Chapter 1
She first ray of light which illumines the gloom, andconverts into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in whichthe earlier history of the public career of the immortalPickwick would appear to be involved, is derived from the perusalof the following entry in the Transactions of the Pickwick Club,which the editor of these papers feels the highest pleasure inlaying before his readers, as a proof of the careful attention,indefatigable assiduity, and nice discrimination, with which hissearch among the multifarious documents confided to him hasbeen conducted.
　　‘May 12, 1827. Joseph Smiggers, Esq., P.V.P.M.P.C. [PerpetualVice-President―Member Pickwick Club], presiding. The followingresolutions unanimously agreed to:―‘That this Association has heard read, with feelings ofunmingled satisfaction, and unqualified approval, the papercommunicated by Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C. [GeneralChairman―Member Pickwick Club], entitled “Speculations on theSource of the Hampstead Ponds, with some Observations on theTheory of Tittlebats;” and that this Association does hereby returnits warmest thanks to the said Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C.,for the same.
　　‘That while this Association is deeply sensible of the advantageswhich must accrue to the cause of science, from the production towhich they have just adverted―no less than from the unweariedresearches of Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., in Hornsey,Highgate, Brixton, and Camberwell―they cannot but entertain alively sense of the inestimable benefits which must inevitablyresult from carrying the speculations of that learned man into awider field, from extending his travels, and, consequently,enlarging his sphere of observation, to the advancement ofknowledge, and the diffusion of learning.
　　‘That, with the view just mentioned, this Association has takeninto its serious consideration a proposal, emanating from theaforesaid, Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., and three otherPickwickians hereinafter named, for forming a new branch ofUnited Pickwickians, under the title of The Corresponding Societyof the Pickwick Club.
　　‘That the said proposal has received the sanction and approvalof this Association. ‘That the Corresponding Society of thePickwick Club is therefore hereby constituted; and that SamuelPickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., Tracy Tupman, Esq., M.P.C.,Augustus Snodgrass, Esq., M.P.C., and Nathaniel Winkle, Esq.,M.P.C., are hereby nominated and appointed members of thesame; and that they be requested to forward, from time to time,authenticated accounts of their journeys and investigations, oftheir observations of character and manners, and of the whole oftheir adventures, together with all tales and papers to which localscenery or associations may give rise, to the Pickwick Club,stationed in London.
　　‘That this Association cordially recognises the principle of everymember of the Corresponding Society defraying his own travellingexpenses; and that it sees no objection whatever to the members ofthe said society pursuing their inquiries for any length of time theyplease, upon the same terms.
　　‘That the members of the aforesaid Corresponding Society be,and are hereby informed, that their proposal to pay the postage oftheir letters, and the carriage of their parcels, has been deliberatedupon by this Association: that this Association considers suchproposal worthy of the great minds from which it emanated, andthat it hereby signifies its perfect acquiescence therein.’
　　A casual observer, adds the secretary, to whose notes we areindebted for the following account―a casual observer mightpossibly have remarked nothing extraordinary in the bald head,and circular spectacles, which were intently turned towards his(the secretary’s) face, during the reading of the above resolutions:
　　to those who knew that the gigantic brain of Pickwick wasworking beneath that forehead, and that the beaming eyes ofPickwick were twinkling behind those glasses, the sight wasindeed an interesting one. There sat the man who had traced totheir source the mighty ponds of Hampstead, and agitated thescientific world with his Theory of Tittlebats, as calm andunmoved as the deep waters of the one on a frosty day, or as asolitary specimen of the other in the inmost recesses of an earthenjar. And how much more interesting did the spectacle become,when, starting into full life and animation, as a simultaneous callfor ‘Pickwick’ burst from his followers, that illustrious man slowlymounted into the Windsor chair, on which he had been previouslyseated, and addressed the club himself had founded. What a studyfor an artist did that exciting scene present! The eloquentPickwick, with one hand gracefully concealed behind his coat tails,and the other waving in air to assist his glowing declamation; hiselevated position revealing those tights and gaiters, which, hadthey clothed an ordinary man, might have passed withoutobservation, but which, when Pickwick clothed them―if we mayuse the expression―inspired involuntary awe and respect;surrounded by the men who had volunteered to share the perils ofhis travels, and who were destined to participate in the glories ofhis discoveries. On his right sat Mr. Tracy Tupman―the toosusceptible Tupman, who to the wisdom and experience ofmaturer years superadded the enthusiasm and ardour of a boy inthe most interesting and pardonable of human weaknesses―love.
　　Time and feeding had expanded that once romantic form; theblack silk waistcoat had become more and more developed; inchby inch had the gold watch-chain beneath it disappeared fromwithin the range of Tupman’s vision; and gradually had thecapacious chin encroached upon the borders of the white cravat:
　　but the soul of Tupman had known no change―admiration of thefair sex was still its ruling passion. On the left of his great leadersat the poetic Snodgrass, and near him again the sporting Winkle;the former poetically enveloped in a mysterious blue cloak with acanine-skin collar, and the latter communicating additional lustreto a new green shooting-coat, plaid neckerchief, and closely-fitteddrabs.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s oration upon this occasion, together with thedebate thereon, is entered on the Transactions of the Club. Bothbear a strong affinity to the discussions of other celebrated bodies;and, as it is always interesting to trace a resemblance between theproceedings of great men, we transfer the entry to these pages.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick observed (says the secretary) that fame was dearto the heart of every man. Poetic fame was dear to the heart of hisfriend Snodgrass; the fame of conquest was equally dear to hisfriend Tupman; and the desire of earning fame in the sports of thefield, the air, and the water was uppermost in the breast of hisfriend Winkle. He (Mr. Pickwick) would not deny that he wasinfluenced by human passions and human feelings (cheers)―possibly by human weaknesses (loud cries of “No”); but this hewould say, that if ever the fire of self-importance broke out in hisbosom, the desire to benefit the human race in preferenceeffectually quenched it. The praise of mankind was his swing;philanthropy was his insurance office. (Vehement cheering.) Hehad felt some pride―he acknowledged it freely, and let hisenemies make the most of it―he had felt some pride when hepresented his Tittlebatian Theory to the world; it might becelebrated or it might not. (A cry of “It is,” and great cheering.) Hewould take the assertion of that honourable Pickwickian whosevoice he had just heard―it was celebrated; but if the fame of thattreatise were to extend to the farthest confines of the knownworld, the pride with which he should reflect on the authorship ofthat production would be as nothing compared with the pride withwhich he looked around him, on this, the proudest moment of hisexistence. (Cheers.) He was a humble individual. (“No, no.”) Stillhe could not but feel that they had selected him for a service ofgreat honour, and of some danger. Travelling was in a troubledstate, and the minds of coachmen were unsettled. Let them lookabroad and contemplate the scenes which were enacting aroundthem. Stage-coaches were upsetting in all directions, horses werebolting, boats were overturning, and boilers were bursting.
　　(Cheers―a voice “No.”) No! (Cheers.) Let that honourablePickwickian who cried “No” so loudly come forward and deny it, ifhe could. (Cheers.) Who was it that cried “No”? (Enthusiasticcheering.) Was it some vain and disappointed man―he would notsay haberdasher (loud cheers)―who, jealous of the praise whichhad been―perhaps undeservedly―bestowed on his (Mr.
　　Pickwick’s) researches, and smarting under the censure whichhad been heaped upon his own feeble attempts at rivalry, nowtook this vile and calumnious mode of―-‘Mr. BLOTTON (of Aldgate) rose to order. Did the honourablePickwickian allude to him? (Cries of “Order,” “Chair,” “Yes,”
　　“No,” “Go on,” “Leave off,” etc.)‘Mr. PICKWICK would not put up to be put down by clamour.
　　He had alluded to the honourable gentleman. (Great excitement.)‘Mr. BLOTTON would only say then, that he repelled the hon.
　　gent.’s false and scurrilous accusation, with profound contempt.
　　(Great cheering.) The hon. gent. was a humbug. (Immenseconfusion, and loud cries of “Chair,” and “Order.”)‘Mr. A. SNODGRASS rose to order. He threw himself upon thechair. (Hear.) He wished to know whether this disgraceful contestbetween two members of that club should be allowed to continue.
　　(Hear, hear.)‘The CHAIRMAN was quite sure the hon. Pickwickian wouldwithdraw the expression he had just made use of.
　　‘Mr. BLOTTON, with all possible respect for the chair, wasquite sure he would not.
　　‘The CHAIRMAN felt it his imperative duty to demand of thehonourable gentleman, whether he had used the expression whichhad just escaped him in a common sense.
　　‘Mr. BLOTTON had no hesitation in saying that he had not―hehad used the word in its Pickwickian sense. (Hear, hear.) He wasbound to acknowledge that, personally, he entertained the highestregard and esteem for the honourable gentleman; he had merelyconsidered him a humbug in a Pickwickian point of view. (Hear,hear.)‘Mr. PICKWICK felt much gratified by the fair, candid, and fullexplanation of his honourable friend. He begged it to be at onceunderstood, that his own observations had been merely intendedto bear a Pickwickian construction. (Cheers.)’
　　Here the entry terminates, as we have no doubt the debate didalso, after arriving at such a highly satisfactory and intelligiblepoint. We have no official statement of the facts which the readerwill find recorded in the next chapter, but they have been carefullycollated from letters and other MS. authorities, so unquestionablygenuine as to justify their narration in a connected form.
Chapter 2
THE FIRST DAY’S JOURNEY, AND THE FIRSTEVENING’S ADVENTURES; WITH THEIR CONSEQUENCES hat punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen,and begun to strike a light on the morning of thethirteenth of May, one thousand eight hundred andtwenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst like another sunfrom his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and lookedout upon the world beneath. Goswell Street was at his feet,Goswell Street was on his right hand―as far as the eye couldreach, Goswell Street extended on his left; and the opposite side ofGoswell Street was over the way. ‘Such,’ thought Mr. Pickwick,‘are the narrow views of those philosophers who, content withexamining the things that lie before them, look not to the truthswhich are hidden beyond. As well might I be content to gaze onGoswell Street for ever, without one effort to penetrate to thehidden countries which on every side surround it.’ And havinggiven vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr. Pickwick proceeded toput himself into his clothes, and his clothes into his portmanteau.
　　Great men are seldom over scrupulous in the arrangement of theirattire; the operation of shaving, dressing, and coffee-imbibing wassoon performed; and, in another hour, Mr. Pickwick, with hisportmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his greatcoat pocket, andhis note-book in his waistcoat, ready for the reception of anydiscoveries worthy of being noted down, had arrived at the coach-stand in St. Martin’s-le-Grand. ‘Cab!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Here you are, sir,’ shouted a strange specimen of the humanrace, in a sackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who, with a brasslabel and number round his neck, looked as if he were cataloguedin some collection of rarities. This was the waterman. ‘Here youare, sir. Now, then, fust cab!’ And the first cab having been fetchedfrom the public-house, where he had been smoking his first pipe,Mr. Pickwick and his portmanteau were thrown into the vehicle.
　　‘Golden Cross,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Only a bob’s vorth, Tommy,’ cried the driver sulkily, for theinformation of his friend the waterman, as the cab drove off.
　　‘How old is that horse, my friend?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick,rubbing his nose with the shilling he had reserved for the fare.
　　‘Forty-two,’ replied the driver, eyeing him askant.
　　‘What!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand upon his note-book. The driver reiterated his former statement. Mr. Pickwicklooked very hard at the man’s face, but his features wereimmovable, so he noted down the fact forthwith. ‘And how long doyou keep him out at a time?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, searching forfurther information.
　　‘Two or three veeks,’ replied the man.
　　‘Weeks!’ said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment, and out came thenote-book again.
　　‘He lives at Pentonwil when he’s at home,’ observed the drivercoolly, ‘but we seldom takes him home, on account of hisweakness.’
　　‘On account of his weakness!’ reiterated the perplexed Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘He always falls down when he’s took out o’ the cab,’ continuedthe driver, ‘but when he’s in it, we bears him up werry tight, andtakes him in werry short, so as he can’t werry well fall down; andwe’ve got a pair o’ precious large wheels on, so ven he does move,they run after him, and he must go on―he can’t help it.’
　　Mr. Pickwick entered every word of this statement in his note-book, with the view of communicating it to the club, as a singularinstance of the tenacity of life in horses under tryingcircumstances. The entry was scarcely completed when theyreached the Golden Cross. Down jumped the driver, and out gotMr. Pickwick. Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle, whohad been anxiously waiting the arrival of their illustrious leader,crowded to welcome him.
　　‘Here’s your fare,’ said Mr. Pickwick, holding out the shilling tothe driver.
　　What was the learned man’s astonishment, when thatunaccountable person flung the money on the pavement, andrequested in figurative terms to be allowed the pleasure of fightinghim (Mr. Pickwick) for the amount!
　　‘You are mad,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Or drunk,’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Or both,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Come on!’ said the cab-driver, sparring away like clockwork.
　　‘Come on―all four on you.’
　　‘Here’s a lark!’ shouted half a dozen hackney coachmen. ‘Go tovork, Sam!―and they crowded with great glee round the party.
　　‘What’s the row, Sam?’ inquired one gentleman in black calicosleeves.
　　‘Row!’ replied the cabman, ‘what did he want my number for?’
　　‘I didn’t want your number,’ said the astonished Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘What did you take it for, then?’ inquired the cabman.
　　‘I didn’t take it,’ said Mr. Pickwick indignantly.
　　‘Would anybody believe,’ continued the cab-driver, appealing tothe crowd, ‘would anybody believe as an informer ’ud go about ina man’s cab, not only takin’ down his number, but ev’ry word hesays into the bargain’ (a light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick―it wasthe note-book).
　　‘Did he though?’ inquired another cabman.
　　‘Yes, did he,’ replied the first; ‘and then arter aggerawatin’ meto assault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it. But I’ll give ithim, if I’ve six months for it. Come on!’ and the cabman dashed hishat upon the ground, with a reckless disregard of his own privateproperty, and knocked Mr. Pickwick’s spectacles off, and followedup the attack with a blow on Mr. Pickwick’s nose, and another onMr. Pickwick’s chest, and a third in Mr. Snodgrass’s eye, and afourth, by way of variety, in Mr. Tupman’s waistcoat, and thendanced into the road, and then back again to the pavement, andfinally dashed the whole temporary supply of breath out of Mr.
　　Winkle’s body; and all in half a dozen seconds.
　　‘Where’s an officer?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Put ’em under the pump,’ suggested a hot-pieman.
　　‘You shall smart for this,’ gasped Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Informers!’ shouted the crowd.
　　‘Come on,’ cried the cabman, who had been sparring withoutcessation the whole time.
　　The mob hitherto had been passive spectators of the scene, butas the intelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was spreadamong them, they began to canvass with considerable vivacity thepropriety of enforcing the heated pastry-vendor’s proposition: andthere is no saying what acts of personal aggression they mighthave committed, had not the affray been unexpectedly terminatedby the interposition of a new-comer.
　　‘What’s the fun?’ said a rather tall, thin, young man, in a greencoat, emerging suddenly from the coach-yard.
　　‘Informers!’ shouted the crowd again.
　　‘We are not,’ roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which, to anydispassionate listener, carried conviction with it. ‘Ain’t you,though―ain’t you?’ said the young man, appealing to Mr.
　　Pickwick, and making his way through the crowd by the infallibleprocess of elbowing the countenances of its component members.
　　That learned man in a few hurried words explained the realstate of the case.
　　‘Come along, then,’ said he of the green coat, lugging Mr.
　　Pickwick after him by main force, and talking the whole way.
　　Here, No. 924, take your fare, and take yourself off―respectablegentleman―know him well―none of your nonsense―this way,sir―where’s your friends?―all a mistake, I see―never mind―accidents will happen―best regulated families―never say die―down upon your luck―Pull him up―Put that in his pipe―like theflavour―damned rascals.’ And with a lengthened string of similarbroken sentences, delivered with extraordinary volubility, thestranger led the way to the traveller’s waiting-room, whither hewas closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples.
　　‘Here, waiter!’ shouted the stranger, ringing the bell withtremendous violence, ‘glasses round―brandy-and-water, hot andstrong, and sweet, and plenty,―eye damaged, sir? Waiter! rawbeef-steak for the gentleman’s eye―nothing like raw beef-steakfor a bruise, sir; cold lamp-post very good, but lamp-postinconvenient―damned odd standing in the open street half anhour, with your eye against a lamp-post―eh,―very good―ha! ha!’
　　And the stranger, without stopping to take breath, swallowed at adraught full half a pint of the reeking brandy-and-water, and flunghimself into a chair with as much ease as if nothing uncommonhad occurred.
　　While his three companions were busily engaged in profferingtheir thanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had leisureto examine his costume and appearance.
　　He was about the middle height, but the thinness of his body,and the length of his legs, gave him the appearance of being muchtaller. The green coat had been a smart dress garment in the daysof swallow-tails, but had evidently in those times adorned a muchshorter man than the stranger, for the soiled and faded sleevesscarcely reached to his wrists. It was buttoned closely up to hischin, at the imminent hazard of splitting the back; and an oldstock, without a vestige of shirt collar, ornamented his neck. Hisscanty black trousers displayed here and there those shinypatches which bespeak long service, and were strapped verytightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes, as if to concealthe dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctlyvisible. His long, black hair escaped in negligent waves frombeneath each side of his old pinched-up hat; and glimpses of hisbare wrists might be observed between the tops of his gloves andthe cuffs of his coat sleeves. His face was thin and haggard; but anindescribable air of jaunty impudence and perfect self-possessionpervaded the whole man.
　　Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed throughhis spectacles (which he had fortunately recovered), and to whomhe proceeded, when his friends had exhausted themselves, toreturn in chosen terms his warmest thanks for his recentassistance.
　　‘Never mind,’ said the stranger, cutting the address very short,‘said enough―no more; smart chap that cabman―handled hisfives well; but if I’d been your friend in the green jemmy―damnme―punch his head,―’cod I would,―pig’s whisper―piemantoo,―no gammon.’
　　This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of theRochester coachman, to announce that ‘the Commodore’ was onthe point of starting.
　　‘Commodore!’ said the stranger, starting up, ‘my coach―placebooked,―one outside―leave you to pay for the brandy-and-water,―want change for a five,―bad silver―Brummagembuttons―won’t do―no go―eh?’ and he shook his head mostknowingly.
　　Now it so happened that Mr. Pickwick and his threecompanions had resolved to make Rochester their first halting-place too; and having intimated to their new-found acquaintancethat they were journeying to the same city, they agreed to occupythe seat at the back of the coach, where they could all sit together.
　　‘Up with you,’ said the stranger, assisting Mr. Pickwick on tothe roof with so much precipitation as to impair the gravity of thatgentleman’s deportment very materially.
　　‘Any luggage, sir?’ inquired the coachman. ‘Who―I? Brownpaper parcel here, that’s all―other luggage gone by water―packing-cases, nailed up―big as houses―heavy, heavy, damnedheavy,’ replied the stranger, as he forced into his pocket as muchas he could of the brown paper parcel, which presented mostsuspicious indications of containing one shirt and a handkerchief.
　　‘Heads, heads―take care of your heads!’ cried the loquaciousstranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in thosedays formed the entrance to the coach-yard. ‘Terrible place―dangerous work―other day―five children― mother―tall lady,eating sandwiches―forgot the arch―crash―knock―children lookround―mother’s head off―sandwich in her hand―no mouth toput it in―head of a family off―shocking, shocking! Looking atWhitehall, sir?―fine place―little window―somebody else’s headoff there, eh, sir?―he didn’t keep a sharp look-out enougheither―eh, sir, eh?’
　　‘I am ruminating,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘on the strange mutabilityof human affairs.’
　　‘Ah! I see―in at the palace door one day, out at the window thenext. Philosopher, sir?’
　　‘An observer of human nature, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ah, so am I. Most people are when they’ve little to do and lessto get. Poet, sir?’
　　‘My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘So have I,’ said the stranger. ‘Epic poem―ten thousand lines―revolution of July―composed it on the spot―Mars by day, Apolloby night―bang the field-piece, twang the lyre.’
　　‘You were present at that glorious scene, sir?’ said Mr.
　　Snodgrass.
　　‘Present! think I was;* fired a musket―fired with an idea―rushed into wine shop―wrote it down―back again―whiz, bang―another idea―wine shop again―pen and ink―back again―cutand slash―noble time, sir. Sportsman, sir?’ abruptly turning toMr. Winkle. [* A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr.
　　Jingle’s imagination; this dialogue occurring in the year 1827, andthe Revolution in 1830.
　　‘A little, sir,’ replied that gentleman.
　　‘Fine pursuit, sir―fine pursuit.―Dogs, sir?’
　　‘Not just now,’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Ah! you should keep dogs―fine animals―sagaciouscreatures―dog of my own once―pointer―surprising instinct―out shooting one day―entering inclosure―whistled―dogstopped―whistled again―Ponto―no go; stock still―called him―Ponto, Ponto―wouldn’t move―dog transfixed―staring at aboard―looked up, saw an inscription―“Gamekeeper has ordersto shoot all dogs found in this inclosure”―wouldn’t pass it―wonderful dog―valuable dog that―very.’
　　‘Singular circumstance that,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Will you allowme to make a note of it?’
　　‘Certainly, sir, certainly―hundred more anecdotes of the sameanimal.―Fine girl, sir’ (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had beenbestowing sundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by theroadside).
　　‘Very!’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘English girls not so fine as Spanish―noble creatures―jethair―black eyes―lovely forms―sweet creatures―beautiful.’
　　‘You have been in Spain, sir?’ said Mr. Tracy Tupman.
　　‘Lived there―ages.’
　　‘Many conquests, sir?’ inquired Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Conquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig―grandee―onlydaughter―Donna Christina―splendid creature―loved me todistraction―jealous father―high-souled daughter―handsomeEnglishman―Donna Christina in despair―prussic acid―stomachpump in my portmanteau―operation performed―old Bolaro inecstasies―consent to our union―join hands and floods of tears―romantic story―very.’
　　‘Is the lady in England now, sir?’ inquired Mr. Tupman, onwhom the description of her charms had produced a powerfulimpression.
　　‘Dead, sir―dead,’ said the stranger, applying to his right eyethe brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. ‘Neverrecovered the stomach pump―undermined constitution―fell avictim.’
　　‘And her father?’ inquired the poetic Snodgrass.
　　‘Remorse and misery,’ replied the stranger. ‘Suddendisappearance―talk of the whole city―search made everywherewithout success―public fountain in the great square suddenlyceased playing―weeks elapsed―still a stoppage―workmenemployed to clean it―water drawn off―father-in-law discoveredsticking head first in the main pipe, with a full confession in hisright boot―took him out, and the fountain played away again, aswell as ever.’
　　‘Will you allow me to note that little romance down, sir?’ saidMr. Snodgrass, deeply affected.
　　‘Certainly, sir, certainly―fifty more if you like to hear ‘em―strange life mine―rather curious history―not extraordinary, butsingular.’
　　In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way ofparenthesis, when the coach changed horses, did the strangerproceed, until they reached Rochester bridge, by which time thenote-books, both of Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, werecompletely filled with selections from his adventures.
　　‘Magnificent ruin!’ said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all thepoetic fervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight ofthe fine old castle.
　　‘What a sight for an antiquarian!’ were the very words whichfell from Mr. Pickwick’s mouth, as he applied his telescope to hiseye.
　　‘Ah! fine place,’ said the stranger, ‘glorious pile―frowningwalls―tottering arches―dark nooks―crumbling staircases―oldcathedral too―earthy smell―pilgrims’ feet wore away the oldsteps―little Saxon doors―confessionals like money-takers’ boxesat theatres―queer customers those monks―popes, and lordtreasurers, and all sorts of old fellows, with great red faces, andbroken noses, turning up every day―buff jerkins too―match-locks―sarcophagus―fine place―old legends too―strange stories:
　　capital;’ and the stranger continued to soliloquise until theyreached the Bull Inn, in the High Street, where the coach stopped.
　　‘Do you remain here, sir?’ inquired Mr. Nathaniel Winkle.
　　‘Here―not I―but you’d better―good house―nice beds―Wright’s next house, dear―very dear―half-a-crown in the bill ifyou look at the waiter―charge you more if you dine at a friend’sthan they would if you dined in the coffee-room―rum fellows―very.’
　　Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a fewwords; a whisper passed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass,from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr. Tupman, and nods of assent wereexchanged. Mr. Pickwick addressed the stranger.
　　‘You rendered us a very important service this morning, sir,’
　　said he, ‘will you allow us to offer a slight mark of our gratitude bybegging the favour of your company at dinner?’
　　‘Great pleasure―not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl andmushrooms―capital thing! What time?’
　　‘Let me see,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, ‘it isnow nearly three. Shall we say five?’
　　‘Suit me excellently,’ said the stranger, ‘five precisely―tillthen―care of yourselves;’ and lifting the pinched-up hat a fewinches from his head, and carelessly replacing it very much on oneside, the stranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out ofhis pocket, walked briskly up the yard, and turned into the HighStreet.
　　‘Evidently a traveller in many countries, and a close observer ofmen and things,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I should like to see his poem,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘I should like to have seen that dog,’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　Mr. Tupman said nothing; but he thought of Donna Christina,the stomach pump, and the fountain; and his eyes filled with tears.
　　A private sitting-room having been engaged, bedroomsinspected, and dinner ordered, the party walked out to view thecity and adjoining neighbourhood.
　　We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwick’s notes ofthe four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, thathis impressions of their appearance differ in any material pointfrom those of other travellers who have gone over the sameground. His general description is easily abridged.
　　‘The principal productions of these towns,’ says Mr. Pickwick,‘appear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, anddockyard men. The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in thepublic streets are marine stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, andoysters. The streets present a lively and animated appearance,occasioned chiefly by the conviviality of the military. It is trulydelightful to a philanthropic mind to see these gallant menstaggering along under the influence of an overflow both of animaland ardent spirits; more especially when we remember that thefollowing them about, and jesting with them, affords a cheap andinnocent amusement for the boy population. Nothing,’ adds Mr.
　　Pickwick, ‘can exceed their good-humour. It was but the daybefore my arrival that one of them had been most grossly insultedin the house of a publican. The barmaid had positively refused todraw him any more liquor; in return for which he had (merely inplayfulness) drawn his bayonet, and wounded the girl in theshoulder. And yet this fine fellow was the very first to go down tothe house next morning and express his readiness to overlook thematter, and forget what had occurred!
　　‘The consumption of tobacco in these towns,’ continues Mr.
　　Pickwick, ‘must be very great, and the smell which pervades thestreets must be exceedingly delicious to those who are extremelyfond of smoking. A superficial traveller might object to the dirt,which is their leading characteristic; but to those who view it as anindication of traffic and commercial prosperity, it is trulygratifying.’
　　Punctual to five o’clock came the stranger, and shortlyafterwards the dinner. He had divested himself of his brown paperparcel, but had made no alteration in his attire, and was, ifpossible, more loquacious than ever.
　　‘What’s that?’ he inquired, as the waiter removed one of thecovers.
　　‘Soles, sir.’
　　‘Soles―ah!―capital fish―all come from London-stage-coachproprietors get up political dinners―carriage of soles―dozens ofbaskets―cunning fellows. Glass of wine, sir.’
　　‘With pleasure,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and the stranger took wine,first with him, and then with Mr. Snodgrass, and then with Mr.
　　Tupman, and then with Mr. Winkle, and then with the whole partytogether, almost as rapidly as he talked.
　　‘Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter,’ said the stranger.
　　‘Forms going up―carpenters coming down―lamps, glasses,harps. What’s going forward?’
　　‘Ball, sir,’ said the waiter.
　　‘Assembly, eh?’
　　‘No, sir, not assembly, sir. Ball for the benefit of a charity, sir.’
　　‘Many fine women in this town, do you know, sir?’ inquired Mr.
　　Tupman, with great interest.
　　‘Splendid―capital. Kent, sir―everybody knows Kent―apples,cherries, hops, and women. Glass of wine, sir!’
　　‘With great pleasure,’ replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger filled,and emptied.
　　‘I should very much like to go,’ said Mr. Tupman, resuming thesubject of the ball, ‘very much.’
　　‘Tickets at the bar, sir,’ interposed the waiter; ‘half-a-guineaeach, sir.’
　　Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present atthe festivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened eye ofMr. Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he appliedhimself with great interest to the port wine and dessert, which hadjust been placed on the table. The waiter withdrew, and the partywere left to enjoy the cosy couple of hours succeeding dinner.
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ said the stranger, ‘bottle stands―pass itround―way of the sun―through the button-hole―no heeltaps,’
　　and he emptied his glass, which he had filled about two minutesbefore, and poured out another, with the air of a man who wasused to it.
　　The wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered. The visitortalked, the Pickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt every momentmore disposed for the ball. Mr. Pickwick’s countenance glowedwith an expression of universal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle andMr. Snodgrass fell fast asleep.
　　‘They’re beginning upstairs,’ said the stranger―‘hear thecompany―fiddles tuning―now the harp―there they go.’ Thevarious sounds which found their way downstairs announced thecommencement of the first quadrille.
　　‘How I should like to go,’ said Mr. Tupman again.
　　‘So should I,’ said the stranger―‘confounded luggage,―heavysmacks―nothing to go in―odd, ain’t it?’
　　Now general benevolence was one of the leading features of thePickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for thezealous manner in which he observed so noble a principle thanMr. Tracy Tupman. The number of instances recorded on theTransactions of the Society, in which that excellent man referredobjects of charity to the houses of other members for left-offgarments or pecuniary relief is almost incredible. ‘I should be veryhappy to lend you a change of apparel for the purpose,’ said Mr.
　　Tracy Tupman, ‘but you are rather slim, and I am―’
　　‘Rather fat―grown-up Bacchus―cut the leaves―dismountedfrom the tub, and adopted kersey, eh?―not double distilled, butdouble milled―ha! ha! pass the wine.’
　　Whether Mr. Tupman was somewhat indignant at theperemptory tone in which he was desired to pass the wine whichthe stranger passed so quickly away, or whether he felt veryproperly scandalised at an influential member of the PickwickClub being ignominiously compared to a dismounted Bacchus, is afact not yet completely ascertained. He passed the wine, coughedtwice, and looked at the stranger for several seconds with a sternintensity; as that individual, however, appeared perfectlycollected, and quite calm under his searching glance, he graduallyrelaxed, and reverted to the subject of the ball.
　　‘I was about to observe, sir,’ he said, ‘that though my apparelwould be too large, a suit of my friend Mr. Winkle’s would,perhaps, fit you better.’
　　The stranger took Mr. Winkle’s measure with his eye, and thatfeature glistened with satisfaction as he said, ‘Just the thing.’
　　Mr. Tupman looked round him. The wine, which had exertedits somniferous influence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, hadstolen upon the senses of Mr. Pickwick. That gentleman hadgradually passed through the various stages which precede thelethargy produced by dinner, and its consequences. He hadundergone the ordinary transitions from the height of convivialityto the depth of misery, and from the depth of misery to the heightof conviviality. Like a gas-lamp in the street, with the wind in thepipe, he had exhibited for a moment an unnatural brilliancy, thensank so low as to be scarcely discernible; after a short interval, hehad burst out again, to enlighten for a moment; then flickered withan uncertain, staggering sort of light, and then gone outaltogether. His head was sunk upon his bosom, and perpetualsnoring, with a partial choke occasionally, were the only audibleindications of the great man’s presence.
　　The temptation to be present at the ball, and to form his firstimpressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies, was strong uponMr. Tupman. The temptation to take the stranger with him wasequally great. He was wholly unacquainted with the place and itsinhabitants, and the stranger seemed to possess as great aknowledge of both as if he had lived there from his infancy. Mr.
　　Winkle was asleep, and Mr. Tupman had had sufficient experiencein such matters to know that the moment he awoke he would, inthe ordinary course of nature, roll heavily to bed. He wasundecided. ‘Fill your glass, and pass the wine,’ said theindefatigable visitor.
　　Mr. Tupman did as he was requested; and the additionalstimulus of the last glass settled his determination.
　　‘Winkle’s bedroom is inside mine,’ said Mr. Tupman; ‘I couldn’tmake him understand what I wanted, if I woke him now, but Iknow he has a dress-suit in a carpet bag; and supposing you woreit to the ball, and took it off when we returned, I could replace itwithout troubling him at all about the matter.’
　　‘Capital,’ said the stranger, ‘famous plan―damned oddsituation―fourteen coats in the packing-cases, and obliged towear another man’s―very good notion, that―very.’
　　‘We must purchase our tickets,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Not worth while splitting a guinea,’ said the stranger, ‘toss whoshall pay for both―I call; you spin―first time―woman―woman―bewitching woman,’ and down came the sovereign with thedragon (called by courtesy a woman) uppermost.
　　Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and orderedchamber candlesticks. In another quarter of an hour the strangerwas completely arrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel Winkle’s.
　　‘It’s a new coat,’ said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyedhimself with great complacency in a cheval glass; ‘the first that’sbeen made with our club button,’ and he called his companions’
　　attention to the large gilt button which displayed a bust of Mr.
　　Pickwick in the centre, and the letters ‘P. C.’ on either side.
　　‘“P. C.”’ said the stranger―‘queer set out―old fellow’s likeness,and “P. C.”―What does “P. C.” stand for―Peculiar Coat, eh?’
　　Mr. Tupman, with rising indignation and great importance,explained the mystic device.
　　‘Rather short in the waist, ain’t it?’ said the stranger, screwinghimself 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―mysteriousdispensations of Providence―all the short men get long coats―allthe long men short ones.’ Running on in this way, Mr. Tupman’snew companion adjusted his dress, or rather the dress of Mr.
　　Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr. Tupman, ascended the staircaseleading to the ballroom.
　　‘What names, sir?’ said the man at the door. Mr. Tracy Tupmanwas stepping forward to announce his own titles, when thestranger prevented him.
　　‘No names at all;’ and then he whispered Mr. Tupman, ‘nameswon’t do―not known―very good names in their way, but notgreat ones―capital names for a small party, but won’t make animpression in public assemblies―incog. the thing―gentlemenfrom London―distinguished foreigners―anything.’ The door wasthrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the stranger entered theballroom.
　　It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and waxcandles in glass chandeliers. The musicians were securelyconfined in an elevated den, and quadrilles were beingsystematically got through by two or three sets of dancers. Twocard-tables were made up in the adjoining card-room, and twopair of old ladies, and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen,were executing whist therein.
　　The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, andMr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a cornerto observe the company.
　　‘Charming women,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Wait a minute,’ said the stranger, ‘fun presently―nobs notcome yet―queer place―dockyard people of upper rank don’tknow dockyard people of lower rank―dockyard people of lowerrank don’t know small gentry―small gentry don’t knowtradespeople―commissioner don’t know anybody.’
　　‘Who’s that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in afancy dress?’ inquired 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 Misses Clubber!’
　　shouted the man at the door in a stentorian voice. A greatsensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of atall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large lady inblue satin, and two young ladies, on a similar scale, in fashionably-made dresses of the same hue.
　　‘Commissioner―head of the yard―great man―remarkablygreat man,’ whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman’s ear, as thecharitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family tothe top of the room. The Honourable Wilmot Snipe, and otherdistinguished gentlemen crowded to render homage to the MissesClubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright, and lookedmajestically over his black kerchief at the assembled company.
　　‘Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,’ was thenext announcement.
　　‘What’s Mr. Smithie?’ inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman.
　　‘Something in the yard,’ replied the stranger. Mr. Smithiebowed deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir ThomasClubber acknowledged the salute with conscious condescension.
　　Lady Clubber took a telescopic view of Mrs. Smithie and familythrough her eye-glass and Mrs. Smithie stared in her turn at Mrs.
　　Somebody-else, whose husband was not in the dockyard at all.
　　‘Colonel Bulder, Mrs. Colonel Bulder, and Miss Bulder,’ werethe next arrivals.
　　‘Head of the garrison,’ said the stranger, in reply to Mr.
　　Tupman’s inquiring look.
　　Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Misses Clubber; thegreeting between Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was ofthe most affectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir ThomasClubber exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pairof Alexander Selkirks―‘Monarchs of all they surveyed.’
　　While the aristocracy of the place―the Bulders, and Clubbers,and Snipes―were thus preserving their dignity at the upper endof the room, the other classes of society were imitating theirexample in other parts of it. The less aristocratic officers of the97th devoted themselves to the families of the less importantfunctionaries from the dockyard. The solicitors’ wives, and thewine-merchant’s wife, headed another grade (the brewer’s wifevisited the Bulders); and Mrs. Tomlinson, the post-office keeper,seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen the leader of thetrade 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 hishead, and an extensive bald plain on the top of it―DoctorSlammer, surgeon to the 97th. The doctor took snuff witheverybody, chatted with everybody, laughed, danced, made jokes,played whist, did everything, and was everywhere. To thesepursuits, multifarious as they were, the little doctor added a moreimportant one than any―he was indefatigable in paying the mostunremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow, whose richdress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most desirableaddition to a limited income.
　　Upon the doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupmanand his companion had been fixed for some time, when thestranger broke silence.
　　‘Lots of money―old girl―pompous doctor―not a bad idea―good fun,’ were the intelligible sentences which issued from hislips. Mr. Tupman looked inquisitively in his face. ‘I’ll dance withthe widow,’ said the stranger.
　　‘Who is she?’ inquired Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Don’t know―never saw her in all my life―cut out the doctor―here goes.’ And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and,leaning against a mantel-piece, commenced gazing with an air ofrespectful and melancholy admiration on the fat countenance ofthe little old lady. Mr. Tupman looked on, in mute astonishment The stranger progressed rapidly; the little doctor danced withanother lady; the widow dropped her fan; the stranger picked itup, and presented it―a smile―a bow―a curtsey―a few words ofconversation. The stranger walked boldly up to, and returnedwith, the master of the ceremonies; a little introductorypantomime; and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their places ina quadrille.
　　The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, greatas it was, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of thedoctor. The stranger was young, and the widow was flattered. Thedoctor’s attentions were unheeded by the widow; and the doctor’sindignation was wholly lost on his imperturbable rival. DoctorSlammer was paralysed. He, Doctor Slammer, of the 97th, to beextinguished in a moment, by a man whom nobody had ever seenbefore, and whom nobody knew even now! Doctor Slammer―Doctor Slammer of the 97th rejected! Impossible! It could not be!
　　Yes, it was; there they were. What! introducing his friend! Couldhe believe his eyes! He looked again, and was under the painfulnecessity of admitting the veracity of his optics; Mrs. Budger wasdancing 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 agood many people do) as if a quadrille were not a thing to belaughed at, but a severe trial to the feelings, which it requiresinflexible resolution to encounter.
　　Silently and patiently did the doctor bear all this, and all thehandings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting forbiscuits, and coquetting, that ensued; but, a few seconds after thestranger had disappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, hedarted swiftly from the room with every particle of his hitherto-bottled-up indignation effervescing, from all parts of hiscountenance, 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 forhis life. He was exulting. He had triumphed.
　　‘Sir!’ said the doctor, in an awful voice, producing a card, andretiring into an angle of the passage, ‘my name is Slammer, DoctorSlammer, sir―97th Regiment―Chatham Barracks―my card, sir,my card.’ He would have added more, but his indignation chokedhim.
　　‘Ah!’ replied the stranger coolly, ‘Slammer―much obliged―polite attention―not ill now, Slammer―but when I am―knockyou up.’
　　‘You―you’re a shuffler, sir,’ gasped the furious doctor, ‘apoltroon―a coward―a liar―a―a―will nothing induce you to giveme your card, sir!’
　　‘Oh! I see,’ said the stranger, half aside, ‘negus too stronghere―liberal landlord―very foolish―very―lemonade muchbetter―hot rooms―elderly gentlemen―suffer for it in themorning―cruel―cruel;’ and he moved on a step or two.
　　‘You are stopping in this house, sir,’ said the indignant littleman; ‘you are intoxicated now, sir; you shall hear from me in themorning, sir. I shall find you out, sir; I shall find you out.’
　　‘Rather you found me out than found me at home,’ replied theunmoved stranger.
　　Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he fixed his haton his head with an indignant knock; and the stranger and Mr.
　　Tupman ascended to the bedroom of the latter to restore theborrowed plumage to the unconscious Winkle.
　　That gentleman was fast asleep; the restoration was soon made.
　　The stranger was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, beingquite bewildered with wine, negus, lights, and ladies, thought thewhole affair was an exquisite joke. His new friend departed; and,after experiencing some slight difficulty in finding the orifice in hisnightcap, originally intended for the reception of his head, andfinally overturning his candlestick in his struggles to put it on, Mr.
　　Tracy Tupman managed to get into bed by a series of complicatedevolutions, and shortly afterwards sank into repose.
　　Seven o’clock had hardly ceased striking on the followingmorning, when Mr. Pickwick’s comprehensive mind was arousedfrom the state of unconsciousness, in which slumber had plungedit, 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 tell me which gentleman of your partywears a bright blue dress-coat, with a gilt button with “P. C.” onit?’
　　‘It’s been given out to brush,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, ‘and theman 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 athis door roused him from his oblivious repose.
　　‘Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?’ replied Boots from the outside.
　　‘Winkle―Winkle!’ shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the innerroom. ‘Hollo!’ replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes.
　　‘You’re wanted―some one at the door;’ and, having exertedhimself to articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned roundand fell fast asleep again.
　　‘Wanted!’ said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, andputting on a few articles of clothing; ‘wanted! at this distance fromtown―who on earth can want me?’
　　‘Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir,’ replied the Boots, as Mr.
　　Winkle opened the door and confronted him; ‘gentleman says he’llnot 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-shawl anddressing-gown, and proceeded downstairs. An old woman and acouple of waiters were cleaning the coffee-room, and an officer inundress uniform was looking out of the window. He turned roundas Mr. Winkle entered, and made a stiff inclination of the head.
　　Having ordered the attendants to retire, and closed the door verycarefully, he said, ‘Mr. Winkle, I presume?’
　　‘My name is Winkle, sir.’
　　‘You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you that I havecalled here this morning on behalf of my friend, Doctor Slammer,of the 97th.’
　　‘Doctor Slammer!’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Doctor Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion thatyour conduct of last evening was of a description which nogentleman could endure; and’ (he added) ‘which no one gentlemanwould pursue towards another.’
　　Mr. Winkle’s astonishment was too real, and too evident, toescape the observation of Doctor Slammer’s friend; he thereforeproceeded―‘My friend, Doctor Slammer, requested me to add,that he was firmly persuaded you were intoxicated during aportion of the evening, and possibly unconscious of the extent ofthe insult you were guilty of. He commissioned me to say, thatshould this be pleaded as an excuse for your behaviour, he willconsent to accept a written apology, to be penned by you, from mydictation.’
　　‘A written apology!’ repeated Mr. Winkle, in the most emphatictone of amazement possible.
　　‘Of course you know the alternative,’ replied the visitor coolly.
　　‘Were you intrusted with this message to me by name?’
　　inquired Mr. Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused bythis extraordinary conversation.
　　‘I was not present myself,’ replied the visitor, ‘and inconsequence of your firm refusal to give your card to DoctorSlammer, I was desired by that gentleman to identify the wearerof a very uncommon coat―a bright blue dress-coat, with a giltbutton displaying a bust, and the letters “P. C.”’
　　Mr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heardhis own costume thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer’sfriend proceeded:―‘From the inquiries I made at the bar, justnow, I was convinced that the owner of the coat in questionarrived here, with three gentlemen, yesterday afternoon. Iimmediately sent up to the gentleman who was described asappearing the head of the party, and he at once referred me toyou.’
　　If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walkedfrom its foundation, and stationed itself opposite the coffee-roomwindow, Mr. Winkle’s surprise would have been as nothingcompared with the profound astonishment with which he hadheard this address. His first impression was that his coat had beenstolen. ‘Will you allow me to detain you one moment?’ said he.
　　‘Certainly,’ replied the unwelcome visitor.
　　Mr. Winkle ran hastily upstairs, and with a trembling handopened the bag. There was the coat in its usual place, butexhibiting, on a close inspection, evident tokens of having beenworn on the preceding night.
　　‘It must be so,’ said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from hishands. ‘I took too much wine after dinner, and have a very vaguerecollection of walking about the streets, and smoking a cigarafterwards. The fact is, I was very drunk;―I must have changedmy coat―gone somewhere―and insulted somebody―I have nodoubt of it; and this message is the terrible consequence.’ Sayingwhich, Mr. Winkle retraced his steps in the direction of the coffee-room, with the gloomy and dreadful resolve of accepting thechallenge of the warlike Doctor Slammer, and abiding by theworst consequences that might ensue.
　　To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety ofconsiderations, the first of which was his reputation with the club.
　　He had always been looked up to as a high authority on all mattersof amusement and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive, orinoffensive; and if, on this very first occasion of being put to thetest, he shrunk back from the trial, beneath his leader’s eye, hisname and standing were lost for ever. Besides, he remembered tohave heard it frequently surmised by the uninitiated in suchmatters that by an understood arrangement between the seconds,the pistols were seldom loaded with ball; and, furthermore, hereflected that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass to act as his second,and depicted the danger in glowing terms, that gentleman mightpossibly communicate the intelligence to Mr. Pickwick, who wouldcertainly 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.
　　‘Will you refer me to a friend, to arrange the time and place ofmeeting?’ said the officer.
　　‘Quite unnecessary,’ replied Mr. Winkle; ‘name them to me, andI can procure the attendance of a friend afterwards.’
　　‘Shall we say―sunset this evening?’ inquired the officer, in acareless tone.
　　‘Very good,’ replied Mr. Winkle, thinking in his heart it wasvery bad.
　　‘You know Fort Pitt?’
　　‘Yes; I saw it yesterday.’
　　‘If you will take the trouble to turn into the field which bordersthe trench, take the foot-path to the left when you arrive at anangle of the fortification, and keep straight on, till you see me, Iwill precede you to a secluded place, where the affair can beconducted 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 strodeaway.
　　That morning’s breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman wasnot in a condition to rise, after the unwonted dissipation of theprevious night; Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labour under a poeticaldepression of spirits; and even Mr. Pickwick evinced an unusualattachment to silence and soda-water. Mr. Winkle eagerly watchedhis opportunity: it was not long wanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposeda visit to the castle, and as Mr. Winkle was the only other memberof 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 hesaid this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not.
　　‘You can,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass. ‘Hear me swear―’
　　‘No, no,’ interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of hiscompanion’s unconsciously pledging himself not to giveinformation; ‘don’t swear, don’t swear; it’s quite unnecessary.’
　　Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had, in the spirit ofpoesy, raised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal, andassumed 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’shand.
　　‘With a doctor―Doctor Slammer, of the 97th,’ said Mr. Winkle,wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible; ‘anaffair with an officer, seconded by another officer, at sunset thisevening, in a lonely field beyond Fort Pitt.’
　　‘I will attend you,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It isextraordinary how cool any party but the principal can be in suchcases. Mr. Winkle had forgotten this. He had judged of his friend’sfeelings 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. Snodgrasscalmly; ‘but so are you, ain’t you?’ Mr. Winkle replied in theaffirmative; and perceiving that he had not alarmed hiscompanion sufficiently, changed his ground.
　　‘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 notefor my―for my father.’
　　This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected, buthe undertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been atwopenny postman.
　　‘If I fall,’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘or if the doctor falls, you, my dearfriend, will be tried as an accessory before the fact. Shall I involvemy friend in transportation―possibly for life!’ Mr. Snodgrasswinced a little at this, but his heroism was invincible. ‘In the causeof friendship,’ he fervently exclaimed, ‘I would brave all dangers.’
　　How Mr. Winkle cursed his companion’s devoted friendshipinternally, as they walked silently along, side by side, for someminutes, each immersed in his own meditations! The morning waswearing away; he grew desperate.
　　‘Snodgrass,’ he said, stopping suddenly, ‘do not let me bebalked in this matter―do not give information to the localauthorities―do not obtain the assistance of several peace officers,to take either me or Doctor Slammer, of the 97th Regiment, atpresent quartered in Chatham Barracks, into custody, and thusprevent this duel!―I say, do not.’
　　Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend’s hand warmly, as heenthusiastically replied, ‘Not for worlds!’
　　A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle’s frame as the conviction thathe had nothing to hope from his friend’s fears, and that he wasdestined 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 satisfactory pistols, with the satisfactoryaccompaniments of powder, ball, and caps, having been hiredfrom a manufacturer in Rochester, the two friends returned totheir inn; Mr. Winkle to ruminate on the approaching struggle,and Mr. Snodgrass to arrange the weapons of war, and put theminto proper order for immediate use.
　　It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forthon their awkward errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a hugecloak to escape observation, and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his theinstruments of destruction.
　　‘Have you got everything?’ said Mr. Winkle, in an agitated tone.
　　‘Everything,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass; ‘plenty of ammunition, incase the shots don’t take effect. There’s a quarter of a pound ofpowder in the case, and I have got two newspapers in my pocketfor the loadings.’
　　These were instances of friendship for which any man mightreasonably feel most grateful. The presumption is, that thegratitude of Mr. Winkle was too powerful for utterance, as he saidnothing, but continued to walk on―rather slowly.
　　‘We are in excellent time,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, as they climbedthe fence of the first field;’ the sun is just going down.’ Mr. Winklelooked up at the declining orb and painfully thought of theprobability of his ‘going down’ himself, before long.
　　‘There’s the officer,’ exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few minuteswalking. ‘Where?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘There―the gentleman in the blue cloak.’ Mr. Snodgrass lookedin the direction indicated by the forefinger of his friend, andobserved a figure, muffled up, as he had described. The officerevinced his consciousness of their presence by slightly beckoningwith his hand; and the two friends followed him at a little distance,as he walked away.
　　The evening grew more dull every moment, and a melancholywind sounded through the deserted fields, like a distant giantwhistling for his house-dog. The sadness of the scene imparted asombre tinge to the feelings of Mr. Winkle. He started as theypassed the angle of the trench―it looked like a colossal grave.
　　The officer turned suddenly from the path, and after climbing apaling, and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. Twogentlemen were waiting in it; one was a little, fat man, with blackhair; and the other―a portly personage in a braided surtout―wassitting with perfect equanimity on a camp-stool.
　　‘The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose,’ said Mr. Snodgrass;‘take a drop of brandy.’ Mr. Winkle seized the wicker bottle whichhis friend proffered, and took a lengthened pull at the exhilaratingliquid.
　　‘My friend, sir, Mr. Snodgrass,’ said Mr. Winkle, as the officerapproached. Doctor Slammer’s friend bowed, and produced a casesimilar to that which Mr. Snodgrass carried.
　　‘We have nothing further to say, sir, I think,’ he coldlyremarked, as he opened the case; ‘an apology has been resolutelydeclined.’
　　‘Nothing, sir,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel ratheruncomfortable himself.
　　‘Will you step forward?’ said the officer.
　　‘Certainly,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass. The ground was measured,and preliminaries arranged. ‘You will find these better than yourown,’ said the opposite second, producing his pistols. ‘You saw meload them. Do you object to use them?’
　　‘Certainly not,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass. The offer relieved himfrom considerable embarrassment, for his previous notions ofloading a pistol were rather vague and undefined.
　　‘We may place our men, then, I think,’ observed the officer, withas much indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and theseconds players.
　　‘I think we may,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would haveassented to any proposition, because he knew nothing about thematter. The officer crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrasswent up to Mr. Winkle.
　　‘It’s all ready,’ said he, offering the pistol. ‘Give me your cloak.’
　　‘You have got the packet, my dear fellow,’ said poor Winkle. ‘Allright,’ said Mr. Snodgrass. ‘Be steady, and wing him.’
　　It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like thatwhich bystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a streetfight, namely, ‘Go in, and win’―an admirable thing to recommend,if you only know how to do it. He took off his cloak, however, insilence―it always took a long time to undo that cloak―andaccepted the pistol. The seconds retired, the gentleman on thecamp-stool did the same, and the belligerents approached eachother.
　　Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It isconjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creatureintentionally was the cause of his shutting his eyes when hearrived at the fatal spot; and that the circumstance of his eyesbeing closed, prevented his observing the very extraordinary andunaccountable demeanour of Doctor Slammer. That gentlemanstarted, 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.
　　‘Not the man!’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Not the man!’ said the gentleman with the camp-stool in hishand.
　　‘Certainly not,’ replied the little doctor. ‘That’s not the personwho insulted me last night.’
　　‘Very extraordinary!’ exclaimed the officer.
　　‘Very,’ said the gentleman with the camp-stool. ‘The onlyquestion is, whether the gentleman, being on the ground, must notbe considered, as a matter of form, to be the individual whoinsulted our friend, Doctor Slammer, yesterday evening, whetherhe is really that individual or not;’ and having delivered thissuggestion, with a very sage and mysterious air, the man with thecamp-stool took a large pinch of snuff, and looked profoundlyround, with the air of an authority in such matters.
　　Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when heheard his adversary call out for a cessation of hostilities; andperceiving by what he had afterwards said that there was, beyondall question, some mistake in the matter, he at once foresaw theincrease of reputation he should inevitably acquire by concealingthe real motive of his coming out; he therefore stepped boldlyforward, and said―‘I am not the person. I know it.’
　　‘Then, that,’ said the man with the camp-stool, ‘is an affront toDoctor Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceedingimmediately.’
　　‘Pray be quiet, Payne,’ said the doctor’s second. ‘Why did younot communicate this fact to me this morning, sir?’
　　‘To be sure―to be sure,’ said the man with the camp-stoolindignantly.
　　‘I entreat you to be quiet, Payne,’ said the other. ‘May I repeatmy question, sir?’
　　‘Because, sir,’ replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time todeliberate upon his answer, ‘because, sir, you described anintoxicated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which Ihave the honour, not only to wear but to have invented―theproposed uniform, sir, of the Pickwick Club in London. Thehonour of that uniform I feel bound to maintain, and I therefore,without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offered
Chapter 3 
A NEW ACQUAINTANCE―THE STROLLER’STALE―A DISAGREEABLE INTERRUPTION,AND AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTE
Rr. Pickwick had felt some apprehensions inconsequence of the unusual absence of his two friends,which their mysterious behaviour during the wholemorning had by no means tended to diminish. It was, therefore,with more than ordinary pleasure that he rose to greet them whenthey again entered; and with more than ordinary interest that heinquired what had occurred to detain them from his society. Inreply to his questions on this point, Mr. Snodgrass was about tooffer an historical account of the circumstances just now detailed,when he was suddenly checked by observing that there werepresent, not only Mr. Tupman and their stage-coach companion ofthe preceding day, but another stranger of equally singularappearance. It was a careworn-looking man, whose sallow face,and deeply-sunken eyes, were rendered still more striking thanNature had made them, by the straight black hair which hung inmatted disorder half-way down his face. His eyes were almostunnaturally bright and piercing; his cheek-bones were high andprominent; and his jaws were so long and lank, that an observerwould have supposed that he was drawing the flesh of his face in,for a moment, by some contraction of the muscles, if his half-opened mouth and immovable expression had not announced thatit was his ordinary appearance. Round his neck he wore a greenshawl, with the large ends straggling over his chest, and makingtheir appearance occasionally beneath the worn button-holes ofhis old waistcoat. His upper garment was a long black surtout; andbelow it he wore wide drab trousers, and large boots, runningrapidly to seed.
　　It was on this uncouth-looking person that Mr. Winkle’s eyerested, and it was towards him that Mr. Pickwick extended hishand when he said, ‘A friend of our friend’s here. We discoveredthis morning that our friend was connected with the theatre in thisplace, though he is not desirous to have it generally known, andthis gentleman is a member of the same profession. He was aboutto favour us with a little anecdote connected with it, when youentered.’
　　‘Lots of anecdote,’ said the green-coated stranger of the daybefore, advancing to Mr. Winkle and speaking in a low andconfidential tone. ‘Rum fellow―does the heavy business―noactor―strange man―all sorts of miseries―Dismal Jemmy, we callhim on the circuit.’ Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass politelywelcomed the gentleman, elegantly designated as ‘Dismal Jemmy’;and calling for brandy-and-water, in imitation of the remainder ofthe company, seated themselves at the table. ‘Now sir,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, ‘will you oblige us by proceeding with what you weregoing to relate?’
　　The dismal individual took a dirty roll of paper from his pocket,and turning to Mr. Snodgrass, who had just taken out his note-book, said in a hollow voice, perfectly in keeping with his outwardman―‘Are you the poet?’
　　‘I―I do a little in that way,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass, rather takenaback by the abruptness of the question. ‘Ah! poetry makes lifewhat light and music do the stage―strip the one of the falseembellishments, and the other of its illusions, and what is therereal in either to live or care for?’
　　‘Very true, sir,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘To be before the footlights,’ continued the dismal man, ‘is likesitting at a grand court show, and admiring the silken dresses ofthe gaudy throng; to be behind them is to be the people who makethat finery, uncared for and unknown, and left to sink or swim, tostarve or live, as fortune wills it.’
　　‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Snodgrass: for the sunken eye of the dismalman rested on him, and he felt it necessary to say something.
　　‘Go on, Jemmy,’ said the Spanish traveller, ‘like black-eyedSusan―all in the Downs―no croaking―speak out―look lively.’
　　‘Will you make another glass before you begin, sir?’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　The dismal man took the hint, and having mixed a glass ofbrandy-and-water, and slowly swallowed half of it, opened the rollof paper and proceeded, partly to read, and partly to relate, thefollowing incident, which we find recorded on the Transactions ofthe Club as ‘The Stroller’s Tale.’
　　THE STROLLER’S TALE‘There is nothing of the marvellous in what I am going to relate,’
　　said the dismal man; ‘there is nothing even uncommon in it. Wantand sickness are too common in many stations of life to deservemore notice than is usually bestowed on the most ordinaryvicissitudes of human nature. I have thrown these few notestogether, because the subject of them was well known to me formany years. I traced his progress downwards, step by step, until atlast he reached that excess of destitution from which he never roseagain.
　　‘The man of whom I speak was a low pantomime actor; and,like many people of his class, an habitual drunkard. in his betterdays, before he had become enfeebled by dissipation andemaciated by disease, he had been in the receipt of a good salary,which, if he had been careful and prudent, he might havecontinued to receive for some years―not many; because thesemen either die early, or by unnaturally taxing their bodilyenergies, lose, prematurely, those physical powers on which alonethey can depend for subsistence. His besetting sin gained so fastupon him, however, that it was found impossible to employ him inthe situations in which he really was useful to the theatre. Thepublic-house had a fascination for him which he could not resist.
　　Neglected disease and hopeless poverty were as certain to be hisportion as death itself, if he persevered in the same course; yet hedid persevere, and the result may be guessed. He could obtain noengagement, and he wanted bread.
　　‘Everybody who is at all acquainted with theatrical mattersknows what a host of shabby, poverty-stricken men hang aboutthe stage of a large establishment―not regularly engaged actors,but ballet people, procession men, tumblers, and so forth, who aretaken on during the run of a pantomime, or an Easter piece, andare then discharged, until the production of some heavy spectacleoccasions a new demand for their services. To this mode of life theman was compelled to resort; and taking the chair every night, atsome low theatrical house, at once put him in possession of a fewmore shillings weekly, and enabled him to gratify his oldpropensity. Even this resource shortly failed him; his irregularitieswere too great to admit of his earning the wretched pittance hemight thus have procured, and he was actually reduced to a statebordering on starvation, only procuring a trifle occasionally byborrowing it of some old companion, or by obtaining anappearance at one or other of the commonest of the minortheatres; and when he did earn anything it was spent in the oldway.
　　‘About this time, and when he had been existing for upwards ofa year no one knew how, I had a short engagement at one of thetheatres on the Surrey side of the water, and here I saw this man,whom I had lost sight of for some time; for I had been travelling inthe provinces, and he had been skulking in the lanes and alleys ofLondon. I was dressed to leave the house, and was crossing thestage on my way out, when he tapped me on the shoulder. Nevershall I forget the repulsive sight that met my eye when I turnedround. He was dressed for the pantomimes in all the absurdity of aclown’s costume. The spectral figures in the Dance of Death, themost frightful shapes that the ablest painter ever portrayed oncanvas, never presented an appearance half so ghastly. Hisbloated body and shrunken legs―their deformity enhanced ahundredfold by the fantastic dress―the glassy eyes, contrastingfearfully with the thick white paint with which the face wasbesmeared; the grotesquely-ornamented head, trembling withparalysis, and the long skinny hands, rubbed with white chalk―allgave him a hideous and unnatural appearance, of which nodescription could convey an adequate idea, and which, to this day,I shudder to think of. His voice was hollow and tremulous as hetook me aside, and in broken words recounted a long catalogue ofsickness and privations, terminating as usual with an urgentrequest for the loan of a trifling sum of money. I put a few shillingsin his hand, and as I turned away I heard the roar of laughterwhich followed his first tumble on the stage.
　　‘A few nights afterwards, a boy put a dirty scrap of paper in myhand, on which were scrawled a few words in pencil, intimatingthat the man was dangerously ill, and begging me, after theperformance, to see him at his lodgings in some street―I forgetthe name of it now―at no great distance from the theatre. Ipromised to comply, as soon as I could get away; and after thecurtain fell, sallied forth on my melancholy errand.
　　‘It was late, for I had been playing in the last piece; and, as itwas a benefit night, the performances had been protracted to anunusual length. It was a dark, cold night, with a chill, damp wind,which blew the rain heavily against the windows and house-fronts.
　　Pools of water had collected in the narrow and little-frequentedstreets, and as many of the thinly-scattered oil-lamps had beenblown out by the violence of the wind, the walk was not only acomfortless, but most uncertain one. I had fortunately taken theright course, however, and succeeded, after a little difficulty, infinding the house to which I had been directed―a coal-shed, withone Storey above it, in the back room of which lay the object of mysearch.
　　‘A wretched-looking woman, the man’s wife, met me on thestairs, and, telling me that he had just fallen into a kind of doze,led me softly in, and placed a chair for me at the bedside. The sickman was lying with his face turned towards the wall; and as hetook no heed of my presence, I had leisure to observe the place inwhich I found myself.
　　‘He was lying on an old bedstead, which turned up during theday. The tattered remains of a checked curtain were drawn roundthe bed’s head, to exclude the wind, which, however, made its wayinto the comfortless room through the numerous chinks in thedoor, and blew it to and fro every instant. There was a low cinderfire in a rusty, unfixed grate; and an old three-cornered stainedtable, with some medicine bottles, a broken glass, and a few other domestic articles, was drawn out before it. A little child wassleeping on a temporary bed which had been made for it on thefloor, and the woman sat on a chair by its side. There were acouple of shelves, with a few plates and cups and saucers; and apair of stage shoes and a couple of foils hung beneath them. Withthe exception of little heaps of rags and bundles which had beencarelessly thrown into the corners of the room, these were the onlythings in the apartment.
　　‘I had had time to note these little particulars, and to mark theheavy breathing and feverish startings of the sick man, before hewas aware of my presence. In the restless attempts to procuresome easy resting-place for his head, he tossed his hand out of thebed, and it fell on mine. He started up, and stared eagerly in myface.
　　‘“Mr. Hutley, John,” said his wife; “Mr. Hutley, that you sent forto-night, you know.”
　　‘“Ah!” said the invalid, passing his hand across his forehead;“Hutley―Hutley―let me see.” He seemed endeavouring to collecthis thoughts for a few seconds, and then grasping me tightly bythe wrist said, “Don’t leave me―don’t leave me, old fellow. She’llmurder me; I know she will.”
　　‘“Has he been long so?” said I, addressing his weeping wife.
　　‘“Since yesterday night,” she replied. “John, John, don’t youknow me?”
　　‘“Don’t let her come near me,” said the man, with a shudder, asshe stooped over him. “Drive her away; I can’t bear her near me.”
　　He stared wildly at her, with a look of deadly apprehension, andthen whispered in my ear, “I beat her, Jem; I beat her yesterday,and many times before. I have starved her and the boy too; andnow I am weak and helpless, Jem, she’ll murder me for it; I knowshe will. If you’d seen her cry, as I have, you’d know it too. Keepher off.” He relaxed his grasp, and sank back exhausted on thepillow.
　　‘I knew but too well what all this meant. If I could haveentertained any doubt of it, for an instant, one glance at thewoman’s pale face and wasted form would have sufficientlyexplained the real state of the case. “You had better stand aside,”
　　said I to the poor creature. “You can do him no good. Perhaps hewill be calmer, if he does not see you.” She retired out of the man’ssight. He opened his eyes after a few seconds, and lookedanxiously round.
　　‘“Is she gone?” he eagerly inquired.
　　‘“Yes―yes,” said I; “she shall not hurt you.”
　　‘“I’ll tell you what, Jem,” said the man, in a low voice, “she doeshurt me. There’s something in her eyes wakes such a dreadful fearin my heart, that it drives me mad. All last night, her large, staringeyes and pale face were close to mine; wherever I turned, theyturned; and whenever I started up from my sleep, she was at thebedside looking at me.” He drew me closer to him, as he said in adeep alarmed whisper, “Jem, she must be an evil spirit―a devil!
　　Hush! I know she is. If she had been a woman she would have diedlong ago. No woman could have borne what she has.”
　　‘I sickened at the thought of the long course of cruelty andneglect which must have occurred to produce such an impressionon such a man. I could say nothing in reply; for who could offerhope, or consolation, to the abject being before me?
　　‘I sat there for upwards of two hours, during which time hetossed about, murmuring exclamations of pain or impatience,restlessly throwing his arms here and there, and turningconstantly from side to side. At length he fell into that state ofpartial unconsciousness, in which the mind wanders uneasily fromscene to scene, and from place to place, without the control ofreason, but still without being able to divest itself of anindescribable sense of present suffering. Finding from hisincoherent wanderings that this was the case, and knowing that inall probability the fever would not grow immediately worse, I lefthim, promising his miserable wife that I would repeat my visitnext evening, and, if necessary, sit up with the patient during thenight.
　　‘I kept my promise. The last four-and-twenty hours hadproduced a frightful alteration. The eyes, though deeply sunk andheavy, shone with a lustre frightful to behold. The lips wereparched, and cracked in many places; the hard, dry skin glowedwith a burning heat; and there was an almost unearthly air of wildanxiety in the man’s face, indicating even more strongly theravages of the disease. The fever was at its height.
　　‘I took the seat I had occupied the night before, and there I satfor hours, listening to sounds which must strike deep to the heart of the most callous among human beings―the awful ravings of adying man. From what I had heard of the medical attendant’sopinion, I knew there was no hope for him: I was sitting by hisdeath-bed. I saw the wasted limbs―which a few hours before hadbeen distorted for the amusement of a boisterous gallery, writhingunder the tortures of a burning fever―I heard the clown’s shrilllaugh, blending with the low murmurings of the dying man.
　　‘It is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the ordinaryoccupations and pursuits of health, when the body lies before youweak and helpless; but when those occupations are of a characterthe most strongly opposed to anything we associate with grave andsolemn ideas, the impression produced is infinitely more powerful.
　　The theatre and the public-house were the chief themes of thewretched man’s wanderings. It was evening, he fancied; he had apart to play that night; it was late, and he must leave homeinstantly. Why did they hold him, and prevent his going?―heshould lose the money―he must go. No! they would not let him.
　　He hid his face in his burning hands, and feebly bemoaned hisown weakness, and the cruelty of his persecutors. A short pause,and he shouted out a few doggerel rhymes―the last he had everlearned. He rose in bed, drew up his withered limbs, and rolledabout in uncouth positions; he was acting―he was at the theatre.
　　A minute’s silence, and he murmured the burden of some roaringsong. He had reached the old house at last―how hot the roomwas. He had been ill, very ill, but he was well now, and happy. Fillup his glass. Who was that, that dashed it from his lips? It was thesame persecutor that had followed him before. He fell back uponhis pillow and moaned aloud. A short period of oblivion, and hewas wandering through a tedious maze of low-arched rooms―solow, sometimes, that he must creep upon his hands and knees tomake his way along; it was close and dark, and every way heturned, some obstacle impeded his progress. There were insects,too, hideous crawling things, with eyes that stared upon him, andfilled the very air around, glistening horribly amidst the thickdarkness of the place. The walls and ceiling were alive withreptiles―the vault expanded to an enormous size―frightfulfigures flitted to and fro―and the faces of men he knew, renderedhideous by gibing and mouthing, peered out from among them;they were searing him with heated irons, and binding his headwith cords till the blood started; and he struggled madly for life.
　　‘At the close of one of these paroxysms, when I had with greatdifficulty held him down in his bed, he sank into what appeared tobe a slumber. Overpowered with watching and exertion, I hadclosed my eyes for a few minutes, when I felt a violent clutch onmy shoulder. I awoke instantly. He had raised himself up, so as toseat himself in bed―a dreadful change had come over his face, butconsciousness had returned, for he evidently knew me. The child,who had been long since disturbed by his ravings, rose from itslittle bed, and ran towards its father, screaming with fright―themother hastily caught it in her arms, lest he should injure it in theviolence of his insanity; but, terrified by the alteration of hisfeatures, stood transfixed by the bedside. He grasped my shoulderconvulsively, and, striking his breast with the other hand, made adesperate attempt to articulate. It was unavailing; he extended hisarm towards them, and made another violent effort. There was arattling noise in the throat―a glare of the eye―a short stifledgroan―and he fell back―dead!’
　　It would afford us the highest gratification to be enabled torecord Mr. Pickwick’s opinion of the foregoing anecdote. We havelittle doubt that we should have been enabled to present it to ourreaders, but for a most unfortunate occurrence.
　　Mr. Pickwick had replaced on the table the glass which, duringthe last few sentences of the tale, he had retained in his hand; andhad just made up his mind to speak―indeed, we have theauthority of Mr. Snodgrass’s note-book for stating, that he hadactually opened his mouth―when the waiter entered the room,and said―‘Some gentlemen, sir.’
　　It has been conjectured that Mr. Pickwick was on the point ofdelivering some remarks which would have enlightened the world,if not the Thames, when he was thus interrupted; for he gazedsternly on the wait er’s countenance, and then looked round on thecompany generally, as if seeking for information relative to thenew-comers.
　　‘Oh!’ said Mr. Winkle, rising, ‘some friends of mine―show themin. Very pleasant fellows,’ added Mr. Winkle, after the waiter hadretired―‘officers of the 97th, whose acquaintance I made ratheroddly this morning. You will like them very much.’
　　Mr. Pickwick’s equanimity was at once restored. The waiterreturned, and ushered three gentlemen into the room.
　　‘Lieutenant Tappleton,’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘LieutenantTappleton, Mr. Pickwick―Doctor Payne, Mr. Pickwick―Mr.
　　Snodgrass you have seen before, my friend Mr. Tupman, DoctorPayne―Doctor Slammer, Mr. Pickwick―Mr. Tupman, DoctorSlam―’
　　Here Mr. Winkle suddenly paused; for strong emotion wasvisible on the countenance both of Mr. Tupman and the doctor.
　　‘I have met this gentleman before,’ said the Doctor, withmarked emphasis.
　　‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘And―and that person, too, if I am not mistaken,’ said thedoctor, bestowing a scrutinising glance on the green-coatedstranger. ‘I think I gave that person a very pressing invitation lastnight, which he thought proper to decline.’ Saying which thedoctor scowled magnanimously on the stranger, and whisperedhis friend Lieutenant Tappleton.
　　‘You don’t say so,’ said that gentleman, at the conclusion of thewhisper.
　　‘I do, indeed,’ replied Doctor Slammer.
　　‘You are bound to kick him on the spot,’ murmured the ownerof the camp-stool, with great importance.
　　‘Do be quiet, Payne,’ interposed the lieutenant. ‘Will you allowme to ask you, sir,’ he said, addressing Mr. Pickwick, who wasconsiderably mystified by this very unpolite by-play―‘will youallow me to ask you, sir, whether that person belongs to yourparty?’
　　‘No, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘he is a guest of ours.’
　　‘He is a member of your club, or I am mistaken?’ said thelieutenant inquiringly.
　　‘Certainly not,’ responded Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘And never wears your club-button?’ said the lieutenant.
　　‘No―never!’ replied the astonished Mr. Pickwick.
　　Lieutenant Tappleton turned round to his friend DoctorSlammer, with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulder, as ifimplying some doubt of the accuracy of his recollection. The littledoctor looked wrathful, but confounded; and Mr. Payne gazedwith a ferocious aspect on the beaming countenance of theunconscious Pickwick.
　　‘Sir,’ said the doctor, suddenly addressing Mr. Tupman, in atone which made that gentleman start as perceptibly as if a pinhad been cunningly inserted in the calf of his leg, ‘you were at theball here last night!’
　　Mr. Tupman gasped a faint affirmative, looking very hard atMr. Pickwick all the while.
　　‘That person was your companion,’ said the doctor, pointing tothe still unmoved stranger.
　　Mr. Tupman admitted the fact.
　　‘Now, sir,’ said the doctor to the stranger, ‘I ask you once again,in the presence of these gentlemen, whether you choose to give meyour card, and to receive the treatment of a gentleman; or whetheryou impose upon me the necessity of personally chastising you onthe spot?’
　　‘Stay, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I really cannot allow this matterto go any further without some explanation. Tupman, recount thecircumstances.’
　　Mr. Tupman, thus solemnly adjured, stated the case in a fewwords; touched slightly on the borrowing of the coat; expatiatedlargely on its having been done ‘after dinner’; wound up with alittle penitence on his own account; and left the stranger to clearhimself as best he could.
　　He was apparently about to proceed to do so, when LieutenantTappleton, who had been eyeing him with great curiosity, saidwith considerable scorn, ‘Haven’t I seen you at the theatre, sir?’
　　‘Certainly,’ replied the unabashed stranger.
　　‘He is a strolling actor!’ said the lieutenant contemptuously,turning to Doctor Slammer.―‘He acts in the piece that the officersof the 52nd get up at the Rochester Theatre to-morrow night. Youcannot proceed in this affair, Slammer―impossible!’
　　‘Quite!’ said the dignified Payne.
　　‘Sorry to have placed you in this disagreeable situation,’ saidLieutenant Tappleton, addressing Mr. Pickwick; ‘allow me tosuggest, that the best way of avoiding a recurrence of such scenesin future will be to be more select in the choice of yourcompanions. Good-evening, sir!’ and the lieutenant bounced out ofthe room. ‘And allow me to say, sir,’ said the irascible Doctor Payne, ‘thatif I had been Tappleton, or if I had been Slammer, I would havepulled your nose, sir, and the nose of every man in this company. Iwould, sir―every man. Payne is my name, sir―Doctor Payne ofthe 43rd. Good-evening, sir.’ Having concluded this speech, anduttered the last three words in a loud key, he stalked majesticallyafter his friend, closely followed by Doctor Slammer, who saidnothing, but contented himself by withering the company with alook. Rising rage and extreme bewilderment had swelled the noblebreast of Mr. Pickwick, almost to the bursting of his waistcoat,during the delivery of the above defiance. He stood transfixed tothe spot, gazing on vacancy. The closing of the door recalled himto himself. He rushed forward with fury in his looks, and fire in hiseye. His hand was upon the lock of the door; in another instant itwould have been on the throat of Doctor Payne of the 43rd, hadnot Mr. Snodgrass seized his revered leader by the coat tail, anddragged him backwards.
　　‘Restrain him,’ cried Mr. Snodgrass; ‘Winkle, Tupman―hemust not peril his distinguished life in such a cause as this.’
　　‘Let me go,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Hold him tight,’ shouted Mr. Snodgrass; and by the unitedefforts of the whole company, Mr. Pickwick was forced into anarm-chair. ‘Leave him alone,’ said the green-coated stranger;‘brandy-and-water―jolly old gentleman―lots of pluck―swallowthis―ah!―capital stuff.’ Having previously tested the virtues of abumper, which had been mixed by the dismal man, the strangerapplied the glass to Mr. Pickwick’s mouth; and the remainder ofits contents rapidly disappeared.
　　There was a short pause; the brandy-and-water had done itswork; the amiable countenance of Mr. Pickwick was fastrecovering its customary expression.
　　‘They are not worth your notice,’ said the dismal man.
　　‘You are right, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘they are not. I amashamed to have been betrayed into this warmth of feeling. Drawyour chair up to the table, sir.’
　　The dismal man readily complied; a circle was again formedround the table, and harmony once more prevailed. Somelingering irritability appeared to find a resting-place in Mr.
　　Winkle’s bosom, occasioned possibly by the temporary abstractionof his coat―though it is scarcely reasonable to suppose that soslight a circumstance can have excited even a passing feeling ofanger in a Pickwickian’s breast. With this exception, their good-humour was completely restored; and the evening concluded withthe conviviality with which it had begun.
Chapter 4
A FIELD DAY AND BIVOUAC―MORE NEWFRIENDS―AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRYany authors entertain, not only a foolish, but a reallydishonest objection to acknowledge the sources whencethey derive much valuable information. We have nosuch feeling. We are merely endeavouring to discharge, in anupright manner, the responsible duties of our editorial functions;and whatever ambition we might have felt under othercircumstances to lay claim to the authorship of these adventures, aregard for truth forbids us to do more than claim the merit of theirjudicious arrangement and impartial narration. The Pickwickpapers are our New River Head; and we may be compared to theNew River Company. The labours of others have raised for us animmense reservoir of important facts. We merely lay them on, andcommunicate them, in a clear and gentle stream, through themedium of these pages, to a world thirsting for Pickwickianknowledge.
　　Acting in this spirit, and resolutely proceeding on ourdetermination to avow our obligations to the authorities we haveconsulted, we frankly say, that to the note-book of Mr. Snodgrassare we indebted for the particulars recorded in this and thesucceeding chapter―particulars which, now that we havedisburdened our consciences, we shall proceed to detail withoutfurther comment.
　　The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining townsrose from their beds at an early hour of the following morning, in astate of the utmost bustle and excitement. A grand review was totake place upon the lines. The manoeuvres of half a dozenregiments were to be inspected by the eagle eye of thecommander-in-chief; temporary fortifications had been erected,the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was to besprung.
　　Mr. Pickwick was, as our readers may have gathered from theslight extract we gave from his description of Chatham, anenthusiastic admirer of the army. Nothing could have been moredelightful to him―nothing could have harmonised so well with thepeculiar feeling of each of his companions―as this sight.
　　Accordingly they were soon afoot, and walking in the direction ofthe scene of action, towards which crowds of people were alreadypouring from a variety of quarters.
　　The appearance of everything on the lines denoted that theapproaching ceremony was one of the utmost grandeur andimportance. There were sentries posted to keep the ground for thetroops, and servants on the batteries keeping places for the ladies,and sergeants running to and fro, with vellum-covered booksunder their arms, and Colonel Bulder, in full military uniform, onhorseback, galloping first to one place and then to another, andbacking his horse among the people, and prancing, and curvetting,and shouting in a most alarming manner, and making himself veryhoarse in the voice, and very red in the face, without anyassignable cause or reason whatever. Officers were runningbackwards and forwards, first communicating with ColonelBulder, and then ordering the sergeants, and then running awayaltogether; and even the very privates themselves looked frombehind their glazed stocks with an air of mysterious solemnity,which sufficiently bespoke the special nature of the occasion.
　　Mr. Pickwick and his three companions stationed themselves inthe front of the crowd, and patiently awaited the commencementof the proceedings. The throng was increasing every moment; andthe efforts they were compelled to make, to retain the positionthey had gained, sufficiently occupied their attention during thetwo hours that ensued. At one time there was a sudden pressurefrom behind, and then Mr. Pickwick was jerked forward forseveral yards, with a degree of speed and elasticity highlyinconsistent with the general gravity of his demeanour; at anothermoment there was a request to ‘keep back’ from the front, andthen the butt-end of a musket was either dropped upon Mr.
　　Pickwick’s toe, to remind him of the demand, or thrust into hischest, to insure its being complied with. Then some facetiousgentlemen on the left, after pressing sideways in a body, andsqueezing Mr. Snodgrass into the very last extreme of humantorture, would request to know ‘vere he vos a shovin’ to’; andwhen Mr. Winkle had done expressing his excessive indignation atwitnessing this unprovoked assault, some person behind wouldknock his hat over his eyes, and beg the favour of his putting hishead in his pocket. These, and other practical witticisms, coupledwith the unaccountable absence of Mr. Tupman (who hadsuddenly disappeared, and was nowhere to be found), renderedtheir situation upon the whole rather more uncomfortable thanpleasing or desirable.
　　At length that low roar of many voices ran through the crowdwhich usually announces the arrival of whatever they have beenwaiting for. All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally-port.
　　A few moments of eager expectation, and colours were seenfluttering gaily in the air, arms glistened brightly in the sun,column after column poured on to the plain. The troops halted andformed; the word of command rang through the line; there was ageneral clash of muskets as arms were presented; and thecommander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bulder and numerousofficers, cantered to the front. The military bands struck upaltogether; the horses stood upon two legs each, canteredbackwards, and whisked their tails about in all directions; the dogsbarked, the mob screamed, the troops recovered, and nothing wasto be seen on either side, as far as the eye could reach, but a longperspective of red coats and white trousers, fixed and motionless.
　　Mr. Pickwick had been so fully occupied in falling about, anddisentangling himself, miraculously, from between the legs ofhorses, that he had not enjoyed sufficient leisure to observe thescene before him, until it assumed the appearance we have justdescribed. When he was at last enabled to stand firmly on his legs,his gratification and delight were unbounded.
　　‘Can anything be finer or more delightful?’ he inquired of Mr.
　　Winkle.
　　‘Nothing,’ replied that gentleman, who had had a short manstanding on each of his feet for the quarter of an hour immediatelypreceding. ‘It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight,’ said Mr.
　　Snodgrass, in whose bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly burstingforth, ‘to see the gallant defenders of their country drawn up inbrilliant array before its peaceful citizens; their faces beaming―not with warlike ferocity, but with civilised gentleness; their eyesflashing―not with the rude fire of rapine or revenge, but with thesoft light of humanity and intelligence.’
　　Mr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, buthe could not exactly re-echo its terms; for the soft light ofintelligence burned rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors,inasmuch as the command ‘eyes front’ had been given, and all thespectator saw before him was several thousand pair of optics,staring straight forward, wholly divested of any expressionwhatever.
　　‘We are in a capital situation now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, lookinground him. The crowd had gradually dispersed in their immediatevicinity, and they were nearly alone.
　　‘Capital!’ echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle.
　　‘What are they doing now?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjustinghis spectacles.
　　‘I―I―rather think,’ said Mr. Winkle, changing colour―‘I ratherthink they’re going to fire.’
　　‘Nonsense,’ said Mr. Pickwick hastily.
　　‘I―I―really think they are,’ urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhatalarmed.
　　‘Impossible,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered theword, when the whole half-dozen regiments levelled their musketsas if they had but one common object, and that object thePickwickians, and burst forth with the most awful and tremendousdischarge that ever shook the earth to its centres, or an elderlygentleman off his.
　　It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blankcartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, a freshbody of whom had begun to fall in on the opposite side, that Mr.
　　Pickwick displayed that perfect coolness and self-possession,which are the indispensable accompaniments of a great mind. Heseized Mr. Winkle by the arm, and placing himself between thatgentleman and Mr. Snodgrass, earnestly besought them toremember that beyond the possibility of being rendered deaf bythe noise, there was no immediate danger to be apprehended fromthe firing.
　　‘But―but―suppose some of the men should happen to haveball cartridges by mistake,’ remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at thesupposition he was himself conjuring up. ‘I heard somethingwhistle through the air now―so sharp; close to my ear.’
　　‘We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn’t we?’ saidMr. Snodgrass.
　　‘No, no―it’s over now,’ said Mr. Pickwick. His lip might quiver,and his cheek might blanch, but no expression of fear or concernescaped the lips of that immortal man.
　　Mr. Pickwick was right―the firing ceased; but he had scarcelytime to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, whena quick movement was visible in the line; the hoarse shout of theword of command ran along it, and before either of the party couldform a guess at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the whole ofthe half-dozen regiments, with fixed bayonets, charged at double-quick time down upon the very spot on which Mr. Pickwick andhis friends were stationed. Man is but mortal; and there is a pointbeyond which human courage cannot extend. Mr. Pickwick gazedthrough his spectacles for an instant on the advancing mass, andthen fairly turned his back and―we will not say fled; firstly,because it is an ignoble term, and, secondly, because Mr.
　　Pickwick’s figure was by no means adapted for that mode ofretreat―he trotted away, at as quick a rate as his legs wouldconvey him; so quickly, indeed, that he did not perceive theawkwardness of his situation, to the full extent, until too late.
　　The opposite troops, whose falling-in had perplexed Mr.
　　Pickwick a few seconds before, were drawn up to repel the mimicattack of the sham besiegers of the citadel; and the consequencewas that Mr. Pickwick and his two companions found themselvessuddenly inclosed between two lines of great length, the oneadvancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly waiting thecollision in hostile array.
　　‘Hoi!’ shouted the officers of the advancing line.
　　‘Get out of the way!’ cried the officers of the stationary one.
　　‘Where are we to go to?’ screamed the agitated Pickwickians.
　　‘Hoi―hoi―hoi!’ was the only reply. There was a moment ofintense bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violentconcussion, a smothered laugh; the half-dozen regiments were halfa thousand yards off, and the soles of Mr. Pickwick’s boots wereelevated in air.
　　Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle had each performed acompulsory somerset with remarkable agility, when the firstobject that met the eyes of the latter as he sat on the ground,staunching with a yellow silk handkerchief the stream of life whichissued from his nose, was his venerated leader at some distanceoff, running after his own hat, which was gambolling playfullyaway in perspective.
　　There are very few moments in a man’s existence when heexperiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so littlecharitable commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat.
　　A vast deal of coolness, and a peculiar degree of judgment, arerequisite in catching a hat. A man must not be precipitate, or heruns over it; he must not rush into the opposite extreme, or heloses it altogether. The best way is to keep gently up with theobject of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to watch youropportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive,seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head; smilingpleasantly all the time, as if you thought it as good a joke asanybody else.
　　There was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick’s hat rolledsportively before it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed,and the hat rolled over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in astrong tide: and on it might have rolled, far beyond Mr. Pickwick’sreach, had not its course been providentially stopped, just as thatgentleman was on the point of resigning it to its fate.
　　Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about togive up the chase, when the hat was blown with some violenceagainst the wheel of a carriage, which was drawn up in a line withhalf a dozen other vehicles on the spot to which his steps had beendirected. Mr. Pickwick, perceiving his advantage, darted brisklyforward, secured his property, planted it on his head, and pausedto take breath. He had not been stationary half a minute, when heheard his own name eagerly pronounced by a voice, which he atonce recognised as Mr. Tupman’s, and, looking upwards, hebeheld a sight which filled him with surprise and pleasure.
　　In an open barouche, the horses of which had been taken out,the better to accommodate it to the crowded place, stood a stoutold gentleman, in a blue coat and bright buttons, corduroybreeches and top-boots, two young ladies in scarfs and feathers, ayoung gentleman apparently enamoured of one of the youngladies in scarfs and feathers, a lady of doubtful age, probably theaunt of the aforesaid, and Mr. Tupman, as easy and unconcernedas if he had belonged to the family from the first moments of hisinfancy. Fastened up behind the barouche was a hamper ofspacious dimensions―one of those hampers which alwaysawakens in a contemplative mind associations connected with coldfowls, tongues, and bottles of wine―and on the box sat a fat andred-faced boy, in a state of somnolency, whom no speculativeobserver could have regarded for an instant without setting downas the official dispenser of the contents of the before-mentionedhamper, when the proper time for their consumption shouldarrive.
　　Mr. Pickwick had bestowed a hasty glance on these interestingobjects, when he was again greeted by his faithful disciple.
　　‘Pickwick―Pickwick,’ said Mr. Tupman; ‘come up here. Makehaste.’
　　‘Come along, sir. Pray, come up,’ said the stout gentleman.
　　‘Joe!―damn that boy, he’s gone to sleep again.―Joe, let down thesteps.’ The fat boy rolled slowly off the box, let down the steps, andheld the carriage door invitingly open. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr.
　　Winkle came up at the moment.
　　‘Room for you all, gentlemen,’ said the stout man. ‘Two inside,and one out. Joe, make room for one of these gentlemen on thebox. Now, sir, come along;’ and the stout gentleman extended hisarm, and pulled first Mr. Pickwick, and then Mr. Snodgrass, intothe barouche by main force. Mr. Winkle mounted to the box, thefat boy waddled to the same perch, and fell fast asleep instantly.
　　‘Well, gentlemen,’ said the stout man, ‘very glad to see you.
　　Know you very well, gentlemen, though you mayn’t remember me.
　　I spent some ev’nin’s at your club last winter―picked up myfriend Mr. Tupman here this morning, and very glad I was to see him. Well, sir, and how are you? You do look uncommon well, tobe sure.’
　　Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment, and cordiallyshook hands with the stout gentleman in the top-boots.
　　‘Well, and how are you, sir?’ said the stout gentleman,addressing Mr. Snodgrass with paternal anxiety. ‘Charming, eh?
　　Well, that’s right―that’s right. And how are you, sir (to Mr.
　　Winkle)? Well, I am glad to hear you say you are well; very glad Iam, to be sure. My daughters, gentlemen―my gals these are; andthat’s my sister, Miss Rachael Wardle. She’s a Miss, she is; and yetshe ain’t a Miss―eh, sir, eh?’ And the stout gentleman playfullyinserted his elbow between the ribs of Mr. Pickwick, and laughedvery heartily.
　　‘Lor, brother!’ said Miss Wardle, with a deprecating smile.
　　‘True, true,’ said the stout gentleman; ‘no one can deny it.
　　Gentlemen, I beg your pardon; this is my friend Mr. Trundle. Andnow you all know each other, let’s be comfortable and happy, andsee what’s going forward; that’s what I say.’ So the stoutgentleman put on his spectacles, and Mr. Pickwick pulled out hisglass, and everybody stood up in the carriage, and looked oversomebody else’s shoulder at the evolutions of the military.
　　Astounding evolutions they were, one rank firing over theheads of another rank, and then running away; and then the otherrank firing over the heads of another rank, and running away intheir turn; and then forming squares, with officers in the centre;and then descending the trench on one side with scaling-ladders,and ascending it on the other again by the same means; andknocking down barricades of baskets, and behaving in the mostgallant manner possible. Then there was such a ramming down ofthe contents of enormous guns on the battery, with instrumentslike magnified mops; such a preparation before they were let off,and such an awful noise when they did go, that the air resoundedwith the screams of ladies. The young Misses Wardle were sofrightened, that Mr. Trundle was actually obliged to hold one ofthem up in the carriage, while Mr. Snodgrass supported the other;and Mr. Wardle’s sister suffered under such a dreadful state ofnervous alarm, that Mr. Tupman found it indispensably necessaryto put his arm round her waist, to keep her up at all. Everybodywas excited, except the fat boy, and he slept as soundly as if theroaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.
　　‘Joe, Joe!’ said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken,and the besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. ‘Damn thatboy, he’s gone to sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir―inthe leg, if you please; nothing else wakes him―thank you. Undothe hamper, Joe.’
　　The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by thecompression of a portion of his leg between the finger and thumbof Mr. Winkle, rolled off the box once again, and proceeded tounpack the hamper with more expedition than could have beenexpected from his previous inactivity.
　　‘Now we must sit close,’ said the stout gentleman. After a greatmany jokes about squeezing the ladies’ sleeves, and a vast quantityof blushing at sundry jocose proposals, that the ladies should sit inthe gentlemen’s laps, the whole party were stowed down in thebarouche; and the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the thingsfrom the fat boy (who had mounted up behind for the purpose)into the carriage.
　　‘Now, Joe, knives and forks.’ The knives and forks were handedin, and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on thebox, were each furnished with those useful instruments.
　　‘Plates, Joe, plates.’ A similar process employed in thedistribution of the crockery.
　　‘Now, Joe, the fowls. Damn that boy; he’s gone to sleep again.
　　Joe! Joe!’ (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy,with some difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) ‘Come, hand in theeatables.’
　　There was something in the sound of the last word whichroused the unctuous boy. He jumped up, and the leaden eyeswhich twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks leered horriblyupon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.
　　‘Now make haste,’ said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was hangingfondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with.
　　The boy sighed deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon itsplumpness, unwillingly consigned it to his master.
　　‘That’s right―look sharp. Now the tongue―now the pigeon pie.
　　Take care of that veal and ham―mind the lobsters―take the saladout of the cloth―give me the dressing.’ Such were the hurriedorders which issued from the lips of Mr. Wardle, as he handed inthe different articles described, and placed dishes in everybody’shands, and on everybody’s knees, in endless number. ‘Now ain’tthis capital?’ inquired that jolly personage, when the work ofdestruction had commenced.
　　‘Capital!’ said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box.
　　‘Glass of wine?’
　　‘With the greatest pleasure.’
　　‘You’d better have a bottle to yourself up there, hadn’t you?’
　　‘You’re very good.’
　　‘Joe!’
　　‘Yes, sir.’ (He wasn’t asleep this time, having just succeeded inabstracting a veal patty.)‘Bottle of wine to the gentleman on the box. Glad to see you,sir.’
　　‘Thank’ee.’ Mr. Winkle emptied his glass, and placed the bottleon the coach-box, by his side.
　　‘Will you permit me to have the pleasure, sir?’ said Mr. Trundleto Mr. Winkle.
　　‘With great pleasure,’ replied Mr. Winkle to Mr. Trundle, andthen the two gentlemen took wine, after which they took a glass ofwine round, ladies and all.
　　‘How dear Emily is flirting with the strange gentleman,’
　　whispered the spinster aunt, with true spinster-aunt-like envy, toher brother, Mr. Wardle.
　　‘Oh! I don’t know,’ said the jolly old gentleman; ‘all verynatural, I dare say―nothing unusual. Mr. Pickwick, some wine,sir?’ Mr. Pickwick, who had been deeply investigating the interiorof the pigeon-pie, readily assented.
　　‘Emily, my dear,’ said the spinster aunt, with a patronising air,‘don’t talk so loud, love.’
　　‘Lor, aunt!’
　　‘Aunt and the little old gentleman want to have it all tothemselves, I think,’ whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sisterEmily. The young ladies laughed very heartily, and the old onetried to look amiable, but couldn’t manage it.
　　‘Young girls have such spirits,’ said Miss Wardle to Mr.
　　Tupman, with an air of gentle commiseration, as if animal spiritswere contraband, and their possession without a permit a highcrime and misdemeanour.
　　‘Oh, they have,’ replied Mr. Tupman, not exactly making thesort of reply that was expected from him. ‘It’s quite delightful.’
　　‘Hem!’ said Miss Wardle, rather dubiously.
　　‘Will you permit me?’ said Mr. Tupman, in his blandestmanner, touching the enchanting Rachael’s wrist with one hand,and gently elevating the bottle with the other. ‘Will you permitme?’
　　‘Oh, sir!’ Mr. Tupman looked most impressive; and Rachaelexpressed her fear that more guns were going off, in which case, ofcourse, she should have required support again.
　　‘Do you think my dear nieces pretty?’ whispered theiraffectionate aunt to Mr. Tupman.
　　‘I should, if their aunt wasn’t here,’ replied the readyPickwickian, with a passionate glance.
　　‘Oh, you naughty man―but really, if their complexions were alittle little better, don’t you think they would be nice-lookinggirls―by candlelight?’
　　‘Yes; I think they would,’ said Mr. Tupman, with an air ofindifference.
　　‘Oh, you quiz―I know what you were going to say.’
　　‘What?’ inquired Mr. Tupman, who had not precisely made uphis mind to say anything at all.
　　‘You were going to say that Isabel stoops―I know you were―you men are such observers. Well, so she does; it can’t be denied;and, certainly, if there is one thing more than another that makesa girl look ugly it is stooping. I often tell her that when she gets alittle older she’ll be quite frightful. Well, you are a quiz!’
　　Mr. Tupman had no objection to earning the reputation at socheap a rate: so he looked very knowing, and smiled mysteriously.
　　‘What a sarcastic smile,’ said the admiring Rachael; ‘I declareI’m quite afraid of you.’
　　‘Afraid of me!’
　　‘Oh, you can’t disguise anything from me―I know what thatsmile means very well.’
　　‘What?’ said Mr. Tupman, who had not the slightest notionhimself.
　　‘You mean,’ said the amiable aunt, sinking her voice stilllower―‘you mean, that you don’t think Isabella’s stooping is asbad as Emily’s boldness. Well, she is bold! You cannot think howwretched it makes me sometimes―I’m sure I cry about it for hourstogether―my dear brother is so good, and so unsuspicious, that henever sees it; if he did, I’m quite certain it would break his heart. Iwish I could think it was only manner―I hope it may be―‘ (Herethe affectionate relative heaved a deep sigh, and shook her headdespondingly).
　　‘I’m sure aunt’s talking about us,’ whispered Miss Emily Wardleto her sister―‘I’m quite certain of it―she looks so malicious.’
　　‘Is she?’ replied Isabella.―‘Hem! aunt, dear!’
　　‘Yes, my dear love!’
　　‘I’m so afraid you’ll catch cold, aunt―have a silk handkerchiefto tie round your dear old head―you really should take care ofyourself―consider your age!’
　　However well deserved this piece of retaliation might havebeen, it was as vindictive a one as could well have been resortedto. There is no guessing in what form of reply the aunt’sindignation would have vented itself, had not Mr. Wardleunconsciously changed the subject, by calling emphatically for Joe.
　　‘Damn that boy,’ said the old gentleman, ‘he’s gone to sleepagain.’
　　‘Very extraordinary boy, that,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘does healways sleep in this way?’
　　‘Sleep!’ said the old gentleman, ‘he’s always asleep. Goes onerrands fast asleep, and snores as he waits at table.’
　　‘How very odd!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ah! odd indeed,’ returned the old gentleman; ‘I’m proud of thatboy―wouldn’t part with him on any account―he’s a naturalcuriosity! Here, Joe―Joe―take these things away, and openanother bottle―d’ye hear?’
　　The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece ofpie he had been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep,and slowly obeyed his master’s orders―gloating languidly overthe remains of the feast, as he removed the plates, and depositedthem in the hamper. The fresh bottle was produced, and speedilyemptied: the hamper was made fast in its old place―the fat boyonce more mounted the box―the spectacles and pocket-glasswere again adjusted―and the evolutions of the militaryrecommenced. There was a great fizzing and banging of guns, andstarting of ladies―and then a Mine was sprung, to the gratificationof everybody―and when the mine had gone off, the military andthe company followed its example, and went off too.
　　‘Now, mind,’ said the old gentleman, as he shook hands withMr. Pickwick at the conclusion of a conversation which had beencarried on at intervals, during the conclusion of the proceedings,“we shall see you all to-morrow.’
　　‘Most certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘You have got the address?’
　　‘Manor Farm, Dingley Dell,’ said Mr. Pickwick, consulting hispocket-book. ‘That’s it,’ said the old gentleman. ‘I don’t let you off,mind, under a week; and undertake that you shall see everythingworth seeing. If you’ve come down for a country life, come to me,and I’ll give you plenty of it. Joe―damn that boy, he’s gone tosleep again―Joe, help Tom put in the horses.’
　　The horses were put in―the driver mounted―the fat boyclambered up by his side―farewells were exchanged―and thecarriage rattled off. As the Pickwickians turned round to take alast glimpse of it, the setting sun cast a rich glow on the faces oftheir entertainers, and fell upon the form of the fat boy. His headwas sunk upon his bosom; and he slumbered again.
Chapter 5
A SHORT ONE―SHOWING, AMONG OTHERMATTERS, HOW Mr. PICKWICK UNDERTOOKTO DRIVE, AND Mr. WINKLE TO RIDE, ANDHOW THEY BOTH DID ITright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, andbeautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr.
　　Pickwick leaned over the balustrades of RochesterBridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for breakfast. Thescene was indeed one which might well have charmed a far lessreflective mind, than that to which it was presented.
　　On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in manyplaces, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rudeand heavy masses. Huge knots of seaweed hung upon the jaggedand pointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and thegreen ivy clung mournfully round the dark and ruinedbattlements. Behind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless,and its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of itsold might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rangwith the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting andrevelry. On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered withcornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or adistant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see,presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautifulby the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it as the thinand half-formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morningsun. The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened andsparkled as it flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of the fishermendipped into the water with a clear and liquid sound, as their heavybut picturesque boats glided slowly down the stream.
　　Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into whichhe had been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, and atouch on his shoulder. He turned round: and the dismal man wasat his side.
　　‘Contemplating the scene?’ inquired the dismal man. ‘I was,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘And congratulating yourself on being up so soon?’
　　Mr. Pickwick nodded assent.
　　‘Ah! people need to rise early, to see the sun in all hissplendour, for his brightness seldom lasts the day through. Themorning of day and the morning of life are but too much alike.’
　　‘You speak truly, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘How common the saying,’ continued the dismal man, ‘“Themorning’s too fine to last.” How well might it be applied to oureveryday existence. God! what would I forfeit to have the days ofmy childhood restored, or to be able to forget them for ever!’
　　‘You have seen much trouble, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwickcompassionately.
　　‘I have,’ said the dismal man hurriedly; ‘I have. More than thosewho see me now would believe possible.’ He paused for an instant,and then said abruptly―‘Did it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that drowningwould be happiness and peace?’
　　‘God bless me, no!’ replied Mr. Pickwick, edging a little fromthe balustrade, as the possibility of the dismal man’s tipping himover, by way of experiment, occurred to him rather forcibly.
　　‘I have thought so, often,’ said the dismal man, without noticingthe action. ‘The calm, cool water seems to me to murmur aninvitation to repose and rest. A bound, a splash, a brief struggle;there is an eddy for an instant, it gradually subsides into a gentleripple; the waters have closed above your head, and the world hasclosed upon your miseries and misfortunes for ever.’ The sunkeneye of the dismal man flashed brightly as he spoke, but themomentary excitement quickly subsided; and he turned calmlyaway, as he said―‘There―enough of that. I wish to see you on another subject.
　　You invited me to read that paper, the night before last, andlistened attentively while I did so.’
　　‘I did,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘and I certainly thought―’
　　‘I asked for no opinion,’ said the dismal man, interrupting him,‘and I want none. You are travelling for amusement andinstruction. Suppose I forward you a curious manuscript―observe, not curious because wild or improbable, but curious as aleaf from the romance of real life―would you communicate it tothe club, of which you have spoken so frequently?’
　　‘Certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘if you wished it; and it wouldbe entered on their transactions.’
　　‘You shall have it,’ replied the dismal man. ‘Your address;’ and,Mr. Pickwick having communicated their probable route, thedismal man carefully noted it down in a greasy pocket-book, and,resisting Mr. Pickwick’s pressing invitation to breakfast, left thatgentleman at his inn, and walked slowly away.
　　Mr. Pickwick found that his three companions had risen, andwere waiting his arrival to commence breakfast, which was readylaid in tempting display. They sat down to the meal; and broiledham, eggs, tea, coffee and sundries, began to disappear with arapidity which at once bore testimony to the excellence of the fare,and the appetites of its consumers.
　　‘Now, about Manor Farm,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘How shall wego?’
　　‘We had better consult the waiter, perhaps,’ said Mr. Tupman;and the waiter was summoned accordingly.
　　‘Dingley Dell, gentlemen―fifteen miles, gentlemen―crossroad―post-chaise, sir?’
　　‘Post-chaise won’t hold more than two,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘True, sir―beg your pardon, sir.―Very nice four-wheel chaise,sir―seat for two behind―one in front for the gentleman thatdrives―oh! beg your pardon, sir―that’ll only hold three.’
　　‘What’s to be done?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Perhaps one of the gentlemen would like to ride, sir?’
　　suggested the waiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle; ‘very goodsaddle-horses, sir―any of Mr. Wardle’s men coming to Rochester,bring ’em back, sir.’
　　‘The very thing,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Winkle, will you go onhorseback?’
　　Now Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in thevery lowest recesses of his own heart, relative to his equestrianskill; but, as he would not have them even suspected, on anyaccount, he at once replied with great hardihood, ‘Certainly. Ishould enjoy it of all things.’ Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate;there was no resource. ‘Let them be at the door by eleven,’ saidMr. Pickwick.
　　‘Very well, sir,’ replied the waiter.
　　The waiter retired; the breakfast concluded; and the travellersascended to their respective bedrooms, to prepare a change ofclothing, to take with them on their approaching expedition.
　　Mr. Pickwick had made his preliminary arrangements, and waslooking over the coffee-room blinds at the passengers in the street,when the waiter entered, and announced that the chaise wasready―an announcement which the vehicle itself confirmed, byforthwith appearing before the coffee-room blinds aforesaid.
　　It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low placelike a wine-bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for one infront, drawn by an immense brown horse, displaying greatsymmetry of bone. An hostler stood near, holding by the bridleanother immense horse―apparently a near relative of the animalin the chaise―ready saddled for Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Bless my soul!’ said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon thepavement while the coats were being put in. ‘Bless my soul! who’sto drive? I never thought of that.’
　　‘Oh! you, of course,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Of course,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘I!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Not the slightest fear, sir,’ interposed the hostler. ‘Warrant himquiet, sir; a hinfant in arms might drive him.’
　　‘He don’t shy, does he?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Shy, sir?―He wouldn’t shy if he was to meet a vaggin-load ofmonkeys with their tails burned off.’
　　The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman andMr. Snodgrass got into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to hisperch, and deposited his feet on a floor-clothed shelf, erectedbeneath it for that purpose.
　　‘Now, shiny Villiam,’ said the hostler to the deputy hostler, ‘givethe gen’lm’n the ribbons.’ ‘Shiny Villiam’―so called, probably,from his sleek hair and oily countenance―placed the reins in Mr.
　　Pickwick’s left hand; and the upper hostler thrust a whip into hisright.
　　‘Wo-o!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced adecided inclination to back into the coffee-room window. ‘Wo-o!’
　　echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass, from the bin. ‘Only hisplayfulness, gen’lm’n,’ said the head hostler encouragingly; ‘jistkitch hold on him, Villiam.’ The deputy restrained the animal’simpetuosity, and the principal ran to assist Mr. Winkle inmounting.
　　‘T’other side, sir, if you please.’
　　‘Blowed if the gen’lm’n worn’t a-gettin’ up on the wrong side,’
　　whispered a grinning post-boy to the inexpressibly gratifiedwaiter.
　　Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle, with aboutas much difficulty as he would have experienced in getting up theside of a first-rate man-of-war.
　　‘All right?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentimentthat it was all wrong.
　　‘All right,’ replied Mr. Winkle faintly.
　　‘Let ’em go,’ cried the hostler.―‘Hold him in, sir;’ and awaywent the chaise, and the saddle-horse, with Mr. Pickwick on thebox of the one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to thedelight and gratification of the whole inn-yard.
　　‘What makes him go sideways?’ said Mr. Snodgrass in the bin,to Mr. Winkle in the saddle.
　　‘I can’t imagine,’ replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was drifting upthe street in the most mysterious manner―side first, with his headtowards one side of the way, and his tail towards the other.
　　Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any otherparticular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in themanagement of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayedvarious peculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander, but by nomeans equally amusing to any one seated behind him. Besidesconstantly jerking his head up, in a very unpleasant anduncomfortable manner, and tugging at the reins to an extentwhich rendered it a matter of great difficulty for Mr. Pickwick tohold them, he had a singular propensity for darting suddenlyevery now and then to the side of the road, then stopping short,and then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which itwas wholly impossible to control.
　　‘What can he mean by this?’ said Mr. Snodgrass, when thehorse had executed this manoeuvre for the twentieth time.
　　‘I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Tupman; ‘it looks very like shying,don’t it?’ Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he wasinterrupted by a shout from Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Woo!’ said that gentleman; ‘I have dropped my whip.’
　　‘Winkle,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trottingup on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking allover, as if he would shake to pieces, with the violence of theexercise, ‘pick up the whip, there’s a good fellow.’ Mr. Winklepulled at the bridle of the tall horse till he was black in the face;and having at length succeeded in stopping him, dismounted,handed the whip to Mr. Pickwick, and grasping the reins,prepared to remount.
　　Now whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of hisdisposition, was desirous of having a little innocent recreationwith Mr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he couldperform the journey as much to his own satisfaction without arider as with one, are points upon which, of course, we can arriveat no definite and distinct conclusion. By whatever motives theanimal was actuated, certain it is that Mr. Winkle had no soonertouched the reins, than he slipped them over his head, and dartedbackwards to their full length.
　　‘Poor fellow,’ said Mr. Winkle soothingly―‘poor fellow―goodold horse.’ The ‘poor fellow’ was proof against flattery; the moreMr. Winkle tried to get nearer him, the more he sidled away; and,notwithstanding all kinds of coaxing and wheedling, there wereMr. Winkle and the horse going round and round each other forten minutes, at the end of which time each was at precisely thesame distance from the other as when they first commenced―anunsatisfactory sort of thing under any circumstances, butparticularly so in a lonely road, where no assistance can beprocured.
　　‘What am I to do?’ shouted Mr. Winkle, after the dodging hadbeen prolonged for a considerable time. ‘What am I to do? I can’tget on him.’
　　‘You had better lead him till we come to a turnpike,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick from the chaise.
　　‘But he won’t come!’ roared Mr. Winkle. ‘Do come and holdhim.’
　　Mr. Pickwick was the very personation of kindness andhumanity: he threw the reins on the horse’s back, and havingdescended from his seat, carefully drew the chaise into the hedge,lest anything should come along the road, and stepped back to theassistance of his distressed companion, leaving Mr. Tupman andMr. Snodgrass in the vehicle.
　　The horse no sooner beheld Mr. Pickwick advancing towardshim with the chaise whip in his hand, than he exchanged therotary motion in which he had previously indulged, for aretrograde movement of so very determined a character, that it atonce drew Mr. Winkle, who was still at the end of the bridle, at arather quicker rate than fast walking, in the direction from whichthey had just come. Mr. Pickwick ran to his assistance, but thefaster Mr. Pickwick ran forward, the faster the horse ranbackward. There was a great scraping of feet, and kicking up ofthe dust; and at last Mr. Winkle, his arms being nearly pulled outof their sockets, fairly let go his hold. The horse paused, stared,shook his head, turned round, and quietly trotted home toRochester, leaving Mr. Winkle and Mr. Pickwick gazing on eachother with countenances of blank dismay. A rattling noise at alittle distance attracted their attention. They looked up.
　　‘Bless my soul!’ exclaimed the agonised Mr. Pickwick; ‘there’sthe other horse running away!’
　　It was but too true. The animal was startled by the noise, andthe reins were on his back. The results may be guessed. He tore offwith the four-wheeled chaise behind him, and Mr. Tupman andMr. Snodgrass in the four-wheeled chaise. The heat was a shortone. Mr. Tupman threw himself into the hedge, Mr. Snodgrassfollowed his example, the horse dashed the four―wheeled chaiseagainst a wooden bridge, separated the wheels from the body, andthe bin from the perch; and finally stood stock still to gaze uponthe ruin he had made.
　　The first care of the two unspilt friends was to extricate theirunfortunate companions from their bed of quickset―a processwhich gave them the unspeakable satisfaction of discovering thatthey had sustained no injury, beyond sundry rents in theirgarments, and various lacerations from the brambles. The nextthing to be done was to unharness the horse. This complicatedprocess having been effected, the party walked slowly forward,leading the horse among them, and abandoning the chaise to itsfate.
　　An hour’s walk brought the travellers to a little road-sidepublic-house, with two elm-trees, a horse trough, and a signpost,in front; one or two deformed hay-ricks behind, a kitchen gardenat the side, and rotten sheds and mouldering outhouses jumbled instrange confusion all about it. A red-headed man was working inthe garden; and to him Mr. Pickwick called lustily, ‘Hollo there!’
　　The red-headed man raised his body, shaded his eyes with hishand, and stared, long and coolly, at Mr. Pickwick and hiscompanions.
　　‘Hollo there!’ repeated Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Hollo!’ was the red-headed man’s reply.
　　‘How far is it to Dingley Dell?’
　　‘Better er seven mile.’
　　‘Is it a good road?’
　　‘No, ‘tain’t.’ Having uttered this brief reply, and apparentlysatisfied himself with another scrutiny, the red-headed manresumed his work. ‘We want to put this horse up here,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick; ‘I suppose we can, can’t we?’
　　‘Want to put that ere horse up, do ee?’ repeated the red-headedman, leaning on his spade.
　　‘Of course,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, who had by this timeadvanced, horse in hand, to the garden rails.
　　‘Missus’―roared the man with the red head, emerging from thegarden, and looking very hard at the horse―‘missus!’
　　A tall, bony woman―straight all the way down―in a coarse,blue pelisse, with the waist an inch or two below her arm-pits,responded to the call.
　　‘Can we put this horse up here, my good woman?’ said Mr.
　　Tupman, advancing, and speaking in his most seductive tones.
　　The woman looked very hard at the whole party; and the red-headed man whispered something in her ear.
　　‘No,’ replied the woman, after a little consideration, ‘I’m afeerdon it.’
　　‘Afraid!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, ‘what’s the woman afraid of?’
　　‘It got us in trouble last time,’ said the woman, turning into thehouse; ‘I woan’t have nothin’ to say to ’un .’
　　‘Most extraordinary thing I have ever met with in my life,’ saidthe astonished Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I―I―really believe,’ whispered Mr. Winkle, as his friendsgathered round him, ‘that they think we have come by this horsein some dishonest manner.’
　　‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in a storm of indignation. Mr.
　　Winkle modestly repeated his suggestion.
　　‘Hollo, you fellow,’ said the angry Mr. Pickwick,’ do you thinkwe stole the horse?’
　　‘I’m sure ye did,’ replied the red-headed man, with a grin whichagitated his countenance from one auricular organ to the other.
　　Saying which he turned into the house and banged the door afterhim.
　　‘It’s like a dream,’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, ‘a hideous dream.
　　The idea of a man’s walking about all day with a dreadful horsethat he can’t get rid of!’ The depressed Pickwickians turnedmoodily away, with the tall quadruped, for which they all felt themost unmitigated disgust, following slowly at their heels.
　　It was late in the afternoon when the four friends and theirfour-footed companion turned into the lane leading to ManorFarm; and even when they were so near their place of destination,the pleasure they would otherwise have experienced wasmaterially damped as they reflected on the singularity of theirappearance, and the absurdity of their situation. Torn clothes,lacerated faces, dusty shoes, exhausted looks, and, above all, thehorse. Oh, how Mr. Pickwick cursed that horse: he had eyed thenoble animal from time to time with looks expressive of hatredand revenge; more than once he had calculated the probableamount of the expense he would incur by cutting his throat; andnow the temptation to destroy him, or to cast him loose upon theworld, rushed upon his mind with tenfold force. He was rousedfrom a meditation on these dire imaginings by the suddenappearance of two figures at a turn of the lane. It was Mr. Wardle,and his faithful attendant, the fat boy.
　　‘Why, where have you been?’ said the hospitable old gentleman;‘I’ve been waiting for you all day. Well, you do look tired. What!
　　Scratches! Not hurt, I hope―eh? Well, I am glad to hear that―very. So you’ve been spilt, eh? Never mind. Common accident inthese parts. Joe―he’s asleep again!―Joe, take that horse from thegentlemen, and lead it into the stable.’
　　The fat boy sauntered heavily behind them with the animal;and the old gentleman, condoling with his guests in homely phraseon so much of the day’s adventures as they thought proper tocommunicate, led the way to the kitchen.
　　‘We’ll have you put to rights here ,’ said the old gentleman, ‘andthen I’ll introduce you to the people in the parlour. Emma, bringout the cherry brandy; now, Jane, a needle and thread here;towels and water, Mary. Come, girls, bustle about.’
　　Three or four buxom girls speedily dispersed in search of thedifferent articles in requisition, while a couple of large-headed,circular-visaged males rose from their seats in the chimney-corner(for although it was a May evening their attachment to the woodfire appeared as cordial as if it were Christmas), and dived intosome obscure recesses, from which they speedily produced abottle of blacking, and some half-dozen brushes.
　　‘Bustle!’ said the old gentleman again, but the admonition wasquite unnecessary, for one of the girls poured out the cherrybrandy, and another brought in the towels, and one of the mensuddenly seizing Mr. Pickwick by the leg, at imminent hazard ofthrowing him off his balance, brushed away at his boot till hiscorns were red-hot; while the other shampooed Mr. Winkle with aheavy clothes-brush, indulging, during the operation, in thathissing sound which hostlers are wont to produce when engagedin rubbing down a horse.
　　Mr. Snodgrass, having concluded his ablutions, took a survey ofthe room, while standing with his back to the fire, sipping hischerry brandy with heartfelt satisfaction. He describes it as a largeapartment, with a red brick floor and a capacious chimney; theceiling garnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of onions.
　　The walls were decorated with several hunting-whips, two orthree bridles, a saddle, and an old rusty blunderbuss, with aninscription below it, intimating that it was ‘Loaded’―as it hadbeen, on the same authority, for half a century at least. An oldeight-day clock, of solemn and sedate demeanour, ticked gravelyin one corner; and a silver watch, of equal antiquity, dangled fromone of the many hooks which ornamented the dresser.
　　‘Ready?’ said the old gentleman inquiringly, when his guestshad been washed, mended, brushed, and brandied.
　　‘Quite,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Come along, then;’ and the party having traversed several darkpassages, and being joined by Mr. Tupman, who had lingeredbehind to snatch a kiss from Emma, for which he had been dulyrewarded with sundry pushings and scratchings, arrived at theparlour door.
　　‘Welcome,’ said their hospitable host, throwing it open andstepping forward to announce them, ‘welcome, gentlemen, toManor Farm.’
Chapter 6
AN OLD-FASHIONED CARD-PARTY―THECLERGYMAN’S VERSES―THE STORY OF THECONVICT’S RETURNeveral guests who were assembled in the old parlour roseto greet Mr. Pickwick and his friends upon their entrance;and during the performance of the ceremony ofintroduction, with all due formalities, Mr. Pickwick had leisure toobserve the appearance, and speculate upon the characters andpursuits, of the persons by whom he was surrounded―a habit inwhich he, in common with many other great men, delighted toindulge.
　　A very old lady, in a lofty cap and faded silk gown―no less apersonage than Mr. Wardle’s mother―occupied the post ofhonour on the right-hand corner of the chimney-piece; andvarious certificates of her having been brought up in the way sheshould go when young, and of her not having departed from itwhen old, ornamented the walls, in the form of samplers of ancientdate, worsted landscapes of equal antiquity, and crimson silk tea-kettle holders of a more modern period. The aunt, the two youngladies, and Mr. Wardle, each vying with the other in payingzealous and unremitting attentions to the old lady, crowded roundher easy-chair, one holding her ear-trumpet, another an orange,and a third a smelling-bottle, while a fourth was busily engaged inpatting and punching the pillows which were arranged for hersupport. On the opposite side sat a bald-headed old gentleman,with a good-humoured, benevolent face―the clergyman ofDingley Dell; and next him sat his wife, a stout, blooming old lady,who looked as if she were well skilled, not only in the art andmystery of manufacturing home-made cordials greatly to otherpeople’s satisfaction, but of tasting them occasionally very much toher own. A little hard-headed, Ripstone pippin-faced man, wasconversing with a fat old gentleman in one corner; and two orthree more old gentlemen, and two or three more old ladies, satbolt upright and motionless on their chairs, staring very hard atMr. Pickwick and his fellow-voyagers.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick, mother,’ said Mr. Wardle, at the very top of hisvoice.
　　‘Ah!’ said the old lady, shaking her head; ‘I can’t hear you.’
　　‘Mr. Pickwick, grandma!’ screamed both the young ladiestogether.
　　‘Ah!’ exclaimed the old lady. ‘Well, it don’t much matter. Hedon’t care for an old ’ooman like me, I dare say.’
　　‘I assure you, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, grasping the old lady’shand, and speaking so loud that the exertion imparted a crimsonhue to his benevolent countenance―‘I assure you, ma’am, thatnothing delights me more than to see a lady of your time of lifeheading so fine a family, and looking so young and well.’
　　‘Ah!’ said the old lady, after a short pause: ‘it’s all very fine, Idare say; but I can’t hear him.’
　　‘Grandma’s rather put out now,’ said Miss Isabella Wardle, in alow tone; ‘but she’ll talk to you presently.’
　　Mr. Pickwick nodded his readiness to humour the infirmities ofage, and entered into a general conversation with the othermembers of the circle.
　　‘Delightful situation this,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Delightful!’ echoed Messrs. Snodgrass, Tupman, and Winkle.
　　‘Well, I think it is,’ said Mr. Wardle.
　　‘There ain’t a better spot o’ ground in all Kent, sir,’ said thehard-headed man with the pippin-face; ‘there ain’t indeed, sir―I’m sure there ain’t, sir.’ The hard-headed man lookedtriumphantly round, as if he had been very much contradicted bysomebody, but had got the better of him at last.
　　‘There ain’t a better spot o’ ground in all Kent,’ said the hard-headed man again, after a pause.
　　‘’Cept Mullins’s Meadows,’ observed the fat man solemnly.
　　‘Mullins’s Meadows!’ ejaculated the other, with profoundcontempt.
　　‘Ah, Mullins’s Meadows,’ repeated the fat man.
　　‘Reg’lar good land that,’ interposed another fat man.
　　‘And so it is, surely,’ said a third fat man.
　　‘Everybody knows that,’ said the corpulent host.
　　The hard-headed man looked dubiously round, but findinghimself in a minority, assumed a compassionate air and said nomore. ‘What are they talking about?’ inquired the old lady of oneof her granddaughters, in a very audible voice; for, like many deafpeople, she never seemed to calculate on the possibility of otherpersons hearing what she said herself.
　　‘About the land, grandma.’
　　‘What about the land?―Nothing the matter, is there?’
　　‘No, no. Mr. Miller was saying our land was better thanMullins’s Meadows.’
　　‘How should he know anything about it?’ inquired the old ladyindignantly. ‘Miller’s a conceited coxcomb, and you may tell him Isaid so.’ Saying which, the old lady, quite unconscious that shehad spoken above a whisper, drew herself up, and looked carving-knives at the hard-headed delinquent.
　　‘Come, come,’ said the bustling host, with a natural anxiety tochange the conversation, ‘what say you to a rubber, Mr.
　　Pickwick?’
　　‘I should like it of all things,’ replied that gentleman; ‘but praydon’t make up one on my account.’
　　‘Oh, I assure you, mother’s very fond of a rubber,’ said Mr.
　　Wardle; ‘ain’t you, mother?’
　　The old lady, who was much less deaf on this subject than onany other, replied in the affirmative.
　　‘Joe, Joe!’ said the gentleman; ‘Joe―damn that―oh, here he is;put out the card―tables.’
　　The lethargic youth contrived without any additional rousing toset out two card-tables; the one for Pope Joan, and the other forwhist. The whist-players were Mr. Pickwick and the old lady, Mr.
　　Miller and the fat gentleman. The round game comprised the restof the company.
　　The rubber was conducted with all that gravity of deportmentand sedateness of demeanour which befit the pursuit entitled‘whist’―a solemn observance, to which, as it appears to us, thetitle of ‘game’ has been very irreverently and ignominiouslyapplied. The round-game table, on the other hand, was soboisterously merry as materially to interrupt the contemplations ofMr. Miller, who, not being quite so much absorbed as he ought tohave been, contrived to commit various high crimes andmisdemeanours, which excited the wrath of the fat gentleman to avery great extent, and called forth the good-humour of the old ladyin a proportionate degree.
　　‘There!’ said the criminal Miller triumphantly, as he took up theodd trick at the conclusion of a hand; ‘that could not have beenplayed better, I flatter myself; impossible to have made anothertrick!’
　　‘Miller ought to have trumped the diamond, oughtn’t he, sir?’
　　said the old lady.
　　Mr. Pickwick nodded assent.
　　‘Ought I, though?’ said the unfortunate, with a doubtful appealto his partner.
　　‘You ought, sir,’ said the fat gentleman, in an awful voice.
　　‘Very sorry,’ said the crestfallen Miller.
　　‘Much use that,’ growled the fat gentleman.
　　‘Two by honours―makes us eight,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Another hand. ‘Can you one?’ inquired the old lady.
　　‘I can,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Double, single, and the rub.’
　　‘Never was such luck,’ said Mr. Miller.
　　‘Never was such cards,’ said the fat gentleman.
　　A solemn silence; Mr. Pickwick humorous, the old lady serious,the fat gentleman captious, and Mr. Miller timorous.
　　‘Another double,’ said the old lady, triumphantly making amemorandum of the circumstance, by placing one sixpence and abattered halfpenny under the candlestick.
　　‘A double, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Quite aware of the fact, sir,’ replied the fat gentleman sharply.
　　Another game, with a similar result, was followed by a revokefrom the unlucky Miller; on which the fat gentleman burst into astate of high personal excitement which lasted until the conclusionof the game, when he retired into a corner, and remained perfectlymute for one hour and twenty-seven minutes; at the end of whichtime he emerged from his retirement, and offered Mr. Pickwick apinch of snuff with the air of a man who had made up his mind toa Christian forgiveness of injuries sustained. The old lady’shearing decidedly improved and the unlucky Miller felt as muchout of his element as a dolphin in a sentry-box.
　　Meanwhile the round game proceeded right merrily. IsabellaWardle and Mr. Trundle ‘went partners,’ and Emily Wardle andMr. Snodgrass did the same; and even Mr. Tupman and thespinster aunt established a joint-stock company of fish andflattery. Old Mr. Wardle was in the very height of his jollity; and hewas so funny in his management of the board, and the old ladieswere so sharp after their winnings, that the whole table was in aperpetual roar of merriment and laughter. There was one old ladywho always had about half a dozen cards to pay for, at whicheverybody laughed, regularly every round; and when the old ladylooked cross at having to pay, they laughed louder than ever; onwhich the old lady’s face gradually brightened up, till at last shelaughed louder than any of them, Then, when the spinster auntgot ‘matrimony,’ the young ladies laughed afresh, and the Spinsteraunt seemed disposed to be pettish; till, feeling Mr. Tupmansqueezing her hand under the table, she brightened up too, andlooked rather knowing, as if matrimony in reality were not quite sofar off as some people thought for; whereupon everybody laughedagain, and especially old Mr. Wardle, who enjoyed a joke as muchas the youngest. As to Mr. Snodgrass, he did nothing but whisperpoetical sentiments into his partner’s ear, which made one oldgentleman facetiously sly, about partnerships at cards andpartnerships for life, and caused the aforesaid old gentleman tomake some remarks thereupon, accompanied with divers winksand chuckles, which made the company very merry and the oldgentleman’s wife especially so. And Mr. Winkle came out withjokes which are very well known in town, but are not all known inthe country; and as everybody laughed at them very heartily, andsaid they were very capital, Mr. Winkle was in a state of greathonour and glory. And the benevolent clergyman lookedpleasantly on; for the happy faces which surrounded the tablemade the good old man feel happy too; and though the merrimentwas rather boisterous, still it came from the heart and not from thelips; and this is the right sort of merriment, after all.
　　The evening glided swiftly away, in these cheerful recreations;and when the substantial though homely supper had beendespatched, and the little party formed a social circle round thefire, Mr. Pickwick thought he had never felt so happy in his life,and at no time so much disposed to enjoy, and make the most of,the passing moment.
　　‘Now this,’ said the hospitable host, who was sitting in greatstate next the old lady’s arm-chair, with her hand fast clasped inhis―‘this is just what I like―the happiest moments of my life havebeen passed at this old fireside; and I am so attached to it, that Ikeep up a blazing fire here every evening, until it actually growstoo hot to bear it. Why, my poor old mother, here, used to sitbefore this fireplace upon that little stool when she was a girl;didn’t you, mother?’
　　The tear which starts unbidden to the eye when the recollectionof old times and the happiness of many years ago is suddenlyrecalled, stole down the old lady’s face as she shook her head witha melancholy smile.
　　‘You must excuse my talking about this old place, Mr.
　　Pickwick,’ resumed the host, after a short pause, ‘for I love itdearly, and know no other―the old houses and fields seem likeliving friends to me; and so does our little church with the ivy,about which, by the bye, our excellent friend there made a songwhen he first came amongst us. Mr. Snodgrass, have you anythingin your glass?’
　　‘Plenty, thank you,’ replied that gentleman, whose poeticcuriosity had been greatly excited by the last observation of hisentertainer. ‘I beg your pardon, but you were talking about thesong of the Ivy.’
　　‘You must ask our friend opposite about that,’ said the hostknowingly, indicating the clergyman by a nod of his head.
　　‘May I say that I should like to hear you repeat it, sir?’ said Mr.
　　Snodgrass.
　　‘Why, really,’ replied the clergyman, ‘it’s a very slight affair; andthe only excuse I have for having ever perpetrated it is, that I wasa young man at the time. Such as it is, however, you shall hear it, ifyou wish.’
　　A murmur of curiosity was of course the reply; and the oldgentleman proceeded to recite, with the aid of sundry promptingsfrom his wife, the lines in question. ‘I call them,’ said he,THE IVY GREENOh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,That creepeth o’er ruins old!
　　Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,In his cell so lone and cold.
　　The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,To pleasure his dainty whim;And the mouldering dust that years have made,Is a merry meal for him.
　　Creeping where no life is seen,A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
　　Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,And a staunch old heart has he.
　　How closely he twineth, how tight he clingsTo his friend the huge Oak Tree!
　　And slily he traileth along the ground,And his leaves he gently waves,As he joyously hugs and crawleth roundThe rich mould of dead men’s graves.
　　Creeping where grim death has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
　　Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,And nations have scattered been;But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,From its hale and hearty green.
　　The brave old plant in its lonely days,Shall fatten upon the past;For the stateliest building man can raise,Is the Ivy’s food at last.
　　Creeping on where time has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
　　While the old gentleman repeated these lines a second time, toenable Mr. Snodgrass to note them down, Mr. Pickwick perusedthe lineaments of his face with an expression of great interest. Theold gentleman having concluded his dictation, and Mr. Snodgrasshaving returned his note-book to his pocket, Mr. Pickwick said―‘Excuse me, sir, for making the remark on so short anacquaintance; but a gentleman like yourself cannot fail, I shouldthink, to have observed many scenes and incidents worthrecording, in the course of your experience as a minister of theGospel.’
　　‘I have witnessed some certainly,’ replied the old gentleman,‘but the incidents and characters have been of a homely andordinary nature, my sphere of action being so very limited.’
　　‘You did make some notes, I think, about John Edmunds, didyou not?’ inquired Mr. Wardle, who appeared very desirous todraw his friend out, for the edification of his new visitors.
　　The old gentleman slightly nodded his head in token of assent,and was proceeding to change the subject, when Mr. Pickwicksaid―‘I beg your pardon, sir, but pray, if I may venture to inquire,who was John Edmunds?’
　　‘The very thing I was about to ask,’ said Mr. Snodgrass eagerly.
　　‘You are fairly in for it,’ said the jolly host. ‘You must satisfy thecuriosity of these gentlemen, sooner or later; so you had bettertake advantage of this favourable opportunity, and do so at once.’
　　The old gentleman smiled good-humouredly as he drew hischair forward―the remainder of the party drew their chairs closertogether, especially Mr. Tupman and the spinster aunt, who werepossibly rather hard of hearing; and the old lady’s ear-trumpethaving been duly adjusted, and Mr. Miller (who had fallen asleepduring the recital of the verses) roused from his slumbers by anadmonitory pinch, administered beneath the table by his ex-partner the solemn fat man, the old gentleman, without furtherpreface, commenced the following tale, to which we have takenthe liberty of prefixing the title ofTHE CONVICT’S RETURN‘When I first settled in this village,’ said the old gentleman, ‘whichis now just five-and-twenty years ago, the most notorious personamong my parishioners was a man of the name of Edmunds, wholeased a small farm near this spot. He was a morose, savage-hearted, bad man; idle and dissolute in his habits; cruel andferocious in his disposition. Beyond the few lazy and recklessvagabonds with whom he sauntered away his time in the fields, orsotted in the ale-house, he had not a single friend or acquaintance;no one cared to speak to the man whom many feared, and everyone detested―and Edmunds was shunned by all.
　　‘This man had a wife and one son, who, when I first came here,was about twelve years old. Of the acuteness of that woman’ssufferings, of the gentle and enduring manner in which she borethem, of the agony of solicitude with which she reared that boy, noone can form an adequate conception. Heaven forgive me thesupposition, if it be an uncharitable one, but I do firmly and in mysoul believe, that the man systematically tried for many years tobreak her heart; but she bore it all for her child’s sake, and,however strange it may seem to many, for his father’s too; forbrute as he was, and cruelly as he had treated her, she had lovedhim once; and the recollection of what he had been to her,awakened feelings of forbearance and meekness under sufferingin her bosom, to which all God’s creatures, but women, arestrangers.
　　‘They were poor―they could not be otherwise when the manpursued such courses; but the woman’s unceasing and unweariedexertions, early and late, morning, noon, and night, kept themabove actual want. These exertions were but ill repaid. Peoplewho passed the spot in the evening―sometimes at a late hour ofthe night―reported that they had heard the moans and sobs of awoman in distress, and the sound of blows; and more than once,when it was past midnight, the boy knocked softly at the door of aneighbour’s house, whither he had been sent, to escape thedrunken fury of his unnatural father.
　　‘During the whole of this time, and when the poor creatureoften bore about her marks of ill-usage and violence which shecould not wholly conceal, she was a constant attendant at our littlechurch. Regularly every Sunday, morning and afternoon, sheoccupied the same seat with the boy at her side; and though theywere both poorly dressed―much more so than many of theirneighbours who were in a lower station―they were always neatand clean. Every one had a friendly nod and a kind word for “poorMrs. Edmunds”; and sometimes, when she stopped to exchange afew words with a neighbour at the conclusion of the service in thelittle row of elm-trees which leads to the church porch, or lingeredbehind to gaze with a mother’s pride and fondness upon herhealthy boy, as he sported before her with some little companions,her careworn face would lighten up with an expression of heartfeltgratitude; and she would look, if not cheerful and happy, at leasttranquil and contented.
　　‘Five or six years passed away; the boy had become a robustand well-grown youth. The time that had strengthened the child’sslight frame and knit his weak limbs into the strength of manhoodhad bowed his mother’s form, and enfeebled her steps; but thearm that should have supported her was no longer locked in hers;the face that should have cheered her, no more looked upon herown. She occupied her old seat, but there was a vacant one besideher. The Bible was kept as carefully as ever, the places were foundand folded down as they used to be: but there was no one to read itwith her; and the tears fell thick and fast upon the book, andblotted the words from her eyes. Neighbours were as kind as theywere wont to be of old, but she shunned their greetings withaverted head. There was no lingering among the old elm-treesnow-no cheering anticipations of happiness yet in store. Thedesolate woman drew her bonnet closer over her face, and walkedhurriedly away.
　　‘Shall I tell you that the young man, who, looking back to theearliest of his childhood’s days to which memory andconsciousness extended, and carrying his recollection down tothat moment, could remember nothing which was not in some wayconnected with a long series of voluntary privations suffered byhis mother for his sake, with ill-usage, and insult, and violence,and all endured for him―shall I tell you, that he, with a recklessdisregard for her breaking heart, and a sullen, wilful forgetfulnessof all she had done and borne for him, had linked himself withdepraved and abandoned men, and was madly pursuing aheadlong career, which must bring death to him, and shame toher? Alas for human nature! You have anticipated it long since.
　　‘The measure of the unhappy woman’s misery and misfortunewas about to be completed. Numerous offences had beencommitted in the neighbourhood; the perpetrators remainedundiscovered, and their boldness increased. A robbery of a daringand aggravated nature occasioned a vigilance of pursuit, and astrictness of search, they had not calculated on. Young Edmundswas suspected, with three companions. He was apprehended―committed―tried―condemned―to die.
　　‘The wild and piercing shriek from a woman’s voice, whichresounded through the court when the solemn sentence waspronounced, rings in my ears at this moment. That cry struck aterror to the culprit’s heart, which trial, condemnation―theapproach of death itself, had failed to awaken. The lips which hadbeen compressed in dogged sullenness throughout, quivered andparted involuntarily; the face turned ashy pale as the coldperspiration broke forth from every pore; the sturdy limbs of thefelon trembled, and he staggered in the dock.
　　‘In the first transports of her mental anguish, the sufferingmother threw herself on her knees at my feet, and fervently soughtthe Almighty Being who had hitherto supported her in all hertroubles to release her from a world of woe and misery, and tospare the life of her only child. A burst of grief, and a violentstruggle, such as I hope I may never have to witness again,succeeded. I knew that her heart was breaking from that hour; butI never once heard complaint or murmur escape her lips.
　　‘It was a piteous spectacle to see that woman in the prison-yardfrom day to day, eagerly and fervently attempting, by affection andentreaty, to soften the hard heart of her obdurate son. It was invain. He remained moody, obstinate, and unmoved. Not even theunlooked-for commutation of his sentence to transportation forfourteen years, softened for an instant the sullen hardihood of hisdemeanour.
　　‘But the spirit of resignation and endurance that had so longupheld her, was unable to contend against bodily weakness andinfirmity. She fell sick. She dragged her tottering limbs from thebed to visit her son once more, but her strength failed her, and shesank powerless on the ground.
　　‘And now the boasted coldness and indifference of the youngman were tested indeed; and the retribution that fell heavily uponhim nearly drove him mad. A day passed away and his mother wasnot there; another flew by, and she came not near him; a thirdevening arrived, and yet he had not seen her―, and in four-and-twenty hours he was to be separated from her, perhaps for ever.
　　Oh! how the long-forgotten thoughts of former days rushed uponhis mind, as he almost ran up and down the narrow yard―as ifintelligence would arrive the sooner for his hurrying―and howbitterly a sense of his helplessness and desolation rushed uponhim, when he heard the truth! His mother, the only parent he hadever known, lay ill―it might be, dying―within one mile of theground he stood on; were he free and unfettered, a few minuteswould place him by her side. He rushed to the gate, and graspingthe iron rails with the energy of desperation, shook it till it rangagain, and threw himself against the thick wall as if to force apassage through the stone; but the strong building mocked hisfeeble efforts, and he beat his hands together and wept like a child.
　　‘I bore the mother’s forgiveness and blessing to her son inprison; and I carried the solemn assurance of repentance, and hisfervent supplication for pardon, to her sick-bed. I heard, with pityand compassion, the repentant man devise a thousand little plansfor her comfort and support when he returned; but I knew thatmany months before he could reach his place of destination, hismother would be no longer of this world.
　　‘He was removed by night. A few weeks afterwards the poorwoman’s soul took its flight, I confidently hope, and solemnlybelieve, to a place of eternal happiness and rest. I performed theburial service over her remains. She lies in our little churchyard.
　　There is no stone at her grave’s head. Her sorrows were known toman; her virtues to God.
　　‘It had been arranged previously to the convict’s departure, thathe should write to his mother as soon as he could obtainpermission, and that the letter should be addressed to me. Thefather had positively refused to see his son from the moment of hisapprehension; and it was a matter of indifference to him whetherhe lived or died. Many years passed over without any intelligenceof him; and when more than half his term of transportation hadexpired, and I had received no letter, I concluded him to be dead,as, indeed, I almost hoped he might be.
　　‘Edmunds, however, had been sent a considerable distance upthe country on his arrival at the settlement; and to thiscircumstance, perhaps, may be attributed the fact, that thoughseveral letters were despatched, none of them ever reached myhands. He remained in the same place during the whole fourteenyears. At the expiration of the term, steadily adhering to his oldresolution and the pledge he gave his mother, he made his wayback to England amidst innumerable difficulties, and returned, onfoot, to his native place.
　　‘On a fine Sunday evening, in the month of August, JohnEdmunds set foot in the village he had left with shame anddisgrace seventeen years before. His nearest way lay through thechurchyard. The man’s heart swelled as he crossed the stile. Thetall old elms, through whose branches the declining sun cast hereand there a rich ray of light upon the shady part, awakened theassociations of his earliest days. He pictured himself as he wasthen, clinging to his mother’s hand, and walking peacefully tochurch. He remembered how he used to look up into her pale face;and how her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she gazedupon his features―tears which fell hot upon his forehead as shestooped to kiss him, and made him weep too, although he littleknew then what bitter tears hers were. He thought how often hehad run merrily down that path with some childish playfellow,looking back, ever and again, to catch his mother’s smile, or hearher gentle voice; and then a veil seemed lifted from his memory,and words of kindness unrequited, and warnings despised, andpromises broken, thronged upon his recollection till his heartfailed him, and he could bear it no longer.
　　‘He entered the church. The evening service was concluded andthe congregation had dispersed, but it was not yet closed. Hissteps echoed through the low building with a hollow sound, and healmost feared to be alone, it was so still and quiet. He lookedround him. Nothing was changed. The place seemed smaller thanit used to be; but there were the old monuments on which he hadgazed with childish awe a thousand times; the little pulpit with itsfaded cushion; the Communion table before which he had so oftenrepeated the Commandments he had reverenced as a child, andforgotten as a man. He approached the old seat; it looked cold anddesolate. The cushion had been removed, and the Bible was notthere. Perhaps his mother now occupied a poorer seat, or possiblyshe had grown infirm and could not reach the church alone. Hedared not think of what he feared. A cold feeling crept over him,and he trembled violently as he turned away.
　　‘An old man entered the porch just as he reached it. Edmundsstarted back, for he knew him well; many a time he had watchedhim digging graves in the churchyard. What would he say to thereturned convict?
　　‘The old man raised his eyes to the stranger’s face, bade him“good-evening,” and walked slowly on. He had forgotten him.
　　‘He walked down the hill, and through the village. The weatherwas warm, and the people were sitting at their doors, or strollingin their little gardens as he passed, enjoying the serenity of theevening, and their rest from labour. Many a look was turnedtowards him, and many a doubtful glance he cast on either side tosee whether any knew and shunned him. There were strange facesin almost every house; in some he recognised the burly form ofsome old schoolfellow―a boy when he last saw him―surroundedby a troop of merry children; in others he saw, seated in an easy-chair at a cottage door, a feeble and infirm old man, whom he onlyremembered as a hale and hearty labourer; but they had allforgotten him, and he passed on unknown.
　　‘The last soft light of the setting sun had fallen on the earth,casting a rich glow on the yellow corn sheaves, and lengtheningthe shadows of the orchard trees, as he stood before the oldhouse―the home of his infancy―to which his heart had yearnedwith an intensity of affection not to be described, through long andweary years of captivity and sorrow. The paling was low, thoughhe well remembered the time that it had seemed a high wall tohim; and he looked over into the old garden. There were moreseeds and gayer flowers than there used to be, but there were theold trees still―the very tree under which he had lain a thousandtimes when tired of playing in the sun, and felt the soft, mild sleepof happy boyhood steal gently upon him. There were voices withinthe house. He listened, but they fell strangely upon his ear; heknew them not. They were merry too; and he well knew that hispoor old mother could not be cheerful, and he away. The dooropened, and a group of little children bounded out, shouting andromping. The father, with a little boy in his arms, appeared at thedoor, and they crowded round him, clapping their tiny hands, anddragging him out, to join their joyous sports. The convict thoughton the many times he had shrunk from his father’s sight in thatvery place. He remembered how often he had buried his tremblinghead beneath the bedclothes, and heard the harsh word, and thehard stripe, and his mother’s wailing; and though the man sobbedaloud with agony of mind as he left the spot, his fist was clenched,and his teeth were set, in a fierce and deadly passion.
　　‘And such was the return to which he had looked through theweary perspective of many years, and for which he had undergoneso much suffering! No face of welcome, no look of forgiveness, nohouse to receive, no hand to help him―and this too in the oldvillage. What was his loneliness in the wild, thick woods, whereman was never seen, to this!
　　‘He felt that in the distant land of his bondage and infamy, hehad thought of his native place as it was when he left it; and not asit would be when he returned. The sad reality struck coldly at hisheart, and his spirit sank within him. He had not courage to makeinquiries, or to present himself to the only person who was likelyto receive him with kindness and compassion. He walked slowlyon; and shunning the roadside like a guilty man, turned into ameadow he well remembered; and covering his face with hishands, threw himself upon the grass.
　　‘He had not observed that a man was lying on the bank besidehim; his garments rustled as he turned round to steal a look at thenew-comer; and Edmunds raised his head.
　　‘The man had moved into a sitting posture. His body was muchbent, and his face was wrinkled and yellow. His dress denoted himan inmate of the workhouse: he had the appearance of being veryold, but it looked more the effect of dissipation or disease, than thelength of years. He was staring hard at the stranger, and thoughhis eyes were lustreless and heavy at first, they appeared to glowwith an unnatural and alarmed expression after they had beenfixed upon him for a short time, until they seemed to be startingfrom their sockets. Edmunds gradually raised himself to his knees,and looked more and more earnestly on the old man’s face. Theygazed upon each other in silence.
　　‘The old man was ghastly pale. He shuddered and tottered tohis feet. Edmunds sprang to his. He stepped back a pace or two.
　　Edmunds advanced.
　　‘“Let me hear you speak,” said the convict, in a thick, brokenvoice.
　　‘“Stand off!” cried the old man, with a dreadful oath. Theconvict drew closer to him.
　　‘“Stand off!” shrieked the old man. Furious with terror, heraised his stick, and struck Edmunds a heavy blow across the face.
　　‘“Father―devil!” murmured the convict between his set teeth.
　　He rushed wildly forward, and clenched the old man by thethroat―but he was his father; and his arm fell powerless by his‘The old man uttered a loud yell which rang through the lonelyfields like the howl of an evil spirit. His face turned black, the gorerushed from his mouth and nose, and dyed the grass a deep, darkred, as he staggered and fell. He had ruptured a blood-vessel, andhe was a dead man before his son could raise him.
　　‘In that corner of the churchyard,’ said the old gentleman, aftera silence of a few moments, ‘in that corner of the churchyard ofwhich I have before spoken, there lies buried a man who was inmy employment for three years after this event, and who was trulycontrite, penitent, and humbled, if ever man was. No one savemyself knew in that man’s lifetime who he was, or whence hecame―it was John Edmunds, the returned convict.’
Chapter 7
HOW Mr. WINKLE, INSTEAD OF SHOOTING ATTHE PIGEON AND KILLING THE CROW, SHOTAT THE CROW AND WOUNDED THE PIGEON;HOW THE DINGLEY DELL CRICKET CLUBPLAYED ALL-MUGGLETON, AND HOW ALL-MUGGLETON DINED AT THE DINGLEY DELLEXPENSE; WITH OTHER INTERESTING ANDINSTRUCTIVE MATTERShe fatiguing adventures of the day or the somniferousinfluence of the clergyman’s tale operated so strongly onthe drowsy tendencies of Mr. Pickwick, that in less thanfive minutes after he had been shown to his comfortable bedroomhe fell into a sound and dreamless sleep, from which he was onlyawakened by the morning sun darting his bright beamsreproachfully into the apartment. Mr. Pickwick was no sluggard,and he sprang like an ardent warrior from his tent-bedstead.
　　‘Pleasant, pleasant country,’ sighed the enthusiastic gentleman,as he opened his lattice window. ‘Who could live to gaze from dayto day on bricks and slates who had once felt the influence of ascene like this? Who could continue to exist where there are nocows but the cows on the chimney-pots; nothing redolent of Panbut pan-tiles; no crop but stone crop? Who could bear to drag outa life in such a spot? Who, I ask, could endure it?’ and, havingcross-examined solitude after the most approved precedents, atconsiderable length, Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out of the latticeand looked around him.
　　The rich, sweet smell of the hay-ricks rose to his chamberwindow; the hundred perfumes of the little flower-garden beneathscented the air around; the deep-green meadows shone in themorning dew that glistened on every leaf as it trembled in thegentle air; and the birds sang as if every sparkling drop were tothem a fountain of inspiration. Mr. Pickwick fell into anenchanting and delicious reverie.
　　‘Hollo!’ was the sound that roused him.
　　He looked to the right, but he saw nobody; his eyes wandered tothe left, and pierced the prospect; he stared into the sky, but hewasn’t wanted there; and then he did what a common mind wouldhave done at once―looked into the garden, and there saw Mr.
　　Wardle. ‘How are you?’ said the good-humoured individual, out ofbreath with his own anticipations of pleasure.’ Beautiful morning,ain’t it? Glad to see you up so early. Make haste down, and comeout. I’ll wait for you here.’ Mr. Pickwick needed no secondinvitation. Ten minutes sufficed for the completion of his toilet,and at the expiration of that time he was by the old gentleman’sside.
　　‘Hollo!’ said Mr. Pickwick in his turn, seeing that his companionwas armed with a gun, and that another lay ready on the grass;‘what’s going forward?’
　　‘Why, your friend and I,’ replied the host, ‘are going out rook-shooting before breakfast. He’s a very good shot, ain’t he?’
　　‘I’ve heard him say he’s a capital one,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,‘but I never saw him aim at anything.’
　　‘Well,’ said the host, ‘I wish he’d come. Joe―Joe!’
　　The fat boy, who under the exciting influence of the morningdid not appear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep,emerged from the house.
　　‘Go up, and call the gentleman, and tell him he’ll find me andMr. Pickwick in the rookery. Show the gentleman the way there;d’ye hear?’
　　The boy departed to execute his commission; and the host,carrying both guns like a second Robinson Crusoe, led the wayfrom the garden.
　　‘This is the place,’ said the old gentleman, pausing after a fewminutes walking, in an avenue of trees. The information wasunnecessary; for the incessant cawing of the unconscious rookssufficiently indicated their whereabouts.
　　The old gentleman laid one gun on the ground, and loaded theother.
　　‘Here they are,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and, as he spoke, the formsof Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle appeared in thedistance. The fat boy, not being quite certain which gentleman hewas directed to call, had with peculiar sagacity, and to prevent thepossibility of any mistake, called them all.
　　‘Come along,’ shouted the old gentleman, addressing Mr.
　　Winkle; ‘a keen hand like you ought to have been up long a go,even to such poor work as this.’
　　Mr. Winkle responded with a forced smile, and took up thespare gun with an expression of countenance which ametaphysical rook, impressed with a foreboding of hisapproaching death by violence, may be supposed to assume. Itmight have been keenness, but it looked remarkably like misery.
　　The old gentleman nodded; and two ragged boys who had beenmarshalled to the spot under the direction of the infant Lambert,forthwith commenced climbing up two of the trees. ‘What arethese lads for?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly. He was ratheralarmed; for he was not quite certain but that the distress of theagricultural interest, about which he had often heard a great deal,might have compelled the small boys attached to the soil to earn aprecarious and hazardous subsistence by making marks ofthemselves for inexperienced sportsmen. ‘Only to start the game,’
　　replied Mr. Wardle, laughing.
　　‘To what?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Why, in plain English, to frighten the rooks.’
　　‘Oh, is that all?’
　　‘You are satisfied?’
　　‘Quite.’
　　‘Very well. Shall I begin?’
　　‘If you please,’ said Mr. Winkle, glad of any respite.
　　‘Stand aside, then. Now for it.’
　　The boy shouted, and shook a branch with a nest on it. Half adozen young rooks in violent conversation, flew out to ask whatthe matter was. The old gentleman fired by way of reply. Down fellone bird, and off flew the others.
　　‘Take him up, Joe,’ said the old gentleman.
　　There was a smile upon the youth’s face as he advanced.
　　Indistinct visions of rook-pie floated through his imagination. Helaughed as he retired with the bird―it was a plump one.
　　‘Now, Mr. Winkle,’ said the host, reloading his own gun. ‘Fireaway.’
　　Mr. Winkle advanced, and levelled his gun. Mr. Pickwick andhis friends cowered involuntarily to escape damage from theheavy fall of rooks, which they felt quite certain would beoccasioned by the devastating barrel of their friend. There was asolemn pause―a shout―a flapping of wings―a faint click.
　　‘Hollo!’ said the old gentleman.
　　‘Won’t it go?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Missed fire,’ said Mr. Winkle, who was very pale―probablyfrom disappointment.
　　‘Odd,’ said the old gentleman, taking the gun. ‘Never knew oneof them miss fire before. Why, I don’t see anything of the cap.’
　　‘Bless my soul!’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘I declare I forgot the cap!’
　　The slight omission was rectified. Mr. Pickwick crouched again.
　　Mr. Winkle stepped forward with an air of determination andresolution; and Mr. Tupman looked out from behind a tree. Theboy shouted; four birds flew out. Mr. Winkle fired. There was ascream as of an individual―not a rook―in corporal anguish. Mr.
　　Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable unoffending birds byreceiving a portion of the charge in his left arm.
　　To describe the confusion that ensued would be impossible. Totell how Mr. Pickwick in the first transports of emotion called Mr.
　　Winkle ‘Wretch!’ how Mr. Tupman lay prostrate on the ground;and how Mr. Winkle knelt horror-stricken beside him; how Mr.
　　Tupman called distractedly upon some feminine Christian name,and then opened first one eye, and then the other, and then fellback and shut them both―all this would be as difficult to describein detail, as it would be to depict the gradual recovering of theunfortunate individual, the binding up of his arm with pocket-handkerchiefs, and the conveying him back by slow degreessupported by the arms of his anxious friends.
　　They drew near the house. The ladies were at the garden gate,waiting for their arrival and their breakfast. The spinster auntappeared; she smiled, and beckoned them to walk quicker. ’Twasevident she knew not of the disaster. Poor thing! there are timeswhen ignorance is bliss indeed.
　　They approached nearer.
　　‘Why, what is the matter with the little old gentleman?’ saidIsabella Wardle. The spinster aunt heeded not the remark; shethought it applied to Mr. Pickwick. In her eyes Tracy Tupman wasa youth; she viewed his years through a diminishing glass.
　　‘Don’t be frightened,’ called out the old host, fearful of alarminghis daughters. The little party had crowded so completely roundMr. Tupman, that they could not yet clearly discern the nature ofthe accident.
　　‘Don’t be frightened,’ said the host.
　　‘What’s the matter?’ screamed the ladies.
　　‘Mr. Tupman has met with a little accident; that’s all.’
　　The spinster aunt uttered a piercing scream, burst into anhysteric laugh, and fell backwards in the arms of her nieces.
　　‘Throw some cold water over her,’ said the old gentleman.
　　‘No, no,’ murmured the spinster aunt; ‘I am better now. Bella,Emily―a surgeon! Is he wounded?―Is he dead?―Is he―Ha, ha,ha!’ Here the spinster aunt burst into fit number two, of hystericlaughter interspersed with screams.
　　‘Calm yourself,’ said Mr. Tupman, affected almost to tears bythis expression of sympathy with his sufferings. ‘Dear, dearmadam, calm yourself.’
　　‘It is his voice!’ exclaimed the spinster aunt; and strongsymptoms of fit number three developed themselves forthwith.
　　‘Do not agitate yourself, I entreat you, dearest madam,’ said Mr.
　　Tupman soothingly. ‘I am very little hurt, I assure you.’
　　‘Then you are not dead!’ ejaculated the hysterical lady. ‘Oh, sayyou are not dead!’
　　‘Don’t be a fool, Rachael,’ interposed Mr. Wardle, rather moreroughly than was consistent with the poetic nature of the scene.
　　‘What the devil’s the use of his saying he isn’t dead?’
　　‘No, no, I am not,’ said Mr. Tupman. ‘I require no assistance butyours. Let me lean on your arm.’ He added, in a whisper, ‘Oh, MissRachael!’ The agitated female advanced, and offered her arm.
　　They turned into the breakfast parlour. Mr. Tracy Tupman gentlypressed her hand to his lips, and sank upon the sofa.
　　‘Are you faint?’ inquired the anxious Rachael.
　　‘No,’ said Mr. Tupman. ‘It is nothing. I shall be betterpresently.’ He closed his eyes.
　　‘He sleeps,’ murmured the spinster aunt. (His organs of visionhad been closed nearly twenty seconds.) ‘Dear―dear―Mr.
　　Tupman!’
　　Mr. Tupman jumped up―‘Oh, say those words again!’ heexclaimed.
　　The lady started. ‘Surely you did not hear them!’ she saidbashfully.
　　‘Oh, yes, I did!’ replied Mr. Tupman; ‘repeat them. If you wouldhave me recover, repeat them.’
　　‘Hush!’ said the lady. ‘My brother.’ Mr. Tracy Tupman resumedhis former position; and Mr. Wardle, accompanied by a surgeon,entered the room.
　　The arm was examined, the wound dressed, and pronounced tobe a very slight one; and the minds of the company having beenthus satisfied, they proceeded to satisfy their appetites withcountenances to which an expression of cheerfulness was againrestored. Mr. Pickwick alone was silent and reserved. Doubt anddistrust were exhibited in his countenance. His confidence in Mr.
　　Winkle had been shaken―greatly shaken―by the proceedings ofthe morning. ‘Are you a cricketer?’ inquired Mr. Wardle of themarksman.
　　At any other time, Mr. Winkle would have replied in theaffirmative. He felt the delicacy of his situation, and modestlyreplied, ‘No.’
　　‘Are you, sir?’ inquired Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘I was once upon a time,’ replied the host; ‘but I have given it upnow. I subscribe to the club here, but I don’t play.’
　　‘The grand match is played to-day, I believe,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It is,’ replied the host. ‘Of course you would like to see it.’
　　‘I, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘am delighted to view any sportswhich may be safely indulged in, and in which the impotent effectsof unskilful people do not endanger human life.’ Mr. Pickwickpaused, and looked steadily on Mr. Winkle, who quailed beneathhis leader’s searching glance. The great man withdrew his eyesafter a few minutes, and added: ‘Shall we be justified in leavingour wounded friend to the care of the ladies?’
　　‘You cannot leave me in better hands,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Quite impossible,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　It was therefore settled that Mr. Tupman should be left at homein charge of the females; and that the remainder of the guests,under the guidance of Mr. Wardle, should proceed to the spotwhere was to be held that trial of skill, which had roused allMuggleton from its torpor, and inoculated Dingley Dell with afever of excitement. As their walk, which was not above two miles long, lay throughshady lanes and sequestered footpaths, and as their conversationturned upon the delightful scenery by which they were on everyside surrounded, Mr. Pickwick was almost inclined to regret theexpedition they had used, when he found himself in the mainstreet of the town of Muggleton. Everybody whose genius has atopographical bent knows perfectly well that Muggleton is acorporate town, with a mayor, burgesses, and freemen; andanybody who has consulted the addresses of the mayor to thefreemen, or the freemen to the mayor, or both to the corporation,or all three to Parliament, will learn from thence what they oughtto have known before, that Muggleton is an ancient and loyalborough, mingling a zealous advocacy of Christian principles witha devoted attachment to commercial rights; in demonstrationwhereof, the mayor, corporation, and other inhabitants, havepresented at divers times, no fewer than one thousand fourhundred and twenty petitions against the continuance of negroslavery abroad, and an equal number against any interferencewith the factory system at home; sixty-eight in favour of the sale oflivings in the Church, and eighty-six for abolishing Sunday tradingin the street.
　　Mr. Pickwick stood in the principal street of this illustrioustown, and gazed with an air of curiosity, not unmixed withinterest, on the objects around him. There was an open square forthe market-place; and in the centre of it, a large inn with a sign-post in front, displaying an object very common in art, but rarelymet with in nature―to wit, a blue lion, with three bow legs in theair, balancing himself on the extreme point of the centre claw ofhis fourth foot. There were, within sight, an auctioneer’s and fire-agency office, a corn-factor’s, a linen-draper’s, a saddler’s, adistiller’s, a grocer’s, and a shoe-shop―the last-mentionedwarehouse being also appropriated to the diffusion of hats,bonnets, wearing apparel, cotton umbrellas, and usefulknowledge. There was a red brick house with a small pavedcourtyard in front, which anybody might have known belonged tothe attorney; and there was, moreover, another red brick housewith Venetian blinds, and a large brass door-plate with a verylegible announcement that it belonged to the surgeon. A few boyswere making their way to the cricket-field; and two or threeshopkeepers who were standing at their doors looked as if theyshould like to be making their way to the same spot, as indeed toall appearance they might have done, without losing any greatamount of custom thereby. Mr. Pickwick having paused to makethese observations, to be noted down at a more convenient period,hastened to rejoin his friends, who had turned out of the mainstreet, and were already within sight of the field of battle.
　　The wickets were pitched, and so were a couple of marquees forthe rest and refreshment of the contending parties. The game hadnot yet commenced. Two or three Dingley Dellers, and All-Muggletonians, were amusing themselves with a majestic air bythrowing the ball carelessly from hand to hand; and several othergentlemen dressed like them, in straw hats, flannel jackets, andwhite trousers―a costume in which they looked very much likeamateur stone-masons―were sprinkled about the tents, towardsone of which Mr. Wardle conducted the party.
　　Several dozen of ‘How-are-you’s?’ hailed the old gentleman’sarrival; and a general raising of the straw hats, and bendingforward of the flannel jackets, followed his introduction of hisguests as gentlemen from London, who were extremely anxious towitness the proceedings of the day, with which, he had no doubt,they would be greatly delighted.
　　‘You had better step into the marquee, I think, sir,’ said onevery stout gentleman, whose body and legs looked like half agigantic roll of flannel, elevated on a couple of inflated pillow-cases.
　　‘You’ll find it much pleasanter, sir,’ urged another stoutgentleman, who strongly resembled the other half of the roll offlannel aforesaid.
　　‘You’re very good,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘This way,’ said the first speaker; ‘they notch in here―it’s thebest place in the whole field;’ and the cricketer, panting on before,preceded them to the tent.
　　‘Capital game―smart sport―fine exercise―very,’ were thewords which fell upon Mr. Pickwick’s ear as he entered the tent;and the first object that met his eyes was his green-coated friend ofthe Rochester coach, holding forth, to the no small delight andedification of a select circle of the chosen of All-Muggleton. Hisdress was slightly improved, and he wore boots; but there was nomistaking him.
　　The stranger recognised his friends immediately; and, dartingforward and seizing Mr. Pickwick by the hand, dragged him to aseat with his usual impetuosity, talking all the while as if the wholeof the arrangements were under his especial patronage anddirection.
　　‘This way―this way―capital fun―lots of beer―hogsheads;rounds of beef―bullocks; mustard―cart-loads; glorious day―down with you―make yourself at home―glad to see you―very.’Mr. Pickwick sat down as he was bid, and Mr. Winkle and Mr.
　　Snodgrass also complied with the directions of their mysteriousfriend. Mr. Wardle looked on in silent wonder.
　　‘Mr. Wardle―a friend of mine,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Friend of yours!―My dear sir, how are you?―Friend of myfriend’s―give me your hand, sir’―and the stranger grasped Mr.
　　Wardle’s hand with all the fervour of a close intimacy of manyyears, and then stepped back a pace or two as if to take a fullsurvey of his face and figure, and then shook hands with himagain, if possible, more warmly than before.
　　‘Well; and how came you here?’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a smilein which benevolence struggled with surprise. ‘Come,’ replied thestranger―‘stopping at Crown―Crown at Muggleton―met aparty―flannel jackets―white trousers―anchovy sandwiches―devilled kidney―splendid fellows―glorious.’
　　Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently versed in the stranger’s system ofstenography to infer from this rapid and disjointedcommunication that he had, somehow or other, contracted anacquaintance with the All-Muggletons, which he had converted, bya process peculiar to himself, into that extent of good-fellowshipon which a general invitation may be easily founded. His curiositywas therefore satisfied, and putting on his spectacles he preparedhimself to watch the play which was just commencing.
　　All-Muggleton had the first innings; and the interest becameintense when Mr. Dumkins and Mr. Podder, two of the mostrenowned members of that most distinguished club, walked, bat inhand, to their respective wickets. Mr. Luffey, the highestornament of Dingley Dell, was pitched to bowl against theredoubtable Dumkins, and Mr. Struggles was selected to do thesame kind office for the hitherto unconquered Podder. Severalplayers were stationed, to ‘look out,’ in different parts of the field,and each fixed himself into the proper attitude by placing onehand on each knee, and stooping very much as if he were ‘makinga back’ for some beginner at leap-frog. All the regular players dothis sort of thing;―indeed it is generally supposed that it is quiteimpossible to look out properly in any other position.
　　The umpires were stationed behind the wickets; the scorerswere prepared to notch the runs; a breathless silence ensued. Mr.
　　Luffey retired a few paces behind the wicket of the passivePodder, and applied the ball to his right eye for several seconds.
　　Dumkins confidently awaited its coming with his eyes fixed on themotions of Luffey.
　　‘Play!’ suddenly cried the bowler. The ball flew from his handstraight and swift towards the centre stump of the wicket. Thewary Dumkins was on the alert: it fell upon the tip of the bat, andbounded far away over the heads of the scouts, who had juststooped low enough to let it fly over them.
　　‘Run―run―another.―Now, then throw her up―up with her―stop there―another―no―yes―no―throw her up, throw herup!’―Such were the shouts which followed the stroke; and at theconclusion of which All-Muggleton had scored two. Nor wasPodder behindhand in earning laurels wherewith to garnishhimself and Muggleton. He blocked the doubtful balls, missed thebad ones, took the good ones, and sent them flying to all parts ofthe field. The scouts were hot and tired; the bowlers were changedand bowled till their arms ached; but Dumkins and Podderremained unconquered. Did an elderly gentleman essay to stopthe progress of the ball, it rolled between his legs or slippedbetween his fingers. Did a slim gentleman try to catch it, it struckhim on the nose, and bounded pleasantly off with redoubledviolence, while the slim gentleman’s eyes filled with water, and hisform writhed with anguish. Was it thrown straight up to thewicket, Dumkins had reached it before the ball. In short, whenDumkins was caught out, and Podder stumped out, All-Muggletonhad notched some fifty-four, while the score of the Dingley Dellerswas as blank as their faces. The advantage was too great to berecovered. In vain did the eager Luffey, and the enthusiasticStruggles, do all that skill and experience could suggest, to regainthe ground Dingley Dell had lost in the contest―it was of no avail;and in an early period of the winning game Dingley Dell gave in,and allowed the superior prowess of All-Muggleton.
　　The stranger, meanwhile, had been eating, drinking, andtalking, without cessation. At every good stroke he expressed hissatisfaction and approval of the player in a most condescendingand patronising manner, which could not fail to have been highlygratifying to the party concerned; while at every bad attempt at acatch, and every failure to stop the ball, he launched his personaldispleasure at the head of the devoted individual in suchdenunciations as―‘Ah, ah!―stupid’―‘Now, butter-fingers’―‘Muff’―‘Humbug’―and so forth―ejaculations which seemed toestablish him in the opinion of all around, as a most excellent andundeniable judge of the whole art and mystery of the noble gameof cricket.
　　‘Capital game―well played―some strokes admirable,’ said thestranger, as both sides crowded into the tent, at the conclusion ofthe game.
　　‘You have played it, sir?’ inquired Mr. Wardle, who had beenmuch amused by his loquacity. ‘Played it! Think I have―thousands of times―not here―West Indies―exciting thing―hotwork―very.’
　　‘It must be rather a warm pursuit in such a climate,’ observedMr. Pickwick.
　　‘Warm!―red hot―scorching―glowing. Played a match once―single wicket―friend the colonel―Sir Thomas Blazo―who shouldget the greatest number of runs.―Won the toss―first innings―seven o’clock A.M.―six natives to look out―went in; kept in―heatintense―natives all fainted―taken away―fresh half-dozenordered―fainted also―Blazo bowling―supported by twonatives―couldn’t bowl me out―fainted too―cleared away thecolonel―wouldn’t give in―faithful attendant―Quanko Samba―last man left―sun so hot, bat in blisters, ball scorched brown―fivehundred and seventy runs―rather exhausted―Quanko musteredup last remaining strength―bowled me out―had a bath, and wentout to dinner.’
　　‘And what became of what’s-his-name, sir?’ inquired an oldgentleman.
　　‘Blazo?’
　　‘No―the other gentleman.’
　　‘Quanko Samba?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘Poor Quanko―never recovered it―bowled on, on myaccount―bowled off, on his own―died, sir.’ Here the strangerburied his countenance in a brown jug, but whether to hide hisemotion or imbibe its contents, we cannot distinctly affirm. Weonly know that he paused suddenly, drew a long and deep breath,and looked anxiously on, as two of the principal members of theDingley Dell club approached Mr. Pickwick, and said―‘We are about to partake of a plain dinner at the Blue Lion, sir;we hope you and your friends will join us.’
　　‘Of course,’ said Mr. Wardle, ‘among our friends we includeMr.―;’ and he looked towards the stranger.
　　‘Jingle,’ said that versatile gentleman, taking the hint at once.
　　‘Jingle―Alfred Jingle, Esq., of No Hall, Nowhere.’
　　‘I shall be very happy, I am sure,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘So shall I,’
　　said Mr. Alfred Jingle, drawing one arm through Mr. Pickwick’s,and another through Mr. Wardle’s, as he whispered confidentiallyin the ear of the former gentleman:―‘Devilish good dinner―cold, but capital―peeped into the roomthis morning―fowls and pies, and all that sort of thing―pleasantfellows these―well behaved, too―very.’
　　There being no further preliminaries to arrange, the companystraggled into the town in little knots of twos and threes; andwithin a quarter of an hour were all seated in the great room of theBlue Lion Inn, Muggleton―Mr. Dumkins acting as chairman, andMr. Luffey officiating as vice.
　　There was a vast deal of talking and rattling of knives and forks,and plates; a great running about of three ponderous-headedwaiters, and a rapid disappearance of the substantial viands on thetable; to each and every of which item of confusion, the facetiousMr. Jingle lent the aid of half-a-dozen ordinary men at least. Wheneverybody had eaten as much as possible, the cloth was removed,bottles, glasses, and dessert were placed on the table; and thewaiters withdrew to ‘clear away,’ or in other words, to appropriateto their own private use and emolument whatever remnants of theeatables and drinkables they could contrive to lay their hands on.
　　Amidst the general hum of mirth and conversation that ensued,there was a little man with a puffy Say-nothing-to-me,-or-I’ll-contradict-you sort of countenance, who remained very quiet;occasionally looking round him when the conversation slackened,as if he contemplated putting in something very weighty; and nowand then bursting into a short cough of in expressible grandeur. Atlength, during a moment of comparative silence, the little mancalled out in a very loud, solemn voice,―‘Mr. Luffey!’
　　Everybody was hushed into a profound stillness as theindividual addressed, replied―‘Sir!’
　　‘I wish to address a few words to you, sir, if you will entreat thegentlemen to fill their glasses.’
　　Mr. Jingle uttered a patronising ‘Hear, hear,’ which wasresponded to by the remainder of the company; and the glasseshaving been filled, the vice-president assumed an air of wisdom ina state of profound attention; and said―‘Mr. Staple.’
　　‘Sir,’ said the little man, rising, ‘I wish to address what I have tosay to you and not to our worthy chairman, because our worthychairman is in some measure―I may say in a great degree―thesubject of what I have to say, or I may say to―to―’
　　‘State,’ suggested Mr. Jingle.
　　‘Yes, to state,’ said the little man, ‘I thank my honourablefriend, if he will allow me to call him so (four hears and onecertainly from Mr. Jingle), for the suggestion. Sir, I am a Deller―aDingley Deller (cheers). I cannot lay claim to the honour offorming an item in the population of Muggleton; nor, sir, I willfrankly admit, do I covet that honour: and I will tell you why, sir(hear); to Muggleton I will readily concede all these honours anddistinctions to which it can fairly lay claim―they are toonumerous and too well known to require aid or recapitulationfrom me. But, sir, while we remember that Muggleton has givenbirth to a Dumkins and a Podder, let us never forget that DingleyDell can boast a Luffey and a Struggles. (Vociferous cheering.) Letme not be considered as wishing to detract from the merits of theformer gentlemen. Sir, I envy them the luxury of their ownfeelings on this occasion. (Cheers.) Every gentleman who hearsme, is probably acquainted with the reply made by an individual,who―to use an ordinary figure of speech―“hung out” in a tub, tothe emperor Alexander:―“if I were not Diogenes,” said he, “Iwould be Alexander.” I can well imagine these gentlemen to say,“If I were not Dumkins I would be Luffey; if I were not Podder Iwould be Struggles.” (Enthusiasm.) But, gentlemen of Muggleton,is it in cricket alone that your fellow-townsmen stand pre-eminent? Have you never heard of Dumkins and determination?
　　Have you never been taught to associate Podder with property?
　　(Great applause.) Have you never, when struggling for your rights,your liberties, and your privileges, been reduced, if only for aninstant, to misgiving and despair? And when you have been thusdepressed, has not the name of Dumkins laid afresh within yourbreast the fire which had just gone out; and has not a word fromthat man lighted it again as brightly as if it had never expired?
　　(Great cheering.) Gentlemen, I beg to surround with a rich halo ofenthusiastic cheering the united names of “Dumkins andPodder.”’
　　Here the little man ceased, and here the company commenceda raising of voices, and thumping of tables, which lasted with littleintermission during the remainder of the evening. Other toastswere drunk. Mr. Luffey and Mr. Struggles, Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
　　Jingle, were, each in his turn, the subject of unqualified eulogium;and each in due course returned thanks for the honour.
　　Enthusiastic as we are in the noble cause to which we havedevoted ourselves, we should have felt a sensation of pride whichwe cannot express, and a consciousness of having done somethingto merit immortality of which we are now deprived, could we havelaid the faintest outline on these addresses before our ardentreaders. Mr. Snodgrass, as usual, took a great mass of notes, whichwould no doubt have afforded most useful and valuableinformation, had not the burning eloquence of the words or thefeverish influence of the wine made that gentleman’s hand soextremely unsteady, as to render his writing nearly unintelligible,and his style wholly so. By dint of patient investigation, we havebeen enabled to trace some characters bearing a faintresemblance to the names of the speakers; and we can onlydiscern an entry of a song (supposed to have been sung by Mr.
　　Jingle), in which the words ‘bowl’ ‘sparkling’ ‘ruby’ ‘bright’ and‘wine’ are frequently repeated at short intervals. We fancy, too,that we can discern at the very end of the notes, some indistinctreference to ‘broiled bones’; and then the words ‘cold’ ‘without’
　　occur: but as any hypothesis we could found upon them mustnecessarily rest upon mere conjecture, we are not disposed toindulge in any of the speculations to which they may give rise.
　　We will therefore return to Mr. Tupman; merely adding thatwithin some few minutes before twelve o’clock that night, theconvocation of worthies of Dingley Dell and Muggleton were heardto sing, with great feeling and emphasis, the beautiful and patheticnational air of‘We won’t go home till morning,We won’t go home till morning,We won’t go home till morning,Till daylight doth appear.’
Chapter 8
STRONGLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE POSITION,THAT THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE IS NOT ARAILWAYhe quiet seclusion of Dingley Dell, the presence of so manyof the gentler sex, and the solicitude and anxiety theyevinced in his behalf, were all favourable to the growthand development of those softer feelings which nature hadimplanted deep in the bosom of Mr. Tracy Tupman, and whichnow appeared destined to centre in one lovely object. The youngladies were pretty, their manners winning, their dispositionsunexceptionable; but there was a dignity in the air, a touch-me-not-ishness in the walk, a majesty in the eye, of the spinster aunt,to which, at their time of life, they could lay no claim, whichdistinguished her from any female on whom Mr. Tupman had evergazed. That there was something kindred in their nature,something congenial in their souls, something mysteriouslysympathetic in their bosoms, was evident. Her name was the firstthat rose to Mr. Tupman’s lips as he lay wounded on the grass;and her hysteric laughter was the first sound that fell upon his earwhen he was supported to the house. But had her agitation arisenfrom an amiable and feminine sensibility which would have beenequally irrepressible in any case; or had it been called forth by amore ardent and passionate feeling, which he, of all men living,could alone awaken? These were the doubts which racked hisbrain as he lay extended on the sofa; these were the doubts whichhe determined should be at once and for ever resolved.
　　It was evening. Isabella and Emily had strolled out with Mr.
　　Trundle; the deaf old lady had fallen asleep in her chair; thesnoring of the fat boy, penetrated in a low and monotonous soundfrom the distant kitchen; the buxom servants were lounging at theside door, enjoying the pleasantness of the hour, and the delightsof a flirtation, on first principles, with certain unwieldy animalsattached to the farm; and there sat the interesting pair, uncaredfor by all, caring for none, and dreaming only of themselves; therethey sat, in short, like a pair of carefully-folded kid gloves―boundup in each other.
　　‘I have forgotten my flowers,’ said the spinster aunt.
　　‘Water them now,’ said Mr. Tupman, in accents of persuasion.
　　‘You will take cold in the evening air,’ urged the spinster auntaffectionately.
　　‘No, no,’ said Mr. Tupman, rising; ‘it will do me good. Let meaccompany you.’
　　The lady paused to adjust the sling in which the left arm of theyouth was placed, and taking his right arm led him to the garden.
　　There was a bower at the farther end, with honeysuckle,jessamine, and creeping plants―one of those sweet retreats whichhumane men erect for the accommodation of spiders.
　　The spinster aunt took up a large watering-pot which lay in onecorner, and was about to leave the arbour. Mr. Tupman detainedher, and drew her to a seat beside him.
　　‘Miss Wardle!’ said he. The spinster aunt trembled, till somepebbles which had accidentally found their way into the largewatering-pot shook like an infant’s rattle.
　　‘Miss Wardle,’ said Mr. Tupman, ‘you are an angel.’
　　‘Mr. Tupman!’ exclaimed Rachael, blushing as red as thewatering-pot itself.
　　‘Nay,’ said the eloquent Pickwickian―‘I know it but too well.’
　　‘All women are angels, they say,’ murmured the lady playfully.
　　‘Then what can you be; or to what, without presumption, can Icompare you?’ replied Mr. Tupman. ‘Where was the woman everseen who resembled you? Where else could I hope to find so rare acombination of excellence and beauty? Where else could I seekto―Oh!’ Here Mr. Tupman paused, and pressed the hand whichclasped the handle of the happy watering-pot.
　　The lady turned aside her head. ‘Men are such deceivers,’ shesoftly whispered.
　　‘They are, they are,’ ejaculated Mr. Tupman; ‘but not all men.
　　There lives at least one being who can never change―one beingwho would be content to devote his whole existence to yourhappiness―who lives but in your eyes―who breathes but in yoursmiles―who bears the heavy burden of life itself only for you.’
　　‘Could such an individual be found―’ said the lady.
　　‘But he can be found,’ said the ardent Mr. Tupman, interposing.
　　‘He is found. He is here, Miss Wardle.’ And ere the lady was awareof his intention, Mr. Tupman had sunk upon his knees at her feet.
　　‘Mr. Tupman, rise,’ said Rachael.
　　‘Never!’ was the valorous reply. ‘Oh, Rachael!’ He seized herpassive hand, and the watering-pot fell to the ground as hepressed it to his lips.―‘Oh, Rachael! say you love me.’
　　‘Mr. Tupman,’ said the spinster aunt, with averted head, ‘I canhardly speak the words; but―but―you are not wholly indifferentto me.’
　　Mr. Tupman no sooner heard this avowal, than he proceeded todo what his enthusiastic emotions prompted, and what, for aughtwe know (for we are but little acquainted with such matters),people so circumstanced always do. He jumped up, and, throwinghis arm round the neck of the spinster aunt, imprinted upon herlips numerous kisses, which after a due show of struggling andresistance, she received so passively, that there is no telling howmany more Mr. Tupman might have bestowed, if the lady had notgiven a very unaffected start, and exclaimed in an affrightedtone―‘Mr. Tupman, we are observed!―we are discovered!’
　　Mr. Tupman looked round. There was the fat boy, perfectlymotionless, with his large circular eyes staring into the arbour, butwithout the slightest expression on his face that the most expertphysiognomist could have referred to astonishment, curiosity, orany other known passion that agitates the human breast. Mr.
　　Tupman gazed on the fat boy, and the fat boy stared at him; andthe longer Mr. Tupman observed the utter vacancy of the fat boy’scountenance, the more convinced he became that he either did notknow, or did not understand, anything that had been goingforward. Under this impression, he said with great firmness―‘What do you want here, sir?’
　　‘Supper’s ready, sir,’ was the prompt reply.
　　‘Have you just come here, sir?’ inquired Mr. Tupman, with apiercing look.
　　‘Just,’ replied the fat boy.
　　Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again; but there was not awink in his eye, or a curve in his face.
　　Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walkedtowards the house; the fat boy followed behind.
　　‘He knows nothing of what has happened,’ he whispered.
　　‘Nothing,’ said the spinster aunt.
　　There was a sound behind them, as of an imperfectlysuppressed chuckle. Mr. Tupman turned sharply round. No; itcould not have been the fat boy; there was not a gleam of mirth, oranything but feeding in his whole visage.
　　‘He must have been fast asleep,’ whispered Mr. Tupman.
　　‘I have not the least doubt of it,’ replied the spinster aunt.
　　They both laughed heartily.
　　Mr, Tupman was wrong. The fat boy, for once, had not beenfast asleep. He was awake―wide awake―to what had been goingforward.
　　The supper passed off without any attempt at a generalconversation. The old lady had gone to bed; Isabella Wardledevoted herself exclusively to Mr. Trundle; the spinster’sattentions were reserved for Mr. Tupman; and Emily’s thoughtsappeared to be engrossed by some distant object―possibly theywere with the absent Snodgrass.
　　Eleven―twelve―one o’clock had struck, and the gentlemenhad not arrived. Consternation sat on every face. Could they havebeen waylaid and robbed? Should they send men and lanterns inevery direction by which they could be supposed likely to havetravelled home? or should they―Hark! there they were. Whatcould have made them so late? A strange voice, too! To whomcould it belong? They rushed into the kitchen, whither the truantshad repaired, and at once obtained rather more than a glimmeringof the real state of the case.
　　Mr. Pickwick, with his hands in his pockets and his hat cockedcompletely over his left eye, was leaning against the dresser,shaking his head from side to side, and producing a constantsuccession of the blandest and most benevolent smiles withoutbeing moved thereunto by any discernible cause or pretencewhatsoever; old Mr. Wardle, with a highly-inflamed countenance,was grasping the hand of a strange gentleman mutteringprotestations of eternal friendship; Mr. Winkle, supporting himselfby the eight-day clock, was feebly invoking destruction upon thehead of any member of the family who should suggest thepropriety of his retiring for the night; and Mr. Snodgrass had sunkinto a chair, with an expression of the most abject and hopelessmisery that the human mind can imagine, portrayed in everylineament of his expressive face.
　　‘Is anything the matter?’ inquired the three ladies.
　　‘Nothing the matter,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘We―we’re―allright.―I say, Wardle, we’re all right, ain’t we?’
　　‘I should think so,’ replied the jolly host.―‘My dears, here’s myfriend Mr. Jingle―Mr. Pickwick’s friend, Mr. Jingle, come ’pon―little visit.’
　　‘Is anything the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, sir?’ inquiredEmily, with great anxiety.
　　‘Nothing the matter, ma’am,’ replied the stranger. ‘Cricketdinner―glorious party―capital songs―old port―claret―good―very good―wine, ma’am―wine.’
　　‘It wasn’t the wine,’ murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a brokenvoice. ‘It was the salmon.’ (Somehow or other, it never is the wine,in these cases.)‘Hadn’t they better go to bed, ma’am?’ inquired Emma. ‘Two ofthe boys will carry the gentlemen upstairs.’
　　‘I won’t go to bed,’ said Mr. Winkle firmly.
　　‘No living boy shall carry me,’ said Mr. Pickwick stoutly; and hewent on smiling as before. ‘Hurrah!’ gasped Mr. Winkle faintly.
　　‘Hurrah!’ echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat and dashing iton the floor, and insanely casting his spectacles into the middle ofthe kitchen. At this humorous feat he laughed outright.
　　‘Let’s―have―’nother―bottle,’ cried Mr. Winkle, commencingin a very loud key, and ending in a very faint one. His headdropped upon his breast; and, muttering his invincibledetermination not to go to his bed, and a sanguinary regret that hehad not ‘done for old Tupman’ in the morning, he fell fast asleep;in which condition he was borne to his apartment by two younggiants under the personal superintendence of the fat boy, to whoseprotecting care Mr. Snodgrass shortly afterwards confided his ownperson, Mr. Pickwick accepted the proffered arm of Mr. Tupmanand quietly disappeared, smiling more than ever; and Mr. Wardle,after taking as affectionate a leave of the whole family as if he wereordered for immediate execution, consigned to Mr. Trundle thehonour of conveying him upstairs, and retired, with a very futileattempt to look impressively solemn and dignified. ‘What ashocking scene!’ said the spinster aunt.
　　‘Dis-gusting!’ ejaculated both the young ladies.
　　‘Dreadful―dreadful!’ said Jingle, looking very grave: he wasabout a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions. ‘Horridspectacle―very!’
　　‘What a nice man!’ whispered the spinster aunt to Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Good-looking, too!’ whispered Emily Wardle.
　　‘Oh, decidedly,’ observed the spinster aunt.
　　Mr. Tupman thought of the widow at Rochester, and his mindwas troubled. The succeeding half-hour’s conversation was not ofa nature to calm his perturbed spirit. The new visitor was verytalkative, and the number of his anecdotes was only to beexceeded by the extent of his politeness. Mr. Tupman felt that asJingle’s popularity increased, he (Tupman) retired further into theshade. His laughter was forced―his merriment feigned; and whenat last he laid his aching temples between the sheets, he thought,with horrid delight, on the satisfaction it would afford him to haveJingle’s head at that moment between the feather bed and themattress.
　　The indefatigable stranger rose betimes next morning, and,although his companions remained in bed overpowered with thedissipation of the previous night, exerted himself most successfullyto promote the hilarity of the breakfast-table. So successful werehis efforts, that even the deaf old lady insisted on having one ortwo of his best jokes retailed through the trumpet; and even shecondescended to observe to the spinster aunt, that ‘He’ (meaningJingle) ‘was an impudent young fellow:’ a sentiment in which allher relations then and there present thoroughly coincided.
　　It was the old lady’s habit on the fine summer mornings torepair to the arbour in which Mr. Tupman had already signalisedhimself, in form and manner following: first, the fat boy fetchedfrom a peg behind the old lady’s bedroom door, a close black satinbonnet, a warm cotton shawl, and a thick stick with a capacioushandle; and the old lady, having put on the bonnet and shawl ather leisure, would lean one hand on the stick and the other on thefat boy’s shoulder, and walk leisurely to the arbour, where the fatboy would leave her to enjoy the fresh air for the space of half anhour; at the expiration of which time he would return andreconduct her to the house.
　　The old lady was very precise and very particular; and as thisceremony had been observed for three successive summerswithout the slightest deviation from the accustomed form, she wasnot a little surprised on this particular morning to see the fat boy,instead of leaving the arbour, walk a few paces out of it, lookcarefully round him in every direction, and return towards herwith great stealth and an air of the most profound mystery.
　　The old lady was timorous―most old ladies are―and her firstimpression was that the bloated lad was about to do her somegrievous bodily harm with the view of possessing himself of herloose coin. She would have cried for assistance, but age andinfirmity had long ago deprived her of the power of screaming;she, therefore, watched his motions with feelings of intense horrorwhich were in no degree diminished by his coming close up to her,and shouting in her ear in an agitated, and as it seemed to her, athreatening tone―‘Missus!’
　　Now it so happened that Mr. Jingle was walking in the gardenclose to the arbour at that moment. He too heard the shouts of‘Missus,’ and stopped to hear more. There were three reasons forhis doing so. In the first place, he was idle and curious; secondly,he was by no means scrupulous; thirdly, and lastly, he wasconcealed from view by some flowering shrubs. So there he stood,and there he listened.
