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The Pickwick Papers

by Charles Dickens

July, 1996  [Etext #580]


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THE PICKWICK PAPERS


CHARLES DICKENS




CONTENTS


1.  The Pickwickians

2.  The first Day's Journey, and the first Evening's
  Adventures; with their Consequences

3.  A new Acquaintance--The Stroller's Tale--A
  disagreeable Interruption, and an unpleasant
  Encounter

4.  A Field Day and Bivouac--More new Friends--An
  Invitation to the Country

5.  A short one--Showing, among other Matters, how
  Mr. Pickwick undertook to drive, and Mr. Winkle
  to ride, and how they both did it

6.  An old-fashioned Card-party--The Clergyman's
  verses--The Story of the Convict's Return

7. How Mr. Winkle, instead of shooting at the Pigeon
  and killing the Crow, shot at the Crow and
  wounded the Pigeon; how the Dingley Dell
  Cricket Club played All-Muggleton, and how All-
  Muggleton dined at the Dingley Dell Expense;
  with other interesting and instructive Matters

8.  Strongly illustrative of the Position, that the
  Course of True Love is not a Railway

9.  A Discovery and a Chase

10.  Clearing up all Doubts (if any existed) of the
  Disinterestedness of Mr. A. Jingle's Character

11.  Involving another Journey, and an Antiquarian
  Discovery; Recording Mr. Pickwick's Determination
  to be present at an Election; and containing
  a Manuscript of the old Clergyman's

12. Descriptive of a very important Proceeding on
  the Part of Mr. Pickwick; no less an Epoch in his
  Life, than in this History

13.  Some Account of Eatanswill; of the State of
  Parties therein; and of the Election of a Member
  to serve in Parliament for that ancient, loyal,
and patriotic Borough

14.  Comprising a brief Description of the Company
  at the Peacock assembled; and a Tale told by a
  Bagman

15.  In which is given a faithful Portraiture of two
  distinguished Persons; and an accurate Description
  of a public Breakfast in their House and Grounds:
  which public Breakfast leads to the Recognition
  of an old Acquaintance, and the  Commencement of
  another Chapter

16.  Too full of Adventure to be briefly described

17.  Showing that an Attack of Rheumatism, in some
  Cases, acts as a Quickener to inventive Genius

18.  Briefly illustrative of two Points; first, the
  Power of Hysterics, and, secondly, the Force of
  Circumstances

19.  A pleasant Day with an unpleasant Termination

20.  Showing how Dodson and Fogg were Men of
  Business, and their Clerks Men of pleasure; and
  how an affecting Interview took place between
  Mr. Weller and his  long-lost Parent; showing also
  what Choice Spirits assembled at the Magpie and
  Stump, and what a    Capital Chapter the next one
  will be

21.  In which the old Man launches forth into his
  favourite Theme, and relates a Story about a
  queer Client

22.  Mr. Pickwick journeys to Ipswich and meets with
  a romantic Adventure with a middle-aged Lady
  in yellow  Curl-papers

23.  In which Mr. Samuel Weller begins to devote his
  Energies to the Return Match between himself
  and Mr. Trotter

24.  Wherein Mr. Peter Magnus grows jealous, and the
  middle-aged Lady apprehensive, which brings the
  Pickwickians within the Grasp of the Law

25.  Showing, among a Variety of pleasant Matters,
  how majestic and impartial Mr. Nupkins was; and
  how Mr. Weller returned Mr. Job Trotter's
  Shuttlecock as heavily as it came--With another
  Matter, which will be found in its Place

26.  Which contains a brief Account of the Progress
  of the Action of Bardell against Pickwick

27.  Samuel Weller makes a Pilgrimage to Dorking,
  and beholds his Mother-in-law

28.  A good-humoured Christmas Chapter, containing
  an Account of a Wedding, and some other Sports
  beside: which although in their Way even as good
  Customs as Marriage itself, are not quite so
  religiously kept up, in these degenerate Times

29.  The Story of the Goblins who stole a Sexton

30.  How the Pickwickians made and cultivated the
  Acquaintance of a Couple of nice young Men
  belonging to one of the liberal Professions; how
  they disported themselves on the Ice; and how
  their Visit came to a Conclusion

31.  Which is all about the Law, and sundry Great
  Authorities learned therein

32.  Describes, far more fully than the Court Newsman
  ever did, a Bachelor's Party, given by Mr.
  Bob Sawyer at his Lodgings in the Borough

33.  Mr. Weller the elder delivers some Critical Sentiments
  respecting Literary Composition; and,
  assisted by his Son Samuel, pays a small Instalment
  of Retaliation to the Account of the Reverend
  Gentleman with the Red Nose

34.  Is wholly devoted to a full and faithful Report
  of the memorable Trial of Bardell against Pickwick

35.  In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to
  Bath; and goes accordingly

36.  The chief Features of which will be found to be
  an authentic Version of the Legend of Prince
  Bladud, and a most extraordinary Calamity that
  befell Mr. Winkle

37.  Honourably accounts for Mr. Weller's Absence,
  by describing a Soiree to which he was invited
  and went; also relates how he was intrusted by
  Mr. Pickwick with a Private Mission of Delicacy
  and Importance

38.  How Mr. Winkle, when he stepped out of the
  Frying-pan, walked gently and comfortably into
  the Fire

39.  Mr. Samuel Weller, being intrusted with a Mission
  of Love, proceeds to execute it; with what Success
  will hereinafter appear

40.  Introduces Mr. Pickwick to a new and not uninteresting
  Scene in the great Drama of Life

41.  Whatt befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the
  Fleet; what Prisoners he saw there; and how he
  passed the Night

42.  Illustrative, like the preceding one, of the old
  Proverb, that Adversity brings a Man acquainted
  with strange Bedfellows--Likewise containing Mr.
  Pickwick's extraordinary and startling Announcement
  to Mr. Samuel Weller

43.  Showing how Mr. Samuel Weller got into Difficulties

44.  Treats of divers little Matters which occurred
  in the Fleet, and of Mr. Winkle's mysterious
  Behaviour; and shows how the poor Chancery
  Prisoner obtained his Release at last

45.  Descriptive of an affecting Interview between Mr.
  Samuel Weller and a Family Party.  Mr. Pickwick
  makes a Tour of the diminutive World he
  inhabits, and resolves to mix with it, in Future,
  as little as possible

46.  Records a touching Act of delicate Feeling not
  unmixed with Pleasantry, achieved and performed
  by Messrs. Dodson and Fogg

47. Is chiefly devoted to Matters of Business,
  and the temporal Advantage of Dodson and Fogg--
  Mr. Winkle reappears under extraordinary
  Circumstances--Mr. Pickwick's Benevolence proves
  stronger than his Obstinacy

48.  Relates how Mr. Pickwick, with the Assistance
  of Samuel Weller, essayed to soften the Heart
  of Mr. Benjamin Allen, and to mollify the Wrath
  of Mr. Robert Sawyer

49.  Containing the Story of the Bagman's Uncle

50.  How Mr. Pickwick sped upon his Mission, and how
  he was reinforced in the Outset by a most
  unexpected Auxiliary

51.  In which Mr. Pickwick encounters an old
  Acquaintance--To which fortunate Circumstance
  the Reader is mainly indebted for Matter of
  thrilling Interest herein set down, concerning
  two great Public Men of Might and Power

52.  Involving a serious Change in the Weller Family,
  and the untimely Downfall of Mr. Stiggins

53.  Comprising the final Exit of Mr. Jingle and Job
  Trotter, with a great Morning of business in
  Gray's Inn Square--Concluding with a Double
  Knock at Mr. Perker's Door

54.  Containing some Particulars relative to the
  Double Knock, and other Matters: among which
  certain interesting Disclosures relative to Mr.
  Snodgrass and a Young Lady are by no Means
  irrelevant to this History

55.  Mr. Solomon Pell, assisted by a Select Committee
  of Coachmen, arranges the affairs of the elder
  Mr. Weller

56. An important Conference takes place between
  Mr. Pickwick and Samuel Weller, at which his
  Parent assists--An old Gentleman in a snuff-
  coloured Suit arrives unexpectedly

57.  In which the Pickwick Club is finally dissolved,
  and everything concluded to the Satisfaction
  of Everybody





THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS
OF
THE PICKWICK CLUB




CHAPTER I
THE PICKWICKIANS


The first ray of light which illumines the gloom, and converts
into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier
history of the public career of the immortal Pickwick would
appear to be involved, is derived from the perusal of the following
entry in the Transactions of the Pickwick Club, which the editor
of these papers feels the highest pleasure in laying before his
readers, as a proof of the careful attention, indefatigable assiduity,
and nice discrimination, with which his search among the multifarious
documents confided to him has been conducted.

'May 12, 1827.  Joseph Smiggers, Esq., P.V.P.M.P.C.  [Perpetual
Vice-President--Member Pickwick Club], presiding.  The following
resolutions unanimously agreed to:--

'That this Association has heard read, with feelings of unmingled
satisfaction, and unqualified approval, the paper communicated by Samuel
Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C.  [General Chairman--Member Pickwick Club],
entitled "Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Ponds, with some
Observations on the Theory of Tittlebats;" and that this Association
does hereby return its 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 advantages
which must accrue to the cause of science, from the production
to which they have just adverted--no less than from the unwearied
researches of Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., in Hornsey,
Highgate, Brixton, and Camberwell--they cannot but entertain
a lively sense of the inestimable benefits which must inevitably
result from carrying the speculations of that learned man into a
wider field, from extending his travels, and, consequently,
enlarging his sphere of observation, to the advancement of
knowledge, and the diffusion of learning.

'That, with the view just mentioned, this Association has taken
into its serious consideration a proposal, emanating from the
aforesaid, Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., and three other
Pickwickians hereinafter named, for forming a new branch of
United Pickwickians, under the title of The Corresponding
Society of the Pickwick Club.

'That the said proposal has received the sanction and approval
of this Association.
'That the Corresponding Society of the Pickwick Club is
therefore hereby constituted; and that Samuel Pickwick, 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 the same; and that they
be requested to forward, from time to time, authenticated
accounts of their journeys and investigations, of their observations
of character and manners, and of the whole of their
adventures, together with all tales and papers to which local
scenery or associations may give rise, to the Pickwick Club,
stationed in London.

'That this Association cordially recognises the principle of
every member of the Corresponding Society defraying his own
travelling expenses; and that it sees no objection whatever to the
members of the said society pursuing their inquiries for any
length of time they please, upon the same terms.

'That the members of the aforesaid Corresponding Society be,
and are hereby informed, that their proposal to pay the postage
of their letters, and the carriage of their parcels, has been
deliberated upon by this Association: that this Association
considers such proposal worthy of the great minds from which it
emanated, and that it hereby signifies its perfect acquiescence
therein.'

A casual observer, adds the secretary, to whose notes we are
indebted for the following account--a casual observer might
possibly 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 was
working beneath that forehead, and that the beaming eyes of
Pickwick were twinkling behind those glasses, the sight was
indeed an interesting one.  There sat the man who had traced to
their source the mighty ponds of Hampstead, and agitated the
scientific world with his Theory of Tittlebats, as calm and
unmoved as the deep waters of the one on a frosty day, or as a
solitary specimen of the other in the inmost recesses of an earthen
jar.  And how much more interesting did the spectacle become,
when, starting into full life and animation, as a simultaneous call
for 'Pickwick' burst from his followers, that illustrious man
slowly mounted into the Windsor chair, on which he had been
previously seated, and addressed the club himself had founded.
What a study for an artist did that exciting scene present! The
eloquent Pickwick, with one hand gracefully concealed behind
his coat tails, and the other waving in air to assist his glowing
declamation; his elevated position revealing those tights and
gaiters, which, had they clothed an ordinary man, might have
passed without observation, but which, when Pickwick clothed
them--if we may use the expression--inspired involuntary awe
and respect; surrounded by the men who had volunteered to
share the perils of his travels, and who were destined to participate
in the glories of his discoveries.  On his right sat Mr. Tracy
Tupman--the too susceptible Tupman, who to the wisdom and
experience of maturer years superadded the enthusiasm and
ardour of a boy in the most interesting and pardonable of human
weaknesses--love.  Time and feeding had expanded that once
romantic form; the black silk waistcoat had become more and
more developed; inch by inch had the gold watch-chain beneath
it disappeared from within the range of Tupman's vision; and
gradually had the capacious chin encroached upon the borders of
the white cravat: but the soul of Tupman had known no change
--admiration of the fair sex was still its ruling passion.  On the
left of his great leader sat the poetic Snodgrass, and near him
again the sporting Winkle; the former poetically enveloped in a
mysterious blue cloak with a canine-skin collar, and the latter
communicating additional lustre to a new green shooting-coat,
plaid neckerchief, and closely-fitted drabs.

Mr. Pickwick's oration upon this occasion, together with the
debate thereon, is entered on the Transactions of the Club.  Both
bear a strong affinity to the discussions of other celebrated
bodies; and, as it is always interesting to trace a resemblance
between the proceedings of great men, we transfer the entry to
these pages.

'Mr. Pickwick observed (says the secretary) that fame was dear
to the heart of every man.  Poetic fame was dear to the heart of
his friend Snodgrass; the fame of conquest was equally dear to
his friend Tupman; and the desire of earning fame in the sports
of the field, the air, and the water was uppermost in the breast of
his friend Winkle.  He (Mr. Pickwick) would not deny that he was
influenced by human passions and human feelings (cheers)--
possibly by human weaknesses (loud cries of "No"); but this he
would say, that if ever the fire of self-importance broke out in his
bosom, the desire to benefit the human race in preference
effectually quenched it.  The praise of mankind was his swing;
philanthropy was his insurance office.  (Vehement cheering.) He
had felt some pride--he acknowledged it freely, and let his
enemies make the most of it--he had felt some pride when he
presented his Tittlebatian Theory to the world; it might be
celebrated or it might not.  (A cry of "It is," and great cheering.)
He would take the assertion of that honourable Pickwickian
whose voice he had just heard--it was celebrated; but if the fame
of that treatise were to extend to the farthest confines of the
known world, the pride with which he should reflect on the
authorship of that production would be as nothing compared
with the pride with which he looked around him, on this, the
proudest moment of his existence.  (Cheers.) He was a humble
individual.  ("No, no.") Still he could not but feel that they had
selected him for a service of great honour, and of some danger.
Travelling was in a troubled state, and the minds of coachmen
were unsettled.  Let them look abroad and contemplate the scenes
which were enacting around them.  Stage-coaches were upsetting
in all directions, horses were bolting, boats were overturning, and
boilers were bursting.  (Cheers--a voice "No.") No! (Cheers.)
Let that honourable Pickwickian who cried "No" so loudly
come forward and deny it, if he could.  (Cheers.) Who was it that
cried "No"? (Enthusiastic cheering.) Was it some vain and
disappointed man--he would not say haberdasher (loud cheers)
--who, jealous of the praise which had been--perhaps undeservedly--
bestowed on his (Mr. Pickwick's) researches, and smarting under
the censure which had been heaped upon his own feeble attempts at
rivalry, now took this vile and calumnious mode of---

'Mr. BLOTTON (of Aldgate) rose to order.  Did the honourable
Pickwickian 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.  (Immense confusion,
and loud cries of "Chair," and "Order.")

'Mr. A. SNODGRASS rose to order.  He threw himself upon the
chair.  (Hear.) He wished to know whether this disgraceful
contest between two members of that club should be allowed to
continue.  (Hear, hear.)

'The CHAIRMAN was quite sure the hon. Pickwickian would
withdraw the expression he had just made use of.

'Mr. BLOTTON, with all possible respect for the chair, was quite
sure he would not.

'The CHAIRMAN felt it his imperative duty to demand of the
honourable gentleman, whether he had used the expression which
had just escaped him in a common sense.

'Mr. BLOTTON had no hesitation in saying that he had not--he
had used the word in its Pickwickian sense.  (Hear, hear.) He was
bound to acknowledge that, personally, he entertained the
highest regard and esteem for the honourable gentleman; he had
merely considered him a humbug in a Pickwickian point of view.
(Hear, hear.)

'Mr. PICKWICK felt much gratified by the fair, candid, and full
explanation of his honourable friend.  He begged it to be at once
understood, that his own observations had been merely intended
to bear a Pickwickian construction.  (Cheers.)'

Here the entry terminates, as we have no doubt the debate did
also, after arriving at such a highly satisfactory and intelligible
point.  We have no official statement of the facts which the reader
will find recorded in the next chapter, but they have been carefully
collated from letters and other MS. authorities, so unquestionably
genuine as to justify their narration in a connected form.


CHAPTER II
THE FIRST DAY'S JOURNEY, AND THE FIRST EVENING'S
  ADVENTURES; WITH THEIR CONSEQUENCES


That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and
begun to strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May,
one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel
Pickwick burst like another sun from his slumbers, threw open his
chamber window, and looked out upon the world beneath.  Goswell
Street was at his feet, Goswell Street was on his right hand--as
far as the eye could reach, Goswell Street extended on his left;
and the opposite side of Goswell Street was over the way.  'Such,'
thought Mr. Pickwick, 'are the narrow views of those philosophers
who, content with examining the things that lie before them, look
not to the truths which are hidden beyond.  As well might I be
content to gaze on Goswell Street for ever, without one effort to
penetrate to the hidden countries which on every side surround
it.'  And having given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr.
Pickwick proceeded to put himself into his clothes, and his
clothes into his portmanteau.  Great men are seldom over
scrupulous in the arrangement of their attire; the operation of
shaving, dressing, and coffee-imbibing was soon performed; and, in
another hour, Mr. Pickwick, with his portmanteau in his hand, his
telescope in his greatcoat pocket, and his note-book in his
waistcoat, ready for the reception of any discoveries 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 human
race, in a sackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who, with a brass
label and number round his neck, looked as if he were catalogued
in some collection of rarities.  This was the waterman.  'Here you
are, sir.  Now, then, fust cab!'  And the first cab having been
fetched from 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 the
information 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.
Pickwick looked very hard at the man's face, but his features
were immovable, so he noted down the fact forthwith.
'And how long do you keep him out at a time?'inquired Mr.
Pickwick, searching for further information.

'Two or three veeks,' replied the man.

'Weeks!' said Mr. Pickwick in astonishment, and out came the
note-book again.

'He lives at Pentonwil when he's at home,' observed the driver
coolly, 'but we seldom takes him home, on account of his weakness.'

'On account of his weakness!' reiterated the perplexed Mr. Pickwick.

'He always falls down when he's took out o' the cab,' continued
the driver, 'but when he's in it, we bears him up werry
tight, and takes him in werry short, so as he can't werry well fall
down; and we'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 singular
instance of the tenacity of life in horses under trying circumstances.
The entry was scarcely completed when they reached the
Golden Cross.  Down jumped the driver, and out got Mr. Pickwick.
Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle, who had
been anxiously waiting the arrival of their illustrious leader,
crowded to welcome him.

'Here's your fare,' said Mr. Pickwick, holding out the shilling
to the driver.

What was the learned man's astonishment, when that unaccountable
person flung the money on the pavement, and
requested in figurative terms to be allowed the pleasure of fighting
him (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
to vork, Sam!--and they crowded with great glee round the
party.

'What's the row, Sam?' inquired one gentleman in black calico sleeves.

'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
to the crowd, 'would anybody believe as an informer'ud go about
in a man's cab, not only takin' down his number, but ev'ry word
he says into the bargain' (a light flashed upon Mr. Pickwick--it
was the note-book).

'Did he though?' inquired another cabman.

'Yes, did he,' replied the first; 'and then arter aggerawatin' me
to assault him, gets three witnesses here to prove it.  But I'll give it
him, if I've six months for it.  Come on!' and the cabman dashed
his hat upon the ground, with a reckless disregard of his own
private property, and knocked Mr. Pickwick's spectacles off, and
followed up the attack with a blow on Mr. Pickwick's nose, and
another on Mr. Pickwick's chest, and a third in Mr. Snodgrass's
eye, and a fourth, by way of variety, in Mr. Tupman's waistcoat,
and then danced into the road, and then back again to the pavement,
and finally 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 without
cessation the whole time.

The mob hitherto had been passive spectators of the scene, but
as the intelligence of the Pickwickians being informers was spread
among them, they began to canvass with considerable vivacity
the propriety of enforcing the heated pastry-vendor's proposition:
and there is no saying what acts of personal aggression they
might have committed, had not the affray been unexpectedly
terminated by the interposition of a new-comer.

'What's the fun?' said a rather tall, thin, young man, in a green
coat, emerging suddenly from the coach-yard.

'informers!' shouted the crowd again.

'We are not,' roared Mr. Pickwick, in a tone which, to any
dispassionate 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
infallible process of elbowing the countenances of its component members.

That learned man in a few hurried words explained the real
state 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--respectable
gentleman--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
the flavour--damned rascals.'  And with a lengthened string of
similar broken sentences, delivered with extraordinary volubility,
the stranger led the way to the traveller's waiting-room, whither
he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and his disciples.

'Here, waiter!' shouted the stranger, ringing the bell with
tremendous violence, 'glasses round--brandy-and-water, hot and
strong, and sweet, and plenty,--eye damaged, Sir? Waiter! raw
beef-steak for the gentleman's eye--nothing like raw beef-steak
for a bruise, sir; cold lamp-post very good, but lamp-post
inconvenient--damned odd standing in the open street half an
hour, with your eye against a lamp-post--eh,--very good--
ha! ha!'  And the stranger, without stopping to take breath,
swallowed at a draught full half a pint of the reeking brandy-and-
water, and flung himself into a chair with as much ease as if
nothing uncommon had occurred.

While his three companions were busily engaged in proffering
their thanks to their new acquaintance, Mr. Pickwick had leisure
to 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
much taller.  The green coat had been a smart dress garment in the
days of swallow-tails, but had evidently in those times adorned
a much shorter man than the stranger, for the soiled and faded
sleeves scarcely reached to his wrists.  It was buttoned closely up
to his chin, at the imminent hazard of splitting the back; and an
old stock, without a vestige of shirt collar, ornamented his neck.
His scanty black trousers displayed here and there those shiny
patches which bespeak long service, and were strapped very
tightly over a pair of patched and mended shoes, as if to conceal
the dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctly
visible.  His long, black hair escaped in negligent waves from
beneath each side of his old pinched-up hat; and glimpses of his
bare wrists might be observed between the tops of his gloves and
the cuffs of his coat sleeves.  His face was thin and haggard; but
an indescribable air of jaunty impudence and perfect self-
possession pervaded the whole man.

Such was the individual on whom Mr. Pickwick gazed through
his spectacles (which he had fortunately recovered), and to whom
he proceeded, when his friends had exhausted themselves, to
return in chosen terms his warmest thanks for his recent assistance.

'Never mind,' said the stranger, cutting the address very short,
'said enough--no more; smart chap that cabman--handled
his fives well; but if I'd been your friend in the green jemmy--
damn me--punch his head,--'cod I would,--pig's whisper--
pieman too,--no gammon.'


This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the
Rochester coachman, to announce that 'the Commodore' was on
the point of starting.

'Commodore!' said the stranger, starting up, 'my coach--
place booked,--one outside--leave you to pay for the brandy-
and-water,--want change for a five,--bad silver--Brummagem
buttons--won't do--no go--eh?' and he shook his head most knowingly.

Now it so happened that Mr. Pickwick and his three
companions had resolved to make Rochester their first halting-place
too; and having intimated to their new-found acquaintance that
they were journeying to the same city, they agreed to occupy the
seat at the back of the coach, where they could all sit together.

'Up with you,' said the stranger, assisting Mr. Pickwick on to
the roof with so much precipitation as to impair the gravity of
that gentleman's deportment very materially.

'Any luggage, Sir?' inquired the coachman.
'Who--I? Brown paper parcel here, that's all--other luggage
gone by water--packing-cases, nailed up--big as houses--
heavy, heavy, damned heavy,' replied the stranger, as he forced
into his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel,
which presented most suspicious indications of containing one
shirt and a handkerchief.

'Heads, heads--take care of your heads!' cried the loquacious
stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in those
days 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
look round--mother's head off--sandwich in her hand--no
mouth to put it in--head of a family off--shocking, shocking!
Looking at Whitehall, sir?--fine place--little window--somebody
else's head off there, eh, sir?--he didn't keep a sharp
look-out enough either--eh, Sir, eh?'

'I am ruminating,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'on the strange
mutability of human affairs.'

'Ah! I see--in at the palace door one day, out at the window
the next.  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 less
to 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,
Apollo by 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--
cut and slash--noble time, Sir.  Sportsman, sir ?'abruptly turning
to Mr. Winkle.
          [* A remarkable instance of the prophetic force of Mr.
          Jingle's imagination; this dialogue occurring in the year
          1827, and the 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--sagacious creatures
--dog of my own once--pointer--surprising instinct--out
shooting one day--entering inclosure--whistled--dog stopped--
whistled again--Ponto--no go; stock still--called him--Ponto,
Ponto--wouldn't move--dog transfixed--staring at a board--
looked up, saw an inscription--"Gamekeeper has orders to 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
allow me to make a note of it?'

'Certainly, Sir, certainly--hundred more anecdotes of the same
animal.--Fine girl, Sir' (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been
bestowing sundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by
the roadside).

'Very!' said Mr. Tupman.

'English girls not so fine as Spanish--noble creatures--jet hair
--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--only
daughter--Donna Christina--splendid creature--loved me to
distraction--jealous father--high-souled daughter--handsome
Englishman--Donna Christina in despair--prussic acid--
stomach pump in my portmanteau--operation performed--old
Bolaro in ecstasies--consent to our union--join hands and floods
of tears--romantic story--very.'

'Is the lady in England now, sir?' inquired Mr. Tupman, on
whom the description of her charms had produced a powerful impression.

'Dead, sir--dead,' said the stranger, applying to his right eye
the brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief.  'Never
recovered the stomach pump--undermined constitution--fell a victim.'

'And her father?' inquired the poetic Snodgrass.

'Remorse and misery,' replied the stranger.  'Sudden
disappearance--talk of the whole city--search made everywhere
without success--public fountain in the great square suddenly
ceased playing--weeks elapsed--still a stoppage--workmen
employed to clean it--water drawn off--father-in-law discovered
sticking head first in the main pipe, with a full confession in his
right boot--took him out, and the fountain played away again,
as well as ever.'

'Will you allow me to note that little romance down, Sir?' said
Mr. Snodgrass, deeply affected.

'Certainly, Sir, certainly--fifty more if you like to hear 'em--
strange life mine--rather curious history--not extraordinary,
but singular.'

In this strain, with an occasional glass of ale, by way of
parenthesis, when the coach changed horses, did the stranger
proceed, until they reached Rochester bridge, by which time the
note-books, both of Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Snodgrass, were
completely filled with selections from his adventures.

'Magnificent ruin!' said Mr. Augustus Snodgrass, with all the
poetic fervour that distinguished him, when they came in sight of
the fine old castle.

'What a sight for an antiquarian!' were the very words which
fell from Mr. Pickwick's mouth, as he applied his telescope to his eye.

'Ah! fine place,' said the stranger, 'glorious pile--frowning
walls--tottering arches--dark nooks--crumbling staircases--old
cathedral too--earthy smell--pilgrims' feet wore away the old
steps--little Saxon doors--confessionals like money-takers'
boxes at theatres--queer customers those monks--popes, and
lord treasurers, and all sorts of old fellows, with great red faces,
and broken 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
they reached 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 if
you look at the waiter--charge you more if you dine at a friend's
than they would if you dined in the coffee-room--rum fellows--very.'

Mr. Winkle turned to Mr. Pickwick, and murmured a few
words; a whisper passed from Mr. Pickwick to Mr. Snodgrass,
from Mr. Snodgrass to Mr. Tupman, and nods of assent were
exchanged.  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
by begging the favour of your company at dinner?'

'Great pleasure--not presume to dictate, but broiled fowl and
mushrooms--capital thing! What time?'

'Let me see,' replied Mr. Pickwick, referring to his watch, 'it is
now nearly three.  Shall we say five?'

'Suit me excellently,' said the stranger, 'five precisely--till then--care of
yourselves;' and lifting the pinched-up hat a few inches
from his head, and carelessly replacing it very much on one side,
the stranger, with half the brown paper parcel sticking out of his
pocket, walked briskly up the yard, and turned into the High Street.

'Evidently a traveller in many countries, and a close observer of
men 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, bedrooms
inspected, and dinner ordered, the party walked out to view the
city and adjoining neighbourhood.

We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwick's notes
of the four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton,
that his impressions of their appearance differ in any material
point from those of other travellers who have gone over the same
ground.  His general description is easily abridged.

'The principal productions of these towns,' says Mr. Pickwick,
'appear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and
dockyard men.  The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the
public streets are marine stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, and
oysters.  The streets present a lively and animated appearance,
occasioned chiefly by the conviviality of the military.  It is truly
delightful to a philanthropic mind to see these gallant men
staggering along under the influence of an overflow both of
animal and ardent spirits; more especially when we remember
that the following them about, and jesting with them, affords a
cheap and innocent amusement for the boy population.  Nothing,'
adds Mr. Pickwick, 'can exceed their good-humour.  It was
but the day before my arrival that one of them had been most
grossly insulted in the house of a publican.  The barmaid
had positively refused to draw him any more liquor; in return
for which he had (merely in playfulness) drawn his bayonet,
and wounded the girl in the shoulder.  And yet this fine fellow
was the very first to go down to the house next morning and
express his readiness to overlook the matter, and forget what
had occurred!

'The consumption of tobacco in these towns,' continues Mr.
Pickwick, 'must be very great, and the smell which pervades the
streets must be exceedingly delicious to those who are extremely
fond of smoking.  A superficial traveller might object to the dirt,
which is their leading characteristic; but to those who view it as
an indication of traffic and commercial prosperity, it is
truly gratifying.'

Punctual to five o'clock came the stranger, and shortly afterwards
the dinner.  He had divested himself of his brown paper
parcel, but had made no alteration in his attire, and was, if
possible, more loquacious than ever.

'What's that?' he inquired, as the waiter removed one of the covers.

'Soles, Sir.'

'Soles--ah!--capital fish--all come from London-stage-
coach proprietors get up political dinners--carriage of soles--
dozens of baskets--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 party together, 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
the subject of the ball, 'very much.'

'Tickets at the bar, Sir,' interposed the waiter; 'half-a-guinea
each, Sir.'

Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at
the festivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of
Mr. Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he
applied himself with great interest to the port wine and dessert,
which had just been placed on the table.  The waiter withdrew,
and the party were left to enjoy the cosy couple of hours
succeeding dinner.

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said the stranger, 'bottle stands--pass
it round--way of the sun--through the button-hole--no heeltaps,'
and he emptied his glass, which he had filled about two
minutes before, and poured out another, with the air of a man
who was used to it.

The wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered.  The visitor
talked, the Pickwickians listened.  Mr. Tupman felt every moment
more disposed for the ball.  Mr. Pickwick's countenance glowed
with an expression of universal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle
and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast asleep.

'They're beginning upstairs,' said the stranger--'hear the
company--fiddles tuning--now the harp--there they go.'  The
various sounds which found their way downstairs announced the
commencement of the first quadrille.

'How I should like to go,' said Mr. Tupman again.

'So should I,' said the stranger--'confounded luggage,--heavy
smacks--nothing to go in--odd, ain't it?'

Now general benevolence was one of the leading features of the
Pickwickian theory, and no one was more remarkable for the
zealous manner in which he observed so noble a principle than
Mr. Tracy Tupman.  The number of instances recorded on the
Transactions of the Society, in which that excellent man referred
objects of charity to the houses of other members for left-off
garments or pecuniary relief is almost incredible.
'I should be very happy 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--dismounted
from the tub, and adopted kersey, eh?--not double distilled, but
double milled--ha! ha! pass the wine.'

Whether Mr. Tupman was somewhat indignant at the peremptory
tone in which he was desired to pass the wine which the
stranger passed so quickly away, or whether he felt very properly
scandalised at an influential member of the Pickwick Club being
ignominiously compared to a dismounted Bacchus, is a fact not
yet completely ascertained.  He passed the wine, coughed twice,
and looked at the stranger for several seconds with a stern intensity;
as that individual, however, appeared perfectly collected,
and quite calm under his searching glance, he gradually relaxed,
and reverted to the subject of the ball.

'I was about to observe, Sir,' he said, 'that though my apparel
would 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 that
feature glistened with satisfaction as he said, 'Just the thing.'

Mr. Tupman looked round him.  The wine, which had exerted
its somniferous influence over Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle,
had stolen upon the senses of Mr. Pickwick.  That gentleman had
gradually passed through the various stages which precede the
lethargy produced by dinner, and its consequences.  He had
undergone the ordinary transitions from the height of conviviality
to the depth of misery, and from the depth of misery to the height
of conviviality.  Like a gas-lamp in the street, with the wind in the
pipe, he had exhibited for a moment an unnatural brilliancy, then
sank so low as to be scarcely discernible; after a short interval, he
had burst out again, to enlighten for a moment; then flickered
with an uncertain, staggering sort of light, and then gone out
altogether.  His head was sunk upon his bosom, and perpetual
snoring, with a partial choke occasionally, were the only audible
indications of the great man's presence.

The temptation to be present at the ball, and to form his first
impressions of the beauty of the Kentish ladies, was strong upon
Mr. Tupman.  The temptation to take the stranger with him was
equally great.  He was wholly unacquainted with the place and its
inhabitants, and the stranger seemed to possess as great a
knowledge of both as if he had lived there from his infancy.
Mr. Winkle was asleep, and Mr. Tupman had had sufficient
experience in such matters to know that the moment he awoke he
would, in the ordinary course of nature, roll heavily to bed.  He
was undecided.  'Fill your glass, and pass the wine,' said the
indefatigable visitor.

Mr. Tupman did as he was requested; and the additional
stimulus of the last glass settled his determination.

'Winkle's bedroom is inside mine,' said Mr. Tupman; 'I
couldn't make him understand what I wanted, if I woke him now,
but I know he has a dress-suit in a carpet bag; and supposing you
wore it to the ball, and took it off when we returned, I could
replace it without troubling him at all about the matter.'

'Capital,' said the stranger, 'famous plan--damned odd
situation--fourteen coats in the packing-cases, and obliged to
wear 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
who shall pay for both--I call; you spin--first time--woman--
woman--bewitching woman,' and down came the sovereign with
the dragon (called by courtesy a woman) uppermost.

Mr. Tupman rang the bell, purchased the tickets, and ordered
chamber candlesticks.  In another quarter of an hour the stranger
was completely arrayed in a full suit of Mr. Nathaniel Winkle's.

'It's a new coat,' said Mr. Tupman, as the stranger surveyed
himself with great complacency in a cheval glass; 'the first that's
been made with our club button,' and he called his 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, screwing
himself round to catch a glimpse in the glass of the waist buttons,
which were half-way up his back.  'Like a general postman's coat
--queer coats those--made by contract--no measuring--
mysterious dispensations of Providence--all the short men get
long coats--all the long men short ones.'  Running on in this way,
Mr. Tupman's new companion adjusted his dress, or rather the
dress of Mr. Winkle; and, accompanied by Mr. Tupman,
ascended the staircase leading to the ballroom.

'What names, sir?' said the man at the door.  Mr. Tracy
Tupman was stepping forward to announce his own titles, when
the stranger prevented him.

'No names at all;' and then he whispered Mr. Tupman,
'names won't do--not known--very good names in their way,
but not great ones--capital names for a small party, but won't
make an impression in public assemblies--incog. the thing--
gentlemen from London--distinguished foreigners--anything.'
The door was thrown open, and Mr. Tracy Tupman and the
stranger entered the ballroom.

It was a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax
candles in glass chandeliers.  The musicians were securely confined
in an elevated den, and quadrilles were being systematically
got through by two or three sets of dancers.  Two card-tables were
made up in the adjoining card-room, and two pair of old ladies,
and a corresponding number of stout gentlemen, were executing
whist therein.

The finale concluded, the dancers promenaded the room, and
Mr. Tupman and his companion stationed themselves in a corner
to observe the company.

'Charming women,' said Mr. Tupman.

'Wait a minute,' said the stranger, 'fun presently--nobs not
come yet--queer place--dockyard people of upper rank don't
know dockyard people of lower rank--dockyard people of lower
rank don't know small gentry--small gentry don't know
tradespeople--commissioner don't know anybody.'

'Who's that little boy with the light hair and pink eyes, in a
fancy 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 great
sensation was created throughout the room by the entrance of a
tall gentleman in a blue coat and bright buttons, a large lady in
blue satin, and two young ladies, on a similar scale, in fashionably-
made dresses of the same hue.

'Commissioner--head of the yard--great man--remarkably
great man,' whispered the stranger in Mr. Tupman's ear, as the
charitable committee ushered Sir Thomas Clubber and family to
the top of the room.  The Honourable Wilmot Snipe, and other
distinguished gentlemen crowded to render homage to the Misses
Clubber; and Sir Thomas Clubber stood bolt upright, and looked
majestically over his black kerchief at the assembled company.

'Mr. Smithie, Mrs. Smithie, and the Misses Smithie,' was the
next announcement.

'What's Mr. Smithie?' inquired Mr. Tracy Tupman.

'Something in the yard,' replied the stranger.  Mr. Smithie
bowed deferentially to Sir Thomas Clubber; and Sir Thomas
Clubber acknowledged the salute with conscious condescension.
Lady Clubber took a telescopic view of Mrs. Smithie and family
through 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,' were
the next arrivals.

'Head of the garrison,' said the stranger, in reply to Mr. Tupman's
inquiring look.

Miss Bulder was warmly welcomed by the Misses Clubber; the
greeting between Mrs. Colonel Bulder and Lady Clubber was of
the most affectionate description; Colonel Bulder and Sir Thomas
Clubber exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked very much like a pair
of Alexander Selkirks--'Monarchs of all they surveyed.'

While the aristocracy of the place--the Bulders, and Clubbers,
and Snipes--were thus preserving their dignity at the upper end
of the room, the other classes of society were imitating their
example in other parts of it.  The less aristocratic officers of the
97th devoted themselves to the families of the less important
functionaries from the dockyard.  The solicitors' wives, and the
wine-merchant's wife, headed another grade (the brewer's wife
visited the Bulders); and Mrs. Tomlinson, the post-office keeper,
seemed by mutual consent to have been chosen the leader of the
trade party.

One of the most popular personages, in his own circle, present,
was a little fat man, with a ring of upright black hair round his
head, and an extensive bald plain on the top of it--Doctor
Slammer, surgeon to the 97th.  The doctor took snuff with
everybody, chatted with everybody, laughed, danced, made jokes,
played whist, did everything, and was everywhere.  To these
pursuits, multifarious as they were, the little doctor added a
more important one than any--he was indefatigable in paying
the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow,
whose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most
desirable addition to a limited income.

Upon the doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupman
and his companion had been fixed for some time, when the
stranger broke silence.

'Lots of money--old girl--pompous doctor--not a bad idea--
good fun,' were the intelligible sentences which issued from his
lips.  Mr. Tupman looked inquisitively in his face.
'I'll dance with the 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 of
respectful and melancholy admiration on the fat countenance of
the little old lady.  Mr. Tupman looked on, in mute astonishment.
The stranger progressed rapidly; the little doctor danced with
another lady; the widow dropped her fan; the stranger picked it
up, and presented it--a smile--a bow--a curtsey--a few words
of conversation.  The stranger walked boldly up to, and returned
with, the master of the ceremonies; a little introductory pantomime;
and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their places in a quadrille.

The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great
as it was, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the
doctor.  The stranger was young, and the widow was flattered.
The doctor's attentions were unheeded by the widow; and the
doctor's indignation was wholly lost on his imperturbable rival.
Doctor Slammer was paralysed.  He, Doctor Slammer, of the
97th, to be extinguished in a moment, by a man whom nobody
had ever seen before, and whom nobody knew even now! Doctor
Slammer--Doctor Slammer of the 97th rejected! Impossible! It
could not be! Yes, it was; there they were.  What! introducing his
friend! Could he believe his eyes! He looked again, and was
under the painful necessity of admitting the veracity of his optics;
Mrs. Budger was dancing with Mr. Tracy Tupman; there was no
mistaking the fact.  There was the widow before him, bouncing
bodily here and there, with unwonted vigour; and Mr. Tracy
Tupman hopping about, with a face expressive of the most
intense solemnity, dancing (as a good many people do) as if a
quadrille were not a thing to be laughed at, but a severe trial to
the feelings, which it requires inflexible resolution to encounter.

Silently and patiently did the doctor bear all this, and all the
handings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting for
biscuits, and coquetting, that ensued; but, a few seconds after the
stranger had disappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, he
darted swiftly from the room with every particle of his hitherto-
bottled-up indignation effervescing, from all parts of his countenance,
in a perspiration of passion.

The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside him.
He spoke in a low tone, and laughed.  The little doctor thirsted
for his life.  He was exulting.  He had triumphed.

'Sir!' said the doctor, in an awful voice, producing a card, and
retiring into an angle of the passage, 'my name is Slammer,
Doctor Slammer, sir--97th Regiment--Chatham Barracks--my
card, Sir, my card.'  He would have added more, but his indignation
choked him.

'Ah!' replied the stranger coolly, 'Slammer--much obliged--
polite attention--not ill now, Slammer--but when I am--knock
you up.'

'You--you're a shuffler, sir,' gasped the furious doctor, 'a
poltroon--a coward--a liar--a--a--will nothing induce you to
give me your card, sir!'
'Oh! I see,' said the stranger, half aside, 'negus too strong here
--liberal landlord--very foolish--very--lemonade much better
--hot rooms--elderly gentlemen--suffer for it in the morning--
cruel--cruel;' and he moved on a step or two.

'You are stopping in this house, Sir,' said the indignant little
man; 'you are intoxicated now, Sir; you shall hear from me in the
morning, sir.  I shall find you out, sir; I shall find you out.'

'Rather you found me out than found me at home,' replied the
unmoved stranger.

Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity, as he fixed his
hat on his head with an indignant knock; and the stranger and
Mr. Tupman ascended to the bedroom of the latter to restore the
borrowed plumage to the unconscious Winkle.

That gentleman was fast asleep; the restoration was soon made.
The stranger was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy Tupman,
being quite bewildered with wine, negus, lights, and ladies,
thought the whole affair was an exquisite joke.  His new friend
departed; and, after experiencing some slight difficulty in finding
the orifice in his nightcap, originally intended for the reception of
his head, and finally overturning his candlestick in his struggles to
put it on, Mr. Tracy Tupman managed to get into bed by a series
of complicated evolutions, and shortly afterwards sank into repose.

Seven o'clock had hardly ceased striking on the following
morning, when Mr. Pickwick's comprehensive mind was aroused
from the state of unconsciousness, in which slumber had plunged
it, by a loud knocking at his chamber door.
'Who's there?' said Mr. Pickwick, starting up in bed.

'Boots, sir.'

'What do you want?'

'Please, sir, can you tell me which gentleman of your party
wears a bright blue dress-coat, with a gilt button with "P. C."
on it?'

'It's been given out to brush,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'and the
man has forgotten whom it belongs to.'  'Mr. Winkle,'he called
out, 'next room but two, on the right hand.'
'Thank'ee, sir,' said the Boots, and away he went.

'What's the matter?' cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking at
his door roused hint from his oblivious repose.

'Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?' replied Boots from the outside.

'Winkle--Winkle!' shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the
inner room.
'Hollo!' replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes.

'You're wanted--some one at the door;' and, having exerted
himself to articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned
round and fell fast asleep again.

'Wanted!' said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, and
putting on a few articles of clothing; 'wanted! at this distance
from town--who on earth can want me?'

'Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir,' replied the Boots, as
Mr. Winkle opened the door and confronted him; 'gentleman
says he'll not detain you a moment, Sir, but he can take no denial.'

'Very odd!' said Mr. Winkle; 'I'll be down directly.'

He hurriedly wrapped himself in a travelling-shawl and
dressing-gown, and proceeded downstairs.  An old woman and a
couple of waiters were cleaning the coffee-room, and an officer in
undress uniform was looking out of the window.  He turned
round as Mr. Winkle entered, and made a stiff inclination of the
head.  Having ordered the attendants to retire, and closed the
door very carefully, he said, 'Mr. Winkle, I presume?'

'My name is Winkle, sir.'

'You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you that I have
called here this morning on behalf of my friend, Doctor Slammer,
of the 97th.'

'Doctor Slammer!' said Mr. Winkle.

'Doctor Slammer.  He begged me to express his opinion that
your conduct of last evening was of a description which no
gentleman could endure; and' (he added) 'which no one gentleman
would pursue towards another.'

Mr. Winkle's astonishment was too real, and too evident, to
escape the observation of Doctor Slammer's friend; he therefore
proceeded--'My friend, Doctor Slammer, requested me to add,
that he was firmly persuaded you were intoxicated during a
portion of the evening, and possibly unconscious of the extent of
the insult you were guilty of.  He commissioned me to say, that
should this be pleaded as an excuse for your behaviour, he will
consent to accept a written apology, to be penned by you, from
my dictation.'

'A written apology!' repeated Mr. Winkle, in the most
emphatic tone of amazement possible.

'Of course you know the alternative,' replied the visitor coolly.

'Were you intrusted with this message to me by name?'
inquired Mr. Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused
by this extraordinary conversation.

'I was not present myself,' replied the visitor, 'and in consequence
of your firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slammer,
I was desired by that gentleman to identify the wearer of a very
uncommon coat--a bright blue dress-coat, with a gilt button
displaying a bust, and the letters "P. C."'

Mr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heard
his own costume thus minutely described.  Doctor Slammer's
friend proceeded:--'From the inquiries I made at the bar, just
now, I was convinced that the owner of the coat in question
arrived here, with three gentlemen, yesterday afternoon.  I
immediately sent up to the gentleman who was described as
appearing the head of the party, and he at once referred me to you.'

If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walked
from its foundation, and stationed itself opposite the coffee-room
window, Mr. Winkle's surprise would have been as nothing
compared with the profound astonishment with which he had
heard this address.  His first impression was that his coat had been
stolen.  '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 hand
opened the bag.  There was the coat in its usual place, but
exhibiting, on a close inspection, evident tokens of having been
worn on the preceding night.

'It must be so,' said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from his
hands.  'I took too much wine after dinner, and have a very vague
recollection of walking about the streets, and smoking a cigar
afterwards.  The fact is, I was very drunk;--I must have changed
my coat--gone somewhere--and insulted somebody--I have no
doubt of it; and this message is the terrible consequence.'  Saying
which, Mr. Winkle retraced his steps in the direction of the
coffee-room, with the gloomy and dreadful resolve of accepting
the challenge of the warlike Doctor Slammer, and abiding by the
worst consequences that might ensue.

To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety of
considerations, the first of which was his reputation with the
club.  He had always been looked up to as a high authority on all
matters of amusement and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive,
or inoffensive; and if, on this very first occasion of being put
to the test, he shrunk back from the trial, beneath his leader's eye,
his name and standing were lost for ever.  Besides, he remembered
to have heard it frequently surmised by the uninitiated in such
matters that by an understood arrangement between the seconds,
the pistols were seldom loaded with ball; and, furthermore, he
reflected that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass to act as his second,
and depicted the danger in glowing terms, that gentleman might
possibly communicate the intelligence to Mr. Pickwick, who
would certainly lose no time in transmitting it to the local
authorities, and thus prevent the killing or maiming of his follower.

Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room,
and intimated his intention of accepting the doctor's challenge.

'Will you refer me to a friend, to arrange the time and place of
meeting?' said the officer.

'Quite unnecessary,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'name them to me,
and I can procure the attendance of a friend afterwards.'

'Shall we say--sunset this evening?' inquired the officer, in a
careless tone.

'Very good,' replied Mr. Winkle, thinking in his heart it was
very bad.

'You know Fort Pitt?'

'Yes; I saw it yesterday.'

'If you will take the trouble to turn into the field which borders
the trench, take the foot-path to the left when you arrive at an
angle of the fortification, and keep straight on, till you see me, I
will precede you to a secluded place, where the affair can be
conducted without fear of interruption.'

'Fear of interruption!' thought Mr. Winkle.

'Nothing more to arrange, I think,' said the officer.

'I am not aware of anything more,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'Good-morning.'

'Good-morning;' and the officer whistled a lively air as he
strode away.

That morning's breakfast passed heavily off.  Mr. Tupman was
not in a condition to rise, after the unwonted dissipation of the
previous night; Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labour under a
poetical depression of spirits; and even Mr. Pickwick evinced an
unusual attachment to silence and soda-water.  Mr. Winkle
eagerly watched his opportunity: it was not long wanting.  Mr.
Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle, and as Mr. Winkle was
the only other member of the party disposed to walk, they went
out together.
'Snodgrass,' said Mr. Winkle, when they had turned out of the
public street.  'Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I rely upon your
secrecy?' As he said this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped
he could not.

'You can,' replied Mr. Snodgrass.  'Hear me swear--'

'No, no,' interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his
companion's unconsciously pledging himself not to give information;
'don't swear, don't swear; it's quite unnecessary.'

Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had, in the spirit of
poesy, raised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal,
and assumed an attitude of attention.

'I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of
honour,' said Mr. Winkle.

'You shall have it,' replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his friend's hand.

'With a doctor--Doctor Slammer, of the 97th,' said Mr.
Winkle, wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible;
'an affair with an officer, seconded by another officer, at sunset
this evening, in a lonely field beyond Fort Pitt.'

'I will attend you,' said Mr. Snodgrass.

He was astonished, but by no means dismayed.  It is extraordinary
how cool any party but the principal can be in such cases.  Mr. Winkle
had forgotten this.  He had judged of his friend's feelings by his own.

'The consequences may be dreadful,' said Mr. Winkle.

'I hope not,' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'The doctor, I believe, is a very good shot,' said Mr. Winkle.

'Most of these military men are,' observed Mr. Snodgrass
calmly; 'but so are you, ain't you?'
Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative; and perceiving that he
had not alarmed his companion 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
note for my-- for my father.'

This attack was a failure also.  Mr. Snodgrass was affected, but
he undertook the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been
a twopenny postman.

'If I fall,' said Mr. Winkle, 'or if the doctor falls, you, my dear
friend, will be tried as an accessory before the fact.  Shall I
involve my friend in transportation--possibly for life!'
Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this, but his heroism was
invincible.  'In the cause of friendship,' he fervently exclaimed, 'I
would brave all dangers.'

How Mr. Winkle cursed his companion's devoted friendship
internally, as they walked silently along, side by side, for some
minutes, each immersed in his own meditations! The morning
was wearing away; he grew desperate.

'Snodgrass,' he said, stopping suddenly, 'do not let me be
balked in this matter--do not give information to the local
authorities--do not obtain the assistance of several peace
officers, to take either me or Doctor Slammer, of the 97th
Regiment, at present quartered in Chatham Barracks, into
custody, and thus prevent this duel!--I say, do not.'

Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly, as he
enthusiastically replied, 'Not for worlds!'

A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle's frame as the conviction that
he had nothing to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was
destined to become an animated target, rushed forcibly upon him.

The state of the case having been formally explained to Mr.
Snodgrass, and a case of satisfactory pistols, with the satisfactory
accompaniments of powder, ball, and caps, having been hired
from a manufacturer in Rochester, the two friends returned to
their inn; Mr. Winkle to ruminate on the approaching struggle,
and Mr. Snodgrass to arrange the weapons of war, and put them
into proper order for immediate use.

it was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth
on their awkward errand.  Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge
cloak to escape observation, and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his
the instruments of destruction.

'Have you got everything?' said Mr. Winkle, in an agitated tone.

'Everything,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; 'plenty of ammunition, in
case the shots don't take effect.  There's a quarter of a pound of
powder in the case, and I have got two newspapers in my pocket
for the loadings.'

These were instances of friendship for which any man might
reasonably feel most grateful.  The presumption is, that the
gratitude of Mr. Winkle was too powerful for utterance, as he
said nothing, but continued to walk on--rather slowly.

'We are in excellent time,' said Mr. Snodgrass, as they climbed
the fence of the first field;'the sun is just going down.'  Mr. Winkle
looked up at the declining orb and painfully thought of the
probability of his 'going down' himself, before long.

'There's the officer,' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few minutes walking.
'Where?' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'There--the gentleman in the blue cloak.'  Mr. Snodgrass
looked in the direction indicated by the forefinger of his friend,
and observed a figure, muffled up, as he had described.  The
officer evinced his consciousness of their presence by slightly
beckoning with his hand; and the two friends followed him at a
little distance, as he walked away.

The evening grew more dull every moment, and a melancholy
wind sounded through the deserted fields, like a distant giant
whistling for his house-dog.  The sadness of the scene imparted a
sombre tinge to the feelings of Mr. Winkle.  He started as they
passed the angle of the trench--it looked like a colossal grave.

The officer turned suddenly from the path, and after climbing a
paling, and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field.  Two gentlemen
were waiting in it; one was a little, fat man, with black hair;
and the other--a portly personage in a braided surtout--was
sitting with perfect 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 which his friend proffered, and took a lengthened pull at
the exhilarating liquid.

'My friend, Sir, Mr. Snodgrass,' said Mr. Winkle, as the officer
approached.  Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a
case similar to that which Mr. Snodgrass carried.

'We have nothing further to say, Sir, I think,' he coldly remarked,
as he opened the case; 'an apology has been resolutely declined.'

'Nothing, Sir,' said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather
uncomfortable himself.

'Will you step forward?' said the officer.

'Certainly,' replied Mr. Snodgrass.  The ground was measured,
and preliminaries arranged.
'You will find these better than your own,' said the opposite
second, producing his pistols.  'You saw me load them.  Do you
object to use them?'

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Snodgrass.  The offer relieved him
from considerable embarrassment, for his previous notions of
loading a pistol were rather vague and undefined.

'We may place our men, then, I think,' observed the officer,
with as much indifference as if the principals were chess-men, and
the seconds players.

'I think we may,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; who would have
assented to any proposition, because he knew nothing about the
matter.  The officer crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass
went 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.
'All right,' said Mr. Snodgrass.  'Be steady, and wing him.'

It occurred to Mr. Winkle that this advice was very like that
which bystanders invariably give to the smallest boy in a street
fight, namely, 'Go in, and win'--an admirable thing to recommend,
if you only know how to do it.  He took off his cloak,
however, in silence--it always took a long time to undo that cloak
--and accepted the pistol.  The seconds retired, the gentleman on
the camp-stool did the same, and the belligerents approached
each other.

Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity.  It is
conjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature
intentionally was the cause of his shutting his eyes when he
arrived at the fatal spot; and that the circumstance of his eyes
being closed, prevented his observing the very extraordinary and
unaccountable demeanour of Doctor Slammer.  That gentleman
started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, stared again, and,
finally, shouted, 'Stop, stop!'

'What's all this?' said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr.
Snodgrass came running up; 'that's not the man.'

'Not the man!' said Doctor Slammer's second.

'Not the man!' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'Not the man!' said the gentleman with the camp-stool in his hand.

'Certainly not,' replied the little doctor.  'That's not the person
who insulted me last night.'

'Very extraordinary!' exclaimed the officer.

'Very,' said the gentleman with the camp-stool.  'The only
question is, whether the gentleman, being on the ground, must
not be considered, as a matter of form, to be the individual who
insulted our friend, Doctor Slammer, yesterday evening, whether
he is really that individual or not;' and having delivered this
suggestion, with a very sage and mysterious air, the man with the
camp-stool took a large pinch of snuff, and looked profoundly
round, with the air of an authority in such matters.

Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when
he heard his adversary call out for a cessation of hostilities; and
perceiving by what he had afterwards said that there was, beyond
all question, some mistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the
increase of reputation he should inevitably acquire by concealing
the real motive of his coming out; he therefore stepped boldly
forward, and said--

'I am not the person.  I know it.'

'Then, that,' said the man with the camp-stool, 'is an affront
to Doctor Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately.'

'Pray be quiet, Payne,' said the doctor's second.  'Why did you
not communicate this fact to me this morning, Sir?'

'To be sure--to be sure,' said the man with the camp-stool
indignantly.

'I entreat you to be quiet, Payne,' said the other.  'May I repeat
my question, Sir?'

'Because, Sir,' replied Mr. Winkle, who had had time to
deliberate upon his answer, 'because, Sir, you described an
intoxicated and ungentlemanly person as wearing a coat which I
have the honour, not only to wear but to have invented--the
proposed uniform, Sir, of the Pickwick Club in London.  The
honour of that uniform I feel bound to maintain, and I therefore,
without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you offered me.'

'My dear Sir,' said the good-humoured little doctor advancing
with extended hand, 'I honour your gallantry.  Permit me to say,
Sir, that I highly admire your conduct, and extremely regret
having caused you the inconvenience of this meeting, to no purpose.'

'I beg you won't mention it, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle.

'I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, Sir,' said the little doctor.

'It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, sir,' replied
Mr. Winkle.  Thereupon the doctor and Mr. Winkle shook
hands, and then Mr. Winkle and Lieutenant Tappleton (the
doctor's second), and then Mr. Winkle and the man with the
camp-stool, and, finally, Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass--the
last-named gentleman in an excess of admiration at the noble
conduct of his heroic friend.

'I think we may adjourn,' said Lieutenant Tappleton.

'Certainly,' added the doctor.

'Unless,' interposed the man with the camp-stool, 'unless Mr.
Winkle feels himself aggrieved by the challenge; in which case, I
submit, he has a right to satisfaction.'

Mr. Winkle, with great self-denial, expressed himself quite
satisfied already.
'Or possibly,' said the man with the camp-stool, 'the gentleman's
second may feel himself affronted with some observations
which fell from me at an early period of this meeting; if so, I shall
be happy to give him satisfaction immediately.'

Mr. Snodgrass hastily professed himself very much obliged
with the handsome offer of the gentleman who had spoken last,
which he was only induced to decline by his entire contentment
with the whole proceedings.  The two seconds adjusted the cases,
and the whole party left the ground in a much more lively
manner than they had proceeded to it.

'Do you remain long here?' inquired Doctor Slammer of
Mr. Winkle, as they walked on most amicably together.

'I think we shall leave here the day after to-morrow,' was the reply.

'I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you and your friend
at my rooms, and of spending a pleasant evening with you, after
this awkward mistake,' said the little doctor; 'are you
disengaged this evening?'

'We have some friends here,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'and I should
not like to leave them to-night.  Perhaps you and your friend will
join us at the Bull.'

'With great pleasure,' said the little doctor; 'will ten o'clock be
too late to look in for half an hour?'

'Oh dear, no,' said Mr. Winkle.  'I shall be most happy to
introduce you to my friends, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman.'

'It will give me great pleasure, I am sure,' replied Doctor
Slammer, little suspecting who Mr. Tupman was.

'You will be sure to come?' said Mr. Snodgrass.

'Oh, certainly.'

By this time they had reached the road.  Cordial farewells were
exchanged, and the party separated.  Doctor Slammer and his
friends repaired to the barracks, and Mr. Winkle, accompanied by
Mr. Snodgrass, returned to their inn.



CHAPTER III
A NEW ACQUAINTANCE--THE STROLLER'S TALE--A
  DISAGREEABLE INTERRUPTION, AND AN UNPLEASANT
  ENCOUNTER


Mr. Pickwick had felt some apprehensions in consequence of the
unusual absence of his two friends, which their mysterious
behaviour during the whole morning had by no means tended to
diminish.  It was, therefore, with more than ordinary pleasure
that he rose to greet them when they again entered; and with more
than ordinary interest that he inquired what had occurred to
detain them from his society.  In reply to his questions on this
point, Mr. Snodgrass was about to offer an historical account of
the circumstances just now detailed, when he was suddenly checked
by observing that there were present, not only Mr. Tupman and
their stage-coach companion of the preceding day, but another
stranger of equally singular appearance.  It was a careworn-looking
man, whose sallow face, and deeply-sunken eyes, were rendered
still more striking than Nature had made them, by the straight
black hair which hung in matted disorder half-way down his face.
His eyes were almost unnaturally bright and piercing; his
cheek-bones were high and prominent; and his jaws were so long and
lank, that an observer would 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 that it was his ordinary appearance.  Round his neck he
wore a green shawl, with the large ends straggling over his chest,
and making their appearance occasionally beneath the worn
button-holes of his old waistcoat.  His upper garment was a long
black surtout; and below it he wore wide drab trousers, and large
boots, running rapidly to seed.

It was on this uncouth-looking person that Mr. Winkle's eye
rested, and it was towards him that Mr. Pickwick extended his
hand when he said, 'A friend of our friend's here.  We discovered
this morning that our friend was connected with the theatre in
this place, though he is not desirous to have it generally known,
and this gentleman is a member of the same profession.  He was
about to favour us with a little anecdote connected with it, when
you entered.'

'Lots of anecdote,' said the green-coated stranger of the day
before, advancing to Mr. Winkle and speaking in a low and
confidential tone.  'Rum fellow--does the heavy business--no
actor--strange man--all sorts of miseries--Dismal Jemmy, we
call him on the circuit.'  Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass politely
welcomed the gentleman, elegantly designated as 'Dismal
Jemmy'; and calling for brandy-and-water, in imitation of the
remainder of the company, seated themselves at the table.
'Now sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'will you oblige us by proceeding
with what you were going 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
outward man--'Are you the poet?'

'I--I do a little in that way,' replied Mr. Snodgrass, rather
taken aback by the abruptness of the question.
'Ah! poetry makes life what light and music do the stage--
strip the one of the false embellishments, and the other of its
illusions, and what is there real in either to live or care for?'

'Very true, Sir,' replied Mr. Snodgrass.

'To be before the footlights,' continued the dismal man, 'is like
sitting at a grand court show, and admiring the silken dresses of
the gaudy throng; to be behind them is to be the people who
make that finery, uncared for and unknown, and left to sink or
swim, to starve or live, as fortune wills it.'

'Certainly,' said Mr. Snodgrass: for the sunken eye of the
dismal man rested on him, and he felt it necessary to say something.

'Go on, Jemmy,' said the Spanish traveller, 'like black-eyed
Susan--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 of
brandy-and-water, and slowly swallowed half of it, opened the
roll of paper and proceeded, partly to read, and partly to relate,
the following incident, which we find recorded on the Transactions
of the 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.
Want and sickness are too common in many stations of life to
deserve more notice than is usually bestowed on the most
ordinary vicissitudes of human nature.  I have thrown these few
notes together, because the subject of them was well known to me
for many years.  I traced his progress downwards, step by step,
until at last he reached that excess of destitution from which he
never rose again.

'The man of whom I speak was a low pantomime actor; and,
like many people of his class, an habitual drunkard.  in his better
days, before he had become enfeebled by dissipation and
emaciated by disease, he had been in the receipt of a good salary,
which, if he had been careful and prudent, he might have continued
to receive for some years--not many; because these men
either die early, or by unnaturally taxing their bodily energies,
lose, prematurely, those physical powers on which alone they can
depend for subsistence.  His besetting sin gained so fast upon him,
however, that it was found impossible to employ him in the
situations in which he really was useful to the theatre.  The
public-house had a fascination for him which he could not resist.
Neglected disease and hopeless poverty were as certain to be his
portion as death itself, if he persevered in the same course; yet he
did persevere, and the result may be guessed.  He could obtain no
engagement, and he wanted bread.
'Everybody who is at all acquainted with theatrical matters
knows what a host of shabby, poverty-stricken men hang about
the stage of a large establishment--not regularly engaged actors,
but ballet people, procession men, tumblers, and so forth, who
are taken on during the run of a pantomime, or an Easter piece,
and are then discharged, until the production of some heavy
spectacle occasions a new demand for their services.  To this
mode of life the man was compelled to resort; and taking the
chair every night, at some low theatrical house, at once put him
in possession of a few more shillings weekly, and enabled him to
gratify his old propensity.  Even this resource shortly failed him;
his irregularities were too great to admit of his earning the
wretched pittance he might thus have procured, and he was
actually reduced to a state bordering on starvation, only procuring
a trifle occasionally by borrowing it of some old companion,
or by obtaining an appearance at one or other of the commonest
of the minor theatres; and when he did earn anything it was
spent in the old way.

'About this time, and when he had been existing for upwards
of a year no one knew how, I had a short engagement at one of
the theatres 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 in the provinces, and he had been skulking in the lanes
and alleys of London.  I was dressed to leave the house, and was
crossing the stage on my way out, when he tapped me on the
shoulder.  Never shall I forget the repulsive sight that met my eye
when I turned round.  He was dressed for the pantomimes in all
the absurdity of a clown's costume.  The spectral figures in the
Dance of Death, the most frightful shapes that the ablest painter
ever portrayed on canvas, never presented an appearance half so
ghastly.  His bloated body and shrunken legs--their deformity
enhanced a hundredfold by the fantastic dress--the glassy eyes,
contrasting fearfully with the thick white paint with which the
face was besmeared; the grotesquely-ornamented head, trembling
with paralysis, and the long skinny hands, rubbed with white
chalk--all gave him a hideous and unnatural appearance, of
which no description could convey an adequate idea, and which,
to this day, I shudder to think of.  His voice was hollow and
tremulous as he took me aside, and in broken words recounted a
long catalogue of sickness and privations, terminating as usual
with an urgent request for the loan of a trifling sum of money.  I
put a few shillings in his hand, and as I turned away I heard the
roar of laughter which followed his first tumble on the stage.
'A few nights afterwards, a boy put a dirty scrap of paper in
my hand, on which were scrawled a few words in pencil,
intimating that the man was dangerously ill, and begging me, after
the performance, to see him at his lodgings in some street--I
forget the name of it now--at no great distance from the theatre.
I promised to comply, as soon as I could get away; and after the
curtain fell, sallied forth on my melancholy errand.

'It was late, for I had been playing in the last piece; and, as it
was a benefit night, the performances had been protracted to an
unusual 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-
frequented streets, and as many of the thinly-scattered oil-lamps
had been blown out by the violence of the wind, the walk was not
only a comfortless, but most uncertain one.  I had fortunately
taken the right course, however, and succeeded, after a little
difficulty, in finding the house to which I had been directed--a
coal-shed, with one Storey above it, in the back room of which
lay the object of my search.

'A wretched-looking woman, the man's wife, met me on the
stairs, 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 sick
man was lying with his face turned towards the wall; and as he
took no heed of my presence, I had leisure to observe the place in
which I found myself.

'He was lying on an old bedstead, which turned up during the
day.  The tattered remains of a checked curtain were drawn round
the bed's head, to exclude the wind, which, however, made its
way into the comfortless room through the numerous chinks in
the door, and blew it to and fro every instant.  There was a low
cinder fire in a rusty, unfixed grate; and an old three-cornered
stained table, with some medicine bottles, a broken glass, and a
few other domestic articles, was drawn out before it.  A little child
was sleeping on a temporary bed which had been made for it on
the floor, and the woman sat on a chair by its side.  There were
a couple of shelves, with a few plates and cups and saucers; and
a pair of stage shoes and a couple of foils hung beneath them.
With the exception of little heaps of rags and bundles which had
been carelessly thrown into the corners of the room, these were
the only things in the apartment.

'I had had time to note these little particulars, and to mark the
heavy breathing and feverish startings of the sick man, before he
was aware of my presence.  In the restless attempts to procure
some easy resting-place for his head, he tossed his hand out of the
bed, and it fell on mine.  He started up, and stared eagerly in my face.

'"Mr. Hutley, John," said his wife; "Mr. Hutley, that you sent
for to-night, you know."

'"Ah!" said the invalid, passing his hand across his forehead;
"Hutley--Hutley--let me see."  He seemed endeavouring to
collect his thoughts for a few seconds, and then grasping me
tightly by the wrist said, "Don't leave me--don't leave me, old
fellow.  She'll murder 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 you
know me?"
'"Don't let her come near me," said the man, with a shudder,
as she stooped over him.  "Drive her away; I can't bear her near
me."  He stared wildly at her, with a look of deadly apprehension,
and then whispered in my ear, "I beat her, Jem; I beat her
yesterday, and many times before.  I have starved her and the boy
too; and now I am weak and helpless, Jem, she'll murder me for
it; I know she will.  If you'd seen her cry, as I have, you'd know it
too.  Keep her off."  He relaxed his grasp, and sank back exhausted
on the pillow.
'I knew but too well what all this meant.  If I could have
entertained any doubt of it, for an instant, one glance at the
woman's pale face and wasted form would have sufficiently
explained the real state of the case.  "You had better stand aside,"
said I to the poor creature.  "You can do him no good.  Perhaps he
will be calmer, if he does not see you."  She retired out of the
man's sight.  He opened his eyes after a few seconds, and looked
anxiously 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
does hurt me.  There's something in her eyes wakes such a dreadful
fear in my heart, that it drives me mad.  All last night, her large,
staring eyes and pale face were close to mine; wherever I turned,
they turned; and whenever I started up from my sleep, she was at
the bedside looking at me."  He drew me closer to him, as he said
in a deep 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 died long ago.  No woman could have borne what she has."

'I sickened at the thought of the long course of cruelty and
neglect which must have occurred to produce such an impression
on such a man.  I could say nothing in reply; for who could offer
hope, or consolation, to the abject being before me?

'I sat there for upwards of two hours, during which time he
tossed about, murmuring exclamations of pain or impatience,
restlessly throwing his arms here and there, and turning
constantly from side to side.  At length he fell into that state of partial
unconsciousness, in which the mind wanders uneasily from scene
to scene, and from place to place, without the control of reason,
but still without being able to divest itself of an indescribable
sense of present suffering.  Finding from his incoherent wanderings
that this was the case, and knowing that in all probability the
fever would not grow immediately worse, I left him, promising
his miserable wife that I would repeat my visit next evening, and,
if necessary, sit up with the patient during the night.

'I kept my promise.  The last four-and-twenty hours had
produced a frightful alteration.  The eyes, though deeply sunk
and heavy, shone with a lustre frightful to behold.  The lips were
parched, and cracked in many places; the hard, dry skin glowed
with a burning heat; and there was an almost unearthly air of
wild anxiety in the man's face, indicating even more strongly the
ravages of the disease.  The fever was at its height.

'I took the seat I had occupied the night before, and there I sat
for hours, listening to sounds which must strike deep to the heart
of the most callous among human beings--the awful ravings of a
dying man.  From what I had heard of the medical attendant's
opinion, I knew there was no hope for him: I was sitting by his
death-bed.  I saw the wasted limbs--which a few hours before
had been distorted for the amusement of a boisterous gallery,
writhing under the tortures of a burning fever--I heard the
clown's shrill laugh, blending with the low murmurings of the
dying man.

'It is a touching thing to hear the mind reverting to the
ordinary occupations and pursuits of health, when the body lies
before you weak and helpless; but when those occupations are of
a character the most strongly opposed to anything we associate
with grave and solemn ideas, the impression produced is
infinitely more powerful.  The theatre and the public-house were the
chief themes of the wretched man's wanderings.  It was evening,
he fancied; he had a part to play that night; it was late, and he
must leave home instantly.  Why did they hold him, and prevent
his going?--he should lose the money--he must go.  No! they
would not let him.  He hid his face in his burning hands, and
feebly bemoaned his own weakness, and the cruelty of his
persecutors.  A short pause, and he shouted out a few doggerel
rhymes--the last he had ever learned.  He rose in bed, drew up
his withered limbs, and rolled about in uncouth positions; he was
acting--he was at the theatre.  A minute's silence, and he murmured
the burden of some roaring song.  He had reached the old
house at last--how hot the room was.  He had been ill, very ill,
but he was well now, and happy.  Fill up his glass.  Who was that,
that dashed it from his lips? It was the same persecutor that had
followed him before.  He fell back upon his pillow and moaned
aloud.  A short period of oblivion, and he was wandering through
a tedious maze of low-arched rooms--so low, sometimes, that he
must creep upon his hands and knees to make his way along; it
was close and dark, and every way he turned, some obstacle
impeded his progress.  There were insects, too, hideous crawling
things, with eyes that stared upon him, and filled the very air
around, glistening horribly amidst the thick darkness of the place.
The walls and ceiling were alive with reptiles--the vault expanded
to an enormous size--frightful figures flitted to and fro--and the
faces of men he knew, rendered hideous by gibing and mouthing,
peered out from among them; they were searing him with
heated irons, and binding his head with cords till the blood
started; and he struggled madly for life.

'At the close of one of these paroxysms, when I had with great
difficulty held him down in his bed, he sank into what appeared
to be a slumber.  Overpowered with watching and exertion, I had
closed my eyes for a few minutes, when I felt a violent clutch on
my shoulder.  I awoke instantly.  He had raised himself up, so as to
seat himself in bed--a dreadful change had come over his face,
but consciousness had returned, for he evidently knew me.  The
child, who had been long since disturbed by his ravings, rose
from its little bed, and ran towards its father, screaming with
fright--the mother hastily caught it in her arms, lest he should
injure it in the violence of his insanity; but, terrified by the
alteration of his features, stood transfixed by the bedside.  He
grasped my shoulder convulsively, and, striking his breast with
the other hand, made a desperate attempt to articulate.  It was
unavailing; he extended his arm towards them, and made another
violent effort.  There was a rattling noise in the throat--a glare of
the eye--a short stifled groan--and he fell back--dead!'


It would afford us the highest gratification to be enabled to
record Mr. Pickwick's opinion of the foregoing anecdote.  We
have little doubt that we should have been enabled to present it
to our readers, but for a most unfortunate occurrence.

Mr. Pickwick had replaced on the table the glass which, during
the last few sentences of the tale, he had retained in his hand;
and had just made up his mind to speak--indeed, we have the
authority of Mr. Snodgrass's note-book for stating, that he had
actually 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 of
delivering some remarks which would have enlightened the
world, if not the Thames, when he was thus interrupted; for he
gazed sternly on the waiter's countenance, and then looked round
on the company generally, as if seeking for information relative
to the new-comers.

'Oh!' said Mr. Winkle, rising, 'some friends of mine--show
them in.  Very pleasant fellows,' added Mr. Winkle, after the
waiter had retired--'officers of the 97th, whose acquaintance I
made rather oddly this morning.  You will like them very much.'

Mr. Pickwick's equanimity was at once restored.  The waiter
returned, and ushered three gentlemen into the room.

'Lieutenant Tappleton,' said Mr. Winkle, 'Lieutenant Tappleton,
Mr. Pickwick--Doctor Payne, Mr. Pickwick--Mr. Snodgrass
you have seen before, my friend Mr. Tupman, Doctor
Payne--Doctor Slammer, Mr. Pickwick--Mr. Tupman, Doctor
Slam--'

Here Mr. Winkle suddenly paused; for strong emotion was
visible on the countenance both of Mr. Tupman and the doctor.

'I have met THIS gentleman before,' said the Doctor, with
marked emphasis.

'Indeed!' said Mr. Winkle.

'And--and that person, too, if I am not mistaken,' said the
doctor, bestowing a scrutinising glance on the green-coated
stranger.  'I think I gave that person a very pressing invitation last
night, which he thought proper to decline.'  Saying which the
doctor scowled magnanimously on the stranger, and whispered
his friend Lieutenant Tappleton.

'You don't say so,' said that gentleman, at the conclusion of
the whisper.

'I do, indeed,' replied Doctor Slammer.

'You are bound to kick him on the spot,' murmured the
owner of the camp-stool, with great importance.

'Do be quiet, Payne,' interposed the lieutenant.  'Will you
allow me to ask you, sir,' he said, addressing Mr. Pickwick, who
was considerably mystified by this very unpolite by-play--'will
you allow me to ask you, Sir, whether that person belongs to your party?'

'No, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'he is a guest of ours.'

'He is a member of your club, or I am mistaken?' said the
lieutenant 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 Doctor
Slammer, with a scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulder, as if
implying some doubt of the accuracy of his recollection.  The little
doctor looked wrathful, but confounded; and Mr. Payne gazed
with a ferocious aspect on the beaming countenance of the
unconscious Pickwick.

'Sir,' said the doctor, suddenly addressing Mr. Tupman, in a
tone which made that gentleman start as perceptibly as if a pin
had been cunningly inserted in the calf of his leg, 'you were at the
ball here last night!'

Mr. Tupman gasped a faint affirmative, looking very hard at
Mr. Pickwick all the while.

'That person was your companion,' said the doctor, pointing
to the 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 me your card, and to receive the treatment of a gentleman;
or whether you impose upon me the necessity of personally
chastising you on the spot?'

'Stay, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I really cannot allow this matter
to go any further without some explanation.  Tupman, recount the
circumstances.'

Mr. Tupman, thus solemnly adjured, stated the case in a few
words; touched slightly on the borrowing of the coat; expatiated
largely on its having been done 'after dinner'; wound up with a
little penitence on his own account; and left the stranger to clear
himself as best he could.

He was apparently about to proceed to do so, when Lieutenant
Tappleton, who had been eyeing him with great curiosity, said
with 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
officers of the 52nd get up at the Rochester Theatre to-morrow
night.  You cannot proceed in this affair, Slammer--impossible!'

'Quite!' said the dignified Payne.

'Sorry to have placed you in this disagreeable situation,' said
Lieutenant Tappleton, addressing Mr. Pickwick; 'allow me to
suggest, that the best way of avoiding a recurrence of such scenes
in future will be to be more select in the choice of your companions.
Good-evening, Sir!' and the lieutenant bounced out of the room.

'And allow me to say, Sir,' said the irascible Doctor Payne,
'that if I had been Tappleton, or if I had been Slammer, I would
have pulled your nose, Sir, and the nose of every man in this
company.  I would, sir--every man.  Payne is my name, sir--
Doctor Payne of the 43rd.  Good-evening, Sir.'  Having concluded
this speech, and uttered the last three words in a loud key, he
stalked majestically after his friend, closely followed by Doctor
Slammer, who said nothing, but contented himself by withering
the company with a look.
Rising rage and extreme bewilderment had swelled the noble
breast of Mr. Pickwick, almost to the bursting of his waistcoat,
during the delivery of the above defiance.  He stood transfixed to
the spot, gazing on vacancy.  The closing of the door recalled him
to himself.  He rushed forward with fury in his looks, and fire in
his eye.  His hand was upon the lock of the door; in another
instant it would have been on the throat of Doctor Payne of the
43rd, had not Mr. Snodgrass seized his revered leader by the coat
tail, and dragged him backwards.

'Restrain him,' cried Mr. Snodgrass; 'Winkle, Tupman--he
must 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 united
efforts of the whole company, Mr. Pickwick was forced into an arm-chair.
'Leave him alone,' said the green-coated stranger; 'brandy-
and-water--jolly old gentleman--lots of pluck--swallow this--
ah!--capital stuff.'  Having previously tested the virtues of a
bumper, which had been mixed by the dismal man, the stranger
applied the glass to Mr. Pickwick's mouth; and the remainder of
its contents rapidly disappeared.

There was a short pause; the brandy-and-water had done its
work; the amiable countenance of Mr. Pickwick was fast
recovering its customary expression.

'They are not worth your notice,' said the dismal man.

'You are right, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'they are not.  I am
ashamed to have been betrayed into this warmth of feeling.  Draw
your chair up to the table, Sir.'

The dismal man readily complied; a circle was again formed
round the table, and harmony once more prevailed.  Some
lingering irritability appeared to find a resting-place in Mr.
Winkle's bosom, occasioned possibly by the temporary abstraction
of his coat--though it is scarcely reasonable to suppose that
so slight a circumstance can have excited even a passing feeling of
anger in a Pickwickian's breast.  With this exception, their good-
humour was completely restored; and the evening concluded
with the conviviality with which it had begun.



CHAPTER IV
A FIELD DAY AND BIVOUAC--MORE NEW FRIENDS--AN
  INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY


Many authors entertain, not only a foolish, but a really dishonest
objection to acknowledge the sources whence they derive much
valuable information.  We have no such feeling.  We are merely
endeavouring to discharge, in an upright manner, the responsible
duties of our editorial functions; and whatever ambition we might
have felt under other circumstances to lay claim to the authorship
of these adventures, a regard for truth forbids us to do more
than claim the merit of their judicious arrangement and impartial
narration.  The Pickwick papers are our New River Head; and we may
be compared to the New River Company.  The labours of others have
raised for us an immense reservoir of important facts.  We merely
lay them on, and communicate them, in a clear and gentle stream,
through the medium of these pages, to a world thirsting for
Pickwickian knowledge.

Acting in this spirit, and resolutely proceeding on our
determination to avow our obligations to the authorities we have
consulted, we frankly say, that to the note-book of Mr. Snodgrass
are we indebted for the particulars recorded in this and the
succeeding chapter--particulars which, now that we have disburdened
our consciences, we shall proceed to detail without further comment.

The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining towns
rose from their beds at an early hour of the following morning,
in a state of the utmost bustle and excitement.  A grand
review was to take place upon the lines.  The manoeuvres of half
a dozen regiments were to be inspected by the eagle eye of
the commander-in-chief; temporary fortifications had been
erected, the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was
to be sprung.

Mr. Pickwick was, as our readers may have gathered from the
slight extract we gave from his description of Chatham, an
enthusiastic admirer of the army.  Nothing could have been more
delightful to him--nothing could have harmonised so well with
the peculiar feeling of each of his companions--as this sight.
Accordingly they were soon afoot, and walking in the direction
of the scene of action, towards which crowds of people were
already pouring from a variety of quarters.

The appearance of everything on the lines denoted that the
approaching ceremony was one of the utmost grandeur and
importance.  There were sentries posted to keep the ground for
the troops, and servants on the batteries keeping places for the
ladies, and sergeants running to and fro, with vellum-covered
books under their arms, and Colonel Bulder, in full military
uniform, on horseback, galloping first to one place and then to
another, and backing his horse among the people, and prancing,
and curvetting, and shouting in a most alarming manner, and
making himself very hoarse in the voice, and very red in the face,
without any assignable cause or reason whatever.  Officers were
running backwards and forwards, first communicating with
Colonel Bulder, and then ordering the sergeants, and then
running away altogether; and even the very privates themselves
looked from behind 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
in the front of the crowd, and patiently awaited the commencement
of the proceedings.  The throng was increasing every
moment; and the efforts they were compelled to make, to retain
the position they had gained, sufficiently occupied their attention
during the two hours that ensued.  At one time there was a sudden
pressure from behind, and then Mr. Pickwick was jerked forward
for several yards, with a degree of speed and elasticity highly
inconsistent with the general gravity of his demeanour; at
another moment there was a request to 'keep back' from the
front, and then the butt-end of a musket was either dropped
upon Mr. Pickwick's toe, to remind him of the demand, or
thrust into his chest, to insure its being complied with.  Then some
facetious gentlemen on the left, after pressing sideways in a body,
and squeezing Mr. Snodgrass into the very last extreme of human
torture, would request to know 'vere he vos a shovin' to'; and
when Mr. Winkle had done expressing his excessive indignation
at witnessing this unprovoked assault, some person behind
would knock his hat over his eyes, and beg the favour of his
putting his head in his pocket.  These, and other practical
witticisms, coupled with the unaccountable absence of Mr.
Tupman (who had suddenly disappeared, and was nowhere to be
found), rendered their situation upon the whole rather more
uncomfortable than pleasing or desirable.

At length that low roar of many voices ran through the crowd
which usually announces the arrival of whatever they have been
waiting for.  All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally-port.
A few moments of eager expectation, and colours were seen
fluttering gaily in the air, arms glistened brightly in the sun,
column after column poured on to the plain.  The troops halted
and formed; the word of command rang through the line; there
was a general clash of muskets as arms were presented; and the
commander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bulder and numerous
officers, cantered to the front.  The military bands struck up
altogether; the horses stood upon two legs each, cantered backwards,
and whisked their tails about in all directions; the dogs
barked, the mob screamed, the troops recovered, and nothing
was to be seen on either side, as far as the eye could reach, but a
long perspective of red coats and white trousers, fixed and motionless.

Mr. Pickwick had been so fully occupied in falling about, and
disentangling himself, miraculously, from between the legs of
horses, that he had not enjoyed sufficient leisure to observe the
scene before him, until it assumed the appearance we have just
described.  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 man
standing on each of his feet for the quarter of an hour
immediately preceding.
'It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight,' said Mr. Snodgrass,
in whose bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, 'to
see the gallant defenders of their country drawn up in brilliant
array before its peaceful citizens; their faces beaming--not with
warlike ferocity, but with civilised gentleness; their eyes flashing
--not with the rude fire of rapine or revenge, but with the soft
light of humanity and intelligence.'

Mr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, but
he could not exactly re-echo its terms; for the soft light of
intelligence burned rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors,
inasmuch as the command 'eyes front' had been given, and all
the spectator saw before him was several thousand pair of optics,
staring straight forward, wholly divested of any expression whatever.

'We are in a capital situation now,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
round him.  The crowd had gradually dispersed in their
immediate vicinity, and they were nearly alone.

'Capital!' echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle.

'What are they doing now?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjusting
his spectacles.

'I--I--rather think,' said Mr. Winkle, changing colour--'I
rather think they're going to fire.'

'Nonsense,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily.

'I--I--really think they are,' urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat
alarmed.

'Impossible,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  He had hardly uttered the
word, when the whole half-dozen regiments levelled their muskets
as if they had but one common object, and that object the
Pickwickians, and burst forth with the most awful and tremendous
discharge that ever shook the earth to its centres, or an
elderly gentleman off his.

It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blank
cartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, a fresh
body 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.  He
seized Mr. Winkle by the arm, and placing himself between that
gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass, earnestly besought them to
remember that beyond the possibility of being rendered deaf by
the noise, there was no immediate danger to be apprehended
from the firing.

'But--but--suppose some of the men should happen to have
ball cartridges by mistake,' remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at
the supposition he was himself conjuring up.  'I heard something
whistle through the air now--so sharp; close to my ear.'
'We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn't we?' said
Mr. 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
concern escaped the lips of that immortal man.

Mr. Pickwick was right--the firing ceased; but he had scarcely
time to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, when
a quick movement was visible in the line; the hoarse shout of the
word of command ran along it, and before either of the party
could form a guess at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the
whole of the half-dozen regiments, with fixed bayonets, charged
at double-quick time down upon the very spot on which Mr.
Pickwick and his friends were stationed.
Man is but mortal; and there is a point beyond which human
courage cannot extend.  Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spectacles
for an instant on the advancing mass, and then 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 of retreat--he trotted away, at as
quick a rate as his legs would convey him; so quickly, indeed,
that he did not perceive the awkwardness 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 mimic
attack of the sham besiegers of the citadel; and the consequence
was that Mr. Pickwick and his two companions found themselves
suddenly inclosed between two lines of great length, the one
advancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly waiting the
collision 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 of
intense bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent
concussion, a smothered laugh; the half-dozen regiments were
half a thousand yards off, and the soles of Mr. Pickwick's boots
were elevated in air.

Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle had each performed a
compulsory somerset with remarkable agility, when the first object
that met the eyes of the latter as he sat on the ground, staunching
with a yellow silk handkerchief the stream of life which issued
from his nose, was his venerated leader at some distance off,
running after his own hat, which was gambolling playfully away
in perspective.

There are very few moments in a man's existence when he
experiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little
charitable commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat.
A vast deal of coolness, and a peculiar degree of judgment, are
requisite in catching a hat.  A man must not be precipitate, or he
runs over it; he must not rush into the opposite extreme, or he
loses it altogether.  The best way is to keep gently up with the
object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to watch your opportunity
well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive, seize it
by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head; smiling pleasantly
all the time, as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody else.

There was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled
sportively before it.  The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed,
and the hat rolled over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise
in a strong tide: and on it might have rolled, far beyond
Mr. Pickwick's reach, had not its course been providentially
stopped, just as that gentleman was on the point of resigning it
to its fate.

Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about to
give up the chase, when the hat was blown with some violence
against the wheel of a carriage, which was drawn up in a line with
half a dozen other vehicles on the spot to which his steps had been
directed.  Mr. Pickwick, perceiving his advantage, darted briskly
forward, secured his property, planted it on his head, and paused
to take breath.  He had not been stationary half a minute, when
he heard his own name eagerly pronounced by a voice, which he
at once recognised as Mr. Tupman's, and, looking upwards, he
beheld 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 stout
old gentleman, in a blue coat and bright buttons, corduroy
breeches and top-boots, two young ladies in scarfs and feathers, a
young gentleman apparently enamoured of one of the young
ladies in scarfs and feathers, a lady of doubtful age, probably the
aunt of the aforesaid, and Mr. Tupman, as easy and unconcerned
as if he had belonged to the family from the first moments of his
infancy.  Fastened up behind the barouche was a hamper of
spacious dimensions--one of those hampers which always
awakens in a contemplative mind associations connected with
cold fowls, tongues, and bottles of wine--and on the box sat a
fat and red-faced boy, in a state of somnolency, whom no
speculative observer could have regarded for an instant without
setting down as the official dispenser of the contents of the
before-mentioned hamper, when the proper time for their
consumption should arrive.

Mr. Pickwick had bestowed a hasty glance on these interesting
objects, when he was again greeted by his faithful disciple.

'Pickwick--Pickwick,' said Mr. Tupman; 'come up here.  Make haste.'

'Come along, Sir.  Pray, come up,' said the stout gentleman.
'Joe!--damn that boy, he's gone to sleep again.--Joe, let down
the steps.'  The fat boy rolled slowly off the box, let down the
steps, and held 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 the
box.  Now, Sir, come along;' and the stout gentleman extended
his arm, and pulled first Mr. Pickwick, and then Mr. Snodgrass,
into the barouche by main force.  Mr. Winkle mounted to the
box, the fat 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 my
friend Mr. Tupman here this morning, and very glad I was to see
him.  Well, Sir, and how are you? You do look uncommon well,
to be sure.'

Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment, and cordially
shook 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
I am, to be sure.  My daughters, gentlemen--my gals these are;
and that's my sister, Miss Rachael Wardle.  She's a Miss, she is;
and yet she ain't a Miss--eh, Sir, eh?' And the stout gentleman
playfully inserted his elbow between the ribs of Mr. Pickwick, and
laughed very 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.
And now you all know each other, let's be comfortable and
happy, and see what's going forward; that's what I say.'  So the
stout gentleman put on his spectacles, and Mr. Pickwick pulled
out his glass, and everybody stood up in the carriage, and looked
over somebody else's shoulder at the evolutions of the military.

Astounding evolutions they were, one rank firing over the
heads of another rank, and then running away; and then the
other rank firing over the heads of another rank, and running
away in their 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;
and knocking down barricades of baskets, and behaving in the
most gallant manner possible.  Then there was such a ramming
down of the contents of enormous guns on the battery, with
instruments like magnified mops; such a preparation before they
were let off, and such an awful noise when they did go, that the
air resounded with the screams of ladies.  The young Misses
Wardle were so frightened, that Mr. Trundle was actually obliged
to hold one of them up in the carriage, while Mr. Snodgrass
supported the other; and Mr. Wardle's sister suffered under such
a dreadful state of nervous alarm, that Mr. Tupman found it
indispensably necessary to put his arm round her waist, to keep
her up at all.  Everybody was excited, except the fat boy, and he
slept as soundly as if the roaring 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
that boy, he's gone to sleep again.  Be good enough to pinch him,
sir--in the leg, if you please; nothing else wakes him--thank you.
Undo the hamper, Joe.'

The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the
compression of a portion of his leg between the finger and thumb of
Mr. Winkle, rolled off the box once again, and proceeded to
unpack the hamper with more expedition than could have been
expected from his previous inactivity.

'Now we must sit close,' said the stout gentleman.  After a
great many jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast
quantity of blushing at sundry jocose proposals, that the ladies
should sit in the gentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed
down in the barouche; and the stout gentleman proceeded to
hand the things from the fat boy (who had mounted up behind
for the purpose) into the carriage.

'Now, Joe, knives and forks.'  The knives and forks were
handed in, and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle
on the box, were each furnished with those useful instruments.

'Plates, Joe, plates.'  A similar process employed in the
distribution 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
the eatables.'

There was something in the sound of the last word which
roused the unctuous boy.  He jumped up, and the leaden eyes
which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks leered horribly
upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket.

'Now make haste,' said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was
hanging fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to
part with.  The boy sighed deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze
upon its plumpness, 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
salad out of the cloth--give me the dressing.'  Such were the
hurried orders which issued from the lips of Mr. Wardle, as he
handed in the different articles described, and placed dishes in
everybody's hands, and on everybody's knees, in endless number.
'Now ain't this capital?' inquired that jolly personage, when
the work of destruction 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 in
abstracting 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 bottle
on the coach-box, by his side.

'Will you permit me to have the pleasure, Sir?' said Mr. Trundle
to Mr. Winkle.

'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Winkle to Mr. Trundle,
and then the two gentlemen took wine, after which they took a
glass of wine round, ladies and all.

'How dear Emily is flirting with the strange gentleman,'
whispered the spinster aunt, with true spinster-aunt-like envy, to
her brother, Mr. Wardle.

'Oh! I don't know,' said the jolly old gentleman; 'all very
natural, I dare say--nothing unusual.  Mr. Pickwick, some wine,
Sir?' Mr. Pickwick, who had been deeply investigating the
interior of 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 to
themselves, I think,' whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sister
Emily.  The young ladies laughed very heartily, and the old one
tried 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 spirits
were contraband, and their possession without a permit a high
crime and misdemeanour.

'Oh, they have,' replied Mr. Tupman, not exactly making the
sort 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 blandest
manner, touching the enchanting Rachael's wrist with one hand,
and gently elevating the bottle with the other.  'Will you permit me?'

'Oh, sir!'  Mr. Tupman looked most impressive; and Rachael
expressed her fear that more guns were going off, in which case,
of course, she should have required support again.

'Do you think my dear nieces pretty?' whispered their
affectionate aunt to Mr. Tupman.

'I should, if their aunt wasn't here,' replied the ready
Pickwickian, with a passionate glance.

'Oh, you naughty man--but really, if their complexions were a
little better, don't you think they would be nice-looking girls--
by candlelight?'

'Yes; I think they would,' said Mr. Tupman, with an air
of indifference.

'Oh, you quiz--I know what you were going to say.'

'What?' inquired Mr. Tupman, who had not precisely made
up his 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 makes
a girl look ugly it is stooping.  I often tell her that when she gets a
little older she'll be quite frightful.  Well, you are a quiz!'

Mr. Tupman had no objection to earning the reputation at so
cheap a rate: so he looked very knowing, and smiled mysteriously.

'What a sarcastic smile,' said the admiring Rachael; 'I declare
I'm quite afraid of you.'

'Afraid of me!'

'Oh, you can't disguise anything from me--I know what that
smile means very well.'

'What?' said Mr. Tupman, who had not the slightest notion himself.

'You mean,' said the amiable aunt, sinking her voice still
lower--'you mean, that you don't think Isabella's stooping is as
bad as Emily's boldness.  Well, she is bold! You cannot think how
wretched it makes me sometimes--I'm sure I cry about it for
hours together--my dear brother is SO good, and so unsuspicious,
that he never sees it; if he did, I'm quite certain it would break
his heart.  I wish I could think it was only manner--I hope it may
be--' (Here the affectionate relative heaved a deep sigh, and
shook her head despondingly).

'I'm sure aunt's talking about us,' whispered Miss Emily
Wardle to 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 handkerchief
to tie round your dear old head--you really should take care of
yourself--consider your age!'

However well deserved this piece of retaliation might have
been, it was as vindictive a one as could well have been resorted
to.  There is no guessing in what form of reply the aunt's indignation
would have vented itself, had not Mr. Wardle unconsciously changed
the subject, by calling emphatically for Joe.

'Damn that boy,' said the old gentleman, 'he's gone to sleep again.'

'Very extraordinary boy, that,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'does he
always sleep in this way?'

'Sleep!' said the old gentleman, 'he's always asleep.  Goes on
errands 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
that boy--wouldn't part with him on any account--he's a
natural curiosity! Here, Joe--Joe--take these things away, and
open another bottle--d'ye hear?'

The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece of
pie he had been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep,
and slowly obeyed his master's orders--gloating languidly over
the remains of the feast, as he removed the plates, and deposited
them in the hamper.  The fresh bottle was produced, and speedily
emptied: the hamper was made fast in its old place--the fat
boy once more mounted the box--the spectacles and pocket-
glass were again adjusted--and the evolutions of the military
recommenced.  There was a great fizzing and banging of
guns, and starting of ladies--and then a Mine was sprung, to
the gratification of everybody--and when the mine had gone
off, the military and the company followed its example, and
went off too.

'Now, mind,' said the old gentleman, as he shook hands with
Mr. Pickwick at the conclusion of a conversation which had been
carried 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 his
pocket-book.
'That's it,' said the old gentleman.  'I don't let you off, mind,
under a week; and undertake that you shall see everything worth
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 to sleep
again--Joe, help Tom put in the horses.'

The horses were put in--the driver mounted--the fat
boy clambered up by his side--farewells were exchanged--
and the carriage rattled off.  As the Pickwickians turned round
to take a last glimpse of it, the setting sun cast a rich glow on
the faces of their entertainers, and fell upon the form of the
fat boy.  His head was sunk upon his bosom; and he slumbered again.



CHAPTER V
A SHORT ONE--SHOWING, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HOW
  Mr. PICKWICK UNDERTOOK TO DRIVE, AND Mr. WINKLE
  TO RIDE, AND HOW THEY BOTH DID IT


Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful
the appearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick leaned
over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature,
and waiting for breakfast.  The scene was indeed one which might
well have charmed a far less reflective mind, than that to which
it was presented.

On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many
places, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude
and heavy masses.  Huge knots of seaweed hung upon the jagged
and pointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the
green ivy clung mournfully round the dark and ruined battlements.
Behind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless, and
its massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of its old
might and strength, as when, seven hundred years ago, it rang
with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise of feasting
and revelry.  On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered
with cornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or a
distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see,
presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful
by the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it as the
thin and half-formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the
morning sun.  The river, reflecting the clear blue of the sky,
glistened and sparkled as it flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of
the fishermen dipped into the water with a clear and liquid sound,
as their heavy but picturesque boats glided slowly down the stream.

Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into which
he had been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, and a
touch on his shoulder.  He turned round: and the dismal man was
at 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 his splendour,
for his brightness seldom lasts the day through.  The
morning 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, '"The
morning's too fine to last."  How well might it be applied to our
everyday existence.  God! what would I forfeit to have the days of
my childhood restored, or to be able to forget them for ever!'

'You have seen much trouble, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick compassionately.

'I have,' said the dismal man hurriedly; 'I have.  More than
those who 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 drowning
would be happiness and peace?'

'God bless me, no!' replied Mr. Pickwick, edging a little from
the balustrade, as the possibility of the dismal man's tipping him
over, by way of experiment, occurred to him rather forcibly.

'I have thought so, often,' said the dismal man, without
noticing the action.  'The calm, cool water seems to me to murmur
an invitation to repose and rest.  A bound, a splash, a brief
struggle; there is an eddy for an instant, it gradually subsides into
a gentle ripple; the waters have closed above your head, and the
world has closed upon your miseries and misfortunes for ever.'
The sunken eye of the dismal man flashed brightly as he spoke,
but the momentary excitement quickly subsided; and he turned
calmly away, 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, and
listened 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 and instruction.
Suppose I forward you a curious manuscript--observe, not
curious because wild or improbable, but curious as a leaf from
the romance of real life--would you communicate it to the club,
of which you have spoken so frequently?'

'Certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'if you wished it; and it
would be entered on their transactions.'
'You shall have it,' replied the dismal man.  'Your address;'
and, Mr. Pickwick having communicated their probable route, the
dismal man carefully noted it down in a greasy pocket-book,
and, resisting Mr. Pickwick's pressing invitation to breakfast,
left that gentleman at his inn, and walked slowly away.

Mr. Pickwick found that his three companions had risen, and
were waiting his arrival to commence breakfast, which was ready
laid in tempting display.  They sat down to the meal; and broiled
ham, eggs, tea, coffee and sundries, began to disappear with a
rapidity 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 we go ?'

'We had better consult the waiter, perhaps,' said Mr. Tupman;
and the waiter was summoned accordingly.

'Dingley Dell, gentlemen--fifteen miles, gentlemen--cross
road--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 that
drives--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 good
saddle-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 on
horseback ?'

Now Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in the
very lowest recesses of his own heart, relative to his equestrian
skill; but, as he would not have them even suspected, on any
account, he at once replied with great hardihood, 'Certainly.  I
should enjoy it of all things.'
Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate; there was no resource.
'Let them be at the door by eleven,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Very well, sir,' replied the waiter.

The waiter retired; the breakfast concluded; and the travellers
ascended to their respective bedrooms, to prepare a change of
clothing, to take with them on their approaching expedition.

Mr. Pickwick had made his preliminary arrangements, and
was looking over the coffee-room blinds at the passengers
in the street, when the waiter entered, and announced that
the chaise was ready--an announcement which the vehicle itself
confirmed, by forthwith appearing before the coffee-room blinds
aforesaid.

It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low
place like a wine-bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for
one in front, drawn by an immense brown horse, displaying
great symmetry of bone.  An hostler stood near, holding by the
bridle another immense horse--apparently a near relative of the
animal in the chaise--ready saddled for Mr. Winkle.

'Bless my soul!' said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the
pavement while the coats were being put in.  'Bless my soul! who's
to 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
him quiet, 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 vagin-load of
monkeys with their tails burned off.'

The last recommendation was indisputable.  Mr. Tupman and
Mr. Snodgrass got into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his
perch, and deposited his feet on a floor-clothed shelf, erected
beneath it for that purpose.

'Now, shiny Villiam,' said the hostler to the deputy hostler,
'give the 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 his right.

'Wo-o!' cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced a
decided inclination to back into the coffee-room window.
'Wo-o!' echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass, from the bin.
'Only his playfulness, gen'lm'n,' said the head hostler
encouragingly; 'jist kitch hold on him, Villiam.'  The deputy
restrained the animal's impetuosity, and the principal ran to
assist Mr. Winkle in mounting.

'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 gratified waiter.

Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle, with
about as much difficulty as he would have experienced in getting
up the side of a first-rate man-of-war.

'All right?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment
that it was all wrong.

'All right,' replied Mr. Winkle faintly.

'Let 'em go,' cried the hostler.--'Hold him in, sir;' and away
went the chaise, and the saddle-horse, with Mr. Pickwick on the
box of the one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to the
delight 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
up the street in the most mysterious manner--side first, with
his head towards one side of the way, and his tail towards the other.

Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any other
particular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in the
management of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayed
various peculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander, but by no
means equally amusing to any one seated behind him.  Besides
constantly jerking his head up, in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable
manner, and tugging at the reins to an extent which
rendered it a matter of great difficulty for Mr. Pickwick to hold
them, he had a singular propensity for darting suddenly every
now and then to the side of the road, then stopping short, and
then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which it was
wholly impossible to control.

'What CAN he mean by this?' said Mr. Snodgrass, when the
horse 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 was interrupted
by a shout from Mr. Pickwick.

'Woo!' said that gentleman; 'I have dropped my whip.'
'Winkle,' said Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trotting
up on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all
over, as if he would shake to pieces, with the violence of the
exercise, 'pick up the whip, there's a good fellow.'  Mr. Winkle
pulled 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 his
disposition, was desirous of having a little innocent recreation
with Mr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he could
perform the journey as much to his own satisfaction without a
rider as with one, are points upon which, of course, we can
arrive at no definite and distinct conclusion.  By whatever motives
the animal was actuated, certain it is that Mr. Winkle had no
sooner touched the reins, than he slipped them over his head, and
darted backwards to their full length.

'Poor fellow,' said Mr. Winkle soothingly--'poor fellow--
good old horse.'  The 'poor fellow' was proof against flattery; the
more Mr. Winkle tried to get nearer him, the more he sidled
away; and, notwithstanding all kinds of coaxing and wheedling,
there were Mr. Winkle and the horse going round and round each
other for ten minutes, at the end of which time each was at
precisely the same distance from the other as when they first
commenced--an unsatisfactory sort of thing under any circumstances,
but particularly so in a lonely road, where no assistance
can be procured.

'What am I to do?' shouted Mr. Winkle, after the dodging had
been prolonged for a considerable time.  'What am I to do? I
can't get 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 hold him.'

Mr. Pickwick was the very personation of kindness and
humanity: he threw the reins on the horse's back, and having
descended from his seat, carefully drew the chaise into the hedge,
lest anything should come along the road, and stepped back to
the assistance of his distressed companion, leaving Mr. Tupman
and Mr. Snodgrass in the vehicle.

The horse no sooner beheld Mr. Pickwick advancing towards
him with the chaise whip in his hand, than he exchanged the
rotary motion in which he had previously indulged, for a retrograde
movement of so very determined a character, that it at once
drew Mr. Winkle, who was still at the end of the bridle, at a
rather quicker rate than fast walking, in the direction from which
they had just come.  Mr. Pickwick ran to his assistance, but the
faster Mr. Pickwick ran forward, the faster the horse ran backward.
There was a great scraping of feet, and kicking up of
the dust; and at last Mr. Winkle, his arms being nearly pulled
out of their sockets, fairly let go his hold.  The horse paused,
stared, shook his head, turned round, and quietly trotted
home to Rochester, leaving Mr. Winkle and Mr. Pickwick
gazing on each other with countenances of blank dismay.  A
rattling noise at a little distance attracted their attention.  They
looked up.

'Bless my soul!' exclaimed the agonised Mr. Pickwick; 'there's
the other horse running away!'

It was but too true.  The animal was startled by the noise, and
the reins were on his back.  The results may be guessed.  He tore
off with the four-wheeled chaise behind him, and Mr. Tupman
and Mr. Snodgrass in the four-wheeled chaise.  The heat was a
short one.  Mr. Tupman threw himself into the hedge, Mr. Snodgrass
followed his example, the horse dashed the four--wheeled
chaise against a wooden bridge, separated the wheels from the
body, and the bin from the perch; and finally stood stock still to
gaze upon the ruin he had made.

The first care of the two unspilt friends was to extricate their
unfortunate companions from their bed of quickset--a process
which gave them the unspeakable satisfaction of discovering that
they had sustained no injury, beyond sundry rents in their
garments, and various lacerations from the brambles.  The next
thing to be done was to unharness the horse.  This complicated
process having been effected, the party walked slowly forward,
leading the horse among them, and abandoning the chaise to its fate.

An hour's walk brought the travellers to a little road-side
public-house, with two elm-trees, a horse trough, and a signpost,
in front; one or two deformed hay-ricks behind, a kitchen garden
at the side, and rotten sheds and mouldering outhouses jumbled
in strange confusion all about it.  A red-headed man was working
in the garden; and to him Mr. Pickwick called lustily, 'Hollo there!'

The red-headed man raised his body, shaded his eyes with his hand,
and stared, long and coolly, at Mr. Pickwick and his companions.

'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 apparently
satisfied himself with another scrutiny, the red-headed man
resumed 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-
headed man, leaning on his spade.

'Of course,' replied Mr. Pickwick, who had by this time
advanced, horse in hand, to the garden rails.

'Missus'--roared the man with the red head, emerging from
the garden, 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
afeerd on it.'

'Afraid!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, 'what's the woman afraid of ?'

'It got us in trouble last time,' said the woman, turning into the
house; 'I woan't have nothin' to say to 'un.'

'Most extraordinary thing I have ever met with in my life,' said
the astonished Mr. Pickwick.

'I--I--really believe,' whispered Mr. Winkle, as his friends
gathered round him, 'that they think we have come by this horse
in 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 think
we stole the horse?'

'I'm sure ye did,' replied the red-headed man, with a grin which
agitated his countenance from one auricular organ to the other.
Saying which he turned into the house and banged the door after him.

'It's like a dream,' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, 'a hideous dream.
The idea of a man's walking about all day with a dreadful horse
that he can't get rid of!'  The depressed Pickwickians turned
moodily away, with the tall quadruped, for which they all felt the
most unmitigated disgust, following slowly at their heels.

It was late in the afternoon when the four friends and their
four-footed companion turned into the lane leading to Manor
Farm; and even when they were so near their place of destination,
the pleasure they would otherwise have experienced was materially
damped as they reflected on the singularity of their appearance,
and the absurdity of their situation.  Torn clothes, lacerated faces,
dusty shoes, exhausted looks, and, above all, the horse.  Oh, how
Mr. Pickwick cursed that horse: he had eyed the noble animal
from time to time with looks expressive of hatred and revenge;
more than once he had calculated the probable amount of the
expense he would incur by cutting his throat; and now the
temptation to destroy him, or to cast him loose upon the world,
rushed upon his mind with tenfold force.  He was roused from a
meditation on these dire imaginings by the sudden appearance 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 in
these parts.  Joe--he's asleep again!--Joe, take that horse from
the gentlemen, 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
phrase on so much of the day's adventures as they thought proper
to communicate, led the way to the kitchen.

'We'll have you put to rights here,' said the old gentleman, 'and
then I'll introduce you to the people in the parlour.  Emma, bring
out 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 the
different 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
wood fire appeared as cordial as if it were Christmas), and dived
into some obscure recesses, from which they speedily produced a
bottle of blacking, and some half-dozen brushes.

'Bustle!' said the old gentleman again, but the admonition was
quite unnecessary, for one of the girls poured out the cherry
brandy, and another brought in the towels, and one of the men
suddenly seizing Mr. Pickwick by the leg, at imminent hazard of
throwing him off his balance, brushed away at his boot till his
corns were red-hot; while the other shampooed Mr. Winkle with
a heavy clothes-brush, indulging, during the operation, in that
hissing sound which hostlers are wont to produce when engaged
in rubbing down a horse.

Mr. Snodgrass, having concluded his ablutions, took a survey
of the room, while standing with his back to the fire, sipping his
cherry brandy with heartfelt satisfaction.  He describes it as a
large apartment, with a red brick floor and a capacious chimney;
the ceiling garnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of
onions.  The walls were decorated with several hunting-whips,
two or three bridles, a saddle, and an old rusty blunderbuss, with
an inscription below it, intimating that it was 'Loaded'--as it had
been, on the same authority, for half a century at least.  An old
eight-day clock, of solemn and sedate demeanour, ticked gravely
in one corner; and a silver watch, of equal antiquity, dangled
from one of the many hooks which ornamented the dresser.

'Ready?' said the old gentleman inquiringly, when his guests
had been washed, mended, brushed, and brandied.

'Quite,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Come along, then;' and the party having traversed several
dark passages, and being joined by Mr. Tupman, who had
lingered behind to snatch a kiss from Emma, for which he had
been duly rewarded with sundry pushings and scratchings,
arrived at the parlour door.

'Welcome,' said their hospitable host, throwing it open and
stepping forward to announce them, 'welcome, gentlemen, to
Manor Farm.'



CHAPTER VI
AN OLD-FASHIONED CARD-PARTY--THE CLERGYMAN'S
  VERSES--THE STORY OF THE CONVICT'S RETURN


Several guests who were assembled in the old parlour rose to
greet Mr. Pickwick and his friends upon their entrance; and during
the performance of the ceremony of introduction, with all due
formalities, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to observe the appearance,
and speculate upon the characters and pursuits, of the persons by
whom he was surrounded--a habit in which he, in common with many
other great men, delighted to indulge.

A very old lady, in a lofty cap and faded silk gown--no less a
personage than Mr. Wardle's mother--occupied the post of
honour on the right-hand corner of the chimney-piece; and
various certificates of her having been brought up in the way she
should go when young, and of her not having departed from it
when old, ornamented the walls, in the form of samplers of
ancient date, worsted landscapes of equal antiquity, and crimson
silk tea-kettle holders of a more modern period.  The aunt, the two
young ladies, and Mr. Wardle, each vying with the other in
paying zealous and unremitting attentions to the old lady,
crowded round her easy-chair, one holding her ear-trumpet,
another an orange, and a third a smelling-bottle, while a fourth
was busily engaged in patting and punching the pillows which
were arranged for her support.  On the opposite side sat a bald-
headed old gentleman, with a good-humoured, benevolent face--
the clergyman of Dingley 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 and mystery of manufacturing home-made
cordials greatly to other people's satisfaction, but of tasting them
occasionally very much to her own.  A little hard-headed,
Ripstone pippin-faced man, was conversing with a fat old
gentleman in one corner; and two or three more old gentlemen,
and two or three more old ladies, sat bolt upright and motionless
on their chairs, staring very hard at Mr. Pickwick and his
fellow-voyagers.

'Mr. Pickwick, mother,' said Mr. Wardle, at the very top of
his voice.

'Ah!' said the old lady, shaking her head; 'I can't hear you.'

'Mr. Pickwick, grandma!' screamed both the young ladies together.

'Ah!' exclaimed the old lady.  'Well, it don't much matter.  He
don't care for an old 'ooman like me, I dare say.'

'I assure you, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, grasping the old
lady's hand, and speaking so loud that the exertion imparted a
crimson hue to his benevolent countenance--'I assure you,
ma'am, that nothing delights me more than to see a lady of your
time of life heading so fine a family, and looking so young and well.'

'Ah!' said the old lady, after a short pause: 'it's all very fine, I
dare say; but I can't hear him.'

'Grandma's rather put out now,' said Miss Isabella Wardle, in
a low tone; 'but she'll talk to you presently.'

Mr. Pickwick nodded his readiness to humour the infirmities
of age, and entered into a general conversation with the other
members 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 the
hard-headed man with the pippin--face; 'there ain't indeed, sir--
I'm sure there ain't, Sir.'  The hard-headed man looked triumphantly
round, as if he had been very much contradicted by somebody,
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 profound contempt.

'Ah, Mullins's Meadows,' repeated the fat man.

'Reg'lar good land that,' interposed another fat man.

'And so it is, sure-ly,' said a third fat man.

'Everybody knows that,' said the corpulent host.

The hard-headed man looked dubiously round, but finding
himself in a minority, assumed a compassionate air and said no more.
'What are they talking about?' inquired the old lady of one of
her granddaughters, in a very audible voice; for, like many deaf
people, she never seemed to calculate on the possibility of other
persons 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 than
Mullins's Meadows.'

'How should he know anything about it?'inquired the old lady
indignantly.  'Miller's a conceited coxcomb, and you may tell him
I said so.'  Saying which, the old lady, quite unconscious that she
had 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 to
change the conversation, 'what say you to a rubber, Mr. Pickwick?'

'I should like it of all things,' replied that gentleman; 'but pray
don'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 on
any 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
to set out two card-tables; the one for Pope Joan, and the other
for whist.  The whist-players were Mr. Pickwick and the old lady,
Mr. Miller and the fat gentleman.  The round game comprised the
rest of the company.

The rubber was conducted with all that gravity of deportment
and sedateness of demeanour which befit the pursuit entitled
'whist'--a solemn observance, to which, as it appears to us, the
title of 'game' has been very irreverently and ignominiously
applied.  The round-game table, on the other hand, was so
boisterously merry as materially to interrupt the contemplations
of Mr. Miller, who, not being quite so much absorbed as he
ought to have been, contrived to commit various high crimes and
misdemeanours, which excited the wrath of the fat gentleman to
a very great extent, and called forth the good-humour of the old
lady in a proportionate degree.

'There!' said the criminal Miller triumphantly, as he took up
the odd trick at the conclusion of a hand; 'that could not have
been played better, I flatter myself; impossible to have made
another trick!'

'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 appeal
to 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 a
memorandum of the circumstance, by placing one sixpence and a
battered 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 revoke
from the unlucky Miller; on which the fat gentleman burst into a
state of high personal excitement which lasted until the
conclusion of the game, when he retired into a corner, and remained
perfectly mute for one hour and twenty-seven minutes; at the end
of which time he emerged from his retirement, and offered
Mr. Pickwick a pinch of snuff with the air of a man who had
made up his mind to a Christian forgiveness of injuries sustained.
The old lady's hearing decidedly improved and the unlucky
Miller felt as much out of his element as a dolphin in a sentry-box.

Meanwhile the round game proceeded right merrily.  Isabella
Wardle and Mr. Trundle 'went partners,' and Emily Wardle and
Mr. Snodgrass did the same; and even Mr. Tupman and the
spinster aunt established a joint-stock company of fish and
flattery.  Old Mr. Wardle was in the very height of his jollity; and
he was so funny in his management of the board, and the old
ladies were so sharp after their winnings, that the whole table was
in a perpetual roar of merriment and laughter.  There was one old
lady who always had about half a dozen cards to pay for, at
which everybody laughed, regularly every round; and when the
old lady looked cross at having to pay, they laughed louder than
ever; on which the old lady's face gradually brightened up, till at
last she laughed louder than any of them, Then, when the spinster
aunt got 'matrimony,' the young ladies laughed afresh, and the
Spinster aunt seemed disposed to be pettish; till, feeling Mr.
Tupman squeezing her hand under the table, she brightened up
too, and looked rather knowing, as if matrimony in reality were
not quite so far off as some people thought for; whereupon
everybody laughed again, and especially old Mr. Wardle, who
enjoyed a joke as much as the youngest.  As to Mr. Snodgrass, he
did nothing but whisper poetical sentiments into his partner's
ear, which made one old gentleman facetiously sly, about
partnerships at cards and partnerships for life, and caused the
aforesaid old gentleman to make some remarks thereupon,
accompanied with divers winks and chuckles, which made the
company very merry and the old gentleman's wife especially so.
And Mr. Winkle came out with jokes which are very well known
in town, but are not all known in the country; and as everybody
laughed at them very heartily, and said they were very capital,
Mr. Winkle was in a state of great honour and glory.  And the
benevolent clergyman looked pleasantly on; for the happy faces
which surrounded the table made the good old man feel happy
too; and though the merriment was rather boisterous, still it
came from the heart and not from the lips; 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 been
despatched, and the little party formed a social circle round the
fire, 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 great
state next the old lady's arm-chair, with her hand fast clasped in
his--'this is just what I like--the happiest moments of my life
have been passed at this old fireside; and I am so attached to it,
that I keep up a blazing fire here every evening, until it actually
grows too hot to bear it.  Why, my poor old mother, here, used
to sit before 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 recollection
of old times and the happiness of many years ago is suddenly
recalled, stole down the old lady's face as she shook her head with
a melancholy smile.

'You must excuse my talking about this old place, Mr. Pickwick,'
resumed the host, after a short pause, 'for I love it dearly,
and know no other--the old houses and fields seem like living
friends to me; and so does our little church with the ivy, about
which, by the bye, our excellent friend there made a song when
he first came amongst us.  Mr. Snodgrass, have you anything in
your glass?'

'Plenty, thank you,' replied that gentleman, whose poetic
curiosity had been greatly excited by the last observation of his
entertainer.  'I beg your pardon, but you were talking about the
song of the Ivy.'

'You must ask our friend opposite about that,' said the host
knowingly, 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;
and the only excuse I have for having ever perpetrated it is, that
I was a young man at the time.  Such as it is, however, you shall
hear it, if you wish.'

A murmur of curiosity was of course the reply; and the old
gentleman proceeded to recite, with the aid of sundry promptings
from his wife, the lines in question.  'I call them,' said he,


  THE IVY GREEN

Oh, 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 clings
To 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 round
The 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, to
enable Mr. Snodgrass to note them down, Mr. Pickwick perused
the lineaments of his face with an expression of great interest.
The old gentleman having concluded his dictation, and Mr.
Snodgrass having returned his note-book to his pocket, Mr.
Pickwick said--

'Excuse me, sir, for making the remark on so short an
acquaintance; but a gentleman like yourself cannot fail, I should
think, to have observed many scenes and incidents worth
recording, in the course of your experience as a minister of the
Gospel.'

'I have witnessed some certainly,' replied the old gentleman,
'but the incidents and characters have been of a homely and
ordinary nature, my sphere of action being so very limited.'

'You did make some notes, I think, about John Edmunds, did
you not?' inquired Mr. Wardle, who appeared very desirous to
draw 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. Pickwick
said--

'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
the curiosity of these gentlemen, sooner or later; so you had
better take advantage of this favourable opportunity, and do so
at once.'

The old gentleman smiled good-humouredly as he drew his
chair forward--the remainder of the party drew their chairs
closer together, especially Mr. Tupman and the spinster aunt,
who were possibly rather hard of hearing; and the old lady's
ear-trumpet having been duly adjusted, and Mr. Miller (who had
fallen asleep during the recital of the verses) roused from his
slumbers by an admonitory pinch, administered beneath the
table by his ex-partner the solemn fat man, the old gentleman,
without further preface, commenced the following tale, to which
we have taken the liberty of prefixing the title of

  THE CONVICT'S RETURN

'When I first settled in this village,' said the old gentleman,
'which is now just five-and-twenty years ago, the most notorious
person among my parishioners was a man of the name of
Edmunds, who leased a small farm near this spot.  He was a
morose, savage-hearted, bad man; idle and dissolute in his
habits; cruel and ferocious in his disposition.  Beyond the few
lazy and reckless vagabonds with whom he sauntered away his
time in the fields, or sotted in the ale-house, he had not a single
friend or acquaintance; no one cared to speak to the man whom
many feared, and every one 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's
sufferings, of the gentle and enduring manner in which she bore
them, of the agony of solicitude with which she reared that boy,
no one can form an adequate conception.  Heaven forgive me the
supposition, if it be an uncharitable one, but I do firmly and in
my soul believe, that the man systematically tried for many years
to break 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; for
brute as he was, and cruelly as he had treated her, she had loved
him once; and the recollection of what he had been to her,
awakened feelings of forbearance and meekness under suffering
in her bosom, to which all God's creatures, but women, are strangers.

'They were poor--they could not be otherwise when the man
pursued such courses; but the woman's unceasing and
unwearied exertions, early and late, morning, noon, and night, kept
them above actual want.  These exertions were but ill repaid.
People who passed the spot in the evening--sometimes at a late
hour of the night--reported that they had heard the moans and
sobs of a woman in distress, and the sound of blows; and more
than once, when it was past midnight, the boy knocked softly at
the door of a neighbour's house, whither he had been sent, to
escape the drunken fury of his unnatural father.

