beyond your power, and wherefore try ? " Mrs. Billickin put it very feelingly, as if Eosa had shown a headstrong determination to hold the untenable position. " Can we see these rooms, ma'am ? " inquired her guardian. "Mr. Grewgious," returned Mrs. Billickin, "you can. I will not disguise it from you, sir ; you can." Mrs. Billickin then sent into her back-parlour for her shawl EDWIN DROOD 539 (it being a state fiction, dating from immemorial antiq^uity, that shB could never go anywhere without being wrapped ; np), and having been enrolled by her attendant, led the way. She made various genteel pauses on the stairs for breath, and clutched at her heart in the drawing-room as if it had very nearly got loose, and she had caught it in the act of taking wing. ,, ; "And th? second floor? " said Mr. Grewgious, onfijiding the first satisfactory. "Mr. Grewgious/' replied Mrs. Billickin, turning upon him with ceremony, as if the time, had now come when a distinct understanding on , a difiScult point must be arrived at, and a solemn confidence established, "the second floor is over this." " Can we see that too, ma'am ? " . " Yes, sir," returned Mrs., Billickin, ",it, is open as the day." That also proving, sg,tisf3,ctory, Mx. Grewgious retired into a window with Eosa for a few words of consultation, and then asking for pen and ink, sketched out a line or two of agree- ment. In the meantime Mrs. Billickin took a seat, and delivered a kind of Index to, or Abstract of, the general question. " rive-and-forty shillings per week by the month certain at the time of year," said Mrs. BUlickin, " is only reasonable to both parties. It is not Bond Street nor yet St. James's Pajace ; but it is not pretended that it is. , Neither is it attempted to be denied — for why should it ? — that the Arching leads to a mews. Mewses must exist. Eespecting attendance; two is kep', at liberal wages. Words has arisen as to tradesnien, but dirty shoes on fresh hearth-stoning was attributable, and no wish for a commission on your orders. Coals is either by the fire, or per the scuttle." She emphasised the prepositions as marking a subtle but immense difference. " Dogs is not viewed with faviour. Besides litter, they gets stole, and sharing suspicions is apt to creep in, and unpleasantness takes place." By this time Mr. Grewgious had his agreement-lines, and his earnest-money, ready, "I have > signed it for the ladies, ma'am," he said, " and you'll have the goodness to sign it for yourself, Christian and Surname/ there,'lf you please." 1 "Mr. Grewgious," said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candour, "no, sir ! You must excuse the Christian name." Mr. Grewgious stared at her. . " The door-plate is used as a protection," said Mrs. BiUickin, " and acts as such, and go from it I will not." Mr. Grewgious stared at Eosa. " No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me. So long as this S40 EDWIN DROOD 'ouse is known indefinite as Billickin's, and so long as it is a doubt with the riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin', near the street-door or down the airy, and what his weight and size, so long I feel safe. But commit myself to a solitary female state- ment, no. Miss 1 Nor would you for a moment wish," said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, " to take that advan- tage of your sex, if you were not brought to it by inconsiderate example." Eosa, reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to rest content with any signature. And accordingly, in a baronial way> the sign-manual Billickin got appended to the document. Details were then settled for taking possession on the next day but one, when Miss Twinkleton might be reasonably expected; and Eosa went back to Fumival's Inn on her guardian's arm. The last " slips " in my father's handwriting, written the day before he died, contained his last words of fiction, and finished abruptly, what will remain for ever : The Mystery of Edwin Brood. In the following description of Cloisterham Cathedral, we learn how the "Princess Puffer" (the old woman who keeps the opium den in London) watches Jasper ; and how Mr. Tope's mysterious lodger Datchery, watches "Her Eoyal Highness," while "Deputy,"' the impish boy, peeps throiigh the grated door of the Choir and is astounded. IV CLOISTERHAM CATHEDRAL A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with a lusty ivy gleaming in the sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fields — or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its yielding time — ^penetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its earthy odour, . and preach the Eesurrection and the Life. The cold stone tombs of centuries EDWIN DROOD 541 ago grow warm ; and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble comers of the building, fluttering there like wings. Comes Mr, Tope with his large keys, and yawningly unlocks and'^^aets open. . Come Mrs. Tope and attendant sweeping^prites. Come, in due time, organist and bellows-boy, peeping down from the red curtains in the loft, fearlessly flapping dust from bppks up at that remote elevation, and whisking it from stops and pedals. Come sundry rooks, from various quarters of ,the sky, back to the great tower ; ysrho may be presumed to enjoy vibration, and to know that bell and organ are going to give it them, Come a very small and straggling congregation indeed ; chiefly from Minor Canon Corner and the Precincts. , Come Mr. Crisparkle, fresh and brig^t,j„ and his ministering brethren, not quite so fresh and bright. Come the Choir in a hurry (always in a hurry, and struggling into their nightgowns at the last moment, like children shirkii^ bed), and comes John Jasper leading their line. Last of all comes Mr. Datobery into a stall, one of a choice empty collection very much at his service, and glancing about him for Her Koyal Highness the Princess Puffer. The service is pretty well advanced before Mr. Datchery can discern Her Eoyal Highness. But by that time he has made her out, in the shade. She is behind a pillar, carefully with- drawn from the Choir-master's view, but regards him with the closest attention. All unconscious of her presence, he chants and sings. She grins when he is most musically fervid, and — yes, Mr. Datchery sees her do it! — shakes her fist at him behind the pillar's friendly shelter. Mr. Datchery looks again, to convince himself. Yes, again ! As ugly and withered as one of the fantastic carvings on the under brackets of the stall seats, as malignant as the Evil One, as hard as the big brass eagle holding the sacred books upon his wings (and, according to the sculptor's representation of his ferocious attributes, not at all converted by them), she hugs herself in her lean arms, and then shakes both fists at the leader of the Choir. And at that moment, outside the grated door of the Choir, having eluded the -vigilance of Mr. Tope by shifty resources in which he is an adept. Deputy peeps, sharp-eyed, through the bars, and stares astounded from the threatener to the threatened. The service comes to an end, and the servitors disperse to breakfast. Mr. Datchery accosts his last new acquaintance 542 EDWIN DROOD outside, when the Choir (as much in a hurry to get their bedgowns off, as they were but now to get them oh) have scuffled away. " Well, mistress. Grood-moming. You have seen him ? " " Tve seen him, deary ; T\e seen him ! " " And you kiiow him ? " " Know him ! Better far than all the Eeverend Parsons put together know him." ' Mrs. Tope's care has spread a very' neat, clean breakfast ready for her lodger. Before sitting down to it, he opens his corner-cupboard door; takes his bit of chalk from its shelf; adds one thick line to the score, extending from the top of the cupboard door to the bottom; and then falls to with an appetite. THE END rEIHIEB BT -WTLLIAM CMWES AMD BOMS, LIMITED, I.OHDOH AMD BEC0LE8. A u ;!r' ill