　　‘Missus!’ shouted the fat boy.
　　‘Well, Joe,’ said the trembling old lady. ‘I’m sure I have been agood mistress to you, Joe. You have invariably been treated verykindly. You have never had too much to do; and you have alwayshad enough to eat.’
　　This last was an appeal to the fat boy’s most sensitive feelings.
　　He seemed touched, as he replied emphatically―‘I knows I has.’
　　‘Then what can you want to do now?’ said the old lady, gainingcourage.
　　‘I wants to make your flesh creep,’ replied the boy.
　　This sounded like a very bloodthirsty mode of showing one’sgratitude; and as the old lady did not precisely understand theprocess by which such a result was to be attained, all her formerhorrors returned.
　　‘What do you think I see in this very arbour last night?’
　　inquired the boy.
　　‘Bless us! What?’ exclaimed the old lady, alarmed at the solemnmanner of the corpulent youth.
　　‘The strange gentleman―him as had his arm hurt―a-kissin’
　　and huggin’―’
　　‘Who, Joe? None of the servants, I hope.’
　　‘Worser than that,’ roared the fat boy, in the old lady’s ear.
　　‘Not one of my grandda’aters?’
　　‘Worser than that.’
　　‘Worse than that, Joe!’ said the old lady, who had thought thisthe extreme limit of human atrocity. ‘Who was it, Joe? I insistupon knowing.’
　　The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded hissurvey, shouted in the old lady’s ear―‘Miss Rachael.’
　　‘What!’ said the old lady, in a shrill tone. ‘Speak louder.’
　　‘Miss Rachael,’ roared the fat boy.
　　‘My da’ater!’
　　The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent,communicated a blanc-mange like motion to his fat cheeks.
　　‘And she suffered him!’ exclaimed the old lady. A grin stole overthe fat boy’s features as he said―‘I see her a-kissin’ of him agin.’
　　If Mr. Jingle, from his place of concealment, could have beheldthe expression which the old lady’s face assumed at thiscommunication, the probability is that a sudden burst of laughterwould have betrayed his close vicinity to the summer-house. Helistened attentively. Fragments of angry sentences such as,‘Without my permission!’―‘At her time of life’―‘Miserable old’ooman like me’―‘Might have waited till I was dead,’ and so forth,reached his ears; and then he heard the heels of the fat boy’s bootscrunching the gravel, as he retired and left the old lady alone.
　　It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it wasnevertheless a fact, that Mr. Jingle within five minutes of hisarrival at Manor Farm on the preceding night, had inwardlyresolved to lay siege to the heart of the spinster aunt, withoutdelay. He had observation enough to see, that his off-hand mannerwas by no means disagreeable to the fair object of his attack; andhe had more than a strong suspicion that she possessed that mostdesirable of all requisites, a small independence. The imperativenecessity of ousting his rival by some means or other, flashedquickly upon him, and he immediately resolved to adopt certainproceedings tending to that end and object, without a moment’sdelay. Fielding tells us that man is fire, and woman tow, and thePrince of Darkness sets a light to ’em. Mr. Jingle knew that youngmen, to spinster aunts, are as lighted gas to gunpowder, and hedetermined to essay the effect of an explosion without loss of time.
　　Full of reflections upon this important decision, he crept fromhis place of concealment, and, under cover of the shrubs beforementioned, approached the house. Fortune seemed determined tofavour his design. Mr. Tupman and the rest of the gentlemen leftthe garden by the side gate just as he obtained a view of it; and theyoung ladies, he knew, had walked out alone, soon after breakfast.
　　The coast was clear.
　　The breakfast-parlour door was partially open. He peeped in.
　　The spinster aunt was knitting. He coughed; she looked up andsmiled. Hesitation formed no part of Mr. Alfred Jingle’s character.
　　He laid his finger on his lips mysteriously, walked in, and closedthe door.
　　‘Miss Wardle,’ said Mr. Jingle, with affected earnestness,‘forgive intrusion―short acquaintance―no time for ceremony―alldiscovered.’
　　‘Sir!’ said the spinster aunt, rather astonished by theunexpected apparition and somewhat doubtful of Mr. Jingle’ssanity.
　　‘Hush!’ said Mr. Jingle, in a stage-whisper―‘Large boy―dumpling face―round eyes―rascal!’ Here he shook his headexpressively, and the spinster aunt trembled with agitation.
　　‘I presume you allude to Joseph, sir?’ said the lady, making aneffort to appear composed.
　　‘Yes, ma’am―damn that Joe!―treacherous dog, Joe―told theold lady―old lady furious―wild―raving―arbour―Tupman―kissing and hugging―all that sort of thing―eh, ma’am―eh?’
　　‘Mr. Jingle,’ said the spinster aunt, ‘if you come here, sir, toinsult me―’
　　‘Not at all―by no means,’ replied the unabashed Mr. Jingle―‘overheard the tale―came to warn you of your danger―tender myservices―prevent the hubbub. Never mind―think it an insult―leave the room’―and he turned, as if to carry the threat intoexecution.
　　‘What shall I do!’ said the poor spinster, bursting into tears. ‘Mybrother will be furious.’
　　‘Of course he will,’ said Mr. Jingle pausing―‘outrageous.’
　　‘Oh, Mr. Jingle, what can I say!’ exclaimed the spinster aunt, inanother flood of despair.
　　‘Say he dreamt it,’ replied Mr. Jingle coolly.
　　A ray of comfort darted across the mind of the spinster aunt atthis suggestion. Mr. Jingle perceived it, and followed up hisadvantage.
　　‘Pooh, pooh!―nothing more easy―blackguard boy―lovelywoman―fat boy horsewhipped―you believed―end of thematter―all comfortable.’
　　Whether the probability of escaping from the consequences ofthis ill-timed discovery was delightful to the spinster’s feelings, orwhether the hearing herself described as a ‘lovely woman’
　　softened the asperity of her grief, we know not. She blushedslightly, and cast a grateful look on Mr. Jingle.
　　That insinuating gentleman sighed deeply, fixed his eyes on thespinster aunt’s face for a couple of minutes, startedmelodramatically, and suddenly withdrew them.
　　‘You seem unhappy, Mr. Jingle,’ said the lady, in a plaintivevoice. ‘May I show my gratitude for your kind interference, byinquiring into the cause, with a view, if possible, to its removal?’
　　‘Ha!’ exclaimed Mr. Jingle, with another start―‘removal!
　　remove my unhappiness, and your love bestowed upon a man whois insensible to the blessing―who even now contemplates a designupon the affections of the niece of the creature who―but no; he ismy friend; I will not expose his vices. Miss Wardle―farewell!’ Atthe conclusion of this address, the most consecutive he was everknown to utter, Mr. Jingle applied to his eyes the remnant of ahandkerchief before noticed, and turned towards the door.
　　‘Stay, Mr. Jingle!’ said the spinster aunt emphatically. ‘Youhave made an allusion to Mr. Tupman―explain it.’
　　‘Never!’ exclaimed Jingle, with a professional (i.e., theatrical)air. ‘Never!’ and, by way of showing that he had no desire to bequestioned further, he drew a chair close to that of the spinsteraunt and sat down.
　　‘Mr. Jingle,’ said the aunt, ‘I entreat―I implore you, if there isany dreadful mystery connected with Mr. Tupman, reveal it.’
　　‘Can I,’ said Mr. Jingle, fixing his eyes on the aunt’s face―‘can Isee―lovely creature―sacrificed at the shrine―heartless avarice!’
　　He appeared to be struggling with various conflicting emotions fora few seconds, and then said in a low voice―‘Tupman only wants your money.’
　　‘The wretch!’ exclaimed the spinster, with energeticindignation. (Mr. Jingle’s doubts were resolved. She had money.)‘More than that,’ said Jingle―‘loves another.’
　　‘Another!’ ejaculated the spinster. ‘Who?’
　　‘Short girl―black eyes―niece Emily.’
　　There was a pause.
　　Now, if there was one individual in the whole world, of whomthe spinster aunt entertained a mortal and deep-rooted jealousy, itwas this identical niece. The colour rushed over her face and neck,and she tossed her head in silence with an air of ineffablecontempt. At last, biting her thin lips, and bridling up, she said―‘It can’t be. I won’t believe it.’
　　‘Watch ’em,’ said Jingle.
　　‘I will,’ said the aunt.
　　‘Watch his looks.’
　　‘I will.’
　　‘His whispers.’
　　‘I will.’
　　‘He’ll sit next her at table.’
　　‘Let him.’
　　‘He’ll flatter her.’
　　‘Let him.’
　　‘He’ll pay her every possible attention.’
　　‘Let him.’
　　‘And he’ll cut you.’
　　‘Cut me!’ screamed the spinster aunt. ‘He cut me; will he!’ andshe trembled with rage and disappointment.
　　‘You will convince yourself?’ said Jingle.
　　‘I will.’
　　‘You’ll show your spirit?’
　　‘I will.’
　　‘You’ll not have him afterwards?’
　　‘Never.’
　　‘You’ll take somebody else?’
　　‘Yes.’
　　‘You shall.’
　　Mr. Jingle fell on his knees, remained thereupon for fiveminutes thereafter; and rose the accepted lover of the spinsteraunt―conditionally upon Mr. Tupman’s perjury being made clearand manifest.
　　 The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and heproduced his evidence that very day at dinner. The spinster auntcould hardly believe her eyes. Mr. Tracy Tupman was establishedat Emily’s side, ogling, whispering, and smiling, in opposition toMr. Snodgrass. Not a word, not a look, not a glance, did he bestowupon his heart’s pride of the evening before.
　　‘Damn that boy!’ thought old Mr. Wardle to himself.―He hadheard the story from his mother. ‘Damn that boy! He must havebeen asleep. It’s all imagination.’
　　‘Traitor!’ thought the spinster aunt. ‘Dear Mr. Jingle was notdeceiving me. Ugh! how I hate the wretch!’
　　The following conversation may serve to explain to our readersthis apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on thepart of Mr. Tracy Tupman.
　　The time was evening; the scene the garden. There were twofigures walking in a side path; one was rather short and stout; theother tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle. Thestout figure commenced the dialogue.
　　‘How did I do it?’ he inquired.
　　‘Splendid―capital―couldn’t act better myself―you mustrepeat the part to-morrow―every evening till further notice.’
　　‘Does Rachael still wish it?’
　　‘Of course―she don’t like it―but must be done―avertsuspicion―afraid of her brother―says there’s no help for it―onlya few days more―when old folks blinded―crown your happiness.’
　　‘Any message?’
　　‘Love―best love―kindest regards―unalterable affection. Can Isay anything for you?’
　　‘My dear fellow,’ replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman,fervently grasping his ‘friend’s’ hand―‘carry my best love―sayhow hard I find it to dissemble―say anything that’s kind: but addhow sensible I am of the necessity of the suggestion she made tome, through you, this morning. Say I applaud her wisdom andadmire her discretion.’
　　‘I will. Anything more?’
　　‘Nothing, only add how ardently I long for the time when I maycall her mine, and all dissimulation may be unnecessary.’
　　‘Certainly, certainly. Anything more?’
　　‘Oh, my friend!’ said poor Mr. Tupman, again grasping thehand of his companion, ‘receive my warmest thanks for yourdisinterested kindness; and forgive me if I have ever, even inthought, done you the injustice of supposing that you could standin my way. My dear friend, can I ever repay you?’
　　‘Don’t talk of it,’ replied Mr. Jingle. He stopped short, as ifsuddenly recollecting something, and said―‘By the bye―can’tspare ten pounds, can you?―very particular purpose―pay you inthree days.’
　　‘I dare say I can,’ replied Mr. Tupman, in the fulness of hisheart. ‘Three days, you say?’
　　‘Only three days―all over then―no more difficulties.’ Mr.
　　Tupman counted the money into his companion’s hand, and hedropped it piece by piece into his pocket, as they walked towardsthe house.
　　‘Be careful,’ said Mr. Jingle―‘not a look.’
　　‘Not a wink,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Not a syllable.’
　　‘Not a whisper.’
　　‘All your attentions to the niece―rather rude, than otherwise,to the aunt―only way of deceiving the old ones.’
　　‘I’ll take care,’ said Mr. Tupman aloud.
　　‘And I’ll take care,’ said Mr. Jingle internally; and they enteredthe house.
　　The scene of that afternoon was repeated that evening, and onthe three afternoons and evenings next ensuing. On the fourth, thehost was in high spirits, for he had satisfied himself that there wasno ground for the charge against Mr. Tupman. So was Mr.
　　Tupman, for Mr. Jingle had told him that his affair would soon bebrought to a crisis. So was Mr. Pickwick, for he was seldomotherwise. So was not Mr. Snodgrass, for he had grown jealous ofMr. Tupman. So was the old lady, for she had been winning atwhist. So were Mr. Jingle and Miss Wardle, for reasons ofsufficient importance in this eventful history to be narrated inanother chapter.
Chapter 9
he supper was ready laid, the chairs were drawn round thetable, bottles, jugs, and glasses were arranged upon thesideboard, and everything betokened the approach of themost convivial period in the whole four-and-twenty hours.
　　‘Where’s Rachael?’ said Mr. Wardle.
　　‘Ay, and Jingle?’ added Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Dear me,’ said the host, ‘I wonder I haven’t missed him before.
　　Why, I don’t think I’ve heard his voice for two hours at least.
　　Emily, my dear, ring the bell.’
　　The bell was rung, and the fat boy appeared.
　　‘Where’s Miss Rachael?’ He couldn’t say. ‘Where’s Mr. Jingle,then?’ He didn’t know. Everybody looked surprised. It was late―past eleven o’clock. Mr. Tupman laughed in his sleeve. They wereloitering somewhere, talking about him. Ha, ha! capital notionthat―funny.
　　‘Never mind,’ said Wardle, after a short pause. ‘They’ll turn uppresently, I dare say. I never wait supper for anybody.’
　　‘Excellent rule, that,’ said Mr. Pickwick―‘admirable.’
　　‘Pray, sit down,’ said the host.
　　‘Certainly’ said Mr. Pickwick; and down they sat.
　　There was a gigantic round of cold beef on the table, and Mr.
　　Pickwick was supplied with a plentiful portion of it. He had raisedhis fork to his lips, and was on the very point of opening his mouthfor the reception of a piece of beef, when the hum of many voicessuddenly arose in the kitchen. He paused, and laid down his fork.
　　Mr. Wardle paused too, and insensibly released his hold of thecarving-knife, which remained inserted in the beef. He looked atMr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick looked at him.
　　Heavy footsteps were heard in the passage; the parlour doorwas suddenly burst open; and the man who had cleaned Mr.
　　Pickwick’s boots on his first arrival, rushed into the room,followed by the fat boy and all the domestics. ‘What the devil’s themeaning of this?’ exclaimed the host.
　　‘The kitchen chimney ain’t a-fire, is it, Emma?’ inquired the oldlady. ‘Lor, grandma! No,’ screamed both the young ladies.
　　‘What’s the matter?’ roared the master of the house.
　　The man gasped for breath, and faintly ejaculated―‘They ha’ gone, mas’r!―gone right clean off, sir!’ (At thisjuncture Mr. Tupman was observed to lay down his knife and fork,and to turn very pale.)‘Who’s gone?’ said Mr. Wardle fiercely.
　　‘Mus’r Jingle and Miss Rachael, in a po’-chay, from Blue Lion,Muggleton. I was there; but I couldn’t stop ‘em; so I run off to tell’ee.’
　　‘I paid his expenses!’ said Mr. Tupman, jumping up frantically.
　　‘He’s got ten pounds of mine!―stop him!―he’s swindled me!―Iwon’t bear it!―I’ll have justice, Pickwick!―I won’t stand it!’ andwith sundry incoherent exclamations of the like nature, theunhappy gentleman spun round and round the apartment, in atransport of frenzy.
　　‘Lord preserve us!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eyeing theextraordinary gestures of his friend with terrified surprise. ‘He’sgone mad! What shall we do?’
　　‘Do!’ said the stout old host, who regarded only the last words ofthe sentence. ‘Put the horse in the gig! I’ll get a chaise at the Lion,and follow ’em instantly. Where?’―he exclaimed, as the man ranout to execute the commission―‘where’s that villain, Joe?’
　　‘Here I am! but I hain’t a willin,’ replied a voice. It was the fatboy’s.
　　‘Let me get at him, Pickwick,’ cried Wardle, as he rushed at theill-starred youth. ‘He was bribed by that scoundrel, Jingle, to putme on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-bull story of my sisterand your friend Tupman!’ (Here Mr. Tupman sank into a chair.)‘Let me get at him!’
　　‘Don’t let him!’ screamed all the women, above whoseexclamations the blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible.
　　‘I won’t be held!’ cried the old man. ‘Mr. Winkle, take yourhands off. Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!’
　　It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil andconfusion, to behold the placid and philosophical expression ofMr. Pickwick’s face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as hestood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive waist oftheir corpulent host, thus restraining the impetuosity of hispassion, while the fat boy was scratched, and pulled, and pushedfrom the room by all the females congregated therein. He had nosooner released his hold, than the man entered to announce thatthe gig was ready.
　　‘Don’t let him go alone!’ screamed the females. ‘He’ll killsomebody!’
　　‘I’ll go with him,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘You’re a good fellow, Pickwick,’ said the host, grasping hishand. ‘Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck―make haste. Look after your grandmother, girls; she has faintedaway. Now then, are you ready?’
　　Mr. Pickwick’s mouth and chin having been hastily envelopedin a large shawl, his hat having been put on his head, and hisgreatcoat thrown over his arm, he replied in the affirmative.
　　They jumped into the gig. ‘Give her her head, Tom,’ cried thehost; and away they went, down the narrow lanes; jolting in andout of the cart-ruts, and bumping up against the hedges on eitherside, as if they would go to pieces every moment.
　　‘How much are they ahead?’ shouted Wardle, as they drove upto the door of the Blue Lion, round which a little crowd hadcollected, late as it was.
　　‘Not above three-quarters of an hour,’ was everybody’s reply.
　　‘Chaise-and-four directly!―out with ’em! Put up the gigafterwards.’
　　‘Now, boys!’ cried the landlord―‘chaise-and-four out―makehaste―look alive there!’
　　Away ran the hostlers and the boys. The lanterns glimmered, asthe men ran to and fro; the horses’ hoofs clattered on the unevenpaving of the yard; the chaise rumbled as it was drawn out of thecoach-house; and all was noise and bustle.
　　‘Now then!―is that chaise coming out to-night?’ cried Wardle.
　　‘Coming down the yard now, sir,’ replied the hostler.
　　Out came the chaise―in went the horses―on sprang the boys―in got the travellers.
　　‘Mind―the seven-mile stage in less than half an hour!’ shoutedWardle.
　　‘Off with you!’
　　The boys applied whip and spur, the waiters shouted, thehostlers cheered, and away they went, fast and furiously.
　　‘Pretty situation,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had amoment’s time for reflection. ‘Pretty situation for the generalchairman of the Pickwick Club. Damp chaise―strange horses―fifteen miles an hour―and twelve o’clock at night!’
　　For the first three or four miles, not a word was spoken byeither of the gentlemen, each being too much immersed in his ownreflections to address any observations to his companion. Whenthey had gone over that much ground, however, and the horsesgetting thoroughly warmed began to do their work in really goodstyle, Mr. Pickwick became too much exhilarated with the rapidityof the motion, to remain any longer perfectly mute.
　　‘We’re sure to catch them, I think,’ said he.
　　‘Hope so,’ replied his companion.
　　‘Fine night,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking up at the moon, whichwas shining brightly.
　　‘So much the worse,’ returned Wardle; ‘for they’ll have had allthe advantage of the moonlight to get the start of us, and we shalllose it. It will have gone down in another hour.’
　　‘It will be rather unpleasant going at this rate in the dark, won’tit?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I dare say it will,’ replied his friend dryly.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s temporary excitement began to sober down alittle, as he reflected upon the inconveniences and dangers of theexpedition in which he had so thoughtlessly embarked. He wasroused by a loud shouting of the post-boy on the leader.
　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ went the first boy.
　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ went the second.
　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ chimed in old Wardle himself, most lustily, withhis head and half his body out of the coach window.
　　‘Yo-yo-yo-yoe!’ shouted Mr. Pickwick, taking up the burden ofthe cry, though he had not the slightest notion of its meaning orobject. And amidst the yo-yoing of the whole four, the chaisestopped.
　　‘What’s the matter?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘There’s a gate here,’ replied old Wardle. ‘We shall hearsomething of the fugitives.’
　　After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knockingand shouting, an old man in his shirt and trousers emerged fromthe turnpike-house, and opened the gate.
　　‘How long is it since a post-chaise went through here?’ inquiredMr. Wardle.
　　‘How long?’
　　‘ah!’
　　‘Why, I don’t rightly know. It worn’t a long time ago, nor itworn’t a short time ago―just between the two, perhaps.’
　　‘Has any chaise been by at all?’
　　‘Oh, yes, there’s been a Shay by.’
　　‘How long ago, my friend,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick; ‘an hour?’
　　‘Ah, I dare say it might be,’ replied the man.
　　‘Or two hours?’ inquired the post-boy on the wheeler.
　　‘Well, I shouldn’t wonder if it was,’ returned the old mandoubtfully.
　　‘Drive on, boys,’ cried the testy old gentleman; ‘don’t waste anymore time with that old idiot!’
　　‘Idiot!’ exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in themiddle of the road with the gate half-closed, watching the chaisewhich rapidly diminished in the increasing distance. ‘No―notmuch o’ that either; you’ve lost ten minutes here, and gone awayas wise as you came, arter all. If every man on the line as has aguinea give him, earns it half as well, you won’t catch t’other shaythis side Mich’lmas, old short-and-fat.’ And with anotherprolonged grin, the old man closed the gate, re-entered his house,and bolted the door after him.
　　Meanwhile the chaise proceeded, without any slackening ofpace, towards the conclusion of the stage. The moon, as Wardlehad foretold, was rapidly on the wane; large tiers of dark, heavyclouds, which had been gradually overspreading the sky for sometime past, now formed one black mass overhead; and large dropsof rain which pattered every now and then against the windows ofthe chaise, seemed to warn the travellers of the rapid approach ofa stormy night. The wind, too, which was directly against them,swept in furious gusts down the narrow road, and howled dismallythrough the trees which skirted the pathway. Mr. Pickwick drewhis coat closer about him, coiled himself more snugly up into thecorner of the chaise, and fell into a sound sleep, from which hewas only awakened by the stopping of the vehicle, the sound of thehostler’s bell, and a loud cry of ‘Horses on directly!’
　　But here another delay occurred. The boys were sleeping withsuch mysterious soundness, that it took five minutes a-piece towake them. The hostler had somehow or other mislaid the key ofthe stable, and even when that was found, two sleepy helpers putthe wrong harness on the wrong horses, and the whole process ofharnessing had to be gone through afresh. Had Mr. Pickwick beenalone, these multiplied obstacles would have completely put anend to the pursuit at once, but old Wardle was not to be so easilydaunted; and he laid about him with such hearty good-will, cuffingthis man, and pushing that; strapping a buckle here, and taking ina link there, that the chaise was ready in a much shorter time thancould reasonably have been expected, under so many difficulties.
　　They resumed their journey; and certainly the prospect beforethem was by no means encouraging. The stage was fifteen mileslong, the night was dark, the wind high, and the rain pouring intorrents. It was impossible to make any great way against suchobstacles united; it was hard upon one o’clock already; and nearlytwo hours were consumed in getting to the end of the stage. Here,however, an object presented itself, which rekindled their hopes,and reanimated their drooping spirits.
　　‘When did this chaise come in?’ cried old Wardle, leaping out ofhis own vehicle, and pointing to one covered with wet mud, whichwas standing in the yard.
　　‘Not a quarter of an hour ago, sir,’ replied the hostler, to whomthe question was addressed. ‘Lady and gentleman?’ inquiredWardle, almost breathless with impatience.
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘Tall gentleman―dress-coat―long legs―thin body?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘Elderly lady―thin face―rather skinny―eh?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘By heavens, it’s the couple, Pickwick,’ exclaimed the oldgentleman.
　　‘Would have been here before,’ said the hostler, ‘but they brokea trace.’
　　‘’Tis them!’ said Wardle, ‘it is, by Jove! Chaise-and-fourinstantly! We shall catch them yet before they reach the nextstage. A guinea a-piece, boys-be alive there―bustle about―there’sgood fellows.’
　　And with such admonitions as these, the old gentleman ran upand down the yard, and bustled to and fro, in a state of excitementwhich communicated itself to Mr. Pickwick also; and under theinfluence of which, that gentleman got himself into complicatedentanglements with harness, and mixed up with horses andwheels of chaises, in the most surprising manner, firmly believingthat by so doing he was materially forwarding the preparations fortheir resuming their journey.
　　‘Jump in―jump in!’ cried old Wardle, climbing into the chaise,pulling up the steps, and slamming the door after him. ‘Comealong! Make haste!’ And before Mr. Pickwick knew precisely whathe was about, he felt himself forced in at the other door, by onepull from the old gentleman and one push from the hostler; and offthey were again.
　　‘Ah! we are moving now,’ said the old gentleman exultingly.
　　They were indeed, as was sufficiently testified to Mr. Pickwick, byhis constant collision either with the hard wood-work of thechaise, or the body of his companion.
　　‘Hold up!’ said the stout old Mr. Wardle, as Mr. Pickwick divedhead foremost into his capacious waistcoat.
　　‘I never did feel such a jolting in my life,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Never mind,’ replied his companion, ‘it will soon be over.
　　Steady, steady.’
　　Mr. Pickwick planted himself into his own corner, as firmly ashe could; and on whirled the chaise faster than ever.
　　They had travelled in this way about three miles, when Mr.
　　Wardle, who had been looking out of the Window for two or threeminutes, suddenly drew in his face, covered with splashes, andexclaimed in breathless eagerness―‘Here they are!’
　　Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out of his window. Yes: there wasa chaise-and-four, a short distance before them, dashing along atfull gallop.
　　‘Go on, go on,’ almost shrieked the old gentleman. ‘Two guineasa-piece, boys―don’t let ’em gain on us―keep it up―keep it up.’
　　The horses in the first chaise started on at their utmost speed;and those in Mr. Wardle’s galloped furiously behind them.
　　‘I see his head,’ exclaimed the choleric old man; ‘damme, I seehis head.’
　　‘So do I’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘that’s he.’ Mr. Pickwick was notmistaken. The countenance of Mr. Jingle, completely coated withmud thrown up by the wheels, was plainly discernible at thewindow of his chaise; and the motion of his arm, which waswaving violently towards the postillions, denoted that he wasencouraging them to increased exertion.
　　The interest was intense. Fields, trees, and hedges, seemed torush past them with the velocity of a whirlwind, so rapid was thepace at which they tore along. They were close by the side of thefirst chaise. Jingle’s voice could be plainly heard, even above thedin of the wheels, urging on the boys. Old Mr. Wardle foamed withrage and excitement. He roared out scoundrels and villains by thedozen, clenched his fist and shook it expressively at the object ofhis indignation; but Mr. Jingle only answered with acontemptuous smile, and replied to his menaces by a shout oftriumph, as his horses, answering the increased application ofwhip and spur, broke into a faster gallop, and left the pursuersbehind.
　　Mr. Pickwick had just drawn in his head, and Mr. Wardle,exhausted with shouting, had done the same, when a tremendousjolt threw them forward against the front of the vehicle. There wasa sudden bump―a loud crash―away rolled a wheel, and overwent the chaise.
　　After a very few seconds of bewilderment and confusion, inwhich nothing but the plunging of horses, and breaking of glasscould be made out, Mr. Pickwick felt himself violently pulled outfrom among the ruins of the chaise; and as soon as he had gainedhis feet, extricated his head from the skirts of his greatcoat, whichmaterially impeded the usefulness of his spectacles, the fulldisaster of the case met his view.
　　Old Mr. Wardle without a hat, and his clothes torn in severalplaces, stood by his side, and the fragments of the chaise layscattered at their feet. The post-boys, who had succeeded incutting the traces, were standing, disfigured with mud anddisordered by hard riding, by the horses’ heads. About a hundredyards in advance was the other chaise, which had pulled up onhearing the crash. The postillions, each with a broad grinconvulsing his countenance, were viewing the adverse party fromtheir saddles, and Mr. Jingle was contemplating the wreck fromthe coach window, with evident satisfaction. The day was justbreaking, and the whole scene was rendered perfectly visible bythe grey light of the morning.
　　‘Hollo!’ shouted the shameless Jingle, ‘anybody damaged?―elderly gentlemen―no light weights―dangerous work―very.’
　　‘You’re a rascal,’ roared Wardle.
　　‘Ha! ha!’ replied Jingle; and then he added, with a knowingwink, and a jerk of the thumb towards the interior of the chaise―‘Isay―she’s very well―desires her compliments―begs you won’ttrouble yourself―love to Tuppy―won’t you get up behind?―driveon, boys.’
　　The postillions resumed their proper attitudes, and awayrattled the chaise, Mr. Jingle fluttering in derision a whitehandkerchief from the coach window.
　　Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the upset, haddisturbed the calm and equable current of Mr. Pickwick’s temper.
　　The villainy, however, which could first borrow money of hisfaithful follower, and then abbreviate his name to ‘Tuppy,’ wasmore than he could patiently bear. He drew his breath hard, andcoloured up to the very tips of his spectacles, as he said, slowly andemphatically―‘If ever I meet that man again, I’ll―’
　　‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Wardle, ‘that’s all very well; but while westand talking here, they’ll get their licence, and be married inLondon.’
　　Mr. Pickwick paused, bottled up his vengeance, and corked itdown. ‘How far is it to the next stage?’ inquired Mr. Wardle, of oneof the boys.
　　‘Six mile, ain’t it, Tom?’
　　‘Rayther better.’
　　‘Rayther better nor six mile, sir.’
　　‘Can’t be helped,’ said Wardle, ‘we must walk it, Pickwick.’
　　‘No help for it,’ replied that truly great man.
　　So sending forward one of the boys on horseback, to procure afresh chaise and horses, and leaving the other behind to take careof the broken one, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Wardle set manfullyforward on the walk, first tying their shawls round their necks,and slouching down their hats to escape as much as possible fromthe deluge of rain, which after a slight cessation had again begunto pour heavily down.
Chapter 10
CLEARING UP ALL DOUBTS (IF ANY EXISTED)OF THE DISINTERESTEDNESS OFMr. JINGLE’S CHARACTERhere are in London several old inns, once theheadquarters of celebrated coaches in the days whencoaches performed their journeys in a graver and moresolemn manner than they do in these times; but which have nowdegenerated into little more than the abiding and booking-placesof country wagons. The reader would look in vain for any of theseancient hostelries, among the Golden Crosses and Bull andMouths, which rear their stately fronts in the improved streets ofLondon. If he would light upon any of these old places, he mustdirect his steps to the obscurer quarters of the town, and there insome secluded nooks he will find several, still standing with a kindof gloomy sturdiness, amidst the modern innovations whichsurround them.
　　In the Borough especially, there still remain some half-dozenold inns, which have preserved their external features unchanged,and which have escaped alike the rage for public improvementand the encroachments of private speculation. Great, ramblingqueer old places they are, with galleries, and passages, andstaircases, wide enough and antiquated enough to furnishmaterials for a hundred ghost stories, supposing we should ever bereduced to the lamentable necessity of inventing any, and that theworld should exist long enough to exhaust the innumerableveracious legends connected with old London Bridge, and itsadjacent neighbourhood on the Surrey side.
　　It was in the yard of one of these inns―of no less celebrated aone than the White Hart―that a man was busily employed in brushing the dirt off a pair of boots, early on the morningsucceeding the events narrated in the last chapter. He was habitedin a coarse, striped waistcoat, with black calico sleeves, and blueglass buttons; drab breeches and leggings. A bright redhandkerchief was wound in a very loose and unstudied styleround his neck, and an old white hat was carelessly thrown on oneside of his head. There were two rows of boots before him, onecleaned and the other dirty, and at every addition he made to theclean row, he paused from his work, and contemplated its resultswith evident satisfaction.
　　The yard presented none of that bustle and activity which arethe usual characteristics of a large coach inn. Three or fourlumbering wagons, each with a pile of goods beneath its amplecanopy, about the height of the second-floor window of anordinary house, were stowed away beneath a lofty roof whichextended over one end of the yard; and another, which wasprobably to commence its journey that morning, was drawn outinto the open space. A double tier of bedroom galleries, with oldClumsy balustrades, ran round two sides of the straggling area,and a double row of bells to correspond, sheltered from theweather by a little sloping roof, hung over the door leading to thebar and coffee-room. Two or three gigs and chaise-carts werewheeled up under different little sheds and pent-houses; and theoccasional heavy tread of a cart-horse, or rattling of a chain at thefarther end of the yard, announced to anybody who cared aboutthe matter, that the stable lay in that direction. When we add thata few boys in smock-frocks were lying asleep on heavy packages,wool-packs, and other articles that were scattered about on heapsof straw, we have described as fully as need be the generalappearance of the yard of the White Hart Inn, High Street,Borough, on the particular morning in question.
　　A loud ringing of one of the bells was followed by theappearance of a smart chambermaid in the upper sleeping gallery,who, after tapping at one of the doors, and receiving a requestfrom within, called over the balustrades―‘Sam!’
　　‘Hollo,’ replied the man with the white hat.
　　‘Number twenty-two wants his boots.’
　　‘Ask number twenty-two, vether he’ll have ’em now, or vait tillhe gets ’em,’ was the reply.
　　‘Come, don’t be a fool, Sam,’ said the girl coaxingly, ‘thegentleman wants his boots directly.’
　　‘Well, you are a nice young ’ooman for a musical party, you are,’
　　said the boot-cleaner. ‘Look at these here boots―eleven pair o’
　　boots; and one shoe as belongs to number six, with the woodenleg. The eleven boots is to be called at half-past eight and the shoeat nine. Who’s number twenty-two, that’s to put all the others out?
　　No, no; reg’lar rotation, as Jack Ketch said, ven he tied the menup. Sorry to keep you a-waitin’, sir, but I’ll attend to you directly.’
　　Saying which, the man in the white hat set to work upon a top-boot with increased assiduity.
　　There was another loud ring; and the bustling old landlady ofthe White Hart made her appearance in the opposite gallery.
　　‘Sam,’ cried the landlady, ‘where’s that lazy, idle―why, Sam―oh, there you are; why don’t you answer?’
　　‘Vouldn’t be gen-teel to answer, till you’d done talking,’ repliedSam gruffly.
　　‘Here, clean these shoes for number seventeen directly, andtake ’em to private sitting-room, number five, first floor.’
　　The landlady flung a pair of lady’s shoes into the yard, andbustled away.
　　‘Number five,’ said Sam, as he picked up the shoes, and takinga piece of chalk from his pocket, made a memorandum of theirdestination on the soles―‘Lady’s shoes and private sittin’-room! Isuppose she didn’t come in the vagin.’
　　‘She came in early this morning,’ cried the girl, who was stillleaning over the railing of the gallery, ‘with a gentleman in ahackney-coach, and it’s him as wants his boots, and you’d betterdo ’em, that’s all about it.’
　　‘Vy didn’t you say so before,’ said Sam, with great indignation,singling out the boots in question from the heap before him. ‘Forall I know’d he was one o’ the regular threepennies. Private room!
　　and a lady too! If he’s anything of a gen’l’m’n, he’s vurth a shillin’ aday, let alone the arrands.’ Stimulated by this inspiring reflection,Mr. Samuel brushed away with such hearty good-will, that in afew minutes the boots and shoes, with a polish which would havestruck envy to the soul of the amiable Mr. Warren (for they usedDay & Martin at the White Hart), had arrived at the door ofnumber five.
　　‘Come in,’ said a man’s voice, in reply to Sam’s rap at the door.
　　Sam made his best bow, and stepped into the presence of a ladyand gentleman seated at breakfast. Having officiously depositedthe gentleman’s boots right and left at his feet, and the lady’sshoes right and left at hers, he backed towards the door.
　　‘Boots,’ said the gentleman.
　　‘Sir,’ said Sam, closing the door, and keeping his hand on theknob of the lock. ‘Do you know―what’s a-name―Doctors’
　　Commons?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘Where is it?’
　　‘Paul’s Churchyard, sir; low archway on the carriage side,bookseller’s at one corner, hot-el on the other, and two porters inthe middle as touts for licences.’
　　‘Touts for licences!’ said the gentleman.
　　‘Touts for licences,’ replied Sam. ‘Two coves in vhite aprons―touches their hats ven you walk in―“Licence, sir, licence?” Queersort, them, and their mas’rs, too, sir―Old Bailey Proctors―and nomistake.’
　　‘What do they do?’ inquired the gentleman.
　　‘Do! You, sir! That ain’t the worst on it, neither. They putsthings into old gen’l’m’n’s heads as they never dreamed of. Myfather, sir, wos a coachman. A widower he wos, and fat enough foranything―uncommon fat, to be sure. His missus dies, and leaveshim four hundred pound. Down he goes to the Commons, to seethe lawyer and draw the blunt―very smart―top boots on―nosegay in his button-hole―broad-brimmed tile―green shawl―quite the gen’l’m’n. Goes through the archvay, thinking how heshould inwest the money―up comes the touter, touches his hat―“Licence, sir, licence?”―“What’s that?” says my father.―“Licence, sir,” says he.―“What licence?” says my father.―“Marriage licence,” says the touter.―“Dash my veskit,” says myfather, “I never thought o’ that.”―“I think you wants one, sir,”
　　says the touter. My father pulls up, and thinks a bit―“No,” sayshe, “damme, I’m too old, b’sides, I’m a many sizes too large,” sayshe.―“Not a bit on it, sir,” says the touter.―“Think not?” says myfather.―“I’m sure not,” says he; “we married a gen’l’m’n twiceyour size, last Monday.”―“Did you, though?” said my father.―“To be sure, we did,” says the touter, “you’re a babby to him―thisway, sir―this way!”―and sure enough my father walks arter him,like a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little back office, verea teller sat among dirty papers, and tin boxes, making believe hewas busy. “Pray take a seat, vile I makes out the affidavit, sir,”
　　says the lawyer.―“Thank’ee, sir,” says my father, and down hesat, and stared with all his eyes, and his mouth vide open, at thenames on the boxes. “What’s your name, sir,” says the lawyer.―“Tony Weller,” says my father.―“Parish?” says the lawyer. “BelleSavage,” says my father; for he stopped there wen he drove up,and he know’d nothing about parishes, he didn’t.―“And what’sthe lady’s name?” says the lawyer. My father was struck all of aheap. “Blessed if I know,” says he.―“Not know!” says thelawyer.―“No more nor you do,” says my father; “can’t I put that inarterwards?”―“Impossible!” says the lawyer.―“Wery well,” saysmy father, after he’d thought a moment, “put down Mrs.
　　Clarke.”―“What Clarke?” says the lawyer, dipping his pen in theink.―“Susan Clarke, Markis o’ Granby, Dorking,” says my father;“she’ll have me, if I ask. I des-say―I never said nothing to her, butshe’ll have me, I know.” The licence was made out, and she didhave him, and what’s more she’s got him now; and I never had anyof the four hundred pound, worse luck. Beg your pardon, sir,’ saidSam, when he had concluded, ‘but wen I gets on this heregrievance, I runs on like a new barrow with the wheel greased.’
　　Having said which, and having paused for an instant to seewhether he was wanted for anything more, Sam left the room.
　　‘Half-past nine―just the time―off at once;’ said the gentleman,whom we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle.
　　‘Time―for what?’ said the spinster aunt coquettishly.
　　‘Licence, dearest of angels―give notice at the church―call youmine, to-morrow’―said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinsteraunt’s hand.
　　‘The licence!’ said Rachael, blushing.
　　‘The licence,’ repeated Mr. Jingle―‘In hurry, post-haste for a licence,In hurry, ding dong I come back.’
　　‘How you run on,’ said Rachael.
　　‘Run on―nothing to the hours, days, weeks, months, years,when we’re united―run on―they’ll fly on―bolt―mizzle―steam-engine―thousand-horse power―nothing to it.’
　　‘Can’t―can’t we be married before to-morrow morning?’
　　inquired Rachael. ‘Impossible―can’t be―notice at the church―leave the licence to-day―ceremony come off to-morrow.’
　　‘I am so terrified, lest my brother should discover us!’ saidRachael.
　　‘Discover―nonsense―too much shaken by the break-down―besides―extreme caution―gave up the post-chaise―walked on―took a hackney-coach―came to the Borough―last place in theworld that he’d look in―ha! ha!―capital notion that―very.’
　　‘Don’t be long,’ said the spinster affectionately, as Mr. Jinglestuck the pinched-up hat on his head.
　　‘Long away from you?―Cruel charmer;’ and Mr. Jingle skippedplayfully up to the spinster aunt, imprinted a chaste kiss upon herlips, and danced out of the room.
　　‘Dear man!’ said the spinster, as the door closed after him.
　　‘Rum old girl,’ said Mr. Jingle, as he walked down the passage.
　　It is painful to reflect upon the perfidy of our species; and wewill not, therefore, pursue the thread of Mr. Jingle’s meditations,as he wended his way to Doctors’ Commons. It will be sufficientfor our purpose to relate, that escaping the snares of the dragonsin white aprons, who guard the entrance to that enchanted region,he reached the vicar-general’s office in safety and having procureda highly flattering address on parchment, from the Archbishop ofCanterbury, to his ‘trusty and well-beloved Alfred Jingle andRachael Wardle, greeting,’ he carefully deposited the mysticdocument in his pocket, and retraced his steps in triumph to theBorough.
　　He was yet on his way to the White Hart, when two plumpgentleman and one thin one entered the yard, and looked round insearch of some authorised person of whom they could make a fewinquiries. Mr. Samuel Weller happened to be at that momentengaged in burnishing a pair of painted tops, the personalproperty of a farmer who was refreshing himself with a slightlunch of two or three pounds of cold beef and a pot or two ofporter, after the fatigues of the Borough market; and to him thethin gentleman straightway advanced.
　　‘My friend,’ said the thin gentleman.
　　‘You’re one o’ the adwice gratis order,’ thought Sam, ‘or youwouldn’t be so wery fond o’ me all at once.’ But he only said―‘Well, sir.’
　　‘My friend,’ said the thin gentleman, with a conciliatory hem―‘have you got many people stopping here now? Pretty busy. Eh?’
　　Sam stole a look at the inquirer. He was a little high-dried man,with a dark squeezed-up face, and small, restless, black eyes, thatkept winking and twinkling on each side of his little inquisitivenose, as if they were playing a perpetual game of peep-bo with thatfeature. He was dressed all in black, with boots as shiny as hiseyes, a low white neckcloth, and a clean shirt with a frill to it. Agold watch-chain, and seals, depended from his fob. He carried hisblack kid gloves in his hands, and not on them; and as he spoke,thrust his wrists beneath his coat tails, with the air of a man whowas in the habit of propounding some regular posers.
　　‘Pretty busy, eh?’ said the little man.
　　‘Oh, wery well, sir,’ replied Sam, ‘we shan’t be bankrupts, andwe shan’t make our fort’ns. We eats our biled mutton withoutcapers, and don’t care for horse-radish ven ve can get beef.’
　　‘Ah,’ said the little man, ‘you’re a wag, ain’t you?’
　　‘My eldest brother was troubled with that complaint,’ said Sam;‘it may be catching―I used to sleep with him.’
　　‘This is a curious old house of yours,’ said the little man, lookinground him.
　　‘If you’d sent word you was a-coming, we’d ha’ had it repaired;’
　　replied the imperturbable Sam.
　　The little man seemed rather baffled by these several repulses,and a short consultation took place between him and the twoplump gentlemen. At its conclusion, the little man took a pinch ofsnuff from an oblong silver box, and was apparently on the pointof renewing the conversation, when one of the plump gentlemen,who in addition to a benevolent countenance, possessed a pair ofspectacles, and a pair of black gaiters, interfered―‘The fact of the matter is,’ said the benevolent gentleman, ‘thatmy friend here (pointing to the other plump gentleman) will giveyou half a guinea, if you’ll answer one or two―’‘Now, my dear sir―my dear sir,’ said the little man, ‘pray, allowme―my dear sir, the very first principle to be observed in thesecases, is this: if you place the matter in the hands of a professionalman, you must in no way interfere in the progress of the business;you must repose implicit confidence in him. Really, Mr.―’ Heturned to the other plump gentleman, and said, ‘I forget yourfriend’s name.’
　　‘Pickwick,’ said Mr. Wardle, for it was no other than that jollypersonage.
　　‘Ah, Pickwick―really Mr. Pickwick, my dear sir, excuse me―Ishall be happy to receive any private suggestions of yours, asamicus curiae, but you must see the impropriety of yourinterfering with my conduct in this case, with such an adcaptandum argument as the offer of half a guinea. Really, my dearsir, really;’ and the little man took an argumentative pinch ofsnuff, and looked very profound.
　　‘My only wish, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘was to bring this veryunpleasant matter to as speedy a close as possible.’
　　‘Quite right―quite right,’ said the little man.
　　‘With which view,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, ‘I made use of theargument which my experience of men has taught me is the mostlikely to succeed in any case.’
　　‘Ay, ay,’ said the little man, ‘very good, very good, indeed; butyou should have suggested it to me. My dear sir, I’m quite certainyou cannot be ignorant of the extent of confidence which must beplaced in professional men. If any authority can be necessary onsuch a point, my dear sir, let me refer you to the well-known casein Barnwell and―’
　　‘Never mind George Barnwell,’ interrupted Sam, who hadremained a wondering listener during this short colloquy;‘everybody knows what sort of a case his was, tho’ it’s always beenmy opinion, mind you, that the young ’ooman deserved scragginga precious sight more than he did. Hows’ever, that’s neither herenor there. You want me to accept of half a guinea. Wery well, I’magreeable: I can’t say no fairer than that, can I, sir?’ (Mr. Pickwicksmiled.) Then the next question is, what the devil do you wantwith me, as the man said, wen he see the ghost?’
　　‘We want to know―’ said Mr. Wardle.
　　‘Now, my dear sir―my dear sir,’ interposed the busy little man.
　　Mr. Wardle shrugged his shoulders, and was silent.
　　‘We want to know,’ said the little man solemnly; ‘and we ask thequestion of you, in order that we may not awaken apprehensionsinside―we want to know who you’ve got in this house at present?’
　　‘Who there is in the house!’ said Sam, in whose mind theinmates were always represented by that particular article of theircostume, which came under his immediate superintendence.
　　‘There’s a vooden leg in number six; there’s a pair of Hessians inthirteen; there’s two pair of halves in the commercial; there’s thesehere painted tops in the snuggery inside the bar; and five moretops in the coffee-room.’
　　‘Nothing more?’ said the little man.
　　‘Stop a bit,’ replied Sam, suddenly recollecting himself. ‘Yes;there’s a pair of Vellingtons a good deal worn, and a pair o’ lady’sshoes, in number five.’
　　‘What sort of shoes?’ hastily inquired Wardle, who, togetherwith Mr. Pickwick, had been lost in bewilderment at the singularcatalogue of visitors.
　　‘Country make,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Any maker’s name?’
　　‘Brown.’
　　‘Where of?’
　　‘Muggleton.
　　‘It is them,’ exclaimed Wardle. ‘By heavens, we’ve found them.’
　　‘Hush!’ said Sam. ‘The Vellingtons has gone to Doctors’
　　Commons.’
　　‘No,’ said the little man.
　　‘Yes, for a licence.’
　　‘We’re in time,’ exclaimed Wardle. ‘Show us the room; not amoment is to be lost.’
　　‘Pray, my dear sir―pray,’ said the little man; ‘caution, caution.’
　　He drew from his pocket a red silk purse, and looked very hard atSam as he drew out a sovereign.
　　Sam grinned expressively.
　　‘Show us into the room at once, without announcing us,’ saidthe little man, ‘and it’s yours.’
　　Sam threw the painted tops into a corner, and led the waythrough a dark passage, and up a wide staircase. He paused at theend of a second passage, and held out his hand.
　　‘Here it is,’ whispered the attorney, as he deposited the moneyon the hand of their guide.
　　The man stepped forward for a few paces, followed by the twofriends and their legal adviser. He stopped at a door.
　　‘Is this the room?’ murmured the little gentleman.
　　Sam nodded assent.
　　Old Wardle opened the door; and the whole three walked intothe room just as Mr. Jingle, who had that moment returned, hadproduced the licence to the spinster aunt.
　　The spinster uttered a loud shriek, and throwing herself into achair, covered her face with her hands. Mr. Jingle crumpled upthe licence, and thrust it into his coat pocket. The unwelcomevisitors advanced into the middle of the room. ‘You―you are anice rascal, arn’t you?’ exclaimed Wardle, breathless with passion.
　　‘My dear sir, my dear sir,’ said the little man, laying his hat onthe table, ‘pray, consider―pray. Defamation of character: actionfor damages. Calm yourself, my dear sir, pray―’
　　‘How dare you drag my sister from my house?’ said the oldman.
　　Ay―ay―very good,’ said the little gentleman, ‘you may askthat. How dare you, sir?―eh, sir?’
　　‘Who the devil are you?’ inquired Mr. Jingle, in so fierce a tone,that the little gentleman involuntarily fell back a step or two.
　　‘Who is he, you scoundrel,’ interposed Wardle. ‘He’s my lawyer,Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn. Perker, I’ll have this fellowprosecuted―indicted―I’ll―I’ll―I’ll ruin him. And you,’ continuedMr. Wardle, turning abruptly round to his sister―‘you, Rachael, ata time of life when you ought to know better, what do you mean byrunning away with a vagabond, disgracing your family, andmaking yourself miserable? Get on your bonnet and come back.
　　Call a hackney-coach there, directly, and bring this lady’s bill, d’yehear―d’ye hear?’
　　‘Cert’nly, sir,’ replied Sam, who had answered Wardle’s violentringing of the bell with a degree of celerity which must haveappeared marvellous to anybody who didn’t know that his eye had been applied to the outside of the keyhole during the wholeinterview.
　　‘Get on your bonnet,’ repeated Wardle.
　　‘Do nothing of the kind,’ said Jingle. ‘Leave the room, sir―nobusiness here―lady’s free to act as she pleases―more than one-and-twenty.’
　　‘More than one-and-twenty!’ ejaculated Wardlecontemptuously. ‘More than one-and-forty!’
　　‘I ain’t,’ said the spinster aunt, her indignation getting thebetter of her determination to faint.
　　‘You are,’ replied Wardle; ‘you’re fifty if you’re an hour.’
　　Here the spinster aunt uttered a loud shriek, and becamesenseless.
　　‘A glass of water,’ said the humane Mr. Pickwick, summoningthe landlady.
　　‘A glass of water!’ said the passionate Wardle. ‘Bring a bucket,and throw it all over her; it’ll do her good, and she richly deservesit.’
　　‘Ugh, you brute!’ ejaculated the kind-hearted landlady. ‘Poordear.’ And with sundry ejaculations of ‘Come now, there’s a dear―drink a little of this―it’ll do you good―don’t give way so―there’sa love,’ etc. etc., the landlady, assisted by a chambermaid,proceeded to vinegar the forehead, beat the hands, titillate thenose, and unlace the stays of the spinster aunt, and to administersuch other restoratives as are usually applied by compassionatefemales to ladies who are endeavouring to ferment themselves intohysterics.
　　‘Coach is ready, sir,’ said Sam, appearing at the door.
　　‘Come along,’ cried Wardle. ‘I’ll carry her downstairs.’
　　At this proposition, the hysterics came on with redoubledviolence. The landlady was about to enter a very violent protestagainst this proceeding, and had already given vent to anindignant inquiry whether Mr. Wardle considered himself a lord ofthe creation, when Mr. Jingle interposed―‘Boots,’ said he, ‘get me an officer.’
　　‘Stay, stay,’ said little Mr. Perker. ‘Consider, sir, consider.’
　　‘I’ll not consider,’ replied Jingle. ‘She’s her own mistress―seewho dares to take her away―unless she wishes it.’
　　‘I won’t be taken away,’ murmured the spinster aunt. ‘I don’twish it.’ (Here there was a frightful relapse.)‘My dear sir,’ said the little man, in a low tone, taking Mr.
　　Wardle and Mr. Pickwick apart―‘my dear sir, we’re in a veryawkward situation. It’s a distressing case―very; I never knew onemore so; but really, my dear sir, really we have no power to controlthis lady’s actions. I warned you before we came, my dear sir, thatthere was nothing to look to but a compromise.’
　　There was a short pause.
　　‘What kind of compromise would you recommend?’ inquiredMr. Pickwick.
　　‘Why, my dear sir, our friend’s in an unpleasant position―verymuch so. We must be content to suffer some pecuniary loss.’
　　‘I’ll suffer any, rather than submit to this disgrace, and let her,fool as she is, be made miserable for life,’ said Wardle.
　　‘I rather think it can be done,’ said the bustling little man. ‘Mr.
　　Jingle, will you step with us into the next room for a moment?’
　　Mr. Jingle assented, and the quartette walked into an emptyapartment.
　　‘Now, sir,’ said the little man, as he carefully closed the door, ‘isthere no way of accommodating this matter―step this way, sir, fora moment―into this window, sir, where we can be alone―there,sir, there, pray sit down, sir. Now, my dear sir, between you and I,we know very well, my dear sir, that you have run off with thislady for the sake of her money. Don’t frown, sir, don’t frown; I say,between you and I, WE know it. We are both men of the world,and WE know very well that our friends here, are not―eh?’
　　Mr. Jingle’s face gradually relaxed; and something distantlyresembling a wink quivered for an instant in his left eye.
　　‘Very good, very good,’ said the little man, observing theimpression he had made. ‘Now, the fact is, that beyond a fewhundreds, the lady has little or nothing till the death of hermother―fine old lady, my dear sir.’
　　‘Old,’ said Mr. Jingle briefly but emphatically.
　　‘Why, yes,’ said the attorney, with a slight cough. ‘You are right,my dear sir, she is rather old. She comes of an old family though,my dear sir; old in every sense of the word. The founder of thatfamily came into Kent when Julius Caesar invaded Britain;―onlyone member of it, since, who hasn’t lived to eighty-five, and he wasbeheaded by one of the Henrys. The old lady is not seventy-threenow, my dear sir.’ The little man paused, and took a pinch of snuff.
　　‘Well,’ cried Mr. Jingle.
　　‘Well, my dear sir―you don’t take snuff!―ah! so much thebetter―expensive habit―well, my dear sir, you’re a fine youngman, man of the world―able to push your fortune, if you hadcapital, eh?’
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Jingle again.
　　‘Do you comprehend me?’
　　‘Not quite.’
　　‘Don’t you think―now, my dear sir, I put it to you don’t youthink―that fifty pounds and liberty would be better than MissWardle and expectation?’
　　‘Won’t do―not half enough!’ said Mr. Jingle, rising.
　　‘Nay, nay, my dear sir,’ remonstrated the little attorney, seizinghim by the button. ‘Good round sum―a man like you could trebleit in no time―great deal to be done with fifty pounds, my dear sir.’
　　‘More to be done with a hundred and fifty,’ replied Mr. Jinglecoolly.
　　‘Well, my dear sir, we won’t waste time in splitting straws,’
　　resumed the little man, ‘say―say―seventy.’
　　‘Won’t do,’ said Mr. Jingle.
　　‘Don’t go away, my dear sir―pray don’t hurry,’ said the littleman. ‘Eighty; come: I’ll write you a cheque at once.’
　　‘Won’t do,’ said Mr. Jingle.
　　‘Well, my dear sir, well,’ said the little man, still detaining him;‘just tell me what will do.’
　　‘Expensive affair,’ said Mr. Jingle. ‘Money out of pocket―posting, nine pounds; licence, three―that’s twelve―compensation, a hundred―hundred and twelve―breach ofhonour―and loss of the lady―’
　　‘Yes, my dear sir, yes,’ said the little man, with a knowing look,‘never mind the last two items. That’s a hundred and twelve―saya hundred―come.’
　　‘And twenty,’ said Mr. Jingle.
　　‘Come, come, I’ll write you a cheque,’ said the little man; anddown he sat at the table for that purpose.
　　‘I’ll make it payable the day after to-morrow,’ said the littleman, with a look towards Mr. Wardle; ‘and we can get the lady away, meanwhile.’ Mr. Wardle sullenly nodded assent.
　　‘A hundred,’ said the little man.
　　‘And twenty,’ said Mr. Jingle.
　　‘My dear sir,’ remonstrated the little man.
　　‘Give it him,’ interposed Mr. Wardle, ‘and let him go.’
　　The cheque was written by the little gentleman, and pocketedby Mr. Jingle.
　　‘Now, leave this house instantly!’ said Wardle, starting up.
　　‘My dear sir,’ urged the little man.
　　‘And mind,’ said Mr. Wardle, ‘that nothing should have inducedme to make this compromise―not even a regard for my family―ifI had not known that the moment you got any money in thatpocket of yours, you’d go to the devil faster, if possible, than youwould without it―’
　　‘My dear sir,’ urged the little man again.
　　‘Be quiet, Perker,’ resumed Wardle. ‘Leave the room, sir.’
　　‘Off directly,’ said the unabashed Jingle. ‘Bye bye, Pickwick.’
　　If any dispassionate spectator could have beheld thecountenance of the illustrious man, whose name forms the leadingfeature of the title of this work, during the latter part of thisconversation, he would have been almost induced to wonder thatthe indignant fire which flashed from his eyes did not melt theglasses of his spectacles―so majestic was his wrath. His nostrilsdilated, and his fists clenched involuntarily, as he heard himselfaddressed by the villain. But he restrained himself again―he didnot pulverise him.
　　‘Here,’ continued the hardened traitor, tossing the licence atMr. Pickwick’s feet; ‘get the name altered―take home the lady―do for Tuppy.’
　　Mr. Pickwick was a philosopher, but philosophers are only menin armour, after all. The shaft had reached him, penetratedthrough his philosophical harness, to his very heart. In the frenzyof his rage, he hurled the inkstand madly forward, and followed itup himself. But Mr. Jingle had disappeared, and he found himselfcaught in the arms of Sam.
　　‘Hollo,’ said that eccentric functionary, ‘furniter’s cheap whereyou come from, sir. Self-acting ink, that ’ere; it’s wrote your markupon the wall, old gen’l’m’n. Hold still, sir; wot’s the use o’ runnin’
　　arter a man as has made his lucky, and got to t’other end of theBorough by this time?’
　　Mr. Pickwick’s mind, like those of all truly great men, was opento conviction. He was a quick and powerful reasoner; and amoment’s reflection sufficed to remind him of the impotency of hisrage. It subsided as quickly as it had been roused. He panted forbreath, and looked benignantly round upon his friends.
　　Shall we tell the lamentations that ensued when Miss Wardlefound herself deserted by the faithless Jingle? Shall we extract Mr.
　　Pickwick’s masterly description of that heartrending scene? Hisnote-book, blotted with the tears of sympathising humanity, liesopen before us; one word, and it is in the printer’s hands. But, no!
　　we will be resolute! We will not wring the public bosom, with thedelineation of such suffering!
　　Slowly and sadly did the two friends and the deserted ladyreturn next day in the Muggleton heavy coach. Dimly and darklyhad the sombre shadows of a summer’s night fallen upon allaround, when they again reached Dingley Dell, and stood withinthe entrance to Manor Farm.
Chapter 11 
INVOLVING ANOTHER JOURNEY, AND ANANTIQUARIAN DISCOVERY; RECORDING Mr.PICKWICK’S DETERMINATION TO BEPRESENT AT AN ELECTION; ANDCONTAINING A MANUSCRIPT OF THE OLDCLERGYMAN’Snight of quiet and repose in the profound silence ofDingley Dell, and an hour’s breathing of its fresh andfragrant air on the ensuing morning, completelyrecovered Mr. Pickwick from the effects of his late fatigue of bodyand anxiety of mind. That illustrious man had been separatedfrom his friends and followers for two whole days; and it was witha degree of pleasure and delight, which no common imaginationcan adequately conceive, that he stepped forward to greet Mr.
　　Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass, as he encountered those gentlemen onhis return from his early walk. The pleasure was mutual; for whocould ever gaze on Mr. Pickwick’s beaming face withoutexperiencing the sensation? But still a cloud seemed to hang overhis companions which that great man could not but be sensible of,and was wholly at a loss to account for. There was a mysterious airabout them both, as unusual as it was alarming.
　　‘And how,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when he had grasped hisfollowers by the hand, and exchanged warm salutations ofwelcome―‘how is Tupman?’
　　A Mr. Winkle, to whom the question was more peculiarlyaddressed, made no reply. He turned away his head, and appearedabsorbed in melancholy reflection.
　　‘Snodgrass,’ said Mr. Pickwick earnestly, ‘how is our friend―heis not ill?’
　　‘No,’ replied Mr. Snodgrass; and a tear trembled on hissentimental eyelid, like a rain-drop on a window-frame-’no; he isnot ill.’
　　Mr. Pickwick stopped, and gazed on each of his friends in turn.
　　‘Winkle―Snodgrass,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘what does this mean?
　　Where is our friend? What has happened? Speak―I conjure, Ientreat―nay, I command you, speak.’
　　There was a solemnity―a dignity―in Mr. Pickwick’s manner,not to be withstood.
　　‘He is gone,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Gone!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. ‘Gone!’
　　‘Gone,’ repeated Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Where!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘We can only guess, from that communication,’ replied Mr.
　　Snodgrass, taking a letter from his pocket, and placing it in hisfriend’s hand. ‘Yesterday morning, when a letter was receivedfrom Mr. Wardle, stating that you would be home with his sister atnight, the melancholy which had hung over our friend during thewhole of the previous day, was observed to increase. He shortlyafterwards disappeared: he was missing during the whole day, andin the evening this letter was brought by the hostler from theCrown, at Muggleton. It had been left in his charge in themorning, with a strict injunction that it should not be delivereduntil night.’
　　Mr. Pickwick opened the epistle. It was in his friend’s hand-writing, and these were its contents:―‘My Dear Pickwick,You, my dear friend, are placed far beyond the reach of manymortal frailties and weaknesses which ordinary people cannotovercome. You do not know what it is, at one blow, to be desertedby a lovely and fascinating creature, and to fall a victim to theartifices of a villain, who had the grin of cunning beneath the maskof friendship. I hope you never may.
　　‘Any letter addressed to me at the Leather Bottle, Cobham,Kent, will be forwarded―supposing I still exist. I hasten from thesight of that world, which has become odious to me. Should Ihasten from it altogether, pity―forgive me. Life, my dearPickwick, has become insupportable to me. The spirit which burnswithin us, is a porter’s knot, on which to rest the heavy load ofworldly cares and troubles; and when that spirit fails us, theburden is too heavy to be borne. We sink beneath it. You may tellRachael―Ah, that name!―‘TRACY TUPMAN.’
　　‘We must leave this place directly,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as herefolded the note. ‘It would not have been decent for us to remainhere, under any circumstances, after what has happened; and nowwe are bound to follow in search of our friend.’ And so saying, heled the way to the house.
　　His intention was rapidly communicated. The entreaties toremain were pressing, but Mr. Pickwick was inflexible. Business,he said, required his immediate attendance.
　　The old clergyman was present.
　　‘You are not really going?’ said he, taking Mr. Pickwick aside.
　　Mr. Pickwick reiterated his former determination.
　　‘Then here,’ said the old gentleman, ‘is a little manuscript,which I had hoped to have the pleasure of reading to you myself. Ifound it on the death of a friend of mine―a medical man, engagedin our county lunatic asylum―among a variety of papers, which Ihad the option of destroying or preserving, as I thought proper. Ican hardly believe that the manuscript is genuine, though itcertainly is not in my friend’s hand. However, whether it be thegenuine production of a maniac, or founded upon the ravings ofsome unhappy being (which I think more probable), read it, andjudge for yourself.’
　　Mr. Pickwick received the manuscript, and parted from thebenevolent old gentleman with many expressions of good-will andesteem.
　　It was a more difficult task to take leave of the inmates ofManor Farm, from whom they had received so much hospitalityand kindness. Mr. Pickwick kissed the young ladies―we weregoing to say, as if they were his own daughters, only, as he mightpossibly have infused a little more warmth into the salutation, thecomparison would not be quite appropriate―hugged the old ladywith filial cordiality; and patted the rosy cheeks of the femaleservants in a most patriarchal manner, as he slipped into thehands of each some more substantial expression of his approval.
　　The exchange of cordialities with their fine old host and Mr.
　　Trundle was even more hearty and prolonged; and it was not untilMr. Snodgrass had been several times called for, and at lastemerged from a dark passage followed soon after by Emily (whosebright eyes looked unusually dim), that the three friends wereenabled to tear themselves from their friendly entertainers. Manya backward look they gave at the farm, as they walked slowlyaway; and many a kiss did Mr. Snodgrass waft in the air, inacknowledgment of something very like a lady’s handkerchief,which was waved from one of the upper windows, until a turn ofthe lane hid the old house from their sight.
　　At Muggleton they procured a conveyance to Rochester. By thetime they reached the last-named place, the violence of their griefhad sufficiently abated to admit of their making a very excellentearly dinner; and having procured the necessary informationrelative to the road, the three friends set forward again in theafternoon to walk to Cobham. A delightful walk it was; for it was a pleasant afternoon in June,and their way lay through a deep and shady wood, cooled by thelight wind which gently rustled the thick foliage, and enlivened bythe songs of the birds that perched upon the boughs. The ivy andthe moss crept in thick clusters over the old trees, and the softgreen turf overspread the ground like a silken mat. They emergedupon an open park, with an ancient hall, displaying the quaint andpicturesque architecture of Elizabeth’s time. Long vistas of statelyoaks and elm trees appeared on every side; large herds of deerwere cropping the fresh grass; and occasionally a startled harescoured along the ground, with the speed of the shadows thrownby the light clouds which swept across a sunny landscape like apassing breath of summer.
　　‘If this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him―‘if this were theplace to which all who are troubled with our friend’s complaintcame, I fancy their old attachment to this world would very soonreturn.’
　　‘I think so too,’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘And really,’ added Mr. Pickwick, after half an hour’s walkinghad brought them to the village, ‘really, for a misanthrope’schoice, this is one of the prettiest and most desirable places ofresidence I ever met with.’
　　In this opinion also, both Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrassexpressed their concurrence; and having been directed to theLeather Bottle, a clean and commodious village ale-house, thethree travellers entered, and at once inquired for a gentleman ofthe name of Tupman.
　　‘Show the gentlemen into the parlour, Tom,’ said the landlady.
　　A stout country lad opened a door at the end of the passage,and the three friends entered a long, low-roofed room, furnishedwith a large number of high-backed leather-cushioned chairs, offantastic shapes, and embellished with a great variety of oldportraits and roughly-coloured prints of some antiquity. At theupper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it, wellcovered with a roast fowl, bacon, ale, and et ceteras; and at thetable sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had taken hisleave of the world, as possible.
　　On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down hisknife and fork, and with a mournful air advanced to meet them.
　　‘I did not expect to see you here,’ he said, as he grasped Mr.
　　Pickwick’s hand. ‘It’s very kind.’
　　‘Ah!’ said Mr. Pickwick, sitting down, and wiping from hisforehead the perspiration which the walk had engendered. ‘Finishyour dinner, and walk out with me. I wish to speak to you alone.’
　　Mr. Tupman did as he was desired; and Mr. Pickwick havingrefreshed himself with a copious draught of ale, waited his friend’sleisure. The dinner was quickly despatched, and they walked outtogether.
　　For half an hour, their forms might have been seen pacing thechurchyard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged incombating his companion’s resolution. Any repetition of hisarguments would be useless; for what language could convey tothem that energy and force which their great originator’s mannercommunicated? Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired ofretirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist the eloquentappeal which was made to him, matters not, he did not resist it atlast.
　　‘It mattered little to him,’ he said, ‘where he dragged out themiserable remainder of his days; and since his friend laid so muchstress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to share hisadventures.’
　　Mr. Pickwick smiled; they shook hands, and walked back torejoin their companions.
　　It was at this moment that Mr. Pickwick made that immortaldiscovery, which has been the pride and boast of his friends, andthe envy of every antiquarian in this or any other country. Theyhad passed the door of their inn, and walked a little way down thevillage, before they recollected the precise spot in which it stood.
　　As they turned back, Mr. Pickwick’s eye fell upon a small brokenstone, partially buried in the ground, in front of a cottage door. Hepaused.
　　‘This is very strange,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘What is strange?’ inquired Mr. Tupman, staring eagerly atevery object near him, but the right one. ‘God bless me, what’s thematter?’
　　This last was an ejaculation of irrepressible astonishment,occasioned by seeing Mr. Pickwick, in his enthusiasm fordiscovery, fall on his knees before the little stone, and commencewiping the dust off it with his pocket-handkerchief.
　　‘There is an inscription here,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Is it possible?’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘I can discern,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, rubbing away with allhis might, and gazing intently through his spectacles―‘I candiscern a cross, and a 13, and then a T. This is important,’
　　continued Mr. Pickwick, starting up. ‘This is some very oldinscription, existing perhaps long before the ancient alms-housesin this place. It must not be lost.’
　　He tapped at the cottage door. A labouring man opened it.
　　‘Do you know how this stone came here, my friend?’ inquiredthe benevolent Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No, I doan’t, sir,’ replied the man civilly. ‘It was here long aforeI was born, or any on us.’
　　Mr. Pickwick glanced triumphantly at his companion.
　　‘You―you―are not particularly attached to it, I dare say,’ saidMr. Pickwick, trembling with anxiety. ‘You wouldn’t mind sellingit, now?’
　　‘Ah! but who’d buy it?’ inquired the man, with an expression offace which he probably meant to be very cunning.
　　‘I’ll give you ten shillings for it, at once,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘ifyou would take it up for me.’
　　The astonishment of the village may be easily imagined, when(the little stone having been raised with one wrench of a spade)Mr. Pickwick, by dint of great personal exertion, bore it with hisown hands to the inn, and after having carefully washed it,deposited it on the table.
　　The exultation and joy of the Pickwickians knew no bounds,when their patience and assiduity, their washing and scraping,were crowned with success. The stone was uneven and broken,and the letters were straggling and irregular, but the followingfragment of an inscription was clearly to be deciphered:―Mr. Pickwick’s eyes sparkled with delight, as he sat and gloatedover the treasure he had discovered. He had attained one of thegreatest objects of his ambition. In a county known to abound inthe remains of the early ages; in a village in which there stillexisted some memorials of the olden time, he―he, the chairman ofthe Pickwick Club―had discovered a strange and curiousinscription of unquestionable antiquity, which had wholly escapedthe observation of the many learned men who had preceded him.
　　He could hardly trust the evidence of his senses.
　　‘This―this,’ said he, ‘determines me. We return to town to-morrow.’
　　‘To-morrow!’ exclaimed his admiring followers.
　　‘To-morrow,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘This treasure must be at oncedeposited where it can be thoroughly investigated and properlyunderstood. I have another reason for this step. In a few days, anelection is to take place for the borough of Eatanswill, at which Mr.
　　Perker, a gentleman whom I lately met, is the agent of one of thecandidates. We will behold, and minutely examine, a scene sointeresting to every Englishman.’
　　‘We will,’ was the animated cry of three voices.
　　Mr. Pickwick looked round him. The attachment and fervour ofhis followers lighted up a glow of enthusiasm within him. He wastheir leader, and he felt it.
　　‘Let us celebrate this happy meeting with a convivial glass,’ saidhe. This proposition, like the other, was received with unanimousapplause. Having himself deposited the important stone in a smalldeal box, purchased from the landlady for the purpose, he placedhimself in an arm-chair, at the head of the table; and the eveningwas devoted to festivity and conversation.
　　It was past eleven o’clock―a late hour for the little village ofCobham―when Mr. Pickwick retired to the bedroom which hadbeen prepared for his reception. He threw open the latticewindow, and setting his light upon the table, fell into a train ofmeditation on the hurried events of the two preceding days.
　　The hour and the place were both favourable to contemplation;Mr. Pickwick was roused by the church clock striking twelve. Thefirst stroke of the hour sounded solemnly in his ear, but when thebell ceased the stillness seemed insupportable―he almost felt as ifhe had lost a companion. He was nervous and excited; and hastilyundressing himself and placing his light in the chimney, got intobed.
　　Every one has experienced that disagreeable state of mind, inwhich a sensation of bodily weariness in vain contends against aninability to sleep. It was Mr. Pickwick’s condition at this moment:
　　he tossed first on one side and then on the other; andperseveringly closed his eyes as if to coax himself to slumber. Itwas of no use. Whether it was the unwonted exertion he hadundergone, or the heat, or the brandy-and-water, or the strangebed―whatever it was, his thoughts kept reverting veryuncomfortably to the grim pictures downstairs, and the old storiesto which they had given rise in the course of the evening. Afterhalf an hour’s tumbling about, he came to the unsatisfactoryconclusion, that it was of no use trying to sleep; so he got up andpartially dressed himself. Anything, he thought, was better thanlying there fancying all kinds of horrors. He looked out of thewindow―it was very dark. He walked about the room―it was verylonely.
　　He had taken a few turns from the door to the window, andfrom the window to the door, when the clergyman’s manuscriptfor the first time entered his head. It was a good thought. if it failedto interest him, it might send him to sleep. He took it from his coatpocket, and drawing a small table towards his bedside, trimmedthe light, put on his spectacles, and composed himself to read. Itwas a strange handwriting, and the paper was much soiled andblotted. The title gave him a sudden start, too; and he could notavoid casting a wistful glance round the room. Reflecting on theabsurdity of giving way to such feelings, however, he trimmed thelight again, and read as follows:―‘Yes!―a madman’s! How that word would have struck to myheart, many years ago! How it would have roused the terror thatused to come upon me sometimes, sending the blood hissing andtingling through my veins, till the cold dew of fear stood in largedrops upon my skin, and my knees knocked together with fright! Ilike it now though. It’s a fine name. Show me the monarch whoseangry frown was ever feared like the glare of a madman’s eye―whose cord and axe were ever half so sure as a madman’s gripe.
　　Ho! ho! It’s a grand thing to be mad! to be peeped at like a wildlion through the iron bars―to gnash one’s teeth and howl, throughthe long still night, to the merry ring of a heavy chain and to rolland twine among the straw, transported with such brave music.
　　Hurrah for the madhouse! Oh, it’s a rare place!
　　‘I remember days when I was afraid of being mad; when I usedto start from my sleep, and fall upon my knees, and pray to bespared from the curse of my race; when I rushed from the sight ofmerriment or happiness, to hide myself in some lonely place, andspend the weary hours in watching the progress of the fever thatwas to consume my brain. I knew that madness was mixed up withmy very blood, and the marrow of my bones! that one generationhad passed away without the pestilence appearing among them,and that I was the first in whom it would revive. I knew it must beso: that so it always had been, and so it ever would be: and when Icowered in some obscure corner of a crowded room, and saw menwhisper, and point, and turn their eyes towards me, I knew theywere telling each other of the doomed madman; and I slunk awayagain to mope in solitude.
　　‘I did this for years; long, long years they were. The nights hereare long sometimes―very long; but they are nothing to therestless nights, and dreadful dreams I had at that time. It makesme cold to remember them. Large dusky forms with sly andjeering faces crouched in the corners of the room, and bent overmy bed at night, tempting me to madness. They told me in lowwhispers, that the floor of the old house in which my father died,was stained with his own blood, shed by his own hand in ragingmadness. I drove my fingers into my ears, but they screamed intomy head till the room rang with it, that in one generation beforehim the madness slumbered, but that his grandfather had lived foryears with his hands fettered to the ground, to prevent his tearinghimself to pieces. I knew they told the truth―I knew it well. I hadfound it out years before, though they had tried to keep it from me.
　　Ha! ha! I was too cunning for them, madman as they thought me.
　　‘At last it came upon me, and I wondered how I could ever havefeared it. I could go into the world now, and laugh and shout withthe best among them. I knew I was mad, but they did not evensuspect it. How I used to hug myself with delight, when I thoughtof the fine trick I was playing them after their old pointing andleering, when I was not mad, but only dreading that I might oneday become so! And how I used to laugh for joy, when I was alone,and thought how well I kept my secret, and how quickly my kindfriends would have fallen from me, if they had known the truth. Icould have screamed with ecstasy when I dined alone with somefine roaring fellow, to think how pale he would have turned, andhow fast he would have run, if he had known that the dear friendwho sat close to him, sharpening a bright, glittering knife, was amadman with all the power, and half the will, to plunge it in hisheart. Oh, it was a merry life!
　　‘Riches became mine, wealth poured in upon me, and I riotedin pleasures enhanced a thousandfold to me by the consciousnessof my well-kept secret. I inherited an estate. The law―the eagle-eyed law itself―had been deceived, and had handed over disputedthousands to a madman’s hands. Where was the wit of the sharp-sighted men of sound mind? Where the dexterity of the lawyers,eager to discover a flaw? The madman’s cunning had overreachedthem all.
　　‘I had money. How I was courted! I spent it profusely. How Iwas praised! How those three proud, overbearing brothershumbled themselves before me! The old, white-headed father,too―such deference―such respect―such devoted friendship―heworshipped me! The old man had a daughter, and the young mena sister; and all the five were poor. I was rich; and when I marriedthe girl, I saw a smile of triumph play upon the faces of her needyrelatives, as they thought of their well-planned scheme, and theirfine prize. It was for me to smile. To smile! To laugh outright, andtear my hair, and roll upon the ground with shrieks of merriment.
　　They little thought they had married her to a madman.
　　‘Stay. If they had known it, would they have saved her? Asister’s happiness against her husband’s gold. The lightest featherI blow into the air, against the gay chain that ornaments my body!
　　‘In one thing I was deceived with all my cunning. If I had notbeen mad―for though we madmen are sharp-witted enough, weget bewildered sometimes―I should have known that the girlwould rather have been placed, stiff and cold in a dull leadencoffin, than borne an envied bride to my rich, glittering house. Ishould have known that her heart was with the dark-eyed boywhose name I once heard her breathe in her troubled sleep; andthat she had been sacrificed to me, to relieve the poverty of theold, white-headed man and the haughty brothers.
　　‘I don’t remember forms or faces now, but I know the girl wasbeautiful. I know she was; for in the bright moonlight nights, whenI start up from my sleep, and all is quiet about me, I see, standingstill and motionless in one corner of this cell, a slight and wastedfigure with long black hair, which, streaming down her back, stirswith no earthly wind, and eyes that fix their gaze on me, and neverwink or close. Hush! the blood chills at my heart as I write itdown―that form is hers; the face is very pale, and the eyes areglassy bright; but I know them well. That figure never moves; itnever frowns and mouths as others do, that fill this placesometimes; but it is much more dreadful to me, even than thespirits that tempted me many years ago―it comes fresh from thegrave; and is so very death-like.
　　‘For nearly a year I saw that face grow paler; for nearly a year Isaw the tears steal down the mournful cheeks, and never knew thecause. I found it out at last though. They could not keep it from melong. She had never liked me; I had never thought she did: shedespised my wealth, and hated the splendour in which she lived;but I had not expected that. She loved another. This I had neverthought of. Strange feelings came over me, and thoughts, forcedupon me by some secret power, whirled round and round mybrain. I did not hate her, though I hated the boy she still wept for. Ipitied―yes, I pitied―the wretched life to which her cold andselfish relations had doomed her. I knew that she could not livelong; but the thought that before her death she might give birth tosome ill-fated being, destined to hand down madness to itsoffspring, determined me. I resolved to kill her.
　　‘For many weeks I thought of poison, and then of drowning,and then of fire. A fine sight, the grand house in flames, and themadman’s wife smouldering away to cinders. Think of the jest of alarge reward, too, and of some sane man swinging in the wind fora deed he never did, and all through a madman’s cunning! Ithought often of this, but I gave it up at last. Oh! the pleasure ofstropping the razor day after day, feeling the sharp edge, andthinking of the gash one stroke of its thin, bright edge wouldmake!
　　‘At last the old spirits who had been with me so often beforewhispered in my ear that the time was come, and thrust the openrazor into my hand. I grasped it firmly, rose softly from the bed,and leaned over my sleeping wife. Her face was buried in herhands. I withdrew them softly, and they fell listlessly on herbosom. She had been weeping; for the traces of the tears were stillwet upon her cheek. Her face was calm and placid; and even as Ilooked upon it, a tranquil smile lighted up her pale features. I laidmy hand softly on her shoulder. She started―it was only a passingdream. I leaned forward again. She screamed, and woke.
　　‘One motion of my hand, and she would never again haveuttered cry or sound. But I was startled, and drew back. Her eyeswere fixed on mine. I knew not how it was, but they cowed andfrightened me; and I quailed beneath them. She rose from the bed,still gazing fixedly and steadily on me. I trembled; the razor was inmy hand, but I could not move. She made towards the door. Asshe neared it, she turned, and withdrew her eyes from my face.
　　The spell was broken. I bounded forward, and clutched her by thearm. Uttering shriek upon shriek, she sank upon the ground.
　　‘Now I could have killed her without a struggle; but the housewas alarmed. I heard the tread of footsteps on the stairs. I replacedthe razor in its usual drawer, unfastened the door, and calledloudly for assistance.
　　‘They came, and raised her, and placed her on the bed. She laybereft of animation for hours; and when life, look, and speechreturned, her senses had deserted her, and she raved wildly andfuriously.
　　‘Doctors were called in―great men who rolled up to my door ineasy carriages, with fine horses and gaudy servants. They were ather bedside for weeks. They had a great meeting and consultedtogether in low and solemn voices in another room. One, thecleverest and most celebrated among them, took me aside, andbidding me prepare for the worst, told me―me, the madman!―that my wife was mad. He stood close beside me at an openwindow, his eyes looking in my face, and his hand laid upon myarm. With one effort, I could have hurled him into the streetbeneath. It would have been rare sport to have done it; but mysecret was at stake, and I let him go. A few days after, they told meI must place her under some restraint: I must provide a keeper forher. I! I went into the open fields where none could hear me, andlaughed till the air resounded with my shouts!
　　‘She died next day. The white-headed old man followed her tothe grave, and the proud brothers dropped a tear over theinsensible corpse of her whose sufferings they had regarded in herlifetime with muscles of iron. All this was food for my secret mirth,and I laughed behind the white handkerchief which I held up tomy face, as we rode home, till the tears Came into my eyes.
　　‘But though I had carried my object and killed her, I wasrestless and disturbed, and I felt that before long my secret mustbe known. I could not hide the wild mirth and joy which boiledwithin me, and made me when I was alone, at home, jump up andbeat my hands together, and dance round and round, and roaraloud. When I went out, and saw the busy crowds hurrying aboutthe streets; or to the theatre, and heard the sound of music, andbeheld the people dancing, I felt such glee, that I could haverushed among them, and torn them to pieces limb from limb, andhowled in transport. But I ground my teeth, and struck my feetupon the floor, and drove my sharp nails into my hands. I kept itdown; and no one knew I was a madman yet.
　　‘I remember―though it’s one of the last things I can remember:
　　for now I mix up realities with my dreams, and having so much todo, and being always hurried here, have no time to separate thetwo, from some strange confusion in which they get involved―Iremember how I let it out at last. Ha! ha! I think I see theirfrightened looks now, and feel the ease with which I flung themfrom me, and dashed my clenched fist into their white faces, andthen flew like the wind, and left them screaming and shouting farbehind. The strength of a giant comes upon me when I think of it.
　　There―see how this iron bar bends beneath my furious wrench. Icould snap it like a twig, only there are long galleries here withmany doors―I don’t think I could find my way along them; andeven if I could, I know there are iron gates below which they keeplocked and barred. hey know what a clever madman I have been,and they are proud to have me here, to show.
　　‘Let me see: yes, I had been out. It was late at night when Ireached home, and found the proudest of the three proud brotherswaiting to see me―urgent business he said: I recollect it well. Ihated that man with all a madman’s hate. Many and many a timehad my fingers longed to tear him. They told me he was there. Iran swiftly upstairs. He had a word to say to me. I dismissed theservants. It was late, and we were alone together―for the firsttime.
　　‘I kept my eyes carefully from him at first, for I knew what helittle thought―and I gloried in the knowledge―that the light ofmadness gleamed from them like fire. We sat in silence for a fewminutes. He spoke at last. My recent dissipation, and strangeremarks, made so soon after his sister’s death, were an insult toher memory. Coupling together many circumstances which had atfirst escaped his observation, he thought I had not treated herwell. He wished to know whether he was right in inferring that Imeant to cast a reproach upon her memory, and a disrespect uponher family. It was due to the uniform he wore, to demand thisexplanation.
　　‘This man had a commission in the army―a commission,purchased with my money, and his sister’s misery! This was theman who had been foremost in the plot to ensnare me, and graspmy wealth. This was the man who had been the main instrumentin forcing his sister to wed me; well knowing that her heart wasgiven to that puling boy. Due to his uniform! The livery of hisdegradation! I turned my eyes upon him―I could not help it―butI spoke not a word.
　　‘I saw the sudden change that came upon him beneath my gaze.
　　He was a bold man, but the colour faded from his face, and hedrew back his chair. I dragged mine nearer to him; and Ilaughed―I was very merry then―I saw him shudder. I felt themadness rising within me. He was afraid of me.
　　‘“You were very fond of your sister when she was alive,” Isaid.―“Very.”
　　‘He looked uneasily round him, and I saw his hand grasp theback of his chair; but he said nothing.
　　‘“You villain,” said I, “I found you out: I discovered your hellishplots against me; I know her heart was fixed on some one elsebefore you compelled her to marry me. I know it―I know it.”
　　‘He jumped suddenly from his chair, brandished it aloft, andbid me stand back―for I took care to be getting closer to him allthe time I spoke.
　　‘I screamed rather than talked, for I felt tumultuous passionseddying through my veins, and the old spirits whispering andtaunting me to tear his heart out.
　　‘“Damn you,” said I, starting up, and rushing upon him; “Ikilled her. I am a madman. Down with you. Blood, blood! I willhave it!”
　　‘I turned aside with one blow the chair he hurled at me in histerror, and closed with him; and with a heavy crash we rolledupon the floor together.
　　‘It was a fine struggle that; for he was a tall, strong man,fighting for his life; and I, a powerful madman, thirsting to destroyhim. I knew no strength could equal mine, and I was right. Rightagain, though a madman! His struggles grew fainter. I knelt uponhis chest, and clasped his brawny throat firmly with both hands.
　　His face grew purple; his eyes were starting from his head, andwith protruded tongue, he seemed to mock me. I squeezed thetighter.
　　‘The door was suddenly burst open with a loud noise, and acrowd of people rushed forward, crying aloud to each other tosecure the madman.
　　‘My secret was out; and my only struggle now was for libertyand freedom. I gained my feet before a hand was on me, threwmyself among my assailants, and cleared my way with my strongarm, as if I bore a hatchet in my hand, and hewed them downbefore me. I gained the door, dropped over the banisters, and inan instant was in the street.
　　‘Straight and swift I ran, and no one dared to stop me. I heardthe noise of the feet behind, and redoubled my speed. It grewfainter and fainter in the distance, and at length died awayaltogether; but on I bounded, through marsh and rivulet, overfence and wall, with a wild shout which was taken up by thestrange beings that flocked around me on every side, and swelledthe sound, till it pierced the air. I was borne upon the arms ofdemons who swept along upon the wind, and bore down bank andhedge before them, and spun me round and round with a rustleand a spe ed that made my head swim, until at last they threw mefrom them with a violent shock, and I fell heavily upon the earth.
　　When I woke I found myself here―here in this gray cell, where thesunlight seldom comes, and the moon steals in, in rays which onlyserve to show the dark shadows about me, and that silent figure inits old corner. When I lie awake, I can sometimes hear strangeshrieks and cries from distant parts of this large place. What theyare, I know not; but they neither come from that pale form, nordoes it regard them. For from the first shades of dusk till theearliest light of morning, it still stands motionless in the sameplace, listening to the music of my iron chain, and watching mygambols on my straw bed.’
　　At the end of the manuscript was written, in another hand, thisnote:―[The unhappy man whose ravings are recorded above, was amelancholy instance of the baneful results of energies misdirectedin early life, and excesses prolonged until their consequencescould never be repaired. The thoughtless riot, dissipation, anddebauchery of his younger days produced fever and delirium. Thefirst effects of the latter was the strange delusion, founded upon awell-known medical theory, strongly contended for by some, andas strongly contested by others, that an hereditary madnessexisted in his family. This produced a settled gloom, which in timedeveloped a morbid insanity, and finally terminated in ravingmadness. There is every reason to believe that the events hedetailed, though distorted in the description by his diseasedimagination, really happened. It is only matter of wonder to thosewho were acquainted with the vices of his early career, that hispassions, when no longer controlled by reason, did not lead him tothe commission of still more frightful deeds.]
　　Mr. Pickwick’s candle was just expiring in the socket, as heconcluded the perusal of the old clergyman’s manuscript; andwhen the light went suddenly out, without any previous flicker byway of warning, it communicated a very considerable start to hisexcited frame. Hastily throwing off such articles of clothing as hehad put on when he rose from his uneasy bed, and casting afearful glance around, he once more scrambled hastily betweenthe sheets, and soon fell fast asleep.
　　The sun was shining brilliantly into his chamber, when heawoke, and the morning was far advanced. The gloom which hadoppressed him on the previous night had disappeared with thedark shadows which shrouded the landscape, and his thoughtsand feelings were as light and gay as the morning itself. After ahearty breakfast, the four gentlemen sallied forth to walk toGravesend, followed by a man bearing the stone in its deal box.
　　They reached the town about one o’clock (their luggage they haddirected to be forwarded to the city, from Rochester), and beingfortunate enough to secure places on the outside of a coach,arrived in London in sound health and spirits, on that sameafternoon.
　　The next three or four days were occupied with thepreparations which were necessary for their journey to theborough of Eatanswill. As any references to that most importantundertaking demands a separate chapter, we may devote the fewlines which remain at the close of this, to narrate, with greatbrevity, the history of the antiquarian discovery.
　　It appears from the Transactions of the Club, then, that Mr.
　　Pickwick lectured upon the discovery at a General Club Meeting,convened on the night succeeding their return, and entered into avariety of ingenious and erudite speculations on the meaning ofthe inscription. It also appears that a skilful artist executed afaithful delineation of the curiosity, which was engraven on stone,and presented to the Royal Antiquarian Society, and other learnedbodies: that heart-burnings and jealousies without number werecreated by rival controversies which were penned upon thesubject; and that Mr. Pickwick himself wrote a pamphlet,containing ninety-six pages of very small print, and twenty-sevendifferent readings of the inscription: that three old gentlemen cutoff their eldest sons with a shilling a-piece for presuming to doubtthe antiquity of the fragment; and that one enthusiastic individualcut himself off prematurely, in despair at being unable to fathomits meaning: that Mr. Pickwick was elected an honorary memberof seventeen native and foreign societies, for making thediscovery: that none of the seventeen could make anything of it;but that all the seventeen agreed it was very extraordinary.
　　Mr. Blotton, indeed―and the name will be doomed to theundying contempt of those who cultivate the mysterious and thesublime―Mr. Blotton, we say, with the doubt and cavillingpeculiar to vulgar minds, presumed to state a view of the case, asdegrading as ridiculous. Mr. Blotton, with a mean desire to tarnishthe lustre of the immortal name of Pickwick, actually undertook ajourney to Cobham in person, and on his return, sarcasticallyobserved in an oration at the club, that he had seen the man fromwhom the stone was purchased; that the man presumed the stoneto be ancient, but solemnly denied the antiquity of theinscription―inasmuch as he represented it to have been rudelycarved by himself in an idle mood, and to display letters intendedto bear neither more or less than the simple construction of―‘BILL STUMPS, HIS MARK’; and that Mr. Stumps, being little inthe habit of original composition, and more accustomed to beguided by the sound of words than by the strict rules oforthography, had omitted the concluding ‘L’ of his Christianname.
　　The Pickwick Club (as might have been expected from soenlightened an institution) received this statement with thecontempt it deserved, expelled the presumptuous and ill-conditioned Blotton from the society, and voted Mr. Pickwick apair of gold spectacles, in token of their confidence andapprobation: in return for which, Mr. Pickwick caused a portrait ofhimself to be painted, and hung up in the club room.
　　Mr. Blotton was ejected but not conquered. He also wrote apamphlet, addressed to the seventeen learned societies, native andforeign, containing a repetition of the statement he had alreadymade, and rather more than half intimating his opinion that theseventeen learned societies were so many ‘humbugs.’ Hereupon,the virtuous indignation of the seventeen learned societies beingroused, several fresh pamphlets appeared; the foreign learnedsocieties corresponded with the native learned societies; the nativelearned societies translated the pamphlets of the foreign learnedsocieties into English; the foreign learned societies translated thepamphlets of the native learned societies into all sorts oflanguages; and thus commenced that celebrated scientificdiscussion so well known to all men, as the Pickwick controversy.
　　But this base attempt to injure Mr. Pickwick recoiled upon thehead of its calumnious author. The seventeen learned societiesunanimously voted the presumptuous Blotton an ignorantmeddler, and forthwith set to work upon more treatises than ever.
　　And to this day the stone remains, an illegible monument of Mr.
　　Pickwick’s greatness, and a lasting trophy to the littleness of hisenemies.
Chapter 12
DESCRIPTIVE OF A VERY IMPORTANT PROCEEDING ON THE PART OF Mr. PICKWICK;NO LESS AN EPOCH IN HIS LIFE, THAN INTHIS HISTORYr. Pickwick’s apartments in Goswell Street, although ona limited scale, were not only of a very neat andcomfortable description, but peculiarly adapted for theresidence of a man of his genius and observation. His sitting-roomwas the first-floor front, his bedroom the second-floor front; andthus, whether he were sitting at his desk in his parlour, orstanding before the dressing-glass in his dormitory, he had anequal opportunity of contemplating human nature in all thenumerous phases it exhibits, in that not more populous thanpopular thoroughfare. His landlady, Mrs. Bardell―the relict andsole executrix of a deceased custom-house officer―was a comelywoman of bustling manners and agreeable appearance, with anatural genius for cooking, improved by study and long practice,into an exquisite talent. There were no children, no servants, nofowls. The only other inmates of the house were a large man and asmall boy; the first a lodger, the second a production of Mrs.
　　Bardell’s. The large man was always home precisely at ten o’clockat night, at which hour he regularly condensed himself into thelimits of a dwarfish French bedstead in the back parlour; and theinfantine sports and gymnastic exercises of Master Bardell wereexclusively confined to the neighbouring pavements and gutters.
　　Cleanliness and quiet reigned throughout the house; and in it Mr.
　　Pickwick’s will was law.
　　To any one acquainted with these points of the domesticeconomy of the establishment, and conversant with the admirableregulation of Mr. Pickwick’s mind, his appearance and behaviouron the morning previous to that which had been fixed upon for thejourney to Eatanswill would have been most mysterious andunaccountable. He paced the room to and fro with hurried steps,popped his head out of the window at intervals of about threeminutes each, constantly referred to his watch, and exhibitedmany other manifestations of impatience very unusual with him. Itwas evident that something of great importance was incontemplation, but what that something was, not even Mrs.
　　Bardell had been enabled to discover.
　　‘Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mr. Pickwick, at last, as that amiable femaleapproached the termination of a prolonged dusting of theapartment.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘Your little boy is a very long time gone.’
　　‘Why it’s a good long way to the Borough, sir,’ remonstratedMrs. Bardell.
　　‘Ah,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘very true; so it is.’ Mr. Pickwickrelapsed into silence, and Mrs. Bardell resumed her dusting.
　　‘Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of a fewminutes.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mrs. Bardell again. ‘Do you think it a much greaterexpense to keep two people, than to keep one?’
　　‘La, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell, colouring up to the veryborder of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species ofmatrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger; ‘La, Mr. Pickwick,what a question!’
　　‘Well, but do you?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘That depends,’ said Mrs. Bardell, approaching the duster verynear to Mr. Pickwick’s elbow which was planted on the table. ‘thatdepends a good deal upon the person, you know, Mr. Pickwick;and whether it’s a saving and careful person, sir.’
　　‘That’s very true,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘but the person I have inmy eye (here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I thinkpossesses these qualities; and has, moreover, a considerableknowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, Mrs.
　　Bardell, which may be of material use to me.’
　　‘La, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell, the crimson rising to hercap-border again.
　　‘I do,’ said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont inspeaking of a subject which interested him―‘I do, indeed; and totell you the truth, Mrs. Bardell, I have made up my mind.’
　　‘Dear me, sir,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘You’ll think it very strange now,’ said the amiable Mr.
　　Pickwick, with a good-humoured glance at his companion, ‘that Inever consulted you about this matter, and never even mentionedit, till I sent your little boy out this morning―eh?’
　　Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had longworshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all atonce, raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and mostextravagant hopes had never dared to aspire. Mr. Pickwick wasgoing to propose―a deliberate plan, too―sent her little boy to theBorough, to get him out of the way―how thoughtful―howconsiderate!
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what do you think?’
　　‘Oh, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Bardell, trembling with agitation,‘you’re very kind, sir.’
　　‘It’ll save you a good deal of trouble, won’t it?’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick. ‘Oh, I never thought anything of the trouble, sir,’ repliedMrs. Bardell; ‘and, of course, I should take more trouble to pleaseyou then, than ever; but it is so kind of you, Mr. Pickwick, to haveso much consideration for my loneliness.’
　　‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I never thought of that.
　　When I am in town, you’ll always have somebody to sit with you.
　　To be sure, so you will.’
　　‘I am sure I ought to be a very happy woman,’ said Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘And your little boy―’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Bless his heart!’ interposed Mrs. Bardell, with a maternal sob.
　　‘He, too, will have a companion,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘alively one, who’ll teach him, I’ll be bound, more tricks in a weekthan he would ever learn in a year.’ And Mr. Pickwick smiledplacidly.
　　‘Oh, you dear―’ said Mrs. Bardell.
　　Mr. Pickwick started.
　　‘Oh, you kind, good, playful dear,’ said Mrs. Bardell; andwithout more ado, she rose from her chair, and flung her armsround Mr. Pickwick’s neck, with a cataract of tears and a chorus ofsobs.
　　‘Bless my soul,’ cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick; ‘Mrs.
　　Bardell, my good woman―dear me, what a situation―prayconsider.―Mrs. Bardell, don’t―if anybody should come―’
　　‘Oh, let them come,’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically; ‘I’llnever leave you―dear, kind, good soul;’ and, with these words,Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter.
　　‘Mercy upon me,’ said Mr. Pickwick, struggling violently, ‘I hearsomebody coming up the stairs. Don’t, don’t, there’s a goodcreature, don’t.’ But entreaty and remonstrance were alikeunavailing; for Mrs. Bardell had fainted in Mr. Pickwick’s arms;and before he could gain time to deposit her on a chair, MasterBardell entered the room, ushering in Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle,and Mr. Snodgrass.
　　Mr. Pickwick was struck motionless and speechless. He stoodwith his lovely burden in his arms, gazing vacantly on thecountenances of his friends, without the slightest attempt atrecognition or explanation. They, in their turn, stared at him; andMaster Bardell, in his turn, stared at everybody.
　　The astonishment of the Pickwickians was so absorbing, andthe perplexity of Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, that they mighthave remained in exactly the same relative situations until thesuspended animation of the lady was restored, had it not been fora most beautiful and touching expression of filial affection on thepart of her youthful son. Clad in a tight suit of corduroy, spangledwith brass buttons of a very considerable size, he at first stood atthe door astounded and uncertain; but by degrees, the impressionthat his mother must have suffered some personal damagepervaded his partially developed mind, and considering Mr.
　　Pickwick as the aggressor, he set up an appalling and semi-earthlykind of howling, and butting forward with his head, commencedassailing that immortal gentleman about the back and legs, withsuch blows and pinches as the strength of his arm, and theviolence of his excitement, allowed.
　　‘Take this little villain away,’ said the agonised Mr. Pickwick,‘he’s mad.’
　　‘What is the matter?’ said the three tongue-tied Pickwickians.
　　‘I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Pickwick pettishly. ‘Take away theboy.’ (Here Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, screaming andstruggling, to the farther end of the apartment.) ‘Now help me,lead this woman downstairs.’
　　‘Oh, I am better now,’ said Mrs. Bardell faintly.
　　‘Let me lead you downstairs,’ said the ever-gallant Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Thank you, sir―thank you;’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardellhysterically. And downstairs she was led accordingly,accompanied by her affectionate son.
　　‘I cannot conceive,’ said Mr. Pickwick when his friendreturned―‘I cannot conceive what has been the matter with thatwoman. I had merely announced to her my intention of keeping aman-servant, when she fell into the extraordinary paroxysm inwhich you found her. Very extraordinary thing.’
　　‘Very,’ said his three friends.
　　‘Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation,’ continuedMr. Pickwick.
　　‘Very,’ was the reply of his followers, as they coughed slightly,and looked dubiously at each other.
　　This behaviour was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He remarkedtheir incredulity. They evidently suspected him.
　　‘There is a man in the passage now,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘It’s the man I spoke to you about,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I sent forhim to the Borough this morning. Have the goodness to call himup, Snodgrass.’
　　Mr. Snodgrass did as he was desired; and Mr. Samuel Wellerforthwith presented himself.
　　‘Oh―you remember me, I suppose?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I should think so,’ replied Sam, with a patronising wink. ‘Queerstart that ’ere, but he was one too many for you, warn’t he? Up tosnuff and a pinch or two over―eh?’
　　‘Never mind that matter now,’ said Mr. Pickwick hastily; ‘I wantto speak to you about something else. Sit down.’
　　‘Thank’ee, sir,’ said Sam. And down he sat without furtherbidding, having previously deposited his old white hat on thelanding outside the door. ‘‘Tain’t a wery good ’un to look at,’ saidSam, ‘but it’s an astonishin’ ’un to wear; and afore the brim went,it was a wery handsome tile. Hows’ever it’s lighter without it,that’s one thing, and every hole lets in some air, that’s another―wentilation gossamer I calls it.’ On the delivery of this sentiment,Mr. Weller smiled agreeably upon the assembled Pickwickians.
　　‘Now with regard to the matter on which I, with theconcurrence of these gentlemen, sent for you,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘That’s the pint, sir,’ interposed Sam; ‘out vith it, as the fathersaid to his child, when he swallowed a farden.’
　　‘We want to know, in the first place,’ said Mr. Pickwick,‘whether you have any reason to be discontented with yourpresent situation.’
　　‘Afore I answers that ’ere question, gen’l’m’n,’ replied Mr.
　　Weller, ‘I should like to know, in the first place, whether you’re a-goin’ to purwide me with a better?’
　　A sunbeam of placid benevolence played on Mr. Pickwick’sfeatures as he said, ‘I have half made up my mind to engage youmyself.’
　　‘Have you, though?’ said Sam.
　　Mr. Pickwick nodded in the affirmative. ‘Wages?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Twelve pounds a year,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Clothes?’
　　‘Two suits.’
　　‘Work?’
　　‘To attend upon me; and travel about with me and thesegentlemen here.’
　　‘Take the bill down,’ said Sam emphatically. ‘I’m let to a singlegentleman, and the terms is agreed upon.’
　　‘You accept the situation?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick. ‘Cert’nly,’
　　replied Sam. ‘If the clothes fits me half as well as the place, they’lldo.’
　　‘You can get a character of course?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ask the landlady o’ the White Hart about that, sir,’ repliedSam.
　　‘Can you come this evening?’
　　‘I’ll get into the clothes this minute, if they’re here,’ said Sam,with great alacrity.
　　‘Call at eight this evening,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘and if theinquiries are satisfactory, they shall be provided.’
　　With the single exception of one amiable indiscretion, in whichan assistant housemaid had equally participated, the history of Mr.
　　Weller’s conduct was so very blameless, that Mr. Pickwick feltfully justified in closing the engagement that very evening. Withthe promptness and energy which characterised not only thepublic proceedings, but all the private actions of this extraordinaryman, he at once led his new attendant to one of those convenientemporiums where gentlemen’s new and second-hand clothes areprovided, and the troublesome and inconvenient formality ofmeasurement dispensed with; and before night had closed in, Mr.
　　Weller was furnished with a grey coat with the P. C. button, ablack hat with a cockade to it, a pink striped waistcoat, lightbreeches and gaiters, and a variety of other necessaries, toonumerous to recapitulate.
　　‘Well,’ said that suddenly-transformed individual, as he took hisseat on the outside of the Eatanswill coach next morning; ‘Iwonder whether I’m meant to be a footman, or a groom, or agamekeeper, or a seedsman. I looks like a sort of compo of everyone on ’em. Never mind; there’s a change of air, plenty to see, andlittle to do; and all this suits my complaint uncommon; so long lifeto the Pickvicks, says I!’
Chapter 13 
SOME ACCOUNT OF EATANSWILL; OF THESTATE OF PARTIES THEREIN; AND OF THEELECTION OF A MEMBER TO SERVE INPARLIAMENT FOR THAT ANCIENT, LOYAL,AND PATRIOTIC BOROUGHe will frankly acknowledge that, up to the period of ourbeing first immersed in the voluminous papers of thePickwick Club, we had never heard of Eatanswill; wewill with equal candour admit that we have in vain searched forproof of the actual existence of such a place at the present day.
　　Knowing the deep reliance to be placed on every note andstatement of Mr. Pickwick’s, and not presuming to set up ourrecollection against the recorded declarations of that great man,we have consulted every authority, bearing upon the subject, towhich we could possibly refer. We have traced every name inschedules A and B, without meeting with that of Eatanswill; wehave minutely examined every corner of the pocket county mapsissued for the benefit of society by our distinguished publishers,and the same result has attended our investigation. We aretherefore led to believe that Mr. Pickwick, with that anxious desireto abstain from giving offence to any, and with those delicatefeelings for which all who knew him well know he was soeminently remarkable, purposely substituted a fictitiousdesignation, for the real name of the place in which hisobservations were made. We are confirmed in this belief by a littlecircumstance, apparently slight and trivial in itself, but whenconsidered in this point of view, not undeserving of notice. In Mr.
　　Pickwick’s note-book, we can just trace an entry of the fact, thatthe places of himself and followers were booked by the Norwichcoach; but this entry was afterwards lined through, as if for thepurpose of concealing even the direction in which the borough issituated. We will not, therefore, hazard a guess upon the subject,but will at once proceed with this history, content with thematerials which its characters have provided for us.
　　It appears, then, that the Eatanswill people, like the people ofmany other small towns, considered themselves of the utmost andmost mighty importance, and that every man in Eatanswill,conscious of the weight that attached to his example, felt himselfbound to unite, heart and soul, with one of the two great partiesthat divided the town―the Blues and the Buffs. Now the Blueslost no opportunity of opposing the Buffs, and the Buffs lost noopportunity of opposing the Blues; and the consequence was, thatwhenever the Buffs and Blues met together at public meeting,town-hall, fair, or market, disputes and high words arose betweenthem. With these dissensions it is almost superfluous to say thateverything in Eatanswill was made a party question. If the Buffsproposed to new skylight the market-place, the Blues got uppublic meetings, and denounced the proceeding; if the Bluesproposed the erection of an additional pump in the High Street,the Buffs rose as one man and stood aghast at the enormity. Therewere Blue shops and Buff shops, Blue inns and Buff inns―therewas a Blue aisle and a Buff aisle in the very church itself.
　　Of course it was essentially and indispensably necessary thateach of these powerful parties should have its chosen organ andrepresentative: and, accordingly, there were two newspapers inthe town―the Eatanswill Gazette and the EatanswillIndependent; the former advocating Blue principles, and the latterconducted on grounds decidedly Buff. Fine newspapers they were.
　　Such leading articles, and such spirited attacks!―‘Our worthlesscontemporary, the Gazette’―‘That disgraceful and dastardlyjournal, the Independent’―‘That false and scurrilous print, theIndependent’―‘That vile and slanderous calumniator, theGazette;’ these, and other spirit-stirring denunciations, werestrewn plentifully over the columns of each, in every number, andexcited feelings of the most intense delight and indignation in thebosoms of the townspeople.
　　Mr. Pickwick, with his usual foresight and sagacity, had chosena peculiarly desirable moment for his visit to the borough. Neverwas such a contest known. The Honourable Samuel Slumkey, ofSlumkey Hall, was the Blue candidate; and Horatio Fizkin, Esq., ofFizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill, had been prevailed upon by hisfriends to stand forward on the Buff interest. The Gazette warnedthe electors of Eatanswill that the eyes not only of England, but ofthe whole civilised world, were upon them; and the Independentimperatively demanded to know, whether the constituency ofEatanswill were the grand fellows they had always taken them for,or base and servile tools, undeserving alike of the name ofEnglishmen and the blessings of freedom. Never had such acommotion agitated the town before.
　　It was late in the evening when Mr. Pickwick and hiscompanions, assisted by Sam, dismounted from the roof of theEatanswill coach. Large blue silk flags were flying from thewindows of the Town Arms Inn, and bills were posted in everysash, intimating, in gigantic letters, that the Honourable SamuelSlumkey’s committee sat there daily. A crowd of idlers wereassembled 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 argumentswere somewhat impaired by the perpetual beating of four largedrums which Mr. Fizkin’s committee had stationed at the streetcorner. There was a busy little man beside him, though, who tookoff his hat at intervals and motioned to the people to cheer, whichthey regularly did, most enthusiastically; and as the red-facedgentleman went on talking till he was redder in the face than ever,it seemed to answer his purpose quite as well as if anybody hadheard him.
　　The Pickwickians had no sooner dismounted than they weresurrounded by a branch mob of the honest and independent, whoforthwith set up three deafening cheers, which being responded toby the main body (for it’s not at all necessary for a crowd to knowwhat they are cheering about), swelled into a tremendous roar oftriumph, which stopped even the red-faced man in the balcony.
　　‘Hurrah!’ 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, withsteel works.
　　‘Slumkey for ever!’ roared the honest and independent.
　　‘Slumkey for ever!’ echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat. ‘NoFizkin!’ roared the crowd.
　　‘Certainly not!’ shouted Mr. Pickwick. ‘Hurrah!’ And then therewas another roaring, like that of a whole menagerie when theelephant 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 dowhat 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 letthem pass, and cheering vociferously. The first object ofconsideration was to secure quarters for the night.
　　‘Can we have beds here?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, summoningthe waiter.
　　‘Don’t know, sir,’ replied the man; ‘afraid we’re full, sir―I’llinquire, sir.’ Away he went for that purpose, and presentlyreturned, to ask whether the gentleman were ‘Blue.’
　　As neither Mr. Pickwick nor his companions took any vitalinterest in the cause of either candidate, the question was rather adifficult one to answer. In this dilemma Mr. Pickwick bethoughthimself of his new friend, Mr. Perker.
　　‘Do you know a gentleman of the name of Perker?’ inquired Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘Certainly, sir; Honourable Mr. Samuel Slumkey’s agent.’
　　‘He is Blue, I think?’
　　‘Oh, yes, sir.’
　　‘Then we are Blue,’ said Mr. Pickwick; but observing that theman looked rather doubtful at this accommodatingannouncement, he gave him his card, and desired him to presentit to Mr. Perker forthwith, if he should happen to be in the house.
　　The waiter retired; and reappearing almost immediately with arequest that Mr. Pickwick would follow him, led the way to a largeroom on the first floor, where, seated at a long table covered withbooks and papers, was Mr. Perker.
　　‘Ah―ah, my dear sir,’ said the little man, advancing to meethim; ‘very happy to see you, my dear sir, very. Pray sit down. Soyou have carried your intention into effect. You have come downhere to see an election―eh?’ Mr. Pickwick replied in theaffirmative.
　　‘Spirited contest, my dear sir,’ said the little man.
　　‘I’m delighted 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 haveopened all the public-houses in the place, and left our adversarynothing but the beer-shops-masterly stroke of policy that, my dearsir, eh?’ The little man smiled complacently, and took a largepinch 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 thelittle man. ‘Fizkin’s people have got three-and-thirty voters in thelock-up coach-house at the White Hart.’
　　‘In the coach-house!’ said Mr. Pickwick, considerablyastonished by this second stroke of policy.
　　‘They keep ’em locked up there till they want ’em,’ resumed thelittle man. ‘The effect of that is, you see, to prevent our getting atthem; and even if we could, it would be of no use, for they keepthem very drunk on purpose. Smart fellow Fizkin’s agent―verysmart fellow indeed.’
　　Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing.
　　‘We are pretty confident, though,’ said Mr. Perker, sinking hisvoice almost to a whisper. ‘We had a little tea-party here, lastnight―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 parasols, at sevenand sixpence a-piece. All women like finery―extraordinary theeffect of those parasols. Secured all their husbands, and half theirbrothers―beats stockings, and flannel, and all that sort of thinghollow. My idea, my dear sir, entirely. Hail, rain, or sunshine, youcan’t walk half a dozen yards up the street, without encounteringhalf a dozen green parasols.’
　　Here the little man indulged in a convulsion of mirth, whichwas only checked by the entrance of a third party.
　　This was a tall, thin man, with a sandy-coloured head inclinedto baldness, and a face in which solemn importance was blendedwith a look of unfathomable profundity. He was dressed in a longbrown surtout, with a black cloth waistcoat, and drab trousers. Adouble eyeglass dangled at his waistcoat; and on his head he worea very low-crowned hat with a broad brim. The new-comer wasintroduced to Mr. Pickwick as Mr. Pott, the editor of theEatanswill Gazette. After a few preliminary remarks, Mr. Pottturned round to Mr. Pickwick, and said with solemnity―‘This contest excites great interest in the metropolis, sir?’
　　‘I believe it does,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘To which I have reason to know,’ said Pott, looking towardsMr. Perker for corroboration―‘to which I have reason to knowthat 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 fullest assent to the proposition.
　　‘But I trust, sir,’ said Pott, ‘that I have never abused theenormous power I wield. I trust, sir, that I have never pointed thenoble instrument which is placed in my hands, against the sacredbosom of private life, or the tender breast of individual reputation;I trust, sir, that I have devoted my energies to―to endeavours―humble they may be, humble I know they are―to instil thoseprinciples of―which―are―’
　　Here the editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, appearing to ramble,Mr. Pickwick came to his relief, and said―‘Certainly.’
　　‘And what, sir,’ said Pott―‘what, sir, let me ask you as animpartial man, is the state of the public mind in London, withreference to my contest with the Independent?’
　　‘Greatly excited, no doubt,’ interposed Mr. Perker, with a lookof slyness which was very likely accidental.
　　‘The contest,’ said Pott, ‘shall be prolonged so long as I havehealth and strength, and that portion of talent with which I amgifted. From that contest, sir, although it may unsettle men’sminds and excite their feelings, and render them incapable for thedischarge of the everyday duties of ordinary life; from that contest,sir, I will never shrink, till I have set my heel upon the EatanswillIndependent. I wish the people of London, and the people of thiscountry to know, sir, that they may rely upon me―that I will notdesert them, that I am resolved to stand by them, sir, to the last.’
　　‘Your conduct is most noble, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and hegrasped the hand of the magnanimous Pott. ‘You are, sir, Iperceive, a man of sense and talent,’ said Mr. Pott, almostbreathless with the vehemence of his patriotic declaration. ‘I ammost happy, sir, to make the acquaintance of such a man.’
　　‘And I,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘feel deeply honoured by thisexpression of your opinion. Allow me, sir, to introduce you to myfellow-travellers, the other corresponding members of the club Iam proud to have founded.’
　　‘I shall be delighted,’ said Mr. Pott.
　　Mr. Pickwick withdrew, and returning with his friends,presented them in due form to the editor of the EatanswillGazette.
　　‘Now, my dear Pott,’ said little Mr. Perker, ‘the question is,what are we to do with our friends here?’
　　‘We can stop in this house, I suppose,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Not a spare bed in the house, my dear sir―not a single bed.’
　　‘Extremely awkward,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Very,’ said his fellow-voyagers.
　　‘I have an idea upon this subject,’ said Mr. Pott, ‘which I thinkmay be very successfully adopted. They have two beds at thePeacock, and I can boldly say, on behalf of Mrs. Pott, that she willbe delighted to accommodate Mr. Pickwick and any one of hisfriends, if the other two gentlemen and their servant do not objectto shifting, as they best can, at the Peacock.’
　　After repeated pressings on the part of Mr. Pott, and repeatedprotestations on that of Mr. Pickwick that he could not think ofincommoding or troubling his amiable wife, it was decided that itwas the only feasible arrangement that could be made. So it wasmade; and after dinner together at the Town Arms, the friendsseparated, Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass repairing to thePeacock, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle proceeding to themansion of Mr. Pott; it having been previously arranged that theyshould all reassemble at the Town Arms in the morning, andaccompany the Honourable Samuel Slumkey’s procession to theplace of nomination.
　　Mr. Pott’s domestic circle was limited to himself and his wife.
　　All men whom mighty genius has raised to a proud eminence inthe world, have usually some little weakness which appears themore conspicuous from the contrast it presents to their generalcharacter. If Mr. Pott had a weakness, it was, perhaps, that he wasrather too submissive to the somewhat contemptuous control andsway of his wife. We do not feel justified in laying any particularstress upon the fact, because on the present occasion all Mrs.
　　Pott’s most winning ways were brought into requisition to receivethe two gentlemen.
　　‘My dear,’ said Mr. Pott, ‘Mr. Pickwick―Mr. Pickwick ofLondon.’
　　Mrs. Pott received Mr. Pickwick’s paternal grasp of the handwith enchanting sweetness; and Mr. Winkle, who had not beenannounced at all, sidled and bowed, unnoticed, in an obscurecorner.
　　‘P. my dear’―said Mrs. Pott.
　　‘My life,’ said Mr. Pott.
　　‘Pray introduce the other gentleman.’
　　‘I beg a thousand pardons,’ said Mr. Pott. ‘Permit me, Mrs. Pott,Mr.―’
　　‘Winkle,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Winkle,’ echoed Mr. Pott; and the ceremony of introductionwas complete.
　　‘We owe you many apologies, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘fordisturbing your domestic arrangements at so short a notice.’
　　‘I beg you won’t mention it, sir,’ replied the feminine Pott, withvivacity. ‘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 hiswife’s lament, ‘that we are in some measure cut off from manyenjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake.
　　My public station, as editor of the Eatanswill Gazette, the positionwhich that paper holds in the country, my constant immersion inthe vortex of politics―’
　　‘P. my dear―’ interposed Mrs. Pott.
　　‘My life―’ said the editor.
　　‘I wish, my dear, you would endeavour to find some topic ofconversation in which these gentlemen might take some rationalinterest.’
　　‘But, my love,’ said Mr. Pott, with great humility, ‘Mr. Pickwickdoes take an interest in it.’
　　‘It’s well for him if he can,’ said Mrs. Pott emphatically; ‘I amwearied out of my life with your politics, and quarrels with theIndependent, and nonsense. I am quite astonished, P., at yourmaking such an exhibition of your absurdity.’
　　‘But, my dear―’ said Mr. Pott.
　　‘Oh, nonsense, don’t talk to me,’ said Mrs. Pott. ‘Do you playecarté, 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 meget out of hearing of those prosy politics.’
　　‘Jane,’ said Mr. Pott, to the servant who brought in candles, ‘godown into the office, and bring me up the file of the Gazette foreighteen hundred and twenty-six. I’ll read you,’ added the editor,turning to Mr. Pickwick―‘I’ll just read you a few of the leaders Iwrote at that time upon the Buff job of appointing a new tollmanto the turnpike here; I rather think they’ll amuse you.’
　　‘I should like to hear them very much indeed,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　Up came the file, and down sat the editor, with Mr. Pickwick athis side.
　　We have in vain pored over the leaves of Mr. Pickwick’s note-book, in the hope of meeting with a general summary of thesebeautiful compositions. We have every reason to believe that hewas perfectly enraptured with the vigour and freshness of thestyle; indeed Mr. Winkle has recorded the fact that his eyes wereclosed, as if with excess of pleasure, during the whole time of theirperusal.
　　The announcement of supper put a stop both to the game ofecarté, and the recapitulation of the beauties of the EatanswillGazette. Mrs. Pott was in the highest spirits and the mostagreeable humour. Mr. Winkle had already made considerableprogress in her good opinion, and she did not hesitate to informhim, confidentially, that Mr. Pickwick was ‘a delightful old dear.’
　　These terms convey a familiarity of expression, in which few ofthose who were intimately acquainted with that colossal-mindedman, would have presumed to indulge. We have preserved them,nevertheless, as affording at once a touching and a convincingproof of the estimation in which he was held by every class ofsociety, and the case with which he made his way to their heartsand feelings.
　　It was a late hour of the night―long after Mr. Tupman and Mr.
　　Snodgrass had fallen asleep in the inmost recesses of thePeacock―when the two friends retired to rest. Slumber soon fellupon the senses of Mr. Winkle, but his feelings had been excited,and his admiration roused; and for many hours after sleep hadrendered him insensible to earthly objects, the face and figure ofthe agreeable Mrs. Pott presented themselves again and again tohis wandering imagination.
　　The noise and bustle which ushered in the morning weresufficient to dispel from the mind of the most romantic visionaryin existence, any associations but those which were immediatelyconnected with the rapidly-approaching election. The beating ofdrums, the blowing of horns and trumpets, the shouting of men,and tramping of horses, echoed and re―echoed through thestreets from the earliest dawn of day; and an occasional fightbetween the light skirmishers of either party at once enlivened thepreparations, and agreeably diversified their character. ‘Well,Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as his valet appeared at his bedroomdoor, just as he was concluding his toilet; ‘all alive to-day, Isuppose?’
　　‘Reg’lar game, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘our people’s a-collectingdown at the Town Arms, and they’re a-hollering themselveshoarse 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 somuch afore. I wonder they ain’t afeer’d o’ bustin’.’
　　‘That’s the mistaken kindness 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 thePeacock has been a-pumpin’ over the independent woters assupped there last night.’
　　‘Pumping over independent voters!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes,’ said his attendant, ‘every man slept vere he fell down; wedragged ’em out, one by one, this mornin’, and put ’em under thepump, and they’re in reg’lar fine order now. Shillin’ a head thecommittee paid for that ’ere job.’
　　‘Can such things be!’ exclaimed the astonished Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Lord bless your heart, sir,’ said Sam, ‘why where was you halfbaptised?―that’s nothin’, that ain’t.’
　　‘Nothing?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Nothin’ at all, sir,’ replied hisattendant. ‘The night afore the last day o’ the last election here,the opposite party bribed the barmaid at the Town Arms, to hocusthe 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 Sam. ‘Blessed if she didn’t send ’em all to sleep till twelve hours arter the election was over. Theytook one man up to the booth, in a truck, fast asleep, by way ofexperiment, but it was no go―they wouldn’t poll him; so theybrought him back, and put him to bed again.’
　　‘Strange practices, these,’ said Mr. Pickwick; half speaking tohimself and half addressing Sam.
　　‘Not half so strange as a miraculous circumstance as happenedto my own father, at an election time, in this wery place, sir,’
　　replied Sam.
　　‘What was that?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Why, he drove a coach down here once,’ said Sam; ‘’lectiontime came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring downwoters from London. Night afore he was going to drive up,committee on t’ other side sends for him quietly, and away he goesvith the messenger, who shows him in;―large room―lots ofgen’l’m’n―heaps of papers, pens and ink, and all that ’ere. “Ah,Mr. Weller,” says the gen’l’m’n in the chair, “glad to see you, sir;how are you?”―“Wery well, thank’ee, sir,” says my father; “I hopeyou’re pretty middlin,” says he.―“Pretty well, thank’ee, sir,” saysthe gen’l’m’n; “sit down, Mr. Weller―pray sit down, sir.” So myfather sits down, and he and the gen’l’m’n looks wery hard at eachother. “You don’t remember me?” said the gen’l’m’n.―“Can’t sayI 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’tremember you,” says my father.―“That’s wery odd,” says thegen’l’m’n.”―“Wery,” says my father.―“You must have a badmem’ry, Mr. Weller,” says the gen’l’m’n.―“Well, it is a wery bad’un,” says my father.―“I thought so,” says the gen’l’m’n. So thenthey pours him out a glass of wine, and gammons him about hisdriving, and gets him into a reg’lar good humour, and at lastshoves a twenty-pound note into his hand. “It’s a wery bad roadbetween this and London,” says the gen’l’m’n.―“Here and there itis a heavy road,” says my father.―“’Specially near the canal, Ithink,” says the gen’l’m’n.―“Nasty bit that ’ere,” says my father.―“Well, 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 allwery fond o’ you, Mr. Weller, so in case you should have anaccident when you’re bringing these here woters down, and shouldtip ’em over into the canal vithout hurtin’ of ’em, this is foryourself,” 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; vichhe did, and then buttons up the money, and bows himself out. Youwouldn’t believe, sir,’ continued Sam, with a look of inexpressibleimpudence at his master, ‘that on the wery day as he came downwith them woters, his coach was upset on that ’ere wery spot, andev’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 gen’l’m’nwas missin’; I know his hat was found, but I ain’t quite certainwhether his head was in it or not. But what I look at is the hex-traordinary and wonderful coincidence, that arter what thatgen’l’m’n said, my father’s coach should be upset in that weryplace, and on that wery day!’
　　‘It is, no doubt, a very extraordinary circumstance indeed,’ saidMr. Pickwick. ‘But brush my hat, Sam, for I hear Mr. Winklecalling 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 hatswas decorated with an enormous blue favour, made up by the fairhands of Mrs. Pott herself; and as Mr. Winkle had undertaken toescort that lady to a house-top, in the immediate vicinity of thehustings, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Pott repaired alone to the TownArms, from the back window of which, one of Mr. Slumkey’scommittee was addressing six small boys and one girl, whom hedignified, at every second sentence, with the imposing title of ‘Menof Eatanswill,’ whereat the six small boys aforesaid cheeredprodigiously.
　　The stable-yard exhibited unequivocal symptoms of the gloryand strength of the Eatanswill Blues. There was a regular army ofblue flags, some with one handle, and some with two, exhibitingappropriate devices, in golden characters four feet high, and stoutin proportion. There was a grand band of trumpets, bassoons, anddrums, marshalled four abreast, and earning their money, if evermen did, especially the drum-beaters, who were very muscular.
　　There were bodies of constables with blue staves, twentycommittee-men with blue scarfs, and a mob of voters with bluecockades. There were electors on horseback and electors afoot.
　　There was an open carriage-and-four, for the Honourable SamuelSlumkey; and there were four carriage-and-pair, for his friendsand supporters; and the flags were rustling, and the band wasplaying, and the constables were swearing, and the twentycommittee-men were squabbling, and the mob were shouting, andthe horses were backing, and the post-boys perspiring; andeverybody, and everything, then and there assembled, was for thespecial use, behoof, honour, and renown, of the HonourableSamuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, one of the candidates for therepresentation of the borough of Eatanswill, in the CommonsHouse of Parliament of the United Kingdom. Loud and long werethe cheers, and mighty was the rustling of one of the blue flags,with ‘Liberty of the Press’ inscribed thereon, when the sandy headof Mr. Pott was discerned in one of the windows, by the mobbeneath; and tremendous was the enthusiasm when theHonourable Samuel Slumkey himself, in top-boots, and a blueneckerchief, advanced and seized the hand of the said Pott, andmelodramatically testified by gestures to the crowd, hisineffaceable obligations to the Eatanswill Gazette.
　　‘Is everything ready?’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey toMr. Perker.
　　‘Everything, my dear sir,’ was the little man’s reply.
　　‘Nothing has been omitted, I hope?’said the HonourableSamuel Slumkey.
　　‘Nothing has been left undone, my dear sir―nothing whatever.
　　There are twenty washed men at the street door for you to shakehands with; and six children in arms that you’re to pat on thehead, and inquire the age of; be particular about the children, mydear sir―it has always a great effect, that sort of thing.’
　　‘I’ll take care,’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.
　　‘And, perhaps, my dear sir,’ said the cautious little man,‘perhaps if you could―I don’t mean to say it’s indispensable―butif you could manage to kiss one of ’em, it would produce a verygreat impression on the crowd.’
　　‘Wouldn’t it have as good an effect if the proposer or seconderdid that?’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.
　　‘Why, I am afraid it wouldn’t,’ replied the agent; ‘if it were doneby yourself, my dear sir, I think it would make you very popular.’
　　‘Very well,’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with aresigned 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 theconstables, and the committee-men, and the voters, and thehorsemen, and the carriages, took their places―each of the two-horse vehicles being closely packed with as many gentlemen ascould 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 besides.
　　There was a moment of awful suspense as the processionwaited for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to step into hiscarriage. Suddenly the crowd set up a great cheering.
　　‘He has come out,’ said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; themore so as their position did not enable them to see what wasgoing 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 littlegentleman, and hailed by the deafening shouts of the multitude,the procession moved on.
　　How or by what means it became mixed up with the otherprocession, and how it was ever extricated from the confusionconsequent thereupon, is more than we can undertake to describe,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 theproceedings. He describes himself as being surrounded on everyside, when he could catch a glimpse of the scene, by angry andferocious countenances, by a vast cloud of dust, and by a densecrowd of combatants. He represents himself as being forced fromthe carriage by some unseen power, and being personally engagedin a pugilistic encounter; but with whom, or how, or why, he iswholly unable to state. He then felt himself forced up somewooden steps by the persons from behind; and on removing hishat, found himself surrounded by his friends, in the very front ofthe left hand side of the hustings. The right was reserved for theBuff party, and the centre for the mayor and his officers; one ofwhom―the fat crier of Eatanswill―was ringing an enormous bell,by way of commanding silence, while Mr. Horatio Fizkin, and theHonourable Samuel Slumkey, with their hands upon their hearts,were bowing with the utmost affability to the troubled sea of headsthat inundated the open space in front; and from whence arose astorm of groans, and shouts, and yells, and hootings, that wouldhave done honour to an earthquake.
　　‘There’s Winkle,’ said Mr. Tupman, pulling his friend by thesleeve.
　　‘Where!’ said Mr. Pickwick, putting on his spectacles, which hehad fortunately kept in his pocket hitherto. ‘There,’ said Mr.
　　Tupman, ‘on the top of that house.’ And there, sure enough, in theleaden gutter of a tiled roof, were Mr. Winkle and Mrs. Pott,comfortably seated in a couple of chairs, waving theirhandkerchiefs 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 inactivecrowd is generally disposed to be jocose, this very innocent actionwas sufficient to awaken their facetiousness.
　　‘Oh, you wicked old rascal,’ cried one voice, ‘looking arter thegirls, are you?’
　　‘Oh, you wenerable sinner,’ cried another.
　　‘Putting on his spectacles to look at a married ’ooman!’ said athird.
　　‘I see him a-winkin’ at her, with his wicked old eye,’ shouted afourth.
　　‘Look arter your wife, Pott,’ bellowed a fifth―and then therewas a roar of laughter.
　　As these taunts were accompanied with invidious comparisonsbetween Mr. Pickwick and an aged ram, and several witticisms ofthe like nature; and as they moreover rather tended to conveyreflections upon the honour of an innocent lady, Mr. Pickwick’sindignation was excessive; but as silence was proclaimed at themoment, he contented himself by scorching the mob with a look ofpity for their misguided minds, at which they laughed moreboisterously than ever.
　　‘Silence!’ roared the mayor’s attendants.
　　‘Whiffin, proclaim silence,’ said the mayor, with an air of pompbefitting his lofty station. In obedience to this command the crierperformed another concerto on the bell, whereupon a gentlemanin the crowd called out ‘Muffins’; which occasioned another laugh.
　　‘Gentlemen,’ said the mayor, at as loud a pitch as he couldpossibly force his voice to―‘gentlemen. Brother electors of theborough of Eatanswill. We are met here to-day for the purpose ofchoosing a representative in the room of our late―’
　　Here the mayor was interrupted by a voice in the crowd.
　　‘Suc-cess to the mayor!’ cried the voice, ‘and may he neverdesert the nail and sarspan business, as he got his money by.’
　　This allusion to the professional pursuits of the orator wasreceived with a storm of delight, which, with a bell-accompaniment, rendered the remainder of his speech inaudible,with the exception of the concluding sentence, in which hethanked the meeting for the patient attention with which theyheard him throughout―an expression of gratitude which elicitedanother burst of mirth, of about a quarter of an hour’s duration.
　　Next, a tall, thin gentleman, in a very stiff white neckerchief,after being repeatedly desired by the crowd to ‘send a boy home,to ask whether he hadn’t left his voice under the pillow,’ begged tonominate a fit and proper person to represent them in Parliament.
　　And when he said it was Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge,near Eatanswill, the Fizkinites applauded, and the Slumkeyitesgroaned, so long, and so loudly, that both he and the secondermight have sung comic songs in lieu of speaking, withoutanybody’s being a bit the wiser.
　　The friends of Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, having had theirinnings, a little choleric, pink-faced man stood forward to proposeanother fit and proper person to represent the electors ofEatanswill in Parliament; and very swimmingly the pink-facedgentleman would have got on, if he had not been rather toocholeric to entertain a sufficient perception of the fun of thecrowd. But after a very few sentences of figurative eloquence, thepink-faced gentleman got from denouncing those who interruptedhim in the mob, to exchanging defiances with the gentlemen onthe hustings; whereupon arose an uproar which reduced him tothe necessity of expressing his feelings by serious pantomime,which he did, and then left the stage to his seconder, whodelivered a written speech of half an hour’s length, and wouldn’tbe stopped, because he had sent it all to the Eatanswill Gazette,and the Eatanswill Gazette had already printed it, every word.
　　Then Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill,presented himself for the purpose of addressing the electors;which he no sooner did, than the band employed by theHonourable Samuel Slumkey, commenced performing with apower to which their strength in the morning was a trifle; inreturn for which, the Buff crowd belaboured the heads andshoulders of the Blue crowd; on which the Blue crowdendeavoured to dispossess themselves of their very unpleasantneighbours the Buff crowd; and a scene of struggling, andpushing, and fighting, succeeded, to which we can no more dojustice than the mayor could, although he issued imperativeorders to twelve constables to seize the ringleaders, who mightamount in number to two hundred and fifty, or thereabouts. At allthese encounters, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, andhis friends, waxed fierce and furious; until at last Horatio Fizkin,Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, begged to ask his opponent, theHonourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, whether that bandplayed by his consent; which question the Honoura ble SamuelSlumkey declining to answer, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of FizkinLodge, shook his fist in the countenance of the HonourableSamuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall; upon which the HonourableSamuel Slumkey, his blood being up, defied Horatio Fizkin,Esquire, to mortal combat. At this violation of all known rules andprecedents of order, the mayor commanded another fantasia onthe bell, and declared that he would bring before himself, bothHoratio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, and the HonourableSamuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, and bind them over to keep thepeace. Upon this terrific denunciation, the supporters of the twocandidates interfered, and after the friends of each party hadquarrelled in pairs, for three-quarters of an hour, Horatio Fizkin,Esquire, touched his hat to the Honourable Samuel Slumkey; theHonourable Samuel Slumkey touched his to Horatio Fizkin,Esquire; the band was stopped; the crowd were partially quieted;and Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, was permitted to proceed.
　　The speeches of the two candidates, though differing in everyother respect, afforded a beautiful tribute to the merit and highworth of the electors of Eatanswill. Both expressed their opinionthat a more independent, a more enlightened, a more public-spirited, a more noble-minded, a more disinterested set of menthan those who had promised to vote for him, never existed onearth; each darkly hinted his suspicions that the electors in theopposite interest had certain swinish and besotted infirmitieswhich rendered them unfit for the exercise of the important dutiesthey were called upon to discharge. Fizkin expressed his readinessto do anything he was wanted: Slumkey, his determination to donothing that was asked of him. Both said that the trade, themanufactures, the commerce, the prosperity of Eatanswill, wouldever be dearer to their hearts than any earthly object; and eachhad it in his power to state, with the utmost confidence, that hewas the man who would eventually be returned.
　　There was a show of hands; the mayor decided in favour of theHonourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall. Horatio Fizkin,Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, demanded a poll, and a poll was fixedaccordingly. Then a vote of thanks was moved to the mayor for hisable conduct in the chair; and the mayor, devoutly wishing that hehad had a chair to display his able conduct in (for he had beenstanding during the whole proceedings), returned thanks. Theprocessions reformed, the carriages rolled slowly through thecrowd, and its members screeched and shouted after them as theirfeelings or caprice dictated.
　　During the whole time of the polling, the town was in aperpetual fever of excitement. Everything was conducted on themost liberal and delightful scale. Excisable articles wereremarkably cheap at all the public-houses; and spring vansparaded the streets for the accommodation of voters who wereseized with any temporary dizziness in the head―an epidemicwhich prevailed among the electors, during the contest, to a mostalarming extent, and under the influence of which they mightfrequently be seen lying on the pavements in a state of utterinsensibility. A small body of electors remained unpolled on thevery last day. They were calculating and reflecting persons, whohad not yet been convinced by the arguments of either party,although they had frequent conferences with each. One hourbefore the close of the poll, Mr. Perker solicited the honour of aprivate interview with these intelligent, these noble, thesepatriotic men. it was granted. His arguments were brief butsatisfactory. They went in a body to the poll; and when theyreturned, the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, wasreturned also.
Chapter 14 
COMPRISING A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THECOMPANY AT THE PEACOCK ASSEMBLED;AND A TALE TOLD BY A BAGMANt is pleasant to turn from contemplating the strife and turmoilof political existence, to the peaceful repose of private life.
　　Although in reality no great partisan of either side, Mr.
　　Pickwick was sufficiently fired with Mr. Pott’s enthusiasm, toapply his whole time and attention to the proceedings, of whichthe last chapter affords a description compiled from his ownmemoranda. Nor while he was thus occupied was Mr. Winkle idle,his whole time being devoted to pleasant walks and short countryexcursions with Mrs. Pott, who never failed, when such anopportunity presented it self, to seek some relief from the tediousmonotony she so constantly complained of. The two gentlemenbeing thus completely domesticated in the Editor’s house, Mr.
　　Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were in a great measure cast upontheir own resources. Taking but little interest in public affairs,they beguiled their time chiefly with such amusements as thePeacock afforded, which were limited to a bagatelle-board in thefirst floor, and a sequestered skittle-ground in the back yard. Inthe science and nicety of both these recreations, which are farmore abstruse than ordinary men suppose, they were graduallyinitiated by Mr. Weller, who possessed a perfect knowledge ofsuch pastimes. Thus, notwithstanding that they were in a greatmeasure deprived of the comfort and advantage of Mr. Pickwick’ssociety, they were still enabled to beguile the time, and to preventits hanging heavily on their hands.
　　It was in the evening, however, that the Peacock presentedattractions which enabled the two friends to resist even theinvitations of the gifted, though prosy, Pott. It was in the eveningthat the ‘commercial room’ was filled with a social circle, whosecharacters and manners it was the delight of Mr. Tupman toobserve; whose sayings and doings it was the habit of Mr.
　　Snodgrass to note down.
　　Most people know what sort of places commercial roomsusually are. That of the Peacock differed in no material respectfrom the generality of such apartments; that is to say, it was alarge, bare-looking room, the furniture of which had no doubtbeen better when it was newer, with a spacious table in the centre,and a variety of smaller dittos in the corners; an extensiveassortment of variously shaped chairs, and an old Turkey carpet,bearing about the same relative proportion to the size of the room,as a lady’s pocket-handkerchief might to the floor of a watch-box.
　　The walls were garnished with one or two large maps; and severalweather-beaten rough greatcoats, with complicated capes, dangledfrom a long row of pegs in one corner. The mantel-shelf wasornamented with a wooden inkstand, containing one stump of apen and half a wafer; a road-book and directory; a county historyminus the cover; and the mortal remains of a trout in a glasscoffin. The atmosphere was redolent of tobacco-smoke, the fumesof which had communicated a rather dingy hue to the whole room,and more especially to the dusty red curtains which shaded thewindows. On the sideboard a variety of miscellaneous articleswere huddled together, the most conspicuous of which were somevery cloudy fish-sauce cruets, a couple of driving-boxes, two orthree whips, and as many travelling shawls, a tray of knives andforks, and the mustard.
　　Here it was that Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were seatedon the evening after the conclusion of the election, with severalother temporary inmates of the house, smoking and drinking.
　　‘Well, gents,’ said a stout, hale personage of about forty, withonly one eye―a very bright black eye, which twinkled with aroguish expression of fun and good-humour, ‘our noble selves,gents. I always propose that toast to the company, and drink Maryto myself. Eh, Mary!’
　　‘Get along with you, you wretch,’ said the hand-maiden,obviously not ill-pleased with the compliment, however.
　　‘Don’t go away, Mary,’ said the black-eyed man.
　　‘Let me alone, imperence,’ said the young lady.
　　‘Never mind,’ said the one-eyed man, calling after the girl asshe left the room. ‘I’ll step out by and by, Mary. Keep your spiritsup, dear.’ Here he went through the not very difficult process ofwinking upon the company with his solitary eye, to theenthusiastic delight of an elderly personage with a dirty face and aclay pipe.
　　‘Rum creeters is women,’ said the dirty-faced man, after apause.
　　‘Ah! no mistake about that,’ said a very red-faced man, behind acigar.
　　After this little bit of philosophy there was another pause.
　　‘There’s rummer things than women in this world though, mindyou,’ said the man with the black eye, slowly filling a large Dutchpipe, with a most capacious bowl.
　　 ‘Are you married?’ inquired the dirty-faced man.
　　‘Can’t say I am.’
　　‘I thought not.’ Here the dirty-faced man fell into ecstasies ofmirth at his own retort, in which he was joined by a man of blandvoice and placid countenance, who always made it a point to agreewith everybody.
　　‘Women, after all, gentlemen, ’ said the enthusiastic Mr.
　　Snodgrass, ‘are the great props and comforts of our existence.’
　　‘So they are,’ said the placid gentleman.
　　‘When they’re in a good humour,’ interposed the dirty-facedman.
　　‘And that’s very true,’ said the placid one.
　　‘I repudiate that qualification,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, whosethoughts were fast reverting to Emily Wardle. ‘I repudiate it withdisdain―with indignation. Show me the man who says anythingagainst women, as women, and I boldly declare he is not a man.’
　　And Mr. Snodgrass took his cigar from his mouth, and struck thetable violently with his clenched fist.
　　‘That’s good sound argument,’ said the placid man.
　　‘Containing a position which I deny,’ interrupted he of the dirtycountenance.
　　‘And there’s certainly a very great deal of truth in what youobserve too, sir,’ said the placid gentleman.
　　‘Your health, sir,’ said the bagman with the lonely eye,bestowing an approving nod on Mr. Snodgrass.
　　Mr. Snodgrass acknowledged the compliment.
　　‘I always like to hear a good argument,’ continued the bagman,‘a sharp one, like this: it’s very improving; but this little argumentabout women brought to my mind a story I have heard an olduncle of mine tell, the recollection of which, just now, made me saythere were rummer things than women to be met with,sometimes.’
　　‘I should like to hear that same story,’ said the red-faced manwith the cigar.
　　‘Should you?’ was the only reply of the bagman, who continuedto smoke with great vehemence.
　　‘So should I,’ said Mr. Tupman, speaking for the first time. Hewas always anxious to increase his stock of experience.
　　‘Should you? Well then, I’ll tell it. No, I won’t. I know you won’tbelieve it,’ said the man with the roguish eye, making that organlook more roguish than ever. ‘If you say it’s true, of course I shall,’
　　said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Well, upon that understanding I’ll tell you,’ replied thetraveller. ‘Did you ever hear of the great commercial house ofBilson & Slum? But it doesn’t matter though, whether you did ornot, because they retired from business long since. It’s eightyyears ago, since the circumstance happened to a traveller for thathouse, but he was a particular friend of my uncle’s; and my uncletold the story to me. It’s a queer name; but he used to call itTHE BAGMAN’S STORYand he used to tell it, something in this way.
　　‘One winter’s evening, about five o’clock, just as it began to growdusk, a man in a gig might have been seen urging his tired horsealong the road which leads across Marlborough Downs, in thedirection of Bristol. I say he might have been seen, and I have nodoubt he would have been, if anybody but a blind man hadhappened to pass that way; but the weather was so bad, and thenight so cold and wet, that nothing was out but the water, and sothe traveller jogged along in the middle of the road, lonesome anddreary enough. If any bagman of that day could have caught sightof the little neck-or-nothing sort of gig, with a clay-coloured bodyand red wheels, and the vixenish, ill tempered, fast-going baymare, that looked like a cross between a butcher’s horse and atwopenny post-office pony, he would have known at once, that thistraveller could have been no other than Tom Smart, of the greathouse of Bilson and Slum, Cateaton Street, City. However, asthere was no bagman to look on, nobody knew anything at allabout the matter; and so Tom Smart and his clay-coloured gigwith the red wheels, and the vixenish mare with the fast pace,went on together, keeping the secret among them, and nobodywas a bit the wiser.
　　‘There are many pleasanter places even in this dreary world,than Marlborough Downs when it blows hard; and if you throw inbeside, a gloomy winter’s evening, a miry and sloppy road, and apelting fall of heavy rain, and try the effect, by way of experiment,in your own proper person, you will experience the full force ofthis observation.
　　‘The wind blew―not up the road or down it, though that’s badenough, but sheer across it, sending the rain slanting down likethe lines they used to rule in the copy-books at school, to make theboys slope well. For a moment it would die away, and the travellerwould begin to delude himself into the belief that, exhausted withits previous fury, it had quietly laid itself down to rest, when,whoo! he could hear it growling and whistling in the distance, andon it would come rushing over the hill-tops, and sweeping alongthe plain, gathering sound and strength as it drew nearer, until itdashed with a heavy gust against horse and man, driving the sharprain into their ears, and its cold damp breath into their very bones;and past them it would scour, far, far away, with a stunning roar,as if in ridicule of their weakness, and triumphant in theconsciousness of its own strength and power.
　　‘The bay mare splashed away, through the mud and water, withdrooping ears; now and then tossing her head as if to express herdisgust at this very ungentlemanly behaviour of the elements, butkeeping a good pace notwithstanding, until a gust of wind, morefurious than any that had yet assailed them, caused her to stopsuddenly and plant her four feet firmly against the ground, toprevent her being blown over. It’s a special mercy that she didthis, for if she had been blown over, the vixenish mare was so light,and the gig was so light, and Tom Smart such a light weight intothe bargain, that they must infallibly have all gone rolling over andover together, until they reached the confines of earth, or until thewind fell; and in either case the probability is, that neither thevixenish mare, nor the clay-coloured gig with the red wheels, norTom Smart, would ever have been fit for service again.
　　‘“Well, damn my straps and whiskers,” says Tom Smart (Tomsometimes had an unpleasant knack of swearing)―“damn mystraps and whiskers,” says Tom, “if this ain’t pleasant, blow me!”
　　‘You’ll very likely ask me why, as Tom Smart had been prettywell blown already, he expressed this wish to be submitted to thesame process again. I can’t say―all I know is, that Tom Smart saidso―or at least he always told my uncle he said so, and it’s just thesame thing.
　　“‘Blow me,” says Tom Smart; and the mare neighed as if shewere precisely of the same opinion.
　　“‘Cheer up, old girl,” said Tom, patting the bay mare on theneck with the end of his whip. “It won’t do pushing on, such anight as this; the first house we come to we’ll put up at, so thefaster you go the sooner it’s over. Soho, old girl―gently―gently.”
　　‘Whether the vixenish mare was sufficiently well acquaintedwith the tones of Tom’s voice to comprehend his meaning, orwhether she found it colder standing still than moving on, ofcourse I can’t say. But I can say that Tom had no sooner finishedspeaking, than she pricked up her ears, and started forward at aspeed which made the clay-coloured gig rattle until you wouldhave supposed every one of the red spokes were going to fly out onthe turf of Marlborough Downs; and even Tom, whip as he was,couldn’t stop or check her pace, until she drew up of her ownaccord, before a roadside inn on the right-hand side of the way,about half a quarter of a mile from the end of the Downs.
　　‘Tom cast a hasty glance at the upper part of the house as hethrew the reins to the hostler, and stuck the whip in the box. Itwas a strange old place, built of a kind of shingle, inlaid, as it were,with cross-beams, with gabled-topped windows projectingcompletely over the pathway, and a low door with a dark porch,and a couple of steep steps leading down into the house, instead ofthe modern fashion of half a dozen shallow ones leading up to it. Itwas a comfortable-looking place though, for there was a strong,cheerful light in the bar window, which shed a bright ray acrossthe road, and even lighted up the hedge on the other side; andthere was a red flickering light in the opposite window, onemoment but faintly discernible, and the next gleaming stronglythrough the drawn curtains, which intimated that a rousing firewas blazing within. Marking these little evidences with the eye ofan experienced traveller, Tom dismounted with as much agility ashis half-frozen limbs would permit, and entered the house.
　　‘In less than five minutes’ time, Tom was ensconced in the roomopposite the bar―the very room where he had imagined the fireblazing―before a substantial, matter-of-fact, roaring fire,composed of something short of a bushel of coals, and woodenough to make half a dozen decent gooseberry bushes, piled half-way up the chimney, and roaring and crackling with a sound thatof itself would have warmed the heart of any reasonable man. Thiswas comfortable, but this was not all; for a smartly-dressed girl,with a bright eye and a neat ankle, was laying a very clean whitecloth on the table; and as Tom sat with his slippered feet on thefender, and his back to the open door, he saw a charming prospectof the bar reflected in the glass over the chimney-piece, withdelightful rows of green bottles and gold labels, together with jarsof pickles and preserves, and cheeses and boiled hams, and roundsof beef, arranged on shelves in the most tempting and deliciousarray. Well, this was comfortable too; but even this was not all―forin the bar, seated at tea at the nicest possible little table, drawnclose up before the brightest possible little fire, was a buxomwidow of somewhere about eight-and-forty or thereabouts, with aface as comfortable as the bar, who was evidently the landlady ofthe house, and the supreme ruler over all these agreeablepossessions. There was only one drawback to the beauty of thewhole picture, and that was a tall man―a very tall man―in abrown coat and bright basket buttons, and black whiskers andwavy black hair, who was seated at tea with the widow, and who itrequired no great penetration to discover was in a fair way ofpersuading her to be a widow no longer, but to confer upon himthe privilege of sitting down in that bar, for and during the wholeremainder of the term of his natural life.
　　‘Tom Smart was by no means of an irritable or enviousdisposition, but somehow or other the tall man with the browncoat and the bright basket buttons did rouse what little gall he hadin his composition, and did make him feel extremely indignant,the more especially as he could now and then observe, from hisseat before the glass, certain little affectionate familiarities passingbetween the tall man and the widow, which sufficiently denotedthat the tall man was as high in favour as he was in size. Tom wasfond of hot punch―I may venture to say he was very fond of hotpunch―and after he had seen the vixenish mare well fed and welllittered down, and had eaten every bit of the nice little hot dinnerwhich the widow tossed up for him with her own hands, he justordered a tumbler of it by way of experiment. Now, if there wasone thing in the whole range of domestic art, which the widowcould manufacture better than another, it was this identicalarticle; and the first tumbler was adapted to Tom Smart’s tastewith such peculiar nicety, that he ordered a second with the leastpossible delay. Hot punch is a pleasant thing, gentlemen―anextremely pleasant thing under any circumstances―but in thatsnug old parlour, before the roaring fire, with the wind blowingoutside till every timber in the old house creaked again, TomSmart found it perfectly delightful. He ordered another tumbler,and then another―I am not quite certain whether he didn’t orderanother after that―but the more he drank of the hot punch, themore he thought of the tall man.
　　‘“Confound his impudence!” said Tom to himself, “whatbusiness has he in that snug bar? Such an ugly villain too!” saidTom. “If the widow had any taste, she might surely pick up somebetter fellow than that.” Here Tom’s eye wandered from the glasson the chimney-piece to the glass on the table; and as he felthimself becoming gradually sentimental, he emptied the fourthtumbler of punch and ordered a fifth.
　　‘Tom Smart, gentlemen, had always been very much attachedto the public line. It had been long his ambition to stand in a bar ofhis own, in a green coat, knee-cords, and tops. He had a greatnotion of taking the chair at convivial dinners, and he had oftenthought how well he could preside in a room of his own in thetalking way, and what a capital example he could set to hiscustomers in the drinking department. All these things passedrapidly through Tom’s mind as he sat drinking the hot punch bythe roaring fire, and he felt very justly and properly indignant thatthe tall man should be in a fair way of keeping such an excellenthouse, while he, Tom Smart, was as far off from it as ever. So, afterdeliberating over the two last tumblers, whether he hadn’t aperfect right to pick a quarrel with the tall man for havingcontrived to get into the good graces of the buxom widow, TomSmart at last arrived at the satisfactory conclusion that he was avery ill-used and persecuted individual, and had better go to bed.
　　‘Up a wide and ancient staircase the smart girl preceded Tom,shading the chamber candle with her hand, to protect it from thecurrents of air which in such a rambling old place might havefound plenty of room to disport themselves in, without blowing thecandle out, but which did blow it out nevertheless―thus affordingTom’s enemies an opportunity of asserting that it was he, and notthe wind, who extinguished the candle, and that while hepretended to be blowing it alight again, he was in fact kissing thegirl. Be this as it may, another light was obtained, and Tom wasconducted through a maze of rooms, and a labyrinth of passages,to the apartment which had been prepared for his reception,where the girl bade him good-night and left him alone.
　　‘It was a good large room with big closets, and a bed whichmight have served for a whole boarding-school, to say nothing of acouple of oaken presses that would have held the baggage of asmall army; but what struck Tom’s fancy most was a strange,grim-looking, high backed chair, carved in the most fantasticmanner, with a flowered damask cushion, and the round knobs atthe bottom of the legs carefully tied up in red cloth, as if it had gotthe gout in its toes. Of any other queer chair, Tom would only havethought it was a queer chair, and there would have been an end ofthe matter; but there was something about this particular chair,and yet he couldn’t tell what it was, so odd and so unlike any otherpiece of furniture he had ever seen, that it seemed to fascinatehim. He sat down before the fire, and stared at the old chair forhalf an hour.―Damn the chair, it was such a strange old thing, hecouldn’t take his eyes off it.
　　“‘Well,” said Tom, slowly undressing himself, and staring at theold chair all the while, which stood with a mysterious aspect by thebedside, “I never saw such a rum concern as that in my days. Veryodd,” said Tom, who had got rather sage with the hot punch―‘very odd.” Tom shook his head with an air of profound wisdom,and looked at the chair again. He couldn’t make anything of itthough, so he got into bed, covered himself up warm, and fellasleep.
　　‘In about half an hour, Tom woke up with a start, from aconfused dream of tall men and tumblers of punch; and the firstobject that presented itself to his waking imagination was thequeer chair.
　　‘“I won’t look at it any more,” said Tom to himself, and hesqueezed his eyelids together, and tried to persuade himself hewas going to sleep again. No use; nothing but queer chairs dancedbefore his eyes, kicking up their legs, jumping over each other’sbacks, and playing all kinds of antics.
　　“‘I may as well see one real chair, as two or three complete setsof false ones,” said Tom, bringing out his head from under thebedclothes. There it was, plainly discernible by the light of the fire,looking as provoking as ever.
　　‘Tom gazed at the chair; and, suddenly as he looked at it, a mostextraordinary change seemed to come over it. The carving of theback gradually assumed the lineaments and expression of an old,shrivelled human face; the damask cushion became an antique,flapped waistcoat; the round knobs grew into a couple of feet,encased in red cloth slippers; and the whole chair looked like avery ugly old man, of the previous century, with his arms akimbo.
　　Tom sat up in bed, and rubbed his eyes to dispel the illusion. No.
　　The chair was an ugly old gentleman; and what was more, he waswinking at Tom Smart.
　　‘Tom was naturally a headlong, careless sort of dog, and he hadhad five tumblers of hot punch into the bargain; so, although hewas a little startled at first, he began to grow rather indignantwhen he saw the old gentleman winking and leering at him withsuch an impudent air. At length he resolved that he wouldn’tstand it; and as the old face still kept winking away as fast as ever,Tom said, in a very angry tone―‘“What the devil are you winking at me for?”
　　‘“Because I like it, Tom Smart,” said the chair; or the oldgentleman, whichever you like to call him. He stopped winkingthough, when Tom spoke, and began grinning like asuperannuated monkey.
　　‘“How do you know my name, old nut-cracker face?” inquiredTom Smart, rather staggered; though he pretended to carry it offso well.
　　‘“Come, come, Tom,” said the old gentleman, “that’s not theway to address solid Spanish mahogany. Damme, you couldn’ttreat me with less respect if I was veneered.” When the oldgentleman said this, he looked so fierce that Tom began to growfrightened.
　　‘“I didn’t mean to treat you with any disrespect, sir,” said Tom,in a much humbler tone than he had spoken in at first.
　　‘“Well, well,” said the old fellow, “perhaps not―perhaps not.
　　Tom―”
　　‘“Sir―”
　　‘“I know everything about you, Tom; everything. You’re verypoor, Tom.”
　　‘“I certainly am,” said Tom Smart. “But how came you to knowthat?”
　　‘“Never mind that,” said the old gentleman; “you’re much toofond of punch, Tom.”
　　‘Tom Smart was just on the point of protesting that he hadn’ttasted a drop since his last birthday, but when his eye encounteredthat of the old gentleman he looked so knowing that Tom blushed,and was silent.
　　‘“Tom,” said the old gentleman, “the widow’s a fine woman―remarkably fine woman―eh, Tom?” Here the old fellow screwedup his eyes, cocked up one of his wasted little legs, and lookedaltogether so unpleasantly amorous, that Tom was quite disgustedwith the levity of his behaviour―at his time of life, too! ‘“I am herguardian, Tom,” said the old gentleman.
　　‘“Are you?” inquired Tom Smart.
　　‘“I knew her mother, Tom,” said the old fellow: “and hergrandmother. She was very fond of me―made me this waistcoat,Tom.”
　　‘“Did she?” said Tom Smart.
　　‘“And these shoes,” said the old fellow, lifting up one of the redcloth mufflers; “but don’t mention it, Tom. I shouldn’t like to haveit known that she was so much attached to me. It might occasionsome unpleasantness in the family.” When the old rascal said this,he looked so extremely impertinent, that, as Tom Smartafterwards declared, he could have sat upon him without remorse.
　　‘“I have been a great favourite among the women in my time,Tom,” said the profligate old debauchee; “hundreds of fine womenhave sat in my lap for hours together. What do you think of that,you dog, eh!” The old gentleman was proceeding to recount someother exploits of his youth, when he was seized with such a violentfit of creaking that he was unable to proceed.
　　‘“Just serves you right, old boy,” thought Tom Smart; but hedidn’t say anything.
　　‘“Ah!” said the old fellow, “I am a good deal troubled with thisnow. I am getting old, Tom, and have lost nearly all my rails. Ihave had an operation performed, too―a small piece let into myback―and I found it a severe trial, Tom.”
　　‘“I dare say you did, sir,” said Tom Smart.
　　‘“However,” said the old gentleman, “that’s not the point. Tom!
　　I want you to marry the widow.”
　　‘“Me, sir!” said Tom.
　　‘“You,” said the old gentleman.
　　‘“Bless your reverend locks,” said Tom (he had a few scatteredhorse-hairs left)―“bless your reverend locks, she wouldn’t haveme.” And Tom sighed involuntarily, as he thought of the bar.
　　‘“Wouldn’t she?” said the old gentleman firmly.
　　‘“No, no,” said Tom; “there’s somebody else in the wind. A tallman―a confoundedly tall man―with black whiskers.”
　　‘“Tom,” said the old gentleman; “she will never have him.”
　　‘“Won’t she?” said Tom. “If you stood in the bar, old gentleman,you’d tell another story.” ‘“Pooh, pooh,” said the old gentleman. “Iknow all about that. “‘“About what?” said Tom.
　　‘“The kissing behind the door, and all that sort of thing, Tom,”
　　said the old gentleman. And here he gave another impudent look,which made Tom very wroth, because as you all know, gentlemen,to hear an old fellow, who ought to know better, talking aboutthese things, is very unpleasant―nothing more so.
　　‘“I know all about that, Tom,” said the old gentleman. “I haveseen it done very often in my time, Tom, between more peoplethan I should like to mention to you; but it never came to anythingafter all.”
　　‘“You must have seen some queer things,” said Tom, with aninquisitive look.
　　‘“You may say that, Tom,” replied the old fellow, with a verycomplicated wink. “I am the last of my family, Tom,” said the oldgentleman, with a melancholy sigh.
　　‘“Was it a large one?” inquired Tom Smart.
　　‘“There were twelve of us, Tom,” said the old gentleman; “fine,straight-backed, handsome fellows as you’d wish to see. None ofyour modern abortions―all with arms, and with a degree ofpolish, though I say it that should not, which it would have doneyour heart good to behold.”
　　‘“And what’s become of the others, sir?” asked Tom Smart―‘The old gentleman applied his elbow to his eye as he replied,“Gone, Tom, gone. We had hard service, Tom, and they hadn’t allmy constitution. They got rheumatic about the legs and arms, andwent into kitchens and other hospitals; and one of ’em, with longservice and hard usage, positively lost his senses―he got so crazythat he was obliged to be burnt. Shocking thing that, Tom.”
　　‘“Dreadful!” said Tom Smart.
　　‘The old fellow paused for a few minutes, apparently strugglingwith his feelings of emotion, and then said―‘“However, Tom, I am wandering from the point. This tall man,Tom, is a rascally adventurer. The moment he married the widow,he would sell off all the furniture, and run away. What would bethe consequence? She would be deserted and reduced to ruin, andI should catch my death of cold in some broker’s shop.”
　　‘“Yes, but―”
　　‘“Don’t interrupt me,” said the old gentleman. “Of you, Tom, Ientertain a very different opinion; for I well know that if you oncesettled yourself in a public-house, you would never leave it, as longas there was anything to drink within its walls.”
　　‘“I am very much obliged to you for your good opinion, sir,”
　　said Tom Smart.
　　‘“Therefore,” resumed the old gentleman, in a dictatorial tone,“you shall have her, and he shall not.”
　　‘“What is to prevent it?” said Tom Smart eagerly.
　　‘“This disclosure,” replied the old gentleman; “he is alreadymarried.”
　　‘“How can I prove it?” said Tom, starting half out of bed.
　　‘The old gentleman untucked his arm from his side, and havingpointed to one of the oaken presses, immediately replaced it, in itsold position.
　　‘“He little thinks,” said the old gentleman, “that in the right-hand pocket of a pair of trousers in that press, he has left a letter,entreating him to return to his disconsolate wife, with six―markme, Tom―six babes, and all of them small ones.”
　　‘As the old gentleman solemnly uttered these words, hisfeatures grew less and less distinct, and his figure more shadowy.
　　A film came over Tom Smart’s eyes. The old man seemedgradually blending into the chair, the damask waistcoat to resolveinto a cushion, the red slippers to shrink into little red cloth bags.
　　The light faded gently away, and Tom Smart fell back on hispillow, and dropped asleep.
　　‘Morning aroused Tom from the lethargic slumber, into whichhe had fallen on the disappearance of the old man. He sat up inbed, and for some minutes vainly endeavoured to recall the eventsof the preceding night. Suddenly they rushed upon him. He lookedat the chair; it was a fantastic and grim-looking piece of furniture,certainly, but it must have been a remarkably ingenious and livelyimagination, that could have discovered any resemblance betweenit and an old man.
　　‘“How are you, old boy?” said Tom. He was bolder in thedaylight―most men are.
　　‘The chair remained motionless, and spoke not a word.
　　‘“Miserable morning,” said Tom. No. The chair would not bedrawn into conversation.
　　‘“Which press did you point to?―you can tell me that,” saidTom. Devil a word, gentlemen, the chair would say.
　　‘“It’s not much trouble to open it, anyhow,” said Tom, gettingout of bed very deliberately. He walked up to one of the presses.
　　The key was in the lock; he turned it, and opened the door. Therewas a pair of trousers there. He put his hand into the pocket, anddrew forth the identical letter the old gentleman had described!
　　‘“Queer sort of thing, this,” said Tom Smart, looking first at thechair and then at the press, and then at the letter, and then at thechair again. “Very queer,” said Tom. But, as there was nothing ineither, to lessen the queerness, he thought he might as well dresshimself, and settle the tall man’s business at once―just to put himout of his misery.
　　‘Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on his waydownstairs, with the scrutinising eye of a landlord; thinking it notimpossible, that before long, they and their contents would be hisproperty. The tall man was standing in the snug little bar, with hishands behind him, quite at home. He grinned vacantly at Tom. Acasual observer might have supposed he did it, only to show hiswhite teeth; but Tom Smart thought that a consciousness oftriumph was passing through the place where the tall man’s mindwould have been, if he had had any. Tom laughed in his face; andsummoned the landlady.
　　‘“Good-morning ma’am,” said Tom Smart, closing the door ofthe little parlour as the widow entered.
　　‘“Good-morning, sir,” said the widow. “What will you take forbreakfast, sir?”
　　‘Tom was thinking how he should open the case, so he made noanswer.
　　‘“There’s a very nice ham,” said the widow, “and a beautifulcold larded fowl. Shall I send ’em in, sir?”
　　‘These words roused Tom from his reflections. His admirationof the widow increased as she spoke. Thoughtful creature!
　　Comfortable provider!
　　‘“Who is that gentleman in the bar, ma’am?” inquired Tom.
　　‘“His name is Jinkins, sir,” said the widow, slightly blushing.
　　‘“He’s a tall man,” said Tom.
　　‘“He is a very fine man, sir,” replied the widow, “and a very nicegentleman.”
　　‘“Ah!” said Tom.
　　‘“Is there anything more you want, sir?” inquired the widow,rather puzzled by Tom’s manner. ‘“Why, yes,” said Tom. “My dearma’am, will you have the kindness to sit down for one moment?”
　　‘The widow looked much amazed, but she sat down, and Tomsat down too, close beside her. I don’t know how it happened,gentlemen―indeed my uncle used to tell me that Tom Smart saidhe didn’t know how it happened either―but somehow or other thepalm of Tom’s hand fell upon the back of the widow’s hand, andremained there while he spoke.
　　‘“My dear ma’am,” said Tom Smart―he had always a greatnotion of committing the amiable―“my dear ma’am, you deservea very excellent husband―you do indeed.”
　　‘“Lor, sir!” said the widow―as well she might; Tom’s mode ofcommencing the conversation being rather unusual, not to saystartling; the fact of his never having set eyes upon her before theprevious night being taken into consideration. “Lor, sir!”
　　‘“I scorn to flatter, my dear ma’am,” said Tom Smart. “Youdeserve a very admirable husband, and whoever he is, he’ll be avery lucky man.” As Tom said this, his eye involuntarily wanderedfrom the widow’s face to the comfort around him.
　　‘The widow looked more puzzled than ever, and made an effortto rise. Tom gently pressed her hand, as if to detain her, and shekept her seat. Widows, gentlemen, are not usually timorous, as myuncle used to say.
　　‘“I am sure I am very much obliged to you, sir, for your goodopinion,” said the buxom landlady, half laughing; “and if ever Imarry again―”
　　‘“If,” said Tom Smart, looking very shrewdly out of the right-hand corner of his left eye. “If―”
　　“‘Well,” said the widow, laughing outright this time, “When I do,I hope I shall have as good a husband as you describe.”
　　‘“Jinkins, to wit,” said Tom.
　　‘“Lor, sir!” exclaimed the widow.
　　‘“Oh, don’t tell me,” said Tom, “I know him.”
　　‘“I am sure nobody who knows him, knows anything bad ofhim,” said the widow, bridling up at the mysterious air with whichTom had spoken.
　　‘“Hem!” said Tom Smart.
　　‘The widow began to think it was high time to cry, so she tookout her handkerchief, and inquired whether Tom wished to insulther, whether he thought it like a gentleman to take away thecharacter of another gentleman behind his back, why, if he hadgot anything to say, he didn’t say it to the man, like a man, insteadof terrifying a poor weak woman in that way; and so forth.
　　‘“I’ll say it to him fast enough,” said Tom, “only I want you tohear it first.”
　　‘“What is it?” inquired the widow, looking intently in Tom’scountenance.
　　‘“I’ll astonish you,” said Tom, putting his hand in his pocket.
　　‘“If it is, that he wants money,” said the widow, “I know thatalready, and you needn’t trouble yourself.”
　　‘“Pooh, nonsense, that’s nothing,” said Tom Smart, “I wantmoney. ’Tan’t that.”
　　‘“Oh, dear, what can it be?” exclaimed the poor widow.
　　‘“Don’t be frightened,” said Tom Smart. He slowly drew forththe letter, and unfolded it. “You won’t scream?” said Tomdoubtfully.
　　‘“No, no,” replied the widow; “let me see it.”
　　‘“You won’t go fainting away, or any of that nonsense?” saidTom.
　　‘“No, no,” returned the widow hastily.
　　‘“And don’t run out, and blow him up,” said Tom; “because I’lldo all that for you. You had better not exert yourself.”
　　‘“Well, well,” said the widow, “let me see it.”
　　‘“I will,” replied Tom Smart; and, with these words, he placedthe letter in the widow’s hand.
　　‘Gentlemen, I have heard my uncle say, that Tom Smart saidthe widow’s lamentations when she heard the disclosure wouldhave pierced a heart of stone. Tom was certainly very tender-hearted, but they pierced his, to the very core. The widow rockedherself to and fro, and wrung her hands.
　　‘“Oh, the deception and villainy of the man!” said the widow.
　　‘“Frightful, my dear ma’am; but compose yourself,” said TomSmart.
　　‘“Oh, I can’t compose myself,” shrieked the widow. “I shallnever find anyone else I can love so much!”
　　‘“Oh, yes you will, my dear soul,” said Tom Smart, letting fall ashower of the largest-sized tears, in pity for the widow’smisfortunes. Tom Smart, in the energy of his compassion, had puthis arm round the widow’s waist; and the widow, in a passion ofgrief, had clasped Tom’s hand. She looked up in Tom’s face, andsmiled through her tears. Tom looked down in hers, and smiledthrough his.
　　‘I never could find out, gentlemen, whether Tom did or did notkiss the widow at that particular moment. He used to tell my unclehe didn’t, but I have my doubts about it. Between ourselves,gentlemen, I rather think he did.
　　‘At all events, Tom kicked the very tall man out at the frontdoor half an hour later, and married the widow a month after. Andhe used to drive about the country, with the clay-coloured gig withthe red wheels, and the vixenish mare with the fast pace, till hegave up business many years afterwards, and went to France withhis wife; and then the old house was pulled down.’
　　‘Will you allow me to ask you,’ said the inquisitive oldgentleman, ‘what became of the chair?’
　　‘Why,’ replied the one-eyed bagman, ‘it was observed to creakvery much on the day of the wedding; but Tom Smart couldn’t sayfor certain whether it was with pleasure or bodily infirmity. Herather thought it was the latter, though, for it never spokeafterwards.’
　　‘Everybody believed the story, didn’t they?’ said the dirty-facedman, refilling his pipe.
　　‘Except Tom’s enemies,’ replied the bagman. ‘Some of ’em saidTom invented it altogether; and others said he was drunk andfancied it, and got hold of the wrong trousers by mistake before hewent to bed. But nobody ever minded what they said.’
　　‘Tom Smart said it was all true?’
　　‘Every word.’
　　‘And your uncle?’
　　‘Every letter.’
　　‘They must have been very nice men, both of ’em,’ said thedirty-faced man.
　　‘Yes, they were,’ replied the bagman; ‘very nice men indeed!’
Chapter 15 
IN WHICH IS GIVEN A FAITHFULPORTRAITURE OF TWO DISTINGUISHEDPERSONS; AND AN ACCURATE DESCRIPTIONOF A PUBLIC BREAKFAST IN THEIR HOUSEAND GROUNDS: WHICH PUBLIC BREAKFASTLEADS TO THE RECOGNITION OF AN OLDACQUAINTANCE, AND THE COMMENCEMENTOF ANOTHER CHAPTERr. Pickwick’s conscience had been somewhatreproaching him for his recent neglect of his friends atthe Peacock; and he was just on the point of walkingforth in quest of them, on the third morning after the election hadterminated, when his faithful valet put into his hand a card, onwhich was engraved the following inscription:―Mrs. Leo Hunter.
　　THE DEN. EATANSWILL.
　　‘Person’s a-waitin’,’ said Sam, epigrammatically.
　　‘Does the person want me, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘He wants you partickler; and no one else’ll do, as the devil’sprivate secretary said ven he fetched avay Doctor Faustus,’ repliedMr. Weller.
　　‘He. Is it a gentleman?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘A wery good imitation o’ one, if it ain’t,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘But this is a lady’s card,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Given me by a gen’l’m’n, howsoever,’ replied Sam, ‘and he’s a-waitin’ in the drawing-room―said he’d rather wait all day, thannot see you.’
　　Mr. Pickwick, on hearing this determination, descended to thedrawing-room, where sat a grave man, who started up on hisentrance, and said, with an air of profound respect:―‘Mr. Pickwick, I presume?’
　　‘The same.’
　　‘Allow me, sir, the honour of grasping your hand. Permit me,sir, to shake it,’ said the grave man.
　　‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick. The stranger shook the extendedhand, and then continued―‘We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of your antiquariandiscussion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Hunter―my wife, sir;I am Mr. Leo Hunter’―the stranger paused, as if he expected thatMr. Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure; but seeing thathe remained perfectly calm, proceeded―‘My wife, sir―Mrs. Leo Hunter―is proud to number among heracquaintance all those who have rendered themselves celebratedby their works and talents. Permit me, sir, to place in aconspicuous part of the list the name of Mr. Pickwick, and hisbrother-members of the club that derives its name from him.’
　　‘I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of such alady, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘You shall make it, sir,’ said the grave man. ‘To-morrowmorning, sir, we give a public breakfast―a fête champêtre―to agreat number of those who have rendered themselves celebratedby their works and talents. Permit Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir, to havethe gratification of seeing you at the Den.’
　　‘With great pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, sir,’ resumedthe new acquaintance―‘“feasts of reason,” sir, “and flows of soul,”
　　as somebody who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on herbreakfasts, feelingly and originally observed.’
　　‘Was he celebrated for his works and talents?’ inquired Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘He was sir,’ replied the grave man, ‘all Mrs. Leo Hunter’sacquaintances are; it is her ambition, sir, to have no otheracquaintance.’
　　‘It is a very noble ambition,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell fromyour lips, sir, she will indeed be proud,’ said the grave man. ‘Youhave a gentleman in your train, who has produced some beautifullittle poems, I think, sir.’
　　‘My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry,’ repliedMr. Pickwick.
　　‘So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir. She dotes on poetry, sir. Sheadores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up,and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces,herself, sir. You may have met with her “Ode to an ExpiringFrog,” sir.’
　　‘I don’t think I have,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘You astonish me, sir,’ said Mr. Leo Hunter. ‘It created animmense sensation. It was signed with an “L” and eight stars, andappeared originally in a lady’s magazine. It commenced―‘“Can I view thee panting, lyingOn thy stomach, without sighing;Can I unmoved see thee dyingOn a logExpiring frog!”’
　　‘Beautiful!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Fine,’ said Mr. Leo Hunter; ‘so simple.’
　　‘Very,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it?’
　　‘If you please,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It runs thus,’ said the grave man, still more gravely.
　　‘“Say, have fiends in shape of boys,With wild halloo, and brutal noise,Hunted thee from marshy joys,With a dog,Expiring frog!”’
　　‘Finely expressed,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘All point, sir,’ said Mr. Leo Hunter; ‘but you shall hear Mrs.
　　Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, sir. She will repeat it,in character, sir, to-morrow morning.’
　　‘In character!’
　　‘As Minerva. But I forgot―it’s a fancy-dress breakfast.’
　　‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Pickwick, glancing at his own figure―‘Ican’t possibly―’
　　‘Can’t, sir; can’t!’ exclaimed Mr. Leo Hunter. ‘Solomon Lucas,the Jew in the High Street, has thousands of fancy-dresses.
　　Consider, sir, how many appropriate characters are open for yourselection. Plato, Zeno, Epicurus, Pythagoras―all founders ofclubs.’
　　‘I know that,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I cannot put myself incompetition with those great men, I cannot presume to wear theirdresses.’
　　The grave man considered deeply, for a few seconds, and thensaid―‘On reflection, sir, I don’t know whether it would not affordMrs. Leo Hunter greater pleasure, if her guests saw a gentlemanof your celebrity in his own costume, rather than in an assumedone. I may venture to promise an exception in your case, sir―yes,I am quite certain that, on behalf of Mrs. Leo Hunter, I mayventure to do so.’
　　‘In that case,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I shall have great pleasure incoming.’
　　‘But I waste your time, sir,’ said the grave man, as if suddenlyrecollecting himself. ‘I know its value, sir. I will not detain you. Imay tell Mrs. Leo Hunter, then, that she may confidently expectyou and your distinguished friends? Good-morning, sir, I amproud to have beheld so eminent a personage―not a step sir; not aword.’ And without giving Mr. Pickwick time to offerremonstrance or denial, Mr. Leo Hunter stalked gravely away.
　　Mr. Pickwick took up his hat, and repaired to the Peacock, butMr. Winkle had conveyed the intelligence of the fancy-ball there,before him.
　　‘Mrs. Pott’s going,’ were the first words with which he salutedhis leader.
　　‘Is she?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘As Apollo,’ replied Winkle. ‘Only Pott objects to the tunic.’
　　He is right. He is quite right,’ said Mr. Pickwick emphatically.
　　‘Yes; so she’s going to wear a white satin gown with goldspangles.’
　　‘They’ll hardly know what she’s meant for; will they?’ inquiredMr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Of course they will,’ replied Mr. Winkle indignantly. ‘They’llsee her lyre, won’t they?’
　　‘True; I forgot that,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘I shall go as a bandit,’ interposed Mr. Tupman.
　　‘What!’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a sudden start.
　　‘As a bandit,’ repeated Mr. Tupman, mildly.
　　‘You don’t mean to say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, gazing with solemnsternness at his friend―‘you don’t mean to say, Mr. Tupman, thatit is your intention to put yourself into a green velvet jacket, with atwo-inch tail?’
　　‘Such is my intention, sir,’ replied Mr. Tupman warmly. ‘Andwhy not, sir?’
　　‘Because, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, considerably excited―‘because you are too old, sir.’
　　‘Too old!’ exclaimed Mr. Tupman.
　　‘And if any further ground of objection be wanting,’ continuedMr. Pickwick, ‘you are too fat, sir.’
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, his face suffused with a crimson glow,‘this is an insult.’
　　‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone, ‘it is not half theinsult to you, that your appearance in my presence in a greenvelvet jacket, with a two-inch tail, would be to me.’
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, ‘you’re a fellow.’
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you’re another!’
　　Mr. Tupman advanced a step or two, and glared at Mr.
　　Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick returned the glare, concentrated into afocus by means of his spectacles, and breathed a bold defiance.
　　Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle looked on, petrified at beholdingsuch a scene between two such men.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, after a short pause, speaking in a low,deep voice, ‘you have called me old.’
　　‘I have,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘And fat.’
　　‘I reiterate the charge.’
　　‘And a fellow.’
　　‘So you are!’
　　There was a fearful pause.
　　‘My attachment to your person, sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, speakingin a voice tremulous with emotion, and tucking up his wristbandsmeanwhile, ‘is great―very great―but upon that person, I musttake summary vengeance.’
　　‘Come on, sir!’ replied Mr. Pickwick. Stimulated by the excitingnature of the dialogue, the heroic man actually threw himself intoa paralytic attitude, confidently supposed by the two bystanders tohave been intended as a posture of defence.
　　‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, suddenly recovering thepower of speech, of which intense astonishment had previouslybereft him, and rushing between the two, at the imminent hazardof receiving an application on the temple from each―‘what! Mr.
　　Pickwick, with the eyes of the world upon you! Mr. Tupman! who,in common with us all, derives a lustre from his undying name!
　　For shame, gentlemen; for shame.’
　　The unwonted lines which momentary passion had ruled in Mr.
　　Pickwick’s clear and open brow, gradually melted away, as hisyoung friend spoke, like the marks of a black-lead pencil beneaththe softening influence of india-rubber. His countenance hadresumed its usual benign expression, ere he concluded.
　　‘I have been hasty,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘very hasty. Tupman;your hand.’
　　The dark shadow passed from Mr. Tupman’s face, as he warmlygrasped the hand of his friend.
　　‘I have been hasty, too,’ said he.
　　‘No, no,’ interrupted Mr. Pickwick, ‘the fault was mine. You willwear the green velvet jacket?’
　　‘No, no,’ replied Mr. Tupman.
　　‘To oblige me, you will,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Well, well, I will,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　It was accordingly settled that Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, andMr. Snodgrass, should all wear fancy-dresses. Thus Mr. Pickwickwas led by the very warmth of his own good feelings to give hisconsent to a proceeding from which his better judgment wouldhave recoiled―a more striking illustration of his amiablecharacter could hardly have been conceived, even if the eventsrecorded in these pages had been wholly imaginary.
　　Mr. Leo Hunter had not exaggerated the resources of Mr.
　　Solomon Lucas. His wardrobe was extensive―very extensive―notstrictly classical perhaps, not quite new, nor did it contain any onegarment made precisely after the fashion of any age or time, buteverything was more or less spangled; and what can be prettierthan spangles! It may be objected that they are not adapted to thedaylight, but everybody knows that they would glitter if there werelamps; and nothing can be clearer than that if people give fancy-balls in the day-time, and the dresses do not show quite as well asthey would by night, the fault lies solely with the people who givethe fancy-balls, and is in no wise chargeable on the spangles. Suchwas the convincing reasoning of Mr. Solomon Lucas; andinfluenced by such arguments did Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, andMr. Snodgrass engage to array themselves in costumes which histaste and experience induced him to recommend as admirablysuited to the occasion.
　　A carriage was hired from the Town Arms, for theaccommodation of the Pickwickians, and a chariot was orderedfrom the same repository, for the purpose of conveying Mr. andMrs. Pott to Mrs. Leo Hunter’s grounds, which Mr. Pott, as adelicate acknowledgment of having received an invitation, hadalready confidently predicted in the Eatanswill Gazette ‘wouldpresent a scene of varied and delicious enchantment―abewildering coruscation of beauty and talent―a lavish andprodigal display of hospitality―above all, a degree of splendoursoftened by the most exquisite taste; and adornment refined withperfect harmony and the chastest good keeping―compared withwhich, the fabled gorgeousness of Eastern fairyland itself wouldappear to be clothed in as many dark and murky colours, as mustbe the mind of the splenetic and unmanly being who couldpresume to taint with the venom of his envy, the preparationsmade by the virtuous and highly distinguished lady at whoseshrine this humble tribute of admiration was offered.’ This lastwas a piece of biting sarcasm against the Independent, who, inconsequence of not having been invited at all, had been, throughfour numbers, affecting to sneer at the whole affair, in his verylargest type, with all the adjectives in capital letters.
　　The morning came: it was a pleasant sight to behold Mr.
　　Tupman in full brigand’s costume, with a very tight jacket, sittinglike a pincushion over his back and shoulders, the upper portionof his legs incased in the velvet shorts, and the lower part thereofswathed in the complicated bandages to which all brigands arepeculiarly attached. It was pleasing to see his open and ingenuouscountenance, well mustachioed and corked, looking out from anopen shirt collar; and to contemplate the sugar-loaf hat, decoratedwith ribbons of all colours, which he was compelled to carry on hisknee, inasmuch as no known conveyance with a top to it, wouldadmit of any man’s carrying it between his head and the roof.
　　Equally humorous and agreeable was the appearance of Mr.
　　Snodgrass in blue satin trunks and cloak, white silk tights andshoes, and Grecian helmet, which everybody knows (and if they donot, Mr. Solomon Lucas did) to have been the regular, authentic,everyday costume of a troubadour, from the earliest ages down tothe time of their final disappearance from the face of the earth. Allthis was pleasant, but this was as nothing compared with theshouting of the populace when the carriage drew up, behind Mr.
　　Pott’s chariot, which chariot itself drew up at Mr. Pott’s door,which door itself opened, and displayed the great Pott accoutredas a Russian officer of justice, with a tremendous knout in hishand―tastefully typical of the stern and mighty power of theEatanswill Gazette, and the fearful lashings it bestowed on publicoffenders.
　　‘Bravo!’ shouted Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from thepassage, when they beheld the walking allegory.
　　‘Bravo!’ Mr. Pickwick was heard to exclaim, from the passage.
　　‘Hoo-roar Pott!’ shouted the populace. Amid these salutations,Mr. Pott, smiling with that kind of bland dignity which sufficientlytestified that he felt his power, and knew how to exert it, got intothe chariot.
　　Then there emerged from the house, Mrs. Pott, who would havelooked very like Apollo if she hadn’t had a gown on, conducted byMr. Winkle, who, in his light-red coat could not possibly have beenmistaken for anything but a sportsman, if he had not borne anequal resemblance to a general postman. Last of all came Mr.
　　Pickwick, whom the boys applauded as loud as anybody, probablyunder the impression that his tights and gaiters were someremnants of the dark ages; and then the two vehicles proceededtowards Mrs. Leo Hunter’s; Mr. Weller (who was to assist inwaiting) being stationed on the box of that in which his master wasseated.
　　Every one of the men, women, boys, girls, and babies, who wereassembled to see the visitors in their fancy-dresses, screamed withdelight and ecstasy, when Mr. Pickwick, with the brigand on onearm, and the troubadour on the other, walked solemnly up theentrance. Never were such shouts heard as those which greetedMr. Tupman’s efforts to fix the sugar-loaf hat on his head, by wayof entering the garden in style.
　　The preparations were on the most delightful scale; fullyrealising the prophetic Pott’s anticipations about the gorgeousnessof Eastern fairyland, and at once affording a sufficientcontradiction to the malignant statements of the reptileIndependent. The grounds were more than an acre and a quarterin extent, and they were filled with people! Never was such a blazeof beauty, and fashion, and literature. There was the young ladywho ‘did’ the poetry in the Eatanswill Gazette, in the garb of asultana, leaning upon the arm of the young gentleman who ‘did’
　　the review department, and who was appropriately habited in afield-marshal’s uniform―the boots excepted. There were hosts ofthese geniuses, and any reasonable person would have thought ithonour enough to meet them. But more than these, there werehalf a dozen lions from London―authors, real authors, who hadwritten whole books, and printed them afterwards―and here youmight see ’em, walking about, like ordinary men, smiling, andtalking―aye, and talking pretty considerable nonsense too, nodoubt with the benign intention of rendering themselvesintelligible to the common people about them. Moreover, therewas a band of music in pasteboard caps; four something-eansingers in the costume of their country, and a dozen hired waitersin the costume of their country―and very dirty costume too. Andabove all, there was Mrs. Leo Hunter in the character of Minerva,receiving the company, and overflowing with pride andgratification at the notion of having called such distinguishedindividuals together.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick, ma’am,’ said a servant, as that gentlemanapproached the presiding goddess, with his hat in his hand, andthe brigand and troubadour on either arm.
　　‘What! Where!’ exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, starting up, in anaffected rapture of surprise.
　　‘Here,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Is it possible that I have really the gratification of beholdingMr. Pickwick himself!’ ejaculated Mrs. Leo Hunter.