'During the whole of this time, and when the poor creature
often bore about her marks of ill-usage and violence which she
could not wholly conceal, she was a constant attendant at our
little church.  Regularly every Sunday, morning and afternoon, she
occupied the same seat with the boy at her side; and though they
were both poorly dressed--much more so than many of their
neighbours who were in a lower station--they were always neat
and clean.  Every one had a friendly nod and a kind word for
"poor Mrs. Edmunds"; and sometimes, when she stopped to
exchange a few words with a neighbour at the conclusion of the
service in the little row of elm-trees which leads to the church
porch, or lingered behind to gaze with a mother's pride and
fondness upon her healthy boy, as he sported before her with
some little companions, her careworn face would lighten up with
an expression of heartfelt gratitude; and she would look, if not
cheerful and happy, at least tranquil and contented.

'Five or six years passed away; the boy had become a robust
and well-grown youth.  The time that had strengthened the child's
slight frame and knit his weak limbs into the strength of manhood
had bowed his mother's form, and enfeebled her steps;
but the arm that should have supported her was no longer locked
in hers; the face that should have cheered her, no more looked
upon her own.  She occupied her old seat, but there was a vacant
one beside her.  The Bible was kept as carefully as ever, the places
were found and folded down as they used to be: but there was no
one to read it with her; and the tears fell thick and fast upon the
book, and blotted the words from her eyes.  Neighbours were as
kind as they were wont to be of old, but she shunned their
greetings with averted head.  There was no lingering among the
old elm-trees now-no cheering anticipations of happiness yet in
store.  The desolate woman drew her bonnet closer over her face,
and walked hurriedly away.

'Shall I tell you that the young man, who, looking back to the
earliest of his childhood's days to which memory and consciousness
extended, and carrying his recollection down to that moment,
could remember nothing which was not in some way connected
with a long series of voluntary privations suffered by his mother
for his sake, with ill-usage, and insult, and violence, and all
endured for him--shall I tell you, that he, with a reckless
disregard for her breaking heart, and a sullen, wilful forgetfulness of
all she had done and borne for him, had linked himself with
depraved and abandoned men, and was madly pursuing a
headlong career, which must bring death to him, and shame to
her? Alas for human nature! You have anticipated it long since.

'The measure of the unhappy woman's misery and misfortune
was about to be completed.  Numerous offences had been
committed in the neighbourhood; the perpetrators remained
undiscovered, and their boldness increased.  A robbery of a daring
and aggravated nature occasioned a vigilance of pursuit, and a
strictness of search, they had not calculated on.  Young Edmunds
was suspected, with three companions.  He was apprehended--
committed--tried--condemned--to die.
'The wild and piercing shriek from a woman's voice, which
resounded through the court when the solemn sentence was
pronounced, rings in my ears at this moment.  That cry struck a
terror to the culprit's heart, which trial, condemnation--the
approach of death itself, had failed to awaken.  The lips which
had been compressed in dogged sullenness throughout, quivered
and parted involuntarily; the face turned ashy pale as the cold
perspiration broke forth from every pore; the sturdy limbs of the
felon trembled, and he staggered in the dock.

'In the first transports of her mental anguish, the suffering
mother threw herself on her knees at my feet, and fervently
sought the Almighty Being who had hitherto supported her in
all her troubles to release her from a world of woe and misery,
and to spare the life of her only child.  A burst of grief, and a
violent struggle, such as I hope I may never have to witness
again, succeeded.  I knew that her heart was breaking from
that hour; but I never once heard complaint or murmur escape
her lips.
'It was a piteous spectacle to see that woman in the prison-yard
from day to day, eagerly and fervently attempting, by affection
and entreaty, to soften the hard heart of her obdurate son.  It was
in vain.  He remained moody, obstinate, and unmoved.  Not even
the unlooked-for commutation of his sentence to transportation
for fourteen years, softened for an instant the sullen hardihood
of his demeanour.

'But the spirit of resignation and endurance that had so long
upheld her, was unable to contend against bodily weakness and
infirmity.  She fell sick.  She dragged her tottering limbs from the
bed to visit her son once more, but her strength failed her, and
she sank powerless on the ground.

'And now the boasted coldness and indifference of the young
man were tested indeed; and the retribution that fell heavily upon
him nearly drove him mad.  A day passed away and his mother
was not there; another flew by, and she came not near him; a
third evening 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
upon his mind, as he almost ran up and down the narrow yard--
as if intelligence would arrive the sooner for his hurrying--and
how bitterly a sense of his helplessness and desolation rushed
upon him, when he heard the truth! His mother, the only parent
he had ever known, lay ill--it might be, dying--within one mile
of the ground he stood on; were he free and unfettered, a few
minutes would place him by her side.  He rushed to the gate, and
grasping the iron rails with the energy of desperation, shook it
till it rang again, and threw himself against the thick wall as if to
force a passage through the stone; but the strong building
mocked his feeble efforts, and he beat his hands together and
wept like a child.

'I bore the mother's forgiveness and blessing to her son in
prison; and I carried the solemn assurance of repentance, and his
fervent supplication for pardon, to her sick-bed.  I heard, with
pity and compassion, the repentant man devise a thousand little
plans for her comfort and support when he returned; but I knew
that many months before he could reach his place of destination,
his mother would be no longer of this world.
'He was removed by night.  A few weeks afterwards the poor
woman's soul took its flight, I confidently hope, and solemnly
believe, to a place of eternal happiness and rest.  I performed the
burial service over her remains.  She lies in our little churchyard.
There is no stone at her grave's head.  Her sorrows were known to
man; her virtues to God.
'it had been arranged previously to the convict's departure,
that he should write to his mother as soon as he could obtain
permission, and that the letter should be addressed to me.  The
father had positively refused to see his son from the moment of
his apprehension; and it was a matter of indifference to him
whether he lived or died.  Many years passed over without any
intelligence of him; and when more than half his term of
transportation had expired, 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 up
the country on his arrival at the settlement; and to this circumstance,
perhaps, may be attributed the fact, that though several
letters were despatched, none of them ever reached my hands.
He remained in the same place during the whole fourteen years.
At the expiration of the term, steadily adhering to his old
resolution and the pledge he gave his mother, he made his way
back to England amidst innumerable difficulties, and returned,
on foot, to his native place.

'On a fine Sunday evening, in the month of August, John
Edmunds set foot in the village he had left with shame and
disgrace seventeen years before.  His nearest way lay through the
churchyard.  The man's heart swelled as he crossed the stile.  The
tall old elms, through whose branches the declining sun cast here
and there a rich ray of light upon the shady part, awakened the
associations of his earliest days.  He pictured himself as he was
then, clinging to his mother's hand, and walking peacefully to
church.  He remembered how he used to look up into her pale
face; and how her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she
gazed upon his features--tears which fell hot upon his forehead
as she stooped to kiss him, and made him weep too, although he
little knew then what bitter tears hers were.  He thought how
often he had run merrily down that path with some childish
playfellow, looking back, ever and again, to catch his mother's
smile, or hear her gentle voice; and then a veil seemed lifted from
his memory, and words of kindness unrequited, and warnings
despised, and promises broken, thronged upon his recollection
till his heart failed him, and he could bear it no longer.
'He entered the church.  The evening service was concluded and
the congregation had dispersed, but it was not yet closed.  His
steps echoed through the low building with a hollow sound, and
he almost feared to be alone, it was so still and quiet.  He looked
round him.  Nothing was changed.  The place seemed smaller than
it used to be; but there were the old monuments on which he had
gazed with childish awe a thousand times; the little pulpit with
its faded cushion; the Communion table before which he had so
often repeated the Commandments he had reverenced as a child,
and forgotten as a man.  He approached the old seat; it looked
cold and desolate.  The cushion had been removed, and the Bible
was not there.  Perhaps his mother now occupied a poorer seat, or
possibly she had grown infirm and could not reach the church
alone.  He dared 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.  Edmunds
started back, for he knew him well; many a time he had watched
him digging graves in the churchyard.  What would he say to the
returned 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 weather
was warm, and the people were sitting at their doors, or strolling
in their little gardens as he passed, enjoying the serenity of the
evening, and their rest from labour.  Many a look was turned
towards him, and many a doubtful glance he cast on either side
to see whether any knew and shunned him.  There were strange
faces in almost every house; in some he recognised the burly form
of some old schoolfellow--a boy when he last saw him--surrounded
by 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 only remembered as a hale and hearty labourer; but
they had all forgotten 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 lengthening
the shadows of the orchard trees, as he stood before the old house
--the home of his infancy--to which his heart had yearned with
an intensity of affection not to be described, through long and
weary years of captivity and sorrow.  The paling was low, though
he well remembered the time that it had seemed a high wall to
him; and he looked over into the old garden.  There were more
seeds and gayer flowers than there used to be, but there were the
old trees still--the very tree under which he had lain a thousand
times when tired of playing in the sun, and felt the soft, mild sleep
of happy boyhood steal gently upon him.  There were voices
within the house.  He listened, but they fell strangely upon his ear;
he knew them not.  They were merry too; and he well knew that
his poor old mother could not be cheerful, and he away.  The door
opened, and a group of little children bounded out, shouting and
romping.  The father, with a little boy in his arms, appeared at the
door, and they crowded round him, clapping their tiny hands,
and dragging him out, to join their joyous sports.  The convict
thought on the many times he had shrunk from his father's sight
in that very place.  He remembered how often he had buried his
trembling head beneath the bedclothes, and heard the harsh word,
and the hard stripe, and his mother's wailing; and though the
man sobbed aloud 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 the
weary perspective of many years, and for which he had undergone
so much suffering! No face of welcome, no look of forgiveness,
no house to receive, no hand to help him--and this too in the old
village.  What was his loneliness in the wild, thick woods, where
man was never seen, to this!

'He felt that in the distant land of his bondage and infamy, he
had thought of his native place as it was when he left it; and not
as it would be when he returned.  The sad reality struck coldly at
his heart, and his spirit sank within him.  He had not courage to
make inquiries, or to present himself to the only person who was
likely to receive him with kindness and compassion.  He walked
slowly on; and shunning the roadside like a guilty man, turned
into a meadow he well remembered; and covering his face with
his hands, threw himself upon the grass.

'He had not observed that a man was lying on the bank beside
him; his garments rustled as he turned round to steal a look at
the new-comer; and Edmunds raised his head.

'The man had moved into a sitting posture.  His body was much
bent, and his face was wrinkled and yellow.  His dress denoted
him an inmate of the workhouse: he had the appearance of being
very old, but it looked more the effect of dissipation or disease,
than the length of years.  He was staring hard at the stranger, and
though his eyes were lustreless and heavy at first, they appeared
to glow with an unnatural and alarmed expression after they had
been fixed upon him for a short time, until they seemed to be
starting from their sockets.  Edmunds gradually raised himself to
his knees, and looked more and more earnestly on the old man's
face.  They gazed upon each other in silence.

'The old man was ghastly pale.  He shuddered and tottered to
his 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, broken voice.

'"Stand off!" cried the old man, with a dreadful oath.  The
convict drew closer to him.

'"Stand off!" shrieked the old man.  Furious with terror, he
raised 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
the throat--but he was his father; and his arm fell powerless by
his side.

'The old man uttered a loud yell which rang through the
lonely fields like the howl of an evil spirit.  His face turned black,
the gore rushed from his mouth and nose, and dyed the grass a
deep, dark red, as he staggered and fell.  He had ruptured a
blood-vessel, and he was a dead man before his son could raise him.
'In that corner of the churchyard,' said the old gentleman, after
a silence of a few moments, 'in that corner of the churchyard of
which I have before spoken, there lies buried a man who was in
my employment for three years after this event, and who was
truly contrite, penitent, and humbled, if ever man was.  No one
save myself knew in that man's lifetime who he was, or whence he
came--it was John Edmunds, the returned convict.'



CHAPTER VII
HOW Mr. WINKLE, INSTEAD OF SHOOTING AT THE PIGEON
  AND KILLING THE CROW, SHOT AT THE CROW AND
  WOUNDED THE PIGEON; HOW THE DINGLEY DELL
  CRICKET CLUB PLAYED ALL-MUGGLETON, AND HOW ALL-
  MUGGLETON DINED AT THE DINGLEY DELL EXPENSE;
  WITH OTHER INTERESTING AND INSTRUCTIVE MATTERS


The fatiguing adventures of the day or the somniferous influence
of the clergyman's tale operated so strongly on the drowsy
tendencies of Mr. Pickwick, that in less than five minutes
after he had been shown to his comfortable bedroom he fell
into a sound and dreamless sleep, from which he was only awakened
by the morning sun darting his bright beams reproachfully into the
apartment.  Mr. Pickwick was no sluggard, and he sprang like an
ardent warrior from his tent-bedstead.

'Pleasant, pleasant country,' sighed the enthusiastic gentleman,
as he opened his lattice window.  'Who could live to gaze from
day to day on bricks and slates who had once felt the influence of
a scene like this? Who could continue to exist where there are no
cows but the cows on the chimney-pots; nothing redolent of Pan
but pan-tiles; no crop but stone crop? Who could bear to drag
out a life in such a spot? Who, I ask, could endure it?' and,
having cross-examined solitude after the most approved precedents,
at considerable length, Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out
of the lattice and looked around him.

The rich, sweet smell of the hay-ricks rose to his chamber
window; the hundred perfumes of the little flower-garden
beneath scented the air around; the deep-green meadows shone
in the morning dew that glistened on every leaf as it trembled
in the gentle air; and the birds sang as if every sparkling drop
were to them a fountain of inspiration.  Mr. Pickwick fell into an
enchanting and delicious reverie.

'Hollo!' was the sound that roused him.

He looked to the right, but he saw nobody; his eyes wandered
to the left, and pierced the prospect; he stared into the sky, but he
wasn't wanted there; and then he did what a common mind
would have done at once--looked into the garden, and there saw
Mr. Wardle.
'How are you?' said the good-humoured individual, out of
breath with his own anticipations of pleasure.'Beautiful morning,
ain't it? Glad to see you up so early.  Make haste down, and
come out.  I'll wait for you here.'
Mr. Pickwick needed no second invitation.  Ten minutes
sufficed for the completion of his toilet, and at the expiration of
that time he was by the old gentleman's side.

'Hollo!' said Mr. Pickwick in his turn, seeing that his
companion was 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 morning
did 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 and
Mr. 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 way
from the garden.

'This is the place,' said the old gentleman, pausing after a few
minutes walking, in an avenue of trees.  The information was
unnecessary; for the incessant cawing of the unconscious rooks
sufficiently indicated their whereabouts.

The old gentleman laid one gun on the ground, and loaded the other.

'Here they are,' said Mr. Pickwick; and, as he spoke, the
forms of Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Winkle appeared
in the distance.  The fat boy, not being quite certain which
gentleman he was directed to call, had with peculiar sagacity, and
to prevent the possibility 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 ago,
even to such poor work as this.'

Mr. Winkle responded with a forced smile, and took up the
spare gun with an expression of countenance which a metaphysical
rook, impressed with a foreboding of his approaching
death by violence, may be supposed to assume.  It might have
been keenness, but it looked remarkably like misery.
The old gentleman nodded; and two ragged boys who had
been marshalled to the spot under the direction of the infant
Lambert, forthwith commenced climbing up two of the trees.
'What are these lads for?' inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly.  He
was rather alarmed; for he was not quite certain but that the
distress of the agricultural interest, about which he had often
heard a great deal, might have compelled the small boys attached
to the soil to earn a precarious and hazardous subsistence by
making marks of themselves 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 a
dozen young rooks in violent conversation, flew out to ask what
the matter was.  The old gentleman fired by way of reply.  Down
fell one 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.
He laughed as he retired with the bird--it was a plump one.

'Now, Mr. Winkle,' said the host, reloading his own gun.
'Fire away.'

Mr. Winkle advanced, and levelled his gun.  Mr. Pickwick and
his friends cowered involuntarily to escape damage from the
heavy fall of rooks, which they felt quite certain would be
occasioned by the devastating barrel of their friend.  There was a
solemn 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--probably
from disappointment.

'Odd,' said the old gentleman, taking the gun.  'Never knew one
of 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
and resolution; and Mr. Tupman looked out from behind a tree.
The boy shouted; four birds flew out.  Mr. Winkle fired.  There
was a scream as of an individual--not a rook--in corporal
anguish.  Mr. Tupman had saved the lives of innumerable
unoffending birds by receiving a portion of the charge in his left arm.

To describe the confusion that ensued would be impossible.
To tell 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 fell back and shut them both--all this would be
as difficult to describe in detail, as it would be to depict the
gradual recovering of the unfortunate individual, the binding up
of his arm with pocket-handkerchiefs, and the conveying him
back by slow degrees supported 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 aunt
appeared; she smiled, and beckoned them to walk quicker.  'Twas
evident she knew not of the disaster.  Poor thing! there are times
when ignorance is bliss indeed.

They approached nearer.

'Why, what is the matter with the little old gentleman?' said
Isabella Wardle.  The spinster aunt heeded not the remark; she
thought it applied to Mr. Pickwick.  In her eyes Tracy Tupman
was a youth; she viewed his years through a diminishing glass.

'Don't be frightened,' called out the old host, fearful of
alarming his daughters.  The little party had crowded so
completely round Mr. Tupman, that they could not yet clearly
discern the nature of the 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 an
hysteric 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 hysteric laughter interspersed with screams.

'Calm yourself,' said Mr. Tupman, affected almost to tears by
this expression of sympathy with his sufferings.  'Dear, dear
madam, calm yourself.'

'It is his voice!' exclaimed the spinster aunt; and strong
symptoms 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,
say you are not dead!'

'Don't be a fool, Rachael,' interposed Mr. Wardle, rather
more roughly 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
but yours.  Let me lean on your arm.'  He added, in a whisper,
'Oh, Miss Rachael!' The agitated female advanced, and offered
her arm.  They turned into the breakfast parlour.  Mr. Tracy
Tupman gently pressed 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 better
presently.'  He closed his eyes.

'He sleeps,' murmured the spinster aunt.  (His organs of vision
had been closed nearly twenty seconds.) 'Dear--dear--Mr. Tupman!'

Mr. Tupman jumped up--'Oh, say those words again!' he exclaimed.

The lady started.  'Surely you did not hear them!' she
said bashfully.

'Oh, yes, I did!' replied Mr. Tupman; 'repeat them.  If you
would have me recover, repeat them.'
'Hush!' said the lady.  'My brother.'
Mr. Tracy Tupman resumed his former position; and Mr.
Wardle, accompanied by a surgeon, entered the room.

The arm was examined, the wound dressed, and pronounced
to be a very slight one; and the minds of the company having
been thus satisfied, they proceeded to satisfy their appetites with
countenances to which an expression of cheerfulness was again
restored.  Mr. Pickwick alone was silent and reserved.  Doubt and
distrust were exhibited in his countenance.  His confidence in
Mr. Winkle had been shaken--greatly shaken--by the proceedings
of the morning.
'Are you a cricketer?' inquired Mr. Wardle of the marksman.

At any other time, Mr. Winkle would have replied in the
affirmative.  He felt the delicacy of his situation, and modestly
replied, 'No.'

'Are you, sir?' inquired Mr. Snodgrass.

'I was once upon a time,' replied the host; 'but I have given it
up now.  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 sports
which may be safely indulged in, and in which the impotent
effects of unskilful people do not endanger human life.'  Mr.
Pickwick paused, and looked steadily on Mr. Winkle, who
quailed beneath his leader's searching glance.  The great man
withdrew his eyes after a few minutes, and added: 'Shall we be
justified in leaving our 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
home in charge of the females; and that the remainder of the
guests, under the guidance of Mr. Wardle, should proceed to the
spot where was to be held that trial of skill, which had roused all
Muggleton from its torpor, and inoculated Dingley Dell with a
fever of excitement.

As their walk, which was not above two miles long, lay
through shady lanes and sequestered footpaths, and as their
conversation turned upon the delightful scenery by which they
were on every side surrounded, Mr. Pickwick was almost
inclined to regret the expedition they had used, when he found
himself in the main street of the town of Muggleton.
Everybody whose genius has a topographical bent knows
perfectly well that Muggleton is a corporate town, with a mayor,
burgesses, and freemen; and anybody who has consulted the
addresses of the mayor to the freemen, or the freemen to the
mayor, or both to the corporation, or all three to Parliament, will
learn from thence what they ought to have known before, that
Muggleton is an ancient and loyal borough, mingling a zealous
advocacy of Christian principles with a devoted attachment to
commercial rights; in demonstration whereof, the mayor,
corporation, and other inhabitants, have presented at divers
times, no fewer than one thousand four hundred and twenty
petitions against the continuance of negro slavery abroad, and
an equal number against any interference with the factory system
at home; sixty-eight in favour of the sale of livings in the Church,
and eighty-six for abolishing Sunday trading in the street.

Mr. Pickwick stood in the principal street of this illustrious
town, and gazed with an air of curiosity, not unmixed with
interest, on the objects around him.  There was an open square
for the 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
rarely met with in nature--to wit, a blue lion, with three bow legs
in the air, balancing himself on the extreme point of the centre
claw of his fourth foot.  There were, within sight, an auctioneer's
and fire-agency office, a corn-factor's, a linen-draper's, a
saddler's, a distiller's, a grocer's, and a shoe-shop--the last-
mentioned warehouse being also appropriated to the diffusion of
hats, bonnets, wearing apparel, cotton umbrellas, and useful
knowledge.  There was a red brick house with a small paved
courtyard in front, which anybody might have known belonged
to the attorney; and there was, moreover, another red brick
house with Venetian blinds, and a large brass door-plate with a
very legible announcement that it belonged to the surgeon.  A few
boys were making their way to the cricket-field; and two or three
shopkeepers who were standing at their doors looked as if they
should like to be making their way to the same spot, as indeed to
all appearance they might have done, without losing any great
amount of custom thereby.  Mr. Pickwick having paused to make
these observations, to be noted down at a more convenient
period, hastened to rejoin his friends, who had turned out
of the main street, and were already within sight of the field
of battle.

The wickets were pitched, and so were a couple of marquees
for the rest and refreshment of the contending parties.  The game
had not yet commenced.  Two or three Dingley Dellers, and All-
Muggletonians, were amusing themselves with a majestic air by
throwing the ball carelessly from hand to hand; and several other
gentlemen dressed like them, in straw hats, flannel jackets, and
white trousers--a costume in which they looked very much like
amateur stone-masons--were sprinkled about the tents, towards
one of which Mr. Wardle conducted the party.

Several dozen of 'How-are-you's?' hailed the old gentleman's
arrival; and a general raising of the straw hats, and bending
forward of the flannel jackets, followed his introduction of his
guests as gentlemen from London, who were extremely anxious
to witness 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 one
very stout gentleman, whose body and legs looked like half a
gigantic roll of flannel, elevated on a couple of inflated pillow-cases.

'You'll find it much pleasanter, Sir,' urged another stout
gentleman, who strongly resembled the other half of the roll of
flannel aforesaid.

'You're very good,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'This way,' said the first speaker; 'they notch in here--it's the
best place in the whole field;' and the cricketer, panting on before,
preceded them to the tent.

'Capital game--smart sport--fine exercise--very,' were the
words 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
of the Rochester coach, holding forth, to the no small delight and
edification of a select circle of the chosen of All-Muggleton.  His
dress was slightly improved, and he wore boots; but there was no
mistaking him.

The stranger recognised his friends immediately; and, darting
forward and seizing Mr. Pickwick by the hand, dragged him to a
seat with his usual impetuosity, talking all the while as if the
whole of the arrangements were under his especial patronage
and direction.

'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
mysterious friend.  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 my
friend's--give me your hand, sir'--and the stranger grasped
Mr. Wardle's hand with all the fervour of a close intimacy of
many years, and then stepped back a pace or two as if to take a
full survey of his face and figure, and then shook hands with him
again, if possible, more warmly than before.

'Well; and how came you here?' said Mr. Pickwick, with a
smile in which benevolence struggled with surprise.
'Come,' replied the stranger--'stopping at Crown--Crown at
Muggleton--met a party--flannel jackets--white trousers--
anchovy sandwiches--devilled kidney--splendid fellows--glorious.'

Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently versed in the stranger's system of
stenography to infer from this rapid and disjointed communication
that he had, somehow or other, contracted an acquaintance
with the All-Muggletons, which he had converted, by a process
peculiar to himself, into that extent of good-fellowship on which
a general invitation may be easily founded.  His curiosity was
therefore satisfied, and putting on his spectacles he prepared
himself to watch the play which was just commencing.

All-Muggleton had the first innings; and the interest became
intense when Mr. Dumkins and Mr. Podder, two of the most
renowned members of that most distinguished club, walked, bat
in hand, to their respective wickets.  Mr. Luffey, the highest
ornament of Dingley Dell, was pitched to bowl against the
redoubtable Dumkins, and Mr. Struggles was selected to do the
same kind office for the hitherto unconquered Podder.  Several
players were stationed, to 'look out,' in different parts of the
field, and each fixed himself into the proper attitude by placing
one hand on each knee, and stooping very much as if he were
'making a back' for some beginner at leap-frog.  All the regular
players do this sort of thing;--indeed it is generally supposed that
it is quite impossible to look out properly in any other position.

The umpires were stationed behind the wickets; the scorers
were prepared to notch the runs; a breathless silence ensued.
Mr. Luffey retired a few paces behind the wicket of the passive
Podder, and applied the ball to his right eye for several seconds.
Dumkins confidently awaited its coming with his eyes fixed on the
motions of Luffey.

'Play!' suddenly cried the bowler.  The ball flew from his hand
straight and swift towards the centre stump of the wicket.  The
wary Dumkins was on the alert: it fell upon the tip of the bat, and
bounded far away over the heads of the scouts, who had just
stooped 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 her
up!'--Such were the shouts which followed the stroke; and at the
conclusion of which All-Muggleton had scored two.  Nor was
Podder behindhand in earning laurels wherewith to garnish
himself and Muggleton.  He blocked the doubtful balls, missed the
bad ones, took the good ones, and sent them flying to all parts of
the field.  The scouts were hot and tired; the bowlers were
changed and bowled till their arms ached; but Dumkins and
Podder remained unconquered.  Did an elderly gentleman essay
to stop the progress of the ball, it rolled between his legs or
slipped between his fingers.  Did a slim gentleman try to catch it,
it struck him on the nose, and bounded pleasantly off with
redoubled violence, while the slim gentleman's eyes filled with
water, and his form writhed with anguish.  Was it thrown straight
up to the wicket, Dumkins had reached it before the ball.  In
short, when Dumkins was caught out, and Podder stumped out,
All-Muggleton had notched some fifty-four, while the score of
the Dingley Dellers was as blank as their faces.  The advantage
was too great to be recovered.  In vain did the eager Luffey, and
the enthusiastic Struggles, do all that skill and experience could
suggest, to regain the 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, and
talking, without cessation.  At every good stroke he expressed his
satisfaction and approval of the player in a most condescending
and patronising manner, which could not fail to have been
highly gratifying to the party concerned; while at every bad
attempt at a catch, and every failure to stop the ball, he launched
his personal displeasure at the head of the devoted individual in
such denunciations as--'Ah, ah!--stupid'--'Now, butter-
fingers'--'Muff'--'Humbug'--and so forth--ejaculations which
seemed to establish him in the opinion of all around, as a most
excellent and undeniable judge of the whole art and mystery of
the noble game of cricket.

'Capital game--well played--some strokes admirable,' said the
stranger, as both sides crowded into the tent, at the conclusion of
the game.

'You have played it, sir?' inquired Mr. Wardle, who had been
much amused by his loquacity.
'Played it!  Think I have--thousands of times--not here--West
Indies--exciting thing--hot work--very.'
'It must be rather a warm pursuit in such a climate,' observed
Mr. Pickwick.

'Warm!--red hot--scorching--glowing.  Played a match once--single wicket--friend the
colonel--Sir Thomas Blazo--who
should get the greatest number of runs.--Won the toss--first
innings--seven o'clock A.m.--six natives to look out--went in;
kept in--heat intense--natives all fainted--taken away--fresh
half-dozen ordered--fainted also--Blazo bowling--supported by
two natives--couldn't bowl me out--fainted too--cleared away
the colonel--wouldn't give in--faithful attendant--Quanko
Samba--last man left--sun so hot, bat in blisters, ball scorched
brown--five hundred and seventy runs--rather exhausted--
Quanko mustered up last remaining strength--bowled me out--
had a bath, and went out to dinner.'

'And what became of what's-his-name, Sir?' inquired an
old gentleman.

'Blazo?'

'No--the other gentleman.'
'Quanko Samba?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Poor Quanko--never recovered it--bowled on, on my account
--bowled off, on his own--died, sir.'  Here the stranger buried his
countenance in a brown jug, but whether to hide his emotion or
imbibe its contents, we cannot distinctly affirm.  We only know
that he paused suddenly, drew a long and deep breath, and
looked anxiously on, as two of the principal members of the
Dingley 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 include
Mr.--;' 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 confidentially in the ear of the former gentleman:--

'Devilish good dinner--cold, but capital--peeped into the
room this morning--fowls and pies, and all that sort of thing--
pleasant fellows these--well behaved, too--very.'

There being no further preliminaries to arrange, the company
straggled into the town in little knots of twos and threes; and
within a quarter of an hour were all seated in the great room of
the Blue Lion Inn, Muggleton--Mr. Dumkins acting as chairman,
and Mr. 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-
headed waiters, and a rapid disappearance of the substantial
viands on the table; to each and every of which item of confusion,
the facetious Mr. Jingle lent the aid of half-a-dozen ordinary men
at least.  When everybody had eaten as much as possible, the cloth
was removed, bottles, glasses, and dessert were placed on the
table; and the waiters withdrew to 'clear away,'or in other words,
to appropriate to their own private use and emolument whatever
remnants of the eatables 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
now and then bursting into a short cough of inexpressible
grandeur.  At length, during a moment of comparative silence, the
little man called out in a very loud, solemn voice,--

'Mr. Luffey!'

Everybody was hushed into a profound stillness as the individual
addressed, replied--

'Sir!'

'I wish to address a few words to you, Sir, if you will entreat the
gentlemen to fill their glasses.'

Mr. Jingle uttered a patronising 'Hear, hear,' which was
responded to by the remainder of the company; and the glasses
having been filled, the vice-president assumed an air of wisdom
in a state of profound attention; and said--

'Mr. Staple.'

'Sir,' said the little man, rising, 'I wish to address what I have
to say to you and not to our worthy chairman, because our
worthy chairman is in some measure--I may say in a great degree
--the subject 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 honourable
friend, if he will allow me to call him so (four hears and one
certainly from Mr. Jingle), for the suggestion.  Sir, I am a Deller
--a Dingley Deller (cheers).  I cannot lay claim to the honour of
forming an item in the population of Muggleton; nor, Sir, I will
frankly admit, do I covet that honour: and I will tell you why, Sir
(hear); to Muggleton I will readily concede all these honours and
distinctions to which it can fairly lay claim--they are too numerous
and too well known to require aid or recapitulation from me.
But, sir, while we remember that Muggleton has given birth to a
Dumkins and a Podder, let us never forget that Dingley Dell can
boast a Luffey and a Struggles.  (Vociferous cheering.) Let me not
be considered as wishing to detract from the merits of the former
gentlemen.  Sir, I envy them the luxury of their own feelings on
this occasion.  (Cheers.) Every gentleman who hears me, is
probably acquainted with the reply made by an individual, who
--to use an ordinary figure of speech--"hung out" in a tub, to
the emperor Alexander:--"if I were not Diogenes," said he, "I
would be Alexander."  I can well imagine these gentlemen to say,
"If I were not Dumkins I would be Luffey; if I were not Podder
I would 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 an instant, to misgiving and despair?  And when you have
been thus depressed, has not the name of Dumkins laid afresh
within your breast the fire which had just gone out; and has not a
word from that man lighted it again as brightly as if it had never
expired?  (Great cheering.) Gentlemen, I beg to surround with a
rich halo of enthusiastic cheering the united names of "Dumkins
and Podder."'

Here the little man ceased, and here the company commenced
a raising of voices, and thumping of tables, which lasted with
little intermission during the remainder of the evening.  Other
toasts were 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 have
devoted ourselves, we should have felt a sensation of pride which
we cannot express, and a consciousness of having done something
to merit immortality of which we are now deprived, could we
have laid the faintest outline on these addresses before our ardent
readers.  Mr. Snodgrass, as usual, took a great mass of notes,
which would no doubt have afforded most useful and valuable
information, had not the burning eloquence of the words or the
feverish influence of the wine made that gentleman's hand so
extremely unsteady, as to render his writing nearly unintelligible,
and his style wholly so.  By dint of patient investigation, we have
been enabled to trace some characters bearing a faint resemblance
to the names of the speakers; and we can only discern 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 indistinct reference to 'broiled
bones'; and then the words 'cold' 'without' occur: but as any
hypothesis we could found upon them must necessarily rest upon
mere conjecture, we are not disposed to indulge in any of the
speculations to which they may give rise.

We will therefore return to Mr. Tupman; merely adding that
within some few minutes before twelve o'clock that night, the
convocation of worthies of Dingley Dell and Muggleton were
heard to sing, with great feeling and emphasis, the beautiful and
pathetic national 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 VIII
STRONGLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE POSITION, THAT THE
  COURSE OF TRUE LOVE IS NOT A RAILWAY


The quiet seclusion of Dingley Dell, the presence of so many
of the gentler sex, and the solicitude and anxiety they evinced
in his behalf, were all favourable to the growth and development
of those softer feelings which nature had implanted deep in the
bosom of Mr. Tracy Tupman, and which now appeared destined to
centre in one lovely object.  The young ladies were pretty,
their manners winning, their dispositions unexceptionable; 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, which distinguished her
from any female on whom Mr. Tupman had ever gazed.  That there
was something kindred in their nature, something congenial in
their souls, something mysteriously sympathetic in their bosoms,
was evident.  Her name was the first that 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 ear when he was supported
to the house.  But had her agitation arisen from an amiable and
feminine sensibility which would have been equally irrepressible
in any case; or had it been called forth by a more ardent and
passionate feeling, which he, of all men living, could alone
awaken?  These were the doubts which racked his brain as he lay
extended on the sofa; these were the doubts which he 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; the
snoring of the fat boy, penetrated in a low and monotonous
sound from the distant kitchen; the buxom servants were
lounging at the side door, enjoying the pleasantness of the hour,
and the delights of a flirtation, on first principles, with certain
unwieldy animals attached to the farm; and there sat the interesting
pair, uncared for by all, caring for none, and dreaming only
of themselves; there they sat, in short, like a pair of carefully-
folded kid gloves--bound up 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 aunt
affectionately.

'No, no,' said Mr. Tupman, rising; 'it will do me good.  Let me
accompany you.'

The lady paused to adjust the sling in which the left arm of the
youth 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
which humane men erect for the accommodation of spiders.

The spinster aunt took up a large watering-pot which lay in
one corner, and was about to leave the arbour.  Mr. Tupman
detained her, and drew her to a seat beside him.

'Miss Wardle!' said he.
The spinster aunt trembled, till some pebbles which had
accidentally found their way into the large watering-pot shook
like an infant's rattle.

'Miss Wardle,' said Mr. Tupman, 'you are an angel.'

'Mr. Tupman!' exclaimed Rachael, blushing as red as the
watering-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
I compare you?' replied Mr. Tupman.  'Where was the woman
ever seen who resembled you?  Where else could I hope to find so
rare a combination of excellence and beauty?  Where else could
I seek to-- Oh!' Here Mr. Tupman paused, and pressed the
hand which clasped the handle of the happy watering-pot.

The lady turned aside her head.  'Men are such deceivers,' she
softly whispered.

'They are, they are,' ejaculated Mr. Tupman; 'but not all men.
There lives at least one being who can never change--one being
who would be content to devote his whole existence to your
happiness--who lives but in your eyes--who breathes but in your
smiles--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 aware of 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 her
passive hand, and the watering-pot fell to the ground as he
pressed it to his lips.--'Oh, Rachael! say you love me.'

'Mr. Tupman,' said the spinster aunt, with averted head, 'I
can hardly speak the words; but--but--you are not wholly
indifferent to me.'

Mr. Tupman no sooner heard this avowal, than he proceeded
to do what his enthusiastic emotions prompted, and what, for
aught we know (for we are but little acquainted with such
matters), people so circumstanced always do.  He jumped up, and,
throwing his arm round the neck of the spinster aunt, imprinted
upon her lips numerous kisses, which after a due show of
struggling and resistance, she received so passively, that there is
no telling how many more Mr. Tupman might have bestowed, if
the lady had not given a very unaffected start, and exclaimed in
an affrighted tone--

'Mr. Tupman, we are observed!--we are discovered!'

Mr. Tupman looked round.  There was the fat boy, perfectly
motionless, with his large circular eyes staring into the arbour, but
without the slightest expression on his face that the most expert
physiognomist could have referred to astonishment, curiosity, or
any other known passion that agitates the human breast.  Mr.
Tupman gazed on the fat boy, and the fat boy stared at him; and
the longer Mr. Tupman observed the utter vacancy of the fat
boy's countenance, the more convinced he became that he either
did not know, or did not understand, anything that had been
going forward.  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 a
piercing look.

'Just,' replied the fat boy.

Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again; but there was not
a wink in his eye, or a curve in his face.

Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walked
towards 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 imperfectly suppressed
chuckle.  Mr. Tupman turned sharply round.  No; it could not
have been the fat boy; there was not a gleam of mirth, or anything
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 been
fast asleep.  He was awake--wide awake--to what had been going forward.

The supper passed off without any attempt at a general
conversation.  The old lady had gone to bed; Isabella Wardle
devoted herself exclusively to Mr. Trundle; the spinster's attentions
were reserved for Mr. Tupman; and Emily's thoughts
appeared to be engrossed by some distant object--possibly they
were with the absent Snodgrass.

Eleven--twelve--one o'clock had struck, and the gentlemen
had not arrived.  Consternation sat on every face.  Could they
have been waylaid and robbed?  Should they send men and
lanterns in every direction by which they could be supposed
likely to have travelled home? or should they-- Hark! there
they were.  What could have made them so late?  A strange voice,
too!  To whom could it belong?  They rushed into the kitchen,
whither the truants had repaired, and at once obtained rather
more than a glimmering of the real state of the case.

Mr. Pickwick, with his hands in his pockets and his hat
cocked completely over his left eye, was leaning against the
dresser, shaking his head from side to side, and producing a
constant succession of the blandest and most benevolent smiles
without being moved thereunto by any discernible cause or
pretence whatsoever; old Mr. Wardle, with a highly-inflamed
countenance, was grasping the hand of a strange gentleman
muttering protestations of eternal friendship; Mr. Winkle,
supporting himself by the eight-day clock, was feebly invoking
destruction upon the head of any member of the family who
should suggest the propriety of his retiring for the night; and
Mr. Snodgrass had sunk into a chair, with an expression of the
most abject and hopeless misery that the human mind can
imagine, portrayed in every lineament of his expressive face.

'is anything the matter?' inquired the three ladies.

'Nothing the matter,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'We--we're--all
right.--I say, Wardle, we're all right, ain't we?'

'I should think so,' replied the jolly host.--'My dears, here's my
friend Mr. Jingle--Mr. Pickwick's friend, Mr. Jingle, come 'pon
--little visit.'

'Is anything the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, Sir?' inquired
Emily, with great anxiety.

'Nothing the matter, ma'am,' replied the stranger.  'Cricket
dinner--glorious party--capital songs--old port--claret--good
--very good--wine, ma'am--wine.'

'It wasn't the wine,' murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken
voice.  '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
of the 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
he went on smiling as before.
'Hurrah!' gasped Mr. Winkle faintly.

'Hurrah!' echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat and dashing
it on the floor, and insanely casting his spectacles into the middle
of the kitchen.  At this humorous feat he laughed outright.

'Let's--have--'nother--bottle,'cried Mr. Winkle, commencing
in a very loud key, and ending in a very faint one.  His head
dropped upon his breast; and, muttering his invincible determination
not to go to his bed, and a sanguinary regret that he had
not 'done for old Tupman' in the morning, he fell fast asleep; in
which condition he was borne to his apartment by two young
giants under the personal superintendence of the fat boy, to
whose protecting care Mr. Snodgrass shortly afterwards confided
his own person, Mr. Pickwick accepted the proffered arm of
Mr. Tupman and quietly disappeared, smiling more than ever;
and Mr. Wardle, after taking as affectionate a leave of the whole
family as if he were ordered for immediate execution, consigned
to Mr. Trundle the honour of conveying him upstairs, and
retired, with a very futile attempt to look impressively solemn
and dignified.
'What a shocking scene!' said the spinster aunt.

'Dis-gusting!' ejaculated both the young ladies.

'Dreadful--dreadful!' said Jingle, looking very grave: he was
about a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions.
'Horrid spectacle--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 mind
was troubled.  The succeeding half-hour's conversation was not
of a nature to calm his perturbed spirit.  The new visitor was very
talkative, and the number of his anecdotes was only to be
exceeded by the extent of his politeness.  Mr. Tupman felt that as
Jingle's popularity increased, he (Tupman) retired further into the
shade.  His laughter was forced--his merriment feigned; and
when at last he laid his aching temples between the sheets, he
thought, with horrid delight, on the satisfaction it would afford
him to have Jingle's head at that moment between the feather bed
and the mattress.

The indefatigable stranger rose betimes next morning, and,
although his companions remained in bed overpowered with the
dissipation of the previous night, exerted himself most successfully
to promote the hilarity of the breakfast-table.  So successful
were his efforts, that even the deaf old lady insisted on having one
or two of his best jokes retailed through the trumpet; and even
she condescended to observe to the spinster aunt, that 'He'
(meaning Jingle) 'was an impudent young fellow:' a sentiment in
which all her relations then and there present thoroughly
coincided.

It was the old lady's habit on the fine summer mornings to
repair to the arbour in which Mr. Tupman had already signalised
himself, in form and manner following: first, the fat boy fetched
from a peg behind the old lady's bedroom door, a close black
satin bonnet, a warm cotton shawl, and a thick stick with a
capacious handle; and the old lady, having put on the bonnet and
shawl at her leisure, would lean one hand on the stick and the
other on the fat boy's shoulder, and walk leisurely to the arbour,
where the fat boy would leave her to enjoy the fresh air for the
space of half an hour; at the expiration of which time he would
return and reconduct her to the house.

The old lady was very precise and very particular; and as this
ceremony had been observed for three successive summers
without the slightest deviation from the accustomed form,
she was not a little surprised on this particular morning to see
the fat boy, instead of leaving the arbour, walk a few paces out
of it, look carefully round him in every direction, and return
towards her with great stealth and an air of the most profound mystery.

The old lady was timorous--most old ladies are--and her first
impression was that the bloated lad was about to do her some
grievous bodily harm with the view of possessing himself of her
loose coin.  She would have cried for assistance, but age and
infirmity had long ago deprived her of the power of screaming;
she, therefore, watched his motions with feelings of intense horror
which 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, a
threatening tone--

'Missus!'

Now it so happened that Mr. Jingle was walking in the garden
close to the arbour at that moment.  He too heard the shouts of
'Missus,' and stopped to hear more.  There were three reasons for
his doing so.  In the first place, he was idle and curious; secondly,
he was by no means scrupulous; thirdly, and lastly, he was
concealed 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
a good mistress to you, Joe.  You have invariably been treated
very kindly.  You have never had too much to do; and you have
always had 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,
gaining courage.

'I wants to make your flesh creep,' replied the boy.

This sounded like a very bloodthirsty mode of showing one's
gratitude; and as the old lady did not precisely understand the
process by which such a result was to be attained, all her former
horrors 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
solemn manner 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 this
the extreme limit of human atrocity.  'Who was it, Joe?  I insist
upon knowing.'

The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded
his survey, 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 over the 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
beheld the expression which the old lady's face assumed at this
communication, the probability is that a sudden burst of
laughter would have betrayed his close vicinity to the summer-
house.  He listened 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 boots crunching the gravel, as he retired and left the old
lady alone.

It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it was nevertheless
a fact, that Mr. Jingle within five minutes of his arrival at Manor
Farm on the preceding night, had inwardly resolved to lay siege
to the heart of the spinster aunt, without delay.  He had observation
enough to see, that his off-hand manner was by no means
disagreeable to the fair object of his attack; and he had more
than a strong suspicion that she possessed that most desirable of
all requisites, a small independence.  The imperative necessity of
ousting his rival by some means or other, flashed quickly upon
him, and he immediately resolved to adopt certain proceedings
tending to that end and object, without a moment's delay.
Fielding tells us that man is fire, and woman tow, and the Prince
of Darkness sets a light to 'em.  Mr. Jingle knew that young men,
to spinster aunts, are as lighted gas to gunpowder, and he
determined to essay the effect of an explosion without loss of time.

Full of reflections upon this important decision, he crept from
his place of concealment, and, under cover of the shrubs before
mentioned, approached the house.  Fortune seemed determined to
favour his design.  Mr. Tupman and the rest of the gentlemen left
the garden by the side gate just as he obtained a view of it; and
the young 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 and
smiled.  Hesitation formed no part of Mr. Alfred Jingle's
character.  He laid his finger on his lips mysteriously, walked in,
and closed the door.

'Miss Wardle,' said Mr. Jingle, with affected earnestness,
'forgive intrusion--short acquaintance--no time for ceremony--
all discovered.'

'Sir!' said the spinster aunt, rather astonished by the unexpected
apparition and somewhat doubtful of Mr. Jingle's sanity.

'Hush!' said Mr. Jingle, in a stage-whisper--'Large boy--
dumpling face--round eyes--rascal!' Here he shook his head
expressively, and the spinster aunt trembled with agitation.

'I presume you allude to Joseph, Sir?' said the lady, making an
effort to appear composed.

'Yes, ma'am--damn that Joe!--treacherous dog, Joe--told the
old 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, to
insult me--'

'Not at all--by no means,' replied the unabashed Mr. Jingle--
'overheard the tale--came to warn you of your danger--tender
my services--prevent the hubbub.  Never mind--think it an
insult--leave the room'--and he turned, as if to carry the threat
into execution.

'What SHALL I do!' said the poor spinster, bursting into tears.
'My brother will be furious.'

'Of course he will,' said Mr. Jingle pausing--'outrageous.'
'Oh, Mr. Jingle, what CAN I say!' exclaimed the spinster aunt, in
another flood of despair.

'Say he dreamt it,' replied Mr. Jingle coolly.

A ray of comfort darted across the mind of the spinster aunt at
this suggestion.  Mr. Jingle perceived it, and followed up his advantage.

'Pooh, pooh!--nothing more easy--blackguard boy--lovely
woman--fat boy horsewhipped--you believed--end of the
matter--all comfortable.'

Whether the probability of escaping from the consequences of
this ill-timed discovery was delightful to the spinster's feelings, or
whether the hearing herself described as a 'lovely woman'
softened the asperity of her grief, we know not.  She blushed
slightly, and cast a grateful look on Mr. Jingle.

That insinuating gentleman sighed deeply, fixed his eyes on the
spinster aunt's face for a couple of minutes, started melodramatically,
and suddenly withdrew them.

'You seem unhappy, Mr. Jingle,' said the lady, in a plaintive
voice.  'May I show my gratitude for your kind interference,
by inquiring 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
who is insensible to the blessing--who even now contemplates a
design upon the affections of the niece of the creature who--but
no; he is my friend; I will not expose his vices.  Miss Wardle--
farewell!' At the conclusion of this address, the most consecutive
he was ever known to utter, Mr. Jingle applied to his eyes the
remnant of a handkerchief before noticed, and turned towards
the door.

'Stay, Mr. Jingle!' said the spinster aunt emphatically.  'You
have 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 be
questioned further, he drew a chair close to that of the spinster
aunt and sat down.

'Mr. Jingle,' said the aunt, 'I entreat--I implore you, if there
is any dreadful mystery connected with Mr. Tupman, reveal it.'

'Can I,' said Mr. Jingle, fixing his eyes on the aunt's face--
'can I see--lovely creature--sacrificed at the shrine--
heartless avarice!' He appeared to be struggling with various
conflicting emotions for a few seconds, and then said in a low voice--

'Tupman only wants your money.'

'The wretch!' exclaimed the spinster, with energetic indignation.
(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 whom
the spinster aunt entertained a mortal and deep-rooted jealousy,
it was this identical niece.  The colour rushed over her face and
neck, and she tossed her head in silence with an air of ineffable
contempt.  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!' and
she 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 five
minutes thereafter; and rose the accepted lover of the spinster
aunt--conditionally upon Mr. Tupman's perjury being made
clear and manifest.

The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and he
produced his evidence that very day at dinner.  The spinster aunt
could hardly believe her eyes.  Mr. Tracy Tupman was established
at Emily's side, ogling, whispering, and smiling, in opposition to
Mr. Snodgrass.  Not a word, not a look, not a glance, did he
bestow upon his heart's pride of the evening before.

'Damn that boy!' thought old Mr. Wardle to himself.--He had
heard the story from his mother.  'Damn that boy!  He must have
been asleep.  It's all imagination.'

'Traitor!' thought the spinster aunt.  'Dear Mr. Jingle was not
deceiving me.  Ugh! how I hate the wretch!'

The following conversation may serve to explain to our readers
this apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on the
part of Mr. Tracy Tupman.

The time was evening; the scene the garden.  There were two
figures walking in a side path; one was rather short and stout;
the other tall and slim.  They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle.
The stout figure commenced the dialogue.

'How did I do it?' he inquired.

'Splendid--capital--couldn't act better myself--you must
repeat 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--avert
suspicion--afraid of her brother--says there's no help for it--
only a few days more--when old folks blinded--crown your happiness.'

'Any message?'

'Love--best love--kindest regards--unalterable affection.
Can I say anything for you?'

'My dear fellow,' replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman,
fervently grasping his 'friend's' hand--'carry my best love--say
how hard I find it to dissemble--say anything that's kind: but add
how sensible I am of the necessity of the suggestion she made to
me, through you, this morning.  Say I applaud her wisdom and
admire her discretion.'
'I will.  Anything more?'

'Nothing, only add how ardently I long for the time when I
may call her mine, and all dissimulation may be unnecessary.'

'Certainly, certainly.  Anything more?'

'Oh, my friend!' said poor Mr. Tupman, again grasping the
hand of his companion, 'receive my warmest thanks for your
disinterested kindness; and forgive me if I have ever, even in
thought, done you the injustice of supposing that you could stand
in my way.  My dear friend, can I ever repay you?'

'Don't talk of it,' replied Mr. Jingle.  He stopped short, as if
suddenly recollecting something, and said--'By the bye--can't
spare ten pounds, can you?--very particular purpose--pay you
in three days.'

'I dare say I can,' replied Mr. Tupman, in the fulness of his
heart.  'Three days, you say?'

'Only three days--all over then--no more difficulties.'
Mr. Tupman counted the money into his companion's hand,
and he dropped it piece by piece into his pocket, as they walked
towards the 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
entered the house.

The scene of that afternoon was repeated that evening, and on
the three afternoons and evenings next ensuing.  On the fourth,
the host was in high spirits, for he had satisfied himself that there
was no ground for the charge against Mr. Tupman.  So was Mr.
Tupman, for Mr. Jingle had told him that his affair would soon
be brought to a crisis.  So was Mr. Pickwick, for he was seldom
otherwise.  So was not Mr. Snodgrass, for he had grown jealous
of Mr. Tupman.  So was the old lady, for she had been winning
at whist.  So were Mr. Jingle and Miss Wardle, for reasons of
sufficient importance in this eventful history to be narrated in
another chapter.


CHAPTER IX
A DISCOVERY AND A CHASE


The supper was ready laid, the chairs were drawn round the
table, bottles, jugs, and glasses were arranged upon the
sideboard, and everything betokened the approach of the most
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 were loitering somewhere,
talking about him.  Ha, ha! capital notion that--funny.

'Never mind,' said Wardle, after a short pause.  'They'll turn up
presently, 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
raised his fork to his lips, and was on the very point of opening
his mouth for the reception of a piece of beef, when the hum of
many voices suddenly arose in the kitchen.  He paused, and laid
down his fork.  Mr. Wardle paused too, and insensibly released
his hold of the carving-knife, which remained inserted
in the beef.  He looked at Mr. Pickwick.  Mr. Pickwick looked
at him.

Heavy footsteps were heard in the passage; the parlour door
was 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 the meaning of this?' exclaimed the host.

'The kitchen chimney ain't a-fire, is it, Emma?' inquired the
old lady.
'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 this
juncture 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!--
I won't bear it!--I'll have justice, Pickwick!--I won't stand it!'
and with sundry incoherent exclamations of the like nature, the
unhappy gentleman spun round and round the apartment, in a
transport of frenzy.

'Lord preserve us!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eyeing the
extraordinary gestures of his friend with terrified surprise.  'He's
gone mad!  What shall we do?'
'Do!' said the stout old host, who regarded only the last words
of the 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 ran out to execute the commission--'where's that villain, Joe?'

'Here I am! but I hain't a willin,' replied a voice.  It was the
fat boy's.

'Let me get at him, Pickwick,' cried Wardle, as he rushed at the
ill-starred youth.  'He was bribed by that scoundrel, Jingle, to put
me on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-bull story of my
sister and your friend Tupman!' (Here Mr. Tupman sank into a
chair.) 'Let me get at him!'

'Don't let him!' screamed all the women, above whose
exclamations the blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible.

'I won't be held!' cried the old man.  'Mr. Winkle, take your
hands off.  Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!'

It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion,
to behold the placid and philosophical expression of
Mr. Pickwick's face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as he
stood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive waist of
their corpulent host, thus restraining the impetuosity of his
passion, while the fat boy was scratched, and pulled, and pushed
from the room by all the females congregated therein.  He had no
sooner released his hold, than the man entered to announce that
the gig was ready.

'Don't let him go alone!' screamed the females.  'He'll kill
somebody!'

'I'll go with him,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'You're a good fellow, Pickwick,' said the host, grasping his
hand.  'Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck--
make haste.  Look after your grandmother, girls; she has fainted
away.  Now then, are you ready?'

Mr. Pickwick's mouth and chin having been hastily enveloped
in a large shawl, his hat having been put on his head, and his
greatcoat thrown over his arm, he replied in the affirmative.

They jumped into the gig.  'Give her her head, Tom,' cried the
host; and away they went, down the narrow lanes; jolting in and
out of the cart-ruts, and bumping up against the hedges on either
side, as if they would go to pieces every moment.

'How much are they ahead?' shouted Wardle, as they drove up
to the door of the Blue Lion, round which a little crowd had
collected, 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 gig
afterwards.'

'Now, boys!' cried the landlord--'chaise-and-four out--make
haste--look alive there!'

Away ran the hostlers and the boys.  The lanterns glimmered,
as the men ran to and fro; the horses' hoofs clattered on the
uneven paving of the yard; the chaise rumbled as it was drawn out
of the coach-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!'
shouted Wardle.

'Off with you!'

The boys applied whip and spur, the waiters shouted, the
hostlers cheered, and away they went, fast and furiously.

'Pretty situation,' thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had a
moment's time for reflection.  'Pretty situation for the general
chairman 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 by
either of the gentlemen, each being too much immersed in his own
reflections to address any observations to his companion.  When
they had gone over that much ground, however, and the horses
getting thoroughly warmed began to do their work in really
good style, Mr. Pickwick became too much exhilarated with the
rapidity of 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, which
was shining brightly.

'So much the worse,' returned Wardle; 'for they'll have had all
the advantage of the moonlight to get the start of us, and we shall
lose it.  It will have gone down in another hour.'


'It will be rather unpleasant going at this rate in the dark,
won't it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'I dare say it will,' replied his friend dryly.

Mr. Pickwick's temporary excitement began to sober down a
little, as he reflected upon the inconveniences and dangers of
the expedition in which he had so thoughtlessly embarked.
He was roused 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, with his head and half his body out of the coach window.

'Yo-yo-yo-yoe!' shouted Mr. Pickwick, taking up the
burden of the cry, though he had not the slightest notion of its
meaning or object.  And amidst the yo-yoing of the whole four,
the chaise stopped.

'What's the matter?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'There's a gate here,' replied old Wardle.  'We shall hear something
of the fugitives.'

After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knocking
and shouting, an old man in his shirt and trousers emerged from
the turnpike-house, and opened the gate.

'How long is it since a post-chaise went through here?'
inquired Mr. Wardle.

'How long?'

'ah!'

'Why, I don't rightly know.  It worn't a long time ago, nor it
worn'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 man
doubtfully.

'Drive on, boys,' cried the testy old gentleman; 'don't waste
any more time with that old idiot!'

'Idiot!' exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in the
middle of the road with the gate half-closed, watching the chaise
which rapidly diminished in the increasing distance.  'No--not
much o' that either; you've lost ten minutes here, and gone away
as wise as you came, arter all.  If every man on the line as has a
guinea give him, earns it half as well, you won't catch t'other shay
this side Mich'lmas, old short-and-fat.'  And with another
prolonged grin, the old man closed the gate, re-entered his house,
and bolted the door after him.

Meanwhile the chaise proceeded, without any slackening of
pace, towards the conclusion of the stage.  The moon, as Wardle
had foretold, was rapidly on the wane; large tiers of dark, heavy
clouds, which had been gradually overspreading the sky for some
time past, now formed one black mass overhead; and large drops
of rain which pattered every now and then against the windows
of the chaise, seemed to warn the travellers of the rapid approach
of a stormy night.  The wind, too, which was directly against them,
swept in furious gusts down the narrow road, and howled
dismally through the trees which skirted the pathway.  Mr. Pickwick
drew his coat closer about him, coiled himself more snugly
up into the corner of the chaise, and fell into a sound sleep, from
which he was only awakened by the stopping of the vehicle,
the sound of the hostler's bell, and a loud cry of 'Horses on
directly!'

But here another delay occurred.  The boys were sleeping with
such mysterious soundness, that it took five minutes a-piece to
wake them.  The hostler had somehow or other mislaid the key of
the stable, and even when that was found, two sleepy helpers put
the wrong harness on the wrong horses, and the whole process of
harnessing had to be gone through afresh.  Had Mr. Pickwick been
alone, these multiplied obstacles would have completely put an end to
the pursuit at once, but old Wardle was not to be so easily daunted;
and he laid about him with such hearty good-will, cuffing this man,
and pushing that; strapping a buckle here, and taking in a link
there, that the chaise was ready in a much shorter time than could
reasonably have been expected, under so many difficulties.

They resumed their journey; and certainly the prospect before
them was by no means encouraging.  The stage was fifteen miles
long, the night was dark, the wind high, and the rain pouring in
torrents.  It was impossible to make any great way against such
obstacles united; it was hard upon one o'clock already; and
nearly two 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
of his own vehicle, and pointing to one covered with wet mud,
which was standing in the yard.

'Not a quarter of an hour ago, sir,' replied the hostler, to whom
the question was addressed.
'Lady and gentleman?' inquired Wardle, 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 old
gentleman.

'Would have been here before,' said the hostler, 'but they broke
a trace.'

''Tis them!' said Wardle, 'it is, by Jove!  Chaise-and-four
instantly!  We shall catch them yet before they reach the next
stage.  A guinea a-piece, boys-be alive there--bustle about--
there's good fellows.'

And with such admonitions as these, the old gentleman ran up
and down the yard, and bustled to and fro, in a state of excitement
which communicated itself to Mr. Pickwick also; and
under the influence of which, that gentleman got himself into
complicated entanglements with harness, and mixed up with
horses and wheels of chaises, in the most surprising manner,
firmly believing that by so doing he was materially forwarding the
preparations for their resuming their journey.

'Jump in--jump in!' cried old Wardle, climbing into the
chaise, pulling up the steps, and slamming the door after him.
'Come along!  Make haste!' And before Mr. Pickwick knew
precisely what he was about, he felt himself forced in at the other
door, by one pull from the old gentleman and one push from the
hostler; and off they were again.

'Ah! we are moving now,' said the old gentleman exultingly.
They were indeed, as was sufficiently testified to Mr. Pickwick, by
his constant collision either with the hard wood-work of the
chaise, or the body of his companion.

'Hold up!' said the stout old Mr. Wardle, as Mr. Pickwick
dived head 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 as
he 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
three minutes, suddenly drew in his face, covered with splashes,
and exclaimed in breathless eagerness--

'Here they are!'

Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out of his window.  Yes: there
was a chaise-and-four, a short distance before them, dashing
along at full gallop.

'Go on, go on,' almost shrieked the old gentleman.  'Two
guineas a-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 see
his head.'

'So do I' said Mr. Pickwick; 'that's he.'
Mr. Pickwick was not mistaken.  The countenance of Mr. Jingle,
completely coated with mud thrown up by the wheels, was plainly
discernible at the window of his chaise; and the motion of his arm,
which was waving violently towards the postillions, denoted that
he was encouraging them to increased exertion.

The interest was intense.  Fields, trees, and hedges, seemed to
rush past them with the velocity of a whirlwind, so rapid was the
pace at which they tore along.  They were close by the side of the
first chaise.  Jingle's voice could be plainly heard, even above the
din of the wheels, urging on the boys.  Old Mr. Wardle foamed
with rage and excitement.  He roared out scoundrels and villains
by the dozen, clenched his fist and shook it expressively at the
object of his indignation; but Mr. Jingle only answered with a
contemptuous smile, and replied to his menaces by a shout of
triumph, as his horses, answering the increased application of whip
and spur, broke into a faster gallop, and left the pursuers behind.

Mr. Pickwick had just drawn in his head, and Mr. Wardle,
exhausted with shouting, had done the same, when a tremendous
jolt threw them forward against the front of the vehicle.  There was
a sudden bump--a loud crash--away rolled a wheel, and over
went the chaise.

After a very few seconds of bewilderment and confusion, in
which nothing but the plunging of horses, and breaking of glass
could be made out, Mr. Pickwick felt himself violently pulled out
from among the ruins of the chaise; and as soon as he had gained
his feet, extricated his head from the skirts of his greatcoat,
which materially impeded the usefulness of his spectacles, the full
disaster of the case met his view.

Old Mr. Wardle without a hat, and his clothes torn in several
places, stood by his side, and the fragments of the chaise lay
scattered at their feet.  The post-boys, who had succeeded in
cutting the traces, were standing, disfigured with mud and disordered
by hard riding, by the horses' heads.  About a hundred
yards in advance was the other chaise, which had pulled up on
hearing the crash.  The postillions, each with a broad grin
convulsing his countenance, were viewing the adverse party from
their saddles, and Mr. Jingle was contemplating the wreck from
the coach window, with evident satisfaction.  The day was just
breaking, and the whole scene was rendered perfectly visible by
the 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 knowing
wink, and a jerk of the thumb towards the interior of the chaise--
'I say--she's very well--desires her compliments--begs you won't
trouble yourself--love to TUPPY--won't you get up behind?--
drive on, boys.'

The postillions resumed their proper attitudes, and away
rattled the chaise, Mr. Jingle fluttering in derision a white
handkerchief from the coach window.

Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the upset, had
disturbed the calm and equable current of Mr. Pickwick's
temper.  The villainy, however, which could first borrow money
of his faithful follower, and then abbreviate his name to 'Tuppy,'
was more than he could patiently bear.  He drew his breath hard,
and coloured up to the very tips of his spectacles, as he said,
slowly and emphatically--

'If ever I meet that man again, I'll--'

'Yes, yes,' interrupted Wardle, 'that's all very well; but while we
stand talking here, they'll get their licence, and be married in London.'

Mr. Pickwick paused, bottled up his vengeance, and corked it down.
'How far is it to the next stage?' inquired Mr. Wardle, of one
of 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
a fresh chaise and horses, and leaving the other behind to take
care of the broken one, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Wardle set
manfully forward on the walk, first tying their shawls round their
necks, and slouching down their hats to escape as much as
possible from the deluge of rain, which after a slight cessation
had again begun to pour heavily down.



CHAPTER X
CLEARING UP ALL DOUBTS (IF ANY EXISTED) OF THE
  DISINTERESTEDNESS OF Mr. A. JINGLE'S CHARACTER


There are in London several old inns, once the headquarters
of celebrated coaches in the days when coaches performed
their journeys in a graver and more solemn manner than
they do in these times; but which have now degenerated into little
more than the abiding and booking-places of country wagons.  The
reader would look in vain for any of these ancient hostelries,
among the Golden Crosses and Bull and Mouths, which rear
their stately fronts in the improved streets of London.  If he
would light upon any of these old places, he must direct his steps
to the obscurer quarters of the town, and there in some secluded
nooks he will find several, still standing with a kind of gloomy
sturdiness, amidst the modern innovations which surround them.

In the Borough especially, there still remain some half-dozen
old inns, which have preserved their external features unchanged,
and which have escaped alike the rage for public improvement and
the encroachments of private speculation.  Great, rambling queer
old places they are, with galleries, and passages, and staircases,
wide enough and antiquated enough to furnish materials for a hundred
ghost stories, supposing we should ever be reduced to the lamentable
necessity of inventing any, and that the world should exist long
enough to exhaust the innumerable veracious legends connected with
old London Bridge, and its adjacent neighbourhood on the Surrey side.

It was in the yard of one of these inns--of no less celebrated a
one than the White Hart--that a man was busily employed in
brushing the dirt off a pair of boots, early on the morning
succeeding the events narrated in the last chapter.  He was
habited in a coarse, striped waistcoat, with black calico sleeves,
and blue glass buttons; drab breeches and leggings.  A bright red
handkerchief was wound in a very loose and unstudied style
round his neck, and an old white hat was carelessly thrown on
one side of his head.  There were two rows of boots before him,
one cleaned and the other dirty, and at every addition he made
to the clean row, he paused from his work, and contemplated its
results with evident satisfaction.

The yard presented none of that bustle and activity which are
the usual characteristics of a large coach inn.  Three or four
lumbering wagons, each with a pile of goods beneath its ample
canopy, about the height of the second-floor window of an
ordinary house, were stowed away beneath a lofty roof which
extended over one end of the yard; and another, which was
probably to commence its journey that morning, was drawn out
into the open space.  A double tier of bedroom galleries, with old
Clumsy balustrades, ran round two sides of the straggling area,
and a double row of bells to correspond, sheltered from the
weather by a little sloping roof, hung over the door leading to the
bar and coffee-room.  Two or three gigs and chaise-carts were
wheeled up under different little sheds and pent-houses; and the
occasional heavy tread of a cart-horse, or rattling of a chain at
the farther end of the yard, announced to anybody who cared
about the matter, that the stable lay in that direction.  When
we add that a few boys in smock-frocks were lying asleep on
heavy packages, wool-packs, and other articles that were
scattered about on heaps of straw, we have described as fully
as need be the general appearance 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 the appearance
of a smart chambermaid in the upper sleeping gallery, who,
after tapping at one of the doors, and receiving a request from
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
till he gets 'em,' was the reply.

'Come, don't be a fool, Sam,' said the girl coaxingly, 'the
gentleman 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
wooden leg.  The eleven boots is to be called at half-past eight and
the shoe at 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 men up.  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 of
the 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,'
replied Sam gruffly.

'Here, clean these shoes for number seventeen directly, and
take 'em to private sitting-room, number five, first floor.'

The landlady flung a pair of lady's shoes into the yard, and
bustled away.

'Number five,' said Sam, as he picked up the shoes, and taking
a piece of chalk from his pocket, made a memorandum of their
destination on the soles--'Lady's shoes and private sittin'-
room!  I suppose she didn't come in the vagin.'

'She came in early this morning,' cried the girl, who was still
leaning over the railing of the gallery, 'with a gentleman in a
hackney-coach, and it's him as wants his boots, and you'd better
do '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.  'For
all 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' a day, let alone the arrands.'
Stimulated by this inspiring reflection, Mr. Samuel brushed
away with such hearty good-will, that in a few minutes the boots
and shoes, with a polish which would have struck envy to the soul
of the amiable Mr. Warren (for they used Day & Martin at the
White Hart), had arrived at the door of number 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
lady and gentleman seated at breakfast.  Having officiously
deposited the gentleman's boots right and left at his feet, and
the lady's shoes 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 the
knob 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
in the 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?"
Queer sort, them, and their mas'rs, too, sir--Old Bailey Proctors
--and no mistake.'

'What do they do?' inquired the gentleman.

'Do!  You, Sir!  That ain't the worst on it, neither.  They puts
things into old gen'l'm'n's heads as they never dreamed of.  My
father, Sir, wos a coachman.  A widower he wos, and fat enough
for anything--uncommon fat, to be sure.  His missus dies, and
leaves him four hundred pound.  Down he goes to the Commons,
to see the 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
he should 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 my
father, "I never thought o' that."--"I think you wants one, Sir,"
says the touter.  My father pulls up, and thinks a bit--"No," says
he, "damme, I'm too old, b'sides, I'm a many sizes too large,"
says he.--"Not a bit on it, Sir," says the touter.--"Think not?"
says my father.--"I'm sure not," says he; "we married a gen'l'm'n
twice your size, last Monday."--"Did you, though?" said my
father.--"To be sure, we did," says the touter, "you're a babby
to him--this way, sir--this way!"--and sure enough my father
walks arter him, like a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little
back office, vere a teller sat among dirty papers, and tin boxes,
making believe he was busy.  "Pray take a seat, vile I makes out
the affidavit, Sir," says the lawyer.--"Thank'ee, Sir," says my
father, and down he sat, and stared with all his eyes, and his
mouth vide open, at the names on the boxes.  "What's your name,
Sir," says the lawyer.--"Tony Weller," says my father.--"Parish?"
says the lawyer.  "Belle Savage," says my father; for he stopped
there wen he drove up, and he know'd nothing about parishes, he
didn't.--"And what's the lady's name?" says the lawyer.  My
father was struck all of a heap.  "Blessed if I know," says he.--
"Not know!" says the lawyer.--"No more nor you do," says my
father; "can't I put that in arterwards?"--"Impossible!" says
the lawyer.--"Wery well," says my father, after he'd thought a
moment, "put down Mrs. Clarke."--"What Clarke?" says the
lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink.--"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, but she'll have me, I know."
The licence was made out, and she DID have him, and what's more
she's got him now; and I never had any of the four hundred
pound, worse luck.  Beg your pardon, sir,' said Sam, when he had
concluded, 'but wen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a
new barrow with the wheel greased.'  Having said which, and
having paused for an instant to see whether 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 you
mine, to-morrow'--said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinster
aunt'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!' said Rachael.

'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 the
world that he'd look in--ha! ha!--capital notion that--very.'

'Don't be long,' said the spinster affectionately, as Mr. Jingle
stuck the pinched-up hat on his head.

'Long away from you?--Cruel charmer;' and Mr. Jingle
skipped playfully up to the spinster aunt, imprinted a chaste kiss
upon her lips, 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 we
will not, therefore, pursue the thread of Mr. Jingle's meditations,
as he wended his way to Doctors' Commons.  It will be sufficient
for our purpose to relate, that escaping the snares of the dragons
in white aprons, who guard the entrance to that enchanted
region, he reached the vicar-general's office in safety and having
procured a highly flattering address on parchment, from the
Archbishop of Canterbury, to his 'trusty and well-beloved Alfred
Jingle and Rachael Wardle, greeting,' he carefully deposited the
mystic document in his pocket, and retraced his steps in triumph
to the Borough.

He was yet on his way to the White Hart, when two plump
gentleman and one thin one entered the yard, and looked round
in search of some authorised person of whom they could make a
few inquiries.  Mr. Samuel Weller happened to be at that moment
engaged in burnishing a pair of painted tops, the personal
property of a farmer who was refreshing himself with a slight
lunch of two or three pounds of cold beef and a pot or two of
porter, after the fatigues of the Borough market; and to him the
thin gentleman straightway advanced.

'My friend,' said the thin gentleman.

'You're one o' the adwice gratis order,' thought Sam, 'or you
wouldn'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, that kept winking and twinkling on each side of his little
inquisitive nose, as if they were playing a perpetual game of
peep-bo with that feature.  He was dressed all in black, with boots
as shiny as his eyes, a low white neckcloth, and a clean shirt with
a frill to it.  A gold watch-chain, and seals, depended from his fob.
He carried his black 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 who was 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, and
we shan't make our fort'ns.  We eats our biled mutton without
capers, 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,
looking round 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 two
plump gentlemen.  At its conclusion, the little man took a pinch
of snuff from an oblong silver box, and was apparently on the
point of renewing the conversation, when one of the plump
gentlemen, who in addition to a benevolent countenance,
possessed a pair of spectacles, and a pair of black gaiters,
interfered--

'The fact of the matter is,' said the benevolent gentleman, 'that
my friend here (pointing to the other plump gentleman) will give
you half a guinea, if you'll answer one or two--'

'Now, my dear sir--my dear Sir,' said the little man, 'pray,
allow me--my dear Sir, the very first principle to be observed in
these cases, is this: if you place the matter in the hands of a
professional man, you must in no way interfere in the progress of
the business; you must repose implicit confidence in him.  Really,
Mr.--' He turned to the other plump gentleman, and said, 'I
forget your friend's name.'

'Pickwick,' said Mr. Wardle, for it was no other than that jolly
personage.

'Ah, Pickwick--really Mr. Pickwick, my dear Sir, excuse me--
I shall be happy to receive any private suggestions of yours, as
AMICUS CURIAE, but you must see the impropriety of your interfering
with my conduct in this case, with such an AD CAPTANDUM argument as the
offer of half a guinea.  Really, my dear Sir, really;' and the little
man took an argumentative pinch of snuff, and looked very profound.

'My only wish, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'was to bring this very
unpleasant 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 the
argument which my experience of men has taught me is the most
likely to succeed in any case.'

'Ay, ay,' said the little man, 'very good, very good, indeed; but
you should have suggested it to me.  My dear sir, I'm quite certain
you cannot be ignorant of the extent of confidence which must be
placed in professional men.  If any authority can be necessary on
such a point, my dear sir, let me refer you to the well-known case
in Barnwell and--'

'Never mind George Barnwell,' interrupted Sam, who had
remained a wondering listener during this short colloquy;
'everybody knows what sort of a case his was, tho' it's always
been my opinion, mind you, that the young 'ooman deserved
scragging a precious sight more than he did.  Hows'ever, that's
neither here nor there.  You want me to accept of half a guinea.
Wery well, I'm agreeable: I can't say no fairer than that, can I,
sir?'  (Mr. Pickwick smiled.) Then the next question is, what the
devil do you want with 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
the question of you, in order that we may not awaken apprehensions
inside--we want to know who you've got in this house at present?'

'Who there is in the house!' said Sam, in whose mind the
inmates were always represented by that particular article of their
costume, which came under his immediate superintendence.
'There's a vooden leg in number six; there's a pair of Hessians in
thirteen; there's two pair of halves in the commercial; there's
these here painted tops in the snuggery inside the bar; and five
more tops 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's shoes, in number five.'

'What sort of shoes?' hastily inquired Wardle, who, together
with Mr. Pickwick, had been lost in bewilderment at the singular
catalogue 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 a
moment 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 at Sam as he drew out a sovereign.

Sam grinned expressively.

'Show us into the room at once, without announcing us,' said
the little man, 'and it's yours.'

Sam threw the painted tops into a corner, and led the way
through a dark passage, and up a wide staircase.  He paused at
the end of a second passage, and held out his hand.

'Here it is,' whispered the attorney, as he deposited the money
on the hand of their guide.

The man stepped forward for a few paces, followed by the two
friends 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 into
the room just as Mr. Jingle, who had that moment returned, had
produced the licence to the spinster aunt.

The spinster uttered a loud shriek, and throwing herself into a
chair, covered her face with her hands.  Mr. Jingle crumpled up
the licence, and thrust it into his coat pocket.  The unwelcome
visitors advanced into the middle of the room.
'You--you are a nice rascal, arn't you?' exclaimed Wardle,
breathless with passion.

'My dear Sir, my dear sir,' said the little man, laying his hat on
the table, 'pray, consider--pray.  Defamation of character: action
for damages.  Calm yourself, my dear sir, pray--'

'How dare you drag my sister from my house?' said the old man.

Ay--ay--very good,' said the little gentleman, 'you may ask
that.  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 fellow
prosecuted--indicted--I'll--I'll--I'll ruin him.  And you,' continued
Mr. Wardle, turning abruptly round to his sister--'you,
Rachael, at a time of life when you ought to know better, what
do you mean by running away with a vagabond, disgracing your
family, and making yourself miserable?  Get on your bonnet and
come back.  Call a hackney-coach there, directly, and bring this
lady's bill, d'ye hear--d'ye hear?'
'Cert'nly, Sir,' replied Sam, who had answered Wardle's
violent ringing of the bell with a degree of celerity which must
have appeared marvellous to anybody who didn't know that his
eye had been applied to the outside of the keyhole during the
whole interview.

'Get on your bonnet,' repeated Wardle.

'Do nothing of the kind,' said Jingle.  'Leave the room, Sir--
no business here--lady's free to act as she pleases--more than
one-and-twenty.'

'More than one-and-twenty!' ejaculated Wardle contemptuously.
'More than one-and-forty!'

'I ain't,' said the spinster aunt, her indignation getting the
better 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 became senseless.

'A glass of water,' said the humane Mr. Pickwick, summoning
the 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 deserves it.'

'Ugh, you brute!' ejaculated the kind-hearted landlady.  'Poor
dear.'  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's a love,' etc.  etc., the landlady, assisted by a chambermaid,
proceeded to vinegar the forehead, beat the hands, titillate the
nose, and unlace the stays of the spinster aunt, and to administer
such other restoratives as are usually applied by compassionate
females to ladies who are endeavouring to ferment themselves
into hysterics.

'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 redoubled violence.
The landlady was about to enter a very violent protest against
this proceeding, and had already given vent to an indignant
inquiry whether Mr. Wardle considered himself a lord of the
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--see
who dares to take her away--unless she wishes it.'

'I WON'T be taken away,' murmured the spinster aunt.  'I DON'T
wish 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 very
awkward situation.  It's a distressing case--very; I never knew
one more so; but really, my dear sir, really we have no power to
control this lady's actions.  I warned you before we came, my dear
sir, that there was nothing to look to but a compromise.'

There was a short pause.

'What kind of compromise would you recommend?' inquired
Mr. Pickwick.

'Why, my dear Sir, our friend's in an unpleasant position--very
much 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 empty apartment.

'Now, sir,' said the little man, as he carefully closed the door,
'is there no way of accommodating this matter--step this way,
sir, for a 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 this lady 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 distantly
resembling a wink quivered for an instant in his left eye.

'Very good, very good,' said the little man, observing the
impression he had made.  'Now, the fact is, that beyond a few
hundreds, the lady has little or nothing till the death of her
mother--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 that family came into Kent when Julius Caesar invaded
Britain;--only one member of it, since, who hasn't lived to eighty-five,
and he was beheaded by one of the Henrys.  The old lady
is not seventy-three now, 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 the
better--expensive habit--well, my dear Sir, you're a fine young
man, man of the world--able to push your fortune, if you had
capital, 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 you
think--that fifty pounds and liberty would be better than Miss
Wardle and expectation?'

'Won't do--not half enough!' said Mr. Jingle, rising.

'Nay, nay, my dear Sir,' remonstrated the little attorney,
seizing him by the button.  'Good round sum--a man like you
could treble it 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. Jingle coolly.

'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 little
man.  '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 of honour--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--say
a hundred--come.'

'And twenty,' said Mr. Jingle.

'Come, come, I'll write you a cheque,' said the little man; and
down he sat at the table for that purpose.

'I'll make it payable the day after to-morrow,' said the little
man, 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 pocketed
by 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
induced me to make this compromise--not even a regard for my
family--if I had not known that the moment you got any money
in that pocket of yours, you'd go to the devil faster, if possible,
than you would 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 the countenance
of the illustrious man, whose name forms the leading
feature of the title of this work, during the latter part of this
conversation, he would have been almost induced to wonder that
the indignant fire which flashed from his eyes did not melt the
glasses of his spectacles--so majestic was his wrath.  His nostrils
dilated, and his fists clenched involuntarily, as he heard himself
addressed by the villain.  But he restrained himself again--he did
not pulverise him.

'Here,' continued the hardened traitor, tossing the licence at
Mr. Pickwick's feet; 'get the name altered--take home the lady
--do for Tuppy.'

Mr. Pickwick was a philosopher, but philosophers are only
men in armour, after all.  The shaft had reached him, penetrated
through his philosophical harness, to his very heart.  In the frenzy
of his rage, he hurled the inkstand madly forward, and followed
it up himself.  But Mr. Jingle had disappeared, and he found
himself caught in the arms of Sam.

'Hollo,' said that eccentric functionary, 'furniter's cheap
where you come from, Sir.  Self-acting ink, that 'ere; it's wrote
your mark upon 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 the Borough by this time?'

Mr. Pickwick's mind, like those of all truly great men, was open
to conviction.  He was a quick and powerful reasoner; and
a moment's reflection sufficed to remind him of the impotency
of his rage.  It subsided as quickly as it had been roused.
He panted for breath, and looked benignantly round upon his
friends.

Shall we tell the lamentations that ensued when Miss Wardle
found herself deserted by the faithless Jingle?  Shall we extract
Mr. Pickwick's masterly description of that heartrending scene?
His note-book, blotted with the tears of sympathising humanity,
lies open 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 the delineation of such suffering!

Slowly and sadly did the two friends and the deserted lady
return next day in the Muggleton heavy coach.  Dimly and
darkly had the sombre shadows of a summer's night fallen upon
all around, when they again reached Dingley Dell, and stood
within the entrance to Manor Farm.



CHAPTER XI
INVOLVING ANOTHER JOURNEY, AND AN ANTIQUARIAN
  DISCOVERY; RECORDING Mr. PICKWICK'S DETERMINATION
  TO BE PRESENT AT AN ELECTION; AND CONTAINING
  A MANUSCRIPT OF THE OLD CLERGYMAN'S


A night of quiet and repose in the profound silence of Dingley
Dell, and an hour's breathing of its fresh and fragrant air
on the ensuing morning, completely recovered Mr. Pickwick
from the effects of his late fatigue of body and anxiety of mind.
That illustrious man had been separated from his friends and
fol lowers for two whole days; and it was with a degree of pleasure
and delight, which no common imagination can adequately
conceive, that he stepped forward to greet Mr. Winkle and Mr.
Snodgrass, as he encountered those gentlemen on his return from
his early walk.  The pleasure was mutual; for who could ever gaze
on Mr. Pickwick's beaming face without experiencing the
sensation?  But still a cloud seemed to hang over his companions
which that great man could not but be sensible of, and was wholly
at a loss to account for.  There was a mysterious air about them
both, as unusual as it was alarming.

'And how,' said Mr. Pickwick, when he had grasped his
followers by the hand, and exchanged warm salutations of
welcome--'how is Tupman?'

Mr. Winkle, to whom the question was more peculiarly
addressed, made no reply.  He turned away his head, and appeared
absorbed in melancholy reflection.

'Snodgrass,' said Mr. Pickwick earnestly, 'how is our friend--
he is not ill?'

'No,' replied Mr. Snodgrass; and a tear trembled on his
sentimental eyelid, like a rain-drop on a window-frame-'no; he
is not 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, I entreat--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 his
friend's hand.  'Yesterday morning, when a letter was received
from Mr. Wardle, stating that you would be home with his sister
at night, the melancholy which had hung over our friend during
the whole of the previous day, was observed to increase.  He
shortly afterwards disappeared: he was missing during the whole
day, and in the evening this letter was brought by the hostler
from the Crown, at Muggleton.  It had been left in his charge in
the morning, with a strict injunction that it should not be
delivered until 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 many mortal frailties and weaknesses which
ordinary people cannot overcome.  You do not know what it
is, at one blow, to be deserted by a lovely and fascinating
creature, and to fall a victim to the artifices of a villain, who had
the grin of cunning beneath the mask of 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
the sight of that world, which has become odious to me.  Should
I hasten from it altogether, pity--forgive me.  Life, my dear
Pickwick, has become insupportable to me.  The spirit which
burns within us, is a porter's knot, on which to rest the heavy
load of worldly cares and troubles; and when that spirit fails us,
the burden is too heavy to be borne.  We sink beneath it.  You
may tell Rachael--Ah, that name!--
                                        'TRACY TupmAN.'


'We must leave this place directly,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he
refolded the note.  'It would not have been decent for us to
remain here, under any circumstances, after what has happened;
and now we are bound to follow in search of our friend.'  And
so saying, he led the way to the house.

His intention was rapidly communicated.  The entreaties to
remain 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.
I found it on the death of a friend of mine--a medical man,
engaged in our county lunatic asylum--among a variety of
papers, which I had the option of destroying or preserving, as I
thought proper.  I can hardly believe that the manuscript is
genuine, though it certainly is not in my friend's hand.  However,
whether it be the genuine production of a maniac, or founded
upon the ravings of some unhappy being (which I think more
probable), read it, and judge for yourself.'

Mr. Pickwick received the manuscript, and parted from the
benevolent old gentleman with many expressions of good-will
and esteem.

It was a more difficult task to take leave of the inmates of
Manor Farm, from whom they had received so much hospitality
and kindness.  Mr. Pickwick kissed the young ladies--we were
going to say, as if they were his own daughters, only, as he might
possibly have infused a little more warmth into the salutation, the
comparison would not be quite appropriate--hugged the old lady
with filial cordiality; and patted the rosy cheeks of the female
servants in a most patriarchal manner, as he slipped into the
hands 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
until Mr. Snodgrass had been several times called for, and at last
emerged from a dark passage followed soon after by Emily
(whose bright eyes looked unusually dim), that the three friends
were enabled to tear themselves from their friendly entertainers.
Many a backward look they gave at the farm, as they walked
slowly away; and many a kiss did Mr. Snodgrass waft in the air,
in acknowledgment of something very like a lady's handkerchief,
which was waved from one of the upper windows, until a turn of
the lane hid the old house from their sight.

At Muggleton they procured a conveyance to Rochester.  By
the time they reached the last-named place, the violence of their
grief had sufficiently abated to admit of their making a very
excellent early dinner; and having procured the necessary information
relative to the road, the three friends set forward again in
the afternoon 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 the light wind which gently rustled the thick foliage, and
enlivened by the songs of the birds that perched upon the boughs.
The ivy and the moss crept in thick clusters over the old trees,
and the soft green turf overspread the ground like a silken
mat.  They emerged upon an open park, with an ancient hall,
displaying the quaint and picturesque architecture of Elizabeth's
time.  Long vistas of stately oaks and elm trees appeared on
every side; large herds of deer were cropping the fresh grass;
and occasionally a startled hare scoured along the ground,
with the speed of the shadows thrown by the light clouds
which swept across a sunny landscape like a passing breath of summer.

'If this,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him--'if this were
the place to which all who are troubled with our friend's complaint
came, I fancy their old attachment to this world would very
soon return.'

'I think so too,' said Mr. Winkle.

'And really,' added Mr. Pickwick, after half an hour's walking
had brought them to the village, 'really, for a misanthrope's
choice, this is one of the prettiest and most desirable places of
residence I ever met with.'

In this opinion also, both Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass
expressed their concurrence; and having been directed to the
Leather Bottle, a clean and commodious village ale-house, the
three travellers entered, and at once inquired for a gentleman of
the 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, furnished
with a large number of high-backed leather-cushioned chairs, of
fantastic shapes, and embellished with a great variety of old
portraits and roughly-coloured prints of some antiquity.  At the
upper end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it,
well covered with a roast fowl, bacon, ale, and et ceteras; and at
the table sat Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had
taken his leave of the world, as possible.

On the entrance of his friends, that gentleman laid down his
knife 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 his
forehead the perspiration which the walk had engendered.  'Finish
your dinner, and walk out with me.  I wish to speak to you alone.'

Mr. Tupman did as he was desired; and Mr. Pickwick having refreshed
himself with a copious draught of ale, waited his friend's leisure.
The dinner was quickly despatched, and they walked out together.

For half an hour, their forms might have been seen pacing the
churchyard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged in
combating his companion's resolution.  Any repetition of his
arguments would be useless; for what language could convey to
them that energy and force which their great originator's manner
communicated?  Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired of
retirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist the eloquent
appeal which was made to him, matters not, he did NOT resist it
at last.

'It mattered little to him,' he said, 'where he dragged out the
miserable remainder of his days; and since his friend laid so
much stress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to
share his adventures.'

Mr. Pickwick smiled; they shook hands, and walked back to
rejoin their companions.

It was at this moment that Mr. Pickwick made that immortal
discovery, which has been the pride and boast of his friends, and
the envy of every antiquarian in this or any other country.  They
had passed the door of their inn, and walked a little way down
the village, before they recollected the precise spot in which it
stood.  As they turned back, Mr. Pickwick's eye fell upon a small
broken stone, partially buried in the ground, in front of a cottage
door.  He paused.

'This is very strange,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'What is strange?' inquired Mr. Tupman, staring eagerly at
every object near him, but the right one.  'God bless me, what's
the matter?'

This last was an ejaculation of irrepressible astonishment,
occasioned by seeing Mr. Pickwick, in his enthusiasm for
discovery, fall on his knees before the little stone, and commence
wiping 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 all
his might, and gazing intently through his spectacles--'I can
discern a cross, and a 13, and then a T.  This is important,'
continued Mr. Pickwick, starting up.  'This is some very old
inscription, existing perhaps long before the ancient alms-houses
in 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?' inquired
the benevolent Mr. Pickwick.

'No, I doan't, Sir,' replied the man civilly.  'It was here long
afore I was born, or any on us.'

Mr. Pickwick glanced triumphantly at his companion.

'You--you--are not particularly attached to it, I dare say,'
said Mr. Pickwick, trembling with anxiety.  'You wouldn't mind
selling it, now?'

'Ah! but who'd buy it?' inquired the man, with an expression
of face which he probably meant to be very cunning.

'I'll give you ten shillings for it, at once,' said Mr. Pickwick,
'if you 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 his
own 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 following
fragment of an inscription was clearly to be deciphered:--


          [cross]   B I L S T
                  u m
                   P S H I
                    S. M.
                    ARK

Mr. Pickwick's eyes sparkled with delight, as he sat and
gloated over the treasure he had discovered.  He had attained one
of the greatest objects of his ambition.  In a county known to
abound in the remains of the early ages; in a village in which
there still existed some memorials of the olden time, he--he, the
chairman of the Pickwick Club--had discovered a strange and
curious inscription of unquestionable antiquity, which had
wholly escaped the 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 once
deposited where it can be thoroughly investigated and properly
understood.  I have another reason for this step.  In a few days,
an election 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 the candidates.  We will behold, and minutely examine, a
scene so interesting to every Englishman.'

'We will,' was the animated cry of three voices.

Mr. Pickwick looked round him.  The attachment and fervour
of his followers lighted up a glow of enthusiasm within him.  He
was their leader, and he felt it.

'Let us celebrate this happy meeting with a convivial glass,' said
he.  This proposition, like the other, was received with unanimous
applause.  Having himself deposited the important stone in a small
deal box, purchased from the landlady for the purpose, he
placed himself in an arm-chair, at the head of the table; and the
evening was devoted to festivity and conversation.

It was past eleven o'clock--a late hour for the little village of
Cobham--when Mr. Pickwick retired to the bedroom which had
been prepared for his reception.  He threw open the lattice
window, and setting his light upon the table, fell into a train of
meditation 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.  The first stroke of the hour sounded solemnly in his ear,
but when the bell ceased the stillness seemed insupportable--he
almost felt as if he had lost a companion.  He was nervous and
excited; and hastily undressing himself and placing his light in
the chimney, got into bed.

Every one has experienced that disagreeable state of mind, in
which a sensation of bodily weariness in vain contends against an
inability to sleep.  It was Mr. Pickwick's condition at this
moment: he tossed first on one side and then on the other; and
perseveringly closed his eyes as if to coax himself to slumber.  It
was of no use.  Whether it was the unwonted exertion he had
undergone, or the heat, or the brandy-and-water, or the strange
bed--whatever it was, his thoughts kept reverting very
uncomfortably to the grim pictures downstairs, and the old stories
to which they had given rise in the course of the evening.  After
half an hour's tumbling about, he came to the unsatisfactory
conclusion, that it was of no use trying to sleep; so he got up and
partially dressed himself.  Anything, he thought, was better than
lying there fancying all kinds of horrors.  He looked out of the
window--it was very dark.  He walked about the room--it was
very lonely.

He had taken a few turns from the door to the window, and
from the window to the door, when the clergyman's manuscript
for the first time entered his head.  It was a good thought.  if it
failed to interest him, it might send him to sleep.  He took it from
his coat pocket, and drawing a small table towards his bedside,
trimmed the light, put on his spectacles, and composed himself
to read.  It was a strange handwriting, and the paper was much
soiled and blotted.  The title gave him a sudden start, too; and he
could not avoid casting a wistful glance round the room.
Reflecting on the absurdity of giving way to such feelings,
however, he trimmed the light again, and read as follows:--


  A MADMAN'S MANUSCRIPT

'Yes!--a madman's!  How that word would have struck to my
heart, many years ago!  How it would have roused the terror that
used to come upon me sometimes, sending the blood hissing and
tingling through my veins, till the cold dew of fear stood in large
drops upon my skin, and my knees knocked together with
fright!  I like it now though.  It's a fine name.  Show me the
monarch whose angry 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 wild lion through the iron bars--to gnash one's
teeth and howl, through the long still night, to the merry ring of
a heavy chain and to roll and 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 used
to start from my sleep, and fall upon my knees, and pray to be
spared from the curse of my race; when I rushed from the sight of
merriment or happiness, to hide myself in some lonely place, and
spend the weary hours in watching the progress of the fever that
was to consume my brain.  I knew that madness was mixed up
with my very blood, and the marrow of my bones! that one
generation had passed away without the pestilence appearing
among them, and that I was the first in whom it would revive.  I
knew it must be so: that so it always had been, and so it ever
would be: and when I cowered in some obscure corner of a
crowded room, and saw men whisper, and point, and turn their
eyes towards me, I knew they were telling each other of the
doomed madman; and I slunk away again to mope in solitude.

'I did this for years; long, long years they were.  The nights here
are long sometimes--very long; but they are nothing to the
restless nights, and dreadful dreams I had at that time.  It makes
me cold to remember them.  Large dusky forms with sly and
jeering faces crouched in the corners of the room, and bent over
my bed at night, tempting me to madness.  They told me in low
whispers, that the floor of the old house in which my father died,
was stained with his own blood, shed by his own hand in raging
madness.  I drove my fingers into my ears, but they screamed into
my head till the room rang with it, that in one generation before
him the madness slumbered, but that his grandfather had lived
for years with his hands fettered to the ground, to prevent his
tearing himself to pieces.  I knew they told the truth--I knew it
well.  I had found 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
have feared it.  I could go into the world now, and laugh and
shout with the best among them.  I knew I was mad, but they did
not even suspect it.  How I used to hug myself with delight, when
I thought of the fine trick I was playing them after their old
pointing and leering, when I was not mad, but only dreading that
I might one day 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 kind friends would have fallen from me, if they
had known the truth.  I could have screamed with ecstasy when I
dined alone with some fine roaring fellow, to think how pale he
would have turned, and how fast he would have run, if he had
known that the dear friend who sat close to him, sharpening a
bright, glittering knife, was a madman with all the power, and
half the will, to plunge it in his heart.  Oh, it was a merry life!

'Riches became mine, wealth poured in upon me, and I rioted
in pleasures enhanced a thousandfold to me by the consciousness
of my well-kept secret.  I inherited an estate.  The law--the eagle-
eyed law itself--had been deceived, and had handed over disputed
thousands 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 overreached
them all.

'I had money.  How I was courted!  I spent it profusely.  How I
was praised!  How those three proud, overbearing brothers
humbled themselves before me!  The old, white-headed father,
too--such deference--such respect--such devoted friendship--
he worshipped me!  The old man had a daughter, and the young
men a sister; and all the five were poor.  I was rich; and when I
married the girl, I saw a smile of triumph play upon the faces of
her needy relatives, as they thought of their well-planned scheme,
and their fine prize.  It was for me to smile.  To smile!  To laugh
outright, and tear 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?  A
sister's happiness against her husband's gold.  The lightest feather
I 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 not
been mad--for though we madmen are sharp-witted enough, we
get bewildered sometimes--I should have known that the girl
would rather have been placed, stiff and cold in a dull leaden
coffin, than borne an envied bride to my rich, glittering house.  I
should have known that her heart was with the dark-eyed boy
whose name I once heard her breathe in her troubled sleep; and
that she had been sacrificed to me, to relieve the poverty of the
old, white-headed man and the haughty brothers.

'I don't remember forms or faces now, but I know the girl was
beautiful.  I know she was; for in the bright moonlight nights,
when I start up from my sleep, and all is quiet about me, I see,
standing still and motionless in one corner of this cell, a slight
and wasted figure with long black hair, which, streaming down
her back, stirs with no earthly wind, and eyes that fix their gaze
on me, and never wink or close.  Hush! the blood chills at my
heart as I write it down--that form is HERS; the face is very pale,
and the eyes are glassy bright; but I know them well.  That figure
never moves; it never frowns and mouths as others do, that fill
this place sometimes; but it is much more dreadful to me, even
than the spirits that tempted me many years ago--it comes fresh
from the grave; and is so very death-like.

'For nearly a year I saw that face grow paler; for nearly a year
I saw the tears steal down the mournful cheeks, and never knew
the cause.  I found it out at last though.  They could not keep it
from me long.  She had never liked me; I had never thought she
did: she despised my wealth, and hated the splendour in which
she lived; but I had not expected that.  She loved another.  This I
had never thought of.  Strange feelings came over me, and
thoughts, forced upon me by some secret power, whirled round
and round my brain.  I did not hate her, though I hated the boy
she still wept for.  I pitied--yes, I pitied--the wretched life to
which her cold and selfish relations had doomed her.  I knew that
she could not live long; but the thought that before her death she
might give birth to some ill-fated being, destined to hand down
madness to its offspring, 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 the
madman's wife smouldering away to cinders.  Think of the jest of
a large reward, too, and of some sane man swinging in the wind
for a deed he never did, and all through a madman's cunning!
I thought often of this, but I gave it up at last.  Oh! the pleasure
of stropping the razor day after day, feeling the sharp edge, and
thinking of the gash one stroke of its thin, bright edge would make!
'At last the old spirits who had been with me so often before
whispered in my ear that the time was come, and thrust the open
razor into my hand.  I grasped it firmly, rose softly from the bed,
and leaned over my sleeping wife.  Her face was buried in her
hands.  I withdrew them softly, and they fell listlessly on her
bosom.  She had been weeping; for the traces of the tears were
still wet upon her cheek.  Her face was calm and placid; and even
as I looked upon it, a tranquil smile lighted up her pale features.
I laid my hand softly on her shoulder.  She started--it was only a
passing dream.  I leaned forward again.  She screamed, and woke.

'One motion of my hand, and she would never again have
uttered cry or sound.  But I was startled, and drew back.  Her eyes
were fixed on mine.  I knew not how it was, but they cowed and
frightened me; and I quailed beneath them.  She rose from the bed,
still gazing fixedly and steadily on me.  I trembled; the razor was
in my hand, but I could not move.  She made towards the door.
As she neared it, she turned, and withdrew her eyes from my face.
The spell was broken.  I bounded forward, and clutched her by
the arm.  Uttering shriek upon shriek, she sank upon the ground.

'Now I could have killed her without a struggle; but the house
was alarmed.  I heard the tread of footsteps on the stairs.  I
replaced the razor in its usual drawer, unfastened the door, and
called loudly for assistance.

'They came, and raised her, and placed her on the bed.  She lay bereft
of animation for hours; and when life, look, and speech returned,
her senses had deserted her, and she raved wildly and furiously.

'Doctors were called in--great men who rolled up to my door
in easy carriages, with fine horses and gaudy servants.  They were
at her bedside for weeks.  They had a great meeting and consulted
together in low and solemn voices in another room.  One, the
cleverest and most celebrated among them, took me aside, and
bidding me prepare for the worst, told me--me, the madman!--
that my wife was mad.  He stood close beside me at an open
window, his eyes looking in my face, and his hand laid upon my
arm.  With one effort, I could have hurled him into the street
beneath.  It would have been rare sport to have done it; but my
secret was at stake, and I let him go.  A few days after, they told
me I must place her under some restraint: I must provide a
keeper for her.  I!  I went into the open fields where none could
hear me, and laughed till the air resounded with my shouts!

'She died next day.  The white-headed old man followed her to
the grave, and the proud brothers dropped a tear over the
insensible corpse of her whose sufferings they had regarded in her
lifetime with muscles of iron.  All this was food for my secret
mirth, and I laughed behind the white handkerchief which I held
up to my face, as we rode home, till the tears Came into my eyes.

'But though I had carried my object and killed her, I was
restless and disturbed, and I felt that before long my secret must
be known.  I could not hide the wild mirth and joy which boiled
within me, and made me when I was alone, at home, jump up and
beat my hands together, and dance round and round, and roar
aloud.  When I went out, and saw the busy crowds hurrying
about the streets; or to the theatre, and heard the sound of
music, and beheld the people dancing, I felt such glee, that I
could have rushed among them, and torn them to pieces limb
from limb, and howled in transport.  But I ground my teeth, and
struck my feet upon the floor, and drove my sharp nails into my
hands.  I kept it down; 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
to do, and being always hurried here, have no time to separate
the two, from some strange confusion in which they get involved
--I remember how I let it out at last.  Ha! ha!  I think I see their
frightened looks now, and feel the ease with which I flung them
from me, and dashed my clenched fist into their white faces, and
then flew like the wind, and left them screaming and shouting
far behind.  The strength of a giant comes upon me when I think
of it.  There--see how this iron bar bends beneath my furious
wrench.  I could snap it like a twig, only there are long galleries
here with many doors--I don't think I could find my way along
them; and even if I could, I know there are iron gates below
which they keep locked and barred.  They 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 I
reached home, and found the proudest of the three proud
brothers waiting to see me--urgent business he said: I recollect
it well.  I hated that man with all a madman's hate.  Many and
many a time had my fingers longed to tear him.  They told me he
was there.  I ran swiftly upstairs.  He had a word to say to me.  I
dismissed the servants.  It was late, and we were alone together--
for the first time.

'I kept my eyes carefully from him at first, for I knew what he
little thought--and I gloried in the knowledge--that the light of
madness gleamed from them like fire.  We sat in silence for a few
minutes.  He spoke at last.  My recent dissipation, and strange
remarks, made so soon after his sister's death, were an insult to
her memory.  Coupling together many circumstances which had
at first escaped his observation, he thought I had not treated her
well.  He wished to know whether he was right in inferring that I
meant to cast a reproach upon her memory, and a disrespect upon her
family.  It was due to the uniform he wore, to demand this explanation.

'This man had a commission in the army--a commission,
purchased with my money, and his sister's misery!  This was the
man who had been foremost in the plot to ensnare me, and grasp
my wealth.  This was the man who had been the main instrument
in forcing his sister to wed me; well knowing that her heart was
given to that puling boy.  Due to his uniform!  The livery of his
degradation!  I turned my eyes upon him--I could not help it--
but I 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
he drew back his chair.  I dragged mine nearer to him; and I
laughed--I was very merry then--I saw him shudder.  I felt the
madness rising within me.  He was afraid of me.

'"You were very fond of your sister when she was alive," I
said.--"Very."

'He looked uneasily round him, and I saw his hand grasp the
back of his chair; but he said nothing.

'"You villain," said I, "I found you out: I discovered your
hellish plots against me; I know her heart was fixed on some one
else before you compelled her to marry me.  I know it--I know it."

'He jumped suddenly from his chair, brandished it aloft, and
bid me stand back--for I took care to be getting closer to him all
the time I spoke.

'I screamed rather than talked, for I felt tumultuous passions
eddying through my veins, and the old spirits whispering and
taunting me to tear his heart out.

'"Damn you," said I, starting up, and rushing upon him; "I
killed her.  I am a madman.  Down with you.  Blood, blood!  I will
have it!"

'I turned aside with one blow the chair he hurled at me in his
terror, and closed with him; and with a heavy crash we rolled
upon 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
destroy him.  I knew no strength could equal mine, and I was
right.  Right again, though a madman!  His struggles grew fainter.
I knelt upon his chest, and clasped his brawny throat firmly with
both hands.  His face grew purple; his eyes were starting from his
head, and with protruded tongue, he seemed to mock me.  I
squeezed the tighter.
'The door was suddenly burst open with a loud noise, and a
crowd of people rushed forward, crying aloud to each other to
secure the madman.

'My secret was out; and my only struggle now was for liberty
and freedom.  I gained my feet before a hand was on me, threw
myself among my assailants, and cleared my way with my strong
arm, as if I bore a hatchet in my hand, and hewed them down
before me.  I gained the door, dropped over the banisters, and in
an instant was in the street.

'Straight and swift I ran, and no one dared to stop me.  I heard
the noise of the feet behind, and redoubled my speed.  It grew
fainter and fainter in the distance, and at length died away
altogether; but on I bounded, through marsh and rivulet, over
fence and wall, with a wild shout which was taken up by the
strange beings that flocked around me on every side, and swelled
the sound, till it pierced the air.  I was borne upon the arms of
demons who swept along upon the wind, and bore down bank
and hedge before them, and spun me round and round with a
rustle and a speed that made my head swim, until at last they
threw me from 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 the sunlight seldom comes, and the moon steals in, in
rays which only serve to show the dark shadows about me, and that
silent figure in its old corner.  When I lie awake, I can sometimes
hear strange shrieks and cries from distant parts of this
large place.  What they are, I know not; but they neither come
from that pale form, nor does it regard them.  For from the first
shades of dusk till the earliest light of morning, it still stands
motionless in the same place, listening to the music of my iron
chain, and watching my gambols on my straw bed.'

At the end of the manuscript was written, in another hand, this
note:--


[The unhappy man whose ravings are recorded above, was a
melancholy instance of the baneful results of energies
misdirected in early life, and excesses prolonged until their
consequences could never be repaired.  The thoughtless riot,
dissipation, and debauchery of his younger days produced fever and
delirium.  The first effects of the latter was the strange delusion,
founded upon a well-known medical theory, strongly contended
for by some, and as strongly contested by others, that an
hereditary madness existed in his family.  This produced a settled
gloom, which in time developed a morbid insanity, and finally
terminated in raving madness.  There is every reason to believe
that the events he detailed, though distorted in the description
by his diseased imagination, really happened.  It is only matter of
wonder to those who were acquainted with the vices of his early
career, that his passions, when no longer controlled by reason,
did not lead him to the commission of still more frightful deeds.]

Mr. Pickwick's candle was just expiring in the socket, as he
concluded the perusal of the old clergyman's manuscript; and
when the light went suddenly out, without any previous flicker
by way of warning, it communicated a very considerable start to
his excited frame.  Hastily throwing off such articles of clothing as
he had put on when he rose from his uneasy bed, and casting a
fearful glance around, he once more scrambled hastily between
the sheets, and soon fell fast asleep.

The sun was shining brilliantly into his chamber, when he
awoke, and the morning was far advanced.  The gloom which had
oppressed him on the previous night had disappeared with the
dark shadows which shrouded the landscape, and his thoughts
and feelings were as light and gay as the morning itself.  After a
hearty breakfast, the four gentlemen sallied forth to walk to
Gravesend, followed by a man bearing the stone in its deal box.
They reached the town about one o'clock (their luggage they had
directed to be forwarded to the city, from Rochester), and being
fortunate enough to secure places on the outside of a coach,
arrived in London in sound health and spirits, on that same afternoon.

The next three or four days were occupied with the preparations
which were necessary for their journey to the borough of
Eatanswill.  As any references to that most important undertaking
demands a separate chapter, we may devote the few lines
which remain at the close of this, to narrate, with great brevity,
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 a
variety of ingenious and erudite speculations on the meaning of
the inscription.  It also appears that a skilful artist executed a
faithful delineation of the curiosity, which was engraven on
stone, and presented to the Royal Antiquarian Society, and other
learned bodies: that heart-burnings and jealousies without
number were created by rival controversies which were penned
upon the subject; and that Mr. Pickwick himself wrote a
pamphlet, containing ninety-six pages of very small print, and
twenty-seven different readings of the inscription: that three old
gentlemen cut off their eldest sons with a shilling a-piece for
presuming to doubt the antiquity of the fragment; and that one
enthusiastic individual cut himself off prematurely, in despair at
being unable to fathom its meaning: that Mr. Pickwick was
elected an honorary member of seventeen native and foreign
societies, for making the discovery: 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 the
undying contempt of those who cultivate the mysterious and the
sublime--Mr. Blotton, we say, with the doubt and cavilling
peculiar to vulgar minds, presumed to state a view of the case, as
degrading as ridiculous.  Mr. Blotton, with a mean desire to
tarnish the lustre of the immortal name of Pickwick, actually
undertook a journey to Cobham in person, and on his return,
sarcastically observed in an oration at the club, that he had seen
the man from whom the stone was purchased; that the man
presumed the stone to be ancient, but solemnly denied the
antiquity of the inscription--inasmuch as he represented it to
have been rudely carved by himself in an idle mood, and to
display letters intended to bear neither more or less than the
simple construction of--'BILL STUMPS, HIS MARK'; and
that Mr. Stumps, being little in the habit of original composition,
and more accustomed to be guided by the sound of words than
by the strict rules of orthography, had omitted the concluding
'L' of his Christian name.

The Pickwick Club (as might have been expected from so
enlightened an institution) received this statement with the contempt
it deserved, expelled the presumptuous and ill-conditioned
Blotton from the society, and voted Mr. Pickwick a pair of gold
spectacles, in token of their confidence and approbation: in
return for which, Mr. Pickwick caused a portrait of himself to
be painted, and hung up in the club room.

Mr. Blotton was ejected but not conquered.  He also wrote a
pamphlet, addressed to the seventeen learned societies, native
and foreign, containing a repetition of the statement he had
already made, and rather more than half intimating his opinion
that the seventeen learned societies were so many 'humbugs.'
Hereupon, the virtuous indignation of the seventeen learned
societies being roused, several fresh pamphlets appeared; the
foreign learned societies corresponded with the native learned
societies; the native learned societies translated the pamphlets of
the foreign learned societies into English; the foreign learned
societies translated the pamphlets of the native learned societies
into all sorts of languages; and thus commenced that celebrated
scientific discussion so well known to all men, as the Pickwick
controversy.

But this base attempt to injure Mr. Pickwick recoiled upon the
head of its calumnious author.  The seventeen learned societies
unanimously voted the presumptuous Blotton an ignorant
meddler, 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 his enemies.

CHAPTER XII
DESCRIPTIVE OF A VERY IMPORTANT PROCEEDING ON
  THE PART OF Mr. PICKWICK; NO LESS AN EPOCH IN HIS
  LIFE, THAN IN THIS HISTORY


Mr. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell Street, although on a
limited scale, were not only of a very neat and comfortable
description, but peculiarly adapted for the residence of a man
of his genius and observation.  His sitting-room was the first-floor
front, his bedroom the second-floor front; and thus, whether he were
sitting at his desk in his parlour, or standing before the dressing-
glass in his dormitory, he had an equal opportunity of contemplating
human nature in all the numerous phases it exhibits, in that not
more populous than popular thoroughfare.  His landlady, Mrs. Bardell--
the relict and sole executrix of a deceased custom-house officer--was
a comely woman of bustling manners and agreeable appearance, with a
natural genius for cooking, improved by study and long practice, into
an exquisite talent.  There were no children, no servants, no fowls.
The only other inmates of the house were a large man and a
small boy; the first a lodger, the second a production of Mrs.
Bardell's.  The large man was always home precisely at ten
o'clock at night, at which hour he regularly condensed himself
into the limits of a dwarfish French bedstead in the back parlour;
and the infantine sports and gymnastic exercises of Master
Bardell were exclusively 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 domestic
economy of the establishment, and conversant with the admirable
regulation of Mr. Pickwick's mind, his appearance and behaviour
on the morning previous to that which had been fixed upon for
the journey to Eatanswill would have been most mysterious and
unaccountable.  He paced the room to and fro with hurried steps,
popped his head out of the window at intervals of about three
minutes each, constantly referred to his watch, and exhibited
many other manifestations of impatience very unusual with him.
It was evident that something of great importance was in
contemplation, but what that something was, not even Mrs. Bardell
had been enabled to discover.

'Mrs. Bardell,' said Mr. Pickwick, at last, as that amiable
female approached the termination of a prolonged dusting of the
apartment.

'Sir,' said Mrs. Bardell.

'Your little boy is a very long time gone.'

'Why it's a good long way to the Borough, sir,' remonstrated
Mrs. Bardell.

'Ah,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'very true; so it is.'
Mr. Pickwick relapsed into silence, and Mrs. Bardell resumed
her dusting.

'Mrs. Bardell,' said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of a few minutes.

'Sir,' said Mrs. Bardell again.
'Do you think it a much greater expense to keep two people,
than to keep one?'

'La, Mr. Pickwick,' said Mrs. Bardell, colouring up to the very
border of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species of
matrimonial 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 very
near to Mr. Pickwick's elbow which was planted on the table.
'that depends 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 in
my eye (here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think
possesses these qualities; and has, moreover, a considerable
knowledge 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 her
cap-border again.

'I do,' said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont
in speaking of a subject which interested him--'I do, indeed; and
to tell 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
I never consulted you about this matter, and never even mentioned
it, till I sent your little boy out this morning--eh?'

Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look.  She had long worshipped
Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all at once,
raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and most extravagant
hopes had never dared to aspire.  Mr. Pickwick was going to
propose--a deliberate plan, too--sent her little boy to the
Borough, to get him out of the way--how thoughtful--how considerate!

'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,' replied
Mrs. Bardell; 'and, of course, I should take more trouble to
please you then, than ever; but it is so kind of you, Mr. Pickwick,
to have so 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, 'a
lively one, who'll teach him, I'll be bound, more tricks in a week
than he would ever learn in a year.'  And Mr. Pickwick smiled placidly.

'Oh, you dear--' said Mrs. Bardell.

Mr. Pickwick started.

'Oh, you kind, good, playful dear,' said Mrs. Bardell; and
without more ado, she rose from her chair, and flung her arms
round Mr. Pickwick's neck, with a cataract of tears and a chorus
of sobs.

'Bless my soul,' cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick; 'Mrs.
Bardell, my good woman--dear me, what a situation--pray
consider.--Mrs. Bardell, don't--if anybody should come--'

'Oh, let them come,' exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically; 'I'll
never leave you --dear, kind, good soul;' and, with these words,
Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter.

'Mercy upon me,' said Mr. Pickwick, struggling violently, 'I
hear somebody coming up the stairs.  Don't, don't, there's a good
creature, don't.'  But entreaty and remonstrance were alike
unavailing; for Mrs. Bardell had fainted in Mr. Pickwick's arms;
and before he could gain time to deposit her on a chair, Master
Bardell entered the room, ushering in Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle,
and Mr. Snodgrass.

Mr. Pickwick was struck motionless and speechless.  He stood
with his lovely burden in his arms, gazing vacantly on the
countenances of his friends, without the slightest attempt at
recognition or explanation.  They, in their turn, stared at him;
and Master Bardell, in his turn, stared at everybody.

The astonishment of the Pickwickians was so absorbing, and
the perplexity of Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, that they might
have remained in exactly the same relative situations until the
suspended animation of the lady was restored, had it not been for
a most beautiful and touching expression of filial affection on the
part of her youthful son.  Clad in a tight suit of corduroy,
spangled with brass buttons of a very considerable size, he at first
stood at the door astounded and uncertain; but by degrees, the
impression that his mother must have suffered some personal
damage pervaded his partially developed mind, and considering
Mr. Pickwick as the aggressor, he set up an appalling and semi-
earthly kind of howling, and butting forward with his head,
commenced assailing that immortal gentleman about the back
and legs, with such blows and pinches as the strength of his arm,
and the violence 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 the
boy.'  (Here Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, screaming
and struggling, 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. Bardell hysterically.
And downstairs she was led accordingly, accompanied by
her affectionate son.

'I cannot conceive,' said Mr. Pickwick when his friend
returned--'I cannot conceive what has been the matter with that
woman.  I had merely announced to her my intention of keeping
a man-servant, when she fell into the extraordinary paroxysm in
which you found her.  Very extraordinary thing.'

'Very,' said his three friends.

'Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation,'
continued Mr. 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 remarked
their 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
for him to the Borough this morning.  Have the goodness to call
him up, Snodgrass.'

Mr. Snodgrass did as he was desired; and Mr. Samuel Weller
forthwith presented himself.

'Oh--you remember me, I suppose?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I should think so,' replied Sam, with a patronising wink.
'Queer start that 'ere, but he was one too many for you, warn't
he?  Up to snuff and a pinch or two over--eh?'

'Never mind that matter now,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily;
'I want to speak to you about something else.  Sit down.'

'Thank'ee, sir,' said Sam.  And down he sat without further
bidding, having previously deposited his old white hat on the
landing outside the door.  ''Tain't a wery good 'un to look at,'
said Sam, '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 the concurrence
of these gentlemen, sent for you,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'That's the pint, sir,' interposed Sam; 'out vith it, as the father
said 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 your present
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's
features as he said, 'I have half made up my mind to engage you
myself.'

'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 these
gentlemen here.'
'Take the bill down,' said Sam emphatically.  'I'm let to a
single gentleman, 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'll do.'

'You can get a character of course?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Ask the landlady o' the White Hart about that, Sir,' replied Sam.

'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 the
inquiries are satisfactory, they shall be provided.'

With the single exception of one amiable indiscretion, in
which an assistant housemaid had equally participated, the
history of Mr. Weller's conduct was so very blameless, that Mr.
Pickwick felt fully justified in closing the engagement that very
evening.  With the promptness and energy which characterised
not only the public proceedings, but all the private actions of this
extraordinary man, he at once led his new attendant to one of
those convenient emporiums where gentlemen's new and second-
hand clothes are provided, and the troublesome and inconvenient
formality of measurement dispensed with; and before night had
closed in, Mr. Weller was furnished with a grey coat with the
P. C. button, a black hat with a cockade to it, a pink striped
waistcoat, light breeches and gaiters, and a variety of other
necessaries, too numerous to recapitulate.

'Well,' said that suddenly-transformed individual, as he took
his seat on the outside of the Eatanswill coach next morning; 'I
wonder whether I'm meant to be a footman, or a groom, or a
gamekeeper, or a seedsman.  I looks like a sort of compo of every
one on 'em.  Never mind; there's a change of air, plenty to see,
and little to do; and all this suits my complaint uncommon; so
long life to the Pickvicks, says I!'



CHAPTER XIII
SOME ACCOUNT OF EATANSWILL; OF THE STATE OF
  PARTIES THEREIN; AND OF THE ELECTION OF A MEMBER
  TO SERVE IN PARLIAMENT FOR THAT ANCIENT, LOYAL,
  AND PATRIOTIC BOROUGH


We will frankly acknowledge that, up to the period of our being
first immersed in the voluminous papers of the Pickwick Club, we
had never heard of Eatanswill; we will with equal candour admit that
we have in vain searched for proof of the actual existence of such
a place at the present day.  Knowing the deep reliance to be placed
on every note and statement of Mr. Pickwick's, and not presuming to
set up our recollection against the recorded declarations of that great
man, we have consulted every authority, bearing upon the subject, to
which we could possibly refer.  We have traced every name in
schedules A and B, without meeting with that of Eatanswill; we
have minutely examined every corner of the pocket county maps
issued for the benefit of society by our distinguished publishers,
and the same result has attended our investigation.  We are
therefore led to believe that Mr. Pickwick, with that anxious
desire to abstain from giving offence to any, and with those delicate
feelings for which all who knew him well know he was so
eminently remarkable, purposely substituted a fictitious designation,
for the real name of the place in which his observations
were made.  We are confirmed in this belief by a little circumstance,
apparently slight and trivial in itself, but when considered
in this point of view, not undeserving of notice.  In Mr. Pickwick's
note-book, we can just trace an entry of the fact, that the
places of himself and followers were booked by the Norwich
coach; but this entry was afterwards lined through, as if for the
purpose of concealing even the direction in which the borough
is situated.  We will not, therefore, hazard a guess upon the
subject, but will at once proceed with this history, content with
the materials which its characters have provided for us.

It appears, then, that the Eatanswill people, like the people of
many other small towns, considered themselves of the utmost
and most mighty importance, and that every man in Eatanswill,
conscious of the weight that attached to his example, felt himself
bound to unite, heart and soul, with one of the two great parties
that divided the town--the Blues and the Buffs.  Now the Blues
lost no opportunity of opposing the Buffs, and the Buffs lost no
opportunity of opposing the Blues; and the consequence was,
that whenever the Buffs and Blues met together at public meeting,
town-hall, fair, or market, disputes and high words arose
between them.  With these dissensions it is almost superfluous to
say that everything in Eatanswill was made a party question.  If
the Buffs proposed to new skylight the market-place, the Blues
got up public meetings, and denounced the proceeding; if the
Blues proposed the erection of an additional pump in the High
Street, the Buffs rose as one man and stood aghast at the enormity.
There were Blue shops and Buff shops, Blue inns and Buff
inns--there was a Blue aisle and a Buff aisle in the very church itself.

Of course it was essentially and indispensably necessary that
each of these powerful parties should have its chosen organ and
representative: and, accordingly, there were two newspapers in
the town--the Eatanswill GAZETTE and the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT;
the former advocating Blue principles, and the latter conducted
on grounds decidedly Buff.  Fine newspapers they were.  Such
leading articles, and such spirited attacks!--'Our worthless
contemporary, the GAZETTE'--'That disgraceful and dastardly journal,
the INDEPENDENT'--'That false and scurrilous print, the INDEPENDENT'--
'That vile and slanderous calumniator, the GAZETTE;' these,
and other spirit-stirring denunciations, were strewn plentifully
over the columns of each, in every number, and excited feelings
of the most intense delight and indignation in the bosoms of the
townspeople.

Mr. Pickwick, with his usual foresight and sagacity, had chosen
a peculiarly desirable moment for his visit to the borough.  Never
was such a contest known.  The Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of
Slumkey Hall, was the Blue candidate; and Horatio Fizkin,
Esq., of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill, had been prevailed upon
by his friends to stand forward on the Buff interest.  The GAZETTE
warned the electors of Eatanswill that the eyes not only of
England, but of the whole civilised world, were upon them; and
the INDEPENDENT imperatively demanded to know, whether the
constituency of Eatanswill were the grand fellows they had always
taken them for, or base and servile tools, undeserving alike of
the name of Englishmen and the blessings of freedom.  Never had
such a commotion agitated the town before.