　　‘No other, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low.
　　‘Permit me to introduce my friends―Mr. Tupman―Mr. Winkle―Mr. Snodgrass―to the authoress of “The Expiring Frog.”’ Veryfew people but those who have tried it, know what a difficultprocess it is to bow in green velvet smalls, and a tight jacket, andhigh-crowned hat; or in blue satin trunks and white silks, or knee-cords and top-boots that were never made for the wearer, andhave been fixed upon him without the remotest reference to thecomparative dimensions of himself and the suit. Never were suchdistortions as Mr. Tupman’s frame underwent in his efforts toappear easy and graceful―never was such ingenious posturing, ashis fancy-dressed friends exhibited.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter, ‘I must make you promisenot to stir from my side the whole day. There are hundreds ofpeople here, that I must positively introduce you to.’
　　‘You are very kind, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘In the first place, here are my little girls; I had almost forgottenthem,’ said Minerva, carelessly pointing towards a couple of full-grown young ladies, of whom one might be about twenty, and theother a year or two older, and who were dressed in very juvenilecostumes―whether to make them look young, or their mammayounger, Mr. Pickwick does not distinctly inform us.
　　‘They are very beautiful,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as the juvenilesturned away, after being presented.
　　‘They are very like their mamma, sir,’ said Mr. Pott,majestically.
　　‘Oh, you naughty man,’ exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, playfullytapping the editor’s arm with her fan (Minerva with a fan!).
　　‘Why now, my dear Mrs. Hunter,’ said Mr. Pott, who wastrumpeter in ordinary at the Den, ‘you know that when yourpicture was in the exhibition of the Royal Academy, last year,everybody inquired whether it was intended for you, or youryoungest daughter; for you were so much alike that there was notelling the difference between you.’
　　‘Well, and if they did, why need you repeat it, before strangers?’
　　said Mrs. Leo Hunter, bestowing another tap on the slumberinglion of the Eatanswill Gazette.
　　‘Count, count,’ screamed Mrs. Leo Hunter to a well-whiskeredindividual in a foreign uniform, who was passing by.
　　‘Ah! you want me?’ said the count, turning back.
　　‘I want to introduce two very clever people to each other,’ saidMrs. Leo Hunter. ‘Mr. Pickwick, I have great pleasure inintroducing you to Count Smorltork.’ She added in a hurriedwhisper to Mr. Pickwick―‘The famous foreigner―gatheringmaterials for his great work on England―hem!―CountSmorltork, Mr. Pickwick.’ Mr. Pickwick saluted the count with allthe reverence due to so great a man, and the count drew forth aset of tablets.
　　‘What you say, Mrs. Hunt?’ inquired the count, smilinggraciously on the gratified Mrs. Leo Hunter, ‘Pig Vig or Big Vig―what you call―lawyer―eh? I see―that is it. Big Vig’―and thecount was proceeding to enter Mr. Pickwick in his tablets, as agentleman of the long robe, who derived his name from theprofession to which he belonged, when Mrs. Leo Hunterinterposed.
　　‘No, no, count,’ said the lady, ‘Pick-wick.’
　　‘Ah, ah, I see,’ replied the count. ‘Peek―christian name;Weeks―surname; good, ver good. Peek Weeks. How you do,Weeks?’
　　‘Quite well, I thank you,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, with all his usualaffability. ‘Have you been long in England?’
　　‘Long―ver long time―fortnight―more.’
　　‘Do you stay here long?’
　　‘One week.’
　　‘You will have enough to do,’ said Mr. Pickwick smiling, ‘togather all the materials you want in that time.’
　　‘Eh, they are gathered,’ said the count.
　　‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘They are here,’ added the count, tapping his foreheadsignificantly. ‘Large book at home―full of notes―music, picture,science, potry, poltic; all tings.’
　　‘The word politics, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘comprises in itself, adifficult study of no inconsiderable magnitude.’
　　‘Ah!’ said the count, drawing out the tablets again, ‘ver good―fine words to begin a chapter. Chapter forty-seven. Poltics. Theword poltic surprises by himself―.’ And down went Mr.
　　Pickwick’s remark, in Count Smorltork’s tablets, with suchvariations and additions as the count’s exuberant fancy suggested,or his imperfect knowledge of the language occasioned.
　　‘Count,’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter. ‘Mrs. Hunt,’ replied the count.
　　‘This is Mr. Snodgrass, a friend of Mr. Pickwick’s, and a poet.’
　　‘Stop,’ exclaimed the count, bringing out the tablets once more.
　　‘Head, potry―chapter, literary friends―name, Snowgrass; vergood. Introduced to Snowgrass―great poet, friend of PeekWeeks―by Mrs. Hunt, which wrote other sweet poem―what isthat name?―Fog―Perspiring Fog―ver good―ver good indeed.’
　　And the count put up his tablets, and with sundry bows andacknowledgments walked away, thoroughly satisfied that he hadmade the most important and valuable additions to his stock ofinformation.
　　‘Wonderful man, Count Smorltork,’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter.
　　‘Sound philosopher,’ said Mr. Pott.
　　‘Clear-headed, strong-minded person,’ added Mr. Snodgrass.
　　A chorus of bystanders took up the shout of Count Smorltork’spraise, shook their heads sagely, and unanimously cried, ‘Very!’
　　As the enthusiasm in Count Smorltork’s favour ran very high,his praises might have been sung until the end of the festivities, ifthe four something-ean singers had not ranged themselves in frontof a small apple-tree, to look picturesque, and commenced singingtheir national songs, which appeared by no means difficult ofexecution, inasmuch as the grand secret seemed to be, that threeof the something-ean singers should grunt, while the fourthhowled. This interesting performance having concluded amidstthe loud plaudits of the whole company, a boy forthwith proceededto entangle himself with the rails of a chair, and to jump over it,and crawl under it, and fall down with it, and do everything but situpon it, and then to make a cravat of his legs, and tie them roundhis neck, and then to illustrate the ease with which a human beingcan be made to look like a magnified toad―all which feats yieldedhigh delight and satisfaction to the assembled spectators. Afterwhich, the voice of Mrs. Pott was heard to chirp faintly forth,something which courtesy interpreted into a song, which was allvery classical, and strictly in character, because Apollo washimself a composer, and composers can very seldom sing theirown music or anybody else’s, either. This was succeeded by Mrs.
　　Leo Hunter’s recitation of her far-famed ‘Ode to an Expiring Frog,’
　　which was encored once, and would have been encored twice, ifthe major part of the guests, who thought it was high time to getsomething to eat, had not said that it was perfectly shameful totake advantage of Mrs. Hunter’s good nature. So although Mrs.
　　Leo Hunter professed her perfect willingness to recite the odeagain, her kind and considerate friends wouldn’t hear of it on anyaccount; and the refreshment room being thrown open, all thepeople who had ever been there before, scrambled in with allpossible despatch―Mrs. Leo Hunter’s usual course of proceedingsbeing, to issue cards for a hundred, and breakfast for fifty, or inother words to feed only the very particular lions, and let thesmaller animals take care of themselves.
　　‘Where is Mr. Pott?’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter, as she placed theaforesaid lions around her.
　　‘Here I am,’ said the editor, from the remotest end of the room;far beyond all hope of food, unless something was done for him bythe hostess.
　　‘Won’t you come up here?’
　　‘Oh, pray don’t mind him,’ said Mrs. Pott, in the most obligingvoice―‘you give yourself a great deal of unnecessary trouble, Mrs.
　　Hunter. You’ll do very well there, won’t you―dear?’
　　‘Certainly―love,’ replied the unhappy Pott, with a grim smile.
　　Alas for the knout! The nervous arm that wielded it, with such agigantic force on public characters, was paralysed beneath theglance of the imperious Mrs. Pott.
　　Mrs. Leo Hunter looked round her in triumph. CountSmorltork was busily engaged in taking notes of the contents ofthe dishes; Mr. Tupman was doing the honours of the lobster saladto several lionesses, with a degree of grace which no brigand everexhibited before; Mr. Snodgrass having cut out the younggentleman who cut up the books for the Eatanswill Gazette, wasengaged in an impassioned argument with the young lady who didthe poetry; and Mr. Pickwick was making himself universallyagreeable. Nothing seemed wanting to render the select circlecomplete, when Mr. Leo Hunter―whose department on theseoccasions, was to stand about in doorways, and talk to the lessimportant people―suddenly called out―‘My dear; here’s Mr.
　　Charles Fitz-Marshall.’
　　‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter, ‘how anxiously I have beenexpecting him. Pray make room, to let Mr. Fitz-Marshall pass. TellMr. Fitz-Marshall, my dear, to come up to me directly, to bescolded for coming so late.’
　　‘Coming, my dear ma’am,’ cried a voice, ‘as quick as I can―crowds of people―full room―hard work―very.’
　　Mr. Pickwick’s knife and fork fell from his hand. He staredacross the table at Mr. Tupman, who had dropped his knife andfork, and was looking as if he were about to sink into the groundwithout further notice.
　　‘Ah!’ cried the voice, as its owner pushed his way among thelast five-and-twenty Turks, officers, cavaliers, and Charles theSeconds, that remained between him and the table, ‘regularmangle―Baker’s patent―not a crease in my coat, after all thissqueezing―might have “got up my linen” as I came along―ha!
　　ha! not a bad idea, that―queer thing to have it mangled when it’supon one, though―trying process―very.’
　　With these broken words, a young man dressed as a navalofficer made his way up to the table, and presented to theastonished Pickwickians the identical form and features of Mr.
　　Alfred Jingle. The offender had barely time to take Mrs. LeoHunter’s proffered hand, when his eyes encountered the indignantorbs of Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Hollo!’ said Jingle. ‘Quite forgot―no directions to postillion―give ’em at once―back in a minute.’
　　‘The servant, or Mr. Hunter will do it in a moment, Mr. Fitz-Marshall,’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter.
　　‘No, no―I’ll do it―shan’t be long―back in no time,’ repliedJingle. With these words he disappeared among the crowd.
　　‘Will you allow me to ask you, ma’am,’ said the excited Mr.
　　Pickwick, rising from his seat, ‘who that young man is, and wherehe resides?’
　　‘He is a gentleman of fortune, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mrs. LeoHunter, ‘to whom I very much want to introduce you. The countwill be delighted with him.’
　　‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr. Pickwick hastily. ‘His residence―’
　　‘Is at present at the Angel at Bury.’
　　‘At Bury?’
　　‘At Bury St. Edmunds, not many miles from here. But dear me,Mr. Pickwick, you are not going to leave us; surely Mr. Pickwickyou cannot think of going so soon?’
　　But long before Mrs. Leo Hunter had finished speaking, Mr.
　　Pickwick had plunged through the throng, and reached thegarden, whither he was shortly afterwards joined by Mr. Tupman,who had followed his friend closely.
　　‘It’s of no use,’ said Mr. Tupman. ‘He has gone.’
　　I know it,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and I will follow him.’
　　‘Follow him! Where?’ inquired Mr. Tupman.
　　‘To the Angel at Bury,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, speaking veryquickly. ‘How do we know whom he is deceiving there? Hedeceived a worthy man once, and we were the innocent cause. Heshall not do it again, if I can help it; I’ll expose him! Sam! Where’smy servant?’
　　‘Here you are, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, emerging from asequestered spot, where he had been engaged in discussing abottle of Madeira, which he had abstracted from the breakfast-table an hour or two before. ‘Here’s your servant, sir. Proud o’ thetitle, as the living skellinton said, ven they show’d him.’
　　‘Follow me instantly,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Tupman, if I stay atBury, you can join me there, when I write. Till then, good-bye!’
　　Remonstrances were useless. Mr. Pickwick was roused, and hismind was made up. Mr. Tupman returned to his companions; andin another hour had drowned all present recollection of Mr. AlfredJingle, or Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall, in an exhilarating quadrilleand a bottle of champagne. By that time, Mr. Pickwick and SamWeller, perched on the outside of a stage-coach, were everysucceeding minute placing a less and less distance betweenthemselves and the good old town of Bury St. Edmunds.
Chapter 16 
here is no month in the whole year in which nature wearsa more beautiful appearance than in the month of August.
　　Spring has many beauties, and May is a fresh andblooming month, but the charms of this time of year are enhancedby their contrast with the winter season. August has no suchadvantage. It comes when we remember nothing but clear skies,green fields, and sweet-smelling flowers―when the recollection ofsnow, and ice, and bleak winds, has faded from our minds ascompletely as they have disappeared from the earth―and yetwhat a pleasant time it is! Orchards and cornfields ring with thehum of labour; trees bend beneath the thick clusters of rich fruitwhich bow their branches to the ground; and the corn, piled ingraceful sheaves, or waving in every light breath that sweepsabove it, as if it wooed the sickle, tinges the landscape with agolden hue. A mellow softness appears to hang over the wholeearth; the influence of the season seems to extend itself to the verywagon, whose slow motion across the well-reaped field isperceptible only to the eye, but strikes with no harsh sound uponthe ear.
　　As the coach rolls swiftly past the fields and orchards whichskirt the road, groups of women and children, piling the fruit insieves, or gathering the scattered ears of corn, pause for an instantfrom their labour, and shading the sun-burned face with a stillbrowner hand, gaze upon the passengers with curious eyes, whilesome stout urchin, too small to work, but too mischievous to be leftat home, scrambles over the side of the basket in which he hasbeen deposited for security, and kicks and screams with delight.
　　The reaper stops in his work, and stands with folded arms, lookingat the vehicle as it whirls past; and the rough cart-horses bestow asleepy glance upon the smart coach team, which says as plainly asa horse’s glance can, ‘It’s all very fine to look at, but slow going,over a heavy field, is better than warm work like that, upon adusty road, after all.’ You cast a look behind you, as you turn acorner of the road. The women and children have resumed theirlabour; the reaper once more stoops to his work; the cart-horseshave moved on; and all are again in motion. The influence of ascene like this, was not lost upon the well-regulated mind of Mr.
　　Pickwick. Intent upon the resolution he had formed, of exposingthe real character of the nefarious Jingle, in any quarter in whichhe might be pursuing his fraudulent designs, he sat at firsttaciturn and contemplative, brooding over the means by which hispurpose could be best attained. By degrees his attention grewmore and more attracted by the objects around him; and at last hederived as much enjoyment from the ride, as if it had beenundertaken for the pleasantest reason in the world.
　　‘Delightful prospect, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Beats the chimbley-pots, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, touching hishat.
　　‘I suppose you have hardly seen anything but chimney-pots andbricks and mortar all your life, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.
　　‘I worn’t always a boots, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, with a shake of thehead. ‘I wos a wagginer’s boy, once.’
　　‘When was that?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to playat leap-frog with its troubles,’ replied Sam. ‘I wos a carrier’s boy atstartin’; then a wagginer’s, then a helper, then a boots. Now I’m agen’l’m’n’s servant. I shall be a gen’l’m’n myself one of these days,perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, and a summer-house in theback-garden. Who knows? I shouldn’t be surprised for one.’
　　‘You are quite a philosopher, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It runs in the family, I b’lieve, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Myfather’s wery much in that line now. If my mother-in-law blowshim up, he whistles. She flies in a passion, and breaks his pipe; hesteps out, and gets another. Then she screams wery loud, and fallsinto ‘sterics; and he smokes wery comfortably till she comes toagin. That’s philosophy, sir, ain’t it?’
　　‘A very good substitute for it, at all events,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick, laughing. ‘It must have been of great service to you, inthe course of your rambling life, Sam.’
　　‘Service, sir,’ exclaimed Sam. ‘You may say that. Arter I runaway from the carrier, and afore I took up with the vaginer, I hadunfurnished lodgin’s for a fortnight.’
　　‘Unfurnished lodgings?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes―the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge. Fine sleeping-place―vithin ten minutes’ walk of all the public offices―only if there isany objection to it, it is that the sitivation’s rayther too airy. I seesome queer sights there.’
　　‘Ah, I suppose you did,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with an air ofconsiderable interest.
　　‘Sights, sir,’ resumed Mr. Weller, ‘as ’ud penetrate yourbenevolent heart, and come out on the other side. You don’t seethe reg’lar wagrants there; trust ’em, they knows better than that.
　　Young beggars, male and female, as hasn’t made a rise in theirprofession, takes up their quarters there sometimes; but it’sgenerally the worn-out, starving, houseless creeturs as rollthemselves in the dark corners o’ them lonesome places―poorcreeturs as ain’t up to the twopenny rope.’
　　‘And pray, Sam, what is the twopenny rope?’ inquired Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘The twopenny rope, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘is just a cheaplodgin’ house, where the beds is twopence a night.’
　　‘What do they call a bed a rope for?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Bless your innocence, sir, that ain’t it,’ replied Sam. ‘When thelady and gen’l’m’n as keeps the Hot-el first begun business, theyused to make the beds on the floor; but this wouldn’t do at noprice, ‘cos instead o’ taking a moderate twopenn’orth o’ sleep, thelodgers used to lie there half the day. So now they has two ropes,’bout six foot apart, and three from the floor, which goes rightdown the room; and the beds are made of slips of coarse sacking,stretched across ’em.’
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘the adwantage o’ the plan’s hobvious.
　　At six o’clock every mornin’ they let’s go the ropes at one end, anddown falls the lodgers. Consequence is, that being thoroughlywaked, they get up wery quietly, and walk away! Beg your pardon,sir,’ said Sam, suddenly breaking off in his loquacious discourse.
　　‘Is this Bury St. Edmunds?’
　　‘It is,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　The coach rattled through the well-paved streets of a handsomelittle town, of thriving and cleanly appearance, and stopped beforea large inn situated in a wide open street, nearly facing the oldabbey.
　　‘And this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking up. ‘Is the Angel! Wealight here, Sam. But some caution is necessary. Order a privateroom, and do not mention my name. You understand.’
　　‘Right as a trivet, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, with a wink ofintelligence; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick’s portmanteaufrom the hind boot, into which it had been hastily thrown whenthey joined the coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on hiserrand. A private room was speedily engaged; and into it Mr.
　　Pickwick was ushered without delay. ‘Now, Sam,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, ‘the first thing to be done is to―’
　　‘Order dinner, sir,’ interposed Mr. Weller. ‘It’s wery late, sir.”
　　‘Ah, so it is,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch. ‘You areright, Sam.’
　　‘And if I might adwise, sir,’ added Mr. Weller, ‘I’d just have agood night’s rest arterwards, and not begin inquiring arter thishere deep ’un till the mornin’. There’s nothin’ so refreshen’ assleep, sir, as the servant girl said afore she drank the egg-cupful oflaudanum.’
　　‘I think you are right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘But I must firstascertain that he is in the house, and not likely to go away.’
　　‘Leave that to me, sir,’ said Sam. ‘Let me order you a snug littledinner, and make my inquiries below while it’s a-getting ready; Icould worm ev’ry secret out O’ the boots’s heart, in five minutes,sir.’
　　‘Do so,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and Mr. Weller at once retired.
　　In half an hour, Mr. Pickwick was seated at a very satisfactorydinner; and in three-quarters Mr. Weller returned with theintelligence that Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall had ordered his privateroom to be retained for him, until further notice. He was going tospend the evening at some private house in the neighbourhood,had ordered the boots to sit up until his return, and had taken hisservant with him.
　　‘Now, sir,’ argued Mr. Weller, when he had concluded hisreport, ‘if I can get a talk with this here servant in the mornin’,he’ll tell me all his master’s concerns.’
　　‘How do you know that?’ interposed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Bless your heart, sir, servants always do,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Oh, ah, I forgot that,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Well.’
　　‘Then you can arrange what’s best to be done, sir, and we canact accordingly.’
　　As it appeared that this was the best arrangement that could bemade, it was finally agreed upon. Mr. Weller, by his master’spermission, retired to spend the evening in his own way; and wasshortly afterwards elected, by the unanimous voice of theassembled company, into the taproom chair, in which honourablepost he acquitted himself so much to the satisfaction of thegentlemen-frequenters, that their roars of laughter andapprobation penetrated to Mr. Pickwick’s bedroom, and shortenedthe term of his natural rest by at least three hours.
　　Early on the ensuing morning, Mr. Weller was dispelling all thefeverish remains of the previous evening’s conviviality, throughthe instrumentality of a halfpenny shower-bath (having induced ayoung gentleman attached to the stable department, by the offer ofthat coin, to pump over his head and face, until he was perfectlyrestored), when he was attracted by the appearance of a youngfellow in mulberry-coloured livery, who was sitting on a bench inthe yard, reading what appeared to be a hymn-book, with an air ofdeep abstraction, but who occasionally stole a glance at theindividual under the pump, as if he took some interest in hisproceedings, nevertheless.
　　‘You’re a rum ’un to look at, you are!’ thought Mr. Weller, thefirst time his eyes encountered the glance of the stranger in themulberry suit, who had a large, sallow, ugly face, very sunkeneyes, and a gigantic head, from which depended a quantity of lankblack hair. ‘You’re a rum ’un!’ thought Mr. Weller; and thinkingthis, he went on washing himself, and thought no more about him.
　　Still the man kept glancing from his hymn-book to Sam, andfrom Sam to his hymn-book, as if he wanted to open aconversation. So at last, Sam, by way of giving him an opportunity,said with a familiar nod―‘How are you, governor?’
　　‘I am happy to say, I am pretty well, sir,’ said the man, speakingwith great deliberation, and closing the book. ‘I hope you are thesame, sir?’
　　‘Why, if I felt less like a walking brandy-bottle I shouldn’t bequite so staggery this mornin’,’ replied Sam. ‘Are you stoppin’ inthis house, old ’un ?’
　　The mulberry man replied in the affirmative.
　　‘How was it you worn’t one of us, last night?’ inquired Sam,scrubbing his face with the towel. ‘You seem one of the jolly sort―looks as conwivial as a live trout in a lime basket,’ added Mr.
　　Weller, in an undertone.
　　‘I was out last night with my master,’ replied the stranger.
　　‘What’s his name?’ inquired Mr. Weller, colouring up very redwith sudden excitement, and the friction of the towel combined.
　　‘Fitz-Marshall,’ said the mulberry man.
　　‘Give us your hand,’ said Mr. Weller, advancing; ‘I should like toknow you. I like your appearance, old fellow.’
　　‘Well, that is very strange,’ said the mulberry man, with greatsimplicity of manner. ‘I like yours so much, that I wanted to speakto you, from the very first moment I saw you under the pump.’
　　‘Did you though?’ ‘Upon my word. Now, isn’t that curious?’
　　‘Wery sing’ler,’ said Sam, inwardly congratulating himself uponthe softness of the stranger. ‘What’s your name, my patriarch?’
　　‘Job.’
　　‘And a wery good name it is; only one I know that ain’t got anickname to it. What’s the other name?’
　　‘Trotter,’ said the stranger. ‘What is yours?’
　　Sam bore in mind his master’s caution, and replied―‘My name’s Walker; my master’s name’s Wilkins. Will you takea drop o’ somethin’ this mornin’, Mr. Trotter?’
　　Mr. Trotter acquiesced in this agreeable proposal; and havingdeposited his book in his coat pocket, accompanied Mr. Weller tothe tap, where they were soon occupied in discussing anexhilarating compound, formed by mixing together, in a pewtervessel, certain quantities of British Hollands and the fragrantessence of the clove.
　　‘And what sort of a place have you got?’ inquired Sam, as hefilled his companion’s glass, for the second time.
　　‘Bad,’ said Job, smacking his lips, ‘very bad.’
　　‘You don’t mean that?’ said Sam.
　　‘I do, indeed. Worse than that, my master’s going to bemarried.’
　　‘No.’
　　‘Yes; and worse than that, too, he’s going to run away with animmense rich heiress, from boarding-school.’
　　‘What a dragon!’ said Sam, refilling his companion’s glass. ‘It’ssome boarding-school in this town, I suppose, ain’t it?’ Now,although this question was put in the most careless toneimaginable, Mr. Job Trotter plainly showed by gestures that heperceived his new friend’s anxiety to draw forth an answer to it.
　　He emptied his glass, looked mysteriously at his companion,winked both of his small eyes, one after the other, and finallymade a motion with his arm, as if he were working an imaginarypump-handle; thereby intimating that he (Mr. Trotter) consideredhimself as undergoing the process of being pumped by Mr.
　　Samuel Weller.
　　‘No, no,’ said Mr. Trotter, in conclusion, ‘that’s not to be told toeverybody. That is a secret―a great secret, Mr. Walker.’ As themulberry man said this, he turned his glass upside down, by wayof reminding his companion that he had nothing left wherewith toslake his thirst. Sam observed the hint; and feeling the delicatemanner in which it was conveyed, ordered the pewter vessel to berefilled, whereat the small eyes of the mulberry man glistened.
　　‘And so it’s a secret?’ said Sam.
　　‘I should rather suspect it was,’ said the mulberry man, sippinghis liquor, with a complacent face.
　　‘I suppose your mas’r’s wery rich?’ said Sam.
　　Mr. Trotter smiled, and holding his glass in his left hand, gavefour distinct slaps on the pockets of his mulberry indescribableswith his right, as if to intimate that his master might have done thesame without alarming anybody much by the chinking of coin.
　　 ‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘that’s the game, is it?’
　　The mulberry man nodded significantly.
　　‘Well, and don’t you think, old feller,’ remonstrated Mr. Weller,‘that if you let your master take in this here young lady, you’re aprecious rascal?’
　　‘I know that,’ said Job Trotter, turning upon his companion acountenance of deep contrition, and groaning slightly, ‘I knowthat, and that’s what it is that preys upon my mind. But what am Ito do?’
　　‘Do!’ said Sam; ‘di-wulge to the missis, and give up yourmaster.’
　　‘Who’d believe me?’ replied Job Trotter. ‘The young lady’sconsidered the very picture of innocence and discretion. She’ddeny it, and so would my master. Who’d believe me? I should losemy place, and get indicted for a conspiracy, or some such thing;that’s all I should take by my motion.’
　　‘There’s somethin’ in that,’ said Sam, ruminating; ‘there’ssomethin’ in that.’
　　‘If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take thematter up,’ continued Mr. Trotter. ‘I might have some hope ofpreventing the elopement; but there’s the same difficulty, Mr.
　　Walker, just the same. I know no gentleman in this strange place;and ten to one if I did, whether he would believe my story.’
　　‘Come this way,’ said Sam, suddenly jumping up, and graspingthe mulberry man by the arm. ‘My mas’r’s the man you want, Isee.’ And after a slight resistance on the part of Job Trotter, Samled his newly-found friend to the apartment of Mr. Pickwick, towhom he presented him, together with a brief summary of thedialogue we have just repeated.
　　‘I am very sorry to betray my master, sir,’ said Job Trotter,applying to his eyes a pink checked pocket-handkerchief about sixinches square.
　　‘The feeling does you a great deal of honour,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick; ‘but it is your duty, nevertheless.’
　　‘I know it is my duty, sir,’ replied Job, with great emotion. ‘Weshould all try to discharge our duty, sir, and I humbly endeavourto discharge mine, sir; but it is a hard trial to betray a master, sir,whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, even though heis a scoundrel, sir.’
　　‘You are a very good fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, much affected;‘an honest fellow.’
　　‘Come, come,’ interposed Sam, who had witnessed Mr. Trotter’stears with considerable impatience, ‘blow this ’ere water-cartbis’ness. It won’t do no good, this won’t.’
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick reproachfully. ‘I am sorry to find thatyou have so little respect for this young man’s feelings.’
　　‘His feelin’s is all wery well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘and asthey’re so wery fine, and it’s a pity he should lose ’em, I think he’dbetter keep ’em in his own buzzum, than let ’em ewaporate in hotwater, ’specially as they do no good. Tears never yet wound up aclock, or worked a steam ingin’. The next time you go out to asmoking party, young fellow, fill your pipe with that ’ere reflection;and for the present just put that bit of pink gingham into yourpocket. ‘Tain’t so handsome that you need keep waving it about, asif you was a tight-rope dancer.’
　　‘My man is in the right,’ said Mr. Pickwick, accosting Job,‘although his mode of expressing his opinion is somewhat homely,and occasionally incomprehensible.’
　　‘He is, sir, very right,’ said Mr. Trotter, ‘and I will give way nolonger.’
　　‘Very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Now, where is this boarding-school?’
　　‘It is a large, old, red brick house, just outside the town, sir,’
　　replied Job Trotter.
　　‘And when,’ said Mr. Pickwick―‘when is this villainous designto be carried into execution―when is this elopement to takeplace?’
　　‘To-night, sir,’ replied Job.
　　‘To-night!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. ‘This very night, sir,’
　　replied Job Trotter. ‘That is what alarms me so much.’
　　‘Instant measures must be taken,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I will seethe lady who keeps the establishment immediately.’
　　‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Job, ‘but that course of proceedingwill never do.’
　　‘Why not?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘My master, sir, is a very artful man.’
　　‘I know he is,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘And he has so wound himself round the old lady’s heart, sir,’
　　resumed Job, ‘that she would believe nothing to his prejudice, ifyou went down on your bare knees, and swore it; especially as youhave no proof but the word of a servant, who, for anything sheknows (and my master would be sure to say so), was dischargedfor some fault, and does this in revenge.’
　　‘What had better be done, then?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Nothing but taking him in the very act of eloping, will convincethe old lady, sir,’ replied Job.
　　‘All them old cats will run their heads agin milestones,’
　　observed Mr. Weller, in a parenthesis.
　　‘But this taking him in the very act of elopement, would be avery difficult thing to accomplish, I fear,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Mr. Trotter, after a few moments’
　　reflection. ‘I think it might be very easily done.’
　　‘How?’ was Mr. Pickwick’s inquiry.
　　‘Why,’ replied Mr. Trotter, ‘my master and I, being in theconfidence of the two servants, will be secreted in the kitchen atten o’clock. When the family have retired to rest, we shall comeout of the kitchen, and the young lady out of her bedroom. A post-chaise will be waiting, and away we go.’
　　‘Well?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were in waiting in thegarden behind, alone―’
　　‘Alone,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Why alone?’
　　‘I thought it very natural,’ replied Job, ‘that the old ladywouldn’t like such an unpleasant discovery to be made beforemore persons than can possibly be helped. The young lady, too,sir―consider her feelings.’
　　‘You are very right,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘The considerationevinces your delicacy of feeling. Go on; you are very right.’
　　‘Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in theback garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which opensinto it, from the end of the passage, at exactly half-past eleveno’clock, you would be just in the very moment of time to assist mein frustrating the designs of this bad man, by whom I have beenunfortunately ensnared.’ Here Mr. Trotter sighed deeply.
　　‘Don’t distress yourself on that account,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘ifhe had one grain of the delicacy of feeling which distinguishes you,humble as your station is, I should have some hopes of him.’
　　Job Trotter bowed low; and in spite of Mr. Weller’s previousremonstrance, the tears again rose to his eyes.
　　‘I never see such a feller,’ said Sam, ‘Blessed if I don’t think he’sgot a main in his head as is always turned on.’
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great severity, ‘hold yourtongue.’
　　‘Wery well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘I don’t like this plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after deep meditation.
　　‘Why cannot I communicate with the young lady’s friends?’
　　‘Because they live one hundred miles from here, sir,’ respondedJob Trotter.
　　‘That’s a clincher,’ said Mr. Weller, aside.
　　‘Then this garden,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick. ‘How am I to getinto it?’
　　‘The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a legup.’
　　‘My servant will give me a leg up,’ repeated Mr. Pickwickmechanically. ‘You will be sure to be near this door that you speakof?’
　　‘You cannot mistake it, sir; it’s the only one that opens into thegarden. Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will open itinstantly.’
　　‘I don’t like the plan,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I see no other,and as the happiness of this young lady’s whole life is at stake, Iadopt it. I shall be sure to be there.’
　　Thus, for the second time, did Mr. Pickwick’s innate good-feeling involve him in an enterprise from which he would mostwillingly have stood aloof.
　　‘What is the name of the house?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Westgate House, sir. You turn a little to the right when you getto the end of the town; it stands by itself, some little distance offthe high road, with the name on a brass plate on the gate.’
　　‘I know it,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I observed it once before, when Iwas in this town. You may depend upon me.’
　　Mr. Trotter made another bow, and turned to depart, when Mr.
　　Pickwick thrust a guinea into his hand.
　　‘You’re a fine fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and I admire yourgoodness of heart. No thanks. Remember―eleven o’clock.’
　　‘There is no fear of my forgetting it, sir,’ replied Job Trotter.
　　With these words he left the room, followed by Sam.
　　‘I say,’ said the latter, ‘not a bad notion that ’ere crying. I’d crylike a rain-water spout in a shower on such good terms. How doyou do it?’
　　‘It comes from the heart, Mr. Walker,’ replied Job solemnly.
　　‘Good-morning, sir.’
　　‘You’re a soft customer, you are; we’ve got it all out o’ you,anyhow,’ thought Mr. Weller, as Job walked away.
　　We cannot state the precise nature of the thoughts whichpassed through Mr. Trotter’s mind, because we don’t know whatthey were.
　　The day wore on, evening came, and at a little before teno’clock Sam Weller reported that Mr. Jingle and Job had gone outtogether, that their luggage was packed up, and that they hadordered a chaise. The plot was evidently in execution, as Mr.
　　Trotter had foretold.
　　Half-past ten o’clock arrived, and it was time for Mr. Pickwickto issue forth on his delicate errand. Resisting Sam’s tender of hisgreatcoat, in order that he might have no encumbrance in scalingthe wall, he set forth, followed by his attendant.
　　There was a bright moon, but it was behind the clouds. it was afine dry night, but it was most uncommonly dark. Paths, hedges,fields, houses, and trees, were enveloped in one deep shade. Theatmosphere was hot and sultry, the summer lightning quiveredfaintly on the verge of the horizon, and was the only sight thatvaried the dull gloom in which everything was wrapped―soundthere was none, except the distant barking of some restless house-dog.
　　They found the house, read the brass plate, walked round thewall, and stopped at that portion of it which divided them from thebottom of the garden.
　　‘You will return to the inn, Sam, when you have assisted meover,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wery well, sir.’
　　‘And you will sit up, till I return.’
　　‘Cert’nly, sir.’
　　‘Take hold of my leg; and, when I say “Over,” raise me gently.’
　　‘All right, sir.’
　　Having settled these preliminaries, Mr. Pickwick grasped thetop of the wall, and gave the word ‘Over,’ which was literallyobeyed. Whether his body partook in some degree of the elasticityof his mind, or whether Mr. Weller’s notions of a gentle push wereof a somewhat rougher description than Mr. Pickwick’s, theimmediate effect of his assistance was to jerk that immortalgentleman completely over the wall on to the bed beneath, where,after crushing three gooseberry-bushes and a rose-tree, he finallyalighted at full length.
　　‘You ha’n’t hurt yourself, I hope, sir?’ said Sam, in a loudwhisper, as soon as he had recovered from the surpriseconsequent upon the mysterious disappearance of his master.
　　‘I have not hurt myself, Sam, certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,from the other side of the wall, ‘but I rather think that you havehurt me.’
　　‘I hope not, sir,’ said Sam.
　　‘Never mind,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rising, ‘it’s nothing but a fewscratches. Go away, or we shall be overheard.’
　　‘Good-bye, sir.’
　　‘Good-bye.’
　　With stealthy steps Sam Weller departed, leaving Mr. Pickwickalone in the garden.
　　Lights occasionally appeared in the different windows of thehouse, or glanced from the staircases, as if the inmates wereretiring to rest. Not caring to go too near the door, until theappointed time, Mr. Pickwick crouched into an angle of the wall,and awaited its arrival.
　　It was a situation which might well have depressed the spirits ofmany a man. Mr. Pickwick, however, felt neither depression normisgiving. He knew that his purpose was in the main a good one,and he placed implicit reliance on the high-minded Job. it wasdull, certainly; not to say dreary; but a contemplative man canalways employ himself in meditation. Mr. Pickwick had meditatedhimself into a doze, when he was roused by the chimes of theneighbouring church ringing out the hour―half-past eleven.
　　‘That’s the time,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, getting cautiously onhis feet. He looked up at the house. The lights had disappeared,and the shutters were closed―all in bed, no doubt. He walked ontiptoe to the door, and gave a gentle tap. Two or three minutespassing without any reply, he gave another tap rather louder, andthen another rather louder than that.
　　At length the sound of feet was audible upon the stairs, andthen the light of a candle shone through the keyhole of the door.
　　There was a good deal of unchaining and unbolting, and the doorwas slowly opened.
　　Now the door opened outwards; and as the door opened widerand wider, Mr. Pickwick receded behind it, more and more. Whatwas his astonishment when he just peeped out, by way of caution,to see that the person who had opened it was―not Job Trotter,but a servant-girl with a candle in her hand! Mr. Pickwick drew inhis head again, with the swiftness displayed by that admirablemelodramatic performer, Punch, when he lies in wait for the flat-headed comedian with the tin box of music.
　　‘It must have been the cat, Sarah,’ said the girl, addressingherself to some one in the house. ‘Puss, puss, puss,―tit, tit, tit.’
　　But no animal being decoyed by these blandishments, the girlslowly closed the door, and re-fastened it; leaving Mr. Pickwickdrawn up straight against the wall.
　　‘This is very curious,’ thought Mr. Pickwick. ‘They are sittingup beyond their usual hour, I suppose. Extremely unfortunate,that they should have chosen this night, of all others, for such apurpose―exceedingly.’ And with these thoughts, Mr. Pickwickcautiously retired to the angle of the wall in which he had beenbefore ensconced; waiting until such time as he might deem it safeto repeat the signal.
　　He had not been here five minutes, when a vivid flash oflightning was followed by a loud peal of thunder that crashed androlled away in the distance with a terrific noise―then cameanother flash of lightning, brighter than the other, and a secondpeal of thunder louder than the first; and then down came therain, with a force and fury that swept everything before it.
　　Mr. Pickwick was perfectly aware that a tree is a verydangerous neighbour in a thunderstorm. He had a tree on hisright, a tree on his left, a third before him, and a fourth behind. Ifhe remained where he was, he might fall the victim of an accident;if he showed himself in the centre of the garden, he might beconsigned to a constable. Once or twice he tried to scale the wall,but having no other legs this time, than those with which Naturehad furnished him, the only effect of his struggles was to inflict avariety of very unpleasant gratings on his knees and shins, and tothrow him into a state of the most profuse perspiration.
　　‘ What a dreadful situation,’ said Mr. Pickwick, pausing to wipehis brow after this exercise. He looked up at the house―all wasdark. They must be gone to bed now. He would try the signalagain.
　　He walked on tiptoe across the moist gravel, and tapped at thedoor. He held his breath, and listened at the key-hole. No reply:
　　very odd. Another knock. He listened again. There was a lowwhispering inside, and then a voice cried―‘Who’s there?’
　　‘That’s not Job,’ thought Mr. Pickwick, hastily drawing himselfstraight up against the wall again. ‘It’s a woman.’
　　He had scarcely had time to form this conclusion, when awindow above stairs was thrown up, and three or four femalevoices repeated the query―‘Who’s there?’
　　Mr. Pickwick dared not move hand or foot. It was clear that thewhole establishment was roused. He made up his mind to remainwhere he was, until the alarm had subsided; and then by asupernatural effort, to get over the wall, or perish in the attempt.
　　Like all Mr. Pickwick’s determinations, this was the best thatcould be made under the circumstances; but, unfortunately, it wasfounded upon the assumption that they would not venture to openthe door again. What was his discomfiture, when he heard thechain and bolts withdrawn, and saw the door slowly opening,wider and wider! He retreated into the corner, step by step; but dowhat he would, the interposition of his own person, prevented itsbeing opened to its utmost width.
　　‘Who’s there?’ screamed a numerous chorus of treble voicesfrom the staircase inside, consisting of the spinster lady of theestablishment, three teachers, five female servants, and thirtyboarders, all half-dressed and in a forest of curl-papers.
　　Of course Mr. Pickwick didn’t say who was there: and then theburden of the chorus changed into―‘Lor! I am so frightened.’
　　‘Cook,’ said the lady abbess, who took care to be on the topstair, the very last of the group―‘cook, why don’t you go a littleway into the garden?’
　　‘Please, ma’am, I don’t like,’ responded the cook.
　　‘Lor, what a stupid thing that cook is!’ said the thirty boarders.
　　‘Cook,’ said the lady abbess, with great dignity; ‘don’t answerme, if you please. I insist upon your looking into the gardenimmediately.’
　　Here the cook began to cry, and the housemaid said it was ‘ashame!’ for which partisanship she received a month’s warning onthe spot.
　　‘Do you hear, cook?’ said the lady abbess, stamping her footimpatiently.
　　‘Don’t you hear your missis, cook?’ said the three teachers.
　　‘What an impudent thing that cook is!’ said the thirty boarders.
　　The unfortunate cook, thus strongly urged, advanced a step ortwo, and holding her candle just where it prevented her fromseeing at all, declared there was nothing there, and it must havebeen the wind. The door was just going to be closed inconsequence, when an inquisitive boarder, who had been peepingbetween the hinges, set up a fearful screaming, which called backthe cook and housemaid, and all the more adventurous, in no time.
　　‘What is the matter with Miss Smithers?’ said the lady abbess,as the aforesaid Miss Smithers proceeded to go into hysterics offour young lady power.
　　‘Lor, Miss Smithers, dear,’ said the other nine-and-twentyboarders.
　　‘Oh, the man―the man―behind the door!’ screamed MissSmithers.
　　The lady abbess no sooner heard this appalling cry, than sheretreated to her own bedroom, double-locked the door, and faintedaway comfortably. The boarders, and the teachers, and theservants, fell back upon the stairs, and upon each other; and neverwas such a screaming, and fainting, and struggling beheld. In themidst of the tumult, Mr. Pickwick emerged from his concealment,and presented himself amongst them.
　　‘Ladies―dear ladies,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Oh. he says we’re dear,’ cried the oldest and ugliest teacher.
　　‘Oh, the wretch!’
　　‘Ladies,’ roared Mr. Pickwick, rendered desperate by thedanger of his situation. ‘Hear me. I am no robber. I want the lady of the house.’
　　‘Oh, what a ferocious monster!’ screamed another teacher. ‘Hewants Miss Tomkins.’
　　Here there was a general scream.
　　‘Ring the alarm bell, somebody!’ cried a dozen voices.
　　‘Don’t―don’t,’ shouted Mr. Pickwick. ‘Look at me. Do I looklike a robber! My dear ladies―you may bind me hand and leg, orlock me up in a closet, if you like. Only hear what I have got tosay―only hear me.’
　　‘How did you come in our garden?’ faltered the housemaid.
　　‘Call the lady of the house, and I’ll tell her everything,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, exerting his lungs to the utmost pitch. ‘Call her―only bequiet, and call her, and you shall hear everything .’
　　It might have been Mr. Pickwick’s appearance, or it might havebeen his manner, or it might have been the temptation―irresistible to a female mind―of hearing something at presentenveloped in mystery, that reduced the more reasonable portion ofthe establishment (some four individuals) to a state of comparativequiet. By them it was proposed, as a test of Mr. Pickwick’ssincerity, that he should immediately submit to personal restraint;and that gentleman having consented to hold a conference withMiss Tomkins, from the interior of a closet in which the dayboarders hung their bonnets and sandwich-bags, he at oncestepped into it, of his own accord, and was securely locked in. Thisrevived the others; and Miss Tomkins having been brought to, andbrought down, the conference began.
　　‘What did you do in my garden, man?’ said Miss Tomkins, in afaint voice.
　　‘I came to warn you that one of your young ladies was going toelope to-night,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, from the interior of thecloset.
　　‘Elope!’ exclaimed Miss Tomkins, the three teachers, the thirtyboarders, and the five servants. ‘Who with?’
　　‘Your friend, Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall.’
　　‘My friend! I don’t know any such person.’
　　‘Well, Mr. Jingle, then.’
　　‘I never heard the name in my life.’
　　‘Then, I have been deceived, and deluded,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Ihave been the victim of a conspiracy―a foul and base conspiracy.
　　Send to the Angel, my dear ma’am, if you don’t believe me. Sendto the Angel for Mr. Pickwick’s manservant, I implore you,ma’am.’
　　‘He must be respectable―he keeps a manservant,’ said MissTomkins to the writing and ciphering governess.
　　‘It’s my opinion, Miss Tomkins,’ said the writing and cipheringgoverness, ‘that his manservant keeps him, I think he’s a madman,Miss Tomkins, and the other’s his keeper.’
　　‘I think you are very right, Miss Gwynn,’ responded MissTomkins. ‘Let two of the servants repair to the Angel, and let theothers remain here, to protect us.’
　　So two of the servants were despatched to the Angel in searchof Mr. Samuel Weller; and the remaining three stopped behind toprotect Miss Tomkins, and the three teachers, and the thirtyboarders. And Mr. Pickwick sat down in the closet, beneath agrove of sandwich-bags, and awaited the return of the messengers,with all the philosophy and fortitude he could summon to his aid.
　　An hour and a half elapsed before they came back, and whenthey did come, Mr. Pickwick recognised, in addition to the voice ofMr. Samuel Weller, two other voices, the tones of which struckfamiliarly on his ear; but whose they were, he could not for the lifeof him call to mind.
　　A very brief conversation ensued. The door was unlocked. Mr.
　　Pickwick stepped out of the closet, and found himself in thepresence of the whole establishment of Westgate House, MrSamuel Weller, and―old Wardle, and his destined son-in-law, Mr.
　　Trundle!
　　‘My dear friend,’ said Mr. Pickwick, running forward andgrasping Wardle’s hand, ‘my dear friend, pray, for Heaven’s sake,explain to this lady the unfortunate and dreadful situation inwhich I am placed. You must have heard it from my servant; say,at all events, my dear fellow, that I am neither a robber nor amadman.’
　　‘I have said so, my dear friend. I have said so already,’ repliedMr. Wardle, shaking the right hand of his friend, while Mr.
　　Trundle shook the left. ‘And whoever says, or has said, he is,’
　　interposed Mr. Weller, stepping forward, ‘says that which is notthe truth, but so far from it, on the contrary, quite the rewerse.
　　And if there’s any number o’ men on these here premises as hassaid so, I shall be wery happy to give ’em all a wery convincingproof o’ their being mistaken, in this here wery room, if these weryrespectable ladies ‘ll have the goodness to retire, and order ’em up,one at a time.’ Having delivered this defiance with great volubility,Mr. Weller struck his open palm emphatically with his clenchedfist, and winked pleasantly on Miss Tomkins, the intensity ofwhose horror at his supposing it within the bounds of possibilitythat there could be any men on the premises of Westgate HouseEstablishment for Young Ladies, it is impossible to describe.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s explanation having already been partially made,was soon concluded. But neither in the course of his walk homewith his friends, nor afterwards when seated before a blazing fireat the supper he so much needed, could a single observation bedrawn from him. He seemed bewildered and amazed. Once, andonly once, he turned round to Mr. Wardle, and said―‘How did you come here?’
　　‘Trundle and I came down here, for some good shooting on thefirst,’ replied Wardle. ‘We arrived to-night, and were astonished tohear from your servant that you were here too. But I am glad youare,’ said the old fellow, slapping him on the back―‘I am glad youare. We shall have a jovial party on the first, and we’ll give Winkleanother chance―eh, old boy?’
　　Mr. Pickwick made no reply, he did not even ask after hisfriends at Dingley Dell, and shortly afterwards retired for thenight, desiring Sam to fetch his candle when he rung. The bell didring in due course, and Mr. Weller presented himself.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking out from under the bed-clothes.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　Mr. Pickwick paused, and Mr. Weller snuffed the candle.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick again, as if with a desperate effort.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Weller, once more.
　　‘Where is that Trotter?’
　　‘Job, sir?’
　　‘Yes.
　　‘Gone, sir.’
　　‘With his master, I suppose?’
　　‘Friend or master, or whatever he is, he’s gone with him,’
　　replied Mr. Weller. ‘There’s a pair on ’em, sir.’
　　‘Jingle suspected my design, and set that fellow on you, withthis story, I suppose?’ said Mr. Pickwick, half choking.
　　‘Just that, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘It was all false, of course?’
　　‘All, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Reg’lar do, sir; artful dodge.’
　　‘I don’t think he’ll escape us quite so easily the next time, Sam!’
　　said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I don’t think he will, sir.’
　　‘Whenever I meet that Jingle again, wherever it is,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, raising himself in bed, and indenting his pillow with atremendous blow, ‘I’ll inflict personal chastisement on him, inaddition to the exposure he so richly merits. I will, or my name isnot Pickwick.’
　　‘And venever I catches hold o’ that there melan-cholly chapwith the black hair,’ said Sam, ‘if I don’t bring some real water intohis eyes, for once in a way, my name ain’t Weller. Good-night, sir!’
Chapter 17
SHOWING THAT AN ATTACK OFRHEUMATISM, IN SOME CASES, ACTS AS AQUICKENER TO INVENTIVE GENIUShe constitution of Mr. Pickwick, though able to sustain avery considerable amount of exertion and fatigue, was notproof against such a combination of attacks as he hadundergone on the memorable night, recorded in the last chapter.
　　The process of being washed in the night air, and rough-dried in acloset, is as dangerous as it is peculiar. Mr. Pickwick was laid upwith an attack of rheumatism.
　　But although the bodily powers of the great man were thusimpaired, his mental energies retained their pristine vigour. Hisspirits were elastic; his good-humour was restored. Even thevexation consequent upon his recent adventure had vanishedfrom his mind; and he could join in the hearty laughter, which anyallusion to it excited in Mr. Wardle, without anger and withoutembarrassment. Nay, more. During the two days Mr. Pickwick wasconfined to bed, Sam was his constant attendant. On the first, heendeavoured to amuse his master by anecdote and conversation;on the second, Mr. Pickwick demanded his writing-desk, and penand ink, and was deeply engaged during the whole day. On thethird, being able to sit up in his bedchamber, he despatched hisvalet with a message to Mr. Wardle and Mr. Trundle, intimatingthat if they would take their wine there, that evening, they wouldgreatly oblige him. The invitation was most willingly accepted; andwhen they were seated over their wine, Mr. Pickwick, with sundryblushes, produced the following little tale, as having been ‘edited’
　　by himself, during his recent indisposition, from his notes of Mr.
　　Weller’s unsophisticated recital.
　　THE PARISH CLERKA Tale Of True Love‘Once upon a time, in a very small country town, at a considerabledistance from London, there lived a little man named NathanielPipkin, who was the parish clerk of the little town, and lived in alittle house in the little High Street, within ten minutes’ walk fromthe little church; and who was to be found every day, from nine tillfour, teaching a little learning to the little boys. Nathaniel Pipkinwas a harmless, inoffensive, good-natured being, with a turned-upnose, and rather turned-in legs, a cast in his eye, and a halt in hisgait; and he divided his time between the church and his school,verily believing that there existed not, on the face of the earth, soclever a man as the curate, so imposing an apartment as thevestry-room, or so well-ordered a seminary as his own. Once, andonly once, in his life, Nathaniel Pipkin had seen a bishop―a realbishop, with his arms in lawn sleeves, and his head in a wig. Hehad seen him walk, and heard him talk, at a confirmation, onwhich momentous occasion Nathaniel Pipkin was so overcomewith reverence and awe, when the aforesaid bishop laid his handon his head, that he fainted right clean away, and was borne out ofchurch in the arms of the beadle.
　　‘This was a great event, a tremendous era, in Nathaniel Pipkin’slife, and it was the only one that had ever occurred to ruffle thesmooth current of his quiet existence, when happening one fineafternoon, in a fit of mental abstraction, to raise his eyes from theslate on which he was devising some tremendous problem incompound addition for an offending urchin to solve, they suddenlyrested on the blooming countenance of Maria Lobbs, the onlydaughter of old Lobbs, the great saddler over the way. Now, theeyes of Mr. Pipkin had rested on the pretty face of Maria Lobbsmany a time and oft before, at church and elsewhere; but the eyesof Maria Lobbs had never looked so bright, the cheeks of MariaLobbs had never looked so ruddy, as upon this particularoccasion. No wonder then, that Nathaniel Pipkin was unable totake his eyes from the countenance of Miss Lobbs; no wonder thatMiss Lobbs, finding herself stared at by a young man, withdrewher head from the window out of which she had been peeping, andshut the casement and pulled down the blind; no wonder thatNathaniel Pipkin, immediately thereafter, fell upon the youngurchin who had previously offended, and cuffed and knocked himabout to his heart’s content. All this was very natural, and there’snothing at all to wonder at about it.
　　‘It is matter of wonder, though, that anyone of Mr. NathanielPipkin’s retiring disposition, nervous temperament, and mostparticularly diminutive income, should from this day forth, havedared to aspire to the hand and heart of the only daughter of thefiery old Lobbs―of old Lobbs, the great saddler, who could havebought up the whole village at one stroke of his pen, and never feltthe outlay―old Lobbs, who was well known to have heaps ofmoney, invested in the bank at the nearest market town―who wasreported to have countless and inexhaustible treasures hoardedup in the little iron safe with the big keyhole, over the chimney-piece in the back parlour―and who, it was well known, on festiveoccasions garnished his board with a real silver teapot, cream-ewer, and sugar-basin, which he was wont, in the pride of hisheart, to boast should be his daughter’s property when she found aman to her mind. I repeat it, to be matter of profoundastonishment and intense wonder, that Nathaniel Pipkin shouldhave had the temerity to cast his eyes in this direction. But love isblind; and Nathaniel had a cast in his eye; and perhaps these twocircumstances, taken together, prevented his seeing the matter inits proper light.
　　‘Now, if old Lobbs had entertained the most remote or distantidea of the state of the affections of Nathaniel Pipkin, he wouldjust have razed the school-room to the ground, or exterminated itsmaster from the surface of the earth, or committed some otheroutrage and atrocity of an equally ferocious and violentdescription; for he was a terrible old fellow, was Lobbs, when hispride was injured, or his blood was up. Swear! Such trains of oathswould come rolling and pealing over the way, sometimes, when hewas denouncing the idleness of the bony apprentice with the thinlegs, that Nathaniel Pipkin would shake in his shoes with horror,and the hair of the pupils’ heads would stand on end with fright.
　　‘Well! Day after day, when school was over, and the pupils gone,did Nathaniel Pipkin sit himself down at the front window, and,while he feigned to be reading a book, throw sidelong glances overthe way in search of the bright eyes of Maria Lobbs; and he hadn’tsat there many days, before the bright eyes appeared at an upperwindow, apparently deeply engaged in reading too. This wasdelightful, and gladdening to the heart of Nathaniel Pipkin. It wassomething to sit there for hours together, and look upon thatpretty face when the eyes were cast down; but when Maria Lobbsbegan to raise her eyes from her book, and dart their rays in thedirection of Nathaniel Pipkin, his delight and admiration wereperfectly boundless. At last, one day when he knew old Lobbs wasout, Nathaniel Pipkin had the temerity to kiss his hand to MariaLobbs; and Maria Lobbs, instead of shutting the window, andpulling down the blind, kissed hers to him, and smiled. Uponwhich Nathaniel Pipkin determined, that, come what might, hewould develop the state of his feelings, without further delay.
　　‘A prettier foot, a gayer heart, a more dimpled face, or a smarterform, never bounded so lightly over the earth they graced, as didthose of Maria Lobbs, the old saddler’s daughter. There was aroguish twinkle in her sparkling eyes, that would have made itsway to far less susceptible bosoms than that of Nathaniel Pipkin;and there was such a joyous sound in her merry laugh, that thesternest misanthrope must have smiled to hear it. Even old Lobbshimself, in the very height of his ferocity, couldn’t resist thecoaxing of his pretty daughter; and when she, and her cousinKate―an arch, impudent-looking, bewitching little person―madea dead set upon the old man together, as, to say the truth, theyvery often did, he could have refused them nothing, even had theyasked for a portion of the countless and inexhaustible treasures,which were hidden from the light, in the iron safe.
　　‘Nathaniel Pipkin’s heart beat high within him, when he sawthis enticing little couple some hundred yards before him onesummer’s evening, in the very field in which he had many a timestrolled about till night-time, and pondered on the beauty of MariaLobbs. But though he had often thought then, how briskly hewould walk up to Maria Lobbs and tell her of his passion if hecould only meet her, he felt, now that she was unexpectedly beforehim, all the blood in his body mounting to his face, manifestly tothe great detriment of his legs, which, deprived of their usualportion, trembled beneath him. When they stopped to gather ahedge flower, or listen to a bird, Nathaniel Pipkin stopped too, andpretended to be absorbed in meditation, as indeed he really was;for he was thinking what on earth he should ever do, when theyturned back, as they inevitably must in time, and meet him face toface. But though he was afraid to make up to them, he couldn’tbear to lose sight of them; so when they walked faster he walkedfaster, when they lingered he lingered, and when they stopped hestopped; and so they might have gone on, until the darknessprevented them, if Kate had not looked slyly back, andencouragingly beckoned Nathaniel to advance. There wassomething in Kate’s manner that was not to be resisted, and soNathaniel Pipkin complied with the invitation; and after a greatdeal of blushing on his part, and immoderate laughter on that ofthe wicked little cousin, Nathaniel Pipkin went down on his kneeson the dewy grass, and declared his resolution to remain there forever, unless he were permitted to rise the accepted lover of MariaLobbs. Upon this, the merry laughter of Miss Lobbs rang throughthe calm evening air―without seeming to disturb it, though; it hadsuch a pleasant sound―and the wicked little cousin laughed moreimmoderately than before, and Nathaniel Pipkin blushed deeperthan ever. At length, Maria Lobbs being more strenuously urgedby the love-worn little man, turned away her head, and whisperedher cousin to say, or at all events Kate did say, that she felt muchhonoured by Mr. Pipkin’s addresses; that her hand and heart wereat her father’s disposal; but that nobody could be insensible to Mr.
　　Pipkin’s merits. As all this was said with much gravity, and asNathaniel Pipkin walked home with Maria Lobbs, and struggledfor a kiss at parting, he went to bed a happy man, and dreamed allnight long, of softening old Lobbs, opening the strong box, andmarrying Maria.
　　The next day, Nathaniel Pipkin saw old Lobbs go out upon hisold gray pony, and after a great many signs at the window fromthe wicked little cousin, the object and meaning of which he couldby no means understand, the bony apprentice with the thin legscame over to say that his master wasn’t coming home all night,and that the ladies expected Mr. Pipkin to tea, at six o’clockprecisely. How the lessons were got through that day, neitherNathaniel Pipkin nor his pupils knew any more than you do; butthey were got through somehow, and, after the boys had gone,Nathaniel Pipkin took till full six o’clock to dress himself to hissatisfaction. Not that it took long to select the garments he shouldwear, inasmuch as he had no choice about the matter; but theputting of them on to the best advantage, and the touching of themup previously, was a task of no inconsiderable difficulty orimportance.
　　‘There was a very snug little party, consisting of Maria Lobbsand her cousin Kate, and three or four romping, good-humoured,rosy-cheeked girls. Nathaniel Pipkin had ocular demonstration ofthe fact, that the rumours of old Lobbs’s treasures were notexaggerated. There were the real solid silver teapot, cream-ewer,and sugar-basin, on the table, and real silver spoons to stir the teawith, and real china cups to drink it out of, and plates of the same,to hold the cakes and toast in. The only eye-sore in the whole placewas another cousin of Maria Lobbs’s, and a brother of Kate, whomMaria Lobbs called “Henry,” and who seemed to keep MariaLobbs all to himself, up in one corner of the table. It’s a delightfulthing to see affection in families, but it may be carried rather toofar, and Nathaniel Pipkin could not help thinking that MariaLobbs must be very particularly fond of her relations, if she paidas much attention to all of them as to this individual cousin. Aftertea, too, when the wicked little cousin proposed a game at blindman’s buff, it somehow or other happened that Nathaniel Pipkinwas nearly always blind, and whenever he laid his hand upon themale cousin, he was sure to find that Maria Lobbs was not far off.
　　And though the wicked little cousin and the other girls pinchedhim, and pulled his hair, and pushed chairs in his way, and allsorts of things, Maria Lobbs never seemed to come near him at all;and once―once―Nathaniel Pipkin could have sworn he heard thesound of a kiss, followed by a faint remonstrance from MariaLobbs, and a half-suppressed laugh from her female friends. Allthis was odd―very odd―and there is no saying what NathanielPipkin might or might not have done, in consequence, if histhoughts had not been suddenly directed into a new channel.
　　‘The circumstance which directed his thoughts into a newchannel was a loud knocking at the street door, and the personwho made this loud knocking at the street door was no other thanold Lobbs himself, who had unexpectedly returned, and washammering away, like a coffin-maker; for he wanted his supper.
　　The alarming intelligence was no sooner communicated by thebony apprentice with the thin legs, than the girls tripped upstairsto Maria Lobbs’s bedroom, and the male cousin and NathanielPipkin were thrust into a couple of closets in the sitting-room, forwant of any better places of concealment; and when Maria Lobbsand the wicked little cousin had stowed them away, and put theroom to rights, they opened the street door to old Lobbs, who hadnever left off knocking since he first began.
　　‘Now it did unfortunately happen that old Lobbs being veryhungry was monstrous cross. Nathaniel Pipkin could hear himgrowling away like an old mastiff with a sore throat; and wheneverthe unfortunate apprentice with the thin legs came into the room,so surely did old Lobbs commence swearing at him in a mostSaracenic and ferocious manner, though apparently with no otherend or object than that of easing his bosom by the discharge of afew superfluous oaths. At length some supper, which had beenwarming up, was placed on the table, and then old Lobbs fell to, inregular style; and having made clear work of it in no time, kissedhis daughter, and demanded his pipe.
　　‘Nature had placed Nathaniel Pipkin’s knees in very closejuxtaposition, but when he heard old Lobbs demand his pipe, theyknocked together, as if they were going to reduce each other topowder; for, depending from a couple of hooks, in the very closetin which he stood, was a large, brown-stemmed, silver-bowledpipe, which pipe he himself had seen in the mouth of old Lobbs,regularly every afternoon and evening, for the last five years. Thetwo girls went downstairs for the pipe, and upstairs for the pipe,and everywhere but where they knew the pipe was, and old Lobbsstormed away meanwhile, in the most wonderful manner. At lasthe thought of the closet, and walked up to it. It was of no use alittle man like Nathaniel Pipkin pulling the door inwards, when agreat strong fellow like old Lobbs was pulling it outwards. OldLobbs gave it one tug, and open it flew, disclosing NathanielPipkin standing bolt upright inside, and shaking withapprehension from head to foot. Bless us! what an appalling lookold Lobbs gave him, as he dragged him out by the collar, and heldhim at arm’s length.
　　‘“Why, what the devil do you want here?” said old Lobbs, in afearful voice.
　　‘Nathaniel Pipkin could make no reply, so old Lobbs shook himbackwards and forwards, for two or three minutes, by way ofarranging his ideas for him.
　　‘“What do you want here?” roared Lobbs; “I suppose you havecome after my daughter, now!”
　　‘Old Lobbs merely said this as a sneer: for he did not believethat mortal presumption could have carried Nathaniel Pipkin sofar. What was his indignation, when that poor man replied―‘“Yes,I did, Mr. Lobbs, I did come after your daughter. I love her, Mr.
　　Lobbs.”
　　‘“Why, you snivelling, wry-faced, puny villain,” gasped oldLobbs, paralysed by the atrocious confession; “what do you meanby that? Say this to my face! Damme, I’ll throttle you!”
　　‘It is by no means improbable that old Lobbs would havecarried his threat into execution, in the excess of his rage, if hisarm had not been stayed by a very unexpected apparition: to wit,the male cousin, who, stepping out of his closet, and walking up toold Lobbs, said―‘“I cannot allow this harmless person, sir, who has been askedhere, in some girlish frolic, to take upon himself, in a very noblemanner, the fault (if fault it is) which I am guilty of, and am readyto avow. I love your daughter, sir; and I came here for the purposeof meeting her.”
　　‘Old Lobbs opened his eyes very wide at this, but not widerthan Nathaniel Pipkin. ‘“You did?” said Lobbs, at last finding breath to speak.
　　‘“I did.”
　　‘“And I forbade you this house, long ago.”
　　‘“You did, or I should not have been here, clandestinely, to-night.”
　　‘I am sorry to record it of old Lobbs, but I think he would havestruck the cousin, if his pretty daughter, with her bright eyesswimming in tears, had not clung to his arm.
　　‘“Don’t stop him, Maria,” said the young man; “if he has the willto strike me, let him. I would not hurt a hair of his gray head, forthe riches of the world.”
　　‘The old man cast down his eyes at this reproof, and they metthose of his daughter. I have hinted once or twice before, that theywere very bright eyes, and, though they were tearful now, theirinfluence was by no means lessened. Old Lobbs turned his headaway, as if to avoid being persuaded by them, when, as fortunewould have it, he encountered the face of the wicked little cousin,who, half afraid for her brother, and half laughing at NathanielPipkin, presented as bewitching an expression of countenance,with a touch of slyness in it, too, as any man, old or young, needlook upon. She drew her arm coaxingly through the old man’s, andwhispered something in his ear; and do what he would, old Lobbscouldn’t help breaking out into a smile, while a tear stole down hischeek at the same time. ‘Five minutes after this, the girls werebrought down from the bedroom with a great deal of giggling andmodesty; and while the young people were making themselvesperfectly happy, old Lobbs got down the pipe, and smoked it; andit was a remarkable circumstance about that particular pipe oftobacco, that it was the most soothing and delightful one he eversmoked.
　　‘Nathaniel Pipkin thought it best to keep his own counsel, andby so doing gradually rose into high favour with old Lobbs. whotaught him to smoke in time; and they used to sit out in the gardenon the fine evenings, for many years afterwards, smoking anddrinking in great state. He soon recovered the effects of hisattachment, for we find his name in the parish register, as awitness to the marriage of Maria Lobbs to her cousin; and it alsoappears, by reference to other documents, that on the night of thewedding he was incarcerated in the village cage, for having, in astate of extreme intoxication, committed sundry excesses in thestreets, in all of which he was aided and abetted by the bonyapprentice with the thin legs.’
Chapter 18
BRIEFLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF TWO POINTS;FIRST, THE POWER OF HYSTERICS, AND,SECONDLY, THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCEsor two days after the breakfast at Mrs. Hunter’s, thePickwickians remained at Eatanswill, anxiously awaitingthe arrival of some intelligence from their revered leader.
　　Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were once again left to their ownmeans of amusement; for Mr. Winkle, in compliance with a mostpressing invitation, continued to reside at Mr. Pott’s house, and todevote his time to the companionship of his amiable lady. Nor wasthe occasional society of Mr. Pott himself wanting to completetheir felicity. Deeply immersed in the intensity of his speculationsfor the public weal and the destruction of the Independent, it wasnot the habit of that great man to descend from his mentalpinnacle to the humble level of ordinary minds. On this occasion,however, and as if expressly in compliment to any follower of Mr.
　　Pickwick’s, he unbent, relaxed, stepped down from his pedestal,and walked upon the ground, benignly adapting his remarks to thecomprehension of the herd, and seeming in outward form, if not inspirit, to be one of them.
　　Such having been the demeanour of this celebrated publiccharacter towards Mr. Winkle, it will be readily imagined thatconsiderable surprise was depicted on the countenance of thelatter gentleman, when, as he was sitting alone in the breakfast-room, the door was hastily thrown open, and as hastily closed, onthe entrance of Mr. Pott, who, stalking majestically towards him,and thrusting aside his proffered hand, ground his teeth, as if toput a sharper edge on what he was about to utter, and exclaimed,in a saw-like voice―‘Serpent!’
　　‘Sir!’ exclaimed Mr. Winkle, starting from his chair.
　　‘Serpent, sir,’ repeated Mr. Pott, raising his voice, and thensuddenly depressing it: ‘I said, serpent, sir―make the most of it.’
　　When you have parted with a man at two o’clock in themorning, on terms of the utmost good-fellowship, and he meetsyou again, at half-past nine, and greets you as a serpent, it is notunreasonable to conclude that something of an unpleasant naturehas occurred meanwhile. So Mr. Winkle thought. He returned Mr.
　　Pott’s gaze of stone, and in compliance with that gentleman’srequest, proceeded to make the most he could of the ‘serpent.’ Themost, however, was nothing at all; so, after a profound silence ofsome minutes’ duration, he said,―‘Serpent, sir! Serpent, Mr. Pott! What can you mean, sir?―thisis pleasantry.’
　　‘Pleasantry, sir!’ exclaimed Pott, with a motion of the hand,indicative of a strong desire to hurl the Britannia metal teapot atthe head of the visitor. ‘Pleasantry, sir!―But―no, I will be calm; Iwill be calm, sir;’ in proof of his calmness, Mr. Pott flung himselfinto a chair, and foamed at the mouth.
　　‘My dear sir,’ interposed Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Dear sir!’ replied Pott. ‘How dare you address me, as dear sir,sir? How dare you look me in the face and do it, sir?’
　　‘Well, sir, if you come to that,’ responded Mr. Winkle, ‘how dareyou look me in the face, and call me a serpent, sir?’
　　‘Because you are one,’ replied Mr. Pott.
　　‘Prove it, sir,’ said Mr. Winkle warmly. ‘Prove it.’
　　A malignant scowl passed over the profound face of the editor,as he drew from his pocket the Independent of that morning; andlaying his finger on a particular paragraph, threw the journalacross the table to Mr. Winkle.
　　That gentleman took it up, and read as follows:―‘Our obscure and filthy contemporary, in some disgustingobservations on the recent election for this borough, haspresumed to violate the hallowed sanctity of private life, and torefer, in a manner not to be misunderstood, to the personal affairsof our late candidate―aye, and notwithstanding his base defeat,we will add, our future member, Mr. Fizkin. What does ourdastardly contemporary mean? What would the ruffian say, if we,setting at naught, like him, the decencies of social intercourse,were to raise the curtain which happily conceals His private lifefrom general ridicule, not to say from general execration? What, ifwe were even to point out, and comment on, facts andcircumstances, which are publicly notorious, and beheld by everyone but our mole-eyed contemporary―what if we were to printthe following effusion, which we received while we were writingthe commencement of this article, from a talented fellow-townsman and correspondent?
　　‘“LINES TO A BRASS POT‘“Oh Pott! if you’d knownHow false she’d have grown,When you heard the marriage bells tinkle;You have done then, I vow,What you cannot help now,And handed her over to W*****”’
　　‘What,’ said Mr. Pott solemnly―‘what rhymes to “tinkle,”
　　villain?’
　　‘What rhymes to tinkle?’ said Mrs. Pott, whose entrance at themoment forestalled the reply. ‘What rhymes to tinkle? Why,Winkle, I should conceive.’ Saying this, Mrs. Pott smiled sweetlyon the disturbed Pickwickian, and extended her hand towardshim. The agitated young man would have accepted it, in hisconfusion, had not Pott indignantly interposed.
　　‘Back, ma’am―back!’ said the editor. ‘Take his hand before myvery face!’
　　‘Mr. P.!’ said his astonished lady.
　　‘Wretched woman, look here,’ exclaimed the husband. ‘Lookhere, ma’am―“Lines to a Brass Pot.” “Brass Pot”; that’s me,ma’am. “False she’d have grown”; that’s you, ma’am―you.’ Withthis ebullition of rage, which was not unaccompanied withsomething like a tremble, at the expression of his wife’s face, Mr.
　　Pott dashed the current number of the Eatanswill Independent ather feet.
　　‘Upon my word, sir,’ said the astonished Mrs. Pott, stooping topick up the paper. ‘Upon my word, sir!’
　　Mr. Pott winced beneath the contemptuous gaze of his wife. Hehad made a desperate struggle to screw up his courage, but it wasfast coming unscrewed again.
　　There appears nothing very tremendous in this little sentence,‘Upon my word, sir,’ when it comes to be read; but the tone ofvoice in which it was delivered, and the look that accompanied it,both seeming to bear reference to some revenge to be thereaftervisited upon the head of Pott, produced their effect upon him. Themost unskilful observer could have detected in his troubledcountenance, a readiness to resign his Wellington boots to anyefficient substitute who would have consented to stand in them atthat moment.
　　Mrs. Pott read the paragraph, uttered a loud shriek, and threwherself at full length on the hearth-rug, screaming, and tapping itwith the heels of her shoes, in a manner which could leave nodoubt of the propriety of her feelings on the occasion.
　　‘My dear,’ said the terrified Pott, ‘I didn’t say I believed it;―I―’
　　but the unfortunate man’s voice was drowned in the screaming ofhis partner.
　　‘Mrs. Pott, let me entreat you, my dear ma’am, to composeyourself,’ said Mr. Winkle; but the shrieks and tappings werelouder, and more frequent than ever.
　　‘My dear,’ said Mr. Pott, ‘I’m very sorry. If you won’t consideryour own health, consider me, my dear. We shall have a crowdround the house.’ But the more strenuously Mr. Pott entreated,the more vehemently the screams poured forth.
　　Very fortunately, however, attached to Mrs. Pott’s person was abodyguard of one, a young lady whose ostensible employment wasto preside over her toilet, but who rendered herself useful in avariety of ways, and in none more so than in the particulardepartment of constantly aiding and abetting her mistress in everywish and inclination opposed to the desires of the unhappy Pott.
　　The screams reached this young lady’s ears in due course, andbrought her into the room with a speed which threatened toderange, materially, the very exquisite arrangement of her capand ringlets.
　　‘Oh, my dear, dear mistress!’ exclaimed the bodyguard,kneeling frantically by the side of the prostrate Mrs. Pott. ‘Oh, mydear mistress, what is the matter?’
　　‘Your master―your brutal master,’ murmured the patient.
　　Pott was evidently giving way.
　　‘It’s a shame,’ said the bodyguard reproachfully. ‘I know he’ll bethe death on you, ma’am. Poor dear thing!’
　　He gave way more. The opposite party followed up the attack.
　　‘Oh, don’t leave me―don’t leave me, Goodwin,’ murmured Mrs.
　　Pott, clutching at the wrist of the said Goodwin with an hystericjerk. ‘You’re the only person that’s kind to me, Goodwin.’
　　At this affecting appeal, Goodwin got up a little domestictragedy of her own, and shed tears copiously.
　　‘Never, ma’am―never,’ said Goodwin.’Oh, sir, you should becareful―you should indeed; you don’t know what harm you maydo missis; you’ll be sorry for it one day, I know―I’ve always saidso.’
　　The unlucky Pott looked timidly on, but said nothing.
　　‘Goodwin,’ said Mrs. Pott, in a soft voice.
　　‘Ma’am,’ said Goodwin.
　　‘If you only knew how I have loved that man―’
　　‘Don’t distress yourself by recollecting it, ma’am,’ said thebodyguard.
　　Pott looked very frightened. It was time to finish him.
　　‘And now,’ sobbed Mrs. Pott, ‘now, after all, to be treated in thisway; to be reproached and insulted in the presence of a thirdparty, and that party almost a stranger. But I will not submit to it!
　　Goodwin,’ continued Mrs. Pott, raising herself in the arms of herattendant, ‘my brother, the lieutenant, shall interfere. I’ll beseparated, Goodwin!’
　　‘It would certainly serve him right, ma’am,’ said Goodwin.
　　Whatever thoughts the threat of a separation might haveawakened in Mr. Pott’s mind, he forbore to give utterance to them,and contented himself by saying, with great humility:―‘My dear, will you hear me?’
　　A fresh train of sobs was the only reply, as Mrs. Pott grew morehysterical, requested to be informed why she was ever born, andrequired sundry other pieces of information of a similardescription.
　　‘My dear,’ remonstrated Mr. Pott, ‘do not give way to thesesensitive feelings. I never believed that the paragraph had anyfoundation, my dear―impossible. I was only angry, my dear―Imay say outrageous―with the Independent people for daring toinsert it; that’s all.’ Mr. Pott cast an imploring look at the innocentcause of the mischief, as if to entreat him to say nothing about theserpent.
　　‘And what steps, sir, do you mean to take to obtain redress?’
　　inquired Mr. Winkle, gaining courage as he saw Pott losing it.
　　‘Oh, Goodwin,’ observed Mrs. Pott, ‘does he mean to horsewhipthe editor of the Independent―does he, Goodwin?’
　　‘Hush, hush, ma’am; pray keep yourself quiet,’ replied thebodyguard. ‘I dare say he will, if you wish it, ma’am.’
　　‘Certainly,’ said Pott, as his wife evinced decided symptoms ofgoing off again. ‘Of course I shall.’
　　‘When, Goodwin―when?’ said Mrs. Pott, still undecided aboutthe going off.
　　‘Immediately, of course,’ said Mr. Pott; ‘before the day is out.’
　　‘Oh, Goodwin,’ resumed Mrs. Pott, ‘it’s the only way of meetingthe slander, and setting me right with the world.’
　　‘Certainly, ma’am,’ replied Goodwin. ‘No man as is a man,ma’am, could refuse to do it.’
　　So, as the hysterics were still hovering about, Mr. Pott said oncemore that he would do it; but Mrs. Pott was so overcome at thebare idea of having ever been suspected, that she was half a dozentimes on the very verge of a relapse, and most unquestionablywould have gone off, had it not been for the indefatigable efforts ofthe assiduous Goodwin, and repeated entreaties for pardon fromthe conquered Pott; and finally, when that unhappy individual hadbeen frightened and snubbed down to his proper level, Mrs. Pottrecovered, and they went to breakfast.
　　‘You will not allow this base newspaper slander to shorten yourstay here, Mr. Winkle?’ said Mrs. Pott, smiling through the tracesof her tears.
　　‘I hope not,’ said Mr. Pott, actuated, as he spoke, by a wish thathis visitor would choke himself with the morsel of dry toast whichhe was raising to his lips at the moment, and so terminate his stayeffectually.
　　‘I hope not.’
　　‘You are very good,’ said Mr. Winkle; ‘but a letter has beenreceived from Mr. Pickwick―so I learn by a note from Mr.
　　Tupman, which was brought up to my bedroom door, thismorning―in which he requests us to join him at Bury to-day; andwe are to leave by the coach at noon.’
　　‘But you will come back?’ said Mrs. Pott.
　　‘Oh, certainly,’ replied Mr. Winkle.
　　‘You are quite sure?’ said Mrs. Pott, stealing a tender look ather visitor.
　　‘Quite,’ responded Mr. Winkle.
　　The breakfast passed off in silence, for each of the party wasbrooding over his, or her, own personal grievances. Mrs. Pott wasregretting the loss of a beau; Mr. Pott his rash pledge to horsewhipthe Independent; Mr. Winkle his having innocently placed himselfin so awkward a situation. Noon approached, and after manyadieux and promises to return, he tore himself away.
　　‘If he ever comes back, I’ll poison him,’ thought Mr. Pott, as heturned into the little back office where he prepared histhunderbolts.
　　‘If I ever do come back, and mix myself up with these peopleagain,’ thought Mr. Winkle, as he wended his way to the Peacock,‘I shall deserve to be horsewhipped myself―that’s all.’
　　His friends were ready, the coach was nearly so, and in half anhour they were proceeding on their journey, along the road overwhich Mr. Pickwick and Sam had so recently travelled, and ofwhich, as we have already said something, we do not feel calledupon to extract Mr. Snodgrass’s poetical and beautiful description.
　　Mr. Weller was standing at the door of the Angel, ready toreceive them, and by that gentleman they were ushered to theapartment of Mr. Pickwick, where, to the no small surprise of Mr.
　　Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass, and the no small embarrassment ofMr. Tupman, they found old Wardle and Trundle.
　　‘How are you?’ said the old man, grasping Mr. Tupman’s hand.
　　‘Don’t hang back, or look sentimental about it; it can’t be helped,old fellow. For her sake, I wish you’d had her; for your own, I’mvery glad you have not. A young fellow like you will do better oneof these days, eh?’ With this conclusion, Wardle slapped Mr.
　　Tupman on the back, and laughed heartily.
　　‘Well, and how are you, my fine fellows?’ said the oldgentleman, shaking hands with Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass atthe same time. ‘I have just been telling Pickwick that we musthave you all down at Christmas. We’re going to have a wedding―areal wedding this time.’
　　‘A wedding!’ exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, turning very pale.
　　‘Yes, a wedding. But don’t be frightened,’ said the good-humoured old man; ‘it’s only Trundle there, and Bella.’
　　‘Oh, is that all?’ said Mr. Snodgrass, relieved from a painfuldoubt which had fallen heavily on his breast. ‘Give you joy, sir.
　　How is Joe?’
　　‘Very well,’ replied the old gentleman. ‘Sleepy as ever.’
　　‘And your mother, and the clergyman, and all of ‘em?’
　　‘Quite well.’
　　‘Where,’ said Mr. Tupman, with an effort―‘where is―she, sir?’
　　and he turned away his head, and covered his eyes with his hand.
　　‘She!’ said the old gentleman, with a knowing shake of the head.
　　‘Do you mean my single relative―eh?’
　　Mr. Tupman, by a nod, intimated that his question applied tothe disappointed Rachael.
　　‘Oh, she’s gone away,’ said the old gentleman. ‘She’s living at arelation’s, far enough off. She couldn’t bear to see the girls, so I lether go. But come! Here’s the dinner. You must be hungry afteryour ride. I am, without any ride at all; so let us fall to.’
　　Ample justice was done to the meal; and when they were seatedround the table, after it had been disposed of, Mr. Pickwick, to theintense horror and indignation of his followers, related theadventure he had undergone, and the success which had attendedthe base artifices of the diabolical Jingle. ‘And the attack ofrheumatism which I caught in that garden,’ said Mr. Pickwick, inconclusion, ‘renders me lame at this moment.’
　　‘I, too, have had something of an adventure,’ said Mr. Winkle,with a smile; and, at the request of Mr. Pickwick, he detailed themalicious libel of the Eatanswill Independent, and the consequentexcitement of their friend, the editor.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s brow darkened during the recital. His friendsobserved it, and, when Mr. Winkle had concluded, maintained aprofound silence. Mr. Pickwick struck the table emphatically withhis clenched fist, and spoke as follows:―‘Is it not a wonderful circumstance,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that weseem destined to enter no man’s house without involving him insome degree of trouble? Does it not, I ask, bespeak theindiscretion, or, worse than that, the blackness of heart―that Ishould say so!―of my followers, that, beneath whatever roof theylocate, they disturb the peace of mind and happiness of someconfiding female? Is it not, I say―’
　　Mr. Pickwick would in all probability have gone on for sometime, had not the entrance of Sam, with a letter, caused him tobreak off in his eloquent discourse. He passed his handkerchiefacross his forehead, took off his spectacles, wiped them, and putthem on again; and his voice had recovered its wonted softness oftone when he said―‘What have you there, Sam?’
　　‘Called at the post-office just now, and found this here letter, ashas laid there for two days,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘It’s sealed vith avafer, and directed in round hand.’
　　‘I don’t know this hand,’ said Mr. Pickwick, opening the letter.
　　‘Mercy on us! what’s this? It must be a jest; it―it―can’t be true.’
　　‘What’s the matter?’ was the general inquiry.
　　‘Nobody dead, is there?’ said Wardle, alarmed at the horror inMr. Pickwick’s countenance.
　　Mr. Pickwick made no reply, but, pushing the letter across thetable, and desiring Mr. Tupman to read it aloud, fell back in hischair with a look of vacant astonishment quite alarming to behold.
　　Mr. Tupman, with a trembling voice, read the letter, of whichthe following is a copy:―Freeman’s Court, Cornhill, August 28th, 1827.
　　Bardell against Pickwick.
　　Sir,Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence anaction against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for which theplaintiff lays her damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg toinform you that a writ has been issued against you in this suit in theCourt of Common Pleas; and request to know, by return of post, thename of your attorney in London, who will accept service thereof.
　　We are, sir,Your obedient servants,Dodson & Fogg.
　　Mr. Samuel Pickwick.
　　There was something so impressive in the mute astonishmentwith which each man regarded his neighbour, and every manregarded Mr. Pickwick, that all seemed afraid to speak. Thesilence was at length broken by Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Dodson and Fogg,’ he repeated mechanically.
　　‘Bardell and Pickwick,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, musing.
　　‘Peace of mind and happiness of confiding females,’ murmuredMr. Winkle, with an air of abstraction.
　　‘It’s a conspiracy,’ said Mr. Pickwick, at length recovering thepower of speech; ‘a base conspiracy between these two graspingattorneys, Dodson and Fogg. Mrs. Bardell would never do it;―shehasn’t the heart to do it;―she hasn’t the case to do it. Ridiculous―ridiculous.’
　　‘Of her heart,’ said Wardle, with a smile, ‘you should certainlybe the best judge. I don’t wish to discourage you, but I shouldcertainly say that, of her case, Dodson and Fogg are far betterjudges than any of us can be.’
　　‘It’s a vile attempt to extort money,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I hope it is,’ said Wardle, with a short, dry cough.
　　‘Who ever heard me address her in any way but that in which alodger would address his landlady?’ continued Mr. Pickwick, withgreat vehemence. ‘Who ever saw me with her? Not even myfriends here―’
　　‘Except on one occasion,’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　Mr. Pickwick changed colour. ‘Ah,’ said Mr. Wardle. ‘Well,that’s important. There was nothing suspicious then, I suppose?’
　　Mr. Tupman glanced timidly at his leader. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘therewas nothing suspicious; but―I don’t know how it happened,mind―she certainly was reclining in his arms.’
　　‘Gracious powers!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, as the recollectionof the scene in question struck forcibly upon him; ‘what a dreadfulinstance of the force of circumstances! So she was―so she was.’
　　‘And our friend was soothing her anguish,’ said Mr. Winkle,rather maliciously.
　　‘So I was,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I don’t deny it. So I was.’
　　‘Hollo!’ said Wardle; ‘for a case in which there’s nothingsuspicious, this looks rather queer―eh, Pickwick? Ah, sly dog―slydog!’ and he laughed till the glasses on the sideboard rang again.
　　‘What a dreadful conjunction of appearances!’ exclaimed Mr.
　　Pickwick, resting his chin upon his hands. ‘Winkle―Tupman―Ibeg your pardon for the observations I made just now. We are allthe victims of circumstances, and I the greatest.’ With this apologyMr. Pickwick buried his head in his hands, and ruminated; whileWardle measured out a regular circle of nods and winks,addressed to the other members of the company.
　　‘I’ll have it explained, though,’ said Mr. Pickwick, raising hishead and hammering the table. ‘I’ll see this Dodson and Fogg! I’llgo to London to-morrow.’
　　‘Not to-morrow,’ said Wardle; ‘you’re too lame.’
　　‘Well, then, next day.’
　　‘Next day is the first of September, and you’re pledged to rideout with us, as far as Sir Geoffrey Manning’s grounds at all events,and to meet us at lunch, if you don’t take the field.’
　　‘Well, then, the day after,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘Thursday.―Sam!’
　　‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Take two places outside to London, on Thursday morning, foryourself and me.’
　　‘Wery well, sir.’
　　Mr. Weller left the room, and departed slowly on his errand,with his hands in his pocket and his eyes fixed on the ground.
　　‘Rum feller, the hemperor,’ said Mr. Weller, as he walked slowlyup the street. ‘Think o’ his makin’ up to that ’ere Mrs. Bardell―vith a little boy, too! Always the vay vith these here old ’un showsoever, as is such steady goers to look at. I didn’t think he’dha’ done it, though―I didn’t think he’d ha’ done it!’ Moralising inthis strain, Mr. Samuel Weller bent his steps towards the booking-office.
Chapter 19
A PLEASANT DAY WITH ANUNPLEASANT TERMINATIONhe birds, who, happily for their own peace of mind andpersonal comfort, were in blissful ignorance of thepreparations which had been making to astonish them, onthe first of September, hailed it, no doubt, as one of thepleasantest mornings they had seen that season. Many a youngpartridge who strutted complacently among the stubble, with allthe finicking coxcombry of youth, and many an older one whowatched his levity out of his little round eye, with thecontemptuous air of a bird of wisdom and experience, alikeunconscious of their approaching doom, basked in the freshmorning air with lively and blithesome feelings, and a few hoursafterwards were laid low upon the earth. But we grow affecting:
　　let us proceed.
　　In plain commonplace matter-of-fact, then, it was a finemorning―so fine that you would scarcely have believed that thefew months of an English summer had yet flown by. Hedges,fields, and trees, hill and moorland, presented to the eye theirever-varying shades of deep rich green; scarce a leaf had fallen,scarce a sprinkle of yellow mingled with the hues of summer,warned you that autumn had begun. The sky was cloudless; thesun shone out bright and warm; the songs of birds, the hum ofmyriads of summer insects, filled the air; and the cottage gardens,crowded with flowers of every rich and beautiful tint, sparkled, inthe heavy dew, like beds of glittering jewels. Everything bore thestamp of summer, and none of its beautiful colour had yet fadedfrom the die.
　　Such was the morning, when an open carriage, in which werethree Pickwickians (Mr. Snodgrass having preferred to remain athome), Mr. Wardle, and Mr. Trundle, with Sam Weller on the boxbeside the driver, pulled up by a gate at the roadside, before whichstood a tall, raw-boned gamekeeper, and a half-booted, leather-legginged boy, each bearing a bag of capacious dimensions, andaccompanied by a brace of pointers.
　　‘I say,’ whispered Mr. Winkle to Wardle, as the man let downthe steps, ‘they don’t suppose we’re going to kill game enough tofill those bags, do they?’
　　‘Fill them!’ exclaimed old Wardle. ‘Bless you, yes! You shall fillone, and I the other; and when we’ve done with them, the pocketsof our shooting-jackets will hold as much more.’
　　Mr. Winkle dismounted without saying anything in reply to thisobservation; but he thought within himself, that if the partyremained in the open air, till he had filled one of the bags, theystood a considerable chance of catching colds in their heads.
　　‘Hi, Juno, lass-hi, old girl; down, Daph, down,’ said Wardle,caressing the dogs. ‘Sir Geoffrey still in Scotland, of course,Martin?’
　　The tall gamekeeper replied in the affirmative, and looked withsome surprise from Mr. Winkle, who was holding his gun as if hewished his coat pocket to save him the trouble of pulling thetrigger, to Mr. Tupman, who was holding his as if he was afraid ofit―as there is no earthly reason to doubt he really was.
　　‘My friends are not much in the way of this sort of thing yet,Martin,’ said Wardle, noticing the look. ‘Live and learn, you know.
　　They’ll be good shots one of these days. I beg my friend Winkle’spardon, though; he has had some practice.’
　　Mr. Winkle smiled feebly over his blue neckerchief inacknowledgment of the compliment, and got himself somysteriously entangled with his gun, in his modest confusion, thatif the piece had been loaded, he must inevitably have shot himselfdead upon the spot.
　　‘You mustn’t handle your piece in that ’ere way, when you cometo have the charge in it, sir,’ said the tall gamekeeper gruffly; ‘orI’m damned if you won’t make cold meat of some on us.’
　　Mr. Winkle, thus admonished, abruptly altered his position, andin so doing, contrived to bring the barrel into pretty smart contactwith Mr. Weller’s head.
　　‘Hollo!’ said Sam, picking up his hat, which had been knockedoff, and rubbing his temple. ‘Hollo, sir! if you comes it this vay,you’ll fill one o’ them bags, and something to spare, at one fire.’
　　Here the leather-legginged boy laughed very heartily, and thentried to look as if it was somebody else, whereat Mr. Winklefrowned majestically.
　　‘Where did you tell the boy to meet us with the snack, Martin?’
　　inquired Wardle.
　　‘Side of One-tree Hill, at twelve o’clock, sir.’
　　‘That’s not Sir Geoffrey’s land, is it?’
　　‘No, sir; but it’s close by it. It’s Captain Boldwig’s land; butthere’ll be nobody to interrupt us, and there’s a fine bit of turfthere.’
　　‘Very well,’ said old Wardle. ‘Now the sooner we’re off thebetter. Will you join us at twelve, then, Pickwick?’
　　Mr. Pickwick was particularly desirous to view the sport, themore especially as he was rather anxious in respect of Mr.
　　Winkle’s life and limbs. On so inviting a morning, too, it was verytantalising to turn back, and leave his friends to enjoy themselves.
　　It was, therefore, with a very rueful air that he replied―‘Why, I suppose I must.’
　　‘Ain’t the gentleman a shot, sir?’ inquired the long gamekeeper.
　　‘No,’ replied Wardle; ‘and he’s lame besides.’
　　‘I should very much like to go,’ said Mr. Pickwick―‘very much.’
　　There was a short pause of commiseration.
　　‘There’s a barrow t’other side the hedge,’ said the boy. ‘If thegentleman’s servant would wheel along the paths, he could keepnigh us, and we could lift it over the stiles, and that.’
　　‘The wery thing,’ said Mr. Weller, who was a party interested,inasmuch as he ardently longed to see the sport. ‘The wery thing.
　　Well said, Smallcheek; I’ll have it out in a minute.’
　　But here a difficulty arose. The long gamekeeper resolutelyprotested against the introduction into a shooting party, of agentleman in a barrow, as a gross violation of all established rulesand precedents. It was a great objection, but not aninsurmountable one. The gamekeeper having been coaxed andfeed, and having, moreover, eased his mind by ‘punching’ the headof the inventive youth who had first suggested the use of themachine, Mr. Pickwick was placed in it, and off the party set;Wardle and the long gamekeeper leading the way, and Mr.
　　Pickwick in the barrow, propelled by Sam, bringing up the rear.
　　‘Stop, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when they had got half acrossthe first field.
　　‘What’s the matter now?’ said Wardle.
　　‘I won’t suffer this barrow to be moved another step,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, resolutely, ’un less Winkle carries that gun of his in adifferent manner.’
　　‘How am I to carry it?’ said the wretched Winkle. ‘Carry it withthe muzzle to the ground,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It’s so unsportsmanlike,’ reasoned Winkle.
　　‘I don’t care whether it’s unsportsmanlike or not,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick; ‘I am not going to be shot in a wheel-barrow, for thesake of appearances, to please anybody.’
　　‘I know the gentleman’ll put that ’ere charge into somebodyafore he’s done,’ growled the long man.
　　‘Well, well―I don’t mind,’ said poor Winkle, turning his gun-stock uppermost―‘there.’
　　‘Anythin’ for a quiet life,’ said Mr. Weller; and on they wentagain.
　　‘Stop!’ said Mr. Pickwick, after they had gone a few yardsfarther.
　　‘What now?’ said Wardle.
　　‘That gun of Tupman’s is not safe: I know it isn’t,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘Eh? What! not safe?’ said Mr. Tupman, in a tone of greatalarm.
　　‘Not as you are carrying it,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am very sorryto make any further objection, but I cannot consent to go on,unless you carry it as Winkle does his.’
　　‘I think you had better, sir,’ said the long gamekeeper, ‘oryou’re quite as likely to lodge the charge in yourself as in anythingelse.’
　　Mr. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece in the position required, and the party moved on again; the twoamateurs marching with reversed arms, like a couple of privates ata royal funeral.
　　The dogs suddenly came to a dead stop, and the partyadvancing stealthily a single pace, stopped too.
　　‘What’s the matter with the dogs’ legs?’ whispered Mr. Winkle.
　　‘How queer they’re standing.’
　　‘Hush, can’t you?’ replied Wardle softly. ‘Don’t you see, they’remaking a point?’
　　‘Making a point!’ said Mr. Winkle, staring about him, as if heexpected to discover some particular beauty in the landscape,which the sagacious animals were calling special attention to.
　　‘Making a point! What are they pointing at?’
　　‘Keep your eyes open,’ said Wardle, not heeding the question inthe excitement of the moment. ‘Now then.’
　　There was a sharp whirring noise, that made Mr. Winkle startback as if he had been shot himself. Bang, bang, went a couple ofguns―the smoke swept quickly away over the field, and curledinto the air.
　　‘Where are they!’ said Mr. Winkle, in a state of the highestexcitement, turning round and round in all directions. ‘Where arethey? Tell me when to fire. Where are they―where are they?’
　　‘Where are they!’ said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds whichthe dogs had deposited at his feet. ‘Why, here they are.’
　　‘No, no; I mean the others,’ said the bewildered Winkle.
　　‘Far enough off, by this time,’ replied Wardle, coolly reloadinghis gun.
　　‘We shall very likely be up with another covey in five minutes,’
　　said the long gamekeeper. ‘If the gentleman begins to fire now,perhaps he’ll just get the shot out of the barrel by the time theyrise.’
　　‘Ha! ha! ha!’ roared Mr. Weller.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, compassionating his follower’sconfusion and embarrassment.
　　‘Sir.’
　　‘Don’t laugh.’
　　‘Certainly not, sir.’ So, by way of indemnification, Mr. Wellercontorted his features from behind the wheel-barrow, for theexclusive amusement of the boy with the leggings, who thereuponburst into a boisterous laugh, and was summarily cuffed by thelong gamekeeper, who wanted a pretext for turning round, to hidehis own merriment.
　　‘Bravo, old fellow!’ said Wardle to Mr. Tupman; ‘you fired thattime, at all events.’
　　‘Oh, yes,’ replied Mr. Tupman, with conscious pride. ‘I let it off.’
　　‘Well done. You’ll hit something next time, if you look sharp.
　　Very easy, ain’t it?’
　　‘Yes, it’s very easy,’ said Mr. Tupman. ‘How it hurts one’sshoulder, though. It nearly knocked me backwards. I had no ideathese small firearms kicked so.’
　　‘Ah,’ said the old gentleman, smiling, ‘you’ll get used to it intime. Now then―all ready―all right with the barrow there?’
　　‘All right, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Come along, then.’
　　‘Hold hard, sir,’ said Sam, raising the barrow.
　　‘Aye, aye,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; and on they went, as briskly asneed be.
　　‘Keep that barrow back now,’ cried Wardle, when it had beenhoisted over a stile into another field, and Mr. Pickwick had beendeposited in it once more.
　　‘All right, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, pausing.
　　‘Now, Winkle,’ said the old gentleman, ‘follow me softly, anddon’t be too late this time.’
　　‘Never fear,’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘Are they pointing?’
　　‘No, no; not now. Quietly now, quietly.’ On they crept, and veryquietly they would have advanced, if Mr. Winkle, in theperformance of some very intricate evolutions with his gun, hadnot accidentally fired, at the most critical moment, over the boy’shead, exactly in the very spot where the tall man’s brain wouldhave been, had he been there instead.
　　‘Why, what on earth did you do that for?’ said old Wardle, asthe birds flew unharmed away.
　　‘I never saw such a gun in my life,’ replied poor Mr. Winkle,looking at the lock, as if that would do any good. ‘It goes off of itsown accord. It will do it.’
　　‘Will do it!’ echoed Wardle, with something of irritation in hismanner. ‘I wish it would kill something of its own accord.’
　　‘It’ll do that afore long, sir,’ observed the tall man, in a low,prophetic voice.
　　‘What do you mean by that observation, sir?’ inquired Mr.
　　Winkle, angrily.
　　‘Never mind, sir, never mind,’ replied the long gamekeeper;‘I’ve no family myself, sir; and this here boy’s mother will getsomething handsome from Sir Geoffrey, if he’s killed on his land.
　　Load again, sir, load again.’
　　‘Take away his gun,’ cried Mr. Pickwick from the barrow,horror-stricken at the long man’s dark insinuations. ‘Take awayhis gun, do you hear, somebody?’
　　Nobody, however, volunteered to obey the command; and Mr.
　　Winkle, after darting a rebellious glance at Mr. Pickwick, reloadedhis gun, and proceeded onwards with the rest.
　　We are bound, on the authority of Mr. Pickwick, to state, thatMr. Tupman’s mode of proceeding evinced far more of prudenceand deliberation, than that adopted by Mr. Winkle. Still, this by nomeans detracts from the great authority of the latter gentleman,on all matters connected with the field; because, as Mr. Pickwickbeautifully observes, it has somehow or other happened, from timeimmemorial, that many of the best and ablest philosophers, whohave been perfect lights of science in matters of theory, have beenwholly unable to reduce them to practice.
　　Mr. Tupman’s process, like many of our most sublimediscoveries, was extremely simple. With the quickness andpenetration of a man of genius, he had at once observed that thetwo great points to be attained were―first, to discharge his piecewithout injury to himself, and, secondly, to do so, without dangerto the bystanders―obviously, the best thing to do, aftersurmounting the difficulty of firing at all, was to shut his eyesfirmly, and fire into the air.
　　On one occasion, after performing this feat, Mr. Tupman, onopening his eyes, beheld a plump partridge in the act of falling,wounded, to the ground. He was on the point of congratulatingMr. Wardle on his invariable success, when that gentlemanadvanced towards him, and grasped him warmly by the hand.
　　‘Tupman,’ said the old gentleman, ‘you singled out thatparticular bird?’
　　‘No,’ said Mr. Tupman―‘no.’
　　‘You did,’ said Wardle. ‘I saw you do it―I observed you pickhim out―I noticed you, as you raised your piece to take aim; and Iwill say this, that the best shot in existence could not have done itmore beautifully. You are an older hand at this than I thought you,Tupman; you have been out before.’ It was in vain for Mr. Tupmanto protest, with a smile of self-denial, that he never had. The verysmile was taken as evidence to the contrary; and from that timeforth his reputation was established. It is not the only reputationthat has been acquired as easily, nor are such fortunatecircumstances confined to partridge-shooting.
　　Meanwhile, Mr. Winkle flashed, and blazed, and smoked away,without producing any material results worthy of being noteddown; sometimes expending his charge in mid-air, and at otherssending it skimming along so near the surface of the ground as toplace the lives of the two dogs on a rather uncertain andprecarious tenure. As a display of fancy-shooting, it was extremelyvaried and curious; as an exhibition of firing with any preciseobject, it was, upon the whole, perhaps a failure. It is anestablished axiom, that ‘every bullet has its billet.’ If it apply in anequal degree to shot, those of Mr. Winkle were unfortunatefoundlings, deprived of their natural rights, cast loose upon theworld, and billeted nowhere. ‘Well,’ said Wardle, walking up to theside of the barrow, and wiping the streams of perspiration fromhis jolly red face; ‘smoking day, isn’t it?’
　　‘It is, indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. The sun is tremendouslyhot, even to me. I don’t know how you must feel it.’
　　‘Why,’ said the old gentleman, ‘pretty hot. It’s past twelve,though. You see that green hill there?’
　　‘Certainly.’
　　‘That’s the place where we are to lunch; and, by Jove, there’sthe boy with the basket, punctual as clockwork!’
　　‘So he is,’ said Mr. Pickwick, brightening up. ‘Good boy, that.
　　I’ll give him a shilling, presently. Now, then, Sam, wheel away.’
　　‘Hold on, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, invigorated with the prospect ofrefreshments. ‘Out of the vay, young leathers. If you walley myprecious life don’t upset me, as the gen’l’m’n said to the driverwhen they was a-carryin’ him to Tyburn.’ And quickening his paceto a sharp run, Mr. Weller wheeled his master nimbly to the greenhill, shot him dexterously out by the very side of the basket, andproceeded to unpack it with the utmost despatch.
　　‘Weal pie,’ said Mr. Weller, soliloquising, as he arranged theeatables on the grass. ‘Wery good thing is weal pie, when youknow the lady as made it, and is quite sure it ain’t kittens; andarter all though, where’s the odds, when they’re so like weal thatthe wery piemen themselves don’t know the difference?’
　　‘Don’t they, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Not they, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, touching his hat. ‘I lodged inthe same house vith a pieman once, sir, and a wery nice man hewas―reg’lar clever chap, too―make pies out o’ anything, hecould. “What a number o’ cats you keep, Mr. Brooks,” says I, whenI’d got intimate with him. “Ah,” says he, “I do―a good many,” sayshe, “You must be wery fond o’ cats,” says I. “Other people is,” sayshe, a-winkin’ at me; “they ain’t in season till the winter though,”
　　says he. “Not in season!” says I. “No,” says he, “fruits is in, cats isout.” “Why, what do you mean?” says I. “Mean!” says he. “That I’llnever be a party to the combination o’ the butchers, to keep up theprice o’ meat,” says he. “Mr. Weller,” says he, a-squeezing myhand wery hard, and vispering in my ear―“don’t mention thishere agin―but it’s the seasonin’ as does it. They’re all made o’
　　them noble animals,” says he, a-pointin’ to a wery nice little tabby kitten, “and I seasons ’em for beefsteak, weal or kidney, ’cordingto the demand. And more than that,” says he, “I can make a weal abeef-steak, or a beef-steak a kidney, or any one on ’em a mutton, ata minute’s notice, just as the market changes, and appetiteswary!”’
　　‘He must have been a very ingenious young man, that, Sam,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick, with a slight shudder.
　　‘Just was, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, continuing his occupation ofemptying the basket, ‘and the pies was beautiful. Tongue―, wellthat’s a wery good thing when it ain’t a woman’s. Bread―knuckleo’ ham, reg’lar picter―cold beef in slices, wery good. What’s inthem stone jars, young touch-and-go?’
　　‘Beer in this one,’ replied the boy, taking from his shoulder acouple of large stone bottles, fastened together by a leathernstrap―‘cold punch in t’other.’
　　‘And a wery good notion of a lunch it is, take it altogether,’ saidMr. Weller, surveying his arrangement of the repast with greatsatisfaction. ‘Now, gen’l’m’n, “fall on,” as the English said to theFrench when they fixed bagginets.’
　　It needed no second invitation to induce the party to yield fulljustice to the meal; and as little pressing did it require to induceMr. Weller, the long gamekeeper, and the two boys, to stationthemselves on the grass, at a little distance, and do good executionupon a decent proportion of the viands. An old oak afforded apleasant shelter to the group, and a rich prospect of arable andmeadow land, intersected with luxuriant hedges, and richlyornamented with wood, lay spread out before them.
　　‘This is delightful―thoroughly delightful!’ said Mr. Pickwick;the skin of whose expressive countenance was rapidly peeling off,with exposure to the sun.
　　‘So it is―so it is, old fellow,’ replied Wardle. ‘Come; a glass ofpunch!’
　　‘With great pleasure,’ said Mr. Pickwick; the satisfaction ofwhose countenance, after drinking it, bore testimony to thesincerity of the reply.
　　‘Good,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips. ‘Very good. I’lltake another. Cool; very cool. Come, gentlemen,’ continued Mr.
　　Pickwick, still retaining his hold upon the jar, ‘a toast. Our friendsat Dingley Dell.’
　　The toast was drunk with loud acclamations.
　　‘I’ll tell you what I shall do, to get up my shooting again,’ saidMr. Winkle, who was eating bread and ham with a pocket-knife.
　　‘I’ll put a stuffed partridge on the top of a post, and practise at it,beginning at a short distance, and lengthening it by degrees. Iunderstand it’s capital practice.’
　　‘I know a gen’l’man, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘as did that, andbegun at two yards; but he never tried it on agin; for he blowed thebird right clean away at the first fire, and nobody ever seed afeather on him arterwards.’
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Have the goodness to reserve your anecdotes till they arecalled for.’
　　‘Cert’nly, sir.’
　　Here Mr. Weller winked the eye which was not concealed bythe beer-can he was raising to his lips, with such exquisitefacetiousness, that the two boys went into spontaneousconvulsions, and even the long man condescended to smile.
　　‘Well, that certainly is most capital cold punch,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, looking earnestly at the stone bottle; ‘and the day isextremely warm, and―Tupman, my dear friend, a glass of punch?’
　　‘With the greatest delight,’ replied Mr. Tupman; and havingdrank that glass, Mr. Pickwick took another, just to see whetherthere was any orange peel in the punch, because orange peelalways disagreed with him; and finding that there was not, Mr.
　　Pickwick took another glass to the health of their absent friend,and then felt himself imperatively called upon to propose anotherin honour of the punch-compounder, unknown.
　　This constant succession of glasses produced considerableeffect upon Mr. Pickwick; his countenance beamed with the mostsunny smiles, laughter played around his lips, and good-humouredmerriment twinkled in his eye. Yielding by degrees to theinfluence of the exciting liquid, rendered more so by the heat, Mr.
　　Pickwick expressed a strong desire to recollect a song which hehad heard in his infancy, and the attempt proving abortive, soughtto stimulate his memory with more glasses of punch, whichappeared to have quite a contrary effect; for, from forgetting thewords of the song, he began to forget how to articulate any wordsat all; and finally, after rising to his legs to address the company inan eloquent speech, he fell into the barrow, and fast asleep,simultaneously.
　　The basket having been repacked, and it being found perfectlyimpossible to awaken Mr. Pickwick from his torpor, somediscussion took place whether it would be better for Mr. Weller towheel his master back again, or to leave him where he was, untilthey should all be ready to return. The latter course was at lengthdecided on; and as the further expedition was not to exceed anhour’s duration, and as Mr. Weller begged very hard to be one ofthe party, it was determined to leave Mr. Pickwick asleep in thebarrow, and to call for him on their return. So away they went,leaving Mr. Pickwick snoring most comfortably in the shade.
　　That Mr. Pickwick would have continued to snore in the shadeuntil his friends came back, or, in default thereof, until the shadesof evening had fallen on the landscape, there appears noreasonable cause to doubt; always supposing that he had beensuffered to remain there in peace. But he was not suffered toremain there in peace. And this was what prevented him.
　　Captain Boldwig was a little fierce man in a stiff blackneckerchief and blue surtout, who, when he did condescend towalk about his property, did it in company with a thick rattan stickwith a brass ferrule, and a gardener and sub-gardener with meekfaces, to whom (the gardeners, not the stick) Captain Boldwig gavehis orders with all due grandeur and ferocity; for CaptainBoldwig’s wife’s sister had married a marquis, and the captain’shouse was a villa, and his land ‘grounds,’ and it was all very high,and mighty, and great.
　　Mr. Pickwick had not been asleep half an hour when littleCaptain Boldwig, followed by the two gardeners, came stridingalong as fast as his size and importance would let him; and whenhe came near the oak tree, Captain Boldwig paused and drew along breath, and looked at the prospect as if he thought theprospect ought to be highly gratified at having him to take noticeof it; and then he struck the ground emphatically with his stick,and summoned the head-gardener.
　　‘Hunt,’ said Captain Boldwig.
　　‘Yes, sir,’ said the gardener.
　　‘Roll this place to-morrow morning―do you hear, Hunt?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘And take care that you keep this place in good order―do youhear, Hunt?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘And remind me to have a board done about trespassers, andspring guns, and all that sort of thing, to keep the common peopleout. Do you hear, Hunt; do you hear?’
　　‘I’ll not forget it, sir.’
　　‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said the other man, advancing, with hishand to his hat.
　　‘Well, Wilkins, what’s the matter with you?’ said CaptainBoldwig.
　　‘I beg your pardon, sir―but I think there have been trespassershere to-day.’
　　‘Ha!’ said the captain, scowling around him.
　　‘Yes, sir―they have been dining here, I think, sir.’
　　‘Why, damn their audacity, so they have,’ said Captain Boldwig,as the crumbs and fragments that were strewn upon the grass methis eye. ‘They have actually been devouring their food here. I wishI had the vagabonds here!’ said the captain, clenching the thickstick.
　　‘I wish I had the vagabonds here,’ said the captain wrathfully.
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ said Wilkins, ‘but―’
　　‘But what? Eh?’ roared the captain; and following the timidglance of Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheel-barrow and Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　 ‘Who are you, you rascal?’ said the captain, administeringseveral pokes to Mr. Pickwick’s body with the thick stick. ‘What’syour name?’
　　‘Cold punch,’ murmured Mr. Pickwick, as he sank to sleepagain.
　　‘What?’ demanded Captain Boldwig.
　　No reply.
　　‘What did he say his name was?’ asked the captain.
　　‘Punch, I think, sir,’ replied Wilkins.
　　‘That’s his impudence―that’s his confounded impudence,’ saidCaptain Boldwig. ‘He’s only feigning to be asleep now,’ said thecaptain, in a high passion. ‘He’s drunk; he’s a drunken plebeian.
　　Wheel him away, Wilkins, wheel him away directly.’
　　‘Where shall I wheel him to, sir?’ inquired Wilkins, with greattimidity.
　　‘Wheel him to the devil,’ replied Captain Boldwig.
　　‘Very well, sir,’ said Wilkins.
　　‘Stay,’ said the captain.
　　Wilkins stopped accordingly.
　　‘Wheel him,’ said the captain―‘wheel him to the pound; and letus see whether he calls himself Punch when he comes to himself.
　　He shall not bully me―he shall not bully me. Wheel him away.’
　　Away Mr. Pickwick was wheeled in compliance with thisimperious mandate; and the great Captain Boldwig, swelling with indignation, proceeded on his walk.
　　Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when theyreturned, to find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and takenthe wheel-barrow with him. It was the most mysterious andunaccountable thing that was ever heard of For a lame man tohave got upon his legs without any previous notice, and walkedoff, would have been most extraordinary; but when it came to hiswheeling a heavy barrow before him, by way of amusement, itgrew positively miraculous. They searched every nook and cornerround, together and separately; they shouted, whistled, laughed,called―and all with the same result. Mr. Pickwick was not to befound. After some hours of fruitless search, they arrived at theunwelcome conclusion that they must go home without him.
　　Meanwhile Mr. Pickwick had been wheeled to the pound, andsafely deposited therein, fast asleep in the wheel-barrow, to theimmeasurable delight and satisfaction not only of all the boys inthe village, but three-fourths of the whole population, who hadgathered round, in expectation of his waking. If their most intensegratification had been awakened by seeing him wheeled in, howmany hundredfold was their joy increased when, after a fewindistinct cries of ‘Sam!’ he sat up in the barrow, and gazed withindescribable astonishment on the faces before him.
　　A general shout was of course the signal of his having woke up;and his involuntary inquiry of ‘What’s the matter?’ occasionedanother, louder than the first, if possible.
　　‘Here’s a game!’ roared the populace.
　　‘Where am I?’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘In the pound,’ replied the mob.
　　‘How came I here? What was I doing? Where was I broughtfrom?’
　　‘Boldwig! Captain Boldwig!’ was the only reply.
　　‘Let me out,’ cried Mr. Pickwick. ‘Where’s my servant? Whereare my friends?’
　　‘You ain’t got no friends. Hurrah!’ Then there came a turnip,then a potato, and then an egg; with a few other little tokens of theplayful disposition of the many-headed.
　　How long this scene might have lasted, or how much Mr.
　　Pickwick might have suffered, no one can tell, had not a carriage,which was driving swiftly by, suddenly pulled up, from whencethere descended old Wardle and Sam Weller, the former of whom,in far less time than it takes to write it, if not to read it, had madehis way to Mr. Pickwick’s side, and placed him in the vehicle, justas the latter had concluded the third and last round of a singlecombat with the town-beadle.
　　‘Run to the justice’s!’ cried a dozen voices.
　　‘Ah, run avay,’ said Mr. Weller, jumping up on the box. ‘Give mycompliments―Mr. Veller’s compliments―to the justice, and tellhim I’ve spiled his beadle, and that, if he’ll swear in a new ’un , I’llcome back again to-morrow and spile him. Drive on, old feller.’
　　‘I’ll give directions for the commencement of an action for falseimprisonment against this Captain Boldwig, directly I get toLondon,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as soon as the carriage turned out ofthe town.
　　‘We were trespassing, it seems,’ said Wardle.
　　‘I don’t care,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I’ll bring the action.’
　　‘No, you won’t,’ said Wardle.
　　‘I will, by―’ But as there was a humorous expression inWardle’s face, Mr. Pickwick checked himself, and said, ‘Why not?’
　　‘Because,’ said old Wardle, half-bursting with laughter,‘because they might turn on some of us, and say we had taken toomuch cold punch.’
　　Do what he would, a smile would come into Mr. Pickwick’s face;the smile extended into a laugh; the laugh into a roar; the roarbecame general. So, to keep up their good-humour, they stoppedat the first roadside tavern they came to, and ordered a glass ofbrandy-and-water all round, with a magnum of extra strength forMr. Samuel Weller.
Chapter 20 
SHOWING HOW DODSON AND FOGG WEREMEN OF BUSINESS, AND THEIR CLERKS MENOF PLEASURE; AND HOW AN AFFECTINGINTERVIEW TOOK PLACE BETWEEN Mr.
　　WELLER AND HIS LONG-LOST PARENT;SHOWING ALSO WHAT CHOICE SPIRITSASSEMBLED AT THE MAGPIE AND STUMP,AND WHAT A CAPITAL CHAPTER THE NEXTONE WILL BEn the ground-floor front of a dingy house, at the very farthestend of Freeman’s Court, Cornhill, sat the four clerks ofMessrs. Dodson & Fogg, two of his Majesty’s attorneys of the courts of King’s Bench and Common Pleas at Westminster, andsolicitors of the High Court of Chancery―the aforesaid clerkscatching as favourable glimpses of heaven’s light and heaven’ssun, in the course of their daily labours, as a man might hope todo, were he placed at the bottom of a reasonably deep well; andwithout the opportunity of perceiving the stars in the day-time,which the latter secluded situation affords.
　　The clerks’ office of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg was a dark,mouldy, earthy-smelling room, with a high wainscotted partitionto screen the clerks from the vulgar gaze, a couple of old woodenchairs, a very loud-ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella-stand, arow of hat-pegs, and a few shelves, on which were depositedseveral ticketed bundles of dirty papers, some old deal boxes withpaper labels, and sundry decayed stone ink bottles of variousshapes and sizes. There was a glass door leading into the passagewhich formed the entrance to the court, and on the outer side ofthis glass door, Mr. Pickwick, closely followed by Sam Weller,presented himself on the Friday morning succeeding theoccurrence of which a faithful narration is given in the lastchapter.
　　‘Come in, can’t you!’ cried a voice from behind the partition, inreply to Mr. Pickwick’s gentle tap at the door. And Mr. Pickwickand Sam entered accordingly.
　　‘Mr. Dodson or Mr. Fogg at home, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick,gently, advancing, hat in hand, towards the partition.
　　‘Mr. Dodson ain’t at home, and Mr. Fogg’s particularlyengaged,’ replied the voice; and at the same time the head towhich the voice belonged, with a pen behind its ear, looked overthe partition, and at Mr. Pickwick.
　　it was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulouslyparted on one side, and flattened down with pomatum, wastwisted into little semi-circular tails round a flat face ornamentedwith a pair of small eyes, and garnished with a very dirty shirtcollar, and a rusty black stock.
　　‘Mr. Dodson ain’t at home, and Mr. Fogg’s particularlyengaged,’ said the man to whom the head belonged.
　　‘When will Mr. Dodson be back, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Can’t say.’
　　‘Will it be long before Mr. Fogg is disengaged, sir?’
　　‘Don’t know.’
　　Here the man proceeded to mend his pen with greatdeliberation, while another clerk, who was mixing a Seidlitzpowder, under cover of the lid of his desk, laughed approvingly.
　　‘I think I’ll wait,’ said Mr. Pickwick. There was no reply; so Mr.
　　Pickwick sat down unbidden, and listened to the loud ticking ofthe clock and the murmured conversation of the clerks.
　　‘That was a game, wasn’t it?’ said one of the gentlemen, in abrown coat and brass buttons, inky drabs, and bluchers, at theconclusion of some inaudible relation of his previous evening’sadventures.
　　‘Devilish good―devilish good,’ said the Seidlitz-powder man.
　　‘Tom Cummins was in the chair,’ said the man with the browncoat. ‘It was half-past four when I got to Somers Town, and then Iwas so uncommon lushy, that I couldn’t find the place where thelatch-key went in, and was obliged to knock up the old ’ooman. Isay, I wonder what old Fogg ’ud say, if he knew it. I should get thesack, I s’pose―eh?’
　　At this humorous notion, all the clerks laughed in concert.
　　‘There was such a game with Fogg here, this mornin’,’ said theman in the brown coat, ‘while Jack was upstairs sorting thepapers, and you two were gone to the stamp-office. Fogg wasdown here, opening the letters when that chap as we issued thewrit against at Camberwell, you know, came in―what’s his nameagain?’
　　‘Ramsey,’ said the clerk who had spoken to Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ah, Ramsey―a precious seedy-looking customer. “Well, sir,”
　　says old Fogg, looking at him very fierce―you know his way―“well, sir, have you come to settle?” “Yes, I have, sir,” saidRamsey, putting his hand in his pocket, and bringing out themoney, “the debt’s two pound ten, and the costs three pound five,and here it is, sir;” and he sighed like bricks, as he lugged out themoney, done up in a bit of blotting-paper. Old Fogg looked first atthe money, and then at him, and then he coughed in his rum way,so that I knew something was coming. “You don’t know there’s adeclaration filed, which increases the costs materially, I suppose,”
　　said Fogg. “You don’t say that, sir,” said Ramsey, starting back;“the time was only out last night, sir.” “I do say it, though,” saidFogg, “my clerk’s just gone to file it. Hasn’t Mr. Jackson gone tofile that declaration in Bullman and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks?” Ofcourse I said yes, and then Fogg coughed again, and looked atRamsey. “My God!” said Ramsey; “and here have I nearly drivenmyself mad, scraping this money together, and all to no purpose.”
　　“None at all,” said Fogg coolly; “so you had better go back andscrape some more together, and bring it here in time.” “I can’t getit, by God!” said Ramsey, striking the desk with his fist. “Don’tbully me, sir,” said Fogg, getting into a passion on purpose. “I amnot bullying you, sir,” said Ramsey. “You are,” said Fogg; “get out,sir; get out of this office, sir, and come back, sir, when you knowhow to behave yourself.” Well, Ramsey tried to speak, but Foggwouldn’t let him, so he put the money in his pocket, and sneakedout. The door was scarcely shut, when old Fogg turned round tome, with a sweet smile on his face, and drew the declaration out ofhis coat pocket. “Here, Wicks,” says Fogg, “take a cab, and godown to the Temple as quick as you can, and file that. The costsare quite safe, for he’s a steady man with a large family, at a salaryof five-and-twenty shillings a week, and if he gives us a warrant ofattorney, as he must in the end, I know his employers will see itpaid; so we may as well get all we can get out of him, Mr. Wicks;it’s a Christian act to do it, Mr. Wicks, for with his large family andsmall income, he’ll be all the better for a good lesson againstgetting into debt―won’t he, Mr. Wicks, won’t he?”―and he smiledso good-naturedly as he went away, that it was delightful to seehim. He is a capital man of business,’ said Wicks, in a tone of thedeepest admiration, ‘capital, isn’t he?’
　　The other three cordially subscribed to this opinion, and theanecdote afforded the most unlimited satisfaction.
　　‘Nice men these here, sir,’ whispered Mr. Weller to his master;‘wery nice notion of fun they has, sir.’
　　Mr. Pickwick nodded assent, and coughed to attract theattention of the young gentlemen behind the partition, who,having now relaxed their minds by a little conversation amongthemselves, condescended to take some notice of the stranger.
　　‘I wonder whether Fogg’s disengaged now?’ said Jackson.
　　‘I’ll see,’ said Wicks, dismounting leisurely from his stool. ‘Whatname shall I tell Mr. Fogg?’
　　‘Pickwick,’ replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs.
　　Mr. Jackson departed upstairs on his errand, and immediatelyreturned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick infive minutes; and having delivered it, returned again to his desk.
　　‘What did he say his name was?’ whispered Wicks.
　　‘Pickwick,’ replied Jackson; ‘it’s the defendant in Bardell andPickwick.’
　　A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound ofsuppressed laughter, was heard from behind the partition.
　　‘They’re a-twiggin’ of you, sir,’ whispered Mr. Weller.
　　‘Twigging of me, Sam!’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘what do youmean by twigging me?’
　　Mr. Weller replied by pointing with his thumb over hisshoulder, and Mr. Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible of thepleasing fact, that all the four clerks, with countenancesexpressive of the utmost amusement, and with their heads thrustover the wooden screen, were minutely inspecting the figure andgeneral appearance of the supposed trifler with female hearts, anddisturber of female happiness. On his looking up, the row of headssuddenly disappeared, and the sound of pens travelling at afurious rate over paper, immediately succeeded.
　　A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office, summonedMr. Jackson to the apartment of Fogg, from whence he came backto say that he (Fogg) was ready to see Mr. Pickwick if he wouldstep upstairs. Upstairs Mr. Pickwick did step accordingly, leavingSam Weller below. The room door of the one-pair back, boreinscribed in legible characters the imposing words, ‘Mr. Fogg’;and, having tapped thereat, and been desired to come in, Jacksonushered Mr. Pickwick into the presence.
　　‘Is Mr. Dodson in?’ inquired Mr. Fogg.
　　‘Just come in, sir,’ replied Jackson.
　　‘Ask him to step here.’
　　‘Yes, sir.’ Exit Jackson.
　　‘Take a seat, sir,’ said Fogg; ‘there is the paper, sir; my partnerwill be here directly, and we can converse about this matter, sir.’
　　Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but, instead of readingthe latter, peeped over the top of it, and took a survey of the manof business, who was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable-diet sortof man, in a black coat, dark mixture trousers, and small blackgaiters; a kind of being who seemed to be an essential part of thedesk at which he was writing, and to have as much thought orfeeling.
　　After a few minutes’ silence, Mr. Dodson, a plump, portly, stern-looking man, with a loud voice, appeared; and the conversationcommenced.
　　‘This is Mr. Pickwick,’ said Fogg.
　　‘Ah! You are the defendant, sir, in Bardell and Pickwick?’ saidDodson.
　　‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Well, sir,’ said Dodson, ‘and what do you propose?’
　　‘Ah!’ said Fogg, thrusting his hands into his trousers’ pockets,and throwing himself back in his chair, ‘what do you propose, MrPickwick?’
　　‘Hush, Fogg,’ said Dodson, ‘let me hear what Mr. Pickwick hasto say.’
　　‘I came, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick, gazing placidly on thetwo partners, ‘I came here, gentlemen, to express the surprisewith which I received your letter of the other day, and to inquirewhat grounds of action you can have against me.’
　　‘Grounds of―’ Fogg had ejaculated this much, when he wasstopped by Dodson.
　　‘Mr. Fogg,’ said Dodson, ‘I am going to speak.’
　　‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Dodson,’ said Fogg.
　　‘For the grounds of action, sir,’ continued Dodson, with moralelevation in his air, ‘you will consult your own conscience and yourown feelings. We, sir, we, are guided entirely by the statement ofour client. That statement, sir, may be true, or it may be false; itmay be credible, or it may be incredible; but, if it be true, and if itbe credible, I do not hesitate to say, sir, that our grounds of action,sir, are strong, and not to be shaken. You may be an unfortunateman, sir, or you may be a designing one; but if I were called upon,as a juryman upon my oath, sir, to express an opinion of yourconduct, sir, I do not hesitate to assert that I should have but oneopinion about it.’ Here Dodson drew himself up, with an air ofoffended virtue, and looked at Fogg, who thrust his hands fartherin his pockets, and nodding his head sagely, said, in a tone of thefullest concurrence, ‘Most certainly.’
　　‘Well, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable pain depicted inhis countenance, ‘you will permit me to assure you that I am amost unfortunate man, so far as this case is concerned.’
　　‘I hope you are, sir,’ replied Dodson; ‘I trust you may be, sir. Ifyou are really innocent of what is laid to your charge, you aremore unfortunate than I had believed any man could possibly be.
　　What do you say, Mr. Fogg?’
　　‘I say precisely what you say,’ replied Fogg, with a smile ofincredulity.
　　‘The writ, sir, which commences the action,’ continued Dodson,‘was issued regularly. Mr. Fogg, where is the praecipe book?’
　　‘Here it is,’ said Fogg, handing over a square book, with aparchment cover.
　　‘Here is the entry,’ resumed Dodson. ‘“Middlesex, CapiasMartha Bardell, widow, v. Samuel Pickwick. Damages ?1500.
　　Dodson & Fogg for the plaintiff, Aug. 28, 1827.” All regular, sir;perfectly.’ Dodson coughed and looked at Fogg, who said‘Perfectly,’ also. And then they both looked at Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I am to understand, then,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that it really isyour intention to proceed with this action?’
　　‘Understand, sir!―that you certainly may,’ replied Dodson,with something as near a smile as his importance would allow.
　　‘And that the damages are actually laid at fifteen hundredpounds?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘To which understanding you may add my assurance, that if wecould have prevailed upon our client, they would have been laid attreble the amount, sir,’ replied Dodson. ‘I believe Mrs. Bardellspecially said, however,’ observed Fogg, glancing at Dodson, ‘thatshe would not compromise for a farthing less.’
　　‘Unquestionably,’ replied Dodson sternly. For the action wasonly just begun; and it wouldn’t have done to let Mr. Pickwickcompromise it then, even if he had been so disposed.
　　‘As you offer no terms, sir,’ said Dodson, displaying a slip ofparchment in his right hand, and affectionately pressing a papercopy of it, on Mr. Pickwick with his left, ‘I had better serve youwith a copy of this writ, sir. Here is the original, sir.’
　　‘Very well, gentlemen, very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rising inperson and wrath at the same time; ‘you shall hear from mysolicitor, gentlemen.’
　　‘We shall be very happy to do so,’ said Fogg, rubbing his hands. ‘Very,’ said Dodson, opening the door.
　　‘And before I go, gentlemen,’ said the excited Mr. Pickwick,turning round on the landing, ‘permit me to say, that of all thedisgraceful and rascally proceedings―’
　　‘Stay, sir, stay,’ interposed Dodson, with great politeness. ‘Mr.
　　Jackson! Mr. Wicks!’
　　‘Sir,’ said the two clerks, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.
　　‘I merely want you to hear what this gentleman says,’ repliedDodson. ‘Pray, go on, sir―disgraceful and rascally proceedings, Ithink you said?’
　　‘I did,’ said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. ‘I said, sir, that ofall the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever wereattempted, this is the most so. I repeat it, sir.’
　　‘You hear that, Mr. Wicks,’ said Dodson.
　　‘You won’t forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson?’ said Fogg.
　　‘Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir,’ said Dodson.
　　‘Pray do, sir, if you feel disposed; now pray do, sir.’
　　‘I do,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘You are swindlers.’
　　‘Very good,’ said Dodson. ‘You can hear down there, I hope, Mr.
　　Wicks?’
　　‘Oh, yes, sir,’ said Wicks.
　　‘You had better come up a step or two higher, if you can’t,’
　　added Mr. Fogg. ‘Go on, sir; do go on. You had better call usthieves, sir; or perhaps You would like to assault one Of US. Praydo it, sir, if you would; we will not make the smallest resistance.
　　Pray do it, sir.’
　　As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr.
　　Pickwick’s clenched fist, there is little doubt that that gentlemanwould have complied with his earnest entreaty, but for theinterposition of Sam, who, hearing the dispute, emerged from theoffice, mounted the stairs, and seized his master by the arm.
　　‘You just come avay,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Battledore andshuttlecock’s a wery good game, vhen you ain’t the shuttlecockand two lawyers the battledores, in which case it gets too excitin’
　　to be pleasant. Come avay, sir. If you want to ease your mind byblowing up somebody, come out into the court and blow up me;but it’s rayther too expensive work to be carried on here.’
　　And without the slightest ceremony, Mr. Weller hauled hismaster down the stairs, and down the court, and having safelydeposited him in Cornhill, fell behind, prepared to followwhithersoever he should lead.
　　Mr. Pickwick walked on abstractedly, crossed opposite theMansion House, and bent his steps up Cheapside. Sam began towonder where they were going, when his master turned round,and said―‘Sam, I will go immediately to Mr. Perker’s.’
　　‘That’s just exactly the wery place vere you ought to have gonelast night, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘I think it is, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I know it is,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘Well, well, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘we will go there atonce; but first, as I have been rather ruffled, I should like a glass ofbrandy-and-water warm, Sam. Where can I have it, Sam?’
　　Mr. Weller’s knowledge of London was extensive and peculiar.
　　He replied, without the slightest consideration―‘Second court on the right hand side―last house but vun on thesame side the vay―take the box as stands in the first fireplace,‘cos there ain’t no leg in the middle o’ the table, which all theothers has, and it’s wery inconvenient.’
　　Mr. Pickwick observed his valet’s directions implicitly, andbidding Sam follow him, entered the tavern he had pointed out,where the hot brandy-and-water was speedily placed before him;while Mr. Weller, seated at a respectful distance, though at thesame table with his master, was accommodated with a pint ofporter.
　　The room was one of a very homely description, and wasapparently under the especial patronage of stage-coachmen; forseveral gentleman, who had all the appearance of belonging tothat learned profession, were drinking and smoking in thedifferent boxes. Among the number was one stout, red-faced,elderly man, in particular, seated in an opposite box, whoattracted Mr. Pickwick’s attention. The stout man was smokingwith great vehemence, but between every half-dozen puffs, hetook his pipe from his mouth, and looked first at Mr. Weller andthen at Mr. Pickwick. Then, he would bury in a quart pot, as muchof his countenance as the dimensions of the quart pot admitted ofits receiving, and take another look at Sam and Mr. Pickwick.
　　Then he would take another half-dozen puffs with an air ofprofound meditation and look at them again. At last the stoutman,putting up his legs on the seat, and leaning his back against thewall, began to puff at his pipe without leaving off at all, and tostare through the smoke at the new-comers, as if he had made uphis mind to see the most he could of them.
　　At first the evolutions of the stout man had escaped Mr.
　　Weller’s observation, but by degrees, as he saw Mr. Pickwick’seyes every now and then turning towards him, he began to gaze inthe same direction, at the same time shading his eyes with hishand, as if he partially recognised the object before him, andwished to make quite sure of its identity. His doubts were speedilydispelled, however; for the stout man having blown a thick cloudfrom his pipe, a hoarse voice, like some strange effort ofventriloquism, emerged from beneath the capacious shawls whichmuffled his throat and chest, and slowly uttered these sounds―‘Wy, Sammy!’
　　‘Who’s that, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Why, I wouldn’t ha’ believed it, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, withastonished eyes. ‘It’s the old ’un .’
　　‘Old one,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘What old one?’
　　‘My father, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘How are you, my ancient?’
　　And with this beautiful ebullition of filial affection, Mr. Wellermade room on the seat beside him, for the stout man, whoadvanced pipe in mouth and pot in hand, to greet him.
　　‘Wy, Sammy,’ said the father, ‘I ha’n’t seen you, for two yearand better.’
　　‘Nor more you have, old codger,’ replied the son. ‘How’smother-in-law?’
　　‘Wy, I’ll tell you what, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, senior, withmuch solemnity in his manner; ‘there never was a nicer woman asa widder, than that ’ere second wentur o’ mine―a sweet creeturshe was, Sammy; all I can say on her now, is, that as she was suchan uncommon pleasant widder, it’s a great pity she ever changedher condition. She don’t act as a vife, Sammy.’
　　‘Don’t she, though?’ inquired Mr. Weller, junior.
　　The elder Mr. Weller shook his head, as he replied with a sigh,‘I’ve done it once too often, Sammy; I’ve done it once too often.
　　Take example by your father, my boy, and be wery careful o’
　　widders all your life, ’specially if they’ve kept a public-house,Sammy.’ Having delivered this parental advice with great pathos,Mr. Weller, senior, refilled his pipe from a tin box he carried in hispocket; and, lighting his fresh pipe from the ashes of the old One,commenced smoking at a great rate.
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ he said, renewing the subject, andaddressing Mr. Pickwick, after a considerable pause, ‘nothin’
　　personal, I hope, sir; I hope you ha’n’t got a widder, sir.’
　　‘Not I,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, laughing; and while Mr. Pickwicklaughed, Sam Weller informed his parent in a whisper, of therelation in which he stood towards that gentleman.
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, senior, taking off his hat,‘I hope you’ve no fault to find with Sammy, sir?’
　　‘None whatever,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wery glad to hear it, sir,’ replied the old man; ‘I took a gooddeal o’ pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streetswhen he was wery young, and shift for hisself. It’s the only way tomake a boy sharp, sir.’
　　‘Rather a dangerous process, I should imagine,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, with a smile.
　　‘And not a wery sure one, neither,’ added Mr. Weller; ‘I gotreg’larly done the other day.’
　　‘No!’ said his father.
　　‘I did,’ said the son; and he proceeded to relate, in as few wordsas possible, how he had fallen a ready dupe to the stratagems ofJob Trotter.
　　Mr. Weller, senior, listened to the tale with the most profoundattention, and, at its termination, said―‘Worn’t one o’ these chaps slim and tall, with long hair, and thegift o’ the gab wery gallopin’?’
　　Mr. Pickwick did not quite understand the last item ofdescription, but, comprehending the first, said ‘Yes,’ at a venture.
　　‘T’ other’s a black-haired chap in mulberry livery, with a werylarge head?’
　　‘Yes, yes, he is,’ said Mr. Pickwick and Sam, with greatearnestness. ‘Then I know where they are, and that’s all about it,’
　　said Mr. Weller; ‘they’re at Ipswich, safe enough, them two.’
　　‘No!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Fact,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘and I’ll tell you how I know it. I work anIpswich coach now and then for a friend o’ mine. I worked downthe wery day arter the night as you caught the rheumatic, and atthe Black Boy at Chelmsford―the wery place they’d come to―Itook ’em up, right through to Ipswich, where the man-servant―him in the mulberries―told me they was a-goin’ to put up for along time.’
　　‘I’ll follow him,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘we may as well see Ipswichas any other place. I’ll follow him.’
　　‘You’re quite certain it was them, governor?’ inquired Mr.
　　Weller, junior.
　　‘Quite, Sammy, quite,’ replied his father, ‘for their appearanceis wery sing’ler; besides that ’ere, I wondered to see the gen’l’m’nso formiliar with his servant; and, more than that, as they sat inthe front, right behind the box, I heerd ’em laughing and sayinghow they’d done old Fireworks.’
　　‘Old who?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Old Fireworks, sir; by which, I’ve no doubt, they meant you,sir.’ There is nothing positively vile or atrocious in the appellationof ‘old Fireworks,’ but still it is by no means a respectful orflattering designation. The recollection of all the wrongs he hadsustained at Jingle’s hands, had crowded on Mr. Pickwick’s mind,the moment Mr. Weller began to speak; it wanted but a feather toturn the scale, and ‘old Fireworks’ did it.
　　‘I’ll follow him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow onthe table.
　　‘I shall work down to Ipswich the day arter to-morrow, sir,’ saidMr. Weller the elder, ‘from the Bull in Whitechapel; and if youreally mean to go, you’d better go with me.’
　　‘So we had,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘very true; I can write to Bury,and tell them to meet me at Ipswich. We will go with you. Butdon’t hurry away, Mr. Weller; won’t you take anything?’
　　‘You’re wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. W., stopping short;―‘perhaps a small glass of brandy to drink your health, and successto Sammy, sir, wouldn’t be amiss.’
　　‘Certainly not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘A glass of brandy here!’
　　The brandy was brought; and Mr. Weller, after pulling his hair toMr. Pickwick, and nodding to Sam, jerked it down his capaciousthroat as if it had been a small thimbleful. ‘Well done, father,’ saidSam, ‘take care, old fellow, or you’ll have a touch of your oldcomplaint, the gout.’
　　‘I’ve found a sov’rin’ cure for that, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller,setting down the glass.
　　‘A sovereign cure for the gout,’ said Mr. Pickwick, hastilyproducing his note-book―‘what is it?’
　　‘The gout, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘the gout is a complaint asarises from too much ease and comfort. If ever you’re attackedwith the gout, sir, jist you marry a widder as has got a good loudwoice, with a decent notion of usin’ it, and you’ll never have thegout agin. It’s a capital prescription, sir. I takes it reg’lar, and I canwarrant it to drive away any illness as is caused by too muchjollity.’ Having imparted this valuable secret, Mr. Weller drainedhis glass once more, produced a laboured wink, sighed deeply, andslowly retired.
　　‘Well, what do you think of what your father says, Sam?’
　　inquired Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.
　　‘Think, sir!’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘why, I think he’s the wictim o’
　　connubiality, as Blue Beard’s domestic chaplain said, vith a tear ofpity, ven he buried him.’
　　There was no replying to this very apposite conclusion, and, therefore, Mr. Pickwick, after settling the reckoning, resumed hiswalk to Gray’s Inn. By the time he reached its secluded groves,however, eight o’clock had struck, and the unbroken stream ofgentlemen in muddy high-lows, soiled white hats, and rustyapparel, who were pouring towards the different avenues ofegress, warned him that the majority of the offices had closed forthat day.
　　After climbing two pairs of steep and dirty stairs, he found hisanticipations were realised. Mr. Perker’s ‘outer door’ was closed;and the dead silence which followed Mr. Weller’s repeated kicksthereat, announced that the officials had retired from business forthe night.
　　‘This is pleasant, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I shouldn’t lose anhour in seeing him; I shall not be able to get one wink of sleep to-night, I know, unless I have the satisfaction of reflecting that Ihave confided this matter to a professional man.’
　　‘Here’s an old ’ooman comin’ upstairs, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller;‘p’raps she knows where we can find somebody. Hollo, old lady,vere’s Mr. Perker’s people?’
　　‘Mr. Perker’s people,’ said a thin, miserable-looking old woman,stopping to recover breath after the ascent of the staircase―‘Mr.
　　Perker’s people’s gone, and I’m a-goin’ to do the office out.’
　　‘Are you Mr. Perker’s servant?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I am Mr. Perker’s laundress,’ replied the woman.
　　‘Ah,’ said Mr. Pickwick, half aside to Sam, ‘it’s a curiouscircumstance, Sam, that they call the old women in these inns,laundresses. I wonder what’s that for?’
　　‘‘Cos they has a mortal awersion to washing anythin’, I suppose,sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the oldwoman, whose appearance, as well as the condition of the office,which she had by this time opened, indicated a rooted antipathy tothe application of soap and water; ‘do you know where I can findMr. Perker, my good woman?’
　　‘No, I don’t,’ replied the old woman gruffly; ‘he’s out o’ townnow.’
　　‘That’s unfortunate,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘where’s his clerk? Doyou know?’
　　‘Yes, I know where he is, but he won’t thank me for telling you,’
　　replied the laundress.
　　‘I have very particular business with him,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Won’t it do in the morning?’ said the woman.
　　‘Not so well,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Well,’ said the old woman, ‘if it was anything very particular, Iwas to say where he was, so I suppose there’s no harm in telling. Ifyou just go to the Magpie and Stump, and ask at the bar for Mr.
　　Lowten, they’ll show you in to him, and he’s Mr. Perker’s clerk.’
　　With this direction, and having been furthermore informed thatthe hostelry in question was situated in a court, happy in thedouble advantage of being in the vicinity of Clare Market, andclosely approximating to the back of New Inn, Mr. Pickwick andSam descended the rickety staircase in safety, and issued forth inquest of the Magpie and Stump.
　　This favoured tavern, sacred to the evening orgies of Mr.
　　Lowten and his companions, was what ordinary people woulddesignate a public-house. That the landlord was a man of money-making turn was sufficiently testified by the fact of a smallbulkhead beneath the tap-room window, in size and shape notunlike a sedan-chair, being underlet to a mender of shoes: andthat he was a being of a philanthropic mind was evident from theprotection he afforded to a pieman, who vended his delicacieswithout fear of interruption, on the very door-step. In the lowerwindows, which were decorated with curtains of a saffron hue,dangled two or three printed cards, bearing reference toDevonshire cider and Dantzic spruce, while a large blackboard,announcing in white letters to an enlightened public, that therewere 500,000 barrels of double stout in the cellars of theestablishment, left the mind in a state of not unpleasing doubt anduncertainty as to the precise direction in the bowels of the earth,in which this mighty cavern might be supposed to extend. Whenwe add that the weather-beaten signboard bore the half-obliterated semblance of a magpie intently eyeing a crookedstreak of brown paint, which the neighbours had been taught frominfancy to consider as the ‘stump,’ we have said all that need besaid of the exterior of the edifice.
　　On Mr. Pickwick’s presenting himself at the bar, an elderlyfemale emerged from behind the screen therein, and presentedherself before him.
　　‘Is Mr. Lowten here, ma’am?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes, he is, sir,’ replied the landlady. ‘Here, Charley, show thegentleman in to Mr. Lowten.’
　　‘The gen’l’m’n can’t go in just now,’ said a shambling pot-boy,with a red head, ’cos’ Mr. Lowten’s a-singin’ a comic song, andhe’ll put him out. He’ll be done directly, sir.’
　　The red-headed pot-boy had scarcely finished speaking, when amost unanimous hammering of tables, and jingling of glasses,announced that the song had that instant terminated; and Mr.
　　Pickwick, after desiring Sam to solace himself in the tap, sufferedhimself to be conducted into the presence of Mr. Lowten.
　　At the announcement of ‘A gentleman to speak to you, sir,’ apuffy-faced young man, who filled the chair at the head of thetable, looked with some surprise in the direction from whence thevoice proceeded; and the surprise seemed to be by no meansdiminished, when his eyes rested on an individual whom he hadnever seen before.
　　‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and I am very sorryto disturb the other gentlemen, too, but I come on very particularbusiness; and if you will suffer me to detain you at this end of theroom for five minutes, I shall be very much obliged to you.’
　　The puffy-faced young man rose, and drawing a chair close toMr. Pickwick in an obscure corner of the room, listened attentivelyto his tale of woe.
　　‘Ah,’he said, when Mr. Pickwick had concluded, ‘Dodson andFogg―sharp practice theirs―capital men of business, Dodson andFogg, sir.’
　　Mr. Pickwick admitted the sharp practice of Dodson and Fogg,and Lowten resumed. ‘Perker ain’t in town, and he won’t be,neither, before the end of next week; but if you want the actiondefended, and will leave the copy with me, I can do all that’sneedful till he comes back.’
　　‘That’s exactly what I came here for,’ said Mr. Pickwick,handing over the document. ‘If anything particular occurs, youcan write to me at the post-office, Ipswich.’
　　‘That’s all right,’ replied Mr. Perker’s clerk; and then seeing Mr.
　　Pickwick’s eye wandering curiously towards the table, he added,‘will you join us, for half an hour or so? We are capital companyhere to-night. There’s Samkin and Green’s managing-clerk, andSmithers and Price’s chancery, and Pimkin and Thomas’s out o’
　　doors―sings a capital song, he does―and Jack Bamber, and everso many more. You’re come out of the country, I suppose. Wouldyou like to join us?’
　　Mr. Pickwick could not resist so tempting an opportunity ofstudying human nature. He suffered himself to be led to the table,where, after having been introduced to the company in due form,he was accommodated with a seat near the chairman and calledfor a glass of his favourite beverage.
　　A profound silence, quite contrary to Mr. Pickwick’sexpectation, succeeded. ‘You don’t find this sort of thingdisagreeable, I hope, sir?’ said his right hand neighbour, agentleman in a checked shirt and Mosaic studs, with a cigar in hismouth.
　　‘Not in the least,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘I like it very much,although I am no smoker myself.’
　　‘I should be very sorry to say I wasn’t,’ interposed anothergentleman on the opposite side of the table. ‘It’s board andlodgings to me, is smoke.’
　　Mr. Pickwick glanced at the speaker, and thought that if it werewashing too, it would be all the better.
　　Here there was another pause. Mr. Pickwick was a stranger,and his coming had evidently cast a damp upon the party.
　　‘Mr. Grundy’s going to oblige the company with a song,’ saidthe chairman.
　　‘No, he ain’t,’ said Mr. Grundy.
　　‘Why not?’ said the chairman.
　　‘Because he can’t,’ said Mr. Grundy. ‘You had better say hewon’t,’ replied the chairman.
　　‘Well, then, he won’t,’ retorted Mr. Grundy. Mr. Grundy’spositive refusal to gratify the company occasioned another silence.
　　‘Won’t anybody enliven us?’ said the chairman, despondingly.
　　‘Why don’t you enliven us yourself, Mr. Chairman?’ said ayoung man with a whisker, a squint, and an open shirt collar(dirty), from the bottom of the table.
　　‘Hear! hear!’ said the smoking gentleman, in the Mosaicjewellery.
　　‘Because I only know one song, and I have sung it already, andit’s a fine of “glasses round” to sing the same song twice in anight,’ replied the chairman.
　　This was an unanswerable reply, and silence prevailed again.
　　‘I have been to-night, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick, hoping tostart a subject which all the company could take a part indiscussing, ‘I have been to-night, in a place which you all knowvery well, doubtless, but which I have not been in for some years,and know very little of; I mean Gray’s Inn, gentlemen. Curiouslittle nooks in a great place, like London, these old inns are.’
　　‘By Jove!’ said the chairman, whispering across the table to Mr.
　　Pickwick, ‘you have hit upon something that one of us, at least,would talk upon for ever. You’ll draw old Jack Bamber out; he wasnever heard to talk about anything else but the inns, and he haslived alone in them till he’s half crazy.’
　　The individual to whom Lowten alluded, was a little, yellow,high-shouldered man, whose countenance, from his habit ofstooping forward when silent, Mr. Pickwick had not observedbefore. He wondered, though, when the old man raised hisshrivelled face, and bent his gray eye upon him, with a keeninquiring look, that such remarkable features could have escapedhis attention for a moment. There was a fixed grim smileperpetually on his countenance; he leaned his chin on a long,skinny hand, with nails of extraordinary length; and as he inclinedhis head to one side, and looked keenly out from beneath hisragged gray eyebrows, there was a strange, wild slyness in his leer,quite repulsive to behold.
　　This was the figure that now started forward, and burst into ananimated torrent of words. As this chapter has been a long one,however, and as the old man was a remarkable personage, it willbe more respectful to him, and more convenient to us, to let himspeak for himself in a fresh one.
Chapter 21
IN WHICH THE OLD MAN LAUNCHES FORTHINTO HIS FAVOURITE THEME, AND RELATESA STORY ABOUT A QUEER CLIENTha!’ said the old man, a brief description of whose mannerand appearance concluded the last chapter, ‘aha! who wastalking about the inns?’
　　‘I was, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick―‘I was observing whatsingular old places they are.’
　　‘You!’ said the old man contemptuously. ‘What do you know ofthe time when young men shut themselves up in those lonelyrooms, and read and read, hour after hour, and night after night,till their reason wandered beneath their midnight studies; till theirmental powers were exhausted; till morning’s light brought nofreshness or health to them; and they sank beneath the unnaturaldevotion of their youthful energies to their dry old books? Comingdown to a later time, and a very different day, what do you know ofthe gradual sinking beneath consumption, or the quick wasting offever―the grand results of “life” and dissipation―which menhave undergone in these same rooms? How many vain pleadersfor mercy, do you think, have turned away heart-sick from thelawyer’s office, to find a resting-place in the Thames, or a refuge inthe jail? They are no ordinary houses, those. There is not a panelin the old wainscotting, but what, if it were endowed with thepowers of speech and memory, could start from the wall, and tellits tale of horror―the romance of life, sir, the romance of life!
　　Common-place as they may seem now, I tell you they are strangeold places, and I would rather hear many a legend with a terrific-sounding name, than the true history of one old set of chambers.’
　　There was something so odd in the old man’s sudden energy,and the subject which had called it forth, that Mr. Pickwick wasprepared with no observation in reply; and the old man checkinghis impetuosity, and resuming the leer, which had disappearedduring his previous excitement, said―‘Look at them in another light―their most common-place andleast romantic. What fine places of slow torture they are! Think ofthe needy man who has spent his all, beggared himself, andpinched his friends, to enter the profession, which is destinednever to yield him a morsel of bread. The waiting―the hope―thedisappointment―the fear―the misery―the poverty―the blighton his hopes, and end to his career―the suicide perhaps, or theshabby, slipshod drunkard. Am I not right about them?’ And theold man rubbed his hands, and leered as if in delight at havingfound another point of view in which to place his favourite subject.
　　Mr. Pickwick eyed the old man with great curiosity, and theremainder of the company smiled, and looked on in silence.
　　‘Talk of your German universities,’ said the little old man.
　　‘Pooh, pooh! there’s romance enough at home without going half amile for it; only people never think of it.’
　　‘I never thought of the romance of this particular subjectbefore, certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick, laughing. ‘To be sure youdidn’t,’ said the little old man; ‘of course not. As a friend of mineused to say to me, “What is there in chambers in particular?”
　　“Queer old places,” said I. “Not at all,” said he. “Lonely,” said I.
　　“Not a bit of it,” said he. He died one morning of apoplexy, as hewas going to open his outer door. Fell with his head in his ownletter-box, and there he lay for eighteen months. Everybodythought he’d gone out of town.’
　　‘And how was he found out at last?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘The benchers determined to have his door broken open, as hehadn’t paid any rent for two years. So they did. Forced the lock;and a very dusty skeleton in a blue coat, black knee-shorts, andsilks, fell forward in the arms of the porter who opened the door.
　　Queer, that. Rather, perhaps; rather, eh?’ The little old man puthis head more on one side, and rubbed his hands withunspeakable glee.
　　‘I know another case,’ said the little old man, when his chuckleshad in some degree subsided. ‘It occurred in Clifford’s Inn. Tenantof a top set―bad character―shut himself up in his bedroomcloset, and took a dose of arsenic. The steward thought he had runaway: opened the door, and put a bill up. Another man came, tookthe chambers, furnished them, and went to live there. Somehow orother he couldn’t sleep―always restless and uncomfortable.
　　“Odd,” says he. “I’ll make the other room my bedchamber, andthis my sitting-room.” He made the change, and slept very well atnight, but suddenly found that, somehow, he couldn’t read in theevening: he got nervous and uncomfortable, and used to be alwayssnuffing his candles and staring about him. “I can’t make this out,”
　　said he, when he came home from the play one night, and wasdrinking a glass of cold grog, with his back to the wall, in orderthat he mightn’t be able to fancy there was any one behind him―“I can’t make it out,” said he; and just then his eyes rested on thelittle closet that had been always locked up, and a shudder ranthrough his whole frame from top to toe. “I have felt this strangefeeling before,” said he, “I cannot help thinking there’s somethingwrong about that closet.” He made a strong effort, plucked up hiscourage, shivered the lock with a blow or two of the poker, openedthe door, and there, sure enough, standing bolt upright in thecorner, was the last tenant, with a little bottle clasped firmly in hishand, and his face―well!’ As the little old man concluded, helooked round on the attentive faces of his wondering auditory witha smile of grim delight.
　　‘What strange things these are you tell us of, sir,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, minutely scanning the old man’s countenance, by theaid of his glasses.
　　‘Strange!’ said the little old man. ‘Nonsense; you think themstrange, because you know nothing about it. They are funny, butnot uncommon.’
　　‘Funny!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily. ‘Yes, funny, arethey not?’ replied the little old man, with a diabolical leer; andthen, without pausing for an answer, he continued―‘I knew another man―let me see―forty years ago now―whotook an old, damp, rotten set of chambers, in one of the mostancient inns, that had been shut up and empty for years and yearsbefore. There were lots of old women’s stories about the place, andit certainly was very far from being a cheerful one; but he waspoor, and the rooms were cheap, and that would have been quite asufficient reason for him, if they had been ten times worse thanthey really were. He was obliged to take some mouldering fixturesthat were on the place, and, among the rest, was a great lumberingwooden press for papers, with large glass doors, and a greencurtain inside; a pretty useless thing for him, for he had no papersto put in it; and as to his clothes, he carried them about with him,and that wasn’t very hard work, either. Well, he had moved in allhis furniture―it wasn’t quite a truck-full―and had sprinkled itabout the room, so as to make the four chairs look as much like adozen as possible, and was sitting down before the fire at night,drinking the first glass of two gallons of whisky he had ordered oncredit, wondering whether it would ever be paid for, and if so, inhow many years’ time, when his eyes encountered the glass doorsof the wooden press. “Ah,” says he, “if I hadn’t been obliged totake that ugly article at the old broker’s valuation, I might have gotsomething comfortable for the money. I’ll tell you what it is, oldfellow,” he said, speaking aloud to the press, having nothing elseto speak to, “if it wouldn’t cost more to break up your old carcass,than it would ever be worth afterward, I’d have a fire out of you inless than no time.” He had hardly spoken the words, when a soundresembling a faint groan, appeared to issue from the interior of thecase. It startled him at first, but thinking, on a moment’sreflection, that it must be some young fellow in the next chamber,who had been dining out, he put his feet on the fender, and raisedthe poker to stir the fire. At that moment, the sound was repeated;and one of the glass doors slowly opening, disclosed a pale andemaciated figure in soiled and worn apparel, standing erect in thepress. The figure was tall and thin, and the countenanceexpressive of care and anxiety; but there was something in the hueof the skin, and gaunt and unearthly appearance of the wholeform, which no being of this world was ever seen to wear. “Whoare you?” said the new tenant, turning very pale; poising thepoker in his hand, however, and taking a very decent aim at thecountenance of the figure. “Who are you?” “Don’t throw thatpoker at me,” replied the form; if you hurled it with ever so surean aim, it would pass through me, without resistance, and expendits force on the wood behind. I am a spirit.” “And pray, what doyou want here?” faltered the tenant. “In this room,” replied theapparition, “my worldly ruin was worked, and I and my childrenbeggared. In this press, the papers in a long, long suit, whichaccumulated for years, were deposited. In this room, when I haddied of grief, and long-deferred hope, two wily harpies divided thewealth for which I had contested during a wretched existence, andof which, at last, not one farthing was left for my unhappydescendants. I terrified them from the spot, and since that dayhave prowled by night―the only period at which I can revisit theearth―about the scenes of my long-protracted misery. Thisapartment is mine: leave it to me.” “If you insist upon making yourappearance here,” said the tenant, who had had time to collect hispresence of mind during this prosy statement of the ghost’s, “Ishall give up possession with the greatest pleasure; but I shouldlike to ask you one question, if you will allow me.” “Say on,” saidthe apparition sternly. “Well,” said the tenant, “I don’t apply theobservation personally to you, because it is equally applicable tomost of the ghosts I ever heard of; but it does appear to mesomewhat inconsistent, that when you have an opportunity ofvisiting the fairest spots of earth―for I suppose space is nothing toyou―you should always return exactly to the very places whereyou have been most miserable.” “Egad, that’s very true; I neverthought of that before,” said the ghost. “You see, sir,” pursued thetenant, “this is a very uncomfortable room. From the appearanceof that press, I should be disposed to say that it is not wholly freefrom bugs; and I really think you might find much morecomfortable quarters: to say nothing of the climate of London,which is extremely disagreeable.” “You are very right, sir,” saidthe ghost politely, “it never struck me till now; I’ll try change of airdirectly”―and, in fact, he began to vanish as he spoke; his legs,indeed, had quite disappeared. “And if, sir,” said the tenant,calling after him, “if you would have the goodness to suggest to theother ladies and gentlemen who are now engaged in haunting oldempty houses, that they might be much more comfortableelsewhere, you will confer a very great benefit on society.” “I will,”
　　replied the ghost; “we must be dull fellows―very dull fellows,indeed; I can’t imagine how we can have been so stupid.” Withthese words, the spirit disappeared; and what is ratherremarkable,’ added the old man, with a shrewd look round thetable, ‘he never came back again.’
　　‘That ain’t bad, if it’s true,’ said the man in the Mosaic studs,lighting a fresh cigar.
　　‘If!’ exclaimed the old man, with a look of excessive contempt. ‘Isuppose,’ he added, turning to Lowten, ‘he’ll say next, that mystory about the queer client we had, when I was in an attorney’soffice, is not true either―I shouldn’t wonder.’
　　‘I shan’t venture to say anything at all about it, seeing that Inever heard the story,’ observed the owner of the Mosaicdecorations.
　　‘I wish you would repeat it, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ah, do,’ said Lowten, ‘nobody has heard it but me, and I havenearly forgotten it.’
　　The old man looked round the table, and leered more horriblythan ever, as if in triumph, at the attention which was depicted inevery face. Then rubbing his chin with his hand, and looking up tothe ceiling as if to recall the circumstances to his memory, hebegan as follows:―THE OLD MAN’S TALE ABOUT THE QUEER CLIENT‘It matters little,’ said the old man, ‘where, or how, I picked up thisbrief history. If I were to relate it in the order in which it reachedme, I should commence in the middle, and when I had arrived atthe conclusion, go back for a beginning. It is enough for me to saythat some of its circumstances passed before my own eyes; for theremainder I know them to have happened, and there are somepersons yet living, who will remember them but too well.
　　‘In the Borough High Street, near St. George’s Church, and onthe same side of the way, stands, as most people know, thesmallest of our debtors’ prisons, the Marshalsea. Although in latertimes it has been a very different place from the sink of filth anddirt it once was, even its improved condition holds out but littletemptation to the extravagant, or consolation to the improvident.
　　The condemned felon has as good a yard for air and exercise inNewgate, as the insolvent debtor in the Marshalsea Prison.
　　[Better. But this is past, in a better age, and the prison exists nolonger.]
　　‘It may be my fancy, or it may be that I cannot separate theplace from the old recollections associated with it, but this part ofLondon I cannot bear. The street is broad, the shops are spacious,the noise of passing vehicles, the footsteps of a perpetual stream ofpeople―all the busy sounds of traffic, resound in it from morn tomidnight; but the streets around are mean and close; poverty anddebauchery lie festering in the crowded alleys; want andmisfortune are pent up in the narrow prison; an air of gloom anddreariness seems, in my eyes at least, to hang about the scene, andto impart to it a squalid and sickly hue.
　　‘Many eyes, that have long since been closed in the grave, havelooked round upon that scene lightly enough, when entering thegate of the old Marshalsea Prison for the first time; for despairseldom comes with the first severe shock of misfortune. A man hasconfidence in untried friends, he remembers the many offers ofservice so freely made by his boon companions when he wantedthem not; he has hope―the hope of happy inexperience―andhowever he may bend beneath the first shock, it springs up in hisbosom, and flourishes there for a brief space, until it droopsbeneath the blight of disappointment and neglect. How soon havethose same eyes, deeply sunken in the head, glared from faceswasted with famine, and sallow from confinement, in days when itwas no figure of speech to say that debtors rotted in prison, withno hope of release, and no prospect of liberty! The atrocity in itsfull extent no longer exists, but there is enough of it left to give riseto occurrences that make the heart bleed.
　　‘Twenty years ago, that pavement was worn with the footstepsof a mother and child, who, day by day, so surely as the morningcame, presented themselves at the prison gate; often after a nightof restless misery and anxious thoughts, were they there, a fullhour too soon, and then the young mother turning meekly away,would lead the child to the old bridge, and raising him in her armsto show him the glistening water, tinted with the light of themorning’s sun, and stirring with all the bustling preparations forbusiness and pleasure that the river presented at that early hour,endeavour to interest his thoughts in the objects before him. Butshe would quickly set him down, and hiding her face in her shawl,give vent to the tears that blinded her; for no expression of interestor amusement lighted up his thin and sickly face. His recollectionswere few enough, but they were all of one kind―all connectedwith the poverty and misery of his parents. Hour after hour had hesat on his mother’s knee, and with childish sympathy watched thetears that stole down her face, and then crept quietly away intosome dark corner, and sobbed himself to sleep. The hard realitiesof the world, with many of its worst privations―hunger and thirst,and cold and want―had all come home to him, from the firstdawnings of reason; and though the form of childhood was there,its light heart, its merry laugh, and sparkling eyes were wanting.
　　‘The father and mother looked on upon this, and upon eachother, with thoughts of agony they dared not breathe in words.
　　The healthy, strong-made man, who could have borne almost anyfatigue of active exertion, was wasting beneath the closeconfinement and unhealthy atmosphere of a crowded prison. Theslight and delicate woman was sinking beneath the combinedeffects of bodily and mental illness. The child’s young heart wasbreaking.
　　‘Winter came, and with it weeks of cold and heavy rain. Thepoor girl had removed to a wretched apartment close to the spot ofher husband’s imprisonment; and though the change had beenrendered necessary by their increasing poverty, she was happiernow, for she was nearer him. For two months, she and her littlecompanion watched the opening of the gate as usual. One day shefailed to come, for the first time. Another morning arrived, and shecame alone. The child was dead.
　　‘They little know, who coldly talk of the poor man’sbereavements, as a happy release from pain to the departed, and amerciful relief from expense to the survivor―they little know, Isay, what the agony of those bereavements is. A silent look ofaffection and regard when all other eyes are turned coldly away―the consciousness that we possess the sympathy and affection ofone being when all others have deserted us―is a hold, a stay, acomfort, in the deepest affliction, which no wealth could purchase,or power bestow. The child had sat at his parents’ feet for hourstogether, with his little hands patiently folded in each other, andhis thin wan face raised towards them. They had seen him pineaway, from day to day; and though his brief existence had been ajoyless one, and he was now removed to that peace and rest which,child as he was, he had never known in this world, they were hisparents, and his loss sank deep into their souls.
　　‘It was plain to those who looked upon the mother’s alteredface, that death must soon close the scene of her adversity andtrial. Her husband’s fellow-prisoners shrank from obtruding on hisgrief and misery, and left to himself alone, the small room he hadpreviously occupied in common with two companions. She sharedit with him; and lingering on without pain, but without hope, herlife ebbed slowly away.
　　‘She had fainted one evening in her husband’s arms, and hehad borne her to the open window, to revive her with the air,when the light of the moon falling full upon her face, showed him achange upon her features, which made him stagger beneath herweight, like a helpless infant.
　　‘“Set me down, George,” she said faintly. He did so, and seatinghimself beside her, covered his face with his hands, and burst intotears.
　　‘“It is very hard to leave you, George,” she said; “but it is God’swill, and you must bear it for my sake. Oh! how I thank Him forhaving taken our boy! He is happy, and in heaven now. Whatwould he have done here, without his mother!”
　　‘“You shall not die, Mary, you shall not die;” said the husband,starting up. He paced hurriedly to and fro, striking his head withhis clenched fists; then reseating himself beside her, andsupporting her in his arms, added more calmly, “Rouse yourself,my dear girl. Pray, pray do. You will revive yet.”
　　‘“Never again, George; never again,” said the dying woman.
　　“Let them lay me by my poor boy now, but promise me, that ifever you leave this dreadful place, and should grow rich, you willhave us removed to some quiet country churchyard, a long, longway off―very far from here―where we can rest in peace. DearGeorge, promise me you will.”
　　‘“I do, I do,” said the man, throwing himself passionately on hisknees before her. “Speak to me, Mary, another word; one look―but one!”
　　‘He ceased to speak: for the arm that clasped his neck grew stiffand heavy. A deep sigh escaped from the wasted form before him;the lips moved, and a smile played upon the face; but the lips werepallid, and the smile faded into a rigid and ghastly stare. He wasalone in the world.
　　‘That night, in the silence and desolation of his miserable room,the wretched man knelt down by the dead body of his wife, andcalled on God to witness a terrible oath, that from that hour, hedevoted himself to revenge her death and that of his child; thatthenceforth to the last moment of his life, his whole energiesshould be directed to this one object; that his revenge should beprotracted and terrible; that his hatred should be undying andinextinguishable; and should hunt its object through the world.
　　‘The deepest despair, and passion scarcely human, had madesuch fierce ravages on his face and form, in that one night, that hiscompanions in misfortune shrank affrighted from him as hepassed by. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy, his face a deadlywhite, and his body bent as if with age. He had bitten his under lipnearly through in the violence of his mental suffering, and theblood which had flowed from the wound had trickled down hischin, and stained his shirt and neckerchief. No tear, or sound ofcomplaint escaped him; but the unsettled look, and disorderedhaste with which he paced up and down the yard, denoted thefever which was burning within.
　　‘It was necessary that his wife’s body should be removed fromthe prison, without delay. He received the communication withperfect calmness, and acquiesced in its propriety. Nearly all theinmates of the prison had assembled to witness its removal; theyfell back on either side when the widower appeared; he walkedhurriedly forward, and stationed himself, alone, in a little railedare a close to the lodge gate, from whence the crowd, with aninstinctive feeling of delicacy, had retired. The rude coffin wasborne slowly forward on men’s shoulders. A dead silence pervadedthe throng, broken only by the audible lamentations of the women,and the shuffling steps of the bearers on the stone pavement. Theyreached the spot where the bereaved husband stood: and stopped.
　　He laid his hand upon the coffin, and mechanically adjusting thepall with which it was covered, motioned them onward. Theturnkeys in the prison lobby took off their hats as it passedthrough, and in another moment the heavy gate closed behind it.
　　He looked vacantly upon the crowd, and fell heavily to the ground.
　　‘Although for many weeks after this, he was watched, night andday, in the wildest ravings of fever, neither the consciousness ofhis loss, nor the recollection of the vow he had made, ever left himfor a moment. Scenes changed before his eyes, place succeededplace, and event followed event, in all the hurry of delirium; butthey were all connected in some way with the great object of hismind. He was sailing over a boundless expanse of sea, with ablood-red sky above, and the angry waters, lashed into furybeneath, boiling and eddying up, on every side. There was anothervessel before them, toiling and labouring in the howling storm; hercanvas fluttering in ribbons from the mast, and her deck throngedwith figures who were lashed to the sides, over which huge wavesevery instant burst, sweeping away some devoted creatures intothe foaming sea. Onward they bore, amidst the roaring mass ofwater, with a speed and force which nothing could resist; andstriking the stem of the foremost vessel, crushed her beneath theirkeel. From the huge whirlpool which the sinking wreckoccasioned, arose a shriek so loud and shrill―the death-cry of ahundred drowning creatures, blended into one fierce yell―that itrung far above the war-cry of the elements, and echoed, and re-echoed till it seemed to pierce air, sky, and ocean. But what wasthat―that old gray head that rose above the water’s surface, andwith looks of agony, and screams for aid, buffeted with the waves!
　　One look, and he had sprung from the vessel’s side, and withvigorous strokes was swimming towards it. He reached it; he wasclose upon it. They were his features. The old man saw himcoming, and vainly strove to elude his grasp. But he clasped himtight, and dragged him beneath the water. Down, down with him,fifty fathoms down; his struggles grew fainter and fainter, untilthey wholly ceased. He was dead; he had killed him, and had kepthis oath.
　　‘He was traversing the scorching sands of a mighty desert,barefoot and alone. The sand choked and blinded him; its fine thingrains entered the very pores of his skin, and irritated him almostto madness. Gigantic masses of the same material, carried forwardby the wind, and shone through by the burning sun, stalked in thedistance like pillars of living fire. The bones of men, who hadperished in the dreary waste, lay scattered at his feet; a fearfullight fell on everything around; so far as the eye could reach,nothing but objects of dread and horror presented themselves.
　　Vainly striving to utter a cry of terror, with his tongue cleaving tohis mouth, he rushed madly forward. Armed with supernaturalstrength, he waded through the sand, until, exhausted with fatigueand thirst, he fell senseless on the earth. What fragrant coolnessrevived him; what gushing sound was that? Water! It was indeed awell; and the clear fresh stream was running at his feet. He drankdeeply of it, and throwing his aching limbs upon the bank, sankinto a delicious trance. The sound of approaching footsteps rousedhim. An old gray-headed man tottered forward to slake hisburning thirst. It was HE again! Fe wound his arms round the oldman’s body, and held him back. He struggled, and shrieked forwater―for but one drop of water to save his life! But he held theold man firmly, and watched his agonies with greedy eyes; andwhen his lifeless head fell forward on his bosom, he rolled thecorpse from him with his feet.
　　‘When the fever left him, and consciousness returned, he awoketo find himself rich and free, to hear that the parent who wouldhave let him die in jail―would! who had let those who were fardearer to him than his own existence die of want, and sickness of heart that medicine cannot cure―had been found dead in his bedof down. He had had all the heart to leave his son a beggar, butproud even of his health and strength, had put off the act till it wastoo late, and now might gnash his teeth in the other world, at thethought of the wealth his remissness had left him. He awoke tothis, and he awoke to more. To recollect the purpose for which helived, and to remember that his enemy was his wife’s own father―the man who had cast him into prison, and who, when hisdaughter and her child sued at his feet for mercy, had spurnedthem from his door. Oh, how he cursed the weakness thatprevented him from being up, and active, in his scheme ofvengeance!
　　‘He caused himself to be carried from the scene of his loss andmisery, and conveyed to a quiet residence on the sea-coast; not inthe hope of recovering his peace of mind or happiness, for bothwere fled for ever; but to restore his prostrate energies, andmeditate on his darling object. And here, some evil spirit cast inhis way the opportunity for his first, most horrible revenge.
　　‘It was summer-time; and wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, hewould issue from his solitary lodgings early in the evening, andwandering along a narrow path beneath the cliffs, to a wild andlonely spot that had struck his fancy in his ramblings, seat himselfon some fallen fragment of the rock, and burying his face in hishands, remain there for hours―sometimes until night hadcompletely closed in, and the long shadows of the frowning cliffsabove his head cast a thick, black darkness on every object nearhim.
　　‘He was seated here, one calm evening, in his old position, nowand then raising his head to watch the flight of a sea-gull, or carryhis eye along the glorious crimson path, which, commencing in themiddle of the ocean, seemed to lead to its very verge where thesun was setting, when the profound stillness of the spot wasbroken by a loud cry for help; he listened, doubtful of his havingheard aright, when the cry was repeated with even greatervehemence than before, and, starting to his feet, he hastened inthe direction whence it proceeded.
　　‘The tale told itself at once: some scattered garments lay on thebeach; a human head was just visible above the waves at a littledistance from the shore; and an old man, wringing his hands inagony, was running to and fro, shrieking for assistance. Theinvalid, whose strength was now sufficiently restored, threw off hiscoat, and rushed towards the sea, with the intention of plungingin, and dragging the drowning man ashore.
　　‘“Hasten here, sir, in God’s name; help, help, sir, for the love ofHeaven. He is my son, sir, my only son!” said the old manfrantically, as he advanced to meet him. “My only son, sir, and heis dying before his father’s eyes!”
　　‘At the first word the old man uttered, the stranger checkedhimself in his career, and, folding his arms, stood perfectlymotionless.
　　‘“Great God!” exclaimed the old man, recoiling, “Heyling!”
　　‘The stranger smiled, and was silent.
　　‘“Heyling!” said the old man wildly; “my boy, Heyling, my dearboy, look, look!” Gasping for breath, the miserable father pointedto the spot where the young man was struggling for life.
　　‘“Hark!” said the old man. “He cries once more. He is alive yet.
　　Heyling, save him, save him!”
　　‘The stranger smiled again, and remained immovable as astatue.
　　‘“I have wronged you,” shrieked the old man, falling on hisknees, and clasping his hands together. “Be revenged; take my all,my life; cast me into the water at your feet, and, if human naturecan repress a struggle, I will die, without stirring hand or foot. Doit, Heyling, do it, but save my boy; he is so young, Heyling, soyoung to die!”
　　‘“Listen,” said the stranger, grasping the old man fiercely bythe wrist; “I will have life for life, and here is one. My child died,before his father’s eyes, a far more agonising and painful deaththan that young slanderer of his sister’s worth is meeting while Ispeak. You laughed―laughed in your daughter’s face, wheredeath had already set his hand―at our sufferings, then. Whatthink you of them now! See there, see there!”
　　‘As the stranger spoke, he pointed to the sea. A faint cry diedaway upon its surface; the last powerful struggle of the dying managitated the rippling waves for a few seconds; and the spot wherehe had gone down into his early grave, was undistinguishablefrom the surrounding water.
　　‘Three years had elapsed, when a gentleman alighted from aprivate carriage at the door of a London attorney, then well knownas a man of no great nicety in his professional dealings, andrequested a private interview on business of importance. Althoughevidently not past the prime of life, his face was pale, haggard, anddejected; and it did not require the acute perception of the man ofbusiness, to discern at a glance, that disease or suffering had donemore to work a change in his appearance, than the mere hand oftime could have accomplished in twice the period of his whole life.
　　‘“I wish you to undertake some legal business for me,” said thestranger.
　　‘The attorney bowed obsequiously, and glanced at a largepacket which the gentleman carried in his hand. His visitorobserved the look, and proceeded.
　　‘“It is no common business,” said he; “nor have these papersreached my hands without long trouble and great expense.”
　　‘The attorney cast a still more anxious look at the packet; andhis visitor, untying the string that bound it, disclosed a quantity ofpromissory notes, with copies of deeds, and other documents.
　　‘“Upon these papers,” said the client, “the man whose namethey bear, has raised, as you will see, large sums of money, foryears past. There was a tacit understanding between him and themen into whose hands they originally went―and from whom Ihave by degrees purchased the whole, for treble and quadrupletheir nominal value―that these loans should be from time to timerenewed, until a given period had elapsed. Such an understandingis nowhere expressed. He has sustained many losses of late; andthese obligations accumulating upon him at once, would crushhim to the earth.”
　　‘“The whole amount is many thousands of pounds,” said theattorney, looking over the papers.
　　‘“It is,” said the client.
　　‘“What are we to do?” inquired the man of business.
　　‘“Do!” replied the client, with sudden vehemence. “Put everyengine of the law in force, every trick that ingenuity can deviseand rascality execute; fair means and foul; the open oppression ofthe law, aided by all the craft of its most ingenious practitioners. Iwould have him die a harassing and lingering death. Ruin him,seize and sell his lands and goods, drive him from house andhome, and drag him forth a beggar in his old age, to die in acommon jail.”
　　‘“But the costs, my dear sir, the costs of all this,” reasoned theattorney, when he had recovered from his momentary surprise. “Ifthe defendant be a man of straw, who is to pay the costs, sir?”
　　‘“Name any sum,” said the stranger, his hand trembling soviolently with excitement, that he could scarcely hold the pen heseized as he spoke―“any sum, and it is yours. Don’t be afraid toname it, man. I shall not think it dear, if you gain my object.”
　　‘The attorney named a large sum, at hazard, as the advance heshould require to secure himself against the possibility of loss; butmore with the view of ascertaining how far his client was reallydisposed to go, than with any idea that he would comply with thedemand. The stranger wrote a cheque upon his banker, for thewhole amount, and left him.
　　‘The draft was duly honoured, and the attorney, finding that hisstrange client might be safely relied upon, commenced his work inearnest. For more than two years afterwards, Mr. Heyling wouldsit whole days together, in the office, poring over the papers asthey accumulated, and reading again and again, his eyes gleamingwith joy, the letters of remonstrance, the prayers for a little delay,the representations of the certain ruin in which the opposite partymust be involved, which poured in, as suit after suit, and processafter process, was commenced. To all applications for a briefindulgence, there was but one reply―the money must be paid.
　　Land, house, furniture, each in its turn, was taken under some oneof the numerous executions which were issued; and the old manhimself would have been immured in prison had he not escapedthe vigilance of the officers, and fled.
　　‘The implacable animosity of Heyling, so far from being satiatedby the success of his persecution, increased a hundredfold withthe ruin he inflicted. On being informed of the old man’s flight, hisfury was unbounded. He gnashed his teeth with rage, tore the hairfrom his head, and assailed with horrid imprecations the men whohad been intrusted with the writ. He was only restored tocomparative calmness by repeated assurances of the certainty ofdiscovering the fugitive. Agents were sent in quest of him, in alldirections; every stratagem that could be invented was resorted to,for the purpose of discovering his place of retreat; but it was all invain. Half a year had passed over, and he was still undiscovered.
　　‘At length late one night, Heyling, of whom nothing had beenseen for many weeks before, appeared at his attorney’s privateresidence, and sent up word that a gentleman wished to see himinstantly. Before the attorney, who had recognised his voice fromabove stairs, could order the servant to admit him, he had rushedup the staircase, and entered the drawing-room pale andbreathless. Having closed the door, to prevent being overheard, hesank into a chair, and said, in a low voice―‘“Hush! I have found him at last.”
　　‘“No!” said the attorney. “Well done, my dear sir, well done.”
　　‘“He lies concealed in a wretched lodging in Camden Town,”
　　said Heyling. “Perhaps it is as well we did lose sight of him, for hehas been living alone there, in the most abject misery, all the time,and he is poor―very poor.”
　　‘“Very good,” said the attorney. “You will have the captionmade to-morrow, of course?”
　　‘“Yes,” replied Heyling. “Stay! No! The next day. You aresurprised at my wishing to postpone it,” he added, with a ghastlysmile; “but I had forgotten. The next day is an anniversary in hislife: let it be done then.”
　　‘“Very good,” said the attorney. “Will you write downinstructions for the officer?”
　　‘“No; let him meet me here, at eight in the evening, and I willaccompany him myself.”
　　‘They met on the appointed night, and, hiring a hackney-coach,directed the driver to stop at that corner of the old Pancras Road,at which stands the parish workhouse. By the time they alightedthere, it was quite dark; and, proceeding by the dead wall in frontof the Veterinary Hospital, they entered a small by-street, which is,or was at that time, called Little College Street, and which,whatever it may be now, was in those days a desolate placeenough, surrounded by little else than fields and ditches.
　　‘Having drawn the travelling-cap he had on half over his face,and muffled himself in his cloak, Heyling stopped before themeanest-looking house in the street, and knocked gently at thedoor. It was at once opened by a woman, who dropped a curtsey ofrecognition, and Heyling, whispering the officer to remain below,crept gently upstairs, and, opening the door of the front room,entered at once.
　　‘The object of his search and his unrelenting animosity, now adecrepit old man, was seated at a bare deal table, on which stood amiserable candle. He started on the entrance of the stranger, androse feebly to his feet.
　　‘“What now, what now?” said the old man. “What fresh miseryis this? What do you want here?”
　　‘“A word with you,” replied Heyling. As he spoke, he seatedhimself at the other end of the table, and, throwing off his cloakand cap, disclosed his features.
　　‘The old man seemed instantly deprived of speech. He fellbackward in his chair, and, clasping his hands together, gazed onthe apparition with a mingled look of abhorrence and fear.
　　‘“This day six years,” said Heyling, “I claimed the life you owedme for my child’s. Beside the lifeless form of your daughter, oldman, I swore to live a life of revenge. I have never swerved frommy purpose for a moment’s space; but if I had, one thought of heruncomplaining, suffering look, as she drooped away, or of thestarving face of our innocent child, would have nerved me to mytask. My first act of requital you well remember: this is my last.”
　　‘The old man shivered, and his hands dropped powerless by hisside.
　　‘“I leave England to-morrow,” said Heyling, after a moment’spause. “To-night I consign you to the living death to which youdevoted her―a hopeless prison―”
　　‘He raised his eyes to the old man’s countenance, and paused.
　　He lifted the light to his face, set it gently down, and left theapartment.
　　‘“You had better see to the old man,” he said to the woman, ashe opened the door, and motioned the officer to follow him intothe street. “I think he is ill.” The woman closed the door, ranhastily upstairs, and found him lifeless.
　　‘Beneath a plain gravestone, in one of the most peaceful andsecluded churchyards in Kent, where wild flowers mingle with thegrass, and the soft landscape around forms the fairest spot in thegarden of England, lie the bones of the young mother and hergentle child. But the ashes of the father do not mingle with theirs;nor, from that night forward, did the attorney ever gain theremotest clue to the subsequent history of his queer client.’
　　As the old man concluded his tale, he advanced to a peg in onecorner, and taking down his hat and coat, put them on with greatdeliberation; and, without saying another word, walked slowlyaway. As the gentleman with the Mosaic studs had fallen asleep,and the major part of the company were deeply occupied in thehumorous process of dropping melted tallow-grease into hisbrandy-and-water, Mr. Pickwick departed unnoticed, and havingsettled his own score, and that of Mr. Weller, issued forth, incompany with that gentleman, from beneath the portal of theMagpie and Stump.
Chapter 22
Mr. PICKWICK JOURNEYS TO IPSWICH ANDMEETS WITH A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE WITHA MIDDLE-AGED LADY IN YELLOWCURL-PAPERShat ’ere your governor’s luggage, Sammy?’ inquired Mr.
　　Weller of his affectionate son, as he entered the yard ofthe Bull Inn, Whitechapel, with a travelling-bag and asmall portmanteau.
　　‘You might ha’ made a worser guess than that, old feller,’
　　replied Mr. Weller the younger, setting down his burden in theyard, and sitting himself down upon it afterwards. ‘The governorhisself’ll be down here presently.’
　　‘He’s a-cabbin’ it, I suppose?’ said the father.
　　‘Yes, he’s a havin’ two mile o’ danger at eight-pence,’ respondedthe son. ‘How’s mother-in-law this mornin’?’
　　‘Queer, Sammy, queer,’ replied the elder Mr. Weller, withimpressive gravity. ‘She’s been gettin’ rayther in the Methodisticalorder lately, Sammy; and she is uncommon pious, to be sure.
　　She’s too good a creetur for me, Sammy. I feel I don’t deserve her.’
　　‘Ah,’ said Mr. Samuel. ‘that’s wery self-denyin’ o’ you.’
　　‘Wery,’ replied his parent, with a sigh. ‘She’s got hold o’ someinwention for grown-up people being born again, Sammy―thenew birth, I think they calls it. I should wery much like to see thatsystem in haction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see yourmother-in-law born again. Wouldn’t I put her out to nurse!’
　　‘What do you think them women does t’other day,’ continuedMr. Weller, after a short pause, during which he had significantlystruck the side of his nose with his forefinger some half-dozentimes. ‘What do you think they does, t’other day, Sammy?’
　　‘Don’t know,’ replied Sam, ‘what?’
　　‘Goes and gets up a grand tea drinkin’ for a feller they callstheir shepherd,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘I was a-standing starin’ in at thepictur shop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it;“tickets half-a-crown. All applications to be made to thecommittee. Secretary, Mrs. Weller”; and when I got home therewas the committee a-sittin’ in our back parlour. Fourteen women;I wish you could ha’ heard ’em, Sammy. There they was, a-passin’
　　resolutions, and wotin’ supplies, and all sorts o’ games. Well, whatwith your mother-in-law a-worrying me to go, and what with mylooking for’ard to seein’ some queer starts if I did, I put my namedown for a ticket; at six o’clock on the Friday evenin’ I dressesmyself out wery smart, and off I goes with the old ’ooman, and upwe walks into a fust-floor where there was tea-things for thirty,and a whole lot o’ women as begins whisperin’ to one another, andlookin’ at me, as if they’d never seen a rayther stout gen’l’m’n ofeight-and-fifty afore. By and by, there comes a great bustledownstairs, and a lanky chap with a red nose and a whiteneckcloth rushes up, and sings out, “Here’s the shepherd a-coming to wisit his faithful flock;” and in comes a fat chap in black,vith a great white face, a-smilin’ avay like clockwork. Such goin’son, Sammy! “The kiss of peace,” says the shepherd; and then hekissed the women all round, and ven he’d done, the man vith thered nose began. I was just a-thinkin’ whether I hadn’t better begintoo―’specially as there was a wery nice lady a-sittin’ next me―venin comes the tea, and your mother-in-law, as had been makin’ thekettle bile downstairs. At it they went, tooth and nail. Such aprecious loud hymn, Sammy, while the tea was a brewing; such agrace, such eatin’ and drinkin’! I wish you could ha’ seen theshepherd walkin’ into the ham and muffins. I never see such achap to eat and drink―never. The red-nosed man warn’t by nomeans the sort of person you’d like to grub by contract, but he wasnothin’ to the shepherd. Well; arter the tea was over, they sanganother hymn, and then the shepherd began to preach: and werywell he did it, considerin’ how heavy them muffins must have liedon his chest. Presently he pulls up, all of a sudden, and hollers out,“Where is the sinner; where is the mis’rable sinner?” Upon which,all the women looked at me, and began to groan as if they was a-dying. I thought it was rather sing’ler, but howsoever, I saysnothing. Presently he pulls up again, and lookin’ wery hard at me,says, “Where is the sinner; where is the mis’rable sinner?” and allthe women groans again, ten times louder than afore. I got rathersavage at this, so I takes a step or two for’ard and says, “Myfriend,” says I, “did you apply that ’ere obserwation to me?” ‘Steadof beggin’ my pardon as any gen’l’m’n would ha’ done, he got moreabusive than ever:―called me a wessel, Sammy―a wessel ofwrath―and all sorts o’ names. So my blood being reg’larly up, Ifirst gave him two or three for himself, and then two or three moreto hand over to the man with the red nose, and walked off. I wishyou could ha’ heard how the women screamed, Sammy, ven theypicked up the shepherd from underneath the table―Hollo! here’sthe governor, the size of life.’