It was late in the evening when Mr. Pickwick and his
companions, assisted by Sam, dismounted from the roof of the
Eatanswill coach.  Large blue silk flags were flying from the
windows of the Town Arms Inn, and bills were posted in every
sash, intimating, in gigantic letters, that the Honourable Samuel
Slumkey's committee sat there daily.  A crowd of idlers were
assembled in the road, looking at a hoarse man in the balcony,
who was apparently talking himself very red in the face in Mr.
Slumkey's behalf; but the force and point of whose arguments
were somewhat impaired by the perpetual beating of four large
drums which Mr. Fizkin's committee had stationed at the street
corner.  There was a busy little man beside him, though, who
took off his hat at intervals and motioned to the people to cheer,
which they regularly did, most enthusiastically; and as the red-
faced gentleman went on talking till he was redder in the face
than ever, it seemed to answer his purpose quite as well as if
anybody had heard him.

The Pickwickians had no sooner dismounted than they were
surrounded by a branch mob of the honest and independent, who
forthwith set up three deafening cheers, which being responded
to by the main body (for it's not at all necessary for a crowd to
know what they are cheering about), swelled into a tremendous
roar of triumph, which stopped even the red-faced man in the balcony.

'Hurrah!' shouted the mob, in conclusion.

'One cheer more,' screamed the little fugleman in the balcony,
and out shouted the mob again, as if lungs were cast-iron, with
steel works.

'Slumkey for ever!' roared the honest and independent.

'Slumkey for ever!' echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat.
'No Fizkin!' roared the crowd.

'Certainly not!' shouted Mr. Pickwick.
'Hurrah!' And then there was another roaring, like that of a
whole menagerie when the elephant has rung the bell for the
cold meat.

'Who is Slumkey?'whispered Mr. Tupman.

'I don't know,' replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone.  'Hush.
Don't ask any questions.  It's always best on these occasions to
do what the mob do.'

'But suppose there are two mobs?' suggested Mr. Snodgrass.

'Shout with the largest,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

Volumes could not have said more.

They entered the house, the crowd opening right and left to let
them pass, and cheering vociferously.  The first object of
consideration was to secure quarters for the night.

'Can we have beds here?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, summoning
the waiter.

'Don't know, Sir,' replied the man; 'afraid we're full, sir--I'll
inquire, Sir.'  Away he went for that purpose, and presently
returned, to ask whether the gentleman were 'Blue.'

As neither Mr. Pickwick nor his companions took any vital
interest in the cause of either candidate, the question was
rather a difficult one to answer.  In this dilemma Mr. Pickwick
bethought himself of his new friend, Mr. Perker.

'Do you know a gentleman of the name of Perker?' inquired
Mr. Pickwick.

'Certainly, Sir; Honourable Mr. Samuel Slumkey's agent.'

'He is Blue, I think?'

'Oh, yes, Sir.'

'Then WE are Blue,' said Mr. Pickwick; but observing that the
man looked rather doubtful at this accommodating announcement,
he gave him his card, and desired him to present it to
Mr. Perker forthwith, if he should happen to be in the house.
The waiter retired; and reappearing almost immediately with a
request that Mr. Pickwick would follow him, led the way to a
large room on the first floor, where, seated at a long table
covered with books and papers, was Mr. Perker.

'Ah--ah, my dear Sir,' said the little man, advancing to meet
him; 'very happy to see you, my dear Sir, very.  Pray sit down.
So you have carried your intention into effect.  You have come
down here to see an election--eh?'
Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.

'Spirited contest, my dear sir,' said the little man.

'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 have
opened all the public-houses in the place, and left our adversary
nothing but the beer-shops-masterly stroke of policy that, my
dear Sir, eh?'  The little man smiled complacently, and took a
large pinch of snuff.

'And what are the probabilities as to the result of the contest?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Why, doubtful, my dear Sir; rather doubtful as yet,' replied
the little man.  'Fizkin's people have got three-and-thirty voters
in the lock-up coach-house at the White Hart.'

'In the coach-house!' said Mr. Pickwick, considerably astonished
by this second stroke of policy.

'They keep 'em locked up there till they want 'em,' resumed
the little man.  'The effect of that is, you see, to prevent our
getting at them; and even if we could, it would be of no use, for
they keep them very drunk on purpose.  Smart fellow Fizkin's
agent--very smart fellow indeed.'

Mr. Pickwick stared, but said nothing.

'We are pretty confident, though,' said Mr. Perker, sinking
his voice almost to a whisper.  'We had a little tea-party here, last
night--five-and-forty women, my dear sir--and gave every one
of 'em a green parasol when she went away.'

'A parasol!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Fact, my dear Sir, fact.  Five-and-forty green parasols, at seven
and sixpence a-piece.  All women like finery--extraordinary the
effect of those parasols.  Secured all their husbands, and half their
brothers--beats stockings, and flannel, and all that sort of thing
hollow.  My idea, my dear Sir, entirely.  Hail, rain, or sunshine,
you can't walk half a dozen yards up the street, without
encountering half a dozen green parasols.'

Here the little man indulged in a convulsion of mirth, which
was only checked by the entrance of a third party.

This was a tall, thin man, with a sandy-coloured head inclined
to baldness, and a face in which solemn importance was blended
with a look of unfathomable profundity.  He was dressed in a
long brown surtout, with a black cloth waistcoat, and drab
trousers.  A double eyeglass dangled at his waistcoat; and on his
head he wore a very low-crowned hat with a broad brim.
The new-comer was introduced to Mr. Pickwick as Mr. Pott,
the editor of the Eatanswill GAZETTE.  After a few preliminary
remarks, Mr. Pott turned 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 towards
Mr. Perker for corroboration--'to which I have reason to know
that my article of last Saturday in some degree contributed.'

'Not the least doubt of it,' said the little man.

'The press is a mighty engine, sir,' said Pott.

Mr. Pickwick yielded his fullest assent to the proposition.

'But I trust, sir,' said Pott, 'that I have never abused the
enormous power I wield.  I trust, sir, that I have never pointed the
noble instrument which is placed in my hands, against the sacred
bosom of private life, or the tender breast of individual reputation;
I trust, sir, that I have devoted my energies to--to endeavours--
humble they may be, humble I know they are--to
instil those principles 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 an
impartial man, is the state of the public mind in London, with
reference to my contest with the INDEPENDENT?'

'Greatly excited, no doubt,' interposed Mr. Perker, with a
look of slyness which was very likely accidental.

'The contest,' said Pott, 'shall be prolonged so long as I have
health and strength, and that portion of talent with which I am
gifted.  From that contest, Sir, although it may unsettle men's
minds and excite their feelings, and render them incapable for
the discharge of the everyday duties of ordinary life; from that
contest, sir, I will never shrink, till I have set my heel upon the
Eatanswill INDEPENDENT.  I wish the people of London, and the
people of this country to know, sir, that they may rely upon me
--that I will not desert them, that I am resolved to stand by them,
Sir, to the last.'
'Your conduct is most noble, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; and he
grasped the hand of the magnanimous Pott.
'You are, sir, I perceive, a man of sense and talent,' said Mr.
Pott, almost breathless with the vehemence of his patriotic
declaration.  'I am most happy, sir, to make the acquaintance of
such a man.'

'And I,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'feel deeply honoured by this
expression of your opinion.  Allow me, sir, to introduce you to
my fellow-travellers, the other corresponding members of the
club I am 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 Eatanswill GAZETTE.

'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
think may be very successfully adopted.  They have two beds at
the Peacock, and I can boldly say, on behalf of Mrs. Pott, that
she will be delighted to accommodate Mr. Pickwick and any
one of his friends, if the other two gentlemen and their servant
do not object to shifting, as they best can, at the Peacock.'

After repeated pressings on the part of Mr. Pott, and repeated
protestations on that of Mr. Pickwick that he could not think of
incommoding or troubling his amiable wife, it was decided that
it was the only feasible arrangement that could be made.  So it
WAS made; and after dinner together at the Town Arms, the
friends separated, Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass repairing to
the Peacock, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle proceeding to
the mansion of Mr. Pott; it having been previously arranged
that they should all reassemble at the Town Arms in the morning,
and accompany the Honourable Samuel Slumkey's procession to
the place 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
in the world, have usually some little weakness which
appears the more conspicuous from the contrast it presents to
their general character.  If Mr. Pott had a weakness, it was,
perhaps, that he was rather too submissive to the somewhat
contemptuous control and sway of his wife.  We do not feel
justified in laying any particular stress upon the fact, because
on the present occasion all Mrs. Pott's most winning ways
were brought into requisition to receive the two gentlemen.

'My dear,' said Mr. Pott, 'Mr. Pickwick--Mr. Pickwick of London.'

Mrs. Pott received Mr. Pickwick's paternal grasp of the hand
with enchanting sweetness; and Mr. Winkle, who had not been
announced at all, sidled and bowed, unnoticed, in an obscure corner.

'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 introduction
was complete.

'We owe you many apologies, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'for
disturbing your domestic arrangements at so short a notice.'

'I beg you won't mention it, sir,' replied the feminine Pott,
with vivacity.  'It is a high treat to me, I assure you, to see any
new faces; living as I do, from day to day, and week to week, in
this dull place, and seeing nobody.'

'Nobody, my dear!' exclaimed Mr. Pott archly.

'Nobody but you,' retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity.

'You see, Mr. Pickwick,' said the host in explanation of his
wife's lament, 'that we are in some measure cut off from many
enjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake.
My public station, as editor of the Eatanswill GAZETTE, the
position which that paper holds in the country, my constant
immersion in the 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 of
conversation in which these gentlemen might take some rational
interest.'

'But, my love,' said Mr. Pott, with great humility, 'Mr.
Pickwick does take an interest in it.'

'It's well for him if he can,' said Mrs. Pott emphatically; 'I
am wearied out of my life with your politics, and quarrels with
the INDEPENDENT, and nonsense.  I am quite astonished, P., at your
making such an exhibition of your absurdity.'

'But, my dear--' said Mr. Pott.

'Oh, nonsense, don't talk to me,' said Mrs. Pott.  'Do you play
ecarte, Sir?'

'I shall be very happy to learn under your tuition,' replied
Mr. Winkle.

'Well, then, draw that little table into this window, and let me
get out of hearing of those prosy politics.'

'Jane,' said Mr. Pott, to the servant who brought in candles,
'go down into the office, and bring me up the file of the GAZETTE
for eighteen 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 I wrote at that time upon the Buff job of appointing a new
tollman to the turnpike here; I rather think they'll amuse you.'

'I should like to hear them very much indeed,' said Mr. Pickwick.

Up came the file, and down sat the editor, with Mr. Pickwick
at his side.

We have in vain pored over the leaves of Mr. Pickwick's
note-book, in the hope of meeting with a general summary of
these beautiful compositions.  We have every reason to believe
that he was perfectly enraptured with the vigour and freshness of
the style; indeed Mr. Winkle has recorded the fact that his eyes
were closed, as if with excess of pleasure, during the whole time
of their perusal.

The announcement of supper put a stop both to the game of
ecarte, and the recapitulation of the beauties of the Eatanswill
GAZETTE.  Mrs. Pott was in the highest spirits and the most
agreeable humour.  Mr. Winkle had already made considerable
progress in her good opinion, and she did not hesitate to inform
him, confidentially, that Mr. Pickwick was 'a delightful old dear.'
These terms convey a familiarity of expression, in which few of
those who were intimately acquainted with that colossal-minded
man, would have presumed to indulge.  We have preserved them,
nevertheless, as affording at once a touching and a convincing
proof of the estimation in which he was held by every class of
society, and the case with which he made his way to their hearts
and feelings.

It was a late hour of the night--long after Mr. Tupman and
Mr. Snodgrass had fallen asleep in the inmost recesses of the
Peacock--when the two friends retired to rest.  Slumber soon fell
upon the senses of Mr. Winkle, but his feelings had been excited,
and his admiration roused; and for many hours after sleep had
rendered him insensible to earthly objects, the face and figure of
the agreeable Mrs. Pott presented themselves again and again
to his wandering imagination.

The noise and bustle which ushered in the morning were
sufficient to dispel from the mind of the most romantic visionary
in existence, any associations but those which were immediately
connected with the rapidly-approaching election.  The beating of
drums, the blowing of horns and trumpets, the shouting of men,
and tramping of horses, echoed and re--echoed through the streets
from the earliest dawn of day; and an occasional fight between
the light skirmishers of either party at once enlivened the
preparations, and agreeably diversified their character.
'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as his valet appeared at his
bedroom door, just as he was concluding his toilet; 'all alive
to-day, I suppose?'

'Reg'lar game, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'our people's a-collecting
down at the Town Arms, and they're a-hollering themselves
hoarse already.'

'Ah,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'do they seem devoted to their party, Sam?'

'Never see such dewotion in my life, Sir.'

'Energetic, eh?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Uncommon,' replied Sam; 'I never see men eat and drink so
much afore.  I wonder they 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 the
Peacock has been a-pumpin' over the independent woters as
supped there last night.'

'Pumping over independent voters!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes,' said his attendant, 'every man slept vere he fell down;
we dragged 'em out, one by one, this mornin', and put 'em under
the pump, and they're in reg'lar fine order now.  Shillin' a head
the committee 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 half
baptised?--that's nothin', that ain't.'

'Nothing?'said Mr. Pickwick.
'Nothin' at all, Sir,' replied his attendant.  'The night afore the
last day o' the last election here, the opposite party bribed the
barmaid at the Town Arms, to hocus the brandy-and-water of
fourteen unpolled electors as was a-stoppin' in the house.'

'What do you mean by "hocussing" brandy-and-water?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Puttin' laud'num in it,' replied Sam.  'Blessed if she didn't
send 'em all to sleep till twelve hours arter the election was over.
They took one man up to the booth, in a truck, fast asleep, by
way of experiment, but it was no go--they wouldn't poll him; so
they brought him back, and put him to bed again.'
'Strange practices, these,' said Mr. Pickwick; half speaking to
himself and half addressing Sam.

'Not half so strange as a miraculous circumstance as happened
to 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; ''lection
time came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring down
woters from London.  Night afore he was going to drive up,
committee on t' other side sends for him quietly, and away he
goes vith the messenger, who shows him in;--large room--lots of
gen'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
hope you're pretty middlin," says he.--"Pretty well, thank'ee, Sir,"
says the gen'l'm'n; "sit down, Mr. Weller--pray sit down, sir."
So my father sits down, and he and the gen'l'm'n looks wery
hard at each other.  "You don't remember me?" said the
gen'l'm'n.--"Can't say I do," says my father.--"Oh, I know
you," says the gen'l'm'n: "know'd you when you was a boy,"
says he.--"Well, I don't remember you," says my father.--
"That's wery odd," says the gen'l'm'n."--"Wery," says my
father.--"You must have a bad mem'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 then they pours him out a
glass of wine, and gammons him about his driving, and gets him
into a reg'lar good humour, and at last shoves a twenty-pound
note into his hand.  "It's a wery bad road between this and
London," says the gen'l'm'n.--"Here and there it is a heavy
road," says my father.--" 'Specially near the canal, I think,"
says the gen'l'm'n.--"Nasty bit that 'ere," says my father.--
"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 all wery fond o' you, Mr. Weller, so in case you should have
an accident when you're bringing these here woters down, and
should tip 'em over into the canal vithout hurtin' of 'em, this is
for yourself," says he.--"Gen'l'm'n, you're wery kind," says my
father, "and I'll drink your health in another glass of wine," says
he; vich he did, and then buttons up the money, and bows
himself out.  You wouldn't believe, sir,' continued Sam, with a
look of inexpressible impudence at his master, 'that on the wery
day as he came down with them woters, his coach WAS upset on
that 'ere wery spot, and ev'ry man on 'em was turned into the canal.'

'And got out again?' inquired Mr. Pickwick hastily.

'Why,' replied Sam very slowly, 'I rather think one old
gen'l'm'n was missin'; I know his hat was found, but I ain't
quite certain whether his head was in it or not.  But what I look
at is the hex-traordinary and wonderful coincidence, that arter
what that gen'l'm'n said, my father's coach should be upset in
that wery place, and on that wery day!'

'it is, no doubt, a very extraordinary circumstance indeed,'
said Mr. Pickwick.  'But brush my hat, Sam, for I hear Mr. Winkle
calling me to breakfast.'

With these words Mr. Pickwick descended to the parlour,
where he found breakfast laid, and the family already assembled.
The meal was hastily despatched; each of the gentlemen's hats
was decorated with an enormous blue favour, made up by the
fair hands of Mrs. Pott herself; and as Mr. Winkle had undertaken
to escort that lady to a house-top, in the immediate
vicinity of the hustings, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Pott repaired
alone to the Town Arms, from the back window of which, one of
Mr. Slumkey's committee was addressing six small boys and one
girl, whom he dignified, at every second sentence, with the
imposing title of 'Men of Eatanswill,' whereat the six small boys
aforesaid cheered prodigiously.

The stable-yard exhibited unequivocal symptoms of the glory
and strength of the Eatanswill Blues.  There was a regular army
of blue flags, some with one handle, and some with two,
exhibiting appropriate devices, in golden characters four feet high,
and stout in proportion.  There was a grand band of trumpets,
bassoons, and drums, marshalled four abreast, and earning their
money, if ever men did, especially the drum-beaters, who were
very muscular.  There were bodies of constables with blue staves,
twenty committee-men with blue scarfs, and a mob of voters
with blue cockades.  There were electors on horseback and
electors afoot.  There was an open carriage-and-four, for the
Honourable Samuel Slumkey; and there were four carriage-and-
pair, for his friends and supporters; and the flags were rustling,
and the band was playing, and the constables were swearing, and
the twenty committee-men were squabbling, and the mob were
shouting, and the horses were backing, and the post-boys
perspiring; and everybody, and everything, then and there
assembled, was for the special use, behoof, honour, and renown,
of the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, one of the
candidates for the representation of the borough of Eatanswill,
in the Commons House of Parliament of the United Kingdom.
Loud and long were the cheers, and mighty was the rustling of
one of the blue flags, with 'Liberty of the Press' inscribed thereon,
when the sandy head of Mr. Pott was discerned in one of the
windows, by the mob beneath; and tremendous was the
enthusiasm when the Honourable Samuel Slumkey himself, in
top-boots, and a blue neckerchief, advanced and seized the hand
of the said Pott, and melodramatically testified by gestures
to the crowd, his ineffaceable obligations to the Eatanswill GAZETTE.

'Is everything ready?' said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey
to Mr. Perker.

'Everything, my dear Sir,' was the little man's reply.

'Nothing has been omitted, I hope?' said the Honourable
Samuel Slumkey.

'Nothing has been left undone, my dear sir--nothing whatever.
There are twenty washed men at the street door for you to shake
hands with; and six children in arms that you're to pat on the
head, and inquire the age of; be particular about the children,
my dear sir--it has always a great effect, that sort of thing.'

'I'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--
but if you could manage to kiss one of 'em, it would produce a
very great impression on the crowd.'

'Wouldn't it have as good an effect if the proposer or seconder
did that?' said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.

'Why, I am afraid it wouldn't,' replied the agent; 'if it were
done by yourself, my dear Sir, I think it would make you very popular.'

'Very well,' said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with a
resigned air, 'then it must be done.  That's all.'

'Arrange the procession,' cried the twenty committee-men.

Amidst the cheers of the assembled throng, the band, and the
constables, and the committee-men, and the voters, and the
horsemen, and the carriages, took their places--each of the two-
horse vehicles being closely packed with as many gentlemen as
could manage to stand upright in it; and that assigned to Mr.
Perker, containing Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass,
and about half a dozen of the committee besides.

There was a moment of awful suspense as the procession
waited for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to step into his
carriage.  Suddenly the crowd set up a great cheering.

'He has come out,' said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; the
more so as their position did not enable them to see what was
going forward.

Another cheer, much louder.

'He has shaken hands with the men,' cried the little agent.

Another cheer, far more vehement.

'He has patted the babies on the head,' said Mr. Perker,
trembling with anxiety.

A roar of applause that rent the air.

'He has kissed one of 'em!' exclaimed the delighted little man.

A second roar.

'He has kissed another,' gasped the excited manager.

A third roar.

'He's kissing 'em all!' screamed the enthusiastic little gentleman,
and hailed by the deafening shouts of the multitude, the
procession moved on.

How or by what means it became mixed up with the other
procession, and how it was ever extricated from the confusion
consequent thereupon, is more than we can undertake to 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 the
proceedings.  He describes himself as being surrounded on every
side, when he could catch a glimpse of the scene, by angry and
ferocious countenances, by a vast cloud of dust, and by a dense
crowd of combatants.  He represents himself as being forced
from the carriage by some unseen power, and being personally
engaged in a pugilistic encounter; but with whom, or how, or
why, he is wholly unable to state.  He then felt himself forced up
some wooden steps by the persons from behind; and on removing
his hat, found himself surrounded by his friends, in the very
front of the left hand side of the hustings.  The right was reserved
for the Buff party, and the centre for the mayor and his officers;
one of whom--the fat crier of Eatanswill--was ringing an
enormous bell, by way of commanding silence, while Mr.
Horatio Fizkin, and the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with their
hands upon their hearts, were bowing with the utmost affability
to the troubled sea of heads that inundated the open space in
front; and from whence arose a storm of groans, and shouts,
and yells, and hootings, that would have done honour to an earthquake.

'There's Winkle,' said Mr. Tupman, pulling his friend by the sleeve.

'Where!' said Mr. Pickwick, putting on his spectacles, which
he had fortunately kept in his pocket hitherto.
'There,' said Mr. Tupman, 'on the top of that house.'  And
there, sure enough, in the leaden gutter of a tiled roof, were
Mr. Winkle and Mrs. Pott, comfortably seated in a couple of
chairs, waving their handkerchiefs in token of recognition--a
compliment which Mr. Pickwick returned by kissing his hand to
the lady.

The proceedings had not yet commenced; and as an inactive
crowd is generally disposed to be jocose, this very innocent
action was sufficient to awaken their facetiousness.

'Oh, you wicked old rascal,' cried one voice, 'looking arter the
girls, are you?'

'Oh, you wenerable sinner,' cried another.

'Putting on his spectacles to look at a married 'ooman!' said a
third.

'I see him a-winkin' at her, with his wicked old eye,' shouted a
fourth.

'Look arter your wife, Pott,' bellowed a fifth--and then there
was a roar of laughter.

As these taunts were accompanied with invidious comparisons
between Mr. Pickwick and an aged ram, and several witticisms of
the like nature; and as they moreover rather tended to convey
reflections upon the honour of an innocent lady, Mr. Pickwick's
indignation was excessive; but as silence was proclaimed at the
moment, he contented himself by scorching the mob with a look
of pity for their misguided minds, at which they laughed more
boisterously than ever.

'Silence!' roared the mayor's attendants.

'Whiffin, proclaim silence,' said the mayor, with an air of
pomp befitting his lofty station.  In obedience to this command the
crier performed another concerto on the bell, whereupon a
gentleman in the crowd called out 'Muffins'; which occasioned
another laugh.

'Gentlemen,' said the mayor, at as loud a pitch as he could
possibly force his voice to--'gentlemen.  Brother electors of the
borough of Eatanswill.  We are met here to-day for the purpose
of choosing a representative in the room of our late--'

Here the mayor was interrupted by a voice in the crowd.

'Suc-cess to the mayor!' cried the voice, 'and may he never
desert the nail and sarspan business, as he got his money by.'

This allusion to the professional pursuits of the orator was
received 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 he thanked the
meeting for the patient attention with which they heard him
throughout--an expression of gratitude which elicited another
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 to
nominate 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
Slumkeyites groaned, so long, and so loudly, that both he and
the seconder might have sung comic songs in lieu of speaking,
without anybody's being a bit the wiser.

The friends of Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, having had their
innings, a little choleric, pink-faced man stood forward to
propose another fit and proper person to represent the electors of
Eatanswill in Parliament; and very swimmingly the pink-faced
gentleman would have got on, if he had not been rather too
choleric to entertain a sufficient perception of the fun of the
crowd.  But after a very few sentences of figurative eloquence, the
pink-faced gentleman got from denouncing those who interrupted
him in the mob, to exchanging defiances with the gentlemen
on the hustings; whereupon arose an uproar which reduced
him to the necessity of expressing his feelings by serious pantomime,
which he did, and then left the stage to his seconder, who
delivered a written speech of half an hour's length, and wouldn't
be stopped, because he had sent it all to the Eatanswill 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 the Honourable
Samuel Slumkey, commenced performing with a power to
which their strength in the morning was a trifle; in return for
which, the Buff crowd belaboured the heads and shoulders of the
Blue crowd; on which the Blue crowd endeavoured to dispossess
themselves of their very unpleasant neighbours the Buff crowd;
and a scene of struggling, and pushing, and fighting, succeeded,
to which we can no more do justice than the mayor could,
although he issued imperative orders to twelve constables to
seize the ringleaders, who might amount in number to two
hundred and fifty, or thereabouts.  At all these encounters,
Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, and his friends, waxed
fierce and furious; until at last Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin
Lodge, begged to ask his opponent, the Honourable Samuel
Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, whether that band played by his
consent; which question the Honourable Samuel Slumkey
declining to answer, Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge,
shook his fist in the countenance of the Honourable Samuel
Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall; upon which the Honourable Samuel
Slumkey, his blood being up, defied Horatio Fizkin, Esquire,
to mortal combat.  At this violation of all known rules and
precedents of order, the mayor commanded another fantasia on
the bell, and declared that he would bring before himself, both
Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, and the Honourable
Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, and bind them over to keep
the peace.  Upon this terrific denunciation, the supporters of the
two candidates interfered, and after the friends of each party had
quarrelled in pairs, for three-quarters of an hour, Horatio
Fizkin, Esquire, touched his hat to the Honourable Samuel
Slumkey; the Honourable 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 every
other respect, afforded a beautiful tribute to the merit and high
worth of the electors of Eatanswill.  Both expressed their opinion
that a more independent, a more enlightened, a more public-
spirited, a more noble-minded, a more disinterested set of men
than those who had promised to vote for him, never existed on
earth; each darkly hinted his suspicions that the electors in the
opposite interest had certain swinish and besotted infirmities
which rendered them unfit for the exercise of the important
duties they were called upon to discharge.  Fizkin expressed his
readiness to do anything he was wanted: Slumkey, his determination
to do nothing that was asked of him.  Both said that the
trade, the manufactures, the commerce, the prosperity of
Eatanswill, would ever be dearer to their hearts than any earthly
object; and each had it in his power to state, with the utmost
confidence, that he was the man who would eventually be returned.

There was a show of hands; the mayor decided in favour of the
Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall.  Horatio Fizkin,
Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, demanded a poll, and a poll was fixed
accordingly.  Then a vote of thanks was moved to the mayor for
his able conduct in the chair; and the mayor, devoutly wishing
that he had had a chair to display his able conduct in (for he had
been standing during the whole proceedings), returned thanks.
The processions reformed, the carriages rolled slowly through
the crowd, and its members screeched and shouted after them as
their feelings or caprice dictated.

During the whole time of the polling, the town was in a
perpetual fever of excitement.  Everything was conducted on the
most liberal and delightful scale.  Excisable articles were remarkably
cheap at all the public-houses; and spring vans paraded the
streets for the accommodation of voters who were seized with
any temporary dizziness in the head--an epidemic which prevailed
among the electors, during the contest, to a most alarming
extent, and under the influence of which they might frequently
be seen lying on the pavements in a state of utter insensibility.  A
small body of electors remained unpolled on the very last day.
They were calculating and reflecting persons, who had not yet
been convinced by the arguments of either party, although they
had frequent conferences with each.  One hour before the close
of the poll, Mr. Perker solicited the honour of a private interview
with these intelligent, these noble, these patriotic men.  it was
granted.  His arguments were brief but satisfactory.  They went in
a body to the poll; and when they returned, the Honourable
Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, was returned also.



CHAPTER XIV
COMPRISING A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE COMPANY
  AT THE PEACOCK ASSEMBLED; AND A TALE TOLD BY A
  BAGMAN


It is pleasant to turn from contemplating the strife and
turmoil of 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,
to apply his whole time and attention to the proceedings, of
which the last chapter affords a description compiled from his
own memoranda.  Nor while he was thus occupied was Mr.
Winkle idle, his whole time being devoted to pleasant walks and
short country excursions with Mrs. Pott, who never failed, when
such an opportunity presented itself, to seek some relief from the
tedious monotony she so constantly complained of.  The two
gentlemen being thus completely domesticated in the editor's
house, Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were in a great measure
cast upon their own resources.  Taking but little interest in public
affairs, they beguiled their time chiefly with such amusements as
the Peacock afforded, which were limited to a bagatelle-board in
the first floor, and a sequestered skittle-ground in the back yard.
In the science and nicety of both these recreations, which are far
more abstruse than ordinary men suppose, they were gradually
initiated by Mr. Weller, who possessed a perfect knowledge of
such pastimes.  Thus, notwithstanding that they were in a great
measure deprived of the comfort and advantage of Mr. Pickwick's
society, they were still enabled to beguile the time, and to
prevent its hanging heavily on their hands.

It was in the evening, however, that the Peacock presented
attractions which enabled the two friends to resist even the
invitations of the gifted, though prosy, Pott.  It was in the evening
that the 'commercial room' was filled with a social circle, whose
characters and manners it was the delight of Mr. Tupman to
observe; whose sayings and doings it was the habit of Mr.
Snodgrass to note down.

Most people know what sort of places commercial rooms
usually are.  That of the Peacock differed in no material respect
from the generality of such apartments; that is to say, it was a
large, bare-looking room, the furniture of which had no doubt
been better when it was newer, with a spacious table in the centre,
and a variety of smaller dittos in the corners; an extensive
assortment 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 several weather-beaten rough greatcoats, with
complicated capes, dangled from a long row of pegs in one
corner.  The mantel-shelf was ornamented with a wooden inkstand,
containing one stump of a pen and half a wafer; a road-
book and directory; a county history minus the cover; and the
mortal remains of a trout in a glass coffin.  The atmosphere was
redolent of tobacco-smoke, the fumes of which had communicated
a rather dingy hue to the whole room, and more especially
to the dusty red curtains which shaded the windows.  On the
sideboard a variety of miscellaneous articles were huddled
together, the most conspicuous of which were some very cloudy
fish-sauce cruets, a couple of driving-boxes, two or three whips,
and as many travelling shawls, a tray of knives and forks, and
the mustard.

Here it was that Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were seated
on the evening after the conclusion of the election, with several
other temporary inmates of the house, smoking and drinking.

'Well, gents,' said a stout, hale personage of about forty, with
only one eye--a very bright black eye, which twinkled with a
roguish expression of fun and good-humour, 'our noble selves,
gents.  I always propose that toast to the company, and drink
Mary to 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 as
she left the room.  'I'll step out by and by, Mary.  Keep your
spirits up, dear.'  Here he went through the not very difficult
process of winking upon the company with his solitary eye, to
the enthusiastic delight of an elderly personage with a dirty face
and a clay pipe.

'Rum creeters is women,' said the dirty-faced man, after a pause.

'Ah! no mistake about that,' said a very red-faced man,
behind a cigar.

After this little bit of philosophy there was another pause.

'There's rummer things than women in this world though,
mind you,' said the man with the black eye, slowly filling a large
Dutch pipe, 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 of
mirth at his own retort, in which he was joined by a man of
bland voice and placid countenance, who always made it a point
to agree with 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-faced man.

'And that's very true,' said the placid one.

'I repudiate that qualification,' said Mr. Snodgrass, whose
thoughts were fast reverting to Emily Wardle.  'I repudiate it
with disdain--with indignation.  Show me the man who says
anything against women, as women, and I boldly declare he is
not a man.'  And Mr. Snodgrass took his cigar from his mouth,
and struck the table violently with his clenched fist.

'That's good sound argument,' said the placid man.

'Containing a position which I deny,' interrupted he of the
dirty countenance.

'And there's certainly a very great deal of truth in what you
observe 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 argument
about women brought to my mind a story I have heard an
old uncle of mine tell, the recollection of which, just now, made
me say there were rummer things than women to be met with, sometimes.'

'I should like to hear that same story,' said the red-faced man
with the cigar.

'Should you?' was the only reply of the bagman, who
continued to smoke with great vehemence.

'So should I,' said Mr. Tupman, speaking for the first time.
He was always anxious to increase his stock of experience.

'Should YOU?  Well then, I'll tell it.  No, I won't.  I know you
won't believe it,' said the man with the roguish eye, making that
organ look 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 the
traveller.  'Did you ever hear of the great commercial house of
Bilson & Slum?  But it doesn't matter though, whether you did or
not, because they retired from business long since.  It's eighty
years ago, since the circumstance happened to a traveller for
that house, but he was a particular friend of my uncle's; and
my uncle told the story to me.  It's a queer name; but he used to
call it


  THE BAGMAN'S STORY

and he used to tell it, something in this way.


'One winter's evening, about five o'clock, just as it began to
grow dusk, a man in a gig might have been seen urging his tired
horse along the road which leads across Marlborough Downs, in
the direction of Bristol.  I say he might have been seen, and I have
no doubt he would have been, if anybody but a blind man had
happened to pass that way; but the weather was so bad, and the
night so cold and wet, that nothing was out but the water, and
so the traveller jogged along in the middle of the road, lonesome
and dreary enough.  If any bagman of that day could have caught
sight of the little neck-or-nothing sort of gig, with a clay-
coloured body and red wheels, and the vixenish, ill tempered,
fast-going bay mare, that looked like a cross between a butcher's
horse and a twopenny post-office pony, he would have known at
once, that this traveller could have been no other than Tom
Smart, of the great house of Bilson and Slum, Cateaton Street,
City.  However, as there was no bagman to look on, nobody
knew anything at all about the matter; and so Tom Smart and
his clay-coloured gig with the red wheels, and the vixenish mare
with the fast pace, went on together, keeping the secret among
them, and nobody was 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
in beside, a gloomy winter's evening, a miry and sloppy road, and
a pelting fall of heavy rain, and try the effect, by way of experiment,
in your own proper person, you will experience the full
force of this observation.

'The wind blew--not up the road or down it, though that's
bad enough, but sheer across it, sending the rain slanting down
like the lines they used to rule in the copy-books at school, to
make the boys slope well.  For a moment it would die away, and
the traveller would begin to delude himself into the belief that,
exhausted with its previous fury, it had quietly laid itself down
to rest, when, whoo! he could hear it growling and whistling in
the distance, and on it would come rushing over the hill-tops, and
sweeping along the plain, gathering sound and strength as it
drew nearer, until it dashed with a heavy gust against horse and
man, driving the sharp rain 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 the consciousness of its own strength and power.

'The bay mare splashed away, through the mud and water,
with drooping ears; now and then tossing her head as if to
express her disgust at this very ungentlemanly behaviour of the
elements, but keeping a good pace notwithstanding, until a gust
of wind, more furious than any that had yet assailed them,
caused her to stop suddenly and plant her four feet firmly against
the ground, to prevent her being blown over.  It's a special mercy
that she did this, 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 into the bargain, that they must infallibly have all
gone rolling over and over together, until they reached the
confines of earth, or until the wind fell; and in either case the
probability is, that neither the vixenish mare, nor the clay-
coloured gig with the red wheels, nor Tom Smart, would ever
have been fit for service again.

'"Well, damn my straps and whiskers," says Tom Smart
(Tom sometimes had an unpleasant knack of swearing)--
"damn my straps and whiskers," says Tom, "if this ain't
pleasant, blow me!"

'You'll very likely ask me why, as Tom Smart had been pretty
well blown already, he expressed this wish to be submitted to the
same process again.  I can't say--all I know is, that Tom Smart
said so--or at least he always told my uncle he said so, and it's
just the same thing.

"'Blow me," says Tom Smart; and the mare neighed as if she
were precisely of the same opinion.

"'Cheer up, old girl," said Tom, patting the bay mare on the
neck with the end of his whip.  "It won't do pushing on, such a
night as this; the first house we come to we'll put up at, so the
faster you go the sooner it's over.  Soho, old girl--gently--gently."

'Whether the vixenish mare was sufficiently well acquainted
with the tones of Tom's voice to comprehend his meaning, or
whether she found it colder standing still than moving on, of
course I can't say.  But I can say that Tom had no sooner finished
speaking, than she pricked up her ears, and started forward at a
speed which made the clay-coloured gig rattle until you would
have supposed every one of the red spokes were going to fly out
on the turf of Marlborough Downs; and even Tom, whip as he
was, couldn't stop or check her pace, until she drew up of her
own accord, 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 he
threw the reins to the hostler, and stuck the whip in the box.  It
was a strange old place, built of a kind of shingle, inlaid, as it
were, with cross-beams, with gabled-topped windows projecting
completely over the pathway, and a low door with a dark porch,
and a couple of steep steps leading down into the house, instead
of the modern fashion of half a dozen shallow ones leading up to
it.  It was a comfortable-looking place though, for there was a
strong, cheerful light in the bar window, which shed a bright ray
across the road, and even lighted up the hedge on the other side;
and there was a red flickering light in the opposite window, one
moment but faintly discernible, and the next gleaming strongly
through the drawn curtains, which intimated that a rousing fire
was blazing within.  Marking these little evidences with the eye of
an experienced traveller, Tom dismounted with as much agility
as his half-frozen limbs would permit, and entered the house.

'In less than five minutes' time, Tom was ensconced in the
room opposite the bar--the very room where he had imagined
the fire blazing--before a substantial, matter-of-fact, roaring
fire, composed of something short of a bushel of coals, and wood
enough to make half a dozen decent gooseberry bushes, piled
half-way up the chimney, and roaring and crackling with a
sound that of itself would have warmed the heart of any reasonable
man.  This was comfortable, but this was not all; for a
smartly-dressed girl, with a bright eye and a neat ankle, was
laying a very clean white cloth on the table; and as Tom sat with
his slippered feet on the fender, and his back to the open door, he
saw a charming prospect of the bar reflected in the glass over the
chimney-piece, with delightful rows of green bottles and gold
labels, together with jars of pickles and preserves, and cheeses
and boiled hams, and rounds of beef, arranged on shelves in the
most tempting and delicious array.  Well, this was comfortable
too; but even this was not all--for in the bar, seated at tea at the
nicest possible little table, drawn close up before the brightest
possible little fire, was a buxom widow of somewhere about
eight-and-forty or thereabouts, with a face as comfortable as the
bar, who was evidently the landlady of the house, and the
supreme ruler over all these agreeable possessions.  There was
only one drawback to the beauty of the whole picture, and that
was a tall man--a very tall man--in a brown coat and bright
basket buttons, and black whiskers and wavy black hair, who
was seated at tea with the widow, and who it required no great
penetration to discover was in a fair way of persuading her to be
a widow no longer, but to confer upon him the privilege of
sitting down in that bar, for and during the whole remainder of
the term of his natural life.

'Tom Smart was by no means of an irritable or envious
disposition, but somehow or other the tall man with the brown
coat and the bright basket buttons did rouse what little gall he
had in his composition, and did make him feel extremely indignant,
the more especially as he could now and then observe, from
his seat before the glass, certain little affectionate familiarities
passing between the tall man and the widow, which sufficiently
denoted that the tall man was as high in favour as he was in size.
Tom was fond of hot punch--I may venture to say he was VERY
fond of hot punch--and after he had seen the vixenish mare well
fed and well littered down, and had eaten every bit of the nice
little hot dinner which the widow tossed up for him with her
own hands, he just ordered a tumbler of it by way of experiment.
Now, if there was one thing in the whole range of domestic art,
which the widow could manufacture better than another, it was
this identical article; and the first tumbler was adapted to Tom
Smart's taste with such peculiar nicety, that he ordered a second
with the least possible delay.  Hot punch is a pleasant thing,
gentlemen--an extremely pleasant thing under any circumstances
--but in that snug old parlour, before the roaring fire, with the
wind blowing outside till every timber in the old house creaked
again, Tom Smart found it perfectly delightful.  He ordered
another tumbler, and then another--I am not quite certain
whether he didn't order another after that--but the more he
drank of the hot punch, the more he thought of the tall man.

'"Confound his impudence!" said Tom to himself, "what
business has he in that snug bar?  Such an ugly villain too!" said
Tom.  "If the widow had any taste, she might surely pick up some
better fellow than that."  Here Tom's eye wandered from the glass
on the chimney-piece to the glass on the table; and as he felt
himself becoming gradually sentimental, he emptied the fourth
tumbler of punch and ordered a fifth.

'Tom Smart, gentlemen, had always been very much attached
to the public line.  It had been long his ambition to stand in a bar
of his own, in a green coat, knee-cords, and tops.  He had a great
notion of taking the chair at convivial dinners, and he had often
thought how well he could preside in a room of his own in the
talking way, and what a capital example he could set to his
customers in the drinking department.  All these things passed
rapidly through Tom's mind as he sat drinking the hot punch by
the roaring fire, and he felt very justly and properly indignant
that the tall man should be in a fair way of keeping such an
excellent house, while he, Tom Smart, was as far off from it as
ever.  So, after deliberating over the two last tumblers, whether he
hadn't a perfect right to pick a quarrel with the tall man for
having contrived to get into the good graces of the buxom widow,
Tom Smart at last arrived at the satisfactory conclusion that he
was a very 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 the
currents of air which in such a rambling old place might have
found plenty of room to disport themselves in, without blowing
the candle out, but which did blow it out nevertheless--thus
affording Tom's enemies an opportunity of asserting that it was
he, and not the wind, who extinguished the candle, and that
while he pretended to be blowing it alight again, he was in fact
kissing the girl.  Be this as it may, another light was obtained, and
Tom was conducted 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 which
might have served for a whole boarding-school, to say nothing of
a couple of oaken presses that would have held the baggage of a
small army; but what struck Tom's fancy most was a strange,
grim-looking, high backed chair, carved in the most fantastic
manner, with a flowered damask cushion, and the round knobs
at the bottom of the legs carefully tied up in red cloth, as if it
had got the gout in its toes.  Of any other queer chair, Tom would
only have thought it was a queer chair, and there would have
been an end of the matter; but there was something about this
particular chair, and yet he couldn't tell what it was, so odd and
so unlike any other piece of furniture he had ever seen, that it
seemed to fascinate him.  He sat down before the fire, and stared
at the old chair for half an hour.--Damn the chair, it was such
a strange old thing, he couldn't take his eyes off it.

"'Well," said Tom, slowly undressing himself, and staring at
the old chair all the while, which stood with a mysterious aspect
by the bedside, "I never saw such a rum concern as that in my
days.  Very odd," 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 it though, so he got into bed, covered himself up
warm, and fell asleep.

'In about half an hour, Tom woke up with a start, from a
confused dream of tall men and tumblers of punch; and the first
object that presented itself to his waking imagination was the
queer chair.

'"I won't look at it any more," said Tom to himself, and he
squeezed his eyelids together, and tried to persuade himself he
was going to sleep again.  No use; nothing but queer chairs
danced before his eyes, kicking up their legs, jumping over each
other's backs, and playing all kinds of antics.

"'I may as well see one real chair, as two or three complete
sets of false ones," said Tom, bringing out his head from under
the bedclothes.  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
most extraordinary change seemed to come over it.  The carving
of the back 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 a very 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 was winking at Tom Smart.

'Tom was naturally a headlong, careless sort of dog, and he
had had five tumblers of hot punch into the bargain; so, although
he was a little startled at first, he began to grow rather indignant
when he saw the old gentleman winking and leering at him with
such an impudent air.  At length he resolved that he wouldn't
stand 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 old
gentleman, whichever you like to call him.  He stopped winking
though, when Tom spoke, and began grinning like a
superannuated monkey.

'"How do you know my name, old nut-cracker face?"
inquired Tom Smart, rather staggered; though he pretended to
carry it off so well.

'"Come, come, Tom," said the old gentleman, "that's not the
way to address solid Spanish mahogany.  Damme, you couldn't
treat me with less respect if I was veneered."  When the old
gentleman said this, he looked so fierce that Tom began to
grow frightened.

'"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
very poor, Tom."

'"I certainly am," said Tom Smart.  "But how came you to
know that?"

'"Never mind that," said the old gentleman; "you're much
too fond of punch, Tom."

'Tom Smart was just on the point of protesting that he hadn't
tasted a drop since his last birthday, but when his eye encountered
that 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
screwed up his eyes, cocked up one of his wasted little legs, and
looked altogether so unpleasantly amorous, that Tom was quite
disgusted with the levity of his behaviour--at his time of life, too!
'"I am her guardian, Tom," said the old gentleman.

'"Are you?" inquired Tom Smart.

'"I knew her mother, Tom," said the old fellow: "and her
grandmother.  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
red cloth mufflers; "but don't mention it, Tom.  I shouldn't like to
have it known that she was so much attached to me.  It might
occasion some unpleasantness in the family."  When the old
rascal said this, he looked so extremely impertinent, that, as
Tom Smart afterwards 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
women have sat in my lap for hours together.  What do you think
of that, you dog, eh!" The old gentleman was proceeding to
recount some other exploits of his youth, when he was seized
with such a violent fit of creaking that he was unable to proceed.

'"Just serves you right, old boy," thought Tom Smart; but he
didn't say anything.

'"Ah!" said the old fellow, "I am a good deal troubled with
this now.  I am getting old, Tom, and have lost nearly all my rails.
I have had an operation performed, too--a small piece let into
my back--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 scattered
horse-hairs left)--"bless your reverend locks, she wouldn't have
me."  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
tall man--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.  "I know 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 about these things, is very unpleasant--nothing
more so.

'"I know all about that, Tom," said the old gentleman.  "I
have seen it done very often in my time, Tom, between more
people than I should like to mention to you; but it never came to
anything after all."

'"You must have seen some queer things," said Tom, with an
inquisitive look.

'"You may say that, Tom," replied the old fellow, with a very
complicated wink.  "I am the last of my family, Tom," said the
old gentleman, 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 of your modern abortions--all with arms, and with a
degree of polish, though I say it that should not, which it would
have done your 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
all my constitution.  They got rheumatic about the legs and arms,
and went into kitchens and other hospitals; and one of 'em, with
long service and hard usage, positively lost his senses--he got
so crazy that he was obliged to be burnt.  Shocking thing that, Tom."

'"Dreadful!" said Tom Smart.

'The old fellow paused for a few minutes, apparently struggling
with 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 be the consequence?  She would be deserted and reduced
to ruin, and I should catch my death of cold in some broker's shop."

'"Yes, but--"

'"Don't interrupt me," said the old gentleman.  "Of you, Tom,
I entertain a very different opinion; for I well know that if you
once settled yourself in a public-house, you would never leave it,
as long as 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 already married."

'"How can I prove it?" said Tom, starting half out of bed.

'The old gentleman untucked his arm from his side, and having
pointed to one of the oaken presses, immediately replaced it, in
its old 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--mark
me, Tom--six babes, and all of them small ones."

'As the old gentleman solemnly uttered these words, his
features grew less and less distinct, and his figure more shadowy.
A film came over Tom Smart's eyes.  The old man seemed
gradually blending into the chair, the damask waistcoat to
resolve into a cushion, the red slippers to shrink into little red
cloth bags.  The light faded gently away, and Tom Smart fell
back on his pillow, and dropped asleep.

'Morning aroused Tom from the lethargic slumber, into
which he had fallen on the disappearance of the old man.  He sat
up in bed, and for some minutes vainly endeavoured to recall the
events of the preceding night.  Suddenly they rushed upon him.
He looked at the chair; it was a fantastic and grim-looking piece
of furniture, certainly, but it must have been a remarkably
ingenious and lively imagination, that could have discovered any
resemblance between it and an old man.

'"How are you, old boy?" said Tom.  He was bolder in the
daylight--most men are.

'The chair remained motionless, and spoke not a word.

'"Miserable morning," said Tom.  No.  The chair would not be
drawn into conversation.

'"Which press did you point to?--you can tell me that," said
Tom.  Devil a word, gentlemen, the chair would say.

'"It's not much trouble to open it, anyhow," said Tom,
getting out 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.  There was a pair of trousers there.  He put his hand into the
pocket, and drew forth the identical letter the old gentleman
had described!

'"Queer sort of thing, this," said Tom Smart, looking first at
the chair and then at the press, and then at the letter, and then at
the chair again.  "Very queer," said Tom.  But, as there was
nothing in either, to lessen the queerness, he thought he might as
well dress himself, and settle the tall man's business at once--
just to put him out of his misery.

'Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on his way
downstairs, with the scrutinising eye of a landlord; thinking it
not impossible, that before long, they and their contents would
be his property.  The tall man was standing in the snug little
bar, with his hands behind him, quite at home.  He grinned
vacantly at Tom.  A casual observer might have supposed he did
it, only to show his white teeth; but Tom Smart thought that a
consciousness of triumph was passing through the place where
the tall man's mind would have been, if he had had any.  Tom
laughed in his face; and summoned the landlady.

'"Good-morning ma'am," said Tom Smart, closing the door
of the little parlour as the widow entered.

'"Good-morning, Sir," said the widow.  "What will you take
for breakfast, sir?"

'Tom was thinking how he should open the case, so he made
no answer.

'"There's a very nice ham," said the widow, "and a beautiful
cold larded fowl.  Shall I send 'em in, Sir?"

'These words roused Tom from his reflections.  His admiration
of 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
nice gentleman."

'"Ah!" said Tom.

'"Is there anything more you want, Sir?" inquired the widow,
rather puzzled by Tom's manner.
'"Why, yes," said Tom.  "My dear ma'am, will you have the
kindness to sit down for one moment?"

'The widow looked much amazed, but she sat down, and Tom
sat down too, close beside her.  I don't know how it happened,
gentlemen--indeed my uncle used to tell me that Tom Smart said
he didn't know how it happened either--but somehow or other
the palm of Tom's hand fell upon the back of the widow's hand,
and remained there while he spoke.

'"My dear ma'am," said Tom Smart--he had always a great
notion of committing the amiable--"my dear ma'am, you
deserve a very excellent husband--you do indeed."

'"Lor, Sir!" said the widow--as well she might; Tom's mode
of commencing the conversation being rather unusual, not to
say startling; the fact of his never having set eyes upon her
before the previous night being taken into consideration.  "Lor, Sir!"

'"I scorn to flatter, my dear ma'am," said Tom Smart.  "You
deserve a very admirable husband, and whoever he is, he'll be a
very lucky man."  As Tom said this, his eye involuntarily wandered
from the widow's face to the comfort around him.

'The widow looked more puzzled than ever, and made an effort
to rise.  Tom gently pressed her hand, as if to detain her, and she
kept her seat.  Widows, gentlemen, are not usually timorous, as
my uncle used to say.

'"I am sure I am very much obliged to you, Sir, for your good
opinion," said the buxom landlady, half laughing; "and if ever I
marry 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 of
him," said the widow, bridling up at the mysterious air with
which Tom had spoken.

'"Hem!" said Tom Smart.

'The widow began to think it was high time to cry, so she took
out her handkerchief, and inquired whether Tom wished to
insult her, whether he thought it like a gentleman to take away
the character of another gentleman behind his back, why, if he
had got anything to say, he didn't say it to the man, like a man,
instead of 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
to hear it first."

'"What is it?" inquired the widow, looking intently in Tom's
countenance.

'"I'll astonish you," said Tom, putting his hand in his pocket.

'"If it is, that he wants money," said the widow, "I know that
already, and you needn't trouble yourself."
'"Pooh, nonsense, that's nothing," said Tom Smart, "I want
money.  'Tain't that."

'"Oh, dear, what can it be?" exclaimed the poor widow.

'"Don't be frightened," said Tom Smart.  He slowly drew
forth the letter, and unfolded it.  "You won't scream?" said Tom
doubtfully.

'"No, no," replied the widow; "let me see it."

'"You won't go fainting away, or any of that nonsense?"
said Tom.

'"No, no," returned the widow hastily.

'"And don't run out, and blow him up," said Tom; "because
I'll do 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 placed
the letter in the widow's hand.

'Gentlemen, I have heard my uncle say, that Tom Smart said
the widow's lamentations when she heard the disclosure would
have pierced a heart of stone.  Tom was certainly very tender-
hearted, but they pierced his, to the very core.  The widow rocked
herself 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
Tom Smart.

'"Oh, I can't compose myself," shrieked the widow.  "I shall
never find anyone else I can love so much!"

'"Oh, yes you will, my dear soul," said Tom Smart, letting fall
a shower of the largest-sized tears, in pity for the widow's
misfortunes.  Tom Smart, in the energy of his compassion, had
put his arm round the widow's waist; and the widow, in a passion
of grief, had clasped Tom's hand.  She looked up in Tom's face,
and smiled through her tears.  Tom looked down in hers, and
smiled through his.

'I never could find out, gentlemen, whether Tom did or did not
kiss the widow at that particular moment.  He used to tell my
uncle he 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 front
door half an hour later, and married the widow a month after.
And he used to drive about the country, with the clay-coloured
gig with the red wheels, and the vixenish mare with the fast pace,
till he gave up business many years afterwards, and went to
France with his wife; and then the old house was pulled down.'


'Will you allow me to ask you,' said the inquisitive old gentleman,
'what became of the chair?'

'Why,' replied the one-eyed bagman, 'it was observed to creak
very much on the day of the wedding; but Tom Smart couldn't
say for certain whether it was with pleasure or bodily infirmity.
He rather thought it was the latter, though, for it never spoke
afterwards.'

'Everybody believed the story, didn't they?' said the dirty-
faced man, refilling his pipe.

'Except Tom's enemies,' replied the bagman.  'Some of 'em
said Tom invented it altogether; and others said he was drunk
and fancied it, and got hold of the wrong trousers by mistake
before he went 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 the
dirty-faced man.

'Yes, they were,' replied the bagman; 'very nice men indeed!'



CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH IS GIVEN A FAITHFUL PORTRAITURE OF TWO
  DISTINGUISHED PERSONS; AND AN ACCURATE DESCRIPTION
  OF A PUBLIC BREAKFAST IN THEIR HOUSE AND GROUNDS:
  WHICH PUBLIC BREAKFAST LEADS TO THE RECOGNITION
  OF AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, AND THE COMMENCEMENT OF
  ANOTHER CHAPTER


Mr. Pickwick's conscience had been somewhat reproaching him for
his recent neglect of his friends at the Peacock; and he was just
on the point of walking forth in quest of them, on the third morning
after the election had terminated, when his faithful valet put into
his hand a card, on which 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's
private secretary said ven he fetched avay Doctor Faustus,'
replied Mr. 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,
than not see you.'

Mr. Pickwick, on hearing this determination, descended to the
drawing-room, where sat a grave man, who started up on his
entrance, 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 extended hand, and then continued--

'We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of your antiquarian
discussion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Hunter--
my wife, sir; I am Mr. Leo Hunter'--the stranger paused, as if he
expected that Mr. Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure;
but seeing that he remained perfectly calm, proceeded--

'My wife, sir--Mrs. Leo Hunter--is proud to number among
her acquaintance all those who have rendered themselves celebrated
by their works and talents.  Permit me, sir, to place in a conspicuous
part of the list the name of Mr. Pickwick, and his brother-members of
the club that derives its name from him.'

'I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of such
a lady, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'You SHALL make it, sir,' said the grave man.  'To-morrow
morning, sir, we give a public breakfast--a FETE CHAMPETRE--to a
great number of those who have rendered themselves celebrated
by their works and talents.  Permit Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir, to have
the gratification of seeing you at the Den.'

'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, Sir,' resumed
the new acquaintance--'"feasts of reason," sir, "and flows of
soul," as somebody who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on
her breakfasts, 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's
acquaintances are; it is her ambition, sir, to have no other
acquaintance.'

'It is a very noble ambition,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell from
your lips, sir, she will indeed be proud,' said the grave man.  'You
have a gentleman in your train, who has produced some beautiful
little poems, I think, sir.'

'My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry,' replied
Mr. Pickwick.

'So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir.  She dotes on poetry, sir. She
adores 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 Expiring
Frog," sir.'

'I don't think I have,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'You astonish me, Sir,' said Mr. Leo Hunter.  'It created an
immense sensation.  It was signed with an "L" and eight stars, and
appeared originally in a lady's magazine.  It commenced--

     '"Can I view thee panting, lying
     On thy stomach, without sighing;
     Can I unmoved see thee dying
       On a log
       Expiring 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 DEJEUNE.'

'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, glancing at his own figure--'I
can'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 your selection.  Plato, Zeno, Epicurus, Pythagoras--all
founders of clubs.'

'I know that,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but as I cannot put myself
in competition with those great men, I cannot presume to wear
their dresses.'

The grave man considered deeply, for a few seconds, and then said--

'On reflection, Sir, I don't know whether it would not afford
Mrs. Leo Hunter greater pleasure, if her guests saw a gentleman
of your celebrity in his own costume, rather than in an assumed
one.  I may venture to promise an exception in your case, sir--
yes, I am quite certain that, on behalf of Mrs. Leo Hunter, I may
venture to do so.'

'In that case,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I shall have great pleasure
in coming.'

'But I waste your time, Sir,' said the grave man, as if suddenly
recollecting himself.  'I know its value, sir.  I will not detain you.
I may tell Mrs. Leo Hunter, then, that she may confidently
expect you and your distinguished friends?  Good-morning,
Sir, I am proud to have beheld so eminent a personage--not a
step sir; not a word.'  And without giving Mr. Pickwick time to
offer remonstrance or denial, Mr. Leo Hunter stalked gravely away.

Mr. Pickwick took up his hat, and repaired to the Peacock,
but Mr. Winkle had conveyed the intelligence of the fancy-ball
there, before him.

'Mrs. Pott's going,' were the first words with which he saluted
his 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 gold spangles.'

'They'll hardly know what she's meant for; will they?' inquired
Mr. Snodgrass.

'Of course they will,' replied Mr. Winkle indignantly.  'They'll
see 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
solemn sternness at his friend--'you don't mean to say, Mr.
Tupman, that it is your intention to put yourself into a green
velvet jacket, with a two-inch tail?'

'Such IS my intention, Sir,' replied Mr. Tupman warmly.  'And
why 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,' continued
Mr. 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 the
insult to you, that your appearance in my presence in a green
velvet 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 a
focus by means of his spectacles, and breathed a bold defiance.
Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle looked on, petrified at beholding
such 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,
speaking in a voice tremulous with emotion, and tucking up his
wristbands meanwhile, 'is great--very great--but upon that
person, I must take summary vengeance.'

'Come on, Sir!' replied Mr. Pickwick.  Stimulated by the
exciting nature of the dialogue, the heroic man actually threw
himself into a paralytic attitude, confidently supposed by the two
bystanders to have been intended as a posture of defence.

'What!' exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, suddenly recovering the
power of speech, of which intense astonishment had previously
bereft him, and rushing between the two, at the imminent hazard
of 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
his young friend spoke, like the marks of a black-lead pencil
beneath the softening influence of india-rubber.  His countenance
had resumed 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
warmly grasped the hand of his friend.

'I have been hasty, too,' said he.

'No, no,' interrupted Mr. Pickwick, 'the fault was mine.  You
will wear 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, and
Mr. Snodgrass, should all wear fancy-dresses.  Thus Mr. Pickwick
was led by the very warmth of his own good feelings to give his
consent to a proceeding from which his better judgment would
have recoiled--a more striking illustration of his amiable
character could hardly have been conceived, even if the events
recorded 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--
not strictly classical perhaps, not quite new, nor did it contain
any one garment made precisely after the fashion of any age or
time, but everything was more or less spangled; and what can be
prettier than spangles!  It may be objected that they are not
adapted to the daylight, but everybody knows that they would
glitter if there were lamps; 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 as they would by night, the fault lies solely
with the people who give the fancy-balls, and is in no wise
chargeable on the spangles.  Such was the convincing reasoning
of Mr. Solomon Lucas; and influenced by such arguments did
Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass engage
to array themselves in costumes which his taste and experience
induced him to recommend as admirably suited to the occasion.

A carriage was hired from the Town Arms, for the accommodation
of the Pickwickians, and a chariot was ordered from
the same repository, for the purpose of conveying Mr. and Mrs.
Pott to Mrs. Leo Hunter's grounds, which Mr. Pott, as a delicate
acknowledgment of having received an invitation, had already
confidently predicted in the Eatanswill GAZETTE 'would present a
scene of varied and delicious enchantment--a bewildering
coruscation of beauty and talent--a lavish and prodigal display
of hospitality--above all, a degree of splendour softened by the
most exquisite taste; and adornment refined with perfect
harmony and the chastest good keeping--compared with
which, the fabled gorgeousness of Eastern fairyland itself would
appear to be clothed in as many dark and murky colours, as
must be the mind of the splenetic and unmanly being who could
presume to taint with the venom of his envy, the preparations
made by the virtuous and highly distinguished lady at whose
shrine this humble tribute of admiration was offered.'  This
last was a piece of biting sarcasm against the INDEPENDENT,
who, in consequence of not having been invited at all, had
been, through four numbers, affecting to sneer at the whole
affair, in his very largest 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,
sitting like a pincushion over his back and shoulders, the upper
portion of his legs incased in the velvet shorts, and the lower part
thereof swathed in the complicated bandages to which all
brigands are peculiarly attached.  It was pleasing to see his open
and ingenuous countenance, well mustachioed and corked,
looking out from an open shirt collar; and to contemplate the
sugar-loaf hat, decorated with ribbons of all colours, which he
was compelled to carry on his knee, inasmuch as no known
conveyance with a top to it, would admit 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 and shoes, and Grecian helmet, which
everybody knows (and if they do not, Mr. Solomon Lucas did)
to have been the regular, authentic, everyday costume of a
troubadour, from the earliest ages down to the time of their
final disappearance from the face of the earth.  All this was
pleasant, but this was as nothing compared with the shouting
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 accoutred as a Russian officer
of justice, with a tremendous knout in his hand--tastefully typical of
the stern and mighty power of the Eatanswill GAZETTE, and the fearful
lashings it bestowed on public offenders.

'Bravo!' shouted Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from the
passage, 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
sufficiently testified that he felt his power, and knew how to
exert it, got into the chariot.

Then there emerged from the house, Mrs. Pott, who would
have looked very like Apollo if she hadn't had a gown on,
conducted by Mr. Winkle, who, in his light-red coat could not
possibly have been mistaken for anything but a sportsman, if he
had not borne an equal resemblance to a general postman.  Last
of all came Mr. Pickwick, whom the boys applauded as loud as
anybody, probably under the impression that his tights and
gaiters were some remnants of the dark ages; and then the two
vehicles proceeded towards Mrs. Leo Hunter's; Mr. Weller
(who was to assist in waiting) being stationed on the box of that
in which his master was seated.

Every one of the men, women, boys, girls, and babies, who
were assembled to see the visitors in their fancy-dresses, screamed
with delight and ecstasy, when Mr. Pickwick, with the brigand
on one arm, and the troubadour on the other, walked solemnly
up the entrance.  Never were such shouts heard as those which
greeted Mr. Tupman's efforts to fix the sugar-loaf hat on his
head, by way of entering the garden in style.

The preparations were on the most delightful scale; fully
realising the prophetic Pott's anticipations about the gorgeousness
of Eastern fairyland, and at once affording a sufficient
contradiction to the malignant statements of the reptile INDEPENDENT.
The grounds were more than an acre and a quarter in
extent, and they were filled with people!  Never was such a blaze
of beauty, and fashion, and literature.  There was the young lady
who 'did' the poetry in the Eatanswill GAZETTE, in the garb of a
sultana, leaning upon the arm of the young gentleman who 'did'
the review department, and who was appropriately habited in a
field-marshal's uniform--the boots excepted.  There were hosts of
these geniuses, and any reasonable person would have thought it
honour enough to meet them.  But more than these, there were
half a dozen lions from London--authors, real authors, who had
written whole books, and printed them afterwards--and here
you might see 'em, walking about, like ordinary men, smiling,
and talking--aye, and talking pretty considerable nonsense too,
no doubt with the benign intention of rendering themselves
intelligible to the common people about them.  Moreover, there
was a band of music in pasteboard caps; four something-ean
singers in the costume of their country, and a dozen hired
waiters in the costume of THEIR country--and very dirty costume
too.  And above all, there was Mrs. Leo Hunter in the character
of Minerva, receiving the company, and overflowing with pride
and gratification at the notion of having called such distinguished
individuals together.

'Mr. Pickwick, ma'am,' said a servant, as that gentleman
approached the presiding goddess, with his hat in his hand, and
the brigand and troubadour on either arm.

'What!  Where!' exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, starting up, in
an affected rapture of surprise.

'Here,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Is it possible that I have really the gratification of beholding
Mr. 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."'
Very few people but those who have tried it, know what a
difficult process it is to bow in green velvet smalls, and a tight
jacket, and high-crowned hat; or in blue satin trunks and white
silks, or knee-cords and top-boots that were never made for
the wearer, and have been fixed upon him without the
remotest reference to the comparative dimensions of himself and
the suit.  Never were such distortions as Mr. Tupman's frame
underwent in his efforts to appear easy and graceful--never
was such ingenious posturing, as his fancy-dressed friends exhibited.

'Mr. Pickwick,' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, 'I must make you
promise not to stir from my side the whole day.  There are
hundreds of people 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
forgotten them,' said Minerva, carelessly pointing towards a couple
of full-grown young ladies, of whom one might be about twenty,
and the other a year or two older, and who were dressed in
very juvenile costumes--whether to make them look young,
or their mamma younger, Mr. Pickwick does not distinctly
inform us.

'They are very beautiful,' said Mr. Pickwick, as the juveniles
turned away, after being presented.

'They are very like their mamma, Sir,' said Mr. Pott, majestically.

'Oh, you naughty man,' exclaimed Mrs. Leo Hunter, playfully
tapping the editor's arm with her fan (Minerva with a fan!).

'Why now, my dear Mrs. Hunter,' said Mr. Pott, who was
trumpeter in ordinary at the Den, 'you know that when your
picture was in the exhibition of the Royal Academy, last year,
everybody inquired whether it was intended for you, or your
youngest daughter; for you were so much alike that there was no
telling 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 slumbering
lion of the Eatanswill GAZETTE.

'Count, count,' screamed Mrs. Leo Hunter to a well-whiskered
individual 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,' said
Mrs. Leo Hunter.  'Mr. Pickwick, I have great pleasure in
introducing you to Count Smorltork.'  She added in a hurried
whisper to Mr. Pickwick--'The famous foreigner--gathering
materials for his great work on England--hem!--Count Smorltork,
Mr. Pickwick.'
Mr. Pickwick saluted the count with all the reverence due to so
great a man, and the count drew forth a set of tablets.

'What you say, Mrs. Hunt?' inquired the count, smiling
graciously on the gratified Mrs. Leo Hunter, 'Pig Vig or Big
Vig--what you call--lawyer--eh?  I see--that is it.  Big Vig'--
and the count was proceeding to enter Mr. Pickwick in his
tablets, as a gentleman of the long robe, who derived his name
from the profession to which he belonged, when Mrs. Leo
Hunter interposed.

'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
usual affability.  '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, 'to
gather 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 forehead
significantly.  'Large book at home--full of notes--music,
picture, science, potry, poltic; all tings.'

'The word politics, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'comprises in
itself, a difficult 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.
The word poltic surprises by himself--' And down went Mr.
Pickwick's remark, in Count Smorltork's tablets, with such
variations 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;
ver good.  Introduced to Snowgrass--great poet, friend of Peek
Weeks--by Mrs. Hunt, which wrote other sweet poem--what is
that name?--Fog--Perspiring Fog--ver good--ver good
indeed.'  And the count put up his tablets, and with sundry bows
and acknowledgments walked away, thoroughly satisfied that he
had made the most important and valuable additions to his stock
of information.

'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's
praise, 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,
if the four something-ean singers had not ranged themselves in
front of a small apple-tree, to look picturesque, and commenced
singing their national songs, which appeared by no means
difficult of execution, inasmuch as the grand secret seemed to be,
that three of the something-ean singers should grunt, while the
fourth howled.  This interesting performance having concluded
amidst the loud plaudits of the whole company, a boy forthwith
proceeded to 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 sit upon it, and then to make a cravat of his legs,
and tie them round his neck, and then to illustrate the ease with
which a human being can be made to look like a magnified toad
--all which feats yielded high delight and satisfaction to the
assembled spectators.  After which, the voice of Mrs. Pott was
heard to chirp faintly forth, something which courtesy interpreted
into a song, which was all very classical, and strictly in
character, because Apollo was himself a composer, and
composers can very seldom sing their own 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, if the major part of the
guests, who thought it was high time to get something to eat, had
not said that it was perfectly shameful to take advantage of
Mrs. Hunter's good nature.  So although Mrs. Leo Hunter
professed her perfect willingness to recite the ode again, her kind
and considerate friends wouldn't hear of it on any account; and
the refreshment room being thrown open, all the people who had
ever been there before, scrambled in with all possible despatch--
Mrs. Leo Hunter's usual course of proceedings being, to issue
cards for a hundred, and breakfast for fifty, or in other words to
feed only the very particular lions, and let the smaller animals
take care of themselves.

'Where is Mr. Pott?' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, as she placed the
aforesaid 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 by the hostess.

'Won't you come up here?'

'Oh, pray don't mind him,' said Mrs. Pott, in the most
obliging voice--'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 a
gigantic force on public characters, was paralysed beneath the
glance of the imperious Mrs. Pott.

Mrs. Leo Hunter looked round her in triumph.  Count Smorltork
was busily engaged in taking notes of the contents of the
dishes; Mr. Tupman was doing the honours of the lobster salad
to several lionesses, with a degree of grace which no brigand ever
exhibited before; Mr. Snodgrass having cut out the young gentleman
who cut up the books for the Eatanswill GAZETTE, was
engaged in an impassioned argument with the young lady who
did the poetry; and Mr. Pickwick was making himself universally
agreeable.  Nothing seemed wanting to render the select circle
complete, when Mr. Leo Hunter--whose department on these
occasions, was to stand about in doorways, and talk to the less
important people--suddenly called out--
'My dear; here's Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall.'

'Oh dear,' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, 'how anxiously I have been
expecting him.  Pray make room, to let Mr. Fitz-Marshall pass.
Tell Mr. Fitz-Marshall, my dear, to come up to me directly, to
be scolded 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 stared
across the table at Mr. Tupman, who had dropped his knife and
fork, and was looking as if he were about to sink into the ground
without further notice.

'Ah!' cried the voice, as its owner pushed his way among the
last five-and-twenty Turks, officers, cavaliers, and Charles the
Seconds, that remained between him and the table, 'regular
mangle--Baker's patent--not a crease in my coat, after all this
squeezing--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's upon one, though--trying process--very.'

With these broken words, a young man dressed as a naval
officer made his way up to the table, and presented to the
astonished Pickwickians the identical form and features of Mr.
Alfred Jingle.
The offender had barely time to take Mrs. Leo Hunter's
proffered hand, when his eyes encountered the indignant orbs 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,' replied
Jingle.  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
where he resides?'

'He is a gentleman of fortune, Mr. Pickwick,' said Mrs. Leo
Hunter, 'to whom I very much want to introduce you.  The count
will 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.
Pickwick you cannot think of going so soon?'

But long before Mrs. Leo Hunter had finished speaking, Mr.
Pickwick had plunged through the throng, and reached the
garden, 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 very
quickly.  'How do we know whom he is deceiving there?  He
deceived a worthy man once, and we were the innocent cause.  He
shall not do it again, if I can help it; I'll expose him!  Sam!
Where's my servant?'

'Here you are, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, emerging from a
sequestered spot, where he had been engaged in discussing a
bottle of Madeira, which he had abstracted from the breakfast-
table an hour or two before.  'Here's your servant, Sir.  Proud o'
the title, as the living skellinton said, ven they show'd him.'

'Follow me instantly,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Tupman, if I stay at
Bury, you can join me there, when I write.  Till then, good-bye!'

Remonstrances were useless.  Mr. Pickwick was roused, and his
mind was made up.  Mr. Tupman returned to his companions;
and in another hour had drowned all present recollection of Mr.
Alfred Jingle, or Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall, in an exhilarating
quadrille and a bottle of champagne.  By that time, Mr. Pickwick
and Sam Weller, perched on the outside of a stage-coach, were
every succeeding minute placing a less and less distance between
themselves and the good old town of Bury St.  Edmunds.



CHAPTER XVI
TOO FULL OF ADVENTURE TO BE BRIEFLY DESCRIBED


There is no month in the whole year in which nature wears a more
beautiful appearance than in the month of August.  Spring has many
beauties, and May is a fresh and blooming month, but the charms
of this time of year are enhanced by their contrast with the
winter season.  August has no such advantage.  It comes when we
remember nothing but clear skies, green fields, and sweet-smelling
flowers--when the recollection of snow, and ice, and bleak winds,
has faded from our minds as completely as they have disappeared
from the earth--and yet what a pleasant time it is!  Orchards and
cornfields ring with the hum of labour; trees bend beneath the
thick clusters of rich fruit which bow their branches to the
ground; and the corn, piled in graceful sheaves, or waving in
every light breath that sweeps above it, as if it wooed the
sickle, tinges the landscape with a golden hue.  A mellow softness
appears to hang over the whole earth; the influence of the season
seems to extend itself to the very wagon, whose slow motion across
the well-reaped field is perceptible only to the eye, but strikes
with no harsh sound upon the ear.

As the coach rolls swiftly past the fields and orchards which
skirt the road, groups of women and children, piling the fruit in
sieves, or gathering the scattered ears of corn, pause for an
instant from their labour, and shading the sun-burned face with
a still browner hand, gaze upon the passengers with curious eyes,
while some stout urchin, too small to work, but too mischievous
to be left at home, scrambles over the side of the basket in which
he has been deposited for security, and kicks and screams with
delight.  The reaper stops in his work, and stands with folded
arms, looking at the vehicle as it whirls past; and the rough cart-
horses bestow a sleepy glance upon the smart coach team, which
says as plainly as a 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 a dusty road, after all.'  You cast a look behind
you, as you turn a corner of the road.  The women and children
have resumed their labour; the reaper once more stoops to his
work; the cart-horses have moved on; and all are again in motion.
The influence of a scene like this, was not lost upon the well-
regulated mind of Mr. Pickwick.  Intent upon the resolution he
had formed, of exposing the real character of the nefarious
Jingle, in any quarter in which he might be pursuing his fraudulent
designs, he sat at first taciturn and contemplative, brooding
over the means by which his purpose could be best attained.  By
degrees his attention grew more and more attracted by the
objects around him; and at last he derived as much enjoyment
from the ride, as if it had been undertaken for the pleasantest
reason in the world.

'Delightful prospect, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Beats the chimbley-pots, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller, touching
his hat.

'I suppose you have hardly seen anything but chimney-pots
and bricks and mortar all your life, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.

'I worn't always a boots, sir,' said Mr. Weller, with a shake of
the head.  'I wos a vaginer's boy, once.'

'When was that?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to play
at leap-frog with its troubles,' replied Sam.  'I wos a carrier's boy
at startin'; then a vaginer's, then a helper, then a boots.  Now I'm
a gen'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
the back-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.  'My
father's wery much in that line now.  If my mother-in-law blows
him up, he whistles.  She flies in a passion, and breaks his pipe;
he steps out, and gets another.  Then she screams wery loud, and
falls into 'sterics; and he smokes wery comfortably till she comes
to agin.  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, in
the course of your rambling life, Sam.'

'Service, sir,' exclaimed Sam.  'You may say that.  Arter I run
away from the carrier, and afore I took up with the vaginer, I had
unfurnished 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 is
any objection to it, it is that the sitivation's rayther too airy.  I see
some queer sights there.'
'Ah, I suppose you did,' said Mr. Pickwick, with an air of
considerable interest.

'Sights, sir,' resumed Mr. Weller, 'as 'ud penetrate your
benevolent heart, and come out on the other side.  You don't see
the reg'lar wagrants there; trust 'em, they knows better than that.
Young beggars, male and female, as hasn't made a rise in their
profession, takes up their quarters there sometimes; but it's
generally the worn-out, starving, houseless creeturs as roll
themselves in the dark corners o' them lonesome places--poor
creeturs 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 cheap
lodgin' 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.  'Ven the
lady and gen'l'm'n as keeps the hot-el first begun business, they
used to make the beds on the floor; but this wouldn't do at no
price, 'cos instead o' taking a moderate twopenn'orth o' sleep,
the lodgers used to lie there half the day.  So now they has two
ropes, 'bout six foot apart, and three from the floor, which goes
right down 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,
and down falls the lodgers.  Consequence is, that being thoroughly
waked, 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 handsome
little town, of thriving and cleanly appearance, and stopped
before a large inn situated in a wide open street, nearly facing the
old abbey.

'And this,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking up.  'Is the Angel!  We
alight here, Sam.  But some caution is necessary.  Order a private
room, and do not mention my name.  You understand.'

'Right as a trivet, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, with a wink of
intelligence; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick's portmanteau
from the hind boot, into which it had been hastily thrown when
they joined the coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on
his errand.  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 are
right, Sam.'

'And if I might adwise, Sir,' added Mr. Weller, 'I'd just have a
good night's rest arterwards, and not begin inquiring arter this
here deep 'un till the mornin'.  There's nothin' so refreshen' as
sleep, sir, as the servant girl said afore she drank the egg-cupful
of laudanum.'

'I think you are right, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'But I must
first ascertain 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
little dinner, and make my inquiries below while it's a-getting
ready; I could 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 satisfactory
dinner; and in three-quarters Mr. Weller returned with the
intelligence that Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall had ordered his
private room to be retained for him, until further notice.  He was
going to spend the evening at some private house in the neighbourhood,
had ordered the boots to sit up until his return, and
had taken his servant with him.

'Now, sir,' argued Mr. Weller, when he had concluded his
report, '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 can
act accordingly.'

As it appeared that this was the best arrangement that could
be made, it was finally agreed upon.  Mr. Weller, by his master's
permission, retired to spend the evening in his own way; and was
shortly afterwards elected, by the unanimous voice of the
assembled company, into the taproom chair, in which honourable
post he acquitted himself so much to the satisfaction of the
gentlemen-frequenters, that their roars of laughter and approbation
penetrated to Mr. Pickwick's bedroom, and shortened the
term of his natural rest by at least three hours.

Early on the ensuing morning, Mr. Weller was dispelling all
the feverish remains of the previous evening's conviviality,
through the instrumentality of a halfpenny shower-bath (having
induced a young gentleman attached to the stable department, by
the offer of that coin, to pump over his head and face, until he
was perfectly restored), when he was attracted by the appearance
of a young fellow in mulberry-coloured livery, who was sitting on
a bench in the yard, reading what appeared to be a hymn-book,
with an air of deep abstraction, but who occasionally stole a
glance at the individual under the pump, as if he took some
interest in his proceedings, nevertheless.

'You're a rum 'un to look at, you are!' thought Mr. Weller, the
first time his eyes encountered the glance of the stranger in the
mulberry suit, who had a large, sallow, ugly face, very sunken
eyes, and a gigantic head, from which depended a quantity of
lank black hair.  'You're a rum 'un!' thought Mr. Weller; and
thinking this, he went on washing himself, and thought no more
about him.

Still the man kept glancing from his hymn-book to Sam, and
from Sam to his hymn-book, as if he wanted to open a conversation.
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,
speaking with great deliberation, and closing the book.  'I hope
you are the same, Sir?'

'Why, if I felt less like a walking brandy-bottle I shouldn't be
quite so staggery this mornin',' replied Sam.  'Are you stoppin' in
this 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 red
with 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
to know you.  I like your appearance, old fellow.'

'Well, that is very strange,' said the mulberry man, with great
simplicity of manner.  'I like yours so much, that I wanted to
speak to 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
upon the 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 a
nickname 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
take a drop o' somethin' this mornin', Mr. Trotter?'

Mr. Trotter acquiesced in this agreeable proposal; and having
deposited his book in his coat pocket, accompanied Mr. Weller
to the tap, where they were soon occupied in discussing an
exhilarating compound, formed by mixing together, in a pewter
vessel, certain quantities of British Hollands and the fragrant
essence of the clove.

'And what sort of a place have you got?' inquired Sam, as he
filled 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 be married.'

'No.'

'Yes; and worse than that, too, he's going to run away with an
immense rich heiress, from boarding-school.'

'What a dragon!' said Sam, refilling his companion's glass.
'It's some boarding-school in this town, I suppose, ain't it?'
Now, although this question was put in the most careless tone
imaginable, Mr. Job Trotter plainly showed by gestures that he
perceived 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 finally
made a motion with his arm, as if he were working an imaginary
pump-handle; thereby intimating that he (Mr. Trotter) considered
himself as undergoing the process of being pumped by Mr.
Samuel Weller.

'No, no,' said Mr. Trotter, in conclusion, 'that's not to be told
to everybody.  That is a secret--a great secret, Mr. Walker.'
As the mulberry man said this, he turned his glass upside
down, by way of reminding his companion that he had nothing
left wherewith to slake his thirst.  Sam observed the hint; and
feeling the delicate manner in which it was conveyed, ordered the
pewter vessel to be refilled, 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,
sipping his 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, gave
four distinct slaps on the pockets of his mulberry indescribables
with his right, as if to intimate that his master might have done
the same 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 a precious rascal?'

'I know that,' said Job Trotter, turning upon his companion a
countenance of deep contrition, and groaning slightly, 'I know
that, and that's what it is that preys upon my mind.  But what am
I to do?'

'Do!' said Sam; 'di-wulge to the missis, and give up your master.'

'Who'd believe me?' replied Job Trotter.  'The young lady's
considered the very picture of innocence and discretion.  She'd
deny it, and so would my master.  Who'd believe me?  I should lose
my 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's
somethin' in that.'

'If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take the
matter up,' continued Mr. Trotter.  'I might have some hope of
preventing 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 grasping
the mulberry man by the arm.  'My mas'r's the man you want, I
see.'  And after a slight resistance on the part of Job Trotter, Sam
led his newly-found friend to the apartment of Mr. Pickwick, to
whom he presented him, together with a brief summary of the
dialogue 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
six inches 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.
'We should all try to discharge our duty, Sir, and I humbly
endeavour to 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 he is 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's tears with considerable impatience, 'blow this 'ere
water-cart bis'ness.  It won't do no good, this won't.'

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick reproachfully.  'I am sorry to find
that you have so little respect for this young man's feelings.'

'His feelin's is all wery well, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'and as
they're so wery fine, and it's a pity he should lose 'em, I think
he'd better keep 'em in his own buzzum, than let 'em ewaporate
in hot water, 'specially as they do no good.  Tears never yet
wound up a clock, or worked a steam ingin'.  The next time you
go out to a smoking party, young fellow, fill your pipe with that
'ere reflection; and for the present just put that bit of pink
gingham into your pocket.  'Tain't so handsome that you need
keep waving it about, as if 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
no longer.'
'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 design
to be carried into execution--when is this elopement to
take place?'

'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 see
the lady who keeps the establishment immediately.'

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' said Job, 'but that course of proceeding
will 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, if
you went down on your bare knees, and swore it; especially as
you have no proof but the word of a servant, who, for anything
she knows (and my master would be sure to say so), was discharged
for 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
convince the 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 a
very 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 the
confidence of the two servants, will be secreted in the kitchen at
ten o'clock.  When the family have retired to rest, we shall come
out 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
the garden behind, alone--'

'Alone,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Why alone?'

'I thought it very natural,' replied Job, 'that the old lady
wouldn't like such an unpleasant discovery to be made before
more persons than can possibly be helped.  The young lady, too,
sir--consider her feelings.'

'You are very right,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'The consideration
evinces your delicacy of feeling.  Go on; you are very right.'

'Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in the
back garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which
opens into it, from the end of the passage, at exactly half-past
eleven o'clock, you would be just in the very moment of time to
assist me in frustrating the designs of this bad man, by whom I
have been unfortunately ensnared.'  Here Mr. Trotter sighed deeply.

'Don't distress yourself on that account,' said Mr. Pickwick;
'if he 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 previous
remonstrance, the tears again rose to his eyes.

'I never see such a feller,' said Sam, 'Blessed if I don't think
he's got a main in his head as is always turned on.'

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great severity, 'hold
your tongue.'

'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,' responded
Job Trotter.

'That's a clincher,' said Mr. Weller, aside.

'Then this garden,' resumed Mr. Pickwick.  'How am I to get
into it?'

'The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a
leg up.'
'My servant will give me a leg up,' repeated Mr. Pickwick
mechanically.  'You will be sure to be near this door that you
speak of?'

'You cannot mistake it, Sir; it's the only one that opens into
the garden.  Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will
open it instantly.'

'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, I adopt 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 most
willingly 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
get to the end of the town; it stands by itself, some little distance
off the high road, with the name on a brass plate on the gate.'

'I know it,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'I observed it once before, when
I was 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 your
goodness 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
cry like a rain-water spout in a shower on such good terms.
How do you 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 which
passed through Mr. Trotter's mind, because we don't know what
they were.

The day wore on, evening came, and at a little before ten
o'clock Sam Weller reported that Mr. Jingle and Job had gone
out together, that their luggage was packed up, and that they had
ordered 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. Pickwick
to issue forth on his delicate errand.  Resisting Sam's tender of his
greatcoat, in order that he might have no encumbrance in scaling
the wall, he set forth, followed by his attendant.

There was a bright moon, but it was behind the clouds.  it was
a fine dry night, but it was most uncommonly dark.  Paths,
hedges, fields, houses, and trees, were enveloped in one deep
shade.  The atmosphere was hot and sultry, the summer lightning
quivered faintly on the verge of the horizon, and was the only
sight that varied the dull gloom in which everything was wrapped
--sound there was none, except the distant barking of some
restless house-dog.

They found the house, read the brass plate, walked round the
wall, and stopped at that portion of it which divided them from
the bottom of the garden.

'You will return to the inn, Sam, when you have assisted me
over,' 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 the
top of the wall, and gave the word 'Over,' which was literally
obeyed.  Whether his body partook in some degree of the elasticity
of his mind, or whether Mr. Weller's notions of a gentle push
were of a somewhat rougher description than Mr. Pickwick's, the
immediate effect of his assistance was to jerk that immortal
gentleman completely over the wall on to the bed beneath,
where, after crushing three gooseberry-bushes and a rose-tree, he
finally alighted at full length.

'You ha'n't hurt yourself, I hope, Sir?' said Sam, in a loud
whisper, as soon as he had recovered from the surprise consequent
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 have
hurt me.'

'I hope not, Sir,' said Sam.

'Never mind,' said Mr. Pickwick, rising, 'it's nothing but a few
scratches.  Go away, or we shall be overheard.'

'Good-bye, Sir.'

'Good-bye.'

With stealthy steps Sam Weller departed, leaving Mr. Pickwick
alone in the garden.

Lights occasionally appeared in the different windows of the
house, or glanced from the staircases, as if the inmates were
retiring to rest.  Not caring to go too near the door, until the
appointed 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
of many a man.  Mr. Pickwick, however, felt neither depression
nor misgiving.  He knew that his purpose was in the main a good
one, and he placed implicit reliance on the high-minded Job.  it
was dull, certainly; not to say dreary; but a contemplative man
can always employ himself in meditation.  Mr. Pickwick had
meditated himself into a doze, when he was roused by the chimes
of the neighbouring church ringing out the hour--half-past eleven.

'That's the time,' thought Mr. Pickwick, getting cautiously on
his feet.  He looked up at the house.  The lights had disappeared,
and the shutters were closed--all in bed, no doubt.  He walked
on tiptoe to the door, and gave a gentle tap.  Two or three
minutes passing without any reply, he gave another tap rather
louder, and then another rather louder than that.

At length the sound of feet was audible upon the stairs, and
then the light of a candle shone through the keyhole of the door.
There was a good deal of unchaining and unbolting, and the door
was slowly opened.

Now the door opened outwards; and as the door opened wider
and wider, Mr. Pickwick receded behind it, more and more.  What
was 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
in his head again, with the swiftness displayed by that admirable
melodramatic 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, addressing
herself to some one in the house.  'Puss, puss, puss,--tit, tit, tit.'

But no animal being decoyed by these blandishments, the girl
slowly closed the door, and re-fastened it; leaving Mr. Pickwick
drawn up straight against the wall.

'This is very curious,' thought Mr. Pickwick.  'They are sitting
up beyond their usual hour, I suppose.  Extremely unfortunate,
that they should have chosen this night, of all others, for such a
purpose--exceedingly.'  And with these thoughts, Mr. Pickwick
cautiously retired to the angle of the wall in which he had been
before ensconced; waiting until such time as he might deem it
safe to repeat the signal.

He had not been here five minutes, when a vivid flash
of lightning was followed by a loud peal of thunder that
crashed and rolled away in the distance with a terrific noise--
then came another flash of lightning, brighter than the other,
and a second peal of thunder louder than the first; and then
down came the rain, with a force and fury that swept everything
before it.

Mr. Pickwick was perfectly aware that a tree is a very dangerous
neighbour in a thunderstorm.  He had a tree on his right, a
tree on his left, a third before him, and a fourth behind.  If he
remained where he was, he might fall the victim of an accident;
if he showed himself in the centre of the garden, he might be
consigned to a constable.  Once or twice he tried to scale the wall,
but having no other legs this time, than those with which Nature
had furnished him, the only effect of his struggles was to inflict a
variety of very unpleasant gratings on his knees and shins, and to
throw him into a state of the most profuse perspiration.

'What a dreadful situation,' said Mr. Pickwick, pausing to
wipe his brow after this exercise.  He looked up at the house--all
was dark.  They must be gone to bed now.  He would try the
signal again.

He walked on tiptoe across the moist gravel, and tapped at the
door.  He held his breath, and listened at the key-hole.  No reply:
very odd.  Another knock.  He listened again.  There was a low
whispering inside, and then a voice cried--

'Who's there?'

'That's not Job,' thought Mr. Pickwick, hastily drawing himself
straight up against the wall again.  'It's a woman.'

He had scarcely had time to form this conclusion, when a
window above stairs was thrown up, and three or four female
voices repeated the query--'Who's there?'

Mr. Pickwick dared not move hand or foot.  It was clear that
the whole establishment was roused.  He made up his mind to
remain where he was, until the alarm had subsided; and then by
a supernatural effort, to get over the wall, or perish in
the attempt.

Like all Mr. Pickwick's determinations, this was the best that
could be made under the circumstances; but, unfortunately, it
was founded upon the assumption that they would not venture
to open the door again.  What was his discomfiture, when he
heard the chain and bolts withdrawn, and saw the door slowly
opening, wider and wider!  He retreated into the corner, step by
step; but do what he would, the interposition of his own person,
prevented its being opened to its utmost width.

'Who's there?' screamed a numerous chorus of treble voices
from the staircase inside, consisting of the spinster lady of the
establishment, three teachers, five female servants, and thirty
boarders, all half-dressed and in a forest of curl-papers.

Of course Mr. Pickwick didn't say who was there: and then the
burden of the chorus changed into--'Lor! I am so frightened.'

'Cook,' said the lady abbess, who took care to be on the top
stair, the very last of the group--'cook, why don't you go a little
way 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
answer me, if you please.  I insist upon your looking into the
garden immediately.'

Here the cook began to cry, and the housemaid said it was 'a
shame!' for which partisanship she received a month's warning
on the spot.

'Do you hear, cook?' said the lady abbess, stamping her
foot impatiently.

'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 or
two, and holding her candle just where it prevented her from
seeing at all, declared there was nothing there, and it must have
been the wind.  The door was just going to be closed in consequence,
when an inquisitive boarder, who had been peeping
between the hinges, set up a fearful screaming, which called back
the 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 of
four young lady power.

'Lor, Miss Smithers, dear,' said the other nine-and-twenty
boarders.

'Oh, the man--the man--behind the door!' screamed Miss Smithers.

The lady abbess no sooner heard this appalling cry, than she
retreated to her own bedroom, double-locked the door, and
fainted away comfortably.  The boarders, and the teachers, and
the servants, fell back upon the stairs, and upon each other; and
never was such a screaming, and fainting, and struggling beheld.
In the midst 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 the
danger of his situation.  'Hear me.  I am no robber.  I want the lady
of the house.'

'Oh, what a ferocious monster!' screamed another teacher.
'He wants 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 look
like a robber!  My dear ladies--you may bind me hand and leg,
or lock me up in a closet, if you like.  Only hear what I have got
to say--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 be quiet, and call her, and you shall hear everything .'

It might have been Mr. Pickwick's appearance, or it might have
been his manner, or it might have been the temptation--
irresistible to a female mind--of hearing something at present
enveloped in mystery, that reduced the more reasonable portion
of the establishment (some four individuals) to a state of
comparative quiet.  By them it was proposed, as a test of Mr.
Pickwick's sincerity, that he should immediately submit to personal
restraint; and that gentleman having consented to hold a
conference with Miss Tomkins, from the interior of a closet in
which the day boarders hung their bonnets and sandwich-bags,
he at once stepped into it, of his own accord, and was securely
locked in.  This revived the others; and Miss Tomkins having
been brought to, and brought down, the conference began.

'What did you do in my garden, man?' said Miss Tomkins, in
a faint voice.

'I came to warn you that one of your young ladies was going to
elope to-night,' replied Mr. Pickwick, from the interior of the closet.

'Elope!' exclaimed Miss Tomkins, the three teachers, the
thirty boarders, 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.
'I have 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.
Send to the Angel for Mr. Pickwick's manservant, I implore
you, ma'am.'

'He must be respectable--he keeps a manservant,' said Miss
Tomkins to the writing and ciphering governess.

'It's my opinion, Miss Tomkins,' said the writing and ciphering
governess, '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 Miss
Tomkins.  'Let two of the servants repair to the Angel, and let the
others remain here, to protect us.'

So two of the servants were despatched to the Angel in search
of Mr. Samuel Weller; and the remaining three stopped behind
to protect Miss Tomkins, and the three teachers, and the thirty
boarders.  And Mr. Pickwick sat down in the closet, beneath a
grove 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 when
they did come, Mr. Pickwick recognised, in addition to the voice
of Mr. Samuel Weller, two other voices, the tones of which
struck familiarly on his ear; but whose they were, he could not for
the life of him call to mind.

A very brief conversation ensued.  The door was unlocked.
Mr. Pickwick stepped out of the closet, and found himself in the
presence of the whole establishment of Westgate House, Mr
Samuel Weller, and--old Wardle, and his destined son-in-law,
Mr. Trundle!

'My dear friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, running forward and
grasping Wardle's hand, 'my dear friend, pray, for Heaven's sake,
explain to this lady the unfortunate and dreadful situation in
which 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
a madman.'

'I have said so, my dear friend.  I have said so already,' replied
Mr. 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 not the 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 has said so, I shall be
wery happy to give 'em all a wery convincing proof o' their being
mistaken, in this here wery room, if these wery respectable 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 clenched fist, and
winked pleasantly on Miss Tomkins, the intensity of whose
horror at his supposing it within the bounds of possibility that
there could be any men on the premises of Westgate House
Establishment 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 home
with his friends, nor afterwards when seated before a blazing
fire at the supper he so much needed, could a single observation
be drawn from him.  He seemed bewildered and amazed.  Once,
and only 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
the first,' replied Wardle.  'We arrived to-night, and were
astonished to hear from your servant that you were here too.
But I am glad you are,' said the old fellow, slapping him on
the back--'I am glad you are.  We shall have a jovial party
on the first, and we'll give Winkle another chance--eh, old
boy?'

Mr. Pickwick made no reply, he did not even ask after his
friends at Dingley Dell, and shortly afterwards retired for the
night, desiring Sam to fetch his candle when he rung.
The bell did ring 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, with
this 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 a
tremendous blow, 'I'll inflict personal chastisement on him, in
addition to the exposure he so richly merits.  I will, or my name
is not Pickwick.'

'And venever I catches hold o' that there melan-cholly chap
with the black hair,' said Sam, 'if I don't bring some real water
into his eyes, for once in a way, my name ain't Weller.  Good-
night, Sir!'



CHAPTER XVII
SHOWING THAT AN ATTACK OF RHEUMATISM, IN SOME
  CASES, ACTS AS A QUICKENER TO INVENTIVE GENIUS


The constitution of Mr. Pickwick, though able to sustain a very
considerable amount of exertion and fatigue, was not proof against
such a combination of attacks as he had undergone on the memorable
night, recorded in the last chapter.  The process of being washed
in the night air, and rough-dried in a closet, is as dangerous as
it is peculiar.  Mr. Pickwick was laid up with an attack of rheumatism.

But although the bodily powers of the great man were thus
impaired, his mental energies retained their pristine vigour.  His
spirits were elastic; his good-humour was restored.  Even the
vexation consequent upon his recent adventure had vanished
from his mind; and he could join in the hearty laughter, which
any allusion to it excited in Mr. Wardle, without anger and
without embarrassment.  Nay, more.  During the two days Mr.
Pickwick was confined to bed, Sam was his constant attendant.
On the first, he endeavoured to amuse his master by anecdote
and conversation; on the second, Mr. Pickwick demanded his
writing-desk, and pen and ink, and was deeply engaged during
the whole day.  On the third, being able to sit up in his bedchamber,
he despatched his valet with a message to Mr. Wardle and Mr. Trundle,
intimating that if they would take their wine there, that evening,
they would greatly oblige him.  The invitation was most willingly
accepted; and when they were seated over
their wine, Mr. Pickwick, with sundry blushes, 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 CLERK
A TALE OF TRUE LOVE

'Once upon a time, in a very small country town, at a considerable
distance from London, there lived a little man named Nathaniel
Pipkin, who was the parish clerk of the little town, and lived in a
little house in the little High Street, within ten minutes' walk
from the little church; and who was to be found every day, from
nine till four, teaching a little learning to the little boys.  Nathaniel
Pipkin was a harmless, inoffensive, good-natured being, with a
turned-up nose, and rather turned-in legs, a cast in his eye, and a
halt in his gait; and he divided his time between the church and
his school, verily believing that there existed not, on the face of
the earth, so clever a man as the curate, so imposing an apartment
as the vestry-room, or so well-ordered a seminary as his own.
Once, and only once, in his life, Nathaniel Pipkin had seen a
bishop--a real bishop, with his arms in lawn sleeves, and his
head in a wig.  He had seen him walk, and heard him talk, at a
confirmation, on which momentous occasion Nathaniel Pipkin
was so overcome with reverence and awe, when the aforesaid
bishop laid his hand on his head, that he fainted right clean
away, and was borne out of church in the arms of the beadle.

'This was a great event, a tremendous era, in Nathaniel
Pipkin's life, and it was the only one that had ever occurred to
ruffle the smooth current of his quiet existence, when happening
one fine afternoon, in a fit of mental abstraction, to raise his eyes
from the slate on which he was devising some tremendous
problem in compound addition for an offending urchin to solve,
they suddenly rested on the blooming countenance of Maria
Lobbs, the only daughter of old Lobbs, the great saddler over the
way.  Now, the eyes of Mr. Pipkin had rested on the pretty face
of Maria Lobbs many a time and oft before, at church and elsewhere;
but the eyes of Maria Lobbs had never looked so bright,
the cheeks of Maria Lobbs had never looked so ruddy, as upon
this particular occasion.  No wonder then, that Nathaniel Pipkin
was unable to take his eyes from the countenance of Miss Lobbs;
no wonder that Miss Lobbs, finding herself stared at by a young
man, withdrew her head from the window out of which she had
been peeping, and shut the casement and pulled down the blind;
no wonder that Nathaniel Pipkin, immediately thereafter, fell
upon the young urchin who had previously offended, and cuffed
and knocked him about to his heart's content.  All this was very
natural, and there's nothing at all to wonder at about it.

'It IS matter of wonder, though, that anyone of Mr. Nathaniel
Pipkin's retiring disposition, nervous temperament, and most
particularly diminutive income, should from this day forth, have
dared to aspire to the hand and heart of the only daughter of the
fiery old Lobbs--of old Lobbs, the great saddler, who could have
bought up the whole village at one stroke of his pen, and never
felt the outlay--old Lobbs, who was well known to have heaps of
money, invested in the bank at the nearest market town--who
was reported to have countless and inexhaustible treasures
hoarded up in the little iron safe with the big keyhole, over the
chimney-piece in the back parlour--and who, it was well known,
on festive occasions garnished his board with a real silver teapot,
cream-ewer, and sugar-basin, which he was wont, in the pride of
his heart, to boast should be his daughter's property when she
found a man to her mind.  I repeat it, to be matter of profound
astonishment and intense wonder, that Nathaniel Pipkin should
have had the temerity to cast his eyes in this direction.  But love is
blind; and Nathaniel had a cast in his eye; and perhaps these two
circumstances, taken together, prevented his seeing the matter in
its proper light.

'Now, if old Lobbs had entertained the most remote or distant
idea of the state of the affections of Nathaniel Pipkin, he would
just have razed the school-room to the ground, or exterminated
its master from the surface of the earth, or committed some other
outrage and atrocity of an equally ferocious and violent description;
for he was a terrible old fellow, was Lobbs, when his pride
was injured, or his blood was up.  Swear!  Such trains of oaths
would come rolling and pealing over the way, sometimes, when
he was denouncing the idleness of the bony apprentice with the
thin legs, 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
over the way in search of the bright eyes of Maria Lobbs; and he
hadn't sat there many days, before the bright eyes appeared at an
upper window, apparently deeply engaged in reading too.  This
was delightful, and gladdening to the heart of Nathaniel Pipkin.
It was something to sit there for hours together, and look upon
that pretty face when the eyes were cast down; but when Maria
Lobbs began to raise her eyes from her book, and dart their rays
in the direction of Nathaniel Pipkin, his delight and admiration
were perfectly boundless.  At last, one day when he knew old
Lobbs was out, Nathaniel Pipkin had the temerity to kiss his hand
to Maria Lobbs; and Maria Lobbs, instead of shutting the
window, and pulling down the blind, kissed HERS to him, and
smiled.  Upon which Nathaniel Pipkin determined, that, come
what might, he would develop the state of his feelings, without
further delay.

'A prettier foot, a gayer heart, a more dimpled face, or a
smarter form, never bounded so lightly over the earth they
graced, as did those of Maria Lobbs, the old saddler's daughter.
There was a roguish twinkle in her sparkling eyes, that would
have made its way to far less susceptible bosoms than that of
Nathaniel Pipkin; and there was such a joyous sound in her
merry laugh, that the sternest misanthrope must have smiled to
hear it.  Even old Lobbs himself, in the very height of his ferocity,
couldn't resist the coaxing of his pretty daughter; and when she,
and her cousin Kate--an arch, impudent-looking, bewitching
little person--made a dead set upon the old man together, as, to
say the truth, they very often did, he could have refused them
nothing, even had they asked 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 saw
this enticing little couple some hundred yards before him one
summer's evening, in the very field in which he had many a time
strolled about till night-time, and pondered on the beauty of
Maria Lobbs.  But though he had often thought then, how briskly
he would walk up to Maria Lobbs and tell her of his passion if he
could only meet her, he felt, now that she was unexpectedly
before him, all the blood in his body mounting to his face,
manifestly to the great detriment of his legs, which, deprived of
their usual portion, trembled beneath him.  When they stopped to
gather a hedge flower, or listen to a bird, Nathaniel Pipkin
stopped too, and pretended to be absorbed in meditation, as
indeed he really was; for he was thinking what on earth he should
ever do, when they turned back, as they inevitably must in time,
and meet him face to face.  But though he was afraid to make up
to them, he couldn't bear to lose sight of them; so when they
walked faster he walked faster, when they lingered he lingered,
and when they stopped he stopped; and so they might have gone
on, until the darkness prevented them, if Kate had not looked
slyly back, and encouragingly beckoned Nathaniel to advance.
There was something in Kate's manner that was not to be
resisted, and so Nathaniel Pipkin complied with the invitation;
and after a great deal of blushing on his part, and immoderate
laughter on that of the wicked little cousin, Nathaniel Pipkin
went down on his knees on the dewy grass, and declared his
resolution to remain there for ever, unless he were permitted to
rise the accepted lover of Maria Lobbs.  Upon this, the merry
laughter of Miss Lobbs rang through the calm evening air--
without seeming to disturb it, though; it had such a pleasant
sound--and the wicked little cousin laughed more immoderately
than before, and Nathaniel Pipkin blushed deeper than ever.  At
length, Maria Lobbs being more strenuously urged by the love-
worn little man, turned away her head, and whispered her cousin
to say, or at all events Kate did say, that she felt much honoured
by Mr. Pipkin's addresses; that her hand and heart were at her
father's disposal; but that nobody could be insensible to Mr.
Pipkin's merits.  As all this was said with much gravity, and as
Nathaniel Pipkin walked home with Maria Lobbs, and struggled
for a kiss at parting, he went to bed a happy man, and dreamed
all night long, of softening old Lobbs, opening the strong box,
and marrying Maria.

The next day, Nathaniel Pipkin saw old Lobbs go out upon
his old gray pony, and after a great many signs at the window
from the wicked little cousin, the object and meaning of which he
could by no means understand, the bony apprentice with the thin
legs came over to say that his master wasn't coming home all
night, and that the ladies expected Mr. Pipkin to tea, at six
o'clock precisely.  How the lessons were got through that day,
neither Nathaniel Pipkin nor his pupils knew any more than you
do; but they were got through somehow, and, after the boys had
gone, Nathaniel Pipkin took till full six o'clock to dress himself
to his satisfaction.  Not that it took long to select the garments he
should wear, inasmuch as he had no choice about the matter;
but the putting of them on to the best advantage, and the touching
of them up previously, was a task of no inconsiderable difficulty
or importance.

'There was a very snug little party, consisting of Maria Lobbs
and her cousin Kate, and three or four romping, good-humoured,
rosy-cheeked girls.  Nathaniel Pipkin had ocular demonstration of
the fact, that the rumours of old Lobbs's treasures were not
exaggerated.  There were the real solid silver teapot, cream-ewer,
and sugar-basin, on the table, and real silver spoons to stir the
tea with, 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 place was another cousin of Maria Lobbs's, and a brother
of Kate, whom Maria Lobbs called "Henry," and who seemed
to keep Maria Lobbs all to himself, up in one corner of the table.
It's a delightful thing to see affection in families, but it may be
carried rather too far, and Nathaniel Pipkin could not help
thinking that Maria Lobbs must be very particularly fond of her
relations, if she paid as much attention to all of them as to this
individual cousin.  After tea, too, when the wicked little cousin
proposed a game at blind man's buff, it somehow or other
happened that Nathaniel Pipkin was nearly always blind, and
whenever he laid his hand upon the male cousin, he was sure to
find that Maria Lobbs was not far off.  And though the wicked
little cousin and the other girls pinched him, and pulled his hair,
and pushed chairs in his way, and all sorts of things, Maria Lobbs
never seemed to come near him at all; and once--once--Nathaniel
Pipkin could have sworn he heard the sound of a kiss,
followed by a faint remonstrance from Maria Lobbs, and a half-
suppressed laugh from her female friends.  All this was odd--
very odd--and there is no saying what Nathaniel Pipkin might
or might not have done, in consequence, if his thoughts had not
been suddenly directed into a new channel.

'The circumstance which directed his thoughts into a new
channel was a loud knocking at the street door, and the person
who made this loud knocking at the street door was no other
than old Lobbs himself, who had unexpectedly returned, and
was hammering away, like a coffin-maker; for he wanted his
supper.  The alarming intelligence was no sooner communicated
by the bony apprentice with the thin legs, than the girls tripped
upstairs to Maria Lobbs's bedroom, and the male cousin and
Nathaniel Pipkin were thrust into a couple of closets in the
sitting-room, for want of any better places of concealment; and
when Maria Lobbs and the wicked little cousin had stowed them
away, and put the room to rights, they opened the street door to
old Lobbs, who had never left off knocking since he first began.

'Now it did unfortunately happen that old Lobbs being very
hungry was monstrous cross.  Nathaniel Pipkin could hear him
growling away like an old mastiff with a sore throat; and whenever
the unfortunate apprentice with the thin legs came into the
room, so surely did old Lobbs commence swearing at him in a
most Saracenic and ferocious manner, though apparently with
no other end or object than that of easing his bosom by the
discharge of a few superfluous oaths.  At length some supper,
which had been warming up, was placed on the table, and then
old Lobbs fell to, in regular style; and having made clear work of
it in no time, kissed his daughter, and demanded his pipe.

'Nature had placed Nathaniel Pipkin's knees in very close
juxtaposition, but when he heard old Lobbs demand his pipe,
they knocked together, as if they were going to reduce each other
to powder; for, depending from a couple of hooks, in the very
closet in which he stood, was a large, brown-stemmed, silver-
bowled pipe, which pipe he himself had seen in the mouth of old
Lobbs, regularly every afternoon and evening, for the last five
years.  The two girls went downstairs for the pipe, and upstairs for
the pipe, and everywhere but where they knew the pipe was, and
old Lobbs stormed away meanwhile, in the most wonderful
manner.  At last he thought of the closet, and walked up to it.  It
was of no use a little man like Nathaniel Pipkin pulling the
door inwards, when a great strong fellow like old Lobbs was
pulling it outwards.  Old Lobbs gave it one tug, and open it flew,
disclosing Nathaniel Pipkin standing bolt upright inside, and
shaking with apprehension from head to foot.  Bless us! what an
appalling look old Lobbs gave him, as he dragged him out by the
collar, and held him at arm's length.

'"Why, what the devil do you want here?" said old Lobbs, in
a fearful voice.

'Nathaniel Pipkin could make no reply, so old Lobbs shook
him backwards and forwards, for two or three minutes, by way
of arranging his ideas for him.

'"What do you want here?" roared Lobbs; "I suppose you
have come after my daughter, now!"

'Old Lobbs merely said this as a sneer: for he did not believe
that mortal presumption could have carried Nathaniel Pipkin so
far.  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 old
Lobbs, paralysed by the atrocious confession; "what do you
mean by that?  Say this to my face!  Damme, I'll throttle you!"

'It is by no means improbable that old Lobbs would have
carried his threat into execution, in the excess of his rage, if his
arm had not been stayed by a very unexpected apparition: to wit,
the male cousin, who, stepping out of his closet, and walking up
to old Lobbs, said--

'"I cannot allow this harmless person, Sir, who has been asked
here, in some girlish frolic, to take upon himself, in a very noble
manner, the fault (if fault it is) which I am guilty of, and am
ready to avow.  I love your daughter, sir; and I came here for the
purpose of meeting her."

'Old Lobbs opened his eyes very wide at this, but not wider
than 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
have struck the cousin, if his pretty daughter, with her bright eyes
swimming in tears, had not clung to his arm.

'"Don't stop him, Maria," said the young man; "if he has the
will to strike me, let him.  I would not hurt a hair of his gray head,
for the riches of the world."

'The old man cast down his eyes at this reproof, and they met
those of his daughter.  I have hinted once or twice before, that
they were very bright eyes, and, though they were tearful now,
their influence was by no means lessened.  Old Lobbs turned
his head away, as if to avoid being persuaded by them,
when, as fortune would have it, he encountered the face of
the wicked little cousin, who, half afraid for her brother, and
half laughing at Nathaniel Pipkin, presented as bewitching an
expression of countenance, with a touch of slyness in it, too, as
any man, old or young, need look upon.  She drew her arm coaxingly
through the old man's, and whispered something in his
ear; and do what he would, old Lobbs couldn't help breaking
out into a smile, while a tear stole down his cheek at the same time.
'Five minutes after this, the girls were brought down from the
bedroom with a great deal of giggling and modesty; and while
the young people were making themselves perfectly happy, old
Lobbs got down the pipe, and smoked it; and it was a remarkable
circumstance about that particular pipe of tobacco, that it was
the most soothing and delightful one he ever smoked.

'Nathaniel Pipkin thought it best to keep his own counsel, and
by so doing gradually rose into high favour with old Lobbs.  who
taught him to smoke in time; and they used to sit out in the
garden on the fine evenings, for many years afterwards, smoking
and drinking in great state.  He soon recovered the effects of his
attachment, for we find his name in the parish register, as a
witness to the marriage of Maria Lobbs to her cousin; and it also
appears, by reference to other documents, that on the night of the
wedding he was incarcerated in the village cage, for having, in a
state of extreme intoxication, committed sundry excesses in the
streets, in all of which he was aided and abetted by the bony
apprentice with the thin legs.'



CHAPTER XVIII
BRIEFLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF TWO POINTS; FIRST, THE
  POWER OF HYSTERICS, AND, SECONDLY, THE FORCE OF
  CIRCUMSTANCEs


For two days after the DEJEUNE at Mrs. Hunter's, the Pickwickians
remained at Eatanswill, anxiously awaiting the arrival of some
intelligence from their revered leader.  Mr. Tupman and Mr.
Snodgrass were once again left to their own means of amusement;
for Mr. Winkle, in compliance with a most pressing invitation,
continued to reside at Mr. Pott's house, and to devote his time
to the companionship of his amiable lady.  Nor was the occasional
society of Mr. Pott himself wanting to complete their felicity.
Deeply immersed in the intensity of his speculations for the
public weal and the destruction of the INDEPENDENT, it was not the
habit of that great man to descend from his mental pinnacle 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 the
comprehension of the herd, and seeming in outward form, if not in
spirit, to be one of them.

Such having been the demeanour of this celebrated public
character towards Mr. Winkle, it will be readily imagined that
considerable surprise was depicted on the countenance of the
latter gentleman, when, as he was sitting alone in the breakfast-
room, the door was hastily thrown open, and as hastily closed,
on the entrance of Mr. Pott, who, stalking majestically towards
him, and thrusting aside his proffered hand, ground his teeth, as
if to put 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 then
suddenly depressing it: 'I said, serpent, sir--make the most of it.'

When you have parted with a man at two o'clock in the
morning, on terms of the utmost good-fellowship, and he meets
you again, at half-past nine, and greets you as a serpent, it is not
unreasonable to conclude that something of an unpleasant
nature has occurred meanwhile.  So Mr. Winkle thought.  He
returned Mr. Pott's gaze of stone, and in compliance with that
gentleman's request, proceeded to make the most he could of the
'serpent.'  The most, however, was nothing at all; so, after a
profound silence of some minutes' duration, he said,--

'Serpent, Sir!  Serpent, Mr. Pott!  What can you mean, Sir?--
this is pleasantry.'

'Pleasantry, sir!' exclaimed Pott, with a motion of the hand,
indicative of a strong desire to hurl the Britannia metal teapot at
the head of the visitor.  'Pleasantry, sir!--But--no, I will be calm;
I will be calm, Sir;' in proof of his calmness, Mr. Pott flung
himself into 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
dare you 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; and
laying his finger on a particular paragraph, threw the journal
across the table to Mr. Winkle.

That gentleman took it up, and read as follows:--


'Our obscure and filthy contemporary, in some disgusting
observations on the recent election for this borough, has presumed
to violate the hallowed sanctity of private life, and to refer,

in a manner not to be misunderstood, to the personal affairs of
our late candidate--aye, and notwithstanding his base defeat, we
will add, our future member, Mr. Fizkin.  What does our dastardly
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 life from
general ridicule, not to say from general execration?  What, if we
were even to point out, and comment on, facts and circumstances,
which are publicly notorious, and beheld by every one but our
mole-eyed contemporary--what if we were to print the following
effusion, which we received while we were writing the commencement
of this article, from a talented fellow-townsman and
correspondent?

  '"LINES TO A BRASS POT

'"Oh Pott! if you'd known
How false she'd have grown,
When you heard the marriage bells tinkle;
You'd 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 the
moment forestalled the reply.  'What rhymes to tinkle?  Why,
Winkle, I should conceive.'  Saying this, Mrs. Pott smiled sweetly
on the disturbed Pickwickian, and extended her hand towards
him.  The agitated young man would have accepted it, in his
confusion, had not Pott indignantly interposed.

'Back, ma'am--back!' said the editor.  'Take his hand before
my very face!'

'Mr. P.!' said his astonished lady.

'Wretched woman, look here,' exclaimed the husband.  'Look
here, 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.'
With this ebullition of rage, which was not unaccompanied with
something like a tremble, at the expression of his wife's face,
Mr. Pott dashed the current number of the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT
at her feet.

'Upon my word, Sir,' said the astonished Mrs. Pott, stooping
to pick up the paper.  'Upon my word, Sir!'

Mr. Pott winced beneath the contemptuous gaze of his wife.
He had made a desperate struggle to screw up his courage, but it
was fast 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 of
voice in which it was delivered, and the look that accompanied it,
both seeming to bear reference to some revenge to be thereafter
visited upon the head of Pott, produced their effect upon him.
The most unskilful observer could have detected in his troubled
countenance, a readiness to resign his Wellington boots to any
efficient substitute who would have consented to stand in them
at that moment.

Mrs. Pott read the paragraph, uttered a loud shriek, and
threw herself at full length on the hearth-rug, screaming, and
tapping it with the heels of her shoes, in a manner which could
leave no doubt 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 of his partner.

'Mrs. Pott, let me entreat you, my dear ma'am, to compose
yourself,' said Mr. Winkle; but the shrieks and tappings were
louder, and more frequent than ever.

'My dear,' said Mr. Pott, 'I'm very sorry.  If you won't consider
your own health, consider me, my dear.  We shall have a crowd
round 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
a bodyguard of one, a young lady whose ostensible employment
was to preside over her toilet, but who rendered herself useful in
a variety of ways, and in none more so than in the particular
department of constantly aiding and abetting her mistress in
every wish and inclination opposed to the desires of the unhappy
Pott.  The screams reached this young lady's ears in due course,
and brought her into the room with a speed which threatened to
derange, materially, the very exquisite arrangement of her cap
and ringlets.

'Oh, my dear, dear mistress!' exclaimed the bodyguard,
kneeling frantically by the side of the prostrate Mrs. Pott.  'Oh,
my dear 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
be the 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
hysteric jerk.  'You're the only person that's kind to me, Goodwin.'

At this affecting appeal, Goodwin got up a little domestic
tragedy of her own, and shed tears copiously.

'Never, ma'am--never,' said Goodwin.'Oh, sir, you should be
careful--you should indeed; you don't know what harm you may
do missis; you'll be sorry for it one day, I know--I've always
said so.'

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 the bodyguard.

Pott looked very frightened.  It was time to finish him.

'And now,' sobbed Mrs. Pott, 'now, after all, to be treated in
this way; to be reproached and insulted in the presence of a
third party, and that party almost a stranger.  But I will not
submit to it!  Goodwin,' continued Mrs. Pott, raising herself in
the arms of her attendant, 'my brother, the lieutenant, shall
interfere.  I'll be separated, Goodwin!'

'It would certainly serve him right, ma'am,' said Goodwin.

Whatever thoughts the threat of a separation might have
awakened 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
more hysterical, requested to be informed why she was ever born,
and required sundry other pieces of information of a similar description.

'My dear,' remonstrated Mr. Pott, 'do not give way to these
sensitive feelings.  I never believed that the paragraph had any
foundation, my dear--impossible.  I was only angry, my dear--I
may say outrageous--with the INDEPENDENT people for daring to
insert it; that's all.'  Mr. Pott cast an imploring look at the
innocent cause of the mischief, as if to entreat him to say nothing
about the serpent.

'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 horsewhip
the editor of the INDEPENDENT--does he, Goodwin?'

'Hush, hush, ma'am; pray keep yourself quiet,' replied the
bodyguard.  'I dare say he will, if you wish it, ma'am.'

'Certainly,' said Pott, as his wife evinced decided symptoms of
going off again.  'Of course I shall.'

'When, Goodwin--when?' said Mrs. Pott, still undecided
about the going off.

'Immediately, of course,' said Mr. Pott; 'before the day is out.'

'Oh, Goodwin,' resumed Mrs. Pott, 'it's the only way of
meeting the 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
once more that he would do it; but Mrs. Pott was so overcome at
the bare idea of having ever been suspected, that she was half a
dozen times on the very verge of a relapse, and most unquestionably
would have gone off, had it not been for the indefatigable
efforts of the assiduous Goodwin, and repeated entreaties for
pardon from the conquered Pott; and finally, when that unhappy
individual had been frightened and snubbed down to his proper
level, Mrs. Pott recovered, and they went to breakfast.

'You will not allow this base newspaper slander to shorten
your stay here, Mr. Winkle?' said Mrs. Pott, smiling through the
traces of her tears.

'I hope not,' said Mr. Pott, actuated, as he spoke, by a wish
that his visitor would choke himself with the morsel of dry toast
which he was raising to his lips at the moment, and so terminate
his stay effectually.

'I hope not.'

'You are very good,' said Mr. Winkle; 'but a letter has been
received from Mr. Pickwick--so I learn by a note from Mr.
Tupman, which was brought up to my bedroom door, this
morning--in which he requests us to join him at Bury to-day;
and we 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 at
her visitor.

'Quite,' responded Mr. Winkle.

The breakfast passed off in silence, for each of the party was
brooding over his, or her, own personal grievances.  Mrs. Pott
was regretting the loss of a beau; Mr. Pott his rash pledge to
horsewhip the INDEPENDENT; Mr. Winkle his having innocently
placed himself in so awkward a situation.  Noon approached, and
after many adieux and promises to return, he tore himself away.

'If he ever comes back, I'll poison him,' thought Mr. Pott, as
he turned into the little back office where he prepared his thunderbolts.

'If I ever do come back, and mix myself up with these people
again,'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 an
hour they were proceeding on their journey, along the road over
which Mr. Pickwick and Sam had so recently travelled, and of
which, as we have already said something, we do not feel called
upon to extract Mr. Snodgrass's poetical and beautiful description.

Mr. Weller was standing at the door of the Angel, ready to
receive them, and by that gentleman they were ushered to the
apartment of Mr. Pickwick, where, to the no small surprise of
Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass, and the no small embarrassment
of Mr. 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'm very glad you have not.  A young fellow like you will do
better one of 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 old gentleman,
shaking hands with Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass at the
same time.  'I have just been telling Pickwick that we must have
you all down at Christmas.  We're going to have a wedding--a
real 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 painful
doubt 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 to
the disappointed Rachael.