　　As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, andentered the yard. ‘Fine mornin’, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, senior.
　　‘Beautiful indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Beautiful indeed,’ echoes a red-haired man with an inquisitivenose and green spectacles, who had unpacked himself from a cabat the same moment as Mr. Pickwick. ‘Going to Ipswich, sir?’
　　‘I am,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Extraordinary coincidence. So am I.’
　　Mr. Pickwick bowed.
　　‘Going outside?’ said the red-haired man. Mr. Pickwick bowedagain.
　　‘Bless my soul, how remarkable―I am going outside, too,’ saidthe red-haired man; ‘we are positively going together.’ And thered-haired man, who was an important-looking, sharp-nosed,mysterious-spoken personage, with a bird-like habit of giving hishead a jerk every time he said anything, smiled as if he had madeone of the strangest discoveries that ever fell to the lot of humanwisdom.
　　‘I am happy in the prospect of your company, sir,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘Ah,’ said the new-comer, ‘it’s a good thing for both of us, isn’tit? Company, you see―company―is―is―it’s a very differentthing from solitude―ain’t it?’
　　‘There’s no denying that ’ere,’ said Mr. Weller, joining in theconversation, with an affable smile. ‘That’s what I call a self-evident proposition, as the dog’s-meat man said, when thehousemaid told him he warn’t a gentleman.’
　　‘Ah,’ said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from headto foot with a supercilious look. ‘Friend of yours, sir?’
　　‘Not exactly a friend,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, in a low tone. ‘Thefact is, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good manyliberties; for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original,and I am rather proud of him.’
　　‘Ah,’ said the red-haired man, ‘that, you see, is a matter of taste.
　　I am not fond of anything original; I don’t like it; don’t see thenecessity for it. What’s your name, sir?’
　　‘Here is my card, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused bythe abruptness of the question, and the singular manner of thestranger.
　　‘Ah,’ said the red-haired man, placing the card in his pocket-book, ‘Pickwick; very good. I like to know a man’s name, it savesso much trouble. That’s my card, sir. Magnus, you will perceive,sir―Magnus is my name. It’s rather a good name, I think, sir.’
　　‘A very good name, indeed,’ said Mr. Pickwick, wholly unable torepress a smile.
　　‘Yes, I think it is,’ resumed Mr. Magnus. ‘There’s a good namebefore it, too, you will observe. Permit me, sir―if you hold thecard a little slanting, this way, you catch the light upon the up-stroke. There―Peter Magnus―sounds well, I think, sir.’
　　‘Very,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Curious circumstance about those initials, sir,’ said Mr.
　　Magnus. ‘You will observe―P.M.―post meridian. In hasty notesto intimate acquaintance, I sometimes sign myself “Afternoon.” Itamuses my friends very much, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I shouldconceive,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rather envying the ease with whichMr. Magnus’s friends were entertained.
　　‘Now, gen’l’m’n,’ said the hostler, ‘coach is ready, if you please.’
　　‘Is all my luggage in?’ inquired Mr. Magnus.
　　‘All right, sir.’
　　‘Is the red bag in?’
　　‘All right, sir.’
　　‘And the striped bag?’
　　‘Fore boot, sir.’
　　‘And the brown-paper parcel?’
　　‘Under the seat, sir.’
　　‘And the leather hat-box?’
　　‘They’re all in, sir.’
　　‘Now, will you get up?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Excuse me,’ replied Magnus, standing on the wheel. ‘Excuseme, Mr. Pickwick. I cannot consent to get up, in this state ofuncertainty. I am quite satisfied from that man’s manner, that theleather hat-box is not in.’
　　The solemn protestations of the hostler being whollyunavailing, the leather hat-box was obliged to be raked up fromthe lowest depth of the boot, to satisfy him that it had been safelypacked; and after he had been assured on this head, he felt asolemn presentiment, first, that the red bag was mislaid, and nextthat the striped bag had been stolen, and then that the brown-paper parcel ‘had come untied.’ At length when he had receivedocular demonstration of the groundless nature of each and everyof these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the roof of thecoach, observing that now he had taken everything off his mind,he felt quite comfortable and happy.
　　‘You’re given to nervousness, ain’t you, sir?’ inquired Mr.
　　Weller, senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to hisplace.
　　‘Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,’ said thestranger, ‘but I am all right now―quite right.’
　　 ‘Well, that’s a blessin’, said Mr. Weller. ‘Sammy, help yourmaster up to the box; t’other leg, sir, that’s it; give us your hand,sir. Up with you. You was a lighter weight when you was a boy,sir.’
　　‘True enough, that, Mr. Weller,’ said the breathless Mr.
　　Pickwick good-humouredly, as he took his seat on the box besidehim.
　　‘Jump up in front, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Now Villam, run’em out. Take care o’ the archvay, gen’l’m’n. “Heads,” as thepieman says. That’ll do, Villam. Let ’em alone.’ And away went thecoach up Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole populationof that pretty densely populated quarter.
　　‘Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, sir,’ said Sam, with atouch of the hat, which always preceded his entering intoconversation with his master.
　　‘It is not indeed, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying thecrowded and filthy street through which they were passing.
　　‘It’s a wery remarkable circumstance, sir,’ said Sam, ‘thatpoverty and oysters always seem to go together.’
　　‘I don’t understand you, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘What I mean, sir,’ said Sam, ‘is, that the poorer a place is, thegreater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here’s aoyster-stall to every half-dozen houses. The street’s lined vith ’em.
　　Blessed if I don’t think that ven a man’s wery poor, he rushes outof his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg’lar desperation.’
　　‘To be sure he does,’ said Mr. Weller, senior; ‘and it’s just thesame vith pickled salmon!’
　　‘Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred tome before,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘The very first place we stop at, I’llmake a note of them.’
　　By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; aprofound silence prevailed until they had got two or three milesfarther on, when Mr. Weller, senior, turning suddenly to Mr.
　　Pickwick, said―‘Wery queer life is a pike-keeper’s, sir.’
　　‘A what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘A pike-keeper.’
　　‘What do you mean by a pike-keeper?’ inquired Mr. PeterMagnus.
　　‘The old ’un means a turnpike-keeper, gen’l’m’n,’ observed Mr.
　　Samuel Weller, in explanation.
　　‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I see. Yes; very curious life. Veryuncomfortable.’
　　‘They’re all on ’em men as has met vith some disappointment inlife,’ said Mr. Weller, senior.
　　‘Ay, ay,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes. Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, andshuts themselves up in pikes; partly with the view of beingsolitary, and partly to rewenge themselves on mankind by takin’
　　tolls.’
　　‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I never knew that before.’
　　‘Fact, sir,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘if they was gen’l’m’n, you’d call ’emmisanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin’.’
　　With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm ofblending amusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile thetediousness of the journey, during the greater part of the day.
　　Topics of conversation were never wanting, for even when anypause occurred in Mr. Weller’s loquacity, it was abundantlysupplied by the desire evinced by Mr. Magnus to make himselfacquainted with the whole of the personal history of his fellow-travellers, and his loudly-expressed anxiety at every stage,respecting the safety and well-being of the two bags, the leatherhat-box, and the brown-paper parcel.
　　In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, ashort distance after you have passed through the open spacefronting the Town Hall, stands an inn known far and wide by theappellation of the Great White Horse, rendered the moreconspicuous by a stone statue of some rampacious animal withflowing mane and tail, distantly resembling an insane cart-horse,which is elevated above the principal door. The Great White Horseis famous in the neighbourhood, in the same degree as a prize ox,or a county-paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy pig―for itsenormous size. Never was such labyrinths of uncarpeted passages,such clusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers ofsmall dens for eating or sleeping in, beneath any one roof, as arecollected together between the four walls of the Great White Horseat Ipswich.
　　It was at the door of this overgrown tavern that the Londoncoach stopped, at the same hour every evening; and it was fromthis same London coach that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and Mr.
　　Peter Magnus dismounted, on the particular evening to which thischapter of our history bears reference.
　　‘Do you stop here, sir?’ inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when thestriped bag, and the red bag, and the brown-paper parcel, and theleather hat-box, had all been deposited in the passage. ‘Do youstop here, sir?’
　　‘I do,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘I never knew anything like theseextraordinary coincidences. Why, I stop here too. I hope we dinetogether?’
　　‘With pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am not quite certainwhether I have any friends here or not, though. Is there anygentleman of the name of Tupman here, waiter?’
　　A corpulent man, with a fortnight’s napkin under his arm, andcoeval stockings on his legs, slowly desisted from his occupation ofstaring down the street, on this question being put to him by Mr.
　　Pickwick; and, after minutely inspecting that gentleman’sappearance, from the crown of his hat to the lowest button of hisgaiters, replied emphatically―‘No!’
　　‘Nor any gentleman of the name of Snodgrass?’ inquired Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘No!’
　　‘Nor Winkle?’
　　‘No!’
　　‘My friends have not arrived to-day, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Wewill dine alone, then. Show us a private room, waiter.’
　　On this request being preferred, the corpulent mancondescended to order the boots to bring in the gentlemen’sluggage; and preceding them down a long, dark passage, usheredthem into a large, badly-furnished apartment, with a dirty grate, inwhich a small fire was making a wretched attempt to be cheerful,but was fast sinking beneath the dispiriting influence of the place.
　　After the lapse of an hour, a bit of fish and a steak was served upto the travellers, and when the dinner was cleared away, Mr.
　　Pickwick and Mr. Peter Magnus drew their chairs up to the fire,and having ordered a bottle of the worst possible port wine, at thehighest possible price, for the good of the house, drank brandy-and-water for their own.
　　Mr. Peter Magnus was naturally of a very communicativedisposition, and the brandy-and-water operated with wonderfuleffect in warming into life the deepest hidden secrets of his bosom.
　　After sundry accounts of himself, his family, his connections, hisfriends, his jokes, his business, and his brothers (most talkativemen have a great deal to say about their brothers), Mr. PeterMagnus took a view of Mr. Pickwick through his colouredspectacles for several minutes, and then said, with an air ofmodesty―‘And what do you think―what do you think, Mr. Pickwick―Ihave come down here for?’
　　‘Upon my word,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘it is wholly impossible forme to guess; on business, perhaps.’
　　‘Partly right, sir,’ replied Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘but partly wrongat the same time; try again, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘Really,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I must throw myself on your mercy,to tell me or not, as you may think best; for I should never guess, ifI were to try all night.’
　　‘Why , then, he-he-he!’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, with a bashfultitter, ‘what should you think, Mr. Pickwick, if I had come downhere to make a proposal, sir, eh? He, he, he!’
　　‘Think! That you are very likely to succeed,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick, with one of his beaming smiles. ‘Ah!’ said Mr. Magnus.
　　‘But do you really think so, Mr. Pickwick? Do you, though?’
　　‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No; but you’re joking, though.’
　　‘I am not, indeed.’
　　‘Why, then,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘to let you into a little secret, Ithink so too. I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Pickwick, although I’mdreadful jealous by nature―horrid―that the lady is in this house.’
　　Here Mr. Magnus took off his spectacles, on purpose to wink, andthen put them on again.
　　‘That’s what you were running out of the room for, beforedinner, then, so often,’ said Mr. Pickwick archly.
　　‘Hush! Yes, you’re right, that was it; not such a fool as to seeher, though.’
　　‘No!’
　　‘No; wouldn’t do, you know, after having just come off ajourney. Wait till to-morrow, sir; double the chance then. Mr.
　　Pickwick, sir, there is a suit of clothes in that bag, and a hat in thatbox, which, I expect, in the effect they will produce, will beinvaluable to me, sir.’
　　‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to-day. Ido not believe that such another suit of clothes, and such a hat,could be bought for money, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　Mr. Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of theirresistible garments on their acquisition; and Mr. Peter Magnusremained a few moments apparently absorbed in contemplation.
　　‘She’s a fine creature,’ said Mr. Magnus.
　　‘Is she?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Very,’ said Mr. Magnus. ‘very. She lives about twenty milesfrom here, Mr. Pickwick. I heard she would be here to-night andall to-morrow forenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity. Ithink an inn is a good sort of a place to propose to a single womanin, Mr. Pickwick. She is more likely to feel the loneliness of hersituation in travelling, perhaps, than she would be at home. Whatdo you think, Mr. Pickwick?’
　　‘I think it is very probable,’ replied that gentleman.
　　‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘but Iam naturally rather curious; what may you have come down herefor?’
　　‘On a far less pleasant errand, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, thecolour mounting to his face at the recollection. ‘I have come downhere, sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual,upon whose truth and honour I placed implicit reliance.’
　　‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘that’s very unpleasant. It is alady, I presume? Eh? ah! Sly, Mr. Pickwick, sly. Well, Mr.
　　Pickwick, sir, I wouldn’t probe your feelings for the world. Painfulsubjects, these, sir, very painful. Don’t mind me, Mr. Pickwick, ifyou wish to give vent to your feelings. I know what it is to be jilted,sir; I have endured that sort of thing three or four times.’
　　‘I am much obliged to you, for your condolence on what youpresume to be my melancholy case,’ said Mr. Pickwick, windingup his watch, and laying it on the table, ‘but―’
　　‘No, no,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘not a word more; it’s a painfulsubject. I see, I see. What’s the time, Mr. Pickwick?’
　　‘Past twelve.’
　　‘Dear me, it’s time to go to bed. It will never do, sitting here. Ishall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rangthe bell for the chambermaid; and the striped bag, the red bag, theleathern hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having beenconveyed to his bedroom, he retired in company with a japannedcandlestick, to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick, andanother japanned candlestick, were conducted through amultitude of tortuous windings, to another.
　　‘This is your room, sir,’ said the chambermaid.
　　‘Very well,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was atolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, amore comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick’s shortexperience of the accommodations of the Great White Horse hadled 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 athalf-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him anymore to-night.’
　　‘Yes, sir,’ and bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, thechambermaid retired, and left him alone.
　　Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fellinto a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of hisfriends, and wondered when they would join him; then his mindreverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell; and from that lady it wandered,by a natural process, to the dingy counting-house of Dodson &Fogg. From Dodson & Fogg’s it flew off at a tangent, to the verycentre of the history of the queer client; and then it came back tothe Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness toconvince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep. So he rousedhimself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had left hiswatch 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 atpresent. The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were tickinggently beneath his pillow, or in the watch-pocket over his head,had never entered Mr. Pickwick’s brain. So as it was pretty latenow, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the night,he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested himself, andtaking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietlydownstairs. The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the morestairs there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, whenMr. Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began tocongratulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, didanother flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At lasthe reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen whenhe entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore; roomafter room did he peep into; at length, as he was on the point ofgiving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identicalroom in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missingproperty on the table.
　　Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded toretrace his steps to his bedchamber. If his progress downward hadbeen attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey backwas infinitely more perplexing. Rows of doors, garnished withboots of every shape, make, and size, branched off in everypossible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle ofsome bedroom door which resembled his own, when a gruff cryfrom within of ‘Who the devil’s that?’ or ‘What do you want here?’
　　caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellouscelerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an opendoor attracted his attention. He peeped in. Right at last! Therewere the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, andthe fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he firstreceived it, had flickered away in the drafts of air through whichhe had passed and sank into the socket as he closed the door afterhim. ‘No matter,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I can undress myself just aswell by the light of the fire.’
　　The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on theinner side of each was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomedchair, just wide enough to admit of a person’s getting into or out ofbed, on that side, if he or she thought proper. Having carefullydrawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick satdown on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himselfof his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up his coat,waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly drawing on his tassellednightcap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chinthe strings which he always had attached to that article of dress. Itwas at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewildermentstruck upon his mind. Throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that itwould have been quite delightful to any man of well-constitutedmind to have watched the smiles that expanded his amiablefeatures as they shone forth from beneath the nightcap.
　　‘It is the best idea,’ said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till healmost cracked the nightcap strings―‘it is the best idea, my losingmyself in this place, and wandering about these staircases, that Iever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll.’ Here Mr. Pickwick smiledagain, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue theprocess of undressing, in the best possible humour, when he wassuddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption: to wit, theentrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, afterlocking the door, advanced to the dressing-table, and set down thelight upon it.
　　The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick’s features wasinstantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in sosuddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had notime to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? Arobber? Some evil-minded person who had seen him comeupstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What washe to do?
　　The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse ofhis mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself,was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between thecurtains on the opposite side. To this manoeuvre he accordinglyresorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, sothat nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap,and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage and lookedout.
　　Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standingbefore the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady, in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their ‘back-hair.’ However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into thatroom, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there forthe night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her,which, with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she hadstationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away,like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly small piece of water.
　　‘Bless my soul!’ thought Mr. Pickwick, ‘what a dreadful thing!’
　　‘Hem!’ said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick’s head withautomaton-like rapidity.
　　‘I never met with anything so awful as this,’ thought poor Mr.
　　Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon hisnightcap. ‘Never. This is fearful.’
　　It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see whatwas going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick’s head again. Theprospect was worse than before. The middle-aged lady hadfinished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped it in a muslinnightcap with a small plaited border; and was gazing pensively onthe fire.
　　‘This matter is growing alarming,’ reasoned Mr. Pickwick withhimself. ‘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 intothe wrong room. If I call out she’ll alarm the house; but if I remainhere the consequences will be still more frightful.’ Mr. Pickwick, itis quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modest anddelicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting hisnightcap to a lady overpowered him, but he had tied thoseconfounded strings in a knot, and, do what he would, he couldn’tget it off. The disclosure must be made. There was only one otherway of doing it. He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out veryloudly―‘Ha-hum!’
　　That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, byher falling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuadedherself it must have been the effect of imagination was equallyclear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she hadfainted away stone-dead with 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 sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us,the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing hisopinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audibleto be 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, frombehind the curtains.
　　‘A gentleman!’ said the lady, with a terrific scream.
　　‘It’s all over!’ thought Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘A strange man!’ shrieked the lady. Another instant and thehouse would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushedtowards the door.
　　‘Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head. in theextremity of his desperation, ‘ma’am!’
　　Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definiteobject in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive ofa good effect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near thedoor. She must pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would mostundoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the suddenapparition of Mr. Pickwick’s nightcap driven her back into theremotest corner of the apartment, where she stood staring wildlyat Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick in his turn stared wildly ather.
　　‘Wretch,’ said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, ‘whatdo you want here?’
　　‘Nothing, ma’am; nothing whatever, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwickearnestly.
　　‘Nothing!’ said the lady, looking up.
　　‘Nothing, ma’am, upon my honour,’ said Mr. Pickwick, noddinghis head so energetically, that the tassel of his nightcap dancedagain. ‘I am almost ready to sink, ma’am, beneath the confusion ofaddressing a lady in my nightcap (here the lady hastily snatchedoff hers), but I can’t get it off, ma’am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it atremendous tug, in proof of the statement). It is evident to me,ma’am, now, that I have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I hadnot been here five minutes, ma’am, when you suddenly entered it.’
　　‘If this improbable story be really true, sir,’ said the lady,sobbing violently, ‘you will leave it instantly.’
　　‘I will, 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. I―I―am very sorry, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick,making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, ‘to have been theinnocent 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 Puton his hat over his nightcap, after the manner of the old patrol;although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coatand waistcoat over his arm; nothing could subdue his nativepoliteness.
　　‘I am exceedingly sorry, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, bowingvery 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,opening the door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in sodoing.
　　‘I trust, ma’am,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes,and turning round to bow again―‘I trust, ma’am, that myunblemished character, and the devoted respect I entertain foryour sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this―’ But beforeMr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust himinto the passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him.
　　Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick mighthave for having escaped so quietly from his late awkwardsituation, his present position was by no means enviable. He wasalone, in an open passage, in a strange house in the middle of thenight, half dressed; it was not to be supposed that he could find hisway in perfect darkness to a room which he had been whollyunable to discover with a light, and if he made the slightest noisein his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of beingshot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. He had noresource but to remain where he was until daylight appeared. Soafter groping his way a few paces down the passage, and, to hisinfinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing,Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait formorning, as philosophically as he might.
　　He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trialof patience; for he had not been long ensconced in his presentconcealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing alight, appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenlyconverted into joy, however, when he recognised the form of hisfaithful attendant. It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who aftersitting up thus late, in conversation with the boots, who was sittingup for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him,‘where’s my bedroom?’
　　Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphaticsurprise; and it was not until the question had been repeated threeseveral 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 ofthe 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 Iwere to stop in this house for six months, I would never trustmyself 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 arteryou, sir, when your judgment goes out a wisitin’.’
　　‘What do you mean by that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick. He raisedhimself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to saysomething more; but suddenly checking himself, turned round,and bade his valet ‘Good-night.’
　　‘Good-night, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he gotoutside the door―shook his head―walked on―stopped―snuffedthe candle―shook his head again―and finally proceeded slowly tohis chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation.
Chapter 23
IN WHICH Mr. SAMUEL WELLER BEGINS TO DEVOTE HIS ENERGIES TO THE RETURN MATCH BETWEEN HIMSELF AND Mr. TROTTERn a small room in the vicinity of the stableyard, betimes in themorning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick’s adventurewith the middle-aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr.
　　Weller, senior, preparing himself for his journey to London. Hewas sitting in an excellent attitude for having his portrait taken;and here it is.
　　It is very possible that at some earlier period of his career, Mr.
　　Weller’s profile might have presented a bold and determinedoutline. His face, however, had expanded under the influence ofgood living, and a disposition remarkable for resignation; and itsbold, fleshy curves had so far extended beyond the limitsoriginally assigned them, that unless you took a full view of hiscountenance in front, it was difficult to distinguish more than theextreme tip of a very rubicund nose. His chin, from the samecause, had acquired the grave and imposing form which isgenerally described by prefixing the word ‘double’ to thatexpressive feature; and his complexion exhibited that peculiarlymottled combination of colours which is only to be seen ingentlemen of his profession, and in underdone roast beef. Roundhis neck he wore a crimson travelling-shawl, which merged intohis chin by such imperceptible gradations, that it was difficult todistinguish the folds of the one, from the folds of the other. Overthis, he mounted a long waistcoat of a broad pink-striped pattern,and over that again, a wide-skirted green coat, ornamented withlarge brass buttons, whereof the two which garnished the waist,were so far apart, that no man had ever beheld them both at thesame time. His hair, which was short, sleek, and black, was justvisible beneath the capacious brim of a low-crowned brown hat.
　　His legs were encased in knee-cord breeches, and painted top-boots; and a copper watch-chain, terminating in one seal, and akey of the same material, dangled loosely from his capaciouswaistband.
　　We have said that Mr. Weller was engaged in preparing for hisjourney to London―he was taking sustenance, in fact. On thetable before him, stood a pot of ale, a cold round of beef, and avery respectable-looking loaf, to each of which he distributed hisfavours in turn, with the most rigid impartiality. He had just cut amighty slice from the latter, when the footsteps of somebodyentering the room, caused him to raise his head; and he beheld hisson.
　　‘Mornin’, Sammy!’ said the father.
　　The son walked up to the pot of ale, and nodding significantlyto his parent, took a long draught by way of reply.
　　‘Wery good power o’ suction, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller theelder, looking into the pot, when his first-born had set it down halfempty. ‘You’d ha’ made an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy, ifyou’d been born in that station o’ life.’
　　‘Yes, I des-say, I should ha’ managed to pick up a respectablelivin’,’ replied Sam applying himself to the cold beef, withconsiderable vigour.
　　‘I’m wery sorry, Sammy,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, shaking upthe ale, by describing small circles with the pot, preparatory todrinking. ‘I’m wery sorry, Sammy, to hear from your lips, as youlet yourself be gammoned by that ’ere mulberry man. I alwaysthought, up to three days ago, that the names of Veller andgammon could never come into contract, Sammy, never.’
　　‘Always exceptin’ the case of a widder, of course,’ said Sam.
　　‘Widders, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, slightly changing colour.
　　‘Widders are ’ceptions to ev’ry rule. I have heerd how manyordinary women one widder’s equal to in pint o’ comin’ over you. Ithink it’s five-and-twenty, but I don’t rightly know vether it ain’tmore.’
　　‘Well; that’s pretty well,’ said Sam.
　　‘Besides,’ continued Mr. Weller, not noticing the interruption,‘that’s a wery different thing. You know what the counsel said,Sammy, as defended the gen’l’m’n as beat his wife with the poker,venever he got jolly. “And arter all, my Lord,” says he, “it’s aamiable weakness.” So I says respectin’ widders, Sammy, and soyou’ll say, ven you gets as old as me.’
　　‘I ought to ha’ know’d better, I know,’ said Sam.
　　‘Ought to ha’ know’d better!’ repeated Mr. Weller, striking thetable with his fist. ‘Ought to ha’ know’d better! why, I know ayoung ’un as hasn’t had half nor quarter your eddication―ashasn’t slept about the markets, no, not six months―who’d ha’
　　scorned to be let in, in such a vay; scorned it, Sammy.’ In theexcitement of feeling produced by this agonising reflection, Mr.
　　Weller rang the bell, and ordered an additional pint of ale.
　　‘Well, it’s no use talking about it now,’ said Sam. ‘It’s over, andcan’t be helped, and that’s one consolation, as they always says inTurkey, ven they cuts the wrong man’s head off. It’s my inningsnow, gov’nor, and as soon as I catches hold o’ this ’ere Trotter, I’llhave a good ’un .’
　　‘I hope you will, Sammy. I hope you will,’ returned Mr. Weller.
　　‘Here’s your health, Sammy, and may you speedily vipe off thedisgrace as you’ve inflicted on the family name.’ In honour of thistoast Mr. Weller imbibed at a draught, at least two-thirds of anewly-arrived pint, and handed it over to his son, to dispose of theremainder, which he instantaneously did.
　　‘And now, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, consulting a large double-faced silver watch that hung at the end of the copper chain. ‘Nowit’s time I was up at the office to get my vay-bill and see the coachloaded; for coaches, Sammy, is like guns―they requires to beloaded with wery great care, afore they go off.’
　　At this parental and professional joke, Mr. Weller, junior,smiled a filial smile. His revered parent continued in a solemntone―‘I’m a-goin’ to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there’s no tellingven I shall see you again. Your mother-in-law may ha’ been toomuch for me, or a thousand things may have happened by thetime you next hears any news o’ the celebrated Mr. Veller o’ theBell Savage. The family name depends wery much upon you,Samivel, and I hope you’ll do wot’s right by it. Upon all little pintso’ breedin’, I know I may trust you as vell as if it was my own self.
　　So I’ve only this here one little bit of adwice to give you. If everyou gets to up’ards o’ fifty, and feels disposed to go a-marryin’
　　anybody―no matter who―jist you shut yourself up in your ownroom, if you’ve got one, and pison yourself off hand. Hangin’swulgar, so don’t you have nothin’ to say to that. Pison yourself,Samivel, my boy, pison yourself, and you’ll be glad on itarterwards.’ With these affecting words, Mr. Weller lookedsteadfastly on his son, and turning slowly upon his heel,disappeared from his sight.
　　In the contemplative mood which these words had awakened,Mr. Samuel Weller walked forth from the Great White Horse whenhis father had left him; and bending his steps towards St.
　　Clement’s Church, endeavoured to dissipate his melancholy, bystrolling among its ancient precincts. He had loitered about, forsome time, when he found himself in a retired spot―a kind ofcourtyard of venerable appearance―which he discovered had noother outlet than the turning by which he had entered. He wasabout retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to thespot by a sudden appearance; and the mode and manner of thisappearance, we now proceed to relate.
　　Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick housesnow and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink uponsome healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or threwopen a bedroom window, when the green gate of a garden at thebottom of the yard opened, and a man having emerged therefrom,closed the green gate very carefully after him, and walked brisklytowards the very spot where Mr. Weller was standing.
　　Now, taking this, as an isolated fact, unaccompanied by anyattendant circumstances, there was nothing very extraordinary init; because in many parts of the world men do come out ofgardens, close green gates after them, and even walk briskly away,without attracting any particular share of public observation. It isclear, therefore, that there must have been something in the man,or in his manner, or both, to attract Mr. Weller’s particular notice.
　　Whether there was, or not, we must leave the reader to determine,when we have faithfully recorded the behaviour of the individualin question.
　　When the man had shut the green gate after him, he walked, aswe have said twice already, with a brisk pace up the courtyard; buthe no sooner caught sight of Mr. Weller than he faltered, andstopped, as if uncertain, for the moment, what course to adopt. Asthe green gate was closed behind him, and there was no otheroutlet but the one in front, however, he was not long in perceivingthat he must pass Mr. Samuel Weller to get away. He thereforeresumed his brisk pace, and advanced, staring straight before him.
　　The most extraordinary thing about the man was, that he wascontorting his face into the most fearful and astonishing grimacesthat ever were beheld. Nature’s handiwork never was disguisedwith such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man had overlaidhis countenance with in one moment.
　　‘Well!’ said Mr. Weller to himself, as the man approached. ‘Thisis wery odd. I could ha’ swore it was him.’
　　Up came the man, and his face became more frightfullydistorted than ever, as he drew nearer.
　　‘I could take my oath to that ’ere black hair and mulberry suit,’
　　said Mr. Weller; ‘only I never see such a face as that afore.’
　　As Mr. Weller said this, the man’s features assumed anunearthly twinge, perfectly hideous. He was obliged to pass verynear Sam, however, and the scrutinising glance of that gentlemanenabled him to detect, under all these appalling twists of feature,something too like the small eyes of Mr. Job Trotter to be easilymistaken.
　　‘Hollo, you sir!’ shouted Sam fiercely.
　　The stranger stopped.
　　‘Hollo!’ repeated Sam, still more gruffly.
　　The man with the horrible face looked, with the greatestsurprise, up the court, and down the court, and in at the windowsof the houses―everywhere but at Sam Weller―and took anotherstep forward, when he was brought to again by another shout.
　　‘Hollo, you sir!’ said Sam, for the third time.
　　There was no pretending to mistake where the voice came fromnow, so the stranger, having no other resource, at last looked SamWeller full in the face.
　　‘It won’t do, Job Trotter,’ said Sam. ‘Come! None o’ that ’erenonsense. You ain’t so wery ’andsome that you can afford to throwavay many o’ your good looks. Bring them ’ere eyes o’ yourn backinto their proper places, or I’ll knock ’em out of your head. D’yehear?’
　　As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit ofthis address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume itsnatural expression; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed, ‘Whatdo I see? Mr. Walker!’
　　‘Ah,’ replied Sam. ‘You’re wery glad to see me, ain’t you?’
　　‘Glad!’ exclaimed Job Trotter; ‘oh, Mr. Walker, if you had butknown how I have looked forward to this meeting! It is too much,Mr. Walker; I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot.’ And with thesewords, Mr. Trotter burst into a regular inundation of tears, and,flinging his arms around those of Mr. Weller, embraced himclosely, in an ecstasy of joy.
　　‘Get off!’ cried Sam, indignant at this process, and vainlyendeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of hisenthusiastic acquaintance. ‘Get off, I tell you. What are you cryingover me for, you portable engine?’
　　‘Because I am so glad to see you,’ replied Job Trotter, graduallyreleasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacitydisappeared. ‘Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much.’
　　‘Too much!’ echoed Sam, ‘I think it is too much―rayther! Now,what have you got to say to me, eh?’
　　Mr. Trotter made no reply; for the little pink pocket-handkerchief was in full force.
　　‘What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head off?’
　　repeated Mr. Weller, in a threatening manner.
　　‘Eh!’ said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise.
　　‘What have you got to say to me?’
　　‘I, Mr. Walker!’
　　‘Don’t call me Valker; my name’s Veller; you know that vellenough. What have you got to say to me?’
　　‘Bless you, Mr. Walker―Weller, I mean―a great many things, ifyou will come away somewhere, where we can talk comfortably. Ifyou knew how I have looked for you, Mr. Weller―’
　　‘Wery hard, indeed, I s’pose?’ said Sam drily.
　　‘Very, very, sir,’ replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a muscle ofhis face. ‘But shake hands, Mr. Weller.’
　　Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as ifactuated by a sudden impulse, complied with his request. ‘How,’
　　said Job Trotter, as they walked away, ‘how is your dear, goodmaster? Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. Weller! I hope hedidn’t catch cold, that dreadful night, sir.’
　　There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter’seye, as he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller’sclenched fist, as he burned with a desire to make a demonstrationon his ribs. Sam constrained himself, however, and replied that hismaster was extremely well.
　　‘Oh, I am so glad,’ replied Mr. Trotter; ‘is he here?’
　　‘Is yourn?’ asked Sam, by way of reply.
　　‘Oh, yes, he is here, and I grieve to say, Mr. Weller, he is goingon worse than ever.’
　　‘Ah, ah!’ said Sam.
　　‘Oh, shocking―terrible!’
　　‘At a boarding-school?’ said Sam.
　　‘No, not at a boarding-school,’ replied Job Trotter, with thesame sly look which Sam had noticed before; ‘not at a boarding-school.’
　　‘At the house with the green gate?’ said Sam, eyeing hiscompanion closely.
　　‘No, no―oh, not there,’ replied Job, with a quickness veryunusual to him, ‘not there.’
　　‘What was you a-doin’ there?’ asked Sam, with a sharp glance.
　　‘Got inside the gate by accident, perhaps?’
　　‘Why, Mr. Weller,’ replied Job, ‘I don’t mind telling you my littlesecrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each otherwhen we first met. You recollect how pleasant we were thatmorning?’
　　‘Oh, yes,’ said Sam, impatiently. ‘I remember. Well?’
　　‘Well,’ replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in the lowtone of a man who communicates an important secret; ‘in thathouse with the green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good manyservants.’
　　‘So I should think, from the look on it,’ interposed Sam.
　　‘Yes,’ continued Mr. Trotter, ‘and one of them is a cook, whohas saved up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she canestablish herself in life, to open a little shop in the chandlery way,you see.’
　　‘Yes.’
　　‘Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, sir, I met her at a chapel that I go to; avery neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing thenumber four collection of hymns, which I generally carry aboutwith me, in a little book, which you may perhaps have seen in myhand―and I got a little intimate with her, Mr. Weller, and fromthat, an acquaintance sprung up between us, and I may venture tosay, Mr. Weller, that I am to be the chandler.’
　　‘Ah, and a wery amiable chandler you’ll make,’ replied Sam,eyeing Job with a side look of intense dislike.
　　‘The great advantage of this, Mr. Weller,’ continued Job, hiseyes filling with tears as he spoke, ‘will be, that I shall be able toleave my present disgraceful service with that bad man, and todevote myself to a better and more virtuous life; more like the wayin which I was brought up, Mr. Weller.’
　　‘You must ha’ been wery nicely brought up,’ said Sam.
　　‘Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very,’ replied Job. At the recollection ofthe purity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the pinkhandkerchief, and wept copiously.
　　‘You must ha’ been an uncommon nice boy, to go to schoolvith,’ said Sam.
　　‘I was, sir,’ replied Job, heaving a deep sigh; ‘I was the idol ofthe place.’
　　‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘I don’t wonder at it. What a comfort you mustha’ been to your blessed mother.’
　　At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pinkhandkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, andbegan to weep copiously.
　　‘Wot’s the matter with the man,’ said Sam, indignantly. ‘Chelseawater-works is nothin’ to you. What are you melting vith now? Theconsciousness o’ willainy?’
　　‘I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller,’ said Job, after ashort pause. ‘To think that my master should have suspected theconversation I had with yours, and so dragged me away in a post-chaise, and after persuading the sweet young lady to say she knewnothing of him, and bribing the school-mistress to do the same,deserted her for a better speculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it makes meshudder.’
　　‘Oh, that was the vay, was it?’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘To be sure it was,’ replied Job.
　　‘Vell,’ said Sam, as they had now arrived near the hotel, ‘I vantto have a little bit o’ talk with you, Job; so if you’re not particklerengaged, I should like to see you at the Great White Horse to-night, somewheres about eight o’clock.’
　　‘I shall be sure to come,’ said Job.
　　‘Yes, you’d better,’ replied Sam, with a very meaning look, ‘orelse I shall perhaps be askin’ arter you, at the other side of thegreen gate, and then I might cut you out, you know.’
　　‘I shall be sure to be with you, sir,’ said Mr. Trotter; andwringing Sam’s hand with the utmost fervour, he walked away.
　　‘Take care, Job Trotter, take care,’ said Sam, looking after him,‘or I shall be one too many for you this time. I shall, indeed.’
　　Having uttered this soliloquy, and looked after Job till he was to beseen no more, Mr. Weller made the best of his way to his master’sbedroom.
　　‘It’s all in training, sir,’ said Sam.
　　‘What’s in training, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I’ve found ’em out, sir,’ said Sam.
　　‘Found out who?’
　　‘That ’ere queer customer, and the melan-cholly chap with theblack hair.’
　　‘Impossible, Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, with the greatest energy.
　　‘Where are they, Sam: where are they?’
　　‘Hush, hush!’ replied Mr. Weller; and as he assisted Mr.
　　Pickwick to dress, he detailed the plan of action on which heproposed to enter.
　　‘But when is this to be done, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘All in good time, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen hereafter.
Chapter 24 
WHEREIN Mr. PETER MAGNUS GROWSJEALOUS, AND THE MIDDLE-AGED LADYAPPREHENSIVE, WHICH BRINGS THEPICKWICKIANS WITHIN THEGRASP OF THE LAWhen Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which heand Mr. Peter Magnus had spent the precedingevening, he found that gentleman with the major partof the contents of the two bags, the leathern hat-box, and thebrown-paper parcel, displaying to all possible advantage on hisperson, while he himself was pacing up and down the room in astate of the utmost excitement and agitation.
　　‘Good-morning, sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘What do you thinkof this, sir?’
　　‘Very effective indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying thegarments of Mr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile.
　　‘Yes, I think it’ll do,’ said Mr. Magnus. ‘Mr. Pickwick, sir, I havesent up my card.’
　　‘Have you?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘And the waiter brought back word, that she would see me ateleven―at eleven, sir; it only wants a quarter now.’
　　‘Very near the time,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes, it is rather near,’ replied Mr. Magnus, ‘rather too near tobe pleasant―eh! Mr. Pickwick, sir?’
　　‘Confidence is a great thing in these cases,’ observed Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘I believe it is, sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘I am very confident,sir. Really, Mr. Pickwick, I do not see why a man should feel anyfear in such a case as this, sir. What is it, sir? There’s nothing to beashamed of; it’s a matter of mutual accommodation, nothing more.
　　Husband on one side, wife on the other. That’s my view of thematter, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘It is a very philosophical one,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Butbreakfast is waiting, Mr. Magnus. Come.’
　　Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstandingthe boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he laboured under a veryconsiderable degree of nervousness, of which loss of appetite, apropensity to upset the tea-things, a spectral attempt at drollery,and an irresistible inclination to look at the clock, every othersecond, were among the principal symptoms.
　　‘He-he-he,’ tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, andgasping with agitation. ‘It only wants two minutes, Mr. Pickwick.
　　Am I pale, sir?’
　　‘Not very,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　There was a brief pause.
　　‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done thissort of thing in your time?’ said Mr. Magnus.
　　‘You mean proposing?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Yes.’
　　‘Never,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy, ‘never.’
　　‘You have no idea, then, how it’s best to begin?’ said Mr.
　　Magnus.
　　‘Why,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I may have formed some ideas uponthe subject, but, as I have never submitted them to the test ofexperience, I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate yourproceedings by them.’
　　‘I should feel very much obliged to you, for any advice, sir,’ saidMr. Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of whichwas verging on the five minutes past.
　　‘Well, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity withwhich that great man could, when he pleased, render his remarksso deeply impressive. ‘I should commence, sir, with a tribute to thelady’s beauty and excellent qualities; from them, sir, I shoulddiverge to my own unworthiness.’
　　‘Very good,’ said Mr. Magnus.
　　‘Unworthiness for her only, mind, sir,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick;‘for to show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take abrief review of my past life, and present condition. I should argue,by analogy, that to anybody else, I must be a very desirable object.
　　I should then expatiate on the warmth of my love, and the depth ofmy devotion. Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand.’
　　‘Yes, I see,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘that would be a very great point.’
　　‘I should then, sir,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer asthe subject presented itself in more glowing colours before him―‘Ishould then, sir, come to the plain and simple question, “Will youhave me?” I think I am justified in assuming that upon this, shewould turn away her head.’
　　‘You think that may be taken for granted?’ said Mr. Magnus;‘because, if she did not do that at the right place, it would beembarrassing.’
　　‘I think she would,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Upon this, sir, I shouldsqueeze her hand, and I think―I think, Mr. Magnus―that after Ihad done that, supposing there was no refusal, I should gentlydraw away the handkerchief, which my slight knowledge ofhuman nature leads me to suppose the lady would be applying toher eyes at the moment, and steal a respectful kiss. I think I shouldkiss her, Mr. Magnus; and at this particular point, I am decidedlyof opinion that if the lady were going to take me at all, she wouldmurmur into my ears a bashful acceptance.’
　　Mr. Magnus started; gazed on Mr. Pickwick’s intelligent face,for a short time in silence; and then (the dial pointing to the tenminutes past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rusheddesperately from the room.
　　Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the smallhand of the clock following the latter part of his example, hadarrived at the figure which indicates the half-hour, when the doorsuddenly opened. He turned round to meet Mr. Peter Magnus, andencountered, in his stead, the joyous face of Mr. Tupman, theserene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and the intellectual lineamentsof Mr. Snodgrass. As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. PeterMagnus tripped into the room.
　　‘My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of―Mr. Magnus,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Your servant, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a highstate of excitement; ‘Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you onemoment, sir.’
　　As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr.
　　Pickwick’s buttonhole, and, drawing him to a window recess,said―‘Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick; I followed your advice to thevery letter.’
　　‘And it was all correct, was it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It was, sir. Could not possibly have been better,’ replied Mr.
　　Magnus. ‘Mr. Pickwick, she is mine.’
　　‘I congratulate you, with all my heart,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,warmly shaking his new friend by the hand.
　　‘You must see her. sir,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘this way, if youplease. Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen.’ Hurrying on in thisway, Mr. Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. Hepaused at the next door in the passage, and tapped gently thereat.
　　‘Come in,’ said a female voice. And in they went.
　　‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘allow me to introduce myvery particular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to makeyou known to Miss Witherfield.’
　　The lady was at the upper end of the room. As Mr. Pickwickbowed, he took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, and putthem on; a process which he had no sooner gone through, than,uttering an exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreatedseveral paces, and the lady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid herface in her hands, and dropped into a chair; whereupon Mr. PeterMagnus was stricken motionless on the spot, and gazed from oneto the other, with a countenance expressive of the extremities ofhorror and surprise. This certainly was, to all appearance, veryunaccountable behaviour; but the fact is, that Mr. Pickwick nosooner put on his spectacles, than he at once recognised in thefuture Mrs. Magnus the lady into whose room he had sounwarrantably intruded on the previous night; and the spectacleshad no sooner crossed Mr. Pickwick’s nose, than the lady at onceidentified the countenance which she had seen surrounded by allthe horrors of a nightcap. So the lady screamed, and Mr. Pickwickstarted.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment,‘what is the meaning of this, sir? What is the meaning of it, sir?’
　　added Mr. Magnus, in a threatening, and a louder tone.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very suddenmanner in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself intothe imperative mood, ‘I decline answering that question.’
　　‘You decline it, sir?’ said Mr. Magnus.
　　‘I do, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘I object to say anything whichmay compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections inher breast, without her consent and permission.’
　　‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘do you know thisperson?’
　　‘Know him!’ repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating.
　　‘Yes, know him, ma’am; I said know him,’ replied Mr. Magnus,with ferocity.
　　‘I have seen him,’ replied the middle-aged lady.
　　‘Where?’ inquired Mr. Magnus, ‘where?’
　　‘That,’ said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, andaverting her head―‘that I would not reveal for worlds.’
　　‘I understand you, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and respect yourdelicacy; it shall never be revealed by me depend upon it.’
　　‘Upon my word, ma’am,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘considering thesituation in which I am placed with regard to yourself, you carrythis matter off with tolerable coolness―tolerable coolness, ma’am.’
　　‘Cruel Mr. Magnus!’ said the middle-aged lady; here she weptvery copiously indeed.
　　‘Address your observations to me, sir,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick;‘I alone am to blame, if anybody be.’
　　‘Oh! you alone are to blame, are you, sir?’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘I―I―see through this, sir. You repent of your determination now, doyou?’
　　‘My determination!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Your determination, sir. Oh! don’t stare at me, sir,’ said Mr.
　　Magnus; ‘I recollect your words last night, sir. You came downhere, sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual onwhose truth and honour you had placed implicit reliance―eh?’
　　Here Mr. Peter Magnus indulged in a prolonged sneer; and takingoff his green spectacles―which he probably found superfluous inhis fit of jealousy―rolled his little eyes about, in a manner frightfulto behold.
　　‘Eh?’ said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer withincreased effect. ‘But you shall answer it, sir.’
　　‘Answer what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Never mind, sir,’ replied Mr. Magnus, striding up and down theroom. ‘Never mind.’
　　There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase of‘Never mind,’ for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed aquarrel in the street, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, inwhich it has not been the standard reply to all belligerentinquiries. ‘Do you call yourself a gentleman, sir?’―‘Never mind,sir.’ ‘Did I offer to say anything to the young woman, sir?’―‘Nevermind, sir.’ ‘Do you want your head knocked up against that wall,sir?’―‘Never mind, sir.’ It is observable, too, that there wouldappear to be some hidden taunt in this universal ‘Never mind,’
　　which rouses more indignation in the bosom of the individualaddressed, than the most lavish abuse could possibly awaken.
　　We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity tohimself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick’s soul,which it would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast. We merelyrecord the fact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room door, andabruptly called out, ‘Tupman, come here!’
　　Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of veryconsiderable surprise.
　　‘Tupman,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘a secret of some delicacy, inwhich that lady is concerned, is the cause of a difference whichhas just arisen between this gentleman and myself. When I assurehim, in your presence, that it has no relation to himself, and is notin any way connected with his affairs, I need hardly beg you totake notice that if he continue to dispute it, he expresses a doubt ofmy veracity, which I shall consider extremely insulting.’ As Mr.
　　Pickwick said this, he looked encyclopedias at Mr. Peter Magnus.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s upright and honourable bearing, coupled withthat force and energy of speech which so eminently distinguishedhim, would have carried conviction to any reasonable mind; but,unfortunately, at that particular moment, the mind of Mr. PeterMagnus was in anything but reasonable order. Consequently,instead of receiving Mr. Pickwick’s explanation as he ought tohave done, he forthwith proceeded to work himself into a red-hot,scorching, consuming passion, and to talk about what was due tohis own feelings, and all that sort of thing; adding force to hisdeclamation by striding to and fro, and pulling his hair―amusements which he would vary occasionally, by shaking his fistin Mr. Pickwick’s philanthropic countenance.
　　Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, conscious of his own innocence andrectitude, and irritated by having unfortunately involved themiddle-aged lady in such an unpleasant affair, was not so quietlydisposed as was his wont. The consequence was, that words ranhigh, and voices higher; and at length Mr. Magnus told Mr.
　　Pickwick he should hear from him; to which Mr. Pickwick replied,with laudable politeness, that the sooner he heard from him thebetter; whereupon the middle-aged lady rushed in terror from theroom, out of which Mr. Tupman dragged Mr. Pickwick, leavingMr. Peter Magnus to himself and meditation.
　　If the middle-aged lady had mingled much with the busy world,or had profited at all by the manners and customs of those whomake the laws and set the fashions, she would have known thatthis sort of ferocity is the most harmless thing in nature; but as shehad lived for the most part in the country, and never read theparliamentary debates, she was little versed in these particularrefinements of civilised life. Accordingly, when she had gained herbedchamber, bolted herself in, and began to meditate on the sceneshe had just witnessed, the most terrific pictures of slaughter anddestruction presented themselves to her imagination; amongwhich, a full-length portrait of Mr. Peter Magnus borne home byfour men, with the embellishment of a whole barrelful of bullets inhis left side, was among the very least. The more the middle-agedlady meditated, the more terrified she became; and at length shedetermined to repair to the house of the principal magistrate ofthe town, and request him to secure the persons of Mr. Pickwickand Mr. Tupman without delay.
　　To this decision the middle-aged lady was impelled by a varietyof considerations, the chief of which was the incontestable proof itwould afford of her devotion to Mr. Peter Magnus, and her anxietyfor his safety. She was too well acquainted with his jealoustemperament to venture the slightest allusion to the real cause ofher agitation on beholding Mr. Pickwick; and she trusted to herown influence and power of persuasion with the little man, to quellhis boisterous jealousy, supposing that Mr. Pickwick wereremoved, and no fresh quarrel could arise. Filled with thesereflections, the middle-aged lady arrayed herself in her bonnetand shawl, and repaired to the mayor’s dwelling straightway.
　　Now George Nupkins, Esquire, the principal magistrateaforesaid, was as grand a personage as the fastest walker wouldfind out, between sunrise and sunset, on the twenty-first of June,which being, according to the almanacs, the longest day in thewhole year, would naturally afford him the longest period for hissearch. On this particular morning, Mr. Nupkins was in a state ofthe utmost excitement and irritation, for there had been arebellion in the town; all the day-scholars at the largest day-schoolhad conspired to break the windows of an obnoxious apple-seller,and had hooted the beadle and pelted the constabulary―anelderly gentleman in top-boots, who had been called out to repressthe tumult, and who had been a peace-officer, man and boy, forhalf a century at least. And Mr. Nupkins was sitting in his easy-chair, frowning with majesty, and boiling with rage, when a ladywas announced on pressing, private, and particular business. Mr.
　　Nupkins looked calmly terrible, and commanded that the ladyshould be shown in; which command, like all the mandates ofemperors, and magistrates, and other great potentates of theearth, was forthwith obeyed; and Miss Witherfield, interestinglyagitated, was ushered in accordingly.
　　‘Muzzle!’ said the magistrate.
　　Muzzle was an undersized footman, with a long body and shortlegs.
　　‘Muzzle!’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　‘Place a chair, and leave the room.’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　‘Now, ma’am, will you state your business?’ said the magistrate.
　　‘It is of a very painful kind, sir,’ said Miss Witherfield.
　　‘Very likely, ma’am,’ said the magistrate. ‘Compose yourfeelings, ma’am.’ Here Mr. Nupkins looked benignant. ‘And thentell me what legal business brings you here, ma’am.’ Here themagistrate triumphed over the man; and he looked stern again.
　　‘It is very distressing to me, sir, to give this information,’ saidMiss Witherfield, ‘but I fear a duel is going to be fought here.’
　　‘Here, ma’am?’ said the magistrate. ‘Where, ma’am?’
　　‘In Ipswich.’
　　‘In Ipswich, ma’am! A duel in Ipswich!’ said the magistrate,perfectly aghast at the notion. ‘Impossible, ma’am; nothing of thekind can be contemplated in this town, I am persuaded. Bless mysoul, ma’am, are you aware of the activity of our local magistracy?
　　Do you happen to have heard, ma’am, that I rushed into a prize-ring on the fourth of May last, attended by only sixty specialconstables; and, at the hazard of falling a sacrifice to the angrypassions of an infuriated multitude, prohibited a pugilistic contestbetween the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk Bantam? A duelin Ipswich, ma’am? I don’t think―I do not think,’ said themagistrate, reasoning with himself, ‘that any two men can havehad the hardihood to plan such a breach of the peace, in thistown.’
　　‘My information is, unfortunately, but too correct,’ said themiddle-aged lady; ‘I was present at the quarrel.’
　　‘It’s a most extraordinary thing,’ said the astounded magistrate.
　　‘Muzzle!’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　‘Send Mr. Jinks here, directly! Instantly.’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　Muzzle retired; and a pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily-cladclerk, of middle age, entered the room.
　　‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate. ‘Mr. Jinks.’
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Jinks. ‘This lady, Mr. Jinks, has come here, togive information of an intended duel in this town.’
　　Mr. Jinks, not knowing exactly what to do, smiled adependent’s smile.
　　‘What are you laughing at, Mr. Jinks?’ said the magistrate.
　　Mr. Jinks looked serious instantly.
　　‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, ‘you’re a fool.’
　　Mr. Jinks looked humbly at the great man, and bit the top of hispen.
　　‘You may see something very comical in this information, sir―but I can tell you this, Mr. Jinks, that you have very little to laughat,’ said the magistrate.
　　The hungry-looking Jinks sighed, as if he were quite aware ofthe fact of his having very little indeed to be merry about; and,being ordered to take the lady’s information, shambled to a seat,and proceeded to write it down.
　　‘This man, Pickwick, is the principal, I understand?’ said themagistrate, when the statement was finished.
　　‘He is,’ said the middle-aged lady.
　　‘And the other rioter―what’s his name, Mr. Jinks?’
　　‘Tupman, sir.’
　　‘Tupman is the second?’
　　‘Yes.’
　　‘The other principal, you say, has absconded, ma’am?’
　　‘Yes,’ replied Miss Witherfield, with a short cough.
　　‘Very well,’ said the magistrate. ‘These are two cut-throats fromLondon, who have come down here to destroy his Majesty’spopulation, thinking that at this distance from the capital, the armof the law is weak and paralysed. They shall be made an exampleof. Draw up the warrants, Mr. Jinks. Muzzle!’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　‘Is Grummer downstairs?’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　‘Send him up.’ The obsequious Muzzle retired, and presentlyreturned, introducing the elderly gentleman in the top-boots, whowas chiefly remarkable for a bottle-nose, a hoarse voice, a snuff-coloured surtout, and a wandering eye.
　　‘Grummer,’ said the magistrate.
　　‘Your wash-up.’
　　‘Is the town quiet now?’
　　‘Pretty well, your wash-up,’ replied Grummer. ‘Pop’lar feelinghas in a measure subsided, consekens o’ the boys having dispersedto cricket.’
　　‘Nothing but vigorous measures will do in these times,Grummer,’ said the magistrate, in a determined manner. ‘If theauthority of the king’s officers is set at naught, we must have theriot act read. If the civil power cannot protect these windows,Grummer, the military must protect the civil power, and thewindows too. I believe that is a maxim of the constitution, Mr.
　　Jinks?’
　　‘Certainly, sir,’ said Jinks.
　　‘Very good,’ said the magistrate, signing the warrants.
　　‘Grummer, you will bring these persons before me, this afternoon.
　　You will find them at the Great White Horse. You recollect thecase of the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk Bantam,Grummer?’
　　Mr. Grummer intimated, by a retrospective shake of the head,that he should never forget it―as indeed it was not likely hewould, so long as it continued to be cited daily.
　　‘This is even more unconstitutional,’ said the magistrate; ‘this iseven a greater breach of the peace, and a grosser infringement ofhis Majesty’s prerogative. I believe duelling is one of his Majesty’smost undoubted prerogatives, Mr. Jinks?’
　　‘Expressly stipulated in Magna Charta, sir,’ said Mr. Jinks.
　　‘One of the brightest jewels in the British crown, wrung fromhis Majesty by the barons, I believe, Mr. Jinks?’ said themagistrate.
　　‘Just so, sir,’ replied Mr. Jinks.
　　‘Very well,’ said the magistrate, drawing himself up proudly, ‘itshall not be violated in this portion of his dominions. Grummer,procure assistance, and execute these warrants with as little delayas possible. Muzzle!’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　‘Show the lady out.’
　　Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with themagistrate’s learning and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to lunch;Mr. Jinks retired within himself―that being the only retirementhe had, except the sofa-bedstead in the small parlour which wasoccupied by his landlady’s family in the daytime―and Mr.
　　Grummer retired, to wipe out, by his mode of discharging hispresent commission, the insult which had been fastened uponhimself, and the other representative of his Majesty―the beadle―in the course of the morning.
　　While these resolute and determined preparations for theconservation of the king’s peace were pending, Mr. Pickwick andhis friends, wholly unconscious of the mighty events in progress,had sat quietly down to dinner; and very talkative andcompanionable they all were. Mr. Pickwick was in the very act ofrelating his adventure of the preceding night, to the greatamusement of his followers, Mr. Tupman especially, when thedoor opened, and a somewhat forbidding countenance peeped intothe room. The eyes in the forbidding countenance looked veryearnestly at Mr. Pickwick, for several seconds, and were to allappearance satisfied with their investigation; for the body to whichthe forbidding countenance belonged, slowly brought itself intothe apartment, and presented the form of an elderly individual intop-boots―not to keep the reader any longer in suspense, in short,the eyes were the wandering eyes of Mr. Grummer, and the bodywas the body of the same gentleman.
　　Mr. Grummer’s mode of proceeding was professional, butpeculiar. His first act was to bolt the door on the inside; hissecond, to polish his head and countenance very carefully with acotton handkerchief; his third, to place his hat, with the cottonhandkerchief in it, on the nearest chair; and his fourth, to producefrom the breast-pocket of his coat a short truncheon, surmountedby a brazen crown, with which he beckoned to Mr. Pickwick witha grave and ghost-like air.
　　Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. Helooked steadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then saidemphatically, ‘This is a private room, sir. A private room.’
　　Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, ‘No room’s privateto his Majesty when the street door’s once passed. That’s law.
　　Some people maintains that an Englishman’s house is his castle.
　　That’s gammon.’
　　The Pickwickians gazed on each other with wondering eyes.
　　‘Which is Mr. Tupman?’ inquired Mr. Grummer. He had anintuitive perception of Mr. Pickwick; he knew him at once.
　　‘My name’s Tupman,’ said that gentleman.
　　‘My name’s Law,’ said Mr. Grummer.
　　‘What?’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Law,’ replied Mr. Grummer―‘Law, civil power, and exekative;them’s my titles; here’s my authority. Blank Tupman, blankPickwick―against the peace of our sufferin’ lord the king―stattitin the case made and purwided―and all regular. I apprehend youPickwick! Tupman―the aforesaid.’
　　‘What do you mean by this insolence?’ said Mr. Tupman,starting up; ‘leave the room!’
　　‘Hollo,’ said Mr. Grummer, retreating very expeditiously to thedoor, and opening it an inch or two, ‘Dubbley.’
　　‘Well,’ said a deep voice from the passage.
　　‘Come for’ard, Dubbley.’
　　At the word of command, a dirty-faced man, something over sixfeet high, and stout in proportion, squeezed himself through thehalf-open door (making his face very red in the process), andentered the room.
　　‘Is the other specials outside, Dubbley?’ inquired Mr.
　　Grummer.
　　Mr. Dubbley, who was a man of few words, nodded assent.
　　‘Order in the diwision under your charge, Dubbley,’ said Mr.
　　Grummer.
　　Mr. Dubbley did as he was desired; and half a dozen men, eachwith a short truncheon and a brass crown, flocked into the room.
　　Mr. Grummer pocketed his staff, and looked at Mr. Dubbley; Mr.
　　Dubbley pocketed his staff and looked at the division; the divisionpocketed their staves and looked at Messrs. Tupman andPickwick.
　　Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man.
　　‘What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon myprivacy?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Who dares apprehend me?’ said Mr. Tupman.
　　‘What do you want here, scoundrels?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
　　Mr. Winkle said nothing, but he fixed his eyes on Grummer,and bestowed a look upon him, which, if he had had any feeling,must have pierced his brain. As it was, however, it had no visibleeffect on him whatever.
　　When the executive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and his friendswere disposed to resist the authority of the law, they verysignificantly turned up their coat sleeves, as if knocking themdown in the first instance, and taking them up afterwards, were amere professional act which had only to be thought of to be done,as a matter of course. This demonstration was not lost upon Mr.
　　Pickwick. He conferred a few moments with Mr. Tupman apart,and then signified his readiness to proceed to the mayor’sresidence, merely begging the parties then and there assembled,to take notice, that it was his firm intention to resent thismonstrous invasion of his privileges as an Englishman, the instanthe was at liberty; whereat the parties then and there assembledlaughed very heartily, with the single exception of Mr. Grummer,who seemed to consider that any slight cast upon the divine rightof magistrates was a species of blasphemy not to be tolerated.
　　But when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow tothe laws of his country, and just when the waiters, and hostlers,and chambermaids, and post-boys, who had anticipated adelightful commotion from his threatened obstinacy, began to turnaway, disappointed and disgusted, a difficulty arose which had notbeen foreseen. With every sentiment of veneration for theconstituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely protested againstmaking his appearance in the public streets, surrounded andguarded by the officers of justice, like a common criminal. Mr.
　　Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling (for it washalf-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as resolutelyprotested against walking on the opposite side of the way, andtaking Mr. Pickwick’s parole that he would go straight to themagistrate’s; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman asstrenuously objected to the expense of a post-coach, which was theonly respectable conveyance that could be obtained. The disputeran high, and the dilemma lasted long; and just as the executivewere on the point of overcoming Mr. Pickwick’s objection towalking to the magistrate’s, by the trite expedient of carrying himthither, it was recollected that there stood in the inn yard, an oldsedan-chair, which, having been originally built for a goutygentleman with funded property, would hold Mr. Pickwick andMr. Tupman, at least as conveniently as a modern post-chaise. Thechair was hired, and brought into the hall; Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
　　Tupman squeezed themselves inside, and pulled down the blinds;a couple of chairmen were speedily found; and the processionstarted in grand order. The specials surrounded the body of thevehicle; Mr. Grummer and Mr. Dubbley marched triumphantly infront; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle walked arm-in-arm behind;and the unsoaped of Ipswich brought up the rear.
　　The shopkeepers of the town, although they had a veryindistinct notion of the nature of the offence, could not but bemuch edified and gratified by this spectacle. Here was the strongarm of the law, coming down with twenty gold-beater force, upontwo offenders from the metropolis itself; the mighty engine wasdirected by their own magistrate, and worked by their ownofficers; and both the criminals, by their united efforts, weresecurely shut up, in the narrow compass of one sedan-chair. Manywere the expressions of approval and admiration which greetedMr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcade, staff in hand; loud andlong were the shouts raised by the unsoaped; and amidst theseunited testimonials of public approbation, the procession movedslowly and majestically along.
　　Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket, with the black calicosleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from anunsuccessful survey of the mysterious house with the green gate,when, raising his eyes, he beheld a crowd pouring down the street,surrounding an object which had very much the appearance of asedan-chair. Willing to divert his thoughts from the failure of hisenterprise, he stepped aside to see the crowd pass; and findingthat they were cheering away, very much to their own satisfaction,forthwith began (by way of raising his spirits) to cheer too, with allhis might and main.
　　Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedanpassed, and the bodyguard of specials passed, and Sam was stillresponding to the enthusiastic cheers of the mob, and waving hishat about as if he were in the very last extreme of the wildest joy(though, of course, he had not the faintest idea of the matter inhand), when he was suddenly stopped by the unexpectedappearance of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘What’s the row, gen’l’m’n?’ cried Sam. ‘Who have they got inthis here watch-box in mournin’?’
　　Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost inthe tumult.
　　‘Who is it?’ cried Sam again.
　　once more was a joint reply returned; and, though the wordswere inaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips thatthey had uttered the magic word ‘Pickwick.’
　　This was enough. In another minute Mr. Weller had made hisway through the crowd, stopped the chairmen, and confronted theportly Grummer.
　　‘Hollo, old gen’l’m’n!’ said Sam. ‘Who have you got in this hereconweyance?’
　　‘Stand back,’ said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the dignityof a great many other men, had been wondrously augmented by alittle popularity.
　　‘Knock him down, if he don’t,’ said Mr. Dubbley.
　　‘I’m wery much obliged to you, old gen’l’m’n,’ replied Sam, ‘forconsulting my conwenience, and I’m still more obliged to the othergen’l’m’n, who looks as if he’d just escaped from a giant’scarrywan, for his wery ’andsome suggestion; but I should preferyour givin’ me a answer to my question, if it’s all the same toyou.―How are you, sir?’ This last observation was addressed witha patronising air to Mr. Pickwick, who was peeping through thefront window.
　　Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, draggedthe truncheon with the brass crown from its particular pocket, andflourished it before Sam’s eyes.
　　‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘it’s wery pretty, ’specially the crown, which isuncommon like the real one.’
　　‘Stand back!’ said the outraged Mr. Grummer. By way ofadding force to the command, he thrust the brass emblem ofroyalty into Sam’s neckcloth with one hand, and seized Sam’scollar with the other―a compliment which Mr. Weller returned byknocking him down out of hand, having previously with theutmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for him to lieupon.
　　Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of thatspecies of insanity which originates in a sense of injury, oranimated by this display of Mr. Weller’s valour, is uncertain; butcertain it is, that he no sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall than he madea terrific onslaught on a small boy who stood next him; whereuponMr. Snodgrass, in a truly Christian spirit, and in order that hemight take no one unawares, announced in a very loud tone thathe was going to begin, and proceeded to take off his coat with theutmost deliberation. He was immediately surrounded andsecured; and it is but common justice both to him and Mr. Winkleto say, that they did not make the slightest attempt to rescueeither themselves or Mr. Weller; who, after a most vigorousresistance, was overpowered by numbers and taken prisoner. Theprocession then reformed; the chairmen resumed their stations;and the march was re-commenced.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s indignation during the whole of this proceedingwas beyond all bounds. He could just see Sam upsetting thespecials, and flying about in every direction; and that was all hecould see, for the sedan doors wouldn’t open, and the blindswouldn’t pull up. At length, with the assistance of Mr. Tupman, hemanaged to push open the roof; and mounting on the seat, andsteadying himself as well as he could, by placing his hand on thatgentleman’s shoulder, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to address themultitude; to dwell upon the unjustifiable manner in which he hadbeen treated; and to call upon them to take notice that his servanthad been first assaulted. In this order they reached themagistrate’s house; the chairmen trotting, the prisoners following,Mr. Pickwick oratorising, and the crowd shouting.
Chapter 25 
SHOWING, AMONG A VARIETY OF PLEASANTMATTERS, HOW MAJESTIC AND IMPARTIALMr. NUPKINS WAS; AND HOW Mr. WELLERRETURNED Mr. JOB TROTTER’SSHUTTLECOCK AS HEAVILY AS IT CAME―WITH ANOTHER MATTER, WHICH WILL BEFOUND IN ITS PLACEiolent was Mr. Weller’s indignation as he was borne along;numerous were the allusions to the personal appearanceand demeanour of Mr. Grummer and his companion; andvalorous were the defiances to any six of the gentlemen present, inwhich he vented his dissatisfaction. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winklelistened with gloomy respect to the torrent of eloquence whichtheir leader poured forth from the sedan-chair, and the rapidcourse of which not all Mr. Tupman’s earnest entreaties to havethe lid of the vehicle closed, were able to check for an instant. ButMr. Weller’s anger quickly gave way to curiosity when theprocession turned down the identical courtyard in which he hadmet with the runaway Job Trotter; and curiosity was exchangedfor a feeling of the most gleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer, commanding the sedan-bearers to halt,advanced with dignified and portentous steps to the very greengate from which Job Trotter had emerged, and gave a mighty pullat the bell-handle which hung at the side thereof. The ring wasanswered by a very smart and pretty-faced servant-girl, who, afterholding up her hands in astonishment at the rebelliousappearance of the prisoners, and the impassioned language of Mr.
　　Pickwick, summoned Mr. Muzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one half ofthe carriage gate, to admit the sedan, the captured ones, and thespecials; and immediately slammed it in the faces of the mob, who,indignant at being excluded, and anxious to see what followed,relieved their feelings by kicking at the gate and ringing the bell,for an hour or two afterwards. In this amusement they all tookpart by turns, except three or four fortunate individuals, who,having discovered a grating in the gate, which commanded a viewof nothing, stared through it with the indefatigable perseverancewith which people will flatten their noses against the frontwindows of a chemist’s shop, when a drunken man, who has beenrun over by a dog-cart in the street, is undergoing a surgicalinspection in the back-parlour.
　　At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, whichwas guarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub,the sedan-chair stopped. Mr. Pickwick and his friends wereconducted into the hall, whence, having been previouslyannounced by Muzzle, and ordered in by Mr. Nupkins, they wereushered into the worshipful presence of that public-spiritedofficer.
　　The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to striketerror to the hearts of culprits, and to impress them with anadequate idea of the stern majesty of the law. In front of a bigbook-case, in a big chair, behind a big table, and before a bigvolume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a full size larger than any one ofthem, big as they were. The table was adorned with piles ofpapers; and above the farther end of it, appeared the head andshoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily engaged in looking as busyas possible. The party having all entered, Muzzle carefully closedthe door, and placed himself behind his master’s chair to await hisorders. Mr. Nupkins threw himself back with thrilling solemnity,and scrutinised the faces of his unwilling visitors.
　　‘Now, Grummer, who is that person?’ said Mr. Nupkins,pointing to Mr. Pickwick, who, as the spokesman of his friends,stood hat in hand, bowing with the utmost politeness and respect.
　　‘This here’s Pickvick, your wash-up,’ said Grummer.
　　‘Come, none o’ that ’ere, old Strike-a-light,’ interposed Mr.
　　Weller, elbowing himself into the front rank. ‘Beg your pardon, sir,but this here officer o’ yourn in the gambooge tops, ’ull never earna decent livin’ as a master o’ the ceremonies any vere. This here,sir’ continued Mr. Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, andaddressing the magistrate with pleasant familiarity, ‘this here is S.
　　Pickvick, Esquire; this here’s Mr. Tupman; that ’ere’s Mr.
　　Snodgrass; and farder on, next him on the t’other side, Mr.
　　Winkle―all wery nice gen’l’m’n, sir, as you’ll be wery happy tohave the acquaintance on; so the sooner you commits these hereofficers o’ yourn to the tread―mill for a month or two, the soonerwe shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding. Business first,pleasure arterwards, as King Richard the Third said when hestabbed the t’other king in the Tower, afore he smothered thebabbies.’
　　At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hatwith his right elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had heardhim throughout with unspeakable awe.
　　‘Who is this man, Grummer?’ said the magistrate,.
　　‘Wery desp’rate ch’racter, your wash-up,’ replied Grummer. ‘Heattempted to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the officers; sowe took him into custody, and brought him here.’
　　‘You did quite right,’ replied the magistrate. ‘He is evidently adesperate ruffian.’
　　‘He is my servant, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick angrily.
　　‘Oh! he is your servant, is he?’ said Mr. Nupkins. ‘A conspiracyto defeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers. Pickwick’sservant. Put that down, Mr. Jinks.’
　　Mr. Jinks did so.
　　‘What’s your name, fellow?’ thundered Mr. Nupkins.
　　‘Veller,’ replied Sam.
　　‘A very good name for the Newgate Calendar,’ said Mr.
　　Nupkins.
　　This was a joke; so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the specials,and Muzzle, went into fits of laughter of five minutes’ duration.
　　‘Put down his name, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate.
　　‘Two L’s, old feller,’ said Sam.
　　Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon themagistrate threatened to commit him instantly. It is a dangerousthing to laugh at the wrong man, in these cases.
　　‘Where do you live?’ said the magistrate.
　　‘Vere ever I can,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Put down that, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, who was fastrising into a rage.
　　‘Score it under,’ said Sam.
　　‘He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate. ‘He is avagabond on his own statement,―is he not, Mr. Jinks?’
　　‘Certainly, sir.’
　　‘Then I’ll commit him―I’ll commit him as such,’ said Mr.
　　Nupkins.
　　‘This is a wery impartial country for justice, ‘said Sam.’Thereain’t a magistrate goin’ as don’t commit himself twice as hecommits other people.’
　　At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look sosupernaturally solemn, that the magistrate detected himimmediately.
　　‘Grummer,’ said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, ‘howdare you select such an inefficient and disreputable person for aspecial constable, as that man? How dare you do it, sir?’
　　‘I am very sorry, your wash-up,’ stammered Grummer.
　　‘Very sorry!’ said the furious magistrate. ‘You shall repent ofthis neglect of duty, Mr. Grummer; you shall be made an exampleof. Take that fellow’s staff away. He’s drunk. You’re drunk, fellow.’
　　‘I am not drunk, your Worship,’ said the man.
　　‘You are drunk,’ returned the magistrate. ‘How dare you sayyou are not drunk, sir, when I say you are? Doesn’t he smell ofspirits, Grummer?’
　　‘Horrid, your wash-up,’ replied Grummer, who had a vagueimpression that there was a smell of rum somewhere.
　　‘I knew he did,’ said Mr. Nupkins. ‘I saw he was drunk when hefirst came into the room, by his excited eye. Did you observe hisexcited eye, Mr. Jinks?’
　　‘Certainly, sir.’
　　‘I haven’t touched a drop of spirits this morning,’ said the man,who was as sober a fellow as need be.
　　‘How dare you tell me a falsehood?’ said Mr. Nupkins. ‘Isn’t hedrunk at this moment, Mr. Jinks?’
　　‘Certainly, sir,’ replied Jinks.
　　‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, ‘I shall commit that man forcontempt. Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks.’
　　And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, whowas the magistrate’s adviser (having had a legal education of threeyears in a country attorney’s office), whispered the magistrate thathe thought it wouldn’t do; so the magistrate made a speech, andsaid, that in consideration of the special’s family, he would merelyreprimand and discharge him. Accordingly, the special wasabused, vehemently, for a quarter of an hour, and sent about hisbusiness; and Grummer, Dubbley, Muzzle, and all the otherspecials, murmured their admiration of the magnanimity of Mr.
　　Nupkins.
　　‘Now, Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, ‘swear Grummer.’
　　Grummer was sworn directly; but as Grummer wandered, andMr. Nupkins’s dinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut thematter short, by putting leading questions to Grummer, whichGrummer answered as nearly in the affirmative as he could. Sothe examination went off, all very smooth and comfortable, andtwo assaults were proved against Mr. Weller, and a threat againstMr. Winkle, and a push against Mr. Snodgrass. When all this wasdone to the magistrate’s satisfaction, the magistrate and Mr. Jinksconsulted in whispers.
　　The consultation having lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinksretired to his end of the table; and the magistrate, with apreparatory cough, drew himself up in his chair, and wasproceeding to commence his address, when Mr. Pickwickinterposed.
　　‘I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you,’ said Mr. Pickwick;‘but before you proceed to express, and act upon, any opinion youmay have formed on the statements which have been made here, Imust claim my right to be heard so far as I am personallyconcerned.’
　　‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ said the magistrate peremptorily.
　　‘I must submit to you, sir―’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ interposed the magistrate, ‘or I shallorder an officer to remove you.’
　　‘You may order your officers to do whatever you please, sir,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick; ‘and I have no doubt, from the specimen I havehad of the subordination preserved amongst them, that whateveryou order, they will execute, sir; but I shall take the liberty, sir, ofclaiming my right to be heard, until I am removed by force.’
　　‘Pickvick and principle!’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, in a veryaudible voice.
　　‘Sam, be quiet,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　Mr. Nupkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intenseastonishment, at his displaying such unwonted temerity; and wasapparently about to return a very angry reply, when Mr. Jinkspulled him by the sleeve, and whispered something in his ear. Tothis, the magistrate returned a half-audible answer, and then thewhispering was renewed. Jinks was evidently remonstrating. Atlength the magistrate, gulping down, with a very bad grace, hisdisinclination to hear anything more, turned to Mr. Pickwick, andsaid sharply, ‘What do you want to say?’
　　‘First,’ said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spectacles,under which even Nupkins quailed, ‘first, I wish to know what Iand my friend have been brought here for?’
　　‘Must I tell him?’ whispered the magistrate to Jinks.
　　‘I think you had better, sir,’ whispered Jinks to the magistrate.
　　‘An information has been sworn before me,’ said the magistrate,‘that it is apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and that theother man, Tupman, is your aider and abettor in it. Therefore―eh,Mr. Jinks?’
　　‘Certainly, sir.’
　　‘Therefore, I call upon you both, to―I think that’s the course,Mr. Jinks?’
　　‘Certainly, sir.’
　　‘To―to―what, Mr. Jinks?’ said the magistrate pettishly.
　　‘To find bail, sir.’
　　‘Yes. Therefore, I call upon you both―as I was about to saywhen I was interrupted by my clerk―to find bail.’
　　‘Good bail,’ whispered Mr. Jinks.
　　‘I shall require good bail,’ said the magistrate.
　　‘Town’s-people,’ whispered Jinks.
　　‘They must be townspeople,’ said the magistrate.
　　‘Fifty pounds each,’ whispered Jinks, ‘and householders, ofcourse.’
　　‘I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each,’ said themagistrate aloud, with great dignity, ‘and they must behouseholders, of course.’
　　‘But bless my heart, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who, together withMr. Tupman, was all amazement and indignation; ‘we are perfectstrangers in this town. I have as little knowledge of anyhouseholders here, as I have intention of fighting a duel withanybody.’
　　‘I dare say,’ replied the magistrate, ‘I dare say―don’t you, Mr.
　　‘Certainly, sir.’
　　‘Have you anything more to say?’ inquired the magistrate.
　　Mr. Pickwick had a great deal more to say, which he would nodoubt have said, very little to his own advantage, or themagistrate’s satisfaction, if he had not, the moment he ceasedspeaking, been pulled by the sleeve by Mr. Weller, with whom hewas immediately engaged in so earnest a conversation, that hesuffered the magistrate’s inquiry to pass wholly unnoticed. Mr.
　　Nupkins was not the man to ask a question of the kind twice over;and so, with another preparatory cough, he proceeded, amidst thereverential and admiring silence of the constables, to pronouncehis decision. He should fine Weller two pounds for the first assault,and three pounds for the second. He should fine Winkle twopounds, and Snodgrass one pound, besides requiring them toenter into their own recognisances to keep the peace towards allhis Majesty’s subjects, and especially towards his liege servant,Daniel Grummer. Pickwick and Tupman he had already held tobail.
　　Immediately on the magistrate ceasing to speak, Mr. Pickwick,with a smile mantling on his again good-humoured countenance,stepped forward, and said―‘I beg the magistrate’s pardon, but may I request a few minutes’
　　private conversation with him, on a matter of deep importance tohimself?’
　　‘What?’ said the magistrate. Mr. Pickwick repeated his request.
　　‘This is a most extraordinary request,’ said the magistrate. ‘Aprivate interview?’
　　‘A private interview,’ replied Mr. Pickwick firmly; ‘only, as apart of the information which I wish to communicate is derivedfrom my servant, I should wish him to be present.’
　　The magistrate looked at Mr. Jinks; Mr. Jinks looked at themagistrate; the officers looked at each other in amazement. Mr.
　　Nupkins turned suddenly pale. Could the man Weller, in amoment of remorse, have divulged some secret conspiracy for hisassassination? It was a dreadful thought. He was a public man;and he turned paler, as he thought of Julius Caesar and Mr.
　　Perceval.
　　The magistrate looked at Mr. Pickwick again, and beckoned Mr.
　　Jinks.
　　‘What do you think of this request, Mr. Jinks?’ murmured Mr.
　　Nupkins.
　　Mr. Jinks, who didn’t exactly know what to think of it, and wasafraid he might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious fashion, and,screwing up the corners of his mouth, shook his head slowly fromside to side.
　　‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate gravely, ‘you are an ass.’
　　At this little expression of opinion, Mr. Jinks smiled again―rather more feebly than before―and edged himself, by degrees,back into his own corner.
　　Mr. Nupkins debated the matter within himself for a fewseconds, and then, rising from his chair, and requesting Mr.
　　Pickwick and Sam to follow him, led the way into a small roomwhich opened into the justice-parlour. Desiring Mr. Pickwick towalk to the upper end of the little apartment, and holding his handupon the half-closed door, that he might be able to effect animmediate escape, in case there was the least tendency to adisplay of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his readiness to hearthe communication, whatever it might be.
　　‘I will come to the point at once, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘itaffects yourself and your credit materially. I have every reason tobelieve, sir, that you are harbouring in your house a grossimpostor!’
　　‘Two,’ interrupted Sam. ‘Mulberry agin all natur, for tears andwillainny!’
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘if I am to render myself intelligible tothis gentleman, I must beg you to control your feelings.’
　　‘Wery sorry, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘but when I think o’ that’ere Job, I can’t help opening the walve a inch or two.’
　　‘In one word, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘is my servant right insuspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the habit ofvisiting here? Because,’ added Mr. Pickwick, as he saw that Mr.
　　Nupkins was about to offer a very indignant interruption, ‘becauseif he be, I know that person to be a―’
　　‘Hush, hush,’ said Mr. Nupkins, closing the door. ‘Know him tobe what, sir?’
　　‘An unprincipled adventurer―a dishonourable character―aman who preys upon society, and makes easily-deceived peoplehis dupes, sir; his absurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes, sir,’ saidthe excited Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Nupkins, turning very red, and altering hiswhole manner directly. ‘Dear me, Mr.―’
　　‘Pickvick,’ said Sam.
　　‘Pickwick,’ said the magistrate, ‘dear me, Mr. Pickwick―praytake a seat―you cannot mean this? Captain Fitz-Marshall!’
　　‘Don’t call him a cap’en,’ said Sam, ‘nor Fitz-Marshall neither;he ain’t neither one nor t’other. He’s a strolling actor, he is, and hisname’s Jingle; and if ever there was a wolf in a mulberry suit, that’ere Job Trotter’s him.’
　　‘It is very true, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, replying to themagistrate’s look of amazement; ‘my only business in this town, isto expose the person of whom we now speak.’
　　Mr. Pickwick proceeded to pour into the horror-stricken ear ofMr. Nupkins, an abridged account of all Mr. Jingle’s atrocities. Herelated how he had first met him; how he had eloped with MissWardle; how he had cheerfully resigned the lady for a pecuniaryconsideration; how he had entrapped himself into a lady’sboarding-school at midnight; and how he (Mr. Pickwick) now feltit his duty to expose his assumption of his present name and rank.
　　As the narrative proceeded, all the warm blood in the body ofMr. Nupkins tingled up into the very tips of his ears. He hadpicked up the captain at a neighbouring race-course. Charmedwith his long list of aristocratic acquaintance, his extensive travel,and his fashionable demeanour, Mrs. Nupkins and Miss Nupkinshad exhibited Captain Fitz-Marshall, and quoted Captain Fitz-Marshall, and hurled Captain Fitz-Marshall at the devoted headsof their select circle of acquaintance, until their bosom friends,Mrs. Porkenham and the Misses Porkenhams, and Mr. SidneyPorkenham, were ready to burst with jealousy and despair. Andnow, to hear, after all, that he was a needy adventurer, a strollingplayer, and if not a swindler, something so very like it, that it washard to tell the difference! Heavens! what would the Porkenhamssay! What would be the triumph of Mr. Sidney Porkenham whenhe found that his addresses had been slighted for such a rival!
　　How should he, Nupkins, meet the eye of old Porkenham at thenext quarter-sessions! And what a handle would it be for theopposition magisterial party if the story got abroad!
　　‘But after all,’ said Mr. Nupkins, brightening for a moment,after a long pause; ‘after all, this is a mere statement. Captain Fitz-Marshall is a man of very engaging manners, and, I dare say, hasmany enemies. What proof have you of the truth of theserepresentations?’
　　‘Confront me with him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that is all I ask, andall I require. Confront him with me and my friends here; you willwant no further proof.’
　　‘Why,’ said Mr. Nupkins, ‘that might be very easily done, for hewill be here to-night, and then there would be no occasion to makethe matter public, just―just―for the young man’s own sake, youknow. I―I―should like to consult Mrs. Nupkins on the proprietyof the step, in the first instance, though. At all events, Mr.
　　Pickwick, we must despatch this legal business before we can doanything else. Pray step back into the next room.’
　　Into the next room they went.
　　‘Grummer,’ said the magistrate, in an awful voice.
　　‘Your wash-up,’ replied Grummer, with the smile of a favourite.
　　‘Come, come, sir,’ said the magistrate sternly, ‘don’t let me seeany of this levity here. It is very unbecoming, and I can assure youthat you have very little to smile at. Was the account you gave mejust now strictly true? Now be careful, sir!’
　　‘Your wash-up,’ stammered Grummer, ‘I―’
　　‘Oh, you are confused, are you?’ said the magistrate. ‘Mr. Jinks,you observe this confusion?’
　　‘Certainly, sir,’ replied Jinks.
　　‘Now,’ said the magistrate, ‘repeat your statement, Grummer,and again I warn you to be careful. Mr. Jinks, take his wordsdown.’
　　The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to re-state his complaint,but, what between Mr. Jinks’s taking down his words, and themagistrate’s taking them up, his natural tendency to rambling,and his extreme confusion, he managed to get involved, insomething under three minutes, in such a mass of entanglementand contradiction, that Mr. Nupkins at once declared he didn’tbelieve him. So the fines were remitted, and Mr. Jinks found acouple of bail in no time. And all these solemn proceedings havingbeen satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer was ignominiouslyordered out―an awful instance of the instability of humangreatness, and the uncertain tenure of great men’s favour.
　　Mrs. Nupkins was a majestic female in a pink gauze turban anda light brown wig. Miss Nupkins possessed all her mamma’shaughtiness without the turban, and all her ill-nature without thewig; and whenever the exercise of these two amiable qualitiesinvolved mother and daughter in some unpleasant dilemma, asthey not infrequently did, they both concurred in laying the blameon the shoulders of Mr. Nupkins. Accordingly, when Mr. Nupkinssought Mrs. Nupkins, and detailed the communication which hadbeen made by Mr. Pickwick, Mrs. Nupkins suddenly recollectedthat she had always expected something of the kind; that she hadalways said it would be so; that her advice was never taken; thatshe really did not know what Mr. Nupkins supposed she was; andso forth.
　　‘The idea!’ said Miss Nupkins, forcing a tear of very scantyproportions into the corner of each eye; ‘the idea of my beingmade such a fool of!’
　　‘Ah! you may thank your papa, my dear,’ said Mrs. Nupkins;‘how I have implored and begged that man to inquire into thecaptain’s family connections; how I have urged and entreated himto take some decisive step! I am quite certain nobody wouldbelieve it―quite.’
　　‘But, my dear,’ said Mr. Nupkins.
　　‘Don’t talk to me, you aggravating thing, don’t!’ said Mrs.
　　Nupkins.
　　‘My love,’ said Mr. Nupkins, ‘you professed yourself very fond ofCaptain Fitz-Marshall. You have constantly asked him here, mydear, and you have lost no opportunity of introducing himelsewhere.’
　　‘Didn’t I say so, Henrietta?’ cried Mrs. Nupkins, appealing toher daughter with the air of a much-injured female. ‘Didn’t I saythat your papa would turn round and lay all this at my door?
　　Didn’t I say so?’ Here Mrs. Nupkins sobbed.
　　‘Oh, pa!’ remonstrated Miss Nupkins. And here she sobbed too.
　　‘Isn’t it too much, when he has brought all this disgrace andridicule upon us, to taunt me with being the cause of it?’
　　exclaimed Mrs. Nupkins.
　　‘How can we ever show ourselves in society!’ said MissNupkins.
　　‘How can we face the Porkenhams?’ cried Mrs. Nupkins.
　　‘Or the Griggs!’ cried Miss Nupkins. ‘Or the Slummintowkens!’
　　cried Mrs. Nupkins. ‘But what does your papa care! What is it tohim!’ At this dreadful reflection, Mrs. Nupkins wept mentalanguish, and Miss Nupkins followed on the same side.
　　Mrs. Nupkins’s tears continued to gush forth, with greatvelocity, until she had gained a little time to think the matter over;when she decided, in her own mind, that the best thing to dowould be to ask Mr. Pickwick and his friends to remain until thecaptain’s arrival, and then to give Mr. Pickwick the opportunity hesought. If it appeared that he had spoken truly, the captain couldbe turned out of the house without noising the matter abroad, andthey could easily account to the Porkenhams for hisdisappearance, by saying that he had been appointed, through theCourt influence of his family, to the governor-generalship of SierraLeone, of Saugur Point, or any other of those salubrious climateswhich enchant Europeans so much, that when they once get there,they can hardly ever prevail upon themselves to come back again.
　　When Mrs. Nupkins dried up her tears, Miss Nupkins dried uphers, and Mr. Nupkins was very glad to settle the matter as Mrs.
　　Nupkins had proposed. So Mr. Pickwick and his friends, havingwashed off all marks of their late encounter, were introduced tothe ladies, and soon afterwards to their dinner; and Mr. Weller,whom the magistrate, with his peculiar sagacity, had discovered inhalf an hour to be one of the finest fellows alive, was consigned tothe care and guardianship of Mr. Muzzle, who was speciallyenjoined to take him below, and make much of him.
　　‘How de do, sir?’ said Mr. Muzzle, as he conducted Mr. Wellerdown the kitchen stairs.
　　‘Why, no considerable change has taken place in the state of mysystem, since I see you cocked up behind your governor’s chair inthe parlour, a little vile ago,’ replied Sam.
　　‘You will excuse my not taking more notice of you then,’ saidMr. Muzzle. ‘You see, master hadn’t introduced us, then. Lord,how fond he is of you, Mr. Weller, to be sure!’
　　‘Ah!’ said Sam, ‘what a pleasant chap he is!’
　　‘Ain’t he?’ replied Mr. Muzzle.
　　‘So much humour,’ said Sam.
　　‘And such a man to speak,’ said Mr. Muzzle. ‘How his ideasflow, don’t they?’
　　‘Wonderful,’ replied Sam; ‘they comes a-pouring out, knockingeach other’s heads so fast, that they seems to stun one another;you hardly know what he’s arter, do you?’
　　‘That’s the great merit of his style of speaking,’ rejoined Mr.
　　Muzzle. ‘Take care of the last step, Mr. Weller. Would you like towash your hands, sir, before we join the ladies? Here’s a sink, withthe water laid on, sir, and a clean jack towel behind the door.’
　　‘Ah! perhaps I may as well have a rinse,’ replied Mr. Weller,applying plenty of yellow soap to the towel, and rubbing away tillhis face shone again. ‘How many ladies are there?’
　　‘Only two in our kitchen,’ said Mr. Muzzle; ‘cook and ‘ouse-maid. We keep a boy to do the dirty work, and a gal besides, butthey dine in the wash’us.’
　　‘Oh, they dines in the wash’us, do they?’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘Yes,’ replied Mr. Muzzle, ‘we tried ’em at our table when theyfirst come, but we couldn’t keep ’em. The gal’s manners isdreadful vulgar; and the boy breathes so very hard while he’seating, that we found it impossible to sit at table with him.’
　　‘Young grampus!’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘Oh, dreadful,’ rejoined Mr. Muzzle; ‘but that is the worst ofcountry service, Mr. Weller; the juniors is always so very savage.
　　This way, sir, if you please, this way.’
　　Preceding Mr. Weller, with the utmost politeness, Mr. Muzzleconducted him into the kitchen.
　　‘Mary,’ said Mr. Muzzle to the pretty servant-girl, ‘this is Mr.
　　Weller; a gentleman as master has sent down, to be made ascomfortable as possible.’
　　‘And your master’s a knowin’ hand, and has just sent me to theright place,’ said Mr. Weller, with a glance of admiration at Mary.
　　‘If I wos master o’ this here house, I should alvays find thematerials for comfort vere Mary wos.’
　　‘Lor, Mr. Weller!’ said Mary blushing.
　　‘Well, I never!’ ejaculated the cook.
　　‘Bless me, cook, I forgot you,’ said Mr. Muzzle. ‘Mr. Weller, letme introduce you.’
　　‘How are you, ma’am?’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Wery glad to see you,indeed, and hope our acquaintance may be a long ’un , as thegen’l’m’n said to the fi’ pun’ note.’
　　When this ceremony of introduction had been gone through,the cook and Mary retired into the back kitchen to titter, for tenminutes; then returning, all giggles and blushes, they sat down todinner. Mr. Weller’s easy manners and conversational powers hadsuch irresistible influence with his new friends, that before thedinner was half over, they were on a footing of perfect intimacy,and in possession of a full account of the delinquency of JobTrotter.
　　‘I never could a-bear that Job,’ said Mary.
　　‘No more you never ought to, my dear,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Why not?’ inquired Mary.
　　‘‘Cos ugliness and svindlin’ never ought to be formiliar withelegance and wirtew,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Ought they, Mr.
　　Muzzle?’
　　‘Not by no means,’ replied that gentleman.
　　Here Mary laughed, and said the cook had made her; and thecook laughed, and said she hadn’t.
　　‘I ha’n’t got a glass,’ said Mary.
　　‘Drink with me, my dear,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Put your lips to thishere tumbler, and then I can kiss you by deputy.’
　　‘For shame, Mr. Weller!’ said Mary.
　　‘What’s a shame, my dear?’
　　‘Talkin’ in that way.’
　　‘Nonsense; it ain’t no harm. It’s natur; ain’t it, cook?’
　　‘Don’t ask me, imperence,’ replied the cook, in a high state ofdelight; and hereupon the cook and Mary laughed again, till whatbetween the beer, and the cold meat, and the laughter combined,the latter young lady was brought to the verge of choking―analarming crisis from which she was only recovered by sundry patson the back, and other necessary attentions, most delicatelyadministered by Mr. Samuel Weller.
　　In the midst of all this jollity and conviviality, a loud ring washeard at the garden gate, to which the young gentleman who tookhis meals in the wash-house, immediately responded. Mr. Wellerwas in the height of his attentions to the pretty house-maid; Mr.
　　Muzzle was busy doing the honours of the table; and the cook hadjust paused to laugh, in the very act of raising a huge morsel to herlips; when the kitchen door opened, and in walked Mr. JobTrotter.
　　We have said in walked Mr. Job Trotter, but the statement isnot distinguished by our usual scrupulous adherence to fact. Thedoor opened and Mr. Trotter appeared. He would have walked in,and was in the very act of doing so, indeed, when catching sight ofMr. Weller, he involuntarily shrank back a pace or two, and stoodgazing on the unexpected scene before him, perfectly motionlesswith amazement and terror.
　　‘Here he is!’ said Sam, rising with great glee. ‘Why we were thatwery moment a-speaking o’ you. How are you? Where have youbeen? Come in.’
　　Laying his hand on the mulberry collar of the unresisting Job,Mr. Weller dragged him into the kitchen; and, locking the door,handed the key to Mr. Muzzle, who very coolly buttoned it up in aside pocket.
　　‘Well, here’s a game!’ cried Sam. ‘Only think o’ my masterhavin’ the pleasure o’ meeting yourn upstairs, and me havin’ thejoy o’ meetin’ you down here. How are you gettin’ on, and how isthe chandlery bis’ness likely to do? Well, I am so glad to see you.
　　How happy you look. It’s quite a treat to see you; ain’t it, Mr.
　　Muzzle?’
　　‘Quite,’ said Mr. Muzzle.
　　‘So cheerful he is!’ said Sam.
　　‘In such good spirits!’ said Muzzle. ‘And so glad to see us―thatmakes it so much more comfortable,’ said Sam. ‘Sit down; sitdown.’
　　Mr. Trotter suffered himself to be forced into a chair by thefireside. He cast his small eyes, first on Mr. Weller, and then onMr. Muzzle, but said nothing.
　　‘Well, now,’ said Sam, ‘afore these here ladies, I should jest liketo ask you, as a sort of curiosity, whether you don’t consideryourself as nice and well-behaved a young gen’l’m’n, as ever useda pink check pocket-handkerchief, and the number fourcollection?’
　　‘And as was ever a-going to be married to a cook,’ said that ladyindignantly. ‘The willin!’
　　‘And leave off his evil ways, and set up in the chandlery linearterwards,’ said the housemaid.
　　‘Now, I’ll tell you what it is, young man,’ said Mr. Muzzlesolemnly, enraged at the last two allusions, ‘this here lady(pointing to the cook) keeps company with me; and when youpresume, sir, to talk of keeping chandlers’ shops with her, youinjure me in one of the most delicatest points in which one mancan injure another. Do you understand that, sir?’
　　Here Mr. Muzzle, who had a great notion of his eloquence, inwhich he imitated his master, paused for a reply.
　　But Mr. Trotter made no reply. So Mr. Muzzle proceeded in asolemn manner―‘It’s very probable, sir, that you won’t be wanted upstairs forseveral minutes, sir, because my master is at this momentparticularly engaged in settling the hash of your master, sir; andtherefore you’ll have leisure, sir, for a little private talk with me,sir. Do you understand that, sir?’
　　Mr. Muzzle again paused for a reply; and again Mr. Trotterdisappointed him.
　　‘Well, then,’ said Mr. Muzzle, ‘I’m very sorry to have to explainmyself before ladies, but the urgency of the case will be my excuse.
　　The back kitchen’s empty, sir. If you will step in there, sir, Mr.
　　Weller will see fair, and we can have mutual satisfaction till thebell rings. Follow me, sir!’
　　As Mr. Muzzle uttered these words, he took a step or twotowards the door; and, by way of saving time, began to pull off hiscoat as he walked along.
　　Now, the cook no sooner heard the concluding words of thisdesperate challenge, and saw Mr. Muzzle about to put it intoexecution, than she uttered a loud and piercing shriek; andrushing on Mr. Job Trotter, who rose from his chair on the instant,tore and buffeted his large flat face, with an energy peculiar toexcited females, and twining her hands in his long black hair, toretherefrom about enough to make five or six dozen of the verylargest-sized mourning-rings. Having accomplished this feat withall the ardour which her devoted love for Mr. Muzzle inspired, shestaggered back; and being a lady of very excitable and delicatefeelings, she instantly fell under the dresser, and fainted away.
　　At this moment, the bell rang.
　　‘That’s for you, Job Trotter,’ said Sam; and before Mr. Trottercould offer remonstrance or reply―even before he had time tostanch the wounds inflicted by the insensible lady―Sam seizedone arm and Mr. Muzzle the other, and one pulling before, and theother pushing behind, they conveyed him upstairs, and into theparlour.
　　It was an impressive tableau. Alfred Jingle, Esquire, aliasCaptain Fitz-Marshall, was standing near the door with his hat inhis hand, and a smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his veryunpleasant situation. Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, whohad evidently been inculcating some high moral lesson; for his lefthand was beneath his coat tail, and his right extended in air, aswas his wont when delivering himself of an impressive address. Ata little distance, stood Mr. Tupman with indignant countenance,carefully held back by his two younger friends; at the farther endof the room were Mr. Nupkins, Mrs. Nupkins, and Miss Nupkins,gloomily grand and savagely vexed. ‘What prevents me,’ said Mr.
　　Nupkins, with magisterial dignity, as Job was brought in―‘whatprevents me from detaining these men as rogues and impostors?
　　It is a foolish mercy. What prevents me?’
　　‘Pride, old fellow, pride,’ replied Jingle, quite at his ease.
　　‘Wouldn’t do―no go―caught a captain, eh?―ha! ha! very good―husband for daughter―biter bit―make it public―not for worlds―look stupid―very!’
　　‘Wretch,’ said Mr. Nupkins, ‘we scorn your base insinuations.’
　　‘I always hated him,’ added Henrietta.
　　‘Oh, of course,’ said Jingle. ‘Tall young man―old lover―SidneyPorkenham―rich―fine fellow―not so rich as captain, though,eh?―turn him away―off with him―anything for captain―nothing like captain anywhere―all the girls―raving mad―eh,Job, eh?’
　　Here Mr. Jingle laughed very heartily; and Job, rubbing hishands with delight, uttered the first sound he had given vent tosince he entered the house―a low, noiseless chuckle, whichseemed to intimate that he enjoyed his laugh too much, to let anyof it escape in sound. ‘Mr. Nupkins,’ said the elder lady, ‘this is nota fit conversation for the servants to overhear. Let these wretchesbe removed.’
　　‘Certainly, my dear,’ Said Mr, Nupkins. ‘Muzzle!’
　　‘Your Worship.’
　　‘Open the front door.’
　　‘Yes, your Worship.’
　　‘Leave the house!’ said Mr. Nupkins, waving his handemphatically.
　　Jingle smiled, and moved towards the door.
　　‘Stay!’ said Mr. Pickwick. Jingle stopped.
　　‘I might,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘have taken a much greaterrevenge for the treatment I have experienced at your hands, andthat of your hypocritical friend there.’
　　Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, and laid his handupon his heart.
　　‘I say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradually angry, ‘that I mighthave taken a greater revenge, but I content myself with exposingyou, which I consider a duty I owe to society. This is a leniency,sir, which I hope you will remember.’
　　When Mr. Pickwick arrived at this point, Job Trotter, withfacetious gravity, applied his hand to his ear, as if desirous not tolose a syllable he uttered.
　　‘And I have only to add, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, now thoroughlyangry, ‘that I consider you a rascal, and a―a―ruffian―and―andworse than any man I ever saw, or heard of, except that pious andsanctified vagabond in the mulberry livery.’
　　‘Ha! ha!’ said Jingle, ‘good fellow, Pickwick―fine heart―stoutold boy―but must not be passionate―bad thing, very―bye, bye―see you again some day―keep up your spirits―now, Job―trot!’
　　With these words, Mr. Jingle stuck on his hat in his old fashion,and strode out of the room. Job Trotter paused, looked round,smiled and then with a bow of mock solemnity to Mr. Pickwick,and a wink to Mr. Weller, the audacious slyness of which baffles alldescription, followed the footsteps of his hopeful master.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Weller was following.
　　‘Sir.’
　　‘Stay here.’
　　Mr. Weller seemed uncertain.
　　‘Stay here,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Mayn’t I polish that ’ere Job off, in the front garden?’ said Mr.
　　Weller. ‘Certainly not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Mayn’t I kick him out o’ the gate, sir?’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘Not on any account,’ replied his master.
　　For the first time since his engagement, Mr. Weller looked, for amoment, discontented and unhappy. But his countenanceimmediately cleared up; for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by concealinghimself behind the street door, and rushing violently out, at theright instant, contrived with great dexterity to overturn both Mr.
　　Jingle and his attendant, down the flight of steps, into theAmerican aloe tubs that stood beneath.
　　‘Having discharged my duty, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick to Mr.
　　Nupkins, ‘I will, with my friends, bid you farewell. While we thankyou for such hospitality as we have received, permit me to assureyou, in our joint names, that we should not have accepted it, orhave consented to extricate ourselves in this way, from ourprevious dilEmma, had we not been impelled by a strong sense ofduty. We return to London to-morrow. Your secret is safe with us.’
　　Having thus entered his protest against their treatment of themorning, Mr. Pickwick bowed low to the ladies, andnotwithstanding the solicitations of the family, left the room withhis friends.
　　‘Get your hat, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It’s below stairs, sir,’ said Sam, and he ran down after it.
　　Now, there was nobody in the kitchen, but the prettyhousemaid; and as Sam’s hat was mislaid, he had to look for it,and the pretty housemaid lighted him. They had to look all overthe place for the hat. The pretty housemaid, in her anxiety to findit, went down on her knees, and turned over all the things thatwere heaped together in a little corner by the door. It was anawkward corner. You couldn’t get at it without shutting the doorfirst.
　　‘Here it is,’ said the pretty housemaid. ‘This is it, ain’t it?’
　　‘Let me look,’ said Sam.
　　The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; and, asit gave a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on his kneesbefore he could see whether it really was his own hat or not. it wasa remarkably small corner, and so―it was nobody’s fault but theman’s who built the house―Sam and the pretty housemaid werenecessarily very close together.
　　‘Yes, this is it,’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’
　　‘Good-bye!’ said the pretty housemaid.
　　‘Good-bye!’ said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat thathad cost so much trouble in looking for.
　　‘How awkward you are,’ said the pretty housemaid. ‘You’ll loseit again, if you don’t take care.’
　　So just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him.
　　Whether it was that the pretty housemaid’s face looked prettierstill, when it was raised towards Sam’s, or whether it was theaccidental consequence of their being so near to each other, ismatter of uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.
　　‘You don’t mean to say you did that on purpose,’ said the prettyhousemaid, blushing.
　　‘No, I didn’t then,’ said Sam; ‘but I will now.’
　　So he kissed her again. ‘Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, calling overthe banisters.
　　‘Coming, sir,’ replied Sam, running upstairs.
　　‘How long you have been!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘There was something behind the door, sir, which perwentedour getting it open, for ever so long, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller’s first love.
Chapter 26
WHICH CONTAINS A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THEPROGRESS OF THE ACTION OFBARDELL AGAINST PICKWICKaving accomplished the main end and object of hisjourney, by the exposure of Jingle, Mr. Pickwick resolvedon immediately returning to London, with the view ofbecoming acquainted with the proceedings which had been takenagainst him, in the meantime, by Messrs. Dodson and Fogg. Actingupon this resolution with all the energy and decision of hischaracter, he mounted to the back seat of the first coach which leftIpswich on the morning after the memorable occurrences detailedat length in the two preceding chapters; and accompanied by histhree friends, and Mr. Samuel Weller, arrived in the metropolis, inperfect health and safety, the same evening.
　　Here the friends, for a short time, separated. Messrs. Tupman,Winkle, and Snodgrass repaired to their several homes to makesuch preparations as might be requisite for their forthcoming visitto Dingley Dell; and Mr. Pickwick and Sam took up their presentabode in very good, old-fashioned, and comfortable quarters, towit, the George and Vulture Tavern and Hotel, George Yard,Lombard Street.
　　Mr. Pickwick had dined, finished his second pint of particularport, pulled his silk handkerchief over his head, put his feet on thefender, and thrown himself back in an easy-chair, when theentrance of Mr. Weller with his carpet-bag, aroused him from histranquil meditation.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘sir,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘I have just been thinking, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that havingleft a good many things at Mrs. Bardell’s, in Goswell Street, Iought to arrange for taking them away, before I leave town again.’
　　‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘I could send them to Mr. Tupman’s, for the present, Sam,’
　　continued Mr. Pickwick, ‘but before we take them away, it isnecessary that they should be looked up, and put together. I wishyou would step up to Goswell Street, Sam, and arrange about it.’
　　‘At once, sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘At once,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘And stay, Sam,’ added Mr.
　　Pickwick, pulling out his purse, ‘there is some rent to pay. Thequarter is not due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and havedone with it. A month’s notice terminates my tenancy. Here it is,written out. Give it, and tell Mrs. Bardell she may put a bill up, assoon as she likes.’
　　‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘anythin’ more, sir?’
　　‘Nothing more, Sam.’
　　Mr. Weller stepped slowly to the door, as if he expectedsomething more; slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and hadslowly closed it within a couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwickcalled out―‘Sam.’
　　‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closingthe door behind him. ‘I have no objection, Sam, to yourendeavouring to ascertain how Mrs. Bardell herself seemsdisposed towards me, and whether it is really probable that thisvile and groundless action is to be carried to extremity. I say I donot object to you doing this, if you wish it, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　Sam gave a short nod of intelligence, and left the room. Mr.
　　Pickwick drew the silk handkerchief once more over his head, Andcomposed himself for a nap. Mr. Weller promptly walked forth, toexecute his commission.
　　It was nearly nine o’clock when he reached Goswell Street. Acouple of candles were burning in the little front parlour, and acouple of caps were reflected on the window-blind. Mrs. Bardellhad got company.
　　Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty longinterval―occupied by the party without, in whistling a tune, andby the party within, in persuading a refractory flat candle to allowitself to be lighted―a pair of small boots pattered over the floor-cloth, and Master Bardell presented himself.
　　‘Well, young townskip,’ said Sam, ‘how’s mother?’
　　‘She’s pretty well,’ replied Master Bardell, ‘so am I.’
　　‘Well, that’s a mercy,’ said Sam; ‘tell her I want to speak to her,will you, my hinfant fernomenon?’
　　Master Bardell, thus adjured, placed the refractory flat candleon the bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlour with hismessage.
　　The two caps, reflected on the window-blind, were therespective head-dresses of a couple of Mrs. Bardell’s mostparticular acquaintance, who had just stepped in, to have a quietcup of tea, and a little warm supper of a couple of sets of pettitoesand some toasted cheese. The cheese was simmering andbrowning away, most delightfully, in a little Dutch oven before thefire; the pettitoes were getting on deliciously in a little tinsaucepan on the hob; and Mrs. Bardell and her two friends weregetting on very well, also, in a little quiet conversation about andconcerning all their particular friends and acquaintance; whenMaster Bardell came back from answering the door, and deliveredthe message intrusted to him by Mr. Samuel Weller.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick’s servant!’ said Mrs. Bardell, turning pale.
　　‘Bless my soul!’ said Mrs. Cluppins.
　　‘Well, I raly would not ha’ believed it, unless I had ha’ happenedto ha’ been here!’ said Mrs. Sanders.
　　Mrs. Cluppins was a little, brisk, busy-looking woman; Mrs.
　　Sanders was a big, fat, heavy-faced personage; and the two werethe company.
　　Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated; and as none of thethree exactly knew whether under existing circumstances, anycommunication, otherwise than through Dodson & Fogg, ought tobe held with Mr. Pickwick’s servant, they were all rather taken bysurprise. In this state of indecision, obviously the first thing to bedone, was to thump the boy for finding Mr. Weller at the door. Sohis mother thumped him, and he cried melodiously.
　　‘Hold your noise―do―you naughty creetur!’ said Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘Yes; don’t worrit your poor mother,’ said Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘She’s quite enough to worrit her, as it is, without you, Tommy,’
　　said Mrs. Cluppins, with sympathising resignation.
　　‘Ah! worse luck, poor lamb!’ said Mrs. Sanders. At all whichmoral reflections, Master Bardell howled the louder.
　　‘Now, what shall I do?’ said Mrs. Bardell to Mrs. Cluppins.
　　‘I think you ought to see him,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins. ‘But on noaccount without a witness.’
　　‘I think two witnesses would be more lawful,’ said Mrs.
　　Sanders, who, like the other friend, was bursting with curiosity.
　　‘Perhaps he’d better come in here,’ said Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘To be sure,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins, eagerly catching at the idea;‘walk in, young man; and shut the street door first, please.’
　　Mr. Weller immediately took the hint; and presenting himself inthe parlour, explained his business to Mrs. Bardell thus―‘Wery sorry to ’casion any personal inconwenience, ma’am, asthe housebreaker said to the old lady when he put her on the fire;but as me and my governor ‘s only jest come to town, and is jestgoing away agin, it can’t be helped, you see.’
　　‘Of course, the young man can’t help the faults of his master,’
　　said Mrs. Cluppins, much struck by Mr. Weller’s appearance andconversation.
　　‘Certainly not,’ chimed in Mrs. Sanders, who, from certainwistful glances at the little tin saucepan, seemed to be engaged ina mental calculation of the probable extent of the pettitoes, in theevent of Sam’s being asked to stop to supper.
　　‘So all I’ve come about, is jest this here,’ said Sam, disregardingthe interruption; ‘first, to give my governor’s notice―there it is.
　　Secondly, to pay the rent―here it is. Thirdly, to say as all histhings is to be put together, and give to anybody as we sends for’em. Fourthly, that you may let the place as soon as you like―andthat’s all.’
　　‘Whatever has happened,’ said Mrs. Bardell, ‘I always have said,and always will say, that in every respect but one, Mr. Pickwickhas always behaved himself like a perfect gentleman. His moneyalways as good as the bank―always.’
　　As Mrs. Bardell said this, she applied her handkerchief to hereyes, and went out of the room to get the receipt.
　　Sam well knew that he had only to remain quiet, and thewomen were sure to talk; so he looked alternately at the tinsaucepan, the toasted cheese, the wall, and the ceiling, in profoundsilence.
　　‘Poor dear!’ said Mrs. Cluppins.
　　‘Ah, poor thing!’ replied Mrs. Sanders. Sam said nothing. Hesaw they were coming to the subject.
　　‘I raly cannot contain myself,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, ‘when I thinkof such perjury. I don’t wish to say anything to make youuncomfortable, young man, but your master’s an old brute, and Iwish I had him here to tell him so.’
　　‘I wish you had,’ said Sam.
　　‘To see how dreadful she takes on, going moping about, andtaking no pleasure in nothing, except when her friends comes in,out of charity, to sit with her, and make her comfortable,’ resumedMrs. Cluppins, glancing at the tin saucepan and the Dutch oven,‘it’s shocking!’
　　‘Barbareous,’ said Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘And your master, young man! A gentleman with money, ascould never feel the expense of a wife, no more than nothing,’
　　continued Mrs. Cluppins, with great volubility; ‘why there ain’t thefaintest shade of an excuse for his behaviour! Why don’t he marryher?’
　　‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘to be sure; that’s the question.’
　　‘Question, indeed,’ retorted Mrs. Cluppins, ‘she’d question him,if she’d my spirit. Hows’ever, there is law for us women, mis’rablecreeturs as they’d make us, if they could; and that your master willfind out, young man, to his cost, afore he’s six months older.’
　　At this consolatory reflection, Mrs. Cluppins bridled up, andsmiled at Mrs. Sanders, who smiled back again.
　　‘The action’s going on, and no mistake,’ thought Sam, as Mrs.
　　Bardell re-entered with the receipt.
　　‘Here’s the receipt, Mr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell, ‘and here’sthe change, and I hope you’ll take a little drop of something tokeep the cold out, if it’s only for old acquaintance’ sake, Mr.
　　Weller.’
　　Sam saw the advantage he should gain, and at once acquiesced;whereupon Mrs. Bardell produced, from a small closet, a blackbottle and a wine-glass; and so great was her abstraction, in herdeep mental affliction, that, after filling Mr. Weller’s glass, shebrought out three more wine-glasses, and filled them too.
　　‘Lauk, Mrs. Bardell,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, ‘see what you’ve beenand done!’
　　‘Well, that is a good one!’ ejaculated Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘Ah, my poor head!’ said Mrs. Bardell, with a faint smile.
　　Sam understood all this, of course, so he said at once, that henever could drink before supper, unless a lady drank with him. Agreat deal of laughter ensued, and Mrs. Sanders volunteered tohumour him, so she took a slight sip out of her glass. Then Samsaid it must go all round, so they all took a slight sip. Then littleMrs. Cluppins proposed as a toast, ‘Success to Bardell aginPickwick’; and then the ladies emptied their glasses in honour ofthe sentiment, and got very talkative directly.
　　‘I suppose you’ve heard what’s going forward, Mr. Weller?’ saidMrs. Bardell.
　　‘I’ve heerd somethin’ on it,’ replied Sam.
　　‘It’s a terrible thing to be dragged before the public, in that way,Mr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell; ‘but I see now, that it’s the onlything I ought to do, and my lawyers, Mr. Dodson and Fogg, tell methat, with the evidence as we shall call, we must succeed. I don’tknow what I should do, Mr. Weller, if I didn’t.’
　　The mere idea of Mrs. Bardell’s failing in her action, affectedMrs. Sanders so deeply, that she was under the necessity ofrefilling and re-emptying her glass immediately; feeling, as shesaid afterwards, that if she hadn’t had the presence of mind to doso, she must have dropped.
　　‘Ven is it expected to come on?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Either in February or March,’ replied Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘What a number of witnesses there’ll be, won’t there,?’ said Mrs.
　　Cluppins.
　　‘Ah! won’t there!’ replied Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘And won’t Mr. Dodson and Fogg be wild if the plaintiffshouldn’t get it?’ added Mrs. Cluppins, ‘when they do it all on speculation!’
　　‘Ah! won’t they!’ said Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘But the plaintiff must get it,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins.
　　‘I hope so,’ said Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘Oh, there can’t be any doubt about it,’ rejoined Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘Vell,’ said Sam, rising and setting down his glass, ‘all I can sayis, that I vish you may get it.’
　　‘Thank’ee, Mr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Bardell fervently.
　　‘And of them Dodson and Foggs, as does these sort o’ things onspec,’ continued Mr. Weller, ‘as vell as for the other kind andgen’rous people o’ the same purfession, as sets people by the ears,free gratis for nothin’, and sets their clerks to work to find out littledisputes among their neighbours and acquaintances as vantssettlin’ by means of lawsuits―all I can say o’ them is, that I vishthey had the reward I’d give ’em.’
　　‘Ah, I wish they had the reward that every kind and generousheart would be inclined to bestow upon them!’ said the gratifiedMrs. Bardell.
　　‘Amen to that,’ replied Sam, ‘and a fat and happy liven’ they’dget out of it! Wish you good-night, ladies.’
　　To the great relief of Mrs. Sanders, Sam was allowed to departwithout any reference, on the part of the hostess, to the pettitoesand toasted cheese; to which the ladies, with such juvenileassistance as Master Bardell could afford, soon afterwardsrendered the amplest justice―indeed they wholly vanished beforetheir strenuous exertions.
　　Mr. Weller wended his way back to the George and Vulture,and faithfully recounted to his master, such indications of thesharp practice of Dodson & Fogg, as he had contrived to pick up inhis visit to Mrs. Bardell’s. An interview with Mr. Perker, next day,more than confirmed Mr. Weller’s statement; and Mr. Pickwickwas fain to prepare for his Christmas visit to Dingley Dell, with thepleasant anticipation that some two or three months afterwards,an action brought against him for damages sustained by reason ofa breach of promise of marriage, would be publicly tried in theCourt of Common Pleas; the plaintiff having all the advantagesderivable, not only from the force of circumstances, but from thesharp practice of Dodson & Fogg to boot.
Chapter 27
SAMUEL WELLER MAKES A PILGRIMAGETO DORKING, AND BEHOLDS HISMOTHER-IN-LAWhere still remaining an interval of two days before the timeagreed upon for the departure of the Pickwickians toDingley Dell, Mr. Weller sat himself down in a back roomat the George and Vulture, after eating an early dinner, to muse onthe best way of disposing of his time. It was a remarkably fine day;and he had not turned the matter over in his mind ten minutes,when he was suddenly stricken filial and affectionate; and itoccurred to him so strongly that he ought to go down and see hisfather, and pay his duty to his mother-in-law, that he was lost inastonishment at his own remissness in never thinking of thismoral obligation before. Anxious to atone for his past neglectwithout another hour’s delay, he straightway walked upstairs toMr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence for this laudablepurpose.
　　‘Certainly, Sam, certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick, his eyesglistening with delight at this manifestation of filial feeling on thepart of his attendant; ‘certainly, Sam.’
　　Mr. Weller made a grateful bow.
　　‘I am very glad to see that you have so high a sense of yourduties as a son, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I always had, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘That’s a very gratifying reflection, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwickapprovingly.
　　‘Wery, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘if ever I wanted anythin’ o’ myfather, I always asked for it in a wery ’spectful and obligin’
　　manner. If he didn’t give it me, I took it, for fear I should be led todo anythin’ wrong, through not havin’ it. I saved him a world o’
　　trouble this vay, sir.’
　　‘That’s not precisely what I meant, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick,shaking his head, with a slight smile.
　　‘All good feelin’, sir―the wery best intentions, as the gen’l’m’nsaid ven he run away from his wife ’cos she seemed unhappy withhim,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘You may go, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Thank’ee, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; and having made his bestbow, and put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the topof the Arundel coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.
　　The Marquis of Granby, in Mrs. Weller’s time, was quite amodel of a roadside public-house of the better class―just largeenough to be convenient, and small enough to be snug. On theopposite side of the road was a large sign-board on a high post,representing the head and shoulders of a gentleman with anapoplectic countenance, in a red coat with deep blue facings, and atouch of the same blue over his three-cornered hat, for a sky. Overthat again were a pair of flags; beneath the last button of his coatwere a couple of cannon; and the whole formed an expressive andundoubted likeness of the Marquis of Granby of glorious memory.
　　The bar window displayed a choice collection of geraniumplants, and a well-dusted row of spirit phials. The open shuttersbore a variety of golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds andneat wines; and the choice group of countrymen and hostlerslounging about the stable door and horse-trough, affordedpresumptive proof of the excellent quality of the ale and spiritswhich were sold within. Sam Weller paused, when he dismountedfrom the coach, to note all these little indications of a thrivingbusiness, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and havingdone so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything hehad observed.
　　‘Now, then!’ said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust hishead in at the door, ‘what do you want, young man?’
　　Sam looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded.
　　It came from a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, whowas seated beside the fireplace in the bar, blowing the fire to makethe kettle boil for tea. She was not alone; for on the other side ofthe fireplace, sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair, was aman in threadbare black clothes, with a back almost as long andstiff as that of the chair itself, who caught Sam’s most particularand especial attention at once.
　　He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thincountenance, and a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye―rather sharp, butdecidedly bad. He wore very short trousers, and black cottonstockings, which, like the rest of his apparel, were particularlyrusty. His looks were starched, but his white neckerchief was not,and its long limp ends straggled over his closely-buttonedwaistcoat in a very uncouth and unpicturesque fashion. A pair ofold, worn, beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and a faded greenumbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through the bottom,as if to counterbalance the want of a handle at the top, lay on achair beside him; and, being disposed in a very tidy and carefulmanner, seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, whoever hewas, had no intention of going away in a hurry.
　　To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very farfrom wise if he had entertained any such intention; for, to judgefrom all appearances, he must have been possessed of a mostdesirable circle of acquaintance, if he could have reasonablyexpected to be more comfortable anywhere else. The fire wasblazing brightly under the influence of the bellows, and the kettlewas singing gaily under the influence of both. A small tray of tea-things was arranged on the table; a plate of hot buttered toast wasgently simmering before the fire; and the red-nosed man himselfwas busily engaged in converting a large slice of bread into thesame agreeable edible, through the instrumentality of a long brasstoasting-fork. Beside him stood a glass of reeking hot pine-applerum-and-water, with a slice of lemon in it; and every time the red-nosed man stopped to bring the round of toast to his eye, with theview of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed a drop or two of thehot pine-apple rum-and-water, and smiled upon the rather stoutlady, as she blew the fire.
　　Sam was so lost in the contemplation of this comfortable scene,that he suffered the first inquiry of the rather stout lady to passunheeded. It was not until it had been twice repeated, each time ina shriller tone, that he became conscious of the impropriety of hisbehaviour.
　　‘Governor in?’ inquired Sam, in reply to the question.
　　‘No, he isn’t,’ replied Mrs. Weller; for the rather stout lady wasno other than the quondam relict and sole executrix of the dead-and-gone Mr. Clarke; ‘no, he isn’t, and I don’t expect him, either.’
　　‘I suppose he’s drivin’ up to-day?’ said Sam.
　　‘He may be, or he may not,’ replied Mrs. Weller, buttering theround of toast which the red-nosed man had just finished. ‘I don’tknow, and, what’s more, I don’t care.―Ask a blessin’, Mr.
　　Stiggins.’
　　The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantlycommenced on the toast with fierce voracity.
　　The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sam, at firstsight, to more than half suspect that he was the deputy-shepherdof whom his estimable parent had spoken. The moment he sawhim eat, all doubt on the subject was removed, and he perceived atonce that if he purposed to take up his temporary quarters wherehe was, he must make his footing good without delay. He thereforecommenced proceedings by putting his arm over the half-door ofthe bar, coolly unbolting it, and leisurely walking in.
　　‘Mother-in-law,’ said Sam, ‘how are you?’
　　‘Why, I do believe he is a Weller!’ said Mrs. W., raising her eyesto Sam’s face, with no very gratified expression of countenance.
　　‘I rayther think he is,’ said the imperturbable Sam; ‘and I hopethis here reverend gen’l’m’n ‘ll excuse me saying that I wish I wasthe Weller as owns you, mother-in-law.’
　　This was a double-barrelled compliment. It implied that Mrs.
　　Weller was a most agreeable female, and also that Mr. Stigginshad a clerical appearance. It made a visible impression at once;and Sam followed up his advantage by kissing his mother-in-law.
　　‘Get along with you!’ said Mrs. Weller, pushing him away. ‘Forshame, young man!’ said the gentleman with the red nose.
　　‘No offence, sir, no offence,’ replied Sam; ‘you’re wery right,though; it ain’t the right sort o’ thing, ven mothers-in-law is youngand good-looking, is it, sir?’
　　‘It’s all vanity,’ said Mr. Stiggins.
　　‘Ah, so it is,’ said Mrs. Weller, setting her cap to rights.
　　Sam thought it was, too, but he held his peace.
　　The deputy-shepherd seemed by no means best pleased withSam’s arrival; and when the first effervescence of the complimenthad subsided, even Mrs. Weller looked as if she could have sparedhim without the smallest inconvenience. However, there he was;and as he couldn’t be decently turned out, they all three sat downto tea.
　　‘And how’s father?’ said Sam.
　　At this inquiry, Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up hereyes, as if the subject were too painful to be alluded to.
　　Mr. Stiggins groaned.
　　‘What’s the matter with that ’ere gen’l’m’n?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘He’s shocked at the way your father goes on in,’ replied Mrs.
　　Weller.
　　‘Oh, he is, is he?’ said Sam.
　　‘And with too good reason,’ added Mrs. Weller gravely.
　　Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned heavily.
　　‘He is a dreadful reprobate,’ said Mrs. Weller.
　　‘A man of wrath!’ exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. He took a large semi-circular bite out of the toast, and groaned again.
　　Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the reverend Mr.
　　Stiggins something to groan for, but he repressed his inclination,and merely asked, ‘What’s the old ’un up to now?’
　　‘Up to, indeed!’ said Mrs. Weller, ‘Oh, he has a hard heart.
　　Night after night does this excellent man―don’t frown, Mr.
　　Stiggins; I will say you are an excellent man―come and sit here,for hours together, and it has not the least effect upon him.’
　　‘Well, that is odd,’ said Sam; ‘it ’ud have a wery considerableeffect upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that.’
　　‘The fact is, my young friend,’ said Mr. Stiggins solemnly, ‘hehas an obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else couldhave resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, andwithstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble society forproviding the infant negroes in the West Indies with flannelwaistcoats and moral pocket-handkerchiefs?’
　　‘What’s a moral pocket-ankercher?’ said Sam; ‘I never see oneo’ them articles o’ furniter.’
　　‘Those which combine amusement With instruction, my youngfriend,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, ‘blending select tales with wood-cuts.’
　　‘Oh, I know,’ said Sam; ‘them as hangs up in the linen-drapers’
　　shops, with beggars’ petitions and all that ’ere upon ‘em?’
　　Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.
　　‘And he wouldn’t be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn’t he?’ saidSam.
　　‘Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were―what did he say the infant negroes were?’ said Mrs. Weller.
　　‘Little humbugs,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected.
　　‘Said the infant negroes were little humbugs,’ repeated Mrs.
　　Weller. And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of theelder Mr. Weller.
　　A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might havebeen disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having gotvery weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to go,Mr. Stiggins suddenly recollected that he had a most pressingappointment with the shepherd, and took himself off accordingly.
　　The tea-things had been scarcely put away, and the hearthswept up, when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller, senior, atthe door; his legs deposited him in the bar; and his eyes showedhim his son.
　　‘What, Sammy!’ exclaimed the father.
　　‘What, old Nobs!’ ejaculated the son. And they shook handsheartily.
　　‘Wery glad to see you, Sammy,’ said the elder Mr. Weller,‘though how you’ve managed to get over your mother-in-law, is amystery to me. I only vish you’d write me out the receipt, that’sall.’
　　‘Hush!’ said Sam, ‘she’s at home, old feller.’
　　‘She ain’t vithin hearin’,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘she always goesand blows up, downstairs, for a couple of hours arter tea; so we’lljust give ourselves a damp, Sammy.’
　　Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of spirits-and-water,and produced a couple of pipes. The father and son sitting downopposite each other; Sam on one side of the fire, in the high-backed chair, and Mr. Weller, senior, on the other, in an easy ditto,they proceeded to enjoy themselves with all due gravity.
　　‘Anybody been here, Sammy?’ asked Mr. Weller, senior, dryly,after a long silence.
　　Sam nodded an expressive assent.
　　‘Red-nosed chap?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　Sam nodded again.
　　‘Amiable man that ’ere, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, smokingviolently.
　　‘Seems so,’ observed Sam.
　　‘Good hand at accounts,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Is he?’ said Sam.
　　‘Borrows eighteenpence on Monday, and comes on Tuesday fora shillin’ to make it up half-a-crown; calls again on Vensday foranother half-crown to make it five shillin’s; and goes on, doubling,till he gets it up to a five pund note in no time, like them sums inthe ’rithmetic book ’bout the nails in the horse’s shoes, Sammy.’
　　Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem alludedto by his parent.
　　‘So you vouldn’t subscribe to the flannel veskits?’ said Sam,after another interval of smoking.
　　‘Cert’nly not,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘what’s the good o’ flannelveskits to the young niggers abroad? But I’ll tell you what it is,Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending acrossthe fireplace; ‘I’d come down wery handsome towards straitveskits for some people at home.’
　　As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position,and winked at his first-born, in a profound manner.
　　‘It cert’nly seems a queer start to send out pocket-’ankerchersto people as don’t know the use on ’em,’ observed Sam.
　　‘They’re alvays a-doin’ some gammon of that sort, Sammy,’
　　replied his father. ‘T’other Sunday I wos walkin’ up the road, wenwho should I see, a-standin’ at a chapel door, with a blue soup-plate in her hand, but your mother-in-law! I werily believe therewas change for a couple o’ suv’rins in it, then, Sammy, all inha’pence; and as the people come out, they rattled the pennies init, till you’d ha’ thought that no mortal plate as ever was baked,could ha’ stood the wear and tear. What d’ye think it was all for?’
　　‘For another tea-drinkin’, perhaps,’ said Sam.
　　‘Not a bit on it,’ replied the father; ‘for the shepherd’s water-rate, Sammy.’
　　‘The shepherd’s water-rate!’ said Sam.
　　‘Ay,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘there was three quarters owin’, andthe shepherd hadn’t paid a farden, not he―perhaps it might be onaccount that the water warn’t o’ much use to him, for it’s werylittle o’ that tap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a trick worth agood half-dozen of that, he does. Hows’ever, it warn’t paid, and sothey cuts the water off. Down goes the shepherd to chapel, givesout as he’s a persecuted saint, and says he hopes the heart of theturncock as cut the water off, ‘ll be softened, and turned in theright vay, but he rayther thinks he’s booked for somethin’
　　uncomfortable. Upon this, the women calls a meetin’, sings ahymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair, wolunteers acollection next Sunday, and hands it all over to the shepherd. Andif he ain’t got enough out on ’em, Sammy, to make him free of thewater company for life,’ said Mr. Weller, in conclusion, ‘I’m oneDutchman, and you’re another, and that’s all about it.’
　　Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and thenresumed―‘The worst o’ these here shepherds is, my boy, that theyreg’larly turns the heads of all the young ladies, about here. Lordbless their little hearts, they thinks it’s all right, and don’t know nobetter; but they’re the wictims o’ gammon, Samivel, they’re thewictims o’ gammon.’
　　‘I s’pose they are,’ said Sam.
　　‘Nothin’ else,’ said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely; ‘andwot aggrawates me, Samivel, is to see ’em a-wastin’ all their timeand labour in making clothes for copper-coloured people as don’twant ’em, and taking no notice of flesh-coloured Christians as do.
　　If I’d my vay, Samivel, I’d just stick some o’ these here lazyshepherds behind a heavy wheelbarrow, and run ’em up and downa fourteen-inch-wide plank all day. That ’ud shake the nonsenseout of ’em, if anythin’ vould.’
　　Mr. Weller, having delivered this gentle recipe with strongemphasis, eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the eye,emptied his glass at a draught, and knocked the ashes out of hispipe, with native dignity.
　　He was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was heardin the passage.
　　‘Here’s your dear relation, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller; and Mrs.
　　W. hurried into the room.
　　‘Oh, you’ve come back, have you!’ said Mrs. Weller.
　　‘Yes, my dear,’ replied Mr. Weller, filling a fresh pipe.
　　‘Has Mr. Stiggins been back?’ said Mrs. Weller.
　　‘No, my dear, he hasn’t,’ replied Mr. Weller, lighting the pipe bythe ingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, between thetongs, a red-hot coal from the adjacent fire; and what’s more, mydear, I shall manage to surwive it, if he don’t come back at all.’
　　‘Ugh, you wretch!’ said Mrs. Weller.
　　‘Thank’ee, my love,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Come, come, father,’ saidSam, ‘none o’ these little lovin’s afore strangers. Here’s thereverend gen’l’m’n a-comin’ in now.’ At this announcement, Mrs.
　　Weller hastily wiped off the tears which she had just begun toforce on; and Mr. W. drew his chair sullenly into the chimney-corner.
　　Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on to take another glass of thehot pine-apple rum-and-water, and a second, and a third, and thento refresh himself with a slight supper, previous to beginningagain. He sat on the same side as Mr. Weller, senior; and everytime he could contrive to do so, unseen by his wife, that gentlemanindicated to his son the hidden emotions of his bosom, by shakinghis fist over the deputy-shepherd’s head; a process which affordedhis son the most unmingled delight and satisfaction, the moreespecially as Mr. Stiggins went on, quietly drinking the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, wholly unconscious of what was goingforward.
　　The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs. Wellerand the reverend Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principallydescanted on, were the virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness ofhis flock, and the high crimes and misdemeanours of everybodybeside―dissertations which the elder Mr. Weller occasionallyinterrupted by half-suppressed references to a gentleman of thename of Walker, and other running commentaries of the samekind.
　　At length Mr. Stiggins, with several most indubitable symptomsof having quite as much pine-apple rum-and-water about him ashe could comfortably accommodate, took his hat, and his leave;and Sam was, immediately afterwards, shown to bed by his father.
　　The respectable old gentleman wrung his hand fervently, andseemed disposed to address some observation to his son; but onMrs. Weller advancing towards him, he appeared to relinquishthat intention, and abruptly bade him good-night.
　　Sam was up betimes next day, and having partaken of a hastybreakfast, prepared to return to London. He had scarcely set footwithout the house, when his father stood before him.
　　‘Goin’, Sammy?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘Off at once,’ replied Sam.
　　‘I vish you could muffle that ’ere Stiggins, and take him vithyou,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘I am ashamed on you!’ said Sam reproachfully; ‘what do you lethim show his red nose in the Markis o’ Granby at all, for?’
　　Mr. Weller the elder fixed on his son an earnest look, andreplied, ‘’Cause I’m a married man, Samivel, ’cause I’m a marriedman. Ven you’re a married man, Samivel, you’ll understand agood many things as you don’t understand now; but vether it’sworth while goin’ through so much, to learn so little, as thecharity-boy said ven he got to the end of the alphabet, is a mattero’ taste. I rayther think it isn’t.’
　　‘Well,’ said Sam, ‘good-bye.’
　　‘Tar, tar, Sammy,’ replied his father.
　　‘I’ve only got to say this here,’ said Sam, stopping short, ‘that if Iwas the properiator o’ the Markis o’ Granby, and that ’ere Stigginscame and made toast in my bar, I’d―’
　　‘What?’ interposed Mr. Weller, with great anxiety. ‘What?’
　　‘Pison his rum-and-water,’ said Sam.
　　‘No!’ said Mr. Weller, shaking his son eagerly by the hand,‘would you raly, Sammy-would you, though?’
　　‘I would,’ said Sam. ‘I wouldn’t be too hard upon him at first. I’ddrop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on; and if I found hewas insensible to kindness, I’d try the other persvasion.’
　　The elder Mr. Weller bestowed a look of deep, unspeakableadmiration on his son, and, having once more grasped his hand,walked slowly away, revolving in his mind the numerousreflections to which his advice had given rise.
　　Sam looked after him, until he turned a corner of the road; andthen set forward on his walk to London. He meditated at first, onthe probable consequences of his own advice, and the likelihood ofhis father’s adopting it. He dismissed the subject from his mind,however, with the consolatory reflection that time alone wouldshow; and this is the reflection we would impress upon the reader.
Chapter 28
A GOOD-HUMOURED CHRISTMAS CHAPTER,CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF A WEDDING,AND SOME OTHER SPORTS BESIDE: WHICHALTHOUGH IN THEIR WAY, EVEN AS GOODCUSTOMS AS MARRIAGE ITSELF, ARE NOTQUITE SO RELIGIOUSLY KEPT UP,IN THESE DEGENERATE TIMESs brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fairies, did thefour Pickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-second day of December, in the year of grace in whichthese, their faithfully-recorded adventures, were undertaken andaccomplished. Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff andhearty honesty; it was the season of hospitality, merriment, andopen-heartedness; the old year was preparing, like an ancientphilosopher, to call his friends around him, and amidst the soundof feasting and revelry to pass gently and calmly away. Gay andmerry was the time; and right gay and merry were at least four ofthe numerous hearts that were gladdened by its coming.
　　And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas bringsa brief season of happiness and enjoyment. How many families,whose members have been dispersed and scattered far and wide,in the restless struggles of life, are then reunited, and meet onceagain in that happy state of companionship and mutual goodwill,which is a source of such pure and unalloyed delight; and one soincompatible with the cares and sorrows of the world, that thereligious belief of the most civilised nations, and the rudetraditions of the roughest savages, alike number it among the firstjoys of a future condition of existence, provided for the blessedand happy! How many old recollections, and how many dormantsympathies, does Christmas time awaken!
　　We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot atwhich, year after year, we met on that day, a merry and joyouscircle. Many of the hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have ceasedto beat; many of the looks that shone so brightly then, have ceasedto glow; the hands we grasped, have grown cold; the eyes wesought, have hid their lustre in the grave; and yet the old house,the room, the merry voices and smiling faces, the jest, the laugh,the most minute and trivial circumstances connected with thosehappy meetings, crowd upon our mind at each recurrence of theseason, as if the last assemblage had been but yesterday! Happy,happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of ourchildish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of hisyouth; that can transport the sailor and the traveller, thousands ofmiles away, back to his own fireside and his quiet home!
　　But we are so taken up and occupied with the good qualities ofthis saint Christmas, that we are keeping Mr. Pickwick and hisfriends waiting in the cold on the outside of the Muggleton coach,which they have just attained, well wrapped up in great-coats,shawls, and comforters. The portmanteaus and carpet-bags havebeen stowed away, and Mr. Weller and the guard areendeavouring to insinuate into the fore-boot a huge cod-fishseveral sizes too large for it―which is snugly packed up, in a longbrown basket, with a layer of straw over the top, and which hasbeen left to the last, in order that he may repose in safety on thehalf-dozen barrels of real native oysters, all the property of Mr.
　　Pickwick, which have been arranged in regular order at thebottom of the receptacle. The interest displayed in Mr. Pickwick’scountenance is most intense, as Mr. Weller and the guard try tosqueeze the cod-fish into the boot, first head first, and then tailfirst, and then top upward, and then bottom upward, and thenside-ways, and then long-ways, all of which artifices theimplacable cod-fish sturdily resists, until the guard accidentallyhits him in the very middle of the basket, whereupon he suddenlydisappears into the boot, and with him, the head and shoulders ofthe guard himself, who, not calculating upon so sudden a cessationof the passive resistance of the cod-fish, experiences a veryunexpected shock, to the unsmotherable delight of all the portersand bystanders. Upon this, Mr. Pickwick smiles with great good-humour, and drawing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket, begsthe guard, as he picks himself out of the boot, to drink his health ina glass of hot brandy-and-water; at which the guard smiles too,and Messrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, all smile incompany. The guard and Mr. Weller disappear for five minutes,most probably to get the hot brandy-and-water, for they smell verystrongly of it, when they return, the coachman mounts to the box,Mr. Weller jumps up behind, the Pickwickians pull their coatsround their legs and their shawls over their noses, the helpers pullthe horse-cloths off, the coachman shouts out a cheery ‘All right,’
　　and away they go.
　　They have rumbled through the streets, and jolted over thestones, and at length reach the wide and open country. The wheelsskim over the hard and frosty ground; and the horses, burstinginto a canter at a smart crack of the whip, step along the road as ifthe load behind them―coach, passengers, cod-fish, oyster-barrels,and all―were but a feather at their heels. They have descended agentle slope, and enter upon a level, as compact and dry as a solidblock of marble, two miles long. Another crack of the whip, and onthey speed, at a smart gallop, the horses tossing their heads andrattling the harness, as if in exhilaration at the rapidity of themotion; while the coachman, holding whip and reins in one hand,takes off his hat with the other, and resting it on his knees, pullsout his handkerchief, and wipes his forehead, partly because hehas a habit of doing it, and partly because it’s as well to show thepassengers how cool he is, and what an easy thing it is to drivefour-in-hand, when you have had as much practice as he has.
　　Having done this very leisurely (otherwise the effect would bematerially impaired), he replaces his handkerchief, pulls on hishat, adjusts his gloves, squares his elbows, cracks the whip again,and on they speed, more merrily than before. A few small houses,scattered on either side of the road, betoken the entrance to sometown or village. The lively notes of the guard’s key-bugle vibrate inthe clear cold air, and wake up the old gentleman inside, who,carefully letting down the window-sash half-way, and standingsentry over the air, takes a short peep out, and then carefullypulling it up again, informs the other inside that they’re going tochange directly; on which the other inside wakes himself up, anddetermines to postpone his next nap until after the stoppage.
　　Again the bugle sounds lustily forth, and rouses the cottager’s wifeand children, who peep out at the house door, and watch thecoach till it turns the corner, when they once more crouch roundthe blazing fire, and throw on another log of wood against fathercomes home; while father himself, a full mile off, has justexchanged a friendly nod with the coachman, and turned round totake a good long stare at the vehicle as it whirls away.
　　And now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles throughthe ill-paved streets of a country town; and the coachman, undoingthe buckle which keeps his ribands together, prepares to throwthem off the moment he stops. Mr. Pickwick emerges from his coatcollar, and looks about him with great curiosity; perceiving which,the coachman informs Mr. Pickwick of the name of the town, andtells him it was market-day yesterday, both of which pieces ofinformation Mr. Pickwick retails to his fellow-passengers;whereupon they emerge from their coat collars too, and look aboutthem also. Mr. Winkle, who sits at the extreme edge, with one legdangling in the air, is nearly precipitated into the street, as thecoach twists round the sharp corner by the cheesemonger’s shop,and turns into the market-place; and before Mr. Snodgrass, whosits next to him, has recovered from his alarm, they pull up at theinn yard where the fresh horses, with cloths on, are alreadywaiting. The coachman throws down the reins and gets downhimself, and the other outside passengers drop down also; exceptthose who have no great confidence in their ability to get up again;and they remain where they are, and stamp their feet against thecoach to warm them―looking, with longing eyes and red noses, atthe bright fire in the inn bar, and the sprigs of holly with redberries which ornament the window.
　　But the guard has delivered at the corn-dealer’s shop, thebrown paper packet he took out of the little pouch which hangsover his shoulder by a leathern strap; and has seen the horsescarefully put to; and has thrown on the pavement the saddle whichwas brought from London on the coach roof; and has assisted inthe conference between the coachman and the hostler about thegray mare that hurt her off fore-leg last Tuesday; and he and Mr.
　　Weller are all right behind, and the coachman is all right in front,and the old gentleman inside, who has kept the window down fulltwo inches all this time, has pulled it up again, and the cloths areoff, and they are all ready for starting, except the ‘two stoutgentlemen,’ whom the coachman inquires after with someimpatience. Hereupon the coachman, and the guard, and SamWeller, and Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, and all the hostlers,and every one of the idlers, who are more in number than all theothers put together, shout for the missing gentlemen as loud asthey can bawl. A distant response is heard from the yard, and Mr.
　　Pickwick and Mr. Tupman come running down it, quite out ofbreath, for they have been having a glass of ale a-piece, and Mr.
　　Pickwick’s fingers are so cold that he has been full five minutesbefore he could find the sixpence to pay for it. The coachmanshouts an admonitory ‘Now then, gen’l’m’n,’ the guard re-echoesit; the old gentleman inside thinks it a very extraordinary thingthat people will get down when they know there isn’t time for it;Mr. Pickwick struggles up on one side, Mr. Tupman on the other;Mr. Winkle cries ‘All right’; and off they start. Shawls are pulledup, coat collars are readjusted, the pavement ceases, the housesdisappear; and they are once again dashing along the open road,with the fresh clear air blowing in their faces, and gladdening theirvery hearts within them.
　　Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by theMuggleton Telegraph, on their way to Dingley Dell; and at threeo’clock that afternoon they all stood high and dry, safe and sound,hale and hearty, upon the steps of the Blue Lion, having taken onthe road quite enough of ale and brandy, to enable them to biddefiance to the frost that was binding up the earth in its ironfetters, and weaving its beautiful network upon the trees andhedges. Mr. Pickwick was busily engaged in counting the barrelsof oysters and superintending the disinterment of the cod-fish,when he felt himself gently pulled by the skirts of the coat.
　　Looking round, he discovered that the individual who resorted tothis mode of catching his attention was no other than Mr. Wardle’sfavourite page, better known to the readers of this unvarnishedhistory, by the distinguishing appellation of the fat boy.
　　‘Aha!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Aha!’ said the fat boy.
　　As he said it, he glanced from the cod-fish to the oyster-barrels,and chuckled joyously. He was fatter than ever.
　　‘Well, you look rosy enough, my young friend,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘I’ve been asleep, right in front of the taproom fire,’ replied thefat boy, who had heated himself to the colour of a new chimney-pot, in the course of an hour’s nap. ‘Master sent me over with theshay-cart, to carry your luggage up to the house. He’d ha’ sentsome saddle-horses, but he thought you’d rather walk, being acold day.’
　　‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr. Pickwick hastily, for he remembered howthey had travelled over nearly the same ground on a previousoccasion. ‘Yes, we would rather walk. Here, Sam!’
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘Help Mr. Wardle’s servant to put the packages into the cart,and then ride on with him. We will walk forward at once.’
　　Having given this direction, and settled with the coachman, Mr.
　　Pickwick and his three friends struck into the footpath across thefields, and walked briskly away, leaving Mr. Weller and the fat boyconfronted together for the first time. Sam looked at the fat boywith great astonishment, but without saying a word; and began tostow the luggage rapidly away in the cart, while the fat boy stoodquietly by, and seemed to think it a very interesting sort of thing tosee Mr. Weller working by himself.
　　‘There,’ said Sam, throwing in the last carpet-bag, ‘there theyare!’
　　‘Yes,’ said the fat boy, in a very satisfied tone, ‘there they are.’
　　‘Vell, young twenty stun,’ said Sam, ‘you’re a nice specimen of aprize boy, you are!’
　　‘Thank’ee,’ said the fat boy.
　　‘You ain’t got nothin’ on your mind as makes you fret yourself,have you?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Not as I knows on,’ replied the fat boy.
　　‘I should rayther ha’ thought, to look at you, that you was a-labourin’ under an unrequited attachment to some young ’ooman,’
　　said Sam.
　　The fat boy shook his head.
　　‘Vell,’ said Sam, ‘I am glad to hear it. Do you ever drinkanythin’?’
　　‘I likes eating better,’ replied the boy.
　　‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘I should ha’ s’posed that; but what I mean is,should you like a drop of anythin’ as’d warm you? but I s’pose younever was cold, with all them elastic fixtures, was you?’
　　‘Sometimes,’ replied the boy; ‘and I likes a drop of something,when it’s good.’
　　‘Oh, you do, do you?’ said Sam, ‘come this way, then!’
　　The Blue Lion tap was soon gained, and the fat boy swallowed aglass of liquor without so much as winking―a feat whichconsiderably advanced him in Mr. Weller’s good opinion. Mr.
　　Weller having transacted a similar piece of business on his ownaccount, they got into the cart.
　　‘Can you drive?’ said the fat boy. ‘I should rayther think so,’
　　replied Sam.
　　‘There, then,’ said the fat boy, putting the reins in his hand, andpointing up a lane, ‘it’s as straight as you can go; you can’t miss it.’
　　With these words, the fat boy laid himself affectionately downby the side of the cod-fish, and, placing an oyster-barrel under hishead for a pillow, fell asleep instantaneously.
　　‘Well,’ said Sam, ‘of all the cool boys ever I set my eyes on, thishere young gen’l’m’n is the coolest. Come, wake up, youngdropsy!’
　　But as young dropsy evinced no symptoms of returninganimation, Sam Weller sat himself down in front of the cart, andstarting the old horse with a jerk of the rein, jogged steadily on,towards the Manor Farm.
　　Meanwhile, Mr. Pickwick and his friends having walked theirblood into active circulation, proceeded cheerfully on. The pathswere hard; the grass was crisp and frosty; the air had a fine, dry,bracing coldness; and the rapid approach of the gray twilight(slate-coloured is a better term in frosty weather) made them lookforward with pleasant anticipation to the comforts which awaitedthem at their hospitable entertainer’s. It was the sort of afternoonthat might induce a couple of elderly gentlemen, in a lonely field,to take off their greatcoats and play at leap-frog in pure lightnessof heart and gaiety; and we firmly believe that had Mr. Tupman atthat moment proffered ‘a back,’ Mr. Pickwick would have acceptedhis offer with the utmost avidity.
　　However, Mr. Tupman did not volunteer any suchaccommodation, and the friends walked on, conversing merrily. Asthey turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many voicesburst upon their ears; and before they had even had time to form aguess to whom they belonged, they walked into the very centre ofthe party who were expecting their arrival―a fact which was firstnotified to the Pickwickians, by the loud ‘Hurrah,’ which burstfrom old Wardle’s lips, when they appeared in sight.
　　First, there was Wardle himself, looking, if that were possible,more jolly than ever; then there were Bella and her faithfulTrundle; and, lastly, there were Emily and some eight or tenyoung ladies, who had all come down to the wedding, which was totake place next day, and who were in as happy and important astate as young ladies usually are, on such momentous occasions;and they were, one and all, startling the fields and lanes, far andwide, with their frolic and laughter.
　　The ceremony of introduction, under such circumstances, wasvery soon performed, or we should rather say that theintroduction was soon over, without any ceremony at all. In twominutes thereafter, Mr. Pickwick was joking with the young ladieswho wouldn’t come over the stile while he looked―or who, havingpretty feet and unexceptionable ankles, preferred standing on thetop rail for five minutes or so, declaring that they were toofrightened to move―with as much ease and absence of reserve orconstraint, as if he had known them for life. It is worthy of remark,too, that Mr. Snodgrass offered Emily far more assistance than theabsolute terrors of the stile (although it was full three feet high,and had only a couple of stepping-stones) would seem to require;while one black-eyed young lady in a very nice little pair of bootswith fur round the top, was observed to scream very loudly, whenMr. Winkle offered to help her over.
　　All this was very snug and pleasant. And when the difficulties ofthe stile were at last surmounted, and they once more entered onthe open field, old Wardle informed Mr. Pickwick how they had allbeen down in a body to inspect the furniture and fittings-up of thehouse, which the young couple were to tenant, after the Christmasholidays; at which communication Bella and Trundle bothcoloured up, as red as the fat boy after the taproom fire; and theyoung lady with the black eyes and the fur round the boots,whispered something in Emily’s ear, and then glanced archly atMr. Snodgrass; to which Emily responded that she was a foolishgirl, but turned very red, notwithstanding; and Mr. Snodgrass,who was as modest as all great geniuses usually are, felt thecrimson rising to the crown of his head, and devoutly wished, inthe inmost recesses of his own heart, that the young ladyaforesaid, with her black eyes, and her archness, and her bootswith the fur round the top, were all comfortably deposited in theadjacent county.
　　But if they were social and happy outside the house, what wasthe warmth and cordiality of their reception when they reachedthe farm! The very servants grinned with pleasure at sight of Mr.
　　Pickwick; and Emma bestowed a half-demure, half-impudent, andall-pretty look of recognition, on Mr. Tupman, which was enoughto make the statue of Bonaparte in the passage, unfold his arms,and clasp her within them.
　　The old lady was seated with customary state in the frontparlour, but she was rather cross, and, by consequence, mostparticularly deaf. She never went out herself, and like a greatmany other old ladies of the same stamp, she was apt to consider itan act of domestic treason, if anybody else took the liberty of doingwhat she couldn’t. So, bless her old soul, she sat as upright as shecould, in her great chair, and looked as fierce as might be―andthat was benevolent after all.
　　‘Mother,’ said Wardle, ‘Mr. Pickwick. You recollect him?’
　　‘Never mind,’ replied the old lady, with great dignity. ‘Don’ttrouble Mr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me. Nobody caresabout me now, and it’s very nat’ral they shouldn’t.’ Here the oldlady tossed her head, and smoothed down her lavender-colouredsilk dress with trembling hands. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, ‘I can’t let you cut an old friend in this way. I have comedown expressly to have a long talk, and another rubber with you;and we’ll show these boys and girls how to dance a minuet, beforethey’re eight-and-forty hours older.’
　　The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do itall at once; so she only said, ‘Ah! I can’t hear him!’
　　‘Nonsense, mother,’ said Wardle. ‘Come, come, don’t be cross,there’s a good soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must keep herspirits up, poor girl.’
　　The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her sonsaid it. But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was notquite brought round yet. So, she smoothed down the lavender-coloured dress again, and turning to Mr. Pickwick said, ‘Ah, Mr.
　　Pickwick, young people was very different, when I was a girl.’
　　‘No doubt of that, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and that’s thereason why I would make much of the few that have any traces ofthe old stock’―and saying this, Mr. Pickwick gently pulled Bellatowards him, and bestowing a kiss upon her forehead, bade her sitdown on the little stool at her grandmother’s feet. Whether theexpression of her countenance, as it was raised towards the oldlady’s face, called up a thought of old times, or whether the oldlady was touched by Mr. Pickwick’s affectionate good-nature, orwhatever was the cause, she was fairly melted; so she threwherself on her granddaughter’s neck, and all the little ill-humourevaporated in a gush of silent tears.
　　A happy party they were, that night. Sedate and solemn werethe score of rubbers in which Mr. Pickwick and the old lady playedtogether; uproarious was the mirth of the round table. Long afterthe ladies had retired, did the hot elder wine, well qualified withbrandy and spice, go round, and round, and round again; andsound was the sleep and pleasant were the dreams that followed.
　　It is a remarkable fact that those of Mr. Snodgrass bore constantreference to Emily Wardle; and that the principal figure in Mr.
　　Winkle’s visions was a young lady with black eyes, and arch smile,and a pair of remarkably nice boots with fur round the tops.
　　Mr. Pickwick was awakened early in the morning, by a hum ofvoices and a pattering of feet, sufficient to rouse even the fat boyfrom his heavy slumbers. He sat up in bed and listened. Thefemale servants and female visitors were running constantly toand fro; and there were such multitudinous demands for hotwater, such repeated outcries for needles and thread, and so manyhalf-suppressed entreaties of ‘Oh, do come and tie me, there’s adear!’ that Mr. Pickwick in his innocence began to imagine thatsomething dreadful must have occurred―when he grew moreawake, and remembered the wedding. The occasion being animportant one, he dressed himself with peculiar care, anddescended to the breakfast-room.
　　There were all the female servants in a brand new uniform ofpink muslin gowns with white bows in their caps, running aboutthe house in a state of excitement and agitation which it would beimpossible to describe. The old lady was dressed out in a brocadedgown, which had not seen the light for twenty years, saving andexcepting such truant rays as had stolen through the chinks in thebox in which it had been laid by, during the whole time. Mr.
　　Trundle was in high feather and spirits, but a little nervous withal.
　　The hearty old landlord was trying to look very cheerful andunconcerned, but failing signally in the attempt. All the girls werein tears and white muslin, except a select two or three, who werebeing honoured with a private view of the bride and bridesmaids,upstairs. All the Pickwickians were in most blooming array; andthere was a terrific roaring on the grass in front of the house,occasioned by all the men, boys, and hobbledehoys attached to thefarm, each of whom had got a white bow in his button-hole, and allof whom were cheering with might and main; being incitedthereto, and stimulated therein by the precept and example of Mr.
　　Samuel Weller, who had managed to become mighty popularalready, and was as much at home as if he had been born on theland.
　　A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really isno great joke in the matter after all;―we speak merely of theceremony, and beg it to be distinctly understood that we indulgein no hidden sarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up with thepleasure and joy of the occasion, are the many regrets at quittinghome, the tears of parting between parent and child, theconsciousness of leaving the dearest and kindest friends of thehappiest portion of human life, to encounter its cares and troubleswith others still untried and little known―natural feelings whichwe would not render this chapter mournful by describing, andwhich we should be still more unwilling to be supposed to ridicule.
　　Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed bythe old clergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and thatMr. Pickwick’s name is attached to the register, still preserved inthe vestry thereof; that the young lady with the black eyes signedher name in a very unsteady and tremulous manner; that Emily’ssignature, as the other bridesmaid, is nearly illegible; that it allwent off in very admirable style; that the young ladies generallythought it far less shocking than they had expected; and thatalthough the owner of the black eyes and the arch smile informedMr. Wardle that she was sure she could never submit to anythingso dreadful, we have the very best reasons for thinking she wasmistaken. To all this, we may add, that Mr. Pickwick was the firstwho saluted the bride, and that in so doing he threw over her necka rich gold watch and chain, which no mortal eyes but thejeweller’s had ever beheld before. Then, the old church bell rangas gaily as it could, and they all returned to breakfast. ‘Vere doesthe mince-pies go, young opium-eater?’ said Mr. Weller to the fatboy, as he assisted in laying out such articles of consumption ashad not been duly arranged on the previous night.
　　The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies.
　　‘Wery good,’ said Sam, ‘stick a bit o’ Christmas in ’em. T’otherdish opposite. There; now we look compact and comfortable, asthe father said ven he cut his little boy’s head off, to cure him o’
　　squintin’.’
　　As Mr. Weller made the comparison, he fell back a step or two,to give full effect to it, and surveyed the preparations with theutmost satisfaction.
　　‘Wardle,’ said Mr. Pickwick, almost as soon as they were allseated, ‘a glass of wine in honour of this happy occasion!’
　　‘I shall be delighted, my boy,’ said Wardle. ‘Joe―damn that boy,he’s gone to sleep.’
　　‘No, I ain’t, sir,’ replied the fat boy, starting up from a remotecorner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys―the immortalHorner―he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not withthe coolness and deliberation which characterised that younggentleman’s proceedings.
　　‘Fill Mr. Pickwick’s glass.’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　The fat boy filled Mr. Pickwick’s glass, and then retired behindhis master’s chair, from whence he watched the play of the knivesand forks, and the progress of the choice morsels from the dishesto the mouths of the company, with a kind of dark and gloomy joythat was most impressive.
　　‘God bless you, old fellow!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Same to you, my boy,’ replied Wardle; and they pledged eachother, heartily.
　　‘Mrs. Wardle,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘we old folks must have a glassof wine together, in honour of this joyful event.’
　　The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for shewas sitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown, with hernewly-married granddaughter on one side, and Mr. Pickwick onthe other, to do the carving. Mr. Pickwick had not spoken in a veryloud tone, but she understood him at once, and drank off a fullglass of wine to his long life and happiness; after which the worthyold soul launched forth into a minute and particular account of herown wedding, with a dissertation on the fashion of wearing high-heeled shoes, and some particulars concerning the life andadventures of the beautiful Lady Tollimglower, deceased; at all ofwhich the old lady herself laughed very heartily indeed, and so didthe young ladies too, for they were wondering among themselveswhat on earth grandma was talking about. When they laughed, theold lady laughed ten times more heartily, and said that thesealways had been considered capital stories, which caused them allto laugh again, and put the old lady into the very best of humours.
　　Then the cake was cut, and passed through the ring; the youngladies saved pieces to put under their pillows to dream of theirfuture husbands on; and a great deal of blushing and merrimentwas thereby occasioned.
　　‘Mr. Miller,’ said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance, thehard-headed gentleman, ‘a glass of wine?’
　　‘With great satisfaction, Mr. Pickwick,’ replied the hard-headedgentleman solemnly.
　　‘You’ll take me in?’ said the benevolent old clergyman.
　　‘And me,’ interposed his wife.
　　‘And me, and me,’ said a couple of poor relations at the bottomof the table, who had eaten and drunk very heartily, and laughedat everything.
　　Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt delight at every additionalsuggestion; and his eyes beamed with hilarity and cheerfulness.
　　‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly rising.
　　‘Hear, hear! Hear, hear! Hear, hear!’ cried Mr. Weller, in theexcitement of his feelings.
　　‘Call in all the servants,’ cried old Wardle, interposing toprevent the public rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise mostindubitably have received from his master. ‘Give them a glass ofwine each to drink the toast in. Now, Pickwick.’
　　Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of thewomen-servants, and the awkward embarrassment of the men,Mr. Pickwick proceeded―‘Ladies and gentlemen―no, I won’t say ladies and gentlemen,I’ll call you my friends, my dear friends, if the ladies will allow meto take so great a liberty―’
　　Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause fromthe ladies, echoed by the gentlemen, during which the owner ofthe eyes was distinctly heard to state that she could kiss that dearMr. Pickwick. Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if itcouldn’t be done by deputy: to which the young lady with theblack eyes replied ‘Go away,’ and accompanied the request with alook which said as plainly as a look could do, ‘if you can.’
　　‘My dear friends,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘I am going topropose the health of the bride and bridegroom―God bless ’em(cheers and tears). My young friend, Trundle, I believe to be a veryexcellent and manly fellow; and his wife I know to be a veryamiable and lovely girl, well qualified to transfer to another sphereof action the happiness which for twenty years she has diffusedaround her, in her father’s house. (Here, the fat boy burst forthinto stentorian blubberings, and was led forth by the coat collar,by Mr. Weller.) I wish,’ added Mr. Pickwick―‘I wish I was youngenough to be her sister’s husband (cheers), but, failing that, I amhappy to be old enough to be her father; for, being so, I shall notbe suspected of any latent designs when I say, that I admire,esteem, and love them both (cheers and sobs). The bride’s father,our good friend there, is a noble person, and I am proud to knowhim (great uproar). He is a kind, excellent, independent-spirited,fine-hearted, hospitable, liberal man (enthusiastic shouts from thepoor relations, at all the adjectives; and especially at the two last).
　　That his daughter may enjoy all the happiness, even he can desire;and that he may derive from the contemplation of her felicity allthe gratification of heart and peace of mind which he so welldeserves, is, I am persuaded, our united wish. So, let us drink theirhealths, and wish them prolonged life, and every blessing!’
　　Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause; andonce more were the lungs of the supernumeraries, under Mr.
　　Weller’s command, brought into active and efficient operation. Mr.
　　Wardle proposed Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick proposed the oldlady. Mr. Snodgrass proposed Mr. Wardle; Mr. Wardle proposedMr. Snodgrass. One of the poor relations proposed Mr. Tupman,and the other poor relation proposed Mr. Winkle; all washappiness and festivity, until the mysterious disappearance ofboth the poor relations beneath the table, warned the party that itwas time to adjourn.
　　At dinner they met again, after a five-and-twenty mile walk,undertaken by the males at Wardle’s recommendation, to get ridof the effects of the wine at breakfast. The poor relations had keptin bed all day, with the view of attaining the same happyconsummation, but, as they had been unsuccessful, they stoppedthere. Mr. Weller kept the domestics in a state of perpetualhilarity; and the fat boy divided his time into small alternateallotments of eating and sleeping.
　　The dinner was as hearty an affair as the breakfast, and wasquite as noisy, without the tears. Then came the dessert and somemore toasts. Then came the tea and coffee; and then, the ball.
　　The best sitting-room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark-panelled room with a high chimney-piece, and a capaciouschimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patentcabs, wheels and all. At the upper end of the room, seated in ashady bower of holly and evergreens were the two best fiddlers,and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all sorts of recesses, and onall kinds of brackets, stood massive old silver candlesticks withfour branches each. The carpet was up, the candles burned bright,the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merry voices andlight-hearted laughter rang through the room. If any of the oldEnglish yeomen had turned into fairies when they died, it was justthe place in which they would have held their revels.
　　If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeablescene, it would have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick’sappearing without his gaiters, for the first time within the memoryof his oldest friends.
　　‘You mean to dance?’ said Wardle.
　　‘Of course I do,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Don’t you see I amdressed for the purpose?’ Mr. Pickwick called attention to hisspeckled silk stockings, and smartly tied pumps.
　　‘You in silk stockings!’ exclaimed Mr. Tupman jocosely.
　　‘And why not, sir―why not?’ said Mr. Pickwick, turningwarmly upon him. ‘Oh, of course there is no reason why youshouldn’t wear them,’ responded Mr. Tupman.
　　‘I imagine not, sir―I imagine not,’ said Mr. Pickwick, in a veryperemptory tone.
　　Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was aserious matter; so he looked grave, and said they were a prettypattern.
　　‘I hope they are,’ said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon hisfriend. ‘You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, asstockings, I trust, sir?’
　　‘Certainly not. Oh, certainly not,’ replied Mr. Tupman. Hewalked away; and Mr. Pickwick’s countenance resumed itscustomary benign expression.
　　‘We are all ready, I believe,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who wasstationed with the old lady at the top of the dance, and had alreadymade four false starts, in his excessive anxiety to commence.
　　‘Then begin at once,’ said Wardle. ‘Now!’
　　Up struck the two fiddles and the one harp, and off went Mr.
　　Pickwick into hands across, when there was a general clapping ofhands, and a cry of ‘Stop, stop!’
　　‘What’s the matter?’ said Mr. Pickwick, who was only broughtto, by the fiddles and harp desisting, and could have been stoppedby no other earthly power, if the house had been on fire. ‘Where’sArabella Allen?’ cried a dozen voices.
　　‘And Winkle?’added Mr. Tupman.
　　‘Here we are!’ exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with hispretty companion from the corner; as he did so, it would havebeen hard to tell which was the redder in the face, he or the younglady with the black eyes.
　　‘What an extraordinary thing it is, Winkle,’ said Mr. Pickwick,rather pettishly, ‘that you couldn’t have taken your place before.’
　　‘Not at all extraordinary,’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a very expressive smile, as hiseyes rested on Arabella, ‘well, I don’t know that it wasextraordinary, either, after all.’
　　However, there was no time to think more about the matter, forthe fiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr.
　　Pickwick―hands across―down the middle to the very end of theroom, and half-way up the chimney, back again to the door―poussette everywhere―loud stamp on the ground―ready for thenext couple―off again―all the figure over once more―anotherstamp to beat out the time―next couple, and the next, and thenext again―never was such going; at last, after they had reachedthe bottom of the dance, and full fourteen couple after the old ladyhad retired in an exhausted state, and the clergyman’s wife hadbeen substituted in her stead, did that gentleman, when there wasno demand whatever on his exertions, keep perpetually dancing inhis place, to keep time to the music, smiling on his partner all thewhile with a blandness of demeanour which baffles all description.
　　Long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newly-married couple had retired from the scene. There was a glorioussupper downstairs, notwithstanding, and a good long sitting afterit; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke, late the next morning, he had aconfused recollection of having, severally and confidentially,invited somewhere about five-and-forty people to dine with him atthe George and Vulture, the very first time they came to London;which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered a pretty certain indicationof his having taken something besides exercise, on the previousnight.
　　‘And so your family has games in the kitchen to-night, my dear,has they?’ inquired Sam of Emma.
　　‘Yes, Mr. Weller,’ replied Emma; ‘we always have on ChristmasEve. Master wouldn’t neglect to keep it up on any account.’
　　‘Your master’s a wery pretty notion of keeping anythin’ up, mydear,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘I never see such a sensible sort of man ashe is, or such a reg’lar gen’l’m’n.’
　　‘Oh, that he is!’ said the fat boy, joining in the conversation;‘don’t he breed nice pork!’ The fat youth gave a semi-cannibalicleer at Mr. Weller, as he thought of the roast legs and gravy.
　　‘Oh, you’ve woke up, at last, have you?’ said Sam.
　　The fat boy nodded.
　　‘I’ll tell you what it is, young boa-constructer,’ said Mr. Wellerimpressively; ‘if you don’t sleep a little less, and exercise a littlemore, wen you comes to be a man you’ll lay yourself open to thesame sort of personal inconwenience as was inflicted on the oldgen’l’m’n as wore the pigtail.’
　　‘What did they do to him?’ inquired the fat boy, in a falteringvoice.
　　‘I’m a-going to tell you,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘he was one o’ thelargest patterns as was ever turned out―reg’lar fat man, as hadn’tcaught a glimpse of his own shoes for five-and-forty year.’
　　‘Lor!’ exclaimed Emma.
　　‘No, that he hadn’t, my dear,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘and if you’d putan exact model of his own legs on the dinin’-table afore him, hewouldn’t ha’ known ’em. Well, he always walks to his office with awery handsome gold watch-chain hanging out, about a foot and aquarter, and a gold watch in his fob pocket as was worth―I’mafraid to say how much, but as much as a watch can be―a large,heavy, round manufacter, as stout for a watch, as he was for aman, and with a big face in proportion. “You’d better not carrythat ’ere watch,” says the old gen’l’m’n’s friends, “you’ll be robbedon it,” says they. “Shall I?” says he. “Yes, you will,” says they.
　　“Well,” says he, “I should like to see the thief as could get this herewatch out, for I’m blessed if I ever can, it’s such a tight fit,” sayshe, “and wenever I vants to know what’s o’clock, I’m obliged tostare into the bakers’ shops,” he says. Well, then he laughs ashearty as if he was a-goin’ to pieces, and out he walks agin with hispowdered head and pigtail, and rolls down the Strand with thechain hangin’ out furder than ever, and the great round watchalmost bustin’ through his gray kersey smalls. There warn’t apickpocket in all London as didn’t take a pull at that chain, but thechain ’ud never break, and the watch ’ud never come out, so theysoon got tired of dragging such a heavy old gen’l’m’n along thepavement, and he’d go home and laugh till the pigtail wibratedlike the penderlum of a Dutch clock. At last, one day the oldgen’l’m’n was a-rollin’ along, and he sees a pickpocket as heknow’d by sight, a-coming up, arm in arm with a little boy with awery large head. “Here’s a game,” says the old gen’l’m’n tohimself, “they’re a-goin’ to have another try, but it won’t do!” Sohe begins a-chucklin’ wery hearty, wen, all of a sudden, the littleboy leaves hold of the pickpocket’s arm, and rushes head foremoststraight into the old gen’l’m’n’s stomach, and for a momentdoubles him right up with the pain. “Murder!” says the oldgen’l’m’n. “All right, sir,” says the pickpocket, a-wisperin’ in hisear. And wen he come straight agin, the watch and chain wasgone, and what’s worse than that, the old gen’l’m’n’s digestion wasall wrong ever afterwards, to the wery last day of his life; so justyou look about you, young feller, and take care you don’t get toofat.’
　　As Mr. Weller concluded this moral tale, with which the fat boyThe Pickwick Papersappeared much affected, they all three repaired to the largekitchen, in which the family were by this time assembled,according to annual custom on Christmas Eve, observed by oldWardle’s forefathers from time immemorial.
　　From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle hadjust suspended, with his own hands, a huge branch of mistletoe,and this same branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to ascene of general and most delightful struggling and confusion; inthe midst of which, Mr. Pickwick, with a gallantry that would havedone honour to a descendant of Lady Tollimglower herself, tookthe old lady by the hand, led her beneath the mystic branch, andsaluted her in all courtesy and decorum. The old lady submitted tothis piece of practical politeness with all the dignity which befittedso important and serious a solemnity, but the younger ladies, notbeing so thoroughly imbued with a superstitious veneration forthe custom, or imagining that the value of a salute is very muchenhanced if it cost a little trouble to obtain it, screamed andstruggled, and ran into corners, and threatened and remonstrated,and did everything but leave the room, until some of the lessadventurous gentlemen were on the point of desisting, when theyall at once found it useless to resist any longer, and submitted tobe kissed with a good grace. Mr. Winkle kissed the young ladywith the black eyes, and Mr. Snodgrass kissed Emily; and Mr.
　　Weller, not being particular about the form of being under themistletoe, kissed Emma and the other female servants, just as hecaught them. As to the poor relations, they kissed everybody, noteven excepting the plainer portions of the young lady visitors,who, in their excessive confusion, ran right under the mistletoe, assoon as it was hung up, without knowing it! Wardle stood with hisback to the fire, surveying the whole scene, with the utmostsatisfaction; and the fat boy took the opportunity of appropriatingto his own use, and summarily devouring, a particularly finemince-pie, that had been carefully put by, for somebody else.
　　Now, the screaming had subsided, and faces were in a glow,and curls in a tangle, and Mr. Pickwick, after kissing the old ladyas before mentioned, was standing under the mistletoe, lookingwith a very pleased countenance on all that was passing aroundhim, when the young lady with the black eyes, after a littlewhispering with the other young ladies, made a sudden dartforward, and, putting her arm round Mr. Pickwick’s neck, salutedhim affectionately on the left cheek; and before Mr. Pickwickdistinctly knew what was the matter, he was surrounded by thewhole body, and kissed by every one of them.
　　It was a pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick in the centre of thegroup, now pulled this way, and then that, and first kissed on thechin, and then on the nose, and then on the spectacles, and to hearthe peals of laughter which were raised on every side; but it was astill more pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick, blinded shortlyafterwards with a silk handkerchief, falling up against the wall,and scrambling into corners, and going through all the mysteriesof blind-man’s buff, with the utmost relish for the game, until atlast he caught one of the poor relations, and then had to evade theblind-man himself, which he did with a nimbleness and agility thatelicited the admiration and applause of all beholders. The poorrelations caught the people who they thought would like it, and,when the game flagged, got caught themselves. When they all tiredof blind-man’s buff, there was a great game at snap-dragon, andwhen fingers enough were burned with that, and all the raisinswere gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to asubstantial supper, and a mighty bowl of wassail, somethingsmaller than an ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hotapples were hissing and bubbling with a rich look, and a jollysound, that were perfectly irresistible.
　　‘This,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him, ‘this is, indeed,comfort.’
　　‘Our invariable custom,’ replied Mr. Wardle. ‘Everybody sitsdown with us on Christmas Eve, as you see them now―servantsand all; and here we wait, until the clock strikes twelve, to usherChristmas in, and beguile the time with forfeits and old stories.
　　Trundle, my boy, rake up the fire.’
　　Up flew the bright sparks in myriads as the logs were stirred.
　　The deep red blaze sent forth a rich glow, that penetrated into thefarthest corner of the room, and cast its cheerful tint on every face.
　　‘Come,’ said Wardle, ‘a song―a Christmas song! I’ll give youone, in default of a better.’
　　‘Bravo!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Fill up,’ cried Wardle. ‘It will be two hours, good, before yousee the bottom of the bowl through the deep rich colour of thewassail; fill up all round, and now for the song.’
　　Thus saying, the merry old gentleman, in a good, round, sturdyvoice, commenced without more ado―A CHRISTMAS CAROL‘I care not for Spring; on his fickle wingLet the blossoms and buds be borne;He woos them amain with his treacherous rain,And he scatters them ere the morn.
　　An inconstant elf, he knows not himself,Nor his own changing mind an hour,He’ll smile in your face, and, with wry grimace,He’ll wither your youngest flower.
　　‘Let the Summer sun to his bright home run,He shall never be sought by me;When he’s dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloudAnd care not how sulky he be!
　　For his darling child is the madness wildThat sports in fierce fever’s train;And when love is too strong, it don’t last long,As many have found to their pain.
　　‘A mild harvest night, by the tranquil lightOf the modest and gentle moon,Has a far sweeter sheen for me, I ween,Than the broad and unblushing noon.
　　But every leaf awakens my grief,As it lieth beneath the tree;So let Autumn air be never so fair,It by no means agrees with me.
　　‘But my song I troll out, for Christmas Stout,The hearty, the true, and the bold;A bumper I drain, and with might and mainGive three cheers for this Christmas old!
　　We’ll usher him in with a merry dinThat shall gladden his joyous heart,And we’ll keep him up, while there’s bite or sup,And in fellowship good, we’ll part.
　　‘In his fine honest pride, he scorns to hideOne jot of his hard-weather scars;They’re no disgrace, for there’s much the same traceOn the cheeks of our bravest tars.
　　Then again I sing till the roof doth ringAnd it echoes from wall to wall―To the stout old wight, fair welcome to-night,As the King of the Seasons all!’
　　This song was tumultuously applauded―for friends anddependents make a capital audience―and the poor relations,especially, were in perfect ecstasies of rapture. Again was the firereplenished, and again went the wassail round.
　　‘How it snows!’ said one of the men, in a low tone.
　　‘Snows, does it?’ said Wardle.
　　‘Rough, cold night, sir,’ replied the man; ‘and there’s a wind gotup, that drifts it across the fields, in a thick white cloud.’
　　‘What does Jem say?’ inquired the old lady. ‘There ain’tanything the matter, is there?’
　　‘No, no, mother,’ replied Wardle; ‘he says there’s a snowdrift,and a wind that’s piercing cold. I should know that, by the way itrumbles in the chimney.’
　　‘Ah!’ said the old lady, ‘there was just such a wind, and justsuch a fall of snow, a good many years back, I recollect―just fiveyears before your poor father died. It was a Christmas Eve, too;and I remember that on that very night he told us the story aboutthe goblins that carried away old Gabriel Grub.’
　　‘The story about what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ replied Wardle. ‘About an old sexton,that the good people down here suppose to have been carriedaway by goblins.’
　　‘Suppose!’ ejaculated the old lady. ‘Is there anybody hardyenough to disbelieve it? Suppose! Haven’t you heard ever sinceyou were a child, that he was carried away by the goblins, anddon’t you know he was?’
　　‘Very well, mother, he was, if you like,’ said Wardle laughing.
　　‘He was carried away by goblins, Pickwick; and there’s an end ofthe matter.’
　　‘No, no,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘not an end of it, I assure you; for Imust hear how, and why, and all about it.’
　　Wardle smiled, as every head was bent forward to hear, andfilling out the wassail with no stinted hand, nodded a health to Mr.
　　Pickwick, and began as follows―But bless our editorial heart, what a long chapter we have beenbetrayed into! We had quite forgotten all such petty restrictions aschapters, we solemnly declare. So here goes, to give the goblin afair start in a new one. A clear stage and no favour for the goblins,ladies and gentlemen, if you please.
Chapter 29
THE STORY OF THE GOBLINS WHOSTOLE A SEXTONn an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, along, long while ago―so long, that the story must be a trueone, because our great-grandfathers implicitly believed it―there officiated as sexton and grave-digger in the churchyard, oneGabriel Grub. It by no means follows that because a man is asexton, and constantly surrounded by the emblems of mortality,therefore he should be a morose and melancholy man; yourundertakers are the merriest fellows in the world; and I once hadthe honour of being on intimate terms with a mute, who in privatelife, and off duty, was as comical and jocose a little fellow as everchirped out a devil-may-care song, without a hitch in his memory,or drained off a good stiff glass without stopping for breath. Butnotwithstanding these precedents to the contrary, Gabriel Grubwas an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, surly fellow―a morose andlonely man, who consorted with nobody but himself, and an oldwicker bottle which fitted into his large deep waistcoat pocket―and who eyed each merry face, as it passed him by, with such adeep scowl of malice and ill-humour, as it was difficult to meetwithout feeling something the worse for.
　　‘A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shoulderedhis spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the oldchurchyard; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning, and,feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if hewent on with his work at once. As he went his way, up the ancientstreet, he saw the cheerful light of the blazing fires gleam throughthe old casements, and heard the loud laugh and the cheerfulshouts of those who were assembled around them; he marked thebustling preparations for next day’s cheer, and smelled thenumerous savoury odours consequent thereupon, as they steamedup from the kitchen windows in clouds. All this was gall andwormwood to the heart of Gabriel Grub; and when groups ofchildren bounded out of the houses, tripped across the road, andwere met, before they could knock at the opposite door, by half adozen curly-headed little rascals who crowded round them as theyflocked upstairs to spend the evening in their Christmas games,Gabriel smiled grimly, and clutched the handle of his spade with afirmer grasp, as he thought of measles, scarlet fever, thrush,whooping-cough, and a good many other sources of consolationbesides.
　　‘In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along, returning ashort, sullen growl to the good-humoured greetings of such of hisneighbours as now and then passed him, until he turned into thedark lane which led to the churchyard. Now, Gabriel had beenlooking forward to reaching the dark lane, because it was,generally speaking, a nice, gloomy, mournful place, into which thetownspeople did not much care to go, except in broad daylight,and when the sun was shining; consequently, he was not a littleindignant to hear a young urchin roaring out some jolly songabout a merry Christmas, in this very sanctuary which had beencalled Coffin Lane ever since the days of the old abbey, and thetime of the shaven-headed monks. As Gabriel walked on, and thevoice drew nearer, he found it proceeded from a small boy, whowas hurrying along, to join one of the little parties in the old street,and who, partly to keep himself company, and partly to preparehimself for the occasion, was shouting out the song at the highestpitch of his lungs. So Gabriel waited until the boy came up, andthen dodged him into a corner, and rapped him over the head withhis lantern five or six times, just to teach him to modulate hisvoice. And as the boy hurried away with his hand to his head,singing quite a different sort of tune, Gabriel Grub chuckled veryheartily to himself, and entered the churchyard, locking the gatebehind him.
　　‘He took off his coat, set down his lantern, and getting into theunfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so with right good-will. But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it was no veryeasy matter to break it up, and shovel it out; and although therewas a moon, it was a very young one, and shed little light upon thegrave, which was in the shadow of the church. At any other time,these obstacles would have made Gabriel Grub very moody andmiserable, but he was so well pleased with having stopped thesmall boy’s singing, that he took little heed of the scanty progresshe had made, and looked down into the grave, when he hadfinished work for the night, with grim satisfaction, murmuring ashe gathered up his things―Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;Rank grass overhead, and damp clay around,Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!
　　‘“Ho! ho!” laughed Gabriel Grub, as he sat himself down on aflat tombstone which was a favourite resting-place of his, and drewforth his wicker bottle. “A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas box!
　　Ho! ho! ho!”
　　‘“Ho! ho! ho!” repeated a voice which sounded close behindhim.
　　‘Gabriel paused, in some alarm, in the act of raising the wickerbottle to his lips, and looked round. The bottom of the oldest graveabout him was not more still and quiet than the churchyard in thepale moonlight. The cold hoar frost glistened on the tombstones,and sparkled like rows of gems, among the stone carvings of theold church. The snow lay hard and crisp upon the ground; andspread over the thickly-strewn mounds of earth, so white andsmooth a cover that it seemed as if corpses lay there, hidden onlyby their winding sheets. Not the faintest rustle broke the profoundtranquillity of the solemn scene. Sound itself appeared to befrozen up, all was so cold and still.
　　‘“It was the echoes,” said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to hislips again.
　　‘“It was not,” said a deep voice.
　　‘Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot withastonishment and terror; for his eyes rested on a form that madehis blood run cold.
　　‘Seated on an upright tombstone, close to him, was a strange,unearthly figure, whom Gabriel felt at once, was no being of thisworld. His long, fantastic legs which might have reached theground, were cocked up, and crossed after a quaint, fantasticfashion; his sinewy arms were bare; and his hands rested on hisknees. On his short, round body, he wore a close covering,ornamented with small slashes; a short cloak dangled at his back;the collar was cut into curious peaks, which served the goblin inlieu of ruffor neckerchief; and his shoes curled up at his toes intolong points. On his head, he wore a broad-brimmed sugar-loaf hat,garnished with a single feather. The hat was covered with thewhite frost; and the goblin looked as if he had sat on the sametombstone very comfortably, for two or three hundred years. Hewas sitting perfectly still; his tongue was put out, as if in derision;and he was grinning at Gabriel Grub with such a grin as only agoblin could call up.
　　‘“It was not the echoes,” said the goblin.
　　‘Gabriel Grub was paralysed, and could make no reply.
　　‘“What do you do here on Christmas Eve?” said the goblinsternly. ‘“I came to dig a grave, sir,” stammered Gabriel Grub.
　　‘“What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such anight as this?” cried the goblin.
　　‘“Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!” screamed a wild chorus ofvoices that seemed to fill the churchyard. Gabriel looked fearfullyround―nothing was to be seen.
　　‘“What have you got in that bottle?” said the goblin.
　　‘“Hollands, sir,” replied the sexton, trembling more than ever;for he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought that perhapshis questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.
　　‘“Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such anight as this?” said the goblin.
　　‘“Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!” exclaimed the wild voices again.
　　‘The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and thenraising his voice, exclaimed―‘“And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?”
　　‘To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain thatsounded like the voices of many choristers singing to the mightyswell of the old church organ―a strain that seemed borne to thesexton’s ears upon a wild wind, and to die away as it passedonward; but the burden of the reply was still the same, “GabrielGrub! Gabriel Grub!”
　　‘The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said,“Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?”
　　‘The sexton gasped for breath. ‘“What do you think of this,Gabriel?” said the goblin, kicking up his feet in the air on eitherside of the tombstone, and looking at the turned-up points with asmuch complacency as if he had been contemplating the mostfashionable pair of Wellingtons in all Bond Street.
　　‘“It’s―it’s―very curious, sir,” replied the sexton, half dead withfright; “very curious, and very pretty, but I think I’ll go back andfinish my work, sir, if you please.”
　　‘“Work!” said the goblin, “what work?”
　　‘“The grave, sir; making the grave,” stammered the sexton.
　　‘“Oh, the grave, eh?” said the goblin; “who makes graves at atime when all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in it?”
　　‘Again the mysterious voices replied, “Gabriel Grub! GabrielGrub!”
　　‘“I am afraid my friends want you, Gabriel,” said the goblin,thrusting his tongue farther into his cheek than ever―and a mostastonishing tongue it was―“I’m afraid my friends want you,Gabriel,” said the goblin.
　　‘“Under favour, sir,” replied the horror-stricken sexton, “I don’tthink they can, sir; they don’t know me, sir; I don’t think thegentlemen have ever seen me, sir.”
　　‘“Oh, yes, they have,” replied the goblin; “we know the manwith the sulky face and grim scowl, that came down the street to-night, throwing his evil looks at the children, and grasping hisburying-spade the tighter. We know the man who struck the boyin the envious malice of his heart, because the boy could be merry,and he could not. We know him, we know him.”
　　‘Here, the goblin gave a loud, shrill laugh, which the echoesreturned twentyfold; and throwing his legs up in the air, stoodupon his head, or rather upon the very point of his sugar-loaf hat,on the narrow edge of the tombstone, whence he threw aSomerset with extraordinary agility, right to the sexton’s feet, atwhich he planted himself in the attitude in which tailors generallysit upon the shop-board.
　　‘“I―I―am afraid I must leave you, sir,” said the sexton, makingan effort to move.
　　‘“Leave us!” said the goblin, “Gabriel Grub going to leave us.
　　Ho! ho! ho!”
　　‘As the goblin laughed, the sexton observed, for one instant, abrilliant illumination within the windows of the church, as if thewhole building were lighted up; it disappeared, the organ pealedforth a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very counterpartof the first one, poured into the churchyard, and began playing atleap-frog with the tombstones, never stopping for an instant totake breath, but “overing” the highest among them, one after theother, with the most marvellous dexterity. The first goblin was amost astonishing leaper, and none of the others could come nearhim; even in the extremity of his terror the sexton could not helpobserving, that while his friends were content to leap over thecommon-sized gravestones, the first one took the family vaults,iron railings and all, with as much ease as if they had been somany street-posts.
　　‘At last the game reached to a most exciting pitch; the organplayed quicker and quicker, and the goblins leaped faster andfaster, coiling themselves up, rolling head over heels upon theground, and bounding over the tombstones like footballs. Thesexton’s brain whirled round with the rapidity of the motion hebeheld, and his legs reeled beneath him, as the spirits flew beforehis eyes; when the goblin king, suddenly darting towards him, laidhis hand upon his collar, and sank with him through the earth.
　　‘When Gabriel Grub had had time to fetch his breath, which therapidity of his descent had for the moment taken away, he foundhimself in what appeared to be a large cavern, surrounded on allsides by crowds of goblins, ugly and grim; in the centre of theroom, on an elevated seat, was stationed his friend of thechurchyard; and close behind him stood Gabriel Grub himself,without power of motion.
　　‘“Cold to-night,” said the king of the goblins, “very cold. A glassof something warm here!”
　　‘At this command, half a dozen officious goblins, with aperpetual smile upon their faces, whom Gabriel Grub imagined tobe courtiers, on that account, hastily disappeared, and presentlyreturned with a goblet of liquid fire, which they presented to theking.
　　‘“Ah!” cried the goblin, whose cheeks and throat weretransparent, as he tossed down the flame, “this warms one,indeed! Bring a bumper of the same, for Mr. Grub.”
　　‘It was in vain for the unfortunate sexton to protest that he wasnot in the habit of taking anything warm at night; one of thegoblins held him while another poured the blazing liquid down histhroat; the whole assembly screeched with laughter, as hecoughed and choked, and wiped away the tears which gushedplentifully from his eyes, after swallowing the burning draught.
　　‘“And now,” said the king, fantastically poking the taper cornerof his sugar-loaf hat into the sexton’s eye, and thereby occasioninghim the most exquisite pain; “and now, show the man of miseryand gloom, a few of the pictures from our own great storehouse!”
　　‘As the goblin said this, a thick cloud which obscured theremoter end of the cavern rolled gradually away, and disclosed,apparently at a great distance, a small and scantily furnished, butneat and clean apartment. A crowd of little children were gatheredround a bright fire, clinging to their mother’s gown, andgambolling around her chair. The mother occasionally rose, anddrew aside the window-curtain, as if to look for some expectedobject; a frugal meal was ready spread upon the table; and anelbow chair was placed near the fire. A knock was heard at thedoor; the mother opened it, and the children crowded round her,and clapped their hands for joy, as their father entered. He waswet and weary, and shook the snow from his garments, as thechildren crowded round him, and seizing his cloak, hat, stick, andgloves, with busy zeal, ran with them from the room. Then, as hesat down to his meal before the fire, the children climbed about hisknee, and the mother sat by his side, and all seemed happinessand comfort.
　　‘But a change came upon the view, almost imperceptibly. Thescene was altered to a small bedroom, where the fairest andyoungest child lay dying; the roses had fled from his cheek, andthe light from his eye; and even as the sexton looked upon himwith an interest he had never felt or known before, he died. Hisyoung brothers and sisters crowded round his little bed, andseized his tiny hand, so cold and heavy; but they shrank back fromits touch, and looked with awe on his infant face; for calm andtranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace as the beautifulchild seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and they knew thathe was an angel looking down upon, and blessing them, from abright and happy Heaven.
　　‘Again the light cloud passed across the picture, and again thesubject changed. The father and mother were old and helplessnow, and the number of those about them was diminished morethan half; but content and cheerfulness sat on every face, andbeamed in every eye, as they crowded round the fireside, and toldand listened to old stories of earlier and bygone days. Slowly andpeacefully, the father sank into the grave, and, soon after, thesharer of all his cares and troubles followed him to a place of rest.
　　The few who yet survived them, kneeled by their tomb, andwatered the green turf which covered it with their tears; then rose,and turned away, sadly and mournfully, but not with bitter cries,or despairing lamentations, for they knew that they should oneday meet again; and once more they mixed with the busy world,and their content and cheerfulness were restored. The cloudsettled upon the picture, and concealed it from the sexton’s view.
　　‘“What do you think of that?” said the goblin, turning his largeface towards Gabriel Grub.
　　‘Gabriel murmured out something about its being very pretty,and looked somewhat ashamed, as the goblin bent his fiery eyesupon him.
　　‘“You a miserable man!” said the goblin, in a tone of excessivecontempt. “You!” He appeared disposed to add more, butindignation choked his utterance, so he lifted up one of his verypliable legs, and, flourishing it above his head a little, to insure hisaim, administered a good sound kick to Gabriel Grub; immediatelyafter which, all the goblins in waiting crowded round the wretchedsexton, and kicked him without mercy, according to theestablished and invariable custom of courtiers upon earth, whokick whom royalty kicks, and hug whom royalty hugs.
　　‘“Show him some more!” said the king of the goblins.
　　‘At these words, the cloud was dispelled, and a rich andbeautiful landscape was disclosed to view―there is just suchanother, to this day, within half a mile of the old abbey town. Thesun shone from out the clear blue sky, the water sparkled beneathhis rays, and the trees looked greener, and the flowers more gay,beneath its cheering influence. The water rippled on with apleasant sound, the trees rustled in the light wind that murmuredamong their leaves, the birds sang upon the boughs, and the larkcarolled on high her welcome to the morning. Yes, it was morning;the bright, balmy morning of summer; the minutest leaf, thesmallest blade of grass, was instinct with life. The ant crept forthto her daily toil, the butterfly fluttered and basked in the warmrays of the sun; myriads of insects spread their transparent wings,and revelled in their brief but happy existence. Man walked forth,elated with the scene; and all was brightness and splendour.
　　‘“You a miserable man!” said the king of the goblins, in a morecontemptuous tone than before. And again the king of the goblinsgave his leg a flourish; again it descended on the shoulders of thesexton; and again the attendant goblins imitated the example oftheir chief.
　　‘Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson ittaught to Gabriel Grub, who, although his shoulders smarted withpain from the frequent applications of the goblins’ feet thereunto,looked on with an interest that nothing could diminish. He sawthat men who worked hard, and earned their scanty bread withlives of labour, were cheerful and happy; and that to the mostignorant, the sweet face of Nature was a never-failing source ofcheerfulness and joy. He saw those who had been delicatelynurtured, and tenderly brought up, cheerful under privations, andsuperior to suffering, that would have crushed many of a roughergrain, because they bore within their own bosoms the materials ofhappiness, contentment, and peace. He saw that women, thetenderest and most fragile of all God’s creatures, were the oftenestsuperior to sorrow, adversity, and distress; and he saw that it wasbecause they bore, in their own hearts, an inexhaustible well-spring of affection and devotion. Above all, he saw that men likehimself, who snarled at the mirth and cheerfulness of others, werethe foulest weeds on the fair surface of the earth; and setting allthe good of the world against the evil, he came to the conclusionthat it was a very decent and respectable sort of world after all. Nosooner had he formed it, than the cloud which had closed over thelast picture, seemed to settle on his senses, and lull him to repose.
　　One by one, the goblins faded from his sight; and, as the last onedisappeared, he sank to sleep.
　　‘The day had broken when Gabriel Grub awoke, and foundhimself lying at full length on the flat gravestone in thechurchyard, with the wicker bottle lying empty by his side, and hiscoat, spade, and lantern, all well whitened by the last night’s frost scattered on the ground. The stone on which he had first seen thegoblin seated, stood bolt upright before him, and the grave atwhich he had worked, the night before, was not far off. At first, hebegan to doubt the reality of his adventures, but the acute pain inhis shoulders when he attempted to rise, assured him that thekicking of the goblins was certainly not ideal. He was staggeredagain, by observing no traces of footsteps in the snow on which thegoblins had played at leap-frog with the gravestones, but hespeedily accounted for this circumstance when he rememberedthat, being spirits, they would leave no visible impression behindthem. So, Gabriel Grub got on his feet as well as he could, for thepain in his back; and, brushing the frost off his coat, put it on, andturned his face towards the town.
　　‘But he was an altered man, and he could not bear the thoughtof returning to a place where his repentance would be scoffed at,and his reformation disbelieved. He hesitated for a few moments;and then turned away to wander where he might, and seek hisbread elsewhere.
　　‘The lantern, the spade, and the wicker bottle were found, thatday, in the churchyard. There were a great many speculationsabout the sexton’s fate, at first, but it was speedily determined thathe had been carried away by the goblins; and there were notwanting some very credible witnesses who had distinctly seen himwhisked through the air on the back of a chestnut horse blind ofone eye, with the hind-quarters of a lion, and the tail of a bear. Atlength all this was devoutly believed; and the new sexton used toexhibit to the curious, for a trifling emolument, a good-sized pieceof the church weathercock which had been accidentally kicked offby the aforesaid horse in his aerial flight, and picked up by himselfin the churchyard, a year or two afterwards.
　　‘Unfortunately, these stories were somewhat disturbed by theunlooked-for reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some tenyears afterwards, a ragged, contented, rheumatic old man. He toldhis story to the clergyman, and also to the mayor; and in course oftime it began to be received as a matter of history, in which form ithas continued down to this very day. The believers in theweathercock tale, having misplaced their confidence once, werenot easily prevailed upon to part with it again, so they looked aswise as they could, shrugged their shoulders, touched theirforeheads, and murmured something about Gabriel Grub havingdrunk all the Hollands, and then fallen asleep on the flattombstone; and they affected to explain what he supposed he hadwitnessed in the goblin’s cavern, by saying that he had seen theworld, and grown wiser. But this opinion, which was by no meansa popular one at any time, gradually died off; and be the matterhow it may, as Gabriel Grub was afflicted with rheumatism to theend of his days, this story has at least one moral, if it teach nobetter one―and that is, that if a man turn sulky and drink byhimself at Christmas time, he may make up his mind to be not abit the better for it: let the spirits be never so good, or let them beeven as many degrees beyond proof, as those which Gabriel Grubsaw in the goblin’s cavern.’
Chapter 30
HOW THE PICKWICKIANS MADE ANDCULTIVATED THE ACQUAINTANCE OF ACOUPLE OF NICE YOUNG MEN BELONGINGTO ONE OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS; HOWTHEY DISPORTED THEMSELVES ON THE ICE;AND HOW THEIR VISIT CAME TO ACONCLUSIONell, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as that favoured servitorentered his bed-chamber, with his warm water, onthe morning of Christmas Day, ‘still frosty?’
　　‘Water in the wash-hand basin’s a mask o’ ice, sir,’ respondedSam.
　　‘Severe weather, Sam,’ observed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar bearsaid to himself, ven he was practising his skating,’ replied Mr.
　　Weller.
　　‘I shall be down in a quarter of an hour, Sam,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, untying his nightcap.
　　‘Wery good, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘There’s a couple o’ sawbonesdownstairs.’
　　‘A couple of what!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up in bed.
　　‘A couple o’ sawbones,’ said Sam.
　　‘What’s a sawbones?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, not quite certainwhether it was a live animal, or something to eat.
　　‘What! Don’t you know what a sawbones is, sir?’ inquired Mr.
　　Weller. ‘I thought everybody know’d as a sawbones was asurgeon.’
　　‘Oh, a surgeon, eh?’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.
　　‘Just that, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘These here ones as is below,though, ain’t reg’lar thoroughbred sawbones; they’re only intrainin’.’
　　‘In other words they’re medical students, I suppose?’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　Sam Weller nodded assent.
　　‘I am glad of it,’ said Mr. Pickwick, casting his nightcapenergetically on the counterpane. ‘They are fine fellows―very finefellows; with judgments matured by observation and reflection;and tastes refined by reading and study. I am very glad of it.’
　　‘They’re a-smokin’ cigars by the kitchen fire,’ said Sam.
　　‘Ah!’ observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands, ‘overflowingwith kindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I like to see.’
　　‘And one on ’em,’ said Sam, not noticing his master’sinterruption, ‘one on ’em’s got his legs on the table, and is a-drinking brandy neat, vile the t’other one―him in the barnacles―has got a barrel o’ oysters atween his knees, which he’s a-openin’
　　like steam, and as fast as he eats ’em, he takes a aim vith the shellsat young dropsy, who’s a sittin’ down fast asleep, in the chimbleycorner.’
　　‘Eccentricities of genius, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘You mayretire.’
　　Sam did retire accordingly. Mr. Pickwick at the expiration ofthe quarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.
　　‘Here he is at last!’ said old Mr. Wardle. ‘Pickwick, this is MissAllen’s brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen. Ben we call him, and so mayyou, if you like. This gentleman is his very particular friend, Mr.―’
　　‘Mr. Bob Sawyer,’ interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen; whereuponMr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.
　　Mr. Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed toMr. Pickwick. Bob and his very particular friend then appliedthemselves most assiduously to the eatables before them; and Mr.
　　Pickwick had an opportunity of glancing at them both.
　　Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thick-set young man,with black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long.
　　He was embellished with spectacles, and wore a whiteneckerchief. Below his single-breasted black surtout, which wasbuttoned up to his chin, appeared the usual number of pepper-and-salt coloured legs, terminating in a pair of imperfectlypolished boots. Although his coat was short in the sleeves, itdisclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although there wasquite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of a shirtcollar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to thatappendage. He presented, altogether, rather a mildewyappearance, and emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse, blue coat, which,without being either a greatcoat or a surtout, partook of the natureand qualities of both, had about him that sort of slovenlysmartness, and swaggering gait, which is peculiar to younggentlemen who smoke in the streets by day, shout and scream inthe same by night, call waiters by their Christian names, and dovarious other acts and deeds of an equally facetious description.
　　He wore a pair of plaid trousers, and a large, rough, double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he carried a thick stick with a bigtop. He eschewed gloves, and looked, upon the whole, somethinglike a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.
　　Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick wasintroduced, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table on Christmasmorning.
　　‘Splendid morning, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition,and asked Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.
　　‘Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?’ inquired Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘Blue Lion at Muggleton,’ briefly responded Mr. Allen.
　　‘You should have joined us last night,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘So we should,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘but the brandy was toogood to leave in a hurry; wasn’t it, Ben?’
　　‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen; ‘and the cigars were notbad, or the pork-chops either; were they, Bob?’
　　‘Decidedly not,’ said Bob. The particular friends resumed theirattack upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if therecollection of last night’s supper had imparted a new relish to themeal.
　　‘Peg away, Bob,’ said Mr. Allen, to his companion,encouragingly.
　　‘So I do,’ replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice, he did.
　　‘Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite,’ said Mr. BobSawyer, looking round the table.
　　Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered.
　　‘By the bye, Bob,’ said Mr. Allen, ‘have you finished that legyet?’
　　‘Nearly,’ replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as hespoke. ‘It’s a very muscular one for a child’s.’
　　‘Is it?’ inquired Mr. Allen carelessly.
　　‘Very,’ said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full.
　　‘I’ve put my name down for an arm at our place,’ said Mr. Allen.
　　‘We’re clubbing for a subject, and the list is nearly full, only wecan’t get hold of any fellow that wants a head. I wish you’d take it.’
　　‘No,’ replied ‘Bob Sawyer; ‘can’t afford expensive luxuries.’
　　‘Nonsense!’ said Allen.
　　‘Can’t, indeed,’ rejoined Bob Sawyer, ‘I wouldn’t mind a brain,but I couldn’t stand a whole head.’
　　‘Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I hear theladies.’
　　As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by Messrs.
　　Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an early walk.
　　‘Why, Ben!’ said Arabella, in a tone which expressed moresurprise than pleasure at the sight of her brother.
　　‘Come to take you home to-morrow,’ replied Benjamin.
　　Mr. Winkle turned pale.
　　‘Don’t you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella?’ inquired Mr. BenjaminAllen, somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully held out herhand, in acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer’s presence. A thrill ofhatred struck to Mr. Winkle’s heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted onthe proffered hand a perceptible squeeze.
　　‘Ben, dear!’ said Arabella, blushing; ‘have―have―you beenintroduced to Mr. Winkle?’
　　‘I have not been, but I shall be very happy to be, Arabella,’
　　replied her brother gravely. Here Mr. Allen bowed grimly to Mr.
　　Winkle, while Mr. Winkle and Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced mutualdistrust out of the corners of their eyes.
　　The arrival of the two new visitors, and the consequent checkupon Mr. Winkle and the young lady with the fur round her boots,would in all probability have proved a very unpleasantinterruption to the hilarity of the party, had not the cheerfulness ofMr. Pickwick, and the good humour of the host, been exerted tothe very utmost for the common weal. Mr. Winkle graduallyinsinuated himself into the good graces of Mr. Benjamin Allen,and even joined in a friendly conversation with Mr. Bob Sawyer;who, enlivened with the brandy, and the breakfast, and thetalking, gradually ripened into a state of extreme facetiousness,and related with much glee an agreeable anecdote, about theremoval of a tumour on some gentleman’s head, which heillustrated by means of an oyster-knife and a half-quartern loaf, tothe great edification of the assembled company. Then the wholetrain went to church, where Mr. Benjamin Allen fell fast asleep;while Mr. Bob Sawyer abstracted his thoughts from worldlymatters, by the ingenious process of carving his name on the seatof the pew, in corpulent letters of four inches long.
　　‘Now,’ said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeableitems of strong beer and cherry-brandy, had been done amplejustice to, ‘what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall haveplenty of time.’
　　‘Capital!’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
　　‘Prime!’ ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘You skate, of course, Winkle?’ said Wardle.
　　‘Ye-yes; oh, yes,’ replied Mr. Winkle. ‘I―I―am rather out ofpractice.’
　　‘Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle,’ said Arabella. ‘I like to see it somuch.’
　　‘Oh, it is so graceful,’ said another young lady. A third younglady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that itwas ‘swan-like.’
　　‘I should be very happy, I’m sure,’ said Mr. Winkle, reddening;‘but I have no skates.’
　　This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple ofpair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen moredownstairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, andlooked exquisitely uncomfortable.
　　Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fatboy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snowwhich had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjustedhis skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was perfectlymarvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and cut figuresof eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once stopping forbreath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices, tothe excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and theladies; which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm, when oldWardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the aforesaid Bob Sawyer,performed some mystic evolutions, which they called a reel.
　　All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with thecold, had been forcing a gimlet into the sole of his feet, and puttinghis skates on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into avery complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr.
　　Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. Atlength, however, with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunateskates were firmly screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle wasraised to his feet.
　　‘Now, then, sir,’ said Sam, in an encouraging tone; ‘off vith you,and show ’em how to do it.’
　　‘Stop, Sam, stop!’ said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, andclutching hold of Sam’s arms with the grasp of a drowning man.
　　‘How slippery it is, Sam!’
　　‘Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Hold up, sir!’
　　This last observation of Mr. Weller’s bore reference to ademonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desireto throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head on theice.
　　‘These―these―are very awkward skates; ain’t they, Sam?’
　　inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.
　　‘I’m afeerd there’s a orkard gen’l’m’n in ’em, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Now, Winkle,’ cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that therewas anything the matter. ‘Come; the ladies are all anxiety.’
　　‘Yes, yes,’ replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. ‘I’mcoming.’
　　‘Just a-goin’ to begin,’ said Sam, endeavouring to disengagehimself. ‘Now, sir, start off!’
　　‘Stop an instant, Sam,’ gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging mostaffectionately to Mr. Weller. ‘I find I’ve got a couple of coats athome that I don’t want, Sam. You may have them, Sam.’
　　‘Thank’ee, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Never mind touching your hat, Sam,’ said Mr. Winkle hastily.
　　‘You needn’t take your hand away to do that. I meant to havegiven you five shillings this morning for a Christmas box, Sam. I’llgive it you this afternoon, Sam.’
　　‘You’re wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘There―that’s right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. Not too fast,Sam; not too fast.’
　　Mr. Winkle, stooping forward, with his body half doubled up,was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singularand un-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocentlyshouted from the opposite bank―‘Sam!’
　　‘Sir?’
　　‘Here. I want you.’
　　‘Let go, sir,’ said Sam. ‘Don’t you hear the governor a-callin’?
　　Let go, sir.’
　　With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from thegrasp of the agonised Pickwickian, and, in so doing, administereda considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With anaccuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could haveinsured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into thecentre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer wasperforming a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struckwildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavilydown. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to hisfeet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, inskates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts tosmile; but anguish was depicted on every lineament of hiscountenance.
　　‘Are you hurt?’ inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with greatanxiety.
　　‘Not much,’ said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard. ‘I wishyou’d let me bleed you,’ said Mr. Benjamin, with great eagerness.
　　‘No, thank you,’ replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
　　‘I really think you had better,’ said Allen.
　　‘Thank you,’ replied Mr. Winkle; ‘I’d rather not.’
　　‘What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?’ inquired Bob Sawyer.
　　Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr.
　　Weller, and said in a stern voice, ‘Take his skates off.’
　　‘No; but really I had scarcely begun,’ remonstrated Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Take his skates off,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly.
　　The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Samto obey it, in silence.
　　‘Lift him up,’ said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.
　　Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders;and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look uponhim, and uttered in a low, but distinct and emphatic tone, theseremarkable words―‘You’re a humbug, sir.’
　　‘A what?’ said Mr. Winkle, starting.
　　‘A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor,sir.’
　　With those words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, andrejoined his friends.
　　While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment justrecorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their jointendeavours cut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon,in a very masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular,was displaying that beautiful feat of fancy-sliding which iscurrently denominated ‘knocking at the cobbler’s door,’ and whichis achieved by skimming over the ice on one foot, and occasionallygiving a postman’s knock upon it with the other. It was a good longslide, and there was something in the motion which Mr. Pickwick,who was very cold with standing still, could not help envying.
　　‘It looks a nice warm exercise that, doesn’t it?’ he inquired ofWardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, byreason of the indefatigable manner in which he had converted hislegs into a pair of compasses, and drawn complicated problems onthe ice.
　　‘Ah, it does, indeed,’ replied Wardle. ‘Do you slide?’
　　‘I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘Try it now,’ said Wardle.
　　‘Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick!’ cried all the ladies.
　　‘I should be very happy to afford you any amusement,’ repliedMr. Pickwick, ‘but I haven’t done such a thing these thirty years.’
　　‘Pooh! pooh! Nonsense!’ said Wardle, dragging off his skateswith the impetuosity which characterised all his proceedings.
　　‘Here; I’ll keep you company; come along!’ And away went thegood-tempered old fellow down the slide, with a rapidity whichcame very close upon Mr. Weller, and beat the fat boy all tonothing.
　　Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and putthem in his hat; took two or three short runs, baulked himself asoften, and at last took another run, and went slowly and gravelydown the slide, with his feet about a yard and a quarter apart,amidst the gratified shouts of all the spectators.
　　‘Keep the pot a-bilin’, sir!’ said Sam; and down went Wardleagain, and then Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr. Winkle,and then Mr. Bob Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and then Mr.
　　Snodgrass, following closely upon each other’s heels, and runningafter each other with as much eagerness as if their futureprospects in life depended on their expedition.
　　It was the most intensely interesting thing, to observe themanner in which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in theceremony; to watch the torture of anxiety with which he viewedthe person behind, gaining upon him at the imminent hazard oftripping him up; to see him gradually expend the painful force hehad put on at first, and turn slowly round on the slide, with hisface towards the point from which he had started; to contemplatethe playful smile which mantled on his face when he hadaccomplished the distance, and the eagerness with which heturned round when he had done so, and ran after his predecessor,his black gaiters tripping pleasantly through the snow, and hiseyes beaming cheerfulness and gladness through his spectacles.
　　And when he was knocked down (which happened upon theaverage every third round), it was the most invigorating sight thatcan possibly be imagined, to behold him gather up his hat, gloves,and handkerchief, with a glowing countenance, and resume hisstation in the rank, with an ardour and enthusiasm that nothingCould abate.
　　The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, thelaughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was heard.
　　There was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild scream from theladies, and a shout from Mr. Tupman. A large mass of icedisappeared; the water bubbled up over it; Mr. Pickwick’s hat,gloves, and handkerchief were floating on the surface; and thiswas all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody could see.
　　Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance; themales turned pale, and the females fainted; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr.
　　Winkle grasped each other by the hand, and gazed at the spotwhere their leader had gone down, with frenzied eagerness; whileMr. Tupman, by way of rendering the promptest assistance, and atthe same time conveying to any persons who might be withinhearing, the clearest possible notion of the catastrophe, ran offacross the country at his utmost speed, screaming ‘Fire!’ with allhis might.
　　It was at this moment, when old Wardle and Sam Weller wereapproaching the hole with cautious steps, and Mr. Benjamin Allenwas holding a hurried consultation with Mr. Bob Sawyer on theadvisability of bleeding the company generally, as an improvinglittle bit of professional practice―it was at this very moment, thata face, head, and shoulders, emerged from beneath the water, anddisclosed the features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Keep yourself up for an instant―for only one instant!’ bawledMr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Yes, do; let me implore you―for my sake!’ roared Mr. Winkle,deeply affected. The adjuration was rather unnecessary; theprobability being, that if Mr. Pickwick had declined to keephimself up for anybody else’s sake, it would have occurred to himthat he might as well do so, for his own.
　　‘Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?’ said Wardle.
　　‘Yes, certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water fromhis head and face, and gasping for breath. ‘I fell upon my back. Icouldn’t get on my feet at first.’
　　The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick’s coat as was yet visible,bore testimony to the accuracy of this statement; and as the fearsof the spectators were still further relieved by the fat boy’ssuddenly recollecting that the water was nowhere more than fivefeet deep, prodigies of valour were performed to get him out. Aftera vast quantity of splashing, and cracking, and struggling, Mr.
　　Pickwick was at length fairly extricated from his unpleasantposition, and once more stood on dry land.
　　‘Oh, he’ll catch his death of cold,’ said Emily.
　　‘Dear old thing!’ said Arabella. ‘Let me wrap this shawl roundyou, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘Ah, that’s the best thing you can do,’ said Wardle; ‘and whenyou’ve got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry you, andjump into bed directly.’ A dozen shawls were offered on theinstant. Three or four of the thickest having been selected, Mr.
　　Pickwick was wrapped up, and started off, under the guidance ofMr. Weller; presenting the singular phenomenon of an elderlygentleman, dripping wet, and without a hat, with his arms bounddown to his sides, skimming over the ground, without any clearly-defined purpose, at the rate of six good English miles an hour.
　　But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an extremecase, and urged on by Sam Weller, he kept at the very top of hisspeed until he reached the door of Manor Farm, where Mr.
　　Tupman had arrived some five minutes before, and had frightenedthe old lady into palpitations of the heart by impressing her withthe unalterable conviction that the kitchen chimney was on fire―acalamity which always presented itself in glowing colours to theold lady’s mind, when anybody about her evinced the smallestagitation.
　　Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in bed.
　　Sam Weller lighted a blazing fire in the room, and took up hisdinner; a bowl of punch was carried up afterwards, and a grandcarouse held in honour of his safety. Old Wardle would not hear ofhis rising, so they made the bed the chair, and Mr. Pickwickpresided. A second and a third bowl were ordered in; and whenMr. Pickwick awoke next morning, there was not a symptom ofrheumatism about him; which proves, as Mr. Bob Sawyer veryjustly observed, that there is nothing like hot punch in such cases;and that if ever hot punch did fail to act as a preventive, it wasmerely because the patient fell into the vulgar error of not takingenough of it.
　　The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings-up arecapital things in our school-days, but in after life they are painfulenough. Death, self-interest, and fortune’s changes, are every daybreaking up many a happy group, and scattering them far andwide; and the boys and girls never come back again. We do notmean to say that it was exactly the case in this particular instance;all we wish to inform the reader is, that the different members ofthe party dispersed to their several homes; that Mr. Pickwick andhis friends once more took their seats on the top of the Muggletoncoach; and that Arabella Allen repaired to her place of destination,wherever it might have been―we dare say Mr. Winkle knew, butwe confess we don’t―under the care and guardianship of herbrother Benjamin, and his most intimate and particular friend,Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　Before they separated, however, that gentleman and Mr.
　　Benjamin Allen drew Mr. Pickwick aside with an air of somemystery; and Mr. Bob Sawyer, thrusting his forefinger betweentwo of Mr. Pickwick’s ribs, and thereby displaying his nativedrollery, and his knowledge of the anatomy of the human frame, atone and the same time, inquired―‘I say, old boy, where do you hang out?’ Mr. Pickwick repliedthat he was at present suspended at the George and Vulture.
　　‘I wish you’d come and see me,’ said Bob Sawyer.
　　‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘There’s my lodgings,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer, producing a card.
　　‘Lant Street, Borough; it’s near Guy’s, and handy for me, youknow. Little distance after you’ve passed St. George’s Church―turns out of the High Street on the right hand side the way.’
　　‘I shall find it,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Come on Thursday fortnight, and bring the other chaps withyou,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer; ‘I’m going to have a few medicalfellows that night.’
　　Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him tomeet the medical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had informedhim that he meant to be very cosy, and that his friend Ben was tobe one of the party, they shook hands and separated.
　　We feel that in this place we lay ourself open to the inquirywhether Mr. Winkle was whispering, during this briefconversation, to Arabella Allen; and if so, what he said; andfurthermore, whether Mr. Snodgrass was conversing apart withEmily Wardle; and if so, what he said. To this, we reply, thatwhatever they might have said to the ladies, they said nothing atall to Mr. Pickwick or Mr. Tupman for eight-and-twenty miles, andthat they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy, and lookedgloomy. If our observant lady readers can deduce any satisfactoryinferences from these facts, we beg them by all means to do so.
Chapter 31
WHICH IS ALL ABOUT THE LAW, AND SUNDRYGREAT AUTHORITIES LEARNED THEREINcattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple,are certain dark and dirty chambers, in and out of which,all the morning in vacation, and half the evening too interm time, there may be seen constantly hurrying with bundles ofpapers under their arms, and protruding from their pockets, analmost uninterrupted succession of lawyers’ clerks. There areseveral grades of lawyers’ clerks. There is the articled clerk, whohas paid a premium, and is an attorney in perspective, who runs atailor’s bill, receives invitations to parties, knows a family inGower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; who goes out oftown every long vacation to see his father, who keeps live horsesinnumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocrat of clerks.
　　There is the salaried clerk―out of door, or in door, as the casemay be―who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings a weekto his Personal pleasure and adornments, repairs half-price to theAdelphi Theatre at least three times a week, dissipatesmajestically at the cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirtycaricature of the fashion which expired six months ago. There isthe middle-aged copying clerk, with a large family, who is alwaysshabby, and often drunk. And there are the office lads in their firstsurtouts, who feel a befitting contempt for boys at day-schools,club as they go home at night, for saveloys and porter, and thinkthere’s nothing like ‘life.’ There are varieties of the genus, toonumerous to recapitulate, but however numerous they may be,they are all to be seen, at certain regulated business hours,hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned.
　　These sequestered nooks are the public offices of the legalprofession, where writs are issued, judgments signed, declarationsfiled, and numerous other ingenious machines put in motion forthe torture and torment of His Majesty’s liege subjects, and thecomfort and emolument of the practitioners of the law. They are,for the most part, low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerablerolls of parchment, which have been perspiring in secret for thelast century, send forth an agreeable odour, which is mingled byday with the scent of the dry-rot, and by night with the variousexhalations which arise from damp cloaks, festering umbrellas,and the coarsest tallow candles.
　　About half-past seven o’clock in the evening, some ten days or afortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London,there hurried into one of these offices, an individual in a browncoat and brass buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously twistedround the rim of his napless hat, and whose soiled drab trouserswere so tightly strapped over his Blucher boots, that his kneesthreatened every moment to start from their concealment. Heproduced from his coat pockets a long and narrow strip ofparchment, on which the presiding functionary impressed anillegible black stamp. He then drew forth four scraps of paper, ofsimilar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of the strip ofparchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up theblanks, put all the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.
　　The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in hispocket, was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson, ofthe house of Dodson & Fogg, Freeman’s Court, Cornhill. Insteadof returning to the office whence he came, however, he bent hissteps direct to Sun Court, and walking straight into the Georgeand Vulture, demanded to know whether one Mr. Pickwick waswithin.
　　‘Call Mr. Pickwick’s servant, Tom,’ said the barmaid of theGeorge and Vulture.
　　‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ said Mr. Jackson. ‘I’ve come onbusiness. If you’ll show me Mr. Pickwick’s room I’ll step upmyself.’
　　‘What name, sir?’ said the waiter.
　　‘Jackson,’ replied the clerk.
　　The waiter stepped upstairs to announce Mr. Jackson; but Mr.
　　Jackson saved him the trouble by following close at his heels, andwalking into the apartment before he could articulate a syllable.
　　Mr. Pickwick had, that day, invited his three friends to dinner;they were all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, when Mr.
　　Jackson presented himself, as above described.
　　‘How de do, sir?’ said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.
　　That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for thephysiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection.
　　‘I have called from Dodson and Fogg’s,’ said Mr. Jackson, in anexplanatory tone.
　　Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. ‘I refer you to my attorney,sir; Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn,’ said he. ‘Waiter, show thisgentleman out.’
　　‘Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Jackson, deliberatelydepositing his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket thestrip of parchment. ‘But personal service, by clerk or agent, inthese cases, you know, Mr. Pickwick―nothing like caution, sir, inall legal forms―eh?’
　　Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, restinghis hands on the table, and looking round with a winning andpersuasive smile, said, ‘Now, come; don’t let’s have no wordsabout such a little matter as this. Which of you gentlemen’s name’sSnodgrass?’
　　At this inquiry, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguisedand palpable start, that no further reply was needed.
　　‘Ah! I thought so,’ said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before.
　　‘I’ve a little something to trouble you with, sir.’
　　‘Me!’ exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘It’s only a subpoena in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of theplaintiff,’ replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of paper,and producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. ‘It’ll come on,in the settens after Term: fourteenth of Febooary, we expect;we’ve marked it a special jury cause, and it’s only ten down thepaper. That’s yours, Mr. Snodgrass.’ As Jackson said this, hepresented the parchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, andslipped the paper and the shilling into his hand.
　　Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment,when Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said―‘I think I ain’t mistaken when I say your name’s Tupman, amI?’
　　Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving noencouragement in that gentleman’s widely-opened eyes to denyhis name, said―‘Yes, my name is Tupman, sir.’
　　‘And that other gentleman’s Mr. Winkle, I think?’ said Jackson.
　　Mr. Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and bothgentlemen were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and ashilling each, by the dexterous Mr. Jackson.
　　‘Now,’ said Jackson, ‘I’m afraid you’ll think me rathertroublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain’t inconvenient. Ihave Samuel Weller’s name here, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘Send my servant here, waiter,’ said Mr. Pickwick. The waiterretired, considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motionedJackson to a seat.
　　There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by theinnocent defendant. ‘I suppose, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, hisindignation rising while he spoke―‘I suppose, sir, that it is theintention of your employers to seek to criminate me upon thetestimony of my own friends?’
　　Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the leftside of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose thesecrets of the prison house, and playfully rejoined―‘Not knowin’, can’t say.’
　　‘For what other reason, sir,’ pursued Mr. Pickwick, ‘are thesesubpoenas served upon them, if not for this?’
　　‘Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,’ replied Jackson, slowlyshaking his head. ‘But it won’t do. No harm in trying, but there’slittle to be got out of me.’
　　Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and,applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionarycoffee-mill with his right hand, thereby performing a very gracefulpiece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but now, unhappily,almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated ‘taking agrinder.’
　　‘No, no, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Jackson, in conclusion; ‘Perker’speople must guess what we’ve served these subpoenas for. If theycan’t, they must wait till the action comes on, and then they’ll findout.’ Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on hisunwelcome visitor, and would probably have hurled sometremendous anathema at the heads of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg,had not Sam’s entrance at the instant interrupted him.
　　‘Samuel Weller?’ said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.
　　‘Vun o’ the truest things as you’ve said for many a long year,’
　　replied Sam, in a most composed manner.
　　‘Here’s a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller,’ said Jackson.
　　‘What’s that in English?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Here’s the original,’ said Jackson, declining the requiredexplanation.
　　‘Which?’ said Sam.
　　‘This,’ replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.
　　‘Oh, that’s the ’rig’nal, is it?’ said Sam. ‘Well, I’m wery glad I’veseen the ’rig’nal, ’cos it’s a gratifyin’ sort o’ thing, and eases vun’smind so much.’
　　‘And here’s the shilling,’ said Jackson. ‘It’s from Dodson andFogg’s.’
　　‘And it’s uncommon handsome o’ Dodson and Fogg, as knowsso little of me, to come down vith a present,’ said Sam. ‘I feel it as awery high compliment, sir; it’s a wery honorable thing to them, asthey knows how to reward merit werever they meets it. Besideswhich, it’s affectin’ to one’s feelin’s.’
　　As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his righteyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved mannerof actors when they are in domestic pathetics. Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam’s proceedings; but,as he had served the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, hemade a feint of putting on the one glove which he usually carriedin his hand, for the sake of appearances; and returned to the officeto report progress.
　　Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received avery disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell’s action.
　　He breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam toaccompany him, set forth towards Gray’s Inn Square.
　　‘Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to theend of Cheapside.
　　‘Sir?’ said Sam, stepping up to his master.
　　‘Which way?’
　　‘Up Newgate Street.’
　　Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but lookedvacantly in Sam’s face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.
　　‘What’s the matter, sir?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘This action, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘is expected to come on,on the fourteenth of next month.’
　　‘Remarkable coincidence that ’ere, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Why remarkable, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Walentine’s day, sir,’ responded Sam; ‘reg’lar good day for abreach o’ promise trial.’
　　Mr. Weller’s smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master’scountenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led theway in silence.
　　They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting onbefore, plunged in profound meditation, and Sam followingbehind, with a countenance expressive of the most enviable andeasy defiance of everything and everybody, when the latter, whowas always especially anxious to impart to his master anyexclusive information he possessed, quickened his pace until hewas close at Mr. Pickwick’s heels; and, pointing up at a house theywere passing, said―‘Wery nice pork-shop that ’ere, sir.’
　　‘Yes, it seems so,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Celebrated sassage factory,’ said Sam.
　　‘Is it?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Is it!’ reiterated Sam,with some indignation; ‘I should raytherthink it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that’s wherethe mysterious disappearance of a ’spectable tradesman took placefour years ago.’
　　‘You don’t mean to say he was burked, Sam?’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, looking hastily round.
　　‘No, I don’t indeed, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘I wish I did; farworse than that. He was the master o’ that ’ere shop, sir, and theinwentor o’ the patent-never-leavin’-off sassage steam-ingin, as ’udswaller up a pavin’ stone if you put it too near, and grind it intosassages as easy as if it was a tender young babby. Wery proud o’
　　that machine he was, as it was nat’ral he should be, and he’d standdown in the celler a-lookin’ at it wen it was in full play, till he gotquite melancholy with joy. A wery happy man he’d ha’ been, sir, inthe procession o’ that ’ere ingin and two more lovely hinfantsbesides, if it hadn’t been for his wife, who was a most owdaciouswixin. She was always a-follerin’ him about, and dinnin’ in hisears, till at last he couldn’t stand it no longer. “I’ll tell you what itis, my dear,” he says one day; “if you persewere in this here sort ofamusement,” he says, “I’m blessed if I don’t go away to ’Merriker;and that’s all about it.” “You’re a idle willin,” says she, “and I wishthe ’Merrikins joy of their bargain.” Arter which she keeps onabusin’ of him for half an hour, and then runs into the littleparlour behind the shop, sets to a-screamin’, says he’ll be thedeath on her, and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours―one o’ them fits wich is all screamin’ and kickin’. Well, nextmornin’, the husband was missin’. He hadn’t taken nothin’ fromthe till―hadn’t even put on his greatcoat―so it was quite clear hewarn’t gone to ’Merriker. Didn’t come back next day; didn’t comeback next week; missis had bills printed, sayin’ that, if he’d comeback, he should be forgiven everythin’ (which was very liberal,seein’ that he hadn’t done nothin’ at all); the canals was dragged,and for two months arterwards, wenever a body turned up, it wascarried, as a reg’lar thing, straight off to the sassage shop.
　　Hows’ever, none on ’em answered; so they gave out that he’d runaway, and she kep’ on the bis’ness. One Saturday night, a little,thin, old gen’l’m’n comes into the shop in a great passion and says,“Are you the missis o’ this here shop?” “Yes, I am,” says she.
　　“Well, ma’am,” says he, “then I’ve just looked in to say that me andmy family ain’t a-goin’ to be choked for nothin’; and more thanthat, ma’am,” he says, “you’ll allow me to observe that as you don’tuse the primest parts of the meat in the manafacter o’ sassages, I’dthink you’d find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons.” “Asbuttons, sir!” says she. “Buttons, ma’am,” says the little, oldgentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and showin’ twenty or thirtyhalves o’ buttons. “Nice seasonin’ for sassages, is trousers’
　　buttons, ma’am.” “They’re my husband’s buttons!” says thewidder beginnin’ to faint, “What!” screams the little old gen’l’m’n,turnin’ wery pale. “I see it all,” says the widder; “in a fit oftemporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into sassages!” Andso he had, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr.
　　Pickwick’s horror-stricken countenance, ‘or else he’d been draw’dinto the ingin; but however that might ha’ been, the little, oldgen’l’m’n, who had been remarkably partial to sassages all his life,rushed out o’ the shop in a wild state, and was never heerd onarterwards!’
　　The relation of this affecting incident of private life broughtmaster and man to Mr. Perker’s chambers. Lowten, holding thedoor half open, was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserable-looking man, in boots without toes and gloves without fingers.
　　There were traces of privation and suffering―almost of despair―in his lank and care-worn countenance; he felt his poverty, for heshrank to the dark side of the staircase as Mr. Pickwickapproached.
　　‘It’s very unfortunate,’ said the stranger, with a sigh.
　　‘Very,’ said Lowten, scribbling his name on the doorpost withhis pen, and rubbing it out again with the feather. ‘Will you leave amessage for him?’
　　‘When do you think he’ll be back?’ inquired the stranger.
　　‘Quite uncertain,’ replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, asthe stranger cast his eyes towards the ground.
　　‘You don’t think it would be of any use my waiting for him?’
　　said the stranger, looking wistfully into the office.
　　‘Oh, no, I’m sure it wouldn’t,’ replied the clerk, moving a littlemore into the centre of the doorway. ‘He’s certain not to be backthis week, and it’s a chance whether he will be next; for whenPerker once gets out of town, he’s never in a hurry to come backagain.’
　　‘Out of town!’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘dear me, how unfortunate!’
　　‘Don’t go away, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Lowten, ‘I’ve got a letter foryou.’ The stranger, seeming to hesitate, once more looked towardsthe ground, and the clerk winked slyly at Mr. Pickwick, as if tointimate that some exquisite piece of humour was going forward,though what it was Mr. Pickwick could not for the life of himdivine. ‘Step in, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Lowten. ‘Well, will you leave amessage, Mr. Watty, or will you call again?’
　　‘Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been donein my business,’ said the man; ‘for God’s sake don’t neglect it, Mr.
　　Lowten.’
　　‘No, no; I won’t forget it,’ replied the clerk. ‘Walk in, Mr.
　　Pickwick. Good-morning, Mr. Watty; it’s a fine day for walking,isn’t it?’ Seeing that the stranger still lingered, he beckoned SamWeller to follow his master in, and shut the door in his face.
　　‘There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since theworld began, I do believe!’ said Lowten, throwing down his penwith the air of an injured man. ‘His affairs haven’t been inChancery quite four years yet, and I’m d―d if he don’t comeworrying here twice a week. Step this way, Mr. Pickwick. PerkerIS in, and he’ll see you, I know. Devilish cold,’ he added pettishly,‘standing at that door, wasting one’s time with such seedyvagabonds!’ Having very vehemently stirred a particularly largefire with a particularly small poker, the clerk led the way to hisprincipal’s private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ah, my dear sir,’ said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from hischair. ‘Well, my dear sir, and what’s the news about your matter,eh? Anything more about our friends in Freeman’s Court?
　　They’ve not been sleeping, I know that. Ah, they’re very smartfellows; very smart, indeed.’
　　As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic pinch of snuff,as a tribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.
　　‘They are great scoundrels,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Aye, aye,’ said the little man; ‘that’s a matter of opinion, youknow, and we won’t dispute about terms; because of course youcan’t be expected to view these subjects with a professional eye.
　　Well, we’ve done everything that’s necessary. I have retainedSerjeant Snubbin.’
　　‘Is he a good man?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Good man!’ replied Perker; ‘bless your heart and soul, my dearsir, Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession. Getstreble the business of any man in court―engaged in every case.
　　You needn’t mention it abroad; but we say―we of the profession―that Serjeant Snubbin leads the court by the nose.’
　　The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made thiscommunication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘They have subpoenaed my three friends,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ah! of course they would,’ replied Perker. ‘Importantwitnesses; saw you in a delicate situation.’
　　‘But she fainted of her own accord,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Shethrew herself into my arms.’
　　‘Very likely, my dear sir,’ replied Perker; ‘very likely and verynatural. Nothing more so, my dear sir, nothing. But who’s to proveit?’
　　‘They have subpoenaed my servant, too,’ said Mr. Pickwick,quitting the other point; for there Mr. Perker’s question hadsomewhat staggered him.
　　‘Sam?’ said Perker.
　　Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.
　　‘Of course, my dear sir; of course. I knew they would. I couldhave told you that, a month ago. You know, my dear sir, if you willtake the management of your affairs into your own hands afterentrusting them to your solicitor, you must also take theconsequences.’ Here Mr. Perker drew himself up with consciousdignity, and brushed some stray grains of snuff from his shirt frill.
　　‘And what do they want him to prove?’ asked Mr. Pickwick,after two or three minutes’ silence.
　　‘That you sent him up to the plaintiff ‘s to make some offer of acompromise, I suppose,’ replied Perker. ‘It don’t matter much,though; I don’t think many counsel could get a great deal out ofhim.’
　　‘I don’t think they could,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smiling, despite hisvexation, at the idea of Sam’s appearance as a witness. ‘Whatcourse do we pursue?’
　　‘We have only one to adopt, my dear sir,’ replied Perker; ‘cross-examine the witnesses; trust to Snubbin’s eloquence; throw dustin the eyes of the judge; throw ourselves on the jury.’
　　‘And suppose the verdict is against me?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snuff, stirred thefire, shrugged his shoulders, and remained expressively silent.
　　‘You mean that in that case I must pay the damages?’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, who had watched this telegraphic answer withconsiderable sternness.
　　Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said, ‘Iam afraid so.’
　　‘Then I beg to announce to you my unalterable determinationto pay no damages whatever,’ said Mr. Pickwick, mostemphatically. ‘None, Perker. Not a pound, not a penny of mymoney, shall find its way into the pockets of Dodson and Fogg.
　　That is my deliberate and irrevocable determination.’ Mr.
　　Pickwick gave a heavy blow on the table before him, inconfirmation of the irrevocability of his intention.
　　‘Very well, my dear sir, very well,’ said Perker. ‘You know best,of course.’
　　‘Of course,’ replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. ‘Where does SerjeantSnubbin live?’
　　‘In Lincoln’s Inn Old Square,’ replied Perker.
　　‘I should like to see him,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear sir!’ rejoined Perker, in utteramazement. ‘Pooh, pooh, my dear sir, impossible. See SerjeantSnubbin! Bless you, my dear sir, such a thing was never heard of,without a consultation fee being previously paid, and aconsultation fixed. It couldn’t be done, my dear sir; it couldn’t bedone.’
　　Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that itcould be done, but that it should be done; and the consequencewas, that within ten minutes after he had received the assurancethat the thing was impossible, he was conducted by his solicitorinto the outer office of the great Serjeant Snubbin himself.
　　It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a largewriting-table drawn up near the fire, the baize top of which hadlong since lost all claim to its original hue of green, and hadgradually grown gray with dust and age, except where all traces ofits natural colour were obliterated by ink-stains. Upon the tablewere numerous little bundles of papers tied with red tape; andbehind it, sat an elderly clerk, whose sleek appearance and heavygold watch-chain presented imposing indications of the extensiveand lucrative practice of Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.
　　‘Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?’ inquired Perker,offering his box with all imaginable courtesy.
　　‘Yes, he is,’ was the reply, ‘but he’s very busy. Look here; not anopinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition feepaid with all of ’em.’ The clerk smiled as he said this, and inhaledthe pinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded of afondness for snuff and a relish for fees.
　　‘Something like practice that,’ said Perker.
　　‘Yes,’ said the barrister’s clerk, producing his own box, andoffering it with the greatest cordiality; ‘and the best of it is, that asnobody alive except myself can read the Serjeant’s writing, theyare obliged to wait for the opinions, when he has given them, till Ihave copied ’em, ha-ha-ha!’
　　‘Which makes good for we know who, besides the Serjeant, anddraws a little more out of the clients, eh?’ said Perker; ‘ha, ha, ha!’
　　At this the Serjeant’s clerk laughed again―not a noisy boisterouslaugh, but a silent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick dislikedto hear. When a man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous thing forhimself; but when he laughs inwardly, it bodes no good to otherpeople.
　　‘You haven’t made me out that little list of the fees that I’m inyour debt, have you?’ said Perker.
　　‘No, I have not,’ replied the clerk.
　　‘I wish you would,’ said Perker. ‘Let me have them, and I’ll sendyou a cheque. But I suppose you’re too busy pocketing the readymoney, to think of the debtors, eh? ha, ha, ha!’ This sally seemedto tickle the clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed a littlequiet laugh to himself.
　　‘But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend,’ said Perker, suddenlyrecovering his gravity, and drawing the great man’s great maninto a Corner, by the lappel of his coat; ‘you must persuade theSerjeant to see me, and my client here.’
　　‘Come, come,’ said the clerk, ‘that’s not bad either. See theSerjeant! come, that’s too absurd.’ Notwithstanding the absurdityof the proposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be gentlydrawn beyond the hearing of Mr. Pickwick; and after a shortconversation conducted in whispers, walked softly down a littledark passage, and disappeared into the legal luminary’s sanctum,whence he shortly returned on tiptoe, and informed Mr. Perkerand Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant had been prevailed upon, inviolation of all established rules and customs, to admit them atonce.
　　Mr. Serjeant Snubbins was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man, of about five-and-forty, or―as the novels say―he might be fifty. He had that dull-looking, boiled eye which isoften to be seen in the heads of people who have appliedthemselves during many years to a weary and laborious course ofstudy; and which would have been sufficient, without theadditional eyeglass which dangled from a broad black ribandround his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted.
　　His hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable to hishaving never devoted much time to its arrangement, and partly tohis having worn for five-and-twenty years the forensic wig whichhung on a block beside him. The marks of hair-powder on his coat-collar, and the ill-washed and worse tied white neckerchief roundhis throat, showed that he had not found leisure since he left the court to make any alteration in his dress; while the slovenly styleof the remainder of his costume warranted the inference that hispersonal appearance would not have been very much improved ifhe had. Books of practice, heaps of papers, and opened letters,were scattered over the table, without any attempt at order orarrangement; the furniture of the room was old and rickety; thedoors of the book-case were rotting in their hinges; the dust flewout from the carpet in little clouds at every step; the blinds wereyellow with age and dirt; the state of everything in the roomshowed, with a clearness not to be mistaken, that Mr. SerjeantSnubbin was far too much occupied with his professional pursuitsto take any great heed or regard of his personal comforts.
　　The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowedabstractedly when Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor;and then, motioning them to a seat, put his pen carefully in theinkstand, nursed his left leg, and waited to be spoken to.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick,Serjeant Snubbin,’ said Perker.
　　‘I am retained in that, am I?’ said the Serjeant.
　　‘You are, sir,’ replied Perker.
　　The Serjeant nodded his head, and waited for something else.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Serjeant Snubbin,’
　　said Perker, ‘to state to you, before you entered upon the case, thathe denies there being any ground or pretence whatever for theaction against him; and that unless he came into court with cleanhands, and without the most conscientious conviction that he wasright in resisting the plaintiff’s demand, he would not be there atall. I believe I state your views correctly; do I not, my dear sir?’
　　said the little man, turning to Mr. Pickwick. ‘Quite so,’ replied that gentleman.
　　Mr. Serjeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to hiseyes; and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds withgreat curiosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly ashe spoke―‘Has Mr. Pickwick a strong case?’
　　The attorney shrugged his shoulders.
　　‘Do you propose calling witnesses?’
　　‘No.’
　　The smile on the Serjeant’s countenance became more defined;he rocked his leg with increased violence; and, throwing himselfback in his easy-chair, coughed dubiously.
　　These tokens of the Serjeant’s presentiments on the subject,slight as they were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He settled thespectacles, through which he had attentively regarded suchdemonstrations of the barrister’s feelings as he had permittedhimself to exhibit, more firmly on his nose; and said with greatenergy, and in utter disregard of all Mr. Perker’s admonitorywinkings and frownings―‘My wishing to wait upon you, for such a purpose as this, sir,appears, I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so much ofthese matters as you must necessarily do, a very extraordinarycircumstance.’
　　The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile cameback again.
　　‘Gentlemen of your profession, sir,’ continued Mr. Pickwick,‘see the worst side of human nature. All its disputes, all its ill-willand bad blood, rise up before you. You know from your experienceof juries (I mean no disparagement to you, or them) how muchdepends upon effect; and you are apt to attribute to others, a desire to use, for purposes of deception and self-interest, the veryinstruments which you, in pure honesty and honour of purpose,and with a laudable desire to do your utmost for your client, knowthe temper and worth of so well, from constantly employing themyourselves. I really believe that to this circumstance may beattributed the vulgar but very general notion of your being, as abody, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious. Conscious as I am,sir, of the disadvantage of making such a declaration to you, undersuch circumstances, I have come here, because I wish youdistinctly to understand, as my friend Mr. Perker has said, that Iam innocent of the falsehood laid to my charge; and although I amvery well aware of the inestimable value of your assistance, sir, Imust beg to add, that unless you sincerely believe this, I wouldrather be deprived of the aid of your talents than have theadvantage of them.’
　　Long before the close of this address, which we are bound tosay was of a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeanthad relapsed into a state of abstraction. After some minutes,however, during which he had reassumed his pen, he appeared tobe again aware of the presence of his clients; raising his head fromthe paper, he said, rather snappishly―‘Who is with me in this case?’
　　‘Mr. Phunky, Serjeant Snubbin,’ replied the attorney.
　　‘Phunky―Phunky,’ said the Serjeant, ‘I never heard the namebefore. He must be a very young man.’
　　‘Yes, he is a very young man,’ replied the attorney. ‘He was onlycalled the other day. Let me see―he has not been at the Bar eightyears yet.’
　　‘Ah, I thought not,’ said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying tone in which ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little child.
　　‘Mr. Mallard, send round to Mr.―Mr.―’
　　‘Phunky’s―Holborn Court, Gray’s Inn,’ interposed Perker.
　　(Holborn Court, by the bye, is South Square now.) ‘Mr. Phunky,and say I should be glad if he’d step here, a moment.’
　　Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and SerjeantSnubbin relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself wasintroduced.
　　Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He had avery nervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his speech; it didnot appear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the result oftimidity, arising from the consciousness of being ‘kept down’ bywant of means, or interest, or connection, or impudence, as thecase might be. He was overawed by the Serjeant, and profoundlycourteous to the attorney.
　　‘I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. Phunky,’
　　said Serjeant Snubbin, with haughty condescension.
　　Mr. Phunky bowed. He had had the pleasure of seeing theSerjeant, and of envying him too, with all a poor man’s envy, foreight years and a quarter.
　　‘You are with me in this case, I understand?’ said the Serjeant.
　　If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have instantlysent for his clerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, hewould have applied his forefinger to his forehead, andendeavoured to recollect, whether, in the multiplicity of hisengagements, he had undertaken this one or not; but as he wasneither rich nor wise (in this sense, at all events) he turned red,and bowed.
　　‘Have you read the papers, Mr. Phunky?’ inquired the Serjeant. Here again, Mr. Phunky should have professed to haveforgotten all about the merits of the case; but as he had read suchpapers as had been laid before him in the course of the action, andhad thought of nothing else, waking or sleeping, throughout thetwo months during which he had been retained as Mr. SerjeantSnubbin’s junior, he turned a deeper red and bowed again.
　　‘This is Mr. Pickwick,’ said the Serjeant, waving his pen in thedirection in which that gentleman was standing.
　　Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick, with a reverence which afirst client must ever awaken; and again inclined his head towardshis leader.
　　‘Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away,’ said the Serjeant,‘and―and―and―hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish tocommunicate. We shall have a consultation, of course.’ With thathint that he had been interrupted quite long enough, Mr. SerjeantSnubbin, who had been gradually growing more and moreabstracted, applied his glass to his eyes for an instant, bowedslightly round, and was once more deeply immersed in the casebefore him, which arose out of an interminable lawsuit, originatingin the act of an individual, deceased a century or so ago, who hadstopped up a pathway leading from some place which nobody evercame from, to some other place which nobody ever went to.
　　Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door untilMr. Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before him, so itwas some time before they got into the Square; and when they didreach it, they walked up and down, and held a long conference,the result of which was, that it was a very difficult matter to sayhow the verdict would go; that nobody could presume to calculateon the issue of an action; that it was very lucky they had prevented the other party from getting Serjeant Snubbin; and other topics ofdoubt and consolation, common in such a position of affairs.
　　Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep ofan hour’s duration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned tothe city.
Chapter 32
DESCRIBES, FAR MORE FULLY THAN THECOURT NEWSMAN EVER DID, A BACHELOR’SPARTY, GIVEN BY Mr. BOB SAWYER AT HISLODGINGS IN THE BOROUGHhere is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, whichsheds a gentle melancholy upon the soul. There are alwaysa good many houses to let in the street: it is a by-street too,and its dulness is soothing. A house in Lant Street would not comewithin the denomination of a first-rate residence, in the strictacceptation of the term; but it is a most desirable spotnevertheless. If a man wished to abstract himself from the world―to remove himself from within the reach of temptation―to placehimself beyond the possibility of any inducement to look out of thewindow―we should recommend him by all means go to LantStreet.
　　In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, asprinkling of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agentsfor the Insolvent Court, several small housekeepers who areemployed in the Docks, a handful of mantua-makers, and aseasoning of jobbing tailors. The majority of the inhabitants eitherdirect their energies to the letting of furnished apartments, ordevote themselves to the healthful and invigorating pursuit ofmangling. The chief features in the still life of the street are greenshutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates, and bell-handles; theprincipal specimens of animated nature, the pot-boy, the muffinyouth, and the baked-potato man. The population is migratory,usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and generally bynight. His Majesty’s revenues are seldom collected in this happyvalley; the rents are dubious; and the water communication is veryfrequently cut off.
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his first-floor front, early on the evening for which he had invited Mr.
　　Pickwick, and Mr. Ben Allen the other. The preparations for thereception of visitors appeared to be completed. The umbrellas inthe passage had been heaped into the little corner outside theback-parlour door; the bonnet and shawl of the landlady’s servanthad been removed from the bannisters; there were not more thantwo pairs of pattens on the street-door mat; and a kitchen candle,with a very long snuff, burned cheerfully on the ledge of thestaircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself purchased thespirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had returned homepreceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the possibility of theirdelivery at the wrong house. The punch was ready-made in a redpan in the bedroom; a little table, covered with a green baize cloth,had been borrowed from the parlour, to play at cards on; and theglasses of the establishment, together with those which had beenborrowed for the occasion from the public-house, were all drawnup in a tray, which was deposited on the landing outside the door.
　　Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all thesearrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. BobSawyer, as he sat by the fireside. There was a sympathisingexpression, too, in the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazedintently on the coals, and a tone of melancholy in his voice, as hesaid, after a long silence:
　　‘Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turnsour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited till to-morrow.’
　　‘That’s her malevolence―that’s her malevolence,’ returned Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer vehemently. ‘She says that if I can afford to give aparty 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 thegenius of man ever produced. It would keep on running during thelongest lifetime, without ever once stopping of its own accord.
　　‘Only a quarter, and a month or so,’ replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching lookbetween the two top bars of the stove.
　　‘It’ll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her headto let out, when those fellows are here, won’t it?’ said Mr. BenAllen at length.
　　‘Horrible,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘horrible.’ A low tap was heardat the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer looked expressively at hisfriend, and bade the tapper come in; whereupon a dirty, slipshodgirl in black cotton stockings, who might have passed for theneglected daughter of a superannuated dustman in very reducedcircumstances, thrust in her head, and said―‘Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to you.’
　　Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girlsuddenly disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her aviolent pull behind; this mysterious exit was no sooneraccomplished, than there was another tap at the door―a smart,pointed tap, which seemed to say, ‘Here I am, and in I’m coming.’
　　Mr, Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abjectapprehension, and once more cried, ‘Come in.’
　　The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. BobSawyer had uttered the words, a little, fierce woman bounced intothe room, all in a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.
　　‘Now, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the little, fierce woman, trying toappear very calm, ‘if you’ll have the kindness to settle that littlebill of mine I’ll thank you, because I’ve got my rent to pay thisafternoon, and my landlord’s a-waiting below now.’ Here the littlewoman rubbed her hands, and looked steadily over Mr. BobSawyer’s head, at the wall behind him.
　　‘I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle,’
　　said Bob Sawyer deferentially, ‘but―’
　　‘Oh, it isn’t any inconvenience,’ replied the little woman, with ashrill titter. ‘I didn’t want it particular before to-day; leastways, asit has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to keep itas me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and everygentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, sir, as ofcourse anybody as calls himself a gentleman does.’ Mrs. Raddletossed her head, bit her lips, rubbed her hands harder, and lookedat the wall more steadily than ever. It was plain to see, as Mr. BobSawyer remarked in a style of Eastern allegory on a subsequentoccasion, that she was ‘getting the steam up.’
　　‘I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob Sawyer, with allimaginable humility, ‘but the fact is, that I have been disappointedin the City to-day.’―Extraordinary place that City. An astonishingnumber of men always are getting disappointed there.
　　‘Well, Mr. Sawyer,’ said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly ona purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, ‘and what’s thatto me, sir?’
　　‘I―I―have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob Sawyer, blinkingthis last question, ‘that before the middle of next week we shall beable to set ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better system,afterwards.’
　　This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to theapartment of the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going into apassion, that, in all probability, payment would have ratherdisappointed her than otherwise. She was in excellent order for alittle relaxation of the kind, having just exchanged a fewintroductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front kitchen.
　　‘Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer,’ said Mrs. Raddle, elevating hervoice for the information of the neighbours―‘do you suppose thatI’m a-going day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings asnever thinks of paying his rent, nor even the very money laid outfor the fresh butter and lump sugar that’s bought for his breakfast,and the very milk that’s took in, at the street door? Do yousuppose a hard-working and industrious woman as has lived inthis street for twenty year (ten year over the way, and nine yearand three-quarters in this very house) has nothing else to do but towork herself to death after a parcel of lazy idle fellars, that arealways smoking and drinking, and lounging, when they ought tobe glad to turn their hands to anything that would help ’em to paytheir bills? Do you―’
　　‘My good soul,’ interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen soothingly.
　　‘Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, sir, Ibeg,’ said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of herspeech, and addressing the third party with impressive slownessand solemnity. ‘I am not aweer, sir, that you have any right toaddress your conversation to me. I don’t think I let theseapartments to you, sir.’
　　‘No, you certainly did not,’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
　　‘Very good, sir,’ responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness.
　　‘Then p’raps, sir, you’ll confine yourself to breaking the arms andlegs of the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself toyourself, sir, or there may be some persons here as will make you,sir.’
　　‘But you are such an unreasonable woman,’ remonstrated Mr.
　　Benjamin Allen.
　　‘I beg your parding, young man,’ said Mrs. Raddle, in a coldperspiration of anger. ‘But will you have the goodness just to callme 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 ownaccount.
　　‘I beg your parding, young man,’ demanded Mrs. Raddle, in alouder 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?’ interruptedMrs. Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wideopen.
　　‘Why, of course I did,’ replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.
　　‘Yes, of course you did,’ said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually tothe door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the specialbehoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. ‘Yes, of course you did! Andeverybody knows that they may safely insult me in my own ’ousewhile my husband sits sleeping downstairs, and taking no morenotice than if I was a dog in the streets. He ought to be ashamed ofhimself (here Mrs. Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated inthis way by a parcel of young cutters and carvers of live people’sbodies, that disgraces the lodgings (another sob), and leaving herexposed to all manner of abuse; a base, faint-hearted, timorouswretch, that’s afraid to come upstairs, and face the ruffinlycreatures―that’s afraid―that’s afraid to come!’ Mrs. Raddlepaused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt had roused herbetter half; and finding that it had not been successful, proceededto descend the stairs with sobs innumerable; when there came aloud double knock at the street door; whereupon she burst into anhysterical fit of weeping, accompanied with dismal moans, whichwas prolonged until the knock had been repeated six times, when,in an uncontrollable burst of mental agony, she threw down all theumbrellas, and disappeared into the back parlour, closing the doorafter her with an awful crash.
　　‘Does Mr. Sawyer live here?’ said Mr. Pickwick, when the doorwas opened.
　　‘Yes,’ said the girl, ‘first floor. It’s the door straight afore you,when you gets to the top of the stairs.’ Having given thisinstruction, the handmaid, who had been brought up among theaboriginal inhabitants of Southwark, disappeared, with the candlein her hand, down the kitchen stairs, perfectly satisfied that shehad done everything that could possibly be required of her underthe circumstances.
　　Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, afterseveral ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the friendsstumbled upstairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob Sawyer,who had been afraid to go down, lest he should be waylaid by Mrs.
　　Raddle.
　　‘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.’
　　‘Don’t mention it, don’t mention it,’ said Bob Sawyer. ‘I’mrather 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 thisgentleman before, I think?’ Mr. Pickwick shook hands with Mr.
　　Benjamin Allen, and his friends followed his example. They hadscarcely 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.’
　　A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkinspresented himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with thunder-and-lightning buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a white falsecollar.
　　‘You’re late, Jack?’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
　　‘Been detained at Bartholomew’s,’ replied Hopkins.
　　‘Anything new?’
　　‘No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into thecasualty ward.’
　　‘What was that, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs’ window; but it’s avery fair case indeed.’
　　‘Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?’
　　inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No,’ replied Mr. Hopkins carelessly. ‘No, I should rather say hewouldn’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’s leg out of the socketlast week―boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake―exactlytwo minutes after it was all over, boy said he wouldn’t lie there tobe made 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?’
　　‘Nothing at all,’ replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘By the bye, Bob,’ said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptibleglance at Mr. Pickwick’s attentive face, ‘we had a curious accidentlast night. A child was brought in, who had swallowed a necklace.’
　　‘Swallowed what, sir?’ interrupted Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘A necklace,’ replied Jack Hopkins. ‘Not all at once, you know,that would be too much―you couldn’t swallow that, if the childdid―eh, Mr. Pickwick? ha, ha!’ Mr. Hopkins appeared highlygratified with his own pleasantry, and continued―‘No, the waywas this. Child’s parents were poor people who lived in a court.
　　Child’s eldest sister bought a necklace―common necklace, madeof large black wooden beads. Child being fond of toys, cribbed thenecklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and swallowed abead. Child thought it capital fun, went back next day, andswallowed another bead.’
　　‘Bless my heart,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what a dreadful thing! Ibeg your pardon, sir. Go on.’
　　‘Next day, child swallowed two beads; the day after that, hetreated himself to three, and so on, till in a week’s time he had gotthrough the necklace―five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister,who was an industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to a bit offinery, cried her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace; looked highand low for it; but, I needn’t say, didn’t find it. A few daysafterwards, the family were at dinner―baked shoulder of mutton,and potatoes under it―the child, who wasn’t hungry, was playingabout the room, when suddenly there was heard a devil of a noise,like a small hailstorm. “Don’t do that, my boy,” said the father. “Iain’t a-doin’ nothing,” said the child. “Well, don’t do it again,” saidthe father. There was a short silence, and then the noise beganagain, 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 thana 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 in the child!” said the father, “he’s got the croup in thewrong place!” “No, I haven’t, father,” said the child, beginning tocry, “it’s the necklace; I swallowed it, father.”―The father caughtthe child up, and ran with him to the hospital; the beads in theboy’s stomach rattling all the way with the jolting; and the peoplelooking up in the air, and down in the cellars, to see where theunusual sound came from. He’s in the hospital now,’ said JackHopkins, ‘and he makes such a devil of a noise when he walksabout, that they’re obliged to muffle him in a watchman’s coat, forfear 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?’
　　‘Certainly not,’ replied 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 youngman in a black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in along stock. The next comer was a gentleman in a shirt emblazonedwith pink anchors, who was closely followed by a pale youth with aplated watchguard. The arrival of a prim personage in clean linenand cloth boots rendered the party complete. The little table withthe green baize cover was wheeled out; the first instalment ofpunch was brought in, in a white jug; and the succeeding threehours were devoted to vingt-et-un at sixpence a dozen, which wasonly once interrupted by a slight dispute between the scorbuticyouth and the gentleman with the pink anchors; in the course ofwhich, the scorbutic youth intimated a burning desire to pull thenose of the gentleman with the emblems of hope; in reply towhich, that individual expressed his decided unwillingness toaccept of any ‘sauce’ on gratuitous terms, either from the irascibleyoung gentleman with the scorbutic countenance, or any otherperson who was ornamented with a head.
　　When the last ‘natural’ had been declared, and the profit andloss account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satisfaction ofall parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitorssqueezed themselves into corners while it was getting ready.
　　it was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine. Firstof all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen asleepwith her face on the kitchen table; this took a little time, and, evenwhen she did answer the bell, another quarter of an hour wasconsumed in fruitless endeavours to impart to her a faint anddistant glimmering of reason. The man to whom the order for theoysters had been sent, had not been told to open them; it is a verydifficult thing to open an oyster with a limp knife and a two-pronged fork; and very little was done in this way. Very little of thebeef was done either; and the ham (which was also from theGerman-sausage shop round the corner) was in a similarpredicament. However, there was plenty of porter in a tin can; andthe cheese went a great way, for it was very strong. So upon thewhole, perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such mattersusually 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 wasoccasioned by a very common occurrence in this sort of place, buta very embarrassing one notwithstanding.
　　The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses. The establishmentboasted four: we do not record the circumstance as at allderogatory to Mrs. Raddle, for there never was a lodging-houseyet, that was not short of glasses. The landlady’s glasses were little,thin, blown-glass tumblers, and those which had been borrowedfrom the public-house were great, dropsical, bloated articles, eachsupported on a huge gouty leg. This would have been in itselfsufficient to have possessed the company with the real state ofaffairs; but the young woman of all work had prevented thepossibility of any misconception arising in the mind of anygentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging every man’sglass away, long before he had finished his beer, and audiblystating, despite the winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob Sawyer,that it was to be conveyed downstairs, and washed forthwith.
　　It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim manin the cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting tomake a joke during the whole time the round game lasted, saw hisopportunity, and availed himself of it. The instant the glassesdisappeared, he commenced a long story about a great publiccharacter, whose name he had forgotten, making a particularlyhappy reply to another eminent and illustrious individual whomhe had never been able to identify. He enlarged at some lengthand with great minuteness upon divers collateral circumstances,distantly connected with the anecdote in hand, but for the life ofhim he couldn’t recollect at that precise moment what theanecdote was, although he had been in the habit of telling thestory with great applause for the last ten years.
　　‘Dear me,’ said the prim man in the cloth boots, ‘it is a veryextraordinary circumstance.’
　　‘I am sorry you have forgotten it,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer,glancing eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise ofglasses jingling; ‘very sorry.’
　　‘So am I,’ responded the prim man, ‘because I know it wouldhave afforded so much amusement. Never mind; I dare say I shallmanage to recollect it, in the course of half an hour or so.’
　　The prim man arrived at this point just as the glasses cameback, when Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attentionduring the whole time, said he should very much like to hear theend of it, for, so far as it went, it was, without exception, the verybest story he had ever heard. The sight of the tumblers restoredBob Sawyer to a degree of equanimity which he had not possessedsince his interview with his landlady. His face brightened up, andhe began to feel quite convivial.
　　‘Now, Betsy,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, anddispersing, at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glassesthe girl had collected in the centre of the table―‘now, Betsy, thewarm 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 expressed amore decided negative than the most copious language could haveconveyed. ‘Missis Raddle said you warn’t to have none.’
　　The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guestsimparted new courage to the host.
　　‘Bring up the warm water instantly―instantly!’ said Mr. BobSawyer, with desperate sternness.
　　‘No. I can’t,’ replied the girl; ‘Missis Raddle raked out thekitchen fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle.’
　　‘Oh, never mind; never mind. Pray don’t disturb yourself aboutsuch a trifle,’ said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of BobSawyer’s passions, as depicted in his countenance, ‘cold water willdo very well.’
　　‘Oh, admirably,’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
　　‘My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mentalderangement,’ remarked Bob Sawyer, with a ghastly smile; ‘I fearI must give her warning.’
　　‘No, don’t,’ said Ben Allen.
　　‘I fear I must,’ said Bob, with heroic firmness. ‘I’ll pay her whatI owe her, and give her warning to-morrow morning.’ Poor fellow!
　　how devoutly he wished he could!
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer’s heart-sickening attempts to rally under thislast 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 arenewal of hostilities between the scorbutic youth and thegentleman in the shirt. The belligerents vented their feelings ofmutual contempt, for some time, in a variety of frownings andsnortings, until at last the scorbutic youth felt it necessary to cometo a more explicit understanding on the matter; when thefollowing clear understanding took place. ‘Sawyer,’ said thescorbutic youth, in a loud voice.
　　‘Well, Noddy,’ replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘I should be very sorry, Sawyer,’ said Mr. Noddy, ‘to create anyunpleasantness 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 disturbancein the street in which you reside,’ said Mr. Gunter, ‘but I’m afraid Ishall be under the necessity of alarming the neighbours bythrowing the person who has just spoken, out o’ window.’
　　‘What do you mean by that, sir?’ inquired Mr. Noddy.
　　‘What I say, sir,’ replied Mr. Gunter.
　　‘I should like 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.
　　‘I’ll 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 deludeyour visitors into the false belief that a gentleman has been to seeyou, sir,’ replied Mr. Gunter.
　　‘Sir, a friend of mine shall wait on you in the morning,’ said Mr.
　　Noddy.
　　‘Sir, I’m very much obliged to you for the caution, and I’ll leaveparticular directions with the servant to lock up the spoons,’
　　replied Mr. Gunter.
　　At this point the remainder of the guests interposed, andremonstrated with both parties on the impropriety of theirconduct; on which Mr. Noddy begged to state that his father wasquite as respectable as Mr. Gunter’s father; to which Mr. Gunterreplied that his father was to the full as respectable as Mr. Noddy’sfather, and that his father’s son was as good a man as Mr. Noddy,any day in the week. As this announcement seemed the prelude toa recommencement of the dispute, there was another interferenceon the part of the company; and a vast quantity of talking andclamouring ensued, in the course of which Mr. Noddy graduallyallowed his feelings to overpower him, and professed that he hadever entertained a devoted personal attachment towards Mr.
　　Gunter. To this Mr. Gunter replied that, upon the whole, he ratherpreferred Mr. Noddy to his own brother; on hearing whichadmission, Mr. Noddy magnanimously rose from his seat, andproffered his hand to Mr. Gunter. Mr. Gunter grasped it withaffecting fervour; and everybody said that the whole dispute hadbeen conducted in a manner which was highly honourable to bothparties concerned.
　　‘Now,’ said Jack Hopkins, ‘just to set us going again, Bob, Idon’t mind singing a song.’ And Hopkins, incited thereto bytumultuous applause, plunged himself at once into ‘The King, Godbless him,’ which he sang as loud as he could, to a novel air,compounded of the ‘Bay of Biscay,’ and ‘A Frog he would.’ Thechorus was the essence of the song; and, as each gentleman sang itto 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 soonas silence was restored―‘Hush! I beg your pardon. I thought I heard somebody callingfrom upstairs.’
　　A profound silence immediately ensued; and Mr. Bob Sawyerwas observed to turn pale.
　　‘I think I hear it now,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Have the goodness toopen the door.’
　　The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subjectwas removed.
　　‘Mr. Sawyer! Mr. Sawyer!’ screamed a voice from the two-pairlanding.
　　‘It’s my landlady,’ said Bob Sawyer, looking round him withgreat dismay. ‘Yes, Mrs. Raddle.’
　　‘What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer?’ replied the voice, withgreat shrillness and rapidity of utterance. ‘Ain’t it enough to beswindled out of one’s rent, and money lent out of pocket besides,and abused and insulted by your friends that dares to callthemselves men, without having the house turned out of thewindow, and noise enough made to bring the fire-engines here, attwo o’clock in the morning?―Turn them wretches away.’
　　‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,’ said the voice of Mr.
　　Raddle, which appeared to proceed from beneath some distantbed-clothes.
　　‘Ashamed of themselves!’ said Mrs. Raddle. ‘Why don’t you godown and knock ’em every one downstairs? You would if you wasa man.’
　　‘I should if I was a dozen men, my dear,’ replied Mr. Raddlepacifically, ‘but they have the advantage of me in numbers, mydear.’
　　‘Ugh, you coward!’ replied Mrs. Raddle, with supremecontempt. ‘Do you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr.
　　Sawyer?’
　　‘They’re going, Mrs. Raddle, they’re going,’ said the miserableBob. ‘I am afraid you’d better go,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer to hisfriends. ‘I thought you were making too much noise.’
　　‘It’s a very unfortunate thing,’ said the prim man. ‘Just as wewere getting so comfortable too!’ The prim man was justbeginning to have a dawning recollection of the story he hadforgotten.
　　‘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 otherverse, 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 other verse. They arevery violent people, the people of the house.’
　　‘Shall I step upstairs, and pitch into the landlord?’ inquiredHopkins, ‘or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on thestaircase? 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, ‘but I thinkthe best plan to avoid any further dispute is for us to break up atonce.’
　　‘Now, Mr. Sawyer,’ screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Raddle,‘are them brutes going?’
　　‘They’re only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob;‘they are going directly.’
　　‘Going!’ said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her nightcap over the banisters just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman, emergedfrom the sitting-room. ‘Going! what did they ever come for?’
　　‘My dear ma’am,’ remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.
　　‘Get along with you, old wretch!’ replied Mrs. Raddle, hastilywithdrawing the nightcap. ‘Old enough to be his grandfather, youwillin! You’re worse than any of ’em.’
　　Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, sohurried downstairs into the street, whither he was closely followedby Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. Mr. Ben Allen,who was dismally depressed with spirits and agitation,accompanied them as far as London Bridge, and in the course ofthe walk confided to Mr. Winkle, as an especially eligible person tointrust the secret to, that he was resolved to cut the throat of anygentleman, except Mr. Bob Sawyer, who should aspire to theaffections of his sister Arabella. Having expressed hisdetermination to perform this painful duty of a brother withproper firmness, he burst into tears, knocked his hat over his eyes,and, making the best of his way back, knocked double knocks atthe door of the Borough Market office, and took short naps on thesteps alternately, until daybreak, under the firm impression thathe lived there, and had forgotten the key.
　　The visitors having all departed, in compliance with the ratherpressing request of Mrs. Raddle, the luckless Mr. Bob Sawyer wasleft alone, to meditate on the probable events of to-morrow, andthe pleasures of the evening.
Chapter 33
Mr. WELLER THE ELDER DELIVERS SOMECRITICAL SENTIMENTS RESPECTINGLITERARY COMPOSITION; AND, ASSISTED BYHIS SON SAMUEL, PAYS A SMALLINSTALMENT OF RETALIATION TO THEACCOUNT OF THE REVEREND GENTLEMANWITH THE RED NOSEhe morning of the thirteenth of February, which thereaders of this authentic narrative know, as well as we do,to have been the day immediately preceding that whichwas appointed for the trial of Mrs. Bardell’s action, was a busytime for Mr. Samuel Weller, who was perpetually engaged intravelling from the George and Vulture to Mr. Perker’s chambersand back again, from and between the hours of nine o’clock in themorning and two in the afternoon, both inclusive. Not that therewas anything whatever to be done, for the consultation had takenplace, and the course of proceeding to be adopted, had been finallydetermined on; but Mr. Pickwick being in a most extreme state ofexcitement, persevered in constantly sending small notes to hisattorney, merely containing the inquiry, ‘Dear Perker. Is all goingon well?’ to which Mr. Perker invariably forwarded the reply,‘Dear Pickwick. As well as possible’; the fact being, as we havealready hinted, that there was nothing whatever to go on, eitherwell or ill, until the sitting of the court on the following morning.
　　But people who go voluntarily to law, or are taken forciblythere, for the first time, may be allowed to labour under sometemporary irritation and anxiety; and Sam, with a due allowancefor the frailties of human nature, obeyed all his master’s behestswith that imperturbable good-humour and unruffable composurewhich formed one of his most striking and amiable characteristics.
　　Sam had solaced himself with a most agreeable little dinner,and was waiting at the bar for the glass of warm mixture in whichMr. Pickwick had requested him to drown the fatigues of hismorning’s walks, when a young boy of about three feet high, orthereabouts, in a hairy cap and fustian overalls, whose garbbespoke a laudable ambition to attain in time the elevation of anhostler, entered the passage of the George and Vulture, and lookedfirst up the stairs, and then along the passage, and then into thebar, as if in search of somebody to whom he bore a commission;whereupon the barmaid, conceiving it not improbable that thesaid commission might be directed to the tea or table spoons of theestablishment, accosted the boy with―‘Now, young man, what do you want?’
　　‘Is there anybody here, named Sam?’ inquired the youth, in aloud voice of treble quality.
　　‘What’s the t’other name?’ said Sam Weller, looking round.
　　‘How should I know?’ briskly replied the young gentlemanbelow the hairy cap. ‘You’re a sharp boy, you are,’ said Mr. Weller;‘only I wouldn’t show that wery fine edge too much, if I was you, incase anybody took it off. What do you mean by comin’ to a hot-el,and asking arter Sam, vith as much politeness as a vild Indian?’
　　‘’Cos an old gen’l’m’n told me to,’ replied the boy.
　　‘What old gen’l’m’n?’ inquired Sam, with deep disdain.
　　‘Him as drives a Ipswich coach, and uses our parlour,’ rejoinedthe boy. ‘He told me yesterday mornin’ to come to the George andWultur this arternoon, and ask for Sam.’
　　‘It’s my father, my dear,’ said Mr. Weller, turning with anexplanatory air to the young lady in the bar; ‘blessed if I think hehardly knows wot my other name is. Well, young brockiley sprout,wot then?’
　　‘Why then,’ said the boy, ‘you was to come to him at six o’clockto our ’ouse, ’cos he wants to see you―Blue Boar, Leaden’allMarkit. Shall I say you’re comin’?’
　　‘You may wenture on that ’ere statement, sir,’ replied Sam. Andthus empowered, the young gentleman walked away, awakeningall the echoes in George Yard as he did so, with several chaste andextremely correct imitations of a drover’s whistle, delivered in atone of peculiar richness and volume.
　　Mr. Weller having obtained leave of absence from Mr. Pickwick,who, in his then state of excitement and worry, was by no meansdispleased at being left alone, set forth, long before the appointedhour, and having plenty of time at his disposal, sauntered down asfar as the Mansion House, where he paused and contemplated,with a face of great calmness and philosophy, the numerous cadsand drivers of short stages who assemble near that famous placeof resort, to the great terror and confusion of the old-ladypopulation of these realms. Having loitered here, for half an houror so, Mr. Weller turned, and began wending his way towardsLeadenhall Market, through a variety of by-streets and courts. Ashe was sauntering away his spare time, and stopped to look atalmost every object that met his gaze, it is by no means surprisingthat Mr. Weller should have paused before a small stationer’s andprint-seller’s window; but without further explanation it doesappear surprising that his eyes should have no sooner rested oncertain pictures which were exposed for sale therein, than he gavea sudden start, smote his right leg with great vehemence, andexclaimed, with energy, ‘if it hadn’t been for this, I should ha’
　　forgot all about it, till it was too late!’
　　The particular picture on which Sam Weller’s eyes were fixed,as he said this, was a highly-coloured representation of a couple ofhuman hearts skewered together with an arrow, cooking before acheerful fire, while a male and female cannibal in modern attire,the gentleman being clad in a blue coat and white trousers, andthe lady in a deep red pelisse with a parasol of the same, wereapproaching the meal with hungry eyes, up a serpentine gravelpath leading thereunto. A decidedly indelicate young gentleman,in a pair of wings and nothing else, was depicted assuperintending the cooking; a representation of the spire of thechurch in Langham Place, London, appeared in the distance; andthe whole formed a ‘valentine,’ of which, as a written inscription inthe window testified, there was a large assortment within, whichthe shopkeeper pledged himself to dispose of, to his countrymengenerally, at the reduced rate of one-and-sixpence each.
　　‘I should ha’ forgot it; I should certainly ha’ forgot it!’ said Sam;so saying, he at once stepped into the stationer’s shop, andrequested to be served with a sheet of the best gilt-edged letter-paper, and a hard-nibbed pen which could be warranted not tosplutter. These articles having been promptly supplied, he walkedon direct towards Leadenhall Market at a good round pace, verydifferent from his recent lingering one. Looking round him, hethere beheld a signboard on which the painter’s art had delineatedsomething remotely resembling a cerulean elephant with anaquiline nose in lieu of trunk. Rightly conjecturing that this wasthe Blue Boar himself, he stepped into the house, and inquiredconcerning his parent.
　　‘He won’t be here this three-quarters of an hour or more,’ saidthe young lady who superintended the domestic arrangements ofthe Blue Boar.
　　‘Wery good, my dear,’ replied Sam. ‘Let me have nine-penn’otho’ brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, will you, miss?’
　　The brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, having beencarried into the little parlour, and the young lady having carefullyflattened down the coals to prevent their blazing, and carriedaway the poker to preclude the possibility of the fire being stirred,without the full privity and concurrence of the Blue Boar beingfirst had and obtained, Sam Weller sat himself down in a box nearthe stove, and pulled out the sheet of gilt-edged letter-paper, andthe hard-nibbed pen. Then looking carefully at the pen to see thatthere were no hairs in it, and dusting down the table, so that theremight be no crumbs of bread under the paper, Sam tucked up thecuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and composed himself towrite.
　　To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devotingthemselves practically to the science of penmanship, writing aletter is no very easy task; it being always considered necessary insuch cases for the writer to recline his head on his left arm, so asto place his eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper,and, while glancing sideways at the letters he is constructing, toform with his tongue imaginary characters to correspond. Thesemotions, although unquestionably of the greatest assistance tooriginal composition, retard in some degree the progress of thewriter; and Sam had unconsciously been a full hour and a halfwriting words in small text, smearing out wrong letters with hislittle finger, and putting in new ones which required going oververy often to render them visible through the old blots, when hewas roused by the opening of the door and the entrance of hisparent.
　　‘Vell, Sammy,’ said the father.
　　‘Vell, my Prooshan Blue,’ responded the son, laying down hispen. ‘What’s the last bulletin about mother-in-law?’
　　‘Mrs. Veller passed a very good night, but is uncommonperwerse, and unpleasant this mornin’. Signed upon oath, TonyVeller, Esquire. That’s the last vun as was issued, Sammy,’ repliedMr. Weller, untying his shawl.
　　‘No better yet?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘All the symptoms aggerawated,’ replied Mr. Weller, shaking hishead. ‘But wot’s that, you’re a-doin’ of? Pursuit of knowledgeunder difficulties, Sammy?’
　　‘I’ve done now,’ said Sam, with slight embarrassment; ‘I’vebeen a-writin’.’
　　‘So I see,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Not to any young ’ooman, I hope,Sammy?’
　　‘Why, it’s no use a-sayin’ it ain’t,’ replied Sam; ‘it’s a walentine.’
　　‘A what!’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken bythe word.
　　‘A walentine,’ replied Sam. ‘Samivel, Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller,in reproachful accents, ‘I didn’t think you’d ha’ done it. Arter thewarnin’ you’ve had o’ your father’s wicious propensities; arter allI’ve said to you upon this here wery subject; arter actiwally seein’
　　and bein’ in the company o’ your own mother-in-law, vich I shouldha’ thought wos a moral lesson as no man could never ha’
　　forgotten to his dyin’ day! I didn’t think you’d ha’ done it, Sammy,I didn’t think you’d ha’ done it!’ These reflections were too muchfor the good old man. He raised Sam’s tumbler to his lips anddrank off its contents.
　　‘Wot’s the matter now?’ said Sam.
　　‘Nev’r mind, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘it’ll be a weryagonisin’ trial to me at my time of life, but I’m pretty tough, that’svun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked wen the farmersaid he wos afeerd he should be obliged to kill him for the Londonmarket.’
　　‘Wot’ll be a trial?’ inquired Sam. ‘To see you married, Sammy―to see you a dilluded wictim, and thinkin’ in your innocence thatit’s all wery capital,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘It’s a dreadful trial to afather’s feelin’s, that ’ere, Sammy―’
　　‘Nonsense,’ said Sam. ‘I ain’t a-goin’ to get married, don’t youfret yourself about that; I know you’re a judge of these things.
　　Order in your pipe and I’ll read you the letter. There!’
　　We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of thepipe, or the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to getmarried ran in the family, and couldn’t be helped, which calmedMr. Weller’s feelings, and caused his grief to subside. We shouldbe rather disposed to say that the result was attained bycombining the two sources of consolation, for he repeated thesecond in a low tone, very frequently; ringing the bell meanwhile,to order in the first. He then divested himself of his upper coat;and lighting the pipe and placing himself in front of the fire withhis back towards it, so that he could feel its full heat, and reclineagainst the mantel-piece at the same time, turned towards Sam,and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softeninginfluence of tobacco, requested him to ‘fire away.’
　　Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections,and began with a very theatrical air―‘“Lovely―“‘‘Stop,’ said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. ‘A double glass o’ theinwariable, my dear.’
　　‘Very well, sir,’ replied the girl; who with great quicknessappeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared.
　　‘They seem to know your ways here,’ observed Sam.
　　‘Yes,’ replied his father, ‘I’ve been here before, in my time. Goon, Sammy.’
　　‘“Lovely creetur,”’ repeated Sam.
　　‘’Tain’t in poetry, is it?’ interposed his father.
　　‘No, no,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Wery glad to hear it,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Poetry’s unnat’ral; noman ever talked poetry ’cept a beadle on boxin’-day, or Warren’sblackin’, or Rowland’s oil, or some of them low fellows; never youlet yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy.’
　　Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Samonce more commenced, and read as follows:
　　‘“Lovely creetur I feel myself a damned―”’
　　‘That ain’t proper,’ said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from hismouth.
　　‘No; it ain’t “damned,”’ observed Sam, holding the letter up tothe light, ‘it’s “shamed,” there’s a blot there―“I feel myselfashamed.”’
　　‘Wery good,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Go on.’
　　‘“Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir―’ I forget what thishere word is,’ said Sam, scratching his head with the pen, in vainattempts to remember.
　　‘Why don’t you look at it, then?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘So I am a-lookin’ at it,’ replied Sam, ‘but there’s another blot.
　　Here’s a “c,” and a “i,” and a “d.”’
　　‘Circumwented, p’raps,’ suggested Mr. Weller.
　　‘No, it ain’t that,’ said Sam, ‘“circumscribed”; that’s it.’
　　‘That ain’t as good a word as “circumwented,” Sammy,’ saidMr. Weller gravely.
　　‘Think not?’ said Sam.
　　‘Nothin’ like it,’ replied his father.
　　‘But don’t you think it means more?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Vell p’raps it’s a more tenderer word,’ said Mr. Weller, after afew moments’ reflection.
　　‘Go on, Sammy.’
　　‘“Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a-dressin’ of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin’ but it.”’
　　‘That’s a wery pretty sentiment,’ said the elder Mr. Weller,removing his pipe to make way for the remark.
　　‘Yes, I think it is rayther good,’ observed Sam, highly flattered.
　　‘Wot I like in that ’ere style of writin’,’ said the elder Mr. Weller,‘is, that there ain’t no callin’ names in it―no Wenuses, nor nothin’
　　o’ that kind. Wot’s the good o’ callin’ a young ’ooman a Wenus or aangel, Sammy?’
　　‘Ah! what, indeed?’ replied Sam.
　　‘You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a king’sarms at once, which is wery well known to be a collection o’
　　fabulous animals,’ added Mr. Weller.
　　 ‘Just as well,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Drive on, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows; hisfather continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdomand complacency, which was particularly edifying.
　　‘“Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike.”’
　　‘So they are,’ observed the elder Mr. Weller parenthetically.
　　‘“But now,”’ continued Sam, ‘“now I find what a reg’lar soft-headed, inkred’lous turnip I must ha’ been; for there ain’t nobodylike you, though I like you better than nothin’ at all.” I thought itbest to make that rayther strong,’ said Sam, looking up.
　　Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed.
　　‘“So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear―as thegen’l’m’n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday―to tellyou that the first and only time I see you, your likeness was tookon my hart in much quicker time and brighter colours than ever alikeness was took by the profeel macheen (wich p’raps you mayhave heerd on Mary my dear) altho it does finish a portrait and putthe frame and glass on complete, with a hook at the end to hang itup by, and all in two minutes and a quarter.”’
　　‘I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy,’ said Mr.
　　Weller dubiously.
　　‘No, it don’t,’ replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoidcontesting the point―‘“Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think overwhat I’ve said.―My dear Mary I will now conclude.” That’s all,’
　　said Sam.
　　‘That’s rather a Sudden pull-up, ain’t it, Sammy?’ inquired Mr.
　　Weller.
　　‘Not a bit on it,’ said Sam; ‘she’ll vish there wos more, and that’s the great art o’ letter-writin’.’
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘there’s somethin’ in that; and I wishyour mother-in-law ’ud only conduct her conwersation on thesame gen-teel principle. Ain’t you a-goin’ to sign it?’
　　‘That’s the difficulty,’ said Sam; ‘I don’t know what to sign it.’
　　‘Sign it―“Veller”,’ said the oldest surviving proprietor of thatname.
　　‘Won’t do,’ said Sam. ‘Never sign a walentine with your ownname.’
　　‘Sign it “Pickwick,” then,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘it’s a wery goodname, and a easy one to spell.’
　　‘The wery thing,’ said Sam. ‘I could end with a werse; what doyou think?’
　　‘I don’t like it, Sam,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. ‘I never know’d arespectable coachman as wrote poetry, ’cept one, as made anaffectin’ copy o’ werses the night afore he was hung for a highwayrobbery; and he wos only a Cambervell man, so even that’s norule.’
　　But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea thathad occurred to him, so he signed the letter―‘Your love-sickPickwick.’
　　And having folded it, in a very intricate manner, squeezed adownhill direction in one corner: ‘To Mary, Housemaid, at Mr.
　　Nupkins’s, Mayor’s, Ipswich, Suffolk’; and put it into his pocket,wafered, and ready for the general post. This important businesshaving been transacted, Mr. Weller the elder proceeded to openthat, on which he had summoned his son.
　　‘The first matter relates to your governor, Sammy,’ said Mr.
　　Weller. ‘He’s a-goin’ to be tried to-morrow, ain’t he?’
　　‘The trial’s a-comin’ on,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Vell,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘Now I s’pose he’ll want to call somewitnesses to speak to his character, or p’rhaps to prove a alleybi.
　　I’ve been a-turnin’ the bis’ness over in my mind, and he may makehis-self easy, Sammy. I’ve got some friends as’ll do either for him,but my adwice ’ud be this here―never mind the character, andstick to the alleybi. Nothing like a alleybi, Sammy, nothing.’ Mr.
　　Weller looked very profound as he delivered this legal opinion;and burying his nose in his tumbler, winked over the top thereof,at his astonished son. ‘Why, what do you mean?’ said Sam; ‘youdon’t think he’s a-goin’ to be tried at the Old Bailey, do you?’
　　‘That ain’t no part of the present consideration, Sammy,’
　　replied Mr. Weller. ‘Verever he’s a-goin’ to be tried, my boy, aalleybi’s the thing to get him off. Ve got Tom Vildspark off that ’eremanslaughter, with a alleybi, ven all the big vigs to a man said asnothing couldn’t save him. And my ’pinion is, Sammy, that if yourgovernor don’t prove a alleybi, he’ll be what the Italians callreg’larly flummoxed, and that’s all about it.’
　　As the elder Mr. Weller entertained a firm and unalterableconviction that the Old Bailey was the supreme court of judicaturein this country, and that its rules and forms of proceedingregulated and controlled the practice of all other courts of justicewhatsoever, he totally disregarded the assurances and argumentsof his son, tending to show that the alibi was inadmissible; andvehemently protested that Mr. Pickwick was being ‘wictimised.’
　　Finding that it was of no use to discuss the matter further, Samchanged the subject, and inquired what the second topic was, onwhich his revered parent wished to consult him.
　　‘That’s a pint o’ domestic policy, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Thishere Stiggins―’
　　‘Red-nosed man?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘The wery same,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘This here red-nosed man,Sammy, wisits your mother-in-law vith a kindness and constancy Inever see equalled. He’s sitch a friend o’ the family, Sammy, thatwen he’s avay from us, he can’t be comfortable unless he hassomethin’ to remember us by.’
　　‘And I’d give him somethin’ as ’ud turpentine and beeswax hismemory for the next ten years or so, if I wos you,’ interposed Sam.
　　‘Stop a minute,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘I wos a-going to say, he alwaysbrings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and a half, and fills itvith the pine-apple rum afore he goes avay.’
　　‘And empties it afore he comes back, I s’pose?’ said Sam.
　　‘Clean!’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘never leaves nothin’ in it but thecork and the smell; trust him for that, Sammy. Now, these herefellows, my boy, are a-goin’ to-night to get up the monthly meetin’
　　o’ the Brick Lane Branch o’ the United Grand Junction EbenezerTemperance Association. Your mother-in-law wos a-goin’, Sammy,but she’s got the rheumatics, and can’t; and I, Sammy―I’ve gotthe two tickets as wos sent her.’ Mr. Weller communicated thissecret with great glee, and winked so indefatigably after doing so,that Sam began to think he must have got the tic doloureux in hisright eyelid.
　　‘Well?’ said that young gentleman. ‘Well,’ continued hisprogenitor, looking round him very cautiously, ‘you and I’ll go,punctiwal to the time. The deputy-shepherd won’t, Sammy; thedeputy-shepherd won’t.’ Here Mr. Weller was seized with aparoxysm of chuckles, which gradually terminated in as near anapproach to a choke as an elderly gentleman can, with safety,sustain.
　　‘Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my born days,’
　　exclaimed Sam, rubbing the old gentleman’s back, hard enough toset him on fire with the friction. ‘What are you a-laughin’ at,corpilence?’
　　‘Hush! Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, looking round him withincreased caution, and speaking in a whisper. ‘Two friends o’
　　mine, as works the Oxford Road, and is up to all kinds o’ games,has got the deputy-shepherd safe in tow, Sammy; and ven he doescome to the Ebenezer Junction (vich he’s sure to do: for they’ll seehim to the door, and shove him in, if necessary), he’ll be as fargone in rum-and-water, as ever he wos at the Markis o’ Granby,Dorkin’, and that’s not sayin’ a little neither.’ And with this, Mr.
　　Weller once more laughed immoderately, and once more relapsedinto a state of partial suffocation, in consequence.
　　Nothing could have been more in accordance with SamWeller’s feelings than the projected exposure of the realpropensities and qualities of the red-nosed man; and it being verynear the appointed hour of meeting, the father and son took theirway at once to Brick Lane, Sam not forgetting to drop his letterinto a general post-office as they walked along.
　　The monthly meetings of the Brick Lane Branch of the UnitedGrand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association were held in alarge room, pleasantly and airily situated at the top of a safe andcommodious ladder. The president was the straight-walking Mr.
　　Anthony Humm, a converted fireman, now a schoolmaster, andoccasionally an itinerant preacher; and the secretary was Mr.
　　Jonas Mudge, chandler’s shopkeeper, an enthusiastic anddisinterested vessel, who sold tea to the members. Previous to thecommencement of business, the ladies sat upon forms, and dranktea, till such time as they considered it expedient to leave off; anda large wooden money-box was conspicuously placed upon thegreen baize cloth of the business-table, behind which the secretarystood, and acknowledged, with a gracious smile, every addition tothe rich vein of copper which lay concealed within.
　　On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a mostalarming extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller, senior, who,utterly regardless of all Sam’s admonitory nudgings, stared abouthim in every direction with the most undisguised astonishment.
　　‘Sammy,’ whispered Mr. Weller, ‘if some o’ these here peopledon’t want tappin’ to-morrow mornin’, I ain’t your father, andthat’s wot it is. Why, this here old lady next me is a-drowndin’
　　herself in tea.’
　　‘Be quiet, can’t you?’ murmured Sam.
　　‘Sam,’ whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterwards, in a tone ofdeep agitation, ‘mark my vords, my boy. If that ’ere secretaryfellow keeps on for only five minutes more, he’ll blow hisself upwith toast and water.’
　　‘Well, let him, if he likes,’ replied Sam; ‘it ain’t no bis’ness o’
　　yourn.’
　　‘If this here lasts much longer, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, in thesame low voice, ‘I shall feel it my duty, as a human bein’, to riseand address the cheer. There’s a young ’ooman on the next formbut two, as has drunk nine breakfast cups and a half; and she’s a-swellin’ wisibly before my wery eyes.’
　　There is little doubt that Mr. Weller would have carried hisbenevolent intention into immediate execution, if a great noise,occasioned by putting up the cups and saucers, had not veryfortunately announced that the tea-drinking was over. Thecrockery having been removed, the table with the green baizecover was carried out into the centre of the room, and the businessof the evening was commenced by a little emphatic man, with abald head and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed up the ladder, atthe imminent peril of snapping the two little legs incased in thedrab shorts, and said―‘Ladies and gentlemen, I move our excellent brother, Mr.
　　Anthony Humm, into the chair.’
　　The ladies waved a choice selection of pocket-handkerchiefs atthis proposition; and the impetuous little man literally moved Mr.
　　Humm into the chair, by taking him by the shoulders andthrusting him into a mahogany-frame which had once representedthat article of furniture. The waving of handkerchiefs wasrenewed; and Mr. Humm, who was a sleek, white-faced man, in aperpetual perspiration, bowed meekly, to the great admiration ofthe females, and formally took his seat. Silence was thenproclaimed by the little man in the drab shorts, and Mr. Hummrose and said―That, with the permission of his Brick LaneBranch brothers and sisters, then and there present, the secretarywould read the report of the Brick Lane Branch committee; aproposition which was again received with a demonstration ofpocket-handkerchiefs.
　　The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, andthe cough which always seizes an assembly, when anythingparticular is going to be done, having been duly performed, thefollowing document was read:
　　‘REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THE BRICK LANEBRANCH OF THE UNITED GRAND JUNCTION EBENEZERTEMPERANCE ASSOCIATION‘Your committee have pursued their grateful labours during thepast month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting thefollowing additional cases of converts to Temperance.
　　‘H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children. When in bettercircumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit ofdrinking ale and beer; says he is not certain whether he did nottwice a week, for twenty years, taste “dog’s nose,” which yourcommittee find upon inquiry, to be compounded of warm porter,moist sugar, gin, and nutmeg (a groan, and ‘So it is!’ from anelderly female). Is now out of work and penniless; thinks it mustbe the porter (cheers) or the loss of the use of his right hand; is notcertain which, but thinks it very likely that, if he had drunknothing but water all his life, his fellow-workman would neverhave stuck a rusty needle in him, and thereby occasioned hisaccident (tremendous cheering). Has nothing but cold water todrink, and never feels thirsty (great applause).
　　‘Betsy Martin, widow, one child, and one eye. Goes out charingand washing, by the day; never had more than one eye, but knowsher mother drank bottled stout, and shouldn’t wonder if thatcaused it (immense cheering). Thinks it not impossible that if shehad always abstained from spirits she might have had two eyes bythis time (tremendous applause). Used, at every place she went to,to have eighteen-pence a day, a pint of porter, and a glass ofspirits; but since she became a member of the Brick Lane Branch,has always demanded three-and-sixpence (the announcement ofthis most interesting fact was received with deafeningenthusiasm).
　　‘Henry Beller was for many years toast-master at variouscorporation dinners, during which time he drank a great deal offoreign wine; may sometimes have carried a bottle or two homewith him; is not quite certain of that, but is sure if he did, that hedrank the contents. Feels very low and melancholy, is veryfeverish, and has a constant thirst upon him; thinks it must be thewine he used to drink (cheers). Is out of employ now; and nevertouches a drop of foreign wine by any chance (tremendousplaudits).
　　‘Thomas Burton is purveyor of cat’s meat to the Lord Mayorand Sheriffs, and several members of the Common Council (theannouncement of this gentleman’s name was received withbreathless interest). Has a wooden leg; finds a wooden legexpensive, going over the stones; used to wear second-handwooden legs, and drink a glass of hot gin-and-water regularlyevery night―sometimes two (deep sighs). Found the second-handwooden legs split and rot very quickly; is firmly persuaded thattheir constitution was undermined by the gin-and-water(prolonged cheering). Buys new wooden legs now, and drinksnothing but water and weak tea. The new legs last twice as long asthe others used to do, and he attributes this solely to his temperatehabits (triumphant cheers).’
　　Anthony Humm now moved that the assembly do regale itselfwith a song. With a view to their rational and moral enjoyment,Brother Mordlin had adapted the beautiful words of ‘Who hasn’theard of a Jolly Young Waterman?’ to the tune of the OldHundredth, which he would request them to join him in singing(great applause). He might take that opportunity of expressing hisfirm persuasion that the late Mr. Dibdin, seeing the errors of hisformer life, had written that song to show the advantages ofabstinence. It was a temperance song (whirlwinds of cheers). Theneatness of the young man’s attire, the dexterity of his feathering,the enviable state of mind which enabled him in the beautifulwords of the poet, to‘Row along, thinking of nothing at all,’
　　all combined to prove that he must have been a water-drinker(cheers). Oh, what a state of virtuous jollity! (rapturous cheering).
　　And what was the young man’s reward? Let all young menpresent mark this:
　　‘The maidens all flock’d to his boat so readily.’
　　(Loud cheers, in which the ladies joined.) What a bright example!
　　The sisterhood, the maidens, flocking round the young waterman,and urging him along the stream of duty and of temperance. But,was it the maidens of humble life only, who soothed, consoled, andsupported him? No!
　　‘He was always first oars with the fine city ladies.’
　　(Immense cheering.) The soft sex to a man―he begged pardon, toa female―rallied round the young waterman, and turned withdisgust from the drinker of spirits (cheers). The Brick LaneBranch brothers were watermen (cheers and laughter). That roomwas their boat; that audience were the maidens; and he (Mr.
　　Anthony Humm), however unworthily, was ‘first oars’ (unbounded applause).
　　‘Wot does he mean by the soft sex, Sammy?’ inquired Mr.
　　Weller, in a whisper.
　　‘The womin,’ said Sam, in the same tone.
　　‘He ain’t far out there, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘they mustbe a soft sex―a wery soft sex, indeed―if they let themselves begammoned by such fellers as him.’
　　Any further observations from the indignant old gentlemanwere cut short by the announcement of the song, which Mr.
　　Anthony Humm gave out two lines at a time, for the information ofsuch of his hearers as were unacquainted with the legend. While itwas being sung, the little man with the drab shorts disappeared;he returned immediately on its conclusion, and whispered Mr.
　　Anthony Humm, with a face of the deepest importance. ‘Myfriends,’ said Mr. Humm, holding up his hand in a deprecatorymanner, to bespeak the silence of such of the stout old ladies aswere yet a line or two behind; ‘my friends, a delegate from theDorking Branch of our society, Brother Stiggins, attends below.’
　　Out came the pocket-handkerchiefs again, in greater force thanever; for Mr. Stiggins was excessively popular among the femaleconstituency of Brick Lane.
　　‘He may approach, I think,’ said Mr. Humm, looking round him,with a fat smile. ‘Brother Tadger, let him come forth and greet us.’
　　The little man in the drab shorts who answered to the name ofBrother Tadger, bustled down the ladder with great speed, andwas immediately afterwards heard tumbling up with the ReverendMr. Stiggins.
　　‘He’s a-comin’, Sammy,’ whispered Mr. Weller, purple in thecountenance with suppressed laughter.
　　‘Don’t say nothin’ to me,’ replied Sam, ‘for I can’t bear it. He’sclose to the door. I hear him a-knockin’ his head again the lath andplaster now.’
　　As Sam Weller spoke, the little door flew open, and BrotherTadger appeared, closely followed by the Reverend Mr. Stiggins,who no sooner entered, than there was a great clapping of hands,and stamping of feet, and flourishing of handkerchiefs; to all ofwhich manifestations of delight, Brother Stiggins returned noother acknowledgment than staring with a wild eye, and a fixedsmile, at the extreme top of the wick of the candle on the table,swaying his body to and fro, meanwhile, in a very unsteady anduncertain manner.
　　‘Are you unwell, Brother Stiggins?’ whispered Mr. AnthonyHumm.
　　‘I am all right, sir,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, in a tone in whichferocity was blended with an extreme thickness of utterance; ‘I amall right, sir.’
　　‘Oh, very well,’ rejoined Mr. Anthony Humm, retreating a fewpaces.
　　‘I believe no man here has ventured to say that I am not allright, sir?’ said Mr. Stiggins.
　　‘Oh, certainly not,’ said Mr. Humm. ‘I should advise him not to,sir; I should advise him not,’ said Mr. Stiggins.
　　By this time the audience were perfectly silent, and waited withsome anxiety for the resumption of business.
　　‘Will you address the meeting, brother?’ said Mr. Humm, with asmile of invitation.
　　‘No, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Stiggins; ‘No, sir. I will not, sir.’
　　The meeting looked at each other with raised eyelids; and amurmur of astonishment ran through the room.
　　‘It’s my opinion, sir,’ said Mr. Stiggins, unbuttoning his coat,and speaking very loudly―‘it’s my opinion, sir, that this meeting isdrunk, sir. Brother Tadger, sir!’ said Mr. Stiggins, suddenlyincreasing in ferocity, and turning sharp round on the little man inthe drab shorts, ‘you are drunk, sir!’ With this, Mr. Stiggins,entertaining a praiseworthy desire to promote the sobriety of themeeting, and to exclude therefrom all improper characters, hitBrother Tadger on the summit of the nose with such unerring aim,that the drab shorts disappeared like a flash of lightning. BrotherTadger had been knocked, head first, down the ladder.
　　Upon this, the women set up a loud and dismal screaming; andrushing in small parties before their favourite brothers, flung theirarms around them to preserve them from danger. An instance ofaffection, which had nearly proved fatal to Humm, who, beingextremely popular, was all but suffocated, by the crowd of femaledevotees that hung about his neck, and heaped caresses upon him.
　　The greater part of the lights were quickly put out, and nothingbut noise and confusion resounded on all sides.
　　‘Now, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, taking off his greatcoat withmuch deliberation, ‘just you step out, and fetch in a watchman.’
　　‘And wot are you a-goin’ to do, the while?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Never you mind me, Sammy,’ replied the old gentleman; ‘Ishall ockipy myself in havin’ a small settlement with that ’ereStiggins.’ Before Sam could interfere to prevent it, his heroicparent had penetrated into a remote corner of the room, andattacked the Reverend Mr. Stiggins with manual dexterity.
　　‘Come off!’ said Sam.
　　‘Come on!’ cried Mr. Weller; and without further invitation hegave the Reverend Mr. Stiggins a preliminary tap on the head, andbegan dancing round him in a buoyant and cork-like manner,which in a gentleman at his time of life was a perfect marvel tobehold.
　　Finding all remonstrances unavailing, Sam pulled his hat firmlyon, threw his father’s coat over his arm, and taking the old manround the waist, forcibly dragged him down the ladder, and intothe street; never releasing his hold, or permitting him to stop, untilthey reached the corner. As they gained it, they could hear theshouts of the populace, who were witnessing the removal of theReverend Mr. Stiggins to strong lodgings for the night, and couldhear the noise occasioned by the dispersion in various directionsof the members of the Brick Lane Branch of the United GrandJunction Ebenezer Temperance Association.
Chapter 34
IS WHOLLY DEVOTED TO A FULL ANDFAITHFUL REPORT OF THE MEMORABLETRIAL OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICKwonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever he’ll be, hasgot for breakfast,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, by way of keepingup a conversation on the eventful morning of thefourteenth of February.
　　‘Ah!’ said Perker, ‘I hope he’s got a good one.’
　　‘Why so?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Highly important―very important, my dear sir,’ repliedPerker. ‘A good, contented, well-breakfasted juryman is a capitalthing to get hold of. Discontented or hungry jurymen, my dear sir,always find for the plaintiff.’
　　‘Bless my heart,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking very blank, ‘whatdo they do that for?’
　　‘Why, I don’t know,’ replied the little man coolly; ‘saves time, Isuppose. If it’s near dinner-time, the foreman takes out his watchwhen the jury has retired, and says, “Dear me, gentlemen, tenminutes to five, I declare! I dine at five, gentlemen.” “So do I,”
　　says everybody else, except two men who ought to have dined atthree and seem more than half disposed to stand out inconsequence. The foreman smiles, and puts up his watch:―“Well,gentlemen, what do we say, plaintiff or defendant, gentlemen? Irather think, so far as I am concerned, gentlemen,―I say, I ratherthink―but don’t let that influence you―I rather think theplaintiff’s the man.” Upon this, two or three other men are sure tosay that they think so too―as of course they do; and then they geton very unanimously and comfortably. Ten minutes past nine!’
　　said the little man, looking at his watch. ‘Time we were off, mydear sir; breach of promise trial-court is generally full in suchcases. You had better ring for a coach, my dear sir, or we shall berather late.’
　　Mr. Pickwick immediately rang the bell, and a coach havingbeen procured, the four Pickwickians and Mr. Perker ensconcedthemselves therein, and drove to Guildhall; Sam Weller, Mr.
　　Lowten, and the blue bag, following in a cab.
　　‘Lowten,’ said Perker, when they reached the outer hall of thecourt, ‘put Mr. Pickwick’s friends in the students’ box; Mr.
　　Pickwick himself had better sit by me. This way, my dear sir, thisway.’ Taking Mr. Pickwick by the coat sleeve, the little man ledhim to the low seat just beneath the desks of the King’s Counsel,which is constructed for the convenience of attorneys, who fromthat spot can whisper into the ear of the leading counsel in thecase, any instructions that may be necessary during the progressof the trial. The occupants of this seat are invisible to the greatbody of spectators, inasmuch as they sit on a much lower levelthan either the barristers or the audience, whose seats are raisedabove the floor. Of course they have their backs to both, and theirfaces towards the judge.
　　‘That’s the witness-box, I suppose?’ said Mr. Pickwick, pointingto a kind of pulpit, with a brass rail, on his left hand.
　　‘That’s the witness-box, my dear sir,’ replied Perker,disinterring a quantity of papers from the blue bag, which Lowtenhad just deposited at his feet.
　　‘And that,’ said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of enclosedseats on his right, ‘that’s where the jurymen sit, is it not?’
　　‘The identical place, my dear sir,’ replied Perker, tapping the lidof his snuff-box.
　　Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation, and took aglance at the court. There were already a pretty large sprinkling ofspectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen inwigs, in the barristers’ seats, who presented, as a body, all thatpleasing and extensive variety of nose and whisker for which theBar of England is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen ashad a brief to carry, carried it in as conspicuous a manner aspossible, and occasionally scratched their noses therewith, toimpress the fact more strongly on the observation of thespectators. Other gentlemen, who had no briefs to show, carriedunder their arms goodly octavos, with a red label behind, and thatunder-done-pie-crust-coloured cover, which is technically knownas ‘law calf.’ Others, who had neither briefs nor books, thrust theirhands into their pockets, and looked as wise as they convenientlycould; others, again, moved here and there with great restlessnessand earnestness of manner, content to awaken thereby theadmiration and astonishment of the uninitiated strangers. Thewhole, to the great wonderment of Mr, Pickwick, were divided intolittle groups, who were chatting and discussing the news of theday in the most unfeeling manner possible―just as if no trial at allwere coming on.
　　A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his seatbehind the row appropriated to the King’s Counsel, attracted Mr.
　　Pickwick’s attention; and he had scarcely returned it, when Mr.
　　Serjeant Snubbin appeared, followed by Mr. Mallard, who half hidthe Serjeant behind a large crimson bag, which he placed on histable, and, after shaking hands with Perker, withdrew. Then thereentered two or three more Serjeants; and among them, one with afat body and a red face, who nodded in a friendly manner to Mr.
　　Serjeant Snubbin, and said it was a fine morning.
　　‘Who’s that red-faced man, who said it was a fine morning, andnodded to our counsel?’ whispered Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz,’ replied Perker. ‘He’s opposed to us; heleads on the other side. That gentleman behind him is Mr.
　　Skimpin, his junior.’
　　Mr. Pickwick was on the point of inquiring, with greatabhorrence of the man’s cold-blooded villainy, how Mr, SerjeantBuzfuz, who was counsel for the opposite party, dared to presumeto tell Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who was counsel for him, that it wasa fine morning, when he was interrupted by a general rising of thebarristers, and a loud cry of ‘Silence!’ from the officers of thecourt. Looking round, he found that this was caused by theentrance of the judge.
　　Mr. Justice Stareleigh (who sat in the absence of the ChiefJustice, occasioned by indisposition) was a most particularly shortman, and so fat, that he seemed all face and waistcoat. He rolledin, upon two little turned legs, and having bobbed gravely to theBar, who bobbed gravely to him, put his little legs underneath histable, and his little three-cornered hat upon it; and when Mr.
　　Justice Stareleigh had done this, all you could see of him was twoqueer little eyes, one broad pink face, and somewhere about halfof a big and very comical-looking wig.
　　The judge had no sooner taken his seat, than the officer on thefloor of the court called out ‘Silence!’ in a commanding tone, uponwhich another officer in the gallery cried ‘Silence!’ in an angrymanner, whereupon three or four more ushers shouted ‘Silence!’
　　in a voice of indignant remonstrance. This being done, agentleman in black, who sat below the judge, proceeded to callover the names of the jury; and after a great deal of bawling, it wasdiscovered that only ten special jurymen were present. Upon this,Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz prayed a tales; the gentleman in black thenproceeded to press into the special jury, two of the commonjurymen; and a greengrocer and a chemist were caught directly.
　　‘Answer to your names, gentlemen, that you may be sworn,’
　　said the gentleman in black. ‘Richard Upwitch.’
　　‘Here,’ said the greengrocer.
　　‘Thomas Groffin.’
　　‘Here,’ said the chemist.
　　‘Take the book, gentlemen. You shall well and truly try―’
　　‘I beg this court’s pardon,’ said the chemist, who was a tall, thin,yellow-visaged man, ‘but I hope this court will excuse myattendance.’
　　‘On what grounds, sir?’ said Mr. Justice Stareleigh.
　　‘I have no assistant, my Lord,’ said the chemist.
　　‘I can’t help that, sir,’ replied Mr. Justice Stareleigh. ‘Youshould hire one.’
　　‘I can’t afford it, my Lord,’ rejoined the chemist.
　　‘Then you ought to be able to afford it, sir,’ said the judge,reddening; for Mr. Justice Stareleigh’s temper bordered on theirritable, and brooked not contradiction.
　　‘I know I ought to do, if I got on as well as I deserved; but Idon’t, my Lord,’ answered the chemist.
　　‘Swear the gentleman,’ said the judge peremptorily.
　　The officer had got no further than the ‘You shall well and trulytry,’ when he was again interrupted by the chemist.
　　‘I am to be sworn, my Lord, am I?’ said the chemist.
　　‘Certainly, sir,’ replied the testy little judge.
　　‘Very well, my Lord,’ replied the chemist, in a resigned manner.
　　‘Then there’ll be murder before this trial’s over; that’s all. Swearme, if you please, sir;’ and sworn the chemist was, before the judgecould find words to utter.
　　‘I merely wanted to observe, my Lord,’ said the chemist, takinghis seat with great deliberation, ‘that I’ve left nobody but anerrand-boy in my shop. He is a very nice boy, my Lord, but he isnot acquainted with drugs; and I know that the prevailingimpression on his mind is, that Epsom salts means oxalic acid; andsyrup of senna, laudanum. That’s all, my Lord.’ With this, the tallchemist composed himself into a comfortable attitude, and,assuming a pleasant expression of countenance, appeared to haveprepared himself for the worst.
　　Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of thedeepest horror, when a slight sensation was perceptible in thebody of the court; and immediately afterwards Mrs. Bardell,supported by Mrs. Cluppins, was led in, and placed, in a droopingstate, at the other end of the seat on which Mr. Pickwick sat. Anextra-sized umbrella was then handed in by Mr. Dodson, and apair of pattens by Mr. Fogg, each of whom had prepared a mostsympathising and melancholy face for the occasion. Mrs. Sandersthen appeared, leading in Master Bardell. At sight of her child,Mrs. Bardell started; suddenly recollecting herself, she kissed himin a frantic manner; then relapsing into a state of hystericalimbecility, the good lady requested to be informed where she was.
　　In reply to this, Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders turned theirheads away and wept, while Messrs. Dodson and Fogg entreatedthe plaintiff to compose herself. Serjeant Buzfuz rubbed his eyesvery hard with a large white handkerchief, and gave an appealinglook towards the jury, while the judge was visibly affected, andseveral of the beholders tried to cough down their emotion.
　　‘Very good notion that indeed,’ whispered Perker to Mr.
　　Pickwick. ‘Capital fellows those Dodson and Fogg; excellent ideasof effect, my dear sir, excellent.’
　　As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slowdegrees, while Mrs. Cluppins, after a careful survey of MasterBardell’s buttons and the button-holes to which they severallybelonged, placed him on the floor of the court in front of hismother―a commanding position in which he could not fail toawaken the full commiseration and sympathy of both judge andjury. This was not done without considerable opposition, andmany tears, on the part of the young gentleman himself, who hadcertain inward misgivings that the placing him within the fullglare of the judge’s eye was only a formal prelude to his beingimmediately ordered away for instant execution, or fortransportation beyond the seas, during the whole term of hisnatural life, at the very least.
　　‘Bardell and Pickwick,’ cried the gentleman in black, calling onthe 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. Skimpinbowed, to intimate that he was.
　　‘I appear for the defendant, my Lord,’ said Mr. SerjeantSnubbin.
　　‘Anybody with you, Brother Snubbin?’ inquired the court.
　　‘Mr. Phunky, my Lord,’ replied Serjeant Snubbin.
　　‘Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin for the plaintiff,’ said thejudge, writing down the names in his note-book, and reading as hewrote; ‘for the defendant, Serjeant Snubbin and Mr. Monkey.’
　　‘Beg your Lordship’s pardon, Phunky.’
　　‘Oh, very good,’ said the judge; ‘I never had the pleasure ofhearing the gentleman’s name before.’ Here Mr. Phunky bowedand smiled, and the judge bowed and smiled too, and then Mr.
　　Phunky, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, tried to look as ifhe didn’t know that everybody was gazing at him, a thing which noman ever succeeded in doing yet, or in all reasonable probability,ever will.
　　‘Go on,’ said the judge.
　　The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded to‘open the case’; and the case appeared to have very little inside itwhen 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 asthey were in before.
　　Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignitywhich the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and havingwhispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled hisgown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the jury.
　　Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the wholecourse of his professional experience―never, from the very firstmoment of his applying himself to the study and practice of thelaw―had he approached a case with feelings of such deepemotion, or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility imposedupon him―a responsibility, he would say, which he could neverhave supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by aconviction so strong, that it amounted to positive certainty that thecause of truth and justice, or, in other words, the cause of hismuch-injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with thehigh-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw inthat box before him.
　　Counsel usually begin in this way, because it puts the jury onthe very best terms with themselves, and makes them think whatsharp fellows they must be. A visible effect was producedimmediately, several jurymen beginning to take voluminous noteswith the utmost eagerness.
　　‘You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,’ continuedSerjeant Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the learned friendalluded to, the gentlemen of the jury had heard just nothing atall―‘you have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen, that thisis an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which thedamages are laid at ?1,500. But you have not heard from mylearned friend, inasmuch as it did not come within my learnedfriend’s province to tell you, what are the facts and circumstancesof the case. Those facts and circumstances, gentlemen, you shallhear detailed by me, and proved by the unimpeachable femalewhom I will place in that box before you.’
　　Here, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis on theword ‘box,’ smote his table with a mighty sound, and glanced atDodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration of the Serjeant, andindignant defiance of the defendant.
　　‘The plaintiff, gentlemen,’ continued Serjeant Buzfuz, in a softand melancholy voice, ‘the plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentlemen, awidow. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for many years, theesteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians ofhis royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the world, toseek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a custom-housecan never afford.’ At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr.
　　Bardell, who had been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in apublic-house cellar, the learned serjeant’s voice faltered, and heproceeded, with emotion―‘Some time before his death, he had stamped his likeness upona little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departedexciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrank from the world, and courted theretirement and tranquillity of Goswell Street; and here she placedin her front parlour window a written placard, bearing thisinscription―“Apartments furnished for a single gentleman.
　　Inquire within.”’ Here Serjeant Buzfuz paused, while severalgentlemen of the jury took a note of the document.
　　‘There is no date to that, is there?’ inquired a juror. ‘There is nodate, gentlemen,’ replied Serjeant Buzfuz; ‘but I am instructed tosay that it was put in the plaintiff’s parlour window just this timethree years. I entreat the attention of the jury to the wording ofthis document―“Apartments furnished for a single gentleman”!
　　Mrs. Bardell’s opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, werederived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities ofher lost husband. She had no fear, she had no distrust, she had nosuspicion; all was confidence and reliance. “Mr. Bardell,” said thewidow―“Mr. Bardell was a man of honour, Mr. Bardell was a manof his word, Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was once asingle gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection,for assistance, for comfort, and for consolation; in singlegentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of whatMr. Bardell was when he first won my young and untriedaffections; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let.”
　　Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse (among the bestimpulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely anddesolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caughther innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in herparlour window. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was onthe watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapperand miner was at work. Before the bill had been in the parlourwindow three days―three days, gentlemen―a being, erect upontwo legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and notof a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell’s house. Heinquired within―he took the lodgings; and on the very next dayhe entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick―Pickwick, the defendant.’
　　Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility thathis face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. The silenceawoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote downsomething with a pen without any ink in it, and looked unusuallyprofound, to impress the jury with the belief that he alwaysthought most deeply with his eyes shut. Serjeant Buzfuzproceeded―‘Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents butfew attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you,gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revoltingheartlessness, and of systematic villainy.’
　　Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for sometime, gave a violent start, as if some vague idea of assaultingSerjeant Buzfuz, in the august presence of justice and law,suggested itself to his mind. An admonitory gesture from Perkerrestrained him, and he listened to the learned gentleman’scontinuation with a look of indignation, which contrasted forciblywith 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 saysystematic villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be incourt, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decentin him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in better taste, ifhe had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that anygestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may indulge inthis court will not go down with you; that you will know how tovalue and how to appreciate them; and let me tell him further, asmy Lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel, in the dischargeof 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 theother, or the first, or the last, will recoil on the head of theattempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his namePickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, orThompson.’
　　This little divergence from the subject in hand, had, of course,the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick. SerjeantBuzfuz, having partially recovered from the state of moralelevation into which he had lashed himself, resumed―‘I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years, Pickwickcontinued to reside constantly, and without interruption orintermission, at Mrs. Bardell’s house. I shall show you that Mrs.
　　Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended tohis comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for thewasherwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and preparedit for wear, when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullesttrust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many occasions, hegave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences, to her littleboy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness whose testimony it willbe impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, thaton one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and, afterinquiring whether he had won any “alley tors” or “commoneys”
　　lately (both of which I understand to be a particular species ofmarbles much prized by the youth of this town), made use of thisremarkable expression, “How should you like to have anotherfather?” I shall prove to you, gentlemen, that about a year ago,Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself from home, duringlong intervals, as if with the intention of gradually breaking offfrom my client; but I shall show you also, that his resolution wasnot at that time sufficiently strong, or that his better feelingsconquered, if better feelings he has, or that the charms andaccomplishments of my client prevailed against his unmanlyintentions, by proving to you, that on one occasion, when hereturned from the country, he distinctly and in terms, offered hermarriage: previously, however, taking special care that therewould be no witness to their solemn contract; and I am in asituation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his ownfriends―most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen―most unwillingwitnesses―that on that morning he was discovered by themholding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by hiscaresses and endearments.’
　　A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by thispart of the learned Serjeant’s address. Drawing forth two verysmall scraps of paper, he proceeded―‘And now, gentlemen, butone word more. Two letters have passed between these parties,letters which are admitted to be in the handwriting of thedefendant, and which speak volumes, indeed. The letters, too,bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervent,eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but the language ofaffectionate attachment. They are covert, sly, underhandedcommunications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive than ifcouched in the most glowing language and the most poeticimagery―letters that must be viewed with a cautious andsuspicious eye―letters that were evidently intended at the time,by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whosehands they might fall. Let me read the first: “Garraways, twelveo’clock. Dear Mrs. B.―Chops and tomato sauce. Yours,PICKWICK.” Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomatosauce. Yours, Pickwick! Chops! Gracious heavens! and tomatosauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confidingfemale to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these? Thenext has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. “DearMrs. B., I shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach.” Andthen follows this very remarkable expression. “Don’t troubleyourself about the warming-pan.” The warming-pan! Why,gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan? Whenwas the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed by awarming-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 agitate herself about thiswarming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover forhidden fire―a mere substitute for some endearing word orpromise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence,artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplateddesertion, and which I am not in a condition to explain? And whatdoes this allusion to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, itmay be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has mostunquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole ofthis transaction, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedlyaccelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to hiscost, will very soon be greased by you!’
　　Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether thejury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer,whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasionedby his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question onthat identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered itadvisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before heconcluded.
　　‘But enough of this, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘it isdifficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when ourdeepest sympathies are awakened. My client’s hopes andprospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that heroccupation is gone indeed. The bill is down―but there is notenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass―but there is noinvitation for to inquire within or without. All is gloom and silencein the house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infantsports are disregarded when his mother weeps; his “alley tors”
　　and his “commoneys” are alike neglected; he forgets the longfamiliar cry of “knuckle down,” and at tip-cheese, or odd and even,his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthlessdestroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street―Pickwick who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on thesward―Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartlesstomato sauce and warming-pans―Pickwick still rears his headwith unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruinhe has made. Damages, gentlemen―heavy damages is the onlypunishment with which you can visit him; the only recompenseyou can award to my client. And for those damages she nowappeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, aconscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplativejury of her civilised countrymen.’ With this beautiful peroration,Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh wokeup.
　　‘Call Elizabeth Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a minuteafterwards, with renewed vigour.
　　The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins; another one, ata little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins; and a thirdrushed in a breathless state into King Street, and screamed forElizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse.
　　Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of Mrs.
　　Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was hoisted intothe 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 thatmight hold about a quarter of a pint of smelling-salts in the other,ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes were intentlyfixed on the judge’s face, planted herself close by, with the largeumbrella, keeping her right thumb pressed on the spring with anearnest countenance, as if she were fully prepared to put it up at amoment’s notice.
　　‘Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘pray compose yourself,ma’am.’ Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to composeherself, she sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave diversalarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit, or, as sheafterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her.
　　‘Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, after afew unimportant questions―‘do you recollect being in Mrs.
　　Bardell’s back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in Julylast, 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 thelittle judge.
　　‘My Lord and jury,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, with interestingagitation, ‘I will not deceive you.’
　　‘You had better not, ma’am,’ said the little judge.
　　‘I was there,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins, ‘unbeknown to Mrs.
　　Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buythree pound of red kidney pertaties, which was three poundtuppence ha’penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell’s street door on thejar.’
　　‘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 littlejudge looked doubtful, and said he’d make a note of it. Mrs.
　　Cluppins then resumed―I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good-mornin’, and went, in apermiscuous manner, upstairs, and into the back room.
　　Gentlemen, there was the sound of voices in the front room, and―’
　　‘And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins?’ said SerjeantBuzfuz.
　　‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majesticmanner, ‘I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, sir,and forced themselves upon my ear,’
　　‘Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard thevoices. Was one of those voices Pickwick’s?’
　　‘Yes, it were, sir.’ And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly statingthat Mr. Pickwick addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated byslow degrees, and by dint of many questions, the conversationwith which our readers are already acquainted.
　　The jury looked suspicious, and Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz smiled ashe sat down. They looked positively awful when Serjeant Snubbinintimated that he should not cross-examine the witness, for Mr.
　　Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was due to her tosay, that her account was in substance correct.
　　Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it afavourable opportunity for entering into a short dissertation onher own domestic affairs; so she straightway proceeded to informthe court that she was the mother of eight children at that presentspeaking, and that she entertained confident expectations ofpresenting Mr. Cluppins with a ninth, somewhere about that daysix months. At this interesting point, the little judge interposedmost irascibly; and the effect of the interposition was, that boththe worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were politely 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 withconsiderable deference.
　　‘Don’t look at me, sir,’ said the judge sharply, inacknowledgment of the salute; ‘look at the jury.’
　　Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place wherehe thought it most probable the jury might be; for seeing anythingin his then state of intellectual complication was wholly out of thequestion.
　　Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being apromising young man of two or three-and-forty, was of courseanxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed infavour of the other side, as much as he could.
　　‘Now, sir,’ said Mr. Skimpin, ‘have the goodness to let hisLordship know what your name is, will you?’ and Mr. Skimpininclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to theanswer, and glanced at the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that herather expected Mr. Winkle’s natural taste for perjury wouldinduce him to give some name which did not belong to him.
　　‘Winkle,’ replied the witness.
　　‘What’s your Christian name, sir?’ angrily inquired the littlejudge.
　　‘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 thejudge.
　　‘I didn’t, my Lord,’ replied Mr. Winkle.
　　‘You did, sir,’ replied the judge, with a severe frown. ‘How couldI have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, sir?’ Thisargument was, of course, unanswerable.
　　‘Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord,’ interposedMr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. ‘We shall find meansto refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say.’
　　‘You had better be careful, sir,’ said the little judge, with asinister look at the witness.
　　Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easinessof manner, which, in his then state of confusion, gave him ratherthe air of a disconcerted pickpocket.
　　‘Now, Mr. Winkle,’ said Mr. Skimpin, ‘attend to me, if youplease, sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, to bearin mind his Lordship’s injunctions to be careful. I believe you are aparticular friend of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant, are you not?’
　　‘I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at thismoment, nearly―’
　　‘Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or areyou not, a particular friend of the defendant’s?’
　　‘I was just about to say, that―’
　　‘Will 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 thegoodness 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 herwhen 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 adozen times, if you require it, sir.’ And the learned gentleman,with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, andsmiled suspiciously to the jury.
　　On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quiteimpossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs.
　　Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times, towhich he replied, ‘Certainly―more than that.’ Then he was askedwhether he hadn’t seen her a hundred times―whether he couldn’tswear that he had seen her more than fifty times―whether hedidn’t know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times, andso forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived at, at last,being, that he had better take care of himself, and mind what hewas about. The witness having been by these means reduced tothe requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination wascontinued as follows―‘Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendantPickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff’s house in GoswellStreet, on one particular morning, in the month of July last?’
　　‘Yes, I do.’
　　‘Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of thename of Tupman, and another by the name of Snodgrass?’
　　‘Yes, I was.’
　　‘Are they here?’
　　‘Yes, they are,’ replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestlytowards 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. ‘Theymust tell their stories without any previous consultation with you,if none has yet taken place (another look at the jury). Now, sir, tellthe gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering thedefendant’s room, on this particular morning. Come; out with it,sir; we must have it, sooner or later.’
　　‘The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in hisarms, with his hands clasping her waist,’ replied Mr. Winkle withnatural hesitation, ‘and the plaintiff appeared to have faintedaway.’
　　‘Did you hear the defendant say anything?’
　　‘I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I heard himask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if anybodyshould 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 youundertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say onthe occasion in question―“My dear Mrs. Bardell, you’re a goodcreature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situationyou must come,” or words to that effect?’
　　‘I―I didn’t understand him so, certainly,’ said Mr. Winkle,astounded on this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he hadheard. ‘I was on the staircase, and couldn’t hear distinctly; theimpression on my mind is―’
　　‘The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions onyour mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service tohonest, straightforward men,’ interposed Mr. Skimpin. ‘You wereon the staircase, and didn’t distinctly hear; but you will not swearthat Pickwick did not make use of the expressions I have quoted?
　　Do I understand that?’
　　‘No, I will not,’ replied Mr. Winkle; and down sat Mr. Skimpinwith a triumphant countenance.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s case had not gone off in so particularly happy amanner, up to this point, that it could very well afford to have anyadditional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could afford to beplaced in a rather better light, if possible, Mr. Phunky rose for thepurpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle incross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out ofhim, will immediately appear.
　　‘I believe, Mr. Winkle,’ said Mr. Phunky, ‘that Mr. Pickwick isnot 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 orbelieve that he was about to be married?’
　　‘Oh, no; certainly not;’ replied Mr. Winkle with so mucheagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the boxwith all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold that there are two kindsof particularly bad witnesses―a reluctant witness, and a too-willing witness; it was Mr. Winkle’s fate to figure in bothcharacters.
　　‘I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,’ continued Mr.
　　Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent manner. ‘Did you eversee anything in Mr. Pickwick’s manner and conduct towards theopposite sex, to induce you to believe that he ever contemplatedmatrimony of late years, in any case?’
　　‘Oh, no; certainly not,’ replied Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, alwaysbeen that of a man, who, having attained a pretty advanced periodof life, content with his own occupations and amusements, treatsthem only as a father might his daughters?’
　　‘Not the least doubt of it,’ replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness ofhis 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 suspicious?’ saidMr. Phunky, preparing to sit down; for Serjeant Snubbin waswinking at him.
　　‘N-n-no,’ replied Mr. Winkle, ‘except on one trifling occasion,which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.’
　　Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down whenSerjeant Snubbin had winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz hadstopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which heknew better than to do; observing Mr. Winkle’s anxiety, and wellknowing it would, in all probability, lead to something serviceableto him), this unfortunate admission would not have been elicited.
　　The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle’s lips, Mr. Phunky satdown, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily told him he mightleave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared to do with greatreadiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped him.
　　‘Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay!’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘will yourLordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance ofsuspicious behaviour towards females on the part of thisgentleman, who is old enough to be his father, was?’
　　‘You hear what the learned counsel says, sir,’ observed thejudge, 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’drather not.’
　　‘Perhaps so,’ said the little judge; ‘but you must.’
　　Amid the profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winklefaltered out, that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr.
　　Pickwick’s being found in a lady’s sleeping-apartment at midnight;which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of theprojected 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 ofIpswich!
　　‘You may leave the box, sir,’ said Serjeant Snubbin. Mr. Winkledid leave the box, and rushed with delirious haste to the Georgeand Vulture, where he was discovered some hours after, by thewaiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal manner, with his headburied beneath the sofa cushions.
　　Tracy Tupman, and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally calledinto the box; both corroborated the testimony of their unhappyfriend; and each was driven to the verge of desperation byexcessive badgering.
　　Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by SerjeantBuzfuz, and cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin. Had alwayssaid and believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. Bardell; knewthat Mrs. Bardell’s being engaged to Pickwick was the currenttopic of conversation in the neighbourhood, after the fainting inJuly; had been told it herself by Mrs. Mudberry which kept amangle, and Mrs. Bunkin which clear-starched, but did not seeeither Mrs. Mudberry or Mrs. Bunkin in court. Had heardPickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have anotherfather. Did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keepingcompany with the baker, but did know that the baker was then asingle man and is now married. Couldn’t swear that Mrs. Bardellwas not very fond of the baker, but should think that the bakerwas not very fond of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn’t have marriedsomebody else. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morningin July, because Pickwick asked her to name the day: knew thatshe (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr. Sanders asked herto name the day, and believed that everybody as called herself alady would do the same, under similar circumstances. HeardPickwick ask the boy the question about the marbles, but uponher oath did not know the difference between an ‘alley tor’ and a‘commoney.’
　　By the Court.―During the period of her keeping company withMr. Sanders, had received love letters, like other ladies. In thecourse of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called her a‘duck,’ but never ‘chops,’ nor yet ‘tomato sauce.’ He wasparticularly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of chopsand tomato sauce, he might have called her that, as a term ofaffection.
　　Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he hadyet exhibited, if that were possible, and vociferated; ‘Call SamuelWeller.’
　　It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for SamuelWeller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name waspronounced; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on therail, took a bird’s-eye view of the Bar, and a comprehensive surveyof the Bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect. ‘What’syour name, sir?’ inquired the judge.
　　‘Sam Weller, my Lord,’ replied that gentleman.
　　‘Do you spell it with a “V” or a “W”?’ 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 ortwice 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 address the court?’ said the little judge,looking up. ‘Usher.’
　　‘Yes, my Lord.’
　　‘Bring that person here instantly.’
　　‘Yes, my Lord.’
　　But as the usher didn’t find the person, he didn’t bring him;and, after a great commotion, all the people who had got up to lookfor the culprit, sat down again. The little judge turned to thewitness as soon as his indignation would allow him to speak, andsaid―‘Do you know who that was, sir?’
　　‘I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Do you see him here now?’ said the judge.
　　‘No, I don’t, my Lord,’ replied Sam, staring right up into thelantern at the roof of the court.
　　‘If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed himinstantly,’ said the judge. Sam bowed his acknowledgments andturned, with unimpaired cheerfulness of countenance, towardsSerjeant Buzfuz.
　　‘Now, Mr. Weller,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz.
　　‘Now, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendantin this case? Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller.’
　　‘I mean to speak up, sir,’ replied Sam; ‘I am in the service o’
　　that ’ere gen’l’man, 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 venthey 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 themorning when you were first engaged by the defendant; 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 mornin’, gen’l’men ofthe jury,’ said Sam, ‘and that was a wery partickler anduncommon 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 hadbetter be careful, sir.’
　　‘So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my Lord,’ replied Sam; ‘and Iwas wery careful o’ that ’ere suit o’ clothes; wery careful indeed,my Lord.’
　　The judge looked sternly at Sam for full two minutes, but Sam’sfeatures were so perfectly calm and serene that the judge saidnothing, and motioned Serjeant Buzfuz to proceed.
　　‘Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller,’ 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―‘doyou mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of thisfainting 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 calledme up, and then the old lady was not there.’
　　‘Now, attend, Mr. Weller,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, dipping a largepen into the inkstand before him, for the purpose of frighteningSam with a show of taking down his answer. ‘You were in thepassage, and yet saw nothing of what was going forward. Have youa pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?’
　　‘Yes, I have a pair of eyes,’ replied Sam, ‘and that’s just it. Ifthey wos a pair o’ patent double million magnifyin’ gasmicroscopes of hextra power, p’raps I might be able to see througha flight o’ stairs and a deal door; but bein’ only eyes, you see, mywision’s limited.’
　　At this answer, which was delivered without the slightestappearance of irritation, and with the most complete simplicityand equanimity of manner, the spectators tittered, the little judgesmiled, and Serjeant Buzfuz looked particularly foolish. After ashort consultation with Dodson & Fogg, the learned Serjeantagain turned towards Sam, and said, with a painful effort toconceal his vexation, ‘Now, Mr. Weller, I’ll ask you a question onanother point, if you please.’
　　‘If you please, sir,’ rejoined Sam, with the utmost good-humour.
　　‘Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell’s house, one nightin 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 atlast.’
　　‘I rayther thought that, too, sir,’ replied Sam; and at this thespectators tittered again.
　　‘Well; I suppose you went up to have a little talk about thistrial―eh, Mr. Weller?’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly atthe jury.
　　‘I went up to pay the rent; but we did get a-talkin’ about thetrial,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Oh, you did get a-talking about the trial,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz,brightening up with the anticipation of some important discovery.
　　‘Now, what passed about the trial; will you have the goodness totell us, Mr. Weller’?’
　　‘Vith all the pleasure in life, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘Arter a fewunimportant obserwations from the two wirtuous females as hasbeen examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a very great stateo’ admiration at the honourable conduct of Mr. Dodson andFogg―them two gen’l’men as is settin’ near you now.’ This, ofcourse, drew general attention to Dodson & Fogg, who looked asvirtuous as possible.
　　‘The attorneys for the plaintiff,’ said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz. ‘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 atall for costs, unless they got ’em out of Mr. Pickwick.’
　　At this very unexpected reply, the spectators tittered again, andDodson & Fogg, turning very red, leaned over to Serjeant Buzfuz,and in a hurried manner whispered something in his ear.
　　‘You are quite right,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz aloud, with affectedcomposure. ‘It’s perfectly useless, my Lord, attempting to get atany evidence through the impenetrable stupidity of this witness. Iwill not trouble the court by asking him any more questions. Standdown, sir.’
　　‘Would any other gen’l’man like to ask me anythin’?’ inquiredSam, taking up his hat, and looking round most deliberately.
　　‘Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you,’ said Serjeant Snubbin, laughing.
　　‘You may go down, sir,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, waving his handimpatiently. Sam went down accordingly, after doing Messrs.
　　Dodson & Fogg’s case as much harm as he conveniently 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, my Lord,’ said Serjeant Snubbin,‘if it will save the examination of another witness, that Mr.
　　Pickwick has retired from business, and is a gentleman ofconsiderable independent property.’
　　‘Very well,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, putting in the two letters to beread, ‘then that’s my case, my Lord.’
　　Serjeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of thedefendant; and a very long and a very emphatic address hedelivered, in which he bestowed the highest possible eulogiums onthe conduct and character of Mr. Pickwick; but inasmuch as ourreaders are far better able to form a correct estimate of thatgentleman’s merits and deserts, than Serjeant Snubbin couldpossibly be, we do not feel called upon to enter at any length intothe learned gentleman’s observations. He attempted to show thatthe letters which had been exhibited, merely related to Mr.
　　Pickwick’s dinner, or to the preparations for receiving him in hisapartments on his return from some country excursion. It issufficient to add in general terms, that he did the best he could forMr. Pickwick; and the best, as everybody knows, on the infallibleauthority of the old adage, could do no more.
　　Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up, in the old-established andmost approved form. He read as much of his notes to the jury as hecould decipher on so short a notice, and made running-commentson the evidence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell were right, it wasperfectly clear that Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and if they thoughtthe evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of credence they wouldbelieve it, and, if they didn’t, why, they wouldn’t. If they weresatisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had been committedthey would find for the plaintiff with such damages as theythought proper; and if, on the other hand, it appeared to them thatno promise of marriage had ever been given, they would find forthe defendant with no damages at all. The jury then retired totheir private room to talk the matter over, and the judge retired tohis private room, to refresh himself with a mutton chop and a glassof sherry. An anxious quarter of a hour elapsed; the jury cameback; the judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles,and gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance and aquickly-beating heart.
　　‘Gentlemen,’ said the individual in black, ‘are you all agreedupon your verdict?’
　　‘We are,’ replied the foreman.
　　‘Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant?’
　　‘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 theforeman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker andthe blue bag out of court.
　　They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the court fees;and here, Mr. Pickwick was joined by his friends. Here, too, heencountered Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, rubbing their hands withevery token of outward satisfaction.
　　‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Well, sir,’ said Dodson, for self and partner.
　　‘You imagine you’ll get your costs, don’t you, gentlemen?’ saidMr. Pickwick.
　　Fogg said they thought it rather probable. Dodson smiled, andsaid they’d try.
　　‘You may try, and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick vehemently,’ but not one farthing of costs ordamages do you ever get from me, if I spend the rest of myexistence in a debtor’s prison.’
　　‘Ha! ha!’ laughed Dodson. ‘You’ll think better of that, beforenext term, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘He, he, he! We’ll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick,’ grinnedFogg.
　　Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself tobe led by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there assistedinto a hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the purpose, bythe ever-watchful Sam Weller.
　　Sam had put up the steps, and was preparing to jump upon thebox, when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder; and,looking round, his father stood before him. The old gentleman’scountenance wore a mournful expression, as he shook his headgravely, 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!’
Chapter 35
IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK THINKS HE HADBETTER GO TO BATH; AND GOESACCORDINGLYut surely, my dear sir,’ said little Perker, as he stood inMr. Pickwick’s apartment on the morning after thetrial, ‘surely you don’t really mean―really andseriously now, and irritation apart―that you won’t pay these costsand damages?’
　　‘Not one halfpenny,’ said Mr. Pickwick firmly; ‘not onehalfpenny.’
　　‘Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven hevouldn’t renew the bill,’ observed Mr. Weller, who was clearingaway the breakfast-things.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘have the goodness to stepdownstairs.’
　　‘Cert’nly, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick’sgentle hint, Sam retired.
　　‘No, Perker,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness ofmanner, ‘my friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me fromthis determination, but without avail. I shall employ myself asusual, until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legalprocess of execution against me; and if they are vile enough toavail themselves of it, and to arrest my person, I shall yield myselfup with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart. When can theydo this?’
　　‘They can issue execution, my dear sir, for the amount of thedamages and taxed costs, next term,’ replied Perker, ‘just twomonths hence, my dear sir.’
　　‘Very good,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Until that time, my dear fellow,let me hear no more of the matter. And now,’ continued Mr.
　　Pickwick, looking round on his friends with a good-humouredsmile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles could dim orconceal, ‘the only question is, Where shall we go next?’
　　Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected bytheir friend’s heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yetsufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial,to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick pausedin vain.
　　‘Well,’ said that gentleman, ‘if you leave me to suggest ourdestination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there.’
　　Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded byPerker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwicksaw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think betterof his determination, and worse of a debtor’s prison, it was carriedunanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the White HorseCellar, to take five places by the half-past seven o’clock coach, nextmorning.
　　There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to behad out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchangeda few compliments with the booking-office clerk on the subject of apewter half-crown which was tendered him as a portion of his‘change,’ walked back to the George and Vulture, where he waspretty busily employed until bed-time in reducing clothes andlinen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting hismechanical genius in constructing a variety of ingenious devicesfor keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks nor hinges.
　　The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey―muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses in the stages that weregoing out, and had come through the city, were smoking so, thatthe outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper-sellerslooked moist, and smelled mouldy; the wet ran off the hats of theorange-vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach windows,and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. The Jews with thefifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the men with thepocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-guards andtoasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-cases andsponges were a drug in the market.
　　Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven oreight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the momentthe coach stopped, and finding that they were about twentyminutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelterinto the travellers’ room―the last resource of human dejection.
　　The travellers’ room at the White Horse Cellar is of courseuncomfortable; it would be no travellers’ room if it were not. It isthe right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplaceappears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs,and shovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement oftravellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass, and a livewaiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel for washingglasses, in a corner of the apartment.
　　One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, bya stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald andglossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides andback of his head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up tothe chin in a brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling-cap,and a greatcoat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He lookedup from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce andperemptory air, which was very dignified; and, having scrutinisedthat gentleman and his companions to his entire satisfaction,hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say that he rathersuspected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but itwouldn’t do.
　　‘Waiter,’ said the gentleman with the whiskers.
　　‘Sir?’ replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of thesame, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.
　　‘Some more toast.’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘Buttered toast, mind,’ said the gentleman fiercely.
　　‘Directly, sir,’ replied the waiter.
　　The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the samemanner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advancedto the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms,looked at his boots and ruminated.
　　‘I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Hum―eh―what’s that?’ said the strange man.
　　‘I made an observation to my friend, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,always ready to enter into conversation. ‘I wondered at whathouse the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me.’
　　‘Are you going to Bath?’ said the strange man.
　　‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘And those other gentlemen?’
　　‘They are going also,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Not inside―I’ll be damned if you’re going inside,’ said thestrange man.
　　‘Not all of us,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No, not all of you,’ said the strange man emphatically. ‘I’vetaken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernalbox that only holds four, I’ll take a post-chaise and bring an action.
　　I’ve paid my fare. It won’t do; I told the clerk when I took myplaces that it wouldn’t do. I know these things have been done. Iknow they are done every day; but I never was done, and I neverwill be. Those who know me best, best know it; crush me!’ Herethe fierce gentleman rang the bell with great violence, and told thewaiter he’d better bring the toast in five seconds, or he’d know thereason why.
　　‘My good sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you will allow me to observethat this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have onlytaken places inside for two.’
　　‘I am glad to hear it,’ said the fierce man. ‘I withdraw myexpressions. I tender an apology. There’s my card. Give me youracquaintance.’
　　‘With great pleasure, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘We are to befellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other’s societymutually agreeable.’
　　‘I hope we shall,’ said the fierce gentleman. ‘I know we shall. Ilike your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands andnames. Know me.’
　　Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed thisgracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceededto inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure;that he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up inbusiness as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and thatthe individual for whom the second place was taken, was apersonage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.
　　‘She’s a fine woman,’ said Mr. Dowler. ‘I am proud of her. Ihave reason.’
　　‘I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,’ said Mr. Pickwick,with a smile. ‘You shall,’ replied Dowler. ‘She shall know you. Sheshall esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. Iwon her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; Iproposed; she refused me.―“You love another?”―“Spare myblushes.”―“I know him.”―“You do.”―“Very good; if he remainshere, I’ll skin him.”’
　　‘Lord bless me!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.
　　‘Did you skin the gentleman, sir?’ inquired Mr. Winkle, with avery pale face.
　　‘I wrote him a note, I said it was a painful thing. And so it was.’
　　‘Certainly,’ interposed Mr. Winkle.
　　‘I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. Mycharacter was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in HisMajesty’s service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted thenecessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He sawthat the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I marriedher. Here’s the coach. That’s her head.’
　　As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had justdriven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty face in abright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on thepavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowlerpaid his bill, and hurried out with his travelling cap, coat, andcloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure theirplaces. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves atthe back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr.
　　Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came upto his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to speak to him,with an air of the deepest mystery.
　　‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what’s the matter now?’
　　‘Here’s rayther a rum go, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘What?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘This here, sir,’ rejoined Sam. ‘I’m wery much afeerd, sir, thatthe properiator o’ this here coach is a playin’ some imperence vithus.’
　　‘How is that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘aren’t the names downon the way-bill?’
　　‘The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir,’ replied Sam,‘but they’ve painted vun on ’em up, on the door o’ the coach.’ AsSam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on which theproprietor’s name usually appears; and there, sure enough, in giltletters of a goodly size, was the magic name of PICKWICK!
　　‘Dear me,’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by thecoincidence; ‘what a very extraordinary thing!’
　　‘Yes, but that ain’t all,’ said Sam, again directing his master’sattention to the coach door; ‘not content vith writin’ up “Pick-wick,” they puts “Moses” afore it, vich I call addin’ insult to injury,as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land,but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards.’
　　‘It’s odd enough, certainly, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but if westand talking here, we shall lose our places.’
　　‘Wot, ain’t nothin’ to be done in consequence, sir?’ exclaimedSam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwickprepared to ensconce himself inside.
　　‘Done!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘What should be done?’
　　‘Ain’t nobody to be whopped for takin’ this here liberty, sir?’
　　said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would havebeen commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to apugilistic encounter on the spot.
　　‘Certainly not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; ‘not on anyaccount. Jump up to your seat directly.’
　　‘I am wery much afeered,’ muttered Sam to himself, as heturned away, ‘that somethin’ queer’s come over the governor, orhe’d never ha’ stood this so quiet. I hope that ’ere trial hasn’tbroke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad.’ Mr. Weller shook hishead gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration of themanner in which he took this circumstance to heart, that he didnot speak another word until the coach reached the Kensingtonturnpike. Which was so long a time for him to remain taciturn,that the fact may be considered wholly unprecedented.
　　Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during thejourney. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrativeof his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed toMrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowlerinvariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, someremarkable fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten,or had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the addenda inevery instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a morewonderful fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwickand Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervalsconversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable andfascinating person. So, what between Mr. Dowler’s stories, andMrs. Dowler’s charms, and Mr. Pickwick’s good-humour, and Mr.
　　Winkle’s good listening, the insides contrived to be verycompanionable all the way. The outsides did as outsides alwaysdo. They were very cheerful and talkative at the beginning ofevery stage, and very dismal and sleepy in the middle, and verybright and wakeful again towards the end. There was one younggentleman in an India-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars all day;and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon agreatcoat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviouslyunsettled after the second whiff, threw them away when hethought nobody was looking at him. There was a third young manon the box who wished to be learned in cattle; and an old onebehind, who was familiar with farming. There was a constantsuccession of Christian names in smock-frocks and white coats,who were invited to have a ‘lift’ by the guard, and who knew everyhorse and hostler on the road and off it; and there was a dinnerwhich would have been cheap at half-a-crown a mouth, if anymoderate number of mouths could have eaten it in the time. Andat seven o’clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and his friends, and Mr.
　　Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room,Bath, where the waiters, from their costume, might be mistakenfor Westminster boys, only they destroy the illusion by behavingthemselves much better. Breakfast had scarcely been clearedaway on the succeeding morning, when a waiter brought in Mr.
　　Dowler’s card, with a request to be allowed permission tointroduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followed up the delivery ofthe card, by bringing himself and the friend also.
　　The friend was a charming young man of not much more thanfifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polishedboots. A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short,broad, black ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his lefthand; gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and a largediamond pin set in gold glistened in his shirt frill. He had a goldwatch, and a gold curb chain with large gold seals; and he carrieda pliant ebony cane with a gold top. His linen was of the verywhitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the glossiest, blackest, andcurliest. His snuff was princes’ mixture; his scent bouquet du roi.
　　His features were contracted into a perpetual smile; and his teethwere in such perfect order that it was difficult at a small distanceto tell the real from the false.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mr. Dowler; ‘my friend, Angelo CyrusBantam, Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other.’
　　‘Welcome to Ba-ath, sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Mostwelcome to Ba-ath, sir. It is long―very long, Mr. Pickwick, sinceyou drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick. Re-markable!’
　　Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam,Esquire, M.C., took Mr. Pickwick’s hand; retaining it in his,meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a constantsuccession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind tothe trial of letting it go again.
　　‘It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,’
　　replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘for, to the best of my knowledge, I wasnever here before.’
　　‘Never in Ba-ath, Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed the Grand Master,letting the hand fall in astonishment. ‘Never in Ba-ath! He! he! Mr.
　　Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he!
　　Re-markable!’
　　‘To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,’ rejoinedMr. Pickwick. ‘I really never was here before.’
　　‘Oh, I see,’ exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremelypleased; ‘yes, yes―good, good―better and better. You are thegentleman of whom we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr.
　　Pickwick; we know you.’
　　‘The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,’ thoughtMr. Pickwick. ‘They have heard all about me.’
　　‘You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,’ resumedBantam, ‘who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently takingcold after port wine; who could not be moved in consequence ofacute suffering, and who had the water from the king’s bathbottled at one hundred and three degrees, and sent by wagon tohis bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and the same dayrecovered. Very remarkable!’
　　Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which thesupposition implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it,notwithstanding; and taking advantage of a moment’s silence onthe part of the M.C., begged to introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman,Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. An introduction whichoverwhelmed the M.C. with delight and honour.
　　‘Bantam,’ said Mr. Dowler, ‘Mr. Pickwick and his friends arestrangers. They must put their names down. Where’s the book?’
　　‘The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba-ath will be atthe Pump Room this morning at two o’clock,’ replied the M.C.
　　‘Will you guide our friends to that splendid building, and enableme to procure their autographs?’
　　‘I will,’ rejoined Dowler. ‘This is a long call. It’s time to go. Ishall be here again in an hour. Come.’
　　‘This is a ball-night,’ said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick’shand, as he rose to go. ‘The ball-nights in Ba-ath are momentssnatched from paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty,elegance, fashion, etiquette, and―and―above all, by the absenceof tradespeople, who are quite inconsistent with paradise, and whohave an amalgamation of themselves at the Guildhall everyfortnight, which is, to say the least, remarkable. Good-bye, good-bye!’ and protesting all the way downstairs that he was mostsatisfied, and most delighted, and most overpowered, and mostflattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C., stepped into a veryelegant chariot that waited at the door, and rattled off.
　　At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escortedby Dowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote theirnames down in the book―an instance of condescension at whichAngelo Bantam was even more overpowered than before. Ticketsof admission to that evening’s assembly were to have beenprepared for the whole party, but as they were not ready, Mr.
　　Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the contrary ofAngelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o’clock in theafternoon, to the M.C.’s house in Queen Square. Having taken ashort walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimousconclusion that Park Street was very much like the perpendicularstreets a man sees in a dream, which he cannot get up for the lifeof him, they returned to the White Hart, and despatched Sam onthe errand to which his master had pledged him.
　　Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner,and, thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked withgreat deliberation to Queen Square, whistling as he went along,several of the most popular airs of the day, as arranged withentirely new movements for that noble instrument the organ,either mouth or barrel. Arriving at the number in Queen Square towhich he had been directed, he left off whistling and gave acheerful knock, which was instantaneously answered by apowdered-headed footman in gorgeous livery, and of symmetricalstature.
　　‘Is this here Mr. Bantam’s, old feller?’ inquired Sam Weller,nothing abashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon hissight in the person of the powdered-headed footman with thegorgeous livery.
　　‘Why, young man?’ was the haughty inquiry of the powdered-headed footman.
　　‘’Cos if it is, jist you step in to him with that ’ere card, and sayMr. Veller’s a-waitin’, will you?’ said Sam. And saying it, he verycoolly walked into the hall, and sat down.
　　The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard,and scowled very grandly; but both the slam and the scowl werelost upon Sam, who was regarding a mahogany umbrella-standwith every outward token of critical approval.
　　Apparently his master’s reception of the card had impressedthe powdered-headed footman in Sam’s favour, for when he cameback from delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and saidthat the answer would be ready directly.
　　‘Wery good,’ said Sam. ‘Tell the old gen’l’m’n not to put himselfin a perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I’ve had my dinner.’
　　‘You dine early, sir,’ said the powdered-headed footman.
　　‘I find I gets on better at supper when I does,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Have you been long in Bath, sir?’ inquired the powdered-headed footman. ‘I have not had the pleasure of hearing of youbefore.’
　　‘I haven’t created any wery surprisin’ sensation here, as yet,’
　　rejoined Sam, ‘for me and the other fash’nables only come lastnight.’
　　‘Nice place, sir,’ said the powdered-headed footman.
　　‘Seems so,’ observed Sam.
　　‘Pleasant society, sir,’ remarked the powdered-headed footman.
　　‘Very agreeable servants, sir.’
　　‘I should think they wos,’ replied Sam. ‘Affable, unaffected, say-nothin’-to-nobody sorts o’ fellers.’
　　‘Oh, very much so, indeed, sir,’ said the powdered-headedfootman, taking Sam’s remarks as a high compliment. ‘Very muchso indeed. Do you do anything in this way, sir?’ inquired the tallfootman, producing a small snuff-box with a fox’s head on the topof it.
　　‘Not without sneezing,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Why, it is difficult, sir, I confess,’ said the tall footman. ‘It maybe done by degrees, sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carried coffee,sir, for a long time. It looks very like rappee, sir.’
　　Here, a sharp peal at the bell reduced the powdered-headedfootman to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox’s head inhis pocket, and hastening with a humble countenance to Mr.
　　Bantam’s ‘study.’ By the bye, who ever knew a man who neverread or wrote either, who hadn’t got some small back parlourwhich he would call a study!
　　‘There is the answer, sir,’ said the powdered-headed footman.
　　‘I’m afraid you’ll find it inconveniently large.’
　　‘Don’t mention it,’ said Sam, taking a letter with a smallenclosure. ‘It’s just possible as exhausted natur’ may manage tosurwive it.’
　　‘I hope we shall meet again, sir,’ said the powdered-headedfootman, rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.
　　‘You are wery obligin’, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘Now, don’t allowyourself to be fatigued beyond your powers; there’s a amiablebein’. Consider what you owe to society, and don’t let yourself beinjured by too much work. For the sake o’ your feller-creeturs,keep yourself as quiet as you can; only think what a loss you wouldbe!’ With these pathetic words, Sam Weller departed.
　　‘A very singular young man that,’ said the powdered-headedfootman, looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance whichclearly showed he could make nothing of him.
　　Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled,winked again; and, with an expression of countenance whichseemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something orother, walked merrily away.
　　At precisely twenty minutes before eight o’clock that night,Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies,emerged from his chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms inthe same wig, the same teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watchand seals, the same rings, the same shirt-pin, and the same cane.
　　The only observable alterations in his appearance were, that hewore a brighter blue coat, with a white silk lining, black tights,black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white waistcoat, and was, ifpossible, just a thought more scented.
　　Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict dischargeof the important duties of his all-important office, planted himselfin the room to receive the company.
　　Bath being full, the company, and the sixpences for tea, pouredin, in shoals. In the ballroom, the long card-room, the octagonalcard-room, the staircases, and the passages, the hum of manyvoices, and the sound of many feet, were perfectly bewildering.
　　Dresses rustled, feathers waved, lights shone, and jewels sparkled.
　　There was the music―not of the quadrille band, for it had not yetcommenced; but the music of soft, tiny footsteps, with now andthen a clear, merry laugh―low and gentle, but very pleasant tohear in a female voice, whether in Bath or elsewhere. Brillianteyes, lighted up with pleasurable expectation, gleamed from everyside; and, look where you would, some exquisite form glidedgracefully through the throng, and was no sooner lost, than it wasreplaced by another as dainty and bewitching.
　　In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were avast number of queer old ladies, and decrepit old gentlemen,discussing all the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relishand gusto which sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasurethey derived from the occupation. Mingled with these groups,were three or four match-making mammas, appearing to bewholly absorbed by the conversation in which they were takingpart, but failing not from time to time to cast an anxious sidelongglance upon their daughters, who, remembering the maternalinjunction to make the best use of their youth, had alreadycommenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying scarves, puttingon gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight mattersapparently, but which may be turned to surprisingly good accountby expert practitioners.
　　Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were variousknots of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyismand stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with theirfolly and conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects ofgeneral admiration―a wise and merciful dispensation which nogood man will quarrel with.
　　And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they hadalready taken up their positions for the evening, were diversunmarried ladies past their grand climacteric, who, not dancingbecause there were no partners for them, and not playing cardslest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in thefavourable situation of being able to abuse everybody withoutreflecting on themselves. In short, they could abuse everybody,because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter, andshow; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked floors,girandoles and wax-candles; and in all parts of the scene, glidingfrom spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiously to thisparty, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling complacently on all,was the sprucely-attired person of Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire,the Master of the Ceremonies.
　　‘Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn’orth. Then lay on hotwater, and call it tea. Drink it,’ said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice,directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the littleparty, with Mrs. Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr.
　　Pickwick turned; and catching sight of him, Mr. Bantamcorkscrewed his way through the crowd and welcomed him withecstasy.
　　‘My dear sir, I am highly honoured. Ba-ath is favoured. Mrs.
　　Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on yourfeathers. Re-markable!’
　　‘Anybody here?’ inquired Dowler suspiciously.
　　‘Anybody! The élite of Ba-ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the oldlady in the gauze turban?’
　　‘The fat old lady?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick innocently.
　　‘Hush, my dear sir―nobody’s fat or old in Ba-ath. That’s theDowager Lady Snuphanuph.’
　　‘Is it, indeed?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No less a person, I assure you,’ said the Master of theCeremonies. ‘Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You seethe splendidly-dressed young man coming this way?’
　　‘The one with the long hair, and the particularly smallforehead?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘The same. The richest young man in Ba-ath at this moment.
　　Young Lord Mutanhed.’
　　‘You don’t say so?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes. You’ll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He’llspeak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-waistcoat and dark moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton,his bosom friend. How do you do, my Lord?’
　　‘Veway hot, Bantam,’ said his Lordship.
　　‘It IS very warm, my Lord,’ replied the M.C.
　　‘Confounded,’ assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.
　　‘Have you seen his Lordship’s mail-cart, Bantam?’ inquired theHonourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during whichyoung Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr.
　　Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had beenreflecting what subject his Lordship could talk about best.
　　‘Dear me, no,’ replied the M.C. ‘A mail-cart! What an excellentidea. Re-markable!’
　　‘Gwacious heavens!’ said his Lordship, ‘I thought evewebodyhad seen the new mail-cart; it’s the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullestthing that ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a cweampiebald.’
　　‘With a real box for the letters, and all complete,’ said theHonourable Mr. Crushton.
　　‘And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,’
　　added his Lordship. ‘I dwove it over to Bwistol the other morning,in a cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter of a milebehind; and confound me if the people didn’t wush out of theircottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know if I wasn’t the post.
　　Glorwious―glorwious!’
　　At this anecdote his Lordship laughed very heartily, as did thelisteners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of theobsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.
　　‘Delightful young man, his Lordship,’ said the Master of theCeremonies.
　　‘So I should think,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick drily.
　　The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductionshaving been made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo Bantamrejoined Mr. Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.
　　Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager LadySnuphanuph and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-likeappearance, were hovering over an unoccupied card-table; andthey no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy ofAngelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances with each other,seeing that he was precisely the very person they wanted, to makeup the rubber.
　　‘My dear Bantam,’ said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuphcoaxingly, ‘find us some nice creature to make up this table;there’s a good soul.’ Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking anotherway at the moment, so her Ladyship nodded her head towardshim, and frowned expressively.
　　‘My friend Mr. Pickwick, my Lady, will be most happy, I amsure, remarkably so,’ said the M.C., taking the hint. ‘Mr. Pickwick,Lady Snuphanuph―Mrs. Colonel Wugsby―Miss Bolo.’
　　Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escapeimpossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against LadySnuphanuph and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby. As the trump card wasturned up, at the commencement of the second deal, two youngladies hurried into the room, and took their stations on either sideof Mrs. Colonel Wugsby’s chair, where they waited patiently untilthe hand was over.
　　‘Now, Jane,’ said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of thegirls, ‘what is it?’
　　‘I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngestMr. Crawley,’ whispered the prettier and younger of the two.
　　‘Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?’ replied themamma indignantly. ‘Haven’t you repeatedly heard that his fatherhas eight hundred a year, which dies with him? I am ashamed ofyou. Not on any account.’
　　‘Ma,’ whispered the other, who was much older than her sister,and very insipid and artificial, ‘Lord Mutanhed has beenintroduced to me. I said I thought I wasn’t engaged, ma.’
　　‘You’re a sweet pet, my love,’ replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby,tapping her daughter’s cheek with her fan, ‘and are always to betrusted. He’s immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!’ With thesewords Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter mostaffectionately, and frowning in a warning manner upon the other,sorted her cards.
　　Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thorough-paced female card-players before. They were so desperately sharp,that they quite frightened him. If he played a wrong card, MissBolo looked a small armoury of daggers; if he stopped to considerwhich was the right one, Lady Snuphanuph would throw herselfback in her chair, and smile with a mingled glance of impatienceand pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs. Colonel Wugsbywould shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as much as to say shewondered whether he ever would begin. Then, at the end of everyhand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance andreproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned thatdiamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed theheart, or led through the honour, or brought out the ace, or playedup to the king, or some such thing; and in reply to all these gravecharges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly unable to plead anyjustification whatever, having by this time forgotten all about thegame. People came and looked on, too, which made Mr. Pickwicknervous. Besides all this, there was a great deal of distractingconversation near the table, between Angelo Bantam and the twoMisses Matinter, who, being single and singular, paid great courtto the Master of the Ceremonies, in the hope of getting a straypartner now and then. All these things, combined with the noisesand interruptions of constant comings in and goings out, made Mr.
　　Pickwick play rather badly; the cards were against him, also; andwhen they left off at ten minutes past eleven, Miss Bolo rose fromthe table considerably agitated, and went straight home, in a floodof tears and a sedan-chair.
　　Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that theyhad scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwickaccompanied them to the White Hart, and having soothed hisfeelings with something hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almostsimultaneously.
Chapter 36
THE CHIEF FEATURES OF WHICH WILL BEFOUND TO BE AN AUTHENTIC VERSION OFTHE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD, AND AMOST EXTRAORDINARY CALAMITY THATBEFELL Mr. WINKLEs Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two monthsin Bath, he deemed it advisable to take private lodgingsfor himself and friends for that period; and as a favourableopportunity offered for their securing, on moderate terms, theupper portion of a house in the Royal Crescent, which was largerthan they required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to relieve them ofa bedroom and sitting-room. This proposition was at onceaccepted, and in three days’ time they were all located in their newabode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters with theutmost assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them systematically. He dranka quarter of a pint before breakfast, and then walked up a hill; andanother quarter of a pint after breakfast, and then walked down ahill; and, after every fresh quarter of a pint, Mr. Pickwick declared,in the most solemn and emphatic terms, that he felt a great dealbetter; whereat his friends were very much delighted, though theyhad not been previously aware that there was anything the matterwith him.
　　The Great Pump Room is a spacious saloon, ornamented withCorinthian pillars, and a music-gallery, and a Tompion clock, anda statue of Nash, and a golden inscription, to which all the water-drinkers should attend, for it appeals to them in the cause of adeserving charity. There is a large bar with a marble vase, out ofwhich the pumper gets the water; and there are a number ofyellow-looking tumblers, out of which the company get it; and it isa most edifying and satisfactory sight to behold the perseveranceand gravity with which they swallow it. There are baths near athand, in which a part of the company wash themselves; and aband plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainder on theirhaving done so. There is another pump room, into which infirmladies and gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishing varietyof chairs and chaises, that any adventurous individual who goes inwith the regular number of toes, is in imminent danger of comingout without them; and there is a third, into which the quiet peoplego, for it is less noisy than either. There is an immensity ofpromenading, on crutches and off, with sticks and without, and agreat deal of conversation, and liveliness, and pleasantry.
　　Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwickamong the number, met each other in the pump room, took theirquarter of a pint, and walked constitutionally. At the afternoon’spromenade, Lord Mutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton,the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, and all thegreat people, and all the morning water-drinkers, met in grandassemblage. After this, they walked out, or drove out, or werepushed out in bath-chairs, and met one another again. After this,the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms, and met divisions of themass. After this, they went home. If it were theatre-night, perhapsthey met at the theatre; if it were assembly-night, they met at therooms; and if it were neither, they met the next day. A verypleasant routine, with perhaps a slight tinge of sameness.
　　Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent in thismanner, making entries in his journal, his friends having retired tobed, when he was roused by a gentle tap at the room door.
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mrs. Craddock, the landlady,peeping in; ‘but did you want anything more, sir?’
　　‘Nothing more, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘My young girl is gone to bed, sir,’ said Mrs. Craddock; ‘and Mr.
　　Dowler is good enough to say that he’ll sit up for Mrs. Dowler, asthe party isn’t expected to be over till late; so I was thinking that ifyou wanted nothing more, Mr. Pickwick, I would go to bed.’
　　‘By all means, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Wish you good-night, sir,’ said Mrs. Craddock.
　　‘Good-night, ma’am,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
　　Mrs. Craddock closed the door, and Mr. Pickwick resumed hiswriting.
　　In half an hour’s time the entries were concluded. Mr. Pickwickcarefully rubbed the last page on the blotting-paper, shut up thebook, wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of his coat tail, andopened the drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away. Therewere a couple of sheets of writing-paper, pretty closely writtenover, in the inkstand drawer, and they were folded so, that thetitle, which was in a good round hand, was fully disclosed to him.
　　Seeing from this, that it was no private document; and as itseemed to relate to Bath, and was very short: Mr. Pick-wickunfolded it, lighted his bedroom candle that it might burn up wellby the time he finished; and drawing his chair nearer the fire, readas follows―THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD‘Less than two hundred years ago, on one of the public baths inthis city, there appeared an inscription in honour of its mightyfounder, the renowned Prince Bladud. That inscription is nowerased.
　　‘For many hundred years before that time, there had beenhanded down, from age to age, an old legend, that the illustriousprince being afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping arich harvest of knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of hisroyal father, and consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs.
　　Among the herd (so said the legend) was a pig of grave and solemncountenance, with whom the prince had a fellow-feeling―for hetoo was wise―a pig of thoughtful and reserved demeanour; ananimal superior to his fellows, whose grunt was terrible, andwhose bite was sharp. The young prince sighed deeply as helooked upon the countenance of the majestic swine; he thought ofhis royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.
　　‘This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud. Notin summer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves, and dideven in those distant ages (which is a proof that the light ofcivilisation had already begun to dawn, though feebly), but in thecold, sharp days of winter. His coat was ever so sleek, and hiscomplexion so clear, that the prince resolved to essay the purifyingqualities of the same water that his friend resorted to. He madethe trial. Beneath that black mud, bubbled the hot springs of Bath.
　　He washed, and was cured. Hastening to his father’s court, he paidhis best respects, and returning quickly hither, founded this cityand its famous baths.
　　‘He sought the pig with all the ardour of their early friendship―but, alas! the waters had been his death. He had imprudentlytaken a bath at too high a temperature, and the naturalphilosopher was no more! He was succeeded by Pliny, who alsofell a victim to his thirst for knowledge.
　　‘This was the legend. Listen to the true one.
　　‘A great many centuries since, there flourished, in great state,the famous and renowned Lud Hudibras, king of Britain. He was amighty monarch. The earth shook when he walked―he was sovery stout. His people basked in the light of his countenance―itwas so red and glowing. He was, indeed, every inch a king. Andthere were a good many inches of him, too, for although he wasnot very tall, he was a remarkable size round, and the inches thathe wanted in height, he made up in circumference. If anydegenerate monarch of modern times could be in any waycompared with him, I should say the venerable King Cole wouldbe that illustrious potentate.
　　‘This good king had a queen, who eighteen years before, hadhad a son, who was called Bladud. He was sent to a preparatoryseminary in his father’s dominions until he was ten years old, andwas then despatched, in charge of a trusty messenger, to afinishing school at Athens; and as there was no extra charge forremaining during the holidays, and no notice required previous tothe removal of a pupil, there he remained for eight long years, atthe expiration of which time, the king his father sent the lordchamberlain over, to settle the bill, and to bring him home; which,the lord chamberlain doing, was received with shouts, andpensioned immediately.
　　‘When King Lud saw the prince his son, and found he hadgrown up such a fine young man, he perceived what a grand thingit would be to have him married without delay, so that his childrenmight be the means of perpetuating the glorious race of Lud,down to the very latest ages of the world. With this view, he sent aspecial embassy, composed of great noblemen who had nothingparticular to do, and wanted lucrative employment, to aneighbouring king, and demanded his fair daughter in marriagefor his son; stating at the same time that he was anxious to be onthe most affectionate terms with his brother and friend, but that ifthey couldn’t agree in arranging this marriage, he should be underthe unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom and putting hiseyes out. To this, the other king (who was the weaker of the two)replied that he was very much obliged to his friend and brother forall his goodness and magnanimity, and that his daughter was quiteready to be married, whenever Prince Bladud liked to come andfetch her.
　　‘This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole nationwas transported with joy. Nothing was heard, on all sides, but thesounds of feasting and revelry―except the chinking of money as itwas paid in by the people to the collector of the royal treasures, todefray the expenses of the happy ceremony. It was upon thisoccasion that King Lud, seated on the top of his throne in fullcouncil, rose, in the exuberance of his feelings, and commandedthe lord chief justice to order in the richest wines and the courtminstrels―an act of graciousness which has been, through theignorance of traditionary historians, attributed to King Cole, inthose celebrated lines in which his Majesty is represented asCalling for his pipe, and calling for his pot,And calling for his fiddlers three.
　　Which is an obvious injustice to the memory of King Lud, and adishonest exaltation of the virtues of King Cole.
　　‘But, in the midst of all this festivity and rejoicing, there wasone individual present, who tasted not when the sparkling wineswere poured forth, and who danced not, when the minstrelsplayed. This was no other than Prince Bladud himself, in honourof whose happiness a whole people were, at that very moment,straining alike their throats and purse-strings. The truth was, thatthe prince, forgetting the undoubted right of the minister forforeign affairs to fall in love on his behalf, had, contrary to everyprecedent of policy and diplomacy, already fallen in love on hisown account, and privately contracted himself unto the fairdaughter of a noble Athenian.
　　‘Here we have a striking example of one of the manifoldadvantages of civilisation and refinement. If the prince had livedin later days, he might at once have married the object of hisfather’s choice, and then set himself seriously to work, to relievehimself of the burden which rested heavily upon him. He mighthave endeavoured to break her heart by a systematic course ofinsult and neglect; or, if the spirit of her sex, and a proudconsciousness of her many wrongs had upheld her under this ill-treatment, he might have sought to take her life, and so get rid ofher effectually. But neither mode of relief suggested itself toPrince Bladud; so he solicited a private audience, and told hisfather.
　　‘It is an old prerogative of kings to govern everything but theirpassions. King Lud flew into a frightful rage, tossed his crown upto the ceiling, and caught it again―for in those days kings kepttheir crowns on their heads, and not in the Tower―stamped theground, rapped his forehead, wondered why his own flesh andblood rebelled against him, and, finally, calling in his guards,ordered the prince away to instant Confinement in a lofty turret; acourse of treatment which the kings of old very generally pursuedtowards their sons, when their matrimonial inclinations did nothappen to point to the same quarter as their own.
　　‘When Prince Bladud had been shut up in the lofty turret forthe greater part of a year, with no better prospect before his bodilyeyes than a stone wall, or before his mental vision than prolongedimprisonment, he naturally began to ruminate on a plan of escape,which, after months of preparation, he managed to accomplish;considerately leaving his dinner-knife in the heart of his jailer, lestthe poor fellow (who had a family) should be considered privy tohis flight, and punished accordingly by the infuriated king.
　　‘The monarch was frantic at the loss of his son. He knew not onwhom to vent his grief and wrath, until fortunately bethinkinghimself of the lord chamberlain who had brought him home, hestruck off his pension and his head together.
　　‘Meanwhile, the young prince, effectually disguised, wanderedon foot through his father’s dominions, cheered and supported inall his hardships by sweet thoughts of the Athenian maid, who wasthe innocent cause of his weary trials. One day he stopped to restin a country village; and seeing that there were gay dances goingforward on the green, and gay faces passing to and fro, ventured toinquire of a reveller who stood near him, the reason for thisrejoicing.
　　‘“Know you not, O stranger,” was the reply, “of the recentproclamation of our gracious king?”
　　‘“Proclamation! No. What proclamation?” rejoined the prince―for he had travelled along the by and little-frequented ways, andknew nothing of what had passed upon the public roads, such asthey were.
　　‘“Why,” replied the peasant, “the foreign lady that our princewished to wed, is married to a foreign noble of her own country,and the king proclaims the fact, and a great public festival besides;for now, of course, Prince Bladud will come back and marry thelady his father chose, who they say is as beautiful as the noondaysun. Your health, sir. God save the king!”
　　‘The prince remained to hear no more. He fled from the spot,and plunged into the thickest recesses of a neighbouring wood.
　　On, on, he wandered, night and day; beneath the blazing sun, andthe cold pale moon; through the dry heat of noon, and the dampcold of night; in the grey light of morn, and the red glare of eve. Soheedless was he of time or object, that being bound for Athens, hewandered as far out of his way as Bath.
　　‘There was no city where Bath stands, then. There was novestige of human habitation, or sign of man’s resort, to bear thename; but there was the same noble country, the same broadexpanse of hill and dale, the same beautiful channel stealing on,far away, the same lofty mountains which, like the troubles of life,viewed at a distance, and partially obscured by the bright mist ofits morning, lose their ruggedness and asperity, and seem all easeand softness. Moved by the gentle beauty of the scene, the princesank upon the green turf, and bathed his swollen feet in his tears.
　　‘“Oh!” said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, andmournfully raising his eyes towards the sky, “would that mywanderings might end here! Would that these grateful tears withwhich I now mourn hope misplaced, and love despised, might flowin peace for ever!”
　　‘The wish was heard. It was in the time of the heathen deities,who used occasionally to take people at their words, with apromptness, in some cases, extremely awkward. The groundopened beneath the prince’s feet; he sank into the chasm; andinstantaneously it closed upon his head for ever, save where hishot tears welled up through the earth, and where they havecontinued to gush forth ever since.
　　‘It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly ladiesand gentlemen who have been disappointed in procuring partners,and almost as many young ones who are anxious to obtain them,repair annually to Bath to drink the waters, from which theyderive much strength and comfort. This is most complimentary tothe virtue of Prince Bladud’s tears, and strongly corroborative ofthe veracity of this legend.’
　　Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at theend of this little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced it inthe inkstand drawer, and then, with a countenance expressive ofthe utmost weariness, lighted his chamber candle, and wentupstairs to bed. He stopped at Mr. Dowler’s door, according tocustom, and knocked to say good-night.
　　‘Ah!’ said Dowler, ‘going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night.
　　Windy; isn’t it?’
　　‘Very,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Good-night.’
　　‘Good-night.’
　　Mr. Pickwick went to his bedchamber, and Mr. Dowlerresumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promiseto sit up till his wife came home.
　　There are few things more worrying than sitting up forsomebody, especially if that somebody be at a party. You cannothelp thinking how quickly the time passes with them, which dragsso heavily with you; and the more you think of this, the more yourhopes of their speedy arrival decline. Clocks tick so loud, too,when you are sitting up alone, and you seem as if you had anunder-garment of cobwebs on. First, something tickles your rightknee, and then the same sensation irritates your left. You have nosooner changed your position, than it comes again in the arms;when you have fidgeted your limbs into all sorts of queer shapes,you have a sudden relapse in the nose, which you rub as if to rub itoff―as there is no doubt you would, if you could. Eyes, too, aremere personal inconveniences; and the wick of one candle gets aninch and a half long, while you are snuffing the other. These, andvarious other little nervous annoyances, render sitting up for alength of time after everybody else has gone to bed, anything but acheerful amusement.
　　This was just Mr. Dowler’s opinion, as he sat before the fire,and felt honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at theparty who were keeping him up. He was not put into betterhumour either, by the reflection that he had taken it into his head,early in the evening, to think he had got an ache there, and sostopped at home. At length, after several droppings asleep, andfallings forward towards the bars, and catchings backward soonenough to prevent being branded in the face, Mr. Dowler made uphis mind that he would throw himself on the bed in the back roomand think―not sleep, of course.
　　‘I’m a heavy sleeper,’ said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself onthe bed. ‘I must keep awake. I suppose I shall hear a knock here.
　　Yes. I thought so. I can hear the watchman. There he goes. Fainternow, though. A little fainter. He’s turning the corner. Ah!’ WhenMr. Dowler arrived at this point, hIe turned the corner at which hehad been long hesitating, and fell fast asleep.
　　Just as the clock struck three, there was blown into the crescenta sedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside, borne by one short, fatchairman, and one long, thin one, who had had much ado to keeptheir bodies perpendicular: to say nothing of the chair. But on thathigh ground, and in the crescent, which the wind swept round andround as if it were going to tear the paving stones up, its fury wastremendous. They were very glad to set the chair down, and give agood round loud double-knock at the street door.
　　They waited some time, but nobody came.
　　‘Servants is in the arms o’ Porpus, I think,’ said the shortchairman, warming his hands at the attendant link-boy’s torch.
　　‘I wish he’d give ’em a squeeze and wake ’em,’ observed thelong one.
　　‘Knock again, will you, if you please,’ cried Mrs. Dowler fromthe chair. ‘Knock two or three times, if you please.’
　　The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon aspossible; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five moststartling double-knocks, of eight or ten knocks a-piece, while thelong man went into the road, and looked up at the windows for alight.
　　Nobody came. It was all as silent and dark as ever.
　　‘Dear me!’ said Mrs. Dowler. ‘You must knock again, if youplease.’