'Oh, she's gone away,' said the old gentleman.  'She's living at
a relation's, far enough off.  She couldn't bear to see the girls, so I
let her go.  But come!  Here's the dinner.  You must be hungry
after your ride.  I am, without any ride at all; so let us fall to.'

Ample justice was done to the meal; and when they were
seated round the table, after it had been disposed of, Mr. Pickwick,
to the intense horror and indignation of his followers,
related the adventure he had undergone, and the success which
had attended the base artifices of the diabolical Jingle.
'And the attack of rheumatism which I caught in that garden,'
said Mr. Pickwick, in conclusion, '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 the
malicious libel of the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT, and the consequent
excitement of their friend, the editor.

Mr. Pickwick's brow darkened during the recital.  His friends
observed it, and, when Mr. Winkle had concluded, maintained a
profound silence.  Mr. Pickwick struck the table emphatically
with his clenched fist, and spoke as follows:--

'Is it not a wonderful circumstance,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that
we seem destined to enter no man's house without involving him
in some degree of trouble?  Does it not, I ask, bespeak the
indiscretion, or, worse than that, the blackness of heart--that I
should say so!--of my followers, that, beneath whatever roof
they locate, they disturb the peace of mind and happiness of
some confiding female?  Is it not, I say--'

Mr. Pickwick would in all probability have gone on for some
time, had not the entrance of Sam, with a letter, caused him to
break off in his eloquent discourse.  He passed his handkerchief
across his forehead, took off his spectacles, wiped them, and put
them on again; and his voice had recovered its wonted softness of
tone when he said--

'What have you there, Sam?'

'Called at the post-office just now, and found this here letter,
as has laid there for two days,' replied Mr. Weller.  'It's sealed
vith a vafer, 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 in
Mr. Pickwick's countenance.

Mr. Pickwick made no reply, but, pushing the letter across the
table, and desiring Mr. Tupman to read it aloud, fell back in his
chair with a look of vacant astonishment quite alarming to
behold.

Mr. Tupman, with a trembling voice, read the letter, of which
the following is a copy:--


Freeman's Court, Cornhill,
August 28th, 1827.

Bardell against Pickwick.

Sir,

Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence
an action against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for which
the plaintiff lays her damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg to
inform you that a writ has been issued against you in this suit in the
Court of Common Pleas; and request to know, by return of post, the
name 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 astonishment
with which each man regarded his neighbour, and every man
regarded Mr. Pickwick, that all seemed afraid to speak.  The
silence 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,' murmured
Mr. Winkle, with an air of abstraction.

'It's a conspiracy,' said Mr. Pickwick, at length recovering the
power of speech; 'a base conspiracy between these two grasping
attorneys, Dodson and Fogg.  Mrs. Bardell would never do it;--
she hasn'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 certainly
be the best judge.  I don't wish to discourage you, but I should
certainly say that, of her case, Dodson and Fogg are far better
judges 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
a lodger would address his landlady?' continued Mr. Pickwick,
with great vehemence.  'Who ever saw me with her?  Not even my
friends 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,
'there was 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 recollection
of the scene in question struck forcibly upon him; 'what a
dreadful instance 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 nothing suspicious,
this looks rather queer--eh, Pickwick?  Ah, sly dog--sly
dog!' 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--I beg your pardon for the observations I made
just now.  We are all the victims of circumstances, and I the
greatest.'  With this apology Mr. Pickwick buried his head in his
hands, and ruminated; while Wardle 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 his
head and hammering the table.  'I'll see this Dodson and Fogg!
I'll go 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 ride
out 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,
for yourself 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
slowly up the street.  'Think o' his makin' up to that 'ere Mrs.
Bardell--vith a little boy, too!  Always the vay vith these here old
'uns howsoever, as is such steady goers to look at.  I didn't think
he'd ha' done it, though--I didn't think he'd ha' done it!'
Moralising in this strain, Mr. Samuel Weller bent his steps
towards the booking-office.



CHAPTER XIX
A PLEASANT DAY WITH AN UNPLEASANT TERMINATION


The birds, who, happily for their own peace of mind and personal
comfort, were in blissful ignorance of the preparations which had
been making to astonish them, on the first of September, hailed
it, no doubt, as one of the pleasantest mornings they had seen
that season.  Many a young partridge who strutted complacently
among the stubble, with all the finicking coxcombry of youth, and
many an older one who watched his levity out of his little round
eye, with the contemptuous air of a bird of wisdom and experience,
alike unconscious of their approaching doom, basked in the fresh
morning air with lively and blithesome feelings, and a few hours
afterwards were laid low upon the earth.  But we grow affecting:
let us proceed.

In plain commonplace matter-of-fact, then, it was a fine
morning--so fine that you would scarcely have believed that the
few months of an English summer had yet flown by.  Hedges,
fields, and trees, hill and moorland, presented to the eye their
ever-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; the sun shone out bright and warm; the songs of birds,
the hum of myriads of summer insects, filled the air; and the
cottage gardens, crowded with flowers of every rich and beautiful
tint, sparkled, in the heavy dew, like beds of glittering jewels.
Everything bore the stamp of summer, and none of its beautiful
colour had yet faded from the die.

Such was the morning, when an open carriage, in which were
three Pickwickians (Mr. Snodgrass having preferred to remain at
home), Mr. Wardle, and Mr. Trundle, with Sam Weller on the
box beside the driver, pulled up by a gate at the roadside, before
which stood a tall, raw-boned gamekeeper, and a half-booted,
leather-legginged boy, each bearing a bag of capacious dimensions,
and accompanied by a brace of pointers.

'I say,' whispered Mr. Winkle to Wardle, as the man let down
the steps, 'they don't suppose we're going to kill game enough to
fill those bags, do they?'

'Fill them!' exclaimed old Wardle.  'Bless you, yes!  You shall
fill one, and I the other; and when we've done with them, the
pockets of our shooting-jackets will hold as much more.'

Mr. Winkle dismounted without saying anything in reply to
this observation; but he thought within himself, that if the party
remained in the open air, till he had filled one of the bags, they
stood 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 with
some surprise from Mr. Winkle, who was holding his gun as if he
wished his coat pocket to save him the trouble of pulling the
trigger, to Mr. Tupman, who was holding his as if he was afraid
of it--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's pardon, though; he has had some practice.'

Mr. Winkle smiled feebly over his blue neckerchief in
acknowledgment of the compliment, and got himself so mysteriously
entangled with his gun, in his modest confusion, that if the piece
had been loaded, he must inevitably have shot himself dead upon
the spot.

'You mustn't handle your piece in that 'ere way, when you
come to have the charge in it, Sir,' said the tall gamekeeper
gruffly; 'or I'm damned if you won't make cold meat of some

on us.'

Mr. Winkle, thus admonished, abruptly altered his position,
and in so doing, contrived to bring the barrel into pretty smart
contact with Mr. Weller's head.

'Hollo!' said Sam, picking up his hat, which had been knocked
off, 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 then
tried to look as if it was somebody else, whereat Mr. Winkle
frowned 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; but
there'll be nobody to interrupt us, and there's a fine bit of
turf there.'

'Very well,' said old Wardle.  'Now the sooner we're off the
better.  Will you join us at twelve, then, Pickwick?'

Mr. Pickwick was particularly desirous to view the sport, the
more especially as he was rather anxious in respect of Mr.
Winkle's life and limbs.  On so inviting a morning, too, it was
very tantalising 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 the
gentleman's servant would wheel along the paths, he could keep
nigh 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 resolutely
protested against the introduction into a shooting party, of a
gentleman in a barrow, as a gross violation of all established
rules and precedents.
It was a great objection, but not an insurmountable one.  The
gamekeeper having been coaxed and feed, and having, moreover,
eased his mind by 'punching' the head of the inventive youth who
had first suggested the use of the machine, 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 across
the first field.

'What's the matter now?' said Wardle.

'I won't suffer this barrow to be moved another step,' said
Mr. Pickwick, resolutely, 'unless Winkle carries that gun of his in
a different manner.'

'How AM I to carry it?' said the wretched Winkle.
'Carry it with the 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
the sake of appearances, to please anybody.'

'I know the gentleman'll put that 'ere charge into somebody
afore 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 went again.

'Stop!' said Mr. Pickwick, after they had gone a few yards farther.

'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 great alarm.

'Not as you are carrying it,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'I am very
sorry to 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, 'or
you're quite as likely to lodge the charge in yourself as in
anything else.'

Mr. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece in
the position required, and the party moved on again; the two
amateurs marching with reversed arms, like a couple of privates
at a royal funeral.

The dogs suddenly came to a dead stop, and the party advancing
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're making a point?'

'Making a point!' said Mr. Winkle, staring about him, as if he
expected 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
in the excitement of the moment.  'Now then.'

There was a sharp whirring noise, that made Mr. Winkle start
back as if he had been shot himself.  Bang, bang, went a couple of
guns--the smoke swept quickly away over the field, and curled
into the air.

'Where are they!' said Mr. Winkle, in a state of the highest
excitement, turning round and round in all directions.  'Where are
they?  Tell me when to fire.  Where are they--where are they?'

'Where are they!' said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds
which the 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 reloading
his 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 they rise.'

'Ha! ha! ha!' roared Mr. Weller.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, compassionating his follower's
confusion and embarrassment.

'Sir.'

'Don't laugh.'

'Certainly not, Sir.'  So, by way of indemnification, Mr. Weller
contorted his features from behind the wheel-barrow, for the
exclusive amusement of the boy with the leggings, who thereupon
burst into a boisterous laugh, and was summarily cuffed by the
long gamekeeper, who wanted a pretext for turning round, to hide
his own merriment.

'Bravo, old fellow!' said Wardle to Mr. Tupman; 'you fired
that time, 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's
shoulder, though.  It nearly knocked me backwards.  I had no idea
these small firearms kicked so.'

'Ah,' said the old gentleman, smiling, 'you'll get used to it in
time.  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
as need be.

'Keep that barrow back now,' cried Wardle, when it had been
hoisted over a stile into another field, and Mr. Pickwick had been
deposited in it once more.

'All right, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, pausing.

'Now, Winkle,' said the old gentleman, 'follow me softly, and
don'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
very quietly they would have advanced, if Mr. Winkle, in the
performance of some very intricate evolutions with his gun, had not
accidentally fired, at the most critical moment, over the boy's
head, exactly in the very spot where the tall man's brain would
have been, had he been there instead.

'Why, what on earth did you do that for?' said old Wardle, as
the 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
its own accord.  It WILL do it.'

'Will do it!' echoed Wardle, with something of irritation in his
manner.  '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 get
something 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 away
his gun, do you hear, somebody?'

Nobody, however, volunteered to obey the command; and
Mr. Winkle, after darting a rebellious glance at Mr. Pickwick,
reloaded his gun, and proceeded onwards with the rest.

We are bound, on the authority of Mr. Pickwick, to state, that
Mr. Tupman's mode of proceeding evinced far more of prudence
and deliberation, than that adopted by Mr. Winkle.  Still, this by
no means detracts from the great authority of the latter gentleman,
on all matters connected with the field; because, as Mr.
Pickwick beautifully observes, it has somehow or other happened,
from time immemorial, that many of the best and ablest philosophers,
who have been perfect lights of science in matters of theory,
have been wholly unable to reduce them to practice.

Mr. Tupman's process, like many of our most sublime discoveries,
was extremely simple.  With the quickness and penetration of a
man of genius, he had at once observed that the two great points to
be attained were--first, to discharge his piece
without injury to himself, and, secondly, to do so, without
danger to the bystanders--obviously, the best thing to do, after
surmounting the difficulty of firing at all, was to shut his eyes
firmly, and fire into the air.

On one occasion, after performing this feat, Mr. Tupman, on
opening his eyes, beheld a plump partridge in the act of falling,
wounded, to the ground.  He was on the point of congratulating
Mr. Wardle on his invariable success, when that gentleman
advanced towards him, and grasped him warmly by the hand.

'Tupman,' said the old gentleman, 'you singled out that
particular bird?'

'No,' said Mr. Tupman--'no.'

'You did,' said Wardle.  'I saw you do it--I observed you pick
him out--I noticed you, as you raised your piece to take aim; and
I will say this, that the best shot in existence could not have done
it more beautifully.  You are an older hand at this than I thought
you, Tupman; you have been out before.'
It was in vain for Mr. Tupman to protest, with a smile of self-
denial, that he never had.  The very smile was taken as evidence to
the contrary; and from that time forth his reputation was
established.  It is not the only reputation that has been acquired
as easily, nor are such fortunate circumstances confined to
partridge-shooting.

Meanwhile, Mr. Winkle flashed, and blazed, and smoked
away, without producing any material results worthy of being
noted down; sometimes expending his charge in mid-air, and at
others sending it skimming along so near the surface of the
ground as to place the lives of the two dogs on a rather uncertain
and precarious tenure.  As a display of fancy-shooting, it was
extremely varied and curious; as an exhibition of firing with any
precise object, it was, upon the whole, perhaps a failure.  It is an
established axiom, that 'every bullet has its billet.'  If it apply in
an equal degree to shot, those of Mr. Winkle were unfortunate
foundlings, deprived of their natural rights, cast loose upon the
world, and billeted nowhere.
'Well,' said Wardle, walking up to the side of the barrow, and
wiping the streams of perspiration from his jolly red face;
'smoking day, isn't it?'

'It is, indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  The sun is tremendously
hot, 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's
the 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 of
refreshments.  'Out of the vay, young leathers.  If you walley my
precious life don't upset me, as the gen'l'm'n said to the driver
when they was a-carryin' him to Tyburn.'  And quickening his
pace to a sharp run, Mr. Weller wheeled his master nimbly to the
green hill, shot him dexterously out by the very side of the basket,
and proceeded to unpack it with the utmost despatch.

'Weal pie,' said Mr. Weller, soliloquising, as he arranged the
eatables on the grass.  'Wery good thing is weal pie, when you
know the lady as made it, and is quite sure it ain't kittens; and
arter all though, where's the odds, when they're so like weal that
the 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
in the same house vith a pieman once, sir, and a wery nice man
he was--reg'lar clever chap, too--make pies out o' anything, he
could.  "What a number o' cats you keep, Mr. Brooks," says I,
when I'd got intimate with him.  "Ah," says he, "I do--a good
many," says he, "You must be wery fond o' cats," says I.  "Other
people is," says he, 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 is out."  "Why, what do you mean?" says I.
"Mean!" says he.  "That I'll never be a party to the combination
o' the butchers, to keep up the price o' meat," says he.  "Mr.
Weller," says he, a-squeezing my hand wery hard, and vispering
in my ear--"don't mention this here 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, 'cording to the demand.  And more
than that," says he, "I can make a weal a beef-steak, or a beef-
steak a kidney, or any one on 'em a mutton, at a minute's notice,
just as the market changes, and appetites wary!"'

'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 of
emptying the basket, 'and the pies was beautiful.  Tongue--, well
that's a wery good thing when it ain't a woman's.  Bread--
knuckle o' ham, reg'lar picter--cold beef in slices, wery good.
What's in them stone jars, young touch-and-go?'

'Beer in this one,' replied the boy, taking from his shoulder a
couple of large stone bottles, fastened together by a leathern
strap--'cold punch in t'other.'

'And a wery good notion of a lunch it is, take it altogether,'
said Mr. Weller, surveying his arrangement of the repast with
great satisfaction.  'Now, gen'l'm'n, "fall on," as the English said
to the French when they fixed bagginets.'

It needed no second invitation to induce the party to yield full
justice to the meal; and as little pressing did it require to induce
Mr. Weller, the long gamekeeper, and the two boys, to station
themselves on the grass, at a little distance, and do good execution
upon a decent proportion of the viands.  An old oak afforded a
pleasant shelter to the group, and a rich prospect of arable and
meadow land, intersected with luxuriant hedges, and richly
ornamented 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 of punch!'

'With great pleasure,' said Mr. Pickwick; the satisfaction of
whose countenance, after drinking it, bore testimony to the
sincerity of the reply.

'Good,' said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips.  'Very good.  I'll
take another.  Cool; very cool.  Come, gentlemen,' continued
Mr. Pickwick, still retaining his hold upon the jar, 'a toast.  Our
friends at Dingley Dell.'

The toast was drunk with loud acclamations.

'I'll tell you what I shall do, to get up my shooting again,' said
Mr. 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.  I
understand it's capital practice.'

'I know a gen'l'man, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, 'as did that, and
begun at two yards; but he never tried it on agin; for he blowed
the bird right clean away at the first fire, and nobody ever seed a
feather on him arterwards.'

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'Have the goodness to reserve your anecdotes till they are
called for.'

'Cert'nly, sir.'

Here Mr. Weller winked the eye which was not concealed by
the beer-can he was raising to his lips, with such exquisite
facetiousness, that the two boys went into spontaneous convulsions,
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 is
extremely warm, and-- Tupman, my dear friend, a glass of punch?'

'With the greatest delight,' replied Mr. Tupman; and having
drank that glass, Mr. Pickwick took another, just to see whether
there was any orange peel in the punch, because orange peel
always 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 another
in honour of the punch-compounder, unknown.

This constant succession of glasses produced considerable
effect upon Mr. Pickwick; his countenance beamed with the most
sunny smiles, laughter played around his lips, and good-humoured
merriment twinkled in his eye.  Yielding by degrees to the influence
of the exciting liquid, rendered more so by the heat, Mr. Pickwick
expressed a strong desire to recollect a song which he had heard in
his infancy, and the attempt proving abortive, sought to stimulate
his memory with more glasses of punch, which appeared to have quite
a contrary effect; for, from forgetting the words of the song, he began
to forget how to articulate any words at all; and finally, after rising
to his legs to address the company in an eloquent speech, he fell into
the barrow, and fast asleep, simultaneously.

The basket having been repacked, and it being found perfectly
impossible to awaken Mr. Pickwick from his torpor, some
discussion took place whether it would be better for Mr. Weller to
wheel his master back again, or to leave him where he was, until
they should all be ready to return.  The latter course was at
length decided on; and as the further expedition was not to
exceed an hour's duration, and as Mr. Weller begged very hard
to be one of the party, it was determined to leave Mr. Pickwick
asleep in the barrow, 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 shade
until his friends came back, or, in default thereof, until the shades
of evening had fallen on the landscape, there appears no reasonable
cause to doubt; always supposing that he had been suffered
to remain there in peace.  But he was NOT suffered to remain there
in peace.  And this was what prevented him.

Captain Boldwig was a little fierce man in a stiff black neckerchief
and blue surtout, who, when he did condescend to walk
about his property, did it in company with a thick rattan stick
with a brass ferrule, and a gardener and sub-gardener with meek
faces, to whom (the gardeners, not the stick) Captain Boldwig
gave his orders with all due grandeur and ferocity; for Captain
Boldwig's wife's sister had married a marquis, and the captain's
house 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 little
Captain Boldwig, followed by the two gardeners, came striding
along as fast as his size and importance would let him; and when
he came near the oak tree, Captain Boldwig paused and drew a
long breath, and looked at the prospect as if he thought the
prospect ought to be highly gratified at having him to take notice
of 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 you
hear, Hunt?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'And remind me to have a board done about trespassers, and
spring guns, and all that sort of thing, to keep the common
people out.  Do you hear, Hunt; do you hear?'

'I'll not forget it, Sir.'

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' said the other man, advancing, with
his hand to his hat.

'Well, Wilkins, what's the matter with you?' said Captain Boldwig.

'I beg your pardon, sir--but I think there have been trespassers
here 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 met his eye.  'They have actually been devouring their food
here.  I wish I had the vagabonds here!' said the captain, clenching
the thick stick.

'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 timid
glance of Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheel-barrow and
Mr. Pickwick.

'Who are you, you rascal?' said the captain, administering
several pokes to Mr. Pickwick's body with the thick stick.
'What's your name?'

'Cold punch,' murmured Mr. Pickwick, as he sank to sleep again.

'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,' said
Captain Boldwig.  'He's only feigning to be asleep now,' said the
captain, 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
great timidity.

'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
let us 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 this
imperious mandate; and the great Captain Boldwig, swelling
with indignation, proceeded on his walk.

Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when
they returned, to find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and
taken the wheel-barrow with him.  It was the most mysterious and
unaccountable thing that was ever heard of For a lame man to
have got upon his legs without any previous notice, and walked
off, would have been most extraordinary; but when it came to his
wheeling a heavy barrow before him, by way of amusement, it
grew positively miraculous.  They searched every nook and
corner round, together and separately; they shouted, whistled,
laughed, called--and all with the same result.  Mr. Pickwick was
not to be found.  After some hours of fruitless search, they
arrived at the unwelcome conclusion that they must go home
without him.

Meanwhile Mr. Pickwick had been wheeled to the pound, and
safely deposited therein, fast asleep in the wheel-barrow, to the
immeasurable delight and satisfaction not only of all the boys in
the village, but three-fourths of the whole population, who had
gathered round, in expectation of his waking.  If their most
intense gratification had been awakened by seeing him wheeled
in, how many hundredfold was their joy increased when, after a
few indistinct cries of 'Sam!' he sat up in the barrow, and gazed
with indescribable 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?' occasioned
another, 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 brought from?'
'Boldwig!  Captain Boldwig!' was the only reply.

'Let me out,' cried Mr. Pickwick.  'Where's my servant?
Where are 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
the playful 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 whence
there 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 made his way to Mr. Pickwick's side, and placed him in the
vehicle, just as the latter had concluded the third and last round
of a single combat 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
my compliments--Mr. Veller's compliments--to the justice, and
tell him I've spiled his beadle, and that, if he'll swear in a new 'un,
I'll come back again to-morrow and spile him.  Drive on, old feller.'

'I'll give directions for the commencement of an action for false
imprisonment against this Captain Boldwig, directly I get to
London,' said Mr. Pickwick, as soon as the carriage turned out of
the 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 in
Wardle'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 too
much 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
roar became general.  So, to keep up their good-humour, they
stopped at the first roadside tavern they came to, and ordered a
glass of brandy-and-water all round, with a magnum of extra
strength for Mr. Samuel Weller.



CHAPTER XX
SHOWING HOW DODSON AND FOGG WERE MEN OF
  BUSINESS, AND THEIR CLERKS MEN OF PLEASURE; AND
  HOW AN AFFECTING INTERVIEW TOOK PLACE BETWEEN
  Mr. WELLER AND HIS LONG-LOST PARENT; SHOWING ALSO
  WHAT CHOICE SPIRITS ASSEMBLED AT THE MAGPIE AND
  STUMP, AND WHAT A CAPITAL CHAPTER THE NEXT ONE
  WILL BE


In the ground-floor front of a dingy house, at the very farthest end
of Freeman's Court, Cornhill, sat the four clerks of Messrs. Dodson
& Fogg, two of his Majesty's attorneys of the courts of King's Bench
and Common Pleas at Westminster, and solicitors of the High Court of
Chancery--the aforesaid clerks catching as favourable glimpses of
heaven's light and heaven's sun, in the course of their daily
labours, as a man might hope to do, were he placed at the bottom
of a reasonably deep well; and without 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 partition
to screen the clerks from the vulgar gaze, a couple of old wooden
chairs, a very loud-ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella-stand,
a row of hat-pegs, and a few shelves, on which were deposited
several ticketed bundles of dirty papers, some old deal boxes with
paper labels, and sundry decayed stone ink bottles of various
shapes and sizes.  There was a glass door leading into the passage
which formed the entrance to the court, and on the outer side of
this glass door, Mr. Pickwick, closely followed by Sam Weller,
presented himself on the Friday morning succeeding the occurrence
of which a faithful narration is given in the last chapter.

'Come in, can't you!' cried a voice from behind the partition,
in reply to Mr. Pickwick's gentle tap at the door.  And Mr.
Pickwick and 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 particularly
engaged,' replied the voice; and at the same time the head to
which the voice belonged, with a pen behind its ear, looked over
the partition, and at Mr. Pickwick.

it was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulously
parted on one side, and flattened down with pomatum, was
twisted into little semi-circular tails round a flat face ornamented
with a pair of small eyes, and garnished with a very dirty shirt
collar, and a rusty black stock.

'Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly
engaged,' 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 great deliberation,
while another clerk, who was mixing a Seidlitz powder,
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
of the clock and the murmured conversation of the clerks.

'That was a game, wasn't it?' said one of the gentlemen, in a
brown coat and brass buttons, inky drabs, and bluchers, at the
conclusion of some inaudible relation of his previous evening's
adventures.

'Devilish good--devilish good,' said the Seidlitz-powder man.
'Tom Cummins was in the chair,' said the man with the brown
coat.  'It was half-past four when I got to Somers Town, and then
I was so uncommon lushy, that I couldn't find the place where the
latch-key went in, and was obliged to knock up the old 'ooman.
I say, I wonder what old Fogg 'ud say, if he knew it.  I should get
the sack, 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 the
man in the brown coat, 'while Jack was upstairs sorting the
papers, and you two were gone to the stamp-office.  Fogg was
down here, opening the letters when that chap as we issued the
writ against at Camberwell, you know, came in--what's his
name again?'

'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," said
Ramsey, putting his hand in his pocket, and bringing out the
money, "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
the money, done up in a bit of blotting-paper.  Old Fogg looked
first at the 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 a declaration 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," said Fogg, "my clerk's just gone to
file it.  Hasn't Mr. Jackson gone to file that declaration in
Bullman and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks?"  Of course I said yes, and
then Fogg coughed again, and looked at Ramsey.  "My God!"
said Ramsey; "and here have I nearly driven myself mad, scraping
this money together, and all to no purpose."  "None at all," said
Fogg coolly; "so you had better go back and scrape some more
together, and bring it here in time."  "I can't get it, by God!" said
Ramsey, striking the desk with his fist.  "Don't bully me, sir,"
said Fogg, getting into a passion on purpose.  "I am not bullying
you, sir," said Ramsey.  "You are," said Fogg; "get out, sir; get
out of this office, Sir, and come back, Sir, when you know how to
behave yourself."  Well, Ramsey tried to speak, but Fogg wouldn't
let him, so he put the money in his pocket, and sneaked out.  The
door was scarcely shut, when old Fogg turned round to me, with
a sweet smile on his face, and drew the declaration out of his coat
pocket.  "Here, Wicks," says Fogg, "take a cab, and go down to
the Temple as quick as you can, and file that.  The costs are quite
safe, for he's a steady man with a large family, at a salary of
five-and-twenty shillings a week, and if he gives us a warrant of
attorney, as he must in the end, I know his employers will see it
paid; 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
and small income, he'll be all the better for a good lesson against
getting into debt--won't he, Mr. Wicks, won't he?"--and he
smiled so good-naturedly as he went away, that it was delightful
to see him.  He is a capital man of business,' said Wicks, in a tone
of the deepest admiration, 'capital, isn't he?'

The other three cordially subscribed to this opinion, and the
anecdote 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 the
attention of the young gentlemen behind the partition, who,
having now relaxed their minds by a little conversation among
themselves, 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.
'What name shall I tell Mr. Fogg?'

'Pickwick,' replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs.

Mr. Jackson departed upstairs on his errand, and immediately
returned with a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick
in five 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
and Pickwick.'

A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound of suppressed
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 you
mean by twigging me?'

Mr. Weller replied by pointing with his thumb over his
shoulder, and Mr. Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible of
the pleasing fact, that all the four clerks, with countenances
expressive of the utmost amusement, and with their heads thrust
over the wooden screen, were minutely inspecting the figure and
general appearance of the supposed trifler with female hearts, and
disturber of female happiness.  On his looking up, the row of heads
suddenly disappeared, and the sound of pens travelling at a
furious rate over paper, immediately succeeded.

A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office, summoned
Mr. Jackson to the apartment of Fogg, from whence he came
back to say that he (Fogg) was ready to see Mr. Pickwick if he
would step upstairs.
Upstairs Mr. Pickwick did step accordingly, leaving Sam
Weller below.  The room door of the one-pair back, bore
inscribed in legible characters the imposing words, 'Mr. Fogg'; and,
having tapped thereat, and been desired to come in, Jackson
ushered 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 partner
will be here directly, and we can converse about this matter, sir.'

Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but, instead of
reading the latter, peeped over the top of it, and took a survey of
the man of business, who was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable-
diet sort of man, in a black coat, dark mixture trousers, and
small black gaiters; a kind of being who seemed to be an essential
part of the desk at which he was writing, and to have as much
thought or feeling.

After a few minutes' silence, Mr. Dodson, a plump, portly,
stern-looking man, with a loud voice, appeared; and the
conversation commenced.

'This is Mr. Pickwick,' said Fogg.

'Ah!  You are the defendant, Sir, in Bardell and Pickwick?'
said Dodson.

'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,
Mr Pickwick?'

'Hush, Fogg,' said Dodson, 'let me hear what Mr. Pickwick has
to say.'

'I came, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick, gazing placidly on the
two partners, 'I came here, gentlemen, to express the surprise with
which I received your letter of the other day, and to inquire what
grounds of action you can have against me.'

'Grounds of--' Fogg had ejaculated this much, when he was
stopped 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 moral
elevation in his air, 'you will consult your own conscience and
your own feelings.  We, Sir, we, are guided entirely by the statement
of our client.  That statement, Sir, may be true, or it may be
false; it may be credible, or it may be incredible; but, if it be true,
and if it be 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
unfortunate man, 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 your conduct, Sir, I do not hesitate to assert that I
should have but one opinion about it.'  Here Dodson drew himself
up, with an air of offended virtue, and looked at Fogg,
who thrust his hands farther in his pockets, and nodding
his head sagely, said, in a tone of the fullest concurrence,
'Most certainly.'

'Well, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable pain depicted
in his countenance, 'you will permit me to assure you that I am a
most unfortunate man, so far as this case is concerned.'

'I hope you are, Sir,' replied Dodson; 'I trust you may be, Sir.
If you are really innocent of what is laid to your charge, you are
more 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
of incredulity.

'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 a
parchment cover.

'Here is the entry,' resumed Dodson.  '"Middlesex, Capias
MARTHA 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 is
your 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 hundred pounds?'
said Mr. Pickwick.

'To which understanding you may add my assurance, that if
we could have prevailed upon our client, they would have been
laid at treble the amount, sir,' replied Dodson.
'I believe Mrs. Bardell specially said, however,' observed Fogg,
glancing at Dodson, 'that she would not compromise for a
farthing less.'

'Unquestionably,' replied Dodson sternly.  For the action was
only just begun; and it wouldn't have done to let Mr. Pickwick
compromise it then, even if he had been so disposed.

'As you offer no terms, sir,' said Dodson, displaying a slip of
parchment in his right hand, and affectionately pressing a paper
copy of it, on Mr. Pickwick with his left, 'I had better serve you
with a copy of this writ, sir.  Here is the original, sir.'

'Very well, gentlemen, very well,' said Mr. Pickwick, rising in
person and wrath at the same time; 'you shall hear from my
solicitor, 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 the
disgraceful 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,' replied
Dodson.  'Pray, go on, sir--disgraceful and rascally proceedings,
I think you said?'

'I did,' said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused.  'I said, Sir, that
of all the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever were
attempted, 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 us
thieves, Sir; or perhaps You would like to assault one Of US.  Pray
do 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 gentleman
would have complied with his earnest entreaty, but for the
interposition of Sam, who, hearing the dispute, emerged from the
office, mounted the stairs, and seized his master by the arm.

'You just come away,' said Mr. Weller.  'Battledore and
shuttlecock's a wery good game, vhen you ain't the shuttlecock
and two lawyers the battledores, in which case it gets too excitin'
to be pleasant.  Come avay, Sir.  If you want to ease your mind by
blowing 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 his
master down the stairs, and down the court, and having safely
deposited him in Cornhill, fell behind, prepared to follow
whithersoever he should lead.

Mr. Pickwick walked on abstractedly, crossed opposite the
Mansion House, and bent his steps up Cheapside.  Sam began to
wonder 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 gone
last 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 at
once; but first, as I have been rather ruffled, I should like a glass
of brandy-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
the same 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 the
others has, and it's wery inconvenient.'

Mr. Pickwick observed his valet's directions implicitly, and
bidding 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 the
same table with his master, was accommodated with a pint of porter.

The room was one of a very homely description, and was
apparently under the especial patronage of stage-coachmen; for
several gentleman, who had all the appearance of belonging to
that learned profession, were drinking and smoking in the
different boxes.  Among the number was one stout, red-faced,
elderly man, in particular, seated in an opposite box, who
attracted Mr. Pickwick's attention.  The stout man was smoking
with great vehemence, but between every half-dozen puffs, he
took his pipe from his mouth, and looked first at Mr. Weller and
then at Mr. Pickwick.  Then, he would bury in a quart pot, as
much of his countenance as the dimensions of the quart pot
admitted of its receiving, and take another look at Sam and
Mr. Pickwick.  Then he would take another half-dozen puffs with
an air of profound meditation and look at them again.  At last the
stout man, putting up his legs on the seat, and leaning his back
against the wall, began to puff at his pipe without leaving off at
all, and to stare through the smoke at the new-comers, as if he
had made up his 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's
eyes every now and then turning towards him, he began to gaze
in the same direction, at the same time shading his eyes with his
hand, as if he partially recognised the object before him, and
wished to make quite sure of its identity.  His doubts were
speedily dispelled, however; for the stout man having blown a
thick cloud from his pipe, a hoarse voice, like some strange effort
of ventriloquism, emerged from beneath the capacious shawls
which muffled 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, with
astonished 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. Weller
made room on the seat beside him, for the stout man, who
advanced pipe in mouth and pot in hand, to greet him.

'Wy, Sammy,' said the father, 'I ha'n't seen you, for two year
and better.'

'Nor more you have, old codger,' replied the son.  'How's
mother-in-law?'

'Wy, I'll tell you what, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, senior, with
much solemnity in his manner; 'there never was a nicer woman
as a widder, than that 'ere second wentur o' mine--a sweet
creetur she was, Sammy; all I can say on her now, is, that as she
was such an uncommon pleasant widder, it's a great pity she ever
changed her 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
his pocket; 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, and
addressing 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. Pickwick
laughed, Sam Weller informed his parent in a whisper, of
the relation 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 good
deal o' pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streets
when he was wery young, and shift for hisself.  It's the only way
to make 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 got
reg'larly done the other day.'

'No!' said his father.

'I did,' said the son; and he proceeded to relate, in as few
words as possible, how he had fallen a ready dupe to the stratagems
of Job Trotter.

Mr. Weller, senior, listened to the tale with the most profound
attention, and, at its termination, said--

'Worn't one o' these chaps slim and tall, with long hair, and
the gift o' the gab wery gallopin'?'

Mr. Pickwick did not quite understand the last item of description,
but, comprehending the first, said 'Yes,' at a venture.

'T' other's a black-haired chap in mulberry livery, with a wery
large head?'

'Yes, yes, he is,' said Mr. Pickwick and Sam, with great earnestness.
'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
an Ipswich coach now and then for a friend o' mine.  I worked
down the wery day arter the night as you caught the rheumatic,
and at the Black Boy at Chelmsford--the wery place they'd
come to--I took 'em up, right through to Ipswich, where the
man-servant--him in the mulberries--told me they was a-goin'
to put up for a long time.'

'I'll follow him,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'we may as well see
Ipswich as 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 appearance
is wery sing'ler; besides that 'ere, I wondered to see the gen'l'm'n
so formiliar with his servant; and, more than that, as they sat in
the front, right behind the box, I heerd 'em laughing and saying
how 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 appellation
of 'old Fireworks,' but still it is by no means a respectful or
flattering designation.  The recollection of all the wrongs he had
sustained at Jingle's hands, had crowded on Mr. Pickwick's
mind, the moment Mr. Weller began to speak; it wanted but a
feather to turn the scale, and 'old Fireworks' did it.

'I'll follow him,' said Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on
the table.

'I shall work down to Ipswich the day arter to-morrow, Sir,'
said Mr. Weller the elder, 'from the Bull in Whitechapel; and if
you really 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.  But
don'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 success
to 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 to Mr. Pickwick, and nodding to Sam, jerked it down his
capacious throat as if it had been a small thimbleful.
'Well done, father,' said Sam, 'take care, old fellow, or you'll
have a touch of your old complaint, 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, hastily
producing his note-book--'what is it?'

'The gout, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'the gout is a complaint as
arises from too much ease and comfort.  If ever you're attacked
with the gout, sir, jist you marry a widder as has got a good loud
woice, with a decent notion of usin' it, and you'll never have the
gout agin.  It's a capital prescription, sir.  I takes it reg'lar, and I
can warrant it to drive away any illness as is caused by too much
jollity.'  Having imparted this valuable secret, Mr. Weller drained
his glass once more, produced a laboured wink, sighed deeply,
and slowly 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 of pity, ven he buried him.'

There was no replying to this very apposite conclusion, and,
therefore, Mr. Pickwick, after settling the reckoning, resumed his
walk to Gray's Inn.  By the time he reached its secluded groves,
however, eight o'clock had struck, and the unbroken stream of
gentlemen in muddy high-lows, soiled white hats, and rusty
apparel, who were pouring towards the different avenues of
egress, warned him that the majority of the offices had closed for
that day.

After climbing two pairs of steep and dirty stairs, he found his
anticipations were realised.  Mr. Perker's 'outer door' was closed;
and the dead silence which followed Mr. Weller's repeated kicks
thereat, announced that the officials had retired from business for
the night.

'This is pleasant, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'I shouldn't lose
an hour 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 I have 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 curious
circumstance, 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 old
woman, whose appearance, as well as the condition of the office,
which she had by this time opened, indicated a rooted antipathy
to the application of soap and water; 'do you know where I can
find Mr. Perker, my good woman?'

'No, I don't,' replied the old woman gruffly; 'he's out o' town now.'

'That's unfortunate,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'where's his clerk?
Do you 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,
I was to say where he was, so I suppose there's no harm in
telling.  If you 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
that the hostelry in question was situated in a court, happy in the
double advantage of being in the vicinity of Clare Market, and
closely approximating to the back of New Inn, Mr. Pickwick and
Sam descended the rickety staircase in safety, and issued forth in
quest of the Magpie and Stump.

This favoured tavern, sacred to the evening orgies of Mr.
Lowten and his companions, was what ordinary people would
designate a public-house.  That the landlord was a man of money-
making turn was sufficiently testified by the fact of a small bulkhead
beneath the tap-room window, in size and shape not unlike
a sedan-chair, being underlet to a mender of shoes: and that he
was a being of a philanthropic mind was evident from the
protection he afforded to a pieman, who vended his delicacies
without fear of interruption, on the very door-step.  In the lower
windows, which were decorated with curtains of a saffron hue,
dangled two or three printed cards, bearing reference to Devonshire
cider and Dantzic spruce, while a large blackboard,
announcing in white letters to an enlightened public, that there
were 500,000 barrels of double stout in the cellars of the establishment,
left the mind in a state of not unpleasing doubt and
uncertainty as to the precise direction in the bowels of the earth, in
which this mighty cavern might be supposed to extend.  When we
add that the weather-beaten signboard bore the half-obliterated
semblance of a magpie intently eyeing a crooked streak of brown
paint, which the neighbours had been taught from infancy to
consider as the 'stump,' we have said all that need be said of the
exterior of the edifice.

On Mr. Pickwick's presenting himself at the bar, an elderly
female emerged from behind the screen therein, and presented
herself before him.

'Is Mr. Lowten here, ma'am?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes, he is, Sir,' replied the landlady.  'Here, Charley, show the
gentleman 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, and
he'll put him out.  He'll be done directly, Sir.'

The red-headed pot-boy had scarcely finished speaking,
when a most 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, suffered himself to be conducted into the presence of Mr.
Lowten.

At the announcement of 'A gentleman to speak to you, Sir,' a
puffy-faced young man, who filled the chair at the head of the
table, looked with some surprise in the direction from whence
the voice proceeded; and the surprise seemed to be by no means
diminished, when his eyes rested on an individual whom he had
never seen before.

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and I am very
sorry to disturb the other gentlemen, too, but I come on very
particular business; and if you will suffer me to detain you at this
end of the room for five minutes, I shall be very much obliged to you.'

The puffy-faced young man rose, and drawing a chair close to
Mr. Pickwick in an obscure corner of the room, listened attentively
to his tale of woe.

'Ah,'he said, when Mr. Pickwick had concluded, 'Dodson and
Fogg--sharp practice theirs--capital men of business, Dodson
and Fogg, 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 action defended, and will leave
the copy with me, I can do all that's needful till he comes back.'

'That's exactly what I came here for,' said Mr. Pickwick,
handing over the document.  'If anything particular occurs, you
can 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
company here to-night.  There's Samkin and Green's managing-
clerk, and Smithers and Price's chancery, and Pimkin and
Thomas's out o' doors--sings a capital song, he does--and Jack
Bamber, and ever so many more.  You're come out of the country,
I suppose.  Would you like to join us?'

Mr. Pickwick could not resist so tempting an opportunity of
studying 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 called
for a glass of his favourite beverage.

A profound silence, quite contrary to Mr. Pickwick's expectation,
succeeded.
'You don't find this sort of thing disagreeable, I hope, sir?'
said his right hand neighbour, a gentleman in a checked shirt and
Mosaic studs, with a cigar in his mouth.

'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 another
gentleman on the opposite side of the table.  'It's board and
lodgings to me, is smoke.'

Mr. Pickwick glanced at the speaker, and thought that if it
were washing 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,' said
the chairman.

'No, he ain't,' said Mr. Grundy.

'Why not?' said the chairman.

'Because he can't,' said Mr. Grundy.
'You had better say he won't,' replied the chairman.

'Well, then, he won't,' retorted Mr. Grundy.  Mr. Grundy's
positive 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 a
young 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 Mosaic jewellery.

'Because I only know one song, and I have sung it already, and
it's a fine of "glasses round" to sing the same song twice in a
night,' replied the chairman.

This was an unanswerable reply, and silence prevailed again.

'I have been to-night, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick, hoping
to start a subject which all the company could take a part in
discussing, 'I have been to-night, in a place which you all know
very well, doubtless, but which I have not been in for some years,
and know very little of; I mean Gray's Inn, gentlemen.  Curious
little 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 was never heard to talk about anything else but the inns, and
he has lived 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 of
stooping forward when silent, Mr. Pickwick had not observed
before.  He wondered, though, when the old man raised his
shrivelled face, and bent his gray eye upon him, with a keen
inquiring look, that such remarkable features could have escaped
his attention for a moment.  There was a fixed grim smile
perpetually on his countenance; he leaned his chin on a long, skinny
hand, with nails of extraordinary length; and as he inclined his
head to one side, and looked keenly out from beneath his ragged
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 an
animated torrent of words.  As this chapter has been a long one,
however, and as the old man was a remarkable personage, it will
be more respectful to him, and more convenient to us, to let him
speak for himself in a fresh one.



CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH THE OLD MAN LAUNCHES FORTH INTO HIS
  FAVOURITE THEME, AND RELATES A STORY ABOUT A
  QUEER CLIENT


Aha!' said the old man, a brief description of whose manner and
appearance concluded the last chapter, 'aha! who was talking about the inns?'

'I was, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick--'I was observing what
singular old places they are.'

'YOU!' said the old man contemptuously.  'What do YOU know
of the time when young men shut themselves up in those lonely
rooms, and read and read, hour after hour, and night after night,
till their reason wandered beneath their midnight studies; till
their mental powers were exhausted; till morning's light brought
no freshness or health to them; and they sank beneath the
unnatural devotion of their youthful energies to their dry old
books?  Coming down to a later time, and a very different day,
what do YOU know of the gradual sinking beneath consumption,
or the quick wasting of fever--the grand results of "life"
and dissipation--which men have undergone in these same
rooms?  How many vain pleaders for mercy, do you think,
have turned away heart-sick from the lawyer's office, to find
a resting-place in the Thames, or a refuge in the jail?  They
are no ordinary houses, those.  There is not a panel in the old
wainscotting, but what, if it were endowed with the powers of
speech and memory, could start from the wall, and tell its tale of
horror--the romance of life, Sir, the romance of life!  Common-
place as they may seem now, I tell you they are strange old
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 was
prepared with no observation in reply; and the old man checking
his impetuosity, and resuming the leer, which had disappeared
during his previous excitement, said--

'Look at them in another light--their most common-place and
least romantic.  What fine places of slow torture they are!  Think
of the needy man who has spent his all, beggared himself, and
pinched his friends, to enter the profession, which is destined
never to yield him a morsel of bread.  The waiting--the hope--
the disappointment--the fear--the misery--the poverty--the
blight on his hopes, and end to his career--the suicide perhaps, or
the shabby, slipshod drunkard.  Am I not right about them?'
And the old man rubbed his hands, and leered as if in delight at
having found another point of view in which to place his
favourite subject.

Mr. Pickwick eyed the old man with great curiosity, and the
remainder 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 a mile for it; only people never think of it.'

'I never thought of the romance of this particular subject
before, certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick, laughing.
'To be sure you didn't,' said the little old man; 'of course not.
As a friend of mine used 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 he was going to open his outer door.  Fell with his
head in his own letter-box, and there he lay for eighteen months.
Everybody thought 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 he
hadn'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, and
silks, fell forward in the arms of the porter who opened the door.
Queer, that.  Rather, perhaps; rather, eh?'The little old man put
his head more on one side, and rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee.

'I know another case,' said the little old man, when his chuckles
had in some degree subsided.  'It occurred in Clifford's Inn.
Tenant of a top set--bad character--shut himself up in his
bedroom closet, and took a dose of arsenic.  The steward thought
he had run away: opened the door, and put a bill up.  Another
man came, took the chambers, furnished them, and went to live
there.  Somehow or other he couldn't sleep--always restless and
uncomfortable.  "Odd," says he.  "I'll make the other room my
bedchamber, and this my sitting-room."  He made the change, and
slept very well at night, but suddenly found that, somehow, he
couldn't read in the evening: he got nervous and uncomfortable,
and used to be always snuffing his candles and staring about him.
"I can't make this out," said he, when he came home from the
play one night, and was drinking a glass of cold grog, with his
back to the wall, in order that 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 the little closet that had been always
locked up, and a shudder ran through his whole frame from top
to toe.  "I have felt this strange feeling before," said he, "I cannot
help thinking there's something wrong about that closet."  He
made a strong effort, plucked up his courage, shivered the lock
with a blow or two of the poker, opened the door, and there, sure
enough, standing bolt upright in the corner, was the last tenant,
with a little bottle clasped firmly in his hand, and his face--well!'
As the little old man concluded, he looked round on the attentive
faces of his wondering auditory with a 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 the
aid of his glasses.

'Strange!' said the little old man.  'Nonsense; you think them
strange, because you know nothing about it.  They are funny, but
not uncommon.'

'Funny!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.
'Yes, funny, are they not?' replied the little old man, with a
diabolical leer; and then, without pausing for an answer, he
continued--

'I knew another man--let me see--forty years ago now--who
took an old, damp, rotten set of chambers, in one of the most
ancient inns, that had been shut up and empty for years and
years before.  There were lots of old women's stories about the
place, and it certainly was very far from being a cheerful one;
but he was poor, and the rooms were cheap, and that would have
been quite a sufficient reason for him, if they had been ten times
worse than they really were.  He was obliged to take some
mouldering fixtures that were on the place, and, among the rest,
was a great lumbering wooden press for papers, with large glass
doors, and a green curtain inside; a pretty useless thing for him,
for he had no papers to 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 all his furniture--it wasn't quite a truck-
full--and had sprinkled it about the room, so as to make the four
chairs look as much like a dozen as possible, and was sitting down
before the fire at night, drinking the first glass of two gallons of
whisky he had ordered on credit, wondering whether it would ever
be paid for, and if so, in how many years' time, when his eyes
encountered the glass doors of the wooden press.  "Ah," says he,
"if I hadn't been obliged to take that ugly article at the old
broker's valuation, I might have got something comfortable for
the money.  I'll tell you what it is, old fellow," he said, speaking
aloud to the press, having nothing else to 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 in less than no time."
He had hardly spoken the words, when a sound resembling a
faint groan, appeared to issue from the interior of the case.  It
startled him at first, but thinking, on a moment's reflection, that
it must be some young fellow in the next chamber, who had been
dining out, he put his feet on the fender, and raised the poker to
stir the fire.  At that moment, the sound was repeated; and one of
the glass doors slowly opening, disclosed a pale and emaciated
figure in soiled and worn apparel, standing erect in the press.  The
figure was tall and thin, and the countenance expressive of care
and anxiety; but there was something in the hue of the skin, and
gaunt and unearthly appearance of the whole form, which no
being of this world was ever seen to wear.  "Who are you?" said
the new tenant, turning very pale; poising the poker in his hand,
however, and taking a very decent aim at the countenance of the
figure.  "Who are you?"  "Don't throw that poker at me," replied
the form; "if you hurled it with ever so sure an aim, it would
pass through me, without resistance, and expend its force on the
wood behind.  I am a spirit."  "And pray, what do you want
here?" faltered the tenant.  "In this room," replied the apparition,
"my worldly ruin was worked, and I and my children beggared.
In this press, the papers in a long, long suit, which accumulated
for years, were deposited.  In this room, when I had died of grief,
and long-deferred hope, two wily harpies divided the wealth for
which I had contested during a wretched existence, and of which,
at last, not one farthing was left for my unhappy descendants.  I
terrified them from the spot, and since that day have prowled by
night--the only period at which I can revisit the earth--about the
scenes of my long-protracted misery.  This apartment is mine:
leave it to me."  "If you insist upon making your appearance
here," said the tenant, who had had time to collect his presence of
mind during this prosy statement of the ghost's, "I shall give up
possession with the greatest pleasure; but I should like to ask you
one question, if you will allow me."  "Say on," said the apparition
sternly.  "Well," said the tenant, "I don't apply the observation
personally to you, because it is equally applicable to most of the
ghosts I ever heard of; but it does appear to me somewhat
inconsistent, that when you have an opportunity of visiting the
fairest spots of earth--for I suppose space is nothing to you--
you should always return exactly to the very places where you
have been most miserable."  "Egad, that's very true; I never
thought of that before," said the ghost.  "You see, Sir," pursued
the tenant, "this is a very uncomfortable room.  From the
appearance of that press, I should be disposed to say that it is not
wholly free from bugs; and I really think you might find much
more comfortable quarters: to say nothing of the climate of
London, which is extremely disagreeable."  "You are very right,
Sir," said the ghost politely, "it never struck me till now; I'll try
change of air directly"--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 the other ladies and gentlemen who are now engaged
in haunting old empty houses, that they might be much more
comfortable elsewhere, 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."  With these words, the spirit disappeared; and what is
rather remarkable,' added the old man, with a shrewd look round
the table, '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.
'I suppose,' he added, turning to Lowten, 'he'll say next, that my
story about the queer client we had, when I was in an attorney's
office, is not true either--I shouldn't wonder.'

'I shan't venture to say anything at all about it, seeing that I
never heard the story,' observed the owner of the Mosaic decorations.

'I wish you would repeat it, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah, do,' said Lowten, 'nobody has heard it but me, and I have
nearly forgotten it.'

The old man looked round the table, and leered more horribly
than ever, as if in triumph, at the attention which was depicted in
every face.  Then rubbing his chin with his hand, and looking up
to the ceiling as if to recall the circumstances to his memory, he
began as follows:--


  THE OLD MAN'S TALE ABOUT THE QUEER CLIENT

'It matters little,' said the old man, 'where, or how, I picked up
this brief history.  If I were to relate it in the order in which it
reached me, I should commence in the middle, and when I had
arrived at the conclusion, go back for a beginning.  It is enough
for me to say that some of its circumstances passed before my
own eyes; for the remainder I know them to have happened, and
there are some persons yet living, who will remember them but
too well.

'In the Borough High Street, near St.  George's Church, and on
the same side of the way, stands, as most people know, the
smallest of our debtors' prisons, the Marshalsea.  Although in
later times it has been a very different place from the sink of filth
and dirt it once was, even its improved condition holds out but
little temptation to the extravagant, or consolation to the
improvident.  The condemned felon has as good a yard for air and
exercise in Newgate, as the insolvent debtor in the Marshalsea
Prison.  [Better.  But this is past, in a better age, and the prison
exists no longer.]

'It may be my fancy, or it may be that I cannot separate the
place from the old recollections associated with it, but this part of
London I cannot bear.  The street is broad, the shops are spacious,
the noise of passing vehicles, the footsteps of a perpetual stream
of people--all the busy sounds of traffic, resound in it from morn
to midnight; but the streets around are mean and close; poverty
and debauchery lie festering in the crowded alleys; want and
misfortune are pent up in the narrow prison; an air of gloom and
dreariness seems, in my eyes at least, to hang about the scene,
and to impart to it a squalid and sickly hue.

'Many eyes, that have long since been closed in the grave, have
looked round upon that scene lightly enough, when entering the
gate of the old Marshalsea Prison for the first time; for despair
seldom comes with the first severe shock of misfortune.  A man
has confidence in untried friends, he remembers the many offers
of service so freely made by his boon companions when he wanted
them not; he has hope--the hope of happy inexperience--and
however he may bend beneath the first shock, it springs up in his
bosom, and flourishes there for a brief space, until it droops
beneath the blight of disappointment and neglect.  How soon
have those same eyes, deeply sunken in the head, glared from
faces wasted with famine, and sallow from confinement, in days
when it was no figure of speech to say that debtors rotted
in prison, with no hope of release, and no prospect of liberty!
The atrocity in its full extent no longer exists, but there is enough
of it left to give rise to occurrences that make the heart bleed.

'Twenty years ago, that pavement was worn with the footsteps
of a mother and child, who, day by day, so surely as the morning
came, presented themselves at the prison gate; often after a night
of restless misery and anxious thoughts, were they there, a full
hour too soon, and then the young mother turning meekly away,
would lead the child to the old bridge, and raising him in her
arms to show him the glistening water, tinted with the light of the
morning's sun, and stirring with all the bustling preparations for
business and pleasure that the river presented at that early hour,
endeavour to interest his thoughts in the objects before him.  But
she would quickly set him down, and hiding her face in her shawl,
give vent to the tears that blinded her; for no expression of
interest or amusement lighted up his thin and sickly face.  His
recollections were few enough, but they were all of one kind--all
connected with the poverty and misery of his parents.  Hour after
hour had he sat on his mother's knee, and with childish sympathy
watched the tears that stole down her face, and then crept quietly
away into some dark corner, and sobbed himself to sleep.  The
hard realities of the world, with many of its worst privations--
hunger and thirst, and cold and want--had all come home to
him, from the first dawnings 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 each
other, with thoughts of agony they dared not breathe in words.
The healthy, strong-made man, who could have borne almost any
fatigue of active exertion, was wasting beneath the close confinement
and unhealthy atmosphere of a crowded prison.  The slight and delicate
woman was sinking beneath the combined effects of bodily and mental
illness.  The child's young heart was breaking.

'Winter came, and with it weeks of cold and heavy rain.  The
poor girl had removed to a wretched apartment close to the spot
of her husband's imprisonment; and though the change had been
rendered necessary by their increasing poverty, she was happier
now, for she was nearer him.  For two months, she and her little
companion watched the opening of the gate as usual.  One day
she failed to come, for the first time.  Another morning arrived,
and she came alone.  The child was dead.

'They little know, who coldly talk of the poor man's bereavements,
as a happy release from pain to the departed, and a
merciful relief from expense to the survivor--they little know, I
say, what the agony of those bereavements is.  A silent look of
affection and regard when all other eyes are turned coldly away
--the consciousness that we possess the sympathy and affection
of one being when all others have deserted us--is a hold, a stay,
a comfort, in the deepest affliction, which no wealth could
purchase, or power bestow.  The child had sat at his parents' feet
for hours together, with his little hands patiently folded in each
other, and his thin wan face raised towards them.  They had seen
him pine away, from day to day; and though his brief existence
had been a joyless 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 his parents, and his loss sank deep into their souls.

'It was plain to those who looked upon the mother's altered
face, that death must soon close the scene of her adversity and
trial.  Her husband's fellow-prisoners shrank from obtruding on
his grief and misery, and left to himself alone, the small room he
had previously occupied in common with two companions.  She
shared it with him; and lingering on without pain, but without
hope, her life ebbed slowly away.

'She had fainted one evening in her husband's arms, and he
had 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
a change upon her features, which made him stagger beneath
her weight, like a helpless infant.

'"Set me down, George," she said faintly.  He did so, and
seating himself beside her, covered his face with his hands, and
burst into tears.

'"It is very hard to leave you, George," she said; "but it is
God's will, and you must bear it for my sake.  Oh! how I thank
Him for having taken our boy!  He is happy, and in heaven now.
What would 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 with his clenched fists; then reseating himself beside her,
and supporting 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 if
ever you leave this dreadful place, and should grow rich, you will
have us removed to some quiet country churchyard, a long, long
way off--very far from here--where we can rest in peace.  Dear
George, promise me you will."

'"I do, I do," said the man, throwing himself passionately on
his knees before her.  "Speak to me, Mary, another word; one
look--but one!"

'He ceased to speak: for the arm that clasped his neck grew
stiff and heavy.  A deep sigh escaped from the wasted form before
him; the lips moved, and a smile played upon the face; but the
lips were pallid, and the smile faded into a rigid and ghastly
stare.  He was alone 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, and called on God to witness a terrible oath, that from that
hour, he devoted himself to revenge her death and that of his
child; that thenceforth to the last moment of his life, his whole
energies should be directed to this one object; that his revenge
should be protracted and terrible; that his hatred should be
undying and inextinguishable; and should hunt its object through
the world.

'The deepest despair, and passion scarcely human, had made
such fierce ravages on his face and form, in that one night, that
his companions in misfortune shrank affrighted from him as he
passed by.  His eyes were bloodshot and heavy, his face a deadly
white, and his body bent as if with age.  He had bitten his under
lip nearly through in the violence of his mental suffering, and the
blood which had flowed from the wound had trickled down his
chin, and stained his shirt and neckerchief.  No tear, or sound of
complaint escaped him; but the unsettled look, and disordered
haste with which he paced up and down the yard, denoted the
fever which was burning within.

'It was necessary that his wife's body should be removed from
the prison, without delay.  He received the communication with
perfect calmness, and acquiesced in its propriety.  Nearly all the
inmates of the prison had assembled to witness its removal; they
fell back on either side when the widower appeared; he walked
hurriedly forward, and stationed himself, alone, in a little railed
area close to the lodge gate, from whence the crowd, with an
instinctive feeling of delicacy, had retired.  The rude coffin was
borne slowly forward on men's shoulders.  A dead silence pervaded
the throng, broken only by the audible lamentations of the
women, and the shuffling steps of the bearers on the stone pavement.
They reached the spot where the bereaved husband stood:
and stopped.  He laid his hand upon the coffin, and mechanically
adjusting the pall with which it was covered, motioned them
onward.  The turnkeys in the prison lobby took off their hats as it
passed through, 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
and day, in the wildest ravings of fever, neither the consciousness
of his loss, nor the recollection of the vow he had made, ever left
him for a moment.  Scenes changed before his eyes, place succeeded
place, and event followed event, in all the hurry of
delirium; but they were all connected in some way with the great
object of his mind.  He was sailing over a boundless expanse of
sea, with a blood-red sky above, and the angry waters, lashed
into fury beneath, boiling and eddying up, on every side.  There
was another vessel before them, toiling and labouring in the
howling storm; her canvas fluttering in ribbons from the mast,
and her deck thronged with figures who were lashed to the sides,
over which huge waves every instant burst, sweeping away some
devoted creatures into the foaming sea.  Onward they bore,
amidst the roaring mass of water, with a speed and force which
nothing could resist; and striking the stem of the foremost
vessel, crushed her beneath their keel.  From the huge whirlpool
which the sinking wreck occasioned, arose a shriek so loud and
shrill--the death-cry of a hundred drowning creatures, blended
into one fierce yell--that it rung far above the war-cry of the
elements, and echoed, and re-echoed till it seemed to pierce air,
sky, and ocean.  But what was that--that old gray head that rose
above the water's surface, and with looks of agony, and screams
for aid, buffeted with the waves!  One look, and he had sprung
from the vessel's side, and with vigorous strokes was swimming
towards it.  He reached it; he was close upon it.  They were HIS
features.  The old man saw him coming, and vainly strove to
elude his grasp.  But he clasped him tight, and dragged him beneath
the water.  Down, down with him, fifty fathoms down; his
struggles grew fainter and fainter, until they wholly ceased.  He
was dead; he had killed him, and had kept his oath.

'He was traversing the scorching sands of a mighty desert,
barefoot and alone.  The sand choked and blinded him; its fine
thin grains entered the very pores of his skin, and irritated him
almost to madness.  Gigantic masses of the same material, carried
forward by the wind, and shone through by the burning sun,
stalked in the distance like pillars of living fire.  The bones of
men, who had perished in the dreary waste, lay scattered at his
feet; a fearful light 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 to his mouth, he rushed madly forward.  Armed with
supernatural strength, he waded through the sand, until,
exhausted with fatigue and thirst, he fell senseless on the earth.
What fragrant coolness revived him; what gushing sound was
that?  Water!  It was indeed a well; and the clear fresh stream was
running at his feet.  He drank deeply of it, and throwing his
aching limbs upon the bank, sank into a delicious trance.  The
sound of approaching footsteps roused him.  An old gray-headed
man tottered forward to slake his burning thirst.  It was HE again!
Fe wound his arms round the old man's body, and held him back.
He struggled, and shrieked for water--for but one drop of water
to save his life!  But he held the old man firmly, and watched his
agonies with greedy eyes; and when his lifeless head fell forward
on his bosom, he rolled the corpse from him with his feet.

'When the fever left him, and consciousness returned, he
awoke to find himself rich and free, to hear that the parent who
would have let him die in jail--WOULD! who HAD let those who
were far dearer to him than his own existence die of want, and
sickness of heart that medicine cannot cure--had been found
dead in his bed of down.  He had had all the heart to leave his son
a beggar, but proud even of his health and strength, had put off
the act till it was too late, and now might gnash his teeth in the
other world, at the thought of the wealth his remissness had left
him.  He awoke to this, and he awoke to more.  To recollect the
purpose for which he lived, and to remember that his enemy was
his wife's own father--the man who had cast him into prison,
and who, when his daughter and her child sued at his feet for
mercy, had spurned them from his door.  Oh, how he cursed the
weakness that prevented him from being up, and active, in his
scheme of vengeance!
'He caused himself to be carried from the scene of his loss and
misery, and conveyed to a quiet residence on the sea-coast; not
in the hope of recovering his peace of mind or happiness, for
both were fled for ever; but to restore his prostrate energies, and
meditate on his darling object.  And here, some evil spirit cast in
his way the opportunity for his first, most horrible revenge.

'It was summer-time; and wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, he
would issue from his solitary lodgings early in the evening, and
wandering along a narrow path beneath the cliffs, to a wild and
lonely spot that had struck his fancy in his ramblings, seat himself
on some fallen fragment of the rock, and burying his face in his
hands, remain there for hours--sometimes until night had completely
closed in, and the long shadows of the frowning cliffs
above his head cast a thick, black darkness on every object near him.

'He was seated here, one calm evening, in his old position, now
and then raising his head to watch the flight of a sea-gull, or
carry his eye along the glorious crimson path, which, commencing
in the middle of the ocean, seemed to lead to its very verge where
the sun was setting, when the profound stillness of the spot was
broken by a loud cry for help; he listened, doubtful of his having
heard aright, when the cry was repeated with even greater
vehemence than before, and, starting to his feet, he hastened in
the direction whence it proceeded.

'The tale told itself at once: some scattered garments lay on
the beach; a human head was just visible above the waves at a
little distance from the shore; and an old man, wringing his
hands in agony, was running to and fro, shrieking for assistance.
The invalid, whose strength was now sufficiently restored, threw
off his coat, and rushed towards the sea, with the intention of
plunging in, and dragging the drowning man ashore.

'"Hasten here, Sir, in God's name; help, help, sir, for the love
of Heaven.  He is my son, Sir, my only son!" said the old man
frantically, as he advanced to meet him.  "My only son, Sir, and
he is dying before his father's eyes!"

'At the first word the old man uttered, the stranger checked
himself in his career, and, folding his arms, stood perfectly motionless.

'"Great God!" exclaimed the old man, recoiling, "Heyling!"

'The stranger smiled, and was silent.

'"Heyling!" said the old man wildly; "my boy, Heyling, my
dear boy, look, look!" Gasping for breath, the miserable father
pointed to 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 a statue.
'"I have wronged you," shrieked the old man, falling on his
knees, and clasping his hands together.  "Be revenged; take my all,
my life; cast me into the water at your feet, and, if human nature
can repress a struggle, I will die, without stirring hand or foot.
Do it, Heyling, do it, but save my boy; he is so young, Heyling,
so young to die!"

'"Listen," said the stranger, grasping the old man fiercely by
the 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 death
than that young slanderer of his sister's worth is meeting while I
speak.  You laughed--laughed in your daughter's face, where
death had already set his hand--at our sufferings, then.  What
think you of them now!  See there, see there!"

'As the stranger spoke, he pointed to the sea.  A faint cry died
away upon its surface; the last powerful struggle of the dying
man agitated the rippling waves for a few seconds; and the spot
where he had gone down into his early grave, was undistinguishable
from the surrounding water.

'Three years had elapsed, when a gentleman alighted from a
private carriage at the door of a London attorney, then well
known as a man of no great nicety in his professional dealings,
and requested a private interview on business of importance.
Although evidently not past the prime of life, his face was pale,
haggard, and dejected; and it did not require the acute perception
of the man of business, to discern at a glance, that disease or
suffering had done more to work a change in his appearance,
than the mere hand of time could have accomplished in twice the
period of his whole life.

'"I wish you to undertake some legal business for me," said
the stranger.

'The attorney bowed obsequiously, and glanced at a large
packet which the gentleman carried in his hand.  His visitor
observed the look, and proceeded.

'"It is no common business," said he; "nor have these papers
reached my hands without long trouble and great expense."

'The attorney cast a still more anxious look at the packet; and
his visitor, untying the string that bound it, disclosed a quantity
of promissory notes, with copies of deeds, and other documents.

'"Upon these papers," said the client, "the man whose name
they bear, has raised, as you will see, large sums of money, for
years past.  There was a tacit understanding between him and the
men into whose hands they originally went--and from whom I
have by degrees purchased the whole, for treble and quadruple
their nominal value--that these loans should be from time to
time renewed, until a given period had elapsed.  Such an
understanding is nowhere expressed.  He has sustained many losses of
late; and these obligations accumulating upon him at once,
would crush him to the earth."

'"The whole amount is many thousands of pounds," said the
attorney, 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 every
engine of the law in force, every trick that ingenuity can devise
and rascality execute; fair means and foul; the open oppression
of the law, aided by all the craft of its most ingenious practitioners.
I would have him die a harassing and lingering death.  Ruin
him, seize and sell his lands and goods, drive him from house and
home, and drag him forth a beggar in his old age, to die in a
common jail."

'"But the costs, my dear Sir, the costs of all this," reasoned the
attorney, when he had recovered from his momentary surprise.
"If the defendant be a man of straw, who is to pay the costs, Sir?"

'"Name any sum," said the stranger, his hand trembling
so violently with excitement, that he could scarcely hold the
pen he seized as he spoke--"any sum, and it is yours.  Don't be
afraid to name it, man.  I shall not think it dear, if you gain
my object."

'The attorney named a large sum, at hazard, as the advance he
should require to secure himself against the possibility of loss;
but more with the view of ascertaining how far his client was
really disposed to go, than with any idea that he would comply
with the demand.  The stranger wrote a cheque upon his banker,
for the whole amount, and left him.

'The draft was duly honoured, and the attorney, finding that
his strange client might be safely relied upon, commenced his
work in earnest.  For more than two years afterwards, Mr.
Heyling would sit whole days together, in the office, poring over
the papers as they accumulated, and reading again and again, his
eyes gleaming with joy, the letters of remonstrance, the prayers
for a little delay, the representations of the certain ruin in which
the opposite party must be involved, which poured in, as suit after
suit, and process after process, was commenced.  To all applications
for a brief indulgence, there was but one reply--the money
must be paid.  Land, house, furniture, each in its turn, was taken
under some one of the numerous executions which were issued;
and the old man himself would have been immured in prison had
he not escaped the vigilance of the officers, and fled.

'The implacable animosity of Heyling, so far from being satiated
by the success of his persecution, increased a hundredfold with
the ruin he inflicted.  On being informed of the old man's flight,
his fury was unbounded.  He gnashed his teeth with rage, tore the
hair from his head, and assailed with horrid imprecations the
men who had been intrusted with the writ.  He was only restored
to comparative calmness by repeated assurances of the certainty
of discovering the fugitive.  Agents were sent in quest of him, in
all directions; every stratagem that could be invented was
resorted to, for the purpose of discovering his place of retreat;
but it was all in vain.  Half a year had passed over, and he was
still undiscovered.

'At length late one night, Heyling, of whom nothing had been
seen for many weeks before, appeared at his attorney's private
residence, and sent up word that a gentleman wished to see him
instantly.  Before the attorney, who had recognised his voice from
above stairs, could order the servant to admit him, he had rushed
up the staircase, and entered the drawing-room pale and breathless.
Having closed the door, to prevent being overheard, he sank
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 he
has 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 caption
made to-morrow, of course?"

'"Yes," replied Heyling.  "Stay!  No!  The next day.  You are
surprised at my wishing to postpone it," he added, with a ghastly
smile; "but I had forgotten.  The next day is an anniversary in his
life: let it be done then."

'"Very good," said the attorney.  "Will you write down
instructions for the officer?"

'"No; let him meet me here, at eight in the evening, and I will
accompany 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 alighted there, it was quite dark; and, proceeding by
the dead wall in front of 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 place enough, 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 the
meanest-looking house in the street, and knocked gently at the
door.  It was at once opened by a woman, who dropped a curtsey
of recognition, 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 a
decrepit old man, was seated at a bare deal table, on which stood
a miserable candle.  He started on the entrance of the stranger,
and rose feebly to his feet.

'"What now, what now?" said the old man.  "What fresh
misery is this?  What do you want here?"

'"A word with YOU," replied Heyling.  As he spoke, he seated
himself at the other end of the table, and, throwing off his cloak
and cap, disclosed his features.

'The old man seemed instantly deprived of speech.  He fell
backward in his chair, and, clasping his hands together, gazed on
the apparition with a mingled look of abhorrence and fear.

'"This day six years," said Heyling, "I claimed the life you
owed me for my child's.  Beside the lifeless form of your daughter,
old man, I swore to live a life of revenge.  I have never swerved
from my purpose for a moment's space; but if I had, one thought
of her uncomplaining, suffering look, as she drooped away, or of
the starving face of our innocent child, would have nerved me to
my task.  My first act of requital you well remember: this is my
last."

'The old man shivered, and his hands dropped powerless by
his side.

'"I leave England to-morrow," said Heyling, after a moment's
pause.  "To-night I consign you to the living death to which you
devoted 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 the
apartment.

'"You had better see to the old man," he said to the woman, as
he opened the door, and motioned the officer to follow him into
the street.  "I think he is ill."  The woman closed the door, ran
hastily upstairs, and found him lifeless.


'Beneath a plain gravestone, in one of the most peaceful and
secluded churchyards in Kent, where wild flowers mingle with
the grass, and the soft landscape around forms the fairest spot in
the garden of England, lie the bones of the young mother and her
gentle child.  But the ashes of the father do not mingle with theirs;
nor, from that night forward, did the attorney ever gain the
remotest clue to the subsequent history of his queer client.'
As the old man concluded his tale, he advanced to a peg in one
corner, and taking down his hat and coat, put them on with
great deliberation; and, without saying another word, walked
slowly away.  As the gentleman with the Mosaic studs had fallen
asleep, and the major part of the company were deeply occupied
in the humorous process of dropping melted tallow-grease into
his brandy-and-water, Mr. Pickwick departed unnoticed, and
having settled his own score, and that of Mr. Weller, issued forth,
in company with that gentleman, from beneath the portal of the
Magpie and Stump.



CHAPTER XXII
Mr. PICKWICK JOURNEYS TO IPSWICH AND MEETS WITH
  A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE WITH A MIDDLE-AGED LADY
  IN YELLOW CURL-PAPERS


'That 'ere your governor's luggage, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller of
his affectionate son, as he entered the yard of the Bull Inn,
Whitechapel, with a travelling-bag and a small portmanteau.

'You might ha' made a worser guess than that, old feller,'
replied Mr. Weller the younger, setting down his burden in the
yard, and sitting himself down upon it afterwards.  'The governor
hisself'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,' responded
the son.  'How's mother-in-law this mornin'?'

'Queer, Sammy, queer,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, with
impressive gravity.  'She's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical
order 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' some
inwention for grown-up people being born again, Sammy--the
new birth, I think they calls it.  I should wery much like to see that
system in haction, Sammy.  I should wery much like to see your
mother-in-law born again.  Wouldn't I put her out to nurse!'

'What do you think them women does t'other day,' continued
Mr. Weller, after a short pause, during which he had significantly
struck the side of his nose with his forefinger some half-dozen
times.  '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 calls
their shepherd,' said Mr. Weller.  'I was a-standing starin' in at
the pictur shop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about
it; "tickets half-a-crown.  All applications to be made to the
committee.  Secretary, Mrs. Weller"; and when I got home there
was 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, what with your mother-in-law a-worrying me to go, and
what with my looking for'ard to seein' some queer starts if I did,
I put my name down for a ticket; at six o'clock on the Friday
evenin' I dresses myself out wery smart, and off I goes with the
old 'ooman, and up we walks into a fust-floor where there was
tea-things for thirty, and a whole lot o' women as begins
whisperin' to one another, and lookin' at me, as if they'd never
seen a rayther stout gen'l'm'n of eight-and-fifty afore.  By and by,
there comes a great bustle downstairs, and a lanky chap with a
red nose and a white neckcloth 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's on, Sammy!  "The kiss of peace," says the
shepherd; and then he kissed the women all round, and ven he'd
done, the man vith the red nose began.  I was just a-thinkin'
whether I hadn't better begin too--'specially as there was a wery
nice lady a-sittin' next me--ven in comes the tea, and your
mother-in-law, as had been makin' the kettle bile downstairs.  At
it they went, tooth and nail.  Such a precious loud hymn, Sammy,
while the tea was a brewing; such a grace, such eatin' and
drinkin'!  I wish you could ha' seen the shepherd walkin' into the
ham and muffins.  I never see such a chap to eat and drink--
never.  The red-nosed man warn't by no means the sort of person
you'd like to grub by contract, but he was nothin' to the shepherd.
Well; arter the tea was over, they sang another hymn, and
then the shepherd began to preach: and wery well he did it,
considerin' how heavy them muffins must have lied on 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 says nothing.
Presently he pulls up again, and lookin' wery hard at me, says,
"Where is the sinner; where is the mis'rable sinner?" and all the
women groans again, ten times louder than afore.  I got rather
savage at this, so I takes a step or two for'ard and says, "My
friend," says I, "did you apply that 'ere obserwation to me?"
'Stead of beggin' my pardon as any gen'l'm'n would ha' done,
he got more abusive than ever:--called me a wessel, Sammy--a
wessel of wrath--and all sorts o' names.  So my blood being
reg'larly up, I first gave him two or three for himself, and then
two or three more to hand over to the man with the red nose,
and walked off.  I wish you could ha' heard how the women
screamed, Sammy, ven they picked up the shepherd from underneath
the table--Hollo! here's the governor, the size of life.'

As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab,
and entered the yard.
'Fine mornin', Sir,' said Mr. Weller, senior.

'Beautiful indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Beautiful indeed,' echoes a red-haired man with an inquisitive
nose and green spectacles, who had unpacked himself from a cab
at 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 bowed again.

'Bless my soul, how remarkable--I am going outside, too,' said
the red-haired man; 'we are positively going together.'  And the
red-haired man, who was an important-looking, sharp-nosed,
mysterious-spoken personage, with a bird-like habit of giving his
head a jerk every time he said anything, smiled as if he had made
one of the strangest discoveries that ever fell to the lot of
human wisdom.

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

'There's no denying that 'ere,' said Mr. Weller, joining in the
conversation, with an affable smile.  'That's what I call a self-
evident proposition, as the dog's-meat man said, when the
housemaid told him he warn't a gentleman.'

'Ah,' said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from head
to foot with a supercilious look.  'Friend of yours, sir?'

'Not exactly a friend,' replied Mr. Pickwick, in a low tone.
'The fact is, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good many
liberties; 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
the necessity for it.  What's your name, sir?'

'Here is my card, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused by
the abruptness of the question, and the singular manner of the stranger.

'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
saves so 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
to repress a smile.

'Yes, I think it is,' resumed Mr. Magnus.  'There's a good
name before it, too, you will observe.  Permit me, sir--if you hold
the card 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
notes to intimate acquaintance, I sometimes sign myself "Afternoon."
It amuses my friends very much, Mr. Pickwick.'

'It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I
should conceive,' said Mr. Pickwick, rather envying the ease with
which Mr. 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.  'Excuse
me, Mr. Pickwick.  I cannot consent to get up, in this state of
uncertainty.  I am quite satisfied from that man's manner, that the
leather hat-box is not in.'

The solemn protestations of the hostler being wholly
unavailing, the leather hat-box was obliged to be raked up from the
lowest depth of the boot, to satisfy him that it had been safely
packed; and after he had been assured on this head, he felt a
solemn presentiment, first, that the red bag was mislaid, and
next that the striped bag had been stolen, and then that the
brown-paper parcel 'had come untied.'  At length when he had
received ocular demonstration of the groundless nature of each
and every of these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the
roof of the coach, 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 his place.

'Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,' said the
stranger, 'but I am all right now--quite right.'

'Well, that's a blessin', said Mr. Weller.  'Sammy, help your
master 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 beside him.

'Jump up in front, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.  'Now Villam, run
'em out.  Take care o' the archvay, gen'l'm'n.  "Heads," as the
pieman says.  That'll do, Villam.  Let 'em alone.'  And away went
the coach up Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole
population of that pretty densely populated quarter.

'Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, Sir,' said Sam, with a
touch of the hat, which always preceded his entering into
conversation with his master.

'It is not indeed, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the
crowded and filthy street through which they were passing.

'It's a wery remarkable circumstance, Sir,' said Sam, 'that
poverty 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, the
greater call there seems to be for oysters.  Look here, sir; here's
a oyster-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 out of his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation.'

'To be sure he does,' said Mr. Weller, senior; 'and it's just the
same vith pickled salmon!'

'Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred to
me before,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'The very first place we stop at,
I'll make a note of them.'

By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a
profound silence prevailed until they had got two or three miles
farther 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. Peter Magnus.

'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.
Very uncomfortable.'

'They're all on 'em men as has met vith some disappointment
in life,' said Mr. Weller, senior.

'Ay, ay,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes.  Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, and
shuts themselves up in pikes; partly with the view of being
solitary, 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 'em misanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin'.'

With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm of
blending amusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile the
tediousness of the journey, during the greater part of the day.
Topics of conversation were never wanting, for even when any
pause occurred in Mr. Weller's loquacity, it was abundantly
supplied by the desire evinced by Mr. Magnus to make himself
acquainted 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 leather
hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel.

In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way,
a short distance after you have passed through the open space
fronting the Town Hall, stands an inn known far and wide by the
appellation of the Great White Horse, rendered the more
conspicuous by a stone statue of some rampacious animal with
flowing mane and tail, distantly resembling an insane cart-horse,
which is elevated above the principal door.  The Great White
Horse is famous in the neighbourhood, in the same degree as a
prize ox, or a county-paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy pig--
for its enormous size.  Never was such labyrinths of uncarpeted
passages, such clusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge
numbers of small dens for eating or sleeping in, beneath any one
roof, as are collected together between the four walls of the
Great White Horse at Ipswich.

It was at the door of this overgrown tavern that the London
coach stopped, at the same hour every evening; and it was from
this same London coach that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and
Mr. Peter Magnus dismounted, on the particular evening to
which this chapter of our history bears reference.

'Do you stop here, sir?' inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when the
striped bag, and the red bag, and the brown-paper parcel, and the
leather hat-box, had all been deposited in the passage.  'Do you
stop here, sir?'

'I do,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Dear me,' said Mr. Magnus, 'I never knew anything like these
extraordinary coincidences.  Why, I stop here too.  I hope we
dine together?'

'With pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'I am not quite certain
whether I have any friends here or not, though.  Is there any
gentleman of the name of Tupman here, waiter?'

A corpulent man, with a fortnight's napkin under his arm, and
coeval stockings on his legs, slowly desisted from his occupation
of staring down the street, on this question being put to him by
Mr. Pickwick; and, after minutely inspecting that gentleman's
appearance, from the crown of his hat to the lowest button of his
gaiters, 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.
'We will dine alone, then.  Show us a private room, waiter.'

On this request being preferred, the corpulent man
condescended to order the boots to bring in the gentlemen's luggage;
and preceding them down a long, dark passage, ushered them
into a large, badly-furnished apartment, with a dirty grate, in
which 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 up
to 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
the highest possible price, for the good of the house, drank
brandy-and-water for their own.

Mr. Peter Magnus was naturally of a very communicative
disposition, and the brandy-and-water operated with wonderful
effect in warming into life the deepest hidden secrets of his
bosom.  After sundry accounts of himself, his family, his connections,
his friends, his jokes, his business, and his brothers (most
talkative men have a great deal to say about their brothers),
Mr. Peter Magnus took a view of Mr. Pickwick through his
coloured spectacles for several minutes, and then said, with an
air of modesty--

'And what do you think--what DO you think, Mr. Pickwick--I
have come down here for?'

'Upon my word,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'it is wholly impossible
for me to guess; on business, perhaps.'

'Partly right, Sir,' replied Mr. Peter Magnus, 'but partly wrong
at 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, if I were to try all night.'

'Why, then, he-he-he!' said Mr. Peter Magnus, with a
bashful titter, 'what should you think, Mr. Pickwick, if I had
come down here 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, I
think so too.  I don't mind telling you, Mr. Pickwick, although
I'm dreadful jealous by nature--horrid--that the lady is in this
house.'  Here Mr. Magnus took off his spectacles, on purpose to
wink, and then put them on again.

'That's what you were running out of the room for, before
dinner, then, so often,' said Mr. Pickwick archly.

'Hush!  Yes, you're right, that was it; not such a fool as to see
her, though.'

'No!'

'No; wouldn't do, you know, after having just come off a
journey.  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
that box, which, I expect, in the effect they will produce, will be
invaluable to me, sir.'

'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to-day.
I do 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 the
irresistible garments on their acquisition; and Mr. Peter Magnus
remained 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 miles
from here, Mr. Pickwick.  I heard she would be here to-night and
all to-morrow forenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity.
I think an inn is a good sort of a place to propose to a single
woman in, Mr. Pickwick.  She is more likely to feel the loneliness
of her situation in travelling, perhaps, than she would be at home.
What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?'

'I think it is very probable,' replied that gentleman.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Peter Magnus,
'but I am naturally rather curious; what may you have come
down here for?'

'On a far less pleasant errand, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, the
colour mounting to his face at the recollection.  'I have come
down here, 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
a lady, I presume?  Eh? ah!  Sly, Mr. Pickwick, sly.  Well, Mr.
Pickwick, sir, I wouldn't probe your feelings for the world.
Painful subjects, these, sir, very painful.  Don't mind me, Mr.
Pickwick, if you 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 you
presume to be my melancholy case,' said Mr. Pickwick, winding
up his watch, and laying it on the table, 'but--'

'No, no,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'not a word more; it's a
painful subject.  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.  I
shall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick.'

At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rang
the bell for the chambermaid; and the striped bag, the red bag,
the leathern hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having been
conveyed to his bedroom, he retired in company with a japanned
candlestick, to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick, and
another japanned candlestick, were conducted through a multitude
of tortuous windings, to another.

'This is your room, sir,' said the chambermaid.

'Very well,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him.  It was a
tolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole,
a more comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's
short experience of the accommodations of the Great White
Horse had led him to expect.

'Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Oh, no, Sir.'

'Very good.  Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at
half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any
more to-night.'

'Yes, Sir,' and bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chambermaid
retired, and left him alone.

Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and
fell into a train of rambling meditations.  First he thought of his
friends, and wondered when they would join him; then his mind
reverted 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 very
centre of the history of the queer client; and then it came back to
the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to
convince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep.  So he roused
himself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had left his
watch on the table downstairs.

Now this watch was a special favourite with Mr. Pickwick,
having been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat,
for a greater number of years than we feel called upon to state at
present.  The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were ticking
gently beneath his pillow, or in the watch-pocket over his head,
had never entered Mr. Pickwick's brain.  So as it was pretty late
now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the
night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested
himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked
quietly downstairs.
The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs
there seemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr.
Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratulate
himself on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight
of stairs appear before his astonished eyes.  At last he reached a
stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered
the house.  Passage after passage did he explore; room after room
did he peep into; at length, as he was on the point of giving up the
search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in
which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property
on the table.

Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to
retrace his steps to his bedchamber.  If his progress downward had
been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back
was infinitely more perplexing.  Rows of doors, garnished with
boots of every shape, make, and size, branched off in every
possible direction.  A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of
some bedroom door which resembled his own, when a gruff cry
from within of 'Who the devil's that?' or 'What do you want
here?' caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly
marvellous celerity.  He was reduced to the verge of despair, when
an open door attracted his attention.  He peeped in.  Right at last!
There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered,
and the fire still burning.  His candle, not a long one when he
first received it, had flickered away in the drafts of air through
which he had passed and sank into the socket as he closed the
door after him.  'No matter,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I can undress
myself just as well by the light of the fire.'

The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on the
inner side of each was a little path, terminating in a rush-
bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a person's getting
into or out of bed, on that side, if he or she thought proper.
Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside,
Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely
divested himself of his shoes and gaiters.  He then took off and
folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly drawing
on his tasselled nightcap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying
beneath his chin the strings which he always had attached to that
article of dress.  It was at this moment that the absurdity of his
recent bewilderment struck upon his mind.  Throwing himself
back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to
himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to
any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles
that expanded his amiable features as they shone forth from
beneath the nightcap.

'It is the best idea,' said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he
almost cracked the nightcap strings--'it is the best idea, my
losing myself in this place, and wandering about these staircases,
that I ever heard of.  Droll, droll, very droll.'  Here Mr. Pickwick
smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to
continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humour,
when he was suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption:
to wit, the entrance into the room of some person with a
candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing-
table, and set down the light upon it.

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was
instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-
stricken surprise.  The person, whoever it was, had come in so
suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no
time to call out, or oppose their entrance.  Who could it be?  A
robber?  Some evil-minded person who had seen him come
upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps.  What was
he to do?

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of
his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself,
was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the
curtains on the opposite side.  To this manoeuvre he accordingly
resorted.  Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so
that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap,
and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage and
looked out.

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay.  Standing
before 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 that
room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there
for the night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her,
which, with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had
stationed in a 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 with
automaton-like rapidity.

'I never met with anything so awful as this,' thought poor
Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his
nightcap.  'Never.  This is fearful.'

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what
was going forward.  So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again.  The
prospect was worse than before.  The middle-aged lady had
finished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped it in a muslin
nightcap with a small plaited border; and was gazing pensively
on the fire.

'This matter is growing alarming,' reasoned Mr. Pickwick with
himself.  'I can't allow things to go on in this way.  By the self-
possession of that lady, it is clear to me that I must have come
into the wrong room.  If I call out she'll alarm the house; but if I
remain here the consequences will be still more frightful.'
Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the
most modest and delicate-minded of mortals.  The very idea of
exhibiting his nightcap to a lady overpowered him, but he had
tied those confounded strings in a knot, and, do what he would,
he couldn't get it off.  The disclosure must be made.  There was
only one other way of doing it.  He shrunk behind the curtains,
and called out very loudly--

'Ha-hum!'

That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by
her falling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded
herself it must have been the effect of imagination was equally
clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had
fainted 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 his
opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly
audible to 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, from
behind 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 the
house would be alarmed.  Her garments rustled as she rushed
towards the door.

'Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head.  in the
extremity of his desperation, 'ma'am!'

Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite
object in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive
of a good effect.  The lady, as we have already stated, was near the
door.  She must pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most
undoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the sudden
apparition of Mr. Pickwick's nightcap driven her back into the
remotest corner of the apartment, where she stood staring wildly
at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick in his turn stared wildly
at her.

'Wretch,' said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands,
'what do you want here?'

'Nothing, ma'am; nothing whatever, ma'am,' said Mr.
Pickwick earnestly.

'Nothing!' said the lady, looking up.

'Nothing, ma'am, upon my honour,' said Mr. Pickwick,
nodding his head so energetically, that the tassel of his nightcap
danced again.  'I am almost ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the
confusion of addressing a lady in my nightcap (here the lady
hastily snatched off hers), but I can't get it off, ma'am (here Mr.
Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug, in proof of the statement).  It
is evident to me, ma'am, now, that I have mistaken this bedroom
for my own.  I had not 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 the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion;
deeply sorry, ma'am.'

The lady pointed to the door.  One excellent quality of Mr.
Pickwick's character was beautifully displayed at this moment,
under the most trying circumstances.  Although he had hastily
Put on his hat over his nightcap, after the manner of the old
patrol; although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and
his coat and waistcoat over his arm; nothing could subdue his
native politeness.

'I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, bowing
very low.

'If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,' said the lady.

'Immediately, ma'am; this instant, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick,
opening the door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in so doing.

'I trust, ma'am,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes,
and turning round to bow again--'I trust, ma'am, that my
unblemished character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your
sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this--' But before Mr.
Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him
into the passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him.

Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might
have for having escaped so quietly from his late awkward
situation, his present position was by no means enviable.  He was
alone, in an open passage, in a strange house in the middle of the
night, half dressed; it was not to be supposed that he could find
his way in perfect darkness to a room which he had been wholly
unable to discover with a light, and if he made the slightest noise
in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of being
shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller.  He had no
resource but to remain where he was until daylight appeared.  So
after groping his way a few paces down the passage, and, to his
infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing,
Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for
morning, as philosophically as he might.

He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial
of patience; for he had not been long ensconced in his present
concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a
light, appeared at the end of the passage.  His horror was suddenly
converted into joy, however, when he recognised the form of his
faithful attendant.  It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who after
sitting up thus late, in conversation with the boots, who was
sitting up 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 emphatic
surprise; and it was not until the question had been repeated
three several times, that he turned round, and led the way to the
long-sought apartment.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, 'I have made one
of the most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were
heard of.'

'Wery likely, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller drily.

'But of this I am determined, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'that if
I were to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust
myself about it, alone, again.'

'That's the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to,
Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.  'You rayther want somebody to look
arter you, Sir, when your judgment goes out a wisitin'.'

'What do you mean by that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick.  He
raised himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about
to say something more; but suddenly checking himself, turned
round, and bade his valet 'Good-night.'

'Good-night, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.  He paused when he got
outside the door--shook his head--walked on--stopped--
snuffed the candle--shook his head again--and finally proceeded
slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation.


CHAPTER XXIII
IN WHICH Mr. SAMUEL WELLER BEGINS TO DEVOTE HIS
  ENERGIES TO THE RETURN MATCH BETWEEN HIMSELF
  AND Mr. TROTTER


In a small room in the vicinity of the stableyard, betimes in the
morning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick's adventure with the
middle--aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr. Weller, senior,
preparing himself for his journey to London.  He was 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 determined
outline.  His face, however, had expanded under the influence of
good living, and a disposition remarkable for resignation; and its
bold, fleshy curves had so far extended beyond the limits originally
assigned them, that unless you took a full view of his countenance
in front, it was difficult to distinguish more than the extreme tip
of a very rubicund nose.  His chin, from the same cause, had
acquired the grave and imposing form which is generally
described by prefixing the word 'double' to that expressive
feature; and his complexion exhibited that peculiarly mottled
combination of colours which is only to be seen in gentlemen of
his profession, and in underdone roast beef.  Round his neck he
wore a crimson travelling-shawl, which merged into his chin by
such imperceptible gradations, that it was difficult to distinguish
the folds of the one, from the folds of the other.  Over this, he
mounted a long waistcoat of a broad pink-striped pattern, and
over that again, a wide-skirted green coat, ornamented with large
brass buttons, whereof the two which garnished the waist, were
so far apart, that no man had ever beheld them both at the same
time.  His hair, which was short, sleek, and black, was just visible
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 a key of the
same material, dangled loosely from his capacious waistband.

We have said that Mr. Weller was engaged in preparing for his
journey to London--he was taking sustenance, in fact.  On the
table before him, stood a pot of ale, a cold round of beef, and a
very respectable-looking loaf, to each of which he distributed his
favours in turn, with the most rigid impartiality.  He had just cut
a mighty slice from the latter, when the footsteps of somebody
entering the room, caused him to raise his head; and he beheld
his son.

'Mornin', Sammy!' said the father.

The son walked up to the pot of ale, and nodding significantly
to his parent, took a long draught by way of reply.

'Wery good power o' suction, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller the
elder, looking into the pot, when his first-born had set it down
half empty.  'You'd ha' made an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy,
if you'd been born in that station o' life.'

'Yes, I des-say, I should ha' managed to pick up a respectable
livin',' replied Sam applying himself to the cold beef, with
considerable vigour.

'I'm wery sorry, Sammy,' said the elder Mr. Weller, shaking
up the ale, by describing small circles with the pot, preparatory
to drinking.  'I'm wery sorry, Sammy, to hear from your lips, as
you let yourself be gammoned by that 'ere mulberry man.  I
always thought, up to three days ago, that the names of Veller
and gammon 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
many ordinary women one widder's equal to in pint o' comin'
over you.  I think it's five-and-twenty, but I don't rightly know
vether it ain't more.'

'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 a
amiable weakness."  So I says respectin' widders, Sammy, and so
you'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 the
table with his fist.  'Ought to ha' know'd better! why, I know a
young 'un as hasn't had half nor quarter your eddication--as
hasn'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 the
excitement 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,
and can't be helped, and that's one consolation, as they always
says in Turkey, ven they cuts the wrong man's head off.  It's my
innings now, gov'nor, and as soon as I catches hold o' this 'ere
Trotter, I'll have 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 the
disgrace as you've inflicted on the family name.'  In honour of
this toast Mr. Weller imbibed at a draught, at least two-thirds of
a newly-arrived pint, and handed it over to his son, to dispose of
the remainder, 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.
'Now it's time I was up at the office to get my vay-bill and see the
coach loaded; for coaches, Sammy, is like guns--they requires
to be loaded 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 solemn tone--

'I'm a-goin' to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there's no
telling ven I shall see you again.  Your mother-in-law may ha'
been too much for me, or a thousand things may have happened
by the time you next hears any news o' the celebrated Mr. Veller
o' the Bell Savage.  The family name depends wery much upon
you, Samivel, and I hope you'll do wot's right by it.  Upon all
little pints o' 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 ever you gets to up'ards o' fifty, and feels disposed to go
a-marryin' anybody--no matter who--jist you shut yourself up
in your own room, if you've got one, and pison yourself off hand.
Hangin's wulgar, so don't you have nothin' to say to that.  Pison
yourself, Samivel, my boy, pison yourself, and you'll be glad on
it arterwards.'  With these affecting words, Mr. Weller looked
steadfastly 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
when his father had left him; and bending his steps towards St.
Clement's Church, endeavoured to dissipate his melancholy, by
strolling among its ancient precincts.  He had loitered about, for
some time, when he found himself in a retired spot--a kind of
courtyard of venerable appearance--which he discovered had no
other outlet than the turning by which he had entered.  He was
about retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to the
spot by a sudden appearance; and the mode and manner of this
appearance, we now proceed to relate.

Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses
now and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon
some healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or
threw open a bedroom window, when the green gate of a garden
at the bottom of the yard opened, and a man having emerged
therefrom, closed the green gate very carefully after him, and
walked briskly towards the very spot where Mr. Weller was standing.

Now, taking this, as an isolated fact, unaccompanied by any
attendant circumstances, there was nothing very extraordinary in
it; because in many parts of the world men do come out of
gardens, close green gates after them, and even walk briskly
away, without attracting any particular share of public observation.
It is clear, 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 individual in question.

When the man had shut the green gate after him, he walked,
as we have said twice already, with a brisk pace up the courtyard;
but he no sooner caught sight of Mr. Weller than he faltered, and
stopped, as if uncertain, for the moment, what course to adopt.
As the green gate was closed behind him, and there was no other
outlet but the one in front, however, he was not long in perceiving
that he must pass Mr. Samuel Weller to get away.  He therefore
resumed his brisk pace, and advanced, staring straight before
him.  The most extraordinary thing about the man was, that he
was contorting his face into the most fearful and astonishing
grimaces that ever were beheld.  Nature's handiwork never was
disguised with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man
had overlaid his countenance with in one moment.

'Well!' said Mr. Weller to himself, as the man approached.
'This is wery odd.  I could ha' swore it was him.'

Up came the man, and his face became more frightfully
distorted 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 an
unearthly twinge, perfectly hideous.  He was obliged to pass very
near Sam, however, and the scrutinising glance of that gentleman
enabled him to detect, under all these appalling twists of feature,
something too like the small eyes of Mr. Job Trotter to be
easily mistaken.

'Hollo, you Sir!' shouted Sam fiercely.

The stranger stopped.

'Hollo!' repeated Sam, still more gruffly.

The man with the horrible face looked, with the greatest
surprise, up the court, and down the court, and in at the windows
of the houses--everywhere but at Sam Weller--and took another
step 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
from now, so the stranger, having no other resource, at last
looked Sam Weller full in the face.

'It won't do, Job Trotter,' said Sam.  'Come!  None o' that 'ere
nonsense.  You ain't so wery 'andsome that you can afford to
throw avay many o' your good looks.  Bring them 'ere eyes o'
yourn back into their proper places, or I'll knock 'em out of
your head.  D'ye hear?'

As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit of
this address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume its
natural expression; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed,
'What do 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 but
known how I have looked forward to this meeting!  It is too
much, Mr. Walker; I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot.'  And with
these words, Mr. Trotter burst into a regular inundation of tears,
and, flinging his arms around those of Mr. Weller, embraced him
closely, in an ecstasy of joy.

'Get off!' cried Sam, indignant at this process, and vainly
endeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of his
enthusiastic acquaintance.  'Get off, I tell you.  What are you crying
over me for, you portable engine?'

'Because I am so glad to see you,' replied Job Trotter, gradually
releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity
disappeared.  '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 vell
enough.  What have you got to say to me?'

'Bless you, Mr. Walker--Weller, I mean--a great many things,
if you will come away somewhere, where we can talk comfortably.
If you 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
of his face.  'But shake hands, Mr. Weller.'

Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as if
actuated by a sudden impulse, complied with his request.
'How,' said Job Trotter, as they walked away, 'how is your
dear, good master?  Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. Weller!
I hope he didn't catch cold, that dreadful night, Sir.'

There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter's
eye, as he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller's
clenched fist, as he burned with a desire to make a demonstration
on his ribs.  Sam constrained himself, however, and replied that
his master 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 going
on 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 the
same sly look which Sam had noticed before; 'not at a
boarding-school.'

'At the house with the green gate?' said Sam, eyeing his
companion closely.

'No, no--oh, not there,' replied Job, with a quickness very
unusual 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
little secrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each
other when we first met.  You recollect how pleasant we were
that morning?'

'Oh, yes,' said Sam, impatiently.  'I remember.  Well?'

'Well,' replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in the
low tone of a man who communicates an important secret; 'in
that house with the green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good
many servants.'

'So I should think, from the look on it,' interposed Sam.

'Yes,' continued Mr. Trotter, 'and one of them is a cook, who
has saved up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she
can establish 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; a
very neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing
the number four collection of hymns, which I generally carry
about with me, in a little book, which you may perhaps have seen
in my hand--and I got a little intimate with her, Mr. Weller, and
from that, an acquaintance sprung up between us, and I may
venture to say, 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, his
eyes filling with tears as he spoke, 'will be, that I shall be able to
leave my present disgraceful service with that bad man, and to
devote myself to a better and more virtuous life; more like the
way in 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
of the purity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the
pink handkerchief, and wept copiously.

'You must ha' been an uncommon nice boy, to go to school
vith,' said Sam.

'I was, sir,' replied Job, heaving a deep sigh; 'I was the idol of
the place.'

'Ah,' said Sam, 'I don't wonder at it.  What a comfort you
must ha' been to your blessed mother.'

At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink
handkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, and
began to weep copiously.

'Wot's the matter with the man,' said Sam, indignantly.
'Chelsea water-works is nothin' to you.  What are you melting
vith now?  The consciousness o' willainy?'

'I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller,' said Job, after a
short pause.  'To think that my master should have suspected the
conversation I had with yours, and so dragged me away in a
post-chaise, and after persuading the sweet young lady to say she
knew nothing of him, and bribing the school-mistress to do the
same, deserted her for a better speculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it
makes me shudder.'

'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 vant
to have a little bit o' talk with you, Job; so if you're not partickler
engaged, 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, 'or
else I shall perhaps be askin' arter you, at the other side of the
green gate, and then I might cut you out, you know.'

'I shall be sure to be with you, sir,' said Mr. Trotter;
and wringing 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 be seen no more, Mr. Weller made the best of his way
to his master's bedroom.

'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 the
black 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 he
proposed 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 XXIV
WHEREIN Mr. PETER MAGNUS GROWS JEALOUS, AND THE
  MIDDLE-AGED LADY APPREHENSIVE, WHICH BRINGS THE
  PICKWICKIANS WITHIN THE GRASP OF THE LAW


When Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which he and Mr. Peter
Magnus had spent the preceding evening, he found that gentleman with
the major part of the contents of the two bags, the leathern hat-box,
and the brown-paper parcel, displaying to all possible advantage
on his person, while he himself was pacing up and down the room in
a state of the utmost excitement and agitation.

'Good-morning, Sir,' said Mr. Peter Magnus.  'What do you
think of this, Sir?'

'Very effective indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the
garments of Mr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile.

'Yes, I think it'll do,' said Mr. Magnus.  'Mr. Pickwick, Sir, I
have sent up my card.'

'Have you?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'And the waiter brought back word, that she would see me at
eleven--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 to
be 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 any fear in such a case as this, sir.  What is it, Sir?  There's
nothing to be ashamed of; it's a matter of mutual accommodation,
nothing more.  Husband on one side, wife on the other.  That's
my view of the matter, Mr. Pickwick.'

'It is a very philosophical one,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'But
breakfast is waiting, Mr. Magnus.  Come.'

Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstanding
the boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he laboured
under a very considerable degree of nervousness, of which loss of
appetite, a propensity to upset the tea-things, a spectral attempt
at drollery, and an irresistible inclination to look at the clock,
every other second, were among the principal symptoms.

'He-he-he,'tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, and
gasping 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 this
sort 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
upon the subject, but, as I have never submitted them to the test
of experience, I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate
your proceedings by them.'

'I should feel very much obliged to you, for any advice, Sir,'
said Mr. Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of
which was verging on the five minutes past.

'Well, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity
with which that great man could, when he pleased, render his
remarks so deeply impressive.  'I should commence, sir, with a
tribute to the lady's beauty and excellent qualities; from them,
Sir, I should diverge 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 a
brief 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 of my 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
as the subject presented itself in more glowing colours before
him--'I should then, Sir, come to the plain and simple question,
"Will you have me?"  I think I am justified in assuming that
upon this, she would 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
be embarrassing.'

'I think she would,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Upon this, sir, I
should squeeze her hand, and I think--I think, Mr. Magnus--
that after I had done that, supposing there was no refusal, I
should gently draw away the handkerchief, which my slight
knowledge of human nature leads me to suppose the lady would
be applying to her eyes at the moment, and steal a respectful kiss.
I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus; and at this particular
point, I am decidedly of opinion that if the lady were going to
take me at all, she would murmur 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 ten
minutes past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed
desperately from the room.

Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the small
hand of the clock following the latter part of his example, had
arrived at the figure which indicates the half-hour, when the door
suddenly opened.  He turned round to meet Mr. Peter Magnus,
and encountered, in his stead, the joyous face of Mr. Tupman,
the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and the intellectual
lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass.  As Mr. Pickwick greeted them,
Mr. Peter Magnus 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
high state of excitement; 'Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you
one moment, 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 the
very 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 you
please.  Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen.'  Hurrying on in
this way, Mr. Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room.
He paused 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
my very particular friend, Mr. Pickwick.  Mr. Pickwick, I beg to
make you known to Miss Witherfield.'

The lady was at the upper end of the room.  As Mr. Pickwick
bowed, he took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, and put
them on; a process which he had no sooner gone through, than,
uttering an exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreated
several paces, and the lady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid
her face in her hands, and dropped into a chair; whereupon
Mr. Peter Magnus was stricken motionless on the spot, and gazed
from one to the other, with a countenance expressive of the
extremities of horror and surprise.
This certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable
behaviour; but the fact is, that Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on
his spectacles, than he at once recognised in the future Mrs.
Magnus the lady into whose room he had so unwarrantably
intruded on the previous night; and the spectacles had no sooner
crossed Mr. Pickwick's nose, than the lady at once identified the
countenance which she had seen surrounded by all the horrors of
a nightcap.  So the lady screamed, and Mr. Pickwick started.

'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 sudden
manner in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into
the 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
which may compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections
in her breast, without her consent and permission.'

'Miss Witherfield,' said Mr. Peter Magnus, 'do you know this person?'

'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, and
averting her head--'that I would not reveal for worlds.'

'I understand you, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and respect
your delicacy; it shall never be revealed by ME depend upon it.'

'Upon my word, ma'am,' said Mr. Magnus, 'considering the
situation in which I am placed with regard to yourself, you carry
this matter off with tolerable coolness--tolerable coolness, ma'am.'

'Cruel Mr. Magnus!' said the middle-aged lady; here she wept
very 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, do you?'

'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
down here, sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of an
individual on whose truth and honour you had placed implicit
reliance--eh?'  Here Mr. Peter Magnus indulged in a prolonged
sneer; and taking off his green spectacles--which he probably
found superfluous in his fit of jealousy--rolled his little eyes
about, in a manner frightful to behold.

'Eh?' said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer with
increased effect.  'But you shall answer it, Sir.'

'Answer what?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Never mind, sir,' replied Mr. Magnus, striding up and down
the room.  'Never mind.'

There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase of
'Never mind,' for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed a
quarrel in the street, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, in
which it has not been the standard reply to all belligerent inquiries.
'Do you call yourself a gentleman, sir?'--'Never mind, sir.'  'Did
I offer to say anything to the young woman, sir?'--'Never mind,
sir.'  'Do you want your head knocked up against that wall, sir?'
--'Never mind, sir.'  It is observable, too, that there would appear
to be some hidden taunt in this universal 'Never mind,' which
rouses more indignation in the bosom of the individual addressed,
than the most lavish abuse could possibly awaken.

We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity
to himself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick's
soul, which it would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast.
We merely record the fact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room
door, and abruptly called out, 'Tupman, come here!'

Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of
very considerable surprise.

'Tupman,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'a secret of some delicacy, in
which that lady is concerned, is the cause of a difference which
has just arisen between this gentleman and myself.  When I assure
him, in your presence, that it has no relation to himself, and is
not in any way connected with his affairs, I need hardly beg you
to take notice that if he continue to dispute it, he expresses a
doubt of my 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 with
that force and energy of speech which so eminently distinguished
him, would have carried conviction to any reasonable mind; but,
unfortunately, at that particular moment, the mind of Mr. Peter
Magnus was in anything but reasonable order.  Consequently,
instead of receiving Mr. Pickwick's explanation as he ought to
have done, he forthwith proceeded to work himself into a red-
hot, scorching, consuming passion, and to talk about what was
due to his own feelings, and all that sort of thing; adding force to
his declamation by striding to and fro, and pulling his hair--
amusements which he would vary occasionally, by shaking his
fist in Mr. Pickwick's philanthropic countenance.

Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, conscious of his own innocence and
rectitude, and irritated by having unfortunately involved the
middle-aged lady in such an unpleasant affair, was not so quietly
disposed as was his wont.  The consequence was, that words ran
high, 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 the better; whereupon the middle-aged lady rushed in
terror from the room, out of which Mr. Tupman dragged Mr.
Pickwick, leaving Mr. 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 who
make the laws and set the fashions, she would have known that
this sort of ferocity is the most harmless thing in nature; but as
she had lived for the most part in the country, and never read the
parliamentary debates, she was little versed in these particular
refinements of civilised life.  Accordingly, when she had gained
her bedchamber, bolted herself in, and began to meditate on the
scene she had just witnessed, the most terrific pictures of slaughter
and destruction presented themselves to her imagination; among
which, a full-length portrait of Mr. Peter Magnus borne home
by four men, with the embellishment of a whole barrelful of
bullets in his left side, was among the very least.  The more the
middle-aged lady meditated, the more terrified she became; and
at length she determined to repair to the house of the principal
magistrate of the town, and request him to secure the persons of
Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman without delay.

To this decision the middle-aged lady was impelled by a variety
of considerations, the chief of which was the incontestable proof
it would afford of her devotion to Mr. Peter Magnus, and her
anxiety for his safety.  She was too well acquainted with his
jealous temperament to venture the slightest allusion to the real
cause of her agitation on beholding Mr. Pickwick; and she
trusted to her own influence and power of persuasion with the
little man, to quell his boisterous jealousy, supposing that Mr.
Pickwick were removed, and no fresh quarrel could arise.  Filled
with these reflections, the middle-aged lady arrayed herself in her
bonnet and shawl, and repaired to the mayor's dwelling straightway.

Now George Nupkins, Esquire, the principal magistrate
aforesaid, was as grand a personage as the fastest walker would
find out, between sunrise and sunset, on the twenty-first of June,
which being, according to the almanacs, the longest day in the
whole year, would naturally afford him the longest period for his
search.  On this particular morning, Mr. Nupkins was in a state
of the utmost excitement and irritation, for there had been a
rebellion in the town; all the day-scholars at the largest day-
school had conspired to break the windows of an obnoxious
apple-seller, and had hooted the beadle and pelted the
constabulary--an elderly gentleman in top-boots, who had been
called out to repress the tumult, and who had been a peace-
officer, man and boy, for half a century at least.  And Mr. Nupkins
was sitting in his easy-chair, frowning with majesty, and boiling
with rage, when a lady was announced on pressing, private, and
particular business.  Mr. Nupkins looked calmly terrible, and
commanded that the lady should be shown in; which command,
like all the mandates of emperors, and magistrates, and other
great potentates of the earth, was forthwith obeyed; and Miss
Witherfield, interestingly agitated, was ushered in accordingly.

'Muzzle!' said the magistrate.

Muzzle was an undersized footman, with a long body and
short legs.

'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 your
feelings, ma'am.'  Here Mr. Nupkins looked benignant.  'And
then tell me what legal business brings you here, ma'am.'  Here
the magistrate triumphed over the man; and he looked stern again.

'It is very distressing to me, Sir, to give this information,' said
Miss 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 the
kind can be contemplated in this town, I am persuaded.  Bless
my soul, 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 special constables; and, at the hazard of falling a
sacrifice to the angry passions of an infuriated multitude,
prohibited a pugilistic contest between the Middlesex Dumpling and
the Suffolk Bantam?  A duel in Ipswich, ma'am?  I don't think--
I do not think,' said the magistrate, reasoning with himself, 'that
any two men can have had the hardihood to plan such a breach
of the peace, in this town.'

'My information is, unfortunately, but too correct,' said the
middle-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-
clad clerk, of middle age, entered the room.

'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate.  'Mr. Jinks.'

'Sir,' said Mr. Jinks.
'This lady, Mr. Jinks, has come here, to give information of an
intended duel in this town.'

Mr. Jinks, not knowing exactly what to do, smiled a
dependent'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
his pen.

'You may see something very comical in this information, Sir--
but I can tell you this, Mr. Jinks, that you have very little to
laugh at,' said the magistrate.

The hungry-looking Jinks sighed, as if he were quite aware of
the 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 the
magistrate, 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 from
London, who have come down here to destroy his Majesty's
population, thinking that at this distance from the capital, the
arm of the law is weak and paralysed.  They shall be made an
example of.  Draw up the warrants, Mr. Jinks.  Muzzle!'

'Yes, your Worship.'

'Is Grummer downstairs?'

'Yes, your Worship.'

'Send him up.'
The obsequious Muzzle retired, and presently returned,
introducing the elderly gentleman in the top-boots, who was
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 feeling
has in a measure subsided, consekens o' the boys having
dispersed to cricket.'

'Nothing but vigorous measures will do in these times,
Grummer,' said the magistrate, in a determined manner.  'if the
authority of the king's officers is set at naught, we must have the
riot act read.  If the civil power cannot protect these windows,
Grummer, the military must protect the civil power, and the
windows 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 the
case 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 he
would, so long as it continued to be cited daily.

'This is even more unconstitutional,' said the magistrate; 'this
is even a greater breach of the peace, and a grosser infringement
of his Majesty's prerogative.  I believe duelling is one of his
Majesty's most undoubted prerogatives, Mr. Jinks?'

'Expressly stipulated in Magna Charta, sir,' said Mr. Jinks.

'One of the brightest jewels in the British crown, wrung from
his Majesty by the barons, I believe, Mr. Jinks?' said the
magistrate.

'Just so, Sir,' replied Mr. Jinks.

'Very well,' said the magistrate, drawing himself up proudly,
'it shall not be violated in this portion of his dominions.  Grummer,
procure assistance, and execute these warrants with as little
delay as possible.  Muzzle!'

'Yes, your Worship.'

'Show the lady out.'

Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with the magistrate's
learning and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to lunch;
Mr. Jinks retired within himself--that being the only retirement
he had, except the sofa-bedstead in the small parlour which was
occupied by his landlady's family in the daytime--and Mr.
Grummer retired, to wipe out, by his mode of discharging his
present commission, the insult which had been fastened upon
himself, and the other representative of his Majesty--the beadle
--in the course of the morning.

While these resolute and determined preparations for the
conservation of the king's peace were pending, Mr. Pickwick and
his friends, wholly unconscious of the mighty events in progress,
had sat quietly down to dinner; and very talkative and
companionable they all were.  Mr. Pickwick was in the very act of
relating his adventure of the preceding night, to the great amusement
of his followers, Mr. Tupman especially, when the door
opened, and a somewhat forbidding countenance peeped into the
room.  The eyes in the forbidding countenance looked very
earnestly at Mr. Pickwick, for several seconds, and were to all
appearance satisfied with their investigation; for the body to
which the forbidding countenance belonged, slowly brought
itself into the apartment, and presented the form of an elderly
individual in top-boots--not to keep the reader any longer
in suspense, in short, the eyes were the wandering eyes of
Mr. Grummer, and the body was the body of the same gentleman.

Mr. Grummer's mode of proceeding was professional, but
peculiar.  His first act was to bolt the door on the inside; his
second, to polish his head and countenance very carefully with a
cotton handkerchief; his third, to place his hat, with the cotton
handkerchief in it, on the nearest chair; and his fourth, to
produce from the breast-pocket of his coat a short truncheon,
surmounted by a brazen crown, with which he beckoned to
Mr. Pickwick with a grave and ghost-like air.

Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence.
He looked steadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then
said emphatically, 'This is a private room, Sir.  A private room.'

Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, 'No room's private
to 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 an
intuitive 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, blank
Pickwick--against the peace of our sufferin' lord the king--
stattit in the case made and purwided--and all regular.  I apprehend
you Pickwick!  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
the door, 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
six feet high, and stout in proportion, squeezed himself through
the half-open door (making his face very red in the process), and
entered 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, each
with 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
division pocketed their staves and looked at Messrs. Tupman
and Pickwick.

Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man.

'What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon my
privacy?' 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 visible
effect on him whatever.

When the executive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and his
friends were disposed to resist the authority of the law, they very
significantly turned up their coat sleeves, as if knocking them
down in the first instance, and taking them up afterwards, were a
mere 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's
residence, merely begging the parties then and there assembled,
to take notice, that it was his firm intention to resent this monstrous
invasion of his privileges as an Englishman, the instant he
was at liberty; whereat the parties then and there assembled
laughed very heartily, with the single exception of Mr. Grummer,
who seemed to consider that any slight cast upon the divine
right of magistrates was a species of blasphemy not to be tolerated.

But when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow to
the laws of his country, and just when the waiters, and hostlers,
and chambermaids, and post-boys, who had anticipated a
delightful commotion from his threatened obstinacy, began to
turn away, disappointed and disgusted, a difficulty arose which
had not been foreseen.  With every sentiment of veneration for the
constituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely protested against
making his appearance in the public streets, surrounded and
guarded by the officers of justice, like a common criminal.
Mr. Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling (for
it was half-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as
resolutely protested against walking on the opposite side of the
way, and taking Mr. Pickwick's parole that he would go straight
to the magistrate's; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman as
strenuously objected to the expense of a post-coach, which was
the only respectable conveyance that could be obtained.  The
dispute ran high, and the dilemma lasted long; and just as the
executive were on the point of overcoming Mr. Pickwick's
objection to walking to the magistrate's, by the trite expedient of
carrying him thither, it was recollected that there stood in the inn
yard, an old sedan-chair, which, having been originally built for
a gouty gentleman with funded property, would hold Mr. Pickwick
and Mr. Tupman, at least as conveniently as a modern post-
chaise.  The chair 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 procession started in grand order.  The specials surrounded
the body of the vehicle; Mr. Grummer and Mr. Dubbley marched
triumphantly in front; 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 very
indistinct notion of the nature of the offence, could not but be
much edified and gratified by this spectacle.  Here was the strong
arm of the law, coming down with twenty gold-beater force, upon
two offenders from the metropolis itself; the mighty engine was
directed by their own magistrate, and worked by their own
officers; and both the criminals, by their united efforts, were
securely shut up, in the narrow compass of one sedan-chair.
Many were the expressions of approval and admiration which
greeted Mr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcade, staff in hand;
loud and long were the shouts raised by the unsoaped; and amidst
these united testimonials of public approbation, the procession
moved slowly and majestically along.

Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket, with the black calico
sleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from an
unsuccessful 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 a sedan-chair.  Willing to divert his thoughts from the
failure of his enterprise, he stepped aside to see the crowd pass;
and finding that they were cheering away, very much to their
own satisfaction, forthwith began (by way of raising his spirits)
to cheer too, with all his might and main.

Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedan
passed, and the bodyguard of specials passed, and Sam was still
responding to the enthusiastic cheers of the mob, and waving his
hat 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 in
hand), when he was suddenly stopped by the unexpected appearance
of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass.

'What's the row, gen'l'm'n?'cried Sam.  'Who have they got in
this here watch-box in mournin'?'

Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost in
the tumult.

'Who is it?' cried Sam again.

once more was a joint reply returned; and, though the words
were inaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips
that they had uttered the magic word 'Pickwick.'

This was enough.  In another minute Mr. Weller had made his
way through the crowd, stopped the chairmen, and confronted
the portly Grummer.

'Hollo, old gen'l'm'n!' said Sam.  'Who have you got in this
here conweyance?'

'Stand back,' said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the
dignity of a great many other men, had been wondrously
augmented by a little 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,
'for consulting my conwenience, and I'm still more obliged to the
other gen'l'm'n, who looks as if he'd just escaped from a giant's
carrywan, for his wery 'andsome suggestion; but I should prefer
your givin' me a answer to my question, if it's all the same to you.
--How are you, Sir?'  This last observation was addressed with a
patronising air to Mr. Pickwick, who was peeping through the
front window.

Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, dragged
the truncheon with the brass crown from its particular pocket,
and flourished it before Sam's eyes.

'Ah,' said Sam, 'it's wery pretty, 'specially the crown, which is
uncommon like the real one.'

'Stand back!' said the outraged Mr. Grummer.  By way of
adding force to the command, he thrust the brass emblem of
royalty into Sam's neckcloth with one hand, and seized Sam's
collar with the other--a compliment which Mr. Weller returned
by knocking him down out of hand, having previously with the
utmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for him to lie upon.

Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of
that species of insanity which originates in a sense of injury, or
animated by this display of Mr. Weller's valour, is uncertain; but
certain it is, that he no sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall than he
made a terrific onslaught on a small boy who stood next him;
whereupon Mr. Snodgrass, in a truly Christian spirit, and in
order that he might take no one unawares, announced in a very
loud tone that he was going to begin, and proceeded to take off
his coat with the utmost deliberation.  He was immediately
surrounded and secured; and it is but common justice both to
him and Mr. Winkle to say, that they did not make the slightest
attempt to rescue either themselves or Mr. Weller; who, after a
most vigorous resistance, was overpowered by numbers and
taken prisoner.  The procession then reformed; the chairmen
resumed their stations; and the march was re-commenced.

Mr. Pickwick's indignation during the whole of this proceeding
was beyond all bounds.  He could just see Sam upsetting the
specials, and flying about in every direction; and that was all he
could see, for the sedan doors wouldn't open, and the blinds
wouldn't pull up.  At length, with the assistance of Mr. Tupman,
he managed to push open the roof; and mounting on the seat,
and steadying himself as well as he could, by placing his hand on
that gentleman's shoulder, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to address
the multitude; to dwell upon the unjustifiable manner in which he
had been treated; and to call upon them to take notice that his
servant had been first assaulted.  In this order they reached the
magistrate's house; the chairmen trotting, the prisoners following,
Mr. Pickwick oratorising, and the crowd shouting.