　　‘There ain’t a bell, is there, ma’am?’ said the short chairman.
　　‘Yes, there is,’ interposed the link-boy, ‘I’ve been a-ringing at itever so long.’
　　‘It’s only a handle,’ said Mrs. Dowler, ‘the wire’s broken.’
　　‘I wish the servants’ heads wos,’ growled the long man.
　　‘I must trouble you to knock again, if you please,’ said Mrs.
　　Dowler, with the utmost politeness.
　　The short man did knock again several times, withoutproducing the smallest effect. The tall man, growing veryimpatient, then relieved him, and kept on perpetually knockingdouble-knocks of two loud knocks each, like an insane postman.
　　At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club, andthat the members being very refractory, the chairman was obligedto hammer the table a good deal to preserve order; then he had aconfused notion of an auction room where there were no bidders,and the auctioneer was buying everything in; and ultimately hebegan to think it just within the bounds of possibility thatsomebody might be knocking at the street door. To make quitecertain, however, he remained quiet in bed for ten minutes or so,and listened; and when he had counted two or three-and-thirtyknocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a great deal ofcredit for being so wakeful.
　　‘Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!’ went theknocker.
　　Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much whatcould possibly be the matter, and hastily putting on his stockingsand slippers, folded his dressing-gown round him, lighted a flatcandle from the rush-light that was burning in the fireplace, andhurried downstairs.
　　‘Here’s somebody comin’ at last, ma’am,’ said the shortchairman.
　　‘I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl,’ muttered the long one.
　　‘Who’s there?’ cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain.
　　‘Don’t stop to ask questions, cast-iron head,’ replied the longman, with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer wasa footman; ‘but open the door.’
　　‘Come, look sharp, timber eyelids,’ added the otherencouragingly.
　　Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the commandmechanically, opened the door a little, and peeped out. The firstthing he saw, was the red glare of the link-boy’s torch. Startled bythe sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he hastily threwthe door wide open, and holding the candle above his head, staredeagerly before him, not quite certain whether what he saw was asedan-chair or a fire-engine. At this instant there came a violentgust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr. Winkle felt himselfirresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the door blew to, with aloud crash.
　　‘Well, young man, now you have done it!’ said the shortchairman.
　　Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady’s face at the window of thesedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his mightand main, and called frantically upon the chairman to take thechair away again.
　　‘Take it away, take it away,’ cried Mr. Winkle. ‘Here’s somebodycoming out of another house; put me into the chair. Hide me! Dosomething with me!’
　　All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time heraised his hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing-gown ina most unpleasant manner.
　　‘The people are coming down the crescent now. There areladies with ‘em; cover me up with something. Stand before me!’
　　roared Mr. Winkle. But the chairmen were too much exhaustedwith laughing to afford him the slightest assistance, and the ladieswere every moment approaching nearer and nearer. Mr. Winklegave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a few doors off. Hethrew away the extinguished candle, which, all this time he hadheld above his head, and fairly bolted into the sedan-chair whereMrs. Dowler was.
　　Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices atlast; and, only waiting to put something smarter on her head thanher nightcap, ran down into the front drawing-room to make surethat it was the right party. Throwing up the window-sash as Mr.
　　Winkle was rushing into the chair, she no sooner caught sight ofwhat was going forward below, than she raised a vehement anddismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to get up directly, for hiswife was running away with another gentleman.
　　Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as anIndia-rubber ball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at onewindow just as Mr. Pickwick threw up the other, when the firstobject that met the gaze of both, was Mr. Winkle bolting into thesedan-chair.
　　‘Watchman,’ shouted Dowler furiously, ‘stop him―hold him―keep him tight―shut him in, till I come down. I’ll cut his throat―give me a knife―from ear to ear, Mrs. Craddock―I will!’ Andbreaking from the shrieking landlady, and from Mr. Pickwick, theindignant husband seized a small supper-knife, and tore into thestreet. But Mr. Winkle didn’t wait for him. He no sooner heard thehorrible threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of thesedan, quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing off hisslippers into the road, took to his heels and tore round thecrescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the watchman. He keptahead; the door was open as he came round the second time; herushed in, slammed it in Dowler’s face, mounted to his bedroom,locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest of drawers, and atable against it, and packed up a few necessaries ready for flightwith the first ray of morning.
　　Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through thekeyhole, his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle’s throatnext day; and, after a great confusion of voices in the drawing-room, amidst which that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly heardendeavouring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to theirseveral bed-chambers, and all was quiet once more.
　　It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr.
　　Weller was, all this time? We will state where he was, in the nextchapter.
Chapter 37
HONOURABLY ACCOUNTS FOR Mr. WELLER’SABSENCE, BY DESCRIBING A SOIREE TOWHICH HE WAS INVITED AND WENT; ALSORELATES HOW HE WAS ENTRUSTED BY Mr.
　　PICKWICK WITH A PRIVATE MISSION OFDELICACY AND IMPORTANCEr. Weller,’ said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning ofthis very eventful day, ‘here’s a letter for you.’
　　‘Wery odd that,’ said Sam; ‘I’m afeerd there mustbe somethin’ the matter, for I don’t recollect any gen’l’m’n in mycircle of acquaintance as is capable o’ writin’ one.’
　　‘Perhaps something uncommon has taken place,’ observed Mrs.
　　Craddock.
　　‘It must be somethin’ wery uncommon indeed, as could perducea letter out o’ any friend o’ mine,’ replied Sam, shaking his headdubiously; ‘nothin’ less than a nat’ral conwulsion, as the younggen’l’m’n observed ven he wos took with fits. It can’t be from thegov’ner,’ said Sam, looking at the direction. ‘He always prints, Iknow, ’cos he learnt writin’ from the large bills in the booking-offices. It’s a wery strange thing now, where this here letter canha’ come from.’
　　As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do whenthey are uncertain about the writer of a note―looked at the seal,and then at the front, and then at the back, and then at the sides,and then at the superscription; and, as a last resource, thoughtperhaps he might as well look at the inside, and try to find outfrom that.
　　‘It’s wrote on gilt-edged paper,’ said Sam, as he unfolded it,‘and sealed in bronze vax vith the top of a door key. Now for it.’
　　And, with a very grave face, Mr. Weller slowly read as follows―‘A select company of the Bath footmen presents theircompliments to Mr. Weller, and requests the pleasure of hiscompany this evening, to a friendly swarry, consisting of a boiledleg of mutton with the usual trimmings. The swarry to be on tableat half-past nine o’clock punctually.’
　　This was inclosed in another note, which ran thus―‘Mr. John Smauker, the gentleman who had the pleasure ofmeeting Mr. Weller at the house of their mutual acquaintance, Mr.
　　Bantam, a few days since, begs to inclose Mr. Weller the herewithinvitation. If Mr. Weller will call on Mr. John Smauker at nineo’clock, Mr. John Smauker will have the pleasure of introducingMr. Weller.
　　(Signed) ‘JOHN SMAUKER.’
　　The envelope was directed to blank Weller, Esq., at Mr.
　　Pickwick’s; and in a parenthesis, in the left hand corner, were thewords ‘airy bell,’ as an instruction to the bearer.
　　‘Vell,’ said Sam, ‘this is comin’ it rayther powerful, this is. Inever heerd a biled leg o’ mutton called a swarry afore. I wonderwot they’d call a roast one.’
　　However, without waiting to debate the point, Sam at oncebetook himself into the presence of Mr. Pickwick, and requestedleave of absence for that evening, which was readily granted. Withthis permission and the street-door key, Sam Weller issued forth alittle before the appointed time, and strolled leisurely towardsQueen Square, which he no sooner gained than he had thesatisfaction of beholding Mr. John Smauker leaning his powderedhead against a lamp-post at a short distance off, smoking a cigarthrough an amber tube.
　　‘How do you do, Mr. Weller?’ said Mr. John Smauker, raisinghis hat gracefully with one hand, while he gently waved the otherin a condescending manner. ‘How do you do, sir?’
　　‘Why, reasonably conwalessent,’ replied Sam. ‘How do you findyourself, my dear feller?’
　　‘Only so so,’ said Mr. John Smauker.
　　‘Ah, you’ve been a-workin’ too hard,’ observed Sam. ‘I wasfearful you would; it won’t do, you know; you must not give way tothat ’ere uncompromisin’ spirit o’ yourn.’
　　‘It’s not so much that, Mr. Weller,’ replied Mr. John Smauker,‘as bad wine; I’m afraid I’ve been dissipating.’
　　‘Oh! that’s it, is it?’ said Sam; ‘that’s a wery bad complaint,that.’
　　‘And yet the temptation, you see, Mr. Weller,’ observed Mr.
　　John Smauker.
　　‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Sam.
　　‘Plunged into the very vortex of society, you know, Mr. Weller,’
　　said Mr. John Smauker, with a sigh.
　　‘Dreadful, indeed!’ rejoined Sam.
　　‘But it’s always the way,’ said Mr. John Smauker; ‘if yourdestiny leads you into public life, and public station, you mustexpect to be subjected to temptations which other people is freefrom, Mr. Weller.’
　　‘Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent into the public line,’
　　remarked Sam, ‘and wery right the old gen’l’m’n wos, for he drankhisself to death in somethin’ less than a quarter.’ Mr. JohnSmauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel being drawnbetween himself and the deceased gentleman in question; but, asSam’s face was in the most immovable state of calmness, hethought better of it, and looked affable again. ‘Perhaps we hadbetter be walking,’ said Mr. Smauker, consulting a coppertimepiece which dwelt at the bottom of a deep watch-pocket, andwas raised to the surface by means of a black string, with a copperkey at the other end.
　　‘P’raps we had,’ replied Sam, ‘or they’ll overdo the swarry, andthat’ll spile it.’
　　‘Have you drank the waters, Mr. Weller?’ inquired hiscompanion, as they walked towards High Street.
　　‘Once,’ replied Sam.
　　‘What did you think of ’em, sir?’
　　‘I thought they was particklery unpleasant,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Ah,’ said Mr. John Smauker, ‘you disliked the killibeate taste,perhaps?’
　　‘I don’t know much about that ’ere,’ said Sam. ‘I thought they’da wery strong flavour o’ warm flat irons.’
　　‘That is the killibeate, Mr. Weller,’ observed Mr. John Smaukercontemptuously.
　　‘Well, if it is, it’s a wery inexpressive word, that’s all,’ said Sam.
　　‘It may be, but I ain’t much in the chimical line myself, so I can’tsay.’ And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker, SamWeller began to whistle.
　　‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Weller,’ said Mr. John Smauker,agonised at the exceeding ungenteel sound, ‘will you take myarm?’
　　‘Thank’ee, you’re wery good, but I won’t deprive you of it,’
　　replied Sam. ‘I’ve rayther a way o’ putting my hands in mypockets, if it’s all the same to you.’ As Sam said this, he suited theaction to the word, and whistled far louder than before.
　　‘This way,’ said his new friend, apparently much relieved asthey turned down a by-street; ‘we shall soon be there.’
　　‘Shall we?’ said Sam, quite unmoved by the announcement ofhis close vicinity to the select footmen of Bath.
　　‘Yes,’ said Mr. John Smauker. ‘Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Weller.’
　　‘Oh, no,’ said Sam.
　　‘You’ll see some very handsome uniforms, Mr. Weller,’
　　continued Mr. John Smauker; ‘and perhaps you’ll find some of thegentlemen rather high at first, you know, but they’ll soon comeround.’
　　‘That’s wery kind on ’em,’ replied Sam. ‘And you know,’
　　resumed Mr. John Smauker, with an air of sublime protection―‘you know, as you’re a stranger, perhaps, they’ll be rather hardupon you at first.’
　　‘They won’t be wery cruel, though, will they?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘No, no,’ replied Mr. John Smauker, pulling forth the fox’s head,and taking a gentlemanly pinch. ‘There are some funny dogsamong us, and they will have their joke, you know; but youmustn’t mind ’em, you mustn’t mind ’em.’
　　‘I’ll try and bear up agin such a reg’lar knock down o’ talent,’
　　replied Sam.
　　‘That’s right,’ said Mr. John Smauker, putting forth his fox’shead, and elevating his own; ‘I’ll stand by you.’
　　By this time they had reached a small greengrocer’s shop,which Mr. John Smauker entered, followed by Sam, who, themoment he got behind him, relapsed into a series of the verybroadest and most unmitigated grins, and manifested otherdemonstrations of being in a highly enviable state of inwardmerriment.
　　Crossing the greengrocer’s shop, and putting their hats on thestairs in the little passage behind it, they walked into a smallparlour; and here the full splendour of the scene burst upon Mr.
　　Weller’s view.
　　A couple of tables were put together in the middle of theparlour, covered with three or four cloths of different ages anddates of washing, arranged to look as much like one as thecircumstances of the case would allow. Upon these were laidknives and forks for six or eight people. Some of the knife handleswere green, others red, and a few yellow; and as all the forks wereblack, the combination of colours was exceedingly striking. Platesfor a corresponding number of guests were warming behind thefender; and the guests themselves were warming before it: thechief and most important of whom appeared to be a stoutishgentleman in a bright crimson coat with long tails, vividly redbreeches, and a cocked hat, who was standing with his back to thefire, and had apparently just entered, for besides retaining hiscocked hat on his head, he carried in his hand a high stick, such asgentlemen of his profession usually elevate in a sloping positionover the roofs of carriages.
　　‘Smauker, my lad, your fin,’ said the gentleman with the cockedhat.
　　Mr. Smauker dovetailed the top joint of his right-hand littlefinger into that of the gentleman with the cocked hat, and said hewas charmed to see him looking so well.
　　‘Well, they tell me I am looking pretty blooming,’ said the manwith the cocked hat, ‘and it’s a wonder, too. I’ve been following ourold woman about, two hours a day, for the last fortnight; and if aconstant contemplation of the manner in which she hooks-and-eyes that infernal lavender-coloured old gown of hers behind, isn’tenough to throw anybody into a low state of despondency for life,stop my quarter’s salary.’
　　At this, the assembled selections laughed very heartily; and onegentleman in a yellow waistcoat, with a coach-trimming border,whispered a neighbour in green-foil smalls, that Tuckle was inspirits to-night.
　　‘By the bye,’ said Mr. Tuckle, ‘Smauker, my boy, you―’ Theremainder of the sentence was forwarded into Mr. JohnSmauker’s ear, by whisper.
　　‘Oh, dear me, I quite forgot,’ said Mr. John Smauker.
　　‘Gentlemen, my friend Mr. Weller.’
　　‘Sorry to keep the fire off you, Weller,’ said Mr. Tuckle, with afamiliar nod. ‘Hope you’re not cold, Weller.’
　　‘Not by no means, Blazes,’ replied Sam. ‘It ’ud be a wery chillysubject as felt cold wen you stood opposite. You’d save coals if theyput you behind the fender in the waitin’-room at a public office,you would.’
　　As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion toMr. Tuckle’s crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic for afew seconds, but gradually edging away from the fire, broke into aforced smile, and said it wasn’t bad.
　　‘Wery much obliged for your good opinion, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘We shall get on by degrees, I des-say. We’ll try a better one by andbye.’
　　At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival ofa gentleman in orange-coloured plush, accompanied by anotherselection in purple cloth, with a great extent of stocking. The new-comers having been welcomed by the old ones, Mr. Tuckle put thequestion that supper be ordered in, which was carriedunanimously.
　　The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table aboiled leg of mutton, hot, with caper sauce, turnips, and potatoes.
　　Mr. Tuckle took the chair, and was supported at the other end ofthe board by the gentleman in orange plush. The greengrocer puton a pair of wash-leather gloves to hand the plates with, andstationed himself behind Mr. Tuckle’s chair.
　　‘Harris,’ said Mr. Tuckle, in a commanding tone.
　　‘Sir,’ said the greengrocer.
　　‘Have you got your gloves on?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘Then take the kiver off.’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　The greengrocer did as he was told, with a show of greathumility, and obsequiously handed Mr. Tuckle the carving-knife;in doing which, he accidentally gaped.
　　‘What do you mean by that, sir?’ said Mr. Tuckle, with greatasperity.
　　‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ replied the crestfallen greengrocer, ‘Ididn’t mean to do it, sir; I was up very late last night, sir.’
　　‘I tell you what my opinion of you is, Harris,’ said Mr. Tuckle,with a most impressive air, ‘you’re a wulgar beast.’
　　‘I hope, gentlemen,’ said Harris, ‘that you won’t be severe withme, gentlemen. I am very much obliged to you indeed, gentlemen,for your patronage, and also for your recommendations,gentlemen, whenever additional assistance in waiting is required.
　　I hope, gentlemen, I give satisfaction.’
　　‘No, you don’t, sir,’ said Mr. Tuckle. ‘Very far from it, sir.’
　　‘We consider you an inattentive reskel,’ said the gentleman inthe orange plush.
　　‘And a low thief,’ added the gentleman in the green-foil smalls.
　　‘And an unreclaimable blaygaird,’ added the gentleman inpurple.
　　The poor greengrocer bowed very humbly while these littleepithets were bestowed upon him, in the true spirit of the verysmallest tyranny; and when everybody had said something toshow his superiority, Mr. Tuckle proceeded to carve the leg ofmutton, and to help the company.
　　This important business of the evening had hardly commenced,when the door was thrown briskly open, and another gentleman ina light-blue suit, and leaden buttons, made his appearance.
　　‘Against the rules,’ said Mr. Tuckle. ‘Too late, too late.’
　　‘No, no; positively I couldn’t help it,’ said the gentleman in blue.
　　‘I appeal to the company. An affair of gallantry now, anappointment at the theayter.’
　　‘Oh, that indeed,’ said the gentleman in the orange plush.
　　‘Yes; raly now, honour bright,’ said the man in blue. ‘I made apromese to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past ten, and she issuch an uncauminly fine gal, that I raly hadn’t the ’art to disappinther. No offence to the present company, sir, but a petticut, sir―apetticut, sir, is irrevokeable.’
　　‘I begin to suspect there’s something in that quarter,’ saidTuckle, as the new-comer took his seat next Sam, ‘I’ve remarked,once or twice, that she leans very heavy on your shoulder whenshe gets in and out of the carriage.’
　　‘Oh, raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn’t,’ said the man in blue. ‘It’snot fair. I may have said to one or two friends that she wos a verydivine creechure, and had refused one or two offers without anyhobvus cause, but―no, no, no, indeed, Tuckle―before strangers,too―it’s not right―you shouldn’t. Delicacy, my dear friend,delicacy!’ And the man in blue, pulling up his neckerchief, andadjusting his coat cuffs, nodded and frowned as if there were morebehind, which he could say if he liked, but was bound in honour tosuppress.
　　The man in blue being a light-haired, stiff-necked, free and easysort of footman, with a swaggering air and pert face, had attractedMr. Weller’s special attention at first, but when he began to comeout in this way, Sam felt more than ever disposed to cultivate hisacquaintance; so he launched himself into the conversation atonce, with characteristic independence.
　　‘Your health, sir,’ said Sam. ‘I like your conversation much. Ithink it’s wery pretty.’
　　At this the man in blue smiled, as if it were a compliment hewas well used to; but looked approvingly on Sam at the same time,and said he hoped he should be better acquainted with him, forwithout any flattery at all he seemed to have the makings of a verynice fellow about him, and to be just the man after his own heart.
　　‘You’re wery good, sir,’ said Sam. ‘What a lucky feller you are!’
　　‘How do you mean?’ inquired the gentleman in blue.
　　The Pickwick Papers‘That ’ere young lady,’ replied Sam.’ She knows wot’s wot, shedoes. Ah! I see.’ Mr. Weller closed one eye, and shook his headfrom side to side, in a manner which was highly gratifying to thepersonal vanity of the gentleman in blue.
　　‘I’m afraid your a cunning fellow, Mr. Weller,’ said thatindividual.
　　‘No, no,’ said Sam. ‘I leave all that ’ere to you. It’s a great dealmore in your way than mine, as the gen’l’m’n on the right side o’
　　the garden vall said to the man on the wrong un, ven the mad bullvos a-comin’ up the lane.’
　　‘Well, well, Mr. Weller,’ said the gentleman in blue, ‘I think shehas remarked my air and manner, Mr. Weller.’
　　‘I should think she couldn’t wery well be off o’ that,’ said Sam.
　　‘Have you any little thing of that kind in hand, sir?’ inquired thefavoured gentleman in blue, drawing a toothpick from hiswaistcoat pocket.
　　‘Not exactly,’ said Sam. ‘There’s no daughters at my place, elseo’ course I should ha’ made up to vun on ’em. As it is, I don’t thinkI can do with anythin’ under a female markis. I might keep upwith a young ‘ooman o’ large property as hadn’t a title, if she madewery fierce love to me. Not else.’
　　‘Of course not, Mr. Weller,’ said the gentleman in blue, ‘onecan’t be troubled, you know; and WE know, Mr. Weller―we, whoare men of the world―that a good uniform must work its way withthe women, sooner or later. In fact, that’s the only thing, betweenyou and me, that makes the service worth entering into.’
　　‘Just so,’ said Sam. ‘That’s it, o’ course.’
　　When this confidential dialogue had gone thus far, glasses wereplaced round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked best,before the public-house shut up. The gentleman in blue, and theman in orange, who were the chief exquisites of the party, ordered‘cold shrub and water,’ but with the others, gin-and-water, sweet,appeared to be the favourite beverage. Sam called the greengrocera ‘desp’rate willin,’ and ordered a large bowl of punch―twocircumstances which seemed to raise him very much in theopinion of the selections.
　　‘Gentlemen,’ said the man in blue, with an air of the mostconsummate dandyism, ‘I’ll give you the ladies; come.’
　　‘Hear, hear!’ said Sam. ‘The young mississes.’
　　Here there was a loud cry of ‘Order,’ and Mr. John Smauker, asthe gentleman who had introduced Mr. Weller into that company,begged to inform him that the word he had just made use of, wasunparliamentary.
　　‘Which word was that ’ere, sir?’ inquired Sam. ‘Mississes, sir,’
　　replied Mr. John Smauker, with an alarming frown. ‘We don’trecognise such distinctions here.’
　　‘Oh, wery good,’ said Sam; ‘then I’ll amend the obserwation andcall ’em the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.’
　　Some doubt appeared to exist in the mind of the gentleman inthe green-foil smalls, whether the chairman could be legallyappealed to, as ‘Blazes,’ but as the company seemed moredisposed to stand upon their own rights than his, the question wasnot raised. The man with the cocked hat breathed short, andlooked long at Sam, but apparently thought it as well to saynothing, in case he should get the worst of it. After a short silence,a gentleman in an embroidered coat reaching down to his heels,and a waistcoat of the same which kept one half of his legs warm,stirred his gin-and-water with great energy, and putting himselfupon his feet, all at once by a violent effort, said he was desirous ofoffering a few remarks to the company, whereupon the person inthe cocked hat had no doubt that the company would be veryhappy to hear any remarks that the man in the long coat mightwish to offer.
　　‘I feel a great delicacy, gentlemen, in coming for’ard,’ said theman in the long coat, ‘having the misforchune to be a coachman,and being only admitted as a honorary member of these agreeableswarrys, but I do feel myself bound, gentlemen―drove into acorner, if I may use the expression―to make known an afflictingcircumstance which has come to my knowledge; which hashappened I may say within the soap of my everydaycontemplation. Gentlemen, our friend Mr. Whiffers (everybodylooked at the individual in orange), our friend Mr. Whiffers hasresigned.’
　　Universal astonishment fell upon the hearers. Each gentlemanlooked in his neighbour’s face, and then transferred his glance tothe upstanding coachman.
　　‘You may well be sapparised, gentlemen,’ said the coachman. ‘Iwill not wenchure to state the reasons of this irrepairabel loss tothe service, but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state them himself, forthe improvement and imitation of his admiring friends.’
　　The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffersexplained. He said he certainly could have wished to havecontinued to hold the appointment he had just resigned. Theuniform was extremely rich and expensive, the females of thefamily was most agreeable, and the duties of the situation was not,he was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service that wasrequired of him, being, that he should look out of the hall windowas much as possible, in company with another gentleman, who hadalso resigned. He could have wished to have spared that companythe painful and disgusting detail on which he was about to enter,but as the explanation had been demanded of him, he had noalternative but to state, boldly and distinctly, that he had beenrequired to eat cold meat.
　　It is impossible to conceive the disgust which this avowalawakened in the bosoms of the hearers. Loud cries of ‘Shame,’
　　mingled with groans and hisses, prevailed for a quarter of an hour.
　　Mr. Whiffers then added that he feared a portion of this outragemight be traced to his own forbearing and accommodatingdisposition. He had a distinct recollection of having onceconsented to eat salt butter, and he had, moreover, on an occasionof sudden sickness in the house, so far forgotten himself as tocarry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor. He trusted he had notlowered himself in the good opinion of his friends by this frankconfession of his faults; and he hoped the promptness with whichhe had resented the last unmanly outrage on his feelings, to whichhe had referred, would reinstate him in their good opinion, if hehad.
　　Mr. Whiffers’s address was responded to, with a shout ofadmiration, and the health of the interesting martyr was drunk ina most enthusiastic manner; for this, the martyr returned thanks,and proposed their visitor, Mr. Weller―a gentleman whom he hadnot the pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with, but who wasthe friend of Mr. John Smauker, which was a sufficient letter ofrecommendation to any society of gentlemen whatever, orwherever. On this account, he should have been disposed to havegiven Mr. Weller’s health with all the honours, if his friends hadbeen drinking wine; but as they were taking spirits by way of achange, and as it might be inconvenient to empty a tumbler atevery toast, he should propose that the honours be understood.
　　At the conclusion of this speech, everybody took a sip in honourof Sam; and Sam having ladled out, and drunk, two full glasses ofpunch in honour of himself, returned thanks in a neat speech.
　　‘Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,’ said Sam, ladling awayat the punch in the most unembarrassed manner possible, ‘for thishere compliment; which, comin’ from sich a quarter, is weryovervelmin’. I’ve heered a good deal on you as a body, but I willsay, that I never thought you was sich uncommon nice men as Ifind you air. I only hope you’ll take care o’ yourselves, and notcompromise nothin’ o’ your dignity, which is a wery charmin’
　　thing to see, when one’s out a-walkin’, and has always made mewery happy to look at, ever since I was a boy about half as high asthe brass-headed stick o’ my wery respectable friend, Blazes,there. As to the wictim of oppression in the suit o’ brimstone, all Ican say of him, is, that I hope he’ll get jist as good a berth as hedeserves; in vitch case it’s wery little cold swarry as ever he’ll betroubled with agin.’
　　Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his speechhaving been vociferously applauded, the company broke up.
　　‘Wy, you don’t mean to say you’re a-goin’ old feller?’ said SamWeller to his friend, Mr. John Smauker.
　　‘I must, indeed,’ said Mr. Smauker; ‘I promised Bantam.’
　　‘Oh, wery well,’ said Sam; ‘that’s another thing. P’raps he’dresign if you disappinted him. You ain’t a-goin’, Blazes?’
　　‘Yes, I am,’ said the man with the cocked hat. ‘Wot, and leave three-quarters of a bowl of punch behind you!’
　　said Sam; ‘nonsense, set down agin.’
　　Mr. Tuckle was not proof against this invitation. He laid asidethe cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and said hewould have one glass, for good fellowship’s sake.
　　As the gentleman in blue went home the same way as Mr.
　　Tuckle, he was prevailed upon to stop too. When the punch wasabout half gone, Sam ordered in some oysters from the green-grocer’s shop; and the effect of both was so extremely exhilarating,that Mr. Tuckle, dressed out with the cocked hat and stick, dancedthe frog hornpipe among the shells on the table, while thegentleman in blue played an accompaniment upon an ingeniousmusical instrument formed of a hair-comb upon a curl-paper. Atlast, when the punch was all gone, and the night nearly so, theysallied forth to see each other home. Mr. Tuckle no sooner got intothe open air, than he was seized with a sudden desire to lie on thecurbstone; Sam thought it would be a pity to contradict him, andso let him have his own way. As the cocked hat would have beenspoiled if left there, Sam very considerately flattened it down onthe head of the gentleman in blue, and putting the big stick in hishand, propped him up against his own street-door, rang the bell,and walked quietly home.
　　At a much earlier hour next morning than his usual time ofrising, Mr. Pickwick walked downstairs completely dressed, andrang the bell.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared in reply tothe summons, ‘shut the door.’
　　Mr. Weller did so.
　　‘There was an unfortunate occurrence here, last night, Sam,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick, ‘which gave Mr. Winkle some cause toapprehend violence from Mr. Dowler.’
　　‘So I’ve heerd from the old lady downstairs, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘And I’m sorry to say, Sam,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, with amost perplexed countenance, ‘that in dread of this violence, Mr.
　　Winkle has gone away.’
　　‘Gone avay!’ said Sam.
　　‘Left the house early this morning, without the slightestprevious communication with me,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘And isgone, I know not where.’
　　‘He should ha’ stopped and fought it out, sir,’ replied Samcontemptuously. ‘It wouldn’t take much to settle that ’ere Dowler,sir.’
　　‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I may have my doubts of hisgreat bravery and determination also. But however that may be,Mr. Winkle is gone. He must be found, Sam. Found and broughtback to me.’
　　‘And s’pose he won’t come back, sir?’ said Sam.
　　‘He must be made, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Who’s to do it, sir?’ inquired Sam, with a smile.
　　‘You,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wery good, sir.’
　　With these words Mr. Weller left the room, and immediatelyafterwards was heard to shut the street door. In two hours’ time hereturned with so much coolness as if he had been despatched onthe most ordinary message possible, and brought the informationthat an individual, in every respect answering Mr. Winkle’sdescription, had gone over to Bristol that morning, by the branchcoach from the Royal Hotel.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, ‘you’re a capitalfellow; an invaluable fellow. You must follow him, Sam.’
　　‘Cert’nly, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘The instant you discover him, write to me immediately, Sam,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick. ‘If he attempts to run away from you, knockhim down, or lock him up. You have my full authority, Sam.’
　　‘I’ll be wery careful, sir,’ rejoined Sam.
　　‘You’ll tell him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that I am highly excited,highly displeased, and naturally indignant, at the veryextraordinary course he has thought proper to pursue.’
　　‘I will, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘You’ll tell him,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that if he does not comeback to this very house, with you, he will come back with me, for Iwill come and fetch him.’
　　‘I’ll mention that ’ere, sir,’ rejoined Sam.
　　‘You think you can find him, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick, lookingearnestly in his face.
　　‘Oh, I’ll find him if he’s anyvere,’ rejoined Sam, with greatconfidence.
　　‘Very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Then the sooner you go thebetter.’
　　With these instructions, Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money inthe hands of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start forBristol immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive.
　　Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet-bag, and was ready forstarting. He stopped when he had got to the end of the passage,and walking quietly back, thrust his head in at the parlour door.
　　‘Sir,’ whispered Sam.
　　‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I fully understands my instructions, do I, sir?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘I hope so,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It’s reg’larly understood about the knockin’ down, is it, sir?’
　　inquired Sam.
　　‘Perfectly,’ replied Pickwick. ‘Thoroughly. Do what you thinknecessary. You have my orders.’
　　Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head fromthe door, set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart.
Chapter 38
HOW Mr. WINKLE, WHEN HE STEPPED OUT OFTHE FRYING-PAN, WALKED GENTLY ANDCOMFORTABLY INTO THE FIREhe ill-starred gentleman who had been the unfortunatecause of the unusual noise and disturbance which alarmedthe inhabitants of the Royal Crescent in manner and formalready described, after passing a night of great confusion andanxiety, left the roof beneath which his friends still slumbered,bound he knew not whither. The excellent and consideratefeelings which prompted Mr. Winkle to take this step can never betoo highly appreciated or too warmly extolled. ‘If,’ reasoned Mr.
　　Winkle with himself―‘if this Dowler attempts (as I have no doubthe will) to carry into execution his threat of personal violenceagainst myself, it will be incumbent on me to call him out. He has awife; that wife is attached to, and dependent on him. Heavens! If Ishould kill him in the blindness of my wrath, what would be myfeelings ever afterwards!’ This painful consideration operated sopowerfully on the feelings of the humane young man, as to causehis knees to knock together, and his countenance to exhibitalarming manifestations of inward emotion. Impelled by suchreflections, he grasped his carpet-bag, and creeping stealthilydownstairs, shut the detestable street door with as little noise aspossible, and walked off. Bending his steps towards the RoyalHotel, he found a coach on the point of starting for Bristol, and,thinking Bristol as good a place for his purpose as any other hecould go to, he mounted the box, and reached his place ofdestination in such time as the pair of horses, who went the wholestage and back again, twice a day or more, could be reasonablysupposed to arrive there. He took up his quarters at the Bush, anddesigning to postpone any communication by letter with Mr.
　　Pickwick until it was probable that Mr. Dowler’s wrath might havein some degree evaporated, walked forth to view the city, whichstruck him as being a shade more dirty than any place he had everseen. Having inspected the docks and shipping, and viewed thecathedral, he inquired his way to Clifton, and being directedthither, took the route which was pointed out to him. But as thepavements of Bristol are not the widest or cleanest upon earth, soits streets are not altogether the straightest or least intricate; andMr. Winkle, being greatly puzzled by their manifold windings andtwistings, looked about him for a decent shop in which he couldapply afresh for counsel and instruction.
　　His eye fell upon a newly-painted tenement which had beenrecently converted into something between a shop and a privatehouse, and which a red lamp, projecting over the fanlight of thestreet door, would have sufficiently announced as the residence ofa medical practitioner, even if the word ‘Surgery’ had not beeninscribed in golden characters on a wainscot ground, above thewindow of what, in times bygone, had been the front parlour.
　　Thinking this an eligible place wherein to make his inquiries, Mr.
　　Winkle stepped into the little shop where the gilt-labelled drawersand bottles were; and finding nobody there, knocked with a half-crown on the counter, to attract the attention of anybody whomight happen to be in the back parlour, which he judged to be theinnermost and peculiar sanctum of the establishment, from therepetition of the word surgery on the door―painted in whiteletters this time, by way of taking off the monotony.
　　At the first knock, a sound, as of persons fencing with fire-irons,which had until now been very audible, suddenly ceased; at thesecond, a studious-looking young gentleman in green spectacles,with a very large book in his hand, glided quietly into the shop,and stepping behind the counter, requested to know the visitor’spleasure.
　　‘I am sorry to trouble you, sir,’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘but will youhave the goodness to direct me to―’
　　‘Ha! ha! ha!’ roared the studious young gentleman, throwingthe large book up into the air, and catching it with great dexterityat the very moment when it threatened to smash to atoms all thebottles on the counter. ‘Here’s a start!’
　　There was, without doubt; for Mr. Winkle was so very muchastonished at the extraordinary behaviour of the medicalgentleman, that he involuntarily retreated towards the door, andlooked very much disturbed at his strange reception.
　　‘What, don’t you know me?’ said the medical gentleman. Mr.
　　Winkle murmured, in reply, that he had not that pleasure.
　　‘Why, then,’ said the medical gentleman, ‘there are hopes forme yet; I may attend half the old women in Bristol, if I’ve decentluck. Get out, you mouldy old villain, get out!’ With this adjuration,which was addressed to the large book, the medical gentlemankicked the volume with remarkable agility to the farther end of theshop, and, pulling off his green spectacles, grinned the identicalgrin of Robert Sawyer, Esquire, formerly of Guy’s Hospital in theBorough, with a private residence in Lant Street.
　　‘You don’t mean to say you weren’t down upon me?’ said Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer, shaking Mr. Winkle’s hand with friendly warmth.
　　‘Upon my word I was not,’ replied Mr. Winkle, returning hispressure.
　　‘I wonder you didn’t see the name,’ said Bob Sawyer, calling hisfriend’s attention to the outer door, on which, in the same whitepaint, were traced the words ‘Sawyer, late Nockemorf.’
　　‘It never caught my eye,’ returned Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Lord, if I had known who you were, I should have rushed out,and caught you in my arms,’ said Bob Sawyer; ‘but upon my life, Ithought you were the King’s-taxes.’
　　‘No!’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘I did, indeed,’ responded Bob Sawyer, ‘and I was just going tosay that I wasn’t at home, but if you’d leave a message I’d be sureto give it to myself; for he don’t know me; no more does theLighting and Paving. I think the Church-rates guesses who I am,and I know the Water-works does, because I drew a tooth of hiswhen I first came down here. But come in, come in!’ Chattering inthis way, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed Mr. Winkle into the back room,where, amusing himself by boring little circular caverns in thechimney-piece with a red-hot poker, sat no less a person than Mr.
　　Benjamin Allen.
　　‘Well!’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘This is indeed a pleasure I did notexpect. What a very nice place you have here!’
　　‘Pretty well, pretty well,’ replied Bob Sawyer. ‘I passed, soonafter that precious party, and my friends came down with theneedful for this business; so I put on a black suit of clothes, and apair of spectacles, and came here to look as solemn as I could.’
　　‘And a very snug little business you have, no doubt?’ said Mr.
　　Winkle knowingly.
　　‘Very,’ replied Bob Sawyer. ‘So snug, that at the end of a fewyears you might put all the profits in a wine-glass, and cover ’emover with a gooseberry leaf.’
　　‘You cannot surely mean that?’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘The stockitself―’
　　‘Dummies, my dear boy,’ said Bob Sawyer; ‘half the drawershave nothing in ’em, and the other half don’t open.’
　　‘Nonsense!’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Fact―honour!’ returned Bob Sawyer, stepping out into theshop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by divershard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit drawers.
　　‘Hardly anything real in the shop but the leeches, and they aresecond-hand.’
　　‘I shouldn’t have thought it!’ exclaimed Mr. Winkle, muchsurprised.
　　‘I hope not,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘else where’s the use ofappearances, eh? But what will you take? Do as we do? That’sright. Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cupboard, andbring out the patent digester.’
　　Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced fromthe closet at his elbow a black bottle half full of brandy.
　　‘You don’t take water, of course?’ said Bob Sawyer.
　　‘Thank you,’ replied Mr. Winkle. ‘It’s rather early. I should liketo qualify it, if you have no objection.’
　　‘None in the least, if you can reconcile it to your conscience,’
　　replied Bob Sawyer, tossing off, as he spoke, a glass of the liquorwith great relish. ‘Ben, the pipkin!’
　　Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth, from the same hiding-place, asmall brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided himselfupon, particularly because it looked so business-like. The water inthe professional pipkin having been made to boil, in course oftime, by various little shovelfuls of coal, which Mr. Bob Sawyertook out of a practicable window-seat, labelled ‘Soda Water,’ Mr.
　　Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the conversation wasbecoming general, when it was interrupted by the entrance intothe shop of a boy, in a sober grey livery and a gold-laced hat, witha small covered basket under his arm, whom Mr. Bob Sawyerimmediately hailed with, ‘Tom, you vagabond, come here.’
　　The boy presented himself accordingly.
　　‘You’ve been stopping to “over” all the posts in Bristol, you idleyoung scamp!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘No, sir, I haven’t,’ replied the boy.
　　‘You had better not!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a threateningaspect. ‘Who do you suppose will ever employ a professional man,when they see his boy playing at marbles in the gutter, or flyingthe garter in the horse-road? Have you no feeling for yourprofession, you groveller? Did you leave all the medicine?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘The powders for the child, at the large house with the newfamily, and the pills to be taken four times a day at the ill-tempered old gentleman’s with the gouty leg?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘Then shut the door, and mind the shop.’
　　‘Come,’ said Mr. Winkle, as the boy retired, ‘things are not quiteso bad as you would have me believe, either. There is somemedicine to be sent out.’
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer peeped into the shop to see that no strangerwas within hearing, and leaning forward to Mr. Winkle, said, in alow tone―‘He leaves it all at the wrong houses.’
　　Mr. Winkle looked perplexed, and Bob Sawyer and his friendlaughed.
　　‘Don’t you see?’ said Bob. ‘He goes up to a house, rings the areabell, pokes a packet of medicine without a direction into theservant’s hand, and walks off. Servant takes it into the dining-parlour; master opens it, and reads the label: “Draught to be takenat bedtime―pills as before―lotion as usual―the powder. FromSawyer’s, late Nockemorf’s. Physicians’ prescriptions carefullyprepared,” and all the rest of it. Shows it to his wife―she reads thelabel; it goes down to the servants―they read the label. Next day,boy calls: “Very sorry―his mistake―immense business―greatmany parcels to deliver―Mr. Sawyer’s compliments―lateNockemorf.” The name gets known, and that’s the thing, my boy,in the medical way. Bless your heart, old fellow, it’s better than allthe advertising in the world. We have got one four-ounce bottlethat’s been to half the houses in Bristol, and hasn’t done yet.’
　　‘Dear me, I see,’ observed Mr. Winkle; ‘what an excellent plan!’
　　‘Oh, Ben and I have hit upon a dozen such,’ replied BobSawyer, with great glee. ‘The lamplighter has eighteenpence aweek to pull the night-bell for ten minutes every time he comesround; and my boy always rushes into the church just before thepsalms, when the people have got nothing to do but look about’em, and calls me out, with horror and dismay depicted on hiscountenance. “Bless my soul,” everybody says, “somebody takensuddenly ill! Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent for. What a businessthat young man has!”’
　　At the termination of this disclosure of some of the mysteries ofmedicine, Mr. Bob Sawyer and his friend, Ben Allen, threwthemselves back in their respective chairs, and laughedboisterously. When they had enjoyed the joke to their heart’scontent, the discourse changed to topics in which Mr. Winkle wasmore immediately interested.
　　We think we have hinted elsewhere, that Mr. Benjamin Allenhad a way of becoming sentimental after brandy. The case is not apeculiar one, as we ourself can testify, having, on a few occasions,had to deal with patients who have been afflicted in a similarmanner. At this precise period of his existence, Mr. BenjaminAllen had perhaps a greater predisposition to maudlinism than hehad ever known before; the cause of which malady was brieflythis. He had been staying nearly three weeks with Mr. BobSawyer; Mr. Bob Sawyer was not remarkable for temperance, norwas Mr. Benjamin Allen for the ownership of a very strong head;the consequence was that, during the whole space of time justmentioned, Mr. Benjamin Allen had been wavering betweenintoxication partial, and intoxication complete.
　　‘My dear friend,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, taking advantage of Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer’s temporary absence behind the counter, whither hehad retired to dispense some of the second-hand leeches,previously referred to; ‘my dear friend, I am very miserable.’
　　Mr. Winkle professed his heartfelt regret to hear it, and beggedto know whether he could do anything to alleviate the sorrows ofthe suffering student.
　　‘Nothing, my dear boy, nothing,’ said Ben. ‘You recollectArabella, Winkle? My sister Arabella―a little girl, Winkle, withblack eyes―when we were down at Wardle’s? I don’t knowwhether you happened to notice her―a nice little girl, Winkle.
　　Perhaps my features may recall her countenance to yourrecollection?’
　　Mr. Winkle required nothing to recall the charming Arabella tohis mind; and it was rather fortunate he did not, for the features ofher brother Benjamin would unquestionably have proved but anindifferent refresher to his memory. He answered, with as muchcalmness as he could assume, that he perfectly remembered theyoung lady referred to, and sincerely trusted she was in goodhealth.
　　‘Our friend Bob is a delightful fellow, Winkle,’ was the onlyreply of Mr. Ben Allen.
　　‘Very,’ said Mr. Winkle, not much relishing this closeconnection of the two names.
　　‘I designed ’em for each other; they were made for each other,sent into the world for each other, born for each other, Winkle,’
　　said Mr. Ben Allen, setting down his glass with emphasis. ‘There’sa special destiny in the matter, my dear sir; there’s only five years’
　　difference between ’em, and both their birthdays are in August.’
　　Mr. Winkle was too anxious to hear what was to follow toexpress much wonderment at this extraordinary coincidence,marvellous as it was; so Mr. Ben Allen, after a tear or two, went onto say that, notwithstanding all his esteem and respect andveneration for his friend, Arabella had unaccountably andundutifully evinced the most determined antipathy to his person.
　　‘And I think,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, in conclusion. ‘I think there’sa prior attachment.’
　　‘Have you any idea who the object of it might be?’ asked Mr.
　　Winkle, with great trepidation.
　　Mr. Ben Allen seized the poker, flourished it in a warlikemanner above his head, inflicted a savage blow on an imaginaryskull, and wound up by saying, in a very expressive manner, thathe only wished he could guess; that was all.
　　‘I’d show him what I thought of him,’ said Mr. Ben Allen. Andround went the poker again, more fiercely than before.
　　All this was, of course, very soothing to the feelings of Mr.
　　Winkle, who remained silent for a few minutes; but at lengthmustered up resolution to inquire whether Miss Allen was in Kent.
　　‘No, no,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, laying aside the poker, and lookingvery cunning; ‘I didn’t think Wardle’s exactly the place for aheadstrong girl; so, as I am her natural protector and guardian,our parents being dead, I have brought her down into this part ofthe country to spend a few months at an old aunt’s, in a nice, dull,close place. I think that will cure her, my boy. If it doesn’t, I’ll takeher abroad for a little while, and see what that’ll do.’
　　‘Oh, the aunt’s is in Bristol, is it?’ faltered Mr. Winkle.
　　‘No, no, not in Bristol,’ replied Mr. Ben Allen, jerking his thumbover his right shoulder; ‘over that way―down there. But, hush,here’s Bob. Not a word, my dear friend, not a word.’
　　Short as this conversation was, it roused in Mr. Winkle thehighest degree of excitement and anxiety. The suspected priorattachment rankled in his heart. Could he be the object of it?
　　Could it be for him that the fair Arabella had looked scornfully onthe sprightly Bob Sawyer, or had he a successful rival? Hedetermined to see her, cost what it might; but here aninsurmountable objection presented itself, for whether theexplanatory ‘over that way,’ and ‘down there,’ of Mr. Ben Allen,meant three miles off, or thirty, or three hundred, he could in nowise guess.
　　But he had no opportunity of pondering over his love just then,for Bob Sawyer’s return was the immediate precursor of thearrival of a meat-pie from the baker’s, of which that gentlemaninsisted on his staying to partake. The cloth was laid by anoccasional charwoman, who officiated in the capacity of Mr. BobSawyer’s housekeeper; and a third knife and fork having beenborrowed from the mother of the boy in the grey livery (for Mr.
　　Sawyer’s domestic arrangements were as yet conducted on alimited scale), they sat down to dinner; the beer being served up,as Mr. Sawyer remarked, ‘in its native pewter.’
　　After dinner, Mr. Bob Sawyer ordered in the largest mortar inthe shop, and proceeded to brew a reeking jorum of rum-punchtherein, stirring up and amalgamating the materials with a pestlein a very creditable and apothecary-like manner. Mr. Sawyer,being a bachelor, had only one tumbler in the house, which wasassigned to Mr. Winkle as a compliment to the visitor, Mr. BenAllen being accommodated with a funnel with a cork in thenarrow end, and Bob Sawyer contented himself with one of thosewide-lipped crystal vessels inscribed with a variety of cabalisticcharacters, in which chemists are wont to measure out their liquiddrugs in compounding prescriptions. These preliminariesadjusted, the punch was tasted, and pronounced excellent; and ithaving been arranged that Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen should beconsidered at liberty to fill twice to Mr. Winkle’s once, they startedfair, with great satisfaction and good-fellowship.
　　There was no singing, because Mr. Bob Sawyer said it wouldn’tlook professional; but to make amends for this deprivation therewas so much talking and laughing that it might have been heard,and very likely was, at the end of the street. Which conversationmaterially lightened the hours and improved the mind of Mr. BobSawyer’s boy, who, instead of devoting the evening to his ordinaryoccupation of writing his name on the counter, and rubbing it outagain, peeped through the glass door, and thus listened andlooked on at the same time.
　　The mirth of Mr. Bob Sawyer was rapidly ripening into thefurious, Mr. Ben Allen was fast relapsing into the sentimental, andthe punch had well-nigh disappeared altogether, when the boyhastily running in, announced that a young woman had just comeover, to say that Sawyer late Nockemorf was wanted directly, acouple of streets off. This broke up the party. Mr. Bob Sawyer,understanding the message, after some twenty repetitions, tied awet cloth round his head to sober himself, and, having partiallysucceeded, put on his green spectacles and issued forth. Resistingall entreaties to stay till he came back, and finding it quiteimpossible to engage Mr. Ben Allen in any intelligibleconversation on the subject nearest his heart, or indeed on anyother, Mr. Winkle took his departure, and returned to the Bush.
　　The anxiety of his mind, and the numerous meditations whichArabella had awakened, prevented his share of the mortar ofpunch producing that effect upon him which it would have hadunder other circumstances. So, after taking a glass of soda-waterand brandy at the bar, he turned into the coffee-room, dispiritedrather than elevated by the occurrences of the evening. Sitting infront of the fire, with his back towards him, was a tallishgentleman in a greatcoat: the only other occupant of the room. Itwas rather a cool evening for the season of the year, and thegentleman drew his chair aside to afford the new-comer a sight ofthe fire. What were Mr. Winkle’s feelings when, in doing so, hedisclosed to view the face and figure of the vindictive andsanguinary Dowler!
　　Mr. Winkle’s first impulse was to give a violent pull at thenearest bell-handle, but that unfortunately happened to beimmediately behind Mr. Dowler’s head. He had made one steptowards it, before he checked himself. As he did so, Mr. Dowlervery hastily drew back.
　　‘Mr. Winkle, sir. Be calm. Don’t strike me. I won’t bear it. Ablow! Never!’ said Mr. Dowler, looking meeker than Mr. Winklehad expected in a gentleman of his ferocity.
　　‘A blow, sir?’ stammered Mr. Winkle.
　　‘A blow, sir,’ replied Dowler. ‘Compose your feelings. Sit down.
　　Hear me.’
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Winkle, trembling from head to foot, ‘before Iconsent to sit down beside, or opposite you, without the presenceof a waiter, I must be secured by some further understanding. Youused a threat against me last night, sir, a dreadful threat, sir.’ HereMr. Winkle turned very pale indeed, and stopped short.
　　‘I did,’ said Dowler, with a countenance almost as white as Mr.
　　Winkle’s. ‘Circumstances were suspicious. They have beenexplained. I respect your bravery. Your feeling is upright.
　　Conscious innocence. There’s my hand. Grasp it.’
　　‘Really, sir,’ said Mr. Winkle, hesitating whether to give hishand or not, and almost fearing that it was demanded in order thathe might be taken at an advantage, ‘really, sir, I―’
　　‘I know what you mean,’ interposed Dowler. ‘You feelaggrieved. Very natural. So should I. I was wrong. I beg yourpardon. Be friendly. Forgive me.’ With this, Dowler fairly forcedhis hand upon Mr. Winkle, and shaking it with the utmostvehemence, declared he was a fellow of extreme spirit, and he hada higher opinion of him than ever.
　　‘Now,’ said Dowler, ‘sit down. Relate it all. How did you findme? When did you follow? Be frank. Tell me.’
　　‘It’s quite accidental,’ replied Mr. Winkle, greatly perplexed bythe curious and unexpected nature of the interview. ‘Quite.’
　　‘Glad of it,’ said Dowler. ‘I woke this morning. I had forgottenmy threat. I laughed at the accident. I felt friendly. I said so.’
　　‘To whom?’ inquired Mr. Winkle.
　　‘To Mrs. Dowler. “You made a vow,” said she. “I did,” said I. “Itwas a rash one,” said she. “It was,” said I. “I’ll apologise. Where ishe?”’
　　‘Who?’ inquired Mr. Winkle.
　　‘You,’ replied Dowler. ‘I went downstairs. You were not to befound. Pickwick looked gloomy. Shook his head. Hoped noviolence would be committed. I saw it all. You felt yourselfinsulted. You had gone, for a friend perhaps. Possibly for pistols.
　　“High spirit,” said I. “I admire him.”’
　　Mr. Winkle coughed, and beginning to see how the land lay,assumed a look of importance.
　　‘I left a note for you,’ resumed Dowler. ‘I said I was sorry. So Iwas. Pressing business called me here. You were not satisfied. Youfollowed. You required a verbal explanation. You were right. It’sall over now. My business is finished. I go back to-morrow. Joinme.’
　　As Dowler progressed in his explanation, Mr. Winkle’scountenance grew more and more dignified. The mysteriousnature of the commencement of their conversation was explained;Mr. Dowler had as great an objection to duelling as himself; inshort, this blustering and awful personage was one of the mostegregious cowards in existence, and interpreting Mr. Winkle’sabsence through the medium of his own fears, had taken the samestep as himself, and prudently retired until all excitement offeeling should have subsided.
　　As the real state of the case dawned upon Mr. Winkle’s mind,he looked very terrible, and said he was perfectly satisfied; but atthe same time, said so with an air that left Mr. Dowler noalternative but to infer that if he had not been, something mosthorrible and destructive must inevitably have occurred. Mr.
　　Dowler appeared to be impressed with a becoming sense of Mr.
　　Winkle’s magnanimity and condescension; and the twobelligerents parted for the night, with many protestations ofeternal friendship.
　　About half-past twelve o’clock, when Mr. Winkle had beenrevelling some twenty minutes in the full luxury of his first sleep,he was suddenly awakened by a loud knocking at his chamberdoor, which, being repeated with increased vehemence, causedhim to start up in bed, and inquire who was there, and what thematter was.
　　‘Please, sir, here’s a young man which says he must see youdirectly,’ responded the voice of the chambermaid.
　　‘A young man!’ exclaimed Mr. Winkle.
　　‘No mistake about that ’ere, sir,’ replied another voice throughthe keyhole; ‘and if that wery same interestin’ young creetur ain’tlet in vithout delay, it’s wery possible as his legs vill enter afore hiscountenance.’ The young man gave a gentle kick at one of thelower panels of the door, after he had given utterance to thishint, as if to add force and point to the remark.
　　‘Is that you, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Winkle, springing out of bed.
　　‘Quite unpossible to identify any gen’l’m’n vith any degree o’
　　mental satisfaction, vithout lookin’ at him, sir,’ replied the voicedogmatically.
　　Mr. Winkle, not much doubting who the young man was,unlocked the door; which he had no sooner done than Mr. SamuelWeller entered with great precipitation, and carefully relocking iton the inside, deliberately put the key in his waistcoat pocket; and,after surveying Mr. Winkle from head to foot, said―‘You’re a wery humorous young gen’l’m’n, you air, sir!’
　　‘What do you mean by this conduct, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Winkleindignantly. ‘Get out, sir, this instant. What do you mean, sir?’
　　‘What do I mean,’ retorted Sam; ‘come, sir, this is rayther toorich, as the young lady said when she remonstrated with thepastry-cook, arter he’d sold her a pork pie as had got nothin’ butfat inside. What do I mean! Well, that ain’t a bad ’un, that ain’t.’
　　‘Unlock that door, and leave this room immediately, sir,’ saidMr. Winkle.
　　‘I shall leave this here room, sir, just precisely at the wery samemoment as you leaves it,’ responded Sam, speaking in a forciblemanner, and seating himself with perfect gravity. ‘If I find itnecessary to carry you away, pick-a-back, o’ course I shall leave itthe least bit o’ time possible afore you; but allow me to express ahope as you won’t reduce me to extremities; in saying wich, Imerely quote wot the nobleman said to the fractious pennywinkle,ven he vouldn’t come out of his shell by means of a pin, and heconseqvently began to be afeered that he should be obliged tocrack him in the parlour door.’ At the end of this address, whichwas unusually lengthy for him, Mr. Weller planted his hands onhis knees, and looked full in Mr. Winkle’s face, with an expressionof countenance which showed that he had not the remotestintention of being trifled with.
　　‘You’re a amiably-disposed young man, sir, I don’t think,’
　　resumed Mr. Weller, in a tone of moral reproof, ‘to go inwolvingour precious governor in all sorts o’ fanteegs, wen he’s made uphis mind to go through everythink for principle. You’re far worsenor Dodson, sir; and as for Fogg, I consider him a born angel toyou!’ Mr. Weller having accompanied this last sentiment with anemphatic slap on each knee, folded his arms with a look of greatdisgust, and threw himself back in his chair, as if awaiting thecriminal’s defence.
　　‘My good fellow,’ said Mr. Winkle, extending his hand―histeeth chattering all the time he spoke, for he had been standing,during the whole of Mr. Weller’s lecture, in his night-gear―‘mygood fellow, I respect your attachment to my excellent friend, andI am very sorry indeed to have added to his causes for disquiet.
　　There, Sam, there!’
　　‘Well,’ said Sam, rather sulkily, but giving the proffered hand arespectful shake at the same time―‘well, so you ought to be, and Iam very glad to find you air; for, if I can help it, I won’t have himput upon by nobody, and that’s all about it.’
　　‘Certainly not, Sam,’ said Mr. Winkle. ‘There! Now go to bed,Sam, and we’ll talk further about this in the morning.’
　　‘I’m wery sorry,’ said Sam, ‘but I can’t go to bed.’
　　‘Not go to bed!’ repeated Mr. Winkle.
　　‘No,’ said Sam, shaking his head. ‘Can’t be done.’
　　‘You don’t mean to say you’re going back to-night, Sam?’ urgedMr. Winkle, greatly surprised.
　　‘Not unless you particklerly wish it,’ replied Sam; ‘but I mustn’tleave this here room. The governor’s orders wos peremptory.’
　　‘Nonsense, Sam,’ said Mr. Winkle, ‘I must stop here two orthree days; and more than that, Sam, you must stop here too, toassist me in gaining an interview with a young lady―Miss Allen,Sam; you remember her―whom I must and will see before I leaveBristol.’
　　But in reply to each of these positions, Sam shook his head withgreat firmness, and energetically replied, ‘It can’t be done.’
　　After a great deal of argument and representation on the part ofMr. Winkle, however, and a full disclosure of what had passed inthe interview with Dowler, Sam began to waver; and at length acompromise was effected, of which the following were the mainand principal conditions:―That Sam should retire, and leave Mr. Winkle in theundisturbed possession of his apartment, on the condition that hehad permission to lock the door on the outside, and carry off thekey; provided always, that in the event of an alarm of fire, or otherdangerous contingency, the door should be instantly unlocked.
　　That a letter should be written to Mr. Pickwick early nextmorning, and forwarded per Dowler, requesting his consent toSam and Mr. Winkle’s remaining at Bristol, for the purpose andwith the object already assigned, and begging an answer by thenext coach; if favourable, the aforesaid parties to remainaccordingly, and if not, to return to Bath immediately on thereceipt thereof. And, lastly, that Mr. Winkle should be understoodas distinctly pledging himself not to resort to the window,fireplace, or other surreptitious mode of escape in the meanwhile.
　　These stipulations having been concluded, Sam locked the doorand departed.
　　He had nearly got downstairs, when he stopped, and drew thekey from his pocket.
　　‘I quite forgot about the knockin’ down,’ said Sam, half turningback. ‘The governor distinctly said it was to be done. Amazin’
　　stupid o’ me, that ’ere! Never mind,’ said Sam, brightening up, ‘it’seasily done to-morrow, anyvays.’
　　Apparently much consoled by this reflection, Mr. Weller oncemore deposited the key in his pocket, and descending theremainder of the stairs without any fresh visitations of conscience,was soon, in common with the other inmates of the house, buriedin profound repose.
Chapter 39
Mr. SAMUEL WELLER, BEING INTRUSTEDWITH A MISSION OF LOVE, PROCEEDS TOEXECUTE IT; WITH WHAT SUCCESS WILLHEREINAFTER APPEARuring the whole of next day, Sam kept Mr. Winklesteadily in sight, fully determined not to take his eyes offhim for one instant, until he should receive expressinstructions from the fountain-head. However disagreeable Sam’svery close watch and great vigilance were to Mr. Winkle, hethought it better to bear with them, than, by any act of violentopposition, to hazard being carried away by force, which Mr.
　　Weller more than once strongly hinted was the line of conduct thata strict sense of duty prompted him to pursue. There is littlereason to doubt that Sam would very speedily have quieted hisscruples, by bearing Mr. Winkle back to Bath, bound hand andfoot, had not Mr. Pickwick’s prompt attention to the note, whichDowler had undertaken to deliver, forestalled any suchproceeding. In short, at eight o’clock in the evening, Mr. Pickwickhimself walked into the coffee-room of the Bush Tavern, and toldSam with a smile, to his very great relief, that he had done quiteright, and it was unnecessary for him to mount guard any longer.
　　‘I thought it better to come myself,’ said Mr. Pickwick,addressing Mr. Winkle, as Sam disencumbered him of his great-coat and travelling-shawl, ‘to ascertain, before I gave my consentto Sam’s employment in this matter, that you are quite in earnestand serious, with respect to this young lady.’
　　‘Serious, from my heart―from my soul!’ returned Mr. Winkle,with great energy.
　　‘Remember,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with beaming eyes, ‘we met herat our excellent and hospitable friend’s, Winkle. It would be an illreturn to tamper lightly, and without due consideration, with thisyoung lady’s affections. I’ll not allow that, sir. I’ll not allow it.’
　　‘I have no such intention, indeed,’ exclaimed Mr. Winklewarmly. ‘I have considered the matter well, for a long time, and Ifeel that my happiness is bound up in her.’
　　‘That’s wot we call tying it up in a small parcel, sir,’ interposedMr. Weller, with an agreeable smile.
　　Mr. Winkle looked somewhat stern at this interruption, and Mr.
　　Pickwick angrily requested his attendant not to jest with one ofthe best feelings of our nature; to which Sam replied, ‘That hewouldn’t, if he was aware on it; but there were so many on ’em,that he hardly know’d which was the best ones wen he heerd ’emmentioned.’
　　Mr. Winkle then recounted what had passed between himselfand Mr. Ben Allen, relative to Arabella; stated that his object wasto gain an interview with the young lady, and make a formaldisclosure of his passion; and declared his conviction, founded oncertain dark hints and mutterings of the aforesaid Ben, that,wherever she was at present immured, it was somewhere near theDowns. And this was his whole stock of knowledge or suspicion onthe subject.
　　With this very slight clue to guide him, it was determined thatMr. Weller should start next morning on an expedition ofdiscovery; it was also arranged that Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle,who were less confident of their powers, should parade the townmeanwhile, and accidentally drop in upon Mr. Bob Sawyer in thecourse of the day, in the hope of seeing or hearing something ofthe young lady’s whereabouts.
　　Accordingly, next morning, Sam Weller issued forth upon hisquest, in no way daunted by the very discouraging prospect beforehim; and away he walked, up one street and down another―wewere going to say, up one hill and down another, only it’s all uphillat Clifton―without meeting with anything or anybody that tendedto throw the faintest light on the matter in hand. Many were thecolloquies into which Sam entered with grooms who were airinghorses on roads, and nursemaids who were airing children inlanes; but nothing could Sam elicit from either the first-mentionedor the last, which bore the slightest reference to the object of hisartfully-prosecuted inquiries. There were a great many youngladies in a great many houses, the greater part whereof wereshrewdly suspected by the male and female domestics to be deeplyattached to somebody, or perfectly ready to become so, ifopportunity afforded. But as none among these young ladies wasMiss Arabella Allen, the information left Sam at exactly the oldpoint of wisdom at which he had stood before.
　　Sam struggled across the Downs against a good high wind,wondering whether it was always necessary to hold your hat onwith both hands in that part of the country, and came to a shadyby-place, about which were sprinkled several little villas of quietand secluded appearance. Outside a stable door at the bottom of along back lane without a thoroughfare, a groom in undress wasidling about, apparently persuading himself that he was doingsomething with a spade and a wheel-barrow. We may remark, inthis place, that we have scarcely ever seen a groom near a stable,in his lazy moments, who has not been, to a greater or less extent,the victim of this singular delusion.
　　Sam thought he might as well talk to this groom as to any oneelse, especially as he was very tired with walking, and there was agood large stone just opposite the wheel-barrow; so he strolleddown the lane, and, seating himself on the stone, opened aconversation with the ease and freedom for which he wasremarkable.
　　‘Mornin’, old friend,’ said Sam.
　　‘Arternoon, you mean,’ replied the groom, casting a surly lookat Sam.
　　‘You’re wery right, old friend,’ said Sam; ‘I do mean arternoon.
　　How are you?’
　　‘Why, I don’t find myself much the better for seeing of you,’
　　replied the ill-tempered groom.
　　‘That’s wery odd―that is,’ said Sam, ‘for you look souncommon cheerful, and seem altogether so lively, that it doesvun’s heart good to see you.’
　　The surly groom looked surlier still at this, but not sufficientlyso to produce any effect upon Sam, who immediately inquired,with a countenance of great anxiety, whether his master’s namewas not Walker.
　　‘No, it ain’t,’ said the groom.
　　‘Nor Brown, I s’pose?’ said Sam.
　　‘No, it ain’t.’
　　‘Nor Vilson?’
　　‘No; nor that either,’ said the groom.
　　‘Vell,’ replied Sam, ‘then I’m mistaken, and he hasn’t got thehonour o’ my acquaintance, which I thought he had. Don’t waithere out o’ compliment to me,’ said Sam, as the groom wheeled inthe barrow, and prepared to shut the gate. ‘Ease afore ceremony,old boy; I’ll excuse you.’
　　‘I’d knock your head off for half-a-crown,’ said the surly groom,bolting one half of the gate.
　　‘Couldn’t afford to have it done on those terms,’ rejoined Sam.
　　‘It ’ud be worth a life’s board wages at least, to you, and ’ud becheap at that. Make my compliments indoors. Tell ’em not to vaitdinner for me, and say they needn’t mind puttin’ any by, for it’ll becold afore I come in.’
　　In reply to this, the groom waxing very wroth, muttered adesire to damage somebody’s person; but disappeared withoutcarrying it into execution, slamming the door angrily after him,and wholly unheeding Sam’s affectionate request, that he wouldleave him a lock of his hair before he went.
　　Sam continued to sit on the large stone, meditating upon whatwas best to be done, and revolving in his mind a plan for knockingat all the doors within five miles of Bristol, taking them at ahundred and fifty or two hundred a day, and endeavouring to findMiss Arabella by that expedient, when accident all of a suddenthrew in his way what he might have sat there for a twelvemonthand yet not found without it.
　　Into the lane where he sat, there opened three or four gardengates, belonging to as many houses, which though detached fromeach other, were only separated by their gardens. As these werelarge and long, and well planted with trees, the houses were notonly at some distance off, but the greater part of them were nearlyconcealed from view. Sam was sitting with his eyes fixed upon thedust-heap outside the next gate to that by which the groom haddisappeared, profoundly turning over in his mind the difficulties ofhis present undertaking, when the gate opened, and a femaleservant came out into the lane to shake some bedside carpets.
　　Sam was so very busy with his own thoughts, that it is probablehe would have taken no more notice of the young woman than justraising his head and remarking that she had a very neat and prettyfigure, if his feelings of gallantry had not been most stronglyroused by observing that she had no one to help her, and that thecarpets seemed too heavy for her single strength. Mr. Weller was agentleman of great gallantry in his own way, and he no soonerremarked this circumstance than he hastily rose from the largestone, and advanced towards her.
　　‘My dear,’ said Sam, sliding up with an air of great respect,‘you’ll spile that wery pretty figure out o’ all perportion if youshake them carpets by yourself. Let me help you.’
　　The young lady, who had been coyly affecting not to know thata gentleman was so near, turned round as Sam spoke―no doubt(indeed she said so, afterwards) to decline this offer from a perfectstranger―when instead of speaking, she started back, and uttereda half-suppressed scream. Sam was scarcely less staggered, for inthe countenance of the well-shaped female servant, he beheld thevery features of his valentine, the pretty housemaid from Mr.
　　Nupkins’s.
　　‘Wy, Mary, my dear!’ said Sam.
　　‘Lauk, Mr. Weller,’ said Mary, ‘how you do frighten one!’
　　Sam made no verbal answer to this complaint, nor can weprecisely say what reply he did make. We merely know that after ashort pause Mary said, ‘Lor, do adun, Mr. Weller!’ and that his hathad fallen off a few moments before―from both of which tokenswe should be disposed to infer that one kiss, or more, had passedbetween the parties.
　　‘Why, how did you come here?’ said Mary, when theconversation to which this interruption had been offered, wasresumed.
　　‘O’ course I came to look arter you, my darlin’,’ replied Mr.
　　Weller; for once permitting his passion to get the better of hisveracity.
　　‘And how did you know I was here?’ inquired Mary. ‘Who couldhave told you that I took another service at Ipswich, and that theyafterwards moved all the way here? Who could have told you that,Mr. Weller?’
　　‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Sam, with a cunning look, ‘that’s the pint.
　　Who could ha’ told me?’
　　‘It wasn’t Mr. Muzzle, was it?’ inquired Mary.
　　‘Oh, no.’ replied Sam, with a solemn shake of the head, ‘itwarn’t him.’
　　‘It must have been the cook,’ said Mary.
　　‘O’ course it must,’ said Sam.
　　‘Well, I never heard the like of that!’ exclaimed Mary.
　　‘No more did I,’ said Sam. ‘But Mary, my dear’―here Sam’smanner grew extremely affectionate―‘Mary, my dear, I’ve gotanother affair in hand as is wery pressin’. There’s one o’ mygovernor’s friends―Mr. Winkle, you remember him?’
　　‘Him in the green coat?’ said Mary. ‘Oh, yes, I remember him.’
　　‘Well,’ said Sam, ‘he’s in a horrid state o’ love; reg’larlycomfoozled, and done over vith it.’
　　‘Lor!’ interposed Mary. ‘Yes,’ said Sam; ‘but that’s nothin’ if we could find out theyoung ‘ooman;’ and here Sam, with many digressions upon thepersonal beauty of Mary, and the unspeakable tortures he hadexperienced since he last saw her, gave a faithful account of Mr.
　　Winkle’s present predicament.
　　‘Well,’ said Mary, ‘I never did!’
　　‘O’ course not,’ said Sam, ‘and nobody never did, nor never villneither; and here am I a-walkin’ about like the wandering Jew―asportin’ character you have perhaps heerd on Mary, my dear, asvos alvays doin’ a match agin’ time, and never vent to sleep―looking arter this here Miss Arabella Allen.’
　　‘Miss who?’ said Mary, in great astonishment.
　　‘Miss Arabella Allen,’ said Sam.
　　‘Goodness gracious!’ said Mary, pointing to the garden doorwhich the sulky groom had locked after him. ‘Why, it’s that veryhouse; she’s been living there these six weeks. Their upper house-maid, which is lady’s-maid too, told me all about it over the wash-house palin’s before the family was out of bed, one mornin’.’
　　‘Wot, the wery next door to you?’ said Sam.
　　‘The very next,’ replied Mary.
　　Mr. Weller was so deeply overcome on receiving thisintelligence that he found it absolutely necessary to cling to his fairinformant for support; and divers little love passages had passedbetween them, before he was sufficiently collected to return to thesubject.
　　‘Vell,’ said Sam at length, ‘if this don’t beat cock-fightin’ nothin’
　　never vill, as the lord mayor said, ven the chief secretary o’ stateproposed his missis’s health arter dinner. That wery next house!
　　Wy, I’ve got a message to her as I’ve been a-trying all day todeliver.’
　　‘Ah,’ said Mary, ‘but you can’t deliver it now, because she onlywalks in the garden in the evening, and then only for a very littletime; she never goes out, without the old lady.’
　　Sam ruminated for a few moments, and finally hit upon thefollowing plan of operations; that he should return just at dusk―the time at which Arabella invariably took her walk―and, beingadmitted by Mary into the garden of the house to which shebelonged, would contrive to scramble up the wall, beneath theoverhanging boughs of a large pear-tree, which would effectuallyscreen him from observation; would there deliver his message,and arrange, if possible, an interview on behalf of Mr. Winkle forthe ensuing evening at the same hour. Having made thisarrangement with great despatch, he assisted Mary in the long-deferred occupation of shaking the carpets.
　　It is not half as innocent a thing as it looks, that shaking littlepieces of carpet―at least, there may be no great harm in theshaking, but the folding is a very insidious process. So long as theshaking lasts, and the two parties are kept the carpet’s lengthapart, it is as innocent an amusement as can well be devised; butwhen the folding begins, and the distance between them getsgradually lessened from one half its former length to a quarter,and then to an eighth, and then to a sixteenth, and then to a thirty-second, if the carpet be long enough, it becomes dangerous. We donot know, to a nicety, how many pieces of carpet were folded inthis instance, but we can venture to state that as many pieces asthere were, so many times did Sam kiss the pretty housemaid.
　　Mr. Weller regaled himself with moderation at the nearesttavern until it was nearly dusk, and then returned to the lanewithout the thoroughfare. Having been admitted into the gardenby Mary, and having received from that lady sundry admonitionsconcerning the safety of his limbs and neck, Sam mounted into thepear-tree, to wait until Arabella should come into sight.
　　He waited so long without this anxiously-expected eventoccurring, that he began to think it was not going to take place atall, when he heard light footsteps upon the gravel, andimmediately afterwards beheld Arabella walking pensively downthe garden. As soon as she came nearly below the tree, Sambegan, by way of gently indicating his presence, to make sundrydiabolical noises similar to those which would probably be naturalto a person of middle age who had been afflicted with acombination of inflammatory sore throat, croup, and whooping-cough, from his earliest infancy.
　　Upon this, the young lady cast a hurried glance towards thespot whence the dreadful sounds proceeded; and her previousalarm being not at all diminished when she saw a man among thebranches, she would most certainly have decamped, and alarmedthe house, had not fear fortunately deprived her of the power ofmoving, and caused her to sink down on a garden seat, whichhappened by good luck to be near at hand.
　　‘She’s a-goin’ off,’ soliloquised Sam in great perplexity. ‘Wot athing it is, as these here young creeturs will go a-faintin’ avay justven they oughtn’t to. Here, young ’ooman, Miss Sawbones, Mrs.
　　Vinkle, don’t!’
　　Whether it was the magic of Mr. Winkle’s name, or the coolnessof the open air, or some recollection of Mr. Weller’s voice, thatrevived Arabella, matters not. She raised her head and languidlyinquired, ‘Who’s that, and what do you want?’
　　‘Hush,’ said Sam, swinging himself on to the wall, andcrouching there in as small a compass as he could reduce himselfto, ‘only me, miss, only me.’
　　‘Mr. Pickwick’s servant!’ said Arabella earnestly.
　　‘The wery same, miss,’ replied Sam. ‘Here’s Mr. Vinkle reg’larlysewed up vith desperation, miss.’
　　‘Ah!’ said Arabella, drawing nearer the wall.
　　‘Ah, indeed,’ said Sam. ‘Ve thought ve should ha’ been obligedto strait-veskit him last night; he’s been a-ravin’ all day; and hesays if he can’t see you afore to-morrow night’s over, he vishes hemay be somethin’ unpleasanted if he don’t drownd hisself.’
　　‘Oh, no, no, Mr. Weller!’ said Arabella, clasping her hands.
　　‘That’s wot he says, miss,’ replied Sam coolly. ‘He’s a man of hisword, and it’s my opinion he’ll do it, miss. He’s heerd all about youfrom the sawbones in barnacles.’
　　‘From my brother!’ said Arabella, having some faint recognitionof Sam’s description.
　　‘I don’t rightly know which is your brother, miss,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Is it the dirtiest vun o’ the two?’
　　‘Yes, yes, Mr. Weller,’ returned Arabella, ‘go on. Make haste,pray.’
　　‘Well, miss,’ said Sam, ‘he’s heerd all about it from him; and it’sthe gov’nor’s o pinion that if you don’t see him wery quick, thesawbones as we’ve been a-speakin’ on, ’ull get as much extra leadin his head as’ll rayther damage the dewelopment o’ the orgins ifthey ever put it in spirits artervards.’
　　‘Oh, what can I do to prevent these dreadful quarrels!’
　　exclaimed Arabella.
　　‘It’s the suspicion of a priory ’tachment as is the cause of it all,’
　　replied Sam. ‘You’d better see him, miss.’
　　‘But how?―where?’ cried Arabella. ‘I dare not leave the housealone. My brother is so unkind, so unreasonable! I know howstrange my talking thus to you may appear, Mr. Weller, but I amvery, very unhappy―‘ and here poor Arabella wept so bitterly thatSam grew chivalrous.
　　‘It may seem wery strange talkin’ to me about these here affairs,miss,’ said Sam, with great vehemence; ‘but all I can say is, thatI’m not only ready but villin’ to do anythin’ as’ll make mattersagreeable; and if chuckin’ either o’ them sawboneses out o’ winder’ull do it, I’m the man.’ As Sam Weller said this, he tucked up hiswristbands, at the imminent hazard of falling off the wall in sodoing, to intimate his readiness to set to work immediately.
　　Flattering as these professions of good feeling were, Arabellaresolutely declined (most unaccountably, as Sam thought) to availherself of them. For some time she strenuously refused to grantMr. Winkle the interview Sam had so pathetically requested; butat length, when the conversation threatened to be interrupted bythe unwelcome arrival of a third party, she hurriedly gave him tounderstand, with many professions of gratitude, that it was barelypossible she might be in the garden an hour later, next evening.
　　Sam understood this perfectly well; and Arabella, bestowing uponhim one of her sweetest smiles, tripped gracefully away, leavingMr. Weller in a state of very great admiration of her charms, bothpersonal and mental.
　　Having descended in safety from the wall, and not forgotten todevote a few moments to his own particular business in the samedepartment, Mr. Weller then made the best of his way back to theBush, where his prolonged absence had occasioned muchspeculation and some alarm.
　　‘We must be careful,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after listeningattentively to Sam’s tale, ‘not for our sakes, but for that of theyoung lady. We must be very cautious.’
　　‘We!’ said Mr. Winkle, with marked emphasis.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s momentary look of indignation at the tone ofthis remark, subsided into his characteristic expression ofbenevolence, as he replied―‘We, sir! I shall accompany you.’
　　‘You!’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘I,’ replied Mr. Pickwick mildly. ‘In affording you this interview,the young lady has taken a natural, perhaps, but still a veryimprudent step. If I am present at the meeting―a mutual friend,who is old enough to be the father of both parties―the voice ofcalumny can never be raised against her hereafter.’
　　Mr. Pickwick’s eyes lightened with honest exultation at his ownforesight, as he spoke thus. Mr. Winkle was touched by this littletrait of his delicate respect for the young protégée of his friend, andtook his hand with a feeling of regard, akin to veneration.
　　‘You shall go,’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘I will,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Sam, have my greatcoat and shawlready, and order a conveyance to be at the door to-morrowevening, rather earlier than is absolutely necessary, in order thatwe may be in good time.’
　　Mr. Weller touched his hat, as an earnest of his obedience, andwithdrew to make all needful preparations for the expedition.
　　The coach was punctual to the time appointed; and Mr. Weller,after duly installing Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle inside, took hisseat on the box by the driver. They alighted, as had been agreedon, about a quarter of a mile from the place of rendezvous, anddesiring the coachman to await their return, proceeded theremaining distance on foot.
　　It was at this stage of the undertaking that Mr. Pickwick, withmany smiles and various other indications of great self-satisfaction, produced from one of his coat pockets a dark lantern,with which he had specially provided himself for the occasion, andthe great mechanical beauty of which he proceeded to explain toMr. Winkle, as they walked along, to the no small surprise of thefew stragglers they met.
　　‘I should have been the better for something of this kind, in mylast garden expedition, at night; eh, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick,looking good-humouredly round at his follower, who was trudgingbehind.
　　‘Wery nice things, if they’re managed properly, sir,’ replied Mr.
　　Weller; ‘but wen you don’t want to be seen, I think they’re moreuseful arter the candle’s gone out, than wen it’s alight.’
　　Mr. Pickwick appeared struck by Sam’s remarks, for he put thelantern into his pocket again, and they walked on in silence.
　　‘Down here, sir,’ said Sam. ‘Let me lead the way. This is thelane, sir.’
　　Down the lane they went, and dark enough it was. Mr. Pickwickbrought out the lantern, once or twice, as they groped their wayalong, and threw a very brilliant little tunnel of light before them,about a foot in diameter. It was very pretty to look at, but seemedto have the effect of rendering surrounding objects rather darkerthan before.
　　At length they arrived at the large stone. Here Samrecommended his master and Mr. Winkle to seat themselves,while he reconnoitred, and ascertained whether Mary was yet inwaiting.
　　After an absence of five or ten minutes, Sam returned to saythat the gate was opened, and all quiet. Following him withstealthy tread, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle soon foundthemselves in the garden. Here everybody said, ‘Hush!’ a goodmany times; and that being done, no one seemed to have any verydistinct apprehension of what was to be done next.
　　‘Is Miss Allen in the garden yet, Mary?’ inquired Mr. Winkle,much agitated.
　　‘I don’t know, sir,’ replied the pretty housemaid. ‘The best thingto be done, sir, will be for Mr. Weller to give you a hoist up into thetree, and perhaps Mr. Pickwick will have the goodness to see thatnobody comes up the lane, while I watch at the other end of thegarden. Goodness gracious, what’s that?’
　　‘That ’ere blessed lantern ’ull be the death on us all,’ exclaimedSam peevishly. ‘Take care wot you’re a-doin’ on, sir; you’re a-sendin’ a blaze o’ light, right into the back parlour winder.’
　　‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Pickwick, turning hastily aside, ‘I didn’tmean to do that.’
　　‘Now, it’s in the next house, sir,’ remonstrated Sam.
　　‘Bless my heart!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning round again.
　　‘Now, it’s in the stable, and they’ll think the place is afire,’ saidSam. ‘Shut it up, sir, can’t you?’
　　‘It’s the most extraordinary lantern I ever met with, in all mylife!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, greatly bewildered by the effects hehad so unintentionally produced. ‘I never saw such a powerfulreflector.’
　　‘It’ll be vun too powerful for us, if you keep blazin’ avay in thatmanner, sir,’ replied Sam, as Mr. Pickwick, after variousunsuccessful efforts, managed to close the slide. ‘There’s theyoung lady’s footsteps. Now, Mr. Winkle, sir, up vith you.’
　　‘Stop, stop!’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I must speak to her first. Helpme up, Sam.’
　　‘Gently, sir,’ said Sam, planting his head against the wall, andmaking a platform of his back. ‘Step atop o’ that ’ere flower-pot,sir. Now then, up vith you.’
　　‘I’m afraid I shall hurt you, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Never mind me, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘Lend him a hand, Mr.
　　Winkle. sir. Steady, sir, steady! That’s the time o’ day!’
　　As Sam spoke, Mr. Pickwick, by exertions almost supernaturalin a gentleman of his years and weight, contrived to get uponSam’s back; and Sam gently raising himself up, and Mr. Pickwickholding on fast by the top of the wall, while Mr. Winkle claspedhim tight by the legs, they contrived by these means to bring hisspectacles just above the level of the coping.
　　‘My dear,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking over the wall, andcatching sight of Arabella, on the other side, ‘don’t be frightened,my dear, it’s only me.’
　　‘Oh, pray go away, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Arabella. ‘Tell them all togo away. I am so dreadfully frightened. Dear, dear Mr. Pickwick,don’t stop there. You’ll fall down and kill yourself, I know you will.’
　　‘Now, pray don’t alarm yourself, my dear,’ said Mr. Pickwicksoothingly. ‘There is not the least cause for fear, I assure you.
　　Stand firm, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking down.
　　‘All right, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Don’t be longer than you canconweniently help, sir. You’re rayther heavy.’
　　‘Only another moment, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I merely wished you to know, my dear, that I should not haveallowed my young friend to see you in this clandestine way, if thesituation in which you are placed had left him any alternative;and, lest the impropriety of this step should cause you anyuneasiness, my love, it may be a satisfaction to you, to know that Iam present. That’s all, my dear.’
　　‘Indeed, Mr. Pickwick, I am very much obliged to you for yourkindness and consideration,’ replied Arabella, drying her tearswith her handkerchief. She would probably have said much more,had not Mr. Pickwick’s head disappeared with great swiftness, inconsequence of a false step on Sam’s shoulder which brought himsuddenly to the ground. He was up again in an instant however;and bidding Mr. Winkle make haste and get the interview over,ran out into the lane to keep watch, with all the courage andardour of youth. Mr. Winkle himself, inspired by the occasion, wason the wall in a moment, merely pausing to request Sam to becareful of his master.
　　‘I’ll take care on him, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘Leave him to me.’
　　‘Where is he? What’s he doing, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Bless his old gaiters,’ rejoined Sam, looking out at the gardendoor. ‘He’s a-keepin’ guard in the lane vith that ’ere dark lantern,like a amiable Guy Fawkes! I never see such a fine creetur in mydays. Blessed if I don’t think his heart must ha’ been born five-and-twenty year arter his body, at least!’
　　Mr. Winkle stayed not to hear the encomium upon his friend.
　　He had dropped from the wall; thrown himself at Arabella’s feet;and by this time was pleading the sincerity of his passion with aneloquence worthy even of Mr. Pickwick himself.
　　While these things were going on in the open air, an elderlygentleman of scientific attainments was seated in his library, twoor three houses off, writing a philosophical treatise, and ever andanon moistening his clay and his labours with a glass of claretfrom a venerable-looking bottle which stood by his side. In theagonies of composition, the elderly gentleman looked sometimesat the carpet, sometimes at the ceiling, and sometimes at the wall;and when neither carpet, ceiling, nor wall afforded the requisitedegree of inspiration, he looked out of the window.
　　In one of these pauses of invention, the scientific gentlemanwas gazing abstractedly on the thick darkness outside, when hewas very much surprised by observing a most brilliant light glidethrough the air, at a short distance above the ground, and almostinstantaneously vanish. After a short time the phenomenon wasrepeated, not once or twice, but several times; at last the scientificgentleman, laying down his pen, began to consider to what naturalcauses these appearances were to be assigned.
　　They were not meteors; they were too low. They were not glow-worms; they were too high. They were not will-o’-the-wisps; theywere not fireflies; they were not fireworks. What could they be?
　　Some extraordinary and wonderful phenomenon of nature, whichno philosopher had ever seen before; something which it had beenreserved for him alone to discover, and which he shouldimmortalise his name by chronicling for the benefit of posterity.
　　Full of this idea, the scientific gentleman seized his pen again, andcommitted to paper sundry notes of these unparalleledappearances, with the date, day, hour, minute, and precise secondat which they were visible: all of which were to form the data of avoluminous treatise of great research and deep learning, whichshould astonish all the atmospherical wiseacres that ever drewbreath in any part of the civilised globe.
　　He threw himself back in his easy-chair, wrapped incontemplations of his future greatness. The mysterious lightappeared more brilliantly than before, dancing, to all appearance,up and down the lane, crossing from side to side, and moving in anorbit as eccentric as comets themselves.
　　The scientific gentleman was a bachelor. He had no wife to callin and astonish, so he rang the bell for his servant.
　　‘Pruffle,’ said the scientific gentleman, ‘there is something veryextraordinary in the air to-night? Did you see that?’ said thescientific gentleman, pointing out of the window, as the light againbecame visible.
　　‘Yes, I did, sir.’
　　‘What do you think of it, Pruffle?’
　　‘Think of it, sir?’
　　‘Yes. You have been bred up in this country. What should yousay was the cause for those lights, now?’
　　The scientific gentleman smilingly anticipated Pruffle’s replythat he could assign no cause for them at all. Pruffle meditated.
　　‘I should say it was thieves, sir,’ said Pruffle at length.
　　‘You’re a fool, and may go downstairs,’ said the scientificgentleman.
　　‘Thank you, sir,’ said Pruffle. And down he went.
　　But the scientific gentleman could not rest under the idea of theingenious treatise he had projected being lost to the world, whichmust inevitably be the case if the speculation of the ingenious Mr.
　　Pruffle were not stifled in its birth. He put on his hat and walkedquickly down the garden, determined to investigate the matter toNow, shortly before the scientific gentleman walked out intothe garden, Mr. Pickwick had run down the lane as fast as hecould, to convey a false alarm that somebody was coming that way;occasionally drawing back the slide of the dark lantern to keephimself from the ditch. The alarm was no sooner given, than Mr.
　　Winkle scrambled back over the wall, and Arabella ran into thehouse; the garden gate was shut, and the three adventurers weremaking the best of their way down the lane, when they werestartled by the scientific gentleman unlocking his garden gate.
　　‘Hold hard,’ whispered Sam, who was, of course, the first of theparty. ‘Show a light for just vun second, sir.’
　　Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired, and Sam, seeing a man’shead peeping out very cautiously within half a yard of his own,gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist, which knocked it, with ahollow sound, against the gate. Having performed this feat withgreat suddenness and dexterity, Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwickup on his back, and followed Mr. Winkle down the lane at a pacewhich, considering the burden he carried, was perfectlyastonishing.
　　‘Have you got your vind back agin, sir,’ inquired Sam, whenthey had reached the end.
　　‘Quite. Quite, now,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Then come along, sir,’ said Sam, setting his master on his feetagain. ‘Come betveen us, sir. Not half a mile to run. Think you’revinnin’ a cup, sir. Now for it.’
　　Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of hislegs. It may be confidently stated that a pair of black gaiters nevergot over the ground in better style than did those of Mr. Pickwickon this memorable occasion.
　　The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads weregood, and the driver was willing. The whole party arrived in safetyat the Bush before Mr. Pickwick had recovered his breath.
　　‘In with you at once, sir,’ said Sam, as he helped his master out.
　　‘Don’t stop a second in the street, arter that ’ere exercise. Beg yourpardon, sir,’ continued Sam, touching his hat as Mr. Winkledescended, ‘hope there warn’t a priory ’tachment, sir?’
　　Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand, andwhispered in his ear, ‘It’s all right, Sam; quite right.’ Upon whichMr. Weller struck three distinct blows upon his nose in token ofintelligence, smiled, winked, and proceeded to put the steps up,with a countenance expressive of lively satisfaction.
　　As to the scientific gentleman, he demonstrated, in a masterlytreatise, that these wonderful lights were the effect of electricity;and clearly proved the same by detailing how a flash of fire dancedbefore his eyes when he put his head out of the gate, and how hereceived a shock which stunned him for a quarter of an hourafterwards; which demonstration delighted all the scientificassociations beyond measure, and caused him to be considered alight of science ever afterwards.
Chapter 40
INTRODUCES Mr. PICKWICK TO A NEW ANDNOT UNINTERESTING SCENE INTHE GREAT DRAMA OF LIFEhe remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick hadassigned as the duration of the stay at Bath passed overwithout the occurrence of anything material. Trinity termcommenced. On the expiration of its first week, Mr. Pickwick andhis friends returned to London; and the former gentleman,attended of course by Sam, straightway repaired to his oldquarters at the George and Vulture.
　　On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks inthe city were striking nine individually, and somewhere aboutnine hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the airin George Yard, when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle droveup, out of which there jumped with great agility, throwing thereins to a stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort ofgentleman, who seemed made for the vehicle, and the vehicle forhim.
　　The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. Itwas not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it ataxed cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and yet ithad something of the character of each and every of thesemachines. It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts andwheels picked out in black; and the driver sat in the orthodoxsporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail. Thehorse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough; but withsomething of a flash and dog-fighting air about him, nevertheless,which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.
　　The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair,and carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularlygorgeous manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him―all about three sizes larger than those which are usually worn bygentlemen―and a rough greatcoat to crown the whole. Into onepocket of this greatcoat, he thrust his left hand the moment hedismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his right, avery bright and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he whiskeda speck or two of dust from his boots, and then, crumpling it in hishand, swaggered up the court.
　　It had not escaped Sam’s attention that, when this persondismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shorn ofdivers buttons, who had been previously slinking about, on theopposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationaryclose by. Having something more than a suspicion of the object ofthe gentleman’s visit, Sam preceded him to the George andVulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the Centreof the doorway.
　　‘Now, my fine fellow!’ said the man in the rough coat, in animperious tone, attempting at the same time to push his way past.
　　‘Now, sir, wot’s the matter?’ replied Sam, returning the pushwith compound interest.
　　‘Come, none of this, my man; this won’t do with me,’ said theowner of the rough coat, raising his voice, and turning white.
　　‘Here, Smouch!’
　　‘Well, wot’s amiss here?’ growled the man in the brown coat,who had been gradually sneaking up the court during this shortdialogue.
　　‘Only some insolence of this young man’s,’ said the principal,giving Sam another push.
　　‘Come, none o’ this gammon,’ growled Smouch, giving himanother, and a harder one.
　　This last push had the effect which it was intended by theexperienced Mr. Smouch to produce; for while Sam, anxious toreturn the compliment, was grinding that gentleman’s bodyagainst the door-post, the principal crept past, and made his wayto the bar, whither Sam, after bandying a few epithetical remarkswith Mr. Smouch, followed at once.
　　‘Good-morning, my dear,’ said the principal, addressing theyoung lady at the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New SouthWales gentility; ‘which is Mr. Pickwick’s room, my dear?’
　　‘Show him up,’ said the barmaid to a waiter, without deigninganother look at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry.
　　The waiter led the way upstairs as he was desired, and the manin the rough coat followed, with Sam behind him, who, in hisprogress up the staircase, indulged in sundry gestures indicativeof supreme contempt and defiance, to the unspeakablegratification of the servants and other lookers-on. Mr. Smouch,who was troubled with a hoarse cough, remained below, andexpectorated in the passage.
　　Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed, when his early visitor,followed by Sam, entered the room. The noise they made, in sodoing, awoke him.
　　‘Shaving-water, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, from within thecurtains.
　　‘Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick,’ said the visitor, drawing oneof them back from the bed’s head. ‘I’ve got an execution againstyou, at the suit of Bardell.―Here’s the warrant.―CommonPleas.―Here’s my card. I suppose you’ll come over to my house.’
　　Giving Mr. Pickwick a friendly tap on the shoulder, the sheriff’sofficer (for such he was) threw his card on the counterpane, andpulled a gold toothpick from his waistcoat pocket.
　　‘Namby’s the name,’ said the sheriff’s deputy, as Mr. Pickwicktook his spectacles from under the pillow, and put them on, toread the card. ‘Namby, Bell Alley, Coleman Street.’
　　At this point, Sam Weller, who had had his eyes fixed hithertoon Mr. Namby’s shining beaver, interfered.
　　‘Are you a Quaker?’ said Sam.
　　‘I’ll let you know I am, before I’ve done with you,’ replied theindignant officer. ‘I’ll teach you manners, my fine fellow, one ofthese fine mornings.’
　　‘Thank’ee,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll do the same to you. Take your hat off.’
　　With this, Mr. Weller, in the most dexterous manner, knocked Mr.
　　Namby’s hat to the other side of the room, with such violence, thathe had very nearly caused him to swallow the gold toothpick intothe bargain.
　　‘Observe this, Mr. Pickwick,’ said the disconcerted officer,gasping for breath. ‘I’ve been assaulted in the execution of mydooty by your servant in your chamber. I’m in bodily fear. I callyou to witness this.’
　　‘Don’t witness nothin’, sir,’ interposed Sam. ‘Shut your eyes uptight, sir. I’d pitch him out o’ winder, only he couldn’t fall farenough, ‘cause o’ the leads outside.’
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, in an angry voice, as his attendantmade various demonstrations of hostilities, ‘if you say anotherword, or offer the slightest interference with this person, Idischarge you that instant.’
　　‘But, sir!’ said Sam.
　　‘Hold your tongue,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick. ‘Take that hat upagain.’
　　But this Sam flatly and positively refused to do; and, after hehad been severely reprimanded by his master, the officer, being ina hurry, condescended to pick it up himself, venting a greatvariety of threats against Sam meanwhile, which that gentlemanreceived with perfect composure, merely observing that if Mr.
　　Namby would have the goodness to put his hat on again, he wouldknock it into the latter end of next week. Mr. Namby, perhapsthinking that such a process might be productive of inconvenienceto himself, declined to offer the temptation, and, soon after, calledup Smouch. Having informed him that the capture was made, andthat he was to wait for the prisoner until he should have finisheddressing, Namby then swaggered out, and drove away. Smouch,requesting Mr. Pickwick in a surly manner ‘to be as alive as hecould, for it was a busy time,’ drew up a chair by the door and satthere, until he had finished dressing. Sam was then despatched fora hackney-coach, and in it the triumvirate proceeded to ColemanStreet. It was fortunate the distance was short; for Mr. Smouch,besides possessing no very enchanting conversational powers, wasrendered a decidedly unpleasant companion in a limited space, bythe physical weakness to which we have elsewhere adverted.
　　The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street,stopped before a house with iron bars to all the windows; the door-posts of which were graced by the name and title of ‘Namby,Officer to the Sheriffs of London’; the inner gate having beenopened by a gentleman who might have passed for a neglectedtwin-brother of Mr. Smouch, and who was endowed with a largekey for the purpose, Mr. Pickwick was shown into the ‘coffee-room.’
　　This coffee-room was a front parlour, the principal features ofwhich were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke. Mr. Pickwickbowed to the three persons who were seated in it when heentered; and having despatched Sam for Perker, withdrew into anobscure corner, and looked thence with some curiosity upon hisnew companions.
　　One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who, thoughit was yet barely ten o’clock, was drinking gin-and-water, andsmoking a cigar―amusements to which, judging from his inflamedcountenance, he had devoted himself pretty constantly for the lastyear or two of his life. Opposite him, engaged in stirring the firewith the toe of his right boot, was a coarse, vulgar young man ofabout thirty, with a sallow face and harsh voice; evidentlypossessed of that knowledge of the world, and captivating freedomof manner, which is to be acquired in public-house parlours, andat low billiard tables. The third tenant of the apartment was amiddle-aged man in a very old suit of black, who looked pale andhaggard, and paced up and down the room incessantly; stopping,now and then, to look with great anxiety out of the window as if heexpected somebody, and then resuming his walk.
　　‘You’d better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr.
　　Ayresleigh,’ said the man who was stirring the fire, tipping thewink to his friend the boy.
　　‘Thank you, no, I shan’t want it; I expect I shall be out, in thecourse of an hour or so,’ replied the other in a hurried manner.
　　Then, walking again up to the window, and once more returningdisappointed, he sighed deeply, and left the room; upon which theother two burst into a loud laugh.
　　‘Well, I never saw such a game as that,’ said the gentleman whohad offered the razor, whose name appeared to be Price. ‘Never!’
　　Mr. Price confirmed the assertion with an oath, and then laughedagain, when of course the boy (who thought his companion one ofthe most dashing fellows alive) laughed also.
　　‘You’d hardly think, would you now,’ said Price, turningtowards Mr. Pickwick, ‘that that chap’s been here a weekyesterday, and never once shaved himself yet, because he feels socertain he’s going out in half an hour’s time, thinks he may as wellput it off till he gets home?’
　　‘Poor man!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Are his chances of getting out ofhis difficulties really so great?’
　　‘Chances be d―d,’ replied Price; ‘he hasn’t half the ghost ofone. I wouldn’t give that for his chance of walking about the streetsthis time ten years.’ With this, Mr. Price snapped his fingerscontemptuously, and rang the bell.
　　‘Give me a sheet of paper, Crookey,’ said Mr. Price to theattendant, who in dress and general appearance looked somethingbetween a bankrupt glazier, and a drover in a state of insolvency;‘and a glass of brandy-and-water, Crookey, d’ye hear? I’m going towrite to my father, and I must have a stimulant, or I shan’t be ableto pitch it strong enough into the old boy.’ At this facetious speech,the young boy, it is almost needless to say, was fairly convulsed.
　　‘That’s right,’ said Mr. Price. ‘Never say die. All fun, ain’t it?’
　　‘Prime!’ said the young gentleman.
　　‘You’ve got some spirit about you, you have,’ said Price. ‘You’veseen something of life.’
　　‘I rather think I have!’ replied the boy. He had looked at itthrough the dirty panes of glass in a bar door.
　　Mr. Pickwick, feeling not a little disgusted with this dialogue, aswell as with the air and manner of the two beings by whom it hadbeen carried on, was about to inquire whether he could not beaccommodated with a private sitting-room, when two or threestrangers of genteel appearance entered, at sight of whom the boythrew his cigar into the fire, and whispering to Mr. Price that theyhad come to ‘make it all right’ for him, joined them at a table in thefarther end of the room.
　　It would appear, however, that matters were not going to bemade all right quite so speedily as the young gentlemananticipated; for a very long conversation ensued, of which Mr.
　　Pickwick could not avoid hearing certain angry fragmentsregarding dissolute conduct, and repeated forgiveness. At last,there were very distinct allusions made by the oldest gentleman ofthe party to one Whitecross Street, at which the young gentleman,notwithstanding his primeness and his spirit, and his knowledgeof life into the bargain, reclined his head upon the table, andhowled dismally.
　　Very much satisfied with this sudden bringing down of theyouth’s valour, and this effectual lowering of his tone, Mr.
　　Pickwick rang the bell, and was shown, at his own request, into aprivate room furnished with a carpet, table, chairs, sideboard andsofa, and ornamented with a looking-glass, and various old prints.
　　Here he had the advantage of hearing Mrs. Namby’s performanceon a square piano overhead, while the breakfast was getting ready;when it came, Mr. Perker came too.
　　‘Aha, my dear sir,’ said the little man, ‘nailed at last, eh? Come,come, I’m not sorry for it either, because now you’ll see theabsurdity of this conduct. I’ve noted down the amount of the taxedcosts and damages for which the ca-sa was issued, and we hadbetter settle at once and lose no time. Namby is come home by thistime, I dare say. What say you, my dear sir? Shall I draw a cheque,or will you?’ The little man rubbed his hands with affectedcheerfulness as he said this, but glancing at Mr. Pickwick’scountenance, could not forbear at the same time casting adesponding look towards Sam Weller.
　　‘Perker,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘let me hear no more of this, I beg. Isee no advantage in staying here, so I Shall go to prison to-night.’
　　‘You can’t go to Whitecross Street, my dear sir,’ said Perker.
　　‘Impossible! There are sixty beds in a ward; and the bolt’s on,sixteen hours out of the four-and-twenty.’
　　‘I would rather go to some other place of confinement if I can,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick. ‘If not, I must make the best I can of that.’
　　‘You can go to the Fleet, my dear sir, if you’re determined to gosomewhere,’ said Perker.
　　‘That’ll do,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I’ll go there directly I havefinished my breakfast.’
　　‘Stop, stop, my dear sir; not the least occasion for being in sucha violent hurry to get into a place that most other men are as eagerto get out of,’ said the good-natured little attorney. ‘We must havea habeas-corpus. There’ll be no judge at chambers till four o’clockthis afternoon. You must wait till then.’
　　‘Very good,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with unmoved patience. ‘Thenwe will have a chop here, at two. See about it, Sam, and tell themto be punctual.’
　　Mr. Pickwick remaining firm, despite all the remonstrances andarguments of Perker, the chops appeared and disappeared in duecourse; he was then put into another hackney coach, and carriedoff to Chancery Lane, after waiting half an hour or so for Mr.
　　Namby, who had a select dinner-party and could on no account bedisturbed before.
　　There were two judges in attendance at Serjeant’s Inn―oneKing’s Bench, and one Common Pleas―and a great deal ofbusiness appeared to be transacting before them, if the number oflawyer’s clerks who were hurrying in and out with bundles ofpapers, afforded any test. When they reached the low archwaywhich forms the entrance to the inn, Perker was detained a fewmoments parlaying with the coachman about the fare and thechange; and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side to be out of theway of the stream of people that were pouring in and out, lookedabout him with some curiosity.
　　The people that attracted his attention most, were three or fourmen of shabby-genteel appearance, who touched their hats tomany of the attorneys who passed, and seemed to have somebusiness there, the nature of which Mr. Pickwick could not divine.
　　They were curious-looking fellows. One was a slim and ratherlame man in rusty black, and a white neckerchief; another was astout, burly person, dressed in the same apparel, with a greatreddish-black cloth round his neck; a third was a little weazen,drunken-looking body, with a pimply face. They were loiteringabout, with their hands behind them, and now and then with ananxious countenance whispered something in the ear of some ofthe gentlemen with papers, as they hurried by. Mr. Pickwickremembered to have very often observed them lounging under thearchway when he had been walking past; and his curiosity wasquite excited to know to what branch of the profession thesedingy-looking loungers could possibly belong.
　　He was about to propound the question to Namby, who keptclose beside him, sucking a large gold ring on his little finger,when Perker bustled up, and observing that there was no time tolose, led the way into the inn. As Mr. Pickwick followed, the lameman stepped up to him, and civilly touching his hat, held out awritten card, which Mr. Pickwick, not wishing to hurt the man’sfeelings by refusing, courteously accepted and deposited in hiswaistcoat pocket.
　　‘Now,’ said Perker, turning round before he entered one of theoffices, to see that his companions were close behind him. ‘In here,my dear sir. Hallo, what do you want?’
　　This last question was addressed to the lame man, who,unobserved by Mr. Pickwick, made one of the party. In reply to it,the lame man touched his hat again, with all imaginablepoliteness, and motioned towards Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No, no,’ said Perker, with a smile. ‘We don’t want you, my dearfriend, we don’t want you.’
　　‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said the lame man. ‘The gentleman tookmy card. I hope you will employ me, sir. The gentleman nodded tome. I’ll be judged by the gentleman himself. You nodded to me,sir?’
　　‘Pooh, pooh, nonsense. You didn’t nod to anybody, Pickwick? Amistake, a mistake,’ said Perker.
　　‘The gentleman handed me his card,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,producing it from his waistcoat pocket. ‘I accepted it, as thegentleman seemed to wish it―in fact I had some curiosity to lookat it when I should be at leisure. I―’
　　The little attorney burst into a loud laugh, and returning thecard to the lame man, informing him it was all a mistake,whispered to Mr. Pickwick as the man turned away in dudgeon,that he was only a bail.
　　‘A what!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘A bail,’ replied Perker.
　　‘A bail!’
　　‘Yes, my dear sir―half a dozen of ’em here. Bail you to anyamount, and only charge half a crown. Curious trade, isn’t it?’ saidPerker, regaling himself with a pinch of snuff.
　　‘What! Am I to understand that these men earn a livelihood bywaiting about here, to perjure themselves before the judges of theland, at the rate of half a crown a crime?’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick,quite aghast at the disclosure.
　　‘Why, I don’t exactly know about perjury, my dear sir,’ repliedthe little gentleman. ‘Harsh word, my dear sir, very harsh wordindeed. It’s a legal fiction, my dear sir, nothing more.’ Sayingwhich, the attorney shrugged his shoulders, smiled, took a secondpinch of snuff, and led the way into the office of the judge’s clerk.
　　This was a room of specially dirty appearance, with a very lowceiling and old panelled walls; and so badly lighted, that althoughit was broad day outside, great tallow candles were burning on thedesks. At one end, was a door leading to the judge’s privateapartment, round which were congregated a crowd of attorneysand managing clerks, who were called in, in the order in whichtheir respective appointments stood upon the file. Every time thisdoor was opened to let a party out, the next party made a violent rush to get in; and, as in addition to the numerous dialogues whichpassed between the gentlemen who were waiting to see the judge,a variety of personal squabbles ensued between the greater part ofthose who had seen him, there was as much noise as could well beraised in an apartment of such confined dimensions.
　　Nor were the conversations of these gentlemen the only soundsthat broke upon the ear. Standing on a box behind a wooden barat another end of the room was a clerk in spectacles who was‘taking the affidavits’; large batches of which were, from time totime, carried into the private room by another clerk for the judge’ssignature. There were a large number of attorneys’ clerks to besworn, and it being a moral impossibility to swear them all at once,the struggles of these gentlemen to reach the clerk in spectacles,were like those of a crowd to get in at the pit door of a theatrewhen Gracious Majesty honours it with its presence. Anotherfunctionary, from time to time, exercised his lungs in calling overthe names of those who had been sworn, for the purpose ofrestoring to them their affidavits after they had been signed by thejudge, which gave rise to a few more scuffles; and all these thingsgoing on at the same time, occasioned as much bustle as the mostactive and excitable person could desire to behold. There were yetanother class of persons―those who were waiting to attendsummonses their employers had taken out, which it was optionalto the attorney on the opposite side to attend or not―and whosebusiness it was, from time to time, to cry out the oppositeattorney’s name; to make certain that he was not in attendancewithout their knowledge.
　　For example. Leaning against the wall, close beside the seat Mr.
　　Pickwick had taken, was an office-lad of fourteen, with a tenorvoice; near him a common-law clerk with a bass one.
　　A clerk hurried in with a bundle of papers, and stared abouthim.
　　‘Sniggle and Blink,’ cried the tenor.
　　‘Porkin and Snob,’ growled the bass.
　　‘Stumpy and Deacon,’ said the new-comer.
　　Nobody answered; the next man who came in, was bailed bythe whole three; and he in his turn shouted for another firm; andthen somebody else roared in a loud voice for another; and soforth.
　　All this time, the man in the spectacles was hard at work,swearing the clerks; the oath being invariably administered,without any effort at punctuation, and usually in the followingterms:―‘Take the book in your right hand this is your name and hand-writing you swear that the contents of this your affidavit are trueso help you God a shilling you must get change I haven’t got it.’
　　‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I suppose they are getting thehabeas-corpus ready?’
　　‘Yes,’ said Sam, ‘and I vish they’d bring out the have-his-carcase. It’s wery unpleasant keepin’ us vaitin’ here. I’d ha’ gothalf a dozen have-his-carcases ready, pack’d up and all, by thistime.’
　　What sort of cumbrous and unmanageable machine, SamWeller imagined a habeas-corpus to be, does not appear; forPerker, at that moment, walked up and took Mr. Pickwick away.
　　The usual forms having been gone through, the body of SamuelPickwick was soon afterwards confided to the custody of thetipstaff, to be by him taken to the warden of the Fleet Prison, andthere detained until the amount of the damages and costs in theaction of Bardell against Pickwick was fully paid and satisfied.
　　‘And that,’ said Mr. Pickwick, laughing, ‘will be a very longtime. Sam, call another hackney-coach. Perker, my dear friend,good-bye.’
　　‘I shall go with you, and see you safe there,’ said Perker.
　　‘Indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘I would rather go without anyother attendant than Sam. As soon as I get settled, I will write andlet you know, and I shall expect you immediately. Until then, good-bye.’
　　As Mr. Pickwick said this, he got into the coach which had bythis time arrived, followed by the tipstaff. Sam having stationedhimself on the box, it rolled away.
　　‘A most extraordinary man that!’ said Perker, as he stopped topull on his gloves.
　　‘What a bankrupt he’d make, sir,’ observed Mr. Lowten, whowas standing near. ‘How he would bother the commissioners!
　　He’d set ’em at defiance if they talked of committing him, sir.’
　　The attorney did not appear very much delighted with hisclerk’s professional estimate of Mr. Pickwick’s character, for hewalked away without deigning any reply.
　　The hackney-coach jolted along Fleet Street, as hackney-coaches usually do. The horses ‘went better’, the driver said, whenthey had anything before them (they must have gone at a mostextraordinary pace when there was nothing), and so the vehiclekept behind a cart; when the cart stopped, it stopped; and whenthe cart went on again, it did the same. Mr. Pickwick sat oppositethe tipstaff; and the tipstaff sat with his hat between his knees,whistling a tune, and looking out of the coach window.
　　Time performs wonders. By the powerful old gentleman’s aid,even a hackney-coach gets over half a mile of ground. Theystopped at length, and Mr. Pickwick alighted at the gate of theFleet.
　　The tipstaff, just looking over his shoulder to see that his chargewas following close at his heels, preceded Mr. Pickwick into theprison; turning to the left, after they had entered, they passedthrough an open door into a lobby, from which a heavy gate,opposite to that by which they had entered, and which wasguarded by a stout turnkey with the key in his hand, led at onceinto the interior of the prison.
　　Here they stopped, while the tipstaff delivered his papers; andhere Mr. Pickwick was apprised that he would remain, until hehad undergone the ceremony, known to the initiated as ‘sitting foryour portrait.’
　　‘Sitting for my portrait?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Having your likeness taken, sir,’ replied the stout turnkey.
　　‘We’re capital hands at likenesses here. Take ’em in no time, andalways exact. Walk in, sir, and make yourself at home.’
　　Mr. Pickwick complied with the invitation, and sat himselfdown; when Mr. Weller, who stationed himself at the back of thechair, whispered that the sitting was merely another term forundergoing an inspection by the different turnkeys, in order thatthey might know prisoners from visitors.
　　‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘then I wish the artists wouldcome. This is rather a public place.’
　　‘They von’t be long, sir, I des-say,’ replied Sam. ‘There’s aDutch clock, sir.’
　　‘So I see,’ observed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘And a bird-cage, sir,’ says Sam. ‘Veels vithin veels, a prison in aprison. Ain’t it, sir?’
　　As Mr. Weller made this philosophical remark, Mr. Pickwickwas aware that his sitting had commenced. The stout turnkeyhaving been relieved from the lock, sat down, and looked at himcarelessly, from time to time, while a long thin man who hadrelieved him, thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and plantinghimself opposite, took a good long view of him. A third rathersurly-looking gentleman, who had apparently been disturbed athis tea, for he was disposing of the last remnant of a crust andbutter when he came in, stationed himself close to Mr. Pickwick;and, resting his hands on his hips, inspected him narrowly; whiletwo others mixed with the group, and studied his features withmost intent and thoughtful faces. Mr. Pickwick winced a good dealunder the operation, and appeared to sit very uneasily in his chair;but he made no remark to anybody while it was being performed,not even to Sam, who reclined upon the back of the chair,reflecting, partly on the situation of his master, and partly on thegreat satisfaction it would have afforded him to make a fierceassault upon all the turnkeys there assembled, one after the other,if it were lawful and peaceable so to do.
　　At length the likeness was completed, and Mr. Pickwick wasinformed that he might now proceed into the prison.
　　‘Where am I to sleep to-night?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Why, I don’t rightly know about to-night,’ replied the stoutturnkey. ‘You’ll be chummed on somebody to-morrow, and thenyou’ll be all snug and comfortable. The first night’s generallyrather unsettled, but you’ll be set all squares to-morrow.’
　　After some discussion, it was discovered that one of theturnkeys had a bed to let, which Mr. Pickwick could have for thatnight. He gladly agreed to hire it.
　　‘If you’ll come with me, I’ll show it you at once,’ said the man. ‘Itain’t a large ’un; but it’s an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way, sir.’
　　They passed through the inner gate, and descended a shortflight of steps. The key was turned after them; and Mr. Pickwickfound himself, for the first time in his life, within the walls of adebtors’ prison.
Chapter 41
WHAT BEFELL Mr. PICKWICK WHEN HE GOTINTO THE FLEET; WHAT PRISONERS HE SAWTHERE, AND HOW HE PASSED THE NIGHTr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who had accompanied Mr.
　　Pickwick into the prison, turned sharp round to theright when he got to the bottom of the little flight ofsteps, and led the way, through an iron gate which stood open, andup another short flight of steps, into a long narrow gallery, dirtyand low, paved with stone, and very dimly lighted by a window ateach remote end.
　　‘This,’ said the gentleman, thrusting his hands into his pockets,and looking carelessly over his shoulder to Mr. Pickwick―‘thishere is the hall flight.’
　　‘Oh,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, looking down a dark and filthystaircase, which appeared to lead to a range of damp and gloomystone vaults, beneath the ground, ‘and those, I suppose, are thelittle cellars where the prisoners keep their small quantities ofcoals. Unpleasant places to have to go down to; but veryconvenient, I dare say.’
　　‘Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if they was convenient,’ replied thegentleman, ‘seeing that a few people live there, pretty snug. That’sthe Fair, that is.’
　　‘My friend,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you don’t really mean to saythat human beings live down in those wretched dungeons?’
　　‘Don’t I?’ replied Mr. Roker, with indignant astonishment; ‘whyshouldn’t I?’
　　‘Live!―live down there!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Live down there! Yes, and die down there, too, very often!’
　　replied Mr. Roker; ‘and what of that? Who’s got to say anythingagin it? Live down there! Yes, and a wery good place it is to live in,ain’t it?’
　　As Roker turned somewhat fiercely upon Mr. Pickwick insaying this, and moreover muttered in an excited fashion certainunpleasant invocations concerning his own eyes, limbs, andcirculating fluids, the latter gentleman deemed it advisable topursue the discourse no further. Mr. Roker then proceeded tomount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the placewhich has just been the subject of discussion, in which ascent hewas closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam.
　　‘There,’ said Mr. Roker, pausing for breath when they reachedanother gallery of the same dimensions as the one below, ‘this isthe coffee-room flight; the one above’s the third, and the one abovethat’s the top; and the room where you’re a-going to sleep to-nightis the warden’s room, and it’s this way―come on.’ Having said allthis in a breath, Mr. Roker mounted another flight of stairs withMr. Pickwick and Sam Weller following at his heels.
　　These staircases received light from sundry windows placed atsome little distance above the floor, and looking into a gravelledarea bounded by a high brick wall, with iron chevaux-de-frise atthe top. This area, it appeared from Mr. Roker’s statement, wasthe racket-ground; and it further appeared, on the testimony ofthe same gentleman, that there was a smaller area in that portionof the prison which was nearest Farringdon Street, denominatedand called ‘the Painted Ground,’ from the fact of its walls havingonce displayed the semblance of various men-of-war in full sail,and other artistical effects achieved in bygone times by someimprisoned draughtsman in his leisure hours.
　　Having communicated this piece of information, apparentlymore for the purpose of discharging his bosom of an importantfact, than with any specific view of enlightening Mr. Pickwick, theguide, having at length reached another gallery, led the way into asmall passage at the extreme end, opened a door, and disclosed anapartment of an appearance by no means inviting, containingeight or nine iron bedsteads.
　　‘There,’ said Mr. Roker, holding the door open, and lookingtriumphantly round at Mr. Pickwick, ‘there’s a room!’
　　Mr. Pickwick’s face, however, betokened such a very triflingportion of satisfaction at the appearance of his lodging, that Mr.
　　Roker looked, for a reciprocity of feeling, into the countenance ofSamuel Weller, who, until now, had observed a dignified silence.
　　‘There’s a room, young man,’ observed Mr. Roker.
　　‘I see it,’ replied Sam, with a placid nod of the head.
　　‘You wouldn’t think to find such a room as this in theFarringdon Hotel, would you?’ said Mr. Roker, with a complacentsmile.
　　To this Mr. Weller replied with an easy and unstudied closing ofone eye; which might be considered to mean, either that he wouldhave thought it, or that he would not have thought it, or that hehad never thought anything at all about it, as the observer’simagination suggested. Having executed this feat, and reopenedhis eye, Mr. Weller proceeded to inquire which was the individualbedstead that Mr. Roker had so flatteringly described as an out-and-outer to sleep in.
　　‘That’s it,’ replied Mr. Roker, pointing to a very rusty one in acorner. ‘It would make any one go to sleep, that bedstead would,whether they wanted to or not.’
　　‘I should think,’ said Sam, eyeing the piece of furniture inquestion with a look of excessive disgust―‘I should think poppieswas nothing to it.’
　　‘Nothing at all,’ said Mr. Roker.
　　‘And I s’pose,’ said Sam, with a sidelong glance at his master, asif to see whether there were any symptoms of his determinationbeing shaken by what passed, ‘I s’pose the other gen’l’men assleeps here are gen’l’men.’
　　‘Nothing but it,’ said Mr. Roker. ‘One of ’em takes his twelvepints of ale a day, and never leaves off smoking even at his meals.’
　　‘He must be a first-rater,’ said Sam.
　　‘A1,’ replied Mr. Roker.
　　Nothing daunted, even by this intelligence, Mr. Pickwicksmilingly announced his determination to test the powers of thenarcotic bedstead for that night; and Mr. Roker, after informinghim that he could retire to rest at whatever hour he thoughtproper, without any further notice or formality, walked off, leavinghim standing with Sam in the gallery.
　　It was getting dark; that is to say, a few gas jets were kindled inthis place which was never light, by way of compliment to theevening, which had set in outside. As it was rather warm, some ofthe tenants of the numerous little rooms which opened into thegallery on either hand, had set their doors ajar. Mr. Pickwickpeeped into them as he passed along, with great curiosity andinterest. Here, four or five great hulking fellows, just visiblethrough a cloud of tobacco smoke, were engaged in noisy andriotous conversation over half-emptied pots of beer, or playing atall-fours with a very greasy pack of cards. In the adjoining room,some solitary tenant might be seen poring, by the light of a feebletallow candle, over a bundle of soiled and tattered papers, yellowwith dust and dropping to pieces from age, writing, for thehundredth time, some lengthened statement of his grievances, forthe perusal of some great man whose eyes it would never reach, orwhose heart it would never touch. In a third, a man, with his wifeand a whole crowd of children, might be seen making up a scantybed on the ground, or upon a few chairs, for the younger ones topass the night in. And in a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, and aseventh, the noise, and the beer, and the tobacco smoke, and thecards, all came over again in greater force than before.
　　In the galleries themselves, and more especially on the stair-cases, there lingered a great number of people, who came there,some because their rooms were empty and lonesome, othersbecause their rooms were full and hot; the greater part becausethey were restless and uncomfortable, and not possessed of thesecret of exactly knowing what to do with themselves. There weremany classes of people here, from the labouring man in his fustianjacket, to the broken-down spendthrift in his shawl dressing-gown,most appropriately out at elbows; but there was the same air aboutthem all―a kind of listless, jail-bird, careless swagger, avagabondish who’s-afraid sort of bearing, which is whollyindescribable in words, but which any man can understand in onemoment if he wish, by setting foot in the nearest debtors’ prison,and looking at the very first group of people he sees there, with thesame interest as Mr. Pickwick did.
　　‘It strikes me, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, leaning over the ironrail at the stair-head, ‘it strikes me, Sam, that imprisonment fordebt is scarcely any punishment at all.’
　　‘Think not, sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘You see how these fellows drink, and smoke, and roar,’ repliedMr. Pickwick. ‘It’s quite impossible that they can mind it much.’
　　‘Ah, that’s just the wery thing, sir,’ rejoined Sam, ‘they don’tmind it; it’s a reg’lar holiday to them―all porter and skittles. It’sthe t’other vuns as gets done over vith this sort o’ thing; themdown-hearted fellers as can’t svig avay at the beer, nor play atskittles neither; them as vould pay if they could, and gets low bybeing boxed up. I’ll tell you wot it is, sir; them as is always a-idlin’
　　in public-houses it don’t damage at all, and them as is alvays a-workin’ wen they can, it damages too much. “It’s unekal,” as myfather used to say wen his grog worn’t made half-and-half: “it’sunekal, and that’s the fault on it.”’
　　‘I think you’re right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after a fewmoments’ reflection, ‘quite right.’
　　‘P’raps, now and then, there’s some honest people as likes it,’
　　observed Mr. Weller, in a ruminative tone, ‘but I never heerd o’
　　one as I can call to mind, ’cept the little dirty-faced man in thebrown coat; and that was force of habit.’
　　‘And who was he?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wy, that’s just the wery point as nobody never know’d,’ repliedSam.
　　‘But what did he do?’
　　‘Wy, he did wot many men as has been much better know’d hasdone in their time, sir,’ replied Sam, ‘he run a match agin theconstable, and vun it.’
　　‘In other words, I suppose,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘he got into‘Just that, sir,’ replied Sam, ‘and in course o’ time he come herein consekens. It warn’t much―execution for nine pound nothin’,multiplied by five for costs; but hows’ever here he stopped forseventeen year. If he got any wrinkles in his face, they werestopped up vith the dirt, for both the dirty face and the brown coatwos just the same at the end o’ that time as they wos at thebeginnin’. He wos a wery peaceful, inoffendin’ little creetur, andwos alvays a-bustlin’ about for somebody, or playin’ rackets andnever vinnin’; till at last the turnkeys they got quite fond on him,and he wos in the lodge ev’ry night, a-chattering vith ’em, andtellin’ stories, and all that ’ere. Vun night he wos in there as usual,along vith a wery old friend of his, as wos on the lock, ven he saysall of a sudden, “I ain’t seen the market outside, Bill,” he says(Fleet Market wos there at that time)―“I ain’t seen the marketoutside, Bill,” he says, “for seventeen year.” “I know you ain’t,”
　　says the turnkey, smoking his pipe. “I should like to see it for aminit, Bill,” he says. “Wery probable,” says the turnkey, smokinghis pipe wery fierce, and making believe he warn’t up to wot thelittle man wanted. “Bill,” says the little man, more abrupt thanafore, “I’ve got the fancy in my head. Let me see the public streetsonce more afore I die; and if I ain’t struck with apoplexy, I’ll beback in five minits by the clock.” “And wot ’ud become o’ me if youwos struck with apoplexy?” said the turnkey. “Wy,” says the littlecreetur, “whoever found me, ’ud bring me home, for I’ve got mycard in my pocket, Bill,” he says, “No. 20, Coffee-room Flight”: andthat wos true, sure enough, for wen he wanted to make theacquaintance of any new-comer, he used to pull out a little limpcard vith them words on it and nothin’ else; in consideration ofvich, he vos alvays called Number Tventy. The turnkey takes afixed look at him, and at last he says in a solemn manner,“Tventy,” he says, “I’ll trust you; you Won’t get your old friendinto trouble.” “No, my boy; I hope I’ve somethin’ better behindhere,” says the little man; and as he said it he hit his little vesketwery hard, and then a tear started out o’ each eye, which wos weryextraordinary, for it wos supposed as water never touched his face.
　　He shook the turnkey by the hand; out he vent―’
　　‘And never came back again,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wrong for vunce, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘for back he come,two minits afore the time, a-bilin’ with rage, sayin’ how he’d beennearly run over by a hackney-coach that he warn’t used to it; andhe was blowed if he wouldn’t write to the lord mayor. They gothim pacified at last; and for five years arter that, he never even somuch as peeped out o’ the lodge gate.’
　　‘At the expiration of that time he died, I suppose,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘No, he didn’t, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘He got a curiosity to go andtaste the beer at a new public-house over the way, and it wos sucha wery nice parlour, that he took it into his head to go there everynight, which he did for a long time, always comin’ back reg’larabout a quarter of an hour afore the gate shut, which was all werysnug and comfortable. At last he began to get so precious jolly,that he used to forget how the time vent, or care nothin’ at allabout it, and he went on gettin’ later and later, till vun night hisold friend wos just a-shuttin’ the gate―had turned the key infact―wen he come up. “Hold hard, Bill,” he says. “Wot, ain’t youcome home yet, Tventy?’ says the turnkey, “I thought you wos in,long ago.” “No, I wasn’t,” says the little man, with a smile. “Well,then, I’ll tell you wot it is, my friend,” says the turnkey, openin’ thegate wery slow and sulky, “it’s my ’pinion as you’ve got into badcompany o’ late, which I’m wery sorry to see. Now, I don’t wish todo nothing harsh,” he says, “but if you can’t confine yourself tosteady circles, and find your vay back at reg’lar hours, as sure asyou’re a-standin’ there, I’ll shut you out altogether!” The little manwas seized vith a wiolent fit o’ tremblin’, and never vent outsidethe prison walls artervards!’
　　As Sam concluded, Mr. Pickwick slowly retraced his stepsdownstairs. After a few thoughtful turns in the Painted Ground,which, as it was now dark, was nearly deserted, he intimated toMr. Weller that he thought it high time for him to withdraw for thenight; requesting him to seek a bed in some adjacent public-house,and return early in the morning, to make arrangements for theremoval of his master’s wardrobe from the George and Vulture.
　　This request Mr. Samuel Weller prepared to obey, with as good agrace as he could assume, but with a very considerable show ofreluctance nevertheless. He even went so far as to essay sundryineffectual hints regarding the expediency of stretching himself onthe gravel for that night; but finding Mr. Pickwick obstinately deafto any such suggestions, finally withdrew.
　　There is no disguising the fact that Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable―not for lack of society, for the prisonwas very full, and a bottle of wine would at once have purchasedthe utmost good-fellowship of a few choice spirits, without anymore formal ceremony of introduction; but he was alone in thecoarse, vulgar crowd, and felt the depression of spirits and sinkingof heart, naturally consequent on the reflection that he was coopedand caged up, without a prospect of liberation. As to the idea ofreleasing himself by ministering to the sharpness of Dodson &Fogg, it never for an instant entered his thoughts.
　　In this frame of mind he turned again into the coffee-roomgallery, and walked slowly to and fro. The place was intolerablydirty, and the smell of tobacco smoke perfectly suffocating. Therewas a perpetual slamming and banging of doors as the peoplewent in and out; and the noise of their voices and footsteps echoedand re-echoed through the passages constantly. A young woman,with a child in her arms, who seemed scarcely able to crawl, fromemaciation and misery, was walking up and down the passage inconversation with her husband, who had no other place to see herin. As they passed Mr. Pickwick, he could hear the female sobbitterly; and once she burst into such a passion of grief, that shewas compelled to lean against the wall for support, while the mantook the child in his arms, and tried to soothe her.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s heart was really too full to bear it, and he wentupstairs to bed.
　　Now, although the warder’s room was a very uncomfortableone (being, in every point of decoration and convenience, severalhundred degrees inferior to the common infirmary of a countyjail), it had at present the merit of being wholly deserted save byMr. Pickwick himself. So, he sat down at the foot of his little ironbedstead, and began to wonder how much a year the warder madeout of the dirty room. Having satisfied himself, by mathematicalcalculation, that the apartment was about equal in annual value tothe freehold of a small street in the suburbs of London, he took towondering what possible temptation could have induced a dingy-looking fly that was crawling over his pantaloons, to come into aclose prison, when he had the choice of so many airy situations―acourse of meditation which led him to the irresistible conclusionthat the insect was insane. After settling this point, he began to beconscious that he was getting sleepy; whereupon he took hisnightcap out of the pocket in which he had had the precaution tostow it in the morning, and, leisurely undressing himself, got intobed and fell asleep.
　　‘Bravo! Heel over toe―cut and shuffle―pay away at it, Zephyr!
　　I’m smothered if the opera house isn’t your proper hemisphere.
　　Keep it up! Hooray!’ These expressions, delivered in a mostboisterous tone, and accompanied with loud peals of laughter,roused Mr. Pickwick from one of those sound slumbers which,lasting in reality some half-hour, seem to the sleeper to have beenprotracted for three weeks or a month.
　　The voice had no sooner ceased than the room was shaken withsuch violence that the windows rattled in their frames, and thebedsteads trembled again. Mr. Pickwick started up, and remainedfor some minutes fixed in mute astonishment at the scene beforehim.
　　On the floor of the room, a man in a broad-skirted green coat,with corduroy knee-smalls and grey cotton stockings, wasperforming the most popular steps of a hornpipe, with a slang andburlesque caricature of grace and lightness, which, combined withthe very appropriate character of his costume, was inexpressiblyabsurd. Another man, evidently very drunk, who had probablybeen tumbled into bed by his companions, was sitting up betweenthe sheets, warbling as much as he could recollect of a comic song,with the most intensely sentimental feeling and expression; whilea third, seated on one of the bedsteads, was applauding bothperformers with the air of a profound connoisseur, andencouraging them by such ebullitions of feeling as had alreadyroused Mr. Pickwick from his sleep.
　　This last man was an admirable specimen of a class of gentrywhich never can be seen in full perfection but in such places―theymay be met with, in an imperfect state, occasionally about stable-yards and Public-houses; but they never attain their full bloomexcept in these hot-beds, which would almost seem to beconsiderately provided by the legislature for the sole purpose ofrearing them.
　　He was a tall fellow, with an olive complexion, long dark hair,and very thick bushy whiskers meeting under his chin. He woreno neckerchief, as he had been playing rackets all day, and hisOpen shirt collar displayed their full luxuriance. On his head hewore one of the common eighteenpenny French skull-caps, with agaudy tassel dangling therefrom, very happily in keeping with acommon fustian coat. His legs, which, being long, were afflictedwith weakness, graced a pair of Oxford-mixture trousers, made toshow the full symmetry of those limbs. Being somewhatnegligently braced, however, and, moreover, but imperfectlybuttoned, they fell in a series of not the most graceful folds over apair of shoes sufficiently down at heel to display a pair of verysoiled white stockings. There was a rakish, vagabond smartness,and a kind of boastful rascality, about the whole man, that wasworth a mine of gold.
　　This figure was the first to perceive that Mr. Pickwick waslooking on; upon which he winked to the Zephyr, and entreatedhim, with mock gravity, not to wake the gentleman. ‘Why, blessthe gentleman’s honest heart and soul!’ said the Zephyr, turninground and affecting the extremity of surprise; ‘the gentleman isawake. Hem, Shakespeare! How do you do, sir? How is Mary andSarah, sir? and the dear old lady at home, sir? Will you have thekindness to put my compliments into the first little parcel you’resending that way, sir, and say that I would have sent ’em before,only I was afraid they might be broken in the wagon, sir?’
　　‘Don’t overwhelm the gentlemen with ordinary civilities whenyou see he’s anxious to have something to drink,’ said thegentleman with the whiskers, with a jocose air. ‘Why don’t you askthe gentleman what he’ll take?’
　　‘Dear me, I quite forgot,’ replied the other. ‘What will you take,sir? Will you take port wine, sir, or sherry wine, sir? I canrecommend the ale, sir; or perhaps you’d like to taste the porter,sir? Allow me to have the felicity of hanging up your nightcap, sir.’
　　With this, the speaker snatched that article of dress from Mr.
　　Pickwick’s head, and fixed it in a twinkling on that of the drunkenman, who, firmly impressed with the belief that he was delightinga numerous assembly, continued to hammer away at the comicsong in the most melancholy strains imaginable.
　　Taking a man’s nightcap from his brow by violent means, andadjusting it on the head of an unknown gentleman, of dirtyexterior, however ingenious a witticism in itself, is unquestionablyone of those which come under the denomination of practicaljokes. Viewing the matter precisely in this light, Mr. Pickwick,without the slightest intimation of his purpose, sprang vigorouslyout of bed, struck the Zephyr so smart a blow in the chest as todeprive him of a considerable portion of the commodity whichsometimes bears his name, and then, recapturing his nightcap,boldly placed himself in an attitude of defence.
　　‘Now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, gasping no less from excitement thanfrom the expenditure of so much energy, ‘come on―both of you―both of you!’ With this liberal invitation the worthy gentlemancommunicated a revolving motion to his clenched fists, by way ofappalling his antagonists with a display of science.
　　It might have been Mr. Pickwick’s very unexpected gallantry,or it might have been the complicated manner in which he had gothimself out of bed, and fallen all in a mass upon the hornpipe man,that touched his adversaries. Touched they were; for, instead ofthen and there making an attempt to commit man-slaughter, asMr. Pickwick implicitly believed they would have done, theypaused, stared at each other a short time, and finally laughedoutright.
　　‘Well, you’re a trump, and I like you all the better for it,’ said theZephyr. ‘Now jump into bed again, or you’ll catch the rheumatics.
　　No malice, I hope?’ said the man, extending a hand the size of theyellow clump of fingers which sometimes swings over a glover’sdoor.
　　‘Certainly not,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great alacrity; for, nowthat the excitement was over, he began to feel rather cool aboutthe legs.
　　‘Allow me the honour,’ said the gentleman with the whiskers,presenting his dexter hand, and aspirating the h.
　　‘With much pleasure, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and havingexecuted a very long and solemn shake, he got into bed again.
　　‘My name is Smangle, sir,’ said the man with the whiskers.
　　‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Mine is Mivins,’ said the man in the stockings.
　　‘I am delighted to hear it, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Hem,’ coughed Mr. Smangle.
　　‘Did you speak, sir?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No, I did not, sir,’ said Mr. Smangle.
　　All this was very genteel and pleasant; and, to make mattersstill more comfortable, Mr. Smangle assured Mr. Pickwick a greatmany more times that he entertained a very high respect for thefeelings of a gentleman; which sentiment, indeed, did him infinitecredit, as he could be in no wise supposed to understand them.
　　‘Are you going through the court, sir?’ inquired Mr. Smangle.
　　‘Through the what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Through the court―Portugal Street―the Court for Relief of―You know.’
　　‘Oh, no,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘No, I am not.’
　　‘Going out, perhaps?’ suggested Mr. Mivins.
　　‘I fear not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘I refuse to pay some damages,and am here in consequence.’
　　‘Ah,’ said Mr. Smangle, ‘paper has been my ruin.’
　　‘A stationer, I presume, sir?’ said Mr. Pickwick innocently.
　　‘Stationer! No, no; confound and curse me! Not so low as that.
　　No trade. When I say paper, I mean bills.’
　　‘Oh, you use the word in that sense. I see,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Damme! A gentleman must expect reverses,’ said Smangle. ‘Whatof that? Here am I in the Fleet Prison. Well; good. What then? I’mnone the worse for that, am I?’
　　‘Not a bit,’ replied Mr. Mivins. And he was quite right; for, so farfrom Mr. Smangle being any the worse for it, he was somethingthe better, inasmuch as to qualify himself for the place, he hadattained gratuitous possession of certain articles of jewellery,which, long before that, had found their way to the pawnbroker’s.
　　‘Well; but come,’ said Mr. Smangle; ‘this is dry work. Let’s rinseour mouths with a drop of burnt sherry; the last-comer shall standit, Mivins shall fetch it, and I’ll help to drink it. That’s a fair andgentlemanlike division of labour, anyhow. Curse me!’
　　Unwilling to hazard another quarrel, Mr. Pickwick gladlyassented to the proposition, and consigned the money to Mr.
　　Mivins, who, as it was nearly eleven o’clock, lost no time inrepairing to the coffee-room on his errand.
　　‘I say,’ whispered Smangle, the moment his friend had left theroom; ‘what did you give him?’
　　‘Half a sovereign,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘He’s a devilish pleasant gentlemanly dog,’ said Mr. Smangle;―‘infernal pleasant. I don’t know anybody more so; but―‘ Here Mr.
　　Smangle stopped short, and shook his head dubiously.
　　‘You don’t think there is any probability of his appropriatingthe money to his own use?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Oh, no! Mind, I don’t say that; I expressly say that he’s adevilish gentlemanly fellow,’ said Mr. Smangle. ‘But I think,perhaps, if somebody went down, just to see that he didn’t dip hisbeak into the jug by accident, or make some confounded mistakein losing the money as he came upstairs, it would be as well. Here,you sir, just run downstairs, and look after that gentleman, willyou?’
　　This request was addressed to a little timid-looking, nervousman, whose appearance bespoke great poverty, and who had beencrouching on his bedstead all this while, apparently stupefied bythe novelty of his situation.
　　‘You know where the coffee-room is,’ said Smangle; ‘just rundown, and tell that gentleman you’ve come to help him up with thejug. Or―stop―I’ll tell you what―I’ll tell you how we’ll do him,’
　　said Smangle, with a cunning look.
　　‘How?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Send down word that he’s to spend the change in cigars.
　　Capital thought. Run and tell him that; d’ye hear? They shan’t bewasted,’ continued Smangle, turning to Mr. Pickwick. ‘I’ll smoke’em.’
　　This manoeuvring was so exceedingly ingenious and, withal,performed with such immovable composure and coolness, that Mr.
　　Pickwick would have had no wish to disturb it, even if he had hadthe power. In a short time Mr. Mivins returned, bearing thesherry, which Mr. Smangle dispensed in two little cracked mugs;considerately remarking, with reference to himself, that agentleman must not be particular under such circumstances, andthat, for his part, he was not too proud to drink out of the jug. Inwhich, to show his sincerity, he forthwith pledged the company ina draught which half emptied it.
　　An excellent understanding having been by these meanspromoted, Mr. Smangle proceeded to entertain his hearers with arelation of divers romantic adventures in which he had been fromtime to time engaged, involving various interesting anecdotes of athoroughbred horse, and a magnificent Jewess, both of surpassingbeauty, and much coveted by the nobility and gentry of thesekingdoms.
　　Long before these elegant extracts from the biography of agentleman were concluded, Mr. Mivins had betaken himself tobed, and had set in snoring for the night, leaving the timidstranger and Mr. Pickwick to the full benefit of Mr. Smangle’sexperiences.
　　Nor were the two last-named gentlemen as much edified asthey might have been by the moving passages narrated. Mr.
　　Pickwick had been in a state of slumber for some time, when hehad a faint perception of the drunken man bursting out afreshwith the comic song, and receiving from Mr. Smangle a gentleintimation, through the medium of the water-jug, that hisaudience was not musically disposed. Mr. Pickwick then onceagain dropped off to sleep, with a confused consciousness that Mr.
　　Smangle was still engaged in relating a long story, the chief pointof which appeared to be that, on some occasion particularly statedand set forth, he had ‘done’ a bill and a gentleman at the sametime.
Chapter 42
ILLUSTRATIVE, LIKE THE PRECEDING ONE,OF THE OLD PROVERB, THAT ADVERSITYBRINGS A MAN ACQUAINTED WITH STRANGEBEDFELLOWS―LIKEWISE CONTAINING Mr.
　　PICKWICK’S EXTRAORDINARY ANDSTARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT TO Mr.
　　SAMUEL WELLERhen Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, thefirst object upon which they rested was Samuel Weller,seated upon a small black portmanteau, intentlyregarding, apparently in a condition of profound abstraction, thestately figure of the dashing Mr. Smangle; while Mr. Smanglehimself, who was already partially dressed, was seated on hisbedstead, occupied in the desperately hopeless attempt of staringMr. Weller out of countenance. We say desperately hopeless,because Sam, with a comprehensive gaze which took in Mr.
　　Smangle’s cap, feet, head, face, legs, and whiskers, all at the sametime, continued to look steadily on, with every demonstration oflively satisfaction, but with no more regard to Mr. Smangle’spersonal sentiments on the subject than he would have displayedhad he been inspecting a wooden statue, or a straw-embowelledGuy Fawkes.
　　‘Well; will you know me again?’ said Mr. Smangle, with a frown.
　　‘I’d svear to you anyveres, sir,’ replied Sam cheerfully.
　　‘Don’t be impertinent to a gentleman, sir,’ said Mr. Smangle.
　　‘Not on no account,’ replied Sam. ‘If you’ll tell me wen hewakes, I’ll be upon the wery best extra-super behaviour!’ Thisobservation, having a remote tendency to imply that Mr. Smanglewas no gentleman, kindled his ire.
　　‘Mivins!’ said Mr. Smangle, with a passionate air.
　　‘What’s the office?’ replied that gentleman from his couch.
　　‘Who the devil is this fellow?’
　　‘‘Gad,’ said Mr. Mivins, looking lazily out from under the bed-clothes, ‘I ought to ask you that. Hasn’t he any business here?’
　　‘No,’ replied Mr. Smangle. ‘Then knock him downstairs, andtell him not to presume to get up till I come and kick him,’ rejoinedMr. Mivins; with this prompt advice that excellent gentlemanagain betook himself to slumber.
　　The conversation exhibiting these unequivocal symptoms ofverging on the personal, Mr. Pickwick deemed it a fit point atwhich to interpose.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Sir,’ rejoined that gentleman.
　　‘Has anything new occurred since last night?’
　　‘Nothin’ partickler, sir,’ replied Sam, glancing at Mr. Smangle’swhiskers; ‘the late prewailance of a close and confined atmospherehas been rayther favourable to the growth of veeds, of an alarmin’
　　and sangvinary natur; but vith that ’ere exception things is quietenough.’
　　‘I shall get up,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘give me some clean things.’
　　Whatever hostile intentions Mr. Smangle might have entertained,his thoughts were speedily diverted by the unpacking of theportmanteau; the contents of which appeared to impress him atonce with a most favourable opinion, not only of Mr. Pickwick, butof Sam also, who, he took an early opportunity of declaring in atone of voice loud enough for that eccentric personage tooverhear, was a regular thoroughbred original, and consequentlythe very man after his own heart. As to Mr. Pickwick, the affectionhe conceived for him knew no limits.
　　‘Now is there anything I can do for you, my dear sir?’ saidSmangle.
　　‘Nothing that I am aware of, I am obliged to you,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘No linen that you want sent to the washerwoman’s? I know adelightful washerwoman outside, that comes for my things twice aweek; and, by Jove!―how devilish lucky!―this is the day she calls.
　　Shall I put any of those little things up with mine? Don’t sayanything about the trouble. Confound and curse it! if onegentleman under a cloud is not to put himself a little out of theway to assist another gentleman in the same condition, what’shuman nature?’
　　Thus spake Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near aspossible to the portmanteau, and beaming forth looks of the mostfervent and disinterested friendship.
　　‘There’s nothing you want to give out for the man to brush, mydear creature, is there?’ resumed Smangle.
　　‘Nothin’ whatever, my fine feller,’ rejoined Sam, taking thereply into his own mouth. ‘P’raps if vun of us wos to brush,without troubling the man, it ’ud be more agreeable for all parties,as the schoolmaster said when the young gentleman objected tobeing flogged by the butler.’
　　‘And there’s nothing I can send in my little box to the washer-woman’s, is there?’ said Smangle, turning from Sam to Mr.
　　Pickwick, with an air of some discomfiture.
　　‘Nothin’ whatever, sir,’ retorted Sam; ‘I’m afeered the little boxmust be chock full o’ your own as it is.’
　　This speech was accompanied with such a very expressive lookat that particular portion of Mr. Smangle’s attire, by theappearance of which the skill of laundresses in getting upgentlemen’s linen is generally tested, that he was fain to turn uponhis heel, and, for the present at any rate, to give up all design onMr. Pickwick’s purse and wardrobe. He accordingly retired indudgeon to the racket-ground, where he made a light and whole-some breakfast on a couple of the cigars which had beenpurchased on the previous night. Mr. Mivins, who was no smoker,and whose account for small articles of chandlery had alsoreached down to the bottom of the slate, and been ‘carried over’ tothe other side, remained in bed, and , in his own words, ‘took it outin sleep.’
　　After breakfasting in a small closet attached to the coffee-room,which bore the imposing title of the Snuggery, the temporaryinmate of which, in consideration of a small additional charge, hadthe unspeakable advantage of overhearing all the conversation inthe coffee-room aforesaid; and, after despatching Mr. Weller onsome necessary errands, Mr. Pickwick repaired to the lodge, toconsult Mr. Roker concerning his future accommodation.
　　‘Accommodation, eh?’ said that gentleman, consulting a largebook. ‘Plenty of that, Mr. Pickwick. Your chummage ticket will beon twenty-seven, in the third.’
　　‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘My what, did you say?’
　　‘Your chummage ticket,’ replied Mr. Roker; ‘you’re up to that?’ ‘Not quite,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.
　　‘Why,’ said Mr. Roker, ‘it’s as plain as Salisbury. You’ll have achummage ticket upon twenty-seven in the third, and them as is inthe room will be your chums.’
　　‘Are there many of them?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick dubiously.
　　‘Three,’ replied Mr. Roker.
　　Mr. Pickwick coughed.
　　‘One of ’em’s a parson,’ said Mr. Roker, filling up a little piece ofpaper as he spoke; ‘another’s a butcher.’
　　‘Eh?’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘A butcher,’ repeated Mr. Roker, giving the nib of his pen a tapon the desk to cure it of a disinclination to mark. ‘What athorough-paced goer he used to be sure-ly! You remember TomMartin, Neddy?’ said Roker, appealing to another man in thelodge, who was paring the mud off his shoes with a five-and-twenty-bladed pocket-knife.
　　‘I should think so,’ replied the party addressed, with a strongemphasis on the personal pronoun.
　　‘Bless my dear eyes!’ said Mr. Roker, shaking his head slowlyfrom side to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the gratedwindows before him, as if he were fondly recalling some peacefulscene of his early youth; ‘it seems but yesterday that he whoppedthe coal-heaver down Fox-under-the-Hill by the wharf there. Ithink I can see him now, a-coming up the Strand between the twostreet-keepers, a little sobered by the bruising, with a patch o’
　　winegar and brown paper over his right eyelid, and that ’ere lovelybulldog, as pinned the little boy arterwards, a-following at hisheels. What a rum thing time is, ain’t it, Neddy?’
　　The gentleman to whom these observations were addressed,who appeared of a taciturn and thoughtful cast, merely echoed theinquiry; Mr. Roker, shaking off the poetical and gloomy train ofthought into which he had been betrayed, descended to thecommon business of life, and resumed his pen.
　　‘Do you know what the third gentlemen is?’ inquired Mr.
　　Pickwick, not very much gratified by this description of his futureassociates.
　　‘What is that Simpson, Neddy?’ said Mr. Roker, turning to hiscompanion.
　　‘What Simpson?’ said Neddy.
　　‘Why, him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman’sgoing to be chummed on.’
　　‘Oh, him!’ replied Neddy; ‘he’s nothing exactly. He was a horsechaunter: he’s a leg now.’
　　‘Ah, so I thought,’ rejoined Mr. Roker, closing the book, andplacing the small piece of paper in Mr. Pickwick’s hands. ‘That’sthe ticket, sir.’
　　Very much perplexed by this summary disposition of thisperson, Mr. Pickwick walked back into the prison, revolving in hismind what he had better do. Convinced, however, that before hetook any other steps it would be advisable to see, and holdpersonal converse with, the three gentlemen with whom it wasproposed to quarter him, he made the best of his way to the thirdflight.
　　After groping about in the gallery for some time, attempting inthe dim light to decipher the numbers on the different doors, he atlength appealed to a pot-boy, who happened to be pursuing hismorning occupation of gleaning for pewter.
　　‘Which is twenty-seven, my good fellow?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Five doors farther on,’ replied the pot-boy. ‘There’s thelikeness of a man being hung, and smoking the while, chalkedoutside the door.’
　　Guided by this direction, Mr. Pickwick proceeded slowly alongthe gallery until he encountered the ‘portrait of a gentleman,’
　　above described, upon whose countenance he tapped, with theknuckle of his forefinger―gently at first, and then audibly. Afterrepeating this process several times without effect, he ventured toopen the door and peep in.
　　There was only one man in the room, and he was leaning out ofwindow as far as he could without overbalancing himself,endeavouring, with great perseverance, to spit upon the crown ofthe hat of a personal friend on the parade below. As neitherspeaking, coughing, sneezing, knocking, nor any other ordinarymode of attracting attention, made this person aware of thepresence of a visitor, Mr. Pickwick, after some delay, stepped up tothe window, and pulled him gently by the coat tail. The individualbrought in his head and shoulders with great swiftness, andsurveying Mr. Pickwick from head to foot, demanded in a surlytone what the―something beginning with a capital H―he wanted.
　　‘I believe,’ said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his ticket―‘I believethis is twenty-seven in the third?’
　　‘Well?’ replied the gentleman.
　　‘I have come here in consequence of receiving this bit of paper,’
　　rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Hand it over,’ said the gentleman.
　　Mr. Pickwick complied.
　　‘I think Roker might have chummed you somewhere else,’ saidMr. Simpson (for it was the leg), after a very discontented sort of apause.
　　Mr. Pickwick thought so also; but, under all the circumstances,he considered it a matter of sound policy to be silent. Mr. Simpsonmused for a few moments after this, and then, thrusting his headout of the window, gave a shrill whistle, and pronounced someword aloud, several times. What the word was, Mr. Pickwick couldnot distinguish; but he rather inferred that it must be somenickname which distinguished Mr. Martin, from the fact of a greatnumber of gentlemen on the ground below, immediatelyproceeding to cry ‘Butcher!’ in imitation of the tone in which thatuseful class of society are wont, diurnally, to make their presenceknown at area railings.
　　Subsequent occurrences confirmed the accuracy of Mr.
　　Pickwick’s impression; for, in a few seconds, a gentleman,prematurely broad for his years, clothed in a professional bluejean frock and top-boots with circular toes, entered the roomnearly out of breath, closely followed by another gentleman in veryshabby black, and a sealskin cap. The latter gentleman, whofastened his coat all the way up to his chin by means of a pin and abutton alternately, had a very coarse red face, and looked like adrunken chaplain; which, indeed, he was.
　　These two gentlemen having by turns perused Mr. Pickwick’sbillet, the one expressed his opinion that it was ‘a rig,’ and theother his conviction that it was ‘a go.’ Having recorded theirfeelings in these very intelligible terms, they looked at Mr.
　　Pickwick and each other in awkward silence.
　　‘It’s an aggravating thing, just as we got the beds so snug,’ saidthe chaplain, looking at three dirty mattresses, each rolled up in ablanket; which occupied one corner of the room during the day,and formed a kind of slab, on which were placed an old crackedbasin, ewer, and soap-dish, of common yellow earthenware, with ablue flower―‘very aggravating.’
　　Mr. Martin expressed the same opinion in rather strongerterms; Mr. Simpson, after having let a variety of expletiveadjectives loose upon society without any substantive toaccompany them, tucked up his sleeves, and began to wash thegreens for dinner.
　　While this was going on, Mr. Pickwick had been eyeing theroom, which was filthily dirty, and smelt intolerably close. Therewas no vestige of either carpet, curtain, or blind. There was noteven a closet in it. Unquestionably there were but few things toput away, if there had been one; but, however few in number, orsmall in individual amount, still, remnants of loaves and pieces ofcheese, and damp towels, and scrags of meat, and articles ofwearing apparel, and mutilated crockery, and bellows withoutnozzles, and toasting-forks without prongs, do present somewhatof an uncomfortable appearance when they are scattered aboutthe floor of a small apartment, which is the common sitting andsleeping room of three idle men.
　　‘I suppose this can be managed somehow,’ said the butcher,after a pretty long silence. ‘What will you take to go out?’
　　‘I beg your pardon,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘What did you say? Ihardly understand you.’
　　‘What will you take to be paid out?’ said the butcher. ‘Theregular chummage is two-and-six. Will you take three bob?’
　　‘And a bender,’ suggested the clerical gentleman.
　　‘Well, I don’t mind that; it’s only twopence a piece more,’ saidMr. Martin. ‘What do you say, now? We’ll pay you out for three-and-sixpence a week. Come!’
　　‘And stand a gallon of beer down,’ chimed in Mr. Simpson.
　　‘There!’
　　‘And drink it on the spot,’ said the chaplain. ‘Now!’
　　‘I really am so wholly ignorant of the rules of this place,’
　　returned Mr. Pickwick, ‘that I do not yet comprehend you. Can Ilive anywhere else? I thought I could not.’
　　At this inquiry Mr. Martin looked, with a countenance ofexcessive surprise, at his two friends, and then each gentlemanpointed with his right thumb over his left shoulder. This actionimperfectly described in words by the very feeble term of ‘over theleft,’ when performed by any number of ladies or gentlemen whoare accustomed to act in unison, has a very graceful and airyeffect; its expression is one of light and playful sarcasm.
　　‘Can you!’ repeated Mr. Martin, with a smile of pity.
　　‘Well, if I knew as little of life as that, I’d eat my hat and swallowthe buckle whole,’ said the clerical gentleman.
　　‘So would I,’ added the sporting one solemnly.
　　After this introductory preface, the three chums informed Mr.
　　Pickwick, in a breath, that money was, in the Fleet, just whatmoney was out of it; that it would instantly procure him almostanything he desired; and that, supposing he had it, and had noobjection to spend it, if he only signified his wish to have a room tohimself, he might take possession of one, furnished and fitted toboot, in half an hour’s time.
　　With this the parties separated, very much to their commonsatisfaction; Mr. Pickwick once more retracing his steps to thelodge, and the three companions adjourning to the coffee-room,there to spend the five shillings which the clerical gentleman had,with admirable prudence and foresight, borrowed of him for thepurpose.
　　‘I knowed it!’ said Mr. Roker, with a chuckle, when Mr.
　　Pickwick stated the object with which he had returned. ‘Didn’t Isay so, Neddy?’
　　The philosophical owner of the universal penknife growled anaffirmative.
　　‘I knowed you’d want a room for yourself, bless you!’ said Mr.
　　Roker. ‘Let me see. You’ll want some furniture. You’ll hire that ofme, I suppose? That’s the reg’lar thing.’
　　‘With great pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘There’s a capital room up in the coffee-room flight, thatbelongs to a Chancery prisoner,’ said Mr. Roker. ‘It’ll stand you ina pound a week. I suppose you don’t mind that?’
　　‘Not at all,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Just step there with me,’ said Roker, taking up his hat withgreat alacrity; ‘the matter’s settled in five minutes. Lord! whydidn’t you say at first that you was willing to come downhandsome?’
　　The matter was soon arranged, as the turnkey had foretold. TheChancery prisoner had been there long enough to have lost hisfriends, fortune, home, and happiness, and to have acquired theright of having a room to himself. As he laboured, however, underthe inconvenience of often wanting a morsel of bread, he eagerlylistened to Mr. Pickwick’s proposal to rent the apartment, andreadily covenanted and agreed to yield him up the sole andundisturbed possession thereof, in consideration of the weeklypayment of twenty shillings; from which fund he furthermorecontracted to pay out any person or persons that might bechummed upon it.
　　As they struck the bargain, Mr. Pickwick surveyed him with apainful interest. He was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous man, in an oldgreatcoat and slippers, with sunken cheeks, and a restless, eagereye. His lips were bloodless, and his bones sharp and thin. Godhelp him! the iron teeth of confinement and privation had beenslowly filing him down for twenty years.
　　‘And where will you live meanwhile, sir?’ said Mr. Pickwick, ashe laid the amount of the first week’s rent, in advance, on thetottering table.
　　The man gathered up the money with a trembling hand, andreplied that he didn’t know yet; he must go and see where hecould move his bed to.
　　‘I am afraid, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand gently andcompassionately on his arm―‘I am afraid you will have to live insome noisy, crowded place. Now, pray, consider this room yourown when you want quiet, or when any of your friends come to seeyou.’
　　‘Friends!’ interposed the man, in a voice which rattled in histhroat. ‘If I lay dead at the bottom of the deepest mine in theworld; tight screwed down and soldered in my coffin; rotting in thedark and filthy ditch that drags its slime along, beneath thefoundations of this prison; I could not be more forgotten orunheeded than I am here. I am a dead man; dead to society,without the pity they bestow on those whose souls have passed tojudgment. Friends to see me! My God! I have sunk, from the primeof life into old age, in this place, and there is not one to raise hishand above my bed when I lie dead upon it, and say, “It is ablessing he is gone!”’
　　The excitement, which had cast an unwonted light over theman’s face, while he spoke, subsided as he concluded; andpressing his withered hands together in a hasty and disorderedmanner, he shuffled from the room.
　　‘Rides rather rusty,’ said Mr. Roker, with a smile. ‘Ah! they’relike the elephants. They feel it now and then, and it makes ’emwild!’
　　Having made this deeply-sympathising remark, Mr. Rokerentered upon his arrangements with such expedition, that in ashort time the room was furnished with a carpet, six chairs, atable, a sofa bedstead, a tea-kettle, and various small articles, onhire, at the very reasonable rate of seven-and-twenty shillings andsixpence per week.
　　‘Now, is there anything more we can do for you?’ inquired Mr.
　　Roker, looking round with great satisfaction, and gaily chinkingthe first week’s hire in his closed fist.
　　‘Why, yes,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who had been musing deeply forsome time. ‘Are there any people here who run on errands, and soforth?’
　　‘Outside, do you mean?’ inquired Mr. Roker.
　　‘Yes. I mean who are able to go outside. Not prisoners.’
　　‘Yes, there is,’ said Roker. ‘There’s an unfortunate devil, whohas got a friend on the poor side, that’s glad to do anything of thatsort. He’s been running odd jobs, and that, for the last two months.
　　Shall I send him?’
　　‘If you please,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘Stay; no. The poor side,you say? I should like to see it. I’ll go to him myself.’
　　The poor side of a debtor’s prison is, as its name imports, thatin which the most miserable and abject class of debtors areconfined. A prisoner having declared upon the poor side, paysneither rent nor chummage. His fees, upon entering and leavingthe jail, are reduced in amount, and he becomes entitled to a shareof some small quantities of food: to provide which, a few charitablepersons have, from time to time, left trifling legacies in their wills.
　　Most of our readers will remember, that, until within a very fewyears past, there was a kind of iron cage in the wall of the FleetPrison, within which was posted some man of hungry looks, who,from time to time, rattled a money-box, and exclaimed in amournful voice, ‘Pray, remember the poor debtors; prayremember the poor debtors.’ The receipts of this box, when therewere any, were divided among the poor prisoners; and the men onthe poor side relieved each other in this degrading office.
　　Although this custom has been abolished, and the cage is nowboarded up, the miserable and destitute condition of theseunhappy persons remains the same. We no longer suffer them toappeal at the prison gates to the charity and compassion of thepassersby; but we still leave unblotted the leaves of our statutebook, for the reverence and admiration of succeeding ages, thejust and wholesome law which declares that the sturdy felon shallbe fed and clothed, and that the penniless debtor shall be left todie of starvation and nakedness. This is no fiction. Not a weekpasses over our head, but, in every one of our prisons for debt,some of these men must inevitably expire in the slow agonies ofwant, if they were not relieved by their fellow-prisoners.
　　Turning these things in his mind, as he mounted the narrowstaircase at the foot of which Roker had left him, Mr. Pickwickgradually worked himself to the boiling-over point; and so excitedwas he with his reflections on this subject, that he had burst intothe room to which he had been directed, before he had anydistinct recollection, either of the place in which he was, or of theobject of his visit.
　　The general aspect of the room recalled him to himself at once;but he had no sooner cast his eye on the figure of a man who wasbrooding over the dusty fire, than, letting his hat fall on the floor,he stood perfectly fixed and immovable with astonishment.
　　Yes; in tattered garments, and without a coat; his commoncalico shirt, yellow and in rags; his hair hanging over his face; hisfeatures changed with suffering, and pinched with famine―theresat Mr. Alfred Jingle; his head resting on his hands, his eyes fixedupon the fire, and his whole appearance denoting misery anddejection!
　　Near him, leaning listlessly against the wall, stood a strong-builtcountryman, flicking with a worn-out hunting-whip the top-bootthat adorned his right foot; his left being thrust into an old slipper.
　　Horses, dogs, and drink had brought him there, pell-mell. Therewas a rusty spur on the solitary boot, which he occasionally jerkedinto the empty air, at the same time giving the boot a smart blow,and muttering some of the sounds by which a sportsmanencourages his horse. He was riding, in imagination, somedesperate steeplechase at that moment. Poor wretch! He neverrode a match on the swiftest animal in his costly stud, with half thespeed at which he had torn along the course that ended in theFleet.
　　On the opposite side of the room an old man was seated on asmall wooden box, with his eyes riveted on the floor, and his facesettled into an expression of the deepest and most hopelessdespair. A young girl―his little grand-daughter―was hangingabout him, endeavouring, with a thousand childish devices, toengage his attention; but the old man neither saw nor heard her.
　　The voice that had been music to him, and the eyes that had beenlight, fell coldly on his senses. His limbs were shaking withdisease, and the palsy had fastened on his mind.
　　There were two or three other men in the room, congregated ina little knot, and noiselessly talking among themselves. There wasa lean and haggard woman, too―a prisoner’s wife―who waswatering, with great solicitude, the wretched stump of a dried-up,withered plant, which, it was plain to see, could never send forth agreen leaf again―too true an emblem, perhaps, of the office shehad come there to discharge.
　　Such were the objects which presented themselves to Mr.
　　Pickwick’s view, as he looked round him in amazement. The noiseof some one stumbling hastily into the room, roused him. Turninghis eyes towards the door, they encountered the new-comer; andin him, through his rags and dirt, he recognised the familiarfeatures of Mr. Job Trotter.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed Job aloud.
　　‘Eh?’ said Jingle, starting from his seat. ‘Mr―! So it is―queerplace―strange things―serves me right―very.’ Mr. Jingle thrusthis hands into the place where his trousers pockets used to be,and, dropping his chin upon his breast, sank back into his chair.
　　Mr. Pickwick was affected; the two men looked so verymiserable. The sharp, involuntary glance Jingle had cast at a smallpiece of raw loin of mutton, which Job had brought in with him,said more of their reduced state than two hours’ explanation couldhave done. Mr. Pickwick looked mildly at Jingle, and said―‘I should like to speak to you in private. Will you step out for aninstant?’
　　‘Certainly,’ said Jingle, rising hastily. ‘Can’t step far―no dangerof overwalking yourself here―spike park―grounds pretty―romantic, but not extensive―open for public inspection―familyalways in town―housekeeper desperately careful―very.’
　　‘You have forgotten your coat,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as theywalked out to the staircase, and closed the door after them.
　　‘Eh?’ said Jingle. ‘Spout―dear relation―uncle Tom―couldn’thelp it―must eat, you know. Wants of nature―and all that.’
　　‘What do you mean?’
　　‘Gone, my dear sir―last coat―can’t help it. Lived on a pair ofboots―whole fortnight. Silk umbrella―ivory handle―week―fact―honour―ask Job―knows it.’
　　‘Lived for three weeks upon a pair of boots, and a silk umbrellawith an ivory handle!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had onlyheard of such things in shipwrecks or read of them in Constable’sMiscellany.
　　‘True,’ said Jingle, nodding his head. ‘Pawnbroker’s shop―duplicates here―small sums―mere nothing―all rascals.’
　　‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick, much relieved by this explanation; ‘Iunderstand you. You have pawned your wardrobe.’
　　‘Everything―Job’s too―all shirts gone―never mind―saveswashing. Nothing soon―lie in bed―starve―die―inquest―littlebone-house―poor prisoner―common necessaries―hush it up―gentlemen of the jury―warden’s tradesmen―keep it snug―natural death―coroner’s order―workhouse funeral―serve himright―all over―drop the curtain.’
　　Jingle delivered this singular summary of his prospects in life,with his accustomed volubility, and with various twitches of thecountenance to counterfeit smiles. Mr. Pickwick easily perceivedthat his recklessness was a ssumed, and looking him full, but notunkindly, in the face, saw that his eyes were moist with tears.
　　‘Good fellow,’ said Jingle, pressing his hand, and turning hishead away. ‘Ungrateful dog―boyish to cry―can’t help it―badfever―weak―ill―hungry. Deserved it all―but suffered much―very.’ Wholly unable to keep up appearances any longer, andperhaps rendered worse by the effort he had made, the dejectedstroller sat down on the stairs, and, covering his face with hishands, sobbed like a child.
　　‘Come, come,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable emotion,‘we will see what can be done, when I know all about the matter.
　　Here, Job; where is that fellow?’
　　‘Here, sir,’ replied Job, presenting himself on the staircase. Wehave described him, by the bye, as having deeply-sunken eyes, inthe best of times. In his present state of want and distress, helooked as if those features had gone out of town altogether.
　　‘Here, sir,’ cried Job.
　　‘Come here, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, trying to look stern, withfour large tears running down his waistcoat. ‘Take that, sir.’
　　Take what? In the ordinary acceptation of such language, itshould have been a blow. As the world runs, it ought to have beena sound, hearty cuff; for Mr. Pickwick had been duped, deceived,and wronged by the destitute outcast who was now wholly in hispower. Must we tell the truth? It was something from Mr.
　　Pickwick’s waistcoat pocket, which chinked as it was given intoJob’s hand, and the giving of which, somehow or other imparted asparkle to the eye, and a swelling to the heart, of our excellent oldfriend, as he hurried away.
　　Sam had returned when Mr. Pickwick reached his own room,and was inspecting the arrangements that had been made for hiscomfort, with a kind of grim satisfaction which was very pleasantto look upon. Having a decided objection to his master’s beingthere at all, Mr. Weller appeared to consider it a high moral dutynot to appear too much pleased with anything that was done, said,suggested, or proposed.
　　‘Well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Pretty comfortable now, eh, Sam?’
　　‘Pretty vell, sir,’ responded Sam, looking round him in adisparaging manner.
　　‘Have you seen Mr. Tupman and our other friends?’
　　‘Yes, I have seen ’em, sir, and they’re a-comin’ to-morrow, andwos wery much surprised to hear they warn’t to come to-day,’
　　replied Sam.
　　‘You have brought the things I wanted?’
　　Mr. Weller in reply pointed to various packages which he hadarranged, as neatly as he could, in a corner of the room.
　　‘Very well, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after a little hesitation;‘listen to what I am going to say, Sam.’
　　‘Cert’nly, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller; ‘fire away, sir.’
　　‘I have felt from the first, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with muchsolemnity, ‘that this is not the place to bring a young man to.’
　　‘Nor an old ’un neither, sir,’ observed Mr. Weller.
　　‘You’re quite right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but old men maycome here through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion, andyoung men may be brought here by the selfishness of those theyserve. It is better for those young men, in every point of view, thatthey should not remain here. Do you understand me, Sam?’
　　‘Vy no, sir, I do not,’ replied Mr. Weller doggedly.
　　‘Try, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Vell, sir,’ rejoined Sam, after a short pause, ‘I think I see yourdrift; and if I do see your drift, it’s my ’pinion that you’re a-comin’
　　it a great deal too strong, as the mail-coachman said to thesnowstorm, ven it overtook him.’
　　‘I see you comprehend me, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Independently of my wish that you should not be idling about aplace like this, for years to come, I feel that for a debtor in theFleet to be attended by his manservant is a monstrous absurdity.
　　Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘for a time you must leave me.’
　　‘Oh, for a time, eh, sir?’ rejoined Mr. Weller. rathersarcastically. ‘Yes, for the time that I remain here,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick. ‘Your wages I shall continue to pay. Any one of my threefriends will be happy to take you, were it only out of respect to me.
　　And if I ever do leave this place, Sam,’ added Mr. Pickwick, withassumed cheerfulness―‘if I do, I pledge you my word that youshall return to me instantly.’
　　‘Now I’ll tell you wot it is, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, in a grave andsolemn voice. ‘This here sort o’ thing won’t do at all, so don’t let’shear no more about it.’
　　‘I am serious, and resolved, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘You air, air you, sir?’ inquired Mr. Well er firmly. ‘Wery good,sir; then so am I.’
　　Thus speaking, Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with greatprecision, and abruptly left the room.
　　‘Sam!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, calling after him, ‘Sam! Here!’
　　But the long gallery ceased to re-echo the sound of footsteps.
　　Sam Weller was gone.
Chapter 43
SHOWING HOW Mr. SAMUEL WELLER GOTINTO DIFFICULTIESn a lofty room, ill-lighted and worse ventilated, situated inPortugal Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, there sit nearly thewhole year round, one, two, three, or four gentlemen in wigs,as the case may be, with little writing-desks before them,constructed after the fashion of those used by the judges of theland, barring the French polish. There is a box of barristers ontheir right hand; there is an enclosure of insolvent debtors on theirleft; and there is an inclined plane of most especially dirty faces intheir front. These gentlemen are the Commissioners of theInsolvent Court, and the place in which they sit, is the InsolventCourt itself.
　　It is, and has been, time out of mind, the remarkable fate of thiscourt to be, somehow or other, held and understood, by thegeneral consent of all the destitute shabby-genteel people inLondon, as their common resort, and place of daily refuge. It isalways full. The steams of beer and spirits perpetually ascend tothe ceiling, and, being condensed by the heat, roll down the wallslike rain; there are more old suits of clothes in it at one time, thanwill be offered for sale in all Houndsditch in a twelvemonth; moreunwashed skins and grizzly beards than all the pumps andshaving-shops between Tyburn and Whitechapel could renderdecent, between sunrise and sunset.
　　It must not be supposed that any of these people have the leastshadow of business in, or the remotest connection with, the placethey so indefatigably attend. If they had, it would be no matter ofsurprise, and the singularity of the thing would cease. Some ofthem sleep during the greater part of the sitting; others carrysmall portable dinners wrapped in pocket-handkerchiefs orsticking out of their worn-out pockets, and munch and listen withequal relish; but no one among them was ever known to have theslightest personal interest in any case that was ever broughtforward. Whatever they do, there they sit from the first moment tothe last. When it is heavy, rainy weather, they all come in, wetthrough; and at such times the vapours of the court are like thoseof a fungus-pit.
　　A casual visitor might suppose this place to be a templededicated to the Genius of Seediness. There is not a messenger orprocess-server attached to it, who wears a coat that was made forhim; not a tolerably fresh, or wholesome-looking man in the wholeestablishment, except a little white-headed apple-faced tipstaff,and even he, like an ill-conditioned cherry preserved in brandy,seems to have artificially dried and withered up into a state ofpreservation to which he can lay no natural claim. The verybarristers’ wigs are ill-powdered, and their curls lack crispness.
　　But the attorneys, who sit at a large bare table below thecommissioners, are, after all, the greatest curiosities. Theprofessional establishment of the more opulent of thesegentlemen, consists of a blue bag and a boy; generally a youth ofthe Jewish persuasion. They have no fixed offices, their legalbusiness being transacted in the parlours of public-houses, or theyards of prisons, whither they repair in crowds, and canvass forcustomers after the manner of omnibus cads. They are of a greasyand mildewed appearance; and if they can be said to have anyvices at all, perhaps drinking and cheating are the mostconspicuous among them. Their residences are usually on theoutskirts of ‘the Rules,’ chiefly lying within a circle of one milefrom the obelisk in St. George’s Fields. Their looks are notprepossessing, and their manners are peculiar.
　　Mr. Solomon Pell, one of this learned body, was a fat, flabby,pale man, in a surtout which looked green one minute, and brownthe next, with a velvet collar of the same chameleon tints. Hisforehead was narrow, his face wide, his head large, and his noseall on one side, as if Nature, indignant with the propensities sheobserved in him in his birth, had given it an angry tweak which ithad never recovered. Being short-necked and asthmatic, however,he respired principally through this feature; so, perhaps, what itwanted in ornament, it made up in usefulness.
　　‘I’m sure to bring him through it,’ said Mr. Pell.
　　‘Are you, though?’ replied the person to whom the assurancewas pledged.
　　‘Certain sure,’ replied Pell; ‘but if he’d gone to any irregularpractitioner, mind you, I wouldn’t have answered for theconsequences.’
　　‘Ah!’ said the other, with open mouth.
　　‘No, that I wouldn’t,’ said Mr. Pell; and he pursed up his lips,frowned, and shook his head mysteriously.
　　Now, the place where this discourse occurred was the public-house just opposite to the Insolvent Court; and the person withwhom it was held was no other than the elder Mr. Weller, who hadcome there, to comfort and console a friend, whose petition to bedischarged under the act, was to be that day heard, and whoseattorney he was at that moment consulting.
　　‘And vere is George?’ inquired the old gentleman.
　　Mr. Pell jerked his head in the direction of a back parlour,whither Mr. Weller at once repairing, was immediately greeted inthe warmest and most flattering manner by some half-dozen of hisprofessional brethren, in token of their gratification at his arrival.
　　The insolvent gentleman, who had contracted a speculative butimprudent passion for horsing long stages, which had led to hispresent embarrassments, looked extremely well, and was soothingthe excitement of his feelings with shrimps and porter.
　　The salutation between Mr. Weller and his friends was strictlyconfined to the freemasonry of the craft; consisting of a jerkinground of the right wrist, and a tossing of the little finger into theair at the same time. We once knew two famous coachmen (theyare dead now, poor fellows) who were twins, and between whoman unaffected and devoted attachment existed. They passed eachother on the Dover road, every day, for twenty-four years, neverexchanging any other greeting than this; and yet, when one died,the other pined away, and soon afterwards followed him!
　　‘Vell, George,’ said Mr. Weller senior, taking off his upper coat,and seating himself with his accustomed gravity. ‘How is it? Allright behind, and full inside?’
　　‘All right, old feller,’ replied the embarrassed gentleman.
　　‘Is the grey mare made over to anybody?’ inquired Mr. Welleranxiously. George nodded in the affirmative.
　　‘Vell, that’s all right,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Coach taken care on,also?’
　　‘Con-signed in a safe quarter,’ replied George, wringing theheads off half a dozen shrimps, and swallowing them without anymore ado.
　　‘Wery good, wery good,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Alvays see to the dragven you go downhill. Is the vay-bill all clear and straight for’erd?’
　　‘The schedule, sir,’ said Pell, guessing at Mr. Weller’s meaning,‘the schedule is as plain and satisfactory as pen and ink can makeit.’
　　Mr. Weller nodded in a manner which bespoke his inwardapproval of these arrangements; and then, turning to Mr. Pell,said, pointing to his friend George―‘Ven do you take his cloths off?’
　　‘Why,’ replied Mr. Pell, ‘he stands third on the opposed list, andI should think it would be his turn in about half an hour. I told myclerk to come over and tell us when there was a chance.’
　　Mr. Weller surveyed the attorney from head to foot with greatadmiration, and said emphatically―‘And what’ll you take, sir?’
　　‘Why, really,’ replied Mr. Pell, ‘you’re very―Upon my word andhonour, I’m not in the habit of―It’s so very early in the morning,that, actually, I am almost―Well, you may bring methreepenn’orth of rum, my dear.’
　　The officiating damsel, who had anticipated the order before itwas given, set the glass of spirits before Pell, and retired.
　　‘Gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pell, looking round upon the company,‘success to your friend! I don’t like to boast, gentlemen; it’s not myway; but I can’t help saying, that, if your friend hadn’t beenfortunate enough to fall into hands that―But I won’t say what Iwas going to say. Gentlemen, my service to you.’ Having emptiedthe glass in a twinkling, Mr. Pell smacked his lips, and lookedcomplacently round on the assembled coachmen, who evidentlyregarded him as a species of divinity.
　　‘Let me see,’ said the legal authority. ‘What was I a-saying,gentlemen?’
　　‘I think you was remarkin as you wouldn’t have no objection toanother o’ the same, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, with grave facetiousness.
　　‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Mr. Pell. ‘Not bad, not bad. A professionalman, too! At this time of the morning, it would be rather too gooda―Well, I don’t know, my dear―you may do that again, if youplease. Hem!’
　　This last sound was a solemn and dignified cough, in which Mr.
　　Pell, observing an indecent tendency to mirth in some of hisauditors, considered it due to himself to indulge.
　　‘The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me,’
　　said Mr. Pell.
　　‘And wery creditable in him, too,’ interposed Mr. Weller.
　　‘Hear, hear,’ assented Mr. Pell’s client. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?
　　‘Ah! Why, indeed!’ said a very red-faced man, who had saidnothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anythingmore. ‘Why shouldn’t he?’
　　A murmur of assent ran through the company.
　　‘I remember, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pell, ‘dining with him on oneoccasion; there was only us two, but everything as splendid as iftwenty people had been expected―the great seal on a dumb-waiter at his right hand, and a man in a bag-wig and suit ofarmour guarding the mace with a drawn sword and silkstockings―which is perpetually done, gentlemen, night and day;when he said, “Pell,” he said, “no false delicacy, Pell. You’re a manof talent; you can get anybody through the Insolvent Court, Pell;and your country should be proud of you.” Those were his verywords. “My Lord,” I said, “you flatter me.”―“Pell,” he said, “if Ido, I’m damned.”’
　　‘Did he say that?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘He did,’ replied Pell.
　　‘Vell, then,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘I say Parliament ought to ha’ tookit up; and if he’d been a poor man, they would ha’ done it.’
　　‘But, my dear friend,’ argued Mr. Pell, ‘it was in confidence.’
　　‘In what?’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘In confidence.’
　　‘Oh! wery good,’ replied Mr. Weller, after a little reflection. ‘Ifhe damned hisself in confidence, o’ course that was another thing.’
　　‘Of course it was,’ said Mr. Pell. ‘The distinction’s obvious, youwill perceive.’
　　‘Alters the case entirely,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Go on, sir.’
　　‘No, I will not go on, sir,’ said Mr. Pell, in a low and serious tone.
　　‘You have reminded me, sir, that this conversation was private―private and confidential, gentlemen. Gentlemen, I am aprofessional man. It may be that I am a good deal looked up to, inmy profession―it may be that I am not. Most people know. I saynothing. Observations have already been made, in this room,injurious to the reputation of my noble friend. You will excuse me,gentlemen; I was imprudent. I feel that I have no right to mentionthis matter without his concurrence. Thank you, sir; thank you.’
　　Thus delivering himself, Mr. Pell thrust his hands into his pockets,and, frowning grimly around, rattled three halfpence with terribledetermination.
　　This virtuous resolution had scarcely been formed, when theboy and the blue bag, who were inseparable companions, rushedviolently into the room, and said (at least the boy did, for the bluebag took no part in the announcement) that the case was comingon directly. The intelligence was no sooner received than thewhole party hurried across the street, and began to fight their wayinto court―a preparatory ceremony, which has been calculated tooccupy, in ordinary cases, from twenty-five minutes to thirty.
　　Mr. Weller, being stout, cast himself at once into the crowd,with the desperate hope of ultimately turning up in some placewhich would suit him. His success was not quite equal to hisexpectations; for having neglected to take his hat off, it wasknocked over his eyes by some unseen person, upon whose toes hehad alighted with considerable force. Apparently this individualregretted his impetuosity immediately afterwards, for, mutteringan indistinct exclamation of surprise, he dragged the old man outinto the hall, and, after a violent struggle, released his head andface.
　　‘Samivel!’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, when he was thus enabled tobehold his rescuer.
　　Sam nodded.
　　‘You’re a dutiful and affectionate little boy, you are, ain’t you,’
　　said Mr. Weller, ‘to come a-bonnetin’ your father in his old age?’
　　‘How should I know who you wos?’ responded the son. ‘Do yous’pose I wos to tell you by the weight o’ your foot?’
　　‘Vell, that’s wery true, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, mollified atonce; ‘but wot are you a-doin’ on here? Your gov’nor can’t do nogood here, Sammy. They won’t pass that werdick, they won’t passit, Sammy.’ And Mr. Weller shook his head with legal solemnity.
　　‘Wot a perwerse old file it is!’ exclaimed Sam. ‘always a-goin’ onabout werdicks and alleybis and that. Who said anything about thewerdick?’
　　Mr. Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head mostlearnedly.
　　‘Leave off rattlin’ that ’ere nob o’ yourn, if you don’t want it tocome off the springs altogether,’ said Sam impatiently, ‘andbehave reasonable. I vent all the vay down to the Markis o’
　　Granby, arter you, last night.’
　　‘Did you see the Marchioness o’ Granby, Sammy?’ inquired Mr.
　　Weller, with a sigh.
　　‘Yes, I did,’ replied Sam.
　　‘How wos the dear creetur a-lookin’?’
　　‘Wery queer,’ said Sam. ‘I think she’s a-injurin’ herselfgradivally vith too much o’ that ’ere pine-apple rum, and otherstrong medicines of the same natur.’
　　‘You don’t mean that, Sammy?’ said the senior earnestly.
　　‘I do, indeed,’ replied the junior. Mr. Weller seized his son’shand, clasped it, and let it fall. There was an expression on hiscountenance in doing so―not of dismay or apprehension, butpartaking more of the sweet and gentle character of hope. A gleamof resignation, and even of cheerfulness, passed over his face too,as he slowly said, ‘I ain’t quite certain, Sammy; I wouldn’t like tosay I wos altogether positive, in case of any subsekentdisappointment, but I rayther think, my boy, I rayther think, thatthe shepherd’s got the liver complaint!’
　　‘Does he look bad?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘He’s uncommon pale,’ replied his father, ‘‘cept about the nose,which is redder than ever. His appetite is wery so-so, but heimbibes wonderful.’
　　Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves onMr. Weller’s mind, as he said this; for he looked gloomy andthoughtful; but he very shortly recovered, as was testified by aperfect alphabet of winks, in which he was only wont to indulgewhen particularly pleased.
　　‘Vell, now,’ said Sam, ‘about my affair. Just open them ears o’
　　yourn, and don’t say nothin’ till I’ve done.’ With this preface, Samrelated, as succinctly as he could, the last memorable conversationhe had had with Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Stop there by himself, poor creetur!’ exclaimed the elder Mr.
　　Weller, ‘without nobody to take his part! It can’t be done, Samivel,it can’t be done.’
　　‘O’ course it can’t,’ asserted Sam: ‘I know’d that, afore I came.’
　　‘Why, they’ll eat him up alive, Sammy,’ exclaimed Mr. Weller.
　　Sam nodded his concurrence in the opinion.
　　‘He goes in rayther raw, Sammy,’ said Mr. Wellermetaphorically, ‘and he’ll come out, done so ex-ceedin’ brown, thathis most formiliar friends won’t know him. Roast pigeon’s nothin’
　　to it, Sammy.’
　　Again Sam Weller nodded.
　　‘It oughtn’t to be, Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller gravely.
　　‘It mustn’t be,’ said Sam.
　　‘Cert’nly not,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘Vell now,’ said Sam, ‘you’ve been a-prophecyin’ away, weryfine, like a red-faced Nixon, as the sixpenny books gives picterson.’
　　‘Who wos he, Sammy?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘Never mind who he was,’ retorted Sam; ‘he warn’t a coachman;that’s enough for you.’
　　‘I know’d a ostler o’ that name,’ said Mr. Weller, musing.
　　‘It warn’t him,’ said Sam. ‘This here gen’l’m’n was a prophet.’
　　‘Wot’s a prophet?’ inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly on hisson.
　　‘Wy, a man as tells what’s a-goin’ to happen,’ replied Sam.
　　‘I wish I’d know’d him, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘P’raps hemight ha’ throw’d a small light on that ’ere liver complaint as wewos a-speakin’ on, just now. Hows’ever, if he’s dead, and ain’t leftthe bisness to nobody, there’s an end on it. Go on, Sammy,’ saidMr. Weller, with a sigh.
　　‘Well,’ said Sam, ‘you’ve been a-prophecyin’ avay about wot’llhappen to the gov’ner if he’s left alone. Don’t you see any way o’
　　takin’ care on him?’
　　‘No, I don’t, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, with a reflective visage.
　　‘No vay at all?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘No vay,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘unless’―and a gleam of intelligencelighted up his countenance as he sank his voice to a whisper, andapplied his mouth to the ear of his offspring―‘unless it is gettinghim out in a turn-up bedstead, unbeknown to the turnkeys,Sammy, or dressin’ him up like a old ’ooman vith a green wail.’
　　Sam Weller received both of these suggestions with unexpectedcontempt, and again propounded his question.
　　‘No,’ said the old gentleman; ‘if he von’t let you stop there, I seeno vay at all. It’s no thoroughfare, Sammy, no thoroughfare.’
　　‘Well, then, I’ll tell you wot it is,’ said Sam, ‘I’ll trouble you forthe loan of five-and-twenty pound.’
　　‘Wot good’ll that do?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘Never mind,’ replied Sam. ‘P’raps you may ask for it five minitsarterwards; p’raps I may say I von’t pay, and cut up rough. Youvon’t think o’ arrestin’ your own son for the money, and sendin’
　　him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat’ral wagabone?’
　　At this reply of Sam’s, the father and son exchanged a completecode of telegraph nods and gestures, after which, the elder Mr.
　　Weller sat himself down on a stone step and laughed till he waspurple.
　　‘Wot a old image it is!’ exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss oftime. ‘What are you a-settin’ down there for, con-wertin’ your faceinto a street-door knocker, wen there’s so much to be done.
　　Where’s the money?’
　　‘In the boot, Sammy, in the boot,’ replied Mr. Weller,composing his features. ‘Hold my hat, Sammy.’
　　Having divested himself of this encumbrance, Mr. Weller gavehis body a sudden wrench to one side, and by a dexterous twist,contrived to get his right hand into a most capacious pocket, fromwhence, after a great deal of panting and exertion, he extricated apocket-book of the large octavo size, fastened by a huge leathernstrap. From this ledger he drew forth a couple of whiplashes, threeor four buckles, a little sample-bag of corn, and, finally, a small rollof very dirty bank-notes, from which he selected the requiredamount, which he handed over to Sam.
　　‘And now, Sammy,’ said the old gentleman, when the whip-lashes, and the buckles, and the samples, had been all put back,and the book once more deposited at the bottom of the samepocket, ‘now, Sammy, I know a gen’l’m’n here, as’ll do the rest o’
　　the bisness for us, in no time―a limb o’ the law, Sammy, as hasgot brains like the frogs, dispersed all over his body, and reachin’
　　to the wery tips of his fingers; a friend of the LordChancellorship’s, Sammy, who’d only have to tell him what hewanted, and he’d lock you up for life, if that wos all.’
　　‘I say,’ said Sam, ‘none o’ that.’
　　‘None o’ wot?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘Wy, none o’ them unconstitootional ways o’ doin’ it,’ retortedSam. ‘The have-his-carcass, next to the perpetual motion, is vun ofthe blessedest things as wos ever made. I’ve read that ’ere in thenewspapers wery of’en.’
　　‘Well, wot’s that got to do vith it?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
　　‘Just this here,’ said Sam, ‘that I’ll patronise the inwention, andgo in, that vay. No visperin’s to the Chancellorship―I don’t likethe notion. It mayn’t be altogether safe, vith reference to gettin’
　　out agin.’
　　Deferring to his son’s feeling upon this point, Mr. Weller at oncesought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with hisdesire to issue a writ, instantly, for the sum of twenty-five pounds,and costs of process; to be executed without delay upon the bodyof one Samuel Weller; the charges thereby incurred, to be paid inadvance to Solomon Pell.
　　The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coach-horser was ordered to be discharged forthwith. He highlyapproved of Sam’s attachment to his master; declared that itstrongly reminded him of his own feelings of devotion to hisfriend, the Chancellor; and at once led the elder Mr. Weller downto the Temple, to swear the affidavit of debt, which the boy, withthe assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up on the spot.
　　Meanwhile, Sam, having been formally introduced to thewhitewashed gentleman and his friends, as the offspring of Mr.
　　Weller, of the Belle Savage, was treated with marked distinction,and invited to regale himself with them in honour of theoccasion―an invitation which he was by no means backward inaccepting.
　　The mirth of gentlemen of this class is of a grave and quietcharacter, usually; but the present instance was one of peculiarfestivity, and they relaxed in proportion. After some rathertumultuous toasting of the Chief Commissioner and Mr. SolomonPell, who had that day displayed such transcendent abilities, amottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl proposed that somebodyshould sing a song. The obvious suggestion was, that the mottled-faced gentleman, being anxious for a song, should sing it himself;but this the mottled-faced gentleman sturdily, and somewhatoffensively, declined to do. Upon which, as is not unusual in suchcases, a rather angry colloquy ensued.
　　‘Gentlemen,’ said the coach-horser, ‘rather than disturb theharmony of this delightful occasion, perhaps Mr. Samuel Wellerwill oblige the company.’
　　‘Raly, gentlemen,’ said Sam, ‘I’m not wery much in the habit o’
　　singin’ without the instrument; but anythin’ for a quiet life, as theman said wen he took the sitivation at the lighthouse.’
　　With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into thefollowing wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impressionthat it is not generally known, we take the liberty of quoting. Wewould beg to call particular attention to the monosyllable at theend of the second and fourth lines, which not only enables thesinger to take breath at those points, but greatly assists the metre.
　　Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,His bold mare Bess bestrode―er;Ven there he see’d the Bishop’s coachA-coming along the road―er.
　　So he gallops close to the ’orse’s legs,And he claps his head vithin;And the Bishop says, ‘Sure as eggs is eggs,This here’s the bold Turpin!’
　　CHORUSAnd the Bishop says, ‘Sure as eggs is eggs,This here’s the bold Turpin!’
　　IISays Turpin, ‘You shall eat your words,With a sarse of leaden bul-let;’
　　So he puts a pistol to his mouth,And he fires it down his gul-let.
　　The coachman he not likin’ the job,Set off at full gal-lop,But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,And perwailed on him to stop.
　　CHORUS (sarcastically)But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,And perwailed on him to stop.
　　‘I maintain that that ’ere song’s personal to the cloth,’ said themottled-faced gentleman, interrupting it at this point. ‘I demandthe name o’ that coachman.’
　　‘Nobody know’d,’ replied Sam. ‘He hadn’t got his card in hispocket.’
　　‘I object to the introduction o’ politics,’ said the mottled-facedgentleman. ‘I submit that, in the present company, that ’ere song’spolitical; and, wot’s much the same, that it ain’t true. I say thatthat coachman did not run away; but that he died game―game aspheasants; and I won’t hear nothin’ said to the contrairey.’
　　As the mottled-faced gentleman spoke with great energy anddetermination, and as the opinions of the company seemeddivided on the subject, it threatened to give rise to freshaltercation, when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunelyarrived.
　　‘All right, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘The officer will be here at four o’clock,’ said Mr. Pell. ‘I supposeyou won’t run away meanwhile, eh? Ha! ha!’
　　‘P’raps my cruel pa ’ull relent afore then,’ replied Sam, with abroad grin.
　　‘Not I,’ said the elder Mr. Weller.
　　‘Do,’ said Sam.
　　‘Not on no account,’ replied the inexorable creditor.
　　‘I’ll give bills for the amount, at sixpence a month,’ said Sam.
　　‘I won’t take ’em,’ said Mr. Weller.
　　‘Ha, ha, ha! very good, very good,’ said Mr. Solomon Pell, whowas making out his little bill of costs; ‘a very amusing incidentindeed! Benjamin, copy that.’ And Mr. Pell smiled again, as hecalled Mr. Weller’s attention to the amount.
　　‘Thank you, thank you,’ said the professional gentleman, takingup another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from thepocket-book. ‘Three ten and one ten is five. Much obliged to you,Mr. Weller. Your son is a most deserving young man, very much soindeed, sir. It’s a very pleasant trait in a young man’s character,very much so,’ added Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly round, as hebuttoned up the money.
　　‘Wot a game it is!’ said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle. ‘Areg’lar prodigy son!’
　　‘Prodigal―prodigal son, sir,’ suggested Mr. Pell, mildly.
　　‘Never mind, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, with dignity. ‘I know wot’so’clock, sir. Wen I don’t, I’ll ask you, sir.’
　　By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself soextremely popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined tosee him to prison in a body. So off they set; the plaintiff anddefendant walking arm in arm, the officer in front, and eight stoutcoachmen bringing up the rear. At Serjeant’s Inn Coffee-house thewhole party halted to refresh, and, the legal arrangements beingcompleted, the procession moved on again.
　　Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street, by thepleasantry of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who persevered inwalking four abreast; it was also found necessary to leave themottled-faced gentleman behind, to fight a ticket-porter, it beingarranged that his friends should call for him as they came back.
　　Nothing but these little incidents occurred on the way. When theyreached the gate of the Fleet, the cavalcade, taking the time fromthe plaintiff, gave three tremendous cheers for the defendant, and,after having shaken hands all round, left him.
　　Sam, having been formally delivered into the warder’s custody,to the intense astonishment of Roker, and to the evident emotionof even the phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once into the prison,walked straight to his master’s room, and knocked at the door.
　　‘Come in,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled.
　　‘Ah, Sam, my good lad!’ said Mr. Pickwick, evidently delightedto see his humble friend again; ‘I had no intention of hurting yourfeelings yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what I said. Put downyour hat, Sam, and let me explain my meaning, a little more atlength.’
　　‘Won’t presently do, sir?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but why not now?’
　　‘I’d rayther not now, sir,’ rejoined Sam.
　　‘Why?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘’Cause―‘ said Sam, hesitating.
　　‘Because of what?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at hisfollower’s manner. ‘Speak out, Sam.’
　　‘’Cause,’ rejoined Sam―‘’cause I’ve got a little bisness as I wantto do.’
　　‘What business?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam’sconfused manner.
　　‘Nothin’ partickler, sir,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Oh, if it’s nothing particular,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile,‘you can speak with me first.’
　　‘I think I’d better see arter it at once,’ said Sam, still hesitating.
　　Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing.
　　‘The fact is―‘ said Sam, stopping short.
　　‘Well!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Speak out, Sam.’
　　‘Why, the fact is,’ said Sam, with a desperate effort, ‘perhaps I’dbetter see arter my bed afore I do anythin’ else.’
　　‘Your bed!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in astonishment.
　　‘Yes, my bed, sir,’ replied Sam, ‘I’m a prisoner. I was arrestedthis here wery arternoon for debt.’
　　‘You arrested for debt!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into achair.
　　‘Yes, for debt, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘And the man as puts me in, ’ullnever let me out till you go yourself.’
　　‘Bless my heart and soul!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. ‘What doyou mean?’
　　‘Wot I say, sir,’ rejoined Sam. ‘If it’s forty years to come, I shallbe a prisoner, and I’m very glad on it; and if it had been Newgate,it would ha’ been just the same. Now the murder’s out, and,damme, there’s an end on it!’
　　With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis andviolence, Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a mostunusual state of excitement; and then, folding his arms, lookedfirmly and fixedly in his master’s face.
Chapter 44
TREATS OF DIVERS LITTLE MATTERS WHICHOCCURRED IN THE FLEET, AND OF Mr.
　　WINKLE’S MYSTERIOUS BEHAVIOUR; ANDSHOWS HOW THE POOR CHANCERYPRISONER OBTAINED HIS RELEASE AT LASTr. Pickwick felt a great deal too much touched by thewarmth of Sam’s attachment, to be able to exhibit anymanifestation of anger or displeasure at the precipitatecourse he had adopted, in voluntarily consigning himself to adebtor’s prison for an indefinite period. The only point on whichhe persevered in demanding an explanation, was, the name ofSam’s detaining creditor; but this Mr. Weller as perseveringlywithheld.
　　‘It ain’t o’ no use, sir,’ said Sam, again and again; ‘he’s a ma-licious, bad-disposed, vorldly-minded, spiteful, windictive creetur,with a hard heart as there ain’t no soft’nin’, as the wirtuousclergyman remarked of the old gen’l’m’n with the dropsy, ven hesaid, that upon the whole he thought he’d rayther leave hisproperty to his vife than build a chapel vith it.’
　　‘But consider, Sam,’ Mr. Pickwick remonstrated, ‘the sum is sosmall that it can very easily be paid; and having made up My mindthat you shall stop with me, you should recollect how much moreuseful you would be, if you could go outside the walls.’
　　‘Wery much obliged to you, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller gravely; ‘butI’d rayther not.’
　　‘Rather not do what, Sam?’
　　‘Wy, I’d rayther not let myself down to ask a favour o’ this hereunremorseful enemy.’
　　‘But it is no favour asking him to take his money, Sam,’
　　reasoned Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ rejoined Sam, ‘but it ’ud be a wery greatfavour to pay it, and he don’t deserve none; that’s where it is, sir.’
　　Here Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his nose with an air of somevexation, Mr. Weller thought it prudent to change the theme of thediscourse.
　　‘I takes my determination on principle, sir,’ remarked Sam,‘and you takes yours on the same ground; wich puts me in mind o’
　　the man as killed his-self on principle, wich o’ course you’ve heerdon, sir.’ Mr. Weller paused when he arrived at this point, and casta comical look at his master out of the corners of his eyes.
　　‘There is no “of course” in the case, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick,gradually breaking into a smile, in spite of the uneasiness whichSam’s obstinacy had given him. ‘The fame of the gentleman inquestion, never reached my ears.’
　　‘No, sir!’ exclaimed Mr. Weller. ‘You astonish me, sir; he wos aclerk in a gov’ment office, sir.’
　　‘Was he?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes, he wos, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller; ‘and a wery pleasantgen’l’m’n too―one o’ the precise and tidy sort, as puts their feet inlittle India-rubber fire-buckets wen it’s wet weather, and neverhas no other bosom friends but hare-skins; he saved up his moneyon principle, wore a clean shirt ev’ry day on principle; never spoketo none of his relations on principle, ‘fear they shou’d want toborrow money of him; and wos altogether, in fact, an uncommonagreeable character. He had his hair cut on principle vunce afortnight, and contracted for his clothes on the economicprinciple―three suits a year, and send back the old uns. Being awery reg’lar gen’l’m’n, he din’d ev’ry day at the same place, whereit was one-and-nine to cut off the joint, and a wery good one-and-nine’s worth he used to cut, as the landlord often said, with thetears a-tricklin’ down his face, let alone the way he used to pokethe fire in the vinter time, which wos a dead loss o’ four-penceha’penny a day, to say nothin’ at all o’ the aggrawation o’ seein’
　　him do it. So uncommon grand with it too! “POST arter the nextgen’l’m’n,” he sings out ev’ry day ven he comes in. “See arter theTimes, Thomas; let me look at the Mornin’ Herald, when it’s out o’
　　hand; don’t forget to bespeak the Chronicle; and just bring the’Tizer, vill you:” and then he’d set vith his eyes fixed on the clock,and rush out, just a quarter of a minit ’fore the time to waylay theboy as wos a-comin’ in with the evenin’ paper, which he’d readwith sich intense interest and persewerance as worked the othercustomers up to the wery confines o’ desperation and insanity,’specially one i-rascible old gen’l’m’n as the vaiter wos alwaysobliged to keep a sharp eye on, at sich times, fear he should betempted to commit some rash act with the carving-knife. Vell, sir,here he’d stop, occupyin’ the best place for three hours, and nevertakin’ nothin’ arter his dinner, but sleep, and then he’d go away toa coffee-house a few streets off, and have a small pot o’ coffee andfour crumpets, arter wich he’d walk home to Kensington and go tobed. One night he wos took very ill; sends for a doctor; doctorcomes in a green fly, with a kind o’ Robinson Crusoe set o’ steps,as he could let down wen he got out, and pull up arter him wen hegot in, to perwent the necessity o’ the coachman’s gettin’ down,and thereby undeceivin’ the public by lettin’ ’em see that it wosonly a livery coat as he’d got on, and not the trousers to match.
　　“Wot’s the matter?” says the doctor. “Wery ill,” says the patient.
　　“Wot have you been a-eatin’ on?” says the doctor. “Roast weal,”
　　says the patient. “Wot’s the last thing you dewoured?” says thedoctor. “Crumpets,” says the patient. “That’s it!” says the doctor.
　　“I’ll send you a box of pills directly, and don’t you never take nomore of ’em,” he says. “No more o’ wot?” says the patient―“pills?” “No; crumpets,” says the doctor. “Wy?” says the patient,starting up in bed; “I’ve eat four crumpets, ev’ry night for fifteenyear, on principle.” “Well, then, you’d better leave ’em off, onprinciple,” says the doctor. “Crumpets is not wholesome, sir,” saysthe doctor, wery fierce. “But they’re so cheap,” says the patient,comin’ down a little, “and so wery fillin’ at the price.” “They’d bedear to you, at any price; dear if you wos paid to eat ’em,” says thedoctor. “Four crumpets a night,” he says, “vill do your business insix months!” The patient looks him full in the face, and turns itover in his mind for a long time, and at last he says, “Are you sureo’ that ’ere, sir?” “I’ll stake my professional reputation on it,” saysthe doctor. “How many crumpets, at a sittin’, do you think ’ud killme off at once?” says the patient. “I don’t know,” says the doctor.
　　“Do you think half-a-crown’s wurth ’ud do it?” says the patient. “Ithink it might,” says the doctor. “Three shillins’ wurth ’ud be sureto do it, I s’pose?” says the patient. “Certainly,” says the doctor.
　　“Wery good,” says the patient; “good-night.” Next mornin’ he getsup, has a fire lit, orders in three shillins’ wurth o’ crumpets, toasts’em all, eats ’em all, and blows his brains out.’
　　‘What did he do that for?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly; forhe was considerably startled by this tragical termination of thenarrative.
　　‘Wot did he do it for, sir?’ reiterated Sam. ‘Wy, in support of hisgreat principle that crumpets wos wholesome, and to show that hewouldn’t be put out of his way for nobody!’ With such like shiftingsand changings of the discourse, did Mr. Weller meet his master’squestioning on the night of his taking up his residence in theFleet. Finding all gentle remonstrance useless, Mr. Pickwick atlength yielded a reluctant consent to his taking lodgings by theweek, of a bald-headed cobbler, who rented a small slip room inone of the upper galleries. To this humble apartment Mr. Wellermoved a mattress and bedding, which he hired of Mr. Roker; and,by the time he lay down upon it at night, was as much at home asif he had been bred in the prison, and his whole family hadvegetated therein for three generations.
　　‘Do you always smoke arter you goes to bed, old cock?’ inquiredMr. Weller of his landlord, when they had both retired for thenight.
　　‘Yes, I does, young bantam,’ replied the cobbler.
　　‘Will you allow me to in-quire wy you make up your bed underthat ’ere deal table?’ said Sam.
　　‘’Cause I was always used to a four-poster afore I came here,and I find the legs of the table answer just as well,’ replied thecobbler.
　　‘You’re a character, sir,’ said Sam.
　　‘I haven’t got anything of the kind belonging to me,’ rejoinedthe cobbler, shaking his head; ‘and if you want to meet with a goodone, I’m afraid you’ll find some difficulty in suiting yourself at thisregister office.’
　　The above short dialogue took place as Mr. Weller lay extendedon his mattress at one end of the room, and the cobbler on his, atthe other; the apartment being illumined by the light of a rush-candle, and the cobbler’s pipe, which was glowing below the table,like a red-hot coal. The conversation, brief as it was, predisposedMr. Weller strongly in his landlord’s favour; and, raising himselfon his elbow, he took a more lengthened survey of his appearancethan he had yet had either time or inclination to make.
　　He was a sallow man―all cobblers are; and had a strong bristlybeard―all cobblers have. His face was a queer, good-tempered,crooked-featured piece of workmanship, ornamented with acouple of eyes that must have worn a very joyous expression atone time, for they sparkled yet. The man was sixty, by years, andHeaven knows how old by imprisonment, so that his having anylook approaching to mirth or contentment, was singular enough.
　　He was a little man, and, being half doubled up as he lay in bed,looked about as long as he ought to have been without his legs. Hehad a great red pipe in his mouth, and was smoking, and staring atthe rush-light, in a state of enviable placidity.
　　‘Have you been here long?’ inquired Sam, breaking the silencewhich had lasted for some time.
　　‘Twelve year,’ replied the cobbler, biting the end of his pipe ashe spoke.
　　‘Contempt?’ inquired Sam. The cobbler nodded.
　　‘Well, then,’ said Sam, with some sternness, ‘wot do youpersevere in bein’ obstinit for, vastin’ your precious life away, inthis here magnified pound? Wy don’t you give in, and tell theChancellorship that you’re wery sorry for makin’ his courtcontemptible, and you won’t do so no more?’
　　The cobbler put his pipe in the corner of his mouth, while hesmiled, and then brought it back to its old place again; but saidnothing.
　　‘Wy don’t you?’ said Sam, urging his question strenuously.
　　‘Ah,’ said the cobbler, ‘you don’t quite understand thesematters. What do you suppose ruined me, now?’
　　‘Wy,’ said Sam, trimming the rush-light, ‘I s’pose the beginnin’
　　wos, that you got into debt, eh?’
　　‘Never owed a farden,’ said the cobbler; ‘try again.’
　　‘Well, perhaps,’ said Sam, ‘you bought houses, wich is delicateEnglish for goin’ mad; or took to buildin’, wich is a medical termfor bein’ incurable.’
　　The cobbler shook his head and said, ‘Try again.’
　　‘You didn’t go to law, I hope?’ said Sam suspiciously. ‘Never inmy life,’ replied the cobbler. ‘The fact is, I was ruined by havingmoney left me.’
　　‘Come, come,’ said Sam, ‘that von’t do. I wish some rich enemy’ud try to vork my destruction in that ’ere vay. I’d let him.’
　　‘Oh, I dare say you don’t believe it,’ said the cobbler, quietlysmoking his pipe. ‘I wouldn’t if I was you; but it’s true for all that.’
　　‘How wos it?’ inquired Sam, half induced to believe the factalready, by the look the cobbler gave him.
　　‘Just this,’ replied the cobbler; ‘an old gentleman that I workedfor, down in the country, and a humble relation of whose Imarried―she’s dead, God bless her, and thank Him for it!―wasseized with a fit and went off.’
　　‘Where?’ inquired Sam, who was growing sleepy after thenumerous events of the day.
　　‘How should I know where he went?’ said the cobbler, speakingthrough his nose in an intense enjoyment of his pipe. ‘He went offdead.’
　　‘Oh, that indeed,’ said Sam. ‘Well?’
　　‘Well,’ said the cobbler, ‘he left five thousand pound behindhim.’
　　‘And wery gen-teel in him so to do,’ said Sam.
　　‘One of which,’ continued the cobbler, ‘he left to me, ‘cause Imarried his relation, you see.’
　　‘Wery good,’ murmured Sam.
　　‘And being surrounded by a great number of nieces and nevys,as was always quarrelling and fighting among themselves for theproperty, he makes me his executor, and leaves the rest to me intrust, to divide it among ’em as the will prowided.’
　　‘Wot do you mean by leavin’ it on trust?’ inquired Sam, wakingup a little. ‘If it ain’t ready-money, were’s the use on it?’
　　‘It’s a law term, that’s all,’ said the cobbler.
　　‘I don’t think that,’ said Sam, shaking his head. ‘There’s werylittle trust at that shop. Hows’ever, go on.’
　　‘Well,’ said the cobbler, ‘when I was going to take out a probateof the will, the nieces and nevys, who was desperatelydisappointed at not getting all the money, enters a caveat againstit.’
　　‘What’s that?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘A legal instrument, which is as much as to say, it’s no go,’
　　replied the cobbler.
　　‘I see,’ said Sam, ‘a sort of brother-in-law o’ the have-his-carcass. Well.’
　　‘But,’ continued the cobbler, ‘finding that they couldn’t agreeamong themselves, and consequently couldn’t get up a caseagainst the will, they withdrew the caveat, and I paid all thelegacies. I’d hardly done it, when one nevy brings an action to setthe will aside. The case comes on, some months afterwards, aforea deaf old gentleman, in a back room somewhere down by Paul’sChurchyard; and arter four counsels had taken a day a-piece tobother him regularly, he takes a week or two to consider, and readthe evidence in six volumes, and then gives his judgment that howthe testator was not quite right in his head, and I must pay all themoney back again, and all the costs. I appealed; the case come onbefore three or four very sleepy gentlemen, who had heard it allbefore in the other court, where they’re lawyers without work; theonly difference being, that, there, they’re called doctors, and in theother place delegates, if you understand that; and they verydutifully confirmed the decision of the old gentleman below. Afterthat, we went into Chancery, where we are still, and where I shallalways be. My lawyers have had all my thousand pound long ago;and what between the estate, as they call it, and the costs, I’m herefor ten thousand, and shall stop here, till I die, mending shoes.
　　Some gentlemen have talked of bringing it before Parliament, andI dare say would have done it, only they hadn’t time to come to me,and I hadn’t power to go to them, and they got tired of my longletters, and dropped the business. And this is God’s truth, withoutone word of suppression or exaggeration, as fifty people, both inthis place and out of it, very well know.’
　　The cobbler paused to ascertain what effect his story hadproduced on Sam; but finding that he had dropped asleep,knocked the ashes out of his pipe, sighed, put it down, drew thebed-clothes over his head, and went to sleep, too.
　　Mr. Pickwick was sitting at breakfast, alone, next morning (Sambeing busily engaged in the cobbler’s room, polishing his master’sshoes and brushing the black gaiters) when there came a knock atthe door, which, before Mr. Pickwick could cry ‘Come in!’ wasfollowed by the appearance of a head of hair and a cotton-velvetcap, both of which articles of dress he had no difficulty inrecognising as the personal property of Mr. Smangle.
　　‘How are you?’ said that worthy, accompanying the inquirywith a score or two of nods; ‘I say―do you expect anybody thismorning? Three men―devilish gentlemanly fellows―have beenasking after you downstairs, and knocking at every door on thehall flight; for which they’ve been most infernally blown up by thecollegians that had the trouble of opening ’em.’
　　‘Dear me! How very foolish of them,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rising.
　　‘Yes; I have no doubt they are some friends whom I ratherexpected to see, yesterday.’
　　‘Friends of yours!’ exclaimed Smangle, seizing Mr. Pickwick bythe hand. ‘Say no more. Curse me, they’re friends of mine fromthis minute, and friends of Mivins’s, too. Infernal pleasant,gentlemanly dog, Mivins, isn’t he?’ said Smangle, with greatfeeling.
　　‘I know so little of the gentleman,’ said Mr. Pickwick, hesitating,‘that I―’
　　‘I know you do,’ interrupted Smangle, clasping Mr. Pickwick bythe shoulder. ‘You shall know him better. You’ll be delighted withhim. That man, sir,’ said Smangle, with a solemn countenance,‘has comic powers that would do honour to Drury Lane Theatre.’
　　‘Has he indeed?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Ah, by Jove he has!’ replied Smangle. ‘Hear him come the fourcats in the wheel-barrow―four distinct cats, sir, I pledge you myhonour. Now you know that’s infernal clever! Damme, you can’thelp liking a man, when you see these traits about him. He’s onlyone fault―that little failing I mentioned to you, you know.’ As Mr.
　　Smangle shook his head in a confidential and sympathisingmanner at this juncture, Mr. Pickwick felt that he was expected tosay something, so he said, ‘Ah!’ and looked restlessly at the door.
　　‘Ah!’ echoed Mr. Smangle, with a long-drawn sigh. ‘He’sdelightful company, that man is, sir. I don’t know better companyanywhere; but he has that one drawback. If the ghost of hisgrandfather, sir, was to rise before him this minute, he’d ask himfor the loan of his acceptance on an eightpenny stamp.’
　　‘Dear me!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes,’ added Mr. Smangle; ‘and if he’d the power of raising himagain, he would, in two months and three days from this time, torenew the bill!’
　　‘Those are very remarkable traits,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but I’mafraid that while we are talking here, my friends may be in a stateof great perplexity at not finding me.’
　　‘I’ll show ’em the way,’ said Smangle, making for the door.
　　‘Good-day. I won’t disturb you while they’re here, you know. Bythe bye―’
　　As Smangle pronounced the last three words, he stoppedsuddenly, reclosed the door which he had opened, and, walkingsoftly back to Mr. Pickwick, stepped close up to him on tiptoe, andsaid, in a very soft whisper―‘You couldn’t make it convenient to lend me half-a-crown tillthe latter end of next week, could you?’
　　Mr. Pickwick could scarcely forbear smiling, but managing topreserve his gravity, he drew forth the coin, and placed it in Mr.
　　Smangle’s palm; upon which, that gentleman, with many nods andwinks, implying profound mystery, disappeared in quest of thethree strangers, with whom he presently returned; and havingcoughed thrice, and nodded as many times, as an assurance to Mr.
　　Pickwick that he would not forget to pay, he shook hands allround, in an engaging manner, and at length took himself off.
　　‘My dear friends,’ said Mr. Pickwick, shaking hands alternatelywith Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, who were thethree visitors in question, ‘I am delighted to see you.’
　　The triumvirate were much affected. Mr. Tupman shook hishead deploringly, Mr. Snodgrass drew forth his handkerchief, withundisguised emotion; and Mr. Winkle retired to the window, andsniffed aloud.
　　‘Mornin’, gen’l’m’n,’ said Sam, entering at the moment with theshoes and gaiters. ‘Avay vith melincholly, as the little boy said venhis schoolmissus died. Velcome to the college, gen’l’m’n.’
　　‘This foolish fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, tapping Sam on thehead as he knelt down to button up his master’s gaiters―‘thisfoolish fellow has got himself arrested, in order to be near me.’
　　‘What!’ exclaimed the three friends.
　　‘Yes, gen’l’m’n,’ said Sam, ‘I’m a―stand steady, sir, if youplease―I’m a prisoner, gen’l’m’n. Con-fined, as the lady said.’
　　‘A prisoner!’ exclaimed Mr. Winkle, with unaccountablevehemence.
　　‘Hollo, sir!’ responded Sam, looking up. ‘Wot’s the matter, sir?’
　　‘I had hoped, Sam, that―Nothing, nothing,’ said Mr. Winkleprecipitately.
　　There was something so very abrupt and unsettled in Mr.
　　Winkle’s manner, that Mr. Pickwick involuntarily looked at histwo friends for an explanation.
　　‘We don’t know,’ said Mr. Tupman, answering this mute appealaloud. ‘He has been much excited for two days past, and his wholedemeanour very unlike what it usually is. We feared there must besomething the matter, but he resolutely denies it.’
　　‘No, no,’ said Mr. Winkle, colouring beneath Mr. Pickwick’sgaze; ‘there is really nothing. I assure you there is nothing, mydear sir. It will be necessary for me to leave town, for a short time,on private business, and I had hoped to have prevailed upon youto allow Sam to accompany me.’
　　Mr. Pickwick looked more astonished than before.
　　‘I think,’ faltered Mr. Winkle, ‘that Sam would have had noobjection to do so; but, of course, his being a prisoner here,renders it impossible. So I must go alone.’
　　As Mr. Winkle said these words, Mr. Pickwick felt, with someastonishment, that Sam’s fingers were trembling at the gaiters, asif he were rather surprised or startled. Sam looked up at Mr.
　　Winkle, too, when he had finished speaking; and though theglance they exchanged was instantaneous, they seemed tounderstand each other.
　　‘Do you know anything of this, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwicksharply.
　　‘No, I don’t, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, beginning to button withextraordinary assiduity.
　　‘Are you sure, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wy, sir,’ responded Mr. Weller; ‘I’m sure so far, that I’ve neverheerd anythin’ on the subject afore this moment. If I makes anyguess about it,’ added Sam, looking at Mr. Winkle, ‘I haven’t gotany right to say what ‘It is, fear it should be a wrong ‘un.’
　　‘I have no right to make any further inquiry into the privateaffairs of a friend, however intimate a friend,’ said Mr. Pickwick,after a short silence; ‘at present let me merely say, that I do notunderstand this at all. There. We have had quite enough of thesubject.’
　　Thus expressing himself, Mr. Pickwick led the conversation todifferent topics, and Mr. Winkle gradually appeared more at ease,though still very far from being completely so. They had all somuch to converse about, that the morning very quickly passedaway; and when, at three o’clock, Mr. Weller produced upon thelittle dining-table, a roast leg of mutton and an enormous meat-pie, with sundry dishes of vegetables, and pots of porter, whichstood upon the chairs or the sofa bedstead, or where they could,everybody felt disposed to do justice to the meal, notwithstandingthat the meat had been purchased, and dressed, and the pie made,and baked, at the prison cookery hard by.
　　To these succeeded a bottle or two of very good wine, for whicha messenger was despatched by Mr. Pickwick to the Horn Coffee-house, in Doctors’ Commons. The bottle or two, indeed, might bemore properly described as a bottle or six, for by the time it wasdrunk, and tea over, the bell began to ring for strangers towithdraw.
　　But, if Mr. Winkle’s behaviour had been unaccountable in themorning, it became perfectly unearthly and solemn when, underthe influence of his feelings, and his share of the bottle or six, heprepared to take leave of his friend. He lingered behind, until Mr.
　　Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had disappeared, and then ferventlyclenched Mr. Pickwick’s hand, with an expression of face in whichdeep and mighty resolve was fearfully blended with the veryconcentrated essence of gloom.
　　‘Good-night, my dear sir!’ said Mr. Winkle between his setteeth.
　　‘Bless you, my dear fellow!’ replied the warm-hearted Mr.
　　Pickwick, as he returned the pressure of his young friend’s hand.
　　‘Now then!’ cried Mr. Tupman from the gallery.
　　‘Yes, yes, directly,’ replied Mr. Winkle. ‘Good-night!’
　　‘Good-night,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　There was another good-night, and another, and half a dozenmore after that, and still Mr. Winkle had fast hold of his friend’shand, and was looking into his face with the same strangeexpression.
　　‘Is anything the matter?’ said Mr. Pickwick at last, when hisarm was quite sore with shaking. ‘Nothing,’ said Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Well then, good-night,’ said Mr. Pickwick, attempting todisengage his hand.
　　‘My friend, my benefactor, my honoured companion,’
　　murmured Mr. Winkle, catching at his wrist. ‘Do not judge meharshly; do not, when you hear that, driven to extremity byhopeless obstacles, I―’
　　‘Now then,’ said Mr. Tupman, reappearing at the door. ‘Are youcoming, or are we to be locked in?’
　　‘Yes, yes, I am ready,’ replied Mr. Winkle. And with a violenteffort he tore himself away.
　　As Mr. Pickwick was gazing down the passage after them insilent astonishment, Sam Weller appeared at the stair-head, andwhispered for one moment in Mr. Winkle’s ear.
　　‘Oh, certainly, depend upon me,’ said that gentleman aloud.
　　‘Thank’ee, sir. You won’t forget, sir?’ said Sam. ‘Of course not,’
　　replied Mr. Winkle.
　　‘Wish you luck, sir,’ said Sam, touching his hat. ‘I should verymuch liked to ha’ joined you, sir; but the gov’nor, o’ course, isparamount.’
　　‘It is very much to your credit that you remain here,’ said Mr.
　　Winkle. With these words they disappeared down the stairs.
　　‘Very extraordinary,’ said Mr. Pickwick, going back into hisroom, and seating himself at the table in a musing attitude. ‘Whatcan that young man be going to do?’
　　He had sat ruminating about the matter for some time, whenthe voice of Roker, the turnkey, demanded whether he mightcome in.
　　‘By all means,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I’ve brought you a softer pillow, sir,’ said Mr. Roker, ‘instead ofthe temporary one you had last night.’
　　‘Thank you,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Will you take a glass of wine?’
　　‘You’re wery good, sir,’ replied Mr. Roker, accepting theproffered glass. ‘Yours, sir.’
　　‘Thank you,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I’m sorry to say that your landlord’s wery bad to-night, sir,’
　　said Roker, setting down the glass, and inspecting the lining of hishat preparatory to putting it on again.
　　‘What! The Chancery prisoner!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘He won’t be a Chancery prisoner wery long, sir,’ replied Roker,turning his hat round, so as to get the maker’s name right sideupwards, as he looked into it.
　　‘You make my blood run cold,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘What do youmean?’
　　‘He’s been consumptive for a long time past,’ said Mr. Roker,‘and he’s taken wery bad in the breath to-night. The doctor said,six months ago, that nothing but change of air could save him.’
　　‘Great Heaven!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick; ‘has this man beenslowly murdered by the law for six months?’
　　‘I don’t know about that,’ replied Roker, weighing the hat bythe brim in both hands. ‘I suppose he’d have been took the same,wherever he was. He went into the infirmary, this morning; thedoctor says his strength is to be kept up as much as possible; andthe warden’s sent him wine and broth and that, from his ownhouse. It’s not the warden’s fault, you know, sir.’
　　‘Of course not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. ‘I’m afraid,however,’ said Roker, shaking his head, ‘that it’s all up with him. Ioffered Neddy two six-penn’orths to one upon it just now, but hewouldn’t take it, and quite right. Thank’ee, sir. Good-night, sir.’
　　‘Stay,’ said Mr. Pickwick earnestly. ‘Where is this infirmary?’
　　‘Just over where you slept, sir,’ replied Roker. ‘I’ll show you, ifyou like to come.’ Mr. Pickwick snatched up his hat withoutspeaking, and followed at once.
　　The turnkey led the way in silence; and gently raising the latchof the room door, motioned Mr. Pickwick to enter. It was a large,bare, desolate room, with a number of stump bedsteads made ofiron, on one of which lay stretched the shadow of a man―wan,pale, and ghastly. His breathing was hard and thick, and hemoaned painfully as it came and went. At the bedside sat a shortold man in a cobbler’s apron, who, by the aid of a pair of hornspectacles, was reading from the Bible aloud. It was the fortunatelegatee.
　　The sick man laid his hand upon his attendant’s arm, andmotioned him to stop. He closed the book, and laid it on the bed.
　　‘Open the window,’ said the sick man.
　　He did so. The noise of carriages and carts, the rattle of wheels, the cries of men and boys, all the busy sounds of a mightymultitude instinct with life and occupation, blended into one deepmurmur, floated into the room. Above the hoarse loud hum, arose,from time to time, a boisterous laugh; or a scrap of some jinglingsong, shouted forth, by one of the giddy crowd, would strike uponthe ear, for an instant, and then be lost amidst the roar of voicesand the tramp of footsteps; the breaking of the billows of therestless sea of life, that rolled heavily on, without. These aremelancholy sounds to a quiet listener at any time; but howmelancholy to the watcher by the bed of death!
　　‘There is no air here,’ said the man faintly. ‘The place pollutesit. It was fresh round about, when I walked there, years ago; but itgrows hot and heavy in passing these walls. I cannot breathe it.’
　　‘We have breathed it together, for a long time,’ said the oldman. ‘Come, come.’
　　There was a short silence, during which the two spectatorsapproached the bed. The sick man drew a hand of his old fellow-prisoner towards him, and pressing it affectionately between bothhis own, retained it in his grasp.
　　‘I hope,’ he gasped after a while, so faintly that they bent theirears close over the bed to catch the half-formed sounds his palelips gave vent to―‘I hope my merciful Judge will bear in mind myheavy punishment on earth. Twenty years, my friend, twentyyears in this hideous grave! My heart broke when my child died,and I could not even kiss him in his little coffin. My lonelinesssince then, in all this noise and riot, has been very dreadful. MayGod forgive me! He has seen my solitary, lingering death.’
　　He folded his hands, and murmuring something more theycould not hear, fell into a sleep―only a sleep at first, for they sawhim smile.
　　They whispered together for a little time, and the turnkey,stooping over the pillow, drew hastily back. ‘He has got hisdischarge, by G―!’ said the man.
　　He had. But he had grown so like death in life, that they knewnot when he died.
Chapter 45
DESCRIPTIVE OF AN AFFECTING INTERVIEWBETWEEN Mr. SAMUEL WELLER AND AFAMILY PARTY. Mr. PICKWICK MAKES ATOUR OF THE DIMINUTIVE WORLD HEINHABITS, AND RESOLVES TO MIX WITH IT,IN FUTURE, AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLEfew mornings after his incarceration, Mr. Samuel Weller,having arranged his master’s room with all possible care,and seen him comfortably seated over his books andpapers, withdrew to employ himself for an hour or two to come, ashe best could. It was a fine morning, and it occurred to Sam that apint of porter in the open air would lighten his next quarter of anhour or so, as well as any little amusement in which he couldindulge.
　　Having arrived at this conclusion, he betook himself to the tap.
　　Having purchased the beer, and obtained, moreover, the day-but-one-before-yesterday’s paper, he repaired to the skittle-ground,and seating himself on a bench, proceeded to enjoy himself in avery sedate and methodical manner.
　　First of all, he took a refreshing draught of the beer, and thenhe looked up at a window, and bestowed a platonic wink on ayoung lady who was peeling potatoes thereat. Then he opened thepaper, and folded it so as to get the police reports outwards; andthis being a vexatious and difficult thing to do, when there is anywind stirring, he took another draught of the beer when he hadaccomplished it. Then, he read two lines of the paper, and stoppedshort to look at a couple of men who were finishing a game atrackets, which, being concluded, he cried out ‘wery good,’ in anapproving manner, and looked round upon the spectators, toascertain whether their sentiments coincided with his own. Thisinvolved the necessity of looking up at the windows also; and asthe young lady was still there, it was an act of common politenessto wink again, and to drink to her good health in dumb show, inanother draught of the beer, which Sam did; and having frownedhideously upon a small boy who had noted this latter proceedingwith open eyes, he threw one leg over the other, and, holding thenewspaper in both hands, began to read in real earnest.
　　He had hardly composed himself into the needful state ofabstraction, when he thought he heard his own name proclaimedin some distant passage. Nor was he mistaken, for it quicklypassed from mouth to mouth, and in a few seconds the air teemedwith shouts of ‘Weller!’
　　‘Here!’ roared Sam, in a stentorian voice. ‘Wot’s the matter?
　　Who wants him? Has an express come to say that his countryhouse is afire?’
　　‘Somebody wants you in the hall,’ said a man who was standingby.
　　‘Just mind that ’ere paper and the pot, old feller, will you?’ saidSam. ‘I’m a-comin’. Blessed, if they was a-callin’ me to the bar,they couldn’t make more noise about it!’
　　Accompanying these words with a gentle rap on the head of theyoung gentleman before noticed, who, unconscious of his closevicinity to the person in request, was screaming ‘Weller!’ with allhis might, Sam hastened across the ground, and ran up the stepsinto the hall. Here, the first object that met his eyes was hisbeloved father sitting on a bottom stair, with his hat in his hand,shouting out ‘Weller!’ in his very loudest tone, at half-minuteintervals.
　　‘Wot are you a-roarin’ at?’ said Sam impetuously, when the oldgentleman had discharged himself of another shout; ‘makingyourself so precious hot that you looks like a aggrawated glass-blower. Wot’s the matter?’
　　‘Aha!’ replied the old gentleman, ‘I began to be afeerd thatyou’d gone for a walk round the Regency Park, Sammy.’
　　‘Come,’ said Sam, ‘none o’ them taunts agin the wictim o’
　　avarice, and come off that ’ere step. Wot arc you a-settin’ downthere for? I don’t live there.’
　　‘I’ve got such a game for you, Sammy,’ said the elder Mr.
　　Weller, rising.
　　‘Stop a minit,’ said Sam, ‘you’re all vite behind.’
　　‘That’s right, Sammy, rub it off,’ said Mr. Weller, as his sondusted him. ‘It might look personal here, if a man walked aboutwith vitevash on his clothes, eh, Sammy?’
　　As Mr. Weller exhibited in this place unequivocal symptoms ofan approaching fit of chuckling, Sam interposed to stop it.
　　‘Keep quiet, do,’ said Sam, ‘there never vos such a old picter-card born. Wot are you bustin’ vith, now?’
　　‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead, ‘I’m afeerd thatvun o’ these days I shall laugh myself into a appleplexy, my boy.’
　　‘Vell, then, wot do you do it for?’ said Sam. ‘Now, then, wothave you got to say?’
　　‘Who do you think’s come here with me, Samivel?’ said Mr.
　　Weller, drawing back a pace or two, pursing up his mouth, andextending his eyebrows. ‘Pell?’ said Sam.
　　Mr. Weller shook his head, and his red cheeks expanded withthe laughter that was endeavouring to find a vent.
　　‘Mottled-faced man, p’raps?’ asked Sam.
　　Again Mr. Weller shook his head.
　　‘Who then?’ asked Sam.
　　‘Your mother-in-law,’ said Mr. Weller; and it was lucky he didsay it, or his cheeks must inevitably have cracked, from their mostunnatural distension.
　　‘Your mother―in―law, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘and the red-nosed man, my boy; and the red-nosed man. Ho! ho! ho!’
　　With this, Mr. Weller launched into convulsions of laughter,while Sam regarded him with a broad grin gradually over-spreading his whole countenance.
　　‘They’ve come to have a little serious talk with you, Samivel,’
　　said Mr. Weller, wiping his eyes. ‘Don’t let out nothin’ about theunnat’ral creditor, Sammy.’
　　‘Wot, don’t they know who it is?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Not a bit on it,’ replied his father.
　　‘Vere are they?’ said Sam, reciprocating all the old gentleman’sgrins.
　　‘In the snuggery,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. ‘Catch the red-nosedman a-goin’ anyvere but vere the liquors is; not he, Samivel, nothe. Ve’d a wery pleasant ride along the road from the Markis thismornin’, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, when he felt himself equal tothe task of speaking in an articulate manner. ‘I drove the oldpiebald in that ’ere little shay-cart as belonged to your mother-in-law’s first wenter, into vich a harm-cheer wos lifted for theshepherd; and I’m blessed,’ said Mr. Weller, with a look of deepscorn―‘I’m blessed if they didn’t bring a portable flight o’ stepsout into the road a-front o’ our door for him, to get up by.’
　　‘You don’t mean that?’ said Sam.
　　‘I do mean that, Sammy,’ replied his father, ‘and I vish youcould ha’ seen how tight he held on by the sides wen he did get up,as if he wos afeerd o’ being precipitayted down full six foot, anddashed into a million hatoms. He tumbled in at last, however, andavay ve vent; and I rayther think―I say I rayther think, Samivel―that he found his-self a little jolted ven ve turned the corners.’
　　‘Wot, I s’pose you happened to drive up agin a post or two?’
　　said Sam. ‘I’m afeerd,’ replied Mr. Weller, in a rapture of winks―‘I’m afeerd I took vun or two on ’em, Sammy; he wos a-flyin’ out o’
　　the arm-cheer all the way.’
　　Here the old gentleman shook his head from side to side, andwas seized with a hoarse internal rumbling, accompanied with aviolent swelling of the countenance, and a sudden increase in thebreadth of all his features; symptoms which alarmed his son not alittle.
　　‘Don’t be frightened, Sammy, don’t be frightened,’ said the oldgentleman, when by dint of much struggling, and variousconvulsive stamps upon the ground, he had recovered his voice.
　　‘It’s only a kind o’ quiet laugh as I’m a-tryin’ to come, Sammy.’
　　‘Well, if that’s wot it is,’ said Sam, ‘you’d better not try to comeit agin. You’ll find it rayther a dangerous inwention.’
　　‘Don’t you like it, Sammy?’ inquired the old gentleman.
　　‘Not at all,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Weller, with the tears still running down hischeeks, ‘it ’ud ha’ been a wery great accommodation to me if Icould ha’ done it, and ‘ud ha’ saved a good many vords atweenyour mother-in-law and me, sometimes; but I’m afeerd you’reright, Sammy, it’s too much in the appleplexy line―a deal toomuch, Samivel.’
　　This conversation brought them to the door of the snuggery,into which Sam―pausing for an instant to look over his shoulder,and cast a sly leer at his respected progenitor, who was stillgiggling behind―at once led the way.
　　‘Mother-in-law,’ said Sam, politely saluting the lady, ‘werymuch obliged to you for this here wisit.―Shepherd, how air you?’
　　‘Oh, Samuel!’ said Mrs. Weller. ‘This is dreadful.’
　　‘Not a bit on it, mum,’ replied Sam.―‘Is it, shepherd?’
　　Mr. Stiggins raised his hands, and turned up his eyes, until thewhites―or rather the yellows―were alone visible; but made noreply in words.
　　‘Is this here gen’l’m’n troubled with any painful complaint?’
　　said Sam, looking to his mother-in-law for explanation.
　　‘The good man is grieved to see you here, Samuel,’ replied Mrs.
　　Weller.
　　‘Oh, that’s it, is it?’ said Sam. ‘I was afeerd, from his manner,that he might ha’ forgotten to take pepper vith that ’ere lastcowcumber he eat. Set down, sir, ve make no extra charge forsettin’ down, as the king remarked wen he blowed up hisministers.’
　　‘Young man,’ said Mr. Stiggins ostentatiously, ‘I fear you arenot softened by imprisonment.’
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ replied Sam; ‘wot wos you graciouslypleased to hobserve?’
　　‘I apprehend, young man, that your nature is no softer for thischastening,’ said Mr. Stiggins, in a loud voice.
　　‘Sir,’ replied Sam, ‘you’re wery kind to say so. I hope my naturis not a soft vun, sir. Wery much obliged to you for your goodopinion, sir.’
　　At this point of the conversation, a sound, indecorouslyapproaching to a laugh, was heard to proceed from the chair inwhich the elder Mr. Weller was seated; upon which Mrs. Weller,on a hasty consideration of all the circumstances of the case,considered it her bounden duty to become gradually hysterical.
　　‘Weller,’ said Mrs. W. (the old gentleman was seated in acorner); ‘Weller! Come forth.’
　　‘Wery much obleeged to you, my dear,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘butI’m quite comfortable vere I am.’
　　Upon this, Mrs. Weller burst into tears. ‘Wot’s gone wrong,mum?’ said Sam.
　　‘Oh, Samuel!’ replied Mrs. Weller, ‘your father makes mewretched. Will nothing do him good?’
　　‘Do you hear this here?’ said Sam. ‘Lady vants to know vethernothin’ ’ull do you good.’
　　‘Wery much indebted to Mrs. Weller for her po-lite inquiries,Sammy,’ replied the old gentleman. ‘I think a pipe vould benefitme a good deal. Could I be accommodated, Sammy?’
　　Here Mrs. Weller let fall some more tears, and Mr. Stigginsgroaned.
　　‘Hollo! Here’s this unfortunate gen’l’m’n took ill agin,’ saidSam, looking round. ‘Vere do you feel it now, sir?’
　　‘In the same place, young man,’ rejoined Mr. Stiggins, ‘in thesame place.’
　　‘Vere may that be, sir?’ inquired Sam, with great outwardsimplicity.
　　‘In the buzzim, young man,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, placing hisumbrella on his waistcoat.
　　At this affecting reply, Mrs. Weller, being wholly unable tosuppress her feelings, sobbed aloud, and stated her conviction thatthe red-nosed man was a saint; whereupon Mr. Weller, senior,ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that he must be therepresentative of the united parishes of St. Simon Without and St.
　　Walker Within.
　　‘I’m afeered, mum,’ said Sam, ‘that this here gen’l’m’n, with thetwist in his countenance, feels rather thirsty, with the melancholyspectacle afore him. Is it the case, mum?’
　　The worthy lady looked at Mr. Stiggins for a reply; thatgentleman, with many rollings of the eye, clenched his throat withhis right hand, and mimicked the act of swallowing, to intimatethat he was athirst.
　　‘I am afraid, Samuel, that his feelings have made him soindeed,’ said Mrs. Weller mournfully.
　　‘Wot’s your usual tap, sir?’ replied Sam.
　　‘Oh, my dear young friend,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, ‘all taps isvanities!’
　　‘Too true, too true, indeed,’ said Mrs. Weller, murmuring agroan, and shaking her head assentingly.
　　‘Well,’ said Sam, ‘I des-say they may be, sir; but wich is yourpartickler wanity? Wich wanity do you like the flavour on best,sir?’
　　‘Oh, my dear young friend,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, ‘I despisethem all. If,’ said Mr. Stiggins―‘if there is any one of them lessodious than another, it is the liquor called rum. Warm, my dearyoung friend, with three lumps of sugar to the tumbler.’
　　‘Wery sorry to say, sir,’ said Sam, ‘that they don’t allow thatparticular wanity to be sold in this here establishment.’
　　‘Oh, the hardness of heart of these inveterate men!’ ejaculatedMr. Stiggins. ‘Oh, the accursed cruelty of these inhumanpersecutors!’
　　With these words, Mr. Stiggins again cast up his eyes, andrapped his breast with his umbrella; and it is but justice to thereverend gentleman to say, that his indignation appeared very realand unfeigned indeed.
　　After Mrs. Weller and the red-nosed gentleman had commentedon this inhuman usage in a very forcible manner, and had venteda variety of pious and holy execrations against its authors, thelatter recommended a bottle of port wine, warmed with a littlewater, spice, and sugar, as being grateful to the stomach, andsavouring less of vanity than many other compounds. It wasaccordingly ordered to be prepared, and pending its preparationthe red-nosed man and Mrs. Weller looked at the elder W. andgroaned.
　　‘Well, Sammy,’ said the gentleman, ‘I hope you’ll find yourspirits rose by this here lively wisit. Wery cheerful and improvin’
　　conwersation, ain’t it, Sammy?’
　　‘You’re a reprobate,’ replied Sam; ‘and I desire you won’taddress no more o’ them ungraceful remarks to me.’
　　So far from being edified by this very proper reply, the elderMr. Weller at once relapsed into a broad grin; and this inexorableconduct causing the lady and Mr. Stiggins to close their eyes, androck themselves to and fro on their chairs, in a troubled manner,he furthermore indulged in several acts of pantomime, indicativeof a desire to pummel and wring the nose of the aforesaid Stiggins,the performance of which, appeared to afford him great mentalrelief. The old gentleman very narrowly escaped detection in oneinstance; for Mr. Stiggins happening to give a start on the arrivalof the negus, brought his head in smart contact with the clenchedfist with which Mr. Weller had been describing imaginaryfireworks in the air, within two inches of his ear, for some minutes.
　　‘Wot are you a-reachin’ out, your hand for the tumbler in that’ere sawage way for?’ said Sam, with great promptitude. ‘Don’tyou see you’ve hit the gen’l’m’n?’
　　‘I didn’t go to do it, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, in some degreeabashed by the very unexpected occurrence of the incident.
　　‘Try an in’ard application, sir,’ said Sam, as the red-nosedgentleman rubbed his head with a rueful visage. ‘Wot do you thinko’ that, for a go o’ wanity, warm, sir?’
　　Mr. Stiggins made no verbal answer, but his manner wasexpressive. He tasted the contents of the glass which Sam hadplaced in his hand, put his umbrella on the floor, and tasted itagain, passing his hand placidly across his stomach twice or thrice;he then drank the whole at a breath, and smacking his lips, heldout the tumbler for more.
　　Nor was Mrs. Weller behind-hand in doing justice to thecomposition. The good lady began by protesting that she couldn’ttouch a drop―then took a small drop―then a large drop―then agreat many drops; and her feelings being of the nature of thosesubstances which are powerfully affected by the application ofstrong waters, she dropped a tear with every drop of negus, and sogot on, melting the feelings down, until at length she had arrivedat a very pathetic and decent pitch of misery.
　　The elder Mr. Weller observed these signs and tokens withmany manifestations of disgust, and when, after a second jug ofthe same, Mr. Stiggins began to sigh in a dismal manner, heplainly evinced his disapprobation of the whole proceedings, bysundry incoherent ramblings of speech, among which frequentangry repetitions of the word ‘gammon’ were alonedistinguishable to the ear.
　　‘I’ll tell you wot it is, Samivel, my boy,’ whispered the oldgentleman into his son’s ear, after a long and steadfastcontemplation of his lady and Mr. Stiggins; ‘I think there must besomethin’ wrong in your mother-in-law’s inside, as vell as in thato’ the red-nosed man.’
　　‘Wot do you mean?’ said Sam.
　　‘I mean this here, Sammy,’ replied the old gentleman, ‘that wotthey drink, don’t seem no nourishment to ‘em; it all turns to warmwater, and comes a-pourin’ out o’ their eyes. ‘Pend upon it,Sammy, it’s a constitootional infirmity.’
　　Mr. Weller delivered this scientific opinion with manyconfirmatory frowns and nods; which, Mrs. Weller remarking, andconcluding that they bore some disparaging reference either toherself or to Mr. Stiggins, or to both, was on the point of becominginfinitely worse, when Mr. Stiggins, getting on his legs as well ashe could, proceeded to deliver an edifying discourse for the benefitof the company, but more especially of Mr. Samuel, whom headjured in moving terms to be upon his guard in that sink ofiniquity into which he was cast; to abstain from all hypocrisy andpride of heart; and to take in all things exact pattern and copy byhim (Stiggins), in which case he might calculate on arriving,sooner or later at the comfortable conclusion, that, like him, hewas a most estimable and blameless character, and that all hisacquaintances and friends were hopelessly abandoned andprofligate wretches. Which consideration, he said, could not butafford him the liveliest satisfaction.
　　He furthermore conjured him to avoid, above all things, the viceof intoxication, which he likened unto the filthy habits of swine,and to those poisonous and baleful drugs which being chewed inthe mouth, are said to filch away the memory. At this point of hisdiscourse, the reverend and red-nosed gentleman becamesingularly incoherent, and staggering to and fro in the excitementof his eloquence, was fain to catch at the back of a chair topreserve his perpendicular.
　　Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guardagainst those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion,who, without sense to expound its first doctrines, or hearts to feelits first principles, are more dangerous members of society thanthe common criminal; imposing, as they necessarily do, upon theweakest and worst informed, casting scorn and contempt on whatshould be held most sacred, and bringing into partial disreputelarge bodies of virtuous and well-conducted persons of manyexcellent sects and persuasions. But as he leaned over the back ofthe chair for a considerable time, and closing one eye, winked agood deal with the other, it is presumed that he thought all this,but kept it to himself.
　　During the delivery of the oration, Mrs. Weller sobbed and weptat the end of the paragraphs; while Sam, sitting cross-legged on achair and resting his arms on the top rail, regarded the speakerwith great suavity and blandness of demeanour; occasionallybestowing a look of recognition on the old gentleman, who wasdelighted at the beginning, and went to sleep about half-way.
　　‘Brayvo; wery pretty!’ said Sam, when the red-nosed manhaving finished, pulled his worn gloves on, thereby thrusting hisfingers through the broken tops till the knuckles were disclosed toview. ‘Wery pretty.’
　　‘I hope it may do you good, Samuel,’ said Mrs. Weller solemnly.
　　‘I think it vill, mum,’ replied Sam.
　　‘I wish I could hope that it would do your father good,’ said Mrs.
　　Weller.
　　‘Thank’ee, my dear,’ said Mr. Weller, senior. ‘How do you findyourself arter it, my love?’
　　‘Scoffer!’ exclaimed Mrs. Weller.
　　‘Benighted man!’ said the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
　　‘If I don’t get no better light than that ’ere moonshine o’ yourn,my worthy creetur,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, ‘it’s wery likely as Ishall continey to be a night coach till I’m took off the roadaltogether. Now, Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at livery muchlonger, he’ll stand at nothin’ as we go back, and p’raps that ’ereharm-cheer ’ull be tipped over into some hedge or another, withthe shepherd in it.’
　　At this supposition, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evidentconsternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed animmediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam walkedwith them to the lodge gate, and took a dutiful leave.
　　‘A-do, Samivel,’ said the old gentleman.
　　‘Wot’s a-do?’ inquired Sammy.
　　‘Well, good-bye, then,’ said the old gentleman.
　　‘Oh, that’s wot you’re aimin’ at, is it?’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’
　　‘Sammy,’ whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously round; ‘myduty to your gov’nor, and tell him if he thinks better o’ this herebis’ness, to com-moonicate vith me. Me and a cab’net-maker hasdewised a plan for gettin’ him out. A pianner, Samivel―apianner!’ said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the chest with theback of his hand, and falling back a step or two.
　　‘Wot do you mean?’ said Sam.
　　‘A pianner-forty, Samivel,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, in a still moremysterious manner, ‘as he can have on hire; vun as von’t play,Sammy.’
　　‘And wot ‘ud be the good o’ that?’ said Sam.
　　‘Let him send to my friend, the cabinet-maker, to fetch it back,Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Are you avake, now?’
　　‘No,’ rejoined Sam.
　　‘There ain’t no vurks in it,’ whispered his father. ‘It ’ull holdhim easy, vith his hat and shoes on, and breathe through the legs,vich his holler. Have a passage ready taken for ’Merriker. The’Merrikin gov’ment will never give him up, ven vunce they find ashe’s got money to spend, Sammy. Let the gov’nor stop there, tillMrs. Bardell’s dead, or Mr. Dodson and Fogg’s hung (wich lastewent I think is the most likely to happen first, Sammy), and thenlet him come back and write a book about the ’Merrikins as’ll payall his expenses and more, if he blows ’em up enough.’
　　Mr. Weller delivered this hurried abstract of his plot with greatvehemence of whisper; and then, as if fearful of weakening theeffect of the tremendous communication by any further dialogue,he gave the coachman’s salute, and vanished.
　　Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure ofcountenance, which had been greatly disturbed by the secretcommunication of his respected relative, when Mr. Pickwickaccosted him.
　　‘Sam,’ said that gentleman.
　　‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘I am going for a walk round the prison, and I wish you toattend me. I see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam,’ saidMr. Pickwick, smiling.
　　‘Wich, sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller; ‘the gen’l’m’n vith the head o’
　　hair, or the interestin’ captive in the stockin’s?’
　　‘Neither,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘He is an older friend of yours,Sam.’
　　‘O’ mine, sir?’ exclaimed Mr. Weller.
　　‘You recollect the gentleman very well, I dare say, Sam,’ repliedMr. Pickwick, ‘or else you are more unmindful of your oldacquaintances than I think you are. Hush! not a word, Sam; not asyllable. Here he is.’
　　As Mr. Pickwick spoke, Jingle walked up. He looked lessmiserable than before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes,which, with Mr. Pickwick’s assistance, had been released from thepawnbroker’s. He wore clean linen too, and had had his hair cut.
　　He was very pale and thin, however; and as he crept slowly up,leaning on a stick, it was easy to see that he had suffered severelyfrom illness and want, and was still very weak. He took off his hatas Mr. Pickwick saluted him, and seemed much humbled andabashed at the sight of Sam Weller.
　　Following close at his heels, came Mr. Job Trotter, in thecatalogue of whose vices, want of faith and attachment to hiscompanion could at all events find no place. He was still raggedand squalid, but his face was not quite so hollow as on his firstmeeting with Mr. Pickwick, a few days before. As he took off hishat to our benevolent old friend, he murmured some brokenexpressions of gratitude, and muttered something about havingbeen saved from starving.
　　‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, impatiently interrupting him,‘you can follow with Sam. I want to speak to you, Mr. Jingle. Canyou walk without his arm?’
　　‘Certainly, sir―all ready―not too fast―legs shaky―headqueer―round and round―earthquaky sort of feeling―very.’
　　‘Here, give me your arm,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No, no,’ replied Jingle; ‘won’t indeed―rather not.’
　　‘Nonsense,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘lean upon me, I desire, sir.’
　　Seeing that he was confused and agitated, and uncertain whatto do, Mr. Pickwick cut the matter short by drawing the invalidedstroller’s arm through his, and leading him away, without sayinganother word about it.
　　During the whole of this time the countenance of Mr. SamuelWeller had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming andabsorbing astonishment that the imagination can portray. Afterlooking from Job to Jingle, and from Jingle to Job in profoundsilence, he softly ejaculated the words, ‘Well, I am damn’d!’ whichhe repeated at least a score of times; after which exertion, heappeared wholly bereft of speech, and again cast his eyes, firstupon the one and then upon the other, in mute perplexity andbewilderment.
　　‘Now, Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking back.
　　‘I’m a-comin’, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, mechanically followinghis master; and still he lifted not his eyes from Mr. Job Trotter,who walked at his side in silence. Job kept his eyes fixed on theground for some time. Sam, with his glued to Job’s countenance,ran up against the people who were walking about, and fell overlittle children, and stumbled against steps and railings, withoutappearing at all sensible of it, until Job, looking stealthily up,said―‘How do you do, Mr. Weller?’
　　‘It is him!’ exclaimed Sam; and having established Job’sidentity beyond all doubt, he smote his leg, and vented his feelingsin a long, shrill whistle.
　　‘Things has altered with me, sir,’ said Job.
　　‘I should think they had,’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying hiscompanion’s rags with undisguised wonder. ‘This is rayther achange for the worse, Mr. Trotter, as the gen’l’m’n said, wen hegot two doubtful shillin’s and sixpenn’orth o’ pocket-pieces for agood half-crown.’
　　‘It is indeed,’ replied Job, shaking his head. ‘There is nodeception now, Mr. Weller. Tears,’ said Job, with a look ofmomentary slyness―‘tears are not the only proofs of distress, northe best ones.’
　　‘No, they ain’t,’ replied Sam expressively.
　　‘They may be put on, Mr. Weller,’ said Job.
　　‘I know they may,’ said Sam; ‘some people, indeed, has ’emalways ready laid on, and can pull out the plug wenever they likes.’
　　‘Yes,’ replied Job; ‘but these sort of things are not so easilycounterfeited, Mr. Weller, and it is a more painful process to getthem up.’ As he spoke, he pointed to his sallow, sunken cheeks,and, drawing up his coat sleeve, disclosed an arm which looked asif the bone could be broken at a touch, so sharp and brittle did itappear, beneath its thin covering of flesh.
　　‘Wot have you been a-doin’ to yourself?’ said Sam, recoiling.
　　‘Nothing,’ replied Job.
　　‘Nothin?’ echoed Sam.
　　‘I have been doin’ nothing for many weeks past,’ said Job; andeating and drinking almost as little.’
　　Sam took one comprehensive glance at Mr. Trotter’s thin faceand wretched apparel; and then, seizing him by the arm,commenced dragging him away with great violence.
　　‘Where are you going, Mr. Weller?’ said Job, vainly strugglingin the powerful grasp of his old enemy. ‘Come on,’ said Sam; ‘comeon!’ He deigned no further explanation till they reached the tap,and then called for a pot of porter, which was speedily produced.
　　‘Now,’ said Sam, ‘drink that up, ev’ry drop on it, and then turnthe pot upside down, to let me see as you’ve took the medicine.’
　　‘But, my dear Mr. Weller,’ remonstrated Job.
　　‘Down vith it!’ said Sam peremptorily.
　　Thus admonished, Mr. Trotter raised the pot to his lips, and, bygentle and almost imperceptible degrees, tilted it into the air. Hepaused once, and only once, to draw a long breath, but withoutraising his face from the vessel, which, in a few momentsthereafter, he held out at arm’s length, bottom upward. Nothingfell upon the ground but a few particles of froth, which slowlydetached themselves from the rim, and trickled lazily down.
　　‘Well done!’ said Sam. ‘How do you find yourself arter it?’
　　‘Better, sir. I think I am better,’ responded Job.
　　‘O’ course you air,’ said Sam argumentatively. ‘It’s like puttin’
　　gas in a balloon. I can see with the naked eye that you gets stouterunder the operation. Wot do you say to another o’ the samedimensions?’
　　‘I would rather not, I am much obliged to you, sir,’ repliedJob―‘much rather not.’
　　‘Vell, then, wot do you say to some wittles?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Thanks to your worthy governor, sir,’ said Mr. Trotter, ‘wehave half a leg of mutton, baked, at a quarter before three, withthe potatoes under it to save boiling.’
　　‘Wot! Has he been a-purwidin’ for you?’ asked Samemphatically.
　　‘He has, sir,’ replied Job. ‘More than that, Mr. Weller; mymaster being very ill, he got us a room―we were in a kennelbefore―and paid for it, sir; and come to look at us, at night, whennobody should know. Mr. Weller,’ said Job, with real tears in hiseyes, for once, ‘I could serve that gentleman till I fell down dead athis feet.’
　　‘I say!’ said Sam, ‘I’ll trouble you, my friend! None o’ that!’
　　Job Trotter looked amazed.
　　‘None o’ that, I say, young feller,’ repeated Sam firmly. ‘No manserves him but me. And now we’re upon it, I’ll let you into anothersecret besides that,’ said Sam, as he paid for the beer. ‘I neverheerd, mind you, or read of in story-books, nor see in picters, anyangel in tights and gaiters―not even in spectacles, as I remember,though that may ha’ been done for anythin’ I know to thecontrairey―but mark my vords, Job Trotter, he’s a reg’larthoroughbred angel for all that; and let me see the man as wentursto tell me he knows a better vun.’ With this defiance, Mr. Wellerbuttoned up his change in a side pocket, and, with manyconfirmatory nods and gestures by the way, proceeded in searchof the subject of discourse.
　　They found Mr. Pickwick, in company with Jingle, talking veryearnestly, and not bestowing a look on the groups who werecongregated on the racket-ground; they were very motley groupstoo, and worth the looking at, if it were only in idle curiosity.
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as Sam and his companion drew nigh,‘you will see how your health becomes, and think about itmeanwhile. Make the statement out for me when you feel yourselfequal to the task, and I will discuss the subject with you when Ihave considered it. Now, go to your room. You are tired, and notstrong enough to be out long.’
　　Mr. Alfred Jingle, without one spark of his old animation―withnothing even of the dismal gaiety which he had assumed when Mr.
　　Pickwick first stumbled on him in his misery―bowed low withoutspeaking, and, motioning to Job not to follow him just yet, creptslowly away.
　　‘Curious scene this, is it not, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick, lookinggood-humouredly round.
　　‘Wery much so, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘Wonders ’ull never cease,’
　　added Sam, speaking to himself. ‘I’m wery much mistaken if that’ere Jingle worn’t a-doin somethin’ in the water-cart way!’
　　The area formed by the wall in that part of the Fleet in whichMr. Pickwick stood was just wide enough to make a good racket-court; one side being formed, of course, by the wall itself, and theother by that portion of the prison which looked (or rather wouldhave looked, but for the wall) towards St. Paul’s Cathedral.
　　Sauntering or sitting about, in every possible attitude of listlessidleness, were a great number of debtors, the major part of whomwere waiting in prison until their day of ‘going up’ before theInsolvent Court should arrive; while others had been remandedfor various terms, which they were idling away as they best could.
　　Some were shabby, some were smart, many dirty, a few clean; butthere they all lounged, and loitered, and slunk about with as littlespirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie.
　　Lolling from the windows which commanded a view of thispromenade were a number of persons, some in noisy conversationwith their acquaintance below, others playing at ball with someadventurous throwers outside, others looking on at the racket-players, or watching the boys as they cried the game. Dirty,slipshod women passed and repassed, on their way to the cooking-house in one corner of the yard; children screamed, and fought,and played together, in another; the tumbling of the skittles, andthe shouts of the players, mingled perpetually with these and ahundred other sounds; and all was noise and tumult―save in alittle miserable shed a few yards off, where lay, all quiet andghastly, the body of the Chancery prisoner who had died the nightbefore, awaiting the mockery of an inquest. The body! It is thelawyer’s term for the restless, whirling mass of cares and anxieties,affections, hopes, and griefs, that make up the living man. The lawhad his body; and there it lay, clothed in grave-clothes, an awfulwitness to its tender mercy.
　　‘Would you like to see a whistling-shop, sir?’ inquired JobTrotter.
　　‘What do you mean?’ was Mr. Pickwick’s counter inquiry.
　　‘A vistlin’ shop, sir,’ interposed Mr. Weller.
　　‘What is that, Sam?―A bird-fancier’s?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Bless your heart, no, sir,’ replied Job; ‘a whistling-shop, sir, iswhere they sell spirits.’ Mr. Job Trotter briefly explained here, thatall persons, being prohibited under heavy penalties fromconveying spirits into debtors’ prisons, and such commoditiesbeing highly prized by the ladies and gentlemen confined therein,it had occurred to some speculative turnkey to connive, for certainlucrative considerations, at two or three prisoners retailing thefavourite article of gin, for their own profit and advantage.
　　‘This plan, you see, sir, has been gradually introduced into allthe prisons for debt,’ said Mr. Trotter.
　　‘And it has this wery great advantage,’ said Sam, ‘that theturnkeys takes wery good care to seize hold o’ ev’rybody but themas pays ’em, that attempts the willainy, and wen it gets in thepapers they’re applauded for their wigilance; so it cuts two ways―frightens other people from the trade, and elewates their owncharacters.’
　　‘Exactly so, Mr. Weller,’ observed Job.
　　‘Well, but are these rooms never searched to ascertain whetherany spirits are concealed in them?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Cert’nly they are, sir,’ replied Sam; ‘but the turnkeys knowsbeforehand, and gives the word to the wistlers, and you may wistlefor it wen you go to look.’
　　By this time, Job had tapped at a door, which was opened by agentleman with an uncombed head, who bolted it after them whenthey had walked in, and grinned; upon which Job grinned, andSam also; whereupon Mr. Pickwick, thinking it might be expectedof him, kept on smiling to the end of the interview.
　　The gentleman with the uncombed head appeared quitesatisfied with this mute announcement of their business, and,producing a flat stone bottle, which might hold about a couple ofquarts, from beneath his bedstead, filled out three glasses of gin,which Job Trotter and Sam disposed of in a most workmanlikemanner.
　　‘Any more?’ said the whistling gentleman.
　　‘No more,’ replied Job Trotter.
　　Mr. Pickwick paid, the door was unbolted, and out they came;the uncombed gentleman bestowing a friendly nod upon Mr.
　　Roker, who happened to be passing at the moment.
　　From this spot, Mr. Pickwick wandered along all the galleries,up and down all the staircases, and once again round the wholearea of the yard. The great body of the prison population appearedto be Mivins, and Smangle, and the parson, and the butcher, andthe leg, over and over, and over again. There were the samesqualor, the same turmoil and noise, the same generalcharacteristics, in every corner; in the best and the worst alike.
　　The whole place seemed restless and troubled; and the peoplewere crowding and flitting to and fro, like the shadows in anuneasy dream.
　　‘I have seen enough,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as he threw himselfinto a chair in his little apartment. ‘My head aches with thesescenes, and my heart too. Henceforth I will be a prisoner in myown room.’
　　And Mr. Pickwick steadfastly adhered to this determination.
　　For three long months he remained shut up, all day; only stealingout at night to breathe the air, when the greater part of his fellow-prisoners were in bed or carousing in their rooms. His health wasbeginning to suffer from the closeness of the confinement, butneither the often-repeated entreaties of Perker and his friends,nor the still more frequently-repeated warnings and admonitionsof Mr. Samuel Weller, could induce him to alter one jot of hisinflexible resolution.
Chapter 46
RECORDS A TOUCHING ACT OF DELICATEFEELING, NOT UNMIXED WITH PLEASANTRY,ACHIEVED AND PERFORMED BY Messrs.
　　DODSON AND FOGGt was within a week of the close of the month of July, that ahackney cabriolet, number unrecorded, was seen to proceedat a rapid pace up Goswell Street; three people were squeezedinto it besides the driver, who sat in his own particular little dickeyat the side; over the apron were hung two shawls, belonging to twosmall vixenish-looking ladies under the apron; between whom,compressed into a very small compass, was stowed away, agentleman of heavy and subdued demeanour, who, whenever heventured to make an observation, was snapped up short by one ofthe vixenish ladies before-mentioned. Lastly, the two vixenishladies and the heavy gentleman were giving the drivercontradictory directions, all tending to the one point, that heshould stop at Mrs. Bardell’s door; which the heavy gentleman, indirect opposition to, and defiance of, the vixenish ladies,contended was a green door and not a yellow one.
　　‘Stop at the house with a green door, driver,’ said the heavygentleman.
　　‘Oh! You perwerse creetur!’ exclaimed one of the vixenishladies. ‘Drive to the ’ouse with the yellow door, cabmin.’
　　Upon this the cabman, who in a sudden effort to pull up at thehouse with the green door, had pulled the horse up so high that henearly pulled him backward into the cabriolet, let the animal’sfore-legs down to the ground again, and paused.
　　‘Now vere am I to pull up?’ inquired the driver. ‘Settle it amongyourselves. All I ask is, vere?’
　　Here the contest was renewed with increased violence; and thehorse being troubled with a fly on his nose, the cabman humanelyemployed his leisure in lashing him about on the head, on thecounter-irritation principle.
　　‘Most wotes carries the day!’ said one of the vixenish ladies atlength. ‘The ’ouse with the yellow door, cabman.’
　　But after the cabriolet had dashed up, in splendid style, to thehouse with the yellow door, ‘making,’ as one of the vixenish ladiestriumphantly said, ’acterrally more noise than if one had come inone’s own carriage,’ and after the driver had dismounted to assistthe ladies in getting out, the small round head of Master ThomasBardell was thrust out of the one-pair window of a house with ared door, a few numbers off.
　　‘Aggrawatin’ thing!’ said the vixenish lady last-mentioned,darting a withering glance at the heavy gentleman.
　　‘My dear, it’s not my fault,’ said the gentleman.
　　‘Don’t talk to me, you creetur, don’t,’ retorted the lady. ‘Thehouse with the red door, cabmin. Oh! If ever a woman wastroubled with a ruffinly creetur, that takes a pride and a pleasurein disgracing his wife on every possible occasion afore strangers, Iam that woman!’
　　‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Raddle,’ said the otherlittle woman, who was no other than Mrs. Cluppins. ‘What have Ibeen a-doing of?’ asked Mr. Raddle.
　　‘Don’t talk to me, don’t, you brute, for fear I should beperwoked to forgit my sect and strike you!’ said Mrs. Raddle.
　　While this dialogue was going on, the driver was mostignominiously leading the horse, by the bridle, up to the housewith the red door, which Master Bardell had already opened. Herewas a mean and low way of arriving at a friend’s house! Nodashing up, with all the fire and fury of the animal; no jumpingdown of the driver; no loud knocking at the door; no opening ofthe apron with a crash at the very last moment, for fear of theladies sitting in a draught; and then the man handing the shawlsout, afterwards, as if he were a private coachman! The whole edgeof the thing had been taken off―it was flatter than walking.
　　‘Well, Tommy,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, ‘how’s your poor dearmother?’
　　‘Oh, she’s very well,’ replied Master Bardell. ‘She’s in the frontparlour, all ready. I’m ready too, I am.’ Here Master Bardell puthis hands in his pockets, and jumped off and on the bottom step ofthe door.
　　‘Is anybody else a-goin’, Tommy?’ said Mrs. Cluppins,arranging her pelerine.
　　‘Mrs. Sanders is going, she is,’ replied Tommy; ‘I’m going too, Iam.’
　　‘Drat the boy,’ said little Mrs. Cluppins. ‘He thinks of nobodybut himself. Here, Tommy, dear.’
　　‘Well,’ said Master Bardell.
　　‘Who else is a-goin’, lovey?’ said Mrs. Cluppins, in aninsinuating manner.
　　‘Oh! Mrs. Rogers is a-goin’,’ replied Master Bardell, opening hiseyes very wide as he delivered the intelligence.
　　‘What? The lady as has taken the lodgings!’ ejaculated Mrs.
　　Cluppins.
　　Master Bardell put his hands deeper down into his pockets, andnodded exactly thirty-five times, to imply that it was the lady-lodger, and no other.
　　‘Bless us!’ said Mrs. Cluppins. ‘It’s quite a party!’
　　‘Ah, if you knew what was in the cupboard, you’d say so,’
　　replied Master Bardell.
　　‘What is there, Tommy?’ said Mrs. Cluppins coaxingly. ‘You’lltell me, Tommy, I know.’
　　‘No, I won’t,’ replied Master Bardell, shaking his head, andapplying himself to the bottom step again.
　　‘Drat the child!’ muttered Mrs. Cluppins. ‘What a prowokin’
　　little wretch it is! Come, Tommy, tell your dear Cluppy.’
　　‘Mother said I wasn’t to,’ rejoined Master Bardell, ‘I’m a-goin’ tohave some, I am.’ Cheered by this prospect, the precocious boyapplied himself to his infantile treadmill, with increased vigour.
　　The above examination of a child of tender years took placewhile Mr. and Mrs. Raddle and the cab-driver were having analtercation concerning the fare, which, terminating at this point infavour of the cabman, Mrs. Raddle came up tottering.
　　‘Lauk, Mary Ann! what’s the matter?’ said Mrs. Cluppins.
　　‘It’s put me all over in such a tremble, Betsy,’ replied Mrs.
　　Raddle. ‘Raddle ain’t like a man; he leaves everythink to me.’
　　This was scarcely fair upon the unfortunate Mr. Raddle, whohad been thrust aside by his good lady in the commencement ofthe dispute, and peremptorily commanded to hold his tongue. Hehad no opportunity of defending himself, however, for Mrs. Raddlegave unequivocal signs of fainting; which, being perceived fromthe parlour window, Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, the lodger, andthe lodger’s servant, darted precipitately out, and conveyed herinto the house, all talking at the same time, and giving utterance tovarious expressions of pity and condolence, as if she were one ofthe most suffering mortals on earth. Being conveyed into the frontparlour, she was there deposited on a sofa; and the lady from thefirst floor running up to the first floor, returned with a bottle of sal-volatile, which, holding Mrs. Raddle tight round the neck, sheapplied in all womanly kindness and pity to her nose, until thatlady with many plunges and struggles was fain to declare herselfdecidedly better.
　　‘Ah, poor thing!’ said Mrs. Rogers, ‘I know what her feelin’s is,too well.’
　　‘Ah, poor thing! so do I,’ said Mrs. Sanders; and then all theladies moaned in unison, and said they knew what it was, and theypitied her from their hearts, they did. Even the lodger’s littleservant, who was thirteen years old and three feet high,murmured her sympathy.
　　‘But what’s been the matter?’ said Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘Ah, what has decomposed you, ma’am?’ inquired Mrs. Rogers.
　　‘I have been a good deal flurried,’ replied Mrs. Raddle, in areproachful manner. Thereupon the ladies cast indignant glancesat Mr. Raddle.
　　‘Why, the fact is,’ said that unhappy gentleman, steppingforward, ‘when we alighted at this door, a dispute arose with thedriver of the cabrioily―‘A loud scream from his wife, at themention of this word, rendered all further explanation inaudible.
　　‘You’d better leave us to bring her round, Raddle,’ said Mrs.
　　Cluppins. ‘She’ll never get better as long as you’re here.’
　　All the ladies concurred in this opinion; so Mr. Raddle waspushed out of the room, and requested to give himself an airing inthe back yard. Which he did for about a quarter of an hour, whenMrs. Bardell announced to him with a solemn face that he mightcome in now, but that he must be very careful how he behavedtowards his wife. She knew he didn’t mean to be unkind; but MaryAnn was very far from strong, and, if he didn’t take care, he mightlose her when he least expected it, which would be a very dreadfulreflection for him afterwards; and so on. All this, Mr. Raddle heardwith great submission, and presently returned to the parlour in amost lamb-like manner.
　　‘Why, Mrs. Rogers, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Bardell, ‘you’ve neverbeen introduced, I declare! Mr. Raddle, ma’am; Mrs. Cluppins,ma’am; Mrs. Raddle, ma’am.’
　　―‘Which is Mrs. Cluppins’s sister,’ suggested Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘Oh, indeed!’ said Mrs. Rogers graciously; for she was thelodger, and her servant was in waiting, so she was more graciousthan intimate, in right of her position. ‘Oh, indeed!’
　　Mrs. Raddle smiled sweetly, Mr. Raddle bowed, and Mrs.
　　Cluppins said, ‘she was sure she was very happy to have anopportunity of being known to a lady which she had heerd somuch in favour of, as Mrs. Rogers.’ A compliment which the last-named lady acknowledged with graceful condescension.
　　‘Well, Mr. Raddle,’ said Mrs. Bardell; ‘I’m sure you ought to feelvery much honoured at you and Tommy being the only gentlemento escort so many ladies all the way to the Spaniards, atHampstead. Don’t you think he ought, Mrs. Rogers, ma’am?’
　　‘Oh, certainly, ma’am,’ replied Mrs. Rogers; after whom all theother ladies responded, ‘Oh, certainly.’
　　‘Of course I feel it, ma’am,’ said Mr. Raddle, rubbing his hands,and evincing a slight tendency to brighten up a little. ‘Indeed, totell you the truth, I said, as we was a-coming along in thecabrioily―’At the recapitulation of the word which awakened so manypainful recollections, Mrs. Raddle applied her handkerchief to hereyes again, and uttered a half-suppressed scream; so that Mrs.
　　Bardell frowned upon Mr. Raddle, to intimate that he had betternot say anything more, and desired Mrs. Rogers’s servant, with anair, to ‘put the wine on.’
　　This was the signal for displaying the hidden treasures of thecloset, which comprised sundry plates of oranges and biscuits, anda bottle of old crusted port―that at one-and-nine―with another ofthe celebrated East India sherry at fourteen-pence, which were allproduced in honour of the lodger, and afforded unlimitedsatisfaction to everybody. After great consternation had beenexcited in the mind of Mrs. Cluppins, by an attempt on the part ofTommy to recount how he had been cross-examined regarding thecupboard then in action (which was fortunately nipped in the budby his imbibing half a glass of the old crusted ‘the wrong way,’ andthereby endangering his life for some seconds), the party walkedforth in quest of a Hampstead stage. This was soon found, and in acouple of hours they all arrived safely in the Spaniards Tea-gardens, where the luckless Mr. Raddle’s very first act nearlyoccasioned his good lady a relapse; it being neither more nor lessthan to order tea for seven, whereas (as the ladies one and allremarked), what could have been easier than for Tommy to havedrank out of anybody’s cup―or everybody’s, if that was all―whenthe waiter wasn’t looking, which would have saved one head oftea, and the tea just as good!
　　However, there was no help for it, and the tea-tray came, withseven cups and saucers, and bread-and-butter on the same scale.
　　Mrs. Bardell was unanimously voted into the chair, and Mrs.
　　Rogers being stationed on her right hand, and Mrs. Raddle on herleft, the meal proceeded with great merriment and success.
　　‘How sweet the country is, to be sure!’ sighed Mrs. Rogers; ‘Ialmost wish I lived in it always.’
　　‘Oh, you wouldn’t like that, ma’am,’ replied Mrs. Bardell, ratherhastily; for it was not at all advisable, with reference to thelodgings, to encourage such notions; ‘you wouldn’t like it, ma’am.’
　　‘Oh! I should think you was a deal too lively and sought after, tobe content with the country, ma’am,’ said little Mrs. Cluppins.
　　‘Perhaps I am, ma’am. Perhaps I am,’ sighed the first-floorlodger.
　　‘For lone people as have got nobody to care for them, or takecare of them, or as have been hurt in their mind, or that kind ofthing,’ observed Mr. Raddle, plucking up a little cheerfulness, andlooking round, ‘the country is all very well. The country for awounded spirit, they say.’
　　Now, of all things in the world that the unfortunate man couldhave said, any would have been preferable to this. Of course Mrs.
　　Bardell burst into tears, and requested to be led from the tableinstantly; upon which the affectionate child began to cry too, mostdismally.
　　‘Would anybody believe, ma’am,’ exclaimed Mrs. Raddle,turning fiercely to the first-floor lodger, ‘that a woman could bemarried to such a unmanly creetur, which can tamper with awoman’s feelings as he does, every hour in the day, ma’am?’
　　‘My dear,’ remonstrated Mr. Raddle, ‘I didn’t mean anything,my dear.’
　　‘You didn’t mean!’ repeated Mrs. Raddle, with great scorn andcontempt. ‘Go away. I can’t bear the sight on you, you brute.’
　　‘You must not flurry yourself, Mary Ann,’ interposed Mrs.
　　Cluppins. ‘You really must consider yourself, my dear, which younever do. Now go away, Raddle, there’s a good soul, or you’ll onlyaggravate her.’
　　‘You had better take your tea by yourself, sir, indeed,’ said Mrs.
　　Rogers, again applying the smelling-bottle.
　　Mrs. Sanders, who, according to custom, was very busy with thebread-and-butter, expressed the same opinion, and Mr. Raddlequietly retired.
　　After this, there was a great hoisting up of Master Bardell, whowas rather a large size for hugging, into his mother’s arms, inwhich operation he got his boots in the tea-board, and occasionedsome confusion among the cups and saucers. But that descriptionof fainting fits, which is contagious among ladies, seldom lastslong; so when he had been well kissed, and a little cried over, Mrs.
　　Bardell recovered, set him down again, wondering how she couldhave been so foolish, and poured out some more tea.
　　It was at this moment, that the sound of approaching wheelswas heard, and that the ladies, looking up, saw a hackney-coachstop at the garden gate.
　　‘More company!’ said Mrs. Sanders.
　　‘It’s a gentleman,’ said Mrs. Raddle.
　　‘Well, if it ain’t Mr. Jackson, the young man from Dodson andFogg’s!’ cried Mrs. Bardell. ‘Why, gracious! Surely Mr. Pickwickcan’t have paid the damages.’
　　‘Or hoffered marriage!’ said Mrs. Cluppins.
　　‘Dear me, how slow the gentleman is,’ exclaimed Mrs. Rogers.
　　‘Why doesn’t he make haste!’
　　As the lady spoke these words, Mr. Jackson turned from thecoach where he had been addressing some observations to ashabby man in black leggings, who had just emerged from thevehicle with a thick ash stick in his hand, and made his way to theplace where the ladies were seated; winding his hair round thebrim of his hat, as he came along. ‘Is anything the matter? Hasanything taken place, Mr. Jackson?’ said Mrs. Bardell eagerly.
　　‘Nothing whatever, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Jackson. ‘How de do,ladies? I have to ask pardon, ladies, for intruding―but the law,ladies―the law.’ With this apology Mr. Jackson smiled, made acomprehensive bow, and gave his hair another wind. Mrs. Rogerswhispered Mrs. Raddle that he was really an elegant young man.
　　‘I called in Goswell Street,’ resumed Mr. Jackson, ‘and hearingthat you were here, from the slavey, took a coach and came on.
　　Our people want you down in the city directly, Mrs. Bardell.’
　　‘Lor!’ ejaculated that lady, starting at the sudden nature of thecommunication.
　　‘Yes,’ said Mr. Jackson, biting his lip. ‘It’s very important andpressing business, which can’t be postponed on any account.
　　Indeed, Dodson expressly said so to me, and so did Fogg. I’ve keptthe coach on purpose for you to go back in.’
　　‘How very strange!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell.
　　The ladies agreed that it was very strange, but wereunanimously of opinion that it must be very important, or Dodson& Fogg would never have sent; and further, that the businessbeing urgent, she ought to repair to Dodson & Fogg’s without anydelay.
　　There was a certain degree of pride and importance aboutbeing wanted by one’s lawyers in such a monstrous hurry, thatwas by no means displeasing to Mrs. Bardell, especially as it mightbe reasonably supposed to enhance her consequence in the eyes ofthe first-floor lodger. She simpered a little, affected extremevexation and hesitation, and at last arrived at the conclusion thatshe supposed she must go.
　　‘But won’t you refresh yourself after your walk, Mr. Jackson?’
　　said Mrs. Bardell persuasively.
　　‘Why, really there ain’t much time to lose,’ replied Jackson; ‘andI’ve got a friend here,’ he continued, looking towards the man withthe ash stick.
　　‘Oh, ask your friend to come here, sir,’ said Mrs. Bardell. ‘Prayask your friend here, sir.’
　　‘Why, thank’ee, I’d rather not,’ said Mr. Jackson, with someembarrassment of manner. ‘He’s not much used to ladies’ society,and it makes him bashful. If you’ll order the waiter to deliver himanything short, he won’t drink it off at once, won’t he!―only tryhim!’ Mr. Jackson’s fingers wandered playfully round his nose atthis portion of his discourse, to warn his hearers that he wasspeaking ironically.
　　The waiter was at once despatched to the bashful gentleman,and the bashful gentleman took something; Mr. Jackson also tooksomething, and the ladies took something, for hospitality’s sake.
　　Mr. Jackson then said he was afraid it was time to go; upon which,Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Cluppins, and Tommy (who it was arrangedshould accompany Mrs. Bardell, leaving the others to Mr. Raddle’sprotection), got into the coach.
　　‘Isaac,’ said Jackson, as Mrs. Bardell prepared to get in, lookingup at the man with the ash stick, who was seated on the box,smoking a cigar.
　　‘Well?’
　　‘This is Mrs. Bardell.’
　　‘Oh, I know’d that long ago,’ said the man.
　　Mrs. Bardell got in, Mr. Jackson got in after her, and away theydrove. Mrs. Bardell could not help ruminating on what Mr.
　　Jackson’s friend had said. Shrewd creatures, those lawyers. Lordbless us, how they find people out!
　　‘Sad thing about these costs of our people’s, ain’t it,’ saidJackson, when Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders had fallen asleep;‘your bill of costs, I mean.’
　　‘I’m very sorry they can’t get them,’ replied Mrs. Bardell. ‘But ifyou law gentlemen do these things on speculation, why you mustget a loss now and then, you know.’
　　‘You gave them a cognovit for the amount of your costs, afterthe trial, I’m told!’ said Jackson.
　　‘Yes. Just as a matter of form,’ replied Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘Certainly,’ replied Jackson drily. ‘Quite a matter of form.
　　Quite.’
　　On they drove, and Mrs. Bardell fell asleep. She was awakened,after some time, by the stopping of the coach.
　　‘Bless us!’ said the lady .’Are we at Freeman’s Court?’
　　‘We’re not going quite so far,’ replied Jackson. ‘Have thegoodness to step out.’
　　Mrs. Bardell, not yet thoroughly awake, complied. It was acurious place: a large wall, with a gate in the middle, and a gas-light burning inside.
　　‘Now, ladies,’ cried the man with the ash stick, looking into thecoach, and shaking Mrs. Sanders to wake her, ‘Come!’ Rousingher friend, Mrs. Sanders alighted. Mrs. Bardell, leaning onJackson’s arm, and leading Tommy by the hand, had alreadyentered the porch. They followed.
　　The room they turned into was even more odd-looking than theporch. Such a number of men standing about! And they stared so!
　　‘What place is this?’ inquired Mrs. Bardell, pausing.
　　‘Only one of our public offices,’ replied Jackson, hurrying herthrough a door, and looking round to see that the other womenwere following. ‘Look sharp, Isaac!’
　　‘Safe and sound,’ replied the man with the ash stick. The doorswung heavily after them, and they descended a small flight ofsteps.
　　‘Here we are at last. All right and tight, Mrs. Bardell!’ saidJackson, looking exultingly round.
　　‘What do you mean?’ said Mrs. Bardell, with a palpitating heart.
　　‘Just this,’ replied Jackson, drawing her a little on one side;‘don’t be frightened, Mrs. Bardell. There never was a moredelicate man than Dodson, ma’am, or a more humane man thanFogg. It was their duty in the way of business, to take you inexecution for them costs; but they were anxious to spare yourfeelings as much as they could. What a comfort it must be, to you,to think how it’s been done! This is the Fleet, ma’am. Wish yougood-night, Mrs. Bardell. Good-night, Tommy!’
　　As Jackson hurried away in company with the man with the ashstick another man, with a key in his hand, who had been lookingon, led the bewildered female to a second short flight of stepsleading to a doorway. Mrs. Bardell screamed violently; Tommyroared; Mrs. Cluppins shrunk within herself; and Mrs. Sandersmade off, without more ado. For there stood the injured Mr.
　　Pickwick, taking his nightly allowance of air; and beside him leantSamuel Weller, who, seeing Mrs. Bardell, took his hat off withmock reverence, while his master turned indignantly on his heel.
　　‘Don’t bother the woman,’ said the turnkey to Weller; ‘she’s justcome in.’
　　‘A prisoner!’ said Sam, quickly replacing his hat. ‘Who’s theplaintives? What for? Speak up, old feller.’
　　‘Dodson and Fogg,’ replied the man; ‘execution on cognovit forcosts.’
　　‘Here, Job, Job!’ shouted Sam, dashing into the passage. ‘Runto Mr. Perker’s, Job. I want him directly. I see some good in this.
　　Here’s a game. Hooray! vere’s the gov’nor?’
　　But there was no reply to these inquiries, for Job had startedfuriously off, the instant he received his commission, and Mrs.
　　Bardell had fainted in real downright earnest.
Chapter 47
IS CHIEFLY DEVOTED TO MATTERS OFBUSINESS, AND THE TEMPORAL ADVANTAGEOF DODSON AND FOGG―Mr. WINKLEREAPPEARS UNDER EXTRAORDINARYCIRCUMSTANCES―Mr. PICKWICK’SBENEVOLENCE PROVES STRONGER THANHIS OBSTINACYob Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holborn,sometimes in the middle of the road, sometimes on thepavement, sometimes in the gutter, as the chances of gettingalong varied with the press of men, women, children, and coaches,in each division of the thoroughfare, and, regardless of allobstacles stopped not for an instant until he reached the gate ofGray’s Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he had used,however, the gate had been closed a good half-hour when hereached it, and by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker’slaundress, who lived with a married daughter, who had bestowedher hand upon a non-resident waiter, who occupied the one-pairof some number in some street closely adjoining to some brewerysomewhere behind Gray’s Inn Lane, it was within fifteen minutesof closing the prison for the night. Mr. Lowten had still to beferreted out from the back parlour of the Magpie and Stump; andJob had scarcely accomplished this object, and communicatedSam Weller’s message, when the clock struck ten.
　　‘There,’ said Lowten, ‘it’s too late now. You can’t get in to-night;you’ve got the key of the street, my friend.’
　　‘Never mind me,’ replied Job. ‘I can sleep anywhere. But won’tit be better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may be there, thefirst thing in the morning?’
　　‘Why,’ responded Lowten, after a little consideration, ‘if it wasin anybody else’s case, Perker wouldn’t be best pleased at mygoing up to his house; but as it’s Mr. Pickwick’s, I think I mayventure to take a cab and charge it to the office.’ Deciding on thisline of conduct, Mr. Lowten took up his hat, and begging theassembled company to appoint a deputy-chairman during histemporary absence, led the way to the nearest coach-stand.
　　Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he directedthe driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square.
　　Mr. Perker had had a dinner-party that day, as was testified bythe appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the soundof an improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet voiceissuing therefrom, and a rather overpowering smell of meat whichpervaded the steps and entry. In fact, a couple of very goodcountry agencies happening to come up to town, at the same time,an agreeable little party had been got together to meet them,comprising Mr. Snicks, the Life Office Secretary, Mr. Prosee, theeminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of bankrupts,a special pleader from the Temple, a small-eyed peremptoryyoung gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book aboutthe law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes andreferences; and several other eminent and distinguishedpersonages. From this society, little Mr. Perker detached himself,on his clerk being announced in a whisper; and repairing to thedining-room, there found Mr. Lowten and Job Trotter lookingvery dim and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which thegentleman who condescended to appear in plush shorts andcottons for a quarterly stipend, had, with a becoming contempt forthe clerk and all things appertaining to ‘the office,’ placed uponthe table.
　　‘Now, Lowten,’ said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door, ‘what’sthe matter? No important letter come in a parcel, is there?’
　　‘No, sir,’ replied Lowten. ‘This is a messenger from Mr.
　　Pickwick, sir.’
　　‘From Pickwick, eh?’ said the little man, turning quickly to Job.
　　‘Well, what is it?’
　　‘Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bardell in execution for hercosts, sir,’ said Job.
　　‘No!’ exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets, andreclining against the sideboard.
　　‘Yes,’ said Job. ‘It seems they got a cognovit out of her, for theamount of ’em, directly after the trial.’
　　‘By Jove!’ said Perker, taking both hands out of his pockets,and striking the knuckles of his right against the palm of his left,emphatically, ‘those are the cleverest scamps I ever had anythingto do with!’
　　‘The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, sir,’ observed Lowten.
　　‘Sharp!’ echoed Perker. ‘There’s no knowing where to havethem.’
　　‘Very true, sir, there is not,’ replied Lowten; and then, bothmaster and man pondered for a few seconds, with animatedcountenances, as if they were reflecting upon one of the mostbeautiful and ingenious discoveries that the intellect of man hadever made. When they had in some measure recovered from theirtrance of admiration, Job Trotter discharged himself of the rest ofhis commission. Perker nodded his head thoughtfully, and pulledout his watch.
　　‘At ten precisely, I will be there,’ said the little man. ‘Sam isquite right. Tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, Lowten?’
　　‘No, thank you, sir.’
　　‘You mean yes, I think,’ said the little man, turning to thesideboard for a decanter and glasses.
　　As Lowten did mean yes, he said no more on the subject, butinquired of Job, in an audible whisper, whether the portrait ofPerker, which hung opposite the fireplace, wasn’t a wonderfullikeness, to which Job of course replied that it was. The wine beingby this time poured out, Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker and thechildren, and Job to Perker. The gentleman in the plush shortsand cottons considering it no part of his duty to show the peoplefrom the office out, consistently declined to answer the bell, andthey showed themselves out. The attorney betook himself to hisdrawing-room, the clerk to the Magpie and Stump, and Job toCovent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket.
　　Punctually at the appointed hour next morning, the good-humoured little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick’s door, which wasopened with great alacrity by Sam Weller.
　　‘Mr. Perker, sir,’ said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr.
　　Pickwick, who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude.
　　‘Wery glad you’ve looked in accidentally, sir. I rather think thegov’nor wants to have a word and a half with you, sir.’
　　Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating thathe understood he was not to say he had been sent for; andbeckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear.
　　‘You don’t mean that ’ere, sir?’ said Sam, starting back inexcessive surprise.
　　Perker nodded and smiled.
　　Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr.
　　Pickwick, then at the ceiling, then at Perker again; grinned,laughed outright, and finally, catching up his hat from the carpet,without further explanation, disappeared.
　　‘What does this mean?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking atPerker with astonishment. ‘What has put Sam into thisextraordinary state?’
　　‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ replied Perker. ‘Come, my dear sir, drawup your chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you.’
　　‘What papers are those?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the littleman deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied withred tape.
　　‘The papers in Bardell and Pickwick,’ replied Perker, undoingthe knot with his teeth.
　　Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground;and throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly―if Mr. Pickwick ever could look sternly―at his legal friend.
　　‘You don’t like to hear the name of the cause?’ said the littleman, still busying himself with the knot.
　　‘No, I do not indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Sorry for that,’ resumed Perker, ‘because it will form thesubject of our conversation.’
　　‘I would rather that the subject should be never mentionedbetween us, Perker,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick hastily.
　　‘Pooh, pooh, my dear sir,’ said the little man, untying the bundle, and glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners ofhis eyes. ‘It must be mentioned. I have come here on purpose.
　　Now, are you ready to hear what I have to say, my dear sir? Nohurry; if you are not, I can wait. I have this morning’s paper here.
　　Your time shall be mine. There!’ Hereupon, the little man threwone leg over the other, and made a show of beginning to read withgreat composure and application.
　　‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening into asmile at the same time. ‘Say what you have to say; it’s the oldstory, I suppose?’
　　‘With a difference, my dear sir; with a difference,’ rejoinedPerker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into hispocket again. ‘Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is withinthese walls, sir.’
　　‘I know it,’ was Mr. Pickwick’s reply,‘Very good,’ retorted Perker. ‘And you know how she comeshere, I suppose; I mean on what grounds, and at whose suit?’
　　‘Yes; at least I have heard Sam’s account of the matter,’ saidMr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness.
　　‘Sam’s account of the matter,’ replied Perker, ‘is, I will ventureto say, a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear sir, the firstquestion I have to ask, is, whether this woman is to remain here?’
　　‘To remain here!’ echoed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘To remain here, my dear sir,’ rejoined Perker, leaning back inhis chair and looking steadily at his client.
　　‘How can you ask me?’ said that gentleman. ‘It rests withDodson and Fogg; you know that very well.’
　　‘I know nothing of the kind,’ retorted Perker firmly. ‘It does notrest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, my dear sir, aswell as I do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you.’
　　‘With me!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from hischair, and reseating himself directly afterwards.
　　The little man gave a double-knock on the lid of his snuff-box,opened it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated thewords, ‘With you.’
　　‘I say, my dear sir,’ resumed the little man, who seemed togather confidence from the snuff―‘I say, that her speedyliberation or perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and with youalone. Hear me out, my dear sir, if you please, and do not be sovery energetic, for it will only put you into a perspiration and dono good whatever. I say,’ continued Perker, checking off eachposition on a different finger, as he laid it down―‘I say thatnobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness; andthat you can only do that, by paying the costs of this suit―both ofplaintive and defendant―into the hands of these Freeman Courtsharks. Now pray be quiet, my dear sir.’
　　Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprisingchanges during this speech, and was evidently on the verge of astrong burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could.
　　Perker, strengthening his argumentative powers with anotherpinch of snuff, proceeded―‘I have seen the woman, this morning. By paying the costs, youcan obtain a full release and discharge from the damages; andfurther―this I know is a far greater object of consideration withyou, my dear sir―a voluntary statement, under her hand, in theform of a letter to me, that this business was, from the very first,fomented, and encouraged, and brought about, by these men,Dodson and Fogg; that she deeply regrets ever having been theinstrument of annoyance or injury to you; and that she entreatsme to intercede with you, and implore your pardon.’
　　‘If I pay her costs for her,’ said Mr. Pickwick indignantly. ‘Avaluable document, indeed!’
　　‘No “if” in the case, my dear sir,’ said Perker triumphantly.
　　‘There is the very letter I speak of. Brought to my office by anotherwoman at nine o’clock this morning, before I had set foot in thisplace, or held any communication with Mrs. Bardell, upon myhonour.’ Selecting the letter from the bundle, the little lawyer laidit at Mr. Pickwick’s elbow, and took snuff for two consecutiveminutes, without winking.
　　‘Is this all you have to say to me?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick mildly.
　　‘Not quite,’ replied Perker. ‘I cannot undertake to say, at thismoment, whether the wording of the cognovit, the nature of theostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together aboutthe whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify anindictment for conspiracy. I fear not, my dear sir; they are tooclever for that, I doubt. I do mean to say, however, that the wholefacts, taken together, will be sufficient to justify you, in the mindsof all reasonable men. And now, my dear sir, I put it to you. Thisone hundred and fifty pounds, or whatever it may be―take it inround numbers―is nothing to you. A jury had decided againstyou; well, their verdict is wrong, but still they decided as theythought right, and it is against you. You have now an opportunity,on easy terms, of placing yourself in a much higher position thanyou ever could, by remaining here; which would only be imputed,by people who didn’t know you, to sheer dogged, wrongheaded,brutal obstinacy; nothing else, my dear sir, believe me. Can youhesitate to avail yourself of it, when it restores you to your friends,your old pursuits, your health and amusements; when it liberatesyour faithful and attached servant, whom you otherwise doom toimprisonment for the whole of your life; and above all, when itenables you to take the very magnanimous revenge―which Iknow, my dear sir, is one after your own heart―of releasing thiswoman from a scene of misery and debauchery, to which no manshould ever be consigned, if I had my will, but the infliction ofwhich on any woman, is even more frightful and barbarous. Now Iask you, my dear sir, not only as your legal adviser, but as yourvery true friend, will you let slip the occasion of attaining all theseobjects, and doing all this good, for the paltry consideration of afew pounds finding their way into the pockets of a couple ofrascals, to whom it makes no manner of difference, except that themore they gain, the more they’ll seek, and so the sooner be led intosome piece of knavery that must end in a crash? I have put theseconsiderations to you, my dear sir, very feebly and imperfectly, butI ask you to think of them. Turn them over in your mind as long asyou please. I wait here most patiently for your answer.’
　　Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had takenone twentieth part of the snuff with which so unusually long anaddress imperatively required to be followed up, there was a lowmurmuring of voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at thedoor.
　　‘Dear, dear,’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidentlyroused by his friend’s appeal; ‘what an annoyance that door is!
　　Who is that?’
　　‘Me, sir,’ replied Sam Weller, putting in his head.
　　‘I can’t speak to you just now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I amengaged at this moment, Sam.’
　　‘Beg your pardon, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. ‘But here’s a ladyhere, sir, as says she’s somethin’ wery partickler to disclose.’
　　‘I can’t see any lady,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind wasfilled with visions of Mrs. Bardell.
　　‘I wouldn’t make too sure o’ that, sir,’ urged Mr. Weller, shakinghis head. ‘If you know’d who was near, sir, I rayther think you’dchange your note; as the hawk remarked to himself vith a cheerfullaugh, ven he heerd the robin-redbreast a-singin’ round thecorner.’
　　‘Who is it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Will you see her, sir?’ asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in hishand as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.
　　‘I suppose I must,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.
　　‘Well then, all in to begin!’ cried Sam. ‘Sound the gong, draw upthe curtain, and enter the two conspiraytors.’
　　As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushedtumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, leading afterhim by the hand, the identical young lady who at Dingley Dell hadworn the boots with the fur round the tops, and who, now a verypleasing compound of blushes and confusion, and lilac silk, and asmart bonnet, and a rich lace veil, looked prettier than ever.
　　‘Miss Arabella Allen!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from hischair.
　　‘No,’ replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees. ‘Mrs. Winkle.
　　Pardon, my dear friend, pardon!’
　　Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses,and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborativetestimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and thebodily presence, in the background, of Sam and the prettyhousemaid; who appeared to contemplate the proceedings withthe liveliest satisfaction.
　　‘Oh, Mr. Pickwick!’ said Arabella, in a low voice, as if alarmed atthe silence. ‘Can you forgive my imprudence?’
　　Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal; but hetook off his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the younglady’s hands in his, kissed her a great number of times―perhaps agreater number than was absolutely necessary―and then, stillretaining one of her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an audaciousyoung dog, and bade him get up. This, Mr. Winkle, who had beenfor some seconds scratching his nose with the brim of his hat, in apenitent manner, did; whereupon Mr. Pickwick slapped him onthe back several times, and then shook hands heartily with Perker,who, not to be behind-hand in the compliments of the occasion,saluted both the bride and the pretty housemaid with right good-will, and, having wrung Mr, Winkle’s hand most cordially, woundup his demonstrations of joy by taking snuff enough to set anyhalf-dozen men with ordinarily-constructed noses, a-sneezing forlife. ‘Why, my dear girl,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘how has all this comeabout? Come! Sit down, and let me hear it all. How well she looks,doesn’t she, Perker?’ added Mr. Pickwick, surveying Arabella’sface with a look of as much pride and exultation, as if she had beenhis daughter.
　　‘Delightful, my dear sir,’ replied the little man. ‘If I were not amarried man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog.’
　　Thus expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a pokein the chest, which that gentleman reciprocated; after which theyboth laughed very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel Weller,who had just relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty housemaidunder cover of the cupboard door.
　　‘I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure,’ saidArabella, with the sweetest smile imaginable. ‘I shall not forgetyour exertions in the garden at Clifton.’
　　‘Don’t say nothin’ wotever about it, ma’am,’ replied Sam. ‘I onlyassisted natur, ma’am; as the doctor said to the boy’s mother, afterhe’d bled him to death.’
　　‘Mary, my dear, sit down,’ said Mr. Pickwick, cutting shortthese compliments. ‘Now then; how long have you been married,eh?’
　　Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who replied,‘Only three days.’
　　‘Only three days, eh?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Why, what have youbeen doing these three months?’
　　‘Ah, to be sure!’ interposed Perker; ‘come, account for thisidleness. You see Mr. Pickwick’s only astonishment is, that itwasn’t all over, months ago.’
　　‘Why the fact is,’ replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his blushingyoung wife, ‘that I could not persuade Bella to run away, for a longtime. And when I had persuaded her, it was a long time morebefore we could find an opportunity. Mary had to give a month’swarning, too, before she could leave her place next door, and wecouldn’t possibly have done it without her assistance.’
　　‘Upon my word,’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time hadresumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to Winkle,and from Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight depicted in hiscountenance as warmheartedness and kindly feeling cancommunicate to the human face―‘upon my word! you seem tohave been very systematic in your proceedings. And is yourbrother acquainted with all this, my dear?’
　　‘Oh, no, no,’ replied Arabella, changing colour. ‘Dear Mr.
　　Pickwick, he must only know it from you―from your lips alone.
　　He is so violent, so prejudiced, and has been so―so anxious inbehalf of his friend, Mr, Sawyer,’ added Arabella, looking down,‘that I fear the consequences dreadfully.’
　　‘Ah, to be sure,’ said Perker gravely. ‘You must take this matterin hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you,when they would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief,my dear sir. Hot blood, hot blood.’ And the little man took awarning pinch, and shook his head doubtfully.
　　‘You forget, my love,’ said Mr. Pickwick gently, ‘you forget thatI am a prisoner.’
　　‘No, indeed I do not, my dear sir,’ replied Arabella. ‘I neverhave forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great yoursufferings must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped thatwhat no consideration for yourself would induce you to do, aregard to our happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first,from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled. He is my onlyrelation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me, Ifear I have lost even him. I have done wrong, very, very wrong, Iknow.’ Here poor Arabella hid her face in her handkerchief, andwept bitterly.
　　Mr. Pickwick’s nature was a good deal worked upon, by thesesame tears; but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took tocoaxing and entreating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice,he became particularly restless, and evidently undecided how toact, as was evinced by sundry nervous rubbings of his spectacle-glasses, nose, tights, head, and gaiters.
　　Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. Perker(to whom, it appeared, the young couple had driven straight thatmorning) urged with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle,senior, was still unacquainted with the important rise in life’sflight of steps which his son had taken; that the futureexpectations of the said son depended entirely upon the saidWinkle, senior, continuing to regard him with undiminishedfeelings of affection and attachment, which it was very unlikely hewould, if this great event were long kept a secret from him; thatMr. Pickwick, repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen, might, withequal reason, repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle, senior;lastly, that Mr. Winkle, senior, had good right and title to considerMr. Pickwick as in some degree the guardian and adviser of hisson, and that it consequently behoved that gentleman, and wasindeed due to his personal character, to acquaint the aforesaidWinkle, senior, personally, and by word of mouth, with the wholecircumstances of the case, and with the share he had taken in thetransaction.
　　Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived, most opportunely, inthis stage of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain tothem all that had occurred, together with the various reasons proand con, the whole of the arguments were gone over again, afterwhich everybody urged every argument in his own way, and at hisown length. And, at last, Mr. Pickwick, fairly argued andremonstrated out of all his resolutions, and being in imminentdanger of being argued and remonstrated out of his wits, caughtArabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a very amiablecreature, and that he didn’t know how it was, but he had alwaysbeen very fond of her from the first, said he could never find it inhis heart to stand in the way of young people’s happiness, and theymight do with him as they pleased.
　　Mr. Weller’s first act, on hearing this concession, was todespatch Job Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authorityto deliver to the bearer the formal discharge which his prudentparent had had the foresight to leave in the hands of that learnedgentleman, in case it should be, at any time, required on anemergency; his next proceeding was, to invest his whole stock ofready-money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mildporter, which he himself dispensed on the racket-ground toeverybody who would partake of it; this done, he hurra’d in diversparts of the building until he lost his voice, and then quietlyrelapsed into his usual collected and philosophical condition.
　　At three o’clock that afternoon, Mr. Pickwick took a last look athis little room, and made his way, as well as he could, through thethrong of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him bythe hand, until he reached the lodge steps. He turned here, to lookabout him, and his eye lightened as he did so. In all the crowd ofwan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not happier forhis sympathy and charity.
　　‘Perker,’ said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man towardshim, ‘this is Mr. Jingle, whom I spoke to you about.’
　　‘Very good, my dear sir,’ replied Perker, looking hard at Jingle.
　　‘You will see me again, young man, to-morrow. I hope you maylive to remember and feel deeply, what I shall have tocommunicate, sir.’
　　Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took Mr.
　　Pickwick’s proffered hand, and withdrew.
　　‘Job you know, I think?’ said Mr. Pickwick, presenting thatgentleman.
　　‘I know the rascal,’ replied Perker good-humouredly. ‘See afteryour friend, and be in the way to-morrow at one. Do you hear?
　　Now, is there anything more?’
　　‘Nothing,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘You have delivered the littleparcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam?’
　　‘I have, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘He bust out a-cryin’, sir, and said youwos wery gen’rous and thoughtful, and he only wished you couldhave him innockilated for a gallopin’ consumption, for his oldfriend as had lived here so long wos dead, and he’d noweres tolook for another.’
　　‘Poor fellow, poor fellow!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘God bless you, myfriends!’
　　As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loudshout. Many among them were pressing forward to shake him bythe hand again, when he drew his arm through Perker’s, andhurried from the prison, far more sad and melancholy, for themoment, than when he had first entered it. Alas! how many sadand unhappy beings had he left behind!
　　A happy evening was that for at least one party in the Georgeand Vulture; and light and cheerful were two of the hearts thatemerged from its hospitable door next morning. The ownersthereof were Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the former of whomwas speedily deposited inside a comfortable post-coach, with alittle dickey behind, in which the latter mounted with great agility.
　　‘Sir,’ called out Mr. Weller to his master.
　　‘Well, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of thewindow.
　　‘I wish them horses had been three months and better in theFleet, sir.’
　　‘Why, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wy, sir,’ exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, ‘how theywould go if they had been!’
Chapter 48
RELATES HOW Mr. PICKWICK, WITH THEASSISTANCE OF SAMUEL WELLER, ESSAYEDTO SOFTEN THE HEART OF Mr. BENJAMINALLEN, AND TO MOLLIFY THE WRATH OFMr. ROBERT SAWYERr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in thelittle surgery behind the shop, discussing minced vealand future prospects, when the discourse, notunnaturally, turned upon the practice acquired by Bob theaforesaid, and his present chances of deriving a competentindependence from the honourable profession to which he haddevoted himself.
　　‘Which, I think,’ observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the threadof the subject―‘which, I think, Ben, are rather dubious.’
　　‘What’s rather dubious?’ inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the sametime sharpening his intellect with a draught of beer. ‘What’sdubious?’
　　‘Why, the chances,’ responded Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘I forgot,’ said Mr. Ben Allen. ‘The beer has reminded me that Iforgot, Bob―yes; they are dubious.’
　　‘It’s wonderful how the poor people patronise me,’ said Mr. BobSawyer reflectively. ‘They knock me up, at all hours of the night;they take medicine to an extent which I should have conceivedimpossible; they put on blisters and leeches with a perseveranceworthy of a better cause; they make additions to their families, in amanner which is quite awful. Six of those last-named littlepromissory notes, all due on the same day, Ben, and all intrustedto me!’
　　‘It’s very gratifying, isn’t it?’ said Mr. Ben Allen, holding hisplate for some more minced veal.
　　‘Oh, very,’ replied Bob; ‘only not quite so much so as theconfidence of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be.
　　This business was capitally described in the advertisement, Ben. Itis a practice, a very extensive practice―and that’s all.’
　　‘Bob,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, andfixing his eyes on the visage of his friend, ‘Bob, I’ll tell you what itis.’
　　‘What is it?’ inquired Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible, masterof Arabella’s one thousand pounds.’
　　‘Three per cent. consolidated bank annuities, now standing inher name in the book or books of the governor and company of theBank of England,’ added Bob Sawyer, in legal phraseology.
　　‘Exactly so,’ said Ben. ‘She has it when she comes of age, ormarries. She wants a year of coming of age, and if you plucked upa spirit she needn’t want a month of being married.’
　　‘She’s a very charming and delightful creature,’ quoth Mr.
　　Robert Sawyer, in reply; ‘and has only one fault that I know of,Ben. It happens, unfortunately, that that single blemish is a wantof taste. She don’t like me.’
　　‘It’s my opinion that she don’t know what she does like,’ saidMr. Ben Allen contemptuously.
　　‘Perhaps not,’ remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘But it’s my opinionthat she does know what she doesn’t like, and that’s of moreimportance.’
　　‘I wish,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together, andspeaking more like a savage warrior who fed on raw wolf’s fleshwhich he carved with his fingers, than a peaceable younggentleman who ate minced veal with a knife and fork―‘I wish Iknew whether any rascal really has been tampering with her, andattempting to engage her affections. I think I should assassinatehim, Bob.’
　　‘I’d put a bullet in him, if I found him out,’ said Mr. Sawyer,stopping in the course of a long draught of beer, and lookingmalignantly out of the porter pot. ‘If that didn’t do his business, I’dextract it afterwards, and kill him that way.’
　　Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for someminutes in silence, and then said―‘You have never proposed to her, point-blank, Bob?’
　　‘No. Because I saw it would be of no use,’ replied Mr. RobertSawyer.
　　‘You shall do it, before you are twenty-four hours older,’
　　retorted Ben, with desperate calmness. ‘She shall have you, or I’llknow the reason why. I’ll exert my authority.’
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer, ‘we shall see.’
　　‘We shall see, my friend,’ replied Mr. Ben Allen fiercely. Hepaused for a few seconds, and added in a voice broken by emotion,‘You have loved her from a child, my friend. You loved her whenwe were boys at school together, and, even then, she was waywardand slighted your young feelings. Do you recollect, with all theeagerness of a child’s love, one day pressing upon her acceptance,two small caraway-seed biscuits and one sweet apple, neatlyfolded into a circular parcel with the leaf of a copy-book?’
　　‘I do,’ replied Bob Sawyer.
　　‘She slighted that, I think?’ said Ben Allen.
　　‘She did,’ rejoined Bob. ‘She said I had kept the parcel so longin the pockets of my corduroys, that the apple was unpleasantlywarm.’
　　‘I remember,’ said Mr. Allen gloomily. ‘Upon which we ate itourselves, in alternate bites.’
　　Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance lastalluded to, by a melancholy frown; and the two friends remainedfor some time absorbed, each in his own meditations.
　　While these observations were being exchanged between Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen; and while the boy in thegrey livery, marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of thedinner, cast an anxious look, from time to time, towards the glassdoor, distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount ofminced veal which would be ultimately reserved for his individualcravings; there rolled soberly on through the streets of Bristol, aprivate fly, painted of a sad green colour, drawn by a chubby sortof brown horse, and driven by a surly-looking man with his legsdressed like the legs of a groom, and his body attired in the coat ofa coachman. Such appearances are common to many vehiclesbelonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of economic habits;and in this vehicle sat an old lady who was its mistress andproprietor.
　　‘Martin!’ said the old lady, calling to the surly man, out of thefront window.
　　‘Well?’ said the surly man, touching his hat to the old lady.
　　‘Mr. Sawyer’s,’ said the old lady.
　　‘I was going there,’ said the surly man.
　　The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of thesurly man’s foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly mangiving a smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired to Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer’s together.
　　‘Martin!’ said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the door ofMr. Robert Sawyer, late Nockemorf.
　　‘Well?’ said Martin.
　　‘Ask the lad to step out, and mind the horse.’
　　‘I’m going to mind the horse myself,’ said Martin, laying hiswhip on the roof of the fly.
　　‘I can’t permit it, on any account,’ said the old lady; ‘yourtestimony will be very important, and I must take you into thehouse with me. You must not stir from my side during the wholeinterview. Do you hear?’
　　‘I hear,’ replied Martin.
　　‘Well; what are you stopping for?’
　　‘Nothing,’ replied Martin. So saying, the surly man leisurelydescended from the wheel, on which he had been poising himselfon the tops of the toes of his right foot, and having summoned theboy in the grey livery, opened the coach door, flung down thesteps, and thrusting in a hand enveloped in a dark wash-leatherglove, pulled out the old lady with as much unconcern in hismanner as if she were a bandbox.
　　‘Dear me!’ exclaimed the old lady. ‘I am so flurried, now I havegot here, Martin, that I’m all in a tremble.’
　　Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash-leather gloves, butexpressed no sympathy; so the old lady, composing herself, trottedup Mr. Bob Sawyer’s steps, and Mr. Martin followed. Immediatelyon the old lady’s entering the shop, Mr. Benjamin Allen and Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer, who had been putting the spirits-and-water out ofsight, and upsetting nauseous drugs to take off the smell of thetobacco smoke, issued hastily forth in a transport of pleasure andaffection.
　　‘My dear aunt,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, ‘how kind of you tolook in upon us! Mr. Sawyer, aunt; my friend Mr. Bob Sawyerwhom I have spoken to you about, regarding―you know, aunt.’
　　And here Mr. Ben Allen, who was not at the momentextraordinarily sober, added the word ‘Arabella,’ in what wasmeant to be a whisper, but which was an especially audible anddistinct tone of speech which nobody could avoid hearing, ifanybody were so disposed.
　　‘My dear Benjamin,’ said the old lady, struggling with a greatshortness of breath, and trembling from head to foot, ‘don’t bealarmed, my dear, but I think I had better speak to Mr. Sawyer,alone, for a moment. Only for one moment.’
　　‘Bob,’ said Mr. Allen, ‘will you take my aunt into the surgery?’
　　‘Certainly,’ responded Bob, in a most professional voice. ‘Stepthis way, my dear ma’am. Don’t be frightened, ma’am. We shall beable to set you to rights in a very short time, I have no doubt,ma’am. Here, my dear ma’am. Now then!’ With this, Mr. BobSawyer having handed the old lady to a chair, shut the door, drewanother chair close to her, and waited to hear detailed thesymptoms of some disorder from which he saw in perspective along train of profits and advantages.
　　The first thing the old lady did, was to shake her head a greatmany times, and began to cry.
　　‘Nervous,’ said Bob Sawyer complacently. ‘Camphor-julep andwater three times a day, and composing draught at night.’
　　‘I don’t know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady. ‘It isso very painful and distressing.’
　　‘You need not begin, ma’am,’ rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘I cananticipate all you would say. The head is in fault.’
　　‘I should be very sorry to think it was the heart,’ said the oldlady, with a slight groan.
　　‘Not the slightest danger of that, ma’am,’ replied Bob Sawyer.
　　‘The stomach is the primary cause.’
　　‘Mr. Sawyer!’ exclaimed the old lady, starting.
　　‘Not the least doubt of it, ma’am,’ rejoined Bob, lookingwondrous wise. ‘Medicine, in time, my dear ma’am, would haveprevented it all.’
　　‘Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady, more flurried than before, ‘thisconduct is either great impertinence to one in my situation, sir, orit arises from your not understanding the object of my visit. If ithad been in the power of medicine, or any foresight I could haveused, to prevent what has occurred, I should certainly have doneso. I had better see my nephew at once,’ said the old lady, twirlingher reticule indignantly, and rising as she spoke.
　　‘Stop a moment, ma’am,’ said Bob Sawyer; ‘I’m afraid I havenot understood you. What is the matter, ma’am?’
　　‘My niece, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the old lady: ‘your friend’s sister.’
　　‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Bob, all impatience; for the old lady,although much agitated, spoke with the most tantalisingdeliberation, as old ladies often do. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
　　‘Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago, on a pretended visitto my sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps the large boarding-school, just beyond the third mile-stone, where there is a verylarge laburnum-tree and an oak gate,’ said the old lady, stoppingin this place to dry her eyes.
　　‘Oh, devil take the laburnum-tree, ma’am!’ said Bob, quiteforgetting his professional dignity in his anxiety. ‘Get on a littlefaster; put a little more steam on, ma’am, pray.’
　　‘This morning,’ said the old lady slowly―‘this morning, she―’
　　‘She came back, ma’am, I suppose,’ said Bob, with greatanimation. ‘Did she come back?’
　　‘No, she did not; she wrote,’ replied the old lady.
　　‘What did she say?’ inquired Bob eagerly.
　　‘She said, Mr. Sawyer,’ replied the old lady―‘and it is this Iwant to prepare Benjamin’s mind for, gently and by degrees; shesaid that she was―I have got the letter in my pocket, Mr. Sawyer,but my glasses are in the carriage, and I should only waste yourtime if I attempted to point out the passage to you, without them;she said, in short, Mr. Sawyer, that she was married.’
　　‘What!’ said, or rather shouted, Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘Married,’ repeated the old lady.
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer stopped to hear no more; but darting from thesurgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice, ‘Ben, myboy, she’s bolted!’
　　Mr. Ben Allen, who had been slumbering behind the counter,with his head half a foot or so below his knees, no sooner heardthis appalling communication, than he made a precipitate rush atMr. Martin, and, twisting his hand in the neck-cloth of thattaciturn servitor, expressed an obliging intention of choking himwhere he stood. This intention, with a promptitude often the effectof desperation, he at once commenced carrying into execution,with much vigour and surgical skill.
　　Mr. Martin, who was a man of few words and possessed butlittle power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to thisoperation with a very calm and agreeable expression ofcountenance, for some seconds; finding, however, that itthreatened speedily to lead to a result which would place it beyondhis power to claim any wages, board or otherwise, in all time tocome, he muttered an inarticulate remonstrance and felled Mr.
　　Benjamin Allen to the ground. As that gentleman had his handsentangled in his cravat, he had no alternative but to follow him tothe floor. There they both lay struggling, when the shop dooropened, and the party was increased by the arrival of two mostunexpected visitors, to wit, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Samuel Weller.
　　The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller’s mind by whathe saw, was, that Mr. Martin was hired by the establishment ofSawyer, late Nockemorf, to take strong medicine, or to go into fitsand be experimentalised upon, or to swallow poison now and thenwith the view of testing the efficacy of some new antidotes, or to dosomething or other to promote the great science of medicine, andgratify the ardent spirit of inquiry burning in the bosoms of its twoyoung professors. So, without presuming to interfere, Sam stoodperfectly still, and looked on, as if he were mightily interested inthe result of the then pending experiment. Not so, Mr. Pickwick.
　　He at once threw himself on the astonished combatants, with hisaccustomed energy, and loudly called upon the bystanders tointerpose.
　　This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quiteparalysed by the frenzy of his companion. With that gentleman’sassistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. Mr. Martinfinding himself alone on the floor, got up, and looked about him.
　　‘Mr. Allen,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what is the matter, sir?’
　　‘Never mind, sir!’ replied Mr. Allen, with haughty defiance.
　　‘What is it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Bob Sawyer. ‘Ishe unwell?’
　　Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick bythe hand, and murmured, in sorrowful accents, ‘My sister, my dearsir; my sister.’
　　‘Oh, is that all!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘We shall easily arrange thatmatter, I hope. Your sister is safe and well, and I am here, my dearsir, to―’
　　‘Sorry to do anythin’ as may cause an interruption to such werypleasant proceedin’s, as the king said wen he dissolved theparliament,’ interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peepingthrough the glass door; ‘but there’s another experiment here, sir.
　　Here’s a wenerable old lady a-lyin’ on the carpet waitin’ fordissection, or galwinism, or some other rewivin’ and scientificinwention.’
　　‘I forgot,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen. ‘It is my aunt.’
　　‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Poor lady! Gently Sam, gently.’
　　‘Strange sitivation for one o’ the family,’ observed Sam Weller,hoisting the aunt into a chair. ‘Now depitty sawbones, bring outthe wollatilly!’
　　The latter observation was addressed to the boy in gray, who,having handed over the fly to the care of the street-keeper, hadcome back to see what all the noise was about. Between the boy ingray, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, and Mr. Benjamin Allen (who havingfrightened his aunt into a fainting fit, was affectionately solicitousfor her recovery) the old lady was at length restored toconsciousness; then Mr. Ben Allen, turning with a puzzledcountenance to Mr. Pickwick, asked him what he was about to say,when he had been so alarmingly interrupted.
　　‘We are all friends here, I presume?’ said Mr. Pickwick, clearinghis voice, and looking towards the man of few words with the surlycountenance, who drove the fly with the chubby horse.
　　This reminded Mr. Bob Sawyer that the boy in grey waslooking on, with eyes wide open, and greedy ears. The incipientchemist having been lifted up by his coat collar, and droppedoutside the door, Bob Sawyer assured Mr. Pickwick that he mightspeak without reserve.
　　‘Your sister, my dear sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, turning toBenjamin Allen, ‘is in London; well and happy.’
　　‘Her happiness is no object to me, sir,’ said Benjamin Allen,with a flourish of the hand.
　　‘Her husband is an object to me, sir,’ said Bob Sawyer. ‘He shallbe an object to me, sir, at twelve paces, and a pretty object I’llmake of him, sir―a mean-spirited scoundrel!’ This, as it stood,was a very pretty denunciation, and magnanimous withal; but Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer rather weakened its effect, by winding up with somegeneral observations concerning the punching of heads andknocking out of eyes, which were commonplace by comparison.
　　‘Stay, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘before you apply those epithets tothe gentleman in question, consider, dispassionately, the extent ofhis fault, and above all remember that he is a friend of mine.’
　　‘What!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘His name!’ cried Ben Allen. ‘Hisname!’
　　‘Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,’ said Mr, Pickwick.
　　Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles beneaththe heel of his boot, and having picked up the pieces, and put theminto three separate pockets, folded his arms, bit his lips, andlooked in a threatening manner at the bland features of Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘Then it’s you, is it, sir, who have encouraged and broughtabout this match?’ inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen at length.
　　‘And it’s this gentleman’s servant, I suppose,’ interrupted theold lady, ‘who has been skulking about my house, andendeavouring to entrap my servants to conspire against theirmistress.―Martin!’
　　‘Well?’ said the surly man, coming forward.
　　‘Is that the young man you saw in the lane, whom you told meabout, this morning?’
　　Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of fewwords, looked at Sam Weller, nodded his head, and growled forth,‘That’s the man.’ Mr. Weller, who was never proud, gave a smile offriendly recognition as his eyes encountered those of the surlygroom, and admitted in courteous terms, that he had ‘knowed himafore.’
　　‘And this is the faithful creature,’ exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen,‘whom I had nearly suffocated!―Mr. Pickwick, how dare youallow your fellow to be employed in the abduction of my sister? Idemand that you explain this matter, sir.’
　　‘Explain it, sir!’ cried Bob Sawyer fiercely.
　　‘It’s a conspiracy,’ said Ben Allen.
　　‘A regular plant,’ added Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘A disgraceful imposition,’ observed the old lady.
　　‘Nothing but a do,’ remarked Martin.
　　‘Pray hear me,’ urged Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Ben Allen fell into achair that patients were bled in, and gave way to his pocket-handkerchief. ‘I have rendered no assistance in this matter,beyond being present at one interview between the young peoplewhich I could not prevent, and from which I conceived mypresence would remove any slight colouring of impropriety that itmight otherwise have had; this is the whole share I have had in thetransaction, and I had no suspicion that an immediate marriagewas even contemplated. Though, mind,’ added Mr. Pickwick,hastily checking himself―‘mind, I do not say I should haveprevented it, if I had known that it was intended.’
　　‘You hear that, all of you; you hear that?’ said Mr. BenjaminAllen.
　　‘I hope they do,’ mildly observed Mr. Pickwick, looking round,‘and,’ added that gentleman, his colour mounting as he spoke, ‘Ihope they hear this, sir, also. That from what has been stated tome, sir, I assert that you were by no means justified in attemptingto force your sister’s inclinations as you did, and that you shouldrather have endeavoured by your kindness and forbearance tohave supplied the place of other nearer relations whom she hadnever known, from a child. As regards my young friend, I mustbeg to add, that in every point of worldly advantage he is, at least,on an equal footing with yourself, if not on a much better one, andthat unless I hear this question discussed with becoming temperand moderation, I decline hearing any more said upon thesubject.’
　　‘I wish to make a wery few remarks in addition to wot has beenput for’ard by the honourable gen’l’m’n as has jist give over,’ saidMr. Weller, stepping forth, ‘wich is this here: a indiwidual incompany has called me a feller.’
　　‘That has nothing whatever to do with the matter, Sam,’
　　interposed Mr. Pickwick. ‘Pray hold your tongue.’
　　‘I ain’t a-goin’ to say nothin’ on that ’ere pint, sir,’ replied Sam,‘but merely this here. P’raps that gen’l’m’n may think as there wosa priory ’tachment; but there worn’t nothin’ o’ the sort, for theyoung lady said in the wery beginnin’ o’ the keepin’ company, thatshe couldn’t abide him. Nobody’s cut him out, and it ‘ud ha’ beenjist the wery same for him if the young lady had never seen Mr.
　　Vinkle. That’s what I wished to say, sir, and I hope I’ve now madethat ’ere gen’l’m’n’s mind easy.
　　A short pause followed these consolatory remarks of Mr. Weller.
　　Then Mr. Ben Allen rising from his chair, protested that he wouldnever see Arabella’s face again; while Mr. Bob Sawyer, despiteSam’s flattering assurance, vowed dreadful vengeance on thehappy bridegroom.
　　But, just when matters were at their height, and threatening toremain so, Mr. Pickwick found a powerful assistant in the old lady,who, evidently much struck by the mode in which he hadadvocated her niece’s cause, ventured to approach Mr. BenjaminAllen with a few comforting reflections, of which the chief were,that after all, perhaps, it was well it was no worse; the least saidthe soonest mended, and upon her word she did not know that itwas so very bad after all; what was over couldn’t be begun, andwhat couldn’t be cured must be endured; with various otherassurances of the like novel and strengthening description. To allof these, Mr. Benjamin Allen replied that he meant no disrespectto his aunt, or anybody there, but if it were all the same to them,and they would allow him to have his own way, he would ratherhave the pleasure of hating his sister till death, and after it.
　　At length, when this determination had been announced half ahundred times, the old lady suddenly bridling up and looking verymajestic, wished to know what she had done that no respect wasto be paid to her years or station, and that she should be obliged tobeg and pray, in that way, of her own nephew, whom sheremembered about five-and-twenty years before he was born, andwhom she had known, personally, when he hadn’t a tooth in hishead; to say nothing of her presence on the first occasion of hishaving his hair cut, and assistance at numerous other times andceremonies during his babyhood, of sufficient importance to founda claim upon his affection, obedience, and sympathies, for ever.
　　While the good lady was bestowing this objurgation on Mr. BenAllen, Bob Sawyer and Mr. Pickwick had retired in closeconversation to the inner room, where Mr. Sawyer was observedto apply himself several times to the mouth of a black bottle, underthe influence of which, his features gradually assumed a cheerfuland even jovial expression. And at last he emerged from the room,bottle in hand, and, remarking that he was very sorry to say hehad been making a fool of himself, begged to propose the healthand happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, whose felicity, so far fromenvying, he would be the first to congratulate them upon. Hearingthis, Mr. Ben Allen suddenly arose from his chair, and, seizing theblack bottle, drank the toast so heartily, that, the liquor beingstrong, he became nearly as black in the face as the bottle. Finally,the black bottle went round till it was empty, and there was somuch shaking of hands and interchanging of compliments, thateven the metal-visaged Mr. Martin condescended to smile.
　　‘And now,’ said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, ‘we’ll have ajolly night.’
　　‘I am sorry,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that I must return to my inn. Ihave not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my journey hastired me exceedingly.’
　　‘You’ll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick?’ said the old lady, withirresistible sweetness.
　　‘Thank you, I would rather not,’ replied that gentleman. Thetruth is, that the old lady’s evidently increasing admiration wasMr. Pickwick’s principal inducement for going away. He thoughtof Mrs. Bardell; and every glance of the old lady’s eyes threw himinto a cold perspiration.
　　As Mr. Pickwick could by no means be prevailed upon to stay, itwas arranged at once, on his own proposition, that Mr. BenjaminAllen should accompany him on his journey to the elder Mr.
　　Winkle’s, and that the coach should be at the door, at nine o’clocknext morning. He then took his leave, and, followed by SamuelWeller, repaired to the Bush. It is worthy of remark, that Mr.
　　Martin’s face was horribly convulsed as he shook hands with Samat parting, and that he gave vent to a smile and an oathsimultaneously; from which tokens it has been inferred by thosewho were best acquainted with that gentleman’s peculiarities, thathe expressed himself much pleased with Mr. Weller’s society, andrequested the honour of his further acquaintance.
　　‘Shall I order a private room, sir?’ inquired Sam, when theyreached the Bush.
　　‘Why, no, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘as I dined in the coffee-room, and shall go to bed soon, it is hardly worth while. See whothere is in the travellers’ room, Sam.’
　　Mr. Weller departed on his errand, and presently returned tosay that there was only a gentleman with one eye; and that he andthe landlord were drinking a bowl of bishop together.
　　‘I will join them,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘He’s a queer customer, the vun-eyed vun, sir,’ observed Mr.
　　Weller, as he led the way. ‘He’s a-gammonin’ that ’ere landlord, heis, sir, till he don’t rightly know wether he’s a-standing on the solesof his boots or the crown of his hat.’
　　The individual to whom this observation referred, was sitting atthe upper end of the room when Mr. Pickwick entered, and wassmoking a large Dutch pipe, with his eye intently fixed on theround face of the landlord; a jolly-looking old personage, to whomhe had recently been relating some tale of wonder, as was testifiedby sundry disjointed exclamations of, ‘Well, I wouldn’t havebelieved it! The strangest thing I ever heard! Couldn’t havesupposed it possible!’ and other expressions of astonishmentwhich burst spontaneously from his lips, as he returned the fixedgaze of the one-eyed man.
　　‘Servant, sir,’ said the one-eyed man to Mr. Pickwick. ‘Finenight, sir.’
　　‘Very much so indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, as the waiterplaced a small decanter of brandy, and some hot water before him.
　　While Mr. Pickwick was mixing his brandy-and-water, the one-eyed man looked round at him earnestly, from time to time, and atlength said―‘I think I’ve seen you before.’
　　‘I don’t recollect you,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I dare say not,’ said the one-eyed man. ‘You didn’t know me,but I knew two friends of yours that were stopping at the Peacockat Eatanswill, at the time of the election.’
　　‘Oh, indeed!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes,’ rejoined the one-eyed man. ‘I mentioned a littlecircumstance to them about a friend of mine of the name of TomSmart. Perhaps you’ve heard them speak of it.’
　　‘Often,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling. ‘He was your uncle, Ithink?’
　　‘No, no; only a friend of my uncle’s,’ replied the one-eyed man.
　　‘He was a wonderful man, that uncle of yours, though,’
　　remarked the landlord shaking his head.
　　‘Well, I think he was; I think I may say he was,’ answered theone-eyed man. ‘I could tell you a story about that same uncle,gentlemen, that would rather surprise you.’
　　‘Could you?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Let us hear it, by all means.’
　　The one-eyed bagman ladled out a glass of negus from the bowl,and drank it; smoked a long whiff out of the Dutch pipe; and then,calling to Sam Weller who was lingering near the door, that heneedn’t go away unless he wanted to, because the story was nosecret, fixed his eye upon the landlord’s, and proceeded, in thewords of the next chapter.
Chapter 49
CONTAINING THE STORY OF THE BAGMAN’SUNCLEy uncle, gentlemen,’ said the bagman, ‘was one of themerriest, pleasantest, cleverest fellows, that everlived. I wish you had known him, gentlemen. Onsecond thoughts, gentlemen, I don’t wish you had known him, forif you had, you would have been all, by this time, in the ordinarycourse of nature, if not dead, at all events so near it, as to havetaken to stopping at home and giving up company, which wouldhave deprived me of the inestimable pleasure of addressing you atthis moment. Gentlemen, I wish your fathers and mothers hadknown my uncle. They would have been amazingly fond of him,especially your respectable mothers; I know they would. If any twoof his numerous virtues predominated over the many that adornedhis character, I should say they were his mixed punch and hisafter-supper song. Excuse my dwelling on these melancholyrecollections of departed worth; you won’t see a man like my uncleevery day in the week.
　　‘I have always considered it a great point in my uncle’scharacter, gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend andcompanion of Tom Smart, of the great house of Bilson and Slum,Cateaton Street, City. My uncle collected for Tiggin and Welps,but for a long time he went pretty near the same journey as Tom;and the very first night they met, my uncle took a fancy for Tom,and Tom took a fancy for my uncle. They made a bet of a new hatbefore they had known each other half an hour, who should brewthe best quart of punch and drink it the quickest. My uncle wasjudged to have won the making, but Tom Smart beat him in thedrinking by about half a salt-spoonful. They took another quartapiece to drink each other’s health in, and were staunch friendsever afterwards. There’s a destiny in these things, gentlemen; wecan’t help it.
　　‘In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than themiddle size; he was a thought stouter too, than the ordinary run ofpeople, and perhaps his face might be a shade redder. He had thejolliest face you ever saw, gentleman: something like Punch, with ahandsome nose and chin; his eyes were always twinkling andsparkling with good-humour; and a smile―not one of yourunmeaning wooden grins, but a real, merry, hearty, good-tempered smile―was perpetually on his countenance. He waspitched out of his gig once, and knocked, head first, against amilestone. There he lay, stunned, and so cut about the face withsome gravel which had been heaped up alongside it, that, to usemy uncle’s own strong expression, if his mother could haverevisited the earth, she wouldn’t have known him. Indeed, when Icome to think of the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure shewouldn’t. for she died when my uncle was two years and sevenmonths old, and I think it’s very likely that, even without thegravel, his top-boots would have puzzled the good lady not a little;to say nothing of his jolly red face. However, there he lay, and Ihave heard my uncle say, many a time, that the man said whopicked him up that he was smiling as merrily as if he had tumbledout for a treat, and that after they had bled him, the first faintglimmerings of returning animation, were his jumping up in bed,bursting out into a loud laugh, kissing the young woman who heldthe basin, and demanding a mutton chop and a pickled walnut. Hewas very fond of pickled walnuts, gentlemen. He said he alwaysfound that, taken without vinegar, they relished the beer.
　　‘My uncle’s great journey was in the fall of the leaf, at whichtime he collected debts, and took orders, in the north; going fromLondon to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from Glasgowback to Edinburgh, and thence to London by the smack. You areto understand that his second visit to Edinburgh was for his ownpleasure. He used to go back for a week, just to look up his oldfriends; and what with breakfasting with this one, lunching withthat, dining with the third, and supping with another, a prettytight week he used to make of it. I don’t know whether any of you,gentlemen, ever partook of a real substantial hospitable Scotchbreakfast, and then went out to a slight lunch of a bushel ofoysters, a dozen or so of bottled ale, and a noggin or two ofwhiskey to close up with. If you ever did, you will agree with methat it requires a pretty strong head to go out to dinner and supperafterwards.
　　‘But bless your hearts and eyebrows, all this sort of thing wasnothing to my uncle! He was so well seasoned, that it was merechild’s play. I have heard him say that he could see the Dundeepeople out, any day, and walk home afterwards withoutstaggering; and yet the Dundee people have as strong heads andas strong punch, gentlemen, as you are likely to meet with,between the poles. I have heard of a Glasgow man and a Dundeeman drinking against each other for fifteen hours at a sitting. Theywere both suffocated, as nearly as could be ascertained, at thesame moment, but with this trifling exception, gentlemen, theywere not a bit the worse for it.
　　‘One night, within four-and-twenty hours of the time when hehad settled to take shipping for London, my uncle supped at thehouse of a very old friend of his, a Bailie Mac something and foursyllables after it, who lived in the old town of Edinburgh. Therewere the bailie’s wife, and the bailie’s three daughters, and thebailie’s grown-up son, and three or four stout, bushy eye-browed,canny, old Scotch fellows, that the bailie had got together to dohonour to my uncle, and help to make merry. It was a glorioussupper. There was kippered salmon, and Finnan haddocks, and alamb’s head, and a haggis―a celebrated Scotch dish, gentlemen,which my uncle used to say always looked to him, when it came totable, very much like a Cupid’s stomach―and a great many otherthings besides, that I forget the names of, but very good things,notwithstanding. The lassies were pretty and agreeable; thebailie’s wife was one of the best creatures that ever lived; and myuncle was in thoroughly good cue. The consequence of which was,that the young ladies tittered and giggled, and the old ladylaughed out loud, and the bailie and the other old fellows roaredtill they were red in the face, the whole mortal time. I don’t quiterecollect how many tumblers of whiskey-toddy each man drankafter supper; but this I know, that about one o’clock in themorning, the bailie’s grown-up son became insensible whileattempting the first verse of “Willie brewed a peck o’ maut”; andhe having been, for half an hour before, the only other man visibleabove the mahogany, it occurred to my uncle that it was almosttime to think about going, especially as drinking had set in atseven o’clock, in order that he might get home at a decent hour.
　　But, thinking it might not be quite polite to go just then, my unclevoted himself into the chair, mixed another glass, rose to proposehis own health, addressed himself in a neat and complimentaryspeech, and drank the toast with great enthusiasm. Still nobodywoke; so my uncle took a little drop more―neat this time, toprevent the toddy from disagreeing with him―and, laying violenthands on his hat, sallied forth into the street.
　　‘It was a wild, gusty night when my uncle closed the bailie’sdoor, and settling his hat firmly on his head to prevent the windfrom taking it, thrust his hands into his pockets, and lookingupward, took a short survey of the state of the weather. The cloudswere drifting over the moon at their giddiest speed; at one timewholly obscuring her; at another, suffering her to burst forth infull splendour and shed her light on all the objects around; anon,driving over her again, with increased velocity, and shroudingeverything in darkness. “Really, this won’t do,” said my uncle,addressing himself to the weather, as if he felt himself personallyoffended. “This is not at all the kind of thing for my voyage. It willnot do at any price,” said my uncle, very impressively. Havingrepeated this, several times, he recovered his balance with somedifficulty―for he was rather giddy with looking up into the sky solong―and walked merrily on.
　　‘The bailie’s house was in the Canongate, and my uncle wasgoing to the other end of Leith Walk, rather better than a mile’sjourney. On either side of him, there shot up against the dark sky,tall, gaunt, straggling houses, with time-stained fronts, andwindows that seemed to have shared the lot of eyes in mortals, andto have grown dim and sunken with age. Six, seven, eight Storeyhigh, were the houses; storey piled upon storey, as children buildwith cards―throwing their dark shadows over the roughly pavedroad, and making the dark night darker. A few oil lamps werescattered at long distances, but they only served to mark the dirtyentrance to some narrow close, or to show where a common staircommunicated, by steep and intricate windings, with the variousflats above. Glancing at all these things with the air of a man whohad seen them too often before, to think them worthy of muchnotice now, my uncle walked up the middle of the street, with athumb in each waistcoat pocket, indulging from time to time invarious snatches of song, chanted forth with such good-will andspirit, that the quiet honest folk started from their first sleep andlay trembling in bed till the sound died away in the distance;when, satisfying themselves that it was only some drunken ne’er-do-weel finding his way home, they covered themselves up warmand fell asleep again.
　　‘I am particular in describing how my uncle walked up themiddle of the street, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets,gentlemen, because, as he often used to say (and with great reasontoo) there is nothing at all extraordinary in this story, unless youdistinctly understand at the beginning, that he was not by anymeans of a marvellous or romantic turn.
　　‘Gentlemen, my uncle walked on with his thumbs in hiswaistcoat pockets, taking the middle of the street to himself, andsinging, now a verse of a love song, and then a verse of a drinkingone, and when he was tired of both, whistling melodiously, until hereached the North Bridge, which, at this point, connects the oldand new towns of Edinburgh. Here he stopped for a minute, tolook at the strange, irregular clusters of lights piled one above theother, and twinkling afar off so high, that they looked like stars,gleaming from the castle walls on the one side and the Calton Hillon the other, as if they illuminated veritable castles in the air;while the old picturesque town slept heavily on, in gloom anddarkness below: its palace and chapel of Holyrood, guarded dayand night, as a friend of my uncle’s used to say, by old Arthur’sSeat, towering, surly and dark, like some gruff genius, over theancient city he has watched so long. I say, gentlemen, my unclestopped here, for a minute, to look about him; and then, paying acompliment to the weather, which had a little cleared up, thoughthe moon was sinking, walked on again, as royally as before;keeping the middle of the road with great dignity, and looking as ifhe would very much like to meet with somebody who woulddispute possession of it with him. There was nobody at alldisposed to contest the point, as it happened; and so, on he went,with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, like a lamb.
　　‘When my uncle reached the end of Leith Walk, he had to crossa pretty large piece of waste ground which separated him from ashort street which he had to turn down to go direct to his lodging.
　　Now, in this piece of waste ground, there was, at that time, anenclosure belonging to some wheelwright who contracted with thePost Office for the purchase of old, worn-out mail coaches; and myuncle, being very fond of coaches, old, young, or middle-aged, allat once took it into his head to step out of his road for no otherpurpose than to peep between the palings at these mails―about adozen of which he remembered to have seen, crowded together ina very forlorn and dismantled state, inside. My uncle was a veryenthusiastic, emphatic sort of person, gentlemen; so, finding thathe could not obtain a good peep between the palings he got overthem, and sitting himself quietly down on an old axle-tree, beganto contemplate the mail coaches with a deal of gravity.
　　‘There might be a dozen of them, or there might be more―myuncle was never quite certain on this point, and being a man ofvery scrupulous veracity about numbers, didn’t like to say―butthere they stood, all huddled together in the most desolatecondition imaginable. The doors had been torn from their hingesand removed; the linings had been stripped off, only a shredhanging here and there by a rusty nail; the lamps were gone, thepoles had long since vanished, the ironwork was rusty, the paintwas worn away; the wind whistled through the chinks in the barewoodwork; and the rain, which had collected on the roofs, fell,drop by drop, into the insides with a hollow and melancholysound. They were the decaying skeletons of departed mails, and inthat lonely place, at that time of night, they looked chill anddismal.
　　‘My uncle rested his head upon his hands, and thought of thebusy, bustling people who had rattled about, years before, in theold coaches, and were now as silent and changed; he thought ofthe numbers of people to whom one of these crazy, moulderingvehicles had borne, night after night, for many years, and throughall weathers, the anxiously expected intelligence, the eagerlylooked-for remittance, the promised assurance of health andsafety, the sudden announcement of sickness and death. Themerchant, the lover, the wife, the widow, the mother, the school-boy, the very child who tottered to the door at the postman’sknock―how had they all looked forward to the arrival of the oldcoach. And where were they all now?
　　‘Gentlemen, my uncle used to say that he thought all this at thetime, but I rather suspect he learned it out of some bookafterwards, for he distinctly stated that he fell into a kind of doze,as he sat on the old axle-tree looking at the decayed mail coaches,and that he was suddenly awakened by some deep church bellstriking two. Now, my uncle was never a fast thinker, and if he hadthought all these things, I am quite certain it would have takenhim till full half-past two o’clock at the very least. I am, therefore,decidedly of opinion, gentlemen, that my uncle fell into a kind ofdoze, without having thought about anything at all.
　　‘Be this as it may, a church bell struck two. My uncle woke,rubbed his eyes, and jumped up in astonishment.
　　‘In one instant, after the clock struck two, the whole of thisdeserted and quiet spot had become a scene of most extraordinarylife and animation. The mail coach doors were on their hinges, thelining was replaced, the ironwork was as good as new, the paintwas restored, the lamps were alight; cushions and greatcoats wereon every coach-box, porters were thrusting parcels into everyboot, guards were stowing away letter-bags, hostlers were dashingpails of water against the renovated wheels; numbers of men werepushing about, fixing poles into every coach; passengers arrived,portmanteaus were handed up, horses were put to; in short, it wasperfectly clear that every mail there, was to be off directly.
　　Gentlemen, my uncle opened his eyes so wide at all this, that, tothe very last moment of his life, he used to wonder how it fell outthat he had ever been able to shut ’em again.
　　‘“Now then!” said a voice, as my uncle felt a hand on hisshoulder, “you’re booked for one inside. You’d better get in.”
　　‘“I booked!” said my uncle, turning round.
　　‘“Yes, certainly.”
　　‘My uncle, gentlemen, could say nothing, he was so very muchastonished. The queerest thing of all was that although there wassuch a crowd of persons, and although fresh faces were pouring in,every moment, there was no telling where they came from. Theyseemed to start up, in some strange manner, from the ground, orthe air, and disappear in the same way. When a porter had put hisluggage in the coach, and received his fare, he turned round andwas gone; and before my uncle had well begun to wonder whathad become of him, half a dozen fresh ones started up, andstaggered along under the weight of parcels, which seemed bigenough to crush them. The passengers were all dressed so oddlytoo! Large, broad-skirted laced coats, with great cuffs and nocollars; and wigs, gentlemen―great formal wigs with a tie behind.
　　My uncle could make nothing of it.
　　‘“Now, are you going to get in?” said the person who hadaddressed my uncle before. He was dressed as a mail guard, with awig on his head and most enormous cuffs to his coat, and had alantern in one hand, and a huge blunderbuss in the other, whichhe was going to stow away in his little arm-chest. “Are you going toget in, Jack Martin?” said the guard, holding the lantern to myuncle’s face.
　　‘“Hollo!” said my uncle, falling back a step or two. “That’sfamiliar!”
　　‘“It’s so on the way-bill,” said the guard.
　　‘“Isn’t there a ‘Mister’ before it?” said my uncle. For he felt,gentlemen, that for a guard he didn’t know, to call him JackMartin, was a liberty which the Post Office wouldn’t havesanctioned if they had known it.
　　‘“No, there is not,” rejoined the guard coolly.
　　‘“Is the fare paid?” inquired my uncle.
　　‘“Of course it is,” rejoined the guard.
　　‘“It is, is it?” said my uncle. “Then here goes! Which coach?”
　　‘“This,” said the guard, pointing to an old-fashioned Edinburghand London mail, which had the steps down and the door open.
　　“Stop! Here are the other passengers. Let them get in first.”
　　‘As the guard spoke, there all at once appeared, right in front ofmy uncle, a young gentleman in a powdered wig, and a sky-bluecoat trimmed with silver, made very full and broad in the skirts,which were lined with buckram. Tiggin and Welps were in theprinted calico and waistcoat piece line, gentlemen, so my uncleknew all the materials at once. He wore knee breeches, and a kindof leggings rolled up over his silk stockings, and shoes withbuckles; he had ruffles at his wrists, a three-cornered hat on hishead, and a long taper sword by his side. The flaps of his waist-coat came half-way down his thighs, and the ends of his cravatreached to his waist. He stalked gravely to the coach door, pulledoff his hat, and held it above his head at arm’s length, cocking hislittle finger in the air at the same time, as some affected people do,when they take a cup of tea. Then he drew his feet together, andmade a low, grave bow, and then put out his left hand. My unclewas just going to step forward, and shake it heartily, when heperceived that these attentions were directed, not towards him,but to a young lady who just then appeared at the foot of the steps,attired in an old-fashioned green velvet dress with a long waistand stomacher. She had no bonnet on her head, gentlemen, whichwas muffled in a black silk hood, but she looked round for aninstant as she prepared to get into the coach, and such a beautifulface as she disclosed, my uncle had never seen―not even in apicture. She got into the coach, holding up her dress with onehand; and as my uncle always said with a round oath, when hetold the story, he wouldn’t have believed it possible that legs andfeet could have been brought to such a state of perfection unlesshe had seen them with his own eyes.
　　‘But, in this one glimpse of the beautiful face, my uncle saw thatthe young lady cast an imploring look upon him, and that sheappeared terrified and distressed. He noticed, too, that the youngfellow in the powdered wig, notwithstanding his show of gallantry,which was all very fine and grand, clasped her tight by the wristwhen she got in, and followed himself immediately afterwards. Anuncommonly ill-looking fellow, in a close brown wig, and a plum-coloured suit, wearing a very large sword, and boots up to his hips,belonged to the party; and when he sat himself down next to theyoung lady, who shrank into a corner at his approach, my unclewas confirmed in his original impression that something dark andmysterious was going forward, or, as he always said himself, that“there was a screw loose somewhere.” It’s quite surprising howquickly he made up his mind to help the lady at any peril, if sheneeded any help.
　　‘“Death and lightning!” exclaimed the young gentleman, layinghis hand upon his sword as my uncle entered the coach.
　　‘“Blood and thunder!” roared the other gentleman. With this,he whipped his sword out, and made a lunge at my uncle withoutfurther ceremony. My uncle had no weapon about him, but withgreat dexterity he snatched the ill-looking gentleman’s three-cornered hat from his head, and, receiving the point of his swordright through the crown, squeezed the sides together, and held ittight.
　　‘“Pink him behind!” cried the ill-looking gentleman to hiscompanion, as he struggled to regain his sword.
　　‘“He had better not,” cried my uncle, displaying the heel of oneof his shoes, in a threatening manner. “I’ll kick his brains out, if hehas any, or fracture his skull if he hasn’t.” Exerting all hisstrength, at this moment, my uncle wrenched the ill-looking man’ssword from his grasp, and flung it clean out of the coach window,upon which the younger gentleman vociferated, “Death andlightning!” again, and laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword, in avery fierce manner, but didn’t draw it. Perhaps, gentlemen, as myuncle used to say with a smile, perhaps he was afraid of alarmingthe lady.
　　‘“Now, gentlemen,” said my uncle, taking his seat deliberately,“I don’t want to have any death, with or without lightning, in alady’s presence, and we have had quite blood and thunderingenough for one journey; so, if you please, we’ll sit in our places likequiet insides. Here, guard, pick up that gentleman’s carving-knife.”
　　‘As quickly as my uncle said the words, the guard appeared atthe coach window, with the gentleman’s sword in his hand. Heheld up his lantern, and looked earnestly in my uncle’s face, as hehanded it in, when, by its light, my uncle saw, to his great surprise,that an immense crowd of mail-coach guards swarmed round thewindow, every one of whom had his eyes earnestly fixed upon himtoo. He had never seen such a sea of white faces, red bodies, andearnest eyes, in all his born days.
　　‘“This is the strangest sort of thing I ever had anything to dowith,” thought my uncle; “allow me to return you your hat, sir.”
　　‘The ill-looking gentleman received his three-cornered hat insilence, looked at the hole in the middle with an inquiring air, andfinally stuck it on the top of his wig with a solemnity the effect ofwhich was a trifle impaired by his sneezing violently at themoment, and jerking it off again.
　　‘“All right!” cried the guard with the lantern, mounting into hislittle seat behind. Away they went. My uncle peeped out of thecoach window as they emerged from the yard, and observed thatthe other mails, with coachmen, guards, horses, and passengers,complete, were driving round and round in circles, at a slow trot ofabout five miles an hour. My uncle burned with indignation,gentlemen. As a commercial man, he felt that the mail-bags werenot to be trifled with, and he resolved to memorialise the PostOffice on the subject, the very instant he reached London.
　　‘At present, however, his thoughts were occupied with theyoung lady who sat in the farthest corner of the coach, with herface muffled closely in her hood; the gentleman with the sky-bluecoat sitting opposite to her; the other man in the plum-colouredsuit, by her side; and both watching her intently. If she so much asrustled the folds of her hood, he could hear the ill-looking manclap his hand upon his sword, and could tell by the other’sbreathing (it was so dark he couldn’t see his face) that he waslooking as big as if he were going to devour her at a mouthful. Thisroused my uncle more and more, and he resolved, come whatmight, to see the end of it. He had a great admiration for brighteyes, and sweet faces, and pretty legs and feet; in short, he wasfond of the whole sex. It runs in our family, gentleman―so am I.
　　‘Many were the devices which my uncle practised, to attract thelady’s attention, or at all events, to engage the mysteriousgentlemen in conversation. They were all in vain; the gentlemenwouldn’t talk, and the lady didn’t dare. He thrust his head out ofthe coach window at intervals, and bawled out to know why theydidn’t go faster. But he called till he was hoarse; nobody paid theleast attention to him. He leaned back in the coach, and thought ofthe beautiful face, and the feet and legs. This answered better; itwhiled away the time, and kept him from wondering where he wasgoing, and how it was that he found himself in such an oddsituation. Not that this would have worried him much, anyway―he was a mighty free and easy, roving, devil-may-care sort ofperson, was my uncle, gentlemen.
　　‘All of a sudden the coach stopped. “Hollo!” said my uncle,“what’s in the wind now?”
　　‘“Alight here,” said the guard, letting down the steps.
　　‘“Here!” cried my uncle.
　　‘“Here,” rejoined the guard.
　　‘“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” said my uncle.
　　‘“Very well, then stop where you are,” said the guard.
　　‘“I will,” said my uncle.
　　‘“Do,” said the guard.
　　‘The passengers had regarded this colloquy with greatattention, and, finding that my uncle was determined not to alight,the younger man squeezed past him, to hand the lady out. At thismoment, the ill-looking man was inspecting the hole in the crownof his three-cornered hat. As the young lady brushed past, shedropped one of her gloves into my uncle’s hand, and softlywhispered, with her lips so close to his face that he felt her warmbreath on his nose, the single word “Help!” Gentlemen, my uncleleaped out of the coach at once, with such violence that it rockedon the springs again.
　　‘“Oh! you’ve thought better of it, have you?” said the guard,when he saw my uncle standing on the ground.
　　‘My uncle looked at the guard for a few seconds, in some doubtwhether it wouldn’t be better to wrench his blunderbuss from him,fire it in the face of the man with the big sword, knock the rest ofthe company over the head with the stock, snatch up the younglady, and go off in the smoke. On second thoughts, however, heabandoned this plan, as being a shade too melodramatic in theexecution, and followed the two mysterious men, who, keeping thelady between them, were now entering an old house in front ofwhich the coach had stopped. They turned into the passage, andmy uncle followed.
　　‘Of all the ruinous and desolate places my uncle had everbeheld, this was the most so. It looked as if it had once been alarge house of entertainment; but the roof had fallen in, in manyplaces, and the stairs were steep, rugged, and broken. There was ahuge fireplace in the room into which they walked, and thechimney was blackened with smoke; but no warm blaze lighted itup now. The white feathery dust of burned wood was still strewedover the hearth, but the stove was cold, and all was dark andgloomy.
　　‘“Well,” said my uncle, as he looked about him, “a mailtravelling at the rate of six miles and a half an hour, and stoppingfor an indefinite time at such a hole as this, is rather an irregularsort of proceeding, I fancy. This shall be made known. I’ll write tothe papers.”
　　‘My uncle said this in a pretty loud voice, and in an open,unreserved sort of manner, with the view of engaging the twostrangers in conversation if he could. But, neither of them tookany more notice of him than whispering to each other, andscowling at him as they did so. The lady was at the farther end ofthe room, and once she ventured to wave her hand, as ifbeseeching my uncle’s assistance.
　　‘At length the two strangers advanced a little, and theconversation began in earnest.
　　‘“You don’t know this is a private room, I suppose, fellow?” saidthe gentleman in sky-blue.
　　‘“No, I do not, fellow,” rejoined my uncle. “Only, if this is aprivate room specially ordered for the occasion, I should think thepublic room must be a very comfortable one;” with this, my unclesat himself down in a high-backed chair, and took such anaccurate measure of the gentleman, with his eyes, that Tiggin andWelps could have supplied him with printed calico for a suit, andnot an inch too much or too little, from that estimate alone.
　　‘“Quit this room,” said both men together, grasping theirswords.
　　‘“Eh?” said my uncle, not at all appearing to comprehend theirmeaning.
　　‘“Quit the room, or you are a dead man,” said the ill-lookingfellow with the large sword, drawing it at the same time andflourishing it in the air.
　　‘“Down with him!” cried the gentleman in sky-blue, drawing hissword also, and falling back two or three yards. “Down with him!”
　　The lady gave a loud scream.
　　‘Now, my uncle was always remarkable for great boldness, andgreat presence of mind. All the time that he had appeared soindifferent to what was going on, he had been looking slily aboutfor some missile or weapon of defence, and at the very instantwhen the swords were drawn, he espied, standing in the chimney-corner, an old basket-hilted rapier in a rusty scabbard. At onebound, my uncle caught it in his hand, drew it, flourished itgallantly above his head, called aloud to the lady to keep out of theway, hurled the chair at the man in sky-blue, and the scabbard atthe man in plum-colour, and taking advantage of the confusion,fell upon them both, pell-mell.
　　‘Gentlemen, there is an old story―none the worse for beingtrue―regarding a fine young Irish gentleman, who being asked ifhe could play the fiddle, replied he had no doubt he could, but hecouldn’t exactly say, for certain, because he had never tried. Thisis not inapplicable to my uncle and his fencing. He had never hada sword in his hand before, except once when he played Richardthe Third at a private theatre, upon which occasion it wasarranged with Richmond that he was to be run through, frombehind, without showing fight at all. But here he was, cutting andslashing with two experienced swordsman, thrusting, andguarding, and poking, and slicing, and acquitting himself in themost manful and dexterous manner possible, although up to thattime he had never been aware that he had the least notion of thescience. It only shows how true the old saying is, that a man neverknows what he can do till he tries, gentlemen.
　　‘The noise of the combat was terrific; each of the threecombatants swearing like troopers, and their swords clashing withas much noise as if all the knives and steels in Newport marketwere rattling together, at the same time. When it was at its veryheight, the lady (to encourage my uncle most probably) withdrewher hood entirely from her face, and disclosed a countenance ofsuch dazzling beauty, that he would have fought against fifty men,to win one smile from it and die. He had done wonders before, butnow he began to powder away like a raving mad giant.
　　‘At this very moment, the gentleman in sky-blue turning round,and seeing the young lady with her face uncovered, vented anexclamation of rage and jealousy, and, turning his weapon againsther beautiful bosom, pointed a thrust at her heart, which causedmy uncle to utter a cry of apprehension that made the buildingring. The lady stepped lightly aside, and snatching the youngman’s sword from his hand, before he had recovered his balance,drove him to the wall, and running it through him, and thepanelling, up to the very hilt, pinned him there, hard and fast. Itwas a splendid example. My uncle, with a loud shout of triumph,and a strength that was irresistible, made his adversary retreat inthe same direction, and plunging the old rapier into the verycentre of a large red flower in the pattern of his waistcoat, nailedhim beside his friend; there they both stood, gentlemen, jerkingtheir arms and legs about in agony, like the toy-shop figures thatare moved by a piece of pack-thread. My uncle always said,afterwards, that this was one of the surest means he knew of, fordisposing of an enemy; but it was liable to one objection on theground of expense, inasmuch as it involved the loss of a sword forevery man disabled.
　　‘“The mail, the mail!” cried the lady, running up to my uncleand throwing her beautiful arms round his neck; “we may yetescape.”
　　‘“May!” cried my uncle; “why, my dear, there’s nobody else tokill, is there?” My uncle was rather disappointed, gentlemen, forhe thought a little quiet bit of love-making would be agreeableafter the slaughtering, if it were only to change the subject.
　　‘“We have not an instant to lose here,” said the young lady. “He(pointing to the young gentleman in sky-blue) is the only son of thepowerful Marquess of Filletoville.” ‘“Well then, my dear, I’m afraidhe’ll never come to the title,” said my uncle, looking coolly at theyoung gentleman as he stood fixed up against the wall, in thecockchafer fashion that I have described. “You have cut off theentail, my love.”
　　‘“I have been torn from my home and my friends by thesevillains,” said the young lady, her features glowing withindignation. “That wretch would have married me by violence inanother hour.”
　　‘“Confound his impudence!” said my uncle, bestowing a verycontemptuous look on the dying heir of Filletoville.
　　‘“As you may guess from what you have seen,” said the younglady, “the party were prepared to murder me if I appealed to anyone for assistance. If their accomplices find us here, we are lost.
　　Two minutes hence may be too late. The mail!” With these words,overpowered by her feelings, and the exertion of sticking theyoung Marquess of Filletoville, she sank into my uncle’s arms. Myuncle caught her up, and bore her to the house door. There stoodthe mail, with four long-tailed, flowing-maned, black horses, readyharnessed; but no coachman, no guard, no hostler even, at thehorses’ heads.
　　‘Gentlemen, I hope I do no injustice to my uncle’s memory,when I express my opinion, that although he was a bachelor, hehad held some ladies in his arms before this time; I believe,indeed, that he had rather a habit of kissing barmaids; and I know,that in one or two instances, he had been seen by crediblewitnesses, to hug a landlady in a very perceptible manner. Imention the circumstance, to show what a very uncommon sort ofperson this beautiful young lady must have been, to have affectedmy uncle in the way she did; he used to say, that as her long darkhair trailed over his arm, and her beautiful dark eyes fixedthemselves upon his face when she recovered, he felt so strangeand nervous that his legs trembled beneath him. But who can lookin a sweet, soft pair of dark eyes, without feeling queer? I can’t,gentlemen. I am afraid to look at some eyes I know, and that’s the truth of it.
　　‘“You will never leave me,” murmured the young lady.
　　‘“Never,” said my uncle. And he meant it too.
　　‘“My dear preserver!” exclaimed the young lady. “My dear,kind, brave preserver!”
　　‘“Don’t,” said my uncle, interrupting her.
　　‘“Why?” inquired the young lady.
　　‘“Because your mouth looks so beautiful when you speak,”
　　rejoined my uncle, “that I’m afraid I shall be rude enough to kissit.”
　　‘The young lady put up her hand as if to caution my uncle notto do so, and said―No, she didn’t say anything―she smiled. Whenyou are looking at a pair of the most delicious lips in the world,and see them gently break into a roguish smile―if you are verynear them, and nobody else by―you cannot better testify youradmiration of their beautiful form and colour than by kissing themat once. My uncle did so, and I honour him for it.
　　‘“Hark!” cried the young lady, starting. “The noise of wheels,and horses!”
　　‘“So it is,” said my uncle, listening. He had a good ear forwheels, and the trampling of hoofs; but there appeared to be somany horses and carriages rattling towards them, from a distance,that it was impossible to form a guess at their number. The soundwas like that of fifty brakes, with six blood cattle in each.
　　‘“We are pursued!” cried the young lady, clasping her hands.
　　“We are pursued. I have no hope but in you!”
　　‘There was such an expression of terror in her beautiful face,that my uncle made up his mind at once. He lifted her into thecoach, told her not to be frightened, pressed his lips to hers oncemore, and then advising her to draw up the window to keep thecold air out, mounted to the box.
　　‘“Stay, love,” cried the young lady.
　　‘“What’s the matter?” said my uncle, from the coach-box.
　　‘“I want to speak to you,” said the young lady; “only a word.
　　Only one word, dearest.”
　　‘“Must I get down?” inquired my uncle. The lady made noanswer, but she smiled again. Such a smile, gentlemen! It beat theother one, all to nothing. My uncle descended from his perch in atwinkling.
　　‘“What is it, my dear?” said my uncle, looking in at the coachwindow. The lady happened to bend forward at the same time,and my uncle thought she looked more beautiful than she haddone yet. He was very close to her just then, gentlemen, so hereally ought to know.
　　‘“What is it, my dear?” said my uncle.
　　‘“Will you never love any one but me―never marry any onebeside?” said the young lady.
　　‘My uncle swore a great oath that he never would marryanybody else, and the young lady drew in her head, and pulled upthe window. He jumped upon the box, squared his elbows,adjusted the ribands, seized the whip which lay on the roof, gaveone flick to the off leader, and away went the four long-tailed,flowing-maned black horses, at fifteen good English miles an hour,with the old mail-coach behind them. Whew! How they tore along!
　　‘The noise behind grew louder. The faster the old mail went,the faster came the pursuers―men, horses, dogs, were leagued inthe pursuit. The noise was frightful, but, above all, rose the voiceof the young lady, urging my uncle on, and shrieking, “Faster!
　　Faster!”
　　‘They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be sweptbefore a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects ofevery kind they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaringwaters suddenly let loose. But still the noise of pursuit grewlouder, and still my uncle could hear the young lady wildlyscreaming, “Faster! Faster!”
　　‘My uncle plied whip and rein, and the horses flew onward tillthey were white with foam; and yet the noise behind increased;and yet the young lady cried, “Faster! Faster!” My uncle gave aloud stamp on the boot in the energy of the moment, and―foundthat it was grey morning, and he was sitting in the wheelwright’syard, on the box of an old Edinburgh mail, shivering with the coldand wet and stamping his feet to warm them! He got down, andlooked eagerly inside for the beautiful young lady. Alas! There wasneither door nor seat to the coach. It was a mere shell.
　　‘Of course, my uncle knew very well that there was somemystery in the matter, and that everything had passed exactly ashe used to relate it. He remained staunch to the great oath he hadsworn to the beautiful young lady, refusing several eligiblelandladies on her account, and dying a bachelor at last. He alwayssaid what a curious thing it was that he should have found out, bysuch a mere accident as his clambering over the palings, that theghosts of mail-coaches and horses, guards, coachmen, andpassengers, were in the habit of making journeys regularly everynight. He used to add, that he believed he was the only livingperson who had ever been taken as a passenger on one of theseexcursions. And I think he was right, gentlemen―at least I neverheard of any other.’
　　‘I wonder what these ghosts of mail-coaches carry in their bags,’
　　said the landlord, who had listened to the whole story withprofound attention.
　　‘The dead letters, of course,’ said the bagman.
　　‘Oh, ah! To be sure,’ rejoined the landlord. ‘I never thought ofthat.’
Chapter 50
HOW Mr. PICKWICK SPED UPON HIS MISSION,AND HOW HE WAS REINFORCEDIN THE OUTSET BY A MOSTUNEXPECTED AUXILIARYhe horses were put to, punctually at a quarter before ninenext morning, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller havingeach taken his seat, the one inside and the other out, thepostillion was duly directed to repair in the first instance to Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer’s house, for the purpose of taking up Mr. BenjaminAllen.
　　It was with feelings of no small astonishment, when thecarriage drew up before the door with the red lamp, and the verylegible inscription of ‘Sawyer, late Nockemorf,’ that Mr. Pickwicksaw, on popping his head out of the coach window, the boy in thegrey livery very busily employed in putting up the shutters―thewhich, being an unusual and an unbusinesslike proceeding at thathour of the morning, at once suggested to his mind two inferences:
　　the one, that some good friend and patient of Mr. Bob Sawyer’swas dead; the other, that Mr. Bob Sawyer himself was bankrupt.
　　‘What is the matter?’ said Mr. Pickwick to the boy.
　　‘Nothing’s the matter, sir,’ replied the boy, expanding hismouth to the whole breadth of his countenance.
　　‘All right, all right!’ cried Bob Sawyer, suddenly appearing atthe door, with a small leathern knapsack, limp and dirty, in onehand, and a rough coat and shawl thrown over the other arm. ‘I’mgoing, old fellow.’
　　‘You!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘and a regular expedition we’ll makeof it. Here, Sam! Look out!’ Thus briefly bespeaking Mr. Weller’sattention, Mr. Bob Sawyer jerked the leathern knapsack into thedickey, where it was immediately stowed away, under the seat, bySam, who regarded the proceeding with great admiration. Thisdone, Mr. Bob Sawyer, with the assistance of the boy, forciblyworked himself into the rough coat, which was a few sizes toosmall for him, and then advancing to the coach window, thrust inhis head, and laughed boisterously. ‘What a start it is, isn’t it?’
　　cried Bob, wiping the tears out of his eyes, with one of the cuffs ofthe rough coat.
　　‘My dear sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with some embarrassment, ‘Ihad no idea of your accompanying us.’
　　‘No, that’s just the very thing,’ replied Bob, seizing Mr.
　　Pickwick by the lappel of his coat. ‘That’s the joke.’
　　‘Oh, that’s the joke, is it?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Of course,’ replied Bob. ‘It’s the whole point of the thing, youknow―that, and leaving the business to take care of itself, as itseems to have made up its mind not to take care of me.’ With thisexplanation of the phenomenon of the shutters, Mr. Bob Sawyerpointed to the shop, and relapsed into an ecstasy of mirth.
　　‘Bless me, you are surely not mad enough to think of leavingyour patients without anybody to attend them!’ remonstrated Mr.
　　Pickwick in a very serious tone.
　　‘Why not?’ asked Bob, in reply. ‘I shall save by it, you know.
　　None of them ever pay. Besides,’ said Bob, lowering his voice to aconfidential whisper, ‘they will be all the better for it; for, beingnearly out of drugs, and not able to increase my account just now,I should have been obliged to give them calomel all round, and itwould have been certain to have disagreed with some of them. Soit’s all for the best.’
　　There was a philosophy and a strength of reasoning about thisreply, which Mr. Pickwick was not prepared for. He paused a fewmoments, and added, less firmly than before―‘But this chaise, my young friend, will only hold two; and I ampledged to Mr. Allen.’
　　‘Don’t think of me for a minute,’ replied Bob. ‘I’ve arranged itall; Sam and I will share the dickey between us. Look here. Thislittle bill is to be wafered on the shop door: “Sawyer, lateNockemorf. Inquire of Mrs. Cripps over the way.” Mrs. Cripps ismy boy’s mother. “Mr. Sawyer’s very sorry,” says Mrs. Cripps,“couldn’t help it―fetched away early this morning to aconsultation of the very first surgeons in the country―couldn’t dowithout him―would have him at any price―tremendousoperation.” The fact is,’ said Bob, in conclusion, ‘it’ll do me moregood than otherwise, I expect. If it gets into one of the local papers,it will be the making of me. Here’s Ben; now then, jump in!’
　　With these hurried words, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed the postboyon one side, jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door,put up the steps, wafered the bill on the street door, locked it, putthe key in his pocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the word forstarting, and did the whole with such extraordinary precipitation,that before Mr. Pickwick had well begun to consider whether Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer ought to go or not, they were rolling away, with Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer thoroughly established as part and parcel of theequipage.
　　So long as their progress was confined to the streets of Bristol,the facetious Bob kept his professional green spectacles on, andconducted himself with becoming steadiness and gravity ofdemeanour; merely giving utterance to divers verbal witticisms forthe exclusive behoof and entertainment of Mr. Samuel Weller. Butwhen they emerged on the open road, he threw off his greenspectacles and his gravity together, and performed a great varietyof practical jokes, which were calculated to attract the attention ofthe passersby, and to render the carriage and those it containedobjects of more than ordinary curiosity; the least conspicuousamong these feats being a most vociferous imitation of a key-bugle, and the ostentatious display of a crimson silk pocket-handkerchief attached to a walking-stick, which was occasionallywaved in the air with various gestures indicative of supremacy anddefiance.
　　‘I wonder,’ said Mr. Pickwick, stopping in the midst of a mostsedate conversation with Ben Allen, bearing reference to thenumerous good qualities of Mr. Winkle and his sister―‘I wonderwhat all the people we pass, can see in us to make them stare so.’
　　‘It’s a neat turn-out,’ replied Ben Allen, with something of pridein his tone. ‘They’re not used to see this sort of thing, every day, Idare say.’
　　‘Possibly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘It may be so. Perhaps it is.’
　　Mr. Pickwick might very probably have reasoned himself intothe belief that it really was, had he not, just then happening to lookout of the coach window, observed that the looks of the passengersbetokened anything but respectful astonishment, and that varioustelegraphic communications appeared to be passing betweenthem and some persons outside the vehicle, whereupon itoccurred to him that these demonstrations might be, in someremote degree, referable to the humorous deportment of Mr.
　　Robert Sawyer.
　　‘I hope,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that our volatile friend iscommitting no absurdities in that dickey behind.’
　　‘Oh dear, no,’ replied Ben Allen. ‘Except when he’s elevated,Bob’s the quietest creature breathing.’
　　Here a prolonged imitation of a key-bugle broke upon the ear,succeeded by cheers and screams, all of which evidentlyproceeded from the throat and lungs of the quietest creaturebreathing, or in plainer designation, of Mr. Bob Sawyer himself.
　　Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen looked expressively at eachother, and the former gentleman taking off his hat, and leaning outof the coach window until nearly the whole of his waistcoat wasoutside it, was at length enabled to catch a glimpse of his facetiousfriend.
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer was seated, not in the dickey, but on the roof ofthe chaise, with his legs as far asunder as they would convenientlygo, wearing Mr. Samuel Weller’s hat on one side of his head, andbearing, in one hand, a most enormous sandwich, while, in theother, he supported a goodly-sized case-bottle, to both of which heapplied himself with intense relish, varying the monotony of theoccupation by an occasional howl, or the interchange of somelively badinage with any passing stranger. The crimson flag wascarefully tied in an erect position to the rail of the dickey; and Mr.
　　Samuel Weller, decorated with Bob Sawyer’s hat, was seated inthe centre thereof, discussing a twin sandwich, with an animatedcountenance, the expression of which betokened his entire andperfect approval of the whole arrangement.
　　This was enough to irritate a gentleman with Mr. Pickwick’ssense of propriety, but it was not the whole extent of theaggravation, for a stage-coach full, inside and out, was meetingthem at the moment, and the astonishment of the passengers wasvery palpably evinced. The congratulations of an Irish family, too,who were keeping up with the chaise, and begging all the time,were of rather a boisterous description, especially those of its malehead, who appeared to consider the display as part and parcel ofsome political or other procession of triumph.
　　‘Mr. Sawyer!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, in a state of great excitement,‘Mr. Sawyer, sir!’
　　‘Hollo!’ responded that gentleman, looking over the side of thechaise with all the coolness in life.
　　‘Are you mad, sir?’ demanded Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Not a bit of it,’ replied Bob; ‘only cheerful.’
　　‘Cheerful, sir!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. ‘Take down thatscandalous red handkerchief, I beg. I insist, sir. Sam, take itdown.’
　　Before Sam could interpose, Mr. Bob Sawyer gracefully struckhis colours, and having put them in his pocket, nodded in acourteous manner to Mr. Pickwick, wiped the mouth of the case-bottle, and applied it to his own, thereby informing him, withoutany unnecessary waste of words, that he devoted that draught towishing him all manner of happiness and prosperity. Having donethis, Bob replaced the cork with great care, and lookingbenignantly down on Mr. Pickwick, took a large bite out of thesandwich, and smiled.
　　‘Come,’ said Mr. Pickwick, whose momentary anger was notquite proof against Bob’s immovable self-possession, ‘pray let us have no more of this absurdity.’
　　‘No, no,’ replied Bob, once more exchanging hats with Mr.
　　Weller; ‘I didn’t mean to do it, only I got so enlivened with the ridethat I couldn’t help it.’
　　‘Think of the look of the thing,’ expostulated Mr. Pickwick;‘have some regard to appearances.’
　　‘Oh, certainly,’ said Bob, ‘it’s not the sort of thing at all. All over,governor.’
　　Satisfied with this assurance, Mr. Pickwick once more drew hishead into the chaise and pulled up the glass; but he had scarcelyresumed the conversation which Mr. Bob Sawyer had interrupted,when he was somewhat startled by the apparition of a small darkbody, of an oblong form, on the outside of the window, which gavesundry taps against it, as if impatient of admission.
　　‘What’s this?’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It looks like a case-bottle;’ remarked Ben Allen, eyeing theobject in question through his spectacles with some interest; ‘Irather think it belongs to Bob.’
　　The impression was perfectly accurate; for Mr. Bob Sawyer,having attached the case-bottle to the end of the walking-stick,was battering the window with it, in token of his wish, that hisfriends inside would partake of its contents, in all good-fellowshipand harmony.
　　‘What’s to be done?’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the bottle.
　　‘This proceeding is more absurd than the other.’
　　‘I think it would be best to take it in,’ replied Mr. Ben Allen; ‘itwould serve him right to take it in and keep it, wouldn’t it?’
　　‘It would,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘shall I?’
　　‘I think it the most proper course we could possibly adopt,’
　　replied Ben.
　　This advice quite coinciding with his own opinion, Mr. Pickwickgently let down the window and disengaged the bottle from thestick; upon which the latter was drawn up, and Mr. Bob Sawyerwas heard to laugh heartily.
　　‘What a merry dog it is!’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking round at hiscompanion, with the bottle in his hand.
　　‘He is,’ said Mr. Allen.
　　‘You cannot possibly be angry with him,’ remarked Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　‘Quite out of the question,’ observed Benjamin Allen.
　　During this short interchange of sentiments, Mr. Pickwick had,in an abstracted mood, uncorked the bottle.
　　‘What is it?’ inquired Ben Allen carelessly.
　　‘I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, with equal carelessness. ‘Itsmells, I think, like milk-punch.’
　　‘Oh, indeed?’ said Ben.
　　‘I think so,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, very properly guardinghimself against the possibility of stating an untruth; ‘mind, I couldnot undertake to say certainly, without tasting it.’
　　‘You had better do so,’ said Ben; ‘we may as well know what itis.’
　　‘Do you think so?’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Well; if you arecurious to know, of course I have no objection.’
　　Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of hisfriend, Mr. Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste.
　　‘What is it?’ inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with someimpatience.
　　‘Curious,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips, ‘I hardly know,now. Oh, yes!’ said Mr. Pickwick, after a second taste. ‘It is punch.’
　　Mr. Ben Allen looked at Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick looked atMr. Ben Allen; Mr. Ben Allen smiled; Mr. Pickwick did not.
　　‘It would serve him right,’ said the last-named gentleman, withsome severity―‘it would serve him right to drink it every drop.’
　　‘The very thing that occurred to me,’ said Ben Allen.
　　‘Is it, indeed?’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘Then here’s his health!’
　　With these words, that excellent person took a most energetic pullat the bottle, and handed it to Ben Allen, who was not slow toimitate his example. The smiles became mutual, and the milk-punch was gradually and cheerfully disposed of.
　　‘After all,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as he drained the last drop, ‘hispranks are really very amusing; very entertaining indeed.’
　　‘You may say that,’ rejoined Mr. Ben Allen. In proof of BobSawyer’s being one of the funniest fellows alive, he proceeded toentertain Mr. Pickwick with a long and circumstantial accounthow that gentleman once drank himself into a fever and got hishead shaved; the relation of which pleasant and agreeable historywas only stopped by the stoppage of the chaise at the Bell atBerkeley Heath, to change horses.
　　‘I say! We’re going to dine here, aren’t we?’ said Bob, looking inat the window.
　　‘Dine!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Why, we have only come nineteenmiles, and have eighty-seven and a half to go.’
　　‘Just the reason why we should take something to enable us tobear up against the fatigue,’ remonstrated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
　　‘Oh, it’s quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o’clock inthe day,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch.
　　‘So it is,’ rejoined Bob, ‘lunch is the very thing. Hollo, you sir!
　　Lunch for three, directly; and keep the horses back for a quarter ofan hour. Tell them to put everything they have cold, on the table,and some bottled ale, and let us taste your very best Madeira.’