CHAPTER XXV
SHOWING, AMONG A VARIETY OF PLEASANT MATTERS,
  HOW MAJESTIC AND IMPARTIAL Mr. NUPKINS WAS; AND
  HOW Mr. WELLER RETURNED Mr. JOB TROTTER'S
  SHUTTLECOCK AS HEAVILY AS IT CAME--WITH ANOTHER
  MATTER, WHICH WILL BE FOUND IN ITS PLACE


Violent was Mr. Weller's indignation as he was borne along;
numerous were the allusions to the personal appearance and
demeanour of Mr. Grummer and his companion; and valorous were
the defiances to any six of the gentlemen present, in which he
vented his dissatisfaction.  Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle listened
with gloomy respect to the torrent of eloquence which their leader
poured forth from the sedan-chair, and the rapid course of which
not all Mr. Tupman's earnest entreaties to have the lid of the
vehicle closed, were able to check for an instant.  But Mr.
Weller's anger quickly gave way to curiosity when the procession
turned down the identical courtyard in which he had met with the
runaway Job Trotter; and curiosity was exchanged for 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 green gate from which Job Trotter
had emerged, and gave a mighty pull at the bell-handle which
hung at the side thereof.  The ring was answered by a very smart
and pretty-faced servant-girl, who, after holding up her hands
in astonishment at the rebellious appearance of the prisoners,
and the impassioned language of Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr.
Muzzle.  Mr. Muzzle opened one half of the carriage gate, to
admit the sedan, the captured ones, and the specials; 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 took part by turns,
except three or four fortunate individuals, who, having discovered
a grating in the gate, which commanded a view of nothing, stared
through it with the indefatigable perseverance with which people
will flatten their noses against the front windows of a chemist's
shop, when a drunken man, who has been run over by a dog-
cart in the street, is undergoing a surgical inspection in the
back-parlour.

At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, which
was guarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub,
the sedan-chair stopped.  Mr. Pickwick and his friends were
conducted into the hall, whence, having been previously
announced by Muzzle, and ordered in by Mr. Nupkins, they were
ushered into the worshipful presence of that public-spirited officer.

The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to strike
terror to the hearts of culprits, and to impress them with an
adequate idea of the stern majesty of the law.  In front of a big
book-case, in a big chair, behind a big table, and before a big
volume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a full size larger than any one
of them, big as they were.  The table was adorned with piles of
papers; and above the farther end of it, appeared the head and
shoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily engaged in looking as
busy as possible.  The party having all entered, Muzzle carefully
closed the door, and placed himself behind his master's chair to
await his orders.  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
earn a decent livin' as a master o' the ceremonies any vere.  This
here, sir' continued Mr. Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, and
addressing 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 to
have the acquaintance on; so the sooner you commits these here
officers o' yourn to the tread--mill for a month or two, the sooner
we shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding.  Business first,
pleasure arterwards, as King Richard the Third said when he
stabbed the t'other king in the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies.'

At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat
with his right elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had
heard him throughout with unspeakable awe.

'Who is this man, Grummer?' said the magistrate,.

'Wery desp'rate ch'racter, your Wash-up,' replied Grummer.
'He attempted to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the officers;
so we took him into custody, and brought him here.'

'You did quite right,' replied the magistrate.  'He is evidently a
desperate ruffian.'

'He is my servant, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick angrily.

'Oh! he is your servant, is he?' said Mr. Nupkins.  'A
conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers.
Pickwick's servant.  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 the
magistrate threatened to commit him instantly.  It is a dangerous
thing 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 fast
rising into a rage.

'Score it under,' said Sam.

'He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate.  'He is a
vagabond 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.'There
ain't a magistrate goin' as don't commit himself twice as he
commits other people.'

At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look so
supernaturally solemn, that the magistrate detected him immediately.

'Grummer,' said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, 'how
dare you select such an inefficient and disreputable person for a
special 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 of
this neglect of duty, Mr. Grummer; you shall be made an example
of.  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 say
you are not drunk, Sir, when I say you are?  Doesn't he smell of
spirits, Grummer?'

'Horrid, your Wash-up,' replied Grummer, who had a vague
impression that there was a smell of rum somewhere.

'I knew he did,' said Mr. Nupkins.  'I saw he was drunk when
he first came into the room, by his excited eye.  Did you observe
his excited 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
he drunk at this moment, Mr. Jinks?'

'Certainly, Sir,' replied Jinks.

'Mr. Jinks,' said the magistrate, 'I shall commit that man for
contempt.  Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks.'

And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who
was the magistrate's adviser (having had a legal education of
three years in a country attorney's office), whispered the magistrate
that he thought it wouldn't do; so the magistrate made a
speech, and said, that in consideration of the special's family, he
would merely reprimand and discharge him.  Accordingly, the
special was abused, vehemently, for a quarter of an hour, and
sent about his business; and Grummer, Dubbley, Muzzle, and
all the other specials, 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, and
Mr. Nupkins's dinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut the
matter short, by putting leading questions to Grummer, which
Grummer answered as nearly in the affirmative as he could.  So
the examination went off, all very smooth and comfortable, and
two assaults were proved against Mr. Weller, and a threat against
Mr. Winkle, and a push against Mr. Snodgrass.  When all this
was done to the magistrate's satisfaction, the magistrate and
Mr. Jinks consulted in whispers.

The consultation having lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinks
retired to his end of the table; and the magistrate, with a
preparatory cough, drew himself up in his chair, and was proceeding
to commence his address, when Mr. Pickwick interposed.

'I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you,' said Mr. Pickwick;
'but before you proceed to express, and act upon, any
opinion you may have formed on the statements which have been
made here, I must claim my right to be heard so far as I am
personally concerned.'

'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 shall
order 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
have had of the subordination preserved amongst them, that
whatever you order, they will execute, Sir; but I shall take the
liberty, Sir, of claiming my right to be heard, until I am removed
by force.'

'Pickvick and principle!' exclaimed Mr. Weller, in a very
audible 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 intense
astonishment, at his displaying such unwonted temerity; and was
apparently about to return a very angry reply, when Mr. Jinks
pulled him by the sleeve, and whispered something in his ear.  To
this, the magistrate returned a half-audible answer, and then the
whispering was renewed.  Jinks was evidently remonstrating.
At length the magistrate, gulping down, with a very bad grace,
his disinclination to hear anything more, turned to Mr. Pickwick,
and said 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 I and 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 the other 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 say
when 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, of course.'

'I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each,' said the
magistrate aloud, with great dignity, 'and they must be householders,
of course.'

'But bless my heart, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, who, together with
Mr. Tupman, was all amazement and indignation; 'we are
perfect strangers in this town.  I have as little knowledge of any
householders here, as I have intention of fighting a duel with anybody.'

'I dare say,' replied the magistrate, 'I dare say--don't you,
Mr. Jinks?'

'Certainly, Sir.'

'Have you anything more to say?' inquired the magistrate.

Mr. Pickwick had a great deal more to say, which he would no
doubt have said, very little to his own advantage, or the magistrate's
satisfaction, if he had not, the moment he ceased speaking,
been pulled by the sleeve by Mr. Weller, with whom he was
immediately engaged in so earnest a conversation, that he
suffered 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 the reverential and admiring silence of the constables, to
pronounce his decision.
He should fine Weller two pounds for the first assault, and
three pounds for the second.  He should fine Winkle two pounds,
and Snodgrass one pound, besides requiring them to enter into
their own recognisances to keep the peace towards all his
Majesty's subjects, and especially towards his liege servant,
Daniel Grummer.  Pickwick and Tupman he had already held
to bail.

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
to himself?'

'What?' said the magistrate.
Mr. Pickwick repeated his request.

'This is a most extraordinary request,' said the magistrate.
'A private interview?'

'A private interview,' replied Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'only, as a
part of the information which I wish to communicate is derived
from my servant, I should wish him to be present.'

The magistrate looked at Mr. Jinks; Mr. Jinks looked at the
magistrate; the officers looked at each other in amazement.
Mr. Nupkins turned suddenly pale.  Could the man Weller, in a
moment of remorse, have divulged some secret conspiracy for his
assassination?  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
was afraid he might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious
fashion, and, screwing up the corners of his mouth, shook his
head slowly from side 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 few
seconds, and then, rising from his chair, and requesting Mr.
Pickwick and Sam to follow him, led the way into a small room
which opened into the justice-parlour.  Desiring Mr. Pickwick to
walk to the upper end of the little apartment, and holding his
hand upon the half-closed door, that he might be able to effect
an immediate escape, in case there was the least tendency to a
display of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his readiness to hear
the communication, whatever it might be.

'I will come to the point at once, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'it
affects yourself and your credit materially.  I have every reason to
believe, Sir, that you are harbouring in your house a gross impostor!'

'Two,' interrupted Sam.  'Mulberry agin all natur, for tears
and willainny!'

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'if I am to render myself intelligible
to this 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 in
suspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the habit of
visiting here?  Because,' added Mr. Pickwick, as he saw that
Mr. Nupkins was about to offer a very indignant interruption,
'because if he be, I know that person to be a--'

'Hush, hush,' said Mr. Nupkins, closing the door.  'Know him
to be what, Sir?'

'An unprincipled adventurer--a dishonourable character--a
man who preys upon society, and makes easily-deceived people
his dupes, Sir; his absurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes, Sir,'
said the excited Mr. Pickwick.

'Dear me,' said Mr. Nupkins, turning very red, and altering his
whole manner directly.  'Dear me, Mr.--'

'Pickvick,' said Sam.

'Pickwick,' said the magistrate, 'dear me, Mr. Pickwick--pray
take 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 his name'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 the magistrate's
look of amazement; 'my only business in this town, is to
expose the person of whom we now speak.'

Mr. Pickwick proceeded to pour into the horror-stricken ear of
Mr. Nupkins, an abridged account of all Mr. Jingle's atrocities.
He related how he had first met him; how he had eloped with
Miss Wardle; how he had cheerfully resigned the lady for a
pecuniary consideration; how he had entrapped himself into a
lady's boarding-school at midnight; and how he (Mr. Pickwick)
now felt it his duty to expose his assumption of his present name
and rank.

As the narrative proceeded, all the warm blood in the body of
Mr. Nupkins tingled up into the very tips of his ears.  He had
picked up the captain at a neighbouring race-course.  Charmed
with his long list of aristocratic acquaintance, his extensive
travel, and his fashionable demeanour, Mrs. Nupkins and Miss
Nupkins had exhibited Captain Fitz-Marshall, and quoted
Captain Fitz-Marshall, and hurled Captain Fitz-Marshall at the
devoted heads of their select circle of acquaintance, until their
bosom friends, Mrs. Porkenham and the Misses Porkenhams,
and Mr. Sidney Porkenham, were ready to burst with jealousy
and despair.  And now, to hear, after all, that he was a needy
adventurer, a strolling player, and if not a swindler, something so
very like it, that it was hard to tell the difference!  Heavens! what
would the Porkenhams say!  What would be the triumph of
Mr. Sidney Porkenham when he found that his addresses had
been slighted for such a rival!  How should he, Nupkins, meet the
eye of old Porkenham at the next quarter-sessions!  And what a
handle would it be for the opposition 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, has many enemies.  What proof have you of the truth of
these representations?'

'Confront me with him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that is all I ask,
and all I require.  Confront him with me and my friends here; you
will want no further proof.'

'Why,' said Mr. Nupkins, 'that might be very easily done, for
he will be here to-night, and then there would be no occasion to
make the matter public, just--just--for the young man's own
sake, you know.  I--I--should like to consult Mrs. Nupkins on
the propriety of the step, in the first instance, though.  At
all events, Mr. Pickwick, we must despatch this legal business
before we can do anything 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 see
any of this levity here.  It is very unbecoming, and I can assure
you that you have very little to smile at.  Was the account you
gave me just 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 words down.'

The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to re-state his complaint,
but, what between Mr. Jinks's taking down his words, and the
magistrate's taking them up, his natural tendency to rambling,
and his extreme confusion, he managed to get involved, in something
under three minutes, in such a mass of entanglement and
contradiction, that Mr. Nupkins at once declared he didn't
believe him.  So the fines were remitted, and Mr. Jinks found a
couple of bail in no time.  And all these solemn proceedings
having been satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer was
ignominiously ordered out--an awful instance of the instability
of human greatness, and the uncertain tenure of great men's favour.

Mrs. Nupkins was a majestic female in a pink gauze turban
and a light brown wig.  Miss Nupkins possessed all her mamma's
haughtiness without the turban, and all her ill-nature without the
wig; and whenever the exercise of these two amiable qualities
involved mother and daughter in some unpleasant dilemma, as
they not infrequently did, they both concurred in laying the
blame on the shoulders of Mr. Nupkins.  Accordingly, when
Mr. Nupkins sought Mrs. Nupkins, and detailed the communication
which had been made by Mr. Pickwick, Mrs. Nupkins
suddenly recollected that she had always expected something of
the kind; that she had always said it would be so; that her advice
was never taken; that she really did not know what Mr. Nupkins
supposed she was; and so forth.

'The idea!' said Miss Nupkins, forcing a tear of very scanty
proportions into the corner of each eye; 'the idea of my being
made 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 the
captain's family connections; how I have urged and entreated
him to take some decisive step!  I am quite certain nobody would
believe 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
of Captain Fitz-Marshall.  You have constantly asked him here, my
dear, and you have lost no opportunity of introducing him elsewhere.'

'Didn't I say so, Henrietta?' cried Mrs. Nupkins, appealing to
her daughter with the air of a much-injured female.  'Didn't I say
that 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 and
ridicule upon us, to taunt me with being the cause of it?'
exclaimed Mrs. Nupkins.

'How can we ever show ourselves in society!' said Miss Nupkins.

'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 to HIM!'  At this dreadful reflection,
Mrs. Nupkins wept mental anguish, and Miss Nupkins followed
on the same side.

Mrs. Nupkins's tears continued to gush forth, with great
velocity, until she had gained a little time to think the matter
over; when she decided, in her own mind, that the best thing to
do would be to ask Mr. Pickwick and his friends to remain until
the captain's arrival, and then to give Mr. Pickwick the opportunity
he sought.  If it appeared that he had spoken truly, the
captain could be turned out of the house without noising the
matter abroad, and they could easily account to the Porkenhams
for his disappearance, by saying that he had been appointed,
through the Court influence of his family, to the governor-
generalship of Sierra Leone, of Saugur Point, or any other of
those salubrious climates which 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 up
hers, and Mr. Nupkins was very glad to settle the matter as
Mrs. Nupkins had proposed.  So Mr. Pickwick and his friends,
having washed off all marks of their late encounter, were introduced
to the ladies, and soon afterwards to their dinner; and
Mr. Weller, whom the magistrate, with his peculiar sagacity, had
discovered in half an hour to be one of the finest fellows alive,
was consigned to the care and guardianship of Mr. Muzzle,
who was specially enjoined to take him below, and make much
of him.

'How de do, sir?' said Mr. Muzzle, as he conducted Mr. Weller
down the kitchen stairs.

'Why, no considerable change has taken place in the state of
my system, since I see you cocked up behind your governor's
chair in the parlour, a little vile ago,' replied Sam.

'You will excuse my not taking more notice of you then,' said
Mr. 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 ideas
flow, don't they?'

'Wonderful,' replied Sam; 'they comes a-pouring out, knocking
each 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 to wash your hands, sir, before we join the ladies'!  Here's a
sink, with the 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
till his 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, but
they 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 they
first come, but we couldn't keep 'em.  The gal's manners is
dreadful vulgar; and the boy breathes so very hard while he's
eating, 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 of
country 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. Muzzle
conducted 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 as
comfortable as possible.'

'And your master's a knowin' hand, and has just sent me to the
right place,' said Mr. Weller, with a glance of admiration at
Mary.  'If I wos master o' this here house, I should alvays find the
materials 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,
let me 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 the
gen'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 ten
minutes; then returning, all giggles and blushes, they sat down
to dinner.
Mr. Weller's easy manners and conversational powers had
such irresistible influence with his new friends, that before the
dinner was half over, they were on a footing of perfect intimacy,
and in possession of a full account of the delinquency of Job Trotter.

'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 with
elegance 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 the
cook 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
this here 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 of
delight; and hereupon the cook and Mary laughed again, till
what between the beer, and the cold meat, and the laughter
combined, the latter young lady was brought to the verge of
choking--an alarming crisis from which she was only recovered
by sundry pats on the back, and other necessary attentions, most
delicately administered by Mr. Samuel Weller.
In the midst of all this jollity and conviviality, a loud ring was
heard at the garden gate, to which the young gentleman who
took his meals in the wash-house, immediately responded.  Mr.
Weller was in the height of his attentions to the pretty house-
maid; Mr. Muzzle was busy doing the honours of the table; and
the cook had just paused to laugh, in the very act of raising a
huge morsel to her lips; when the kitchen door opened, and in
walked Mr. Job Trotter.

We have said in walked Mr. Job Trotter, but the statement is
not distinguished by our usual scrupulous adherence to fact.  The
door opened and Mr. Trotter appeared.  He would have walked
in, and was in the very act of doing so, indeed, when catching
sight of Mr. Weller, he involuntarily shrank back a pace or two,
and stood gazing on the unexpected scene before him, perfectly
motionless with amazement and terror.

'Here he is!' said Sam, rising with great glee.  'Why we were
that wery moment a-speaking o' you.  How are you?  Where have
you been?  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 a side pocket.

'Well, here's a game!' cried Sam.  'Only think o' my master
havin' the pleasure o' meeting yourn upstairs, and me havin' the
joy o' meetin' you down here.  How are you gettin' on, and how is
the 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--that makes it so much more
comfortable,' said Sam.  'Sit down; sit down.'

Mr. Trotter suffered himself to be forced into a chair by the
fireside.  He cast his small eyes, first on Mr. Weller, and then on
Mr. Muzzle, but said nothing.

'Well, now,' said Sam, 'afore these here ladies, I should jest like
to ask you, as a sort of curiosity, whether you don't consider
yourself as nice and well-behaved a young gen'l'm'n, as ever used
a pink check pocket-handkerchief, and the number four collection?'

'And as was ever a-going to be married to a cook,' said that
lady indignantly.  'The willin!'

'And leave off his evil ways, and set up in the chandlery line
arterwards,' said the housemaid.

'Now, I'll tell you what it is, young man,' said Mr. Muzzle
solemnly, enraged at the last two allusions, 'this here lady
(pointing to the cook) keeps company with me; and when you
presume, Sir, to talk of keeping chandlers' shops with her, you
injure me in one of the most delicatest points in which one man
can injure another.  Do you understand that, Sir?'

Here Mr. Muzzle, who had a great notion of his eloquence, in
which he imitated his master, paused for a reply.

But Mr. Trotter made no reply.  So Mr. Muzzle proceeded in a
solemn manner--

'It's very probable, sir, that you won't be wanted upstairs for
several minutes, Sir, because MY master is at this moment
particularly engaged in settling the hash of YOUR master, Sir; and
therefore 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. Trotter
disappointed him.

'Well, then,' said Mr. Muzzle, 'I'm very sorry to have to
explain myself 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 the bell rings.  Follow me, Sir!'

As Mr. Muzzle uttered these words, he took a step or two
towards the door; and, by way of saving time, began to pull off
his coat as he walked along.

Now, the cook no sooner heard the concluding words of this
desperate challenge, and saw Mr. Muzzle about to put it into
execution, than she uttered a loud and piercing shriek; and
rushing on Mr. Job Trotter, who rose from his chair on the
instant, tore and buffeted his large flat face, with an energy
peculiar to excited females, and twining her hands in his long
black hair, tore therefrom about enough to make five or six
dozen of the very largest-sized mourning-rings.  Having accomplished
this feat with all the ardour which her devoted love for
Mr. Muzzle inspired, she staggered back; and being a lady of
very excitable and delicate feelings, 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. Trotter
could offer remonstrance or reply--even before he had time to
stanch the wounds inflicted by the insensible lady--Sam seized
one arm and Mr. Muzzle the other, and one pulling before, and
the other pushing behind, they conveyed him upstairs, and into
the parlour.

It was an impressive tableau.  Alfred Jingle, Esquire, alias
Captain Fitz-Marshall, was standing near the door with his hat
in his hand, and a smile on his face, wholly unmoved by his very
unpleasant situation.  Confronting him, stood Mr. Pickwick, who
had evidently been inculcating some high moral lesson; for his
left hand was beneath his coat tail, and his right extended in air,
as was his wont when delivering himself of an impressive address.
At a little distance, stood Mr. Tupman with indignant countenance,
carefully held back by his two younger friends; at the
farther end of 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--'what prevents 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--
Sidney Porkenham--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 his
hands with delight, uttered the first sound he had given vent to
since he entered the house--a low, noiseless chuckle, which
seemed to intimate that he enjoyed his laugh too much, to let any
of it escape in sound.
'Mr. Nupkins,' said the elder lady,'this is not a fit conversation
for the servants to overhear.  Let these wretches be 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 hand emphatically.

Jingle smiled, and moved towards the door.

'Stay!' said Mr. Pickwick.
Jingle stopped.

'I might,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have taken a much greater
revenge for the treatment I have experienced at your hands, and
that of your hypocritical friend there.'

Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, and laid his hand
upon his heart.

'I say,' said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradually angry, 'that I
might have taken a greater revenge, but I content myself with
exposing you, 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, with
facetious gravity, applied his hand to his ear, as if desirous not to
lose a syllable he uttered.

'And I have only to add, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, now thoroughly
angry, 'that I consider you a rascal, and a--a--ruffian--and--
and worse than any man I ever saw, or heard of, except that
pious and sanctified vagabond in the mulberry livery.'

'Ha! ha!' said Jingle, 'good fellow, Pickwick--fine heart--
stout old 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 all description, 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
a moment, discontented and unhappy.  But his countenance
immediately cleared up; for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by concealing
himself behind the street door, and rushing violently out, at the
right instant, contrived with great dexterity to overturn both
Mr. Jingle and his attendant, down the flight of steps, into the
American 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
thank you for such hospitality as we have received, permit me to
assure you, in our joint names, that we should not have accepted
it, or have consented to extricate ourselves in this way, from our
previous dilemma, had we not been impelled by a strong sense of
duty.  We return to London to-morrow.  Your secret is safe with us.'

Having thus entered his protest against their treatment of the
morning, Mr. Pickwick bowed low to the ladies, and notwithstanding
the solicitations of the family, left the room with his 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 pretty housemaid;
and as Sam's hat was mislaid, he had to look for it, and
the pretty housemaid lighted him.  They had to look all over
the place for the hat.  The pretty housemaid, in her anxiety to
find it, went down on her knees, and turned over all the things
that were heaped together in a little corner by the door.  It was
an awkward corner.  You couldn't get at it without shutting the
door first.

'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,
as it gave a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on HIS
knees before he could see whether it really was his own hat or not.
it was a remarkably small corner, and so--it was nobody's fault
but the man's who built the house--Sam and the pretty housemaid
were necessarily 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
that had cost so much trouble in looking for.

'How awkward you are,' said the pretty housemaid.  'You'll
lose it 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
prettier still, when it was raised towards Sam's, or whether it was
the accidental consequence of their being so near to each other, is
matter of uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.

'You don't mean to say you did that on purpose,' said the
pretty housemaid, blushing.

'No, I didn't then,' said Sam; 'but I will now.'

So he kissed her again.
'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the banisters.

'Coming, Sir,' replied Sam, running upstairs.

'How long you have been!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'There was something behind the door, Sir, which perwented
our getting it open, for ever so long, Sir,' replied Sam.

And this was the first passage of Mr. Weller's first love.



CHAPTER XXVI
WHICH CONTAINS A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE PROGRESS
  OF THE ACTION OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK


Having accomplished the main end and object of his journey, by the
exposure of Jingle, Mr. Pickwick resolved on immediately returning
to London, with the view of becoming acquainted with the proceedings
which had been taken against him, in the meantime, by Messrs.
Dodson and Fogg.  Acting upon this resolution with all the energy
and decision of his character, he mounted to the back seat of the
first coach which left Ipswich on the morning after the memorable
occurrences detailed at length in the two preceding chapters; and
accompanied by his three friends, and Mr. Samuel Weller, arrived in
the metropolis, in perfect 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 make
such preparations as might be requisite for their forthcoming
visit to Dingley Dell; and Mr. Pickwick and Sam took up their
present abode in very good, old-fashioned, and comfortable
quarters, to wit, the George and Vulture Tavern and Hotel,
George Yard, Lombard Street.

Mr. Pickwick had dined, finished his second pint of particular
port, pulled his silk handkerchief over his head, put his feet on
the fender, and thrown himself back in an easy-chair, when the
entrance of Mr. Weller with his carpet-bag, aroused him from
his tranquil meditation.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Sir,' said Mr. Weller.

'I have just been thinking, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that
having left a good many things at Mrs. Bardell's, in Goswell
Street, I ought 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 is
necessary that they should be looked up, and put together.  I
wish you 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.  The
quarter is not due till Christmas, but you may pay it, and have
done 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,
as soon 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 expected something
more; slowly opened it, slowly stepped out, and had slowly
closed it within a couple of inches, when Mr. Pickwick called out--

'Sam.'

'Yes, sir,' said Mr. Weller, stepping quickly back, and closing
the door behind him.
'I have no objection, Sam, to your endeavouring to ascertain
how Mrs. Bardell herself seems disposed towards me, and
whether it is really probable that this vile and groundless action
is to be carried to extremity.  I say I do not 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,
And composed himself for a nap.  Mr. Weller promptly walked
forth, to execute his commission.

It was nearly nine o'clock when he reached Goswell Street.  A
couple of candles were burning in the little front parlour, and a
couple of caps were reflected on the window-blind.  Mrs. Bardell
had got company.

Mr. Weller knocked at the door, and after a pretty long
interval--occupied by the party without, in whistling a tune, and
by the party within, in persuading a refractory flat candle to
allow itself 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 candle on
the bottom stair, and vanished into the front parlour with his message.

The two caps, reflected on the window-blind, were the respective
head-dresses of a couple of Mrs. Bardell's most particular
acquaintance, who had just stepped in, to have a quiet cup of tea,
and a little warm supper of a couple of sets of pettitoes and some
toasted cheese.  The cheese was simmering and browning away,
most delightfully, in a little Dutch oven before the fire; the
pettitoes were getting on deliciously in a little tin saucepan on the
hob; and Mrs. Bardell and her two friends were getting on very
well, also, in a little quiet conversation about and concerning all
their particular friends and acquaintance; when Master Bardell
came back from answering the door, and delivered the 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' happened
to 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 were
the company.

Mrs. Bardell felt it proper to be agitated; and as none of the
three exactly knew whether under existing circumstances, any
communication, otherwise than through Dodson & Fogg, ought
to be held with Mr. Pickwick's servant, they were all rather taken
by surprise.  In this state of indecision, obviously the first thing
to be done, was to thump the boy for finding Mr. Weller at the
door.  So his 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 which moral 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
no account 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
in the parlour, explained his business to Mrs. Bardell thus--

'Wery sorry to 'casion any personal inconwenience, ma'am, as
the 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 jest
going 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 and conversation.

'Certainly not,' chimed in Mrs. Sanders, who, from certain
wistful glances at the little tin saucepan, seemed to be engaged in
a mental calculation of the probable extent of the pettitoes, in the
event of Sam's being asked to stop to supper.

'So all I've come about, is jest this here,' said Sam, disregarding
the interruption; 'first, to give my governor's notice--there it is.
Secondly, to pay the rent--here it is.  Thirdly, to say as all his
things 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--
and that's all.'

'Whatever has happened,' said Mrs. Bardell, 'I always have
said, and always will say, that in every respect but one, Mr.
Pickwick has always behaved himself like a perfect gentleman.
His money always as good as the bank--always.'

As Mrs. Bardell said this, she applied her handkerchief to her
eyes, and went out of the room to get the receipt.

Sam well knew that he had only to remain quiet, and the
women were sure to talk; so he looked alternately at the tin
saucepan, the toasted cheese, the wall, and the ceiling, in
profound silence.

'Poor dear!' said Mrs. Cluppins.

'Ah, poor thing!' replied Mrs. Sanders.
Sam said nothing.  He saw they were coming to the subject.

'I raly cannot contain myself,' said Mrs. Cluppins, 'when I
think of such perjury.  I don't wish to say anything to make you
uncomfortable, young man, but your master's an old brute, and
I wish I had him here to tell him so.'
'I wish you had,' said Sam.

'To see how dreadful she takes on, going moping about, and
taking no pleasure in nothing, except when her friends comes in,
out of charity, to sit with her, and make her comfortable,'
resumed Mrs. 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, as
could never feel the expense of a wife, no more than nothing,'
continued Mrs. Cluppins, with great volubility; 'why there ain't
the faintest shade of an excuse for his behaviour!  Why don't he
marry her?'

'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'rable creeturs as they'd make us, if they could; and that your
master will find out, young man, to his cost, afore he's six
months older.'

At this consolatory reflection, Mrs. Cluppins bridled up, and
smiled 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's the
change, and I hope you'll take a little drop of something to keep
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 black
bottle and a wine-glass; and so great was her abstraction, in her
deep mental affliction, that, after filling Mr. Weller's glass, she
brought out three more wine-glasses, and filled them too.

'Lauk, Mrs. Bardell,' said Mrs. Cluppins, 'see what you've been
and 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 he
never could drink before supper, unless a lady drank with him.
A great deal of laughter ensued, and Mrs. Sanders volunteered to
humour him, so she took a slight sip out of her glass.  Then Sam
said it must go all round, so they all took a slight sip.  Then little
Mrs. Cluppins proposed as a toast, 'Success to Bardell agin
Pickwick'; and then the ladies emptied their glasses in honour of
the sentiment, and got very talkative directly.

'I suppose you've heard what's going forward, Mr. Weller?'
said Mrs. 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
only thing I ought to do, and my lawyers, Mr. Dodson and Fogg,
tell me that, with the evidence as we shall call, we must succeed.
I don't know what I should do, Mr. Weller, if I didn't.'

The mere idea of Mrs. Bardell's failing in her action, affected
Mrs. Sanders so deeply, that she was under the necessity of
refilling and re-emptying her glass immediately; feeling, as she
said afterwards, that if she hadn't had the presence of mind to do
so, 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 plaintiff shouldn'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 say
is, 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
on spec,' continued Mr. Weller, 'as vell as for the other kind and
gen'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
little disputes among their neighbours and acquaintances as
vants settlin' by means of lawsuits--all I can say o' them is, that
I vish they had the reward I'd give 'em.'

'Ah, I wish they had the reward that every kind and generous
heart would be inclined to bestow upon them!' said the gratified
Mrs. Bardell.

'Amen to that,' replied Sam, 'and a fat and happy liven' they'd
get out of it!  Wish you good-night, ladies.'

To the great relief of Mrs. Sanders, Sam was allowed to depart
without any reference, on the part of the hostess, to the pettitoes
and toasted cheese; to which the ladies, with such juvenile
assistance as Master Bardell could afford, soon afterwards
rendered the amplest justice--indeed they wholly vanished before
their strenuous exertions.

Mr. Weller wended his way back to the George and Vulture,
and faithfully recounted to his master, such indications of the
sharp practice of Dodson & Fogg, as he had contrived to pick up
in his visit to Mrs. Bardell's.  An interview with Mr. Perker, next
day, more than confirmed Mr. Weller's statement; and Mr.
Pickwick was fain to prepare for his Christmas visit to Dingley
Dell, with the pleasant anticipation that some two or three
months afterwards, an action brought against him for damages
sustained by reason of a breach of promise of marriage, would
be publicly tried in the Court of Common Pleas; the plaintiff
having all the advantages derivable, not only from the force of
circumstances, but from the sharp practice of Dodson & Fogg
to boot.



CHAPTER XXVII
SAMUEL WELLER MAKES A PILGRIMAGE TO DORKING,
  AND BEHOLDS HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW


There still remaining an interval of two days before the time agreed
upon for the departure of the Pickwickians to Dingley Dell, Mr.
Weller sat himself down in a back room at the George and Vulture,
after eating an early dinner, to muse on the 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 it occurred to him so strongly that he
ought to go down and see his father, and pay his duty to his
mother-in-law, that he was lost in astonishment at his own remissness
in never thinking of this moral obligation before.  Anxious to atone
for his past neglect without another hour's delay, he straightway
walked upstairs to Mr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence for
this laudable purpose.

'Certainly, Sam, certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick, his eyes
glistening with delight at this manifestation of filial feeling on the
part 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 your
duties as a son, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I always had, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'That's a very gratifying reflection, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick
approvingly.

'Wery, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'if ever I wanted anythin' o'
my father, 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
to do 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'n
said ven he run away from his wife 'cos she seemed unhappy
with him,' replied Mr. Weller.

'You may go, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Thank'ee, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller; and having made his best
bow, and put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top
of the Arundel coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.

The Marquis of Granby, in Mrs. Weller's time, was quite a
model of a roadside public-house of the better class--just large
enough to be convenient, and small enough to be snug.  On the
opposite side of the road was a large sign-board on a high post,
representing the head and shoulders of a gentleman with an
apoplectic countenance, in a red coat with deep blue facings, and
a touch of the same blue over his three-cornered hat, for a sky.
Over that again were a pair of flags; beneath the last button of
his coat were a couple of cannon; and the whole formed an
expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of Granby of
glorious memory.

The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium
plants, and a well-dusted row of spirit phials.  The open shutters
bore a variety of golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and
neat wines; and the choice group of countrymen and hostlers
lounging about the stable door and horse-trough, afforded
presumptive proof of the excellent quality of the ale and spirits
which were sold within.  Sam Weller paused, when he dismounted
from the coach, to note all these little indications of a thriving
business, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and having
done so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything he
had observed.

'Now, then!' said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust
his head 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, who
was seated beside the fireplace in the bar, blowing the fire to
make the kettle boil for tea.  She was not alone; for on the other
side of the fireplace, sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair,
was a man in threadbare black clothes, with a back almost as
long and stiff as that of the chair itself, who caught Sam's most
particular and especial attention at once.

He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin
countenance, and a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye--rather sharp,
but decidedly bad.  He wore very short trousers, and black cotton
stockings, which, like the rest of his apparel, were particularly
rusty.  His looks were starched, but his white neckerchief was not,
and its long limp ends straggled over his closely-buttoned waistcoat
in a very uncouth and unpicturesque fashion.  A pair of old,
worn, beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and a faded green
umbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through the bottom,
as if to counterbalance the want of a handle at the top, lay on a
chair beside him; and, being disposed in a very tidy and careful
manner, seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, whoever he
was, had no intention of going away in a hurry.

To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very far
from wise if he had entertained any such intention; for, to judge
from all appearances, he must have been possessed of a most
desirable circle of acquaintance, if he could have reasonably
expected to be more comfortable anywhere else.  The fire was
blazing brightly under the influence of the bellows, and the kettle
was singing gaily under the influence of both.  A small tray of
tea-things was arranged on the table; a plate of hot buttered
toast was gently simmering before the fire; and the red-nosed
man himself was busily engaged in converting a large slice of
bread into the same agreeable edible, through the instrumentality
of a long brass toasting-fork.  Beside him stood a glass of reeking
hot pine-apple rum-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 the view of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed
a drop or two of the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, and smiled
upon the rather stout lady, 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
pass unheeded.  It was not until it had been twice repeated, each
time in a shriller tone, that he became conscious of the
impropriety of his behaviour.

'Governor in?' inquired Sam, in reply to the question.

'No, he isn't,' replied Mrs. Weller; for the rather stout lady
was no 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
the round of toast which the red-nosed man had just finished.  'I
don't know, and, what's more, I don't care.--Ask a blessin',
Mr. Stiggins.'

The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantly
commenced on the toast with fierce voracity.

The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sam, at
first sight, to more than half suspect that he was the deputy-
shepherd of whom his estimable parent had spoken.  The moment
he saw him eat, all doubt on the subject was removed, and he
perceived at once that if he purposed to take up his temporary
quarters where he was, he must make his footing good without
delay.  He therefore commenced proceedings by putting his arm
over the half-door of the 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
eyes to Sam's face, with no very gratified expression of countenance.

'I rayther think he is,' said the imperturbable Sam; 'and I hope
this here reverend gen'l'm'n 'll excuse me saying that I wish I was
THE 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. Stiggins
had 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.
'For shame, 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
young and 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 with
Sam's arrival; and when the first effervescence of the compliment
had subsided, even Mrs. Weller looked as if she could have
spared him without the smallest inconvenience.  However, there
he was; and as he couldn't be decently turned out, they all three
sat down to tea.

'And how's father?' said Sam.

At this inquiry, Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up
her eyes, 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 considerable
effect upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that.'

'The fact is, my young friend,' said Mr. Stiggins solemnly, 'he
has an obderrate bosom.  Oh, my young friend, who else could
have resisted the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and
withstood their exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for
providing the infant negroes in the West Indies with flannel
waistcoats and moral pocket-handkerchiefs?'

'What's a moral pocket-ankercher?' said Sam; 'I never see one
o' them articles o' furniter.'

'Those which combine amusement With instruction, my young
friend,' 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?'
said Sam.

'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 the
elder Mr. Weller.

A great many more iniquities of a similar nature might have
been disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got
very weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to
go, Mr. Stiggins suddenly recollected that he had a most pressing
appointment with the shepherd, and took himself off accordingly.

The tea-things had been scarcely put away, and the hearth
swept up, when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller, senior,
at the door; his legs deposited him in the bar; and his eyes
showed him his son.

'What, Sammy!' exclaimed the father.

'What, old Nobs!' ejaculated the son.  And they shook hands heartily.

'Wery glad to see you, Sammy,' said the elder Mr. Weller,
'though how you've managed to get over your mother-in-law, is
a mystery to me.  I only vish you'd write me out the receipt,
that's all.'

'Hush!' said Sam, 'she's at home, old feller.'
'She ain't vithin hearin',' replied Mr. Weller; 'she always goes
and blows up, downstairs, for a couple of hours arter tea; so we'll
just 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 down
opposite 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, smoking violently.

'Seems so,' observed Sam.

'Good hand at accounts,' said Mr. Weller.
'Is he?' said Sam.

'Borrows eighteenpence on Monday, and comes on Tuesday
for a shillin' to make it up half-a-crown; calls again on Vensday
for another 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 in the 'rithmetic book 'bout the nails in the horse's
shoes, Sammy.'

Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem
alluded to 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' flannel
veskits to the young niggers abroad?  But I'll tell you what it is,
Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending across
the fireplace; 'I'd come down wery handsome towards strait
veskits 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-'ankerchers
to 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,
wen who 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
there was change for a couple o' suv'rins in it, then, Sammy, all
in ha'pence; and as the people come out, they rattled the pennies
in it, 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', and
the shepherd hadn't paid a farden, not he--perhaps it might be
on account that the water warn't o' much use to him, for it's wery
little o' that tap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a trick worth
a good half-dozen of that, he does.  Hows'ever, it warn't paid, and
so they cuts the water off.  Down goes the shepherd to chapel,
gives out as he's a persecuted saint, and says he hopes the heart
of the turncock as cut the water off, 'll be softened, and turned
in the right vay, but he rayther thinks he's booked for somethin'
uncomfortable.  Upon this, the women calls a meetin', sings a
hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair, wolunteers a
collection next Sunday, and hands it all over to the shepherd.
And if he ain't got enough out on 'em, Sammy, to make him free
of the water company for life,' said Mr. Weller, in conclusion,
'I'm one Dutchman, and you're another, and that's all about it.'

Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and then resumed--

'The worst o' these here shepherds is, my boy, that they
reg'larly turns the heads of all the young ladies, about here.
Lord bless their little hearts, they thinks it's all right, and don't
know no better; but they're the wictims o' gammon, Samivel,
they're the wictims o' gammon.'

'I s'pose they are,' said Sam.

'Nothin' else,' said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely; 'and
wot aggrawates me, Samivel, is to see 'em a-wastin' all their time
and labour in making clothes for copper-coloured people as don't
want '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 lazy
shepherds behind a heavy wheelbarrow, and run 'em up and
down a fourteen-inch-wide plank all day.  That 'ud shake the
nonsense out of 'em, if anythin' vould.'

Mr. Weller, having delivered this gentle recipe with strong
emphasis, eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the
eye, emptied his glass at a draught, and knocked the ashes out of
his pipe, with native dignity.

He was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was
heard in 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
by the ingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, between
the tongs, a red-hot coal from the adjacent fire; and what's more,
my dear, 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,' said Sam, 'none o' these little lovin's
afore strangers.  Here's the reverend gen'l'm'n a-comin' in now.'
At this announcement, Mrs. Weller hastily wiped off the tears
which she had just begun to force on; and Mr. W. drew his chair
sullenly into the chimney-corner.

Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on to take another glass of
the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, and a second, and a third, and
then to refresh himself with a slight supper, previous to beginning
again.  He sat on the same side as Mr. Weller, senior; and every
time he could contrive to do so, unseen by his wife, that gentleman
indicated to his son the hidden emotions of his bosom, by
shaking his fist over the deputy-shepherd's head; a process
which afforded his son the most unmingled delight and satisfaction,
the more especially as Mr. Stiggins went on, quietly drinking
the hot pine-apple rum-and-water, wholly unconscious of what
was going forward.

The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs.
Weller and the reverend Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principally
descanted on, were the virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness of
his flock, and the high crimes and misdemeanours of everybody
beside--dissertations which the elder Mr. Weller occasionally
interrupted by half-suppressed references to a gentleman of the
name of Walker, and other running commentaries of the same kind.

At length Mr. Stiggins, with several most indubitable symptoms
of having quite as much pine-apple rum-and-water about him as
he 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,
and seemed disposed to address some observation to his son; but
on Mrs. Weller advancing towards him, he appeared to relinquish
that intention, and abruptly bade him good-night.

Sam was up betimes next day, and having partaken of a hasty
breakfast, prepared to return to London.  He had scarcely set foot
without 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 vith
you,' said Mr. Weller.

'I am ashamed on you!' said Sam reproachfully; 'what do you
let him show his red nose in the Markis o' Granby at all, for?'

Mr. Weller the elder fixed on his son an earnest look, and
replied, ''Cause I'm a married man, Samivel,'cause I'm a married
man.  Ven you're a married man, Samivel, you'll understand a
good many things as you don't understand now; but vether it's
worth while goin' through so much, to learn so little, as the
charity-boy said ven he got to the end of the alphabet, is a
matter o' 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 I was the properiator o' the Markis o' Granby, and that 'ere
Stiggins came 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'd drop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on; and if I found
he was insensible to kindness, I'd try the other persvasion.'

The elder Mr. Weller bestowed a look of deep, unspeakable
admiration on his son, and, having once more grasped his hand,
walked slowly away, revolving in his mind the numerous reflections
to which his advice had given rise.

Sam looked after him, until he turned a corner of the road;
and then set forward on his walk to London.  He meditated at
first, on the probable consequences of his own advice, and the
likelihood of his father's adopting it.  He dismissed the subject
from his mind, however, with the consolatory reflection that time
alone would show; and this is the reflection we would impress
upon the reader.



CHAPTER XXVIII
A GOOD-HUMOURED CHRISTMAS CHAPTER, CONTAINING
  AN ACCOUNT OF A WEDDING, AND SOME OTHER SPORTS
  BESIDE: WHICH ALTHOUGH IN THEIR WAY, EVEN AS GOOD
  CUSTOMS AS MARRIAGE ITSELF, ARE NOT QUITE SO
  RELIGIOUSLY KEPT UP, IN THESE DEGENERATE TIMES


As brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fairies, did the four
Pickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-second day of
December, in the year of grace in which these, their faithfully-recorded
adventures, were undertaken and accomplished.  Christmas was close at
hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of
hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness; the old year was
preparing, like an ancient philosopher, to call his friends around
him, and amidst the sound of feasting and revelry to pass gently and
calmly away.  Gay and merry was the time; and right gay and merry
were at least four of the numerous hearts that were gladdened by
its coming.

And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas
brings a brief season of happiness and enjoyment.  How many
families, whose members have been dispersed and scattered far
and wide, in the restless struggles of life, are then reunited, and
meet once again in that happy state of companionship and mutual
goodwill, which is a source of such pure and unalloyed delight;
and one so incompatible with the cares and sorrows of the world,
that the religious belief of the most civilised nations, and the rude
traditions of the roughest savages, alike number it among the
first joys of a future condition of existence, provided for the
blessed and happy!  How many old recollections, and how many
dormant sympathies, does Christmas time awaken!

We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot
at which, year after year, we met on that day, a merry and joyous
circle.  Many of the hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have
ceased to beat; many of the looks that shone so brightly then,
have ceased to glow; the hands we grasped, have grown cold; the
eyes we sought, 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 those happy meetings, crowd upon our mind at each
recurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage had been but
yesterday!  Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the
delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the
pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the
traveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fireside and
his quiet home!

But we are so taken up and occupied with the good qualities of
this saint Christmas, that we are keeping Mr. Pickwick and his
friends 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 have been stowed away, and Mr. Weller and the guard are
endeavouring to insinuate into the fore-boot a huge cod-fish
several sizes too large for it--which is snugly packed up, in a long
brown basket, with a layer of straw over the top, and which has
been left to the last, in order that he may repose in safety on the
half-dozen barrels of real native oysters, all the property of
Mr. Pickwick, which have been arranged in regular order at the
bottom of the receptacle.  The interest displayed in Mr. Pickwick's
countenance is most intense, as Mr. Weller and the guard try to
squeeze the cod-fish into the boot, first head first, and then tail
first, and then top upward, and then bottom upward, and then
side-ways, and then long-ways, all of which artifices the implacable
cod-fish sturdily resists, until the guard accidentally hits him
in the very middle of the basket, whereupon he suddenly disappears
into the boot, and with him, the head and shoulders of
the guard himself, who, not calculating upon so sudden a
cessation of the passive resistance of the cod-fish, experiences a
very unexpected shock, to the unsmotherable delight of all the
porters and bystanders.  Upon this, Mr. Pickwick smiles with
great good-humour, and drawing a shilling from his waistcoat
pocket, begs the guard, as he picks himself out of the boot, to
drink his health in a glass of hot brandy-and-water; at which the
guard smiles too, and Messrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman,
all smile in company.  The guard and Mr. Weller disappear for
five minutes, most probably to get the hot brandy-and-water, for
they smell very strongly of it, when they return, the coachman
mounts to the box, Mr. Weller jumps up behind, the Pickwickians
pull their coats round their legs and their shawls over their noses,
the helpers pull the horse-cloths off, the coachman shouts out a
cheery 'All right,' and away they go.

They have rumbled through the streets, and jolted over the
stones, and at length reach the wide and open country.  The
wheels skim over the hard and frosty ground; and the horses,
bursting into a canter at a smart crack of the whip, step along the
road as if the load behind them--coach, passengers, cod-fish,
oyster-barrels, and all--were but a feather at their heels.  They
have descended a gentle slope, and enter upon a level, as compact
and dry as a solid block of marble, two miles long.  Another crack
of the whip, and on they speed, at a smart gallop, the horses
tossing their heads and rattling the harness, as if in exhilaration
at the rapidity of the motion; while the coachman, holding whip
and reins in one hand, takes off his hat with the other, and resting
it on his knees, pulls out his handkerchief, and wipes his forehead,
partly because he has a habit of doing it, and partly
because it's as well to show the passengers how cool he is, and
what an easy thing it is to drive four-in-hand, when you have had
as much practice as he has.  Having done this very leisurely
(otherwise the effect would be materially impaired), he replaces
his handkerchief, pulls on his hat, 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 some town or village.  The lively notes
of the guard's key-bugle vibrate in the clear cold air, and wake
up the old gentleman inside, who, carefully letting down the
window-sash half-way, and standing sentry over the air, takes a
short peep out, and then carefully pulling it up again, informs the
other inside that they're going to change directly; on which the
other inside wakes himself up, and determines to postpone his
next nap until after the stoppage.  Again the bugle sounds lustily
forth, and rouses the cottager's wife and children, who peep out
at the house door, and watch the coach till it turns the corner,
when they once more crouch round the blazing fire, and throw on
another log of wood against father comes home; while father
himself, a full mile off, has just exchanged a friendly nod with the
coachman, and turned round to take a good long stare at the
vehicle as it whirls away.

And now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles
through the ill-paved streets of a country town; and the coachman,
undoing the buckle which keeps his ribands together,
prepares to throw them off the moment he stops.  Mr. Pickwick
emerges from his coat collar, and looks about him with great
curiosity; perceiving which, the coachman informs Mr. Pickwick
of the name of the town, and tells him it was market-day yesterday,
both of which pieces of information Mr. Pickwick retails to
his fellow-passengers; whereupon they emerge from their coat
collars too, and look about them also.  Mr. Winkle, who sits at
the extreme edge, with one leg dangling in the air, is nearly
precipitated into the street, as the coach twists round the sharp
corner by the cheesemonger's shop, and turns into the market-
place; and before Mr. Snodgrass, who sits next to him, has
recovered from his alarm, they pull up at the inn yard where the
fresh horses, with cloths on, are already waiting.  The coachman
throws down the reins and gets down himself, and the other
outside passengers drop down also; except those who have no
great confidence in their ability to get up again; and they remain
where they are, and stamp their feet against the coach to warm
them--looking, with longing eyes and red noses, at the bright
fire in the inn bar, and the sprigs of holly with red berries which
ornament the window.

But the guard has delivered at the corn-dealer's shop, the
brown paper packet he took out of the little pouch which hangs
over his shoulder by a leathern strap; and has seen the horses
carefully put to; and has thrown on the pavement the saddle
which was brought from London on the coach roof; and has
assisted in the conference between the coachman and the hostler
about the gray 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 full two inches all this time, has pulled it up again,
and the cloths are off, and they are all ready for starting, except
the 'two stout gentlemen,' whom the coachman inquires after
with some impatience.  Hereupon the coachman, and the guard,
and Sam Weller, and Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, and all
the hostlers, and every one of the idlers, who are more in number
than all the others put together, shout for the missing gentlemen
as loud as they can bawl.  A distant response is heard from the
yard, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman come running down it,
quite out of breath, 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 minutes before he could find the sixpence to pay for it.
The coachman shouts an admonitory 'Now then, gen'l'm'n,' the
guard re-echoes it; the old gentleman inside thinks it a very
extraordinary thing that 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 pulled up, coat collars are readjusted, the
pavement ceases, the houses disappear; and they are once again
dashing along the open road, with the fresh clear air blowing in
their faces, and gladdening their very hearts within them.

Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by the
Muggleton Telegraph, on their way to Dingley Dell; and at
three o'clock that afternoon they all stood high and dry, safe
and sound, hale and hearty, upon the steps of the Blue Lion,
having taken on the road quite enough of ale and brandy, to
enable them to bid defiance to the frost that was binding up the
earth in its iron fetters, and weaving its beautiful network upon
the trees and hedges.  Mr. Pickwick was busily engaged in counting
the barrels of 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 to this mode of catching his attention was no other than
Mr. Wardle's favourite page, better known to the readers of this
unvarnished history, 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 the
fat 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
the shay-cart, to carry your luggage up to the house.  He'd ha'
sent some saddle-horses, but he thought you'd rather walk,
being a cold day.'

'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily, for he remembered how
they had travelled over nearly the same ground on a previous
occasion.  '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
the fields, and walked briskly away, leaving Mr. Weller and the
fat boy confronted together for the first time.  Sam looked at
the fat boy with great astonishment, but without saying a word;
and began to stow the luggage rapidly away in the cart, while the
fat boy stood quietly by, and seemed to think it a very interesting
sort of thing to see Mr. Weller working by himself.

'There,' said Sam, throwing in the last carpet-bag, 'there they are!'

'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
a prize 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 drink anythin'?'

'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
you never 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
a glass of liquor without so much as winking--a feat which
considerably advanced him in Mr. Weller's good opinion.  Mr.
Weller having transacted a similar piece of business on his own
account, 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,
and pointing 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 down
by the side of the cod-fish, and, placing an oyster-barrel under
his head for a pillow, fell asleep instantaneously.

'Well,' said Sam, 'of all the cool boys ever I set my eyes on, this
here young gen'l'm'n is the coolest.  Come, wake up, young dropsy!'

But as young dropsy evinced no symptoms of returning animation,
Sam Weller sat himself down in front of the cart, and
starting the old horse with a jerk of the rein, jogged steadily on,
towards the Manor Farm.

Meanwhile, Mr. Pickwick and his friends having walked their
blood into active circulation, proceeded cheerfully on.  The paths
were 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
look forward with pleasant anticipation to the comforts which
awaited them at their hospitable entertainer's.  It was the sort of
afternoon that might induce a couple of elderly gentlemen, in a
lonely field, to take off their greatcoats and play at leap-frog in
pure lightness of heart and gaiety; and we firmly believe that had
Mr. Tupman at that moment proffered 'a back,' Mr. Pickwick
would have accepted his offer with the utmost avidity.

However, Mr. Tupman did not volunteer any such accommodation,
and the friends walked on, conversing merrily.  As
they turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many
voices burst upon their ears; and before they had even had
time to form a guess to whom they belonged, they walked
into the very centre of the party who were expecting their
arrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians, by
the loud 'Hurrah,' which burst from 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 faithful
Trundle; and, lastly, there were Emily and some eight or ten
young ladies, who had all come down to the wedding, which was
to take place next day, and who were in as happy and important
a state as young ladies usually are, on such momentous occasions;
and they were, one and all, startling the fields and lanes, far and
wide, with their frolic and laughter.

The ceremony of introduction, under such circumstances, was
very soon performed, or we should rather say that the introduction
was soon over, without any ceremony at all.  In two minutes
thereafter, Mr. Pickwick was joking with the young ladies who
wouldn't come over the stile while he looked--or who, having
pretty feet and unexceptionable ankles, preferred standing on the
top rail for five minutes or so, declaring that they were too
frightened to move--with as much ease and absence of reserve or
constraint, as if he had known them for life.  It is worthy of
remark, too, that Mr. Snodgrass offered Emily far more assistance
than the absolute 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 boots with fur round the top, was observed
to scream very loudly, when Mr. Winkle offered to help her over.

All this was very snug and pleasant.  And when the difficulties
of the stile were at last surmounted, and they once more entered
on the open field, old Wardle informed Mr. Pickwick how they
had all been down in a body to inspect the furniture and fittings-
up of the house, which the young couple were to tenant, after the
Christmas holidays; at which communication Bella and Trundle
both coloured up, as red as the fat boy after the taproom fire;
and the young lady with the black eyes and the fur round the
boots, whispered something in Emily's ear, and then glanced
archly at Mr. Snodgrass; to which Emily responded that she was
a foolish girl, but turned very red, notwithstanding; and Mr.
Snodgrass, who was as modest as all great geniuses usually are,
felt the crimson rising to the crown of his head, and devoutly
wished, in the inmost recesses of his own heart, that the young
lady aforesaid, with her black eyes, and her archness, and her
boots with the fur round the top, were all comfortably deposited
in the adjacent county.

But if they were social and happy outside the house, what was
the warmth and cordiality of their reception when they reached
the farm!  The very servants grinned with pleasure at sight of
Mr. Pickwick; and Emma bestowed a half-demure, half-impudent,
and all-pretty look of recognition, on Mr. Tupman,
which was enough to 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 front
parlour, but she was rather cross, and, by consequence, most
particularly deaf.  She never went out herself, and like a great
many other old ladies of the same stamp, she was apt to consider
it an act of domestic treason, if anybody else took the liberty of
doing what she couldn't.  So, bless her old soul, she sat as upright
as she could, in her great chair, and looked as fierce as might be
--and that was benevolent after all.

'Mother,' said Wardle, 'Mr. Pickwick.  You recollect him?'

'Never mind,' replied the old lady, with great dignity.  'Don't
trouble Mr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me.  Nobody cares
about me now, and it's very nat'ral they shouldn't.'  Here the old
lady tossed her head, and smoothed down her lavender-coloured
silk 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 come down expressly to have a
long talk, and another rubber with you; and we'll show these
boys and girls how to dance a minuet, before they're eight-and-
forty hours older.'

The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do
it all 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
her spirits up, poor girl.'

The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son
said it.  But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was
not quite 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 the
reason why I would make much of the few that have any traces
of the old stock'--and saying this, Mr. Pickwick gently pulled
Bella towards him, and bestowing a kiss upon her forehead,
bade her sit down on the little stool at her grandmother's feet.
Whether the expression of her countenance, as it was raised
towards the old lady's face, called up a thought of old times, or
whether the old lady was touched by Mr. Pickwick's affectionate
good-nature, or whatever was the cause, she was fairly melted;
so she threw herself on her granddaughter's neck, and all the
little ill-humour evaporated in a gush of silent tears.

A happy party they were, that night.  Sedate and solemn were
the score of rubbers in which Mr. Pickwick and the old lady
played together; uproarious was the mirth of the round table.
Long after the ladies had retired, did the hot elder wine, well
qualified with brandy and spice, go round, and round, and round
again; and sound was the sleep and pleasant were the dreams
that followed.  It is a remarkable fact that those of Mr. Snodgrass
bore constant reference 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 of
voices and a pattering of feet, sufficient to rouse even the fat boy
from his heavy slumbers.  He sat up in bed and listened.  The
female servants and female visitors were running constantly to
and fro; and there were such multitudinous demands for hot
water, such repeated outcries for needles and thread, and so
many half-suppressed entreaties of 'Oh, do come and tie me,
there's a dear!' that Mr. Pickwick in his innocence began to
imagine that something dreadful must have occurred--when he
grew more awake, and remembered the wedding.  The occasion
being an important one, he dressed himself with peculiar care,
and descended to the breakfast-room.

There were all the female servants in a bran new uniform of
pink muslin gowns with white bows in their caps, running about
the house in a state of excitement and agitation which it would
be impossible to describe.  The old lady was dressed out in a
brocaded gown, which had not seen the light for twenty years,
saving and excepting such truant rays as had stolen through the
chinks in the box 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 and unconcerned, but failing signally in the attempt.
All the girls were in tears and white muslin, except a select two
or three, who were being honoured with a private view of the
bride and bridesmaids, upstairs.  All the Pickwickians were in
most blooming array; and there was a terrific roaring on the
grass in front of the house, occasioned by all the men, boys, and
hobbledehoys attached to the farm, each of whom had got a
white bow in his button-hole, and all of whom were cheering
with might and main; being incited thereto, and stimulated
therein by the precept and example of Mr. Samuel Weller, who
had managed to become mighty popular already, and was as
much at home as if he had been born on the land.

A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really
is no great joke in the matter after all;--we speak merely of the
ceremony, and beg it to be distinctly understood that we indulge
in no hidden sarcasm upon a married life.  Mixed up with the
pleasure and joy of the occasion, are the many regrets at quitting
home, the tears of parting between parent and child, the
consciousness of leaving the dearest and kindest friends of the
happiest portion of human life, to encounter its cares and troubles
with others still untried and little known--natural feelings which
we would not render this chapter mournful by describing, and
which we should be still more unwilling to be supposed to ridicule.

Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by
the old clergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and
that Mr. Pickwick's name is attached to the register, still preserved
in the vestry thereof; that the young lady with the black
eyes signed her name in a very unsteady and tremulous manner;
that Emily's signature, as the other bridesmaid, is nearly
illegible; that it all went off in very admirable style; that the
young ladies generally thought it far less shocking than they had
expected; and that although the owner of the black eyes and the
arch smile informed Mr. Wardle that she was sure she could
never submit to anything so dreadful, we have the very best
reasons for thinking she was mistaken.  To all this, we may add,
that Mr. Pickwick was the first who saluted the bride, and that
in so doing he threw over her neck a rich gold watch and chain,
which no mortal eyes but the jeweller's had ever beheld before.
Then, the old church bell rang as gaily as it could, and they all
returned to breakfast.
'Vere does the mince-pies go, young opium-eater?' said Mr.
Weller to the fat boy, as he assisted in laying out such articles
of consumption as had 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'other dish opposite.  There; now we look compact and comfortable,
as the 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
the utmost satisfaction.

'Wardle,' said Mr. Pickwick, almost as soon as they were all
seated, '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 remote
corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal
Horner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not
with the coolness and deliberation which characterised that
young gentleman's proceedings.

'Fill Mr. Pickwick's glass.'

'Yes, sir.'

The fat boy filled Mr. Pickwick's glass, and then retired
behind his master's chair, from whence he watched the play of
the knives and forks, and the progress of the choice morsels
from the dishes to the mouths of the company, with a kind of
dark and gloomy joy that was most impressive.

'God bless you, old fellow!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Same to you, my boy,' replied Wardle; and they pledged each
other, heartily.

'Mrs. Wardle,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'we old folks must have a
glass of wine together, in honour of this joyful event.'

The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for she
was sitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown, with
her newly-married granddaughter on one side, and Mr. Pickwick
on the other, to do the carving.  Mr. Pickwick had not spoken in
a very loud tone, but she understood him at once, and drank off
a full glass of wine to his long life and happiness; after which the
worthy old soul launched forth into a minute and particular
account of her own wedding, with a dissertation on the fashion
of wearing high-heeled shoes, and some particulars concerning
the life and adventures of the beautiful Lady Tollimglower,
deceased; at all of which the old lady herself laughed very
heartily indeed, and so did the young ladies too, for they were
wondering among themselves what on earth grandma was
talking about.  When they laughed, the old lady laughed ten
times more heartily, and said that these always had been considered
capital stories, which caused them all to laugh again, and put
the old lady into the very best of humours.  Then the
cake was cut, and passed through the ring; the young ladies
saved pieces to put under their pillows to dream of their future
husbands on; and a great deal of blushing and merriment was
thereby occasioned.

'Mr. Miller,' said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance, the
hard-headed gentleman, 'a glass of wine?'

'With great satisfaction, Mr. Pickwick,' replied the hard-
headed gentleman 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
bottom of the table, who had eaten and drunk very heartily, and
laughed at everything.

Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt delight at every additional
suggestion; 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 the
excitement of his feelings.

'Call in all the servants,' cried old Wardle, interposing to
prevent the public rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise
most indubitably have received from his master.  'Give them a
glass of wine each to drink the toast in.  Now, Pickwick.'

Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of the
women-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
me to take so great a liberty--'

Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause from
the ladies, echoed by the gentlemen, during which the owner of
the eyes was distinctly heard to state that she could kiss that dear
Mr. Pickwick.  Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it
couldn't be done by deputy: to which the young lady with the
black eyes replied 'Go away,' and accompanied the request with
a look which said as plainly as a look could do, 'if you can.'

'My dear friends,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'I am going to
propose the health of the bride and bridegroom--God bless 'em
(cheers and tears).  My young friend, Trundle, I believe to be a
very excellent and manly fellow; and his wife I know to be a very
amiable and lovely girl, well qualified to transfer to another
sphere of action the happiness which for twenty years she has
diffused around her, in her father's house.  (Here, the fat boy
burst forth into stentorian blubberings, and was led forth by the
coat collar, by Mr. Weller.) I wish,' added Mr. Pickwick--'I
wish I was young enough to be her sister's husband (cheers),
but, failing that, I am happy to be old enough to be her father;
for, being so, I shall not be 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 know him (great uproar).  He is a kind,
excellent, independent-spirited, fine-hearted, hospitable, liberal
man (enthusiastic shouts from the poor 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 all the gratification
of heart and peace of mind which he so well deserves, is, I am
persuaded, our united wish.  So, let us drink their healths, and
wish them prolonged life, and every blessing!'

Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause; and
once 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
old lady.  Mr. Snodgrass proposed Mr. Wardle; Mr. Wardle
proposed Mr. Snodgrass.  One of the poor relations proposed
Mr. Tupman, and the other poor relation proposed Mr. Winkle;
all was happiness and festivity, until the mysterious disappearance
of both the poor relations beneath the table, warned the party
that it was 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 rid
of the effects of the wine at breakfast.  The poor relations had
kept in bed all day, with the view of attaining the same happy
consummation, but, as they had been unsuccessful, they stopped
there.  Mr. Weller kept the domestics in a state of perpetual
hilarity; and the fat boy divided his time into small alternate
allotments of eating and sleeping.

The dinner was as hearty an affair as the breakfast, and was
quite as noisy, without the tears.  Then came the dessert and some
more 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 capacious
chimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patent
cabs, wheels and all.  At the upper end of the room, seated in a
shady bower of holly and evergreens were the two best fiddlers,
and the only harp, in all Muggleton.  In all sorts of recesses, and
on all kinds of brackets, stood massive old silver candlesticks
with four branches each.  The carpet was up, the candles burned
bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merry
voices and light-hearted laughter rang through the room.  If any
of the old English yeomen had turned into fairies when they
died, it was just the place in which they would have held their revels.

If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeable
scene, it would have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick's
appearing without his gaiters, for the first time within the
memory of his oldest friends.

'You mean to dance?' said Wardle.

'Of course I do,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'Don't you see I am
dressed for the purpose?'  Mr. Pickwick called attention to his
speckled silk stockings, and smartly tied pumps.

'YOU in silk stockings!' exclaimed Mr. Tupman jocosely.

'And why not, sir--why not?' said Mr. Pickwick, turning
warmly upon him.
'Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn't wear
them,' responded Mr. Tupman.

'I imagine not, sir--I imagine not,' said Mr. Pickwick, in a
very peremptory tone.

Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was
a serious matter; so he looked grave, and said they were a
pretty pattern.

'I hope they are,' said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon his
friend.  'You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, AS
stockings, I trust, Sir?'

'Certainly not.  Oh, certainly not,' replied Mr. Tupman.  He
walked away; and Mr. Pickwick's countenance resumed its
customary benign expression.

'We are all ready, I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick, who was
stationed with the old lady at the top of the dance, and had
already made 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 of hands, and a cry of 'Stop, stop!'

'What's the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick, who was only brought
to, by the fiddles and harp desisting, and could have been stopped
by no other earthly power, if the house had been on fire.
'Where's Arabella Allen?' cried a dozen voices.

'And Winkle?'added Mr. Tupman.

'Here we are!' exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with his
pretty companion from the corner; as he did so, it would have
been hard to tell which was the redder in the face, he or the
young lady 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 his
eyes rested on Arabella, 'well, I don't know that it WAS
extraordinary, either, after all.'

However, there was no time to think more about the matter,
for the fiddles and harp began in real earnest.  Away went Mr.
Pickwick--hands across--down the middle to the very end of the
room, and half-way up the chimney, back again to the door--
poussette everywhere--loud stamp on the ground--ready for the
next couple--off again--all the figure over once more--another
stamp to beat out the time--next couple, and the next, and the
next again--never was such going; at last, after they had reached
the bottom of the dance, and full fourteen couple after the old
lady had retired in an exhausted state, and the clergyman's wife
had been substituted in her stead, did that gentleman, when there
was no demand whatever on his exertions, keep perpetually
dancing in his place, to keep time to the music, smiling on his
partner all the while 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 glorious
supper downstairs, notwithstanding, and a good long sitting
after it; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke, late the next morning,
he had a confused recollection of having, severally and
confidentially, invited somewhere about five-and-forty people to dine
with him at the George and Vulture, the very first time they came
to London; which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered a pretty
certain indication of his having taken something besides exercise,
on the previous night.

'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 Christmas
Eve.  Master wouldn't neglect to keep it up on any account.'

'Your master's a wery pretty notion of keeping anythin' up,
my dear,' said Mr. Weller; 'I never see such a sensible sort of
man as he 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-cannibalic
leer 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. Weller
impressively; 'if you don't sleep a little less, and exercise a little
more, wen you comes to be a man you'll lay yourself open to the
same sort of personal inconwenience as was inflicted on the old
gen'l'm'n as wore the pigtail.'

'What did they do to him?' inquired the fat boy, in a faltering voice.

'I'm a-going to tell you,' replied Mr. Weller; 'he was one o' the
largest patterns as was ever turned out--reg'lar fat man, as
hadn't caught 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
put an exact model of his own legs on the dinin'-table afore him,
he wouldn't ha' known 'em.  Well, he always walks to his office
with a wery handsome gold watch-chain hanging out, about a
foot and a quarter, and a gold watch in his fob pocket as was
worth--I'm afraid 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 a man, and with a big face in proportion.  "You'd
better not carry that 'ere watch," says the old gen'l'm'n's friends,
"you'll be robbed on 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 here watch out, for I'm blessed if I ever can, it's
such a tight fit," says he, "and wenever I vants to know what's
o'clock, I'm obliged to stare into the bakers' shops," he says.
Well, then he laughs as hearty as if he was a-goin' to pieces, and
out he walks agin with his powdered head and pigtail, and
rolls down the Strand with the chain hangin' out furder than
ever, and the great round watch almost bustin' through his gray
kersey smalls.  There warn't a pickpocket in all London as didn't
take a pull at that chain, but the chain 'ud never break, and the
watch 'ud never come out, so they soon got tired of dragging
such a heavy old gen'l'm'n along the pavement, and he'd go
home and laugh till the pigtail wibrated like the penderlum of a
Dutch clock.  At last, one day the old gen'l'm'n was a-rollin'
along, and he sees a pickpocket as he know'd by sight, a-coming
up, arm in arm with a little boy with a wery large head.  "Here's
a game," says the old gen'l'm'n to himself, "they're a-goin' to
have another try, but it won't do!" So he begins a-chucklin'
wery hearty, wen, all of a sudden, the little boy leaves hold of the
pickpocket's arm, and rushes head foremost straight into the old
gen'l'm'n's stomach, and for a moment doubles him right up
with the pain.  "Murder!" says the old gen'l'm'n.  "All right, Sir,"
says the pickpocket, a-wisperin' in his ear.  And wen he come
straight agin, the watch and chain was gone, and what's worse
than that, the old gen'l'm'n's digestion was all wrong ever afterwards,
to the wery last day of his life; so just you look about you,
young feller, and take care you don't get too fat.'

As Mr. Weller concluded this moral tale, with which the fat
boy appeared much affected, they all three repaired to the large
kitchen, in which the family were by this time assembled,
according to annual custom on Christmas Eve, observed by old
Wardle's forefathers from time immemorial.

From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle had
just suspended, with his own hands, a huge branch of mistletoe,
and this same branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to a
scene of general and most delightful struggling and confusion; in
the midst of which, Mr. Pickwick, with a gallantry that would
have done honour to a descendant of Lady Tollimglower herself,
took the old lady by the hand, led her beneath the mystic
branch, and saluted her in all courtesy and decorum.  The old lady
submitted to this piece of practical politeness with all the dignity
which befitted so important and serious a solemnity, but the
younger ladies, not being so thoroughly imbued with a superstitious
veneration for the custom, or imagining that the value of
a salute is very much enhanced if it cost a little trouble to obtain
it, screamed and struggled, and ran into corners, and threatened
and remonstrated, and did everything but leave the room, until
some of the less adventurous gentlemen were on the point of
desisting, when they all at once found it useless to resist any
longer, and submitted to be kissed with a good grace.  Mr. Winkle
kissed the young lady with the black eyes, and Mr. Snodgrass
kissed Emily; and Mr. Weller, not being particular about the
form of being under the mistletoe, kissed Emma and the other
female servants, just as he caught them.  As to the poor relations,
they kissed everybody, not even excepting the plainer portions of
the young lady visitors, who, in their excessive confusion, ran
right under the mistletoe, as soon as it was hung up, without
knowing it!  Wardle stood with his back to the fire, surveying the
whole scene, with the utmost satisfaction; and the fat boy took
the opportunity of appropriating to his own use, and summarily
devouring, a particularly fine mince-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 lady
as before mentioned, was standing under the mistletoe, looking
with a very pleased countenance on all that was passing around
him, when the young lady with the black eyes, after a little
whispering with the other young ladies, made a sudden dart
forward, and, putting her arm round Mr. Pickwick's neck,
saluted him affectionately on the left cheek; and before Mr.
Pickwick distinctly knew what was the matter, he was surrounded
by the whole body, and kissed by every one of them.

It was a pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick in the centre of the
group, now pulled this way, and then that, and first kissed on
the chin, and then on the nose, and then on the spectacles, and to
hear the peals of laughter which were raised on every side; but
it was a still more pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick, blinded
shortly afterwards with a silk handkerchief, falling up against the
wall, and scrambling into corners, and going through all the
mysteries of blind-man's buff, with the utmost relish for the
game, until at last he caught one of the poor relations, and then
had to evade the blind-man himself, which he did with a nimbleness
and agility that elicited the admiration and applause of all
beholders.  The poor relations caught the people who they
thought would like it, and, when the game flagged, got caught
themselves.  When they all tired of blind-man's buff, there was a
great game at snap-dragon, and when fingers enough were
burned with that, and all the raisins were gone, they sat down by
the huge fire of blazing logs to a substantial supper, and a mighty
bowl of wassail, something smaller than an ordinary wash-
house copper, in which the hot apples were hissing and bubbling
with a rich look, and a jolly sound, that were perfectly irresistible.

'This,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him, 'this is,
indeed, comfort.'
'Our invariable custom,' replied Mr. Wardle.  'Everybody sits
down with us on Christmas Eve, as you see them now--servants
and all; and here we wait, until the clock strikes twelve, to usher
Christmas 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
the farthest corner of the room, and cast its cheerful tint on
every face.

'Come,' said Wardle, 'a song--a Christmas song!  I'll give you
one, in default of a better.'

'Bravo!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Fill up,' cried Wardle.  'It will be two hours, good, before you
see the bottom of the bowl through the deep rich colour of the
wassail; fill up all round, and now for the song.'

Thus saying, the merry old gentleman, in a good, round,
sturdy voice, commenced without more ado--


A CHRISTMAS CAROL

'I care not for Spring; on his fickle wing
Let 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 aloud
And care not how sulky he be!
For his darling child is the madness wild
That 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 light
Of 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 main
Give three cheers for this Christmas old!
We'll usher him in with a merry din
That 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 hide
One jot of his hard-weather scars;
They're no disgrace, for there's much the same trace
On the cheeks of our bravest tars.
Then again I sing till the roof doth ring
And 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 and
dependents make a capital audience--and the poor relations,
especially, were in perfect ecstasies of rapture.  Again was the fire
replenished, 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
got up, that drifts it across the fields, in a thick white cloud.'

'What does Jem say?' inquired the old lady.  'There ain't
anything 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
it rumbles in the chimney.'

'Ah!' said the old lady, 'there was just such a wind, and just
such a fall of snow, a good many years back, I recollect--just five
years before your poor father died.  It was a Christmas Eve,
too; and I remember that on that very night he told us the story
about the 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 carried
away by goblins.'

'Suppose!' ejaculated the old lady.  'Is there anybody hardy
enough to disbelieve it?  Suppose!  Haven't you heard ever since
you were a child, that he WAS carried away by the goblins, and
don'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
of the matter.'

'No, no,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'not an end of it, I assure you; for
I must hear how, and why, and all about it.'

Wardle smiled, as every head was bent forward to hear, and
filling 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 been
betrayed into!  We had quite forgotten all such petty restrictions
as chapters, we solemnly declare.  So here goes, to give the goblin
a fair start in a new one.  A clear stage and no favour for the
goblins, ladies and gentlemen, if you please.



CHAPTER XXIX
THE STORY OF THE GOBLINS WHO STOLE A SEXTON


In an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, a long, long
while ago--so long, that the story must be a true one, because our
great-grandfathers implicitly believed it--there officiated as sexton
and grave-digger in the churchyard, one Gabriel Grub.  It by no
means follows that because a man is a sexton, and constantly
surrounded by the emblems of mortality, therefore he should be a
morose and melancholy man; your undertakers are the merriest fellows
in the world; and I once had the honour of being on intimate terms
with a mute, who in private life, and off duty, was as comical and
jocose a little fellow as ever chirped out a devil-may-care song,
without a hitch in his memory, or drained off a good stiff glass
without stopping for breath.  But notwithstanding these precedents
to the contrary, Gabriel Grub was an ill-conditioned, cross-grained,
surly fellow--a morose and lonely man, who consorted with nobody
but himself, and an old wicker bottle which fitted into his large deep
waistcoat pocket--and who eyed each merry face, as it passed
him by, with such a deep scowl of malice and ill-humour,
as it was difficult to meet without feeling something the worse for.

'A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered
his spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the old
churchyard; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning,
and, feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits,
perhaps, if he went on with his work at once.  As he went his way,
up the ancient street, he saw the cheerful light of the blazing
fires gleam through the old casements, and heard the loud laugh
and the cheerful shouts of those who were assembled around
them; he marked the bustling preparations for next day's cheer,
and smelled the numerous savoury odours consequent thereupon,
as they steamed up from the kitchen windows in clouds.  All this
was gall and wormwood to the heart of Gabriel Grub; and
when groups of children bounded out of the houses, tripped
across the road, and were met, before they could knock at the
opposite door, by half a dozen curly-headed little rascals who
crowded round them as they flocked upstairs to spend the
evening in their Christmas games, Gabriel smiled grimly, and
clutched the handle of his spade with a firmer grasp, as he
thought of measles, scarlet fever, thrush, whooping-cough, and
a good many other sources of consolation besides.

'In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along, returning
a short, sullen growl to the good-humoured greetings of such of
his neighbours as now and then passed him, until he turned into
the dark lane which led to the churchyard.  Now, Gabriel had
been looking forward to reaching the dark lane, because it was,
generally speaking, a nice, gloomy, mournful place, into which
the townspeople did not much care to go, except in broad
daylight, and when the sun was shining; consequently, he was
not a little indignant to hear a young urchin roaring out
some jolly song about a merry Christmas, in this very sanctuary
which had been called Coffin Lane ever since the days of the old
abbey, and the time of the shaven-headed monks.  As Gabriel
walked on, and the voice drew nearer, he found it proceeded
from a small boy, who was hurrying along, to join one of the
little parties in the old street, and who, partly to keep himself
company, and partly to prepare himself for the occasion, was
shouting out the song at the highest pitch of his lungs.  So Gabriel
waited until the boy came up, and then dodged him into a corner,
and rapped him over the head with his lantern five or six times,
just to teach him to modulate his voice.  And as the boy hurried
away with his hand to his head, singing quite a different sort of
tune, Gabriel Grub chuckled very heartily to himself, and
entered the churchyard, locking the gate behind him.

'He took off his coat, set down his lantern, and getting into the
unfinished 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
very easy matter to break it up, and shovel it out; and although
there was a moon, it was a very young one, and shed little light
upon the grave, which was in the shadow of the church.  At any
other time, these obstacles would have made Gabriel Grub very
moody and miserable, but he was so well pleased with having
stopped the small boy's singing, that he took little heed of the
scanty progress he had made, and looked down into the grave,
when he had finished work for the night, with grim satisfaction,
murmuring as he 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
a flat tombstone which was a favourite resting-place of his, and
drew forth his wicker bottle.  "A coffin at Christmas!  A Christmas
box!  Ho! ho! ho!"

'"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice which sounded close behind him.

'Gabriel paused, in some alarm, in the act of raising the wicker
bottle to his lips, and looked round.  The bottom of the oldest
grave about him was not more still and quiet than the churchyard
in the pale moonlight.  The cold hoar frost glistened on the
tombstones, and sparkled like rows of gems, among the stone
carvings of the old church.  The snow lay hard and crisp upon
the ground; and spread over the thickly-strewn mounds of earth,
so white and smooth a cover that it seemed as if corpses lay
there, hidden only by their winding sheets.  Not the faintest rustle
broke the profound tranquillity of the solemn scene.  Sound itself
appeared to be frozen up, all was so cold and still.

'"It was the echoes," said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to
his lips again.

'"It was NOT," said a deep voice.

'Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot with
astonishment and terror; for his eyes rested on a form that made
his 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 this
world.  His long, fantastic legs which might have reached the
ground, were cocked up, and crossed after a quaint, fantastic
fashion; his sinewy arms were bare; and his hands rested on his
knees.  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 in lieu of ruff or neckerchief; and his shoes curled up at
his toes into long points.  On his head, he wore a broad-brimmed
sugar-loaf hat, garnished with a single feather.  The hat was
covered with the white frost; and the goblin looked as if he had
sat on the same tombstone very comfortably, for two or three
hundred years.  He was 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 a goblin 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 goblin sternly.
'"I came to dig a grave, Sir," stammered Gabriel Grub.

'"What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such
a night as this?" cried the goblin.

'"Gabriel Grub!  Gabriel Grub!" screamed a wild chorus of
voices that seemed to fill the churchyard.  Gabriel looked fearfully
round--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
perhaps his questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.

'"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such a
night as this?" said the goblin.

'"Gabriel Grub!  Gabriel Grub!" exclaimed the wild voices again.

'The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and then
raising his voice, exclaimed--

'"And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?"

'To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain that
sounded like the voices of many choristers singing to the mighty
swell of the old church organ--a strain that seemed borne to the
sexton's ears upon a wild wind, and to die away as it passed
onward; but the burden of the reply was still the same, "Gabriel
Grub!  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 either side of the tombstone, and
looking at the turned-up points with as much complacency as if
he had been contemplating the most fashionable pair of
Wellingtons in all Bond Street.

'"It's--it's--very curious, Sir," replied the sexton, half dead
with fright; "very curious, and very pretty, but I think I'll go
back and finish 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
a time when all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in it?"

'Again the mysterious voices replied, "Gabriel Grub!  Gabriel Grub!"

'"I am afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the goblin,
thrusting his tongue farther into his cheek than ever--and a most
astonishing tongue it was--"I'm afraid my friends want you,
Gabriel," said the goblin.

'"Under favour, Sir," replied the horror-stricken sexton, "I
don't think they can, Sir; they don't know me, Sir; I don't think
the gentlemen have ever seen me, Sir."

'"Oh, yes, they have," replied the goblin; "we know the man
with the sulky face and grim scowl, that came down the street
to-night, throwing his evil looks at the children, and grasping
his burying-spade the tighter.  We know the man who struck the
boy in 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 echoes
returned twentyfold; and throwing his legs up in the air, stood
upon his head, or rather upon the very point of his sugar-loaf
hat, on the narrow edge of the tombstone, whence he threw a
Somerset with extraordinary agility, right to the sexton's feet, at
which he planted himself in the attitude in which tailors generally
sit upon the shop-board.

'"I--I--am afraid I must leave you, Sir," said the sexton,
making an 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, a
brilliant illumination within the windows of the church, as if the
whole building were lighted up; it disappeared, the organ pealed
forth a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very counterpart
of the first one, poured into the churchyard, and began
playing at leap-frog with the tombstones, never stopping for an
instant to take breath, but "overing" the highest among them,
one after the other, with the most marvellous dexterity.  The first
goblin was a most astonishing leaper, and none of the others
could come near him; even in the extremity of his terror the
sexton could not help observing, that while his friends were
content to leap over the common-sized gravestones, the first one
took the family vaults, iron railings and all, with as much ease as
if they had been so many street-posts.

'At last the game reached to a most exciting pitch; the organ
played quicker and quicker, and the goblins leaped faster and
faster, coiling themselves up, rolling head over heels upon the
ground, and bounding over the tombstones like footballs.  The
sexton's brain whirled round with the rapidity of the motion he
beheld, and his legs reeled beneath him, as the spirits flew before
his eyes; when the goblin king, suddenly darting towards him,
laid his hand upon his collar, and sank with him through the earth.

'When Gabriel Grub had had time to fetch his breath, which
the rapidity of his descent had for the moment taken away, he
found himself in what appeared to be a large cavern, surrounded
on all sides by crowds of goblins, ugly and grim; in the centre of
the room, on an elevated seat, was stationed his friend of the
churchyard; and close behind him stood Gabriel Grub himself,
without power of motion.

'"Cold to-night," said the king of the goblins, "very cold.  A
glass of something warm here!"

'At this command, half a dozen officious goblins, with a
perpetual smile upon their faces, whom Gabriel Grub imagined
to be courtiers, on that account, hastily disappeared, and presently
returned with a goblet of liquid fire, which they presented to the king.

'"Ah!" cried the goblin, whose cheeks and throat were transparent,
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
was not in the habit of taking anything warm at night; one of
the goblins held him while another poured the blazing liquid
down his throat; the whole assembly screeched with laughter,
as he coughed and choked, and wiped away the tears which
gushed plentifully from his eyes, after swallowing the burning draught.

'"And now," said the king, fantastically poking the taper
corner of his sugar-loaf hat into the sexton's eye, and thereby
occasioning him the most exquisite pain; "and now, show the
man of misery and gloom, a few of the pictures from our own
great storehouse!"

'As the goblin said this, a thick cloud which obscured the
remoter end of the cavern rolled gradually away, and disclosed,
apparently at a great distance, a small and scantily furnished, but
neat and clean apartment.  A crowd of little children were
gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their mother's gown, and
gambolling around her chair.  The mother occasionally rose, and
drew aside the window-curtain, as if to look for some expected
object; a frugal meal was ready spread upon the table; and an
elbow chair was placed near the fire.  A knock was heard at the
door; the mother opened it, and the children crowded round her,
and clapped their hands for joy, as their father entered.  He was
wet and weary, and shook the snow from his garments, as the
children crowded round him, and seizing his cloak, hat, stick,
and gloves, with busy zeal, ran with them from the room.  Then,
as he sat down to his meal before the fire, the children climbed
about his knee, and the mother sat by his side, and all seemed
happiness and comfort.

'But a change came upon the view, almost imperceptibly.  The
scene was altered to a small bedroom, where the fairest and
youngest child lay dying; the roses had fled from his cheek, and
the light from his eye; and even as the sexton looked upon him
with an interest he had never felt or known before, he died.  His
young brothers and sisters crowded round his little bed, and
seized his tiny hand, so cold and heavy; but they shrank back
from its touch, and looked with awe on his infant face; for calm
and tranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace as the
beautiful child seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and they
knew that he was an angel looking down upon, and blessing
them, from a bright and happy Heaven.

'Again the light cloud passed across the picture, and again the
subject changed.  The father and mother were old and helpless
now, and the number of those about them was diminished more
than half; but content and cheerfulness sat on every face, and
beamed in every eye, as they crowded round the fireside, and told
and listened to old stories of earlier and bygone days.  Slowly
and peacefully, the father sank into the grave, and, soon after,
the sharer of all his cares and troubles followed him to a place of
rest.  The few who yet survived them, kneeled by their tomb, and
watered 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
one day meet again; and once more they mixed with the busy
world, and their content and cheerfulness were restored.  The
cloud settled upon the picture, and concealed it from the sexton's view.

'"What do you think of THAT?" said the goblin, turning his
large face towards Gabriel Grub.

'Gabriel murmured out something about its being very pretty,
and looked somewhat ashamed, as the goblin bent his fiery eyes
upon him.

'" You miserable man!" said the goblin, in a tone of excessive
contempt.  "You!" He appeared disposed to add more, but
indignation choked his utterance, so he lifted up one of his very
pliable legs, and, flourishing it above his head a little, to insure
his aim, administered a good sound kick to Gabriel Grub;
immediately after which, all the goblins in waiting crowded
round the wretched sexton, and kicked him without mercy,
according to the established and invariable custom of courtiers
upon earth, who kick 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 and
beautiful landscape was disclosed to view--there is just such
another, to this day, within half a mile of the old abbey town.
The sun shone from out the clear blue sky, the water sparkled
beneath his rays, and the trees looked greener, and the flowers
more gay, beneath its cheering influence.  The water rippled on
with a pleasant sound, the trees rustled in the light wind that
murmured among their leaves, the birds sang upon the boughs,
and the lark carolled on high her welcome to the morning.  Yes,
it was morning; the bright, balmy morning of summer; the
minutest leaf, the smallest blade of grass, was instinct with life.
The ant crept forth to her daily toil, the butterfly fluttered and
basked in the warm rays 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
more contemptuous tone than before.  And again the king of the
goblins gave his leg a flourish; again it descended on the shoulders
of the sexton; and again the attendant goblins imitated the
example of their chief.

'Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it
taught to Gabriel Grub, who, although his shoulders smarted
with pain from the frequent applications of the goblins' feet
thereunto, looked on with an interest that nothing could diminish.
He saw that men who worked hard, and earned their scanty
bread with lives of labour, were cheerful and happy; and that to
the most ignorant, the sweet face of Nature was a never-failing
source of cheerfulness and joy.  He saw those who had been
delicately nurtured, and tenderly brought up, cheerful under
privations, and superior to suffering, that would have crushed
many of a rougher grain, because they bore within their own
bosoms the materials of happiness, contentment, and peace.  He
saw that women, the tenderest and most fragile of all God's
creatures, were the oftenest superior to sorrow, adversity, and
distress; and he saw that it was because they bore, in their own
hearts, an inexhaustible well-spring of affection and devotion.
Above all, he saw that men like himself, who snarled at the mirth
and cheerfulness of others, were the foulest weeds on the fair
surface of the earth; and setting all the good of the world against
the evil, he came to the conclusion that it was a very decent and
respectable sort of world after all.  No sooner had he formed it,
than the cloud which had closed over the last 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 one disappeared, he
sank to sleep.

'The day had broken when Gabriel Grub awoke, and found
himself lying at full length on the flat gravestone in the churchyard,
with the wicker bottle lying empty by his side, and his coat,
spade, and lantern, all well whitened by the last night's frost,
scattered on the ground.  The stone on which he had first seen
the goblin seated, stood bolt upright before him, and the grave
at which he had worked, the night before, was not far off.  At
first, he began to doubt the reality of his adventures, but the
acute pain in his shoulders when he attempted to rise, assured
him that the kicking of the goblins was certainly not ideal.  He
was staggered again, by observing no traces of footsteps in the
snow on which the goblins had played at leap-frog with the
gravestones, but he speedily accounted for this circumstance
when he remembered that, being spirits, they would leave no
visible impression behind them.  So, Gabriel Grub got on his feet
as well as he could, for the pain in his back; and, brushing
the frost off his coat, put it on, and turned his face towards the town.

'But he was an altered man, and he could not bear the thought
of 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 his
bread elsewhere.

'The lantern, the spade, and the wicker bottle were found, that
day, in the churchyard.  There were a great many speculations
about the sexton's fate, at first, but it was speedily determined
that he had been carried away by the goblins; and there were not
wanting some very credible witnesses who had distinctly seen
him whisked through the air on the back of a chestnut horse
blind of one eye, with the hind-quarters of a lion, and the tail of a
bear.  At length all this was devoutly believed; and the new sexton
used to exhibit to the curious, for a trifling emolument, a good-
sized piece of the church weathercock which had been accidentally
kicked off by the aforesaid horse in his aerial flight, and picked
up by himself in the churchyard, a year or two afterwards.

'Unfortunately, these stories were somewhat disturbed by the
unlooked-for reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some ten
years afterwards, a ragged, contented, rheumatic old man.  He
told his story to the clergyman, and also to the mayor; and in
course of time it began to be received as a matter of history, in
which form it has continued down to this very day.  The
believers in the weathercock tale, having misplaced their confidence
once, were not easily prevailed upon to part with it
again, so they looked as wise as they could, shrugged their
shoulders, touched their foreheads, and murmured something
about Gabriel Grub having drunk all the Hollands, and then
fallen asleep on the flat tombstone; and they affected to explain
what he supposed he had witnessed in the goblin's cavern, by
saying that he had seen the world, and grown wiser.  But this
opinion, which was by no means a popular one at any time,
gradually died off; and be the matter how it may, as Gabriel
Grub was afflicted with rheumatism to the end of his days, this
story has at least one moral, if it teach no better one--and that is,
that if a man turn sulky and drink by himself at Christmas time,
he may make up his mind to be not a bit the better for it: let the
spirits be never so good, or let them be even as many degrees
beyond proof, as those which Gabriel Grub saw in the goblin's cavern.'



CHAPTER XXX
HOW THE PICKWICKIANS MADE AND CULTIVATED THE
  ACQUAINTANCE OF A COUPLE OF NICE YOUNG MEN
  BELONGING TO ONE OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS; HOW
  THEY DISPORTED THEMSELVES ON THE ICE; AND HOW
  THEIR VISIT CAME TO A CONCLUSION


'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as that favoured servitor entered
his bed-chamber, with his warm water, on the morning of Christmas
Day, 'still frosty?'

'Water in the wash-hand basin's a mask o' ice, Sir,' responded Sam.

'Severe weather, Sam,' observed Mr. Pickwick.

'Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar bear said
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' sawbones
downstairs.'

'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
certain whether 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 a surgeon.'

'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 in
trainin'.'
'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 nightcap
energetically on the counterpane.  'They are fine fellows--very
fine fellows; 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, 'overflowing
with kindly feelings and animal spirits.  Just what I like
to see.'
'And one on 'em,' said Sam, not noticing his master's interruption,
'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 shells
at young dropsy, who's a sittin' down fast asleep, in the
chimbley corner.'

'Eccentricities of genius, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'You
may retire.'

Sam did retire accordingly.  Mr. Pickwick at the expiration of
the quarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.

'Here he is at last!' said old Mr. Wardle.  'Pickwick, this is
Miss Allen's brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen.  Ben we call him, and
so may you, if you like.  This gentleman is his very particular
friend, Mr.--'

'Mr. Bob Sawyer,'interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen; whereupon
Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.

Mr. Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed
to Mr. Pickwick.  Bob and his very particular friend then applied
themselves 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 white neckerchief.
Below his single-breasted black surtout, which was
buttoned up to his chin, appeared the usual number of pepper-
and-salt coloured legs, terminating in a pair of imperfectly
polished boots.  Although his coat was short in the sleeves, it
disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although there was
quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of a shirt
collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to that appendage.
He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance,
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 nature and qualities of both, had about him that sort of
slovenly smartness, and swaggering gait, which is peculiar to
young gentlemen who smoke in the streets by day, shout and
scream in the same by night, call waiters by their Christian
names, and do various 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 big top.  He eschewed gloves, and
looked, upon the whole, something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.

Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was
introduced, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table on
Christmas morning.

'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 too
good to leave in a hurry; wasn't it, Ben?'

'Certainly,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen; 'and the cigars were not
bad, or the pork-chops either; were they, Bob?'

'Decidedly not,' said Bob.  The particular friends resumed their
attack upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the
recollection of last night's supper had imparted a new relish to
the meal.

'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.
Bob Sawyer, looking round the table.

Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered.

'By the bye, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, 'have you finished that leg yet?'

'Nearly,' replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as he
spoke.  '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 we can'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 the ladies.'

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 more
surprise 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. Benjamin
Allen, somewhat reproachfully.  Arabella gracefully held out her
hand, in acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer's presence.  A thrill of
hatred struck to Mr. Winkle's heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted on
the proffered hand a perceptible squeeze.

'Ben, dear!' said Arabella, blushing; 'have--have--you been
introduced 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
mutual distrust out of the corners of their eyes.

The arrival of the two new visitors, and the consequent check
upon Mr. Winkle and the young lady with the fur round her
boots, would in all probability have proved a very unpleasant
interruption to the hilarity of the party, had not the cheerfulness
of Mr. Pickwick, and the good humour of the host, been exerted
to the very utmost for the common weal.  Mr. Winkle gradually
insinuated 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 the
talking, gradually ripened into a state of extreme facetiousness,
and related with much glee an agreeable anecdote, about the
removal of a tumour on some gentleman's head, which he
illustrated by means of an oyster-knife and a half-quartern loaf,
to the great edification of the assembled company.  Then the
whole train went to church, where Mr. Benjamin Allen fell fast
asleep; while Mr. Bob Sawyer abstracted his thoughts from
worldly matters, by the ingenious process of carving his name on
the seat of the pew, in corpulent letters of four inches long.

'Now,' said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeable
items of strong beer and cherry-brandy, had been done
ample justice to, 'what say you to an hour on the ice?  We shall
have plenty 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
of practice.'

'Oh, DO skate, Mr. Winkle,' said Arabella.  'I like to see it so much.'

'Oh, it is SO graceful,' said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed
her opinion that it was '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 of
pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen
more downstairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite
delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.

Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the
fat boy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the
snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer
adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was
perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and
cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once
stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing
devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman,
and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm,
when old Wardle 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
the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the sole of his feet, and
putting his skates on, with the points behind, and getting the
straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the
assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates
than a Hindoo.  At length, however, with the assistance of Mr.
Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled
on, and Mr. Winkle was raised 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, and
clutching 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 a
demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic
desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head
on the ice.

'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
there was anything the matter.  'Come; the ladies are all anxiety.'

'Yes, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile.  'I'm coming.'

'Just a-goin' to begin,' said Sam, endeavouring to disengage
himself.  'Now, Sir, start off!'

'Stop an instant, Sam,' gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most
affectionately to Mr. Weller.  'I find I've got a couple of coats at
home 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 have
given you five shillings this morning for a Christmas box, Sam.
I'll give 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 singular
and un-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently
shouted 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 the
grasp of the agonised Pickwickian, and, in so doing, administered
a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle.  With an
accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have
insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the
centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer was
performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty.  Mr. Winkle struck wildly
against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily down.
Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot.  Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet,
but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, in skates.
He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but
anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.

'Are you hurt?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.

'Not much,' said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
'I wish you'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
Sam to 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
upon him, and uttered in a low, but distinct and emphatic tone,
these remarkable 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, and
rejoined his friends.

While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment
just recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint
endeavours 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 is
currently denominated 'knocking at the cobbler's door,' and
which is achieved by skimming over the ice on one foot, and
occasionally giving a postman's knock upon it with the other.  It
was a good long slide, 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 of
Wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, by
reason of the indefatigable manner in which he had converted his
legs into a pair of compasses, and drawn complicated problems
on the 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,' replied
Mr. Pickwick, 'but I haven't done such a thing these thirty years.'

'Pooh! pooh!  Nonsense!' said Wardle, dragging off his skates
with the impetuosity which characterised all his proceedings.
'Here; I'll keep you company; come along!' And away went the
good-tempered old fellow down the slide, with a rapidity which
came very close upon Mr. Weller, and beat the fat boy all to nothing.

Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put
them in his hat; took two or three short runs, baulked himself as
often, and at last took another run, and went slowly and gravely
down 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 Wardle
again, 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 running after each other with as much eagerness as if their
future prospects in life depended on their expedition.

It was the most intensely interesting thing, to observe the
manner in which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the
ceremony; to watch the torture of anxiety with which he viewed
the person behind, gaining upon him at the imminent hazard of
tripping him up; to see him gradually expend the painful force
he had put on at first, and turn slowly round on the slide, with his
face towards the point from which he had started; to contemplate
the playful smile which mantled on his face when he had accomplished
the distance, and the eagerness with which he turned
round when he had done so, and ran after his predecessor, his
black gaiters tripping pleasantly through the snow, and his eyes
beaming cheerfulness and gladness through his spectacles.  And
when he was knocked down (which happened upon the average
every third round), it was the most invigorating sight that can
possibly be imagined, to behold him gather up his hat, gloves,
and handkerchief, with a glowing countenance, and resume his
station in the rank, with an ardour and enthusiasm that nothing
Could abate.

The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, the
laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was heard.
There was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild scream from the
ladies, and a shout from Mr. Tupman.  A large mass of ice
disappeared; the water bubbled up over it; Mr. Pickwick's hat,
gloves, and handkerchief were floating on the surface; and this
was all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody could see.

Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance; the
males turned pale, and the females fainted; Mr. Snodgrass and
Mr. Winkle grasped each other by the hand, and gazed at the
spot where their leader had gone down, with frenzied eagerness;
while Mr. Tupman, by way of rendering the promptest assistance,
and at the same time conveying to any persons who might be
within hearing, the clearest possible notion of the catastrophe,
ran off across the country at his utmost speed, screaming 'Fire!'
with all his might.

It was at this moment, when old Wardle and Sam Weller were
approaching the hole with cautious steps, and Mr. Benjamin
Allen was holding a hurried consultation with Mr. Bob Sawyer
on the advisability of bleeding the company generally, as an
improving little bit of professional practice--it was at this very
moment, that a face, head, and shoulders, emerged from beneath the
water, and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick.

'Keep yourself up for an instant--for only one instant!'
bawled Mr. Snodgrass.

'Yes, do; let me implore you--for my sake!' roared Mr.
Winkle, deeply affected.  The adjuration was rather unnecessary;
the probability being, that if Mr. Pickwick had declined to keep
himself up for anybody else's sake, it would have occurred to him
that 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 from
his head and face, and gasping for breath.  'I fell upon my back.
I couldn'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 fears of the spectators were still further relieved by the fat
boy's suddenly recollecting that the water was nowhere more than
five feet deep, prodigies of valour were performed to get him out.
After a vast quantity of splashing, and cracking, and struggling,
Mr. Pickwick was at length fairly extricated from his unpleasant
position, 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 round
you, Mr. Pickwick.'

'Ah, that's the best thing you can do,' said Wardle; 'and when
you've got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry you, and
jump into bed directly.'
A dozen shawls were offered on the instant.  Three or four of
the thickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was wrapped up,
and started off, under the guidance of Mr. Weller; presenting the
singular phenomenon of an elderly gentleman, dripping wet, and
without a hat, with his arms bound down 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
extreme case, and urged on by Sam Weller, he kept at the very
top of his speed until he reached the door of Manor Farm, where
Mr. Tupman had arrived some five minutes before, and had
frightened the old lady into palpitations of the heart by
impressing her with the unalterable conviction that the kitchen
chimney was on fire--a calamity which always presented itself in
glowing colours to the old lady's mind, when anybody about her
evinced the smallest agitation.

Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in bed.
Sam Weller lighted a blazing fire in the room, and took up his
dinner; a bowl of punch was carried up afterwards, and a grand
carouse held in honour of his safety.  Old Wardle would not hear
of his rising, so they made the bed the chair, and Mr. Pickwick
presided.  A second and a third bowl were ordered in; and when
Mr. Pickwick awoke next morning, there was not a symptom of
rheumatism about him; which proves, as Mr. Bob Sawyer very
justly 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 was
merely because the patient fell into the vulgar error of not taking
enough of it.

The jovial party broke up next morning.  Breakings-up are
capital things in our school-days, but in after life they are painful
enough.  Death, self-interest, and fortune's changes, are every day
breaking up many a happy group, and scattering them far and
wide; and the boys and girls never come back again.  We do not
mean to say that it was exactly the case in this particular instance;
all we wish to inform the reader is, that the different members of
the party dispersed to their several homes; that Mr. Pickwick and
his friends once more took their seats on the top of the Muggleton
coach; and that Arabella Allen repaired to her place of destination,
wherever it might have been--we dare say Mr. Winkle
knew, but we confess we don't--under the care and guardianship
of her brother 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 some
mystery; and Mr. Bob Sawyer, thrusting his forefinger between
two of Mr. Pickwick's ribs, and thereby displaying his native
drollery, and his knowledge of the anatomy of the human frame,
at one and the same time, inquired--

'I say, old boy, where do you hang out?'
Mr. Pickwick replied that 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, you
know.  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 with
you,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer; 'I'm going to have a few medical
fellows that night.'

Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him to
meet the medical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had
informed him that he meant to be very cosy, and that his friend
Ben was to be one of the party, they shook hands and separated.

We feel that in this place we lay ourself open to the inquiry
whether Mr. Winkle was whispering, during this brief conversation,
to Arabella Allen; and if so, what he said; and furthermore,
whether Mr. Snodgrass was conversing apart with Emily Wardle;
and if so, what HE said.  To this, we reply, that whatever they
might have said to the ladies, they said nothing at all to Mr.
Pickwick or Mr. Tupman for eight-and-twenty miles, and that
they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy, and looked
gloomy.  If our observant lady readers can deduce any satisfactory
inferences from these facts, we beg them by all means to do so.



CHAPTER XXXI
WHICH IS ALL ABOUT THE LAW, AND SUNDRY GREAT
  AUTHORITIES LEARNED THEREIN


Scattered 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 in
term time, there may be seen constantly hurrying with bundles of
papers under their arms, and protruding from their pockets, an
almost uninterrupted succession of lawyers' clerks.  There are
several grades of lawyers' clerks.  There is the articled clerk, who
has paid a premium, and is an attorney in perspective, who runs a
tailor's bill, receives invitations to parties, knows a family in
Gower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; who goes out
of town every long vacation to see his father, who keeps live
horses innumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocrat of
clerks.  There is the salaried clerk--out of door, or in door, as
the case may be--who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings
a week to his Personal pleasure and adornments, repairs half-price
to the Adelphi Theatre at least three times a week, dissipates
majestically at the cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature
of the fashion which expired six months ago.  There is the middle-
aged copying clerk, with a large family, who is always shabby,
and often drunk.  And there are the office lads in their first
surtouts, who feel a befitting contempt for boys at day-schools,
club as they go home at night, for saveloys and porter, and think
there's nothing like 'life.'  There are varieties of the genus, too
numerous 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 legal
profession, where writs are issued, judgments signed, declarations
filed, and numerous other ingenious machines put in motion for
the torture and torment of His Majesty's liege subjects, and the
comfort and emolument of the practitioners of the law.  They are,
for the most part, low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerable
rolls of parchment, which have been perspiring in secret for the
last century, send forth an agreeable odour, which is mingled by
day with the scent of the dry-rot, and by night with the various
exhalations 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
a fortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London,
there hurried into one of these offices, an individual in a brown
coat and brass buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously
twisted round the rim of his napless hat, and whose soiled drab
trousers were so tightly strapped over his Blucher boots, that his
knees threatened every moment to start from their concealment.
He produced from his coat pockets a long and narrow strip of
parchment, on which the presiding functionary impressed an
illegible black stamp.  He then drew forth four scraps of paper, of
similar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of the strip
of parchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up the
blanks, put all the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.

The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in
his pocket, was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson,
of the house of Dodson & Fogg, Freeman's Court, Cornhill.
Instead of returning to the office whence he came, however, he
bent his steps direct to Sun Court, and walking straight into the
George and Vulture, demanded to know whether one Mr. Pickwick
was within.

'Call Mr. Pickwick's servant, Tom,' said the barmaid of the
George and Vulture.

'Don't trouble yourself,' said Mr. Jackson.  'I've come on
business.  If you'll show me Mr. Pickwick's room I'll step up myself.'

'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,
and walking 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
the physiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection.

'I have called from Dodson and Fogg's,' said Mr. Jackson, in
an explanatory tone.

Mr. Pickwick roused at the name.  'I refer you to my attorney,
Sir; Mr. Perker, of Gray's Inn,' said he.  'Waiter, show this
gentleman out.'

'Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, deliberately
depositing his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket the
strip of parchment.  'But personal service, by clerk or agent, in
these cases, you know, Mr. Pickwick--nothing like caution, sir,
in all legal forms--eh?'

Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, resting
his hands on the table, and looking round with a winning and
persuasive smile, said, 'Now, come; don't let's have no words
about such a little matter as this.  Which of you gentlemen's
name's Snodgrass?'

At this inquiry, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised
and 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 the
plaintiff,' 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 the
paper.  That's yours, Mr. Snodgrass.'  As Jackson said this, he
presented the parchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and
slipped 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,
am I?'

Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no
encouragement in that gentleman's widely-opened eyes to deny
his 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 both
gentlemen were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a
shilling each, by the dexterous Mr. Jackson.

'Now,' said Jackson, 'I'm afraid you'll think me rather
troublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient.
I have Samuel Weller's name here, Mr. Pickwick.'

'Send my servant here, waiter,' said Mr. Pickwick.  The waiter
retired, considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned
Jackson to a seat.

There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the
innocent defendant.
'I suppose, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising while he
spoke--'I suppose, Sir, that it is the intention of your employers
to seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?'

Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left
side of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the
secrets of the prison house, and playfully rejoined--

'Not knowin', can't say.'

'For what other reason, Sir,' pursued Mr. Pickwick, 'are these
subpoenas served upon them, if not for this?'

'Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,' replied Jackson, slowly
shaking his head.  'But it won't do.  No harm in trying, but there's
little 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 visionary
coffee-mill with his right hand, thereby performing a very
graceful piece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but now,
unhappily, almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated
'taking a grinder.'

'No, no, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, in conclusion; 'Perker's
people must guess what we've served these subpoenas for.  If they
can't, they must wait till the action comes on, and then they'll
find out.'
Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his
unwelcome visitor, and would probably have hurled some
tremendous 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 required
explanation.

'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've seen the 'rig'nal, 'cos it's a gratifyin' sort o' thing, and eases
vun's mind so much.'

'And here's the shilling,' said Jackson.  'It's from Dodson and Fogg's.'

'And it's uncommon handsome o' Dodson and Fogg, as knows
so little of me, to come down vith a present,' said Sam.  'I feel it
as a wery high compliment, sir; it's a wery honorable thing to
them, as they knows how to reward merit werever they meets it.
Besides which, it's affectin' to one's feelin's.'

As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his right
eyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved
manner of 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, he
made a feint of putting on the one glove which he usually carried
in his hand, for the sake of appearances; and returned to the
office to report progress.

Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received
a very disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's
action.  He breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam
to accompany him, set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.

'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the
end of Cheapside.

'Sir?' said Sam, stepping up to his master.

'Which way?'
'Up Newgate Street.'

Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked
vacantly 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 a
breach o' promise trial.'

Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master's
countenance.  Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the
way in silence.

They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting on
before, plunged in profound meditation, and Sam following
behind, with a countenance expressive of the most enviable and
easy defiance of everything and everybody, when the latter, who
was always especially anxious to impart to his master any
exclusive information he possessed, quickened his pace until he
was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at a house
they were 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 rayther
think it was.  Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where
the mysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took
place four 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; far
worse than that.  He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the
inwentor o' the patent-never-leavin'-off sassage steam-ingin, as
'ud swaller up a pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it
into sassages 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 stand down in the celler a-lookin' at it wen it was in full
play, till he got quite melancholy with joy.  A wery happy man
he'd ha' been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere ingin and two
more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been for his wife, who
was a most owdacious wixin.  She was always a-follerin' him
about, and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't stand it no
longer.  "I'll tell you what it is, my dear," he says one day; "if you
persewere in this here sort of amusement," 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 wish the 'Merrikins joy of
their bargain." Arter which she keeps on abusin' of him for half
an hour, and then runs into the little parlour behind the shop,
sets to a-screamin', says he'll be the death on her, and falls in a
fit, which lasts for three good hours--one o' them fits wich is all
screamin' and kickin'.  Well, next mornin', the husband was
missin'.  He hadn't taken nothin' from the till--hadn't even put
on his greatcoat--so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker.
Didn't come back next day; didn't come back next week; missis
had bills printed, sayin' that, if he'd come back, 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 was carried, as a reg'lar
thing, straight off to the sassage shop.  Hows'ever, none on 'em
answered; so they gave out that he'd run away, 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 and my family
ain't a-goin' to be choked for nothin'; and more than that,
ma'am," he says, "you'll allow me to observe that as you don't
use the primest parts of the meat in the manafacter o' sassages,
I'd think you'd find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons." "As
buttons, Sir!" says she.  "Buttons, ma'am," says the little, old
gentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and showin' twenty or
thirty halves o' buttons.  "Nice seasonin' for sassages, is trousers'
buttons, ma'am." "They're my husband's buttons!" says the
widder 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 of temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into
sassages!" And so he had, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, looking steadily
into Mr. Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, 'or else he'd
been draw'd into the ingin; but however that might ha' been, the
little, old gen'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 on arterwards!'

The relation of this affecting incident of private life brought
master and man to Mr. Perker's chambers.  Lowten, holding the
door 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
he shrank to the dark side of the staircase as Mr. Pickwick approached.

'It's very unfortunate,' said the stranger, with a sigh.

'Very,' said Lowten, scribbling his name on the doorpost with
his pen, and rubbing it out again with the feather.  'Will you
leave a message for him?'

'When do you think he'll be back?' inquired the stranger.

'Quite uncertain,' replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, as
the 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 little
more into the centre of the doorway.  'He's certain not to be back
this week, and it's a chance whether he will be next; for when
Perker once gets out of town, he's never in a hurry to come back again.'

'Out of town!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'dear me, how unfortunate!'

'Don't go away, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten, 'I've got a letter
for you.'  The stranger, seeming to hesitate, once more looked
towards the ground, and the clerk winked slyly at Mr. PickwiCK,
as if to intimate that some exquisite piece of humour was going
forward, though what it was Mr. Pickwick could not for the life
of him divine.
'Step in, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten.  'Well, will you leave a
message, Mr. Watty, or will you call again?'

'Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been done
in 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 Sam
Weller to follow his master in, and shut the door in his face.

'There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since the
world began, I do believe!' said Lowten, throwing down his pen
with the air of an injured man.  'His affairs haven't been in
Chancery quite four years yet, and I'm d--d if he don't come
worrying here twice a week.  Step this way, Mr. Pickwick.  Perker
IS in, and he'll see you, I know.  Devilish cold,' he added pettishly,
'standing at that door, wasting one's time with such seedy
vagabonds!' Having very vehemently stirred a particularly large
fire with a particularly small poker, the clerk led the way to his
principal's private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah, my dear Sir,' said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from his
chair.  '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 smart
fellows; 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, you
know, and we won't dispute about terms; because of course you
can't be expected to view these subjects with a professional eye.
Well, we've done everything that's necessary.  I have retained
Serjeant Snubbin.'

'Is he a good man?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Good man!' replied Perker; 'bless your heart and soul, my
dear Sir, Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession.
Gets treble 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 this
communication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.

'They have subpoenaed my three friends,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah! of course they would,' replied Perker.  'Important
witnesses; saw you in a delicate situation.'

'But she fainted of her own accord,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'She
threw herself into my arms.'

'Very likely, my dear Sir,' replied Perker; 'very likely and very
natural.  Nothing more so, my dear Sir, nothing.  But who's to
prove it?'

'They have subpoenaed my servant, too,' said Mr. Pickwick,
quitting the other point; for there Mr. Perker's question had
somewhat staggered him.

'Sam?' said Perker.

Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.

'Of course, my dear Sir; of course.  I knew they would.  I could
have told you that, a month ago.  You know, my dear Sir, if you
WILL take the management of your affairs into your own hands
after entrusting them to your solicitor, you must also take the
consequences.'  Here Mr. Perker drew himself up with conscious
dignity, 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
a compromise, I suppose,' replied Perker.  'It don't matter much,
though; I don't think many counsel could get a great deal out
of HIM.'

'I don't think they could,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling, despite
his vexation, at the idea of Sam's appearance as a witness.  'What
course do we pursue?'

'We have only one to adopt, my dear Sir,' replied Perker;
'cross-examine the witnesses; trust to Snubbin's eloquence;
throw dust in 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 the
fire, 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 with
considerable sternness.

Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said,
'I am afraid so.'

'Then I beg to announce to you my unalterable determination
to pay no damages whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick, most
emphatically.  'None, Perker.  Not a pound, not a penny of my
money, 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, in confirmation
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 Serjeant
Snubbin 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 utter
amazement.  'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir, impossible.  See Serjeant
Snubbin!  Bless you, my dear Sir, such a thing was never heard of,
without a consultation fee being previously paid, and a consultation
fixed.  It couldn't be done, my dear Sir; it couldn't be done.'

Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that
it could be done, but that it should be done; and the consequence
was, that within ten minutes after he had received the assurance
that the thing was impossible, he was conducted by his solicitor
into the outer office of the great Serjeant Snubbin himself.

It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a
large writing-table drawn up near the fire, the baize top of which
had long since lost all claim to its original hue of green, and had
gradually grown gray with dust and age, except where all traces
of its natural colour were obliterated by ink-stains.  Upon the
table were numerous little bundles of papers tied with red tape;
and behind it, sat an elderly clerk, whose sleek appearance and
heavy gold watch-chain presented imposing indications of the
extensive and 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
an opinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition
fee paid with all of 'em.'  The clerk smiled as he said this, and
inhaled the pinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded
of a fondness for snuff and a relish for fees.

'Something like practice that,' said Perker.

'Yes,' said the barrister's clerk, producing his own box, and
offering it with the greatest cordiality; 'and the best of it is, that
as nobody alive except myself can read the serjeant's writing,
they are obliged to wait for the opinions, when he has given
them, till I have copied 'em, ha-ha-ha!'

'Which makes good for we know who, besides the serjeant,
and draws a little more out of the clients, eh?' said Perker; 'ha,
ha, ha!' At this the serjeant's clerk laughed again--not a noisy
boisterous laugh, but a silent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick
disliked to hear.  When a man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous
thing for himself; but when he laughs inwardly, it bodes no
good to other people.

'You haven't made me out that little list of the fees that I'm in
your 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
send you a cheque.  But I suppose you're too busy pocketing the
ready money, to think of the debtors, eh? ha, ha, ha!' This sally
seemed to tickle the clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed
a little quiet laugh to himself.

'But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend,' said Perker, suddenly
recovering his gravity, and drawing the great man's great man
into a Corner, by the lappel of his coat; 'you must persuade the
Serjeant to see me, and my client here.'

'Come, come,' said the clerk, 'that's not bad either.  See the
Serjeant! come, that's too absurd.'  Notwithstanding the absurdity
of the proposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be
gently drawn beyond the hearing of Mr. Pickwick; and after a
short conversation conducted in whispers, walked softly down a
little dark passage, and disappeared into the legal luminary's
sanctum, whence he shortly returned on tiptoe, and informed
Mr. Perker and Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant had been prevailed
upon, in violation of all established rules and customs, to admit
them at once.

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 is
often to be seen in the heads of people who have applied themselves
during many years to a weary and laborious course of
study; and which would have been sufficient, without the additional
eyeglass which dangled from a broad black riband round
his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted.  His
hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable to his
having never devoted much time to its arrangement, and partly to
his having worn for five-and-twenty years the forensic wig which
hung on a block beside him.  The marks of hairpowder on his
coat-collar, and the ill-washed and worse tied white neckerchief
round his throat, showed that he had not found leisure since he
left the court to make any alteration in his dress; while the
slovenly style of the remainder of his costume warranted the
inference that his personal appearance would not have been very
much improved if he had.  Books of practice, heaps of papers,
and opened letters, were scattered over the table, without any
attempt at order or arrangement; the furniture of the room was
old and rickety; the doors of the book-case were rotting in their
hinges; the dust flew out from the carpet in little clouds at every
step; the blinds were yellow with age and dirt; the state of
everything in the room showed, with a clearness not to be
mistaken, that Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was far too much occupied
with his professional pursuits to take any great heed or regard of
his personal comforts.

The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowed
abstractedly when Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor;
and then, motioning them to a seat, put his pen carefully in the
inkstand, 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, that he denies there being any ground or pretence
whatever for the action against him; and that unless he came into
court with clean hands, and without the most conscientious
conviction that he was right in resisting the plaintiff's demand,
he would not be there at all.  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 his
eyes; and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds with
great curiosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly
as he 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 himself
back 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 the
spectacles, through which he had attentively regarded such
demonstrations of the barrister's feelings as he had permitted
himself to exhibit, more firmly on his nose; and said with great
energy, and in utter disregard of all Mr. Perker's admonitory
winkings 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 of
these matters as you must necessarily do, a very extraordinary
circumstance.'

The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile
came back again.

'Gentlemen of your profession, Sir,' continued Mr. Pickwick,
'see the worst side of human nature.  All its disputes, all its ill-will
and bad blood, rise up before you.  You know from your
experience of juries (I mean no disparagement to you, or them) how
much depends upon effect; and you are apt to attribute to others,
a desire to use, for purposes of deception and Self-interest, the
very instruments which you, in pure honesty and honour of
purpose, and with a laudable desire to do your utmost for your
client, know the temper and worth of so well, from constantly
employing them yourselves.  I really believe that to this circumstance
may be attributed the vulgar but very general notion of
your being, as a body, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious.
Conscious as I am, sir, of the disadvantage of making such a
declaration to you, under such circumstances, I have come here,
because I wish you distinctly to understand, as my friend
Mr. Perker has said, that I am innocent of the falsehood laid to
my charge; and although I am very well aware of the inestimable
value of your assistance, Sir, I must beg to add, that unless you
sincerely believe this, I would rather be deprived of the aid of
your talents than have the advantage of them.'

Long before the close of this address, which we are bound to
say was of a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeant
had relapsed into a state of abstraction.  After some minutes,
however, during which he had reassumed his pen, he appeared to
be again aware of the presence of his clients; raising his head
from the 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 name
before.  He must be a very young man.'

'Yes, he is a very young man,' replied the attorney.  'He was
only called the other day.  Let me see--he has not been at the Bar
eight years 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 Serjeant
Snubbin relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself was
introduced.

Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man.  He had
a very nervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his speech; it
did not appear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the
result of timidity, arising from the consciousness of being 'kept
down' by want of means, or interest, or connection, or impudence,
as the case might be.  He was overawed by the Serjeant, and
profoundly courteous 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 the
Serjeant, and of envying him too, with all a poor man's envy, for
eight 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 instantly
sent for his clerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, he
would have applied his forefinger to his forehead, and
endeavoured to recollect, whether, in the multiplicity of his
engagements, he had undertaken this one or not; but as he was neither
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 have
forgotten all about the merits of the case; but as he had read such
papers as had been laid before him in the course of the action, and
had thought of nothing else, waking or sleeping, throughout the
two months during which he had been retained as Mr. Serjeant
Snubbin's junior, he turned a deeper red and bowed again.

'This is Mr. Pickwick,' said the Serjeant, waving his pen in the
direction in which that gentleman was standing.

Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick, with a reverence which a
first client must ever awaken; and again inclined his head towards
his leader.

'Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away,' said the Serjeant,
'and--and--and--hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish to
communicate.  We shall have a consultation, of course.'  With
that hint that he had been interrupted quite long enough, Mr.
Serjeant Snubbin, who had been gradually growing more and
more abstracted, applied his glass to his eyes for an instant,
bowed slightly round, and was once more deeply immersed in the
case before him, which arose out of an interminable lawsuit,
originating in the act of an individual, deceased a century or so
ago, who had stopped up a pathway leading from some place
which nobody ever came from, to some other place which
nobody ever went to.

Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door until
Mr. Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before him, so
it was some time before they got into the Square; and when they
did reach it, they walked up and down, and held a long conference,
the result of which was, that it was a very difficult matter
to say how the verdict would go; that nobody could presume to
calculate on the issue of an action; that it was very lucky they had
prevented the other party from getting Serjeant Snubbin; and
other topics of doubt and consolation, common in such a position
of affairs.

Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep of
an hour's duration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned
to the city.



CHAPTER XXXII
DESCRIBES, FAR MORE FULLY THAN THE COURT NEWSMAN
  EVER DID, A BACHELOR'S PARTY, GIVEN BY Mr.
  BOB SAWYER AT HIS LODGINGS IN THE BOROUGH


There is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which
sheds a gentle melancholy upon the soul.  There are always a
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 come within the denomination of a first-rate residence,
in the strict acceptation of the term; but it is a most desirable
spot nevertheless.  If a man wished to abstract himself from the
world--to remove himself from within the reach of temptation--
to place himself beyond the possibility of any inducement to look
out of the window--we should recommend him by all means go
to Lant Street.