　　Issuing these orders with monstrous importance and bustle, Mr.
　　Bob Sawyer at once hurried into the house to superintend thearrangements; in less than five minutes he returned and declaredthem to be excellent.
　　The quality of the lunch fully justified the eulogium which Bobhad pronounced, and very great justice was done to it, not only bythat gentleman, but Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwick also. Underthe auspices of the three, the bottled ale and the Madeira werepromptly disposed of; and when (the horses being once more putto) they resumed their seats, with the case-bottle full of the bestsubstitute for milk-punch that could be procured on so short anotice, the key-bugle sounded, and the red flag waved, without theslightest opposition on Mr. Pickwick’s part.
　　At the Hop Pole at Tewkesbury, they stopped to dine; uponwhich occasion there was more bottled ale, with some moreMadeira, and some port besides; and here the case-bottle wasreplenished for the fourth time. Under the influence of thesecombined stimulants, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen fell fastasleep for thirty miles, while Bob and Mr. Weller sang duets in thedickey.
　　It was quite dark when Mr. Pickwick roused himself sufficientlyto look out of the window. The straggling cottages by the road-side, the dingy hue of every object visible, the murky atmosphere,the paths of cinders and brick-dust, the deep-red glow of furnacefires in the distance, the volumes of dense smoke issuing heavilyforth from high toppling chimneys, blackening and obscuringeverything around; the glare of distant lights, the ponderouswagons which toiled along the road, laden with clashing rods ofiron, or piled with heavy goods―all betokened their rapidapproach to the great working town of Birmingham.
　　As they rattled through the narrow thoroughfares leading to theheart of the turmoil, the sights and sounds of earnest occupationstruck more forcibly on the senses. The streets were thronged withworking people. The hum of labour resounded from every house;lights gleamed from the long casement windows in the atticstoreys, and the whirl of wheels and noise of machinery shook thetrembling walls. The fires, whose lurid, sullen light had beenvisible for miles, blazed fiercely up, in the great works andfactories of the town. The din of hammers, the rushing of steam,and the dead heavy clanking of engines, was the harsh musicwhich arose from every quarter. The postboy was driving brisklythrough the open streets, and past the handsome and well-lightedshops that intervene between the outskirts of the town and the OldRoyal Hotel, before Mr. Pickwick had begun to consider the verydifficult and delicate nature of the commission which had carriedhim thither.
　　The delicate nature of this commission, and the difficulty ofexecuting it in a satisfactory manner, were by no means lessenedby the voluntary companionship of Mr. Bob Sawyer. Truth to tell,Mr. Pickwick felt that his presence on the occasion, howeverconsiderate and gratifying, was by no means an honour he wouldwillingly have sought; in fact, he would cheerfully have given areasonable sum of money to have had Mr. Bob Sawyer removed toany place at not less than fifty miles’ distance, without delay.
　　Mr. Pickwick had never held any personal communication withMr. Winkle, senior, although he had once or twice correspondedwith him by letter, and returned satisfactory answers to hisinquiries concerning the moral character and behaviour of his son;he felt nervously sensible that to wait upon him, for the first time,attended by Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen, both slightly fuddled, wasnot the most ingenious and likely means that could have been hitupon to prepossess him in his favour.
　　‘However,’ said Mr. Pickwick, endeavouring to reassurehimself, ‘I must do the best I can. I must see him to-night, for Ifaithfully promised to do so. If they persist in accompanying me, Imust make the interview as brief as possible, and be content that,for their own sakes, they will not expose themselves.’
　　As he comforted himself with these reflections, the chaisestopped at the door of the Old Royal. Ben Allen having beenpartially awakened from a stupendous sleep, and dragged out bythe collar by Mr. Samuel Weller, Mr. Pickwick was enabled toalight. They were shown to a comfortable apartment, and Mr.
　　Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiter concerningthe whereabout of Mr. Winkle’s residence.
　　‘Close by, sir,’ said the waiter, ‘not above five hundred yards,sir. Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, sir, at the canal, sir. Privateresidence is not―oh dear, no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.’
　　Here the waiter blew a candle out, and made a feint of lighting itagain, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking anyfurther questions, if he felt so disposed. ‘Take anything now, sir?’
　　said the waiter, lighting the candle in desperation at Mr.
　　Pickwick’s silence. ‘Tea or coffee, sir? Dinner, sir?’
　　‘Nothing now.’
　　‘Very good, sir. Like to order supper, sir?’
　　‘Not just now.’
　　‘Very good, sir.’ Here, he walked slowly to the door, and thenstopping short, turned round and said, with great suavity―‘Shall I send the chambermaid, gentlemen?’
　　‘You may if you please,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘If you please, sir.’
　　‘And bring some soda-water,’ said Bob Sawyer.
　　‘Soda-water, sir! Yes, sir.’ With his mind apparently relievedfrom an overwhelming weight, by having at last got an order forsomething, the waiter imperceptibly melted away. Waiters neverwalk or run. They have a peculiar and mysterious power ofskimming out of rooms, which other mortals possess not.
　　Some slight symptoms of vitality having been awakened in Mr.
　　Ben Allen by the soda-water, he suffered himself to be prevailedupon to wash his face and hands, and to submit to be brushed bySam. Mr. Pickwick and Bob Sawyer having also repaired thedisorder which the journey had made in their apparel, the threestarted forth, arm in arm, to Mr. Winkle’s; Bob Sawyerimpregnating the atmosphere with tobacco smoke as he walkedalong.
　　About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet, substantial-lookingstreet, stood an old red brick house with three steps before thedoor, and a brass plate upon it, bearing, in fat Roman capitals, thewords, ‘Mr. Winkle.’ The steps were very white, and the brickswere very red, and the house was very clean; and here stood Mr.
　　Pickwick, Mr. Benjamin Allen, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, as the clockstruck ten.
　　A smart servant-girl answered the knock, and started onbeholding the three strangers.
　　‘Is Mr. Winkle at home, my dear?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘He is just going to supper, sir,’ replied the girl.
　　‘Give him that card if you please, rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘Say Iam sorry to trouble him at so late an hour; but I am anxious to seehim to-night, and have only just arrived.’ The girl looked timidly atMr. Bob Sawyer, who was expressing his admiration of herpersonal charms by a variety of wonderful grimaces; and castingan eye at the hats and greatcoats which hung in the passage,called another girl to mind the door while she went upstairs. Thesentinel was speedily relieved; for the girl returned immediately,and begging pardon of the gentlemen for leaving them in thestreet, ushered them into a floor-clothed back parlour, half officeand half dressing room, in which the principal useful andornamental articles of furniture were a desk, a wash-hand standand shaving-glass, a boot-rack and boot-jack, a high stool, fourchairs, a table, and an old eight-day clock. Over the mantelpiecewere the sunken doors of an iron safe, while a couple of hangingshelves for books, an almanac, and several files of dusty papers,decorated the walls.
　　‘Very sorry to leave you standing at the door, sir,’ said the girl,lighting a lamp, and addressing Mr. Pickwick with a winningsmile, ‘but you was quite strangers to me; and we have such amany trampers that only come to see what they can lay theirhands on, that really―’
　　‘There is not the least occasion for any apology, my dear,’ saidMr. Pickwick good-humouredly.
　　‘Not the slightest, my love,’ said Bob Sawyer, playfullystretching forth his arms, and skipping from side to side, as if toprevent the young lady’s leaving the room.
　　The young lady was not at all softened by these allurements, forshe at once expressed her opinion, that Mr. Bob Sawyer was an‘odous creetur;’ and, on his becoming rather more pressing in hisattentions, imprinted her fair fingers upon his face, and bouncedout of the room with many expressions of aversion and contempt.
　　Deprived of the young lady’s society, Mr. Bob Sawyerproceeded to divert himself by peeping into the desk, looking intoall the table drawers, feigning to pick the lock of the iron safe,turning the almanac with its face to the wall, trying on the boots ofMr. Winkle, senior, over his own, and making several otherhumorous experiments upon the furniture, all of which affordedMr. Pickwick unspeakable horror and agony, and yielded Mr. BobSawyer proportionate delight.
　　At length the door opened, and a little old gentleman in a snuff-coloured suit, with a head and face the precise counterpart ofthose belonging to Mr. Winkle, junior, excepting that he wasrather bald, trotted into the room with Mr. Pickwick’s card in onehand, and a silver candlestick in the other.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick, sir, how do you do?’ said Winkle the elder,putting down the candlestick and proffering his hand. ‘Hope I seeyou well, sir. Glad to see you. Be seated, Mr. Pickwick, I beg, sir.
　　This gentleman is―’
　　‘My friend, Mr. Sawyer,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick, ‘your son’sfriend.’
　　‘Oh,’ said Mr. Winkle the elder, looking rather grimly at Bob. ‘Ihope you are well, sir.’
　　‘Right as a trivet, sir,’ replied Bob Sawyer.
　　‘This other gentleman,’ cried Mr. Pickwick, ‘is, as you will seewhen you have read the letter with which I am intrusted, a verynear relative, or I should rather say a very particular friend of yourson’s. His name is Allen.’
　　‘That gentleman?’ inquired Mr. Winkle, pointing with the cardtowards Ben Allen, who had fallen asleep in an attitude which leftnothing of him visible but his spine and his coat collar.
　　Mr. Pickwick was on the point of replying to the question, andreciting Mr. Benjamin Allen’s name and honourable distinctionsat full length, when the sprightly Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a view ofrousing his friend to a sense of his situation, inflicted a startlingpinch upon the fleshly part of his arm, which caused him to jumpup with a shriek. Suddenly aware that he was in the presence of astranger, Mr. Ben Allen advanced and, shaking Mr. Winkle mostaffectionately by both hands for about five minutes, murmured, insome half-intelligible fragments of sentences, the great delight hefelt in seeing him, and a hospitable inquiry whether he feltdisposed to take anything after his walk, or would prefer waiting‘till dinner-time;’ which done, he sat down and gazed about himwith a petrified stare, as if he had not the remotest idea where hewas, which indeed he had not.
　　All this was most embarrassing to Mr. Pickwick, the moreespecially as Mr. Winkle, senior, evinced palpable astonishment atthe eccentric―not to say extraordinary―behaviour of his twocompanions. To bring the matter to an issue at once, he drew aletter from his pocket, and presenting it to Mr. Winkle, senior,said―‘This letter, sir, is from your son. You will see, by its contents,that on your favourable and fatherly consideration of it, dependhis future happiness and welfare. Will you oblige me by giving itthe calmest and coolest perusal, and by discussing the subjectafterwards with me, in the tone and spirit in which alone it oughtto be discussed? You may judge of the importance of your decisionto your son, and his intense anxiety upon the subject, by mywaiting upon you, without any previous warning, at so late anhour; and,’ added Mr. Pickwick, glancing slightly at his twocompanions―‘and under such unfavourable circumstances.’
　　With this prelude, Mr. Pickwick placed four closely-writtensides of extra superfine wire-wove penitence in the hands of theastounded Mr. Winkle, senior. Then reseating himself in his chair,he watched his looks and manner: anxiously, it is true, but withthe open front of a gentleman who feels he has taken no partwhich he need excuse or palliate. The old wharfinger turned theletter over, looked at the front, back, and sides, made amicroscopic examination of the fat little boy on the seal, raised hiseyes to Mr. Pickwick’s face, and then, seating himself on the highstool, and drawing the lamp closer to him, broke the wax, unfoldedthe epistle, and lifting it to the light, prepared to read. Just at thismoment, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whose wit had lain dormant for someminutes, placed his hands on his knees, and made a face after theportraits of the late Mr. Grimaldi, as clown. It so happened thatMr. Winkle, senior, instead of being deeply engaged in reading theletter, as Mr. Bob Sawyer thought, chanced to be looking over thetop of it at no less a person than Mr. Bob Sawyer himself; rightlyconjecturing that the face aforesaid was made in ridicule andderision of his own person, he fixed his eyes on Bob with suchexpressive sternness, that the late Mr. Grimaldi’s lineamentsgradually resolved themselves into a very fine expression ofhumility and confusion.
　　‘Did you speak, sir?’ inquired Mr. Winkle, senior, after an awfulsilence.
　　‘No, sir,’ replied Bob, With no remains of the clown about him,save and except the extreme redness of his cheeks.
　　‘You are sure you did not, sir?’ said Mr. Winkle, senior.
　　‘Oh dear, yes, sir, quite,’ replied Bob.
　　‘I thought you did, sir,’ replied the old gentleman, withindignant emphasis. ‘Perhaps you looked at me, sir?’
　　‘Oh, no! sir, not at all,’ replied Bob, with extreme civility.
　　‘I am very glad to hear it, sir,’ said Mr. Winkle, senior. Havingfrowned upon the abashed Bob with great magnificence, the oldgentleman again brought the letter to the light, and began to readit seriously.
　　Mr. Pickwick eyed him intently as he turned from the bottomline of the first page to the top line of the second, and from thebottom of the second to the top of the third, and from the bottomof the third to the top of the fourth; but not the slightest alterationof countenance afforded a clue to the feelings with which hereceived the announcement of his son’s marriage, which Mr.
　　Pickwick knew was in the very first half-dozen lines.
　　He read the letter to the last word, folded it again with all thecarefulness and precision of a man of business, and, just when Mr.
　　Pickwick expected some great outbreak of feeling, dipped a pen inthe ink-stand, and said, as quietly as if he were speaking on themost ordinary counting-house topic―‘What is Nathaniel’s address, Mr. Pickwick?’
　　‘The George and Vulture, at present,’ replied that gentleman.
　　‘George and Vulture. Where is that?’
　　‘George Yard, Lombard Street.’
　　‘In the city?’
　　‘Yes.’
　　The old gentleman methodically indorsed the address on theback of the letter; and then, placing it in the desk, which helocked, said, as he got off the stool and put the bunch of keys in hispocket―‘I suppose there is nothing else which need detain us, Mr.
　　Pickwick?’
　　‘Nothing else, my dear sir!’ observed that warm-hearted personin indignant amazement. ‘Nothing else! Have you no opinion toexpress on this momentous event in our young friend’s life? Noassurance to convey to him, through me, of the continuance ofyour affection and protection? Nothing to say which will cheer andsustain him, and the anxious girl who looks to him for comfort andsupport? My dear sir, consider.’
　　‘I will consider,’ replied the old gentleman. ‘I have nothing tosay just now. I am a man of business, Mr. Pickwick. I nevercommit myself hastily in any affair, and from what I see of this, Iby no means like the appearance of it. A thousand pounds is notmuch, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘You’re very right, sir,’ interposed Ben Allen, just awakeenough to know that he had spent his thousand pounds withoutthe smallest difficulty. ‘You’re an intelligent man. Bob, he’s a veryknowing fellow this.’
　　‘I am very happy to find that you do me the justice to make theadmission, sir,’ said Mr. Winkle, senior, looking contemptuously atBen Allen, who was shaking his head profoundly. ‘The fact is, Mr.
　　Pickwick, that when I gave my son a roving license for a year orso, to see something of men and manners (which he has doneunder your auspices), so that he might not enter life a mereboarding-school milk-sop to be gulled by everybody, I neverbargained for this. He knows that very well, so if I withdraw mycountenance from him on this account, he has no call to besurprised. He shall hear from me, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, sir.―Margaret, open the door.’
　　All this time, Bob Sawyer had been nudging Mr. Ben Allen tosay something on the right side; Ben accordingly now burst,without the slightest preliminary notice, into a brief butimpassioned piece of eloquence.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, staring at the old gentleman, out of apair of very dim and languid eyes, and working his right armvehemently up and down, ‘you―you ought to be ashamed ofyourself.’
　　‘As the lady’s brother, of course you are an excellent judge ofthe question,’ retorted Mr. Winkle, senior. ‘There; that’s enough.
　　Pray say no more, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, gentlemen!’
　　With these words the old gentleman took up the candle-stickand opening the room door, politely motioned towards thepassage.
　　‘You will regret this, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, setting his teethclose together to keep down his choler; for he felt how importantthe effect might prove to his young friend.
　　‘I am at present of a different opinion,’ calmly replied Mr.
　　Winkle, senior. ‘Once again, gentlemen, I wish you a good-night.’
　　Mr. Pickwick walked with angry strides into the street. Mr. BobSawyer, completely quelled by the decision of the old gentleman’smanner, took the same course. Mr. Ben Allen’s hat rolled downthe steps immediately afterwards, and Mr. Ben Allen’s bodyfollowed it directly. The whole party went silent and supperless toboarding-school milk-sop to be gulled by everybody, I neverbargained for this. He knows that very well, so if I withdraw mycountenance from him on this account, he has no call to besurprised. He shall hear from me, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, sir.―Margaret, open the door.’
　　All this time, Bob Sawyer had been nudging Mr. Ben Allen tosay something on the right side; Ben accordingly now burst,without the slightest preliminary notice, into a brief butimpassioned piece of eloquence.
　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Ben Allen, staring at the old gentleman, out of apair of very dim and languid eyes, and working his right armvehemently up and down, ‘you―you ought to be ashamed ofyourself.’
　　‘As the lady’s brother, of course you are an excellent judge ofthe question,’ retorted Mr. Winkle, senior. ‘There; that’s enough.
　　Pray say no more, Mr. Pickwick. Good-night, gentlemen!’
　　With these words the old gentleman took up the candle-stickand opening the room door, politely motioned towards thepassage.
　　‘You will regret this, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, setting his teethclose together to keep down his choler; for he felt how importantthe effect might prove to his young friend.
　　‘I am at present of a different opinion,’ calmly replied Mr.
　　Winkle, senior. ‘Once again, gentlemen, I wish you a good-night.’
　　Mr. Pickwick walked with angry strides into the street. Mr. BobSawyer, completely quelled by the decision of the old gentleman’smanner, took the same course. Mr. Ben Allen’s hat rolled downthe steps immediately afterwards, and Mr. Ben Allen’s bodyfollowed it directly. The whole party went silent and supperless tobed; and Mr. Pickwick thought, just before he fell asleep, that if hehad known Mr. Winkle, senior, had been quite so much of a manof business, it was extremely probable he might never have waitedupon him, on such an errand.
Chapter 51
IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK ENCOUNTERS ANOLD ACQUAINTANCE―TO WHICHFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCE THE READER ISMAINLY INDEBTED FOR MATTER OFTHRILLING INTEREST HEREIN SET DOWN,CONCERNING TWO GREAT PUBLIC MEN OFMIGHT AND POWERhe morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick’s sight ateight o’clock, was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits,or to lessen the depression which the unlooked-for resultof his embassy inspired. The sky was dark and gloomy, the air wasdamp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hungsluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage torise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had noteven the spirit to pour. A game-cock in the stableyard, deprived ofevery spark of his accustomed animation, balanced himselfdismally on one leg in a corner; a donkey, moping with droopinghead under the narrow roof of an outhouse, appeared from hismeditative and miserable countenance to be contemplatingsuicide. In the street, umbrellas were the only things to be seen,and the clicking of pattens and splashing of rain-drops were theonly sounds to be heard.
　　The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation; evenMr. Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the previousday’s excitement. In his own expressive language he was ‘floored.’
　　So was Mr. Ben Allen. So was Mr. Pickwick.
　　In protracted expectation of the weather clearing up, the lastevening paper from London was read and re-read with anintensity of interest only known in cases of extreme destitution;every inch of the carpet was walked over with similarperseverance; the windows were looked out of, often enough tojustify the imposition of an additional duty upon them; all kinds oftopics of conversation were started, and failed; and at length Mr.
　　Pickwick, when noon had arrived, without a change for the better,rang the bell resolutely, and ordered out the chaise.
　　Although the roads were miry, and the drizzling rain camedown harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and wetsplashed in at the open windows of the carriage to such an extentthat the discomfort was almost as great to the pair of insides as tothe pair of outsides, still there was something in the motion, andthe sense of being up and doing, which was so infinitely superiorto being pent in a dull room, looking at the dull rain dripping intoa dull street, that they all agreed, on starting, that the change wasa great improvement, and wondered how they could possibly havedelayed making it as long as they had done.
　　When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascendedfrom the horses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler,whose voice was however heard to declare from the mist, that heexpected the first gold medal from the Humane Society on theirnext distribution of rewards, for taking the postboy’s hat off; thewater descending from the brim of which, the invisible gentlemandeclared, must have drowned him (the postboy), but for his greatpresence of mind in tearing it promptly from his head, and dryingthe gasping man’s countenance with a wisp of straw.
　　‘This is pleasant,’ said Bob Sawyer, turning up his coat collar,and pulling the shawl over his mouth to concentrate the fumes of aglass of brandy just swallowed.
　　‘Wery,’ replied Sam composedly.
　　‘You don’t seem to mind it,’ observed Bob.
　　‘Vy, I don’t exactly see no good my mindin’ on it ‘ud do, sir,’
　　replied Sam.
　　‘That’s an unanswerable reason, anyhow,’ said Bob.
　　‘Yes, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. ‘Wotever is, is right, as the youngnobleman sweetly remarked wen they put him down in thepension list ’cos his mother’s uncle’s vife’s grandfather vunce litthe king’s pipe vith a portable tinder-box.’
　　‘Not a bad notion that, Sam,’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer approvingly.
　　‘Just wot the young nobleman said ev’ry quarter-dayarterwards for the rest of his life,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘Wos you ever called in,’ inquired Sam, glancing at the driver,after a short silence, and lowering his voice to a mysteriouswhisper―‘wos you ever called in, when you wos ’prentice to asawbones, to wisit a postboy.’
　　‘I don’t remember that I ever was,’ replied Bob Sawyer.
　　‘You never see a postboy in that ’ere hospital as you walked (asthey says o’ the ghosts), did you?’ demanded Sam.
　　‘No,’ replied Bob Sawyer. ‘I don’t think I ever did.’
　　‘Never know’d a churchyard were there wos a postboy’stombstone, or see a dead postboy, did you?’ inquired Sam,pursuing his catechism.
　　‘No,’ rejoined Bob, ‘I never did.’
　　‘No!’ rejoined Sam triumphantly. ‘Nor never vill; and there’sanother thing that no man never see, and that’s a dead donkey. Noman never see a dead donkey ’cept the gen’l’m’n in the black silksmalls as know’d the young ’ooman as kep’ a goat; and that wos aFrench donkey, so wery likely he warn’t wun o’ the reg’lar breed.’
　　‘Well, what has that got to do with the postboys?’ asked BobSawyer.
　　‘This here,’ replied Sam. ‘Without goin’ so far as to as-sert, assome wery sensible people do, that postboys and donkeys is bothimmortal, wot I say is this: that wenever they feels theirselvesgettin’ stiff and past their work, they just rides off together, wunpostboy to a pair in the usual way; wot becomes on ’em nobodyknows, but it’s wery probable as they starts avay to take theirpleasure in some other vorld, for there ain’t a man alive as eversee either a donkey or a postboy a-takin’ his pleasure in this!’
　　Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, andciting many curious statistical and other facts in its support, SamWeller beguiled the time until they reached Dunchurch, where adry postboy and fresh horses were procured; the next stage wasDaventry, and the next Towcester; and at the end of each stage itrained harder than it had done at the beginning.
　　‘I say,’ remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coachwindow, as they pulled up before the door of the Saracen’s Head,Towcester, ‘this won’t do, you know.’
　　‘Bless me!’ said Mr. Pickwick, just awakening from a nap, ‘I’mafraid you’re wet.’
　　‘Oh, you are, are you?’ returned Bob. ‘Yes, I am, a little thatway, Uncomfortably damp, perhaps.’
　　Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streamingfrom his neck, elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees; and his wholeapparel shone so with the wet, that it might have been mistakenfor a full suit of prepared oilskin.
　　‘I am rather wet,’ said Bob, giving himself a shake and casting alittle hydraulic shower around, like a Newfoundland dog justemerged from the water.
　　‘I think it’s quite impossible to go on to-night,’ interposed Ben.
　　‘Out of the question, sir,’ remarked Sam Weller, coming toassist in the conference; ‘it’s a cruelty to animals, sir, to ask ’em todo it. There’s beds here, sir,’ said Sam, addressing his master,‘everything clean and comfortable. Wery good little dinner, sir,they can get ready in half an hour―pair of fowls, sir, and a wealcutlet; French beans, ’taturs, tart, and tidiness. You’d better stopvere you are, sir, if I might recommend. Take adwice, sir, as thedoctor said.’
　　The host of the Saracen’s Head opportunely appeared at thismoment, to confirm Mr. Weller’s statement relative to theaccommodations of the establishment, and to back his entreatieswith a variety of dismal conjectures regarding the state of theroads, the doubt of fresh horses being to be had at the next stage,the dead certainty of its raining all night, the equally mortalcertainty of its clearing up in the morning, and other topics ofinducement familiar to innkeepers.
　　‘Well,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but I must send a letter to London bysome conveyance, so that it may be delivered the very first thing inthe morning, or I must go forwards at all hazards.’
　　The landlord smiled his delight. Nothing could be easier thanfor the gentleman to inclose a letter in a sheet of brown paper, andsend it on, either by the mail or the night coach from Birmingham.
　　If the gentleman were particularly anxious to have it left as soonas possible, he might write outside, ‘To be delivered immediately,’
　　which was sure to be attended to; or ‘Pay the bearer half-a-crownextra for instant delivery,’ which was surer still.
　　‘Very well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘then we will stop here.’
　　‘Lights in the Sun, John; make up the fire; the gentlemen arewet!’ cried the landlord. ‘This way, gentlemen; don’t troubleyourselves about the postboy now, sir. I’ll send him to you whenyou ring for him, sir. Now, John, the candles.’
　　The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a freshlog of wood thrown on. In ten minutes’ time, a waiter was layingthe cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire was blazingbrightly, and everything looked (as everything always does, in alldecent English inns) as if the travellers had been expected, andtheir comforts prepared, for days beforehand.
　　Mr. Pickwick sat down at a side table, and hastily indited a noteto Mr. Winkle, merely informing him that he was detained bystress of weather, but would certainly be in London next day; untilwhen he deferred any account of his proceedings. This note washastily made into a parcel, and despatched to the bar per Mr.
　　Samuel Weller.
　　Sam left it with the landlady, and was returning to pull hismaster’s boots off, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, whenglancing casually through a half-opened door, he was arrested bythe sight of a gentleman with a sandy head who had a large bundleof newspapers lying on the table before him, and was perusing theleading article of one with a settled sneer which curled up his noseand all other features into a majestic expression of haughtycontempt.
　　‘Hollo!’ said Sam, ‘I ought to know that ’ere head and themfeatures; the eyeglass, too, and the broad-brimmed tile! Eatansvillto vit, or I’m a Roman.’
　　Sam was taken with a troublesome cough, at once, for thepurpose of attracting the gentleman’s attention; the gentlemanstarting at the sound, raised his head and his eyeglass, anddisclosed to view the profound and thoughtful features of Mr. Pott,of the Eatanswill Gazette.
　　‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,’ said Sam, advancing with a bow, ‘mymaster’s here, Mr. Pott.’
　　‘Hush! hush!’ cried Pott, drawing Sam into the room, andclosing the door, with a countenance of mysterious dread andapprehension.
　　‘Wot’s the matter, sir?’ inquired Sam, looking vacantly abouthim.
　　‘Not a whisper of my name,’ replied Pott; ‘this is a buffneighbourhood. If the excited and irritable populace knew I washere, I should be torn to pieces.’
　　‘No! Vould you, sir?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘I should be the victim of their fury,’ replied Pott. ‘Now youngman, what of your master?’
　　‘He’s a-stopping here to-night on his vay to town, with a coupleof friends,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Is Mr. Winkle one of them?’ inquired Pott, with a slight frown.
　　‘No, sir. Mr. Vinkle stops at home now,’ rejoined Sam. ‘He’smarried.’
　　‘Married!’ exclaimed Pott, with frightful vehemence. Hestopped, smiled darkly, and added, in a low, vindictive tone, ‘Itserves him right!’ Having given vent to this cruel ebullition ofdeadly malice and cold-blooded triumph over a fallen enemy, Mr.
　　Pott inquired whether Mr. Pickwick’s friends were ‘blue?’
　　Receiving a most satisfactory answer in the affirmative from Sam,who knew as much about the matter as Pott himself, he consentedto accompany him to Mr. Pickwick’s room, where a heartywelcome awaited him, and an agreement to club their dinnerstogether was at once made and ratified.
　　‘And how are matters going on in Eatanswill?’ inquired Mr.
　　Pickwick, when Pott had taken a seat near the fire, and the wholeparty had got their wet boots off, and dry slippers on. ‘Is theIndependent still in being?’
　　‘The Independent, sir,’ replied Pott, ‘is still dragging on awretched and lingering career. Abhorred and despised by eventhe few who are cognisant of its miserable and disgracefulexistence, stifled by the very filth it so profusely scatters, rendereddeaf and blind by the exhalations of its own slime, the obscenejournal, happily unconscious of its degraded state, is rapidlysinking beneath that treacherous mud which, while it seems togive it a firm standing with the low and debased classes of society,is nevertheless rising above its detested head, and will speedilyengulf it for ever.’
　　Having delivered this manifesto (which formed a portion of hislast week’s leader) with vehement articulation, the editor pausedto take breath, and looked majestically at Bob Sawyer.
　　‘You are a young man, sir,’ said Pott.
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer nodded.
　　‘So are you, sir,’ said Pott, addressing Mr. Ben Allen.
　　Ben admitted the soft impeachment.
　　‘And are both deeply imbued with those blue principles, which,so long as I live, I have pledged myself to the people of thesekingdoms to support and to maintain?’ suggested Pott.
　　‘Why, I don’t exactly know about that,’ replied Bob Sawyer. ‘Iam―’
　　‘Not buff, Mr. Pickwick,’ interrupted Pott, drawing back hischair, ‘your friend is not buff, sir?’
　　‘No, no,’ rejoined Bob, ‘I’m a kind of plaid at present; acompound of all sorts of colours.’
　　‘A waverer,’ said Pott solemnly, ‘a waverer. I should like toshow you a series of eight articles, sir, that have appeared in theEatanswill Gazette. I think I may venture to say that you wouldnot be long in establishing your opinions on a firm and solid bluebasis, sir.’
　　‘I dare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to the endof them,’ responded Bob.
　　Mr. Pott looked dubiously at Bob Sawyer for some seconds,and, turning to Mr. Pickwick, said―‘You have seen the literary articles which have appeared atintervals in the Eatanswill Gazette in the course of the last threemonths, and which have excited such general―I may say suchuniversal―attention and admiration?’
　　‘Why,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by thequestion, ‘the fact is, I have been so much engaged in other ways,that I really have not had an opportunity of perusing them.’
　　‘You should do so, sir,’ said Pott, with a severe countenance.
　　‘I will,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘They appeared in the form of a copious review of a work onChinese metaphysics, sir,’ said Pott.
　　‘Oh,’ observed Mr. Pickwick; ‘from your pen, I hope?’
　　‘From the pen of my critic, sir,’ rejoined Pott, with dignity.
　　‘An abstruse subject, I should conceive,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Very, sir,’ responded Pott, looking intensely sage. ‘He crammedfor it, to use a technical but expressive term; he read up for thesubject, at my desire, in the Encyclopaedia Britannica.’
　　‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I was not aware that that valuablework contained any information respecting Chinese metaphysics.’
　　‘He read, sir,’ rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick’sknee, and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority―‘he read for metaphysics under the letter M, and for China underthe letter C, and combined his information, sir!’
　　Mr. Pott’s features assumed so much additional grandeur at therecollection of the power and research displayed in the learnedeffusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before Mr.
　　Pickwick felt emboldened to renew the conversation; at length, asthe editor’s countenance gradually relaxed into its customaryexpression of moral supremacy, he ventured to resume thediscourse by asking―‘Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so farfrom home?’
　　‘That object which actuates and animates me in all my giganticlabours, sir,’ replied Pott, with a calm smile: ‘my country’s good.’
　　‘I supposed it was some public mission,’ observed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes, sir,’ resumed Pott, ‘it is.’ Here, bending towards Mr.
　　Pickwick, he whispered in a deep, hollow voice, ‘A Buff ball, sir,will take place in Birmingham to-morrow evening.’
　　‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes, sir, and supper,’ added Pott.
　　‘You don’t say so!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
　　Pott nodded portentously.
　　Now, although Mr. Pickwick feigned to stand aghast at thisdisclosure, he was so little versed in local politics that he wasunable to form an adequate comprehension of the importance ofthe dire conspiracy it referred to; observing which, Mr. Pott,drawing forth the last number of the Eatanswill Gazette, andreferring to the same, delivered himself of the followingparagraph:―HOLE-AND-CORNER BUFFERY.
　　‘A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his blackvenom in the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the fair nameof our distinguished and excellent representative, the HonourableMr. Slumkey―that Slumkey whom we, long before he gained hispresent noble and exalted position, predicted would one day be, ashe now is, at once his country’s brightest honour, and herproudest boast: alike her bold defender and her honest pride―ourreptile contemporary, we say, has made himself merry, at theexpense of a superbly embossed plated coal-scuttle, which hasbeen presented to that glorious man by his enrapturedconstituents, and towards the purchase of which, the namelesswretch insinuates, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey himselfcontributed, through a confidential friend of his butler’s, morethan three-fourths of the whole sum subscribed. Why, does not thecrawling creature see, that even if this be the fact, the HonourableMr. Slumkey only appears in a still more amiable and radiant lightthan before, if that be possible? Does not even his obtusenessperceive that this amiable and touching desire to carry out thewishes of the constituent body, must for ever endear him to thehearts and souls of such of his fellow townsmen as are not worsethan swine; or, in other words, who are not as debased as ourcontemporary himself? But such is the wretched trickery of hole-and-corner Buffery! These are not its only artifices. Treason isabroad. We boldly state, now that we are goaded to the disclosure,and we throw ourselves on the country and its constables forprotection―we boldly state that secret preparations are at thismoment in progress for a Buff ball; which is to be held in a Bufftown, in the very heart and centre of a Buff population; which is tobe conducted by a Buff master of the ceremonies; which is to beattended by four ultra Buff members of Parliament, and theadmission to which, is to be by Buff tickets! Does our fiendishcontemporary wince? Let him writhe, in impotent malice, as wepen the words, WE WILL BE THERE.’
　　‘There, sir,’ said Pott, folding up the paper quite exhausted,‘that is the state of the case!’
　　The landlord and waiter entering at the moment with dinner,caused Mr. Pott to lay his finger on his lips, in token that heconsidered his life in Mr. Pickwick’s hands, and depended on hissecrecy. Messrs. Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen, who hadirreverently fallen asleep during the reading of the quotation fromthe Eatanswill Gazette, and the discussion which followed it, wereroused by the mere whispering of the talismanic word ‘Dinner’ intheir ears; and to dinner they went with good digestion waiting onappetite, and health on both, and a waiter on all three.
　　In the course of the dinner and the sitting which succeeded it,Mr. Pott descending, for a few moments, to domestic topics,informed Mr. Pickwick that the air of Eatanswill not agreeing withhis lady, she was then engaged in making a tour of differentfashionable watering-places with a view to the recovery of herwonted health and spirits; this was a delicate veiling of the factthat Mrs. Pott, acting upon her often-repeated threat ofseparation, had, in virtue of an arrangement negotiated by herbrother, the lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott, permanentlyretired with the faithful bodyguard upon one moiety or half part ofthe annual income and profits arising from the editorship and saleof the Eatanswill Gazette.
　　While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and othermatters, enlivening the conversation from time to time withvarious extracts from his own lucubrations, a stern stranger,calling from the window of a stage-coach, outward bound, whichhalted at the inn to deliver packages, requested to know whether ifhe stopped short on his journey and remained there for the night,he could be furnished with the necessary accommodation of a bedand bedstead.
　　‘Certainly, sir,’ replied the landlord.
　　‘I can, can I?’ inquired the stranger, who seemed habituallysuspicious in look and manner.
　　‘No doubt of it, sir,’ replied the landlord.
　　‘Good,’ said the stranger. ‘Coachman, I get down here. Guard,my carpet-bag!’
　　Bidding the other passengers good-night, in a rather snappishmanner, the stranger alighted. He was a shortish gentleman, withvery stiff black hair cut in the porcupine or blacking-brush style,and standing stiff and straight all over his head; his aspect waspompous and threatening; his manner was peremptory; his eyeswere sharp and restless; and his whole bearing bespoke a feelingof great confidence in himself, and a consciousness ofimmeasurable superiority over all other people.
　　This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned tothe patriotic Mr. Pott; and the waiter remarked, in dumbastonishment at the singular coincidence, that he had no soonerlighted the candles than the gentleman, diving into his hat, drewforth a newspaper, and began to read it with the very sameexpression of indignant scorn, which, upon the majestic featuresof Pott, had paralysed his energies an hour before. The manobserved too, that, whereas Mr. Pott’s scorn had been roused by anewspaper headed the Eatanswill Independent, this gentleman’swithering contempt was awakened by a newspaper entitled theEatanswill Gazette.
　　‘Send the landlord,’ said the stranger.
　　‘Yes, sir,’ rejoined the waiter.
　　The landlord was sent, and came.
　　‘Are you the landlord?’ inquired the gentleman.
　　‘I am sir,’ replied the landlord.
　　‘My name is Slurk,’ said the gentleman.
　　The landlord slightly inclined his head.
　　‘Slurk, sir,’ repeated the gentleman haughtily. ‘Do you know menow, man?’
　　The landlord scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, and atthe stranger, and smiled feebly.
　　‘Do you know me, man?’ inquired the stranger angrily.
　　The landlord made a strong effort, and at length replied: ‘Well,sir, I do not know you.’
　　‘Great Heaven!’ said the stranger, dashing his clenched fistupon the table. ‘And this is popularity!’
　　The landlord took a step or two towards the door; the strangerfixing his eyes upon him, resumed.
　　‘This,’ said the stranger―‘this is gratitude for years of labourand study in behalf of the masses. I alight wet and weary; noenthusiastic crowds press forward to greet their champion; thechurch bells are silent; the very name elicits no responsive feelingin their torpid bosoms. It is enough,’ said the agitated Mr. Slurk,pacing to and fro, ‘to curdle the ink in one’s pen, and induce one toabandon their cause for ever.’
　　‘Did you say brandy-and-water, sir?’ said the landlord,venturing a hint.
　　‘Rum,’ said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. ‘Have you gota fire anywhere?’
　　‘We can light one directly, sir,’ said the landlord.
　　‘Which will throw out no heat until it is bed-time,’ interruptedMr. Slurk. ‘Is there anybody in the kitchen?’
　　Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had gone, andthe house door was closed for the night.
　　‘I will drink my rum-and-water,’ said Mr. Slurk, ‘by the kitchenfire.’ So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked solemnlybehind the landlord to that humble apartment, and throwinghimself on a settle by the fireside, resumed his countenance ofscorn, and began to read and drink in silent dignity.
　　Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen’s Head atthat moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity,happened to behold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchenfire, and Pott slightly elevated with wine in another room; uponwhich the malicious demon, darting down into the last-mentionedapartment with inconceivable rapidity, passed at once into thehead of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and prompted him for his (the demon’s)own evil purpose to speak as follows:―‘I say, we’ve let the fire out. It’s uncommonly cold after the rain,isn’t it?’
　　‘It really is,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering.
　　‘It wouldn’t be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire,would it?’ said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demonaforesaid.
　　‘It would be particularly comfortable, I think,’ replied Mr.
　　Pickwick. ‘Mr. Pott, what do you say?’
　　Mr. Pott yielded a ready assent; and all four travellers, eachwith his glass in his hand, at once betook themselves to thekitchen, with Sam Weller heading the procession to show them theway.
　　The stranger was still reading; he looked up and started. Mr.
　　Pott started.
　　‘What’s the matter?’ whispered Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘That reptile!’ replied Pott.
　　‘What reptile?’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him for fear heshould tread on some overgrown black beetle, or dropsical spider.
　　‘That reptile,’ whispered Pott, catching Mr. Pickwick by thearm, and pointing towards the stranger. ‘That reptile Slurk, of theIndependent!’
　　‘Perhaps we had better retire,’ whispered Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Never, sir,’ rejoined Pott, pot-valiant in a double sense―‘never.’ With these words, Mr. Pott took up his position on anopposite settle, and selecting one from a little bundle ofnewspapers, began to read against his enemy.
　　Mr. Pott, of course read the Independent, and Mr. Slurk, ofcourse, read the Gazette; and each gentleman audibly expressedhis contempt at the other’s compositions by bitter laughs andsarcastic sniffs; whence they proceeded to more open expressionsof opinion, such as ‘absurd,’ ‘wretched,’ ‘atrocity,’ ‘humbug,’
　　‘knavery’, ‘dirt,’ ‘filth,’ ‘slime,’ ‘ditch-water,’ and other criticalremarks of the like nature.
　　Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld thesesymptoms of rivalry and hatred, with a degree of delight whichimparted great additional relish to the cigars at which they werepuffing most vigorously. The moment they began to flag, themischievous Mr. Bob Sawyer, addressing Slurk with greatpoliteness, said―‘Will you allow me to look at your paper, sir, when you havequite done with it?’
　　‘You will find very little to repay you for your trouble in thiscontemptible thing, sir,’ replied Slurk, bestowing a Satanic frownon Pott.
　　‘You shall have this presently,’ said Pott, looking up, pale withrage, and quivering in his speech, from the same cause. ‘Ha! ha!
　　you will be amused with this fellow’s audacity.’
　　Terrible emphasis was laid upon ‘thing’ and ‘fellow’; and thefaces of both editors began to glow with defiance.
　　‘The ribaldry of this miserable man is despicably disgusting,’
　　said Pott, pretending to address Bob Sawyer, and scowling uponSlurk. Here, Mr. Slurk laughed very heartily, and folding up thepaper so as to get at a fresh column conveniently, said, that theblockhead really amused him.
　　‘What an impudent blunderer this fellow is,’ said Pott, turningfrom pink to crimson.
　　‘Did you ever read any of this man’s foolery, sir?’ inquiredSlurk of Bob Sawyer.
　　‘Never,’ replied Bob; ‘is it very bad?’
　　‘Oh, shocking! shocking!’ rejoined Slurk.
　　‘Really! Dear me, this is too atrocious!’ exclaimed Pott, at thisjuncture; still feigning to be absorbed in his reading.
　　‘If you can wade through a few sentences of malice, meanness,falsehood, perjury, treachery, and cant,’ said Slurk, handing thepaper to Bob, ‘you will, perhaps, be somewhat repaid by a laugh atthe style of this ungrammatical twaddler.’
　　‘What’s that you said, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pott, looking up,trembling all over with passion.
　　‘What’s that to you, sir?’ replied Slurk.
　　‘Ungrammatical twaddler, was it, sir?’ said Pott.
　　‘Yes, sir, it was,’ replied Slurk; ‘and blue bore, sir, if you like thatbetter; ha! ha!’
　　Mr. Pott retorted not a word at this jocose insult, butdeliberately folded up his copy of the Independent, flattened itcarefully down, crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it withgreat ceremony, and flung it into the fire.
　　‘There, sir,’ said Pott, retreating from the stove, ‘and that’s theway I would serve the viper who produces it, if I were not,fortunately for him, restrained by the laws of my country.’
　　‘Serve him so, sir!’ cried Slurk, starting up. ‘Those laws shallnever be appealed to by him, sir, in such a case. Serve him so, sir!’
　　‘Hear! hear!’ said Bob Sawyer.
　　‘Nothing can be fairer,’ observed Mr. Ben Allen.
　　‘Serve him so, sir!’ reiterated Slurk, in a loud voice.
　　Mr. Pott darted a look of contempt, which might have witheredan anchor.
　　‘Serve him so, sir!’ reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice thanbefore.
　　‘I will not, sir,’ rejoined Pott.
　　‘Oh, you won’t, won’t you, sir?’ said Mr. Slurk, in a tauntingmanner; ‘you hear this, gentlemen! He won’t; not that he’safraid―, oh, no! he won’t. Ha! ha!’
　　‘I consider you, sir,’ said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, ‘Iconsider you a viper. I look upon you, sir, as a man who has placedhimself beyond the pale of society, by his most audacious,disgraceful, and abominable public conduct. I view you, sir,personally and politically, in no other light than as a mostunparalleled and unmitigated viper.’
　　The indignant Independent did not wait to hear the end of thispersonal denunciation; for, catching up his carpet-bag, which waswell stuffed with movables, he swung it in the air as Pott turnedaway, and, letting it fall with a circular sweep on his head, just atthat particular angle of the bag where a good thick hairbrushhappened to be packed, caused a sharp crash to be heardthroughout the kitchen, and brought him at once to the ground.
　　‘Gentlemen,’ cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and seizedthe fire-shovel―‘gentlemen! Consider, for Heaven’s sake―help―Sam―here―pray, gentlemen―interfere, somebody.’
　　Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushedbetween the infuriated combatants just in time to receive thecarpet-bag on one side of his body, and the fire-shovel on theother. Whether the representatives of the public feeling ofEatanswill were blinded by animosity, or (being both acutereasoners) saw the advantage of having a third party betweenthem to bear all the blows, certain it is that they paid not theslightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying each other withgreat spirit, plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovel mostfearlessly. Mr. Pickwick would unquestionably have sufferedseverely for his humane interference, if Mr. Weller, attracted byhis master’s cries, had not rushed in at the moment, and,snatching up a meal―sack, effectually stopped the conflict bydrawing it over the head and shoulders of the mighty Pott, andclasping him tight round the shoulders. ‘Take away that ’ere bagfrom the t’other madman,’ said Sam to Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer,who had done nothing but dodge round the group, each with atortoise-shell lancet in his hand, ready to bleed the first manstunned. ‘Give it up, you wretched little creetur, or I’ll smotheryou in it.’
　　Awed by these threats, and quite out of breath, theIndependent suffered himself to be disarmed; and Mr. Weller,removing the extinguisher from Pott, set him free with a caution.
　　‘You take yourselves off to bed quietly,’ said Sam, ‘or I’ll putyou both in it, and let you fight it out vith the mouth tied, as Ivould a dozen sich, if they played these games. And you have thegoodness to come this here way, sir, if you please.’
　　Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm, and ledhim off, while the rival editors were severally removed to theirbeds by the landlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob Sawyer andMr. Benjamin Allen; breathing, as they went away, manysanguinary threats, and making vague appointments for mortalcombat next day. When they came to think it over, however, itoccurred to them that they could do it much better in print, sothey recommenced deadly hostilities without delay; and allEatanswill rung with their boldness―on paper.
　　They had taken themselves off in separate coaches, early nextmorning, before the other travellers were stirring; and the weatherhaving now cleared up, the chaise companions once more turnedtheir faces to London.
Chapter 52
INVOLVING A SERIOUS CHANGE IN THEWELLER FAMILY, AND THE UNTIMELYDOWNFALL OF Mr. STIGGINSonsidering it a matter of delicacy to abstain fromintroducing either Bob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the youngcouple, until they were fully prepared to expect them, andwishing to spare Arabella’s feelings as much as possible, Mr.
　　Pickwick proposed that he and Sam should alight in theneighbourhood of the George and Vulture, and that the two youngmen should for the present take up their quarters elsewhere. Tothis they very readily agreed, and the proposition was accordinglyacted upon; Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer betakingthemselves to a sequestered pot-shop on the remotest confines ofthe Borough, behind the bar door of which their names had inother days very often appeared at the head of long and complexcalculations worked in white chalk.
　　‘Dear me, Mr. Weller,’ said the pretty housemaid, meeting Samat the door.
　　‘Dear me I vish it vos, my dear,’ replied Sam, dropping behind,to let his master get out of hearing. ‘Wot a sweet-lookin’ creeturyou are, Mary!’
　　‘Lot, Mr. Weller, what nonsense you do talk!’ said Mary. ‘Oh!
　　don’t, Mr. Weller.”
　　‘Don’t what, my dear?’ said Sam.
　　‘Why, that,’ replied the pretty housemaid. ‘Lor, do get alongwith you.’ Thus admonishing him, the pretty housemaid pushedSam against the wall, declaring that he had tumbled her cap, andput her hair quite out of curl.
　　‘And prevented what I was going to say, besides,’ added Mary.
　　‘There’s a letter been waiting here for you four days; you hadn’tgone away, half an hour, when it came; and more than that, it’s got“immediate,” on the outside.’
　　‘Vere is it, my love?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘I took care of it, for you, or I dare say it would have been lostlong before this,’ replied Mary. ‘There, take it; it’s more than youdeserve.’
　　With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts andfears, and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary producedthe letter from behind the nicest little muslin tucker possible, andhanded it to Sam, who thereupon kissed it with much gallantryand devotion.
　　‘My goodness me!’ said Mary, adjusting the tucker, and feigningunconsciousness, ‘you seem to have grown very fond of it all atonce.’
　　To this Mr. Weller only replied by a wink, the intense meaningof which no description could convey the faintest idea of; and,sitting himself down beside Mary on a window-seat, opened theletter and glanced at the contents.
　　‘Hollo!’ exclaimed Sam, ‘wot’s all this?’
　　‘Nothing the matter, I hope?’ said Mary, peeping over hisshoulder.
　　‘Bless them eyes o’ yourn!’ said Sam, looking up.
　　‘Never mind my eyes; you had much better read your letter,’
　　said the pretty housemaid; and as she said so, she made the eyestwinkle with such slyness and beauty that they were perfectlyirresistible.
　　Sam refreshed himself with a kiss, and read as follows:―‘Markis Gran‘By Dorken‘Wensdy.
　　‘My dear Sammle,‘I am werry sorry to have the pleasure of being a Bear of illnews your Mother in law cort cold consekens of imprudently settintoo long on the damp grass in the rain a hearing of a shepherdwho warnt able to leave off till late at night owen to his havingvound his-self up vith brandy and vater and not being able to stophis-self till he got a little sober which took a many hours to do thedoctor says that if she’d svallo’d varm brandy and vater artervardsinsted of afore she mightn’t have been no vus her veels wosimmedetly greased and everythink done to set her agoin as couldbe inwented your father had hopes as she vould have vorkedround as usual but just as she wos a turnen the corner my boy shetook the wrong road and vent down hill vith a welocity you neversee and notvithstandin that the drag wos put on directly by themedikel man it wornt of no use at all for she paid the last pike attwenty minutes afore six o’clock yesterday evenin havin done thejourney wery much under the reglar time vich praps was partlyowen to her haven taken in wery little luggage by the vay yourfather says that if you vill come and see me Sammy he vill take itas a wery great favor for I am wery lonely Samivel n. b. he villhave it spelt that vay vich I say ant right and as there is sich amany things to settle he is sure your guvner wont object of coursehe vill not Sammy for I knows him better so he sends his dooty inwhich I join and am Samivel infernally yours‘Tony Veller.’
　　‘Wot a incomprehensible letter,’ said Sam; ‘who’s to know wot itmeans, vith all this he-ing and I-ing! It ain’t my father’s writin’,’cept this here signater in print letters; that’s his.’
　　‘Perhaps he got somebody to write it for him, and signed ithimself afterwards,’ said the pretty housemaid.
　　‘Stop a minit,’ replied Sam, running over the letter again, andpausing here and there, to reflect, as he did so. ‘You’ve hit it. Thegen’l’m’n as wrote it wos a-tellin’ all about the misfortun’ in aproper vay, and then my father comes a-lookin’ over him, andcomplicates the whole concern by puttin’ his oar in. That’s just thewery sort o’ thing he’d do. You’re right, Mary, my dear.’
　　Having satisfied himself on this point, Sam read the letter allover, once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of itscontents for the first time, ejaculated thoughtfully, as he folded itup―‘And so the poor creetur’s dead! I’m sorry for it. She warn’t abad-disposed ’ooman, if them shepherds had let her alone. I’mwery sorry for it.’
　　Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner, that thepretty housemaid cast down her eyes and looked very grave.
　　‘Hows’ever,’ said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket with agentle sigh, ‘it wos to be―and wos, as the old lady said arter she’dmarried the footman. Can’t be helped now, can it, Mary?’
　　Mary shook her head, and sighed too.
　　‘I must apply to the hemperor for leave of absence,’ said Sam.
　　Mary sighed again―the letter was so very affecting.
　　‘Good-bye!’ said Sam.
　　‘Good-bye,’ rejoined the pretty housemaid, turning her headaway.
　　‘Well, shake hands, won’t you?’ said Sam.
　　The pretty housemaid put out a hand which, although it was ahousemaid’s, was a very small one, and rose to go.
　　‘I shan’t be wery long avay,’ said Sam.
　　‘You’re always away,’ said Mary, giving her head the slightestpossible toss in the air. ‘You no sooner come, Mr. Weller, than yougo again.’
　　Mr. Weller drew the household beauty closer to him, andentered upon a whispering conversation, which had not proceededfar, when she turned her face round and condescended to look athim again. When they parted, it was somehow or otherindispensably necessary for her to go to her room, and arrange thecap and curls before she could think of presenting herself to hermistress; which preparatory ceremony she went off to perform,bestowing many nods and smiles on Sam over the banisters as shetripped upstairs.
　　‘I shan’t be avay more than a day, or two, sir, at the furthest,’
　　said Sam, when he had communicated to Mr. Pickwick theintelligence of his father’s loss.
　　‘As long as may be necessary, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘youhave my full permission to remain.’
　　Sam bowed.
　　‘You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any assistanceto him in his present situation, I shall be most willing and ready tolend him any aid in my power,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Thank’ee, sir,’ rejoined Sam. ‘I’ll mention it, sir.’
　　And with some expressions of mutual good-will and interest,master and man separated.
　　It was just seven o’clock when Samuel Weller, alighting fromthe box of a stage-coach which passed through Dorking, stoodwithin a few hundred yards of the Marquis of Granby. It was acold, dull evening; the little street looked dreary and dismal; andthe mahogany countenance of the noble and gallant marquisseemed to wear a more sad and melancholy expression than it waswont to do, as it swung to and fro, creaking mournfully in thewind. The blinds were pulled down, and the shutters partly closed;of the knot of loungers that usually collected about the door, notone was to be seen; the place was silent and desolate.
　　Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminaryquestions, Sam walked softly in, and glancing round, he quicklyrecognised his parent in the distance.
　　The widower was seated at a small round table in the littleroom behind the bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently fixedupon the fire. The funeral had evidently taken place that day, forattached to his hat, which he still retained on his head, was ahatband measuring about a yard and a half in length, which hungover the top rail of the chair and streamed negligently down. Mr.
　　Weller was in a very abstracted and contemplative mood.
　　Notwithstanding that Sam called him by name several times, hestill continued to smoke with the same fixed and quietcountenance, and was only roused ultimately by his son’s placingthe palm of his hand on his shoulder.
　　‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘you’re welcome.’
　　‘I’ve been a-callin’ to you half a dozen times,’ said Sam, hanginghis hat on a peg, ‘but you didn’t hear me.’
　　‘No, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully atthe fire. ‘I was in a referee, Sammy.’
　　‘Wot about?’ inquired Sam, drawing his chair up to the fire.
　　‘In a referee, Sammy,’ replied the elder Mr. Weller, ‘regardingher, Samivel.’ Here Mr. Weller jerked his head in the direction ofDorking churchyard, in mute explanation that his words referredto the late Mrs. Weller.
　　‘I wos a-thinkin’, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son, withgreat earnestness, over his pipe, as if to assure him that howeverextraordinary and incredible the declaration might appear, it wasnevertheless calmly and deliberately uttered. ‘I wos a-thinkin’,Sammy, that upon the whole I wos wery sorry she wos gone.’
　　‘Vell, and so you ought to be,’ replied Sam.
　　Mr. Weller nodded his acquiescence in the sentiment, and againfastening his eyes on the fire, shrouded himself in a cloud, andmused deeply.
　　‘Those wos wery sensible observations as she made, Sammy,’
　　said Mr. Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand, after a longsilence.
　　‘Wot observations?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Them as she made, arter she was took ill,’ replied the oldgentleman. ‘Wot was they?’
　　‘Somethin’ to this here effect. “Veller,” she says, “I’m afeeredI’ve not done by you quite wot I ought to have done; you’re a werykind-hearted man, and I might ha’ made your home morecomfortabler. I begin to see now,” she says, “ven it’s too late, thatif a married ’ooman vishes to be religious, she should begin vithdischargin’ her dooties at home, and makin’ them as is about hercheerful and happy, and that vile she goes to church, or chapel, orwot not, at all proper times, she should be wery careful not to con-wert this sort o’ thing into a excuse for idleness or self-indulgence.
　　I have done this,” she says, “and I’ve vasted time and substance onthem as has done it more than me; but I hope ven I’m gone, Veller,that you’ll think on me as I wos afore I know’d them people, and asI raly wos by natur.” “Susan,” says I―I wos took up wery short bythis, Samivel; I von’t deny it, my boy―“Susan,” I says, “you’vebeen a wery good vife to me, altogether; don’t say nothin’ at allabout it; keep a good heart, my dear; and you’ll live to see mepunch that ’ere Stiggins’s head yet.” She smiled at this, Samivel,’
　　said the old gentleman, stifling a sigh with his pipe, ‘but she diedarter all!’
　　‘Vell,’ said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely consolation,after the lapse of three or four minutes, consumed by the oldgentleman in slowly shaking his head from side to side, andsolemnly smoking, ‘vell, gov’nor, ve must all come to it, one day oranother.’
　　‘So we must, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller the elder.
　　‘There’s a Providence in it all,’ said Sam.
　　‘O’ course there is,’ replied his father, with a nod of graveapproval. ‘Wot ’ud become of the undertakers vithout it, Sammy?’
　　Lost in the immense field of conjecture opened by thisreflection, the elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, andstirred the fire with a meditative visage.
　　While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom-looking cook, dressed in mourning, who had been bustling about,in the bar, glided into the room, and bestowing many smirks ofrecognition upon Sam, silently stationed herself at the back of hisfather’s chair, and announced her presence by a slight cough, thewhich, being disregarded, was followed by a louder one.
　　‘Hollo!’ said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as helooked round, and hastily drew his chair away. ‘Wot’s the matternow?’
　　‘Have a cup of tea, there’s a good soul,’ replied the buxomfemale coaxingly. ‘I von’t,’ replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhatboisterous manner. ‘I’ll see you―’ Mr. Weller hastily checkedhimself, and added in a low tone, ‘furder fust.’
　　‘Oh, dear, dear! How adwersity does change people!’ said thelady, looking upwards.
　　‘It’s the only thing ’twixt this and the doctor as shall change mycondition,’ muttered Mr. Weller.
　　‘I really never saw a man so cross,’ said the buxom female.
　　‘Never mind. It’s all for my own good; vich is the reflection vithvich the penitent school-boy comforted his feelin’s ven theyflogged him,’ rejoined the old gentleman.
　　The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate andsympathising air; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether hisfather really ought not to make an effort to keep up, and not giveway to that lowness of spirits.
　　‘You see, Mr. Samuel,’ said the buxom female, ‘as I was tellinghim yesterday, he will feel lonely, he can’t expect but what heshould, sir, but he should keep up a good heart, because, dear me,I’m sure we all pity his loss, and are ready to do anything for him;and there’s no situation in life so bad, Mr. Samuel, that it can’t bemended. Which is what a very worthy person said to me when myhusband died.’ Here the speaker, putting her hand before hermouth, coughed again, and looked affectionately at the elder Mr.
　　Weller.
　　‘As I don’t rekvire any o’ your conversation just now, mum, villyou have the goodness to re-tire?’ inquired Mr. Weller, in a graveand steady voice.
　　‘Well, Mr. Weller,’ said the buxom female, ‘I’m sure I only spoketo you out of kindness.’
　　‘Wery likely, mum,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Samivel, show the ladyout, and shut the door after her.’
　　This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at onceleft the room, and slammed the door behind her, upon which Mr.
　　Weller, senior, falling back in his chair in a violent perspiration,said―‘Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun week―only vun week,my boy―that ’ere ’ooman ’ud marry me by force and wiolenceafore it was over.’
　　‘Wot! is she so wery fond on you?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Fond!’ replied his father. ‘I can’t keep her avay from me. If Iwas locked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she’dfind means to get at me, Sammy.’
　　‘Wot a thing it is to be so sought arter!’ observed Sam, smiling.
　　‘I don’t take no pride out on it, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller,poking the fire vehemently, ‘it’s a horrid sitiwation. I’m actiwallydrove out o’ house and home by it. The breath was scarcely out o’
　　your poor mother-in-law’s body, ven vun old ’ooman sends me apot o’ jam, and another a pot o’ jelly, and another brews a blessedlarge jug o’ camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her own hands.’
　　Mr. Weller paused with an aspect of intense disgust, and lookinground, added in a whisper, ‘They wos all widders, Sammy, all on’em, ’cept the camomile-tea vun, as wos a single young lady o’ fifty-three.’
　　Sam gave a comical look in reply, and the old gentleman havingbroken an obstinate lump of coal, with a countenance expressiveof as much earnestness and malice as if it had been the head ofone of the widows last-mentioned, said:
　　‘In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain’t safe anyveres but on thebox.’
　　‘How are you safer there than anyveres else?’ interrupted Sam.
　　‘’Cos a coachman’s a privileged indiwidual,’ replied Mr. Weller,looking fixedly at his son. “’Cos a coachman may do vithoutsuspicion wot other men may not; ’cos a coachman may be on thewery amicablest terms with eighty mile o’ females, and yet nobodythink that he ever means to marry any vun among ’em. And wotother man can say the same, Sammy?’
　　‘Vell, there’s somethin’ in that,’ said Sam.
　　‘If your gov’nor had been a coachman,’ reasoned Mr. Weller, ‘doyou s’pose as that ’ere jury ‘ud ever ha’ conwicted him, s’posin’ itpossible as the matter could ha’ gone to that extremity? Theydustn’t ha’ done it.’
　　‘Wy not?’ said Sam, rather disparagingly.
　　‘Wy not!’ rejoined Mr. Weller; ‘’cos it ’ud ha’ gone agin theirconsciences. A reg’lar coachman’s a sort o’ con-nectin’ link betwixtsingleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it.’
　　‘Wot! You mean, they’re gen’ral favorites, and nobody takesadwantage on ’em, p’raps?’ said Sam.
　　His father nodded.
　　‘How it ever come to that ’ere pass,’ resumed the parent Weller,‘I can’t say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess suchinsiniwations, and is alvays looked up to―a-dored I may say―byev’ry young ’ooman in ev’ry town he vurks through, I don’t know. Ionly know that so it is. It’s a regulation of natur―a dispensary, asyour poor mother-in-law used to say.’
　　‘A dispensation,’ said Sam, correcting the old gentleman.
　　‘Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if you like it better,’
　　returned Mr. Weller; ‘I call it a dispensary, and it’s always writ upso, at the places vere they gives you physic for nothin’ in your ownbottles; that’s all.’
　　With these words, Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe,and once more summoning up a meditative expression ofcountenance, continued as follows―‘Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o’ stoppinhere to be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the same timeI do not vish to separate myself from them interestin’ members o’
　　society altogether, I have come to the determination o’ driving theSafety, and puttin’ up vunce more at the Bell Savage, vich is mynat’ral born element, Sammy.’
　　‘And wot’s to become o’ the bis’ness?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘The bis’ness, Samivel,’ replied the old gentleman, ‘good-vill,stock, and fixters, vill be sold by private contract; and out o’ themoney, two hundred pound, agreeable to a rekvest o’ your mother-in-law’s to me, a little afore she died, vill be invested in your namein―What do you call them things agin?’
　　‘Wot things?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Them things as is always a-goin’ up and down, in the city.’
　　‘Omnibuses?’ suggested Sam.
　　‘Nonsense,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Them things as is alvays a-fluctooatin’, and gettin’ theirselves inwolved somehow or anothervith the national debt, and the chequers bill; and all that.’
　　‘Oh! the funds,’ said Sam.
　　‘Ah!’ rejoined Mr. Weller, ‘the funs; two hundred pounds o’ themoney is to be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs; four and ahalf per cent. reduced counsels, Sammy.’
　　‘Wery kind o’ the old lady to think o’ me,’ said Sam, ‘and I’mwery much obliged to her.’
　　‘The rest will be inwested in my name,’ continued the elder Mr.
　　Weller; ‘and wen I’m took off the road, it’ll come to you, so takecare you don’t spend it all at vunst, my boy, and mind that nowidder gets a inklin’ o’ your fortun’, or you’re done.’
　　Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipewith a more serene countenance; the disclosure of these mattersappearing to have eased his mind considerably.
　　‘Somebody’s a-tappin’ at the door,’ said Sam.
　　‘Let ’em tap,’ replied his father, with dignity.
　　Sam acted upon the direction. There was another tap, andanother, and then a long row of taps; upon which Sam inquiredwhy the tapper was not admitted.
　　‘Hush,’ whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive looks, ‘don’ttake no notice on ’em, Sammy, it’s vun o’ the widders, p’raps.’
　　No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after ashort lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in. It was nofemale head that was thrust in at the partially-opened door, butthe long black locks and red face of Mr. Stiggins. Mr. Weller’s pipefell from his hands.
　　The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almostimperceptible degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough toadmit of the passage of his lank body, when he glided into theroom and closed it after him, with great care and gentleness.
　　Turning towards Sam, and raising his hands and eyes in token ofthe unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded the calamity thathad befallen the family, he carried the high-backed chair to his oldcorner by the fire, and, seating himself on the very edge, drewforth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied the same to hisoptics.
　　While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back inhis chair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his knees,and his whole countenance expressive of absorbing andoverwhelming astonishment. Sam sat opposite him in perfectsilence, waiting, with eager curiosity, for the termination of thescene.
　　Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before hiseyes for some minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then,mastering his feelings by a strong effort, put it in his pocket andbuttoned it up. After this, he stirred the fire; after that, he rubbedhis hands and looked at Sam.
　　‘Oh, my young friend,’ said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence,in a very low voice, ‘here’s a sorrowful affliction!’
　　Sam nodded very slightly.
　　‘For the man of wrath, too!’ added Mr. Stiggins; ‘it makes avessel’s heart bleed!’ Mr. Weller was overheard by his son tomurmur something relative to making a vessel’s nose bleed; butMr. Stiggins heard him not. ‘Do you know, young man,’ whisperedMr. Stiggins, drawing his chair closer to Sam, ‘whether she has leftEmanuel anything?’
　　‘Who’s he?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘The chapel,’ replied Mr. Stiggins; ‘our chapel; our fold, Mr.
　　Samuel.’
　　‘She hasn’t left the fold nothin’, nor the shepherd nothin’, northe animals nothin’,’ said Sam decisively; ‘nor the dogs neither.’
　　Mr. Stiggins looked slily at Sam; glanced at the old gentleman,who was sitting with his eyes closed, as if asleep; and drawing hischair still nearer, said―‘Nothing for me, Mr. Samuel?’
　　Sam shook his head.
　　‘I think there’s something,’ said Stiggins, turning as pale as hecould turn. ‘Consider, Mr. Samuel; no little token?’
　　‘Not so much as the vorth o’ that ’ere old umberella o’ yourn,’
　　replied Sam.
　　‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Stiggins hesitatingly, after a few moments’
　　deep thought, ‘perhaps she recommended me to the care of theman of wrath, Mr. Samuel?’
　　‘I think that’s wery likely, from what he said,’ rejoined Sam; ‘hewos a-speakin’ about you, jist now.’
　　‘Was he, though?’ exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up. ‘Ah! He’schanged, I dare say. We might live very comfortably together now,Mr. Samuel, eh? I could take care of his property when you areaway―good care, you see.’
　　Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response.
　　Sam nodded, and Mr. Weller the elder gave vent to anextraordinary sound, which, being neither a groan, nor a grunt,nor a gasp, nor a growl, seemed to partake in some degree of thecharacter of all four.
　　Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood tobetoken remorse or repentance, looked about him, rubbed hishands, wept, smiled, wept again, and then, walking softly acrossthe room to a well-remembered shelf in one corner, took down atumbler, and with great deliberation put four lumps of sugar in it.
　　Having got thus far, he looked about him again, and sighedgrievously; with that, he walked softly into the bar, and presentlyreturning with the tumbler half full of pine-apple rum, advancedto the kettle which was singing gaily on the hob, mixed his grog,stirred it, sipped it, sat down, and taking a long and hearty pull atthe rum-and-water, stopped for breath.
　　The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make variousstrange and uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not asingle word during these proceedings; but when Stiggins stoppedfor breath, he darted upon him, and snatching the tumbler fromhis hand, threw the remainder of the rum-and-water in his face,and the glass itself into the grate. Then, seizing the reverendgentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kicking himmost furiously, accompanying every application of his top-boot toMr. Stiggins’s person, with sundry violent and incoherentanathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and body.
　　‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘put my hat on tight for me.’
　　Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hatband morefirmly on his father’s head, and the old gentleman, resuming hiskicking with greater agility than before, tumbled with Mr. Stigginsthrough the bar, and through the passage, out at the front door,and so into the street―the kicking continuing the whole way, andincreasing in vehemence, rather than diminishing, every time thetop-boot was lifted.
　　It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosedman writhing in Mr. Weller’s grasp, and his whole frame quiveringwith anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; it was a stillmore exciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller, after a powerfulstruggle, immersing Mr. Stiggins’s head in a horse-trough full ofwater, and holding it there, until he was half suffocated.
　　‘There!’ said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one mostcomplicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins towithdraw his head from the trough, ‘send any vun o’ them lazyshepherds here, and I’ll pound him to a jelly first, and drownd himartervards! Sammy, help me in, and fill me a small glass of brandy.
　　I’m out o’ breath, my boy.’
Chapter 53
COMPRISING THE FINAL EXIT OF Mr. JINGLEAND JOB TROTTER, WITH A GREAT MORNINGOF BUSINESS IN GRAY’S INN SQUARE―CONCLUDING WITH A DOUBLE KNOCK AT Mr.
　　PERKER’S DOORhen Arabella, after some gentle preparation andmany assurances that there was not the leastoccasion for being low-spirited, was at length madeacquainted by Mr. Pickwick with the unsatisfactory result of hisvisit to Birmingham, she burst into tears, and sobbing aloud,lamented in moving terms that she should have been the unhappycause of any estrangement between a father and his son.
　　‘My dear girl,’ said Mr. Pickwick kindly, ‘it is no fault of yours. Itwas impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would be sostrongly prepossessed against his son’s marriage, you know. I amsure,’ added Mr. Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, ‘he canhave very little idea of the pleasure he denies himself.’
　　‘Oh, my dear Mr. Pickwick,’ said Arabella, ‘what shall we do, ifhe continues to be angry with us?’
　　‘Why, wait patiently, my dear, until he thinks better of it,’
　　replied Mr. Pickwick cheerfully.
　　‘But, dear Mr. Pickwick, what is to become of Nathaniel if hisfather withdraws his assistance?’ urged Arabella.
　　‘In that case, my love,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, ‘I will venture toprophesy that he will find some other friend who will not bebackward in helping him to start in the world.’
　　The significance of this reply was not so well disguised by Mr.
　　Pickwick but that Arabella understood it. So, throwing her armsround his neck, and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed louderthan before.
　　‘Come, come,’ said Mr. Pickwick taking her hand, ‘we will waithere a few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes anyother notice of your husband’s communication. If not, I havethought of half a dozen plans, any one of which would make youhappy at once. There, my dear, there!’
　　With these words, Mr. Pickwick gently pressed Arabella’s hand,and bade her dry her eyes, and not distress her husband. Uponwhich, Arabella, who was one of the best little creatures alive, puther handkerchief in her reticule, and by the time Mr. Winklejoined them, exhibited in full lustre the same beaming smiles andsparkling eyes that had originally captivated him.
　　‘This is a distressing predicament for these young people,’
　　thought Mr. Pickwick, as he dressed himself next morning. ‘I’llwalk up to Perker’s, and consult him about the matter.’
　　As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself toGray’s Inn Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniarysettlement with the kind-hearted little attorney without furtherdelay, he made a hurried breakfast, and executed his intention sospeedily, that ten o’clock had not struck when he reached Gray’sInn.
　　It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascendedthe staircase on which Perker’s chambers were. The clerks hadnot arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of thestaircase window. The healthy light of a fine October morningmade even the dingy old houses brighten up a little; some of thedusty windows actually looking almost cheerful as the sun’s raysgleamed upon them. Clerk after clerk hastened into the square byone or other of the entrances, and looking up at the Hall clock,accelerated or decreased his rate of walking according to the timeat which his office hours nominally commenced; the half-past nineo’clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten o’clockgentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness. Theclock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever, each one ina greater perspiration than his predecessor. The noise ofunlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on every side;heads appeared as if by magic in every window; the porters tookup their stations for the day; the slipshod laundresses hurried off;the postman ran from house to house; and the whole legal hivewas in a bustle.
　　‘You’re early, Mr. Pickwick,’ said a voice behind him.
　　‘Ah, Mr. Lowten,’ replied that gentleman, looking round, andrecognising his old acquaintance.
　　‘Precious warm walking, isn’t it?’ said Lowten, drawing aBramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep thedust out.
　　‘You appear to feel it so,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at theclerk, who was literally red-hot.
　　‘I’ve come along, rather, I can tell you,’ replied Lowten. ‘It wentthe half hour as I came through the Polygon. I’m here before him,though, so I don’t mind.’
　　Comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extractedthe plug from the door-key; having opened the door, repluggedand repocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which thepostman had dropped through the box, he ushered Mr. Pickwickinto the office. Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested himselfof his coat, put on a threadbare garment, which he took out of adesk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of cartridge andblotting-paper in alternate layers, and, sticking a pen behind hisear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.
　　‘There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,’ he said, ‘now I’m complete. I’vegot my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as soon ashe likes. You haven’t got a pinch of snuff about you, have you?’
　　‘No, I have not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I’m sorry for it,’ said Lowten. ‘Never mind. I’ll run outpresently, and get a bottle of soda. Don’t I look rather queer aboutthe eyes, Mr. Pickwick?’
　　The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten’s eyes from adistance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queernesswas perceptible in those features.
　　‘I’m glad of it,’ said Lowten. ‘We were keeping it up prettytolerably at the Stump last night, and I’m rather out of sorts thismorning. Perker’s been about that business of yours, by the bye.’
　　‘What business?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick. ‘Mrs. Bardell’s costs?’
　　‘No, I don’t mean that,’ replied Mr. Lowten. ‘About getting thatcustomer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound to the bill-discounter for, on your account―to get him out of the Fleet, youknow―about getting him to Demerara.’
　　‘Oh, Mr. Jingle,’ said Mr. Pickwick hastily. ‘Yes. Well?’
　　‘Well, it’s all arranged,’ said Lowten, mending his pen. ‘Theagent at Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many timeswhen you were in business, and he would be glad to take him onyour recommendation.’
　　‘That’s well,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am delighted to hear it.’
　　‘But I say,’ resumed Lowten, scraping the back of the penpreparatory to making a fresh split, ‘what a soft chap that other is!’
　　‘Which other?’
　　‘Why, that servant, or friend, or whatever he is; you know,Trotter.’
　　‘Ah!’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. ‘I always thought him thereverse.’
　　‘Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him,’ repliedLowten, ‘it only shows how one may be deceived. What do youthink of his going to Demerara, too?’
　　‘What! And giving up what was offered him here!’ exclaimedMr. Pickwick.
　　‘Treating Perker’s offer of eighteen bob a week, and a rise if hebehaved himself, like dirt,’ replied Lowten. ‘He said he must goalong with the other one, and so they persuaded Perker to writeagain, and they’ve got him something on the same estate; not nearso good, Perker says, as a convict would get in New South Wales, ifhe appeared at his trial in a new suit of clothes.’
　　‘Foolish fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with glistening eyes.
　　‘Foolish fellow.’
　　‘Oh, it’s worse than foolish; it’s downright sneaking, you know,’
　　replied Lowten, nibbing the pen with a contemptuous face. ‘Hesays that he’s the only friend he ever had, and he’s attached tohim, and all that. Friendship’s a very good thing in its way―weare all very friendly and comfortable at the Stump, for instance,over our grog, where every man pays for himself; but damnhurting yourself for anybody else, you know! No man should havemore than two attachments―the first, to number one, and thesecond to the ladies; that’s what I say―ha! ha!’ Mr. Lowtenconcluded with a loud laugh, half in jocularity, and half inderision, which was prematurely cut short by the sound ofPerker’s footsteps on the stairs, at the first approach of which, hevaulted on his stool with an agility most remarkable, and wroteintensely.
　　The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professionaladviser was warm and cordial; the client was scarcely ensconcedin the attorney’s arm-chair, however, when a knock was heard atthe door, and a voice inquired whether Mr. Perker was within.
　　‘Hark!’ said Perker, ‘that’s one of our vagabond friends―Jinglehimself, my dear sir. Will you see him?’
　　‘What do you think?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, hesitating.
　　‘Yes, I think you had better. Here, you sir, what’s your name,walk in, will you?’
　　In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle andJob walked into the room, but, seeing Mr. Pickwick, stopped shortin some confusion. ‘Well,’ said Perker, ‘don’t you know thatgentleman?’
　　‘Good reason to,’ replied Mr. Jingle, stepping forward. ‘Mr.
　　Pickwick―deepest obligations―life preserver―made a man ofme―you shall never repent it, sir.’
　　‘I am happy to hear you say so,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘You lookmuch better.’
　　‘Thanks to you, sir―great change―Majesty’s Fleet―unwholesome place―very,’ said Jingle, shaking his head. He wasdecently and cleanly dressed, and so was Job, who stood boltupright behind him, staring at Mr. Pickwick with a visage of iron.
　　‘When do they go to Liverpool?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, halfaside to Perker.
　　‘This evening, sir, at seven o’clock,’ said Job, taking one stepforward. ‘By the heavy coach from the city, sir.’
　　‘Are your places taken?’
　　‘They are, sir,’ replied Job.
　　‘You have fully made up your mind to go?’
　　‘I have sir,’ answered Job.
　　‘With regard to such an outfit as was indispensable for Jingle,’
　　said Perker, addressing Mr. Pickwick aloud. ‘I have taken uponmyself to make an arrangement for the deduction of a small sumfrom his quarterly salary, which, being made only for one year,and regularly remitted, will provide for that expense. I entirelydisapprove of your doing anything for him, my dear sir, which isnot dependent on his own exertions and good conduct.’
　　‘Certainly,’ interposed Jingle, with great firmness. ‘Clearhead―man of the world―quite right―perfectly.’
　　‘By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes fromthe pawnbroker’s, relieving him in prison, and paying for hispassage,’ continued Perker, without noticing Jingle’s observation,‘you have already lost upwards of fifty pounds.’
　　‘Not lost,’ said Jingle hastily, ‘Pay it all―stick to business―cashup―every farthing. Yellow fever, perhaps―can’t help that―ifnot―’ Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of his hatwith great violence, passed his hand over his eyes, and sat down.
　　‘He means to say,’ said Job, advancing a few paces, ‘that if he isnot carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again. If helives, he will, Mr. Pickwick. I will see it done. I know he will, sir,’
　　said Job, with energy. ‘I could undertake to swear it.’
　　‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who had been bestowing a scoreor two of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary of benefitsconferred, which the little attorney obstinately disregarded, ‘youmust be careful not to play any more desperate cricket matches,Mr. Jingle, or to renew your acquaintance with Sir Thomas Blazo,and I have little doubt of your preserving your health.’
　　Mr. Jingle smiled at this sally, but looked rather foolishnotwithstanding; so Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying―‘You don’t happen to know, do you, what has become ofanother friend of yours―a more humble one, whom I saw atRochester?’
　　‘Dismal Jemmy?’ inquired Jingle.
　　‘Yes.’
　　Jingle shook his head.
　　‘Clever rascal―queer fellow, hoaxing genius―Job’s brother.’
　　‘Job’s brother!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. ‘Well, now I look athim closely, there is a likeness.’
　　‘We were always considered like each other, sir,’ said Job, witha cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, ‘only I wasreally of a serious nature, and he never was. He emigrated toAmerica, sir, in consequence of being too much sought after here,to be comfortable; and has never been heard of since.’
　　‘That accounts for my not having received the “page from theromance of real life,” which he promised me one morning when heappeared to be contemplating suicide on Rochester Bridge, Isuppose,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. ‘I need not inquire whetherhis dismal behaviour was natural or assumed.’
　　‘He could assume anything, sir,’ said Job. ‘You may consideryourself very fortunate in having escaped him so easily. Onintimate terms he would have been even a more dangerousacquaintance than―’ Job looked at Jingle, hesitated, and finallyadded, ‘than―than-myself even.’
　　‘A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter,’ said Perker, sealing aletter which he had just finished writing.
　　‘Yes, sir,’ replied Job. ‘Very much so.’
　　‘Well,’ said the little man, laughing, ‘I hope you are going todisgrace it. Deliver this letter to the agent when you reachLiverpool, and let me advise you, gentlemen, not to be tooknowing in the West Indies. If you throw away this chance, youwill both richly deserve to be hanged, as I sincerely trust you willbe. And now you had better leave Mr. Pickwick and me alone, forwe have other matters to talk over, and time is precious.’ AsPerker said this, he looked towards the door, with an evidentdesire to render the leave-taking as brief as possible.
　　It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle’s part. He thanked the littleattorney in a few hurried words for the kindness and promptitudewith which he had rendered his assistance, and, turning to hisbenefactor, stood for a few seconds as if irresolute what to say orhow to act. Job Trotter relieved his perplexity; for, with a humbleand grateful bow to Mr. Pickwick, he took his friend gently by thearm, and led him away.
　　‘A worthy couple!’ said Perker, as the door closed behind them.
　　‘I hope they may become so,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘What doyou think? Is there any chance of their permanent reformation?’
　　Perker shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, but observing Mr.
　　Pickwick’s anxious and disappointed look, rejoined―‘Of course there is a chance. I hope it may prove a good one.
　　They are unquestionably penitent now; but then, you know, theyhave the recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them.
　　What they may become, when that fades away, is a problem thatneither you nor I can solve. However, my dear sir,’ added Perker,laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick’s shoulder, ‘your object is equallyhonourable, whatever the result is. Whether that species ofbenevolence which is so very cautious and long-sighted that it isseldom exercised at all, lest its owner should be imposed upon,and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity or a worldlycounterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine. But ifthose two fellows were to commit a burglary to-morrow, myopinion of this action would be equally high.’
　　With these remarks, which were delivered in a much moreanimated and earnest manner than is usual in legal gentlemen,Perker drew his chair to his desk, and listened to Mr. Pickwick’srecital of old Mr. Winkle’s obstinacy.
　　‘Give him a week,’ said Perker, nodding his head prophetically.
　　‘Do you think he will come round?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I think he will,’ rejoined Perker. ‘If not, we must try the younglady’s persuasion; and that is what anybody but you would havedone at first.’
　　Mr. Perker was taking a pinch of snuff with various grotesquecontractions of countenance, eulogistic of the persuasive powersappertaining unto young ladies, when the murmur of inquiry andanswer was heard in the outer office, and Lowten tapped at thedoor.
　　‘Come in!’ cried the little man.
　　The clerk came in, and shut the door after him, with greatmystery.
　　‘What’s the matter?’ inquired Perker.
　　‘You’re wanted, sir.’
　　‘Who wants me?’
　　Lowten looked at Mr. Pickwick, and coughed.
　　‘Who wants me? Can’t you speak, Mr. Lowten?’
　　‘Why, sir,’ replied Lowten, ‘it’s Dodson; and Fogg is with him.’
　　‘Bless my life!’ said the little man, looking at his watch, ‘Iappointed them to be here at half-past eleven, to settle that matterof yours, Pickwick. I gave them an undertaking on which they sentdown your discharge; it’s very awkward, my dear sir; what will youdo? Would you like to step into the next room?’
　　The next room being the identical room in which Messrs.
　　Dodson & Fogg were, Mr. Pickwick replied that he would remainwhere he was: the more especially as Messrs. Dodson & Foggought to be ashamed to look him in the face, instead of his beingashamed to see them. Which latter circumstance he begged Mr.
　　Perker to note, with a glowing countenance and many marks ofindignation.
　　‘Very well, my dear sir, very well,’ replied Perker, ‘I can onlysay that if you expect either Dodson or Fogg to exhibit anysymptom of shame or confusion at having to look you, or anybodyelse, in the face, you are the most sanguine man in yourexpectations that I ever met with. Show them in, Mr. Lowten.’
　　Mr. Lowten disappeared with a grin, and immediately returnedushering in the firm, in due form of precedence―Dodson first, andFogg afterwards.
　　‘You have seen Mr. Pickwick, I believe?’ said Perker to Dodson,inclining his pen in the direction where that gentleman wasseated.
　　‘How do you do, Mr. Pickwick?’ said Dodson, in a loud voice.
　　‘Dear me,’ cried Fogg, ‘how do you do, Mr. Pickwick? I hopeyou are well, sir. I thought I knew the face,’ said Fogg, drawing upa chair, and looking round him with a smile.
　　Mr. Pickwick bent his head very slightly, in answer to thesesalutations, and, seeing Fogg pull a bundle of papers from his coatpocket, rose and walked to the window.
　　‘There’s no occasion for Mr. Pickwick to move, Mr. Perker,’ saidFogg, untying the red tape which encircled the little bundle, andsmiling again more sweetly than before. ‘Mr. Pickwick is prettywell acquainted with these proceedings. There are no secretsbetween us, I think. He! he! he!’
　　‘Not many, I think,’ said Dodson. ‘Ha! ha! ha!’ Then both thepartners laughed together―pleasantly and cheerfully, as men whoare going to receive money often do.
　　‘We shall make Mr. Pickwick pay for peeping,’ said Fogg, withconsiderable native humour, as he unfolded his papers. ‘Theamount of the taxed costs is one hundred and thirty-three, six,four, Mr. Perker.’
　　There was a great comparing of papers, and turning over ofleaves, by Fogg and Perker, after this statement of profit and loss.
　　Meanwhile, Dodson said, in an affable manner, to Mr. Pickwick―‘I don’t think you are looking quite so stout as when I had thepleasure of seeing you last, Mr. Pickwick.’
　　‘Possibly not, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, who had been flashingforth looks of fierce indignation, without producing the smallesteffect on either of the sharp practitioners; ‘I believe I am not, sir. Ihave been persecuted and annoyed by scoundrels of late, sir.’
　　Perker coughed violently, and asked Mr. Pickwick whether hewouldn’t like to look at the morning paper. To which inquiry Mr.
　　Pickwick returned a most decided negative.
　　‘True,’ said Dodson, ‘I dare say you have been annoyed in theFleet; there are some odd gentry there. Whereabouts were yourapartments, Mr. Pickwick?’
　　‘My one room,’ replied that much-injured gentleman, ‘was onthe coffee-room flight.’
　　‘Oh, indeed!’ said Dodson. ‘I believe that is a very pleasant partof the establishment.’
　　‘Very,’ replied Mr. Pickwick drily.
　　There was a coolness about all this, which, to a gentleman of anexcitable temperament, had, under the circumstances, rather anexasperating tendency. Mr. Pickwick restrained his wrath bygigantic efforts; but when Perker wrote a cheque for the wholeamount, and Fogg deposited it in a small pocket-book, with atriumphant smile playing over his pimply features, whichcommunicated itself likewise to the stern countenance of Dodson,he felt the blood in his cheeks tingling with indignation. ‘Now, Mr.
　　Dodson,’ said Fogg, putting up the pocket-book and drawing onhis gloves, ‘I am at your service.’
　　‘Very good,’ said Dodson, rising; ‘I am quite ready.’
　　‘I am very happy,’ said Fogg, softened by the cheque, ‘to havehad the pleasure of making Mr. Pickwick’s acquaintance. I hopeyou don’t think quite so ill of us, Mr. Pickwick, as when we firsthad the pleasure of seeing you.’
　　‘I hope not,’ said Dodson, with the high tone of calumniatedvirtue. ‘Mr. Pickwick now knows us better, I trust; whatever youropinion of gentlemen of our profession may be, I beg to assureyou, sir, that I bear no ill-will or vindictive feeling towards you forthe sentiments you thought proper to express in our office inFreeman’s Court, Cornhill, on the occasion to which my partnerhas referred.’
　　‘Oh, no, no; nor I,’ said Fogg, in a most forgiving manner.
　　‘Our conduct, sir,’ said Dodson, ‘will speak for itself, and justifyitself, I hope, upon every occasion. We have been in the professionsome years, Mr. Pickwick, and have been honoured with theconfidence of many excellent clients. I wish you good-morning,sir.’
　　‘Good morning, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Fogg. So saying, he put hisumbrella under his arm, drew off his right glove, and extended thehand of reconciliation to that most indignant gentleman; who,thereupon, thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and eyed theattorney with looks of scornful amazement.
　　‘Lowten!’ cried Perker, at this moment. ‘Open the door.’
　　‘Wait one instant,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Perker, I will speak.’
　　‘My dear sir, pray let the matter rest where it is,’ said the littleattorney, who had been in a state of nervous apprehension duringthe whole interview; ‘Mr. Pickwick, I beg―’
　　‘I will not be put down, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. ‘Mr.
　　Dodson, you have addressed some remarks to me.’
　　Dodson turned round, bent his head meekly, and smiled.
　　‘Some remarks to me,’ repeated Mr. Pickwick, almostbreathless; ‘and your partner has tendered me his hand, and youhave both assumed a tone of forgiveness and high-mindedness,which is an extent of impudence that I was not prepared for, evenin you.’
　　‘What, sir!’ exclaimed Dodson.
　　‘What, sir!’ reiterated Fogg.
　　‘Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots andconspiracies?’ continued Mr. Pickwick. ‘Do you know that I amthe man whom you have been imprisoning and robbing? Do youknow that you were the attorneys for the plaintiff, in Bardell andPickwick?’
　　‘Yes, sir, we do know it,’ replied Dodson.
　　‘Of course we know it, sir,’ rejoined Fogg, slapping his pocket―perhaps by accident.
　　‘I see that you recollect it with satisfaction,’ said Mr. Pickwick,attempting to call up a sneer for the first time in his life, andfailing most signally in so doing. ‘Although I have long beenanxious to tell you, in plain terms, what my opinion of you is, Ishould have let even this opportunity pass, in deference to myfriend Perker’s wishes, but for the unwarrantable tone you haveassumed, and your insolent familiarity. I say insolent familiarity,sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, turning upon Fogg with a fierceness ofgesture which caused that person to retreat towards the door withgreat expedition.
　　‘Take care, sir,’ said Dodson, who, though he was the biggestman of the party, had prudently entrenched himself behind Fogg,and was speaking over his head with a very pale face. ‘Let himassault you, Mr. Fogg; don’t return it on any account.’
　　‘No, no, I won’t return it,’ said Fogg, falling back a little more ashe spoke; to the evident relief of his partner, who by these meanswas gradually getting into the outer office.
　　‘You are,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the thread of hisdiscourse―‘you are a well-matched pair of mean, rascally,pettifogging robbers.’
　　‘Well,’ interposed Perker, ‘is that all?’
　　‘It is all summed up in that,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick; ‘they aremean, rascally, pettifogging robbers.’
　　‘There!’ said Perker, in a most conciliatory tone. ‘My dear sirs,he has said all he has to say. Now pray go. Lowten, is that dooropen?’
　　Mr. Lowten, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative.
　　‘There, there―good morning―good morning―now pray, mydear sirs―Mr. Lowten, the door!’ cried the little man, pushingDodson & Fogg, nothing loath, out of the office; ‘this way, my dearsirs―now pray don’t prolong this―Dear me―Mr. Lowten―thedoor, sir―why don’t you attend?’
　　‘If there’s law in England, sir,’ said Dodson, looking towardsMr. Pickwick, as he put on his hat, ‘you shall smart for this.’
　　‘You are a couple of mean―’
　　‘Remember, sir, you pay dearly for this,’ said Fogg.
　　‘―Rascally, pettifogging robbers!’ continued Mr. Pickwick,taking not the least notice of the threats that were addressed tohim.
　　‘Robbers!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, running to the stair-head, as thetwo attorneys descended.
　　‘Robbers!’ shouted Mr. Pickwick, breaking from Lowten andPerker, and thrusting his head out of the staircase window.
　　When Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, his countenancewas smiling and placid; and, walking quietly back into the office,he declared that he had now removed a great weight from hismind, and that he felt perfectly comfortable and happy.
　　Perker said nothing at all until he had emptied his snuff-box,and sent Lowten out to fill it, when he was seized with a fit oflaughing, which lasted five minutes; at the expiration of whichtime he said that he supposed he ought to be very angry, but hecouldn’t think of the business seriously yet―when he could, hewould be.
　　‘Well, now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘let me have a settlement withyou.’
　　‘Of the same kind as the last?’ inquired Perker, with anotherlaugh. ‘Not exactly,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drawing out hispocket-book, and shaking the little man heartily by the hand, ‘Ionly mean a pecuniary settlement. You have done me many acts ofkindness that I can never repay, and have no wish to repay, for Iprefer continuing the obligation.’
　　With this preface, the two friends dived into some verycomplicated accounts and vouchers, which, having been dulydisplayed and gone through by Perker, were at once discharged byMr. Pickwick with many professions of esteem and friendship.
　　They had no sooner arrived at this point, than a most violentand startling knocking was heard at the door; it was not anordinary double-knock, but a constant and uninterruptedsuccession of the loudest single raps, as if the knocker wereendowed with the perpetual motion, or the person outside hadforgotten to leave off.
　　‘Dear me, what’s that?’ exclaimed Perker, starting.
　　‘I think it is a knock at the door,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as if therecould be the smallest doubt of the fact.
　　The knocker made a more energetic reply than words couldhave yielded, for it continued to hammer with surprising force andnoise, without a moment’s cessation.
　　‘Dear me!’ said Perker, ringing his bell, ‘we shall alarm the inn.
　　Mr. Lowten, don’t you hear a knock?’
　　‘I’ll answer the door in one moment, sir,’ replied the clerk.
　　The knocker appeared to hear the response, and to assert thatit was quite impossible he could wait so long. It made astupendous uproar.
　　‘It’s quite dreadful,’ said Mr. Pickwick, stopping his ears.
　　‘Make haste, Mr. Lowten,’ Perker called out; ‘we shall have thepanels beaten in.’
　　Mr. Lowten, who was washing his hands in a dark closet,hurried to the door, and turning the handle, beheld theappearance which is described in the next chapter.
Chapter 54
CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS RELATIVETO THE DOUBLE KNOCK, AND OTHERMATTERS: AMONG WHICH CERTAININTERESTING DISCLOSURES RELATIVE TOMr. SNODGRASS AND A YOUNG LADY ARE BYNO MEANS IRRELEVANT TO THIS HISTORYhe object that presented itself to the eyes of theastonished clerk, was a boy―a wonderfully fat boy―habited as a serving lad, standing upright on the mat,with his eyes closed as if in sleep. He had never seen such a fatboy, in or out of a travelling caravan; and this, coupled with thecalmness and repose of his appearance, so very different fromwhat was reasonably to have been expected of the inflicter of suchknocks, smote him with wonder.
　　‘What’s the matter?’ inquired the clerk.
　　The extraordinary boy replied not a word; but he nodded once,and seemed, to the clerk’s imagination, to snore feebly.
　　‘Where do you come from?’ inquired the clerk.
　　The boy made no sign. He breathed heavily, but in all otherrespects was motionless.
　　The clerk repeated the question thrice, and receiving noanswer, prepared to shut the door, when the boy suddenly openedhis eyes, winked several times, sneezed once, and raised his handas if to repeat the knocking. Finding the door open, he staredabout him with astonishment, and at length fixed his eyes on Mr.
　　Lowten’s face.
　　‘What the devil do you knock in that way for?’ inquired theclerk angrily.
　　‘Which way?’ said the boy, in a slow and sleepy voice.
　　‘Why, like forty hackney-coachmen,’ replied the clerk.
　　‘Because master said, I wasn’t to leave off knocking till theyopened the door, for fear I should go to sleep,’ said the boy.
　　‘Well,’ said the clerk, ‘what message have you brought?’
　　‘He’s downstairs,’ rejoined the boy.
　　‘Who?’
　　‘Master. He wants to know whether you’re at home.’
　　Mr. Lowten bethought himself, at this juncture, of looking outof the window. Seeing an open carriage with a hearty oldgentleman in it, looking up very anxiously, he ventured to beckonhim; on which, the old gentleman jumped out directly.
　　‘That’s your master in the carriage, I suppose?’ said Lowten.
　　The boy nodded.
　　All further inquiries were superseded by the appearance of oldWardle, who, running upstairs and just recognising Lowten,passed at once into Mr. Perker’s room.
　　‘Pickwick!’ said the old gentleman. ‘Your hand, my boy! Whyhave I never heard until the day before yesterday of your sufferingyourself to be cooped up in jail? And why did you let him do it,Perker?’
　　‘I couldn’t help it, my dear sir,’ replied Perker, with a smile anda pinch of snuff; ‘you know how obstinate he is?’
　　‘Of course I do; of course I do,’ replied the old gentleman. ‘I amheartily glad to see him, notwithstanding. I will not lose sight ofhim again, in a hurry.’
　　With these words, Wardle shook Mr. Pickwick’s hand oncemore, and, having done the same by Perker, threw himself into anarm-chair, his jolly red face shining again with smiles and health.
　　‘Well!’ said Wardle. ‘Here are pretty goings on―a pinch of yoursnuff, Perker, my boy―never were such times, eh?’
　　‘What do you mean?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Mean!’ replied Wardle. ‘Why, I think the girls are all runningmad; that’s no news, you’ll say? Perhaps it’s not; but it’s true, forall that.’
　　‘You have not come up to London, of all places in the world, totell us that, my dear sir, have you?’ inquired Perker.
　　‘No, not altogether,’ replied Wardle; ‘though it was the maincause of my coming. How’s Arabella?’
　　‘Very well,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘and will be delighted to seeyou, I am sure.’
　　‘Black-eyed little jilt!’ replied Wardle. ‘I had a great idea ofmarrying her myself, one of these odd days. But I am glad of it too,very glad.’
　　‘How did the intelligence reach you?’ asked Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Oh, it came to my girls, of course,’ replied Wardle. ‘Arabellawrote, the day before yesterday, to say she had made a stolenmatch without her husband’s father’s consent, and so you hadgone down to get it when his refusing it couldn’t prevent thematch, and all the rest of it. I thought it a very good time to saysomething serious to my girls; so I said what a dreadful thing itwas that children should marry without their parents’ consent,and so forth; but, bless your hearts, I couldn’t make the leastimpression upon them. They thought it such a much moredreadful thing that there should have been a wedding withoutbridesmaids, that I might as well have preached to Joe himself.’
　　Here the old gentleman stopped to laugh; and having done so tohis heart’s content, presently resumed―‘But this is not the best of it, it seems. This is only half the love-making and plotting that have been going forward. We have beenwalking on mines for the last six months, and they’re sprung atlast.’
　　‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning pale; ‘noother secret marriage, I hope?’
　　‘No, no,’ replied old Wardle; ‘not so bad as that; no.’
　　‘What then?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick; ‘am I interested in it?’
　　‘Shall I answer that question, Perker?’ said Wardle.
　　‘If you don’t commit yourself by doing so, my dear sir.’
　　‘Well then, you are,’ said Wardle.
　　‘How?’ asked Mr. Pickwick anxiously. ‘In what way?’
　　‘Really,’ replied Wardle, ‘you’re such a fiery sort of a youngfellow that I am almost afraid to tell you; but, however, if Perkerwill sit between us to prevent mischief, I’ll venture.’
　　Having closed the room door, and fortified himself with anotherapplication to Perker’s snuff-box, the old gentleman proceededwith his great disclosure in these words―‘The fact is, that my daughter Bella―Bella, who married youngTrundle, you know.’
　　‘Yes, yes, we know,’ said Mr. Pickwick impatiently.
　　‘Don’t alarm me at the very beginning. My daughter Bella―Emily having gone to bed with a headache after she had readArabella’s letter to me―sat herself down by my side the otherevening, and began to talk over this marriage affair. “Well, pa,”
　　she says, “what do you think of it?” “Why, my dear,” I said, “Isuppose it’s all very well; I hope it’s for the best.” I answered inthis way because I was sitting before the fire at the time, drinkingmy grog rather thoughtfully, and I knew my throwing in anundecided word now and then, would induce her to continuetalking. Both my girls are pictures of their dear mother, and as Igrow old I like to sit with only them by me; for their voices andlooks carry me back to the happiest period of my life, and makeme, for the moment, as young as I used to be then, though notquite so light-hearted. “It’s quite a marriage of affection, pa,” saidBella, after a short silence. “Yes, my dear,” said I, “but suchmarriages do not always turn out the happiest.”’
　　‘I question that, mind!’ interposed Mr. Pickwick warmly. ‘Verygood,’ responded Wardle, ‘question anything you like when it’syour turn to speak, but don’t interrupt me.’
　　‘I beg your pardon,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Granted,’ replied Wardle. ‘“I am sorry to hear you express youropinion against marriages of affection, pa,” said Bella, colouring alittle. “I was wrong; I ought not to have said so, my dear, either,”
　　said I, patting her cheek as kindly as a rough old fellow like mecould pat it, “for your mother’s was one, and so was yours.” “It’snot that I meant, pa,” said Bella. “The fact is, pa, I wanted to speakto you about Emily.”’
　　Mr. Pickwick started.
　　‘What’s the matter now?’ inquired Wardle, stopping in hisnarrative.
　　‘Nothing,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Pray go on.’
　　‘I never could spin out a story,’ said Wardle abruptly. ‘It mustcome out, sooner or later, and it’ll save us all a great deal of time ifit comes at once. The long and the short of it is, then, that Bella atlast mustered up courage to tell me that Emily was very unhappy;that she and your young friend Snodgrass had been in constantcorrespondence and communication ever since last Christmas;that she had very dutifully made up her mind to run away withhim, in laudable imitation of her old friend and school-fellow; butthat having some compunctions of conscience on the subject,inasmuch as I had always been rather kindly disposed to both ofthem, they had thought it better in the first instance to pay me thecompliment of asking whether I would have any objection to theirbeing married in the usual matter-of-fact manner. There now, Mr.
　　Pickwick, if you can make it convenient to reduce your eyes totheir usual size again, and to let me hear what you think we oughtto do, I shall feel rather obliged to you!’
　　The testy manner in which the hearty old gentleman utteredthis last sentence was not wholly unwarranted; for Mr. Pickwick’sface had settled down into an expression of blank amazement andperplexity, quite curious to behold.
　　‘Snodgrass!―since last Christmas!’ were the first broken wordsthat issued from the lips of the confounded gentleman.
　　‘Since last Christmas,’ replied Wardle; ‘that’s plain enough, andvery bad spectacles we must have worn, not to have discovered itbefore.’
　　‘I don’t understand it,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ruminating; ‘I cannotreally understand it.’
　　‘It’s easy enough to understand it,’ replied the choleric oldgentleman. ‘If you had been a younger man, you would have beenin the secret long ago; and besides,’ added Wardle, after amoment’s hesitation, ‘the truth is, that, knowing nothing of thismatter, I have rather pressed Emily for four or five months past, toreceive favourably (if she could; I would never attempt to force agirl’s inclinations) the addresses of a young gentleman down inour neighbourhood. I have no doubt that, girl-like, to enhance herown value and increase the ardour of Mr. Snodgrass, she hasrepresented this matter in very glowing colours, and that theyhave both arrived at the conclusion that they are a terribly-persecuted pair of unfortunates, and have no resource butclandestine matrimony, or charcoal. Now the question is, what’s tobe done?’
　　‘What have you done?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I!’
　　‘I mean what did you do when your married daughter told youthis?’
　　‘Oh, I made a fool of myself of course,’ rejoined Wardle.
　　‘Just so,’ interposed Perker, who had accompanied thisdialogue with sundry twitchings of his watch-chain, vindictiverubbings of his nose, and other symptoms of impatience. ‘That’svery natural; but how?’
　　‘I went into a great passion and frightened my mother into a fit,’
　　said Wardle.
　　‘That was judicious,’ remarked Perker; ‘and what else?’
　　‘I fretted and fumed all next day, and raised a greatdisturbance,’ rejoined the old gentleman. ‘At last I got tired ofrendering myself unpleasant and making everybody miserable; soI hired a carriage at Muggleton, and, putting my own horses in it,came up to town, under pretence of bringing Emily to seeArabella.’
　　‘Miss Wardle is with you, then?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘To be sure she is,’ replied Wardle. ‘She is at Osborne’s Hotel inthe Adelphi at this moment, unless your enterprising friend hasrun away with her since I came out this morning.’
　　‘You are reconciled then?’ said Perker.
　　‘Not a bit of it,’ answered Wardle; ‘she has been crying andmoping ever since, except last night, between tea and supper,when she made a great parade of writing a letter that I pretendedto take no notice of.’
　　‘You want my advice in this matter, I suppose?’ said Perker,looking from the musing face of Mr. Pickwick to the eagercountenance of Wardle, and taking several consecutive pinches ofhis favourite stimulant.
　　‘I suppose so,’ said Wardle, looking at Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Certainly,’ replied that gentleman.
　　‘Well then,’ said Perker, rising and pushing his chair back, ‘myadvice is, that you both walk away together, or ride away, or getaway by some means or other, for I’m tired of you, and just talkthis matter over between you. If you have not settled it by the nexttime I see you, I’ll tell you what to do.’
　　‘This is satisfactory,’ said Wardle, hardly knowing whether tosmile or be offended.
　　‘Pooh, pooh, my dear sir,’ returned Perker. ‘I know you both agreat deal better than you know yourselves. You have settled italready, to all intents and purposes.’
　　Thus expressing himself, the little gentleman poked his snuff-box first into the chest of Mr. Pickwick, and then into thewaistcoat of Mr. Wardle, upon which they all three laughed,especially the two last-named gentlemen, who at once shookhands again, without any obvious or particular reason.
　　‘You dine with me to-day,’ said Wardle to Perker, as he showedthem out.
　　‘Can’t promise, my dear sir, can’t promise,’ replied Perker. ‘I’lllook in, in the evening, at all events.’
　　‘I shall expect you at five,’ said Wardle. ‘Now, Joe!’ And Joehaving been at length awakened, the two friends departed in Mr.
　　Wardle’s carriage, which in common humanity had a dickeybehind for the fat boy, who, if there had been a footboard instead,would have rolled off and killed himself in his very first nap.
　　Driving to the George and Vulture, they found that Arabellaand her maid had sent for a hackney-coach immediately on thereceipt of a short note from Emily announcing her arrival in town,and had proceeded straight to the Adelphi. As Wardle hadbusiness to transact in the city, they sent the carriage and the fatboy to his hotel, with the information that he and Mr. Pickwickwould return together to dinner at five o’clock.
　　Charged with this message, the fat boy returned, slumbering aspeaceably in his dickey, over the stones, as if it had been a downbed on watch springs. By some extraordinary miracle he awoke ofhis own accord, when the coach stopped, and giving himself agood shake to stir up his faculties, went upstairs to execute hiscommission.
　　Now, whether the shake had jumbled the fat boy’s facultiestogether, instead of arranging them in proper order, or had rousedsuch a quantity of new ideas within him as to render him obliviousof ordinary forms and ceremonies, or (which is also possible) hadproved unsuccessful in preventing his falling asleep as heascended the stairs, it is an undoubted fact that he walked into thesitting-room without previously knocking at the door; and sobeheld a gentleman with his arms clasping his young mistress’swaist, sitting very lovingly by her side on a sofa, while Arabellaand her pretty handmaid feigned to be absorbed in looking out ofa window at the other end of the room. At the sight of thisphenomenon, the fat boy uttered an interjection, the ladies ascream, and the gentleman an oath, almost simultaneously.
　　‘Wretched creature, what do you want here?’ said thegentleman, who it is needless to say was Mr. Snodgrass.
　　To this the fat boy, considerably terrified, briefly responded,‘Missis.’
　　‘What do you want me for,’ inquired Emily, turning her headaside, ‘you stupid creature?’
　　‘Master and Mr. Pickwick is a-going to dine here at five,’ repliedthe fat boy.
　　‘Leave the room!’ said Mr. Snodgrass, glaring upon thebewildered youth.
　　‘No, no, no,’ added Emily hastily. ‘Bella, dear, advise me.’
　　Upon this, Emily and Mr. Snodgrass, and Arabella and Mary,crowded into a corner, and conversed earnestly in whispers forsome minutes, during which the fat boy dozed.
　　‘Joe,’ said Arabella, at length, looking round with a mostbewitching smile, ‘how do you do, Joe?’
　　‘Joe,’ said Emily, ‘you’re a very good boy; I won’t forget you,Joe.’
　　‘Joe,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, advancing to the astonished youth,and seizing his hand, ‘I didn’t know you before. There’s fiveshillings for you, Joe!”
　　‘I’ll owe you five, Joe,’ said Arabella, ‘for old acquaintance sake,you know;’ and another most captivating smile was bestowed uponthe corpulent intruder.
　　The fat boy’s perception being slow, he looked rather puzzled atfirst to account for this sudden prepossession in his favour, andstared about him in a very alarming manner. At length his broadface began to show symptoms of a grin of proportionately broaddimensions; and then, thrusting half-a-crown into each of hispockets, and a hand and wrist after it, he burst into a horse laugh:
　　being for the first and only time in his existence.
　　‘He understands us, I see,’ said Arabella. ‘He had better havesomething to eat, immediately,’ remarked Emily.
　　The fat boy almost laughed again when he heard thissuggestion. Mary, after a little more whispering, tripped forth fromthe group and said―‘I am going to dine with you to-day, sir, if you have noobjection.’
　　‘This way,’ said the fat boy eagerly. ‘There is such a jolly meat-pie!’
　　With these words, the fat boy led the way downstairs; his prettycompanion captivating all the waiters and angering all thechambermaids as she followed him to the eating-room.
　　There was the meat-pie of which the youth had spoken sofeelingly, and there were, moreover, a steak, and a dish ofpotatoes, and a pot of porter.
　　‘Sit down,’ said the fat boy. ‘Oh, my eye, how prime! I am sohungry.’
　　Having apostrophised his eye, in a species of rapture, five or sixtimes, the youth took the head of the little table, and Mary seatedherself at the bottom.
　　‘Will you have some of this?’ said the fat boy, plunging into thepie up to the very ferules of the knife and fork.
　　‘A little, if you please,’ replied Mary.
　　The fat boy assisted Mary to a little, and himself to a great deal,and was just going to begin eating when he suddenly laid down hisknife and fork, leaned forward in his chair, and letting his hands,with the knife and fork in them, fall on his knees, said, veryslowly―‘I say! How nice you look!’
　　This was said in an admiring manner, and was, so far,gratifying; but still there was enough of the cannibal in the younggentleman’s eyes to render the compliment a double one.
　　‘Dear me, Joseph,’ said Mary, affecting to blush, ‘what do youmean?’
　　The fat boy, gradually recovering his former position, repliedwith a heavy sigh, and, remaining thoughtful for a few moments,drank a long draught of the porter. Having achieved this feat, hesighed again, and applied himself assiduously to the pie.
　　‘What a nice young lady Miss Emily is!’ said Mary, after a longsilence.
　　The fat boy had by this time finished the pie. He fixed his eyeson Mary, and replied―‘I knows a nicerer.’
　　‘Indeed!’ said Mary.
　　‘Yes, indeed!’ replied the fat boy, with unwonted vivacity.
　　‘What’s her name?’ inquired Mary.
　　‘What’s yours?’
　　‘Mary.’
　　‘So’s hers,’ said the fat boy. ‘You’re her.’ The boy grinned to addpoint to the compliment, and put his eyes into something betweena squint and a cast, which there is reason to believe he intendedfor an ogle.
　　‘You mustn’t talk to me in that way,’ said Mary; ‘you don’t meanit.’
　　‘Don’t I, though?’ replied the fat boy. ‘I say?’
　　‘Well?’
　　‘Are you going to come here regular?’
　　‘No,’ rejoined Mary, shaking her head, ‘I’m going away again to-night. Why?’
　　‘Oh,’ said the fat boy, in a tone of strong feeling; ‘how we shouldhave enjoyed ourselves at meals, if you had been!’
　　‘I might come here sometimes, perhaps, to see you,’ said Mary,plaiting the table-cloth in assumed coyness, ‘if you would do me afavour.’
　　The fat boy looked from the pie-dish to the steak, as if hethought a favour must be in a manner connected with somethingto eat; and then took out one of the half-crowns and glanced at itnervously.
　　‘Don’t you understand me?’ said Mary, looking slyly in his fatface.
　　Again he looked at the half-crown, and said faintly, ‘No.’
　　‘The ladies want you not to say anything to the old gentlemanabout the young gentleman having been upstairs; and I want youtoo.’
　　‘Is that all?’ said the fat boy, evidently very much relieved, as hepocketed the half-crown again. ‘Of course I ain’t a-going to.’
　　‘You see,’ said Mary, ‘Mr. Snodgrass is very fond of Miss Emily,and Miss Emily’s very fond of him, and if you were to tell about it,the old gentleman would carry you all away miles into the country,where you’d see nobody.’
　　‘No, no, I won’t tell,’ said the fat boy stoutly.
　　‘That’s a dear,’ said Mary. ‘Now it’s time I went upstairs, andgot my lady ready for dinner.’
　　‘Don’t go yet,’ urged the fat boy.
　　‘I must,’ replied Mary. ‘Good-bye, for the present.’
　　The fat boy, with elephantine playfulness, stretched out hisarms to ravish a kiss; but as it required no great agility to eludehim, his fair enslaver had vanished before he closed them again;upon which the apathetic youth ate a pound or so of steak with asentimental countenance, and fell fast asleep.
　　There was so much to say upstairs, and there were so manyplans to concert for elopement and matrimony in the event of oldWardle continuing to be cruel, that it wanted only half an hour ofdinner when Mr. Snodgrass took his final adieu. The ladies ran toEmily’s bedroom to dress, and the lover, taking up his hat, walkedout of the room. He had scarcely got outside the door, when heheard Wardle’s voice talking loudly, and looking over the banistersbeheld him, followed by some other gentlemen, coming straightupstairs. Knowing nothing of the house, Mr. Snodgrass in hisconfusion stepped hastily back into the room he had just quitted,and passing thence into an inner apartment (Mr. Wardle’sbedchamber), closed the door softly, just as the persons he hadcaught a glimpse of entered the sitting-room. These were Mr.
　　Wardle, Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, and Mr. BenjaminAllen, whom he had no difficulty in recognising by their voices.
　　‘Very lucky I had the presence of mind to avoid them,’ thoughtMr. Snodgrass with a smile, and walking on tiptoe to another doornear the bedside; ‘this opens into the same passage, and I can walkquietly and comfortably away.’
　　There was only one obstacle to his walking quietly andcomfortably away, which was that the door was locked and the keygone.
　　‘Let us have some of your best wine to-day, waiter,’ said oldWardle, rubbing his hands.
　　‘You shall have some of the very best, sir,’ replied the waiter.
　　‘Let the ladies know we have come in.’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　Devoutly and ardently did Mr. Snodgrass wish that the ladiescould know he had come in. He ventured once to whisper,‘Waiter!’ through the keyhole, but the probability of the wrongwaiter coming to his relief, flashed upon his mind, together with asense of the strong resemblance between his own situation andthat in which another gentleman had been recently found in aneighbouring hotel (an account of whose misfortunes hadappeared under the head of ‘Police’ in that morning’s paper), hesat himself on a portmanteau, and trembled violently.
　　‘We won’t wait a minute for Perker,’ said Wardle, looking at hiswatch; ‘he is always exact. He will be here, in time, if he means tocome; and if he does not, it’s of no use waiting. Ha! Arabella!’
　　‘My sister!’ exclaimed Mr. Benjamin Allen, folding her in a mostromantic embrace.
　　‘Oh, Ben, dear, how you do smell of tobacco,’ said Arabella,rather overcome by this mark of affection.
　　‘Do I?’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen. ‘Do I, Bella? Well, perhaps Ido.’
　　Perhaps he did, having just left a pleasant little smoking-partyof twelve medical students, in a small back parlour with a largefire.
　　‘But I am delighted to see you,’ said Mr. Ben Allen. ‘Bless you,Bella!’
　　‘There,’ said Arabella, bending forward to kiss her brother;‘don’t take hold of me again, Ben, dear, because you tumble meso.’
　　At this point of the reconciliation, Mr. Ben Allen allowed hisfeelings and the cigars and porter to overcome him, and lookedround upon the beholders with damp spectacles.
　　‘Is nothing to be said to me?’ cried Wardle, with open arms.
　　‘A great deal,’ whispered Arabella, as she received the oldgentleman’s hearty caress and congratulation. ‘You are a hard-hearted, unfeeling, cruel monster.’
　　‘You are a little rebel,’ replied Wardle, in the same tone, ‘and Iam afraid I shall be obliged to forbid you the house. People likeyou, who get married in spite of everybody, ought not to be letloose on society. But come!’ added the old gentleman aloud,‘here’s the dinner; you shall sit by me. Joe; why, damn the boy,he’s awake!’
　　To the great distress of his master, the fat boy was indeed in astate of remarkable vigilance, his eyes being wide open, andlooking as if they intended to remain so. There was an alacrity inhis manner, too, which was equally unaccountable; every time hiseyes met those of Emily or Arabella, he smirked and grinned;once, Wardle could have sworn, he saw him wink.
　　This alteration in the fat boy’s demeanour originated in hisincreased sense of his own importance, and the dignity heacquired from having been taken into the confidence of the youngladies; and the smirks, and grins, and winks were so manycondescending assurances that they might depend upon hisfidelity. As these tokens were rather calculated to awakensuspicion than allay it, and were somewhat embarrassing besides,they were occasionally answered by a frown or shake of the headfrom Arabella, which the fat boy, considering as hints to be on hisguard, expressed his perfect understanding of, by smirking,grinning, and winking, with redoubled assiduity.
　　‘Joe,’ said Mr. Wardle, after an unsuccessful search in all hispockets, ‘is my snuff-box on the sofa?’
　　‘No, sir,’ replied the fat boy.
　　‘Oh, I recollect; I left it on my dressing-table this morning,’ saidWardle. ‘Run into the next room and fetch it.’
　　The fat boy went into the next room; and, having been absentabout a minute, returned with the snuff-box, and the palest facethat ever a fat boy wore.
　　‘What’s the matter with the boy?’ exclaimed Wardle.
　　‘Nothen’s the matter with me,’ replied Joe nervously.
　　‘Have you been seeing any spirits?’ inquired the old gentleman.
　　‘Or taking any?’ added Ben Allen.
　　‘I think you’re right,’ whispered Wardle across the table. ‘He isintoxicated, I’m sure.’
　　Ben Allen replied that he thought he was; and, as thatgentleman had seen a vast deal of the disease in question, Wardlewas confirmed in an impression which had been hovering abouthis mind for half an hour, and at once arrived at the conclusionthat the fat boy was drunk.
　　‘Just keep your eye upon him for a few minutes,’ murmuredWardle. ‘We shall soon find out whether he is or not.’
　　The unfortunate youth had only interchanged a dozen wordswith Mr. Snodgrass, that gentleman having implored him to makea private appeal to some friend to release him, and then pushedhim out with the snuff-box, lest his prolonged absence should leadto a discovery. He ruminated a little with a most disturbedexpression of face, and left the room in search of Mary.
　　But Mary had gone home after dressing her mistress, and thefat boy came back again more disturbed than before.
　　Wardle and Mr. Ben Allen exchanged glances. ‘Joe!’ saidWardle.
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘What did you go away for?’
　　The fat boy looked hopelessly in the face of everybody at table,and stammered out that he didn’t know.
　　‘Oh,’ said Wardle, ‘you don’t know, eh? Take this cheese to Mr.
　　Pickwick.’
　　Now, Mr. Pickwick being in the very best health and spirits,had been making himself perfectly delightful all dinner-time, andwas at this moment engaged in an energetic conversation withEmily and Mr. Winkle; bowing his head, courteously, in theemphasis of his discourse, gently waving his left hand to lend forceto his observations, and all glowing with placid smiles. He took apiece of cheese from the plate, and was on the point of turninground to renew the conversation, when the fat boy, stooping so asto bring his head on a level with that of Mr. Pickwick, pointed withhis thumb over his shoulder, and made the most horrible andhideous face that was ever seen out of a Christmas pantomime.
　　‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Pickwick, starting, ‘what a very―Eh?’ Hestopped, for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and was, orpretended to be, fast asleep.
　　‘What’s the matter?’ inquired Wardle.
　　‘This is such an extremely singular lad!’ replied Mr. Pickwick,looking uneasily at the boy. ‘It seems an odd thing to say, but uponmy word I am afraid that, at times, he is a little deranged.’
　　‘Oh! Mr. Pickwick, pray don’t say so,’ cried Emily and Arabella,both at once.
　　‘I am not certain, of course,’ said Mr. Pickwick, amidst profoundsilence and looks of general dismay; ‘but his manner to me thismoment really was very alarming. Oh!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick,suddenly jumping up with a short scream. ‘I beg your pardon,ladies, but at that moment he ran some sharp instrument into myleg. Really, he is not safe.’
　　‘He’s drunk,’ roared old Wardle passionately. ‘Ring the bell!
　　Call the waiters! He’s drunk.’
　　‘I ain’t,’ said the fat boy, falling on his knees as his masterseized him by the collar. ‘I ain’t drunk.’
　　‘Then you’re mad; that’s worse. Call the waiters,’ said the oldgentleman.
　　‘I ain’t mad; I’m sensible,’ rejoined the fat boy, beginning to cry.
　　‘Then, what the devil did you run sharp instruments into Mr.
　　Pickwick’s legs for?’ inquired Wardle angrily.
　　‘He wouldn’t look at me,’ replied the boy. ‘I wanted to speak tohim.’
　　‘What did you want to say?’ asked half a dozen voices at once.
　　The fat boy gasped, looked at the bedroom door, gasped again,and wiped two tears away with the knuckle of each of hisforefingers.
　　‘What did you want to say?’ demanded Wardle, shaking him.
　　‘Stop!’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘allow me. What did you wish tocommunicate to me, my poor boy?’
　　‘I want to whisper to you,’ replied the fat boy.
　　‘You want to bite his ear off, I suppose,’ said Wardle. ‘Don’tcome near him; he’s vicious; ring the bell, and let him be takendownstairs.’
　　Just as Mr. Winkle caught the bell-rope in his hand, it wasarrested by a general expression of astonishment; the captivelover, his face burning with confusion, suddenly walked in fromthe bedroom, and made a comprehensive bow to the company.
　　‘Hollo!’ cried Wardle, releasing the fat boy’s collar, andstaggering back. ‘What’s this?’
　　‘I have been concealed in the next room, sir, since youreturned,’ explained Mr. Snodgrass.
　　‘Emily, my girl,’ said Wardle reproachfully, ‘I detest meannessand deceit; this is unjustifiable and indelicate in the highestdegree. I don’t deserve this at your hands, Emily, indeed!’
　　‘Dear papa,’ said Emily, ‘Arabella knows―everybody hereknows―Joe knows―that I was no party to this concealment.
　　Augustus, for He aven’s sake, explain it!’
　　Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at oncerecounted how he had been placed in his then distressingpredicament; how the fear of giving rise to domestic dissensionshad alone prompted him to avoid Mr. Wardle on his entrance; howhe merely meant to depart by another door, but, finding it locked,had been compelled to stay against his will. It was a painfulsituation to be placed in; but he now regretted it the less,inasmuch as it afforded him an opportunity of acknowledging,before their mutual friends, that he loved Mr. Wardle’s daughterdeeply and sincerely; that he was proud to avow that the feelingwas mutual; and that if thousands of miles were placed betweenthem, or oceans rolled their waters, he could never for an instantforget those happy days, when first―et cetera, et cetera.
　　Having delivered himself to this effect, Mr. Snodgrass bowedagain, looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards thedoor.
　　‘Stop!’ shouted Wardle. ‘Why, in the name of all that’s―’
　　‘Inflammable,’ mildly suggested Mr. Pickwick, who thoughtsomething worse was coming.
　　‘Well―that’s inflammable,’ said Wardle, adopting thesubstitute; ‘couldn’t you say all this to me in the first instance?’
　　‘Or confide in me?’ added Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Dear, dear,’ said Arabella, taking up the defence, ‘what is theuse of asking all that now, especially when you know you had setyour covetous old heart on a richer son-in-law, and are so wild andfierce besides, that everybody is afraid of you, except me? Shakehands with him, and order him some dinner, for goodnessgracious’ sake, for he looks half starved; and pray have your wineup at once, for you’ll not be tolerable until you have taken twobottles at least.’
　　The worthy old gentleman pulled Arabella’s ear, kissed herwithout the smallest scruple, kissed his daughter also with greataffection, and shook Mr. Snodgrass warmly by the hand.
　　‘She is right on one point at all events,’ said the old gentlemancheerfully. ‘Ring for the wine!’
　　The wine came, and Perker came upstairs at the same moment.
　　Mr. Snodgrass had dinner at a side table, and, when he haddespatched it, drew his chair next Emily, without the smallestopposition on the old gentleman’s part.
　　The evening was excellent. Little Mr. Perker came outwonderfully, told various comic stories, and sang a serious songwhich was almost as funny as the anecdotes. Arabella was verycharming, Mr. Wardle very jovial, Mr. Pickwick very harmonious,Mr. Ben Allen very uproarious, the lovers very silent, Mr. Winklevery talkative, and all of them very happy.
Chapter 55
Mr. SOLOMON PELL, ASSISTED BY A SELECTCOMMITTEE OF COACHMEN, ARRANGES THEAFFAIRS OF THE ELDER Mr. WELLERamivel,’ said Mr. Weller, accosting his son on themorning after the funeral, ‘I’ve found it, Sammy. Ithought it wos there.’
　　‘Thought wot wos there?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Your mother-in-law’s vill, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Inwirtue o’ vich, them arrangements is to be made as I told you on,last night, respectin’ the funs.’
　　‘Wot, didn’t she tell you were it wos?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Not a bit on it, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘We wos a adjestin’
　　our little differences, and I wos a-cheerin’ her spirits and bearin’
　　her up, so that I forgot to ask anythin’ about it. I don’t know as Ishould ha’ done it, indeed, if I had remembered it,’ added Mr.
　　Weller, ‘for it’s a rum sort o’ thing, Sammy, to go a-hankerin’ arteranybody’s property, ven you’re assistin’ ’em in illness. It’s likehelping an outside passenger up, ven he’s been pitched off acoach, and puttin’ your hand in his pocket, vile you ask him, vith asigh, how he finds his-self, Sammy.’
　　With this figurative illustration of his meaning, Mr. Wellerunclasped his pocket-book, and drew forth a dirty sheet of letter-paper, on which were inscribed various characters crowdedtogether in remarkable confusion.
　　‘This here is the dockyment, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘I foundit in the little black tea-pot, on the top shelf o’ the bar closet. Sheused to keep bank-notes there, ’fore she vos married, Samivel. I’veseen her take the lid off, to pay a bill, many and many a time. Poorcreetur, she might ha’filled all the tea-pots in the house vith vills,and not have inconwenienced herself neither, for she took werylittle of anythin’ in that vay lately, ’cept on the temperance nights,ven they just laid a foundation o’ tea to put the spirits atop on!’
　　‘What does it say?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘Jist vot I told you, my boy,’ rejoined his parent. ‘Two hundredpound vurth o’ reduced counsels to my son-in-law, Samivel, andall the rest o’ my property, of ev’ry kind and description votsoever,to my husband, Mr. Tony Veller, who I appint as my soleeggzekiter.’
　　‘That’s all, is it?’ said Sam.
　　‘That’s all,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘And I s’pose as it’s all right andsatisfactory to you and me as is the only parties interested, ve mayas vell put this bit o’ paper into the fire.’
　　‘Wot are you a-doin’ on, you lunatic?’ said Sam, snatching thepaper away, as his parent, in all innocence, stirred the firepreparatory to suiting the action to the word. ‘You’re a niceeggzekiter, you are.’
　　‘Vy not?’ inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly round, with thepoker in his hand.
　　‘Vy not?’ exclaimed Sam.’’Cos it must be proved, and probated,and swore to, and all manner o’ formalities.’
　　‘You don’t mean that?’ said Mr. Weller, laying down the poker.
　　Sam buttoned the will carefully in a side pocket; intimating by alook, meanwhile, that he did mean it, and very seriously too.
　　‘Then I’ll tell you wot it is,’ said Mr. Weller, after a shortmeditation, ‘this is a case for that ’ere confidential pal o’ theChancellorship’s. Pell must look into this, Sammy. He’s the manfor a difficult question at law. Ve’ll have this here brought aforethe Solvent Court, directly, Samivel.’
　　‘I never did see such a addle-headed old creetur!’ exclaimedSam irritably; ‘Old Baileys, and Solvent Courts, and alleybis, andev’ry species o’ gammon alvays a-runnin’ through his brain. You’dbetter get your out o’ door clothes on, and come to town about thisbisness, than stand a-preachin’ there about wot you don’tunderstand nothin’ on.’
　　‘Wery good, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘I’m quite agreeable toanythin’ as vill hexpedite business, Sammy. But mind this here,my boy, nobody but Pell―nobody but Pell as a legal adwiser.’
　　‘I don’t want anybody else,’ replied Sam. ‘Now, are you a-comin’?’
　　‘Vait a minit, Sammy,’ replied Mr. Weller, who, having tied hisshawl with the aid of a small glass that hung in the window, wasnow, by dint of the most wonderful exertions, struggling into hisupper garments. ‘Vait a minit’ Sammy; ven you grow as old asyour father, you von’t get into your veskit quite as easy as you donow, my boy.’
　　‘If I couldn’t get into it easier than that, I’m blessed if I’d vearvun at all,’ rejoined his son.
　　‘You think so now,’ said Mr. Weller, with the gravity of age, ‘butyou’ll find that as you get vider, you’ll get viser. Vidth and visdom,Sammy, alvays grows together.’
　　As Mr. Weller delivered this infallible maxim―the result ofmany years’ personal experience and observation―he contrived,by a dexterous twist of his body, to get the bottom button of hiscoat to perform its office. Having paused a few seconds to recoverbreath, he brushed his hat with his elbow, and declared himselfready.
　　‘As four heads is better than two, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, asthey drove along the London Road in the chaise-cart, ‘and as allthis here property is a wery great temptation to a legal gen’l’m’n,ve’ll take a couple o’ friends o’ mine vith us, as’ll be wery soondown upon him if he comes anythin’ irreg’lar; two o’ them as sawyou to the Fleet that day. They’re the wery best judges,’ added Mr.
　　Weller, in a half-whisper―‘the wery best judges of a horse, youever know’d.’
　　‘And of a lawyer too?’ inquired Sam.
　　‘The man as can form a ackerate judgment of a animal, canform a ackerate judgment of anythin’,’ replied his father, sodogmatically, that Sam did not attempt to controvert the position.
　　In pursuance of this notable resolution, the services of themottled-faced gentleman and of two other very fat coachmen―selected by Mr. Weller, probably, with a view to their width andconsequent wisdom―were put into requisition; and this assistancehaving been secured, the party proceeded to the public-house inPortugal Street, whence a messenger was despatched to theInsolvent Court over the way, requiring Mr. Solomon Pell’simmediate attendance.
　　The messenger fortunately found Mr. Solomon Pell in court,regaling himself, business being rather slack, with a cold collationof an Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy. The message was no soonerwhispered in his ear than he thrust them in his pocket amongvarious professional documents, and hurried over the way withsuch alacrity that he reached the parlour before the messengerhad even emancipated himself from the court.
　　‘Gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pell, touching his hat, ‘my service to youall. I don’t say it to flatter you, gentlemen, but there are not fiveother men in the world, that I’d have come out of that court for, to-day.’
　　‘So busy, eh?’ said Sam.
　　‘Busy!’ replied Pell; ‘I’m completely sewn up, as my friend thelate Lord Chancellor many a time used to say to me, gentlemen,when he came out from hearing appeals in the House of Lords.
　　Poor fellow; he was very susceptible to fatigue; he used to feelthose appeals uncommonly. I actually thought more than oncethat he’d have sunk under ‘em; I did, indeed.’
　　Here Mr. Pell shook his head and paused; on which, the elderMr. Weller, nudging his neighbour, as begging him to mark theattorney’s high connections, asked whether the duties in questionproduced any permanent ill effects on the constitution of his noblefriend.
　　‘I don’t think he ever quite recovered them,’ replied Pell; ‘infact I’m sure he never did. “Pell,” he used to say to me many atime, “how the blazes you can stand the head-work you do, is amystery to me.”―“Well,” I used to answer, “I hardly know how Ido it, upon my life.”―“Pell,” he’d add, sighing, and looking at mewith a little envy―friendly envy, you know, gentlemen, merefriendly envy; I never minded it―“Pell, you’re a wonder; awonder.” Ah! you’d have liked him very much if you had knownhim, gentlemen. Bring me three-penn’orth of rum, my dear.’
　　Addressing this latter remark to the waitress, in a tone ofsubdued grief, Mr. Pell sighed, looked at his shoes and the ceiling;and, the rum having by that time arrived, drank it up.
　　‘However,’ said Pell, drawing a chair to the table, ‘a professionalman has no right to think of his private friendships when his legalassistance is wanted. By the bye, gentlemen, since I saw you herebefore, we have had to weep over a very melancholy occurrence.’
　　Mr. Pell drew out a pocket-handkerchief, when he came to theword weep, but he made no further use of it than to wipe away aslight tinge of rum which hung upon his upper lip.
　　‘I saw it in the Advertiser, Mr. Weller,’ continued Pell. ‘Bless mysoul, not more than fifty-two! Dear me―only think.’
　　These indications of a musing spirit were addressed to themottled-faced man, whose eyes Mr. Pell had accidentally caught;on which, the mottled-faced man, whose apprehension of mattersin general was of a foggy nature, moved uneasily in his seat, andopined that, indeed, so far as that went, there was no saying howthings was brought about; which observation, involving one ofthose subtle propositions which it is difficult to encounter inargument, was controverted by nobody.
　　‘I have heard it remarked that she was a very fine woman, Mr.
　　Weller,’ said Pell, in a sympathising manner.
　　‘Yes, sir, she wos,’ replied the elder Mr. Weller, not muchrelishing this mode of discussing the subject, and yet thinking thatthe attorney, from his long intimacy with the late Lord Chancellor,must know best on all matters of polite breeding. ‘She wos a weryfine ’ooman, sir, ven I first know’d her. She wos a widder, sir, atthat time.’
　　‘Now, it’s curious,’ said Pell, looking round with a sorrowfulsmile; ‘Mrs. Pell was a widow.’
　　‘That’s very extraordinary,’ said the mottled-faced man.
　　‘Well, it is a curious coincidence,’ said Pell.
　　‘Not at all,’ gruffly remarked the elder Mr. Weller. ‘Morewidders is married than single wimin.’
　　‘Very good, very good,’ said Pell, ‘you’re quite right, Mr. Weller.
　　Mrs. Pell was a very elegant and accomplished woman; hermanners were the theme of universal admiration in ourneighbourhood. I was proud to see that woman dance; there wassomething so firm and dignified, and yet natural, in her motion.
　　Her cutting, gentlemen, was simplicity itself. Ah! well, well!
　　Excuse my asking the question, Mr. Samuel,’ continued theattorney in a lower voice, ‘was your mother-in-law tall?’
　　‘Not wery,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Mrs. Pell was a tall figure,’ said Pell, ‘a splendid woman, with anoble shape, and a nose, gentlemen, formed to command and bemajestic. She was very much attached to me―very much―highlyconnected, too. Her mother’s brother, gentlemen, failed for eighthundred pounds, as a law stationer.’
　　‘Vell,’ said Mr. Weller, who had grown rather restless duringthis discussion, ‘vith regard to bis’ness.’
　　The word was music to Pell’s ears. He had been revolving in hismind whether any business was to be transacted, or whether hehad been merely invited to partake of a glass of brandy-and-water,or a bowl of punch, or any similar professional compliment, andnow the doubt was set at rest without his appearing at all eager forits solution. His eyes glistened as he laid his hat on the table, andsaid―‘What is the business upon which―um? Either of thesegentlemen wish to go through the court? We require an arrest; afriendly arrest will do, you know; we are all friends here, Isuppose?’
　　‘Give me the dockyment, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, taking thewill from his son, who appeared to enjoy the interview amazingly.
　　‘Wot we rekvire, sir, is a probe o’ this here.’
　　‘Probate, my dear sir, probate,’ said Pell.
　　‘Well, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller sharply, ‘probe and probe it, iswery much the same; if you don’t understand wot I mean, sir, Ides-say I can find them as does.’
　　‘No offence, I hope, Mr. Weller,’ said Pell meekly. ‘You are theexecutor, I see,’ he added, casting his eyes over the paper.
　　‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘These other gentlemen, I presume, are legatees, are they?’
　　inquired Pell, with a congratulatory smile.
　　‘Sammy is a leg-at-ease,’ replied Mr. Weller; ‘these othergen’l’m’n is friends o’ mine, just come to see fair; a kind ofumpires.’
　　‘Oh!’ said Pell, ‘very good. I have no objections, I’m sure. I shallwant a matter of five pound of you before I begin, ha! ha! ha!’
　　It being decided by the committee that the five pound might beadvanced, Mr. Weller produced that sum; after which, a longconsultation about nothing particular took place, in the coursewhereof Mr. Pell demonstrated to the perfect satisfaction of thegentlemen who saw fair, that unless the management of thebusiness had been intrusted to him, it must all have gone wrong,for reasons not clearly made out, but no doubt sufficient. Thisimportant point being despatched, Mr. Pell refreshed himself withthree chops, and liquids both malt and spirituous, at the expenseof the estate; and then they all went away to Doctors’ Commons.
　　The next day there was another visit to Doctors’ Commons, anda great to-do with an attesting hostler, who, being inebriated,declined swearing anything but profane oaths, to the great scandalof a proctor and surrogate. Next week, there were more visits toDoctors’ Commons, and there was a visit to the Legacy Duty Officebesides, and there were treaties entered into, for the disposal ofthe lease and business, and ratifications of the same, andinventories to be made out, and lunches to be taken, and dinnersto be eaten, and so many profitable things to be done, and such amass of papers accumulated that Mr. Solomon Pell, and the boy,and the blue bag to boot, all got so stout that scarcely anybodywould have known them for the same man, boy, and bag, that hadloitered about Portugal Street, a few days before.
　　At length all these weighty matters being arranged, a day wasfixed for selling out and transferring the stock, and of waiting withthat view upon Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, stock-broker, ofsomewhere near the bank, who had been recommended by Mr.
　　Solomon Pell for the purpose.
　　It was a kind of festive occasion, and the parties were attiredaccordingly. Mr. Weller’s tops were newly cleaned, and his dresswas arranged with peculiar care; the mottled-faced gentlemanwore at his button-hole a full-sized dahlia with several leaves; andthe coats of his two friends were adorned with nosegays of laureland other evergreens. All three were habited in strict holidaycostume; that is to say, they were wrapped up to the chins, andwore as many clothes as possible, which is, and has been, a stage-coachman’s idea of full dress ever since stage-coaches wereinvented.
　　Mr. Pell was waiting at the usual place of meeting at theappointed time; even he wore a pair of gloves and a clean shirt,much frayed at the collar and wristbands by frequent washings.
　　‘A quarter to two,’ said Pell, looking at the parlour clock. ‘If weare with Mr. Flasher at a quarter past, we shall just hit the besttime.’
　　‘What should you say to a drop o’ beer, gen’l’m’n?’ suggestedthe mottled-faced man. ‘And a little bit o’ cold beef,’ said thesecond coachman.
　　‘Or a oyster,’ added the third, who was a hoarse gentleman,supported by very round legs.
　　‘Hear, hear!’ said Pell; ‘to congratulate Mr. Weller, on hiscoming into possession of his property, eh? Ha! ha!’
　　‘I’m quite agreeable, gen’l’m’n,’ answered Mr. Weller. ‘Sammy,pull the bell.’
　　Sammy complied; and the porter, cold beef, and oysters beingpromptly produced, the lunch was done ample justice to. Whereeverybody took so active a part, it is almost invidious to make adistinction; but if one individual evinced greater powers thananother, it was the coachman with the hoarse voice, who took animperial pint of vinegar with his oysters, without betraying theleast emotion.
　　‘Mr. Pell, sir,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, stirring a glass ofbrandy-and-water, of which one was placed before everygentleman when the oyster shells were removed―‘Mr. Pell, sir, itwos my intention to have proposed the funs on this occasion, butSamivel has vispered to me―’
　　Here Mr. Samuel Weller, who had silently eaten his oysterswith tranquil smiles, cried, ‘Hear!’ in a very loud voice.
　　‘―Has vispered to me,’ resumed his father, ‘that it vould bebetter to dewote the liquor to vishin’ you success and prosperity,and thankin’ you for the manner in which you’ve brought this herebusiness through. Here’s your health, sir.’
　　‘Hold hard there,’ interposed the mottled-faced gentleman, withsudden energy; ‘your eyes on me, gen’l’m’n!’
　　Saying this, the mottled-faced gentleman rose, as did the othergentlemen. The mottled-faced gentleman reviewed the company,and slowly lifted his hand, upon which every man (including himof the mottled countenance) drew a long breath, and lifted histumbler to his lips. In one instant, the mottled-faced gentlemandepressed his hand again, and every glass was set down empty. Itis impossible to describe the thrilling effect produced by thisstriking ceremony. At once dignified, solemn, and impressive, itcombined every element of grandeur.
　　‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pell, ‘all I can say is, that such marksof confidence must be very gratifying to a professional man. I don’twish to say anything that might appear egotistical, gentlemen, butI’m very glad, for your own sakes, that you came to me; that’s all. Ifyou had gone to any low member of the profession, it’s my firmconviction, and I assure you of it as a fact, that you would havefound yourselves in Queer Street before this. I could have wishedmy noble friend had been alive to have seen my management ofthis case. I don’t say it out of pride, but I think―However,gentlemen, I won’t trouble you with that. I’m generally to be foundhere, gentlemen, but if I’m not here, or over the way, that’s myaddress. You’ll find my terms very cheap and reasonable, and noman attends more to his clients than I do, and I hope I know alittle of my profession besides. If you have any opportunity ofrecommending me to any of your friends, gentlemen, I shall bevery much obliged to you, and so will they too, when they come toknow me. Your healths, gentlemen.’
　　With this expression of his feelings, Mr. Solomon Pell laid threesmall written cards before Mr. Weller’s friends, and, looking at theclock again, feared it was time to be walking. Upon this hint Mr.
　　Weller settled the bill, and, issuing forth, the executor, legatee,attorney, and umpires, directed their steps towards the city.
　　The office of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, of the Stock Exchange,was in a first floor up a court behind the Bank of England; thehouse of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was at Brixton, Surrey; thehorse and stanhope of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, were at anadjacent livery stable; the groom of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, wason his way to the West End to deliver some game; the clerk ofWilkins Flasher, Esquire, had gone to his dinner; and so WilkinsFlasher, Esquire, himself, cried, ‘Come in,’ when Mr. Pell and hiscompanions knocked at the counting-house door.
　　‘Good-morning, sir,’ said Pell, bowing obsequiously. ‘We wantto make a little transfer, if you please.’
　　‘Oh, just come in, will you?’ said Mr. Flasher. ‘Sit down aminute; I’ll attend to you directly.’
　　‘Thank you, sir,’ said Pell, ‘there’s no hurry. Take a chair, Mr.
　　Weller.’
　　Mr. Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the umpirestook what they could get, and looked at the almanac and one or two papers which were wafered against the wall, with as muchopen-eyed reverence as if they had been the finest efforts of theold masters.
　　‘Well, I’ll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!’ said WilkinsFlasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which Mr. Pell’sentrance had caused a momentary interruption.
　　This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who worehis hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk,killing flies with a ruler. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancinghimself on two legs of an office stool, spearing a wafer-box with apenknife, which he dropped every now and then with greatdexterity into the very centre of a small red wafer that was stuckoutside. Both gentlemen had very open waistcoats and very rollingcollars, and very small boots, and very big rings, and very littlewatches, and very large guard-chains, and symmetricalinexpressibles, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs.
　　‘I never bet half a dozen!’ said the other gentleman. ‘I’ll take adozen.’
　　‘Done, Simmery, done!’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
　　‘P. P., mind,’ observed the other.
　　‘Of course,’ replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. Wilkins Flasher,Esquire, entered it in a little book, with a gold pencil-case, and theother gentleman entered it also, in another little book withanother gold pencil-case.
　　‘I see there’s a notice up this morning about Boffer,’ observedMr. Simmery. ‘Poor devil, he’s expelled the house!’
　　‘I’ll bet you ten guineas to five, he cuts his throat,’ said WilkinsFlasher, Esquire.
　　‘Done,’ replied Mr. Simmery.
　　‘Stop! I bar,’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, thoughtfully.
　　‘Perhaps he may hang himself.’
　　‘Very good,’ rejoined Mr. Simmery, pulling out the gold pencil-case again. ‘I’ve no objection to take you that way. Say, makesaway with himself.’
　　‘Kills himself, in fact,’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
　　‘Just so,’ replied Mr. Simmery, putting it down. ‘“Flasher―tenguineas to five, Boffer kills himself.” Within what time shall wesay?’
　　‘A fortnight?’ suggested Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
　　‘Con-found it, no,’ rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for aninstant to smash a fly with the ruler. ‘Say a week.’
　　‘Split the difference,’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. ‘Make it tendays.’
　　‘Well; ten days,’ rejoined Mr. Simmery.
　　So it was entered down on the little books that Boffer was to killhimself within ten days, or Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was to handover to Frank Simmery, Esquire, the sum of ten guineas; and thatif Boffer did kill himself within that time, Frank Simmery,Esquire, would pay to Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, five guineas,instead.
　　‘I’m very sorry he has failed,’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.
　　‘Capital dinners he gave.’
　　‘Fine port he had too,’ remarked Mr. Simmery. ‘We are going tosend our butler to the sale to-morrow, to pick up some of thatsixty-four.’
　　‘The devil you are!’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. ‘My man’sgoing too. Five guineas my man outbids your man.’
　　‘Done.’
　　Another entry was made in the little books, with the goldpencil-cases; and Mr. Simmery, having by this time killed all theflies and taken all the bets, strolled away to the Stock Exchange tosee what was going forward.
　　Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, now condescended to receive Mr.
　　Solomon Pell’s instructions, and having filled up some printedforms, requested the party to follow him to the bank, which theydid: Mr. Weller and his three friends staring at all they beheld inunbounded astonishment, and Sam encountering everything witha coolness which nothing could disturb.
　　Crossing a courtyard which was all noise and bustle, andpassing a couple of porters who seemed dressed to match the redfire engine which was wheeled away into a corner, they passedinto an office where their business was to be transacted, andwhere Pell and Mr. Flasher left them standing for a few moments,while they went upstairs into the Will Office.
　　‘Wot place is this here?’ whispered the mottled-facedgentleman to the elder Mr. Weller.
　　‘Counsel’s Office,’ replied the executor in a whisper.
　　‘Wot are them gen’l’men a-settin’ behind the counters?’ askedthe hoarse coachman.
　　‘Reduced counsels, I s’pose,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Ain’t they thereduced counsels, Samivel?’
　　‘Wy, you don’t suppose the reduced counsels is alive, do you?’
　　inquired Sam, with some disdain. ‘How should I know?’ retortedMr. We ller; ‘I thought they looked wery like it. Wot are they,then?’
　　‘Clerks,’ replied Sam.
　　‘Wot are they all a-eatin’ ham sangwidges for?’ inquired hisfather.
　　‘’Cos it’s in their dooty, I suppose,’ replied Sam, ‘it’s a part o’
　　the system; they’re alvays a-doin’ it here, all day long!’ Mr. Wellerand his friends had scarcely had a moment to reflect upon thissingular regulation as connected with the monetary system of thecountry, when they were rejoined by Pell and Wilkins Flasher,Esquire, who led them to a part of the counter above which was around blackboard with a large ‘W.’ on it.
　　‘Wot’s that for, sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller, directing Pell’sattention to the target in question.
　　‘The first letter of the name of the deceased,’ replied Pell.
　　‘I say,’ said Mr. Weller, turning round to the umpires, there’ssomethin’ wrong here. We’s our letter―this won’t do.’
　　The referees at once gave it as their decided opinion that thebusiness could not be legally proceeded with, under the letter W.,and in all probability it would have stood over for one day at least,had it not been for the prompt, though, at first sight, undutifulbehaviour of Sam, who, seizing his father by the skirt of the coat,dragged him to the counter, and pinned him there, until he hadaffixed his signature to a couple of instruments; which, from Mr.
　　Weller’s habit of printing, was a work of so much labour and time,that the officiating clerk peeled and ate three Ribstone pippinswhile it was performing.
　　As the elder Mr. Weller insisted on selling out his portionforthwith, they proceeded from the bank to the gate of the StockExchange, to which Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, after a shortabsence, returned with a cheque on Smith, Payne, & Smith, forfive hundred and thirty pounds; that being the money to whichMr. Weller, at the market price of the day, was entitled, inconsideration of the balance of the second Mrs. Weller’s fundedsavings. Sam’s two hundred pounds stood transferred to his name,and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, having been paid his commission,dropped the money carelessly into his coat pocket, and loungedback to his office.
　　Mr. Weller was at first obstinately determined on cashing thecheque in nothing but sovereigns; but it being represented by theumpires that by so doing he must incur the expense of a smallsack to carry them home in, he consented to receive the amount infive-pound notes.
　　‘My son,’ said Mr. Weller, as they came out of the banking-house―‘my son and me has a wery partickler engagement thisarternoon, and I should like to have this here bis’ness settled outof hand, so let’s jest go straight avay someveres, vere ve can horditthe accounts.’
　　A quiet room was soon found, and the accounts were producedand audited. Mr. Pell’s bill was taxed by Sam, and some chargeswere disallowed by the umpires; but, notwithstanding Mr. Pell’sdeclaration, accompanied with many solemn asseverations thatthey were really too hard upon him, it was by very many degreesthe best professional job he had ever had, and one on which heboarded, lodged, and washed, for six months afterwards.
　　The umpires having partaken of a dram, shook hands anddeparted, as they had to drive out of town that night. Mr. SolomonPell, finding that nothing more was going forward, either in theeating or drinking way, took a friendly leave, and Sam and hisfather were left alone.
　　‘There!’ said Mr. Weller, thrusting his pocket-book in his sidepocket. ‘Vith the bills for the lease, and that, there’s elevenhundred and eighty pound here. Now, Samivel, my boy, turn thehorses’ heads to the George and Wulter!’
Chapter 56
AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE TAKES PLACEBETWEEN Mr. PICKWICK AND SAMUELWELLER, AT WHICH HIS PARENT ASSISTS―AN OLD GENTLEMAN IN A SNUFF-COLOUREDSUIT ARRIVES UNEXPECTEDLYr. Pickwick was sitting alone, musing over manythings, and thinking among other considerationshow he could best provide for the young couplewhose present unsettled condition was matter of constant regretand anxiety to him, when Mary stepped lightly into the room, and,advancing to the table, said, rather hastily―‘Oh, if you please, sir, Samuel is downstairs, and he says mayhis father see you?’
　　‘Surely,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mary, tripping towards the door again.
　　‘Sam has not been here long, has he?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Oh, no, sir,’ replied Mary eagerly. ‘He has only just come home.
　　He is not going to ask you for any more leave, sir, he says.’
　　Mary might have been conscious that she had communicatedthis last intelligence with more warmth than seemed actuallynecessary, or she might have observed the good-humoured smilewith which Mr. Pickwick regarded her, when she had finishedspeaking. She certainly held down her head, and examined thecorner of a very smart little apron, with more closeness than thereappeared any absolute occasion for.
　　‘Tell them they can come up at once, by all means,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick.
　　Mary, apparently much relieved, hurried away with hermessage.
　　Mr. Pickwick took two or three turns up and down the room;and, rubbing his chin with his left hand as he did so, appeared lostin thought.
　　‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Pickwick, at length in a kind but somewhatmelancholy tone, ‘it is the best way in which I could reward himfor his attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in Heaven’s name. It isthe fate of a lonely old man, that those about him should form newand different attachments and leave him. I have no right to expectthat it should be otherwise with me. No, no,’ added Mr. Pickwickmore cheerfully, ‘it would be selfish and ungrateful. I ought to behappy to have an opportunity of providing for him so well. I am. Ofcourse I am.’
　　Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections, that aknock at the door was three or four times repeated before heheard it. Hastily seating himself, and calling up his accustomedpleasant looks, he gave the required permission, and Sam Wellerentered, followed by his father.
　　‘Glad to see you back again, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘How doyou do, Mr. Weller?’
　　‘Wery hearty, thank’ee, sir,’ replied the widower; ‘hope I see youwell, sir.’
　　‘Quite, I thank you,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘I wanted to have a little bit o’ conwersation with you, sir,’ saidMr. Weller, ‘if you could spare me five minits or so, sir.’
　　‘Certainly,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Sam, give your father achair.’
　　‘Thank’ee, Samivel, I’ve got a cheer here,’ said Mr. Weller,bringing one forward as he spoke; ‘uncommon fine day it’s been,sir,’ added the old gentleman, laying his hat on the floor as he sathimself down.
　　‘Remarkably so, indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘Veryseasonable.’
　　‘Seasonablest veather I ever see, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. Here,the old gentleman was seized with a violent fit of coughing, which,being terminated, he nodded his head and winked and madeseveral supplicatory and threatening gestures to his son, all ofwhich Sam Weller steadily abstained from seeing.
　　Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some embarrassmenton the old gentleman’s part, affected to be engaged in cutting theleaves of a book that lay beside him, and waited patiently until Mr.
　　Weller should arrive at the object of his visit.
　　‘I never see sich a aggrawatin’ boy as you are, Samivel,’ said Mr.
　　Weller, looking indignantly at his son; ‘never in all my born days.’
　　‘What is he doing, Mr. Weller?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘He von’t begin, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Weller; ‘he knows I ain’t ekalto ex-pressin’ myself ven there’s anythin’ partickler to be done,and yet he’ll stand and see me a-settin’ here taking up yourwalable time, and makin’ a reg’lar spectacle o’ myself, raytherthan help me out vith a syllable. It ain’t filial conduct, Samivel,’
　　said Mr. Weller, wiping his forehead; ‘wery far from it.’
　　‘You said you’d speak,’ replied Sam; ‘how should I know youwos done up at the wery beginnin’?’
　　‘You might ha’ seen I warn’t able to start,’ rejoined his father; ‘I’m on the wrong side of the road, and backin’ into the palin’s, andall manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von’t put out a hand tohelp me. I’m ashamed on you, Samivel.’
　　‘The fact is, sir,’ said Sam, with a slight bow, ‘the gov’nor’s beena-drawin’ his money.’
　　‘Wery good, Samivel, wery good,’ said Mr. Weller, nodding hishead with a satisfied air, ‘I didn’t mean to speak harsh to you,Sammy. Wery good. That’s the vay to begin. Come to the pint atonce. Wery good indeed, Samivel.’
　　Mr. Weller nodded his head an extraordinary number of times,in the excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening attitudefor Sam to resume his statement.
　　‘You may sit down, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending thatthe inter view was likely to prove rather longer than he hadexpected.
　　Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round, hecontinued―‘The gov’nor, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty pound.’
　　‘Reduced counsels,’ interposed Mr. Weller, senior, in anundertone.
　　‘It don’t much matter vether it’s reduced counsels, or wot not,’
　　said Sam; ‘five hundred and thirty pounds is the sum, ain’t it?’
　　‘All right, Samivel,’ replied Mr. Weller.
　　‘To vich sum, he has added for the house and bisness―’
　　‘Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters,’ interposed Mr. Weller.
　　‘As much as makes it,’ continued Sam, ‘altogether, elevenhundred and eighty pound.’
　　‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am delighted to hear it. Icongratulate you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.’
　　‘Vait a minit, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, raising his hand in adeprecatory manner. ‘Get on, Samivel.’
　　‘This here money,’ said Sam, with a little hesitation, ‘he’sanxious to put someveres, vere he knows it’ll be safe, and I’m weryanxious too, for if he keeps it, he’ll go a-lendin’ it to somebody, orinwestin’ property in horses, or droppin’ his pocket-book down anairy, or makin’ a Egyptian mummy of his-self in some vay oranother.’
　　‘Wery good, Samivel,’ observed Mr. Weller, in as complacent amanner as if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on hisprudence and foresight. ‘Wery good.’
　　‘For vich reasons,’ continued Sam, plucking nervously at thebrim of his hat―‘for vich reasons, he’s drawn it out to-day, andcome here vith me to say, leastvays to offer, or in other vords―’
　　‘To say this here,’ said the elder Mr. Weller impatiently, ‘that itain’t o’ no use to me. I’m a-goin’ to vork a coach reg’lar, and ha’n’tgot noveres to keep it in, unless I vos to pay the guard for takin’
　　care on it, or to put it in vun o’ the coach pockets, vich ‘ud be atemptation to the insides. If you’ll take care on it for me, sir, I shallbe wery much obliged to you. P’raps,’ said Mr. Weller, walking upto Mr. Pickwick and whispering in his ear―‘p’raps it’ll go a littlevay towards the expenses o’ that ’ere conwiction. All I say is, justyou keep it till I ask you for it again.’ With these words, Mr. Wellerplaced the pocket-book in Mr. Pickwick’s hands, caught up his hat,and ran out of the room with a celerity scarcely to be expectedfrom so corpulent a subject.
　　‘Stop him, Sam!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick earnestly. ‘Overtakehim; bring him back instantly! Mr. Weller―here―come back!’
　　Sam saw that his master’s injunctions were not to be disobeyed;and, catching his father by the arm as he was descending thestairs, dragged him back by main force.
　　‘My good friend,’ said Mr. Pickwick, taking the old man by thehand, ‘your honest confidence overpowers me.’
　　‘I don’t see no occasion for nothin’ o’ the kind, sir,’ replied Mr.
　　Weller obstinately.
　　‘I assure you, my good friend, I have more money than I canever need; far more than a man at my age can ever live to spend,’
　　said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘No man knows how much he can spend, till he tries,’ observedMr. Weller.
　　‘Perhaps not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I have no intentionof trying any such experiments, I am not likely to come to want. Imust beg you to take this back, Mr. Weller.’
　　‘Wery well,’ said Mr. Weller, with a discontented look. ‘Mark myvords, Sammy, I’ll do somethin’ desperate vith this here property;somethin’ desperate!’
　　‘You’d better not,’ replied Sam.
　　Mr. Weller reflected for a short time, and then, buttoning up hiscoat with great determination, said―‘I’ll keep a pike.’
　　‘Wot!’ exclaimed Sam.
　　‘A pike!’ rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth; ‘I’ll keep apike. Say good-bye to your father, Samivel. I dewote theremainder of my days to a pike.’
　　This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller, besidesappearing fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed sodeeply mortified by Mr. Pickwick’s refusal, that that gentleman,after a short reflection, said―‘Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep your money. I can do moregood with it, perhaps, than you can.’
　　‘Just the wery thing, to be sure,’ said Mr. Weller, brighteningup; ‘o’ course you can, sir.’
　　‘Say no more about it,’ said Mr. Pickwick, locking the pocket-book in his desk; ‘I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend.
　　Now sit down again. I want to ask your advice.’
　　The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success ofhis visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller’s face, but hisarms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocket-book, suddenly gave place to the most dignified gravity as heheard these words.
　　‘Wait outside a few minutes, Sam, will you?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　Sam immediately withdrew.
　　Mr. Weller looked uncommonly wise and very much amazed,when Mr. Pickwick opened the discourse by saying―‘You are not an advocate for matrimony, I think, Mr. Weller?’
　　Mr. Weller shook his head. He was wholly unable to speak;vague thoughts of some wicked widow having been successful inher designs on Mr. Pickwick, choked his utterance.
　　‘Did you happen to see a young girl downstairs when you camein just now with your son?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Yes. I see a young gal,’ replied Mr. Weller shortly.
　　‘What did you think of her, now? Candidly, Mr. Weller, whatdid you think of her?’
　　‘I thought she wos wery plump, and vell made,’ said Mr. Weller,with a critical air.
　　‘So she is,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘so she is. What did you think ofher manners, from what you saw of her?’
　　‘Wery pleasant,’ rejoined Mr. Weller. ‘Wery pleasant andcomformable.’
　　The precise meaning which Mr. Weller attached to this last-mentioned adjective, did not appear; but, as it was evident fromthe tone in which he used it that it was a favourable expression,Mr. Pickwick was as well satisfied as if he had been thoroughlyenlightened on the subject.
　　‘I take a great interest in her, Mr. Weller,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　Mr. Weller coughed.
　　‘I mean an interest in her doing well,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick; ‘adesire that she may be comfortable and prosperous. Youunderstand?’
　　‘Wery clearly,’ replied Mr. Weller, who understood nothing yet.
　　‘That young person,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘is attached to yourson.’
　　‘To Samivel Veller!’ exclaimed the parent.
　　‘Yes,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘It’s nat’ral,’ said Mr. Weller, after some consideration, ‘nat’ral,but rayther alarmin’. Sammy must be careful.’
　　‘How do you mean?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Wery careful that he don’t say nothin’ to her,’ responded Mr.
　　Weller. ‘Wery careful that he ain’t led avay, in a innocent moment,to say anythin’ as may lead to a conwiction for breach. You’renever safe vith ’em, Mr. Pickwick, ven they vunce has designs onyou; there’s no knowin’ vere to have ‘em; and vile you’re a-considering of it, they have you. I wos married fust, that vaymyself, sir, and Sammy wos the consekens o’ the manoover.’
　　‘You give me no great encouragement to conclude what I haveto say,’ observed Mr. Pickwick, ‘but I had better do so at once.
　　This young person is not only attached to your son, Mr. Weller, butyour son is attached to her.’
　　‘Vell,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘this here’s a pretty sort o’ thing to cometo a father’s ears, this is!’
　　‘I have observed them on several occasions,’ said Mr. Pickwick,making no comment on Mr. Weller’s last remark; ‘and entertain nodoubt at all about it. Supposing I were desirous of establishingthem comfortably as man and wife in some little business orsituation, where they might hope to obtain a decent living, whatshould you think of it, Mr. Weller?’
　　At first, Mr. Weller received with wry faces a propositioninvolving the marriage of anybody in whom he took an interest;but, as Mr. Pickwick argued the point with him, and laid greatstress on the fact that Mary was not a widow, he gradually becamemore tractable. Mr. Pickwick had great influence over him, and hehad been much struck with Mary’s appearance; having, in fact,bestowed several very unfatherly winks upon her, already. Atlength he said that it was not for him to oppose Mr. Pickwick’sinclination, and that he would be very happy to yield to his advice;upon which, Mr. Pickwick joyfully took him at his word, and calledSam back into the room.
　　‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his throat, ‘your father and Ihave been having some conversation about you.’
　　‘About you, Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller, in a patronising andimpressive voice.
　　‘I am not so blind, Sam, as not to have seen, a long time since,that you entertain something more than a friendly feeling towardsMrs. Winkle’s maid,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘You hear this, Samivel?’ said Mr. Weller, in the same judicialform of speech as before.
　　‘I hope, sir,’ said Sam, address ing his master, ‘I hope there’s noharm in a young man takin’ notice of a young ’ooman as isundeniably good-looking and well-conducted.’
　　‘Certainly not,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
　　‘Not by no means,’ acquiesced Mr. Weller, affably butmagisterially.
　　‘So far from thinking there is anything wrong in conduct sonatural,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘it is my wish to assist andpromote your wishes in this respect. With this view, I have had alittle conversation with your father; and finding that he is of myopinion―’
　　‘The lady not bein’ a widder,’ interposed Mr. Weller inexplanation.
　　‘The lady not being a widow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. ‘I wishto free you from the restraint which your present position imposesupon you, and to mark my sense of your fidelity and manyexcellent qualities, by enabling you to marry this girl at once, andto earn an independent livelihood for yourself and family. I shallbe proud, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, whose voice had faltered alittle hitherto, but now resumed its customary tone, ‘proud andhappy to make your future prospects in life my grateful andpeculiar care.’
　　There was a profound silence for a short time, and then Samsaid, in a low, husky sort of voice, but firmly withal―‘I’m very much obliged to you for your goodness, sir, as is onlylike yourself; but it can’t be done.’
　　‘Can’t be done!’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick in astonishment.
　　‘Samivel!’ said Mr. Weller, with dignity.
　　‘I say it can’t be done,’ repeated Sam in a louder key. ‘Wot’s tobecome of you, sir?’
　　‘My good fellow,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘the recent changesamong my friends will alter my mode of life in future, entirely;besides, I am growing older, and want repose and quiet. Myrambles, Sam, are over.’
　　‘How do I know that ’ere, sir?’ argued Sam. ‘You think so now!
　　S’pose you wos to change your mind, vich is not unlikely, foryou’ve the spirit o’ five-and-twenty in you still, what ’ud becomeon you vithout me? It can’t be done, sir, it can’t be done.’
　　‘Wery good, Samivel, there’s a good deal in that,’ said Mr.
　　Weller encouragingly.
　　‘I speak after long deliberation, Sam, and with the certaintythat I shall keep my word,’ said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his head.
　　‘New scenes have closed upon me; my rambles are at an end.’
　　‘Wery good,’ rejoined Sam. ‘Then, that’s the wery best reasonwy you should alvays have somebody by you as understands you,to keep you up and make you comfortable. If you vant a morepolished sort o’ feller, vell and good, have him; but vages or novages, notice or no notice, board or no board, lodgin’ or no lodgin’,Sam Veller, as you took from the old inn in the Borough, sticks byyou, come what may; and let ev’rythin’ and ev’rybody do theirwery fiercest, nothin’ shall ever perwent it!’
　　At the close of this declaration, which Sam made with greatemotion, the elder Mr. Weller rose from his chair, and, forgettingall considerations of time, place, or propriety, waved his hat abovehis head, and gave three vehement cheers.
　　‘My good fellow,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller had satdown again, rather abashed at his own enthusiasm, ‘you arebound to consider the young woman also.’
　　‘I do consider the young ’ooman, sir,’ said Sam. ‘I haveconsidered the young ’ooman. I’ve spoke to her. I’ve told her howI’m sitivated; she’s ready to vait till I’m ready, and I believe shevill. If she don’t, she’s not the young ’ooman I take her for, and Igive her up vith readiness. You’ve know’d me afore, sir. My mind’smade up, and nothin’ can ever alter it.’
　　Who could combat this resolution? Not Mr. Pickwick. Hederived, at that moment, more pride and luxury of feeling from thedisinterested attachment of his humble friends, than ten thousandprotestations from the greatest men living could have awakened inhis heart.
　　While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick’s room, alittle old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured clothes, followed bya porter carrying a small portmanteau, presented himself below;and, after securing a bed for the night, inquired of the waiterwhether one Mrs. Winkle was staying there, to which question thewaiter of course responded in the affirmative.
　　‘Is she alone?’ inquired the old gentleman. ‘I believe she is, sir,’
　　replied the waiter; ‘I can call her own maid, sir, if you―’
　　‘No, I don’t want her,’ said the old gentleman quickly. ‘Show meto her room without announcing me.’
　　‘Eh, sir?’ said the waiter.
　　‘Are you deaf?’ inquired the little old gentleman.
　　‘No, sir.’
　　‘Then listen, if you please. Can you hear me now?’
　　‘Yes, sir.’
　　‘That’s well. Show me to Mrs. Winkle’s room, withoutannouncing me.’
　　As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he slippedfive shillings into the waiter’s hand, and looked steadily at him.
　　‘Really, sir,’ said the waiter, ‘I don’t know, sir, whether―’
　　‘Ah! you’ll do it, I see,’ said the little old gentleman. ‘You hadbetter do it at once. It will save time.’
　　There was something so very cool and collected in thegentleman’s manner, that the waiter put the five shillings in hispocket, and led him upstairs without another word.
　　‘This is the room, is it?’ said the gentleman. ‘You may go.’ Thewaiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman could be,and what he wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting till he wasout of sight, tapped at the door.
　　‘Come in,’ said Arabella.
　　‘Um, a pretty voice, at any rate,’ murmured the little oldgentleman; ‘but that’s nothing.’ As he said this, he opened the doorand walked in. Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose onbeholding a stranger―a little confused―but by no meansungracefully so.
　　‘Pray don’t rise, ma’am,’ said the unknown, walking in, andclosing the door after him. ‘Mrs. Winkle, I believe?’
　　Arabella inclined her head.
　　‘Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old man atBirmingham?’ said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visiblecuriosity.
　　Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round, asif uncertain whether to call for assistance.
　　‘I surprise you, I see, ma’am,’ said the old gentleman.
　　‘Rather, I confess,’ replied Arabella, wondering more and more.
　　‘I’ll take a chair, if you’ll allow me, ma’am,’ said the stranger.
　　He took one; and drawing a spectacle-case from his pocket,leisurely pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on hisnose.
　　‘You don’t know me, ma’am?’ he said, looking so intently atArabella that she began to feel alarmed.
　　‘No, sir,’ she replied timidly.
　　‘No,’ said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; ‘I don’t know howyou should. You know my name, though, ma’am.’
　　‘Do I?’ said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely knew why.
　　‘May I ask what it is?’
　　‘Presently, ma’am, presently,’ said the stranger, not having yetremoved his eyes from her countenance. ‘You have been recentlymarried, ma’am?’
　　‘I have,’ replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone, laying asideher work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, that hadoccurred to her before, struck more forcibly upon her mind.
　　‘Without having represented to your husband the propriety offirst consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think?’ saidthe stranger.
　　Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
　　‘Without an endeavour, even, to ascertain, by some indirectappeal, what were the old man’s sentiments on a point in which hewould naturally feel much interested?’ said the stranger.
　　‘I cannot deny it, sir,’ said Arabella.
　　‘And without having sufficient property of your own to affordyour husband any permanent assistance in exchange for theworldly advantages which you knew he would have gained if hehad married agreeably to his father’s wishes?’ said the oldgentleman. ‘This is what boys and girls call disinterested affection,till they have boys and girls of their own, and then they see it in arougher and very different light!’
　　Arabella’s tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in extenuation thatshe was young and inexperienced; that her attachment had aloneinduced her to take the step to which she had resorted; and thatshe had been deprived of the counsel and guidance of her parentsalmost from infancy.
　　‘It was wrong,’ said the old gentleman in a milder tone, ‘verywrong. It was romantic, unbusinesslike, foolish.’
　　‘It was my fault; all my fault, sir,’ replied poor Arabella,weeping.
　　‘Nonsense,’ said the old gentleman; ‘it was not your fault thathe fell in love with you, I suppose? Yes it was, though,’ said the oldgentleman, looking rather slily at Arabella. ‘It was your fault. Hecouldn’t help it.’
　　This little compliment, or the little gentleman’s odd way ofpaying it, or his altered manner―so much kinder than it was, atfirst―or all three together, forced a smile from Arabella in themidst of her tears.
　　‘Where’s your husband?’ inquired the old gentleman, abruptly;stopping a smile which was just coming over his own face.
　　‘I expect him every instant, sir,’ said Arabella. ‘I persuaded himto take a walk this morning. He is very low and wretched at nothaving heard from his father.’
　　‘Low, is he?’ said the old gentlemen. ‘Serve him right!’
　　‘He feels it on my account, I am afraid,’ said Arabella; ‘andindeed, sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole means ofbringing him to his present condition.’
　　‘Don’t mind it on his account, my dear,’ said the old gentleman.
　　‘It serves him right. I am glad of it―actually glad of it, as far as heis concerned.’
　　The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman’s lips, whenfootsteps were heard ascending the stairs, which he and Arabellaseemed both to recognise at the same moment. The littlegentleman turned pale; and, making a strong effort to appearcomposed, stood up, as Mr. Winkle entered the room.
　　‘Father!’ cried Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement.
　　‘Yes, sir,’ replied the little old gentleman. ‘Well, sir, what haveyou got to say to me?’
　　Mr. Winkle remained silent.
　　‘You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, sir?’ said the oldgentleman.
　　Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.
　　‘Are you ashamed of yourself, sir, or are you not?’ inquired theold gentleman.
　　‘No, sir,’ replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella’s arm throughhis. ‘I am not ashamed of myself, or of my wife either.’
　　‘Upon my word!’ cried the old gentleman ironically.
　　‘I am very sorry to have done anything which has lessened youraffection for me, sir,’ said Mr. Winkle; ‘but I will say, at the sametime, that I have no reason to be ashamed of having this lady formy wife, nor you of having her for a daughter.’
　　‘Give me your hand, Nat,’ said the old gentleman, in an alteredvoice. ‘Kiss me, my love. You are a very charming little daughter-in-law after all!’
　　In a few minutes’ time Mr. Winkle went in search of Mr.
　　Pickwick, and returning with that gentleman, presented him to hisfather, whereupon they shook hands for five minutes incessantly.
　　‘Mr. Pickwick, I thank you most heartily for all your kindness tomy son,’ said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff, straightforward way. ‘I ama hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was vexed and taken bysurprise. I have judged for myself now, and am more thansatisfied. Shall I make any more apologies, Mr. Pickwick?’
　　‘Not one,’ replied that gentleman. ‘You have done the only thingwanting to complete my happiness.’
　　Hereupon there was another shaking of hands for five minuteslonger, accompanied by a great number of complimentaryspeeches, which, besides being complimentary, had the additionaland very novel recommendation of being sincere.
　　Sam had dutifully seen his father to the Belle Sauvage, when,on returning, he encountered the fat boy in the court, who hadbeen charged with the delivery of a note from Emily Wardle.
　　‘I say,’ said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, ‘what a prettygirl Mary is, isn’t she? I am so fond of her, I am!’
　　Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply; but eyeing the fatboy for a moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led him bythe collar to the corner, and dismissed him with a harmless butceremonious kick. After which, he walked home, whistling.
Chapter 57
IN WHICH THE PICKWICK CLUB IS FINALLYDISSOLVED, AND EVERYTHING CONCLUDEDTO THE SATISFACTION OF EVERYBODYor a whole week after the happy arrival of Mr. Winklefrom Birmingham, Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller werefrom home all day long, only returning just in time fordinner, and then wearing an air of mystery and importance quiteforeign to their natures. It was evident that very grave andeventful proceedings were on foot; but various surmises wereafloat, respecting their precise character. Some (among whom wasMr. Tupman) were disposed to think that Mr. Pickwickcontemplated a matrimonial alliance; but this idea the ladies moststrenuously repudiated. Others rather inclined to the belief that hehad projected some distant tour, and was at present occupied ineffecting the preliminary arrangements; but this again was stoutlydenied by Sam himself, who had unequivocally stated, when cross-examined by Mary, that no new journeys were to be undertaken.
　　At length, when the brains of the whole party had been racked forsix long days, by unavailing speculation, it was unanimouslyresolved that Mr. Pickwick should be called upon to explain hisconduct, and to state distinctly why he had thus absented himselffrom the society of his admiring friends.
　　With this view, Mr. Wardle invited the full circle to dinner at theAdelphi; and the decanters having been thrice sent round, openedthe business.
　　‘We are all anxious to know,’ said the old gentleman, ‘what wehave done to offend you, and to induce you to desert us and devoteyourself to these solitary walks.’
　　‘Are you?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘It is singular enough that I hadintended to volunteer a full explanation this very day; so, if youwill give me another glass of wine, I will satisfy your curiosity.’
　　The decanters passed from hand to hand with unwontedbriskness, and Mr. Pickwick, looking round on the faces of hisfriends with a cheerful smile, proceeded:
　　‘All the changes that have taken place among us,’ said Mr.
　　Pickwick, ‘I mean the marriage that has taken place, and themarriage that will take place, with the changes they involve,rendered it necessary for me to think, soberly and at once, uponmy future plans. I determined on retiring to some quiet, prettyneighbourhood in the vicinity of London; I saw a house whichexactly suited my fancy; I have taken it and furnished it. It is fullyprepared for my reception, and I intend entering upon it at once,trusting that I may yet live to spend many quiet years in peacefulretirement, cheered through life by the society of my friends, andfollowed in death by their affectionate remembrance.’
　　Here Mr. Pickwick paused, and a low murmur ran round thetable.
　　‘The house I have taken,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘is at Dulwich. Ithas a large garden, and is situated in one of the most pleasantspots near London. It has been fitted up with every attention tosubstantial comfort; perhaps to a little elegance besides; but ofthat you shall judge for yourselves. Sam accompanies me there. Ihave engaged, on Perker’s representation, a housekeeper―a veryold one―and such other servants as she thinks I shall require. Ipropose to consecrate this little retreat, by having a ceremony inwhich I take a great interest, performed there. I wish, if my friendWardle entertains no objection, that his daughter should bemarried from my new house, on the day I take possession of it.
　　The happiness of young people,’ said Mr. Pickwick, a little moved,‘has ever been the chief pleasure of my life. It will warm my heartto witness the happiness of those friends who are dearest to me,beneath my own roof.’
　　Mr. Pickwick paused again: Emily and Arabella sobbed audibly.
　　‘I have communicated, both personally and by letter, with theclub,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘acquainting them with my intention.
　　During our long absence, it has suffered much from internaldissentions; and the withdrawal of my name, coupled with thisand other circumstances, has occasioned its dissolution. ThePickwick Club exists no longer.
　　‘I shall never regret,’ said Mr. Pickwick in a low voice, ‘I shallnever regret having devoted the greater part of two years tomixing with different varieties and shades of human character,frivolous as my pursuit of novelty may have appeared to many.
　　Nearly the whole of my previous life having been devoted tobusiness and the pursuit of wealth, numerous scenes of which Ihad no previous conception have dawned upon me―I hope to theenlargement of my mind, and the improvement of myunderstanding. If I have done but little good, I trust I have doneless harm, and that none of my adventures will be other than asource of amusing and pleasant recollection to me in the decline oflife. God bless you all!’
　　With these words, Mr. Pickwick filled and drained a bumperwith a trembling hand; and his eyes moistened as his friends rosewith one accord, and pledged him from their hearts.
　　There were few preparatory arrangements to be made for themarriage of Mr. Snodgrass. As he had neither father nor mother,and had been in his minority a ward of Mr. Pickwick’s, thatgentleman was perfectly well acquainted with his possessions andprospects. His account of both was quite satisfactory to Wardle―as almost any other account would have been, for the good oldgentleman was overflowing with Hilarity and kindness―and ahandsome portion having been bestowed upon Emily, themarriage was fixed to take place on the fourth day from thattime―the suddenness of which preparations reduced threedressmakers and a tailor to the extreme verge of insanity.
　　Getting post-horses to the carriage, old Wardle started off, nextday, to bring his mother back to town. Communicating hisintelligence to the old lady with characteristic impetuosity, sheinstantly fainted away; but being promptly revived, ordered thebrocaded silk gown to be packed up forthwith, and proceeded torelate some circumstances of a similar nature attending themarriage of the eldest daughter of Lady Tollimglower, deceased,which occupied three hours in the recital, and were not halffinished at last.
　　Mrs. Trundle had to be informed of all the mighty preparationsthat were making in London; and, being in a delicate state ofhealth, was informed thereof through Mr. Trundle, lest the newsshould be too much for her; but it was not too much for her,inasmuch as she at once wrote off to Muggleton, to order a newcap and a black satin gown, and moreover avowed herdetermination of being present at the ceremony. Hereupon, Mr.
　　Trundle called in the doctor, and the doctor said Mrs. Trundleought to know best how she felt herself, to which Mrs. Trundlereplied that she felt herself quite equal to it, and that she hadmade up her mind to go; upon which the doctor, who was a wiseand discreet doctor, and knew what was good for himself, as wellas for other people, said that perhaps if Mrs. Trundle stopped athome, she might hurt herself more by fretting, than by going, soperhaps she had better go. And she did go; the doctor with greatattention sending in half a dozen of medicine, to be drunk uponthe road.
　　In addition to these points of distraction, Wardle was intrustedwith two small letters to two small young ladies who were to act asbridesmaids; upon the receipt of which, the two young ladies weredriven to despair by having no ‘things’ ready for so important anoccasion, and no time to make them in―a circumstance whichappeared to afford the two worthy papas of the two small youngladies rather a feeling of satisfaction than otherwise. However, oldfrocks were trimmed, and new bonnets made, and the youngladies looked as well as could possibly have been expected ofthem. And as they cried at the subsequent ceremony in the properplaces, and trembled at the right times, they acquitted themselvesto the admiration of all beholders. How the two poor relations everreached London―whether they walked, or got behind coaches, orprocured lifts in wagons, or carried each other by turns―isuncertain; but there they were, before Wardle; and the very firstpeople that knocked at the door of Mr. Pickwick’s house, on thebridal morning, were the two poor relations, all smiles and shirtcollar.
　　They were welcomed heartily though, for riches or poverty hadno influence on Mr. Pickwick; the new servants were all alacrityand readiness; Sam was in a most unrivalled state of high spiritsand excitement; Mary was glowing with beauty and smart ribands.
　　The bridegroom, who had been staying at the house for two orthree days previous, sallied forth gallantly to Dulwich Church tomeet the bride, attended by Mr. Pickwick, Ben Allen, Bob Sawyer,and Mr. Tupman; with Sam Weller outside, having at his button-hole a white favour, the gift of his lady-love, and clad in a new andgorgeous suit of livery invented for the occasion. They were metby the Wardles, and the Winkles, and the bride and bridesmaids,and the Trundles; and the ceremony having been performed, thecoaches rattled back to Mr. Pickwick’s to breakfast, where littleMr. Perker already awaited them.
　　Here, all the light clouds of the more solemn part of theproceedings passed away; every face shone forth joyously; andnothing was to be heard but congratulations and commendations.
　　Everything was so beautiful! The lawn in front, the garden behind,the miniature conservatory, the dining-room, the drawing-room,the bedrooms, the smoking-room, and, above all, the study, withits pictures and easy-chairs, and odd cabinets, and queer tables,and books out of number, with a large cheerful window openingupon a pleasant lawn and commanding a pretty landscape, dottedhere and there with little houses almost hidden by the trees; andthen the curtains, and the carpets, and the chairs, and the sofas!
　　Everything was so beautiful, so compact, so neat, and in suchexquisite taste, said everybody, that there really was no decidingwhat to admire most.
　　And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, hiscountenance lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man,woman, or child, could resist: himself the happiest of the group:
　　shaking hands, over and over again, with the same people, andwhen his own hands were not so employed, rubbing them withpleasure: turning round in a different direction at every freshexpression of gratification or curiosity, and inspiring everybodywith his looks of gladness and delight.
　　Breakfast is announced. Mr. Pickwick leads the old lady (whohas been very eloquent on the subject of Lady Tollimglower) tothe top of a long table; Wardle takes the bottom; the friendsarrange themselves on either side; Sam takes his station behindhis master’s chair; the laughter and talking cease; Mr. Pickwick,having said grace, pauses for an instant and looks round him. Ashe does so, the tears roll down his cheeks, in the fullness of his joy.
　　Let us leave our old friend in one of those moments of unmixedhappiness, of which, if we seek them, there are ever some, to cheerour transitory existence here. There are dark shadows on theearth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men, likebats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the light.
　　We, who have no such optical powers, are better pleased to takeour last parting look at the visionary companions of many solitaryhours, when the brief sunshine of the world is blazing full uponthem.
　　It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world, and attaineven the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose them inthe course of nature. It is the fate of all authors or chroniclers tocreate imaginary friends, and lose them in the course of art. Nor isthis the full extent of their misfortunes; for they are required tofurnish an account of them besides.
　　In compliance with this custom―unquestionably a bad one―we subjoin a few biographical words, in relation to the party at Mr.
　　Pickwick’s assembled.
　　Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, being fully received into favour by the oldgentleman, were shortly afterwards installed in a newly-builthouse, not half a mile from Mr. Pickwick’s. Mr. Winkle, beingengaged in the city as agent or town correspondent of his father,exchanged his old costume for the ordinary dress of Englishmen,and presented all the external appearance of a civilised Christianever afterwards.
　　Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass settled at Dingley Dell, where theypurchased and cultivated a small farm, more for occupation thanprofit. Mr. Snodgrass, being occasionally abstracted andmelancholy, is to this day reputed a great poet among his friendsand acquaintance, although we do not find that he has everwritten anything to encourage the belief. There are manycelebrated characters, literary, philosophical, and otherwise, whohold a high reputation on a similar tenure.
　　Mr. Tupman, when his friends married, and Mr. Pickwicksettled, took lodgings at Richmond, where he has ever sinceresided. He walks constantly on the terrace during the summermonths, with a youthful and jaunty air, which has rendered himthe admiration of the numerous elderly ladies of single condition,who reside in the vicinity. He has never proposed again.
　　Mr. Bob Sawyer, having previously passed through the Gazette,passed over to Bengal, accompanied by Mr. Benjamin Allen; bothgentlemen having received surgical appointments from the EastIndia Company. They each had the yellow fever fourteen times,and then resolved to try a little abstinence; since which period,they have been doing well. Mrs. Bardell let lodgings to manyconversable single gentlemen, with great profit, but never broughtany more actions for breach of promise of marriage. Her attorneys,Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, continue in business, from which theyrealise a large income, and in which they are universallyconsidered among the sharpest of the sharp.
　　Sam Weller kept his word, and remained unmarried, for twoyears. The old housekeeper dying at the end of that time, Mr.
　　Pickwick promoted Mary to the situation, on condition of hermarrying Mr. Weller at once, which she did without a murmur.
　　From the circumstance of two sturdy little boys having beenrepeatedly seen at the gate of the back garden, there is reason tosuppose that Sam has some family.
　　The elder Mr. Weller drove a coach for twelve months, butbeing afflicted with the gout, was compelled to retire. The contentsof the pocket-book had been so well invested for him, however, byMr. Pickwick, that he had a handsome independence to retire on,upon which he still lives at an excellent public-house nearShooter’s Hill, where he is quite reverenced as an oracle, boastingvery much of his intimacy with Mr. Pickwick, and retaining a mostunconquerable aversion to widows.
　　Mr. Pickwick himself continued to reside in his new house,employing his leisure hours in arranging the memoranda which heafterwards presented to the secretary of the once famous club, orin hearing Sam Weller read aloud, with such remarks as suggestedthemselves to his mind, which never failed to afford Mr. Pickwickgreat amusement. He was much troubled at first, by the numerousapplications made to him by Mr. Snodgrass, Mr. Winkle, and Mr.
　　Trundle, to act as godfather to their offspring; but he has becomeused to it now, and officiates as a matter of course. He never hadoccasion to regret his bounty to Mr. Jingle; for both that personand Job Trotter became, in time, worthy members of society,although they have always steadily objected to return to the scenesof their old haunts and temptations. Mr. Pickwick is somewhatinfirm now; but he retains all his former juvenility of spirit, andmay still be frequently seen, contemplating the pictures in theDulwich Gallery, or enjoying a walk about the pleasantneighbourhood on a fine day. He is known by all the poor peopleabout, who never fail to take their hats off, as he passes, with greatrespect. The children idolise him, and so indeed does the wholeneighbourhood. Every year he repairs to a large family merry-making at Mr. Wardle’s; on this, as on all other occasions, he isinvariably attended by the faithful Sam, between whom and hismaster there exists a steady and reciprocal attachment whichnothing but death will terminate.
　　The End