In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, a
sprinkling of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agents
for the Insolvent Court, several small housekeepers who are
employed in the Docks, a handful of mantua-makers, and a
seasoning of jobbing tailors.  The majority of the inhabitants
either direct their energies to the letting of furnished apartments,
or devote themselves to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of
mangling.  The chief features in the still life of the street are
green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates, and bell-handles;
the principal specimens of animated nature, the pot-boy, the
muffin youth, and the baked-potato man.  The population is
migratory, usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and
generally by night.  His Majesty's revenues are seldom collected
in this happy valley; the rents are dubious; and the water
communication is very frequently 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 the
reception of visitors appeared to be completed.  The umbrellas in
the passage had been heaped into the little corner outside the
back-parlour door; the bonnet and shawl of the landlady's
servant had been removed from the bannisters; there were not
more than two pairs of pattens on the street-door mat; and a
kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burned cheerfully on the
ledge of the staircase window.  Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself
purchased the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had
returned home preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the
possibility of their delivery at the wrong house.  The punch was
ready-made in a red pan in the bedroom; a little table, covered
with a green baize cloth, had been borrowed from the parlour,
to play at cards on; and the glasses of the establishment, together
with those which had been borrowed for the occasion from the
public-house, were all drawn up in a tray, which was deposited
on the landing outside the door.

Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these
arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. Bob
Sawyer, as he sat by the fireside.  There was a sympathising
expression, too, in the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazed
intently on the coals, and a tone of melancholy in his voice, as he
said, after a long silence--
'Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn
sour, just on this occasion.  She might at least have waited
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
a party I ought to be able to pay her confounded "little bill."'
'How long has it been running?' inquired Mr. Ben Allen.  A
bill, by the bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that
the genius of man ever produced.  It would keep on running
during the longest lifetime, without ever once stopping of its
own accord.

'Only a quarter, and a month or so,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching look
between the two top bars of the stove.

'It'll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head
to let out, when those fellows are here, won't it?' said Mr. Ben
Allen at length.

'Horrible,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'horrible.'
A low tap was heard at the room door.  Mr. Bob Sawyer
looked expressively at his friend, and bade the tapper come in;
whereupon a dirty, slipshod girl in black cotton stockings, who
might have passed for the neglected daughter of a superannuated
dustman in very reduced circumstances, thrust in her head, and said--

'Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to you.'

Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl
suddenly disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her
a violent pull behind; this mysterious exit was no sooner
accomplished, than there was another tap 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 abject
apprehension, and once more cried, 'Come in.'

The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. Bob
Sawyer had uttered the words, a little, fierce woman bounced
into the room, all in a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.

'Now, Mr. Sawyer,' said the little, fierce woman, trying to
appear very calm, 'if you'll have the kindness to settle that little
bill of mine I'll thank you, because I've got my rent to pay this
afternoon, and my landlord's a-waiting below now.'  Here the
little woman rubbed her hands, and looked steadily over Mr. Bob
Sawyer's head, at the wall behind him.

'I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle,'
said Bob Sawyer deferentially, 'but--'

'Oh, it isn't any inconvenience,' replied the little woman, with
a shrill titter.  'I didn't want it particular before to-day; leastways,
as it has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to
keep it as me.  You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and
every gentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, Sir,
as of course anybody as calls himself a gentleman does.'
Mrs. Raddle tossed her head, bit her lips, rubbed her hands
harder, and looked at the wall more steadily than ever.  It was
plain to see, as Mr. Bob Sawyer remarked in a style of Eastern
allegory on a subsequent occasion, that she was 'getting the
steam up.'

'I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob Sawyer, with all
imaginable humility, 'but the fact is, that I have been disappointed
in the City to-day.'--Extraordinary place that City.  An astonishing
number of men always ARE getting disappointed there.

'Well, Mr. Sawyer,' said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly
on a purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, 'and what's
that to me, Sir?'

'I--I--have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob Sawyer, blinking
this last question, 'that before the middle of next week we shall
be able to set ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better
system, afterwards.'

This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted.  She had bustled up to
the apartment of the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going
into a passion, that, in all probability, payment would have
rather disappointed her than otherwise.  She was in excellent
order for a little relaxation of the kind, having just exchanged
a few introductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front kitchen.

'Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer,' said Mrs. Raddle, elevating her
voice for the information of the neighbours--'do you suppose
that I'm a-going day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings
as never thinks of paying his rent, nor even the very money laid
out for 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 you suppose a hard-working and industrious woman as has
lived in this street for twenty year (ten year over the way, and
nine year and three-quarters in this very house) has nothing else
to do but to work herself to death after a parcel of lazy idle
fellars, that are always smoking and drinking, and lounging,
when they ought to be glad to turn their hands to anything that
would help 'em to pay their bills?  Do you--'

'My good soul,' interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen soothingly.

'Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, Sir,
I beg,' said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of
her speech, and addressing the third party with impressive slowness
and solemnity.  'I am not aweer, Sir, that you have any right
to address your conversation to me.  I don't think I let these
apartments to you, Sir.'

'No, you certainly did not,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Very good, Sir,' responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness.
'Then p'raps, Sir, you'll confine yourself to breaking the arms and
legs of the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself TO
yourself, Sir, or there may be some persons here as will make
you, Sir.'

'But you are such an unreasonable woman,' remonstrated
Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'I beg your parding, young man,' said Mrs. Raddle, in a cold
perspiration of anger.  'But will you have the goodness just to call
me that again, sir?'

'I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma'am,'
replied Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his
own account.

'I beg your parding, young man,' demanded Mrs. Raddle, in a
louder and more imperative tone.  'But who do you call a woman?
Did you make that remark to me, sir?'

'Why, bless my heart!' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?' interrupted
Mrs. Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wide open.

'Why, of course I did,' replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Yes, of course you did,' said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually
to the door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the
special behoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen.  'Yes, of course you
did!  And everybody knows that they may safely insult me in my
own 'ouse while my husband sits sleeping downstairs, and taking
no more notice than if I was a dog in the streets.  He ought to be
ashamed of himself (here Mrs. Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife
to be treated in this way by a parcel of young cutters and carvers
of live people's bodies, that disgraces the lodgings (another sob),
and leaving her exposed to all manner of abuse; a base, faint-
hearted, timorous wretch, that's afraid to come upstairs, and
face the ruffinly creatures--that's afraid--that's afraid to come!'
Mrs. Raddle paused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt
had roused her better half; and finding that it had not been
successful, proceeded to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable;
when there came a loud double knock at the street door;
whereupon she burst into an hysterical fit of weeping, accompanied
with dismal moans, which was prolonged until the knock
had been repeated six times, when, in an uncontrollable burst of
mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas, and disappeared
into the back parlour, closing the door after her with an awful crash.

'Does Mr. Sawyer live here?' said Mr. Pickwick, when the door
was opened.

'Yes,' said the girl, 'first floor.  It's the door straight afore you,
when you gets to the top of the stairs.'  Having given this instruction,
the handmaid, who had been brought up among the
aboriginal inhabitants of Southwark, disappeared, with the
candle in her hand, down the kitchen stairs, perfectly satisfied
that she had done everything that could possibly be required of
her under the circumstances.

Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after
several ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the
friends stumbled 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'm
rather confined for room here, but you must put up with all that,
when you come to see a young bachelor.  Walk in.  You've seen
this gentleman before, I think?' Mr. Pickwick shook hands with
Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his friends followed his example.  They
had scarcely taken their seats when there was another double knock.

'I hope that's Jack Hopkins!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer.  'Hush.
Yes, it is.  Come up, Jack; come up.'

A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins
presented himself.  He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with
thunder-and-lightning buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a
white false collar.

'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
the casualty ward.'

'What was that, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs' window; but it's
a very fair case 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
he wouldn't.  There must be a splendid operation, though,
to-morrow--magnificent sight if Slasher does it.'

'You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Best alive,' replied Hopkins.  'Took a boy's leg out of the
socket last week--boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake--
exactly two minutes after it was all over, boy said he wouldn't lie
there to be 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 perceptible
glance at Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, 'we had a curious
accident last 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 child
did--eh, Mr. Pickwick? ha, ha!' Mr. Hopkins appeared highly
gratified with his own pleasantry, and continued--'No, the way
was this.  Child's parents were poor people who lived in a court.
Child's eldest sister bought a necklace--common necklace, made
of large black wooden beads.  Child being fond of toys, cribbed
the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and swallowed
a bead.  Child thought it capital fun, went back next day, and
swallowed another bead.'

'Bless my heart,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing!  I
beg your pardon, Sir.  Go on.'

'Next day, child swallowed two beads; the day after that, he
treated himself to three, and so on, till in a week's time he had
got through the necklace--five-and-twenty beads in all.  The
sister, who was an industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to
a bit of finery, cried her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace;
looked high and low for it; but, I needn't say, didn't find it.  A
few days afterwards, the family were at dinner--baked shoulder
of mutton, and potatoes under it--the child, who wasn't hungry,
was playing about the room, when suddenly there was heard a
devil of a noise, like a small hailstorm.  "Don't do that, my boy,"
said the father.  "I ain't a-doin' nothing," said the child.  "Well,
don't do it again," said the father.  There was a short silence, and
then the noise began again, worse than ever.  "If you don't mind
what I say, my boy," said the father, "you'll find yourself in bed,
in something less than a pig's whisper." He gave the child a
shake to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as
nobody ever heard before.  "Why, damme, it's IN the child!" said
the father, "he's got the croup in the wrong place!" "No, I
haven't, father," said the child, beginning to cry, "it's the necklace;
I swallowed it, father."--The father caught the child up,
and ran with him to the hospital; the beads in the boy's stomach
rattling all the way with the jolting; and the people looking up in
the air, and down in the cellars, to see where the unusual sound
came from.  He's in the hospital now,' said Jack Hopkins, 'and he
makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're
obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should
wake the patients.'

'That's the most extraordinary case I ever heard of,' said
Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table.

'Oh, that's nothing,' said Jack Hopkins.  'Is it, Bob?'

'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 young
man in a black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in a
long stock.  The next comer was a gentleman in a shirt emblazoned
with pink anchors, who was closely followed by a pale youth with
a plated watchguard.  The arrival of a prim personage in clean
linen and cloth boots rendered the party complete.  The little
table with the green baize cover was wheeled out; the first
instalment of punch was brought in, in a white jug; and the
succeeding three hours were devoted to VINGT-ET-UN at sixpence a
dozen, which was only once interrupted by a slight dispute
between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman with the pink
anchors; in the course of which, the scorbutic youth intimated a
burning desire to pull the nose of the gentleman with the emblems
of hope; in reply to which, that individual expressed his decided
unwillingness to accept of any 'sauce' on gratuitous terms, either
from the irascible young gentleman with the scorbutic countenance,
or any other person who was ornamented with a head.

When the last 'natural' had been declared, and the profit and
loss account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satisfaction of
all parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitors
squeezed themselves into corners while it was getting ready.

it was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine.
First of all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen
asleep with her face on the kitchen table; this took a little time,
and, even when she did answer the bell, another quarter of an
hour was consumed in fruitless endeavours to impart to her a
faint and distant glimmering of reason.  The man to whom the
order for the oysters had been sent, had not been told to open
them; it is a very difficult 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 the beef was done either; and the ham (which
was also from the German-sausage shop round the corner) was
in a similar predicament.  However, there was plenty of porter in
a tin can; and the cheese went a great way, for it was very strong.
So upon the whole, perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such
matters usually are.

After supper, another jug of punch was put upon the table,
together with a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles of spirits.
Then there was an awful pause; and this awful pause was
occasioned by a very common occurrence in this sort of place,
but a very embarrassing one notwithstanding.

The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses.  The establishment
boasted four: we do not record the circumstance as at all
derogatory to Mrs. Raddle, for there never was a lodging-house
yet, that was not short of glasses.  The landlady's glasses were
little, thin, blown-glass tumblers, and those which had been
borrowed from the public-house were great, dropsical, bloated
articles, each supported on a huge gouty leg.  This would have
been in itself sufficient to have possessed the company with the
real state of affairs; but the young woman of all work had
prevented the possibility of any misconception arising in the
mind of any gentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging
every man's glass away, long before he had finished his beer, and
audibly stating, despite the winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob
Sawyer, that it was to be conveyed downstairs, and washed forthwith.

It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good.  The prim
man in the cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting
to make a joke during the whole time the round game lasted,
saw his opportunity, and availed himself of it.  The instant the
glasses disappeared, he commenced a long story about a great
public character, whose name he had forgotten, making a particularly
happy reply to another eminent and illustrious individual
whom he had never been able to identify.  He enlarged at some
length and with great minuteness upon divers collateral circumstances,
distantly connected with the anecdote in hand, but for
the life of him he couldn't recollect at that precise moment what
the anecdote was, although he had been in the habit of telling the
story with great applause for the last ten years.

'Dear me,' said the prim man in the cloth boots, 'it is a very
extraordinary circumstance.'

'I am sorry you have forgotten it,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
glancing eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise of
glasses jingling; 'very sorry.'

'So am I,' responded the prim man, 'because I know it would
have afforded so much amusement.  Never mind; I dare say I
shall manage to recollect it, in the course of half an hour or so.'

The prim man arrived at this point just as the glasses came
back, when Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attention
during the whole time, said he should very much like to hear the
end of it, for, so far as it went, it was, without exception, the very
best story he had ever heard.
The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree of
equanimity which he had not possessed since his interview with his
landlady.  His face brightened up, and he began to feel quite convivial.

'Now, Betsy,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and
dispersing, at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses
the girl had collected in the centre of the table--'now, Betsy, the
warm water; be brisk, there's a good girl.'

'You can't have no warm water,' replied Betsy.

'No warm water!' exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'No,' said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed a
more decided negative than the most copious language could
have conveyed.  'Missis Raddle said you warn't to have none.'

The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests
imparted new courage to the host.

'Bring up the warm water instantly--instantly!' said Mr. Bob
Sawyer, with desperate sternness.

'No.  I can't,' replied the girl; 'Missis Raddle raked out the
kitchen fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle.'

'Oh, never mind; never mind.  Pray don't disturb yourself
about such a trifle,' said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of
Bob Sawyer's passions, as depicted in his countenance, 'cold
water will do very well.'

'Oh, admirably,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mental
derangement,' remarked Bob Sawyer, with a ghastly smile; 'I fear
I must give her warning.'

'No, don't,' said Ben Allen.

'I fear I must,' said Bob, with heroic firmness.  'I'll pay her
what I 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 this
last blow, communicated a dispiriting influence to the company,
the greater part of whom, with the view of raising their spirits,
attached themselves with extra cordiality to the cold brandy-and-
water, the first perceptible effects of which were displayed in a
renewal of hostilities between the scorbutic youth and the
gentleman in the shirt.  The belligerents vented their feelings of
mutual contempt, for some time, in a variety of frownings and
snortings, until at last the scorbutic youth felt it necessary to
come to a more explicit understanding on the matter; when the
following clear understanding took place.
'Sawyer,' said the scorbutic youth, in a loud voice.

'Well, Noddy,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'I should be very sorry, Sawyer,' said Mr. Noddy, 'to create
any unpleasantness at any friend's table, and much less at yours,
Sawyer--very; but I must take this opportunity of informing
Mr. Gunter that he is no gentleman.'

'And I should be very sorry, Sawyer, to create any disturbance
in the street in which you reside,' said Mr. Gunter, 'but I'm
afraid I shall be under the necessity of alarming the neighbours by
throwing 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 delude
your visitors into the false belief that a gentleman has been to
see you, 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
leave particular directions with the servant to lock up the spoons,'
replied Mr. Gunter.

At this point the remainder of the guests interposed, and
remonstrated with both parties on the impropriety of their
conduct; on which Mr. Noddy begged to state that his father was
quite as respectable as Mr. Gunter's father; to which Mr. Gunter
replied that his father was to the full as respectable as Mr. Noddy's
father, 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
to a recommencement of the dispute, there was another interference
on the part of the company; and a vast quantity of
talking and clamouring ensued, in the course of which Mr. Noddy
gradually allowed his feelings to overpower him, and professed
that he had ever entertained a devoted personal attachment
towards Mr. Gunter.  To this Mr. Gunter replied that, upon the
whole, he rather preferred Mr. Noddy to his own brother; on
hearing which admission, Mr. Noddy magnanimously rose from
his seat, and proffered his hand to Mr. Gunter.  Mr. Gunter
grasped it with affecting fervour; and everybody said that the
whole dispute had been conducted in a manner which was highly
honourable to both parties concerned.

'Now,' said Jack Hopkins, 'just to set us going again, Bob, I
don't mind singing a song.'  And Hopkins, incited thereto by
tumultuous applause, plunged himself at once into 'The King,
God bless him,' which he sang as loud as he could, to a novel air,
compounded of the 'Bay of Biscay,' and 'A Frog he would.'
The chorus was the essence of the song; and, as each gentleman
sang it to the tune he knew best, the effect was very striking indeed.

It was at the end of the chorus to the first verse, that Mr.
Pickwick held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as
soon as silence was restored--

'Hush!  I beg your pardon.  I thought I heard somebody calling
from upstairs.'

A profound silence immediately ensued; and Mr. Bob Sawyer
was observed to turn pale.

'I think I hear it now,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Have the goodness
to open the door.'

The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject
was removed.

'Mr. Sawyer! Mr. Sawyer!' screamed a voice from the two-pair landing.

'It's my landlady,' said Bob Sawyer, looking round him with
great dismay.  'Yes, Mrs. Raddle.'

'What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer?' replied the voice,
with great shrillness and rapidity of utterance.  'Ain't it enough
to be swindled out of one's rent, and money lent out of pocket
besides, and abused and insulted by your friends that dares to
call themselves men, without having the house turned out of the
window, and noise enough made to bring the fire-engines here,
at two o'clock in the morning?--Turn them wretches away.'

'You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,' said the voice of
Mr. Raddle, which appeared to proceed from beneath some
distant bed-clothes.

'Ashamed of themselves!' said Mrs. Raddle.  'Why don't you
go down and knock 'em every one downstairs?  You would if
you was a man.'
'I should if I was a dozen men, my dear,' replied Mr. Raddle
pacifically, 'but they have the advantage of me in numbers, my dear.'

'Ugh, you coward!' replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme contempt.
'DO you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer?'

'They're going, Mrs. Raddle, they're going,' said the miserable
Bob.  'I am afraid you'd better go,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer to his
friends.  'I thought you were making too much noise.'

'It's a very unfortunate thing,' said the prim man.  'Just as we
were getting so comfortable too!' The prim man was just
beginning to have a dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten.

'It's hardly to be borne,' said the prim man, looking round.
'Hardly to be borne, is it?'

'Not to be endured,' replied Jack Hopkins; 'let's have the
other verse, Bob.  Come, here goes!'

'No, no, Jack, don't,' interposed Bob Sawyer; 'it's a capital
song, but I am afraid we had better not have the other verse.
They are very violent people, the people of the house.'

'Shall I step upstairs, and pitch into the landlord?' inquired
Hopkins, 'or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the
staircase?  You may command me, Bob.'

'I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and good-
nature, Hopkins,' said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, 'but I
think the best plan to avoid any further dispute is for us to
break up at once.'

'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,
emerged from the sitting-room.  'Going! what did they ever
come for?'

'My dear ma'am,' remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.

'Get along with you, old wretch!' replied Mrs. Raddle, hastily
withdrawing the nightcap.  'Old enough to be his grandfather,
you willin!  You're worse than any of 'em.'

Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so
hurried downstairs into the street, whither he was closely
followed by 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 of the walk confided to Mr. Winkle, as an especially
eligible person to intrust the secret to, that he was resolved to
cut the throat of any gentleman, except Mr. Bob Sawyer, who
should aspire to the affections of his sister Arabella.  Having
expressed his determination to perform this painful duty of a
brother with proper firmness, he burst into tears, knocked his hat
over his eyes, and, making the best of his way back, knocked
double knocks at the door of the Borough Market office,
and took short naps on the steps alternately, until daybreak,
under the firm impression that he lived there, and had forgotten
the key.

The visitors having all departed, in compliance with the rather
pressing request of Mrs. Raddle, the luckless Mr. Bob Sawyer
was left alone, to meditate on the probable events of to-morrow,
and the pleasures of the evening.



CHAPTER XXXIII
Mr. WELLER THE ELDER DELIVERS SOME CRITICAL SENTIMENTS
  RESPECTING LITERARY COMPOSITION; AND,
  ASSISTED BY HIS SON SAMUEL, PAYS A SMALL INSTALMENT
  OF RETALIATION TO THE ACCOUNT OF THE REVEREND
  GENTLEMAN WITH THE RED NOSE


The morning of the thirteenth of February, which the readers of
this authentic narrative know, as well as we do, to have been the day
immediately preceding that which was appointed for the trial of
Mrs. Bardell's action, was a busy time for Mr. Samuel Weller, who
was perpetually engaged in travelling from the George and Vulture to
Mr. Perker's chambers and back again, from and between the hours
of nine o'clock in the morning and two in the afternoon, both
inclusive.  Not that there was anything whatever to be done, for the
consultation had taken place, and the course of proceeding to be
adopted, had been finally determined on; but Mr. Pickwick being in
a most extreme state of excitement, persevered in constantly
sending small notes to his attorney, merely containing the inquiry,
'Dear Perker.  Is all going on well?' to which Mr. Perker
invariably forwarded the reply, 'Dear Pickwick.  As well as
possible'; the fact being, as we have already hinted, that there
was nothing whatever to go on, either well or ill, until the
sitting of the court on the following morning.

But people who go voluntarily to law, or are taken forcibly
there, for the first time, may be allowed to labour under some
temporary irritation and anxiety; and Sam, with a due allowance
for the frailties of human nature, obeyed all his master's behests
with that imperturbable good-humour and unruffable composure
which 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 which
Mr. Pickwick had requested him to drown the fatigues of his
morning's walks, when a young boy of about three feet high, or
thereabouts, in a hairy cap and fustian overalls, whose garb
bespoke a laudable ambition to attain in time the elevation of
an hostler, entered the passage of the George and Vulture, and
looked first up the stairs, and then along the passage, and then
into the bar, as if in search of somebody to whom he bore a
commission; whereupon the barmaid, conceiving it not
improbable that the said commission might be directed to the tea or
table spoons of the establishment, accosted the boy with--

'Now, young man, what do you want?'

'Is there anybody here, named Sam?' inquired the youth, in a
loud voice of treble quality.

'What's the t'other name?' said Sam Weller, looking round.

'How should I know?' briskly replied the young gentleman
below 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, in case
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,' rejoined
the boy.  'He told me yesterday mornin' to come to the George
and Wultur this arternoon, and ask for Sam.'

'It's my father, my dear,' said Mr. Weller, turning with an
explanatory air to the young lady in the bar; 'blessed if I think
he hardly 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'clock to our 'ouse, 'cos he wants to see you--Blue Boar,
Leaden'all Markit.  Shall I say you're comin'?'

'You may wenture on that 'ere statement, Sir,' replied Sam.
And thus empowered, the young gentleman walked away,
awakening all the echoes in George Yard as he did so, with
several chaste and extremely correct imitations of a drover's
whistle, delivered in a tone 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
means displeased at being left alone, set forth, long before the
appointed hour, and having plenty of time at his disposal,
sauntered down as far as the Mansion House, where he paused
and contemplated, with a face of great calmness and philosophy,
the numerous cads and drivers of short stages who assemble near
that famous place of resort, to the great terror and confusion of
the old-lady population of these realms.  Having loitered here, for
half an hour or so, Mr. Weller turned, and began wending his
way towards Leadenhall Market, through a variety of by-streets
and courts.  As he was sauntering away his spare time, and
stopped to look at almost every object that met his gaze, it is by
no means surprising that Mr. Weller should have paused before
a small stationer's and print-seller's window; but without further
explanation it does appear surprising that his eyes should have
no sooner rested on certain pictures which were exposed for sale
therein, than he gave a sudden start, smote his right leg with
great vehemence, and exclaimed, 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
of human hearts skewered together with an arrow, cooking
before a cheerful fire, while a male and female cannibal in
modern attire, the gentleman being clad in a blue coat and white
trousers, and the lady in a deep red pelisse with a parasol of the
same, were approaching the meal with hungry eyes, up a serpentine
gravel path leading thereunto.  A decidedly indelicate young
gentleman, in a pair of wings and nothing else, was depicted as
superintending the cooking; a representation of the spire of the
church in Langham Place, London, appeared in the distance;
and the whole formed a 'valentine,' of which, as a written
inscription in the window testified, there was a large assortment
within, which the shopkeeper pledged himself to dispose of, to his
countrymen generally, 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, and
requested to be served with a sheet of the best gilt-edged letter-
paper, and a hard-nibbed pen which could be warranted not to
splutter.  These articles having been promptly supplied, he
walked on direct towards Leadenhall Market at a good round
pace, very different from his recent lingering one.  Looking round
him, he there beheld a signboard on which the painter's art had
delineated something remotely resembling a cerulean elephant
with an aquiline nose in lieu of trunk.  Rightly conjecturing that
this was the Blue Boar himself, he stepped into the house, and
inquired concerning his parent.

'He won't be here this three-quarters of an hour or more,' said
the young lady who superintended the domestic arrangements of
the Blue Boar.

'Wery good, my dear,' replied Sam.  'Let me have nine-
penn'oth o' brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, will you, miss?'

The brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, having been
carried into the little parlour, and the young lady having carefully
flattened down the coals to prevent their blazing, and carried
away the poker to preclude the possibility of the fire being stirred,
without the full privity and concurrence of the Blue Boar being
first had and obtained, Sam Weller sat himself down in a box
near the stove, and pulled out the sheet of gilt-edged letter-paper,
and the hard-nibbed pen.  Then looking carefully at the pen to
see that there were no hairs in it, and dusting down the table, so
that there might be no crumbs of bread under the paper, Sam
tucked up the cuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and composed
himself to write.

To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting
themselves practically to the science of penmanship, writing a
letter is no very easy task; it being always considered necessary
in such cases for the writer to recline his head on his left arm, so
as to place his eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper,
and, while glancing sideways at the letters he is constructing, to
form with his tongue imaginary characters to correspond.  These
motions, although unquestionably of the greatest assistance to
original composition, retard in some degree the progress of the
writer; and Sam had unconsciously been a full hour and a half
writing words in small text, smearing out wrong letters with his
little finger, and putting in new ones which required going over
very often to render them visible through the old blots, when he
was roused by the opening of the door and the entrance of his parent.

'Vell, Sammy,' said the father.

'Vell, my Prooshan Blue,' responded the son, laying down his
pen.  'What's the last bulletin about mother-in-law?'

'Mrs. Veller passed a very good night, but is uncommon
perwerse, and unpleasant this mornin'.  Signed upon oath, Tony
Veller, Esquire.  That's the last vun as was issued, Sammy,'
replied Mr. Weller, untying his shawl.

'No better yet?' inquired Sam.

'All the symptoms aggerawated,' replied Mr. Weller, shaking
his head.  'But wot's that, you're a-doin' of?  Pursuit of knowledge
under difficulties, Sammy?'

'I've done now,' said Sam, with slight embarrassment; 'I've
been 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
by the word.

'A walentine,' replied Sam.
'Samivel, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, 'I
didn't think you'd ha' done it.  Arter the warnin' you've had o'
your father's wicious propensities; arter all I'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 should ha' 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 much for the
good old man.  He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips and drank off
its contents.

'Wot's the matter now?' said Sam.

'Nev'r mind, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, 'it'll be a wery
agonisin' trial to me at my time of life, but I'm pretty tough, that's
vun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked wen the
farmer said he wos afeerd he should be obliged to kill him for the
London market.'

'Wot'll be a trial?' inquired Sam.
'To see you married, Sammy--to see you a dilluded wictim,
and thinkin' in your innocence that it's all wery capital,' replied
Mr. Weller.  'It's a dreadful trial to a father's feelin's, that 'ere,
Sammy--'

'Nonsense,' said Sam.  'I ain't a-goin' to get married, don't you
fret 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 the
pipe, or the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to get
married ran in the family, and couldn't be helped, which calmed
Mr. Weller's feelings, and caused his grief to subside.  We should
be rather disposed to say that the result was attained by combining
the two sources of consolation, for he repeated the second
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 with his
back towards it, so that he could feel its full heat, and recline
against the mantel-piece at the same time, turned towards Sam,
and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softening
influence 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' the
inwariable, my dear.'

'Very well, Sir,' replied the girl; who with great quickness
appeared, 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.
Go on, 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; no
man ever talked poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin'-day, or Warren's
blackin', or Rowland's oil, or some of them low fellows; never
you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy.  Begin agin, Sammy.'

Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam
once more commenced, and read as follows:

'"Lovely creetur I feel myself a damned--"'
'That ain't proper,' said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth.

'No; it ain't "damned,"' observed Sam, holding the letter up
to the light, 'it's "shamed," there's a blot there--"I feel myself
ashamed."'

'Wery good,' said Mr. Weller.  'Go on.'

'"Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir--' I forget what
this here word is,' said Sam, scratching his head with the pen,
in vain attempts 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,' said
Mr. 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
a few 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 a angel, Sammy?'

'Ah! what, indeed?' replied Sam.

'You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a
king's arms 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; his
father continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom
and 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
nobody like you, though I like you better than nothin' at all." I
thought it best 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 the
gen'l'm'n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday--to
tell you that the first and only time I see you, your likeness was
took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colours than
ever a likeness was took by the profeel macheen (wich p'raps you
may have heerd on Mary my dear) altho it DOES finish a portrait
and put the frame and glass on complete, with a hook at the
end to hang it up 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 avoid
contesting the point--

'"Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think
over what 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 wish
your mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the
same 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 that name.

'Won't do,' said Sam.  'Never sign a walentine with your own name.'

'Sign it "Pickwick," then,' said Mr. Weller; 'it's a wery good
name, and a easy one to spell.'
'The wery thing,' said Sam.  'I COULD end with a werse; what do
you think?'

'I don't like it, Sam,' rejoined Mr. Weller.  'I never know'd a
respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an
affectin' copy o' werses the night afore he was hung for a highway
robbery; and he wos only a Cambervell man, so even that's no rule.'

But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that
had occurred to him, so he signed the letter--
     'Your love-sick
       Pickwick.'

And having folded it, in a very intricate manner, squeezed a
downhill 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
business having been transacted, Mr. Weller the elder proceeded
to open that, 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 some
witnesses 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
make his-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, and stick 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; 'you don'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, a
alleybi's the thing to get him off.  Ve got Tom Vildspark off that
'ere manslaughter, with a alleybi, ven all the big vigs to a man
said as nothing couldn't save him.  And my 'pinion is, Sammy,
that if your governor don't prove a alleybi, he'll be what the
Italians call reg'larly flummoxed, and that's all about it.'

As the elder Mr. Weller entertained a firm and unalterable
conviction that the Old Bailey was the supreme court of judicature
in this country, and that its rules and forms of proceeding
regulated and controlled the practice of all other courts of justice
whatsoever, he totally disregarded the assurances and arguments
of his son, tending to show that the alibi was inadmissible; and
vehemently protested that Mr. Pickwick was being 'wictimised.'
Finding that it was of no use to discuss the matter further, Sam
changed the subject, and inquired what the second topic was, on
which his revered parent wished to consult him.

'That's a pint o' domestic policy, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.
'This here 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 I never see equalled.  He's sitch a friend o' the family,
Sammy, that wen he's avay from us, he can't be comfortable
unless he has somethin' to remember us by.'

'And I'd give him somethin' as 'ud turpentine and beeswax his
memory 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
always brings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and a half,
and fills it vith 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 the
cork and the smell; trust him for that, Sammy.  Now, these here
fellows, my boy, are a-goin' to-night to get up the monthly
meetin' o' the Brick Lane Branch o' the United Grand Junction
Ebenezer Temperance Association.  Your mother-in-law wos
a-goin', Sammy, but she's got the rheumatics, and can't; and I,
Sammy--I've got the two tickets as wos sent her.'  Mr. Weller
communicated this secret with great glee, and winked so
indefatigably after doing so, that Sam began to think he must have
got the TIC DOLOUREUX in his right eyelid.

'Well?' said that young gentleman.
'Well,' continued his progenitor, looking round him very
cautiously, 'you and I'll go, punctiwal to the time.  The deputy-
shepherd won't, Sammy; the deputy-shepherd won't.'  Here Mr.
Weller was seized with a paroxysm of chuckles, which gradually
terminated in as near an approach 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
to set him on fire with the friction.  'What are you a-laughin' at,
corpilence?'

'Hush!  Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, looking round him with
increased 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
does come to the Ebenezer Junction (vich he's sure to do: for
they'll see him to the door, and shove him in, if necessary), he'll
be as far gone 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 relapsed into a state of partial suffocation, in consequence.

Nothing could have been more in accordance with Sam
Weller's feelings than the projected exposure of the real propensities
and qualities of the red-nosed man; and it being very
near the appointed hour of meeting, the father and son took
their way at once to Brick Lane, Sam not forgetting to drop his
letter into a general post-office as they walked along.

The monthly meetings of the Brick Lane Branch of the United
Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association were held in
a large room, pleasantly and airily situated at the top of a safe
and commodious ladder.  The president was the straight-walking
Mr. Anthony Humm, a converted fireman, now a schoolmaster,
and occasionally an itinerant preacher; and the secretary was
Mr. Jonas Mudge, chandler's shopkeeper, an enthusiastic and
disinterested vessel, who sold tea to the members.  Previous to the
commencement of business, the ladies sat upon forms, and drank
tea, till such time as they considered it expedient to leave off; and
a large wooden money-box was conspicuously placed upon the
green baize cloth of the business-table, behind which
the secretary stood, and acknowledged, with a gracious smile,
every addition to the rich vein of copper which lay concealed within.

On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a most
alarming extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller, senior, who,
utterly regardless of all Sam's admonitory nudgings, stared about
him in every direction with the most undisguised astonishment.

'Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, 'if some o' these here people
don't want tappin' to-morrow mornin', I ain't your father, and
that'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
of deep agitation, 'mark my vords, my boy.  If that 'ere secretary
fellow keeps on for only five minutes more, he'll blow hisself up
with 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
the same low voice, 'I shall feel it my duty, as a human bein', to
rise and address the cheer.  There's a young 'ooman on the next
form but 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 his
benevolent intention into immediate execution, if a great noise,
occasioned by putting up the cups and saucers, had not very
fortunately announced that the tea-drinking was over.  The
crockery having been removed, the table with the green baize
cover was carried out into the centre of the room, and the
business of the evening was commenced by a little emphatic man,
with a bald head and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed up the
ladder, at the imminent peril of snapping the two little legs
incased in the drab 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 at
this proposition; and the impetuous little man literally moved
Mr. Humm into the chair, by taking him by the shoulders and
thrusting him into a mahogany-frame which had once represented
that article of furniture.  The waving of handkerchiefs was
renewed; and Mr. Humm, who was a sleek, white-faced man, in a
perpetual perspiration, bowed meekly, to the great admiration of
the females, and formally took his seat.  Silence was then proclaimed
by the little man in the drab shorts, and Mr. Humm rose
and said--That, with the permission of his Brick Lane Branch
brothers and sisters, then and there present, the secretary would
read the report of the Brick Lane Branch committee; a proposition
which was again received with a demonstration of pocket-handkerchiefs.

The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, and
the cough which always seizes an assembly, when anything
particular is going to be done, having been duly performed, the
following document was read:

'REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THE BRICK LANE BRANCH OF THE
UNITED GRAND JUNCTION EBENEZER TEMPERANCE ASSOCIATION


'Your committee have pursued their grateful labours during the
past month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting the
following additional cases of converts to Temperance.

'H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children.  When in better
circumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit of
drinking ale and beer; says he is not certain whether he did not
twice a week, for twenty years, taste "dog's nose," which your
committee find upon inquiry, to be compounded of warm porter,
moist sugar, gin, and nutmeg (a groan, and 'So it is!' from an
elderly female).  Is now out of work and penniless; thinks it must
be the porter (cheers) or the loss of the use of his right hand; is
not certain which, but thinks it very likely that, if he had drunk
nothing but water all his life, his fellow-workman would never
have stuck a rusty needle in him, and thereby occasioned his
accident (tremendous cheering).  Has nothing but cold water to
drink, and never feels thirsty (great applause).

'Betsy Martin, widow, one child, and one eye.  Goes out
charing and washing, by the day; never had more than one eye,
but knows her mother drank bottled stout, and shouldn't wonder
if that caused it (immense cheering).  Thinks it not impossible
that if she had always abstained from spirits she might have had
two eyes by this time (tremendous applause).  Used, at every
place she went to, to have eighteen-pence a day, a pint of porter,
and a glass of spirits; but since she became a member of the
Brick Lane Branch, has always demanded three-and-sixpence
(the announcement of this most interesting fact was received
with deafening enthusiasm).

'Henry Beller was for many years toast-master at various
corporation dinners, during which time he drank a great deal of
foreign wine; may sometimes have carried a bottle or two home
with him; is not quite certain of that, but is sure if he did, that he
drank the contents.  Feels very low and melancholy, is very
feverish, and has a constant thirst upon him; thinks it must be
the wine he used to drink (cheers).  Is out of employ now; and
never touches a drop of foreign wine by any chance (tremendous
plaudits).

'Thomas Burton is purveyor of cat's meat to the Lord Mayor
and Sheriffs, and several members of the Common Council (the
announcement of this gentleman's name was received with
breathless interest).  Has a wooden leg; finds a wooden leg
expensive, going over the stones; used to wear second-hand
wooden legs, and drink a glass of hot gin-and-water regularly
every night--sometimes two (deep sighs).  Found the second-hand
wooden legs split and rot very quickly; is firmly persuaded that
their constitution was undermined by the gin-and-water (prolonged
cheering).  Buys new wooden legs now, and drinks
nothing but water and weak tea.  The new legs last twice as long
as the others used to do, and he attributes this solely to his
temperate habits (triumphant cheers).'


Anthony Humm now moved that the assembly do regale itself
with a song.  With a view to their rational and moral enjoyment,
Brother Mordlin had adapted the beautiful words of 'Who hasn't
heard of a Jolly Young Waterman?' to the tune of the Old
Hundredth, which he would request them to join him in singing
(great applause).  He might take that opportunity of expressing his
firm persuasion that the late Mr. Dibdin, seeing the errors of his
former life, had written that song to show the advantages of
abstinence.  It was a temperance song (whirlwinds of cheers).  The
neatness of the young man's attire, the dexterity of his feathering,
the enviable state of mind which enabled him in the beautiful
words 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 men present
mark this:

  'The maidens all flocked 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,
and supported him?  No!

  'He was always first oars with the fine city ladies.'

(Immense cheering.) The soft sex to a man--he begged pardon,
to a female--rallied round the young waterman, and turned with
disgust from the drinker of spirits (cheers).  The Brick Lane
Branch brothers were watermen (cheers and laughter).  That room
was 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
MUST be a soft sex--a wery soft sex, indeed--if they let themselves
be gammoned by such fellers as him.'

Any further observations from the indignant old gentleman
were cut short by the announcement of the song, which Mr.
Anthony Humm gave out two lines at a time, for the information
of such of his hearers as were unacquainted with the legend.
While it was 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.
'My friends,' said Mr. Humm, holding up his hand in a
deprecatory manner, to bespeak the silence of such of the stout
old ladies as were yet a line or two behind; 'my friends, a delegate
from the Dorking Branch of our society, Brother Stiggins,
attends below.'

Out came the pocket-handkerchiefs again, in greater force
than ever; for Mr. Stiggins was excessively popular among the
female constituency 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 of
Brother Tadger, bustled down the ladder with great speed, and
was immediately afterwards heard tumbling up with the Reverend
Mr. Stiggins.

'He's a-comin', Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, purple in the
countenance with suppressed laughter.

'Don't say nothin' to me,' replied Sam, 'for I can't bear it.  He's
close to the door.  I hear him a-knockin' his head again the lath
and plaster now.'

As Sam Weller spoke, the little door flew open, and Brother
Tadger 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 of
which manifestations of delight, Brother Stiggins returned no
other acknowledgment than staring with a wild eye, and a fixed
smile, at the extreme top of the wick of the candle on the table,
swaying his body to and fro, meanwhile, in a very unsteady and
uncertain manner.

'Are you unwell, Brother Stiggins?' whispered Mr. Anthony Humm.

'I am all right, Sir,' replied Mr. Stiggins, in a tone in which
ferocity was blended with an extreme thickness of utterance; 'I
am all right, Sir.'

'Oh, very well,' rejoined Mr. Anthony Humm, retreating a few paces.

'I believe no man here has ventured to say that I am not all
right, 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
with some anxiety for the resumption of business.

'Will you address the meeting, brother?' said Mr. Humm, with
a smile of invitation.

'No, sir,' rejoined Mr. Stiggins; 'No, sir.  I will not, sir.'

The meeting looked at each other with raised eyelids; and a
murmur 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
is drunk, sir.  Brother Tadger, sir!' said Mr. Stiggins, suddenly
increasing in ferocity, and turning sharp round on the little man
in the drab shorts, 'YOU are drunk, sir!' With this, Mr. Stiggins,
entertaining a praiseworthy desire to promote the sobriety of the
meeting, and to exclude therefrom all improper characters, hit
Brother Tadger on the summit of the nose with such unerring
aim, that the drab shorts disappeared like a flash of lightning.
Brother Tadger had been knocked, head first, down the ladder.

Upon this, the women set up a loud and dismal screaming;
and rushing in small parties before their favourite brothers, flung
their arms around them to preserve them from danger.  An
instance of affection, which had nearly proved fatal to Humm,
who, being extremely popular, was all but suffocated, by the
crowd of female devotees that hung about his neck, and heaped
caresses upon him.  The greater part of the lights were quickly
put out, and nothing but noise and confusion resounded on all sides.

'Now, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, taking off his greatcoat with
much 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; 'I
shall ockipy myself in havin' a small settlement with that 'ere
Stiggins.'  Before Sam could interfere to prevent it, his heroic
parent had penetrated into a remote corner of the room, and
attacked the Reverend Mr. Stiggins with manual dexterity.

'Come off!' said Sam.

'Come on!' cried Mr. Weller; and without further invitation
he gave the Reverend Mr. Stiggins a preliminary tap on the head,
and began dancing round him in a buoyant and cork-like
manner, which in a gentleman at his time of life was a perfect
marvel to behold.

Finding all remonstrances unavailing, Sam pulled his hat
firmly on, threw his father's coat over his arm, and taking the old
man round the waist, forcibly dragged him down the ladder, and
into the street; never releasing his hold, or permitting him to
stop, until they reached the corner.  As they gained it, they could
hear the shouts of the populace, who were witnessing the removal
of the Reverend Mr. Stiggins to strong lodgings for the night,
and could hear the noise occasioned by the dispersion in various
directions of the members of the Brick Lane Branch of the
United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association.



CHAPTER XXXIV
IS WHOLLY DEVOTED TO A FULL AND FAITHFUL REPORT
  OF THE MEMORABLE TRIAL OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK


'I wonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever he'll be, has got
for breakfast,' said Mr. Snodgrass, by way of keeping up a
conversation on the eventful morning of the fourteenth 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,' replied
Perker.  'A good, contented, well-breakfasted juryman is a capital
thing 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, 'what
do they do that for?'

'Why, I don't know,' replied the little man coolly; 'saves time,
I suppose.  If it's near dinner-time, the foreman takes out his
watch when the jury has retired, and says, "Dear me, gentlemen,
ten minutes to five, I declare!  I dine at five, gentlemen." "So do I,"
says everybody else, except two men who ought to have dined at
three and seem more than half disposed to stand out in consequence.
The foreman smiles, and puts up his watch:--"Well,
gentlemen, what do we say, plaintiff or defendant, gentlemen?  I
rather think, so far as I am concerned, gentlemen,--I say, I
rather think--but don't let that influence you--I RATHER think
the plaintiff's the man." Upon this, two or three other men
are sure to say that they think so too--as of course they do; and
then they get on very unanimously and comfortably.  Ten minutes
past nine!' said the little man, looking at his watch.'Time we were
off, my dear sir; breach of promise trial-court is generally full
in such cases.  You had better ring for a coach, my dear sir, or we
shall be rather late.'

Mr. Pickwick immediately rang the bell, and a coach having
been procured, the four Pickwickians and Mr. Perker ensconced
themselves 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 the
court, 'put Mr. Pickwick's friends in the students' box; Mr.
Pickwick himself had better sit by me.  This way, my dear sir, this
way.'  Taking Mr. Pickwick by the coat sleeve, the little man led
him to the low seat just beneath the desks of the King's Counsel,
which is constructed for the convenience of attorneys, who from
that spot can whisper into the ear of the leading counsel in the
case, any instructions that may be necessary during the progress
of the trial.  The occupants of this seat are invisible to the great
body of spectators, inasmuch as they sit on a much lower level
than either the barristers or the audience, whose seats are raised
above the floor.  Of course they have their backs to both, and
their faces towards the judge.

'That's the witness-box, I suppose?' said Mr. Pickwick,
pointing to 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 Lowten
had just deposited at his feet.

'And that,' said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of enclosed
seats on his right, 'that's where the jurymen sit, is it not?'

'The identical place, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, tapping the
lid of his snuff-box.

Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation, and took a
glance at the court.  There were already a pretty large sprinkling
of spectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen
in wigs, in the barristers' seats, who presented, as a body, all that
pleasing and extensive variety of nose and whisker for which the
Bar of England is so justly celebrated.  Such of the gentlemen as
had a brief to carry, carried it in as conspicuous a manner as
possible, and occasionally scratched their noses therewith, to
impress the fact more strongly on the observation of the spectators.
Other gentlemen, who had no briefs to show, carried
under their arms goodly octavos, with a red label behind, and that
under-done-pie-crust-coloured cover, which is technically known
as 'law calf.'  Others, who had neither briefs nor books, thrust
their hands into their pockets, and looked as wise as they
conveniently could; others, again, moved here and there with great
restlessness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken
thereby the admiration and astonishment of the uninitiated
strangers.  The whole, to the great wonderment of Mr, Pickwick,
were divided into little groups, who were chatting and discussing
the news of the day in the most unfeeling manner possible--just as
if no trial at all were coming on.

A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his seat
behind 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 hid the Serjeant behind a large crimson bag, which he
placed on his table, and, after shaking hands with Perker, withdrew.
Then there entered two or three more Serjeants; and among them,
one with a fat 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,
and nodded to our counsel?' whispered Mr. Pickwick.

'Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz,' replied Perker.  'He's opposed to us; he
leads on the other side.  That gentleman behind him is Mr.
Skimpin, his junior.'

Mr. Pickwick was on the point of inquiring, with great
abhorrence of the man's cold-blooded villainy, how Mr, Serjeant
Buzfuz, who was counsel for the opposite party, dared to presume
to tell Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who was counsel for him, that it
was a fine morning, when he was interrupted by a general rising
of the barristers, and a loud cry of 'Silence!' from the officers of
the court.  Looking round, he found that this was caused by the
entrance of the judge.

Mr. Justice Stareleigh (who sat in the absence of the Chief
Justice, occasioned by indisposition) was a most particularly
short man, and so fat, that he seemed all face and waistcoat.  He
rolled in, upon two little turned legs, and having bobbed gravely
to the Bar, who bobbed gravely to him, put his little legs underneath
his table, and his little three-cornered hat upon it;
and when Mr. Justice Stareleigh had done this, all you could
see of him was two queer little eyes, one broad pink face,
and somewhere about half of a big and very comical-looking wig.

The judge had no sooner taken his seat, than the officer on the
floor of the court called out 'Silence!' in a commanding tone,
upon which another officer in the gallery cried 'Silence!' in an
angry manner, whereupon three or four more ushers shouted
'Silence!' in a voice of indignant remonstrance.  This being done,
a gentleman in black, who sat below the judge, proceeded to call
over the names of the jury; and after a great deal of bawling,
it was discovered that only ten special jurymen were present.
Upon this, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz prayed a TALES; the gentleman
in black then proceeded to press into the special jury, two of the
common jurymen; 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 my attendance.'

'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.  'You
should 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 the
irritable, and brooked not contradiction.

'I know I OUGHT to do, if I got on as well as I deserved; but I
don'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
truly try,' 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.  Swear me, if you please, Sir;' and sworn the chemist was,
before the judge could find words to utter.

'I merely wanted to observe, my Lord,' said the chemist,
taking his seat with great deliberation, 'that I've left nobody but
an errand-boy in my shop.  He is a very nice boy, my Lord, but
he is not acquainted with drugs; and I know that the prevailing
impression on his mind is, that Epsom salts means oxalic acid;
and syrup of senna, laudanum.  That's all, my Lord.'  With this,
the tall chemist composed himself into a comfortable attitude,
and, assuming a pleasant expression of countenance, appeared to
have prepared himself for the worst.

Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the
deepest horror, when a slight sensation was perceptible in the
body of the court; and immediately afterwards Mrs. Bardell,
supported by Mrs. Cluppins, was led in, and placed, in a drooping
state, at the other end of the seat on which Mr. Pickwick sat.
An extra-sized umbrella was then handed in by Mr. Dodson, and
a pair of pattens by Mr. Fogg, each of whom had prepared a
most sympathising and melancholy face for the occasion.  Mrs.
Sanders then appeared, leading in Master Bardell.  At sight of
her child, Mrs. Bardell started; suddenly recollecting herself, she
kissed him in a frantic manner; then relapsing into a state of
hysterical imbecility, the good lady requested to be informed
where she was.  In reply to this, Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders
turned their heads away and wept, while Messrs. Dodson and
Fogg entreated the plaintiff to compose herself.  Serjeant Buzfuz
rubbed his eyes very hard with a large white handkerchief, and
gave an appealing look towards the jury, while the judge was
visibly affected, and several 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
ideas of effect, my dear Sir, excellent.'

As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slow
degrees, while Mrs. Cluppins, after a careful survey of Master
Bardell's buttons and the button-holes to which they severally
belonged, placed him on the floor of the court in front of his
mother--a commanding position in which he could not fail to
awaken the full commiseration and sympathy of both judge and
jury.  This was not done without considerable opposition, and
many tears, on the part of the young gentleman himself, who had
certain inward misgivings that the placing him within the full
glare of the judge's eye was only a formal prelude to his being
immediately ordered away for instant execution, or for transportation
beyond the seas, during the whole term of his natural
life, at the very least.

'Bardell and Pickwick,' cried the gentleman in black, calling
on the case, which stood first on the list.

'I am for the plaintiff, my Lord,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Who is with you, Brother Buzfuz?' said the judge.  Mr.
Skimpin bowed, to intimate that he was.

'I appear for the defendant, my Lord,' said Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.

'Anybody with you, Brother Snubbin?' inquired the court.

'Mr. Phunky, my Lord,' replied Serjeant Snubbin.

'Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin for the plaintiff,' said
the judge, writing down the names in his note-book, and reading
as he wrote; 'for the defendant, Serjeant Snubbin and Mr. Monkey.'

'Beg your Lordship's pardon, Phunky.'

'Oh, very good,' said the judge; 'I never had the pleasure of
hearing the gentleman's name before.'  Here Mr. Phunky bowed
and smiled, and the judge bowed and smiled too, and then Mr.
Phunky, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, tried to look as
if he didn't know that everybody was gazing at him, a thing
which no man ever succeeded in doing yet, or in all reasonable
probability, ever will.

'Go on,' said the judge.

The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded
to 'open the case'; and the case appeared to have very little inside
it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he
knew, completely to himself, and sat down, after a lapse of
three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced
stage of wisdom as they were in before.

Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity
which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and
having whispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg,
pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed
the jury.

Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole
course of his professional experience--never, from the very first
moment of his applying himself to the study and practice of the
law--had he approached a case with feelings of such deep
emotion, or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility imposed
upon him--a responsibility, he would say, which he could never
have supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction
so strong, that it amounted to positive certainty that the
cause of truth and justice, or, in other words, the cause of his
much-injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with the
high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw in
that box before him.

Counsel usually begin in this way, because it puts the jury on
the very best terms with themselves, and makes them think what
sharp fellows they must be.  A visible effect was produced
immediately, several jurymen beginning to take voluminous notes
with the utmost eagerness.

'You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,' continued
Serjeant Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the learned
friend alluded to, the gentlemen of the jury had heard just
nothing at all--'you have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,
that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage,
in which the damages are laid at #1,500.  But you have not heard
from my learned friend, inasmuch as it did not come within my
learned friend's province to tell you, what are the facts and
circumstances of the case.  Those facts and circumstances,
gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and proved by
the unimpeachable female whom I will place in that box before you.'

Here, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis on
the word 'box,' smote his table with a mighty sound, and glanced
at Dodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration of the Serjeant,
and indignant defiance of the defendant.

'The plaintiff, gentlemen,' continued Serjeant Buzfuz, in a soft
and melancholy voice, 'the plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentlemen, a
widow.  The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for many years, the
esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians
of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the
world, to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a
custom-house can never afford.'
At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who
had been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a public-house
cellar, the learned serjeant's voice faltered, and he proceeded,
with emotion--

'Some time before his death, he had stamped his likeness upon
a little boy.  With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed
exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrank from the world, and courted the
retirement and tranquillity of Goswell Street; and here she
placed in her front parlour window a written placard, bearing
this inscription--"Apartments furnished for a single gentleman.
Inquire within."' Here Serjeant Buzfuz paused, while several
gentlemen of the jury took a note of the document.

'There is no date to that, is there?' inquired a juror.
'There is no date, gentlemen,' replied Serjeant Buzfuz; 'but I
am instructed to say that it was put in the plaintiff's parlour
window just this time three years.  I entreat the attention of the
jury to the wording of this document--"Apartments furnished
for a single gentleman"!  Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite
sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the
inestimable qualities of her lost husband.  She had no fear, she
had no distrust, she had no suspicion; all was confidence and
reliance.  "Mr. Bardell," said the widow--"Mr. Bardell was a
man of honour, Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, Mr. Bardell
was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself;
to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for
comfort, and for consolation; in single gentlemen I shall
perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was
when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single
gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by this
beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our
imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow
dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy
to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlour window.
Did it remain there long?  No.  The serpent was on the watch, the
train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was
at work.  Before the bill had been in the parlour window three
days--three days, gentlemen--a being, erect upon two legs, and
bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a
monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house.  He
inquired within--he took the lodgings; and on the very next day
he entered into possession of them.  This man was Pickwick--
Pickwick, the defendant.'

Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility that
his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath.  The
silence awoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote
down something with a pen without any ink in it, and looked
unusually profound, to impress the jury with the belief that he
always thought most deeply with his eyes shut.  Serjeant Buzfuz
proceeded--

'Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents but
few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you,
gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting
heartlessness, and of systematic villainy.'

Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some
time, gave a violent start, as if some vague idea of assaulting
Serjeant Buzfuz, in the august presence of justice and law,
suggested itself to his mind.  An admonitory gesture from Perker
restrained him, and he listened to the learned gentleman's
continuation with a look of indignation, which contrasted
forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders.

'I say systematic villainy, gentlemen,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
looking through Mr. Pickwick, and talking AT him; 'and when I
say systematic villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he
be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more
decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in better
taste, if he had stopped away.  Let me tell him, gentlemen, that
any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may
indulge in this court will not go down with you; that you will
know how to value and how to appreciate them; and let me tell him
further, as my Lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel, in the
discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be intimidated
nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either
the one or the other, or the first, or the last, will recoil on the head
of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name
Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.'

This little divergence from the subject in hand, had, of course,
the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick.  Serjeant
Buzfuz, having partially recovered from the state of moral
elevation into which he had lashed himself, resumed--

'I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years, Pickwick
continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or
intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house.  I shall show you that
Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him,
attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen
for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and
prepared it for wear, when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed
his fullest trust and confidence.  I shall show you that, on many
occasions, he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences,
to her little boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness
whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to
weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on
the head, and, after inquiring whether he had won any "ALLEY
TORS" or "COMMONEYS" lately (both of which I understand to be a
particular species of marbles much prized by the youth of this
town), made use of this remarkable expression, "How should you
like to have another father?" I shall prove to you, gentlemen,
that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself
from home, during long intervals, as if with the intention of
gradually breaking off from my client; but I shall show you also,
that his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong, or that
his better feelings conquered, if better feelings he has, or that the
charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his
unmanly intentions, by proving to you, that on one occasion,
when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms,
offered her marriage: previously, however, taking special care
that there would be no witness to their solemn contract; and I
am in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of
his own friends--most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen--most
unwilling witnesses--that on that morning he was discovered by
them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation
by his caresses and endearments.'

A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this
part of the learned Serjeant's address.  Drawing forth two very
small scraps of paper, he proceeded--
'And now, gentlemen, but one word more.  Two letters have
passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in
the handwriting of the defendant, 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 of affectionate attachment.  They are covert, sly,
underhanded communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive
than if couched in the most glowing language and the
most poetic imagery--letters that must be viewed with a cautious
and suspicious eye--letters that were evidently intended at the
time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into
whose hands they might fall.  Let me read the first: "Garraways,
twelve o'clock.  Dear Mrs. B.--Chops and tomato sauce.  Yours,
PICKWICK." Gentlemen, what does this mean?  Chops and tomato
sauce.  Yours, Pickwick!  Chops!  Gracious heavens! and tomato
sauce!  Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding
female to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these?  The
next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious.  "Dear
Mrs. B., I shall not be at home till to-morrow.  Slow coach."
And then follows this very remarkable expression.  "Don't trouble
yourself about the warming-pan." The warming-pan!  Why,
gentlemen, who DOES trouble himself about a warming-pan?
When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed
by a warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful,
and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic
furniture?  Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to
agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the
case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire--a mere substitute for
some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted
system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a
view to his contemplated desertion, and which I am not in a
condition to explain?  And what does this allusion to the slow
coach mean?  For aught I know, it may be a reference to Pickwick
himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow
coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will
now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels,
gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased
by you!'

Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the
jury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer,
whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned
by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question
on that identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered it
advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before he
concluded.

'But enough of this, gentlemen,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, 'it
is difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our
deepest sympathies are awakened.  My client's hopes and prospects
are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation
is gone indeed.  The bill is down--but there is no tenant.  Eligible
single gentlemen pass and repass-but there is no invitation for
to inquire within or without.  All is gloom and silence in the
house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are
disregarded when his mother weeps; his "alley tors" and his
"commoneys" are alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar
cry of "knuckle down," and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his
hand is out.  But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless
destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street--
Pickwick who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the
sward--Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless
tomato sauce and warming-pans--Pickwick still rears his head
with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin
he has made.  Damages, gentlemen--heavy damages is the only
punishment with which you can visit him; the only recompense
you can award to my client.  And for those damages she now
appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a
conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplative jury
of her civilised countrymen.'  With this beautiful peroration,
Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh
woke up.

'Call Elizabeth Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a
minute afterwards, with renewed vigour.

The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins; another one,
at a little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins; and a third
rushed in a breathless state into King Street, and screamed for
Elizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse.

Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of
Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was
hoisted into the witness-box; and when she was safely perched
on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood on the bottom one, with the
pocket-handkerchief and pattens in one hand, and a glass bottle
that might hold about a quarter of a pint of smelling-salts in the
other, ready for any emergency.  Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes were
intently fixed on the judge's face, planted herself close by, with
the large umbrella, keeping her right thumb pressed on the spring
with an earnest countenance, as if she were fully prepared to put
it up at a moment's notice.

'Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'pray compose yourself,
ma'am.'  Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose
herself, she sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave
divers alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit,
or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her.

'Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, after
a few unimportant questions--'do you recollect being in Mrs.
Bardell's back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in
July last, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?'

'Yes, my Lord and jury, I do,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.

'Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe?'

'Yes, it were, Sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.

'What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?' inquired the
little judge.

'My Lord and jury,' said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting
agitation, 'I will not deceive you.'

'You had better not, ma'am,' said the little judge.

'I was there,' resumed Mrs. Cluppins, 'unbeknown to Mrs.
Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy
three pound of red kidney pertaties, which was three pound
tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's street door on the jar.'

'On the what?' exclaimed the little judge.

'Partly open, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin.

'She said on the jar,' said the little judge, with a cunning look.

'It's all the same, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin.  The little
judge looked doubtful, and said he'd make a note of it.  Mrs.
Cluppins then resumed--

'I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good-mornin', and went, in
a permiscuous 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 Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Beggin' your pardon, Sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic
manner, '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
the voices.  Was one of those voices Pickwick's?'

'Yes, it were, Sir.'
And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick
addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees, and
by dint of many questions, the conversation with which our
readers are already acquainted.

The jury looked suspicious, and Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz smiled
as he sat down.  They looked positively awful when Serjeant
Snubbin intimated that he should not cross-examine the witness,
for Mr. Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was due
to her to say, that her account was in substance correct.

Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it a
favourable opportunity for entering into a short dissertation on
her own domestic affairs; so she straightway proceeded to inform
the court that she was the mother of eight children at that present
speaking, and that she entertained confident expectations of
presenting Mr. Cluppins with a ninth, somewhere about that day
six months.  At this interesting point, the little judge interposed
most irascibly; and the effect of the interposition was, that both
the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were 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 with
considerable deference.

'Don't look at me, Sir,' said the judge sharply, in acknowledgment
of the salute; 'look at the jury.'

Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place
where he thought it most probable the jury might be; for seeing
anything in his then state of intellectual complication was wholly
out of the question.

Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being
a promising young man of two or three-and-forty, was of course
anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed in
favour of the other side, as much as he could.

'Now, Sir,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'have the goodness to let his
Lordship know what your name is, will you?' and Mr. Skimpin
inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the
answer, and glanced at the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that he
rather expected Mr. Winkle's natural taste for perjury would
induce him to give some name which did not belong to him.

'Winkle,' replied the witness.

'What's your Christian name, Sir?' angrily inquired the little judge.

'Nathaniel, Sir.'

'Daniel--any other name?'

'Nathaniel, sir--my Lord, I mean.'

'Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel?'

'No, my Lord, only Nathaniel--not Daniel at all.'

'What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir?' inquired the judge.

'I didn't, my Lord,' replied Mr. Winkle.

'You did, Sir,' replied the judge, with a severe frown.  'How
could I have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, Sir?'
This argument was, of course, unanswerable.

'Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord,' interposed
Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury.  'We shall find
means to refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say.'

'You had better be careful, Sir,' said the little judge, with a
sinister look at the witness.

Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easiness
of manner, which, in his then state of confusion, gave him rather
the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.

'Now, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'attend to me, if you
please, Sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, to
bear in mind his Lordship's injunctions to be careful.  I believe
you are a particular friend of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant, are
you not?'

'I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this
moment, nearly--'

'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question.  Are you, or are
you not, a particular friend of the defendant's?'

'I was just about to say, that--'

'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 the
goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that,
Mr. Winkle.'

'I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her
when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Goswell Street.'

'How often have you seen her, Sir?'

'How often?'

'Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often?  I'll repeat the question for you
a dozen times, if you require it, Sir.'  And the learned gentleman,
with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and
smiled suspiciously to the jury.

On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,
customary on such points.  First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was
quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen
Mrs. Bardell.  Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times,
to which he replied, 'Certainly--more than that.'  Then he was
asked whether he hadn't seen her a hundred times--whether he
couldn't swear that he had seen her more than fifty times--
whether he didn't know that he had seen her at least seventy-five
times, and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived
at, at last, being, that he had better take care of himself, and
mind what he was about.  The witness having been by these
means reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the
examination was continued as follows--

'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant
Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff's house in Goswell
Street, on one particular morning, in the month of July last?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the
name of Tupman, and another by the name of Snodgrass?'

'Yes, I was.'

'Are they here?'
'Yes, they are,' replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly
towards the spot where his friends were stationed.

'Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends,'
said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look at the jury.
'They must tell their stories without any previous consultation
with you, if none has yet taken place (another look at the jury).
Now, Sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering
the defendant's room, on this particular morning.  Come; out
with it, Sir; we must have it, sooner or later.'

'The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in his
arms, with his hands clasping her waist,' replied Mr. Winkle with
natural hesitation, 'and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away.'

'Did you hear the defendant say anything?'

'I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I heard him
ask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if anybody
should come, or words to that effect.'

'Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you,
and I beg you to bear in mind his Lordship's caution.  Will you
undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say on
the occasion in question--"My dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good
creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation
you must come," or words to that effect?'

'I--I didn't understand him so, certainly,' said Mr. Winkle,
astounded on this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he had
heard.  'I was on the staircase, and couldn't hear distinctly; the
impression on my mind is--'

'The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on
your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service to
honest, straightforward men,' interposed Mr. Skimpin.  'You
were on the staircase, and didn't distinctly hear; but you will not
swear that 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.
Skimpin with a triumphant countenance.

Mr. Pickwick's case had not gone off in so particularly happy
a manner, up to this point, that it could very well afford to have
any additional suspicion cast upon it.  But as it could afford to
be placed in a rather better light, if possible, Mr. Phunky rose for
the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in
cross-examination.  Whether he did get anything important out
of him, will immediately appear.

'I believe, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Phunky, 'that Mr. Pickwick
is not a young man?'

'Oh, no,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'old enough to be my father.'

'You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr.
Pickwick a long time.  Had you ever any reason to suppose or
believe that he was about to be married?'

'Oh, no; certainly not;' replied Mr. Winkle with so much
eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box
with all possible dispatch.  Lawyers hold that there are two kinds
of particularly bad witnesses--a reluctant witness, and a too-willing
witness; it was Mr. Winkle's fate to figure in both characters.

'I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,' continued
Mr. Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent manner.  'Did
you ever see anything in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct
towards the opposite sex, to induce you to believe that he ever
contemplated matrimony of late years, in any case?'

'Oh, no; certainly not,' replied Mr. Winkle.

'Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always
been that of a man, who, having attained a pretty advanced period
of life, content with his own occupations and amusements,
treats them only as a father might his daughters?'

'Not the least doubt of it,' replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of
his heart.  'That is--yes--oh, yes--certainly.'

'You have never known anything in his behaviour towards
Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?'
said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down; for Serjeant Snubbin
was winking 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 when
Serjeant Snubbin had winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had
stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which he
knew better than to do; observing Mr. Winkle's anxiety, and
well knowing it would, in all probability, lead to something
serviceable to him), this unfortunate admission would not have
been elicited.  The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle's lips,
Mr. Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily
told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared
to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped him.

'Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay!' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'will your
Lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of
suspicious behaviour towards females on the part of this gentleman,
who is old enough to be his father, was?'

'You hear what the learned counsel says, Sir,' observed the
judge, turning to the miserable and agonised Mr. Winkle.
'Describe the occasion to which you refer.'

'My Lord,' said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, 'I--I'd
rather not.'

'Perhaps so,' said the little judge; 'but you must.'

Amid the profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winkle
faltered out, that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr.
Pickwick's being found in a lady's sleeping-apartment at midnight;
which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of
the projected marriage of the lady in question, and had led, he
knew, to the whole party being forcibly carried before George
Nupkins, Esq., magistrate and justice of the peace, for the
borough of Ipswich!

'You may leave the box, Sir,' said Serjeant Snubbin.  Mr.
Winkle did leave the box, and rushed with delirious haste to the
George and Vulture, where he was discovered some hours after,
by the waiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal manner, with his
head buried beneath the sofa cushions.

Tracy Tupman, and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally called
into the box; both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy
friend; and each was driven to the verge of desperation by
excessive badgering.
Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by Serjeant
Buzfuz, and cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin.  Had always
said and believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. Bardell; knew
that Mrs. Bardell's being engaged to Pickwick was the current
topic of conversation in the neighbourhood, after the fainting in
July; had been told it herself by Mrs. Mudberry which kept a
mangle, and Mrs. Bunkin which clear-starched, but did not see
either Mrs. Mudberry or Mrs. Bunkin in court.  Had heard
Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have another
father.  Did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keeping
company with the baker, but did know that the baker was then a
single man and is now married.  Couldn't swear that Mrs.
Bardell was not very fond of the baker, but should think that the
baker was not very fond of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn't have
married somebody else.  Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on
the morning in July, because Pickwick asked her to name the day:
knew that she (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr.
Sanders asked her to name the day, and believed that everybody as
called herself a lady would do the same, under similar circumstances.
Heard Pickwick ask the boy the question about the marbles, but upon
her oath did not know the difference between an 'alley tor'
and a 'commoney.'

By the COURT.--During the period of her keeping company
with Mr. Sanders, had received love letters, like other ladies.  In
the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called
her a 'duck,' but never 'chops,' nor yet 'tomato sauce.'  He was
particularly fond of ducks.  Perhaps if he had been as fond of
chops and tomato sauce, he might have called her that, as a
term of affection.

Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had
yet exhibited, if that were possible, and vociferated; 'Call Samuel
Weller.'

It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for Samuel
Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was
pronounced; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on
the rail, took a bird's-eye view of the Bar, and a comprehensive
survey of the Bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect.
'What's your name, sir?' inquired the judge.

'Sam Weller, my Lord,' replied that gentleman.

'Do you spell it with a "V" or a "W"?' inquired the judge.

'That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my
Lord,' replied Sam; 'I never had occasion to spell it more than
once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a "V." '

Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, 'Quite right too,
Samivel, quite right.  Put it down a "we," my Lord, put it down
a "we."'
'Who is that, who dares 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
look for the culprit, sat down again.  The little judge turned to the
witness as soon as his indignation would allow him to speak, and
said--

'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 the
lantern at the roof of the court.

'If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed
him instantly,' said the judge.
Sam bowed his acknowledgments and turned, with unimpaired
cheerfulness of countenance, towards Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Now, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Now, sir,' replied Sam.

'I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant
in this case?  Speak up, if you please, Mr. 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 ven they
ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes,' replied Sam.

'You must not tell us what the soldier, or any other man, said,
Sir,' interposed the judge; 'it's not evidence.'

'Wery good, my Lord,' replied Sam.

'Do you recollect anything particular happening on the
morning when you were first engaged by the 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
of the jury,' said Sam, 'and that was a wery partickler and
uncommon circumstance vith me in those days.'

Hereupon there was a general laugh; and the little judge,
looking with an angry countenance over his desk, said, 'You had
better be careful, Sir.'

'So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my Lord,' replied Sam; 'and
I was wery careful o' that 'ere suit o' clothes; wery careful indeed,
my Lord.'

The judge looked sternly at Sam for full two minutes, but
Sam's features were so perfectly calm and serene that the judge
said nothing, and motioned Serjeant Buzfuz to proceed.

'Do you mean to tell me, Mr. 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--'do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw
nothing of this fainting on the part of the plaintiff in the arms of
the defendant, which you have heard described by the witnesses?'
'Certainly not,' replied Sam; 'I was in the passage till they
called me up, and then the old lady was not there.'

'Now, attend, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, dipping a
large pen into the inkstand before him, for the purpose of
frightening Sam with a show of taking down his answer.  'You
were in the passage, and yet saw nothing of what was going
forward.  Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?'

'Yes, I have a pair of eyes,' replied Sam, 'and that's just it.  If
they wos a pair o' patent double million magnifyin' gas microscopes
of hextra power, p'raps I might be able to see through a
flight o' stairs and a deal door; but bein' only eyes, you see, my
wision 's limited.'

At this answer, which was delivered without the slightest
appearance of irritation, and with the most complete simplicity
and equanimity of manner, the spectators tittered, the little judge
smiled, and Serjeant Buzfuz looked particularly foolish.  After a
short consultation with Dodson & Fogg, the learned Serjeant
again turned towards Sam, and said, with a painful effort to
conceal his vexation, 'Now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask you a question
on another point, if you please.'

'If you please, Sir,' rejoined Sam, with the utmost good-humour.

'Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house, one
night in November last?'
'Oh, yes, wery well.'

'Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
recovering his spirits; 'I thought we should get at something at last.'

'I rayther thought that, too, sir,' replied Sam; and at this the
spectators tittered again.

'Well; I suppose you went up to have a little talk about this
trial--eh, Mr. Weller?' said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly
at the jury.

'I went up to pay the rent; but we did get a-talkin' about the
trial,' 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 to tell us, Mr. Weller'?'

'Vith all the pleasure in life, sir,' replied Sam.  'Arter a few
unimportant obserwations from the two wirtuous females as has
been examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a very great state
o' admiration at the honourable conduct of Mr. Dodson and
Fogg--them two gen'l'men as is settin' near you now.'  This, of
course, drew general attention to Dodson & Fogg, who looked
as virtuous 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
at all for costs, unless they got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick.'

At this very unexpected reply, the spectators tittered again, and
Dodson & 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 affected
composure.  'It's perfectly useless, my Lord, attempting to get at
any evidence through the impenetrable stupidity of this witness.
I will not trouble the court by asking him any more questions.
Stand down, sir.'

'Would any other gen'l'man like to ask me anythin'?' inquired
Sam, taking up his hat, and looking round most deliberately.

'Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you,' said Serjeant Snubbin, laughing.

'You may go down, sir,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, waving his hand
impatiently.  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 of
considerable independent property.'

'Very well,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, putting in the two letters to
be read, 'then that's my case, my Lord.'

Serjeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the
defendant; and a very long and a very emphatic address he
delivered, in which he bestowed the highest possible eulogiums
on the conduct and character of Mr. Pickwick; but inasmuch as
our readers are far better able to form a correct estimate of that
gentleman's merits and deserts, than Serjeant Snubbin could
possibly be, we do not feel called upon to enter at any length into
the learned gentleman's observations.  He attempted to show
that the letters which had been exhibited, merely related
to Mr. Pickwick's dinner, or to the preparations for receiving
him in his apartments on his return from some country excursion.
It is sufficient to add in general terms, that he did the
best he could for Mr. Pickwick; and the best, as everybody
knows, on the infallible authority of the old adage, could do
no more.

Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up, in the old-established and
most approved form.  He read as much of his notes to the jury as
he could decipher on so short a notice, and made running-
comments on the evidence as he went along.  If Mrs. Bardell were
right, it was perfectly clear that Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and if
they thought the evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of credence
they would believe it, and, if they didn't, why, they wouldn't.  If
they were satisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had been
committed they would find for the plaintiff with such damages as
they thought proper; and if, on the other hand, it appeared to
them that no promise of marriage had ever been given, they
would find for the defendant with no damages at all.  The jury
then retired to their private room to talk the matter over, and the
judge retired to HIS private room, to refresh himself with a mutton
chop and a glass of sherry.
An anxious quarter of a hour elapsed; the jury came back; the
judge was fetched in.  Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, and
gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance and a
quickly-beating heart.

'Gentlemen,' said the individual in black, 'are you all agreed
upon your verdict?'

'We are,' replied the foreman.

'Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant?'
'For the plaintiff.'

'With what damages, gentlemen?'

'Seven hundred and fifty pounds.'

Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the
glasses, folded them into their case, and put them in his pocket;
then, having drawn on his gloves with great nicety, and stared at
the foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker
and the blue bag out of court.

They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the court fees;
and here, Mr. Pickwick was joined by his friends.  Here, too, he
encountered Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, rubbing their hands with
every 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?'
said Mr. Pickwick.

Fogg said they thought it rather probable.  Dodson smiled, and
said 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 or damages do you ever get from me, if I spend the rest of
my existence in a debtor's prison.'

'Ha! ha!' laughed Dodson.  'You'll think better of that, before
next term, Mr. Pickwick.'

'He, he, he!  We'll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick,' grinned Fogg.

Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to
be led by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there assisted
into a hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the purpose,
by the ever-watchful Sam Weller.

Sam had put up the steps, and was preparing to jump upon the
box, when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder; and,
looking round, his father stood before him.  The old gentleman's
countenance wore a mournful expression, as he shook his head
gravely, and said, in warning accents--

'I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin' bisness.
Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi!'



CHAPTER XXXV
IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK THINKS HE HAD BETTER GO TO
  BATH; AND GOES ACCORDINGLY


'But surely, my dear sir,' said little Perker, as he stood in Mr.
Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the trial, 'surely you
don't really mean--really and seriously now, and irritation
apart--that you won't pay these costs and damages?'

'Not one halfpenny,' said Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'not one halfpenny.'

'Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he
vouldn't renew the bill,' observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing
away the breakfast-things.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have the goodness to step downstairs.'

'Cert'nly, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick's
gentle hint, Sam retired.

'No, Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of
manner, 'my friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me from
this determination, but without avail.  I shall employ myself as
usual, until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legal
process of execution against me; and if they are vile enough to
avail themselves of it, and to arrest my person, I shall yield
myself up with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart.  When
can they do this?'

'They can issue execution, my dear Sir, for the amount of the
damages and taxed costs, next term,' replied Perker, 'just two
months 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-
humoured smile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles
could dim or conceal, 'the only question is, Where shall we go next?'

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by
their friend's heroism to offer any reply.  Mr. Winkle had not yet
sufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial,
to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick paused
in vain.

'Well,' said that gentleman, 'if you leave me to suggest our
destination, I say Bath.  I think none of us have ever been there.'

Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded by
Perker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick
saw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think
better of his determination, and worse of a debtor's prison, it was
carried unanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the
White Horse Cellar, to take five places by the half-past seven
o'clock coach, next morning.

There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to
be had out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having
exchanged a few compliments with the booking-office clerk on
the subject of a pewter half-crown which was tendered him as a
portion of his 'change,' walked back to the George and Vulture,
where he was pretty busily employed until bed-time in reducing
clothes and linen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting
his mechanical genius in constructing a variety of ingenious
devices for 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 were
going out, and had come through the city, were smoking so, that
the outside passengers were invisible.  The newspaper-sellers
looked moist, and smelled mouldy; the wet ran off the hats of
the orange-vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach
windows, and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner.  The
Jews with the fifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the
men with the pocket-books made pocket-books of them.  Watch-
guards and toasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-
cases and sponges were a drug in the market.

Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or
eight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the moment
the coach stopped, and finding that they were about twenty
minutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelter
into the travellers' room--the last resource of human dejection.

The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is of course
uncomfortable; it would be no travellers' room if it were not.  It
is the right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplace
appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker,
tongs, and shovel.  It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement
of travellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass,
and a live waiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel
for washing glasses, in a corner of the apartment.

One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion,
by a stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and
glossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and
back of his head, and large black whiskers.  He was buttoned up
to the chin in a brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling-
cap, and a greatcoat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him.  He
looked up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a
fierce and peremptory air, which was very dignified; and, having
scrutinised that gentleman and his companions to his entire
satisfaction, hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say
that he rather suspected somebody wanted to take advantage of
him, but it wouldn't do.

'Waiter,' said the gentleman with the whiskers.

'Sir?' replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of
the same, 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 same
manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced
to 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 what
house 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 the
strange man.

'Not all of us,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No, not all of you,' said the strange man emphatically.  'I've
taken two places.  If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal
box 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 my places that it wouldn't do.  I know these things have
been done.  I know they are done every day; but I never was done,
and I never will be.  Those who know me best, best know it;
crush me!' Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell with great
violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in five
seconds, or he'd know the reason why.

'My good sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you will allow me to
observe that this is a very unnecessary display of excitement.  I
have only taken places inside for two.'

'I am glad to hear it,' said the fierce man.  'I withdraw my
expressions.  I tender an apology.  There's my card.  Give me your
acquaintance.'

'With great pleasure, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'We are to be
fellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society
mutually agreeable.'

'I hope we shall,' said the fierce gentleman.  'I know we shall.
I like your looks; they please me.  Gentlemen, your hands and
names.  Know me.'

Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this
gracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded
to 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 in
business as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and that
the individual for whom the second place was taken, was a
personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.

'She's a fine woman,' said Mr. Dowler.  'I am proud of her.  I
have reason.'

'I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,' said Mr. Pickwick,
with a smile.
'You shall,' replied Dowler.  'She shall know you.  She shall
esteem you.  I courted her under singular circumstances.  I won
her through a rash vow.  Thus.  I saw her; I loved her; I proposed;
she refused me.--"You love another?"--"Spare my blushes."--
"I know him."--"You do."--"Very good; if he remains here, I'll
skin him."'

'Lord bless me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.

'Did you skin the gentleman, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, with
a very 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.  My
character was at stake.  I had no alternative.  As an officer in His
Majesty's service, I was bound to skin him.  I regretted the
necessity, but it must be done.  He was open to conviction.  He
saw that the rules of the service were imperative.  He fled.  I
married her.  Here's the coach.  That's her head.'

As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had
just driven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty
face in a bright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on the
pavement, most probably for the rash man himself.  Mr. Dowler
paid his bill, and hurried out with his travelling cap, coat, and
cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure their
places.
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the
back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr.
Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came
up to 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, that
the properiator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence
vith us.'

'How is that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick; 'aren't the names down
on 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.'
As Sam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on
which the proprietor's name usually appears; and there, sure
enough, in gilt letters of a goodly size, was the magic name of
PICKWICK!

'Dear me,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the
coincidence; 'what a very extraordinary thing!'

'Yes, but that ain't all,' said Sam, again directing his master's
attention 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
we stand talking here, we shall lose our places.'

'Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?' exclaimed
Sam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick
prepared 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 have
been commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to
a pugilistic encounter on the spot.

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; 'not on any
account.  Jump up to your seat directly.'

'I am wery much afeered,' muttered Sam to himself, as he
turned away, 'that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or
he'd never ha' stood this so quiet.  I hope that 'ere trial hasn't
broke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad.'  Mr. Weller shook
his head gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration
of the manner in which he took this circumstance to heart,
that he did not speak another word until the coach reached
the Kensington turnpike.  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 the
journey.  Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative
of his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to
Mrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowler
invariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, some remarkable
fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten, or
had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the addenda in every
instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a more wonderful
fellow than he made himself out to be.  Mr. Pickwick and
Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals
conversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and
fascinating person.  So, what between Mr. Dowler's stories, and
Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr. Pickwick's good-humour, and
Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insides contrived to be very
companionable all the way.
The outsides did as outsides always do.  They were very cheerful
and talkative at the beginning of every stage, and very dismal and
sleepy in the middle, and very bright and wakeful again towards
the end.  There was one young gentleman in an India-rubber
cloak, who smoked cigars all day; and there was another young
gentleman in a parody upon a greatcoat, who lighted a good many,
and feeling obviously unsettled after the second whiff, threw them
away when he thought nobody was looking at him.  There was a
third young man on the box who wished to be learned in cattle;
and an old one behind, who was familiar with farming.  There
was a constant succession of Christian names in smock-frocks
and white coats, who were invited to have a 'lift' by the guard,
and who knew every horse and hostler on the road and off it;
and there was a dinner which would have been cheap at half-a-
crown a mouth, if any moderate number of mouths could have
eaten it in the time.  And at 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 mistaken for Westminster boys, only they destroy the
illusion by behaving themselves much better.
Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding
morning, when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a
request to be allowed permission to introduce a friend.  Mr.
Dowler at once followed up the delivery of the card, by bringing
himself and the friend also.

The friend was a charming young man of not much more than
fifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,
black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished
boots.  A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short,
broad, black ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his
left hand; gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and
a large diamond pin set in gold glistened in his shirt frill.  He
had a gold watch, and a gold curb chain with large gold seals;
and he carried a pliant ebony cane with a gold top.  His linen was
of the very whitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the glossiest,
blackest, and curliest.  His snuff was princes' mixture; his scent
BOUQUET DU ROI.  His features were contracted into a perpetual
smile; and his teeth were in such perfect order that it was difficult
at a small distance to tell the real from the false.

'Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Dowler; 'my friend, Angelo Cyrus
Bantam, Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick.  Know each other.'

'Welcome to Ba-ath, Sir.  This is indeed an acquisition.  Most
welcome to Ba-ath, sir.  It is long--very long, Mr. Pickwick,
since you 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 constant
succession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind to
the 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 was
never 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,' rejoined
Mr. Pickwick.  'I really never was here before.'

'Oh, I see,' exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely
pleased; 'yes, yes--good, good--better and better.  You are the
gentleman of whom we have heard.  Yes; we know you, Mr.
Pickwick; we know you.'

'The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,' thought
Mr. Pickwick.  'They have heard all about me.'
'You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,' resumed
Bantam, 'who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking
cold after port wine; who could not be moved in consequence of
acute suffering, and who had the water from the king's bath
bottled at one hundred and three degrees, and sent by wagon to
his bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and the same day
recovered.  Very remarkable!'

Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the supposition
implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it, notwithstanding;
and taking advantage of a moment's silence on the part
of the M.C., begged to introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman,
Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.  An introduction which overwhelmed
the M.C.  with delight and honour.

'Bantam,' said Mr. Dowler, 'Mr. Pickwick and his friends are
strangers.  They must put their names down.  Where's the book?'

'The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba-ath will be at
the Pump Room this morning at two o'clock,' replied the M.C.
'Will you guide our friends to that splendid building, and enable
me to procure their autographs?'

'I will,' rejoined Dowler.  'This is a long call.  It's time to go.  I
shall be here again in an hour.  Come.'

'This is a ball-night,' said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick's
hand, as he rose to go.  'The ball-nights in Ba-ath are moments
snatched from paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty,
elegance, fashion, etiquette, and--and--above all, by the absence
of tradespeople, who are quite inconsistent with paradise, and
who have an amalgamation of themselves at the Guildhall every
fortnight, which is, to say the least, remarkable.  Good-bye,
good-bye!' and protesting all the way downstairs that he was
most satisfied, and most delighted, and most overpowered,
and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C.,
stepped into a very elegant chariot that waited at the door, and
rattled off.

At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escorted
by Dowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote their
names down in the book--an instance of condescension at which
Angelo Bantam was even more overpowered than before.  Tickets
of admission to that evening's assembly were to have been
prepared for the whole party, but as they were not ready, Mr.
Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the contrary
of Angelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o'clock in
the afternoon, to the M.C.'s house in Queen Square.  Having
taken a short walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimous
conclusion that Park Street was very much like the
perpendicular streets a man sees in a dream, which he cannot
get up for the life of him, they returned to the White Hart, and
despatched Sam on the 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 with
great deliberation to Queen Square, whistling as he went along,
several of the most popular airs of the day, as arranged with
entirely new movements for that noble instrument the organ,
either mouth or barrel.  Arriving at the number in Queen Square
to which he had been directed, he left off whistling and gave a
cheerful knock, which was instantaneously answered by a
powdered-headed footman in gorgeous livery, and of symmetrical
stature.

'is this here Mr. Bantam's, old feller?' inquired Sam Weller,
nothing abashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon his
sight in the person of the powdered-headed footman with the
gorgeous 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 say
Mr. Veller's a-waitin', will you?' said Sam.  And saying it, he very
coolly 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 were
lost upon Sam, who was regarding a mahogany umbrella-stand
with every outward token of critical approval.

Apparently his master's reception of the card had impressed
the powdered-headed footman in Sam's favour, for when he
came back from delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and
said that the answer would be ready directly.

'Wery good,' said Sam.  'Tell the old gen'l'm'n not to put
himself in 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 you before.'

'I haven't created any wery surprisin' sensation here, as yet,'
rejoined Sam, 'for me and the other fash'nables only come last night.'

'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-headed
footman, taking Sam's remarks as a high compliment.  'Very
much so indeed.  Do you do anything in this way, Sir?' inquired
the tall footman, producing a small snuff-box with a fox's head
on the top of it.

'Not without sneezing,' replied Sam.

'Why, it IS difficult, sir, I confess,' said the tall footman.  'It
may be 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-headed
footman to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox's head
in his pocket, and hastening with a humble countenance to
Mr. Bantam's 'study.'  By the bye, who ever knew a man who
never read or wrote either, who hadn't got some small back
parlour which 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 small
enclosure.  'It's just possible as exhausted natur' may manage to
surwive it.'

'I hope we shall meet again, Sir,' said the powdered-headed
footman, rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.

'You are wery obligin', sir,' replied Sam.  'Now, don't allow
yourself to be fatigued beyond your powers; there's a amiable
bein'.  Consider what you owe to society, and don't let yourself be
injured by too much work.  For the sake o' your feller-creeturs,
keep yourself as quiet as you can; only think what a loss you
would be!' With these pathetic words, Sam Weller departed.

'A very singular young man that,' said the powdered-headed
footman, looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance which
clearly 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 which
seemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something or
other, 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 in
the same wig, the same teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watch
and seals, the same rings, the same shirt-pin, and the same cane.
The only observable alterations in his appearance were, that he
wore a brighter blue coat, with a white silk lining, black tights,
black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white waistcoat, and was,
if possible, just a thought more scented.

Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict discharge
of the important duties of his all-important office, planted
himself in the room to receive the company.

Bath being full, the company, and the sixpences for tea,
poured in, in shoals.  In the ballroom, the long card-room, the
octagonal card-room, the staircases, and the passages, the hum
of many voices, 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 yet commenced; but the music of soft, tiny footsteps,
with now and then a clear, merry laugh--low and gentle,
but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in Bath or
elsewhere.  Brilliant eyes, lighted up with pleasurable expectation,
gleamed from every side; and, look where you would, some
exquisite form glided gracefully through the throng, and was no
sooner lost, than it was replaced by another as dainty and bewitching.

In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a
vast number of queer old ladies, and decrepit old gentlemen,
discussing all the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish
and gusto which sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure
they derived from the occupation.  Mingled with these groups,
were three or four match-making mammas, appearing to be
wholly absorbed by the conversation in which they were taking
part, but failing not from time to time to cast an anxious sidelong
glance upon their daughters, who, remembering the maternal
injunction to make the best use of their youth, had already
commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying scarves, putting
on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight matters apparently,
but which may be turned to surprisingly good account by
expert practitioners.

Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various
knots of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism
and stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with their
folly and conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects of
general admiration--a wise and merciful dispensation which no
good man will quarrel with.

And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they had
already taken up their positions for the evening, were divers
unmarried ladies past their grand climacteric, who, not dancing
because there were no partners for them, and not playing cards
lest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in the
favourable situation of being able to abuse everybody without
reflecting on themselves.  In short, they could abuse everybody,
because everybody was there.  It was a scene of gaiety, glitter, and
show; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked
floors, girandoles and wax-candles; and in all parts of the scene,
gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiously
to this party, 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 hot
water, and call it tea.  Drink it,' said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice,
directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the little
party, with Mrs. Dowler on his arm.  Into the tea-room Mr.
Pickwick turned; and catching sight of him, Mr. Bantam corkscrewed
his way through the crowd and welcomed him with ecstasy.

'My dear Sir, I am highly honoured.  Ba-ath is favoured.
Mrs. Dowler, you embellish the rooms.  I congratulate you on
your feathers.  Re-markable!'

'Anybody here?' inquired Dowler suspiciously.

'Anybody!  The ELITE of Ba-ath.  Mr. Pickwick, do you see the
old lady 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 the
Dowager Lady Snuphanuph.'

'Is it, indeed?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No less a person, I assure you,' said the Master of the Ceremonies.
'Hush.  Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick.  You see the
splendidly-dressed young man coming this way?'

'The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?'
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'll
speak 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 the
Honourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which
young Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr.
Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been
reflecting what subject his Lordship could talk about best.

'Dear me, no,' replied the M.C.'A mail-cart!  What an excellent
idea.  Re-markable!'

'Gwacious heavens!' said his Lordship, 'I thought evewebody
had seen the new mail-cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest
thing that ever wan upon wheels.  Painted wed, with a
cweam piebald.'

'With a real box for the letters, and all complete,' said the
Honourable 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 mile behind; and confound me if the people didn't wush out
of their cottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know if I wasn't
the post.  Glorwious--glorwious!'

At this anecdote his Lordship laughed very heartily, as did the
listeners, of course.  Then, drawing his arm through that of the
obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.

'Delightful young man, his Lordship,' said the Master of
the Ceremonies.

'So I should think,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick drily.

The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductions
having been made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo
Bantam rejoined Mr. Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.

Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager Lady
Snuphanuph and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-like
appearance, were hovering over an unoccupied card-table; and
they no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy of
Angelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances with each other,
seeing that he was precisely the very person they wanted, to make
up the rubber.

'My dear Bantam,' said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph
coaxingly, 'find us some nice creature to make up this table;
there's a good soul.'  Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking
another way at the moment, so her Ladyship nodded her head
towards him, and frowned expressively.

'My friend Mr. Pickwick, my Lady, will be most happy, I am
sure, 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 escape
impossible, cut.  Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against Lady
Snuphanuph and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby.
As the trump card was turned up, at the commencement of the
second deal, two young ladies hurried into the room, and took
their stations on either side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair,
where they waited patiently until the hand was over.

'Now, Jane,' said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of the
girls, 'what is it?'
'I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngest
Mr. Crawley,' whispered the prettier and younger of the two.

'Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?' replied
the mamma indignantly.  'Haven't you repeatedly heard that his
father has eight hundred a year, which dies with him?  I am
ashamed of you.  Not on any account.'

'Ma,' whispered the other, who was much older than her sister,
and very insipid and artificial, 'Lord Mutanhed has been introduced
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 be
trusted.  He's immensely rich, my dear.  Bless you!' With these
words Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter most
affectionately, 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, Miss
Bolo looked a small armoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider
which was the right one, Lady Snuphanuph would throw
herself back in her chair, and smile with a mingled glance of
impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs.
Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as
much as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin.
Then, at the end of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a
dismal countenance and reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had
not returned that diamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade,
or finessed the heart, or led through the honour, or brought out
the ace, or played up to the king, or some such thing; and in
reply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly
unable to plead any justification whatever, having by this time
forgotten all about the game.  People came and looked on, too,
which made Mr. Pickwick nervous.  Besides all this, there was a
great deal of distracting conversation near the table, between
Angelo Bantam and the two Misses Matinter, who, being single
and singular, paid great court to the Master of the Ceremonies, in
the hope of getting a stray partner now and then.  All these things,
combined with the noises and interruptions of constant comings
in and goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather badly; the
cards were against him, also; and when they left off at ten minutes
past eleven, Miss Bolo rose from the table considerably agitated,
and went straight home, in a flood of tears and a sedan-chair.

Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that they
had scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick
accompanied them to the White Hart, and having soothed his
feelings with something hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost
simultaneously.


CHAPTER XXXVI
THE CHIEF FEATURES OF WHICH WILL BE FOUND TO BE
  AN AUTHENTIC VERSION OF THE LEGEND OF PRINCE
  BLADUD, AND A MOST EXTRAORDINARY CALAMITY THAT
  BEFELL Mr. WINKLE


As Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two months in
Bath, he deemed it advisable to take private lodgings for himself
and friends for that period; and as a favourable opportunity
offered for their securing, on moderate terms, the upper portion
of a house in the Royal Crescent, which was larger than they
required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to relieve them of a
bedroom and sitting-room.  This proposition was at once
accepted, and in three days' time they were all located in their
new abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters with the
utmost assiduity.  Mr. Pickwick took them systematically.  He
drank a quarter of a pint before breakfast, and then walked up a
hill; and another quarter of a pint after breakfast, and then
walked down a hill; and, after every fresh quarter of a pint,
Mr. Pickwick declared, in the most solemn and emphatic terms,
that he felt a great deal better; whereat his friends were very
much delighted, though they had not been previously aware that
there was anything the matter with him.

The Great Pump Room is a spacious saloon, ornamented with
Corinthian pillars, and a music-gallery, and a Tompion clock,
and a statue of Nash, and a golden inscription, to which all the
water-drinkers should attend, for it appeals to them in the cause
of a deserving charity.  There is a large bar with a marble vase,
out of which the pumper gets the water; and there are a number
of yellow-looking tumblers, out of which the company get it;
and it is a most edifying and satisfactory sight to behold the
perseverance and gravity with which they swallow it.  There are
baths near at hand, in which a part of the company wash themselves;
and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainder
on their having done so.  There is another pump room, into which
infirm ladies and gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishing
variety of chairs and chaises, that any adventurous individual
who goes in with the regular number of toes, is in imminent danger
of coming out without them; and there is a third, into which the quiet
people go, for it is less noisy than either.  There is an immensity of
promenading, on crutches and off, with sticks and without, and a
great deal of conversation, and liveliness, and pleasantry.

Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwick
among the number, met each other in the pump room, took their
quarter of a pint, and walked constitutionally.  At the afternoon's
promenade, Lord Mutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton,
the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, and
all the great people, and all the morning water-drinkers, met in
grand assemblage.  After this, they walked out, or drove out, or
were pushed out in bath-chairs, and met one another again.  After
this, the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms, and met divisions
of the mass.  After this, they went home.  If it were theatre-night,
perhaps they met at the theatre; if it were assembly-night, they
met at the rooms; and if it were neither, they met the next day.
A very pleasant routine, with perhaps a slight tinge of sameness.

Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent in
this manner, making entries in his journal, his friends having
retired to bed, 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, as the party isn't expected to be over till late; so I was
thinking that if you 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 his writing.

In half an hour's time the entries were concluded.  Mr. Pickwick
carefully rubbed the last page on the blotting-paper, shut up the
book, wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of his coat tail,
and opened the drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away.
There were a couple of sheets of writing-paper, pretty closely
written over, in the inkstand drawer, and they were folded so,
that the title, which was in a good round hand, was fully disclosed
to him.  Seeing from this, that it was no private document;
and as it seemed to relate to Bath, and was very short: Mr. Pick-
wick unfolded it, lighted his bedroom candle that it might burn
up well by the time he finished; and drawing his chair nearer the
fire, read as follows--


  THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD

'Less than two hundred years ago, on one of the public baths
in this city, there appeared an inscription in honour of its mighty
founder, the renowned Prince Bladud.  That inscription is now erased.

'For many hundred years before that time, there had been
handed down, from age to age, an old legend, that the illustrious
prince being afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping a
rich harvest of knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of his
royal father, and consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs.
Among the herd (so said the legend) was a pig of grave and
solemn countenance, with whom the prince had a fellow-feeling
--for he too was wise--a pig of thoughtful and reserved demeanour;
an animal superior to his fellows, whose grunt was
terrible, and whose bite was sharp.  The young prince sighed
deeply as he looked upon the countenance of the majestic swine;
he thought of his royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.

'This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud.
Not in summer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves,
and did even in those distant ages (which is a proof that the light
of civilisation had already begun to dawn, though feebly), but in
the cold, sharp days of winter.  His coat was ever so sleek, and
his complexion so clear, that the prince resolved to essay the
purifying qualities of the same water that his friend resorted to.
He made the trial.  Beneath that black mud, bubbled the hot
springs of Bath.  He washed, and was cured.  Hastening to his
father's court, he paid his best respects, and returning quickly
hither, founded this city and 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 imprudently
taken a bath at too high a temperature, and the natural philosopher
was no more!  He was succeeded by Pliny, who also fell 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
a mighty monarch.  The earth shook when he walked--he was so
very stout.  His people basked in the light of his countenance--it
was so red and glowing.  He was, indeed, every inch a king.  And
there were a good many inches of him, too, for although he was
not very tall, he was a remarkable size round, and the inches that
he wanted in height, he made up in circumference.  If any
degenerate monarch of modern times could be in any way compared
with him, I should say the venerable King Cole would be
that illustrious potentate.

'This good king had a queen, who eighteen years before, had
had a son, who was called Bladud.  He was sent to a preparatory
seminary in his father's dominions until he was ten years old, and
was then despatched, in charge of a trusty messenger, to a
finishing school at Athens; and as there was no extra charge for
remaining during the holidays, and no notice required previous
to the removal of a pupil, there he remained for eight long years,
at the expiration of which time, the king his father sent the lord
chamberlain over, to settle the bill, and to bring him home;
which, the lord chamberlain doing, was received with shouts, and
pensioned immediately.

'When King Lud saw the prince his son, and found he had
grown up such a fine young man, he perceived what a grand
thing it would be to have him married without delay, so that his
children might be the means of perpetuating the glorious race of
Lud, down to the very latest ages of the world.  With this view,
he sent a special embassy, composed of great noblemen who had
nothing particular to do, and wanted lucrative employment, to a
neighbouring king, and demanded his fair daughter in marriage
for his son; stating at the same time that he was anxious to be on
the most affectionate terms with his brother and friend, but that
if they couldn't agree in arranging this marriage, he should be
under the unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom and
putting his eyes 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 for all his goodness and magnanimity, and that his
daughter was quite ready to be married, whenever Prince Bladud
liked to come and fetch her.

'This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole nation
was transported with joy.  Nothing was heard, on all sides, but
the sounds of feasting and revelry--except the chinking of money
as it was paid in by the people to the collector of the royal
treasures, to defray the expenses of the happy ceremony.  It was
upon this occasion that King Lud, seated on the top of his throne
in full council, rose, in the exuberance of his feelings, and commanded
the lord chief justice to order in the richest wines and
the court minstrels--an act of graciousness which has been,
through the ignorance of traditionary historians, attributed to
King Cole, in those celebrated lines in which his Majesty is
represented as

     Calling 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
a dishonest exaltation of the virtues of King Cole.

'But, in the midst of all this festivity and rejoicing, there was
one individual present, who tasted not when the sparkling wines
were poured forth, and who danced not, when the minstrels
played.  This was no other than Prince Bladud himself, in honour
of whose happiness a whole people were, at that very moment,
straining alike their throats and purse-strings.  The truth was,
that the prince, forgetting the undoubted right of the minister for
foreign affairs to fall in love on his behalf, had, contrary to every
precedent of policy and diplomacy, already fallen in love on his
own account, and privately contracted himself unto the fair
daughter of a noble Athenian.

'Here we have a striking example of one of the manifold
advantages of civilisation and refinement.  If the prince had lived
in later days, he might at once have married the object of his
father's choice, and then set himself seriously to work, to relieve
himself of the burden which rested heavily upon him.  He might have
endeavoured to break her heart by a systematic course of insult and
neglect; or, if the spirit of her sex, and a proud consciousness
of her many wrongs had upheld her under this ill-treatment, he
might have sought to take her life, and so get rid of her effectually.
But neither mode of relief suggested itself to Prince Bladud; so he
solicited a private audience, and told his father.

'it is an old prerogative of kings to govern everything but their
passions.  King Lud flew into a frightful rage, tossed his crown up
to the ceiling, and caught it again--for in those days kings kept
their crowns on their heads, and not in the Tower--stamped the
ground, rapped his forehead, wondered why his own flesh and
blood rebelled against him, and, finally, calling in his guards,
ordered the prince away to instant Confinement in a lofty turret;
a course of treatment which the kings of old very generally
pursued towards their sons, when their matrimonial inclinations
did not happen to point to the same quarter as their own.

'When Prince Bladud had been shut up in the lofty turret for
the greater part of a year, with no better prospect before his
bodily eyes than a stone wall, or before his mental vision than
prolonged imprisonment, 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, lest the poor fellow (who had a family) should be
considered privy to his flight, and punished accordingly by the
infuriated king.

'The monarch was frantic at the loss of his son.  He knew not
on whom to vent his grief and wrath, until fortunately bethinking
himself of the lord chamberlain who had brought him home, he
struck off his pension and his head together.

'Meanwhile, the young prince, effectually disguised, wandered
on foot through his father's dominions, cheered and supported
in all his hardships by sweet thoughts of the Athenian maid, who
was the innocent cause of his weary trials.  One day he stopped
to rest in a country village; and seeing that there were gay dances
going forward on the green, and gay faces passing to and fro,
ventured to inquire of a reveller who stood near him, the reason
for this rejoicing.

'"Know you not, O stranger," was the reply, "of the recent
proclamation of our gracious king?"

'"Proclamation!  No.  What proclamation?" rejoined the
prince--for he had travelled along the by and little-frequented
ways, and knew nothing of what had passed upon the public
roads, such as they were.

'"Why," replied the peasant, "the foreign lady that our prince
wished 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 the lady his father chose, who they say is as beautiful as
the noonday sun.  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, and
the cold pale moon; through the dry heat of noon, and the damp
cold of night; in the gray light of morn, and the red glare
of eve.  So heedless was he of time or object, that being
bound for Athens, he wandered as far out of his way as Bath.

'There was no city where Bath stands, then.  There was no
vestige of human habitation, or sign of man's resort, to bear the
name; but there was the same noble country, the same broad
expanse 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 of its morning, lose their ruggedness and asperity, and seem
all ease and softness.  Moved by the gentle beauty of the scene,
the prince sank upon the green turf, and bathed his swollen feet
in his tears.

'"Oh!" said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, and
mournfully raising his eyes towards the sky, "would that my
wanderings might end here!  Would that these grateful tears with
which I now mourn hope misplaced, and love despised, might
flow in 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 a
promptness, in some cases, extremely awkward.  The ground
opened beneath the prince's feet; he sank into the chasm; and
instantaneously it closed upon his head for ever, save where his
hot tears welled up through the earth, and where they have
continued to gush forth ever since.

'It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly
ladies and 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 they derive much strength and comfort.  This is most
complimentary to the virtue of Prince Bladud's tears, and strongly
corroborative of the veracity of this legend.'


Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at the
end of this little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced it in
the inkstand drawer, and then, with a countenance expressive of
the utmost weariness, lighted his chamber candle, and went
upstairs to bed.
He stopped at Mr. Dowler's door, according to custom, 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. Dowler
resumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise
to sit up till his wife came home.

There are few things more worrying than sitting up for somebody,
especially if that somebody be at a party.  You cannot help
thinking how quickly the time passes with them, which drags so
heavily with you; and the more you think of this, the more your
hopes of their speedy arrival decline.  Clocks tick so loud, too,
when you are sitting up alone, and you seem as if you had an
under-garment of cobwebs on.  First, something tickles your
right knee, and then the same sensation irritates your left.  You
have no sooner 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 it off--as there is no doubt you would, if you could.
Eyes, too, are mere personal inconveniences; and the wick of one
candle gets an inch and a half long, while you are snuffing the
other.  These, and various other little nervous annoyances,
render sitting up for a length of time after everybody else has
gone to bed, anything but a cheerful amusement.

This was just Mr. Dowler's opinion, as he sat before the fire,
and felt honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at the
party who were keeping him up.  He was not put into better
humour 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
so stopped at home.  At length, after several droppings asleep,
and fallings forward towards the bars, and catchings backward
soon enough to prevent being branded in the face, Mr. Dowler
made up his mind that he would throw himself on the bed in the
back room and think--not sleep, of course.

'I'm a heavy sleeper,' said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself on
the 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.
Fainter now, though.  A little fainter.  He's turning the corner.
Ah!' When Mr. Dowler arrived at this point, he turned the
corner at which he had been long hesitating, and fell fast asleep.

Just as the clock struck three, there was blown into the crescent
a sedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside, borne by one short, fat
chairman, and one long, thin one, who had had much ado to
keep their bodies perpendicular: to say nothing of the chair.
But on that high ground, and in the crescent, which the wind
swept round and round as if it were going to tear the paving
stones up, its fury was tremendous.  They were very glad to set
the chair down, and give a good 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 short
chairman, warming his hands at the attendant link-boy's torch.

'I wish he'd give 'em a squeeze and wake 'em,' observed the
long one.

'Knock again, will you, if you please,' cried Mrs. Dowler from
the chair.  'Knock two or three times, if you please.'

The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon as
possible; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five most
startling double-knocks, of eight or ten knocks a-piece, while the
long man went into the road, and looked up at the windows for
a light.

Nobody came.  It was all as silent and dark as ever.

'Dear me!' said Mrs. Dowler.  'You must knock again, if you
please.'
'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
it ever 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, without producing
the smallest effect.  The tall man, growing very impatient,
then relieved him, and kept on perpetually knocking double-
knocks of two loud knocks each, like an insane postman.

At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club,
and that the members being very refractory, the chairman was
obliged to hammer the table a good deal to preserve order; then
he had a confused notion of an auction room where there were
no bidders, and the auctioneer was buying everything in; and
ultimately he began to think it just within the bounds of possibility
that somebody might be knocking at the street door.  To
make quite certain, however, he remained quiet in bed for ten
minutes or so, and listened; and when he had counted two or
three-and-thirty knocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a
great deal of credit for being so wakeful.

'Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!' went the knocker.

Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what
could possibly be the matter, and hastily putting on his stockings
and slippers, folded his dressing-gown round him, lighted a flat
candle from the rush-light that was burning in the fireplace, and
hurried downstairs.

'Here's somebody comin' at last, ma'am,' said the
short chairman.

'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 long
man, with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer was
a footman; 'but open the door.'

'Come, look sharp, timber eyelids,' added the other encouragingly.

Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command mechanically,
opened the door a little, and peeped out.  The first thing he
saw, was the red glare of the link-boy's torch.  Startled by the
sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he hastily threw the
door wide open, and holding the candle above his head, stared
eagerly before him, not quite certain whether what he saw was a
sedan-chair or a fire-engine.  At this instant there came a violent
gust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr. Winkle felt himself
irresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the door blew to, with
a loud crash.

'Well, young man, now you HAVE done it!' said the short chairman.

Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady's face at the window of
the sedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his
might and main, and called frantically upon the chairman to
take the chair away again.

'Take it away, take it away,' cried Mr. Winkle.  'Here's somebody
coming out of another house; put me into the chair.  Hide
me!  Do something with me!'

All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time he
raised his hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing-gown
in a most unpleasant manner.

'The people are coming down the crescent now.  There are
ladies with 'em; cover me up with something.  Stand before me!'
roared Mr. Winkle.  But the chairmen were too much exhausted
with laughing to afford him the slightest assistance, and the ladies
were every moment approaching nearer and nearer.
Mr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a
few doors off.  He threw away the extinguished candle, which, all
this time he had held above his head, and fairly bolted into the
sedan-chair where Mrs. Dowler was.

Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices
at last; and, only waiting to put something smarter on her head
than her nightcap, ran down into the front drawing-room to make
sure that it was the right party.  Throwing up the window-sash
as Mr. Winkle was rushing into the chair, she no sooner caught
sight of what was going forward below, than she raised a vehement
and dismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to get up
directly, for his wife was running away with another gentleman.

Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as an
India-rubber ball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at one
window just as Mr. Pickwick threw up the other, when the first
object that met the gaze of both, was Mr. Winkle bolting into the
sedan-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!' And breaking from the shrieking landlady, and from Mr.
Pickwick, the indignant husband seized a small supper-knife, and
tore into the street.
But Mr. Winkle didn't wait for him.  He no sooner heard the
horrible threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of
the sedan, quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing
off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and tore round the
crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the watchman.  He kept
ahead; the door was open as he came round the second time; he
rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's face, mounted to his bedroom,
locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest of drawers, and a
table against it, and packed up a few necessaries ready for flight
with the first ray of morning.

Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through
the keyhole, his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle's
throat next day; and, after a great confusion of voices in the
drawing-room, amidst which that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly
heard endeavouring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to their
several 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 next
chapter.



CHAPTER XXXVII
HONOURABLY ACCOUNTS FOR Mr. WELLER'S ABSENCE,
  BY DESCRIBING A SOIREE TO WHICH HE WAS INVITED
  AND WENT; ALSO RELATES HOW HE WAS ENTRUSTED BY
  Mr. PICKWICK WITH A PRIVATE MISSION OF DELICACY
  AND IMPORTANCE


'Mr. Weller,' said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning of this very
eventful day, 'here's a letter for you.'

'Wery odd that,' said Sam; 'I'm afeerd there must be somethin'
the matter, for I don't recollect any gen'l'm'n in my circle 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
perduce a letter out o' any friend o' mine,' replied Sam, shaking
his head dubiously; 'nothin' less than a nat'ral conwulsion, as the
young gen'l'm'n observed ven he wos took with fits.  It can't be
from the gov'ner,' said Sam, looking at the direction.  'He always
prints, I know, 'cos he learnt writin' from the large bills in the
booking-offices.  It's a wery strange thing now, where this here
letter can ha' come from.'

As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do when
they 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, thought
perhaps he might as well look at the inside, and try to find out
from 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 their compliments
to Mr. Weller, and requests the pleasure of his company
this evening, to a friendly swarry, consisting of a boiled leg of
mutton with the usual trimmings.  The swarry to be on table at
half-past nine o'clock punctually.'


This was inclosed in another note, which ran thus--


'Mr. John Smauker, the gentleman who had the pleasure of
meeting Mr. Weller at the house of their mutual acquaintance,
Mr. Bantam, a few days since, begs to inclose Mr. Weller the
herewith invitation.  If Mr. Weller will call on Mr. John Smauker
at nine o'clock, Mr. John Smauker will have the pleasure of
introducing Mr. 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 the
words 'airy bell,' as an instruction to the bearer.

'Vell,' said Sam, 'this is comin' it rayther powerful, this is.  I
never heerd a biled leg o' mutton called a swarry afore.  I wonder
wot they'd call a roast one.'

However, without waiting to debate the point, Sam at once
betook himself into the presence of Mr. Pickwick, and requested
leave of absence for that evening, which was readily granted.
With this permission and the street-door key, Sam Weller issued
forth a little before the appointed time, and strolled leisurely
towards Queen Square, which he no sooner gained than he had
the satisfaction of beholding Mr. John Smauker leaning his
powdered head against a lamp-post at a short distance off,
smoking a cigar through an amber tube.

'How do you do, Mr. Weller?' said Mr. John Smauker, raising
his hat gracefully with one hand, while he gently waved the other
in a condescending manner.  'How do you do, Sir?'

'Why, reasonably conwalessent,' replied Sam.  'How do YOU
find yourself, my dear feller?'

'Only so so,' said Mr. John Smauker.

'Ah, you've been a-workin' too hard,' observed Sam.  'I was
fearful you would; it won't do, you know; you must not give way
to that '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 your
destiny leads you into public life, and public station, you must
expect to be subjected to temptations which other people is free
from, 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
drank hisself to death in somethin' less than a quarter.'
Mr. John Smauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel
being drawn between himself and the deceased gentleman in
question; but, as Sam's face was in the most immovable state of
calmness, he thought better of it, and looked affable again.
'Perhaps we had better be walking,' said Mr. Smauker,
consulting a copper timepiece which dwelt at the bottom of a deep
watch-pocket, and was raised to the surface by means of a black
string, with a copper key at the other end.

'P'raps we had,' replied Sam, 'or they'll overdo the swarry, and
that'll spile it.'

'Have you drank the waters, Mr. Weller?' inquired his
companion, 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'd a wery strong flavour o' warm flat irons.'

'That IS the killibeate, Mr. Weller,' observed Mr. John Smauker
contemptuously.

'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't say.'  And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker,
Sam Weller began to whistle.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Weller,' said Mr. John Smauker,
agonised at the exceeding ungenteel sound, 'will you take my arm?'

'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 my
pockets, if it's all the same to you.'  As Sam said this, he suited
the action to the word, and whistled far louder than before.

'This way,' said his new friend, apparently much relieved as
they turned down a by-street; 'we shall soon be there.'

'Shall we?' said Sam, quite unmoved by the announcement of
his 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 the
gentlemen rather high at first, you know, but they'll soon come round.'

'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 hard upon 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
dogs among us, and they will have their joke, you know; but you
mustn'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's
head, 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, the
moment he got behind him, relapsed into a series of the very
broadest and most unmitigated grins, and manifested other
demonstrations of being in a highly enviable state of inward merriment.

Crossing the greengrocer's shop, and putting their hats on the
stairs in the little passage behind it, they walked into a small
parlour; 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 the
parlour, covered with three or four cloths of different ages and
dates of washing, arranged to look as much like one as the
circumstances of the case would allow.  Upon these were laid
knives and forks for six or eight people.  Some of the knife
handles were green, others red, and a few yellow; and as all the
forks were black, the combination of colours was exceedingly
striking.  Plates for a corresponding number of guests were
warming behind the fender; and the guests themselves were
warming before it: the chief and most important of whom appeared
to be a stoutish gentleman in a bright crimson coat with long
tails, vividly red breeches, and a cocked hat, who was standing
with his back to the fire, and had apparently just entered, for
besides retaining his cocked hat on his head, he carried in his
hand a high stick, such as gentlemen of his profession usually
elevate in a sloping position over the roofs of carriages.

'Smauker, my lad, your fin,' said the gentleman with the
cocked hat.

Mr. Smauker dovetailed the top joint of his right-hand little
finger into that of the gentleman with the cocked hat, and said he
was charmed to see him looking so well.

'Well, they tell me I am looking pretty blooming,' said
the man with the cocked hat, 'and it's a wonder, too.  I've
been following our old woman about, two hours a day, for
the last fortnight; and if a constant contemplation of the
manner in which she hooks-and-eyes that infernal lavender-
coloured old gown of hers behind, isn't enough 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
one gentleman in a yellow waistcoat, with a coach-trimming
border, whispered a neighbour in green-foil smalls, that Tuckle
was in spirits to-night.

'By the bye,' said Mr. Tuckle, 'Smauker, my boy, you--'
The remainder of the sentence was forwarded into Mr. John
Smauker'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 a
familiar nod.  'Hope you're not cold, Weller.'

'Not by no means, Blazes,' replied Sam.  'It 'ud be a wery chilly
subject as felt cold wen you stood opposite.  You'd save coals if
they put you behind the fender in the waitin'-room at a public
office, you would.'

As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion to
Mr. Tuckle's crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic for
a few seconds, but gradually edging away from the fire, broke
into a forced 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
and bye.'

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival
of a gentleman in orange-coloured plush, accompanied by
another selection in purple cloth, with a great extent of stocking.
The new-comers having been welcomed by the old ones, Mr.
Tuckle put the question that supper be ordered in, which was
carried unanimously.

The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table a
boiled leg of mutton, hot, with caper sauce, turnips, and potatoes.
Mr. Tuckle took the chair, and was supported at the other end
of the board by the gentleman in orange plush.  The greengrocer
put on a pair of wash-leather gloves to hand the plates with, and
stationed 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 great
humility, 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 great asperity.

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' replied the crestfallen greengrocer, 'I
didn'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
with me, 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 in
the orange plush.

'And a low thief,' added the gentleman in the green-foil smalls.

'And an unreclaimable blaygaird,' added the gentleman in purple.

The poor greengrocer bowed very humbly while these little
epithets were bestowed upon him, in the true spirit of the very
smallest tyranny; and when everybody had said something to
show his superiority, Mr. Tuckle proceeded to carve the leg of
mutton, and to help the company.

This important business of the evening had hardly commenced,
when the door was thrown briskly open, and another
gentleman in a 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, an
appointment 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 a
promese to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past ten, and she
is such an uncauminly fine gal, that I raly hadn't the 'art to
disappint her.  No offence to the present company, Sir, but a
petticut, sir--a petticut, Sir, is irrevokeable.'

'I begin to suspect there's something in that quarter,' said
Tuckle, as the new-comer took his seat next Sam, 'I've remarked,
once or twice, that she leans very heavy on your shoulder when
she gets in and out of the carriage.'

'Oh, raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn't,' said the man in blue.
'It's not fair.  I may have said to one or two friends that she wos a
very divine creechure, and had refused one or two offers without
any hobvus 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, and adjusting his coat cuffs, nodded and frowned as
if there were more behind, which he could say if he liked, but was
bound in honour to suppress.

The man in blue being a light-haired, stiff-necked, free and easy
sort of footman, with a swaggering air and pert face, had
attracted Mr. Weller's special attention at first, but when he
began to come out in this way, Sam felt more than ever disposed
to cultivate his acquaintance; so he launched himself into the
conversation at once, with characteristic independence.

'Your health, Sir,' said Sam.  'I like your conversation much.
I think it's wery pretty.'

At this the man in blue smiled, as if it were a compliment he
was well used to; but looked approvingly on Sam at the same
time, and said he hoped he should be better acquainted with him,
for without any flattery at all he seemed to have the makings of a
very nice 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.

'That 'ere young lady,' replied Sam.'She knows wot's wot, she
does.  Ah! I see.'  Mr. Weller closed one eye, and shook his head
from side to side, in a manner which was highly gratifying to the
personal vanity of the gentleman in blue.

'I'm afraid your a cunning fellow, Mr. Weller,' said that
individual.

'No, no,' said Sam.  'I leave all that 'ere to you.  It's a great deal
more 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
bull vos a-comin' up the lane.'

'Well, well, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'I think she
has 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
the favoured gentleman in blue, drawing a toothpick from his
waistcoat pocket.

'Not exactly,' said Sam.  'There's no daughters at my place,
else o' course I should ha' made up to vun on 'em.  As it is, I don't
think I can do with anythin' under a female markis.  I might keep
up with a young 'ooman o' large property as hadn't a title, if she
made wery fierce love to me.  Not else.'

'Of course not, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'one
can't be troubled, you know; and WE know, Mr. Weller--we,
who are men of the world--that a good uniform must work its
way with the women, sooner or later.  In fact, that's the only
thing, between you 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 were
placed round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked best,
before the public-house shut up.  The gentleman in blue, and the
man 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 greengrocer a 'desp'rate willin,' and ordered a large bowl of
punch--two circumstances which seemed to raise him very much
in the opinion of the selections.

'Gentlemen,' said the man in blue, with an air of the most
consummate 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,
as the gentleman who had introduced Mr. Weller into that
company, begged to inform him that the word he had just made use
of, was unparliamentary.

'Which word was that 'ere, Sir?' inquired Sam.
'Mississes, Sir,' replied Mr. John Smauker, with an alarming
frown.  'We don't recognise such distinctions here.'

'Oh, wery good,' said Sam; 'then I'll amend the obserwation
and call 'em the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.'

Some doubt appeared to exist in the mind of the gentleman in
the green-foil smalls, whether the chairman could be legally
appealed to, as 'Blazes,' but as the company seemed more
disposed to stand upon their own rights than his, the question
was not raised.  The man with the cocked hat breathed short, and
looked long at Sam, but apparently thought it as well to say
nothing, 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 himself upon his feet, all at once by a
violent effort, said he was desirous of offering a few remarks to
the company, whereupon the person in the cocked hat had no
doubt that the company would be very happy to hear any
remarks that the man in the long coat might wish to offer.

'I feel a great delicacy, gentlemen, in coming for'ard,' said the
man in the long coat, 'having the misforchune to be a coachman,
and being only admitted as a honorary member of these agreeable
swarrys, but I do feel myself bound, gentlemen--drove into a
corner, if I may use the expression--to make known an afflicting
circumstance which has come to my knowledge; which has
happened I may say within the soap of my everyday contemplation.
Gentlemen, our friend Mr. Whiffers (everybody looked at
the individual in orange), our friend Mr. Whiffers has resigned.'

Universal astonishment fell upon the hearers.  Each gentleman
looked in his neighbour's face, and then transferred his glance to
the upstanding coachman.

'You may well be sapparised, gentlemen,' said the coachman.
'I will not wenchure to state the reasons of this irrepairabel loss
to the service, but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state them himself,
for the improvement and imitation of his admiring friends.'

The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffers
explained.  He said he certainly could have wished to have continued
to hold the appointment he had just resigned.  The uniform
was extremely rich and expensive, the females of the family
was most agreeable, and the duties of the situation was not, he
was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service that was
required of him, being, that he should look out of the hall
window as much as possible, in company with another gentleman,
who had also resigned.  He could have wished to have spared that
company the painful and disgusting detail on which he was about
to enter, but as the explanation had been demanded of him, he
had no alternative but to state, boldly and distinctly, that he had
been required to eat cold meat.

It is impossible to conceive the disgust which this avowal
awakened 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
outrage might be traced to his own forbearing and accommodating
disposition.  He had a distinct recollection of having once
consented to eat salt butter, and he had, moreover, on an occasion
of sudden sickness in the house, so far forgotten himself as to
carry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor.  He trusted he had not
lowered himself in the good opinion of his friends by this frank
confession of his faults; and he hoped the promptness with which
he had resented the last unmanly outrage on his feelings, to
which he had referred, would reinstate him in their good opinion,
if he had.

Mr. Whiffers's address was responded to, with a shout of
admiration, and the health of the interesting martyr was drunk
in a most enthusiastic manner; for this, the martyr returned
thanks, and proposed their visitor, Mr. Weller--a gentleman
whom he had not the pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with,
but who was the friend of Mr. John Smauker, which was a
sufficient letter of recommendation to any society of gentlemen
whatever, or wherever.  On this account, he should have been
disposed to have given Mr. Weller's health with all the honours,
if his friends had been drinking wine; but as they were taking
spirits by way of a change, and as it might be inconvenient to
empty a tumbler at every toast, he should propose that the
honours be understood.

At the conclusion of this speech, everybody took a sip in
honour of Sam; and Sam having ladled out, and drunk, two full
glasses of punch in honour of himself, returned thanks in a neat speech.

'Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,' said Sam, ladling
away at the punch in the most unembarrassed manner possible,
'for this here compliment; which, comin' from sich a quarter, is
wery overvelmin'.  I've heered a good deal on you as a body, but
I will say, that I never thought you was sich uncommon nice men
as I find you air.  I only hope you'll take care o' yourselves, and
not compromise nothin' o' your dignity, which is a wery charmin'
thing to see, when one's out a-walkin', and has always made me
wery happy to look at, ever since I was a boy about half as high
as the brass-headed stick o' my wery respectable friend, Blazes,
there.  As to the wictim of oppression in the suit o' brimstone, all
I can say of him, is, that I hope he'll get jist as good a berth as he
deserves; in vitch case it's wery little cold swarry as ever he'll be
troubled with agin.'

Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his speech
having been vociferously applauded, the company broke up.

'Wy, you don't mean to say you're a-goin' old feller?' said
Sam Weller 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'd
resign 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 aside
the cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and said he
would 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 was
about 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,
danced the frog hornpipe among the shells on the table, while the
gentleman in blue played an accompaniment upon an ingenious
musical instrument formed of a hair-comb upon a curl-paper.
At last, when the punch was all gone, and the night nearly so,
they sallied forth to see each other home.  Mr. Tuckle no sooner
got into the open air, than he was seized with a sudden desire to
lie on the curbstone; Sam thought it would be a pity to contradict
him, and so let him have his own way.  As the cocked hat would
have been spoiled if left there, Sam very considerately flattened it
down on the head of the gentleman in blue, and putting the big
stick in his hand, 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 of
rising, Mr. Pickwick walked downstairs completely dressed, and
rang the bell.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared in reply
to the 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 to
apprehend 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 a
most 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 slightest
previous communication with me,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'And
is gone, I know not where.'

'He should ha' stopped and fought it out, Sir,' replied Sam
contemptuously.  'It wouldn't take much to settle that 'ere
Dowler, Sir.'

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I may have my doubts of his
great bravery and determination also.  But however that may be,
Mr. Winkle is gone.  He must be found, Sam.  Found and brought
back 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 immediately
afterwards was heard to shut the street door.  In two hours' time
he returned with so much coolness as if he had been despatched
on the most ordinary message possible, and brought the information
that an individual, in every respect answering Mr. Winkle's
description, had gone over to Bristol that morning, by the branch
coach from the Royal Hotel.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, 'you're a capital
fellow; 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, knock
him 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 very
extraordinary course he has thought proper to pursue.'

'I will, Sir,' replied Sam.

'You'll tell him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that if he does not come
back to this very house, with you, he will come back with me, for
I will come and fetch him.'

'I'll mention that 'ere, Sir,' rejoined Sam.

'You think you can find him, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
earnestly in his face.

'Oh, I'll find him if he's anyvere,' rejoined Sam, with
great confidence.

'Very well,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Then the sooner you go the
better.'

With these instructions, Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money
in the hands of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start for
Bristol immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive.

Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet-bag, and was ready for
starting.  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 think
necessary.  You have my orders.'

Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head
from the door, set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart.



CHAPTER XXXVIII
HOW Mr. WINKLE, WHEN HE STEPPED OUT OF THE
  FRYING-PAN, WALKED GENTLY AND COMFORTABLY INTO
  THE FIRE


The ill-starred gentleman who had been the unfortunate cause of
the unusual noise and disturbance which alarmed the inhabitants of
the Royal Crescent in manner and form already described, after
passing a night of great confusion and anxiety, left the roof
beneath which his friends still slumbered, bound he knew not whither.
The excellent and considerate feelings which prompted Mr. Winkle to
take this step can never be too highly appreciated or too warmly
extolled.  'If,' reasoned Mr. Winkle with himself--'if this Dowler
attempts (as I have no doubt he will) to carry into execution his
threat of personal violence against myself, it will be incumbent on me
to call him out.  He has a wife; that wife is attached to, and
dependent on him.  Heavens!  If I should kill him in the blindness of my
wrath, what would be my feelings ever afterwards!'  This painful
consideration operated so powerfully on the feelings of the humane
young man, as to cause his knees to knock together, and his
countenance to exhibit alarming manifestations of inward
emotion.  Impelled by such reflections, he grasped his carpet-
bag, and creeping stealthily downstairs, shut the detestable street
door with as little noise as possible, and walked off.  Bending his
steps towards the Royal Hotel, he found a coach on the point of
starting for Bristol, and, thinking Bristol as good a place for his
purpose as any other he could go to, he mounted the box, and
reached his place of destination in such time as the pair of horses,
who went the whole stage and back again, twice a day or more,
could be reasonably supposed to arrive there.
He took up his quarters at the Bush, and designing to postpone
any communication by letter with Mr. Pickwick until it was
probable that Mr. Dowler's wrath might have in some degree
evaporated, walked forth to view the city, which struck him as
being a shade more dirty than any place he had ever seen.  Having
inspected the docks and shipping, and viewed the cathedral, he
inquired his way to Clifton, and being directed thither, took the
route which was pointed out to him.  But as the pavements of
Bristol are not the widest or cleanest upon earth, so its streets are
not altogether the straightest or least intricate; and Mr. Winkle,
being greatly puzzled by their manifold windings and twistings,
looked about him for a decent shop in which he could apply
afresh for counsel and instruction.

His eye fell upon a newly-painted tenement which had been
recently converted into something between a shop and a private
house, and which a red lamp, projecting over the fanlight of the
street door, would have sufficiently announced as the residence
of a medical practitioner, even if the word 'Surgery' had not been
inscribed in golden characters on a wainscot ground, above the
window 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
drawers and bottles were; and finding nobody there, knocked
with a half-crown on the counter, to attract the attention of anybody
who might happen to be in the back parlour, which he
judged to be the innermost and peculiar sanctum of the establishment,
from the repetition of the word surgery on the door--
painted in white letters 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 the second, 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's pleasure.

'I am sorry to trouble you, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle, 'but will you
have the goodness to direct me to--'

'Ha! ha! ha!' roared the studious young gentleman, throwing
the large book up into the air, and catching it with great dexterity
at the very moment when it threatened to smash to atoms all the
bottles on the counter.  'Here's a start!'

There was, without doubt; for Mr. Winkle was so very much
astonished at the extraordinary behaviour of the medical gentleman,
that he involuntarily retreated towards the door, and looked
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 for
me yet; I may attend half the old women in Bristol, if I've decent
luck.  Get out, you mouldy old villain, get out!'  With this adjuration,
which was addressed to the large book, the medical gentleman
kicked the volume with remarkable agility to the farther end
of the shop, and, pulling off his green spectacles, grinned
the identical grin of Robert Sawyer, Esquire, formerly of Guy's
Hospital in the Borough, 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
his pressure.

'I wonder you didn't see the name,' said Bob Sawyer, calling
his friend's attention to the outer door, on which, in the same
white paint, 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, I thought you were the King's-taxes.'

'No!' said Mr. Winkle.

'I did, indeed,' responded Bob Sawyer, 'and I was just going to
say that I wasn't at home, but if you'd leave a message I'd be sure
to give it to myself; for he don't know me; no more does the
Lighting and Paving.  I think the Church-rates guesses who I am,
and I know the Water-works does, because I drew a tooth of his
when I first came down here.  But come in, come in!'  Chattering
in this way, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed Mr. Winkle into the back
room, where, amusing himself by boring little circular caverns in
the chimney-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 not
expect.  What a very nice place you have here!'

'Pretty well, pretty well,' replied Bob Sawyer.  'I PASSED, soon
after that precious party, and my friends came down with the
needful for this business; so I put on a black suit of clothes, and
a pair 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 few
years you might put all the profits in a wine-glass, and cover 'em
over with a gooseberry leaf.'
'You cannot surely mean that?' said Mr. Winkle.  'The stock itself--'
'Dummies, my dear boy,' said Bob Sawyer; 'half the drawers
have nothing in 'em, and the other half don't open.'

'Nonsense!' said Mr. Winkle.

'Fact--honour!' returned Bob Sawyer, stepping out into the
shop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by divers
hard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit drawers.
'Hardly anything real in the shop but the leeches, and THEY are
second-hand.'

'I shouldn't have thought it!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, much surprised.

'I hope not,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'else where's the use of
appearances, eh?  But what will you take?  Do as we do?  That's
right.  Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cupboard, and
bring out the patent digester.'

Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced from
the 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
like to 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 liquor
with great relish.  'Ben, the pipkin!'

Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth, from the same hiding-place, a
small brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided himself
upon, particularly because it looked so business-like.  The water
in the professional pipkin having been made to boil, in course of
time, by various little shovelfuls of coal, which Mr. Bob Sawyer
took out of a practicable window-seat, labelled 'Soda Water,'
Mr. Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the conversation was
becoming general, when it was interrupted by the entrance into
the shop of a boy, in a sober gray livery and a gold-laced hat,
with a small covered basket under his arm, whom Mr. Bob
Sawyer immediately hailed with, 'Tom, you vagabond, come here.'

The boy presented himself accordingly.

'You've been stopping to "over" all the posts in Bristol, you
idle young scamp!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'No, sir, I haven't,' replied the boy.

'You had better not!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a threatening
aspect.  'Who do you suppose will ever employ a professional
man, when they see his boy playing at marbles in the gutter, or
flying the garter in the horse-road?  Have you no feeling for your
profession, you groveller?  Did you leave all the medicine?'
'Yes, Sir.'

'The powders for the child, at the large house with the new
family, 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
quite so bad as you would have me believe, either.  There is SOME
medicine to be sent out.'

Mr. Bob Sawyer peeped into the shop to see that no stranger
was within hearing, and leaning forward to Mr. Winkle, said, in a
low tone--

'He leaves it all at the wrong houses.'

Mr. Winkle looked perplexed, and Bob Sawyer and his friend laughed.

'Don't you see?' said Bob.  'He goes up to a house, rings the
area bell, pokes a packet of medicine without a direction into the
servant's hand, and walks off.  Servant takes it into the dining-
parlour; master opens it, and reads the label: "Draught to be
taken at bedtime--pills as before--lotion as usual--the powder.
From Sawyer's, late Nockemorf's.  Physicians' prescriptions
carefully prepared," and all the rest of it.  Shows it to his wife--
she reads the label; it goes down to the servants--THEY read the
label.  Next day, boy calls: "Very sorry--his mistake--immense
business--great many parcels to deliver--Mr. Sawyer's
compliments--late Nockemorf."  The name gets known, and that's
the thing, my boy, in the medical way.  Bless your heart, old
fellow, it's better than all the advertising in the world.  We have
got one four-ounce bottle that'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 Bob
Sawyer, with great glee.  'The lamplighter has eighteenpence a
week to pull the night-bell for ten minutes every time he comes
round; and my boy always rushes into the church just before the
psalms, when the people have got nothing to do but look about
'em, and calls me out, with horror and dismay depicted on his
countenance.  "Bless my soul," everybody says, "somebody taken
suddenly ill!  Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent for.  What a business
that young man has!"'

At the termination of this disclosure of some of the mysteries
of medicine, Mr. Bob Sawyer and his friend, Ben Allen, threw
themselves back in their respective chairs, and laughed boisterously.
When they had enjoyed the joke to their heart's content, the
discourse changed to topics in which Mr. Winkle was more
immediately interested.

We think we have hinted elsewhere, that Mr. Benjamin Allen
had a way of becoming sentimental after brandy.  The case is not
a peculiar one, as we ourself can testify, having, on a few
occasions, had to deal with patients who have been afflicted in a
similar manner.  At this precise period of his existence, Mr. Benjamin
Allen had perhaps a greater predisposition to maudlinism
than he had ever known before; the cause of which malady was
briefly this.  He had been staying nearly three weeks with Mr. Bob
Sawyer; Mr. Bob Sawyer was not remarkable for temperance,
nor was Mr. Benjamin Allen for the ownership of a very strong
head; the consequence was that, during the whole space of time
just mentioned, Mr. Benjamin Allen had been wavering between
intoxication partial, and intoxication complete.

'My dear friend,' said Mr. Ben Allen, taking advantage of
Mr. Bob Sawyer's temporary absence behind the counter,
whither he had 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
begged to know whether he could do anything to alleviate the
sorrows of the suffering student.

'Nothing, my dear boy, nothing,' said Ben.  'You recollect
Arabella, Winkle?  My sister Arabella--a little girl, Winkle, with
black eyes--when we were down at Wardle's?  I don't know
whether you happened to notice her--a nice little girl, Winkle.
Perhaps my features may recall her countenance to your recollection?'

Mr. Winkle required nothing to recall the charming Arabella
to his mind; and it was rather fortunate he did not, for the
features of her brother Benjamin would unquestionably have
proved but an indifferent refresher to his memory.  He answered,
with as much calmness as he could assume, that he perfectly
remembered the young lady referred to, and sincerely trusted she
was in good health.

'Our friend Bob is a delightful fellow, Winkle,' was the only
reply of Mr. Ben Allen.

'Very,' said Mr. Winkle, not much relishing this close
connection 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's a 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 to
express much wonderment at this extraordinary coincidence,
marvellous as it was; so Mr. Ben Allen, after a tear or two, went
on to say that, notwithstanding all his esteem and respect and
veneration for his friend, Arabella had unaccountably and
undutifully evinced the most determined antipathy to his person.

'And I think,' said Mr. Ben Allen, in conclusion.  'I think
there's a 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 warlike
manner above his head, inflicted a savage blow on an imaginary
skull, and wound up by saying, in a very expressive manner, that
he only wished he could guess; that was all.

'I'd show him what I thought of him,' said Mr. Ben Allen.
And round 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 length
mustered up resolution to inquire whether Miss Allen was in Kent.

'No, no,' said Mr. Ben Allen, laying aside the poker, and
looking very cunning; 'I didn't think Wardle's exactly the place
for a headstrong girl; so, as I am her natural protector and
guardian, our parents being dead, I have brought her down into
this part of the 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 take her 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
thumb over 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 the
highest degree of excitement and anxiety.  The suspected prior
attachment rankled in his heart.  Could he be the object of it?
Could it be for him that the fair Arabella had looked scornfully
on the sprightly Bob Sawyer, or had he a successful rival?  He
determined to see her, cost what it might; but here an insurmountable
objection presented itself, for whether the explanatory
'over that way,' and 'down there,' of Mr. Ben Allen, meant three
miles off, or thirty, or three hundred, he could in no wise guess.

But he had no opportunity of pondering over his love just then,
for Bob Sawyer's return was the immediate precursor of the
arrival of a meat-pie from the baker's, of which that gentleman
insisted on his staying to partake.  The cloth was laid by an
occasional charwoman, who officiated in the capacity of Mr. Bob
Sawyer's housekeeper; and a third knife and fork having been
borrowed from the mother of the boy in the gray livery (for
Mr. Sawyer's domestic arrangements were as yet conducted on
a limited 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 in
the shop, and proceeded to brew a reeking jorum of rum-punch
therein, stirring up and amalgamating the materials with a pestle
in a very creditable and apothecary-like manner.  Mr. Sawyer,
being a bachelor, had only one tumbler in the house, which was
assigned to Mr. Winkle as a compliment to the visitor, Mr. Ben
Allen being accommodated with a funnel with a cork in the
narrow end, and Bob Sawyer contented himself with one of those
wide-lipped crystal vessels inscribed with a variety of cabalistic
characters, in which chemists are wont to measure out their
liquid drugs in compounding prescriptions.  These preliminaries
adjusted, the punch was tasted, and pronounced excellent; and it
having been arranged that Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen should be
considered at liberty to fill twice to Mr. Winkle's once, they
started fair, with great satisfaction and good-fellowship.

There was no singing, because Mr. Bob Sawyer said it wouldn't
look professional; but to make amends for this deprivation there
was so much talking and laughing that it might have been heard,
and very likely was, at the end of the street.  Which conversation
materially lightened the hours and improved the mind of Mr.
Bob Sawyer's boy, who, instead of devoting the evening to his
ordinary occupation of writing his name on the counter, and
rubbing it out again, peeped through the glass door, and thus
listened and looked on at the same time.

The mirth of Mr. Bob Sawyer was rapidly ripening into the
furious, Mr. Ben Allen was fast relapsing into the sentimental,
and the punch had well-nigh disappeared altogether, when the
boy hastily running in, announced that a young woman had just
come over, to say that Sawyer late Nockemorf was wanted
directly, a couple of streets off.  This broke up the party.  Mr. Bob
Sawyer, understanding the message, after some twenty repetitions,
tied a wet cloth round his head to sober himself, and, having
partially succeeded, put on his green spectacles and issued forth.
Resisting all entreaties to stay till he came back, and finding it
quite impossible to engage Mr. Ben Allen in any intelligible
conversation on the subject nearest his heart, or indeed on
any other, Mr. Winkle took his departure, and returned to the
Bush.

The anxiety of his mind, and the numerous meditations which
Arabella had awakened, prevented his share of the mortar of
punch producing that effect upon him which it would have had
under other circumstances.  So, after taking a glass of soda-water
and brandy at the bar, he turned into the coffee-room, dispirited
rather than elevated by the occurrences of the evening.
Sitting in front of the fire, with his back towards him, was a
tallish gentleman in a greatcoat: the only other occupant of the
room.  It was rather a cool evening for the season of the year, and
the gentleman drew his chair aside to afford the new-comer a
sight of the fire.  What were Mr. Winkle's feelings when, in doing
so, he disclosed to view the face and figure of the vindictive and
sanguinary Dowler!

Mr. Winkle's first impulse was to give a violent pull at the
nearest bell-handle, but that unfortunately happened to be
immediately behind Mr. Dowler's head.  He had made one step
towards it, before he checked himself.  As he did so, Mr. Dowler
very hastily drew back.

'Mr. Winkle, Sir.  Be calm.  Don't strike me.  I won't bear it.  A
blow!  Never!' said Mr. Dowler, looking meeker than Mr. Winkle
had 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 I
consent to sit down beside, or opposite you, without the presence
of a waiter, I must be secured by some further understanding.
You used a threat against me last night, Sir, a dreadful threat,
Sir.'  Here Mr. 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 been
explained.  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 his
hand or not, and almost fearing that it was demanded in order
that he might be taken at an advantage, 'really, Sir, I--'

'I know what you mean,' interposed Dowler.  'You feel
aggrieved.  Very natural.  So should I.  I was wrong.  I beg your
pardon.  Be friendly.  Forgive me.'  With this, Dowler fairly
forced his hand upon Mr. Winkle, and shaking it with the utmost
vehemence, declared he was a fellow of extreme spirit, and he had
a higher opinion of him than ever.

'Now,' said Dowler, 'sit down.  Relate it all.  How did you find
me?  When did you follow?  Be frank.  Tell me.'

'It's quite accidental,' replied Mr. Winkle, greatly perplexed
by the curious and unexpected nature of the interview.  'Quite.'

'Glad of it,' said Dowler.  'I woke this morning.  I had forgotten
my 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.
"It was a rash one," said she.  "It was," said I.  "I'll apologise.
Where is he?"'

'Who?' inquired Mr. Winkle.

'You,' replied Dowler.  'I went downstairs.  You were not to be
found.  Pickwick looked gloomy.  Shook his head.  Hoped no
violence would be committed.  I saw it all.  You felt yourself
insulted.  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
I was.  Pressing business called me here.  You were not satisfied.
You followed.  You required a verbal explanation.  You were
right.  It's all over now.  My business is finished.  I go back
to-morrow.  Join me.'

As Dowler progressed in his explanation, Mr. Winkle's
countenance grew more and more dignified.  The mysterious
nature of the commencement of their conversation was
explained; Mr. Dowler had as great an objection to duelling as
himself; in short, this blustering and awful personage was one of
the most egregious cowards in existence, and interpreting Mr.
Winkle's absence through the medium of his own fears, had
taken the same step as himself, and prudently retired until all
excitement of feeling 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 at
the same time, said so with an air that left Mr. Dowler no alternative
but to infer that if he had not been, something most horrible
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 two belligerents parted
for the night, with many protestations of eternal friendship.

About half-past twelve o'clock, when Mr. Winkle had been
revelling some twenty minutes in the full luxury of his first sleep,
he was suddenly awakened by a loud knocking at his chamber
door, which, being repeated with increased vehemence, caused
him to start up in bed, and inquire who was there, and what the
matter was.

'Please, Sir, here's a young man which says he must see you
directly,' responded the voice of the chambermaid.

'A young man!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle.

'No mistake about that 'ere, Sir,' replied another voice through
the keyhole; 'and if that wery same interestin' young creetur ain't
let in vithout delay, it's wery possible as his legs vill enter afore
his countenance.'  The young man gave a gentle kick at one of the

lower panels of the door, after he had given utterance to this hint,
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
voice dogmatically.

Mr. Winkle, not much doubting who the young man was,
unlocked the door; which he had no sooner done than Mr.
Samuel Weller entered with great precipitation, and carefully
relocking it on 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.
Winkle indignantly.  'Get out, sir, this instant.  What do you
mean, Sir?'

'What do I mean,' retorted Sam; 'come, Sir, this is rayther too
rich, as the young lady said when she remonstrated with the
pastry-cook, arter he'd sold her a pork pie as had got nothin' but
fat inside.  What do I mean!  Well, that ain't a bad 'un, that ain't.'

'Unlock that door, and leave this room immediately, Sir,' said
Mr. Winkle.

'I shall leave this here room, sir, just precisely at the wery
same moment as you leaves it,' responded Sam, speaking in a
forcible manner, and seating himself with perfect gravity.  'If I
find it necessary to carry you away, pick-a-back, o' course I shall
leave it the least bit o' time possible afore you; but allow me to
express a hope as you won't reduce me to extremities; in saying
wich, I merely quote wot the nobleman said to the fractious
pennywinkle, ven he vouldn't come out of his shell by means of a
pin, and he conseqvently began to be afeered that he should be
obliged to crack him in the parlour door.'  At the end of this
address, which was unusually lengthy for him, Mr. Weller
planted his hands on his knees, and looked full in Mr. Winkle's
face, with an expression of countenance which showed that he
had not the remotest intention 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 inwolving
our precious governor in all sorts o' fanteegs, wen he's made up
his mind to go through everythink for principle.  You're far
worse nor Dodson, Sir; and as for Fogg, I consider him a born
angel to you!'  Mr. Weller having accompanied this last sentiment
with an emphatic slap on each knee, folded his arms with a look
of great disgust, and threw himself back in his chair, as if
awaiting the criminal's defence.

'My good fellow,' said Mr. Winkle, extending his hand--his
teeth chattering all the time he spoke, for he had been standing,
during the whole of Mr. Weller's lecture, in his night-gear--'my
good fellow, I respect your attachment to my excellent friend,
and I 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
a respectful shake at the same time--'well, so you ought to be,
and I am very glad to find you air; for, if I can help it, I won't
have him put 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?'
urged Mr. Winkle, greatly surprised.

'Not unless you particklerly wish it,' replied Sam; 'but I
mustn't leave this here room.  The governor's orders wos peremptory.'

'Nonsense, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle, 'I must stop here two or
three days; and more than that, Sam, you must stop here too,
to assist me in gaining an interview with a young lady--Miss
Allen, Sam; you remember her--whom I must and will see before
I leave Bristol.'

But in reply to each of these positions, Sam shook his head
with great firmness, and energetically replied, 'It can't be done.'

After a great deal of argument and representation on the part
of Mr. Winkle, however, and a full disclosure of what had passed
in the interview with Dowler, Sam began to waver; and at length
a compromise was effected, of which the following were the main
and principal conditions:--

That Sam should retire, and leave Mr. Winkle in the undisturbed
possession of his apartment, on the condition that he had
permission to lock the door on the outside, and carry off the key;
provided always, that in the event of an alarm of fire, or other
dangerous contingency, the door should be instantly unlocked.
That a letter should be written to Mr. Pickwick early next
morning, and forwarded per Dowler, requesting his consent to
Sam and Mr. Winkle's remaining at Bristol, for the purpose and
with the object already assigned, and begging an answer by the
next coach--, if favourable, the aforesaid parties to remain
accordingly, and if not, to return to Bath immediately on the
receipt thereof.  And, lastly, that Mr. Winkle should be understood
as 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 door
and departed.

He had nearly got downstairs, when he stopped, and drew the
key from his pocket.

'I quite forgot about the knockin' down,' said Sam, half
turning back.  'The governor distinctly said it was to be done.
Amazin' stupid o' me, that 'ere!  Never mind,' said Sam, brightening
up, 'it's easily done to-morrow, anyvays.'

Apparently much consoled by this reflection, Mr. Weller once
more deposited the key in his pocket, and descending the remainder
of the stairs without any fresh visitations of conscience,
was soon, in common with the other inmates of the house, buried
in profound repose.



CHAPTER XXXIX
Mr. SAMUEL WELLER, BEING INTRUSTED WITH A MISSION
  OF LOVE, PROCEEDS TO EXECUTE IT; WITH WHAT SUCCESS
  WILL HEREINAFTER APPEAR


During the whole of next day, Sam kept Mr. Winkle steadily in
sight, fully determined not to take his eyes off him for one
instant, until he should receive express instructions from the
fountain-head.  However disagreeable Sam's very close watch and
great vigilance were to Mr. Winkle, he thought it better to bear
with them, than, by any act of violent opposition, to hazard
being carried away by force, which Mr. Weller more than once
strongly hinted was the line of conduct that a strict sense of duty
prompted him to pursue.  There is little reason to doubt that Sam
would very speedily have quieted his scruples, by bearing
Mr. Winkle back to Bath, bound hand and foot, had not Mr.
Pickwick's prompt attention to the note, which Dowler had
undertaken to deliver, forestalled any such proceeding.  In
short, at eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Pickwick himself
walked into the coffee-room of the Bush Tavern, and told Sam
with a smile, to his very great relief, that he had done quite
right, 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 consent
to Sam's employment in this matter, that you are quite in earnest
and 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
her at our excellent and hospitable friend's, Winkle.  It would be
an ill return to tamper lightly, and without due consideration,
with this young lady's affections.  I'll not allow that, sir.  I'll not
allow it.'

'I have no such intention, indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Winkle
warmly.  'I have considered the matter well, for a long time, and
I feel that my happiness is bound up in her.'

'That's wot we call tying it up in a small parcel, sir,' interposed
Mr. 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
of the best feelings of our nature; to which Sam replied, 'That he
wouldn'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 'em mentioned.'

Mr. Winkle then recounted what had passed between himself
and Mr. Ben Allen, relative to Arabella; stated that his object was
to gain an interview with the young lady, and make a formal
disclosure of his passion; and declared his conviction, founded
on certain dark hints and mutterings of the aforesaid Ben, that,
wherever she was at present immured, it was somewhere near the
Downs.  And this was his whole stock of knowledge or suspicion
on the subject.

With this very slight clue to guide him, it was determined that
Mr. Weller should start next morning on an expedition of
discovery; it was also arranged that Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
Winkle, who were less confident of their powers, should parade
the town meanwhile, and accidentally drop in upon Mr. Bob
Sawyer in the course of the day, in the hope of seeing or hearing
something of the young lady's whereabouts.

Accordingly, next morning, Sam Weller issued forth upon his
quest, in no way daunted by the very discouraging prospect
before him; and away he walked, up one street and down another
--we were going to say, up one hill and down another, only it's
all uphill at Clifton--without meeting with anything or anybody
that tended to throw the faintest light on the matter in hand.
Many were the colloquies into which Sam entered with grooms
who were airing horses on roads, and nursemaids who were
airing children in lanes; but nothing could Sam elicit from either
the first-mentioned or the last, which bore the slightest reference
to the object of his artfully-prosecuted inquiries.  There were a
great many young ladies in a great many houses, the greater part
whereof were shrewdly suspected by the male and female
domestics to be deeply attached to somebody, or perfectly ready
to become so, if opportunity afforded.  But as none among these
young ladies was Miss Arabella Allen, the information left
Sam at exactly the old point 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 on
with both hands in that part of the country, and came to a shady
by-place, about which were sprinkled several little villas of quiet
and secluded appearance.  Outside a stable door at the bottom of
a long back lane without a thoroughfare, a groom in undress was
idling about, apparently persuading himself that he was doing
something with a spade and a wheel-barrow.  We may remark, in
this 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 one
else, especially as he was very tired with walking, and there was a
good large stone just opposite the wheel-barrow; so he strolled
down the lane, and, seating himself on the stone, opened a
conversation with the ease and freedom for which he was remarkable.

'Mornin', old friend,' said Sam.

'Arternoon, you mean,' replied the groom, casting a surly look
at 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 so uncommon
cheerful, and seem altogether so lively, that it does vun's
heart good to see you.'

The surly groom looked surlier still at this, but not sufficiently
so to produce any effect upon Sam, who immediately inquired,
with a countenance of great anxiety, whether his master's name
was 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 @ither,' said the groom.

'Vell,' replied Sam, 'then I'm mistaken, and he hasn't got the
honour o' my acquaintance, which I thought he had.  Don't wait
here out o' compliment to me,' said Sam, as the groom wheeled
in the 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 be
cheap at that.  Make my compliments indoors.  Tell 'em not to
vait dinner for me, and say they needn't mind puttin' any by, for
it'll be cold afore I come in.'

In reply to this, the groom waxing very wroth, muttered a
desire to damage somebody's person; but disappeared without
carrying it into execution, slamming the door angrily after him,
and wholly unheeding Sam's affectionate request, that he would
leave him a lock of his hair before he went.

Sam continued to sit on the large stone, meditating upon what
was best to be done, and revolving in his mind a plan for knocking
at all the doors within five miles of Bristol, taking them at a
hundred and fifty or two hundred a day, and endeavouring to
find Miss Arabella by that expedient, when accident all of a
sudden threw in his way what he might have sat there for a
twelvemonth and yet not found without it.

Into the lane where he sat, there opened three or four garden
gates, belonging to as many houses, which though detached from
each other, were only separated by their gardens.  As these were
large and long, and well planted with trees, the houses were not
only at some distance off, but the greater part of them were
nearly concealed from view.  Sam was sitting with his eyes fixed
upon the dust-heap outside the next gate to that by which the
groom had disappeared, profoundly turning over in his mind the
difficulties of his present undertaking, when the gate opened, and
a female servant came out into the lane to shake some bedside carpets.

Sam was so very busy with his own thoughts, that it is probable
he would have taken no more notice of the young woman than
just raising his head and remarking that she had a very neat and
pretty figure, if his feelings of gallantry had not been most
strongly roused by observing that she had no one to help her, and
that the carpets seemed too heavy for her single strength.  Mr.
Weller was a gentleman of great gallantry in his own way, and he
no sooner remarked this circumstance than he hastily rose from
the large stone, 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 you
shake them carpets by yourself.  Let me help you.'

The young lady, who had been coyly affecting not to know
that a gentleman was so near, turned round as Sam spoke--no
doubt (indeed she said so, afterwards) to decline this offer from a
perfect stranger--when instead of speaking, she started back, and
uttered a half-suppressed scream.  Sam was scarcely less staggered,
for in the countenance of the well-shaped female servant, he
beheld the very 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 we
precisely say what reply he did make.  We merely know that after
a short pause Mary said, 'Lor, do adun, Mr. Weller!' and that his
hat had fallen off a few moments before--from both of which
tokens we should be disposed to infer that one kiss, or more, had
passed between the parties.

'Why, how did you come here?' said Mary, when the conversation
to which this interruption had been offered, was
resumed.

'O' course I came to look arter you, my darlin',' replied Mr.
Weller; for once permitting his passion to get the better of
his veracity.

'And how did you know I was here?' inquired Mary.  'Who
could have told you that I took another service at Ipswich, and
that they afterwards 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, 'it
warn'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's
manner grew extremely affectionate--'Mary, my dear, I've got
another affair in hand as is wery pressin'.  There's one o' my
governor'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'larly
comfoozled, and done over vith it.'

'Lor!' interposed Mary.

'Yes,' said Sam; 'but that's nothin' if we could find out the
young 'ooman;' and here Sam, with many digressions upon the
personal beauty of Mary, and the unspeakable tortures he had
experienced 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
vill neither; and here am I a-walkin' about like the wandering
Jew--a sportin' character you have perhaps heerd on Mary, my
dear, as vos 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 door
which the sulky groom had locked after him.  'Why, it's that very
house; 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 this intelligence
that he found it absolutely necessary to cling to his fair
informant for support; and divers little love passages had passed
between them, before he was sufficiently collected to return to
the subject.

'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' state proposed 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
to deliver.'

'Ah,' said Mary, 'but you can't deliver it now, because she only
walks in the garden in the evening, and then only for a very little
time; she never goes out, without the old lady.'

Sam ruminated for a few moments, and finally hit upon the
following plan of operations; that he should return just at dusk
--the time at which Arabella invariably took her walk--and,
being admitted by Mary into the garden of the house to which she
belonged, would contrive to scramble up the wall, beneath the
overhanging boughs of a large pear-tree, which would effectually
screen him from observation; would there deliver his message,
and arrange, if possible, an interview on behalf of Mr. Winkle for
the ensuing evening at the same hour.  Having made this arrangement
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 little
pieces of carpet--at least, there may be no great harm in the
shaking, but the folding is a very insidious process.  So long as the
shaking lasts, and the two parties are kept the carpet's length
apart, it is as innocent an amusement as can well be devised;
but when the folding begins, and the distance between them gets
gradually 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 do not know, to a nicety, how many pieces of carpet were
folded in this instance, but we can venture to state that as many
pieces as there were, so many times did Sam kiss the pretty housemaid.

Mr. Weller regaled himself with moderation at the nearest
tavern until it was nearly dusk, and then returned to the lane
without the thoroughfare.  Having been admitted into the
garden by Mary, and having received from that lady sundry
admonitions concerning the safety of his limbs and neck, Sam
mounted into the pear-tree, to wait until Arabella should come
into sight.

He waited so long without this anxiously-expected event
occurring, that he began to think it was not going to take place
at all, when he heard light footsteps upon the gravel, and
immediately afterwards beheld Arabella walking pensively down
the garden.  As soon as she came nearly below the tree, Sam
began, by way of gently indicating his presence, to make sundry
diabolical noises similar to those which would probably be
natural to a person of middle age who had been afflicted with a
combination of inflammatory sore throat, croup, and whooping-
cough, from his earliest infancy.

Upon this, the young lady cast a hurried glance towards the
spot whence the dreadful sounds proceeded; and her previous
alarm being not at all diminished when she saw a man among the
branches, she would most certainly have decamped, and alarmed
the house, had not fear fortunately deprived her of the power of
moving, and caused her to sink down on a garden seat, which
happened by good luck to be near at hand.

'She's a-goin' off,' soliloquised Sam in great perplexity.  'Wot
a thing it is, as these here young creeturs will go a-faintin' avay
just ven 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 coolness
of the open air, or some recollection of Mr. Weller's voice,
that revived Arabella, matters not.  She raised her head and
languidly inquired, 'Who's that, and what do you want?'

'Hush,' said Sam, swinging himself on to the wall, and crouching
there in as small a compass as he could reduce himself to,
'only me, miss, only me.'

'Mr. Pickwick's servant!' said Arabella earnestly.

'The wery same, miss,' replied Sam.  'Here's Mr. Vinkle
reg'larly sewed up vith desperation, miss.'

'Ah!' said Arabella, drawing nearer the wall.

'Ah, indeed,' said Sam.  'Ve thought ve should ha' been
obliged to strait-veskit him last night; he's been a-ravin' all day;
and he says if he can't see you afore to-morrow night's over, he
vishes he may 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
his word, and it's my opinion he'll do it, miss.  He's heerd all
about you from the sawbones in barnacles.'

'From my brother!' said Arabella, having some faint recognition
of 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's the gov'nor's opinion that if you don't see him wery quick,
the sawbones as we've been a-speakin' on, 'ull get as much extra
lead in his head as'll rayther damage the dewelopment o' the
orgins if they 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 house
alone.  My brother is so unkind, so unreasonable!  I know how
strange my talking thus to you may appear, Mr. Weller, but I am
very, very unhappy--' and here poor Arabella wept so bitterly
that Sam 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, that I'm not only ready but villin' to do anythin' as'll make
matters agreeable; 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 his wristbands, at the imminent hazard of falling off the
wall in so doing, to intimate his readiness to set to work immediately.

Flattering as these professions of good feeling were, Arabella
resolutely declined (most unaccountably, as Sam thought) to
avail herself of them.  For some time she strenuously refused to
grant Mr. Winkle the interview Sam had so pathetically requested;
but at length, when the conversation threatened to be
interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of a third party, she
hurriedly gave him to understand, with many professions of
gratitude, that it was barely possible she might be in the garden
an hour later, next evening.  Sam understood this perfectly well;
and Arabella, bestowing upon him one of her sweetest smiles,
tripped gracefully away, leaving Mr. Weller in a state of very
great admiration of her charms, both personal and mental.

Having descended in safety from the wall, and not forgotten
to devote a few moments to his own particular business in the
same department, Mr. Weller then made the best of his way back
to the Bush, where his prolonged absence had occasioned much
speculation and some alarm.

'We must be careful,' said Mr. Pickwick, after listening
attentively to Sam's tale, 'not for our sakes, but for that of the
young lady.  We must be very cautious.'

'WE!' said Mr. Winkle, with marked emphasis.

Mr. Pickwick's momentary look of indignation at the tone of
this remark, subsided into his characteristic expression of
benevolence, 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
very imprudent step.  If I am present at the meeting--a mutual
friend, who is old enough to be the father of both parties--the
voice of calumny can never be raised against her hereafter.'

Mr. Pickwick's eyes lightened with honest exultation at his
own foresight, as he spoke thus.  Mr. Winkle was touched by this
little trait of his delicate respect for the young PROTEGEE of his
friend, and took 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 shawl
ready, and order a conveyance to be at the door to-morrow
evening, rather earlier than is absolutely necessary, in order that
we may be in good time.'

Mr. Weller touched his hat, as an earnest of his obedience,
and withdrew 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
his seat on the box by the driver.  They alighted, as had been
agreed on, about a quarter of a mile from the place of rendezvous,
and desiring the coachman to await their return, proceeded the
remaining distance on foot.

It was at this stage of the undertaking that Mr. Pickwick, with
many 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, and the
great mechanical beauty of which he proceeded to explain to
Mr. Winkle, as they walked along, to the no small surprise of the
few stragglers they met.

'I should have been the better for something of this kind, in
my last garden expedition, at night; eh, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick,
looking good-humouredly round at his follower, who was
trudging behind.

'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
more useful arter the candle's gone out, than wen it's alight.'

Mr. Pickwick appeared struck by Sam's remarks, for he put
the lantern into his pocket again, and they walked on in silence.

'Down here, Sir,' said Sam.  'Let me lead the way.  This is the
lane, Sir.'

Down the lane they went, and dark enough it was.  Mr. Pickwick
brought out the lantern, once or twice, as they groped their
way along, and threw a very brilliant little tunnel of light before
them, about a foot in diameter.  It was very pretty to look at, but
seemed to have the effect of rendering surrounding objects
rather darker than before.

At length they arrived at the large stone.  Here Sam recommended
his master and Mr. Winkle to seat themselves, while
he reconnoitred, and ascertained whether Mary was yet in waiting.

After an absence of five or ten minutes, Sam returned to say
that the gate was opened, and all quiet.  Following him with
stealthy tread, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle soon found themselves
in the garden.  Here everybody said, 'Hush!' a good many
times; and that being done, no one seemed to have any very
distinct 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
thing to be done, sir, will be for Mr. Weller to give you a hoist up
into the tree, and perhaps Mr. Pickwick will have the goodness
to see that nobody comes up the lane, while I watch at the other
end of the garden.  Goodness gracious, what's that?'

'That 'ere blessed lantern 'ull be the death on us all,' exclaimed
Sam 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't
mean 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,' said
Sam.  'Shut it up, sir, can't you?'

'It's the most extraordinary lantern I ever met with, in all my
life!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, greatly bewildered by the effects
he had so unintentionally produced.  'I never saw such a powerful
reflector.'

'It'll be vun too powerful for us, if you keep blazin' avay in
that manner, sir,' replied Sam, as Mr. Pickwick, after various
unsuccessful efforts, managed to close the slide.  'There's the
young lady's footsteps.  Now, Mr. Winkle, sir, up vith you.'

'Stop, stop!' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I must speak to her first.
Help me up, Sam.'

'Gently, Sir,' said Sam, planting his head against the wall, and
making 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 supernatural
in a gentleman of his years and weight, contrived to get upon
Sam's back; and Sam gently raising himself up, and Mr. Pickwick
holding on fast by the top of the wall, while Mr. Winkle
clasped him tight by the legs, they contrived by these means to
bring his spectacles just above the level of the coping.

'My dear,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking over the wall, and
catching 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
to go 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. Pickwick
soothingly.  '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
can conweniently 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 have
allowed my young friend to see you in this clandestine way, if the
situation in which you are placed had left him any alternative;
and, lest the impropriety of this step should cause you any
uneasiness, my love, it may be a satisfaction to you, to know that
I am present.  That's all, my dear.'

'Indeed, Mr. Pickwick, I am very much obliged to you for your
kindness and consideration,' replied Arabella, drying her tears
with her handkerchief.  She would probably have said much more,
had not Mr. Pickwick's head disappeared with great swiftness, in
consequence of a false step on Sam's shoulder which brought
him suddenly 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 and ardour of youth.  Mr. Winkle himself, inspired by
the occasion, was on the wall in a moment, merely pausing to
request Sam to be careful 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 garden
door.  '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 my
days.  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 an eloquence worthy even of Mr. Pickwick himself.

While these things were going on in the open air, an elderly
gentleman of scientific attainments was seated in his library, two
or three houses off, writing a philosophical treatise, and ever and
anon moistening his clay and his labours with a glass of claret
from a venerable-looking bottle which stood by his side.  In the
agonies of composition, the elderly gentleman looked sometimes
at the carpet, sometimes at the ceiling, and sometimes at the wall;
and when neither carpet, ceiling, nor wall afforded the requisite
degree of inspiration, he looked out of the window.

In one of these pauses of invention, the scientific gentleman
was gazing abstractedly on the thick darkness outside, when he
was very much surprised by observing a most brilliant light glide
through the air, at a short distance above the ground, and almost
instantaneously vanish.  After a short time the phenomenon was
repeated, not once or twice, but several times; at last the scientific
gentleman, laying down his pen, began to consider to what
natural causes 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; they were not fireflies; they were not fireworks.  What could
they be?  Some extraordinary and wonderful phenomenon of
nature, which no philosopher had ever seen before; something
which it had been reserved for him alone to discover, and which
he should immortalise his name by chronicling for the benefit of
posterity.  Full of this idea, the scientific gentleman seized his
pen again, and committed to paper sundry notes of these
unparalleled appearances, with the date, day, hour, minute, and
precise second at which they were visible: all of which were to
form the data of a voluminous treatise of great research and deep
learning, which should astonish all the atmospherical wiseacres
that ever drew breath in any part of the civilised globe.

He threw himself back in his easy-chair, wrapped in
contemplations of his future greatness.  The mysterious light appeared
more brilliantly than before, dancing, to all appearance, up and
down the lane, crossing from side to side, and moving in an
orbit as eccentric as comets themselves.

The scientific gentleman was a bachelor.  He had no wife to call
in and astonish, so he rang the bell for his servant.

'Pruffle,' said the scientific gentleman, 'there is something very
extraordinary in the air to-night?  Did you see that?' said the
scientific gentleman, pointing out of the window, as the light
again became 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 you
say was the cause for those lights, now?'

The scientific gentleman smilingly anticipated Pruffle's reply
that 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 scientific gentleman.

'Thank you, Sir,' said Pruffle.  And down he went.

But the scientific gentleman could not rest under the idea of the
ingenious treatise he had projected being lost to the world, which
must inevitably be the case if the speculation of the ingenious
Mr. Pruffle were not stifled in its birth.  He put on his hat and
walked quickly down the garden, determined to investigate the
matter to the very bottom.

Now, shortly before the scientific gentleman walked out into
the garden, Mr. Pickwick had run down the lane as fast as he
could, to convey a false alarm that somebody was coming that
way; occasionally drawing back the slide of the dark lantern to
keep himself from the ditch.  The alarm was no sooner given,
than Mr. Winkle scrambled back over the wall, and Arabella ran
into the house; the garden gate was shut, and the three adventurers
were making the best of their way down the lane, when
they were startled by the scientific gentleman unlocking his
garden gate.

'Hold hard,' whispered Sam, who was, of course, the first of
the party.  'Show a light for just vun second, Sir.'

Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired, and Sam, seeing a man's
head peeping out very cautiously within half a yard of his own,
gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist, which knocked it, with
a hollow sound, against the gate.  Having performed this feat with
great suddenness and dexterity, Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwick
up on his back, and followed Mr. Winkle down the lane at a pace
which, considering the burden he carried, was perfectly astonishing.

'Have you got your vind back agin, Sir,' inquired Sam, when
they had reached the end.

'Quite.  Quite, now,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Then come along, Sir,' said Sam, setting his master on his feet
again.  'Come betveen us, sir.  Not half a mile to run.  Think you're
vinnin' a cup, sir.  Now for it.'

Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of his
legs.  It may be confidently stated that a pair of black gaiters
never got over the ground in better style than did those of Mr.
Pickwick on this memorable occasion.

The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads were
good, and the driver was willing.  The whole party arrived in
safety at 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
your pardon, sir,'continued Sam, touching his hat as Mr. Winkle
descended, 'hope there warn't a priory 'tachment, sir?'

Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand, and
whispered in his ear, 'It's all right, Sam; quite right.'  Upon which
Mr. Weller struck three distinct blows upon his nose in token of
intelligence, 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 masterly
treatise, that these wonderful lights were the effect of electricity;
and clearly proved the same by detailing how a flash of fire
danced before his eyes when he put his head out of the gate, and
how he received a shock which stunned him for a quarter of an
hour afterwards; which demonstration delighted all the scientific
associations beyond measure, and caused him to be considered a
light of science ever afterwards.



CHAPTER XL
INTRODUCES Mr. PICKWICK TO A NEW AND NOT UNINTERESTING
  SCENE IN THE GREAT DRAMA OF LIFE


The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned
as the duration of the stay at Bath passed over without the
occurrence of anything material.  Trinity term commenced.  On the
expiration of its first week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned
to London; and the former gentleman, attended of course by Sam,
straightway repaired to his old quarters at the George and Vulture.

On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in
the city were striking nine individually, and somewhere about
nine hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air
in George Yard, when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove
up, out of which there jumped with great agility, throwing the
reins to a stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman,
who seemed made for the vehicle, and the vehicle for him.

The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope.  It
was not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it
a taxed cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and
yet it had something of the character of each and every of these
machines.  It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts and
wheels picked out in black; and the driver sat in the orthodox
sporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail.
The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough; but with
something 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 particularly
gorgeous manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--
all about three sizes larger than those which are usually worn by
gentlemen--and a rough greatcoat to crown the whole.  Into one
pocket of this greatcoat, he thrust his left hand the moment he
dismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his right, a
very bright and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he whisked
a speck or two of dust from his boots, and then, crumpling it in
his hand, swaggered up the court.

It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this person
dismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shorn
of divers buttons, who had been previously slinking about, on the
opposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationary
close by.  Having something more than a suspicion of the object
of the gentleman's visit, Sam preceded him to the George and
Vulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the Centre
of the doorway.

'Now, my fine fellow!' said the man in the rough coat, in an
imperious tone, attempting at the same time to push his way past.

'Now, Sir, wot's the matter?' replied Sam, returning the push
with compound interest.

'Come, none of this, my man; this won't do with me,' said the
owner 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 short dialogue.

'Only some insolence of this young man's,' said the principal,
giving Sam another push.

'Come, none o' this gammon,' growled Smouch, giving him
another, and a harder one.

This last push had the effect which it was intended by the
experienced Mr. Smouch to produce; for while Sam, anxious to
return the compliment, was grinding that gentleman's body
against the door-post, the principal crept past, and made his way
to the bar, whither Sam, after bandying a few epithetical remarks
with Mr. Smouch, followed at once.

'Good-morning, my dear,' said the principal, addressing the
young lady at the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New South
Wales gentility; 'which is Mr. Pickwick's room, my dear?'

'Show him up,' said the barmaid to a waiter, without deigning
another look at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry.

The waiter led the way upstairs as he was desired, and the man
in the rough coat followed, with Sam behind him, who, in his
progress up the staircase, indulged in sundry gestures indicative
of supreme contempt and defiance, to the unspeakable gratification
of the servants and other lookers-on.  Mr. Smouch, who was
troubled with a hoarse cough, remained below, and expectorated
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 so
doing, awoke him.

'Shaving-water, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, from within the curtains.

'Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick,' said the visitor, drawing
one of them back from the bed's head.  'I've got an execution
against you, at the suit of Bardell.--Here's the warrant.--
Common Pleas.--Here's my card.  I suppose you'll come over to
my house.'  Giving Mr. Pickwick a friendly tap on the shoulder,
the sheriff's officer (for such he was) threw his card on the
counterpane, and pulled a gold toothpick from his waistcoat pocket.

'Namby's the name,' said the sheriff's deputy, as Mr. Pickwick
took his spectacles from under the pillow, and put them on, to
read the card.  'Namby, Bell Alley, Coleman Street.'

At this point, Sam Weller, who had had his eyes fixed hitherto
on 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 the
indignant officer.  'I'll teach you manners, my fine fellow, one of
these 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, that he had very nearly caused him to swallow the
gold toothpick into the bargain.

'Observe this, Mr. Pickwick,' said the disconcerted officer,
gasping for breath.  'I've been assaulted in the execution of my
dooty by your servant in your chamber.  I'm in bodily fear.  I call
you to witness this.'

'Don't witness nothin', Sir,' interposed Sam.  'Shut your eyes
up tight, Sir.  I'd pitch him out o' winder, only he couldn't fall far
enough, 'cause o' the leads outside.'

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, in an angry voice, as his attendant
made various demonstrations of hostilities, 'if you say another
word, or offer the slightest interference with this person, I
discharge you that instant.'

'But, Sir!' said Sam.

'Hold your tongue,' interposed Mr. Pickwick.  'Take that hat
up again.'

But this Sam flatly and positively refused to do; and, after he
had been severely reprimanded by his master, the officer, being
in a hurry, condescended to pick it up himself, venting a great
variety of threats against Sam meanwhile, which that gentleman
received with perfect composure, merely observing that if Mr.
Namby would have the goodness to put his hat on again, he
would knock it into the latter end of next week.  Mr. Namby,
perhaps thinking that such a process might be productive of
inconvenience to himself, declined to offer the temptation, and,
soon after, called up Smouch.  Having informed him that the
capture was made, and that he was to wait for the prisoner until
he should have finished dressing, Namby then swaggered out, and
drove away.  Smouch, requesting Mr. Pickwick in a surly manner
'to be as alive as he could, for it was a busy time,' drew up a chair
by the door and sat there, until he had finished dressing.  Sam was
then despatched for a hackney-coach, and in it the triumvirate
proceeded to Coleman Street.  It was fortunate the distance was
short; for Mr. Smouch, besides possessing no very enchanting
conversational powers, was rendered a decidedly unpleasant
companion in a limited space, by the 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
been opened by a gentleman who might have passed for a
neglected twin-brother of Mr. Smouch, and who was endowed
with a large key for the purpose, Mr. Pickwick was shown into
the 'coffee-room.'

This coffee-room was a front parlour, the principal features of
which were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke.  Mr. Pickwick
bowed to the three persons who were seated in it when he
entered; and having despatched Sam for Perker, withdrew into
an obscure corner, and looked thence with some curiosity upon
his new companions.

One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who,
though it was yet barely ten o'clock, was drinking gin-and-water,
and smoking a cigar--amusements to which, judging from his
inflamed countenance, he had devoted himself pretty constantly
for the last year or two of his life.  Opposite him, engaged in
stirring the fire with the toe of his right boot, was a coarse,
vulgar young man of about thirty, with a sallow face and harsh
voice; evidently possessed of that knowledge of the world, and
captivating freedom of manner, which is to be acquired in
public-house parlours, and at low billiard tables.  The third
tenant of the apartment was a middle-aged man in a very old suit
of black, who looked pale and haggard, and paced up and down
the room incessantly; stopping, now and then, to look with
great anxiety out of the window as if he expected 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 the
wink to his friend the boy.

'Thank you, no, I shan't want it; I expect I shall be out, in the
course of an hour or so,' replied the other in a hurried manner.
Then, walking again up to the window, and once more returning
disappointed, he sighed deeply, and left the room; upon which
the other two burst into a loud laugh.

'Well, I never saw such a game as that,' said the gentleman
who had offered the razor, whose name appeared to be Price.
'Never!'  Mr. Price confirmed the assertion with an oath, and
then laughed again, when of course the boy (who thought his
companion one of the most dashing fellows alive) laughed also.

'You'd hardly think, would you now,' said Price, turning
towards Mr. Pickwick, 'that that chap's been here a week
yesterday, and never once shaved himself yet, because he feels so
certain he's going out in half an hour's time, thinks he may as
well put it off till he gets home?'

'Poor man!' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Are his chances of getting out
of his difficulties really so great?'

'Chances be d--d,' replied Price; 'he hasn't half the ghost of
one.  I wouldn't give THAT for his chance of walking about the
streets this time ten years.'  With this, Mr. Price snapped his
fingers contemptuously, and rang the bell.

'Give me a sheet of paper, Crookey,' said Mr. Price to the
attendant, who in dress and general appearance looked something
between 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 to write to my father, and I must have a
stimulant, or I shan't be able to 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've seen something of life.'

'I rather think I have!' replied the boy.  He had looked at it
through the dirty panes of glass in a bar door.

Mr. Pickwick, feeling not a little disgusted with this dialogue,
as well as with the air and manner of the two beings by whom it
had been carried on, was about to inquire whether he could not
be accommodated with a private sitting-room, when two or three
strangers of genteel appearance entered, at sight of whom the
boy threw his cigar into the fire, and whispering to Mr. Price
that they had come to 'make it all right' for him, joined them at a
table in the farther end of the room.

It would appear, however, that matters were not going to be
made all right quite so speedily as the young gentleman anticipated;
for a very long conversation ensued, of which Mr.
Pickwick could not avoid hearing certain angry fragments
regarding dissolute conduct, and repeated forgiveness.  At last,
there were very distinct allusions made by the oldest gentleman
of the party to one Whitecross Street, at which the young gentleman,
notwithstanding his primeness and his spirit, and his
knowledge of life into the bargain, reclined his head upon the
table, and howled dismally.

Very much satisfied with this sudden bringing down of the
youth's valour, and this effectual lowering of his tone, Mr. Pickwick
rang the bell, and was shown, at his own request, into a
private room furnished with a carpet, table, chairs, sideboard and
sofa, and ornamented with a looking-glass, and various old
prints.  Here he had the advantage of hearing Mrs. Namby's
performance on 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
the absurdity of this conduct.  I've noted down the amount of the
taxed costs and damages for which the ca-sa was issued, and we
had better settle at once and lose no time.  Namby is come home
by this time, I dare say.  What say you, my dear sir?  Shall I draw
a cheque, or will you?'  The little man rubbed his hands with
affected cheerfulness as he said this, but glancing at Mr. Pickwick's
countenance, could not forbear at the same time casting a
desponding look towards Sam Weller.

'Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'let me hear no more of this, I beg.
I see 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
go somewhere,' said Perker.

'That'll do,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'I'll go there directly I have
finished my breakfast.'

'Stop, stop, my dear Sir; not the least occasion for being in such
a violent hurry to get into a place that most other men are as
eager to get out of,' said the good-natured little attorney.  'We
must have a habeas-corpus.  There'll be no judge at chambers till
four o'clock this afternoon.  You must wait till then.'

'Very good,' said Mr. Pickwick, with unmoved patience.
'Then we will have a chop here, at two.  See about it, Sam, and
tell them to be punctual.'

Mr. Pickwick remaining firm, despite all the remonstrances and
arguments of Perker, the chops appeared and disappeared in due
course; he was then put into another hackney coach, and carried
off to Chancery Lane, after waiting half an hour or so for Mr.
Namby, who had a select dinner-party and could on no account
be disturbed before.

There were two judges in attendance at Serjeant's Inn--one
King's Bench, and one Common Pleas--and a great deal of
business appeared to be transacting before them, if the number
of lawyer's clerks who were hurrying in and out with bundles of
papers, afforded any test.  When they reached the low archway
which forms the entrance to the inn, Perker was detained a few
moments parlaying with the coachman about the fare and the
change; and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side to be out of the
way of the stream of people that were pouring in and out, looked
about him with some curiosity.

The people that attracted his attention most, were three or four
men of shabby-genteel appearance, who touched their hats to
many of the attorneys who passed, and seemed to have some
business there, the nature of which Mr. Pickwick could not
divine.  They were curious-looking fellows.  One was a slim and
rather lame man in rusty black, and a white neckerchief; another
was a stout, burly person, dressed in the same apparel, with a
great reddish-black cloth round his neck; a third was a little
weazen, drunken-looking body, with a pimply face.  They were
loitering about, with their hands behind them, and now and then
with an anxious countenance whispered something in the ear of
some of the gentlemen with papers, as they hurried by.  Mr.
Pickwick remembered to have very often observed them lounging
under the archway when he had been walking past; and his
curiosity was quite excited to know to what branch of the profession
these dingy-looking loungers could possibly belong.

He was about to propound the question to Namby, who kept
close beside him, sucking a large gold ring on his little finger,
when Perker bustled up, and observing that there was no time to
lose, led the way into the inn.  As Mr. Pickwick followed, the
lame man stepped up to him, and civilly touching his hat, held
out a written card, which Mr. Pickwick, not wishing to hurt the
man's feelings by refusing, courteously accepted and deposited in
his waistcoat pocket.

'Now,' said Perker, turning round before he entered one of the
offices, 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 imaginable politeness,
and motioned towards Mr. Pickwick.

'No, no,' said Perker, with a smile.  'We don't want you, my
dear friend, we don't want you.'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said the lame man.  'The gentleman
took my card.  I hope you will employ me, sir.  The gentleman
nodded to me.  I'll be judged by the gentleman himself.  You
nodded to me, sir?'

'Pooh, pooh, nonsense.  You didn't nod to anybody, Pickwick?
A mistake, a mistake,' said Perker.

'The gentleman handed me his card,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
producing it from his waistcoat pocket.  'I accepted it, as the
gentleman seemed to wish it--in fact I had some curiosity to look
at it when I should be at leisure.  I--'

The little attorney burst into a loud laugh, and returning the
card 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 any
amount, and only charge half a crown.  Curious trade, isn't it?'
said Perker, regaling himself with a pinch of snuff.

'What!  Am I to understand that these men earn a livelihood
by waiting about here, to perjure themselves before the judges of
the land, 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,' replied
the little gentleman.  'Harsh word, my dear sir, very harsh word
indeed.  It's a legal fiction, my dear sir, nothing more.'  Saying
which, the attorney shrugged his shoulders, smiled, took a second
pinch 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 low
ceiling and old panelled walls; and so badly lighted, that although
it was broad day outside, great tallow candles were burning on
the desks.  At one end, was a door leading to the judge's private
apartment, round which were congregated a crowd of attorneys
and managing clerks, who were called in, in the order in which
their respective appointments stood upon the file.  Every time this
door 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
which passed between the gentlemen who were waiting to see the
judge, a variety of personal squabbles ensued between the greater
part of those who had seen him, there was as much noise as could
well be raised in an apartment of such confined dimensions.

Nor were the conversations of these gentlemen the only sounds
that broke upon the ear.  Standing on a box behind a wooden bar
at another end of the room was a clerk in spectacles who was
'taking the affidavits'; large batches of which were, from time to
time, carried into the private room by another clerk for the
judge's signature.  There were a large number of attorneys' clerks
to be sworn, 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
theatre when Gracious Majesty honours it with its presence.
Another functionary, from time to time, exercised his lungs in
calling over the names of those who had been sworn, for the
purpose of restoring to them their affidavits after they had been
signed by the judge, which gave rise to a few more scuffles; and
all these things going on at the same time, occasioned as much
bustle as the most active and excitable person could desire to
behold.  There were yet another class of persons--those who were
waiting to attend summonses their employers had taken out,
which it was optional to the attorney on the opposite side to
attend or not--and whose business it was, from time to time, to
cry out the opposite attorney's name; to make certain that he
was not in attendance without their knowledge.

For example.  Leaning against the wall, close beside the seat
Mr. Pickwick had taken, was an office-lad of fourteen, with a
tenor voice; near him a common-law clerk with a bass one.

A clerk hurried in with a bundle of papers, and stared about him.

'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 by
the whole three; and he in his turn shouted for another firm;
and then somebody else roared in a loud voice for another; and
so forth.

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 following
terms:--

'Take the book in your right hand this is your name and hand-
writing you swear that the contents of this your affidavit are true
so help you God a shilling you must get change I haven't got it.'

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I suppose they are getting the
HABEAS-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' got
half a dozen have-his-carcases ready, pack'd up and all, by this time.'

What sort of cumbrous and unmanageable machine, Sam
Weller imagined a habeas-corpus to be, does not appear;
for Perker, at that moment, walked up and took Mr. Pickwick away.

The usual forms having been gone through, the body of
Samuel Pickwick was soon afterwards confided to the custody of
the tipstaff, to be by him taken to the warden of the Fleet Prison,
and there detained until the amount of the damages and costs in
the action of Bardell against Pickwick was fully paid
and satisfied.

'And that,' said Mr. Pickwick, laughing, 'will be a very long
time.  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 any
other attendant than Sam.  As soon as I get settled, I will write
and let you know, and I shall expect you immediately.  Until then,
good-bye.'

As Mr. Pickwick said this, he got into the coach which had by
this time arrived, followed by the tipstaff.  Sam having stationed
himself on the box, it rolled away.

'A most extraordinary man that!' said Perker, as he stopped to
pull on his gloves.

'What a bankrupt he'd make, Sir,' observed Mr. Lowten, who
was 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 his
clerk's professional estimate of Mr. Pickwick's character, for he
walked away without deigning any reply.

The hackney-coach jolted along Fleet Street, as hackney-
coaches usually do.  The horses 'went better', the driver said,
when they had anything before them (they must have gone at
a most extraordinary pace when there was nothing), and so
the vehicle kept behind a cart; when the cart stopped, it stopped;
and when the cart went on again, it did the same.  Mr. Pickwick
sat opposite the 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.  They
stopped at length, and Mr. Pickwick alighted at the gate of the Fleet.

The tipstaff, just looking over his shoulder to see that his
charge was following close at his heels, preceded Mr. Pickwick
into the prison; turning to the left, after they had entered, they
passed through an open door into a lobby, from which a heavy
gate, opposite to that by which they had entered, and which was
guarded by a stout turnkey with the key in his hand, led at once
into the interior of the prison.

Here they stopped, while the tipstaff delivered his papers; and
here Mr. Pickwick was apprised that he would remain, until he
had undergone the ceremony, known to the initiated as 'sitting
for your 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, and
always exact.  Walk in, sir, and make yourself at home.'

Mr. Pickwick complied with the invitation, and sat himself
down; when Mr. Weller, who stationed himself at the back of the
chair, whispered that the sitting was merely another term for
undergoing an inspection by the different turnkeys, in order that
they might know prisoners from visitors.

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'then I wish the artists would
come.  This is rather a public place.'

'They von't be long, Sir, I des-say,' replied Sam.  'There's a
Dutch clock, sir.'

'So I see,' observed Mr. Pickwick.

'And a bird-cage, sir,' says Sam.  'Veels vithin veels, a prison in
a prison.  Ain't it, Sir?'

As Mr. Weller made this philosophical remark, Mr. Pickwick
was aware that his sitting had commenced.  The stout turnkey
having been relieved from the lock, sat down, and looked at him
carelessly, from time to time, while a long thin man who had
relieved him, thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and planting
himself opposite, took a good long view of him.  A third rather
surly-looking gentleman, who had apparently been disturbed at
his tea, for he was disposing of the last remnant of a crust and
butter when he came in, stationed himself close to Mr. Pickwick;
and, resting his hands on his hips, inspected him narrowly; while
two others mixed with the group, and studied his features with
most intent and thoughtful faces.  Mr. Pickwick winced a good
deal under 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 the great satisfaction it would have afforded him to make a
fierce assault 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 was
informed 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 stout
turnkey.  'You'll be chummed on somebody to-morrow, and then
you'll be all snug and comfortable.  The first night's generally
rather unsettled, but you'll be set all squares to-morrow.'

After some discussion, it was discovered that one of the turnkeys
had a bed to let, which Mr. Pickwick could have for that night.
He gladly agreed to hire it.

'If you'll come with me, I'll show it you at once,' said the man.
'It ain'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 short flight
of steps.  The key was turned after them; and Mr. Pickwick found
himself, for the first time in his life, within the walls of a debtors'
prison.



CHAPTER XLI
WHAT BEFELL Mr. PICKWICK WHEN HE GOT INTO THE
  FLEET; WHAT PRISONERS HE SAW THERE, AND HOW HE
  PASSED THE NIGHT


Mr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who had accompanied Mr. Pickwick into
the prison, turned sharp round to the right when he got to the
bottom of the little flight of steps, and led the way, through an
iron gate which stood open, and up another short flight of steps,
into a long narrow gallery, dirty and low, paved with stone, and
very dimly lighted by a window at each remote end.

'This,' said the gentleman, thrusting his hands into his pockets,
and looking carelessly over his shoulder to Mr. Pickwick--'this
here is the hall flight.'

'Oh,' replied Mr. Pickwick, looking down a dark and filthy
staircase, which appeared to lead to a range of damp and gloomy
stone vaults, beneath the ground, 'and those, I suppose, are the
little cellars where the prisoners keep their small quantities of
coals.  Unpleasant places to have to go down to; but very
convenient, I dare say.'

'Yes, I shouldn't wonder if they was convenient,' replied the
gentleman, 'seeing that a few people live there, pretty snug.
That's the Fair, that is.'

'My friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you don't really mean to say
that human beings live down in those wretched dungeons?'

'Don't I?' replied Mr. Roker, with indignant astonishment;
'why shouldn'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 anything
agin 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 in
saying this, and moreover muttered in an excited fashion certain
unpleasant invocations concerning his own eyes, limbs, and
circulating fluids, the latter gentleman deemed it advisable to
pursue the discourse no further.  Mr. Roker then proceeded to
mount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the place
which has just been the subject of discussion, in which ascent he
was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam.

'There,' said Mr. Roker, pausing for breath when they reached
another gallery of the same dimensions as the one below, 'this is
the coffee-room flight; the one above's the third, and the one
above that's the top; and the room where you're a-going to sleep
to-night is the warden's room, and it's this way--come on.'
Having said all this in a breath, Mr. Roker mounted another flight
of stairs with Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller following at his heels.

These staircases received light from sundry windows placed at
some little distance above the floor, and looking into a gravelled
area bounded by a high brick wall, with iron CHEVAUX-DE-FRISE at
the top.  This area, it appeared from Mr. Roker's statement, was
the racket-ground; and it further appeared, on the testimony
of the same gentleman, that there was a smaller area in that
portion of the prison which was nearest Farringdon Street,
denominated and called 'the Painted Ground,' from the fact of
its walls having once displayed the semblance of various men-
of-war in full sail, and other artistical effects achieved in
bygone times by some imprisoned draughtsman in his leisure hours.

Having communicated this piece of information, apparently
more for the purpose of discharging his bosom of an important
fact, than with any specific view of enlightening Mr. Pickwick,
the guide, having at length reached another gallery, led the way
into a small passage at the extreme end, opened a door, and
disclosed an apartment of an appearance by no means inviting,
containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.

'There,' said Mr. Roker, holding the door open, and looking
triumphantly round at Mr. Pickwick, 'there's a room!'

Mr. Pickwick's face, however, betokened such a very trifling
portion of satisfaction at the appearance of his lodging, that
Mr. Roker looked, for a reciprocity of feeling, into the countenance
of Samuel 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 the
Farringdon Hotel, would you?' said Mr. Roker, with a
complacent smile.

To this Mr. Weller replied with an easy and unstudied closing
of one eye; which might be considered to mean, either that he
would have thought it, or that he would not have thought it, or
that he had never thought anything at all about it, as the
observer's imagination suggested.  Having executed this feat, and
reopened his eye, Mr. Weller proceeded to inquire which was the
individual bedstead 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 a
corner.  '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 in
question with a look of excessive disgust--'I should think poppies
was nothing to it.'

'Nothing at all,' said Mr. Roker.

'And I s'pose,' said Sam, with a sidelong glance at his master,
as if to see whether there were any symptoms of his determination
being shaken by what passed, 'I s'pose the other gen'l'men as
sleeps here ARE gen'l'men.'

'Nothing but it,' said Mr. Roker.  'One of 'em takes his twelve
pints 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. Pickwick
smilingly announced his determination to test the powers of the
narcotic bedstead for that night; and Mr. Roker, after informing
him that he could retire to rest at whatever hour he thought
proper, without any further notice or formality, walked off,
leaving him standing with Sam in the gallery.

It was getting dark; that is to say, a few gas jets were kindled
in this place which was never light, by way of compliment to the
evening, which had set in outside.  As it was rather warm, some of
the tenants of the numerous little rooms which opened into the
gallery on either hand, had set their doors ajar.  Mr. Pickwick
peeped into them as he passed along, with great curiosity and
interest.  Here, four or five great hulking fellows, just visible
through a cloud of tobacco smoke, were engaged in noisy and
riotous conversation over half-emptied pots of beer, or playing
at all-fours with a very greasy pack of cards.  In the adjoining
room, some solitary tenant might be seen poring, by the light of a
feeble tallow candle, over a bundle of soiled and tattered papers,
yellow with dust and dropping to pieces from age, writing, for the
hundredth time, some lengthened statement of his grievances, for
the perusal of some great man whose eyes it would never reach,
or whose heart it would never touch.  In a third, a man, with his
wife and a whole crowd of children, might be seen making up a
scanty bed on the ground, or upon a few chairs, for the younger
ones to pass the night in.  And in a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth,
and a seventh, the noise, and the beer, and the tobacco smoke, and
the cards, 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, others
because their rooms were full and hot; the greater part because
they were restless and uncomfortable, and not possessed of the
secret of exactly knowing what to do with themselves.  There
were many classes of people here, from the labouring man in his
fustian jacket, to the broken-down spendthrift in his shawl
dressing-gown, most appropriately out at elbows; but there was
the same air about them all--a kind of listless, jail-bird, careless
swagger, a vagabondish who's-afraid sort of bearing, which is
wholly indescribable in words, but which any man can understand
in one moment if he wish, by setting foot in the nearest
debtors' prison, and looking at the very first group of people he
sees there, with the same interest as Mr. Pickwick did.

'It strikes me, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, leaning over the iron
rail at the stair-head-'it strikes me, Sam, that imprisonment for
debt is scarcely any punishment at all.'

'Think not, sir?' inquired Mr. Weller.

'You see how these fellows drink, and smoke, and roar,'
replied Mr. Pickwick.  'It's quite impossible that they can mind
it much.'

'Ah, that's just the wery thing, Sir,' rejoined Sam, 'they don't
mind it; it's a reg'lar holiday to them--all porter and skittles.
It's the t'other vuns as gets done over vith this sort o' thing;
them down-hearted fellers as can't svig avay at the beer, nor play
at skittles neither; them as vould pay if they could, and gets low
by being 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 my father used to say wen his grog worn't made half-
and-half: "it's unekal, and that's the fault on it."'

'I think you're right, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, after a few
moments' 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 the
brown 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,'
replied Sam.

'But what did he do?'

'Wy, he did wot many men as has been much better know'd
has done in their time, Sir,' replied Sam, 'he run a match agin the
constable, and vun it.'

'In other words, I suppose,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'he got into debt.'

'Just that, Sir,' replied Sam, 'and in course o' time he come
here in consekens.  It warn't much--execution for nine pound
nothin', multiplied by five for costs; but hows'ever here he
stopped for seventeen year.  If he got any wrinkles in his face,
they were stopped up vith the dirt, for both the dirty face and the
brown coat wos just the same at the end o' that time as they wos
at the beginnin'.  He wos a wery peaceful, inoffendin' little
creetur, and wos alvays a-bustlin' about for somebody, or playin'
rackets and never 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, and tellin' 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 says all 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 market outside, Bill," he says, "for seventeen year."
"I know you ain't," says the turnkey, smoking his pipe.  "I
should like to see it for a minit, Bill," he says.  "Wery probable,"
says the turnkey, smoking his pipe wery fierce, and making
believe he warn't up to wot the little man wanted.  "Bill," says
the little man, more abrupt than afore, "I've got the fancy in my
head.  Let me see the public streets once more afore I die; and if
I ain't struck with apoplexy, I'll be back in five minits by the
clock."  "And wot 'ud become o' me if you WOS struck with
apoplexy?" said the turnkey.  "Wy," says the little creetur,
"whoever found me, 'ud bring me home, for I've got my card in
my pocket, Bill," he says, "No.  20, Coffee-room Flight": and
that wos true, sure enough, for wen he wanted to make the
acquaintance of any new-comer, he used to pull out a little limp
card vith them words on it and nothin' else; in consideration of
vich, he vos alvays called Number Tventy.  The turnkey takes a
fixed 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 friend
into trouble."  "No, my boy; I hope I've somethin' better behind
here," says the little man; and as he said it he hit his little vesket
wery hard, and then a tear started out o' each eye, which wos
wery extraordinary, 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
been nearly run over by a hackney-coach that he warn't used to
it; and he was blowed if he wouldn't write to the lord mayor.
They got him pacified at last; and for five years arter that, he
never even so much 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 and
taste the beer at a new public-house over the way, and it wos such
a wery nice parlour, that he took it into his head to go there
every night, which he did for a long time, always comin' back
reg'lar about a quarter of an hour afore the gate shut, which was
all wery snug and comfortable.  At last he began to get so precious
jolly, that he used to forget how the time vent, or care nothin' at
all about it, and he went on gettin' later and later, till vun night
his old friend wos just a-shuttin' the gate--had turned the key in
fact--wen he come up.  "Hold hard, Bill," he says.  "Wot, ain't
you come 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' the gate wery slow and sulky, "it's my 'pinion
as you've got into bad company o' late, which I'm wery sorry to
see.  Now, I don't wish to do nothing harsh," he says, "but if you
can't confine yourself to steady circles, and find your vay back at
reg'lar hours, as sure as you're a-standin' there, I'll shut you out
altogether!"  The little man was seized vith a wiolent fit o'
tremblin', and never vent outside the prison walls artervards!'

As Sam concluded, Mr. Pickwick slowly retraced his steps
downstairs.  After a few thoughtful turns in the Painted Ground,
which, as it was now dark, was nearly deserted, he intimated to
Mr. Weller that he thought it high time for him to withdraw for
the night; requesting him to seek a bed in some adjacent public-
house, and return early in the morning, to make arrangements
for the removal of his master's wardrobe from the George and
Vulture.  This request Mr. Samuel Weller prepared to obey, with
as good a grace as he could assume, but with a very considerable
show of reluctance nevertheless.  He even went so far as to essay
sundry ineffectual hints regarding the expediency of stretching
himself on the gravel for that night; but finding Mr. Pickwick
obstinately deaf to 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
prison was very full, and a bottle of wine would at once have
purchased the utmost good-fellowship of a few choice spirits,
without any more formal ceremony of introduction; but he was
alone in the coarse, vulgar crowd, and felt the depression of
spirits and sinking of heart, naturally consequent on the reflection
that he was cooped and caged up, without a prospect of liberation.
As to the idea of releasing 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-room
gallery, and walked slowly to and fro.  The place was intolerably
dirty, and the smell of tobacco smoke perfectly suffocating.
There was a perpetual slamming and banging of doors as the
people went in and out; and the noise of their voices and footsteps
echoed and re-echoed through the passages constantly.  A young
woman, with a child in her arms, who seemed scarcely able to
crawl, from emaciation and misery, was walking up and down the
passage in conversation with her husband, who had no other
place to see her in.  As they passed Mr. Pickwick, he could hear
the female sob bitterly; and once she burst into such a passion of
grief, that she was compelled to lean against the wall for support,
while the man took the child in his arms, and tried to soothe her.

Mr. Pickwick's heart was really too full to bear it, and he went
upstairs to bed.

Now, although the warder's room was a very uncomfortable
one (being, in every point of decoration and convenience, several
hundred degrees inferior to the common infirmary of a county
jail), it had at present the merit of being wholly deserted save by
Mr. Pickwick himself.  So, he sat down at the foot of his little iron
bedstead, and began to wonder how much a year the warder
made out of the dirty room.  Having satisfied himself, by mathematical
calculation, that the apartment was about equal in
annual value to the freehold of a small street in the suburbs of
London, he took to wondering what possible temptation could
have induced a dingy-looking fly that was crawling over his
pantaloons, to come into a close prison, when he had the choice
of so many airy situations--a course of meditation which led him to
the irresistible conclusion that the insect was insane.  After
settling this point, he began to be conscious that he was getting
sleepy; whereupon he took his nightcap out of the pocket in
which he had had the precaution to stow it in the morning, and,
leisurely undressing himself, got into bed 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 most boisterous 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 been protracted for three weeks or a month.

The voice had no sooner ceased than the room was shaken
with such violence that the windows rattled in their frames, and
the bedsteads trembled again.  Mr. Pickwick started up, and
remained for some minutes fixed in mute astonishment at the
scene before him.

On the floor of the room, a man in a broad-skirted green coat,
with corduroy knee-smalls and gray cotton stockings, was
performing the most popular steps of a hornpipe, with a slang
and burlesque caricature of grace and lightness, which, combined
with the very appropriate character of his costume, was inexpressibly
absurd.  Another man, evidently very drunk, who had
probably been tumbled into bed by his companions, was sitting
up between the sheets, warbling as much as he could recollect of
a comic song, with the most intensely sentimental feeling and
expression; while a third, seated on one of the bedsteads, was
applauding both performers with the air of a profound connoisseur,
and encouraging them by such ebullitions of feeling as had
already roused Mr. Pickwick from his sleep.

This last man was an admirable specimen of a class of gentry
which never can be seen in full perfection but in such places--
they may be met with, in an imperfect state, occasionally about
stable-yards and Public-houses; but they never attain their full
bloom except in these hot-beds, which would almost seem to be
considerately provided by the legislature for the sole purpose of
rearing them.


He was a tall fellow, with an olive complexion, long dark hair,
and very thick bushy whiskers meeting under his chin.  He wore
no neckerchief, as he had been playing rackets all day, and his
Open shirt collar displayed their full luxuriance.  On his head he
wore one of the common eighteenpenny French skull-caps, with a
gaudy tassel dangling therefrom, very happily in keeping with a
common fustian coat.  His legs, which, being long, were afflicted
with weakness, graced a pair of Oxford-mixture trousers, made
to show the full symmetry of those limbs.  Being somewhat
negligently braced, however, and, moreover, but imperfectly
buttoned, they fell in a series of not the most graceful folds over
a pair of shoes sufficiently down at heel to display a pair of very
soiled white stockings.  There was a rakish, vagabond smartness,
and a kind of boastful rascality, about the whole man, that was
worth a mine of gold.

This figure was the first to perceive that Mr. Pickwick was
looking on; upon which he winked to the Zephyr, and entreated
him, with mock gravity, not to wake the gentleman.
'Why, bless the gentleman's honest heart and soul!' said the
Zephyr, turning round and affecting the extremity of surprise;
'the gentleman is awake.  Hem, Shakespeare!  How do you do,
Sir?  How is Mary and Sarah, sir? and the dear old lady at home,
Sir?  Will you have the kindness to put my compliments into the
first little parcel you're sending 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 when
you see he's anxious to have something to drink,' said the
gentleman with the whiskers, with a jocose air.  'Why don't you
ask the 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 can
recommend 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 drunken
man, who, firmly impressed with the belief that he was delighting
a numerous assembly, continued to hammer away at the comic
song in the most melancholy strains imaginable.

Taking a man's nightcap from his brow by violent means, and
adjusting it on the head of an unknown gentleman, of dirty
exterior, however ingenious a witticism in itself, is unquestionably
one of those which come under the denomination of practical
jokes.  Viewing the matter precisely in this light, Mr. Pickwick,
without the slightest intimation of his purpose, sprang vigorously
out of bed, struck the Zephyr so smart a blow in the chest as to
deprive him of a considerable portion of the commodity which
sometimes 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
than from the expenditure of so much energy, 'come on--both of
you--both of you!'  With this liberal invitation the worthy
gentleman communicated a revolving motion to his clenched
fists, by way of appalling 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
got himself out of bed, and fallen all in a mass upon the hornpipe
man, that touched his adversaries.  Touched they were; for,
instead of then and there making an attempt to commit man-
slaughter, as Mr. Pickwick implicitly believed they would have
done, they paused, stared at each other a short time, and finally
laughed outright.

'Well, you're a trump, and I like you all the better for it,' said
the Zephyr.  'Now jump into bed again, or you'll catch the
rheumatics.  No malice, I hope?' said the man, extending a hand
the size of the yellow clump of fingers which sometimes swings
over a glover's door.

'Certainly not,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great alacrity; for,
now that the excitement was over, he began to feel rather cool
about the legs.

'Allow me the H-onour,' said the gentleman with the whiskers,
presenting his dexter hand, and aspirating the h.

'With much pleasure, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; and having
executed 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 matters
still more comfortable, Mr. Smangle assured Mr. Pickwick a
great many more times that he entertained a very high respect for
the feelings of a gentleman; which sentiment, indeed, did him
infinite credit, 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.
'What of that?  Here am I in the Fleet Prison.  Well; good.  What
then?  I'm none the worse for that, am I?'

'Not a bit,' replied Mr. Mivins.  And he was quite right; for, so
far from Mr. Smangle being any the worse for it, he was something
the better, inasmuch as to qualify himself for the place, he
had attained 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
rinse our mouths with a drop of burnt sherry; the last-comer shall
stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and I'll help to drink it.  That's a
fair and gentlemanlike division of labour, anyhow.  Curse me!'

Unwilling to hazard another quarrel, Mr. Pickwick gladly
assented to the proposition, and consigned the money to Mr.
Mivins, who, as it was nearly eleven o'clock, lost no time in
repairing to the coffee-room on his errand.

'I say,' whispered Smangle, the moment his friend had left the
room; '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 appropriating
the money to his own use?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Oh, no!  Mind, I don't say that; I expressly say that he's a
devilish gentlemanly fellow,' said Mr. Smangle.  'But I think,
perhaps, if somebody went down, just to see that he didn't dip
his beak into the jug by accident, or make some confounded
mistake in losing the money as he came upstairs, it would be as
well.  Here, you sir, just run downstairs, and look after that
gentleman, will you?'

This request was addressed to a little timid-looking, nervous
man, whose appearance bespoke great poverty, and who had
been crouching on his bedstead all this while, apparently
stupefied by the novelty of his situation.

'You know where the coffee-room is,' said Smangle; 'just run
down, and tell that gentleman you've come to help him up with
the jug.  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
be wasted,' 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
had the power.  In a short time Mr. Mivins returned, bearing the
sherry, which Mr. Smangle dispensed in two little cracked mugs;
considerately remarking, with reference to himself, that a
gentleman must not be particular under such circumstances, and
that, for his part, he was not too proud to drink out of the jug.
In which, to show his sincerity, he forthwith pledged the company
in a draught which half emptied it.

An excellent understanding having been by these means
promoted, Mr. Smangle proceeded to entertain his hearers with
a relation of divers romantic adventures in which he had been
from time to time engaged, involving various interesting anecdotes
of a thoroughbred horse, and a magnificent Jewess, both of
surpassing beauty, and much coveted by the nobility and gentry
of these kingdoms.

Long before these elegant extracts from the biography of a
gentleman were concluded, Mr. Mivins had betaken himself to
bed, and had set in snoring for the night, leaving the timid
stranger and Mr. Pickwick to the full benefit of Mr. Smangle's
experiences.

Nor were the two last-named gentlemen as much edified as
they might have been by the moving passages narrated.  Mr.
Pickwick had been in a state of slumber for some time, when he
had a faint perception of the drunken man bursting out afresh
with the comic song, and receiving from Mr. Smangle a gentle
intimation, through the medium of the water-jug, that his
audience was not musically disposed.  Mr. Pickwick then once
again dropped off to sleep, with a confused consciousness that
Mr. Smangle was still engaged in relating a long story, the chief
point of which appeared to be that, on some occasion particularly
stated and set forth, he had 'done' a bill and a gentleman at the
same time.



CHAPTER XLII
ILLUSTRATIVE, LIKE THE PRECEDING ONE, OF THE OLD
  PROVERB, THAT ADVERSITY BRINGS A MAN ACQUAINTED
  WITH STRANGE BEDFELLOWS--LIKEWISE CONTAINING Mr.
  PICKWICK'S EXTRAORDINARY AND STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT
  TO Mr. SAMUEL WELLER


When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object
upon which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small
black portmanteau, intently regarding, apparently in a condition
of profound abstraction, the stately figure of the dashing Mr.
Smangle; while Mr. Smangle himself, who was already partially
dressed, was seated on his bedstead, occupied in the desperately
hopeless attempt of staring Mr. 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 same time, continued to look steadily on,
with every demonstration of lively satisfaction, but with no
more regard to Mr. Smangle's personal sentiments on the subject
than he would have displayed had he been inspecting a wooden
statue, or a straw-embowelled Guy 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 he
wakes, I'll be upon the wery best extra-super behaviour!'  This
observation, having a remote tendency to imply that Mr.
Smangle was 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, and tell him not to presume to
get up till I come and kick him,' rejoined Mr. Mivins; with this
prompt advice that excellent gentleman again betook himself to slumber.

The conversation exhibiting these unequivocal symptoms of
verging on the personal, Mr. Pickwick deemed it a fit point at
which 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's
whiskers; 'the late prewailance of a close and confined atmosphere
has been rayther favourable to the growth of veeds, of an
alarmin' and sangvinary natur; but vith that 'ere exception
things is quiet enough.'

'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 the portmanteau; the contents of which appeared to impress
him at once with a most favourable opinion, not only of Mr.
Pickwick, but of Sam also, who, he took an early opportunity
of declaring in a tone of voice loud enough for that eccentric
personage to overhear, was a regular thoroughbred original,
and consequently the very man after his own heart.  As
to Mr. Pickwick, the affection he conceived for him knew no limits.

'Now is there anything I can do for you, my dear Sir?' said Smangle.

'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 a
delightful washerwoman outside, that comes for my things twice
a week; 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
say anything about the trouble.  Confound and curse it! if one
gentleman under a cloud is not to put himself a little out of the
way to assist another gentleman in the same condition, what's
human nature?'

Thus spake Mr. Smangle, edging himself meanwhile as near as
possible to the portmanteau, and beaming forth looks of the
most fervent and disinterested friendship.

'There's nothing you want to give out for the man to brush,
my dear creature, is there?' resumed Smangle.

'Nothin' whatever, my fine feller,' rejoined Sam, taking the
reply 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 to being 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
box must be chock full o' your own as it is.'

This speech was accompanied with such a very expressive look
at that particular portion of Mr. Smangle's attire, by the appearance
of which the skill of laundresses in getting up gentlemen's
linen is generally tested, that he was fain to turn upon his heel,
and, for the present at any rate, to give up all design on Mr.
Pickwick's purse and wardrobe.  He accordingly retired in
dudgeon to the racket-ground, where he made a light and whole-
some breakfast on a couple of the cigars which had been purchased
on the previous night.
Mr. Mivins, who was no smoker, and whose account for small
articles of chandlery had also reached down to the bottom of the
slate, and been 'carried over' to the other side, remained in bed,
and, in his own words, 'took it out in sleep.'

After breakfasting in a small closet attached to the coffee-
room, which bore the imposing title of the Snuggery, the temporary
inmate of which, in consideration of a small additional
charge, had the unspeakable advantage of overhearing all the
conversation in the coffee-room aforesaid; and, after despatching
Mr. Weller on some necessary errands, Mr. Pickwick repaired to
the lodge, to consult Mr. Roker concerning his future accommodation.

'Accommodation, eh?' said that gentleman, consulting a large
book.  'Plenty of that, Mr. Pickwick.  Your chummage ticket will
be on 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
a chummage ticket upon twenty-seven in the third, and them as
is in the 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
of paper as he spoke; 'another's a butcher.'

'Eh?' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'A butcher,' repeated Mr. Roker, giving the nib of his pen a
tap on the desk to cure it of a disinclination to mark.  'What a
thorough-paced goer he used to be sure-ly!  You remember Tom
Martin, Neddy?' said Roker, appealing to another man in the
lodge, 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 strong
emphasis on the personal pronoun.

'Bless my dear eyes!' said Mr. Roker, shaking his head slowly
from side to side, and gazing abstractedly out of the grated
windows before him, as if he were fondly recalling some peaceful
scene of his early youth; 'it seems but yesterday that he whopped
the coal-heaver down Fox-under-the-Hill by the wharf there.
I think I can see him now, a-coming up the Strand between
the two street-keepers, a little sobered by the bruising, with
a patch o' winegar and brown paper over his right eyelid, and
that 'ere lovely bulldog, as pinned the little boy arterwards,
a-following at his heels.  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
the inquiry; Mr. Roker, shaking off the poetical and gloomy
train of thought into which he had been betrayed, descended to
the common 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
future associates.

'What is that Simpson, Neddy?' said Mr. Roker, turning to his
companion.

'What Simpson?' said Neddy.

'Why, him in twenty-seven in the third, that this gentleman's
going to be chummed on.'

'Oh, him!' replied Neddy; 'he's nothing exactly.  He WAS a
horse chaunter: he's a leg now.'

'Ah, so I thought,' rejoined Mr. Roker, closing the book, and
placing the small piece of paper in Mr. Pickwick's hands.  'That's
the ticket, sir.'

Very much perplexed by this summary disposition of this
person, Mr. Pickwick walked back into the prison, revolving in
his mind what he had better do.  Convinced, however, that before
he took any other steps it would be advisable to see, and hold
personal converse with, the three gentlemen with whom it was
proposed to quarter him, he made the best of his way to the third flight.

After groping about in the gallery for some time, attempting in
the dim light to decipher the numbers on the different doors, he
at length appealed to a pot-boy, who happened to be pursuing
his morning 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 the
likeness of a man being hung, and smoking the while, chalked
outside the door.'

Guided by this direction, Mr. Pickwick proceeded slowly along
the gallery until he encountered the 'portrait of a gentleman,'
above described, upon whose countenance he tapped, with the
knuckle of his forefinger--gently at first, and then audibly.  After
repeating this process several times without effect, he ventured to
open the door and peep in.

There was only one man in the room, and he was leaning out
of window as far as he could without overbalancing himself,
endeavouring, with great perseverance, to spit upon the crown
of the hat of a personal friend on the parade below.  As neither
speaking, coughing, sneezing, knocking, nor any other ordinary
mode of attracting attention, made this person aware of the
presence of a visitor, Mr. Pickwick, after some delay, stepped up
to the window, and pulled him gently by the coat tail.  The
individual brought in his head and shoulders with great swiftness,
and surveying Mr. Pickwick from head to foot, demanded in a
surly tone what the--something beginning with a capital H--he wanted.

'I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his ticket--'I believe
this 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,' said
Mr. Simpson (for it was the leg), after a very discontented sort of
a pause.

Mr. Pickwick thought so also; but, under all the circumstances,
he considered it a matter of sound policy to be silent.
Mr. Simpson mused for a few moments after this, and then,
thrusting his head out of the window, gave a shrill whistle, and
pronounced some word aloud, several times.  What the word was,
Mr. Pickwick could not distinguish; but he rather inferred that
it must be some nickname which distinguished Mr. Martin, from
the fact of a great number of gentlemen on the ground below,
immediately proceeding to cry 'Butcher!' in imitation of the tone
in which that useful class of society are wont, diurnally, to make
their presence known 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 blue jean frock and
top-boots with circular toes, entered the room nearly out of
breath, closely followed by another gentleman in very shabby
black, and a sealskin cap.  The latter gentleman, who fastened his
coat all the way up to his chin by means of a pin and a button
alternately, had a very coarse red face, and looked like a drunken
chaplain; which, indeed, he was.

These two gentlemen having by turns perused Mr. Pickwick's
billet, the one expressed his opinion that it was 'a rig,' and the
other his conviction that it was 'a go.'  Having recorded their
feelings 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,' said
the chaplain, looking at three dirty mattresses, each rolled up in
a blanket; which occupied one corner of the room during the day,
and formed a kind of slab, on which were placed an old cracked
basin, ewer, and soap-dish, of common yellow earthenware, with
a blue flower--'very aggravating.'

Mr. Martin expressed the same opinion in rather stronger
terms; Mr. Simpson, after having let a variety of expletive
adjectives loose upon society without any substantive to accompany
them, tucked up his sleeves, and began to wash the greens
for dinner.

While this was going on, Mr. Pickwick had been eyeing the
room, which was filthily dirty, and smelt intolerably close.  There
was no vestige of either carpet, curtain, or blind.  There was not
even a closet in it.  Unquestionably there were but few things to
put away, if there had been one; but, however few in number, or
small in individual amount, still, remnants of loaves and pieces
of cheese, and damp towels, and scrags of meat, and articles of
wearing apparel, and mutilated crockery, and bellows without
nozzles, and toasting-forks without prongs, do present somewhat
of an uncomfortable appearance when they are scattered about
the floor of a small apartment, which is the common sitting and
sleeping 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?
I hardly understand you.'

'What will you take to be paid out?' said the butcher.  'The
regular 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,' said
Mr. 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
I live anywhere else?  I thought I could not.'

At this inquiry Mr. Martin looked, with a countenance of
excessive surprise, at his two friends, and then each gentleman
pointed with his right thumb over his left shoulder.  This action
imperfectly described in words by the very feeble term of 'over
the left,' when performed by any number of ladies or gentlemen
who are accustomed to act in unison, has a very graceful and airy
effect; 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
swallow the 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 what
money was out of it; that it would instantly procure him almost
anything he desired; and that, supposing he had it, and had no
objection to spend it, if he only signified his wish to have a room
to himself, he might take possession of one, furnished and fitted
to boot, in half an hour's time.

With this the parties separated, very much to their common
satisfaction; Mr. Pickwick once more retracing his steps to the
lodge, 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 the purpose.

'I knowed it!' said Mr. Roker, with a chuckle, when Mr.
Pickwick stated the object with which he had returned.  'Didn't I
say so, Neddy?'

The philosophical owner of the universal penknife growled an
affirmative.

'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 of me, 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, that
belongs to a Chancery prisoner,' said Mr. Roker.  'It'll stand you
in a 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 with
great alacrity; 'the matter's settled in five minutes.  Lord! why
didn't you say at first that you was willing to come down handsome?'

The matter was soon arranged, as the turnkey had foretold.
The Chancery prisoner had been there long enough to have lost
his friends, fortune, home, and happiness, and to have acquired
the right of having a room to himself.  As he laboured, however,
under the inconvenience of often wanting a morsel of bread, he
eagerly listened to Mr. Pickwick's proposal to rent the apartment,
and readily covenanted and agreed to yield him up the sole and
undisturbed possession thereof, in consideration of the weekly
payment of twenty shillings; from which fund he furthermore
contracted to pay out any person or persons that might be
chummed upon it.

As they struck the bargain, Mr. Pickwick surveyed him with a
painful interest.  He was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous man, in an old
greatcoat and slippers, with sunken cheeks, and a restless, eager
eye.  His lips were bloodless, and his bones sharp and thin.  God
help him! the iron teeth of confinement and privation had been
slowly filing him down for twenty years.

'And where will you live meanwhile, Sir?' said Mr. Pickwick,
as he laid the amount of the first week's rent, in advance, on the
tottering table.

The man gathered up the money with a trembling hand, and
replied that he didn't know yet; he must go and see where he
could move his bed to.

'I am afraid, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, laying his hand gently and
compassionately on his arm--'I am afraid you will have to live in
some noisy, crowded place.  Now, pray, consider this room your
own when you want quiet, or when any of your friends come to
see you.'

'Friends!' interposed the man, in a voice which rattled in his
throat.  'if I lay dead at the bottom of the deepest mine in the
world; tight screwed down and soldered in my coffin; rotting in
the dark and filthy ditch that drags its slime along, beneath the
foundations of this prison; I could not be more forgotten or
unheeded than I am here.  I am a dead man; dead to society,
without the pity they bestow on those whose souls have passed to
judgment.  Friends to see me!  My God!  I have sunk, from the
prime of life into old age, in this place, and there is not one to
raise his hand above my bed when I lie dead upon it, and say,
"It is a blessing he is gone!"'

The excitement, which had cast an unwonted light over the
man's face, while he spoke, subsided as he concluded; and
pressing his withered hands together in a hasty and disordered
manner, he shuffled from the room.

'Rides rather rusty,' said Mr. Roker, with a smile.  'Ah! they're
like the elephants.  They feel it now and then, and it makes 'em wild!'

Having made this deeply-sympathising remark, Mr. Roker
entered upon his arrangements with such expedition, that in a
short time the room was furnished with a carpet, six chairs, a
table, a sofa bedstead, a tea-kettle, and various small articles, on
hire, at the very reasonable rate of seven-and-twenty shillings and
sixpence per week.

'Now, is there anything more we can do for you?' inquired
Mr. Roker, looking round with great satisfaction, and gaily
chinking the first week's hire in his closed fist.

'Why, yes,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been musing deeply
for some time.  'Are there any people here who run on errands,
and so forth?'

'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, who
has got a friend on the poor side, that's glad to do anything of
that sort.  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, that
in which the most miserable and abject class of debtors are
confined.  A prisoner having declared upon the poor side, pays
neither rent nor chummage.  His fees, upon entering and leaving
the jail, are reduced in amount, and he becomes entitled to a share
of some small quantities of food: to provide which, a few
charitable persons have, from time to time, left trifling legacies in
their wills.  Most of our readers will remember, that, until within a
very few years past, there was a kind of iron cage in the wall of
the Fleet Prison, within which was posted some man of hungry
looks, who, from time to time, rattled a money-box, and
exclaimed in a mournful voice, 'Pray, remember the poor debtors;
pray remember the poor debtors.'  The receipts of this box, when
there were any, were divided among the poor prisoners; and the
men on the poor side relieved each other in this degrading office.

Although this custom has been abolished, and the cage is now
boarded up, the miserable and destitute condition of these
unhappy persons remains the same.  We no longer suffer them to
appeal at the prison gates to the charity and compassion of the
passersby; but we still leave unblotted the leaves of our statute
book, for the reverence and admiration of succeeding ages, the
just and wholesome law which declares that the sturdy felon shall
be fed and clothed, and that the penniless debtor shall be left to
die of starvation and nakedness.  This is no fiction.  Not a week
passes over our head, but, in every one of our prisons for debt,
some of these men must inevitably expire in the slow agonies of
want, if they were not relieved by their fellow-prisoners.

Turning these things in his mind, as he mounted the narrow
staircase at the foot of which Roker had left him, Mr. Pickwick
gradually worked himself to the boiling-over point; and so
excited was he with his reflections on this subject, that he had
burst into the room to which he had been directed, before he had
any distinct recollection, either of the place in which he was, or of
the object 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 was
brooding 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 common
calico shirt, yellow and in rags; his hair hanging over his face;
his features changed with suffering, and pinched with famine--
there sat Mr. Alfred Jingle; his head resting on his hands, his eyes
fixed upon the fire, and his whole appearance denoting misery
and dejection!

Near him, leaning listlessly against the wall, stood a strong-
built countryman, flicking with a worn-out hunting-whip the
top-boot that adorned his right foot; his left being thrust into an
old slipper.  Horses, dogs, and drink had brought him there,
pell-mell.  There was a rusty spur on the solitary boot, which he
occasionally jerked into the empty air, at the same time giving
the boot a smart blow, and muttering some of the sounds by
which a sportsman encourages his horse.  He was riding, in
imagination, some desperate steeplechase at that moment.  Poor
wretch!  He never rode a match on the swiftest animal in his costly
stud, with half the speed at which he had torn along the course
that ended in the Fleet.

On the opposite side of the room an old man was seated on a
small wooden box, with his eyes riveted on the floor, and his face
settled into an expression of the deepest and most hopeless
despair.  A young girl--his little grand-daughter--was hanging
about him, endeavouring, with a thousand childish devices, to
engage his attention; but the old man neither saw nor heard her.
The voice that had been music to him, and the eyes that had been
light, fell coldly on his senses.  His limbs were shaking with
disease, and the palsy had fastened on his mind.

There were two or three other men in the room, congregated in
a little knot, and noiselessly talking among themselves.  There was
a lean and haggard woman, too--a prisoner's wife--who was
watering, with great solicitude, the wretched stump of a dried-up,
withered plant, which, it was plain to see, could never send forth
a green leaf again--too true an emblem, perhaps, of the office
she had come there to discharge.

Such were the objects which presented themselves to Mr.
Pickwick's view, as he looked round him in amazement.  The
noise of some one stumbling hastily into the room, roused him.
Turning his eyes towards the door, they encountered the new-
comer; and in him, through his rags and dirt, he recognised the
familiar features of Mr. Job Trotter.

'Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed Job aloud.

'Eh?' said Jingle, starting from his seat.  'Mr --!  So it is--
queer place--strange things--serves me right--very.'  Mr. Jingle
thrust his 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 very miserable.
The sharp, involuntary glance Jingle had cast at a small
piece of raw loin of mutton, which Job had brought in with him,
said more of their reduced state than two hours' explanation
could have done.  Mr. Pickwick looked mildly at Jingle, and said--

'I should like to speak to you in private.  Will you step out for
an instant?'

'Certainly,' said Jingle, rising hastily.  'Can't step far--no
danger of overwalking yourself here--spike park--grounds
pretty--romantic, but not extensive--open for public inspection
--family always in town--housekeeper desperately careful--very.'

'You have forgotten your coat,' said Mr. Pickwick, as they
walked out to the staircase, and closed the door after them.

'Eh?' said Jingle.  'Spout--dear relation--uncle Tom--
couldn't help 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 of
boots--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 umbrella
with an ivory handle!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had only
heard of such things in shipwrecks or read of them in Constable's
Miscellany.

'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; 'I
understand you.  You have pawned your wardrobe.'

'Everything--Job's too--all shirts gone--never mind--saves
washing.  Nothing soon--lie in bed--starve--die--inquest--little
bone-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 him
right--all over--drop the curtain.'

Jingle delivered this singular summary of his prospects in life,
with his accustomed volubility, and with various twitches of the
countenance to counterfeit smiles.  Mr. Pickwick easily perceived
that his recklessness was assumed, and looking him full, but not
unkindly, in the face, saw that his eyes were moist with tears.

'Good fellow,' said Jingle, pressing his hand, and turning his
head away.  'Ungrateful dog--boyish to cry--can't help it--bad
fever--weak--ill--hungry.  Deserved it all--but suffered much--very.'
Wholly unable to keep up appearances any longer, and
perhaps rendered worse by the effort he had made, the dejected
stroller sat down on the stairs, and, covering his face with his
hands, 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.  We
have described him, by the bye, as having deeply-sunken eyes, in
the best of times.  In his present state of want and distress, he
looked as if those features had gone out of town altogether.

'Here, sir,' cried Job.

'Come here, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, trying to look stern, with
four large tears running down his waistcoat.  'Take that, sir.'

Take what?  In the ordinary acceptation of such language, it
should have been a blow.  As the world runs, it ought to have
been a sound, hearty cuff; for Mr. Pickwick had been duped,
deceived, and wronged by the destitute outcast who was now
wholly in his power.  Must we tell the truth?  It was something
from Mr. Pickwick's waistcoat pocket, which chinked as it was
given into Job's hand, and the giving of which, somehow or other
imparted a sparkle to the eye, and a swelling to the heart, of our
excellent old friend, as he hurried away.

Sam had returned when Mr. Pickwick reached his own room,
and was inspecting the arrangements that had been made for his
comfort, with a kind of grim satisfaction which was very pleasant
to look upon.  Having a decided objection to his master's being
there at all, Mr. Weller appeared to consider it a high moral duty
not 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 a
disparaging manner.

'Have you seen Mr. Tupman and our other friends?'

'Yes, I HAVE seen 'em, sir, and they're a-comin' to-morrow, and
wos 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 had
arranged, 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 much
solemnity, '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
may come here through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion,
and young men may be brought here by the selfishness of those
they serve.  It is better for those young men, in every point of
view, that they 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 your
drift; 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
the snowstorm, ven it overtook him.'

'I see you comprehend me, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Independently
of my wish that you should not be idling about a place
like this, for years to come, I feel that for a debtor in the Fleet 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.  rather sarcastically.

'Yes, for the time that I remain here,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Your wages I shall continue to pay.  Any one of my three friends
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, with
assumed cheerfulness--'if I do, I pledge you my word that you
shall return to me instantly.'

'Now I'll tell you wot it is, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, in a grave and
solemn voice.  'This here sort o' thing won't do at all, so don't
let's hear no more about it.'
'I am serious, and resolved, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'You air, air you, sir?' inquired Mr. Weller firmly.  'Wery good,
Sir; then so am I.'

Thus speaking, Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with great
precision, 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 XLIII
SHOWING HOW Mr. SAMUEL WELLER GOT INTO DIFFICULTIES


In a lofty room, ill-lighted and worse ventilated, situated in
Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, there sit nearly the
whole 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 the land,
barring the French polish.  There is a box of barristers on their
right hand; there is an enclosure of insolvent debtors on their left;
and there is an inclined plane of most especially dirty faces in
their front.  These gentlemen are the Commissioners of the
Insolvent Court, and the place in which they sit, is the Insolvent
Court itself.

It is, and has been, time out of mind, the remarkable fate of
this court to be, somehow or other, held and understood, by the
general consent of all the destitute shabby-genteel people in
London, as their common resort, and place of daily refuge.  It is
always full.  The steams of beer and spirits perpetually ascend to
the ceiling, and, being condensed by the heat, roll down the walls
like rain; there are more old suits of clothes in it at one time,
than will be offered for sale in all Houndsditch in a twelvemonth;
more unwashed skins and grizzly beards than all the pumps and
shaving-shops between Tyburn and Whitechapel could render
decent, between sunrise and sunset.

It must not be supposed that any of these people have the least
shadow of business in, or the remotest connection with, the place
they so indefatigably attend.  If they had, it would be no matter of
surprise, and the singularity of the thing would cease.  Some of
them sleep during the greater part of the sitting; others carry
small portable dinners wrapped in pocket-handkerchiefs or
sticking out of their worn-out pockets, and munch and listen
with equal relish; but no one among them was ever known to have
the slightest personal interest in any case that was ever brought
forward.  Whatever they do, there they sit from the first moment
to the last.  When it is heavy, rainy weather, they all come in, wet
through; and at such times the vapours of the court are like those
of a fungus-pit.

A casual visitor might suppose this place to be a temple
dedicated to the Genius of Seediness.  There is not a messenger or
process-server attached to it, who wears a coat that was made for
him; not a tolerably fresh, or wholesome-looking man in the
whole establishment, 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 of preservation to which he can lay no natural claim.  The
very barristers' wigs are ill-powdered, and their curls lack crispness.

But the attorneys, who sit at a large bare table below the
commissioners, are, after all, the greatest curiosities.  The professional
establishment of the more opulent of these gentlemen, consists of
a blue bag and a boy; generally a youth of the Jewish persuasion.
They have no fixed offices, their legal business being transacted
in the parlours of public-houses, or the yards of prisons, whither
they repair in crowds, and canvass for customers after the manner
of omnibus cads.  They are of a greasy and mildewed appearance;
and if they can be said to have any vices at all, perhaps drinking
and cheating are the most conspicuous among them.  Their
residences are usually on the outskirts of 'the Rules,' chiefly
lying within a circle of one mile from the obelisk in St. George's
Fields.  Their looks are not prepossessing, 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
brown the next, with a velvet collar of the same chameleon tints.
His forehead was narrow, his face wide, his head large, and his
nose all on one side, as if Nature, indignant with the propensities
she observed in him in his birth, had given it an angry tweak
which it had never recovered.  Being short-necked and asthmatic,
however, he respired principally through this feature; so, perhaps,
what it wanted 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 assurance
was pledged.

'Certain sure,' replied Pell; 'but if he'd gone to any irregular
practitioner, mind you, I wouldn't have answered for the consequences.'

'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 with
whom it was held was no other than the elder Mr. Weller, who
had come there, to comfort and console a friend, whose petition
to be discharged under the act, was to be that day heard, and whose
attorney 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
in the warmest and most flattering manner by some half-dozen
of his professional brethren, in token of their gratification at his
arrival.  The insolvent gentleman, who had contracted a speculative
but imprudent passion for horsing long stages, which had
led to his present embarrassments, looked extremely well, and
was soothing the excitement of his feelings with shrimps and porter.

The salutation between Mr. Weller and his friends was strictly
confined to the freemasonry of the craft; consisting of a jerking
round of the right wrist, and a tossing of the little finger into the
air at the same time.  We once knew two famous coachmen (they
are dead now, poor fellows) who were twins, and between whom
an unaffected and devoted attachment existed.  They passed
each other on the Dover road, every day, for twenty-four years,
never exchanging 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?
All right behind, and full inside?'

'All right, old feller,' replied the embarrassed gentleman.

'Is the gray mare made over to anybody?' inquired Mr. Weller
anxiously.  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 the
heads off half a dozen shrimps, and swallowing them without any
more ado.

'Wery good, wery good,' said Mr. Weller.  'Alvays see to the
drag ven 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
make it.'

Mr. Weller nodded in a manner which bespoke his inward
approval 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,
and I should think it would be his turn in about half an hour.  I
told my clerk to come over and tell us when there was a chance.'

Mr. Weller surveyed the attorney from head to foot with great
admiration, and said emphatically--

'And what'll you take, sir?'

'Why, really,' replied Mr. Pell, 'you're very-- Upon my
word and honour, I'm not in the habit of-- It's so very early
in the morning, that, actually, I am almost-- Well, you may
bring me threepenn'orth of rum, my dear.'

The officiating damsel, who had anticipated the order before it
was 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
my way; but I can't help saying, that, if your friend hadn't been
fortunate enough to fall into hands that-- But I won't say
what I was going to say.  Gentlemen, my service to you.'  Having
emptied the glass in a twinkling, Mr. Pell smacked his lips, and
looked complacently round on the assembled coachmen, who
evidently regarded 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
to another o' the same, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, with grave facetiousness.
'Ha, ha!' laughed Mr. Pell.  'Not bad, not bad.  A professional
man, too!  At this time of the morning, it would be rather too
good a-- Well, I don't know, my dear--you may do that
again, if you please.  Hem!'

This last sound was a solemn and dignified cough, in which
Mr. Pell, observing an indecent tendency to mirth in some of his
auditors, 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 said
nothing yet, and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything
more.  'Why shouldn't he?'

A murmur of assent ran through the company.

'I remember, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, 'dining with him on one
occasion; there was only us two, but everything as splendid as if
twenty people had been expected--the great seal on a dumb-
waiter at his right hand, and a man in a bag-wig and suit of
armour guarding the mace with a drawn sword and silk stockings
--which is perpetually done, gentlemen, night and day; when he
said, "Pell," he said, "no false delicacy, Pell.  You're a man of
talent; you can get anybody through the Insolvent Court, Pell;
and your country should be proud of you."  Those were his very
words.  "My Lord," I said, "you flatter me."--"Pell," he said,
"if I do, 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'
took it 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.
'If he damned hisself in confidence, o' course that was another thing.'

'Of course it was,' said Mr. Pell.  'The distinction's obvious, you
will 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 a
professional man.  It may be that I am a good deal looked up to,
in my profession--it may be that I am not.  Most people know.  I
say nothing.  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
mention this 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 terrible determination.

This virtuous resolution had scarcely been formed, when the
boy and the blue bag, who were inseparable companions, rushed
violently into the room, and said (at least the boy did, for the
blue bag took no part in the announcement) that the case was
coming on directly.  The intelligence was no sooner received than
the whole party hurried across the street, and began to fight their
way into court--a preparatory ceremony, which has been
calculated to occupy, 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 place
which would suit him.  His success was not quite equal to his
expectations; for having neglected to take his hat off, it was
knocked over his eyes by some unseen person, upon whose toes
he had alighted with considerable force.  Apparently this
individual regretted his impetuosity immediately afterwards, for,
muttering an indistinct exclamation of surprise, he dragged the
old man out into the hall, and, after a violent struggle, released
his head and face.

'Samivel!' exclaimed Mr. Weller, when he was thus enabled to
behold 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
you s'pose I wos to tell you by the weight o' your foot?'

'Vell, that's wery true, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, mollified
at once; 'but wot are you a-doin' on here?  Your gov'nor can't
do no good here, Sammy.  They won't pass that werdick, they
won't pass it, Sammy.'  And Mr. Weller shook his head with
legal solemnity.

'Wot a perwerse old file it is!' exclaimed Sam.  'always a-goin'
on about werdicks and alleybis and that.  Who said anything
about the werdick?'

Mr. Weller made no reply, but once more shook his head most learnedly.

'Leave off rattlin' that 'ere nob o' yourn, if you don't want it
to come off the springs altogether,' said Sam impatiently, 'and
behave 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' herself
gradivally vith too much o' that 'ere pine-apple rum, and other
strong 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's
hand, clasped it, and let it fall.  There was an expression on his
countenance in doing so--not of dismay or apprehension, but
partaking more of the sweet and gentle character of hope.  A
gleam of resignation, and even of cheerfulness, passed over his
face too, as he slowly said, 'I ain't quite certain, Sammy; I
wouldn't like to say I wos altogether positive, in case of any
subsekent disappointment, but I rayther think, my boy, I rayther
think, that the 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 he
imbibes wonderful.'

Some thoughts of the rum appeared to obtrude themselves on
Mr. Weller's mind, as he said this; for he looked gloomy and
thoughtful; but he very shortly recovered, as was testified by a
perfect alphabet of winks, in which he was only wont to indulge
when 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,
Sam related, as succinctly as he could, the last memorable
conversation he 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. Weller metaphorically,
'and he'll come out, done so ex-ceedin' brown, that his 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, wery
fine, like a red-faced Nixon, as the sixpenny books gives picters on.'

'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 his son.

'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 he
might ha' throw'd a small light on that 'ere liver complaint as we
wos a-speakin' on, just now.  Hows'ever, if he's dead, and ain't
left the bisness to nobody, there's an end on it.  Go on, Sammy,'
said Mr. Weller, with a sigh.

'Well,' said Sam, 'you've been a-prophecyin' avay about wot'll
happen 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 intelligence
lighted up his countenance as he sank his voice to a whisper, and
applied his mouth to the ear of his offspring--'unless it is getting
him 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 unexpected
contempt, and again propounded his question.

'No,' said the old gentleman; 'if he von't let you stop there, I
see no 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
for the 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
minits arterwards; p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up
rough.  You von'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
complete code of telegraph nods and gestures, after which, the elder
Mr. Weller sat himself down on a stone step and laughed till he
was purple.

'Wot a old image it is!' exclaimed Sam, indignant at this loss
of time.  'What are you a-settin' down there for, con-wertin' your
face into 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 gave
his body a sudden wrench to one side, and by a dexterous twist,
contrived to get his right hand into a most capacious pocket,
from whence, after a great deal of panting and exertion, he
extricated a pocket-book of the large octavo size, fastened by a
huge leathern strap.  From this ledger he drew forth a couple of
whiplashes, three or four buckles, a little sample-bag of corn,
and, finally, a small roll of very dirty bank-notes, from which he
selected the required amount, 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 same
pocket, '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
has got brains like the frogs, dispersed all over his body, and
reachin' to the wery tips of his fingers; a friend of the Lord
Chancellorship's, Sammy, who'd only have to tell him what he
wanted, 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,' retorted
Sam.  'The have-his-carcass, next to the perpetual motion, is vun
of the blessedest things as wos ever made.  I've read that 'ere in
the newspapers 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,
and go in, that vay.  No visperin's to the Chancellorship--I don't
like the 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
once sought the erudite Solomon Pell, and acquainted him with
his desire to issue a writ, instantly, for the SUM of twenty-five
pounds, and costs of process; to be executed without delay upon
the body of one Samuel Weller; the charges thereby incurred, to
be paid in advance to Solomon Pell.

The attorney was in high glee, for the embarrassed coach-
horser was ordered to be discharged forthwith.  He highly
approved of Sam's attachment to his master; declared that it
strongly reminded him of his own feelings of devotion to his
friend, the Chancellor; and at once led the elder Mr. Weller
down to the Temple, to swear the affidavit of debt, which the
boy, with the assistance of the blue bag, had drawn up on the spot.

Meanwhile, Sam, having been formally introduced to the
whitewashed 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 the occasion
--an invitation which he was by no means backward in accepting.

The mirth of gentlemen of this class is of a grave and quiet
character, usually; but the present instance was one of peculiar
festivity, and they relaxed in proportion.  After some rather
tumultuous toasting of the Chief Commissioner and Mr. Solomon
Pell, who had that day displayed such transcendent abilities, a
mottled-faced gentleman in a blue shawl proposed that somebody
should 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 somewhat
offensively, declined to do.  Upon which, as is not unusual in such
cases, a rather angry colloquy ensued.

'Gentlemen,' said the coach-horser, 'rather than disturb the
harmony of this delightful occasion, perhaps Mr. Samuel Weller
will 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
the man said wen he took the sitivation at the lighthouse.'

With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into the
following wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impression
that it is not generally known, we take the liberty of quoting.  We
would beg to call particular attention to the monosyllable at the
end of the second and fourth lines, which not only enables the
singer to take breath at those points, but greatly assists the metre.


          ROMANCE

  I

Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,
His bold mare Bess bestrode-er;
Ven there he see'd the Bishop's coach
A-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!'

          CHORUS

And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,
This here's the bold Turpin!'

  II

Says 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 the
mottled-faced gentleman, interrupting it at this point.  'I demand
the name o' that coachman.'

'Nobody know'd,' replied Sam.  'He hadn't got his card in his pocket.'

'I object to the introduction o' politics,' said the mottled-
faced gentleman.  'I submit that, in the present company, that
'ere song's political; and, wot's much the same, that it ain't true.
I say that that coachman did not run away; but that he died
game--game as pheasants; and I won't hear nothin' said to
the contrairey.'

As the mottled-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and
determination, and as the opinions of the company seemed
divided on the subject, it threatened to give rise to fresh altercation,
when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely arrived.

'All right, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.

'The officer will be here at four o'clock,' said Mr. Pell.  'I
suppose you won't run away meanwhile, eh?  Ha! ha!'

'P'raps my cruel pa 'ull relent afore then,' replied Sam, with a
broad 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, who was making out his little bill of costs; 'a very
amusing incident indeed!  Benjamin, copy that.'  And Mr.
Pell smiled again, as he called Mr. Weller's attention to the amount.

'Thank you, thank you,' said the professional gentleman,
taking up another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from
the pocket-book.  'Three ten and one ten is five.  Much obliged to
you, Mr. Weller.  Your son is a most deserving young man, very
much so indeed, Sir.  It's a very pleasant trait in a young man's
character, very much so,' added Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly
round, as he buttoned up the money.

'Wot a game it is!' said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle.
'A reg'lar prodigy son!'

'Prodigal--prodigal son, Sir,' suggested Mr. Pell, mildly.

'Never mind, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, with dignity.  'I know wot's
o'clock, Sir.  Wen I don't, I'll ask you, Sir.'

By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself so
extremely popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined to
see him to prison in a body.  So off they set; the plaintiff and
defendant walking arm in arm, the officer in front, and eight stout
coachmen bringing up the rear.  At Serjeant's Inn Coffee-house
the whole party halted to refresh, and, the legal arrangements
being completed, the procession moved on again.

Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street, by the
pleasantry of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who persevered in
walking four abreast; it was also found necessary to leave the
mottled-faced gentleman behind, to fight a ticket-porter, it being
arranged that his friends should call for him as they came back.
Nothing but these little incidents occurred on the way.  When they
reached the gate of the Fleet, the cavalcade, taking the time from
the 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 emotion
of 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 delighted
to see his humble friend again; 'I had no intention of hurting your
feelings yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what I said.  Put down
your hat, Sam, and let me explain my meaning, a little more at length.'

'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 his
follower's manner.  'Speak out, Sam.'

''Cause,' rejoined Sam--''cause I've got a little bisness as I
want to do.'

'What business?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam's
confused 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'd better 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 arrested
this here wery arternoon for debt.'

'You arrested for debt!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into
a chair.

'Yes, for debt, Sir,' replied Sam.  'And the man as puts me in,
'ull never let me out till you go yourself.'

'Bless my heart and soul!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.  'What do
you mean?'

'Wot I say, Sir,' rejoined Sam.  'If it's forty years to come, I shall
be 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 and
violence, Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a most
unusual state of excitement; and then, folding his arms, looked
firmly and fixedly in his master's face.


CHAPTER LXIV
TREATS OF DIVERS LITTLE MATTERS WHICH OCCURRED
  IN THE FLEET, AND OF Mr. WINKLE'S MYSTERIOUS
  BEHAVIOUR; AND SHOWS HOW THE POOR CHANCERY
  PRISONER OBTAINED HIS RELEASE AT LAST


Mr. Pickwick felt a great deal too much touched by the warmth of
Sam's attachment, to be able to exhibit any manifestation of
anger or displeasure at the precipitate course he had adopted, in
voluntarily consigning himself to a debtor's prison for an
indefinite period.  The only point on which he persevered in
demanding an explanation, was, the name of Sam's detaining
creditor; but this Mr. Weller as perseveringly withheld.

'It ain't o' no use, sir,' said Sam, again and again; 'he's a
malicious, bad-disposed, vorldly-minded, spiteful, windictive creetur,
with a hard heart as there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman
remarked of the old gen'l'm'n with the dropsy, ven he said, that
upon the whole he thought he'd rayther leave his property to his
vife than build a chapel vith it.'

'But consider, Sam,' Mr. Pickwick remonstrated, 'the sum is so
small that it can very easily be paid; and having made up My
mind that you shall stop with me, you should recollect how much
more useful you would be, if you could go outside the walls.'
'Wery much obliged to you, sir,' replied Mr. Weller gravely;
'but I'd rayther not.'

'Rather not do what, Sam?'

'Wy, I'd rayther not let myself down to ask a favour o' this
here unremorseful 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
great favour 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 some
vexation, Mr. Weller thought it prudent to change the theme of
the discourse.

'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
heerd on, Sir.'  Mr. Weller paused when he arrived at this point,
and cast a 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 which
Sam's obstinacy had given him.  'The fame of the gentleman in
question, never reached my ears.'

'No, sir!' exclaimed Mr. Weller.  'You astonish me, Sir; he wos
a clerk in a gov'ment office, sir.'

'Was he?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes, he wos, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'and a wery pleasant
gen'l'm'n too--one o' the precise and tidy sort, as puts their feet
in little India-rubber fire-buckets wen it's wet weather, and never
has no other bosom friends but hare-skins; he saved up his
money on principle, wore a clean shirt ev'ry day on principle;
never spoke to none of his relations on principle, 'fear they
shou'd want to borrow money of him; and wos altogether, in
fact, an uncommon agreeable character.  He had his hair cut on
principle vunce a fortnight, and contracted for his clothes on the
economic principle--three suits a year, and send back the old
uns.  Being a wery reg'lar gen'l'm'n, he din'd ev'ry day at the
same place, where it 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 the tears a-tricklin' down his face, let alone the
way he used to poke the fire in the vinter time, which wos a dead
loss o' four-pence ha'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 next gen'l'm'n," he sings out ev'ry day ven
he comes in.  "See arter the TIMES, 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 the boy as wos a-comin' in
with the evenin' paper, which he'd read with sich intense interest
and persewerance as worked the other customers up to the wery
confines o' desperation and insanity, 'specially one i-rascible old
gen'l'm'n as the vaiter wos always obliged to keep a sharp eye
on, at sich times, fear he should be tempted to commit some rash
act with the carving-knife.  Vell, Sir, here he'd stop, occupyin' the
best place for three hours, and never takin' nothin' arter his
dinner, but sleep, and then he'd go away to a coffee-house a few
streets off, and have a small pot o' coffee and four crumpets,
arter wich he'd walk home to Kensington and go to bed.  One
night he wos took very ill; sends for a doctor; doctor comes 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 he
got in, to perwent the necessity o' the coachman's gettin' down,
and thereby undeceivin' the public by lettin' 'em see that it wos
only 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 the doctor.  "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 no more 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 fifteen year, on principle."  "Well, then, you'd
better leave 'em off, on principle," says the doctor.  "Crumpets is
NOT wholesome, Sir," says the doctor, wery fierce.  "But they're
so cheap," says the patient, comin' down a little, "and so wery
fillin' at the price."  "They'd be dear to you, at any price; dear if
you wos paid to eat 'em," says the doctor.  "Four crumpets a
night," he says, "vill do your business in six months!"  The patient
looks him full in the face, and turns it over in his mind for a long
time, and at last he says, "Are you sure o' that 'ere, Sir?"  "I'll
stake my professional reputation on it," says the doctor.  "How
many crumpets, at a sittin', do you think 'ud kill me 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.  "I think it
might," says the doctor.  "Three shillins' wurth 'ud be sure to do
it, I s'pose?" says the patient.  "Certainly," says the doctor.
"Wery good," says the patient; "good-night."  Next mornin' he
gets up, 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; for
he was considerably startled by this tragical termination of
the narrative.

'Wot did he do it for, Sir?' reiterated Sam.  'Wy, in support of
his great principle that crumpets wos wholesome, and to show
that he wouldn't be put out of his way for nobody!'
With such like shiftings and changings of the discourse, did
Mr. Weller meet his master's questioning on the night of his
taking up his residence in the Fleet.  Finding all gentle remonstrance
useless, Mr. Pickwick at length yielded a reluctant consent
to his taking lodgings by the week, of a bald-headed cobbler, who
rented a small slip room in one of the upper galleries.  To this
humble apartment Mr. Weller moved 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 as if he had been bred in the
prison, and his whole family had vegetated therein for three generations.

'Do you always smoke arter you goes to bed, old cock?'
inquired Mr. Weller of his landlord, when they had both retired
for the night.

'Yes, I does, young bantam,' replied the cobbler.

'Will you allow me to in-quire wy you make up your bed
under that '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
the cobbler.

'You're a character, sir,' said Sam.

'I haven't got anything of the kind belonging to me,' rejoined
the cobbler, shaking his head; 'and if you want to meet with a
good one, I'm afraid you'll find some difficulty in suiting yourself
at this register office.'

The above short dialogue took place as Mr. Weller lay
extended on his mattress at one end of the room, and the cobbler
on his, at the 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, predisposed Mr. Weller strongly in his landlord's favour;
and, raising himself on his elbow, he took a more lengthened
survey of his appearance than he had yet had either time or
inclination to make.

He was a sallow man--all cobblers are; and had a strong
bristly beard--all cobblers have.  His face was a queer, good-
tempered, crooked-featured piece of workmanship, ornamented
with a couple of eyes that must have worn a very joyous
expression at one time, for they sparkled yet.  The man was sixty,
by years, and Heaven knows how old by imprisonment, so that
his having any look 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.  He had a great red pipe in his mouth, and was
smoking, and staring at the rush-light, in a state of enviable
placidity.

'Have you been here long?' inquired Sam, breaking the silence
which had lasted for some time.

'Twelve year,' replied the cobbler, biting the end of his pipe as
he spoke.

'Contempt?' inquired Sam.
     The cobbler nodded.

'Well, then,' said Sam, with some sternness, 'wot do you
persevere in bein' obstinit for, vastin' your precious life away, in
this here magnified pound?  Wy don't you give in, and tell the
Chancellorship that you're wery sorry for makin' his court
contemptible, and you won't do so no more?'

The cobbler put his pipe in the corner of his mouth, while he smiled,
and then brought it back to its old place again; but said nothing.

'Wy don't you?' said Sam, urging his question strenuously.

'Ah,' said the cobbler, 'you don't quite understand these
matters.  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 delicate
English for goin' mad; or took to buildin', wich is a medical
term for bein' incurable.'

The cobbler shook his head and said, 'Try again.'
     'You didn't go to law, I hope?' said Sam suspiciously.
     'Never in my life,' replied the cobbler.  'The fact is, I was ruined
by having money 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, quietly
smoking 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 fact
already, by the look the cobbler gave him.

'Just this,' replied the cobbler; 'an old gentleman that I
worked for, down in the country, and a humble relation of whose
I married--she's dead, God bless her, and thank Him for it!--
was seized with a fit and went off.'

'Where?' inquired Sam, who was growing sleepy after the
numerous events of the day.

'How should I know where he went?' said the cobbler, speaking
through his nose in an intense enjoyment of his pipe.  'He went
off dead.'

'Oh, that indeed,' said Sam.  'Well?'

'Well,' said the cobbler, 'he left five thousand pound behind him.'

'And wery gen-teel in him so to do,' said Sam.

'One of which,' continued the cobbler, 'he left to me, 'cause I
married 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 the property, he makes me his executor, and leaves the rest to
me in trust, to divide it among 'em as the will prowided.'

'Wot do you mean by leavin' it on trust?' inquired Sam, waking
up 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 wery
little trust at that shop.  Hows'ever, go on.'
'Well,' said the cobbler, 'when I was going to take out a
probate of the will, the nieces and nevys, who was desperately
disappointed at not getting all the money, enters a caveat
against it.'
     '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 agree
among themselves, and consequently couldn't get up a case
against the will, they withdrew the caveat, and I paid all the
legacies.  I'd hardly done it, when one nevy brings an action to set
the will aside.  The case comes on, some months afterwards, afore
a deaf old gentleman, in a back room somewhere down by Paul's
Churchyard; and arter four counsels had taken a day a-piece to
bother him regularly, he takes a week or two to consider, and
read the evidence in six volumes, and then gives his judgment
that how the testator was not quite right in his head, and I must
pay all the money back again, and all the costs.  I appealed; the
case come on before three or four very sleepy gentlemen, who had
heard it all before in the other court, where they're lawyers
without work; the only difference being, that, there, they're
called doctors, and in the other place delegates, if you understand
that; and they very dutifully confirmed the decision of the old
gentleman below.  After that, we went into Chancery, where we
are still, and where I shall always 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 here for ten thousand, and shall stop
here, till I die, mending shoes.  Some gentlemen have talked of
bringing it before Parliament, and I 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 long letters, and dropped the
business.  And this is God's truth, without one word of suppression
or exaggeration, as fifty people, both in this place and out
of it, very well know.'

The cobbler paused to ascertain what effect his story had
produced on Sam; but finding that he had dropped asleep, knocked
the ashes out of his pipe, sighed, put it down, drew the bed-
clothes over his head, and went to sleep, too.

Mr. Pickwick was sitting at breakfast, alone, next morning
(Sam being busily engaged in the cobbler's room, polishing his
master's shoes and brushing the black gaiters) when there came a
knock at the door, which, before Mr. Pickwick could cry 'Come
in!' was followed by the appearance of a head of hair
and a cotton-velvet cap, both of which articles of dress he
had no difficulty in recognising as the personal property of
Mr. Smangle.

'How are you?' said that worthy, accompanying the inquiry
with a score or two of nods; 'I say--do you expect anybody this
morning?  Three men--devilish gentlemanly fellows--have been
asking after you downstairs, and knocking at every door on the
hall flight; for which they've been most infernally blown up by
the collegians 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
rather expected to see, yesterday.'

'Friends of yours!' exclaimed Smangle, seizing Mr. Pickwick
by the hand.  'Say no more.  Curse me, they're friends of mine
from this minute, and friends of Mivins's, too.  Infernal pleasant,
gentlemanly dog, Mivins, isn't he?' said Smangle, with great feeling.

'I know so little of the gentleman,' said Mr. Pickwick,
hesitating, 'that I--'

'I know you do,' interrupted Smangle, clasping Mr. Pickwick
by the shoulder.  'You shall know him better.  You'll be delighted
with him.  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
four cats in the wheel-barrow--four distinct cats, sir, I pledge you
my honour.  Now you know that's infernal clever!  Damme, you
can't help liking a man, when you see these traits about him.
He's only one fault--that little failing I mentioned to you, you know.'

As Mr. Smangle shook his head in a confidential and sympathising
manner at this juncture, Mr. Pickwick felt that he was
expected to say something, so he said, 'Ah!' and looked restlessly
at the door.

'Ah!' echoed Mr. Smangle, with a long-drawn sigh.  'He's
delightful company, that man is, sir.  I don't know better company
anywhere; but he has that one drawback.  If the ghost of his
grandfather, Sir, was to rise before him this minute, he'd ask him
for 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
him again, he would, in two months and three days from this
time, to renew the bill!'

'Those are very remarkable traits,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but
I'm afraid that while we are talking here, my friends may be in a
state of 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.  By
the bye--'

As Smangle pronounced the last three words, he stopped
suddenly, reclosed the door which he had opened, and, walking
softly back to Mr. Pickwick, stepped close up to him on tiptoe,
and said, in a very soft whisper--

'You couldn't make it convenient to lend me half-a-crown till
the latter end of next week, could you?'

Mr. Pickwick could scarcely forbear smiling, but managing to
preserve his gravity, he drew forth the coin, and placed it in
Mr. Smangle's palm; upon which, that gentleman, with many
nods and winks, implying profound mystery, disappeared in
quest of the three strangers, with whom he presently returned;
and having coughed thrice, and nodded as many times, as an
assurance to Mr. Pickwick that he would not forget to pay, he
shook hands all round, in an engaging manner, and at length
took himself off.

'My dear friends,' said Mr. Pickwick, shaking hands alternately
with Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass,
who were the three visitors in question, 'I am delighted to see you.'

The triumvirate were much affected.  Mr. Tupman shook his
head deploringly, Mr. Snodgrass drew forth his handkerchief,
with undisguised emotion; and Mr. Winkle retired to the
window, and sniffed aloud.

'Mornin', gen'l'm'n,' said Sam, entering at the moment with
the shoes and gaiters.  'Avay vith melincholly, as the little boy
said ven his schoolmissus died.  Velcome to the college, gen'l'm'n.'
     'This foolish fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, tapping Sam on the
head as he knelt down to button up his master's gaiters--'this
foolish 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 you
please--I'm a prisoner, gen'l'm'n.  Con-fined, as the lady said.'
     'A prisoner!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, with unaccountable vehemence.

'Hollo, sir!' responded Sam, looking up.  'Wot's the matter, Sir?'

'I had hoped, Sam, that-- Nothing, nothing,' said Mr.
Winkle precipitately.

There was something so very abrupt and unsettled in Mr.
Winkle's manner, that Mr. Pickwick involuntarily looked at his
two friends for an explanation.

'We don't know,' said Mr. Tupman, answering this mute
appeal aloud.  'He has been much excited for two days past,
and his whole demeanour very unlike what it usually is.  We
feared there must be something the matter, but he resolutely
denies it.'

'No, no,' said Mr. Winkle, colouring beneath Mr. Pickwick's
gaze; 'there is really nothing.  I assure you there is nothing, my
dear 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 you to allow Sam to accompany me.'

Mr. Pickwick looked more astonished than before.

'I think,' faltered Mr. Winkle, 'that Sam would have had no
objection 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 some
astonishment, that Sam's fingers were trembling at the gaiters, as
if he were rather surprised or startled.  Sam looked up at Mr.
Winkle, too, when he had finished speaking; and though the
glance they exchanged was instantaneous, they seemed to understand
each other.

'Do you know anything of this, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick sharply.

'No, I don't, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, beginning to button with
extraordinary assiduity.

'Are you sure, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Wy, sir,' responded Mr. Weller; 'I'm sure so far, that I've
never heerd anythin' on the subject afore this moment.  If I makes
any guess about it,' added Sam, looking at Mr. Winkle, 'I
haven't got any right to say what 'It is, fear it should be a
wrong 'un.'

'I have no right to make any further inquiry into the private
affairs of a friend, however intimate a friend,' said Mr. Pickwick,
after a short silence; 'at present let me merely say, that I do not
understand this at all.  There.  We have had quite enough of the
subject.'

Thus expressing himself, Mr. Pickwick led the conversation to
different topics, and Mr. Winkle gradually appeared more at
ease, though still very far from being completely so.  They had all
so much to converse about, that the morning very quickly passed
away; and when, at three o'clock, Mr. Weller produced upon the
little dining-table, a roast leg of mutton and an enormous meat-
pie, with sundry dishes of vegetables, and pots of porter, which
stood upon the chairs or the sofa bedstead, or where they could,
everybody felt disposed to do justice to the meal, notwithstanding
that 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
which a messenger was despatched by Mr. Pickwick to the Horn
Coffee-house, in Doctors' Commons.  The bottle or two, indeed,
might be more properly described as a bottle or six, for by the
time it was drunk, and tea over, the bell began to ring for
strangers to withdraw.

But, if Mr. Winkle's behaviour had been unaccountable in the
morning, it became perfectly unearthly and solemn when, under
the influence of his feelings, and his share of the bottle or six,
he prepared to take leave of his friend.  He lingered behind, until
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had disappeared, and then
fervently clenched Mr. Pickwick's hand, with an expression of
face in which deep and mighty resolve was fearfully blended with
the very concentrated essence of gloom.

'Good-night, my dear Sir!' said Mr. Winkle between his set teeth.

'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 dozen
more after that, and still Mr. Winkle had fast hold of his friend's
hand, and was looking into his face with the same strange expression.

'Is anything the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick at last, when his
arm was quite sore with shaking.
'Nothing,' said Mr. Winkle.

'Well then, good-night,' said Mr. Pickwick, attempting to
disengage his hand.

'My friend, my benefactor, my honoured companion,' murmured
Mr. Winkle, catching at his wrist.  'Do not judge me
harshly; do not, when you hear that, driven to extremity by
hopeless obstacles, I--'

'Now then,' said Mr. Tupman, reappearing at the door.  'Are
you coming, or are we to be locked in?'

'Yes, yes, I am ready,' replied Mr. Winkle.  And with a violent
effort he tore himself away.

As Mr. Pickwick was gazing down the passage after them in
silent astonishment, Sam Weller appeared at the stair-head, and
whispered 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 very
much liked to ha' joined you, Sir; but the gov'nor, o' course,
is paramount.'

'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 his
room, and seating himself at the table in a musing attitude.
'What can that young man be going to do?'

He had sat ruminating about the matter for some time, when
the voice of Roker, the turnkey, demanded whether he might
come in.

'By all means,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I've brought you a softer pillow, Sir,' said Mr. Roker, 'instead
of the 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 the
proffered 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
his hat 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 side upwards, as he looked into it.

'You make my blood run cold,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'What do
you mean?'

'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 been
slowly murdered by the law for six months?'

'I don't know about that,' replied Roker, weighing the hat by
the brim in both hands.  'I suppose he'd have been took the same,
wherever he was.  He went into the infirmary, this morning; the
doctor says his strength is to be kept up as much as possible; and
the warden's sent him wine and broth and that, from his own
house.  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.  I offered Neddy two six-penn'orths to one upon
it just now, but he wouldn'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, if
you like to come.'  Mr. Pickwick snatched up his hat without
speaking, and followed at once.

The turnkey led the way in silence; and gently raising the
latch of the room door, motioned Mr. Pickwick to enter.  It was
a large, bare, desolate room, with a number of stump bedsteads
made of iron, on one of which lay stretched the shadow of a man
--wan, pale, and ghastly.  His breathing was hard and thick, and
he moaned painfully as it came and went.  At the bedside sat a
short old man in a cobbler's apron, who, by the aid of a pair of
horn spectacles, was reading from the Bible aloud.  It was the
fortunate legatee.

The sick man laid his hand upon his attendant's arm, and
motioned 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 mighty
multitude instinct with life and occupation, blended into one
deep murmur, floated into the room.  Above the hoarse loud
hum, arose, from time to time, a boisterous laugh; or a scrap of
some jingling song, shouted forth, by one of the giddy crowd,
would strike upon the ear, for an instant, and then be lost amidst
the roar of voices and the tramp of footsteps; the breaking of the
billows of the restless sea of life, that rolled heavily on, without.
These are melancholy sounds to a quiet listener at any time; but
how melancholy to the watcher by the bed of death!

'There is no air here,' said the man faintly.  'The place pollutes
it.  It was fresh round about, when I walked there, years ago; but
it grows hot and heavy in passing these walls.  I cannot breathe it.'

'We have breathed it together, for a long time,' said the old
man.  'Come, come.'

There was a short silence, during which the two spectators
approached the bed.  The sick man drew a hand of his old fellow-
prisoner towards him, and pressing it affectionately between both
his own, retained it in his grasp.

'I hope,' he gasped after a while, so faintly that they bent their
ears close over the bed to catch the half-formed sounds his pale
lips gave vent to--'I hope my merciful Judge will bear in mind
my heavy punishment on earth.  Twenty years, my friend, twenty
years in this hideous grave!  My heart broke when my child died,
and I could not even kiss him in his little coffin.  My loneliness
since then, in all this noise and riot, has been very dreadful.  May
God forgive me!  He has seen my solitary, lingering death.'

He folded his hands, and murmuring something more they
could not hear, fell into a sleep--only a sleep at first, for they saw
him smile.

They whispered together for a little time, and the turnkey,
stooping over the pillow, drew hastily back.  'He has got his
discharge, by G--!' said the man.

He had.  But he had grown so like death in life, that they knew
not when he died.



CHAPTER XLIV
DESCRIPTIVE OF AN AFFECTING INTERVIEW BETWEEN Mr.
  SAMUEL WELLER AND A FAMILY PARTY.  Mr. PICKWICK
  MAKES A TOUR OF THE DIMINUTIVE WORLD HE
  INHABITS, AND RESOLVES TO MIX WITH IT, IN FUTURE,
  AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE


A few 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 and papers, withdrew
to employ himself for an hour or two to come, as he best could.
It was a fine morning, and it occurred to Sam that a pint of
porter in the open air would lighten his next quarter of an hour
or so, as well as any little amusement in which he could indulge.

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 a very sedate and methodical manner.

First of all, he took a refreshing draught of the beer, and then
he looked up at a window, and bestowed a platonic wink on a
young lady who was peeling potatoes thereat.  Then he opened
the paper, and folded it so as to get the police reports outwards;
and this being a vexatious and difficult thing to do, when there is
any wind stirring, he took another draught of the beer when he
had accomplished it.  Then, he read two lines of the paper, and
stopped short to look at a couple of men who were finishing a
game at rackets, which, being concluded, he cried out 'wery
good,' in an approving manner, and looked round upon the
spectators, to ascertain whether their sentiments coincided with
his own.  This involved the necessity of looking up at the windows
also; and as the young lady was still there, it was an act of
common politeness to wink again, and to drink to her good
health in dumb show, in another draught of the beer, which Sam
did; and having frowned hideously upon a small boy who had
noted this latter proceeding with open eyes, he threw one leg over
the other, and, holding the newspaper in both hands, began to
read in real earnest.

He had hardly composed himself into the needful state of
abstraction, when he thought he heard his own name proclaimed
in some distant passage.  Nor was he mistaken, for it quickly
passed from mouth to mouth, and in a few seconds the air
teemed with 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 country
house is afire?'

'Somebody wants you in the hall,' said a man who was standing by.

'Just mind that 'ere paper and the pot, old feller, will you?'
said Sam.  '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 the young
gentleman before noticed, who, unconscious of his close vicinity to
the person in request, was screaming 'Weller!' with all his might,
Sam hastened across the ground, and ran up the steps into the hall.
Here, the first object that met his eyes was his beloved father sitting
on a bottom stair, with his hat in his hand, shouting out 'Weller!' in
his very loudest tone, at half-minute intervals.

'Wot are you a-roarin' at?' said Sam impetuously, when the old
gentleman had discharged himself of another shout; 'making
yourself 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 that
you'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' down
there 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 son
dusted him.  'It might look personal here, if a man walked about
with vitevash on his clothes, eh, Sammy?'

As Mr. Weller exhibited in this place unequivocal symptoms
of an 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
that vun o' these days I shall laugh myself into a appleplexy, my boy.'

'Vell, then, wot do you do it for?' said Sam.  'Now, then, wot
have 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, and
extending his eyebrows.
'Pell?' said Sam.

Mr. Weller shook his head, and his red cheeks expanded with
the 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 did
say it, or his cheeks must inevitably have cracked, from their
most unnatural 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 the
unnat'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's grins.

'In the snuggery,' rejoined Mr. Weller.  'Catch the red-nosed
man a-goin' anyvere but vere the liquors is; not he, Samivel, not
he.  Ve'd a wery pleasant ride along the road from the Markis
this mornin', Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, when he felt himself
equal to the task of speaking in an articulate manner.  'I drove the
old piebald in that 'ere little shay-cart as belonged to your
mother-in-law's first wenter, into vich a harm-cheer wos lifted
for the shepherd; and I'm blessed,' said Mr. Weller, with a look
of deep scorn--'I'm blessed if they didn't bring a portable flight
o' steps out 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 you
could 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, and
dashed into a million hatoms.  He tumbled in at last, however, and avay
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, and
was seized with a hoarse internal rumbling, accompanied with a
violent swelling of the countenance, and a sudden increase in the
breadth of all his features; symptoms which alarmed his son
not a little.

'Don't be frightened, Sammy, don't be frightened,' said the
old gentleman, when by dint of much struggling, and various
convulsive 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
come it 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 his
cheeks, 'it 'ud ha' been a wery great accommodation to me if I
could ha' done it, and 'ud ha' saved a good many vords atween
your mother-in-law and me, sometimes; but I'm afeerd you're
right, Sammy, it's too much in the appleplexy line--a deal too
much, 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 still
giggling behind--at once led the way.

'Mother-in-law,' said Sam, politely saluting the lady, 'wery
much 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 the
whites--or rather the yellows--were alone visible; but made no
reply 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 last
cowcumber he eat.  Set down, Sir, ve make no extra charge for
settin' down, as the king remarked wen he blowed up his ministers.'

'Young man,' said Mr. Stiggins ostentatiously, 'I fear you are
not softened by imprisonment.'

'Beg your pardon, Sir,' replied Sam; 'wot wos you graciously
pleased to hobserve?'

'I apprehend, young man, that your nature is no softer for this
chastening,' said Mr. Stiggins, in a loud voice.

'Sir,' replied Sam, 'you're wery kind to say so.  I hope my
natur is NOT a soft vun, Sir.  Wery much obliged to you for your
good opinion, Sir.'

At this point of the conversation, a sound, indecorously
approaching to a laugh, was heard to proceed from the chair
in which 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 a
corner); 'Weller!  Come forth.'

'Wery much obleeged to you, my dear,' replied Mr. Weller;
'but I'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 me
wretched.  Will nothing do him good?'

'Do you hear this here?' said Sam.  'Lady vants to know vether
nothin' '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 benefit
me a good deal.  Could I be accommodated, Sammy?'

Here Mrs. Weller let fall some more tears, and Mr. Stiggins groaned.

'Hollo!  Here's this unfortunate gen'l'm'n took ill agin,' said
Sam, looking round.  'Vere do you feel it now, sir?'

'In the same place, young man,' rejoined Mr. Stiggins, 'in the
same place.'

'Vere may that be, Sir?' inquired Sam, with great outward simplicity.

'In the buzzim, young man,' replied Mr. Stiggins, placing his
umbrella on his waistcoat.

At this affecting reply, Mrs. Weller, being wholly unable to
suppress her feelings, sobbed aloud, and stated her conviction
that the red-nosed man was a saint; whereupon Mr. Weller,
senior, ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that he must be the
representative 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
the twist in his countenance, feels rather thirsty, with the
melancholy spectacle afore him.  Is it the case, mum?'

The worthy lady looked at Mr. Stiggins for a reply; that
gentleman, with many rollings of the eye, clenched his throat
with his right hand, and mimicked the act of swallowing, to
intimate that he was athirst.

'I am afraid, Samuel, that his feelings have made him so
indeed,' said Mrs. Weller mournfully.

'Wot's your usual tap, sir?' replied Sam.

'Oh, my dear young friend,' replied Mr. Stiggins, 'all taps
is vanities!'

'Too true, too true, indeed,' said Mrs. Weller, murmuring a
groan, and shaking her head assentingly.

'Well,' said Sam, 'I des-say they may be, sir; but wich is your
partickler wanity?  Wich wanity do you like the flavour on
best, sir?'

'Oh, my dear young friend,' replied Mr. Stiggins, 'I despise
them all.  If,' said Mr. Stiggins--'if there is any one of them less
odious than another, it is the liquor called rum.  Warm, my dear
young friend, with three lumps of sugar to the tumbler.'

'Wery sorry to say, sir,' said Sam, 'that they don't allow that
particular wanity to be sold in this here establishment.'

'Oh, the hardness of heart of these inveterate men!' ejaculated
Mr. Stiggins.  'Oh, the accursed cruelty of these inhuman persecutors!'

With these words, Mr. Stiggins again cast up his eyes, and
rapped his breast with his umbrella; and it is but justice to the
reverend gentleman to say, that his indignation appeared very
real and unfeigned indeed.

After Mrs. Weller and the red-nosed gentleman had commented
on this inhuman usage in a very forcible manner, and
had vented a variety of pious and holy execrations against its
authors, the latter recommended a bottle of port wine, warmed
with a little water, spice, and sugar, as being grateful to the
stomach, and savouring less of vanity than many other compounds.
It was accordingly ordered to be prepared, and pending
its preparation the red-nosed man and Mrs. Weller looked at the
elder W. and groaned.

'Well, Sammy,' said the gentleman, 'I hope you'll find your
spirits 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't
address no more o' them ungraceful remarks to me.'

So far from being edified by this very proper reply, the elder
Mr. Weller at once relapsed into a broad grin; and this inexorable
conduct causing the lady and Mr. Stiggins to close their eyes, and
rock themselves to and fro on their chairs, in a troubled manner,
he furthermore indulged in several acts of pantomime, indicative
of a desire to pummel and wring the nose of the aforesaid
Stiggins, the performance of which, appeared to afford him great
mental relief.  The old gentleman very narrowly escaped detection
in one instance; for Mr. Stiggins happening to give a start on the
arrival of the negus, brought his head in smart contact with the
clenched fist with which Mr. Weller had been describing imaginary
fireworks 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't
you see you've hit the gen'l'm'n?'

'I didn't go to do it, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, in some degree
abashed by the very unexpected occurrence of the incident.

'Try an in'ard application, sir,' said Sam, as the red-nosed
gentleman rubbed his head with a rueful visage.  'Wot do you
think o' that, for a go o' wanity, warm, Sir?'

Mr. Stiggins made no verbal answer, but his manner was
expressive.  He tasted the contents of the glass which Sam had
placed in his hand, put his umbrella on the floor, and tasted it
again, passing his hand placidly across his stomach twice or
thrice; he then drank the whole at a breath, and smacking his
lips, held out the tumbler for more.

Nor was Mrs. Weller behind-hand in doing justice to the
composition.  The good lady began by protesting that she couldn't
touch a drop--then took a small drop--then a large drop--
then a great many drops; and her feelings being of the nature
of those substances which are powerfully affected by the application
of strong waters, she dropped a tear with every drop
of negus, and so got on, melting the feelings down, until at
length she had arrived at a very pathetic and decent pitch of misery.

The elder Mr. Weller observed these signs and tokens with
many manifestations of disgust, and when, after a second jug of
the same, Mr. Stiggins began to sigh in a dismal manner, he
plainly evinced his disapprobation of the whole proceedings, by
sundry incoherent ramblings of speech, among which frequent
angry repetitions of the word 'gammon' were alone distinguishable
to the ear.

'I'll tell you wot it is, Samivel, my boy,' whispered the old
gentleman into his son's ear, after a long and steadfast
contemplation of his lady and Mr. Stiggins; 'I think there must be
somethin' wrong in your mother-in-law's inside, as vell as in that
o' the red-nosed man.'

'Wot do you mean?' said Sam.

'I mean this here, Sammy,' replied the old gentleman, 'that
wot they drink, don't seem no nourishment to 'em; it all turns to
warm water, and comes a-pourin' out o' their eyes.  'Pend upon
it, Sammy, it's a constitootional infirmity.'

Mr. Weller delivered this scientific opinion with many
confirmatory frowns and nods; which, Mrs. Weller remarking, and
concluding that they bore some disparaging reference either to
herself or to Mr. Stiggins, or to both, was on the point of
becoming infinitely worse, when Mr. Stiggins, getting on his legs
as well as he could, proceeded to deliver an edifying discourse for
the benefit of the company, but more especially of Mr. Samuel,
whom he adjured in moving terms to be upon his guard in that
sink of iniquity into which he was cast; to abstain from all
hypocrisy and pride of heart; and to take in all things exact
pattern and copy by him (Stiggins), in which case he might
calculate on arriving, sooner or later at the comfortable
conclusion, that, like him, he was a most estimable and blameless
character, and that all his acquaintances and friends were hopelessly
abandoned and profligate wretches.  Which consideration,
he said, could not but afford him the liveliest satisfaction.

He furthermore conjured him to avoid, above all things, the
vice of intoxication, which he likened unto the filthy habits of
swine, and to those poisonous and baleful drugs which being
chewed in the mouth, are said to filch away the memory.  At this
point of his discourse, the reverend and red-nosed gentleman
became singularly incoherent, and staggering to and fro in the
excitement of his eloquence, was fain to catch at the back of a
chair to preserve his perpendicular.

Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guard
against those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion,
who, without sense to expound its first doctrines, or hearts to feel
its first principles, are more dangerous members of society than
the common criminal; imposing, as they necessarily do, upon the
weakest and worst informed, casting scorn and contempt on
what should be held most sacred, and bringing into partial
disrepute large bodies of virtuous and well-conducted persons of
many excellent sects and persuasions.  But as he leaned over the
back of the chair for a considerable time, and closing one eye,
winked a good 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
wept at the end of the paragraphs; while Sam, sitting cross-
legged on a chair and resting his arms on the top rail, regarded
the speaker with great suavity and blandness of demeanour;
occasionally bestowing a look of recognition on the old gentleman,
who was delighted at the beginning, and went to sleep
about half-way.

'Brayvo; wery pretty!' said Sam, when the red-nosed man
having finished, pulled his worn gloves on, thereby thrusting his
fingers through the broken tops till the knuckles were disclosed
to view.  '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 find
yourself 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 I shall continey to be a night coach till I'm took off the
road altogether.  Now, Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at livery
much longer, he'll stand at nothin' as we go back, and p'raps
that 'ere harm-cheer 'ull be tipped over into some hedge or
another, with the shepherd in it.'

At this supposition, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evident
consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed
an immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented.  Sam
walked with 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;
'my duty to your gov'nor, and tell him if he thinks better o' this
here bis'ness, to com-moonicate vith me.  Me and a cab'net-
maker has dewised a plan for gettin' him out.  A pianner, Samivel
--a pianner!' said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the chest with
the back 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 more
mysterious 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 hold
him 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
as he's got money to spend, Sammy.  Let the gov'nor stop there,
till Mrs. Bardell's dead, or Mr. Dodson and Fogg's hung (wich
last ewent I think is the most likely to happen first, Sammy),
and then let him come back and write a book about the
'Merrikins as'll pay all his expenses and more, if he blows 'em
up enough.'

Mr. Weller delivered this hurried abstract of his plot with
great vehemence of whisper; and then, as if fearful of weakening
the effect of the tremendous communication by any further
dialogue, he gave the coachman's salute, and vanished.

Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure of countenance,
which had been greatly disturbed by the secret communication
of his respected relative, when Mr. Pickwick accosted him.

'Sam,' said that gentleman.

'Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'I am going for a walk round the prison, and I wish you to
attend me.  I see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam,' said
Mr. 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,'
replied Mr. Pickwick, 'or else you are more unmindful of your
old acquaintances than I think you are.  Hush! not a word, Sam;
not a syllable.  Here he is.'

As Mr. Pickwick spoke, Jingle walked up.  He looked less
miserable than before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes,
which, with Mr. Pickwick's assistance, had been released
from the pawnbroker'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 severely from illness and want, and was still very
weak.  He took off his hat as Mr. Pickwick saluted him,
and seemed much humbled and abashed at the sight of Sam Weller.

Following close at his heels, came Mr. Job Trotter, in the
catalogue of whose vices, want of faith and attachment to his
companion could at all events find no place.  He was still ragged
and squalid, but his face was not quite so hollow as on his first
meeting with Mr. Pickwick, a few days before.  As he took off his
hat to our benevolent old friend, he murmured some broken
expressions of gratitude, and muttered something about having
been saved from starving.

'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, impatiently interrupting him,
'you can follow with Sam.  I want to speak to you, Mr. Jingle.
Can you walk without his arm?'

'Certainly, sir--all ready--not too fast--legs shaky--head
queer--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 what
to do, Mr. Pickwick cut the matter short by drawing the invalided
stroller's arm through his, and leading him away, without saying
another word about it.

During the whole of this time the countenance of Mr. Samuel
Weller had exhibited an expression of the most overwhelming
and absorbing astonishment that the imagination can portray.
After looking from Job to Jingle, and from Jingle to Job in
profound silence, he softly ejaculated the words, 'Well, I AM
damn'd!' which he repeated at least a score of times; after which
exertion, he appeared wholly bereft of speech, and again cast his
eyes, first upon the one and then upon the other, in mute
perplexity and bewilderment.

'Now, Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking back.

'I'm a-comin', sir,' replied Mr. Weller, mechanically following
his 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 the ground for some time.  Sam, with
his glued to Job's countenance, ran up against the people who
were walking about, and fell over little children, and stumbled
against steps and railings, without appearing 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's
identity beyond all doubt, he smote his leg, and vented his
feelings in a long, shrill whistle.

'Things has altered with me, sir,' said Job.

'I should think they had,' exclaimed Mr. Weller, surveying his
companion's rags with undisguised wonder.  'This is rayther a
change for the worse, Mr. Trotter, as the gen'l'm'n said, wen he
got two doubtful shillin's and sixpenn'orth o' pocket-pieces for a
good half-crown.'

'It is indeed,' replied Job, shaking his head.  'There is no
deception now, Mr. Weller.  Tears,' said Job, with a look of
momentary slyness--'tears are not the only proofs of distress,
nor the 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 'em
always ready laid on, and can pull out the plug wenever they likes.'

'Yes,' replied Job; 'but these sort of things are not so easily
counterfeited, Mr. Weller, and it is a more painful process to get
them up.'  As he spoke, he pointed to his sallow, sunken cheeks,
and, drawing up his coat sleeve, disclosed an arm which looked
as if the bone could be broken at a touch, so sharp and brittle did
it appear, 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;
and eating and drinking almost as little.'

Sam took one comprehensive glance at Mr. Trotter's thin face
and 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 struggling
in the powerful grasp of his old enemy.
'Come on,' said Sam; 'come on!'  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
turn the 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,
by gentle and almost imperceptible degrees, tilted it into the air.
He paused once, and only once, to draw a long breath, but
without raising his face from the vessel, which, in a few moments
thereafter, he held out at arm's length, bottom upward.  Nothing
fell upon the ground but a few particles of froth, which slowly
detached 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
stouter under the operation.  Wot do you say to another o' the
same dimensions?'

'I would rather not, I am much obliged to you, Sir,' replied
Job--'much rather not.'

'Vell, then, wot do you say to some wittles?' inquired Sam.

'Thanks to your worthy governor, Sir,' said Mr. Trotter, 'we
have half a leg of mutton, baked, at a quarter before three, with
the potatoes under it to save boiling.'

'Wot!  Has HE been a-purwidin' for you?' asked Sam emphatically.

'He has, Sir,' replied Job.  'More than that, Mr. Weller; my
master being very ill, he got us a room--we were in a kennel
before--and paid for it, Sir; and come to look at us, at night,
when nobody should know.  Mr. Weller,' said Job, with real tears
in his eyes, for once, 'I could serve that gentleman till I fell down
dead at his 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
man serves him but me.  And now we're upon it, I'll let you into
another secret besides that,' said Sam, as he paid for the beer.
'I never heerd, mind you, or read of in story-books, nor see in
picters, any angel in tights and gaiters--not even in spectacles, as
I remember, though that may ha' been done for anythin' I know
to the contrairey--but mark my vords, Job Trotter, he's a reg'lar
thoroughbred angel for all that; and let me see the man as
wenturs to tell me he knows a better vun.'  With this defiance,
Mr. Weller buttoned up his change in a side pocket, and, with
many confirmatory nods and gestures by the way, proceeded in
search of the subject of discourse.

They found Mr. Pickwick, in company with Jingle, talking very
earnestly, and not bestowing a look on the groups who were
congregated on the racket-ground; they were very motley groups
too, 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 it
meanwhile.  Make the statement out for me when you feel yourself
equal to the task, and I will discuss the subject with you when
I have considered it.  Now, go to your room.  You are tired, and
not strong enough to be out long.'

Mr. Alfred Jingle, without one spark of his old animation--
with nothing even of the dismal gaiety which he had assumed
when Mr. Pickwick first stumbled on him in his misery--bowed
low without speaking, and, motioning to Job not to follow him
just yet, crept slowly away.

'Curious scene this, is it not, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
good-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 which
Mr. Pickwick stood was just wide enough to make a good
racket-court; one side being formed, of course, by the wall itself,
and the other by that portion of the prison which looked (or
rather would have looked, but for the wall) towards St.  Paul's
Cathedral.  Sauntering or sitting about, in every possible attitude
of listless idleness, were a great number of debtors, the major
part of whom were waiting in prison until their day of 'going up'
before the Insolvent Court should arrive; while others had been
remanded for various terms, which they were idling away as they
best could.  Some were shabby, some were smart, many dirty, a
few clean; but there they all lounged, and loitered, and slunk
about with as little spirit or purpose as the beasts in a menagerie.

Lolling from the windows which commanded a view of this
promenade were a number of persons, some in noisy conversation
with their acquaintance below, others playing at ball with some
adventurous 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, and
the shouts of the players, mingled perpetually with these and a
hundred other sounds; and all was noise and tumult--save in a
little miserable shed a few yards off, where lay, all quiet and
ghastly, the body of the Chancery prisoner who had died the
night before, awaiting the mockery of an inquest.  The body!  It is
the lawyer's term for the restless, whirling mass of cares and
anxieties, affections, hopes, and griefs, that make up the living
man.  The law had his body; and there it lay, clothed in grave-
clothes, an awful witness to its tender mercy.

'Would you like to see a whistling-shop, Sir?' inquired Job Trotter.

'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, is
where they sell spirits.'  Mr. Job Trotter briefly explained here,
that all persons, being prohibited under heavy penalties from
conveying spirits into debtors' prisons, and such commodities
being highly prized by the ladies and gentlemen confined therein,
it had occurred to some speculative turnkey to connive, for
certain lucrative considerations, at two or three prisoners retailing
the favourite article of gin, for their own profit and advantage.

'This plan, you see, Sir, has been gradually introduced into all
the prisons for debt,' said Mr. Trotter.

'And it has this wery great advantage,' said Sam, 'that the
turnkeys takes wery good care to seize hold o' ev'rybody but
them as pays 'em, that attempts the willainy, and wen it gets in
the papers they're applauded for their wigilance; so it cuts two
ways--frightens other people from the trade, and elewates their
own characters.'

'Exactly so, Mr. Weller,' observed Job.

'Well, but are these rooms never searched to ascertain whether
any spirits are concealed in them?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Cert'nly they are, Sir,' replied Sam; 'but the turnkeys knows
beforehand, and gives the word to the wistlers, and you may
wistle for it wen you go to look.'

By this time, Job had tapped at a door, which was opened by a
gentleman with an uncombed head, who bolted it after them
when they had walked in, and grinned; upon which Job grinned,
and Sam also; whereupon Mr. Pickwick, thinking it might be
expected of him, kept on smiling to the end of the interview.

The gentleman with the uncombed head appeared quite
satisfied with this mute announcement of their business, and,
producing a flat stone bottle, which might hold about a couple
of quarts, from beneath his bedstead, filled out three glasses of
gin, which Job Trotter and Sam disposed of in a most
workmanlike manner.

'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 whole
area of the yard.  The great body of the prison population
appeared to be Mivins, and Smangle, and the parson, and the
butcher, and the leg, over and over, and over again.  There were
the same squalor, the same turmoil and noise, the same general
characteristics, in every corner; in the best and the worst alike.
The whole place seemed restless and troubled; and the people
were crowding and flitting to and fro, like the shadows in an
uneasy dream.

'I have seen enough,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he threw himself
into a chair in his little apartment.  'My head aches with these
scenes, and my heart too.  Henceforth I will be a prisoner in my
own room.'

And Mr. Pickwick steadfastly adhered to this determination.
For three long months he remained shut up, all day; only
stealing out at night to breathe the air, when the greater part of his
fellow-prisoners were in bed or carousing in their rooms.  His
health was beginning to suffer from the closeness of the confinement,
but neither the often-repeated entreaties of Perker and his
friends, nor the still more frequently-repeated warnings and
admonitions of Mr. Samuel Weller, could induce him to alter one
jot of his inflexible resolution.



CHAPTER XLVI
RECORDS A TOUCHING ACT OF DELICATE FEELING, NOT
  UNMIXED WITH PLEASANTRY, ACHIEVED AND PERFORMED
  BY Messrs. DODSON AND FOGG


It was within a week of the close of the month of July, that a
hackney cabriolet, number unrecorded, was seen to proceed at a
rapid pace up Goswell Street; three people were squeezed into
it besides the driver, who sat in his own particular little
dickey at the side; over the apron were hung two shawls, belonging
to two small vixenish-looking ladies under the apron; between
whom, compressed into a very small compass, was stowed away, a
gentleman of heavy and subdued demeanour, who, whenever he
ventured to make an observation, was snapped up short by one of
the vixenish ladies before-mentioned.  Lastly, the two vixenish
ladies and the heavy gentleman were giving the driver contradictory
directions, all tending to the one point, that he should stop at
Mrs. Bardell's door; which the heavy gentleman, in direct
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 heavy
gentleman.

'Oh!  You perwerse creetur!' exclaimed one of the vixenish
ladies.  'Drive to the 'ouse with the yellow door, cabmin.'

Upon this the cabman, who in a sudden effort to pull up at the
house with the green door, had pulled the horse up so high that
he nearly pulled him backward into the cabriolet, let the animal's
fore-legs down to the ground again, and paused.

'Now vere am I to pull up?' inquired the driver.  'Settle it
among yourselves.  All I ask is, vere?'

Here the contest was renewed with increased violence; and the
horse being troubled with a fly on his nose, the cabman humanely
employed his leisure in lashing him about on the head, on the
counter-irritation principle.

'Most wotes carries the day!' said one of the vixenish ladies at
length.  'The 'ouse with the yellow door, cabman.'

But after the cabriolet had dashed up, in splendid style, to the
house with the yellow door, 'making,' as one of the vixenish
ladies triumphantly said, 'acterrally more noise than if one had
come in one's own carriage,' and after the driver had dismounted
to assist the ladies in getting out, the small round head of Master
Thomas Bardell was thrust out of the one-pair window of a
house with a red 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.  'The
house with the red door, cabmin.  Oh!  If ever a woman was
troubled with a ruffinly creetur, that takes a pride and a pleasure
in disgracing his wife on every possible occasion afore strangers,
I am that woman!'

'You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Raddle,' said the other
little woman, who was no other than Mrs. Cluppins.
'What have I been a-doing of?' asked Mr. Raddle.

'Don't talk to me, don't, you brute, for fear I should be
perwoked to forgit my sect and strike you!' said Mrs. Raddle.

While this dialogue was going on, the driver was most
ignominiously leading the horse, by the bridle, up to the house
with the red door, which Master Bardell had already opened.
Here was a mean and low way of arriving at a friend's house!
No dashing up, with all the fire and fury of the animal; no
jumping down of the driver; no loud knocking at the door; no
opening of the apron with a crash at the very last moment, for
fear of the ladies sitting in a draught; and then the man handing
the shawls out, afterwards, as if he were a private coachman!
The whole edge of the thing had been taken off--it was flatter
than walking.

'Well, Tommy,' said Mrs. Cluppins, 'how's your poor dear mother?'

'Oh, she's very well,' replied Master Bardell.  'She's in the front
parlour, all ready.  I'm ready too, I am.'  Here Master Bardell put
his hands in his pockets, and jumped off and on the bottom step
of the 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,
I am.'

'Drat the boy,' said little Mrs. Cluppins.  'He thinks of nobody
but himself.  Here, Tommy, dear.'

'Well,' said Master Bardell.

'Who else is a-goin', lovey?' said Mrs. Cluppins, in an
insinuating manner.

'Oh!  Mrs. Rogers is a-goin',' replied Master Bardell, opening
his eyes 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,
and nodded 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'll tell ME, Tommy, I know.'
'No, I won't,' replied Master Bardell, shaking his head, and
applying 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'
to have some, I am.'  Cheered by this prospect, the precocious boy
applied himself to his infantile treadmill, with increased vigour.

The above examination of a child of tender years took place
while Mr. and Mrs. Raddle and the cab-driver were having an
altercation concerning the fare, which, terminating at this point
in favour 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, who
had been thrust aside by his good lady in the commencement of
the dispute, and peremptorily commanded to hold his tongue.
He had no opportunity of defending himself, however, for Mrs.
Raddle gave unequivocal signs of fainting; which, being perceived
from the parlour window, Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, the
lodger, and the lodger's servant, darted precipitately out, and
conveyed her into the house, all talking at the same time, and
giving utterance to various expressions of pity and condolence,
as if she were one of the most suffering mortals on earth.  Being
conveyed into the front parlour, she was there deposited on a
sofa; and the lady from the first floor running up to the first floor,
returned with a bottle of sal-volatile, which, holding Mrs. Raddle
tight round the neck, she applied in all womanly kindness and
pity to her nose, until that lady with many plunges and struggles
was fain to declare herself decidedly 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 the
ladies moaned in unison, and said they knew what it was, and
they pitied her from their hearts, they did.  Even the lodger's little
servant, 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 a
reproachful manner.  Thereupon the ladies cast indignant glances
at Mr. Raddle.

'Why, the fact is,' said that unhappy gentleman, stepping
forward, 'when we alighted at this door, a dispute arose with the
driver of the cabrioily--' A loud scream from his wife, at the
mention 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 was
pushed out of the room, and requested to give himself an airing
in the back yard.  Which he did for about a quarter of an hour,
when Mrs. Bardell announced to him with a solemn face that he
might come in now, but that he must be very careful how he
behaved towards his wife.  She knew he didn't mean to be unkind;
but Mary Ann was very far from strong, and, if he didn't take
care, he might lose her when he least expected it, which would be
a very dreadful reflection for him afterwards; and so on.  All this,
Mr. Raddle heard with great submission, and presently returned
to the parlour in a most lamb-like manner.

'Why, Mrs. Rogers, ma'am,' said Mrs. Bardell, 'you've never
been 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 the
lodger, and her servant was in waiting, so she was more gracious
than 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 an
opportunity of being known to a lady which she had heerd so
much 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
feel very much honoured at you and Tommy being the only
gentlemen to escort so many ladies all the way to the Spaniards,
at Hampstead.  Don't you think he ought, Mrs. Rogers, ma'am?'
'Oh, certainly, ma'am,' replied Mrs. Rogers; after whom all the
other 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, to tell you the truth, I said, as we was a-coming along in
the cabrioily--'

At the recapitulation of the word which awakened so many
painful recollections, Mrs. Raddle applied her handkerchief to her
eyes again, and uttered a half-suppressed scream; so that Mrs.
Bardell frowned upon Mr. Raddle, to intimate that he had better
not say anything more, and desired Mrs. Rogers's servant, with
an air, to 'put the wine on.'

This was the signal for displaying the hidden treasures of the
closet, which comprised sundry plates of oranges and biscuits,
and a bottle of old crusted port--that at one-and-nine--with
another of the celebrated East India sherry at fourteen-pence,
which were all produced in honour of the lodger, and afforded
unlimited satisfaction to everybody.  After great consternation
had been excited in the mind of Mrs. Cluppins, by an attempt on
the part of Tommy to recount how he had been cross-examined
regarding the cupboard then in action (which was fortunately
nipped in the bud by his imbibing half a glass of the old crusted
'the wrong way,' and thereby endangering his life for some
seconds), the party walked forth in quest of a Hampstead stage.
This was soon found, and in a couple of hours they all arrived
safely in the Spaniards Tea-gardens, where the luckless Mr.
Raddle's very first act nearly occasioned his good lady a relapse;
it being neither more nor less than to order tea for seven, whereas
(as the ladies one and all remarked), what could have been easier
than for Tommy to have drank out of anybody's cup--or everybody's,
if that was all--when the waiter wasn't looking,
which would have saved one head of tea, and the tea just as good!

However, there was no help for it, and the tea-tray came, with
seven 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
her left, the meal proceeded with great merriment and success.

'How sweet the country is, to be sure!' sighed Mrs. Rogers;
'I almost wish I lived in it always.'

'Oh, you wouldn't like that, ma'am,' replied Mrs. Bardell,
rather hastily; for it was not at all advisable, with reference to the
lodgings, to encourage such notions; 'you wouldn't like it, ma'am.'

'Oh!  I should think you was a deal too lively and sought after,
to be content with the country, ma'am,' said little Mrs. Cluppins.

'Perhaps I am, ma'am.  Perhaps I am,' sighed the first-floor lodger.

'For lone people as have got nobody to care for them, or take
care of them, or as have been hurt in their mind, or that kind of
thing,' observed Mr. Raddle, plucking up a little cheerfulness,
and looking round, 'the country is all very well.  The country for
a wounded spirit, they say.'

Now, of all things in the world that the unfortunate man could
have said, any would have been preferable to this.  Of course
Mrs. Bardell burst into tears, and requested to be led from the
table instantly; upon which the affectionate child began to cry
too, most dismally.

'Would anybody believe, ma'am,' exclaimed Mrs. Raddle,
turning fiercely to the first-floor lodger, 'that a woman could be
married to such a unmanly creetur, which can tamper with a
woman'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 and
contempt.  '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 you
never do.  Now go away, Raddle, there's a good soul, or you'll
only aggravate 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
the bread-and-butter, expressed the same opinion, and Mr. Raddle
quietly retired.

After this, there was a great hoisting up of Master Bardell, who
was rather a large size for hugging, into his mother's arms, in
which operation he got his boots in the tea-board, and occasioned
some confusion among the cups and saucers.  But that description
of fainting fits, which is contagious among ladies, seldom lasts
long; so when he had been well kissed, and a little cried over,
Mrs. Bardell recovered, set him down again, wondering how she
could have been so foolish, and poured out some more tea.

It was at this moment, that the sound of approaching wheels
was heard, and that the ladies, looking up, saw a hackney-coach
stop 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 and
Fogg's!' cried Mrs. Bardell.  'Why, gracious!  Surely Mr. Pickwick
can'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 the
coach where he had been addressing some observations to a
shabby man in black leggings, who had just emerged from the
vehicle with a thick ash stick in his hand, and made his way to
the place where the ladies were seated; winding his hair round
the brim of his hat, as he came along.
'Is anything the matter?  Has anything 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 a
comprehensive bow, and gave his hair another wind.  Mrs.
Rogers whispered Mrs. Raddle that he was really an elegant
young man.

'I called in Goswell Street,' resumed Mr. Jackson, 'and hearing
that 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
the communication.

'Yes,' said Mr. Jackson, biting his lip.  'It's very important and
pressing business, which can't be postponed on any account.
Indeed, Dodson expressly said so to me, and so did Fogg.  I've
kept the coach on purpose for you to go back in.'

'How very strange!' exclaimed Mrs. Bardell.

The ladies agreed that it WAS very strange, but were
unanimously of opinion that it must be very important, or Dodson
& Fogg would never have sent; and further, that the business
being urgent, she ought to repair to Dodson & Fogg's without
any delay.

There was a certain degree of pride and importance about
being wanted by one's lawyers in such a monstrous hurry, that
was by no means displeasing to Mrs. Bardell, especially as it
might be reasonably supposed to enhance her consequence in the
eyes of the first-floor lodger.  She simpered a little, affected
extreme vexation and hesitation, and at last arrived at the
conclusion that she 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;
'and I've got a friend here,' he continued, looking towards the
man with the ash stick.

'Oh, ask your friend to come here, Sir,' said Mrs. Bardell.
'Pray ask your friend here, Sir.'

'Why, thank'ee, I'd rather not,' said Mr. Jackson, with some
embarrassment of manner.  'He's not much used to ladies' society,
and it makes him bashful.  If you'll order the waiter to deliver him
anything short, he won't drink it off at once, won't he!--only
try him!'  Mr. Jackson's fingers wandered playfully round his nose
at this portion of his discourse, to warn his hearers that he was
speaking ironically.

The waiter was at once despatched to the bashful gentleman,
and the bashful gentleman took something; Mr. Jackson also
took something, 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 arranged should accompany Mrs. Bardell, leaving the others
to Mr. Raddle's protection), got into the coach.

'Isaac,' said Jackson, as Mrs. Bardell prepared to get in,
looking up 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
they drove.  Mrs. Bardell could not help ruminating on what
Mr. Jackson's friend had said.  Shrewd creatures, those lawyers.
Lord bless us, how they find people out!

'Sad thing about these costs of our people's, ain't it,' said
Jackson, 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
if you law gentlemen do these things on speculation, why you
must get a loss now and then, you know.'

'You gave them a COGNOVIT for the amount of your costs, after
the 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 the
goodness to step out.'

Mrs. Bardell, not yet thoroughly awake, complied.  It was a
curious 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
the coach, and shaking Mrs. Sanders to wake her, 'Come!'
Rousing her friend, Mrs. Sanders alighted.  Mrs. Bardell, leaning
on Jackson's arm, and leading Tommy by the hand, had already
entered the porch.  They followed.

The room they turned into was even more odd-looking than
the porch.  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 her
through a door, and looking round to see that the other women
were following.  'Look sharp, Isaac!'

'Safe and sound,' replied the man with the ash stick.  The door
swung heavily after them, and they descended a small flight of steps.

'Here we are at last.  All right and tight, Mrs. Bardell!' said
Jackson, 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 more
delicate man than Dodson, ma'am, or a more humane man than
Fogg.  It was their duty in the way of business, to take you in
execution for them costs; but they were anxious to spare your
feelings 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
you good-night, Mrs. Bardell.  Good-night, Tommy!'

As Jackson hurried away in company with the man with the
ash stick another man, with a key in his hand, who had been
looking on, led the bewildered female to a second short flight of
steps leading to a doorway.  Mrs. Bardell screamed violently;
Tommy roared; Mrs. Cluppins shrunk within herself; and Mrs.
Sanders made off, without more ado.  For there stood the injured
Mr. Pickwick, taking his nightly allowance of air; and beside him
leant Samuel Weller, who, seeing Mrs. Bardell, took his hat off
with mock reverence, while his master turned indignantly on his heel.

'Don't bother the woman,' said the turnkey to Weller; 'she's
just come in.'

'A prisoner!' said Sam, quickly replacing his hat.  'Who's the
plaintives?  What for?  Speak up, old feller.'

'Dodson and Fogg,' replied the man; 'execution on COGNOVIT
for costs.'

'Here, Job, Job!' shouted Sam, dashing into the passage.  'Run
to 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 started
furiously off, the instant he received his commission, and Mrs.
Bardell had fainted in real downright earnest.



CHAPTER XLVII
IS CHIEFLY DEVOTED TO MATTERS OF BUSINESS, AND
  THE TEMPORAL ADVANTAGE OF DODSON AND FOGG--
  Mr. WINKLE REAPPEARS UNDER EXTRAORDINARY
  CIRCUMSTANCES--Mr. PICKWICK'S BENEVOLENCE PROVES
  STRONGER THAN HIS OBSTINACY


Job Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holborn,
sometimes in the middle of the road, sometimes on the
pavement, sometimes in the gutter, as the chances of getting along
varied with the press of men, women, children, and coaches, in
each division of the thoroughfare, and, regardless of all obstacles
stopped not for an instant until he reached the gate of Gray's
Inn.  Notwithstanding all the expedition he had used, however,
the gate had been closed a good half-hour when he reached it, and
by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker's laundress, who lived
with a married daughter, who had bestowed her hand upon a
non-resident waiter, who occupied the one-pair of some number
in some street closely adjoining to some brewery somewhere
behind Gray's Inn Lane, it was within fifteen minutes of closing
the prison for the night.  Mr. Lowten had still to be ferreted out
from the back parlour of the Magpie and Stump; and Job had
scarcely accomplished this object, and communicated Sam
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't
it be better to see Mr. Perker to-night, so that we may be there,
the first thing in the morning?'

'Why,' responded Lowten, after a little consideration, 'if it was
in anybody else's case, Perker wouldn't be best pleased at my
going up to his house; but as it's Mr. Pickwick's, I think I may
venture to take a cab and charge it to the office.'  Deciding on this
line of conduct, Mr. Lowten took up his hat, and begging the
assembled company to appoint a deputy-chairman during his
temporary absence, led the way to the nearest coach-stand.
Summoning the cab of most promising appearance, he directed
the driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square.

Mr. Perker had had a dinner-party that day, as was testified
by the appearance of lights in the drawing-room windows, the
sound of an improved grand piano, and an improvable cabinet
voice issuing therefrom, and a rather overpowering smell of meat
which pervaded the steps and entry.  In fact, a couple of very good
country 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, the
eminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of bankrupts,
a special pleader from the Temple, a small-eyed peremptory
young gentleman, his pupil, who had written a lively book about
the law of demises, with a vast quantity of marginal notes and
references; and several other eminent and distinguished personages.
From this society, little Mr. Perker detached himself, on his
clerk being announced in a whisper; and repairing to the dining-
room, there found Mr. Lowten and Job Trotter looking very dim
and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which the gentleman
who condescended to appear in plush shorts and cottons
for a quarterly stipend, had, with a becoming contempt for the
clerk and all things appertaining to 'the office,' placed upon the table.

'Now, Lowten,' said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door,'what's
the 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
her costs, Sir,' said Job.

'No!' exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets, and
reclining against the sideboard.

'Yes,' said Job.  'It seems they got a cognovit out of her, for the
amount 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 anything
to do with!'

'The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, Sir,' observed Lowten.

'Sharp!' echoed Perker.  'There's no knowing where to have them.'

'Very true, Sir, there is not,' replied Lowten; and then, both
master and man pondered for a few seconds, with animated
countenances, as if they were reflecting upon one of the most
beautiful and ingenious discoveries that the intellect of man had
ever made.  When they had in some measure recovered from their
trance of admiration, Job Trotter discharged himself of the rest
of his commission.  Perker nodded his head thoughtfully, and
pulled out his watch.

'At ten precisely, I will be there,' said the little man.  'Sam is
quite 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 the
sideboard for a decanter and glasses.

As Lowten DID mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but
inquired of Job, in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of
Perker, which hung opposite the fireplace, wasn't a wonderful
likeness, to which Job of course replied that it was.  The wine
being by this time poured out, Lowten drank to Mrs. Perker and
the children, and Job to Perker.  The gentleman in the plush
shorts and cottons considering it no part of his duty to show the
people from the office out, consistently declined to answer the
bell, and they showed themselves out.  The attorney betook himself
to his drawing-room, the clerk to the Magpie and Stump, and
Job to Covent 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
was opened 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 the
gov'nor wants to have a word and a half with you, Sir.'

Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that
he understood he was not to say he had been sent for; and
beckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear.

'You don't mean that 'ere, Sir?' said Sam, starting back in
excessive 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 at
Perker with astonishment.  'What has put Sam into this
extraordinary state?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing,' replied Perker.  'Come, my dear Sir,
draw up your chair to the table.  I have a good deal to say to you.'

'What papers are those?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little
man deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with
red tape.

'The papers in Bardell and Pickwick,' replied Perker, undoing
the 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 little
man, still busying himself with the knot.

'No, I do not indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Sorry for that,' resumed Perker, 'because it will form the
subject of our conversation.'

'I would rather that the subject should be never mentioned
between 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
of his 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?  No
hurry; if you are not, I can wait.  I have this morning's paper
here.  Your time shall be mine.  There!'  Hereupon, the little man
threw one leg over the other, and made a show of beginning to
read with great composure and application.

'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening into
a smile at the same time.  'Say what you have to say; it's the old
story, I suppose?'

'With a difference, my dear Sir; with a difference,' rejoined
Perker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his
pocket again.  'Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within
these walls, Sir.'

'I know it,' was Mr. Pickwick's reply,

'Very good,' retorted Perker.  'And you know how she comes
here, I suppose; I mean on what grounds, and at whose suit?'

'Yes; at least I have heard Sam's account of the matter,' said
Mr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness.

'Sam's account of the matter,' replied Perker, 'is, I will venture
to say, a perfectly correct one.  Well now, my dear Sir, the first
question 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 in
his chair and looking steadily at his client.

'How can you ask me?' said that gentleman.  'It rests with
Dodson and Fogg; you know that very well.'

'I know nothing of the kind,' retorted Perker firmly.  'It does
NOT rest with Dodson and Fogg; you know the men, my dear Sir,
as well as I do.  It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you.'

'With me!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his
chair, 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 the
words, 'With you.'

'I say, my dear Sir,' resumed the little man, who seemed to
gather confidence from the snuff--'I say, that her speedy liberation
or perpetual imprisonment rests with you, and with you alone.
Hear me out, my dear Sir, if you please, and do not be so
very energetic, for it will only put you into a perspiration and do
no good whatever.  I say,' continued Perker, checking off each
position on a different finger, as he laid it down--'I say that
nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness;
and that you can only do that, by paying the costs of this suit--
both of plaintive and defendant--into the hands of these Freeman
Court sharks.  Now pray be quiet, my dear sir.'

Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprising
changes during this speech, and was evidently on the verge of a
strong burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could.
Perker, strengthening his argumentative powers with another
pinch of snuff, proceeded--

'I have seen the woman, this morning.  By paying the costs, you
can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages; and
further--this I know is a far greater object of consideration with
you, my dear sir--a voluntary statement, under her hand, in the
form 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 the
instrument of annoyance or injury to you; and that she entreats
me to intercede with you, and implore your pardon.'

'If I pay her costs for her,' said Mr. Pickwick indignantly.  'A
valuable 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
another woman at nine o'clock this morning, before I had set
foot in this place, or held any communication with Mrs. Bardell,
upon my honour.'  Selecting the letter from the bundle, the little
lawyer laid it at Mr. Pickwick's elbow, and took snuff for two
consecutive minutes, 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 this
moment, whether the wording of the cognovit, the nature of the
ostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together about
the whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify an
indictment for conspiracy.  I fear not, my dear Sir; they are too
clever for that, I doubt.  I do mean to say, however, that the
whole facts, taken together, will be sufficient to justify you, in the
minds of all reasonable men.  And now, my dear Sir, I put it to
you.  This one hundred and fifty pounds, or whatever it may be
--take it in round numbers--is nothing to you.  A jury had
decided against you; well, their verdict is wrong, but still they
decided as they thought right, and it IS against you.  You have
now an opportunity, on easy terms, of placing yourself in a much
higher position than you 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 you hesitate to avail yourself of it, when it
restores you to your friends, your old pursuits, your health and
amusements; when it liberates your faithful and attached servant,
whom you otherwise doom to imprisonment for the whole of
your life; and above all, when it enables you to take the very
magnanimous revenge--which I know, my dear sir, is one after
your own heart--of releasing this woman from a scene of misery
and debauchery, to which no man should ever be consigned, if I
had my will, but the infliction of which on any woman, is even
more frightful and barbarous.  Now I ask you, my dear sir, not
only as your legal adviser, but as your very true friend, will you
let slip the occasion of attaining all these objects, and doing all
this good, for the paltry consideration of a few pounds finding
their way into the pockets of a couple of rascals, to whom it
makes no manner of difference, except that the more they gain,
the more they'll seek, and so the sooner be led into some piece of
knavery that must end in a crash?  I have put these considerations
to you, my dear Sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but I ask you to
think of them.  Turn them over in your mind as long as you please.
I wait here most patiently for your answer.'

Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had taken
one twentieth part of the snuff with which so unusually long an
address imperatively required to be followed up, there was a low
murmuring of voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the door.

'Dear, dear,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently
roused 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 am
engaged at this moment, Sam.'

'Beg your pardon, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller.  'But here's a lady
here, Sir, as says she's somethin' wery partickler to disclose.'

'I can't see any lady,' replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was
filled with visions of Mrs. Bardell.

'I wouldn't make too sure o' that, Sir,' urged Mr. Weller,
shaking his head.  'If you know'd who was near, sir, I rayther
think you'd change your note; as the hawk remarked to himself
vith a cheerful laugh, ven he heerd the robin-redbreast a-singin'
round the corner.'

'Who is it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Will you see her, Sir?' asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in
his hand 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
up the curtain, and enter the two conspiraytors.'

As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there
rushed tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,
leading after him by the hand, the identical young lady who at
Dingley Dell had worn the boots with the fur round the tops, and
who, now a very pleasing compound of blushes and confusion,
and lilac silk, and a smart bonnet, and a rich lace veil, looked
prettier than ever.

'Miss Arabella Allen!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his chair.

'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 corroborative
testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the
bodily presence, in the background, of Sam and the pretty
housemaid; who appeared to contemplate the proceedings with
the liveliest satisfaction.

'Oh, Mr. Pickwick!' said Arabella, in a low voice, as if alarmed
at the silence.  'Can you forgive my imprudence?'

Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal; but
he took off his spectacles in great haste, and seizing both the
young lady's hands in his, kissed her a great number of times--
perhaps a greater number than was absolutely necessary--and
then, still retaining one of her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an
audacious young dog, and bade him get up.  This, Mr. Winkle,
who had been for some seconds scratching his nose with the brim
of his hat, in a penitent manner, did; whereupon Mr. Pickwick
slapped him on the 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, wound up his demonstrations of joy by
taking snuff enough to set any half-dozen men with ordinarily-
constructed noses, a-sneezing for life.
'Why, my dear girl,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'how has all this come
about?  Come!  Sit down, and let me hear it all.  How well she
looks, doesn't she, Perker?' added Mr. Pickwick, surveying
Arabella's face with a look of as much pride and exultation, as if
she had been his daughter.

'Delightful, my dear Sir,' replied the little man.  'If I were not a
married man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog.'
Thus expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke
in the chest, which that gentleman reciprocated; after which they
both laughed very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel
Weller, who had just relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty
housemaid under cover of the cupboard door.

'I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure,' said
Arabella, with the sweetest smile imaginable.  'I shall not forget
your exertions in the garden at Clifton.'

'Don't say nothin' wotever about it, ma'am,' replied Sam.  'I
only assisted natur, ma'am; as the doctor said to the boy's
mother, after he'd bled him to death.'

'Mary, my dear, sit down,' said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short
these 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 you
been doing these three months?'

'Ah, to be sure!' interposed Perker; 'come, account for this
idleness.  You see Mr. Pickwick's only astonishment is, that it
wasn't all over, months ago.'

'Why the fact is,' replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his blushing
young wife, 'that I could not persuade Bella to run away, for a
long time.  And when I had persuaded her, it was a long time
more before we could find an opportunity.  Mary had to give a
month's warning, too, before she could leave her place next door,
and we couldn't possibly have done it without her assistance.'
'Upon my word,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time
had resumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to
Winkle, and from Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight
depicted in his countenance as warmheartedness and kindly
feeling can communicate to the human face--'upon my word!
you seem to have been very systematic in your proceedings.  And
is your brother 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 in
behalf 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
matter in 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 a warning pinch, and shook his head doubtfully.

'You forget, my love,' said Mr. Pickwick gently, 'you forget
that I am a prisoner.'

'No, indeed I do not, my dear Sir,' replied Arabella.  'I never
have forgotten it.  I have never ceased to think how great your
sufferings must have been in this shocking place.  But I hoped
that what no consideration for yourself would induce you to do,
a regard to our happiness might.  If my brother hears of this, first,
from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled.  He is my only
relation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me,
I fear I have lost even him.  I have done wrong, very, very wrong,
I know.'Here poor Arabella hid her face in her handkerchief, and
wept bitterly.

Mr. Pickwick's nature was a good deal worked upon, by these
same tears; but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to
coaxing and entreating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice,
he became particularly restless, and evidently undecided how to
act, 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 that
morning) urged with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle,
senior, was still unacquainted with the important rise in life's
flight of steps which his son had taken; that the future expectations
of the said son depended entirely upon the said Winkle,
senior, continuing to regard him with undiminished feelings of
affection and attachment, which it was very unlikely he would, if
this great event were long kept a secret from him; that Mr. Pickwick,
repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen, might, with equal
reason, repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle, senior; lastly,
that Mr. Winkle, senior, had good right and title to consider
Mr. Pickwick as in some degree the guardian and adviser of his
son, and that it consequently behoved that gentleman, and was
indeed due to his personal character, to acquaint the aforesaid
Winkle, senior, personally, and by word of mouth, with the
whole circumstances of the case, and with the share he had taken
in the transaction.

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived, most opportunely, in
this stage of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain to
them all that had occurred, together with the various reasons pro
and con, the whole of the arguments were gone over again, after
which everybody urged every argument in his own way, and at
his own length.  And, at last, Mr. Pickwick, fairly argued and
remonstrated out of all his resolutions, and being in imminent
danger of being argued and remonstrated out of his wits, caught
Arabella in his arms, and declaring that she was a very amiable
creature, and that he didn't know how it was, but he had always
been very fond of her from the first, said he could never find it in
his heart to stand in the way of young people's happiness, and
they might do with him as they pleased.

Mr. Weller's first act, on hearing this concession, was to
despatch Job Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell, with an authority
to deliver to the bearer the formal discharge which his prudent
parent had had the foresight to leave in the hands of that learned
gentleman, in case it should be, at any time, required on an
emergency; his next proceeding was, to invest his whole stock of
ready-money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild
porter, which he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to
everybody who would partake of it; this done, he hurra'd in
divers parts of the building until he lost his voice, and then
quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical condition.

At three o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Pickwick took a last look
at his little room, and made his way, as well as he could, through
the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him
by the hand, until he reached the lodge steps.  He turned here, to
look about him, and his eye lightened as he did so.  In all the
crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not
happier for his sympathy and charity.

'Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man
towards him, '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 may live to remember and feel deeply, what I shall have to
communicate, 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 that
gentleman.

'I know the rascal,' replied Perker good-humouredly.  'See after
your 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
little parcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam?'

'I have, Sir,' replied Sam.  'He bust out a-cryin', Sir, and said
you wos wery gen'rous and thoughtful, and he only wished you
could have him innockilated for a gallopin' consumption, for his
old friend as had lived here so long wos dead, and he'd noweres
to look for another.'
'Poor fellow, poor fellow!' said Mr. Pickwick.  'God bless you,
my friends!'

As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud
shout.  Many among them were pressing forward to shake him
by the hand again, when he drew his arm through Perker's, and
hurried from the prison, far more sad and melancholy, for the
moment, than when he had first entered it.  Alas! how many sad
and unhappy beings had he left behind!

A happy evening was that for at least one party in the George
and Vulture; and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that
emerged from its hospitable door next morning.  The owners
thereof were Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the former of whom
was speedily deposited inside a comfortable post-coach, with a
little 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
the window.

'I wish them horses had been three months and better in the
Fleet, Sir.'

'Why, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Wy, Sir,' exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, 'how they
would go if they had been!'



CHAPTER XLVIII
RELATES HOW Mr. PICKWICK, WITH THE ASSISTANCE
  OF SAMUEL WELLER, ESSAYED TO SOFTEN THE HEART
  OF Mr. BENJAMIN ALLEN, AND TO MOLLIFY THE WRATH
  OF Mr. ROBERT SAWYER


Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in the little
surgery behind the shop, discussing minced veal and future
prospects, when the discourse, not unnaturally, turned upon
the practice acquired by Bob the aforesaid, and his present chances
of deriving a competent independence from the honourable
profession to which he had devoted himself.

'Which, I think,' observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the
thread of the subject--'which, I think, Ben, are rather dubious.'

'What's rather dubious?' inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the same
time sharpening his intellect with a draught of beer.  'What's dubious?'

'Why, the chances,' responded Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'I forgot,' said Mr. Ben Allen.  'The beer has reminded me that
I forgot, Bob--yes; they ARE dubious.'

'It's wonderful how the poor people patronise me,' said Mr.
Bob Sawyer reflectively.  'They knock me up, at all hours of the
night; they take medicine to an extent which I should have
conceived impossible; they put on blisters and leeches with a
perseverance worthy of a better cause; they make additions to
their families, in a manner which is quite awful.  Six of those
last-named little promissory notes, all due on the same day, Ben,
and all intrusted to me!'

'It's very gratifying, isn't it?' said Mr. Ben Allen, holding his
plate for some more minced veal.

'Oh, very,' replied Bob; 'only not quite so much so as the
confidence of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be.
This business was capitally described in the advertisement, Ben.
It is a practice, a very extensive practice--and that's all.'

'Bob,' said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork, and
fixing his eyes on the visage of his friend, 'Bob, I'll tell you
what it is.'

'What is it?' inquired Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'You must make yourself, with as little delay as possible,
master of Arabella's one thousand pounds.'

'Three per cent. consolidated bank annuities, now standing in
her name in the book or books of the governor and company of
the Bank of England,' added Bob Sawyer, in legal phraseology.

'Exactly so,' said Ben.  'She has it when she comes of age, or
marries.  She wants a year of coming of age, and if you plucked
up a 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 want
of taste.  She don't like me.'

'It's my opinion that she don't know what she does like,' said
Mr. Ben Allen contemptuously.

'Perhaps not,' remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer.  'But it's my opinion
that she does know what she doesn't like, and that's of more importance.'

'I wish,' said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together, and
speaking more like a savage warrior who fed on raw wolf's flesh
which he carved with his fingers, than a peaceable young gentleman
who ate minced veal with a knife and fork--'I wish I knew
whether any rascal really has been tampering with her, and
attempting to engage her affections.  I think I should assassinate
him, 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 looking
malignantly out of the porter pot.  'If that didn't do his business,
I'd extract it afterwards, and kill him that way.'

Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for some
minutes 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. Robert
Sawyer.

'You shall do it, before you are twenty-four hours older,'
retorted Ben, with desperate calmness.  'She shall have you, or I'll
know 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.  He
paused for a few seconds, and added in a voice broken by
emotion, 'You have loved her from a child, my friend.  You loved
her when we were boys at school together, and, even then, she
was wayward and slighted your young feelings.  Do you recollect,
with all the eagerness of a child's love, one day pressing upon her
acceptance, two small caraway-seed biscuits and one sweet
apple, neatly folded 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 long
in the pockets of my corduroys, that the apple was unpleasantly warm.'

'I remember,' said Mr. Allen gloomily.  'Upon which we ate it
ourselves, in alternate bites.'

Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance last
alluded to, by a melancholy frown; and the two friends remained
for 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 the
gray livery, marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of the
dinner, cast an anxious look, from time to time, towards the
glass door, distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount
of minced veal which would be ultimately reserved for his
individual cravings; there rolled soberly on through the streets of
Bristol, a private fly, painted of a sad green colour, drawn by a
chubby sort of brown horse, and driven by a surly-looking man
with his legs dressed like the legs of a groom, and his body
attired in the coat of a coachman.  Such appearances are common
to many vehicles belonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of
economic habits; and in this vehicle sat an old lady who was its
mistress and proprietor.

'Martin!' said the old lady, calling to the surly man, out of the
front 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 the
surly man's foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly man
giving 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 of
Mr. 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 his
whip on the roof of the fly.

'I can't permit it, on any account,' said the old lady; 'your
testimony will be very important, and I must take you into the
house with me.  You must not stir from my side during the whole
interview.  Do you hear?'

'I hear,' replied Martin.

'Well; what are you stopping for?'

'Nothing,' replied Martin.  So saying, the surly man leisurely
descended from the wheel, on which he had been poising himself
on the tops of the toes of his right foot, and having summoned
the boy in the gray livery, opened the coach door, flung down the
steps, and thrusting in a hand enveloped in a dark wash-leather
glove, pulled out the old lady with as much unconcern in his
manner as if she were a bandbox.

'Dear me!' exclaimed the old lady.  'I am so flurried, now I have
got here, Martin, that I'm all in a tremble.'

Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash-leather gloves, but
expressed no sympathy; so the old lady, composing herself,
trotted up Mr. Bob Sawyer's steps, and Mr. Martin followed.
Immediately on the old lady's entering the shop, Mr. Benjamin
Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been putting the spirits-and-
water out of sight, and upsetting nauseous drugs to take off the
smell of the tobacco smoke, issued hastily forth in a transport of
pleasure and affection.

'My dear aunt,' exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, 'how kind of you to
look in upon us!  Mr. Sawyer, aunt; my friend Mr. Bob Sawyer
whom I have spoken to you about, regarding--you know, aunt.'
And here Mr. Ben Allen, who was not at the moment extraordinarily
sober, added the word 'Arabella,' in what was meant to be
a whisper, but which was an especially audible and distinct
tone of speech which nobody could avoid hearing, if anybody
were so disposed.

'My dear Benjamin,' said the old lady, struggling with a great
shortness of breath, and trembling from head to foot, 'don't be
alarmed, 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.  'Step
this way, my dear ma'am.  Don't be frightened, ma'am.  We shall
be able 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. Bob
Sawyer having handed the old lady to a chair, shut the door,
drew another chair close to her, and waited to hear detailed the
symptoms of some disorder from which he saw in perspective a
long train of profits and advantages.

The first thing the old lady did, was to shake her head a great
many times, and began to cry.

'Nervous,' said Bob Sawyer complacently.  'Camphor-julep and
water three times a day, and composing draught at night.'

'I don't know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer,' said the old lady.  'It
is so very painful and distressing.'

'You need not begin, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer.  'I can
anticipate all you would say.  The head is in fault.'

'I should be very sorry to think it was the heart,' said the old
lady, 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, looking
wondrous wise.  'Medicine, in time, my dear ma'am, would have
prevented it all.'

'Mr. Sawyer,' said the old lady, more flurried than before, 'this
conduct is either great impertinence to one in my situation, Sir,
or it arises from your not understanding the object of my visit.
If it had been in the power of medicine, or any foresight I could
have used, to prevent what has occurred, I should certainly have
done so.  I had better see my nephew at once,' said the old lady,
twirling her reticule indignantly, and rising as she spoke.

'Stop a moment, ma'am,' said Bob Sawyer; 'I'm afraid I have
not 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 tantalising deliberation,
as old ladies often do.  'Yes, ma'am.'

'Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago, on a pretended
visit to my sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps the large
boarding-school, just beyond the third mile-stone, where there is
a very large laburnum-tree and an oak gate,' said the old lady,
stopping in this place to dry her eyes.

'Oh, devil take the laburnum-tree, ma'am!' said Bob, quite
forgetting his professional dignity in his anxiety.  'Get on a little
faster; 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 great
animation.  '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 I
want to prepare Benjamin's mind for, gently and by degrees; she
said 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 your time 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
the surgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice,
'Ben, my boy, 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 heard
this appalling communication, than he made a precipitate rush
at Mr. Martin, and, twisting his hand in the neck-cloth of that
taciturn servitor, expressed an obliging intention of choking him
where he stood.  This intention, with a promptitude often the
effect of 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 but
little power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to this
operation with a very calm and agreeable expression of countenance,
for some seconds; finding, however, that it threatened
speedily to lead to a result which would place it beyond his power
to claim any wages, board or otherwise, in all time to come, he
muttered an inarticulate remonstrance and felled Mr. Benjamin
Allen to the ground.  As that gentleman had his hands entangled
in his cravat, he had no alternative but to follow him to the floor.
There they both lay struggling, when the shop door opened, and
the party was increased by the arrival of two most unexpected
visitors, to wit, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Samuel Weller.

The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller's mind by
what he saw, was, that Mr. Martin was hired by the establishment
of Sawyer, late Nockemorf, to take strong medicine, or to go into
fits and be experimentalised upon, or to swallow poison now and
then with the view of testing the efficacy of some new antidotes,
or to do something or other to promote the great science of
medicine, and gratify the ardent spirit of inquiry burning in the
bosoms of its two young professors.  So, without presuming to
interfere, Sam stood perfectly still, and looked on, as if he were
mightily interested in the result of the then pending experiment.
Not so, Mr. Pickwick.  He at once threw himself on the astonished
combatants, with his accustomed energy, and loudly called upon
the bystanders to interpose.

This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quite
paralysed by the frenzy of his companion.  With that gentleman's
assistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet.  Mr. Martin
finding 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.
'Is he unwell?'

Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick by
the hand, and murmured, in sorrowful accents, 'My sister, my
dear Sir; my sister.'

'Oh, is that all!' said Mr. Pickwick.  'We shall easily arrange
that matter, I hope.  Your sister is safe and well, and I am here,
my dear Sir, to--'

'Sorry to do anythin' as may cause an interruption to such
wery pleasant proceedin's, as the king said wen he dissolved the
parliament,' interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peeping
through the glass door; 'but there's another experiment here, sir.
Here's a wenerable old lady a--lyin' on the carpet waitin' for
dissection, or galwinism, or some other rewivin' and scientific
inwention.'

'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 out
the wollatilly!'

The latter observation was addressed to the boy in gray, who,
having handed over the fly to the care of the street-keeper, had
come back to see what all the noise was about.  Between the boy
in gray, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, and Mr. Benjamin Allen (who
having frightened his aunt into a fainting fit, was affectionately
solicitous for her recovery) the old lady was at length restored to
consciousness; then Mr. Ben Allen, turning with a puzzled
countenance 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,
clearing his voice, and looking towards the man of few words
with the surly countenance, who drove the fly with the chubby horse.

This reminded Mr. Bob Sawyer that the boy in gray was looking
on, with eyes wide open, and greedy ears.  The incipient
chemist having been lifted up by his coat collar, and dropped
outside the door, Bob Sawyer assured Mr. Pickwick that he
might speak without reserve.

'Your sister, my dear Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, turning to
Benjamin 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
shall be an object to me, sir, at twelve paces, and a pretty object
I'll make 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 some general observations concerning the punching of
heads and knocking out of eyes, which were commonplace by comparison.

'Stay, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'before you apply those epithets
to the gentleman in question, consider, dispassionately, the
extent of his fault, and above all remember that he is a friend of mine.'

'What!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer.
'His name!' cried Ben Allen.  'His name!'

'Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,' said Mr, Pickwick.

Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles beneath
the heel of his boot, and having picked up the pieces, and put
them into three separate pockets, folded his arms, bit his lips, and
looked in a threatening manner at the bland features of Mr. Pickwick.

'Then it's you, is it, Sir, who have encouraged and brought
about this match?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen at length.

'And it's this gentleman's servant, I suppose,' interrupted the
old lady, 'who has been skulking about my house, and
endeavouring to entrap my servants to conspire against their
mistress.--Martin!'

'Well?' said the surly man, coming forward.

'Is that the young man you saw in the lane, whom you told me
about, this morning?'

Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of few
words, looked at Sam Weller, nodded his head, and growled
forth, 'That's the man.'  Mr. Weller, who was never proud, gave
a smile of friendly recognition as his eyes encountered those of
the surly groom, and admitted in courteous terms, that he had
'knowed him afore.'

'And this is the faithful creature,' exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen,
'whom I had nearly suffocated!--Mr. Pickwick, how dare you
allow your fellow to be employed in the abduction of my sister?
I demand 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
a chair 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 people
which I could not prevent, and from which I conceived my
presence would remove any slight colouring of impropriety that
it might otherwise have had; this is the whole share I have had in
the transaction, and I had no suspicion that an immediate
marriage was even contemplated.  Though, mind,' added Mr.
Pickwick, hastily checking himself--'mind, I do not say I should
have prevented it, if I had known that it was intended.'

'You hear that, all of you; you hear that?' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'I hope they do,' mildly observed Mr. Pickwick, looking
round, 'and,' added that gentleman, his colour mounting as he
spoke, 'I hope they hear this, Sir, also.  That from what has been
stated to me, sir, I assert that you were by no means justified
in attempting to force your sister's inclinations as you did, and
that you should rather have endeavoured by your kindness and
forbearance to have supplied the place of other nearer relations
whom she had never known, from a child.  As regards my young
friend, I must beg 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, and that unless I hear this question discussed
with becoming temper and moderation, I decline hearing any
more said upon the subject.'

'I wish to make a wery few remarks in addition to wot has
been put for'ard by the honourable gen'l'm'n as has jist give over,'
said Mr. Weller, stepping forth, 'wich is this here: a indiwidual
in company 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 wos a priory 'tachment; but there worn't nothin' o' the
sort, for the young lady said in the wery beginnin' o' the keepin'
company, that she couldn't abide him.  Nobody's cut him out,
and it 'ud ha' been jist 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 made that '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 would never see Arabella's face again; while Mr. Bob Sawyer,
despite Sam's flattering assurance, vowed dreadful vengeance on
the happy bridegroom.

But, just when matters were at their height, and threatening to
remain so, Mr. Pickwick found a powerful assistant in the old
lady, who, evidently much struck by the mode in which he had
advocated her niece's cause, ventured to approach Mr. Benjamin
Allen with a few comforting reflections, of which the chief were,
that after all, perhaps, it was well it was no worse; the least said
the soonest mended, and upon her word she did not know that
it was so very bad after all; what was over couldn't be begun, and
what couldn't be cured must be endured; with various other
assurances of the like novel and strengthening description.  To all
of these, Mr. Benjamin Allen replied that he meant no disrespect
to 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 rather
have the pleasure of hating his sister till death, and after it.

At length, when this determination had been announced half a
hundred times, the old lady suddenly bridling up and looking very
majestic, wished to know what she had done that no respect was
to be paid to her years or station, and that she should be obliged
to beg and pray, in that way, of her own nephew, whom she
remembered about five-and-twenty years before he was born,
and whom she had known, personally, when he hadn't a tooth
in his head; to say nothing of her presence on the first occasion
of his having his hair cut, and assistance at numerous other times
and ceremonies during his babyhood, of sufficient importance to
found a claim upon his affection, obedience, and sympathies, for ever.

While the good lady was bestowing this objurgation on
Mr. Ben Allen, Bob Sawyer and Mr. Pickwick had retired in
close conversation to the inner room, where Mr. Sawyer was
observed to apply himself several times to the mouth of a black
bottle, under the influence of which, his features gradually
assumed a cheerful and even jovial expression.  And at last he
emerged from the room, bottle in hand, and, remarking that he
was very sorry to say he had been making a fool of himself,
begged to propose the health and happiness of Mr. and Mrs.
Winkle, whose felicity, so far from envying, he would be the first
to congratulate them upon.  Hearing this, Mr. Ben Allen suddenly
arose from his chair, and, seizing the black bottle, drank the
toast so heartily, that, the liquor being strong, he became nearly
as black in the face as the bottle.  Finally, the black bottle went
round till it was empty, and there was so much shaking of hands
and interchanging of compliments, that even the metal-visaged
Mr. Martin condescended to smile.

'And now,' said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, 'we'll have a
jolly night.'

'I am sorry,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that I must return to my inn.
I have not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my journey has
tired me exceedingly.'

'You'll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick?' said the old lady, with
irresistible sweetness.

'Thank you, I would rather not,' replied that gentleman.  The
truth is, that the old lady's evidently increasing admiration was
Mr. Pickwick's principal inducement for going away.  He thought
of Mrs. Bardell; and every glance of the old lady's eyes threw him
into a cold perspiration.

As Mr. Pickwick could by no means be prevailed upon to stay,
it was arranged at once, on his own proposition, that Mr. Benjamin
Allen should accompany him on his journey to the elder
Mr. Winkle's, and that the coach should be at the door, at nine
o'clock next morning.  He then took his leave, and, followed by
Samuel Weller, repaired to the Bush.  It is worthy of remark, that
Mr. Martin's face was horribly convulsed as he shook hands with
Sam at parting, and that he gave vent to a smile and an oath
simultaneously; from which tokens it has been inferred by those
who were best acquainted with that gentleman's peculiarities,
that he expressed himself much pleased with Mr. Weller's
society, and requested the honour of his further acquaintance.

'Shall I order a private room, Sir?' inquired Sam, when they
reached 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 who there is in the travellers' room, Sam.'

Mr. Weller departed on his errand, and presently returned to
say that there was only a gentleman with one eye; and that he
and the 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,
he is, sir, till he don't rightly know wether he's a-standing on the
soles of his boots or the crown of his hat.'

The individual to whom this observation referred, was sitting
at the upper end of the room when Mr. Pickwick entered, and
was smoking a large Dutch pipe, with his eye intently fixed on the
round face of the landlord; a jolly-looking old personage, to
whom he had recently been relating some tale of wonder, as was
testified by sundry disjointed exclamations of, 'Well, I wouldn't
have believed it!  The strangest thing I ever heard!  Couldn't have
supposed it possible!' and other expressions of astonishment
which burst spontaneously from his lips, as he returned the fixed
gaze of the one-eyed man.

'Servant, sir,' said the one-eyed man to Mr. Pickwick.  'Fine
night, sir.'

'Very much so indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick, as the waiter
placed 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 at length 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 Peacock
at Eatanswill, at the time of the election.'

'Oh, indeed!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes,' rejoined the one-eyed man.  'I mentioned a little circumstance
to them about a friend of mine of the name of Tom Smart.
Perhaps you've heard them speak of it.'

'Often,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling.  'He was your uncle, I think?'

'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 the
one-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 he needn't go away unless he wanted to, because the story
was no secret, fixed his eye upon the landlord's, and proceeded,
in the words of the next chapter.



CHAPTER XLIX
CONTAINING THE STORY OF THE BAGMAN'S UNCLE


'My uncle, gentlemen,' said the bagman, 'was one of the
merriest, pleasantest, cleverest fellows, that ever lived.  I wish
you had known him, gentlemen.  On second thoughts, gentlemen,
I don't wish you had known him, for if you had, you would have
been all, by this time, in the ordinary course of nature, if not dead,
at all events so near it, as to have taken to stopping at home and
giving up company, which would have deprived me of the
inestimable pleasure of addressing you at this moment.  Gentlemen,
I wish your fathers and mothers had known my uncle.
They would have been amazingly fond of him, especially your
respectable mothers; I know they would.  If any two of his
numerous virtues predominated over the many that adorned his
character, I should say they were his mixed punch and his after-
supper song.  Excuse my dwelling on these melancholy recollections
of departed worth; you won't see a man like my uncle
every day in the week.

'I have always considered it a great point in my uncle's
character, gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend and
companion 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
hat before they had known each other half an hour, who should
brew the best quart of punch and drink it the quickest.  My uncle
was judged to have won the making, but Tom Smart beat him in
the drinking by about half a salt-spoonful.  They took another
quart apiece to drink each other's health in, and were staunch
friends ever afterwards.  There's a destiny in these things, gentlemen;
we can't help it.

'In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than the
middle size; he was a thought stouter too, than the ordinary run
of people, and perhaps his face might be a shade redder.  He had
the jolliest face you ever saw, gentleman: something like Punch,
with a handsome nose and chin; his eyes were always twinkling
and sparkling with good-humour; and a smile--not one of your
unmeaning wooden grins, but a real, merry, hearty, good-
tempered smile--was perpetually on his countenance.  He was
pitched out of his gig once, and knocked, head first, against a
milestone.  There he lay, stunned, and so cut about the face with
some gravel which had been heaped up alongside it, that, to use
my uncle's own strong expression, if his mother could have
revisited the earth, she wouldn't have known him.  Indeed, when
I come to think of the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure she
wouldn't.  for she died when my uncle was two years and seven
months old, and I think it's very likely that, even without the
gravel, 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 I have heard my uncle say, many a time, that the man said
who picked him up that he was smiling as merrily as if he had
tumbled out for a treat, and that after they had bled him, the
first faint glimmerings of returning animation, were his jumping
up in bed, bursting out into a loud laugh, kissing the young
woman who held the basin, and demanding a mutton chop and
a pickled walnut.  He was very fond of pickled walnuts, gentlemen.
He said he always found that, taken without vinegar, they
relished the beer.

'My uncle's great journey was in the fall of the leaf, at which
time he collected debts, and took orders, in the north; going
from London to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from
Glasgow back to Edinburgh, and thence to London by the
smack.  You are to understand that his second visit to Edinburgh
was for his own pleasure.  He used to go back for a week, just to
look up his old friends; and what with breakfasting with this one,
lunching with that, dining with the third, and supping with
another, a pretty tight week he used to make of it.  I don't know
whether any of you, gentlemen, ever partook of a real substantial
hospitable Scotch breakfast, and then went out to a slight lunch
of a bushel of oysters, a dozen or so of bottled ale, and a noggin
or two of whiskey to close up with.  If you ever did, you will
agree with me that it requires a pretty strong head to go out to
dinner and supper afterwards.

'But bless your hearts and eyebrows, all this sort of thing was
nothing to my uncle!  He was so well seasoned, that it was mere
child's play.  I have heard him say that he could see the Dundee
people out, any day, and walk home afterwards without staggering;
and yet the Dundee people have as strong heads and as
strong punch, gentlemen, as you are likely to meet with, between
the poles.  I have heard of a Glasgow man and a Dundee man
drinking against each other for fifteen hours at a sitting.  They
were both suffocated, as nearly as could be ascertained, at the
same moment, but with this trifling exception, gentlemen, they
were not a bit the worse for it.

'One night, within four-and-twenty hours of the time when he
had settled to take shipping for London, my uncle supped at the
house of a very old friend of his, a Bailie Mac something and
four syllables after it, who lived in the old town of Edinburgh.
There were the bailie's wife, and the bailie's three daughters, and
the bailie's grown-up son, and three or four stout, bushy eye-
browed, canny, old Scotch fellows, that the bailie had got
together to do honour to my uncle, and help to make merry.  It
was a glorious supper.  There was kippered salmon, and Finnan
haddocks, and a lamb's head, and a haggis--a celebrated Scotch
dish, gentlemen, which my uncle used to say always looked to
him, when it came to table, very much like a Cupid's stomach--
and a great many other things besides, that I forget the names
of, but very good things, notwithstanding.  The lassies were
pretty and agreeable; the bailie's wife was one of the best
creatures that ever lived; and my uncle was in thoroughly good
cue.  The consequence of which was, that the young ladies
tittered and giggled, and the old lady laughed out loud, and the
bailie and the other old fellows roared till they were red in the
face, the whole mortal time.  I don't quite recollect how many
tumblers of whiskey-toddy each man drank after supper; but this
I know, that about one o'clock in the morning, the bailie's
grown-up son became insensible while attempting the first verse
of "Willie brewed a peck o' maut"; and he having been, for half
an hour before, the only other man visible above the mahogany,
it occurred to my uncle that it was almost time to think about
going, especially as drinking had set in at seven 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 uncle voted himself into
the chair, mixed another glass, rose to propose his own health,
addressed himself in a neat and complimentary speech, and drank
the toast with great enthusiasm.  Still nobody woke; so my uncle
took a little drop more--neat this time, to prevent the toddy from
disagreeing with him--and, laying violent hands on his hat,
sallied forth into the street.

'it was a wild, gusty night when my uncle closed the bailie's
door, and settling his hat firmly on his head to prevent the wind
from taking it, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looking
upward, took a short survey of the state of the weather.  The
clouds were drifting over the moon at their giddiest speed; at one
time wholly obscuring her; at another, suffering her to burst
forth in full splendour and shed her light on all the objects
around; anon, driving over her again, with increased velocity,
and shrouding everything in darkness.  "Really, this won't do,"
said my uncle, addressing himself to the weather, as if he felt
himself personally offended.  "This is not at all the kind of thing
for my voyage.  It will not do at any price," said my uncle, very
impressively.  Having repeated this, several times, he recovered
his balance with some difficulty--for he was rather giddy with
looking up into the sky so long--and walked merrily on.

'The bailie's house was in the Canongate, and my uncle was
going to the other end of Leith Walk, rather better than a mile's
journey.  On either side of him, there shot up against the dark sky,
tall, gaunt, straggling houses, with time-stained fronts, and
windows that seemed to have shared the lot of eyes in mortals,
and to have grown dim and sunken with age.  Six, seven, eight
Storey high, were the houses; storey piled upon storey, as
children build with cards--throwing their dark shadows over
the roughly paved road, and making the dark night darker.  A
few oil lamps were scattered at long distances, but they only
served to mark the dirty entrance to some narrow close, or to
show where a common stair communicated, by steep and intricate
windings, with the various flats above.  Glancing at all these
things with the air of a man who had seen them too often before,
to think them worthy of much notice now, my uncle walked up
the middle of the street, with a thumb in each waistcoat pocket,
indulging from time to time in various snatches of song, chanted
forth with such good-will and spirit, that the quiet honest folk
started from their first sleep and lay 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 warm and fell asleep again.

'I am particular in describing how my uncle walked up the
middle of the street, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets,
gentlemen, because, as he often used to say (and with great
reason too) there is nothing at all extraordinary in this story,
unless you distinctly understand at the beginning, that he was not
by any means of a marvellous or romantic turn.

'Gentlemen, my uncle walked on with his thumbs in his
waistcoat pockets, taking the middle of the street to himself, and
singing, now a verse of a love song, and then a verse of a drinking
one, and when he was tired of both, whistling melodiously, until
he reached the North Bridge, which, at this point, connects the
old and new towns of Edinburgh.  Here he stopped for a minute,
to look at the strange, irregular clusters of lights piled one above
the other, and twinkling afar off so high, that they looked like
stars, gleaming from the castle walls on the one side and the
Calton Hill on the other, as if they illuminated veritable castles in
the air; while the old picturesque town slept heavily on, in gloom
and darkness below: its palace and chapel of Holyrood, guarded
day and night, as a friend of my uncle's used to say, by old
Arthur's Seat, towering, surly and dark, like some gruff genius,
over the ancient city he has watched so long.  I say, gentlemen,
my uncle stopped here, for a minute, to look about him; and
then, paying a compliment to the weather, which had a little
cleared up, though the moon was sinking, walked on again, as
royally as before; keeping the middle of the road with great
dignity, and looking as if he would very much like to meet with
somebody who would dispute possession of it with him.  There
was nobody at all disposed 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
cross a pretty large piece of waste ground which separated him
from a short 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, an enclosure belonging to some wheelwright who contracted
with the Post Office for the purchase of old, worn-out mail
coaches; and my uncle, being very fond of coaches, old, young,
or middle-aged, all at once took it into his head to step out of his
road for no other purpose than to peep between the palings at
these mails--about a dozen of which he remembered to have seen,
crowded together in a very forlorn and dismantled state, inside.
My uncle was a very enthusiastic, emphatic sort of person,
gentlemen; so, finding that he could not obtain a good peep
between the palings he got over them, and sitting himself quietly
down on an old axle-tree, began to contemplate the mail coaches
with a deal of gravity.

'There might be a dozen of them, or there might be more--
my uncle was never quite certain on this point, and being a man
of very scrupulous veracity about numbers, didn't like to say--
but there they stood, all huddled together in the most desolate
condition imaginable.  The doors had been torn from their hinges
and removed; the linings had been stripped off, only a shred
hanging here and there by a rusty nail; the lamps were gone, the
poles had long since vanished, the ironwork was rusty, the paint
was worn away; the wind whistled through the chinks in the bare
woodwork; and the rain, which had collected on the roofs, fell,
drop by drop, into the insides with a hollow and melancholy
sound.  They were the decaying skeletons of departed mails, and in
that lonely place, at that time of night, they looked chill and dismal.

'My uncle rested his head upon his hands, and thought of the
busy, bustling people who had rattled about, years before, in the
old coaches, and were now as silent and changed; he thought of
the numbers of people to whom one of these crazy, mouldering
vehicles had borne, night after night, for many years, and through
all weathers, the anxiously expected intelligence, the eagerly
looked-for remittance, the promised assurance of health and
safety, the sudden announcement of sickness and death.  The
merchant, the lover, the wife, the widow, the mother, the school-
boy, the very child who tottered to the door at the postman's
knock--how had they all looked forward to the arrival of the old
coach.  And where were they all now?
'Gentlemen, my uncle used to SAY that he thought all this at the
time, but I rather suspect he learned it out of some book afterwards,
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 bell
striking two.  Now, my uncle was never a fast thinker, and if he
had thought all these things, I am quite certain it would have
taken him 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 of doze, 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 this
deserted and quiet spot had become a scene of most extraordinary
life and animation.  The mail coach doors were on their
hinges, the lining was replaced, the ironwork was as good as
new, the paint was restored, the lamps were alight; cushions and
greatcoats were on every coach-box, porters were thrusting
parcels into every boot, guards were stowing away letter-bags,
hostlers were dashing pails of water against the renovated wheels;
numbers of men were pushing about, fixing poles into every
coach; passengers arrived, portmanteaus were handed up,
horses were put to; in short, it was perfectly clear that every mail
there, was to be off directly.  Gentlemen, my uncle opened his
eyes so wide at all this, that, to the very last moment of his life,
he used to wonder how it fell out that he had ever been able to
shut 'em again.

'"Now then!" said a voice, as my uncle felt a hand on his
shoulder, "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 much
astonished.  The queerest thing of all was that although there was
such a crowd of persons, and although fresh faces were pouring
in, every moment, there was no telling where they came from.
They seemed to start up, in some strange manner, from the
ground, or the air, and disappear in the same way.  When a
porter had put his luggage in the coach, and received his fare, he
turned round and was gone; and before my uncle had well begun
to wonder what had become of him, half a dozen fresh ones
started up, and staggered along under the weight of parcels,
which seemed big enough to crush them.  The passengers were all
dressed so oddly too!  Large, broad-skirted laced coats, with
great cuffs and no collars; 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 had
addressed my uncle before.  He was dressed as a mail guard, with
a wig on his head and most enormous cuffs to his coat, and had
a lantern in one hand, and a huge blunderbuss in the other,
which he was going to stow away in his little arm-chest.  "ARE you
going to get in, Jack Martin?" said the guard, holding the lantern
to my uncle's face.

'"Hollo!" said my uncle, falling back a step or two.  "That's familiar!"

'"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 Jack
Martin, was a liberty which the Post Office wouldn't have
sanctioned 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 Edinburgh
and 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
of my uncle, a young gentleman in a powdered wig, and a sky-
blue coat trimmed with silver, made very full and broad in the
skirts, which were lined with buckram.  Tiggin and Welps were in
the printed calico and waistcoat piece line, gentlemen, so my
uncle knew all the materials at once.  He wore knee breeches, and
a kind of leggings rolled up over his silk stockings, and shoes with
buckles; he had ruffles at his wrists, a three-cornered hat on his
head, 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 cravat
reached to his waist.  He stalked gravely to the coach door, pulled
off his hat, and held it above his head at arm's length, cocking his
little 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,
and made a low, grave bow, and then put out his left hand.  My
uncle was just going to step forward, and shake it heartily, when
he perceived 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
waist and stomacher.  She had no bonnet on her head, gentlemen,
which was muffled in a black silk hood, but she looked round for
an instant as she prepared to get into the coach, and such a
beautiful face as she disclosed, my uncle had never seen--not even
in a picture.  She got into the coach, holding up her dress with one
hand; and as my uncle always said with a round oath, when he
told the story, he wouldn't have believed it possible that legs and
feet could have been brought to such a state of perfection unless
he had seen them with his own eyes.

'But, in this one glimpse of the beautiful face, my uncle saw
that the young lady cast an imploring look upon him, and that
she appeared terrified and distressed.  He noticed, too, that the
young fellow in the powdered wig, notwithstanding his show of
gallantry, which was all very fine and grand, clasped her tight by
the wrist when she got in, and followed himself immediately
afterwards.  An uncommonly 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 the young lady, who shrank into a corner
at his approach, my uncle was confirmed in his original
impression that something dark and mysterious was going forward,
or, as he always said himself, that "there was a screw
loose somewhere."  It's quite surprising how quickly he made
up his mind to help the lady at any peril, if she needed any help.

'"Death and lightning!" exclaimed the young gentleman,
laying his 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
without further ceremony.  My uncle had no weapon about him,
but with great dexterity he snatched the ill-looking gentleman's
three-cornered hat from his head, and, receiving the point of his
sword right through the crown, squeezed the sides together, and
held it tight.

'"Pink him behind!" cried the ill-looking gentleman to his
companion, as he struggled to regain his sword.

'"He had better not," cried my uncle, displaying the heel of
one of his shoes, in a threatening manner.  "I'll kick his brains
out, if he has any--, or fracture his skull if he hasn't."  Exerting all
his strength, at this moment, my uncle wrenched the ill-looking
man's sword from his grasp, and flung it clean out of the coach
window, upon which the younger gentleman vociferated, "Death
and lightning!" again, and laid his hand upon the hilt of his
sword, in a very fierce manner, but didn't draw it.  Perhaps,
gentlemen, as my uncle used to say with a smile, perhaps he was
afraid of alarming the lady.

'"Now, gentlemen," said my uncle, taking his seat deliberately,
"I don't want to have any death, with or without lightning,
in a lady's presence, and we have had quite blood and
thundering enough for one journey; so, if you please, we'll sit in
our places like quiet insides.  Here, guard, pick up that
gentleman's carving-knife."

'As quickly as my uncle said the words, the guard appeared at
the coach window, with the gentleman's sword in his hand.  He
held up his lantern, and looked earnestly in my uncle's face, as
he handed it in, when, by its light, my uncle saw, to his great
surprise, that an immense crowd of mail-coach guards swarmed
round the window, every one of whom had his eyes earnestly
fixed upon him too.  He had never seen such a sea of white faces,
red bodies, and earnest eyes, in all his born days.

'"This is the strangest sort of thing I ever had anything to do
with," thought my uncle; "allow me to return you your hat, sir."

'The ill-looking gentleman received his three-cornered hat in
silence, looked at the hole in the middle with an inquiring air,
and finally stuck it on the top of his wig with a solemnity the
effect of which was a trifle impaired by his sneezing violently at
the moment, and jerking it off again.

'"All right!" cried the guard with the lantern, mounting into
his little seat behind.  Away they went.  My uncle peeped out of
the coach window as they emerged from the yard, and observed
that the other mails, with coachmen, guards, horses, and
passengers, complete, were driving round and round in circles, at
a slow trot of about five miles an hour.  My uncle burned with
indignation, gentlemen.  As a commercial man, he felt that the
mail-bags were not to be trifled with, and he resolved to memorialise
the Post Office on the subject, the very instant he reached London.

'At present, however, his thoughts were occupied with the
young lady who sat in the farthest corner of the coach, with her
face muffled closely in her hood; the gentleman with the sky-blue
coat sitting opposite to her; the other man in the plum-coloured
suit, by her side; and both watching her intently.  If she so much
as rustled the folds of her hood, he could hear the ill-looking man
clap his hand upon his sword, and could tell by the other's
breathing (it was so dark he couldn't see his face) that he was
looking as big as if he were going to devour her at a mouthful.
This roused my uncle more and more, and he resolved, come
what might, to see the end of it.  He had a great admiration for
bright eyes, and sweet faces, and pretty legs and feet; in short, he
was fond of the whole sex.  It runs in our family, gentleman--so
am I.

'Many were the devices which my uncle practised, to attract
the lady's attention, or at all events, to engage the mysterious
gentlemen in conversation.  They were all in vain; the gentlemen
wouldn't talk, and the lady didn't dare.  He thrust his head out of
the coach window at intervals, and bawled out to know why they
didn't go faster.  But he called till he was hoarse; nobody paid the
least attention to him.  He leaned back in the coach, and thought
of the beautiful face, and the feet and legs.  This answered better;
it whiled away the time, and kept him from wondering where he
was going, and how it was that he found himself in such an odd
situation.  Not that this would have worried him much, anyway
--he was a mighty free and easy, roving, devil-may-care sort of
person, 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 great attention,
and, finding that my uncle was determined not to alight,
the younger man squeezed past him, to hand the lady out.  At this
moment, the ill-looking man was inspecting the hole in the crown
of his three-cornered hat.  As the young lady brushed past, she
dropped one of her gloves into my uncle's hand, and softly
whispered, with her lips so close to his face that he felt her warm
breath on his nose, the single word "Help!" Gentlemen, my
uncle leaped out of the coach at once, with such violence that it
rocked on 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
doubt whether 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 of the company over the head with the stock, snatch up
the young lady, and go off in the smoke.  On second thoughts,
however, he abandoned this plan, as being a shade too
melodramatic in the execution, and followed the two mysterious men,
who, keeping the lady between them, were now entering an old
house in front of which the coach had stopped.  They turned into
the passage, and my uncle followed.

'Of all the ruinous and desolate places my uncle had ever
beheld, this was the most so.  It looked as if it had once been a
large house of entertainment; but the roof had fallen in, in many
places, and the stairs were steep, rugged, and broken.  There was
a huge fireplace in the room into which they walked, and the
chimney was blackened with smoke; but no warm blaze lighted
it up now.  The white feathery dust of burned wood was still
strewed over the hearth, but the stove was cold, and all was dark
and gloomy.

'"Well," said my uncle, as he looked about him, "a mail
travelling at the rate of six miles and a half an hour, and stopping
for an indefinite time at such a hole as this, is rather an irregular
sort of proceeding, I fancy.  This shall be made known.  I'll write
to the papers."

'My uncle said this in a pretty loud voice, and in an open,
unreserved sort of manner, with the view of engaging the two
strangers in conversation if he could.  But, neither of them took
any more notice of him than whispering to each other, and
scowling at him as they did so.  The lady was at the farther end of
the room, and once she ventured to wave her hand, as if beseeching
my uncle's assistance.

'At length the two strangers advanced a little, and the
conversation began in earnest.

'"You don't know this is a private room, I suppose, fellow?"
said the gentleman in sky-blue.

'"No, I do not, fellow," rejoined my uncle.  "Only, if this is a
private room specially ordered for the occasion, I should think
the public room must be a VERY comfortable one;" with this, my
uncle sat himself down in a high-backed chair, and took such an
accurate measure of the gentleman, with his eyes, that Tiggin and
Welps could have supplied him with printed calico for a suit, and
not an inch too much or too little, from that estimate alone.

'"Quit this room," said both men together, grasping their swords.

'"Eh?" said my uncle, not at all appearing to comprehend
their meaning.

'"Quit the room, or you are a dead man," said the ill-looking
fellow with the large sword, drawing it at the same time and
flourishing it in the air.

'"Down with him!" cried the gentleman in sky-blue, drawing
his sword 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, and
great presence of mind.  All the time that he had appeared so
indifferent to what was going on, he had been looking slily about for
some missile or weapon of defence, and at the very instant when
the swords were drawn, he espied, standing in the chimney-
corner, an old basket-hilted rapier in a rusty scabbard.  At one
bound, my uncle caught it in his hand, drew it, flourished it
gallantly above his head, called aloud to the lady to keep out of
the way, hurled the chair at the man in sky-blue, and the scabbard
at the 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 being
true--regarding a fine young Irish gentleman, who being asked if
he could play the fiddle, replied he had no doubt he could, but he
couldn't exactly say, for certain, because he had never tried.  This
is not inapplicable to my uncle and his fencing.  He had never had
a sword in his hand before, except once when he played Richard
the Third at a private theatre, upon which occasion it was
arranged with Richmond that he was to be run through, from
behind, without showing fight at all.  But here he was, cutting and
slashing with two experienced swordsman, thrusting, and guarding,
and poking, and slicing, and acquitting himself in the most
manful and dexterous manner possible, although up to that time
he had never been aware that he had the least notion of the
science.  It only shows how true the old saying is, that a man never
knows what he can do till he tries, gentlemen.

'The noise of the combat was terrific; each of the three
combatants swearing like troopers, and their swords clashing with as
much noise as if all the knives and steels in Newport market were
rattling together, at the same time.  When it was at its very height,
the lady (to encourage my uncle most probably) withdrew
her hood entirely from her face, and disclosed a countenance of
such dazzling beauty, that he would have fought against fifty
men, to win one smile from it and die.  He had done wonders
before, but now 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 an exclamation of rage and jealousy, and, turning his
weapon against her beautiful bosom, pointed a thrust at her
heart, which caused my uncle to utter a cry of apprehension that
made the building ring.  The lady stepped lightly aside, and
snatching the young man's sword from his hand, before he had
recovered his balance, drove him to the wall, and running it
through him, and the panelling, up to the very hilt, pinned him
there, hard and fast.  It was a splendid example.  My uncle, with a
loud shout of triumph, and a strength that was irresistible, made
his adversary retreat in the same direction, and plunging the old
rapier into the very centre of a large red flower in the pattern of
his waistcoat, nailed him beside his friend; there they both stood,
gentlemen, jerking their arms and legs about in agony, like the
toy-shop figures that are moved by a piece of pack-thread.  My
uncle always said, afterwards, that this was one of the surest
means he knew of, for disposing of an enemy; but it was liable to
one objection on the ground of expense, inasmuch as it involved
the loss of a sword for every man disabled.

'"The mail, the mail!" cried the lady, running up to my uncle
and throwing her beautiful arms round his neck; "we may yet escape."

'"May!" cried my uncle; "why, my dear, there's nobody else
to kill, is there?" My uncle was rather disappointed, gentlemen,
for he thought a little quiet bit of love-making would be agreeable
after 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 the powerful Marquess of Filletoville."
'"Well then, my dear, I'm afraid he'll never come to the
title," said my uncle, looking coolly at the young gentleman as he
stood fixed up against the wall, in the cockchafer fashion that I
have described.  "You have cut off the entail, my love."

'"I have been torn from my home and my friends by these
villains," said the young lady, her features glowing with indignation.
"That wretch would have married me by violence in another hour."

'"Confound his impudence!" said my uncle, bestowing a very
contemptuous look on the dying heir of Filletoville.

' "As you may guess from what you have seen," said the
young lady, "the party were prepared to murder me if I appealed
to any one 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
the young Marquess of Filletoville, she sank into my uncle's
arms.  My uncle caught her up, and bore her to the house door.
There stood the mail, with four long-tailed, flowing-maned, black
horses, ready harnessed; but no coachman, no guard, no hostler
even, at the horses' heads.

'Gentlemen, I hope I do no injustice to my uncle's memory,
when I express my opinion, that although he was a bachelor, he
had 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 credible
witnesses, to hug a landlady in a very perceptible manner.  I
mention the circumstance, to show what a very uncommon sort
of person this beautiful young lady must have been, to have
affected my uncle in the way she did; he used to say, that as her
long dark hair trailed over his arm, and her beautiful dark eyes
fixed themselves upon his face when she recovered, he felt so
strange and nervous that his legs trembled beneath him.  But
who can look in 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
kiss it."

'The young lady put up her hand as if to caution my uncle not
to do so, and said-- No, she didn't say anything--she smiled.
When you 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
very near them, and nobody else by--you cannot better testify
your admiration of their beautiful form and colour than by
kissing them at 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 for
wheels, and the trampling of hoofs; but there appeared to be so
many horses and carriages rattling towards them, from a distance,
that it was impossible to form a guess at their number.  The sound
was 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 the
coach, told her not to be frightened, pressed his lips to hers once
more, and then advising her to draw up the window to keep the
cold 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 no
answer, but she smiled again.  Such a smile, gentlemen!  It beat
the other one, all to nothing.  My uncle descended from his perch
in a twinkling.

'"What is it, my dear?" said my uncle, looking in at the coach
window.  The lady happened to bend forward at the same time,
and my uncle thought she looked more beautiful than she had
done yet.  He was very close to her just then, gentlemen, so he
really ought to know.

'"What is it, my dear?" said my uncle.

'"Will you never love any one but me--never marry any one
beside?" said the young lady.

'My uncle swore a great oath that he never would marry anybody
else, and the young lady drew in her head, and pulled up
the window.  He jumped upon the box, squared his elbows,
adjusted the ribands, seized the whip which lay on the roof, gave
one 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
in the pursuit.  The noise was frightful, but, above all, rose the
voice of the young lady, urging my uncle on, and shrieking,
"Faster!  Faster!"

'They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept
before a hurricane.  Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects of
every kind they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaring
waters suddenly let loose.  But still the noise of pursuit grew
louder, and still my uncle could hear the young lady wildly
screaming, "Faster!  Faster!"

'My uncle plied whip and rein, and the horses flew onward till
they were white with foam; and yet the noise behind increased;
and yet the young lady cried, "Faster!  Faster!" My uncle gave a
loud stamp on the boot in the energy of the moment, and--
found that it was gray morning, and he was sitting in the wheelwright's
yard, on the box of an old Edinburgh mail, shivering with
the cold and wet and stamping his feet to warm them!  He got
down, and looked eagerly inside for the beautiful young lady.
Alas!  There was neither door nor seat to the coach.  It was a
mere shell.

'Of course, my uncle knew very well that there was some
mystery in the matter, and that everything had passed exactly as
he used to relate it.  He remained staunch to the great oath he
had sworn to the beautiful young lady, refusing several eligible
landladies on her account, and dying a bachelor at last.  He
always said what a curious thing it was that he should have
found out, by such a mere accident as his clambering over the
palings, that the ghosts of mail-coaches and horses, guards,
coachmen, and passengers, were in the habit of making journeys
regularly every night.  He used to add, that he believed he was the
only living person who had ever been taken as a passenger on
one of these excursions.  And I think he was right, gentlemen--
at least I never heard 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 with
profound attention.

'The dead letters, of course,' said the bagman.

'Oh, ah!  To be sure,' rejoined the landlord.  'I never thought
of that.'



CHAPTER L
HOW Mr. PICKWICK SPED UPON HIS MISSION, AND HOW
  HE WAS REINFORCED IN THE OUTSET BY A MOST
  UNEXPECTED AUXILIARY


The horses were put to, punctually at a quarter before nine
next morning, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller having each taken
his seat, the one inside and the other out, the postillion
was duly directed to repair in the first instance to Mr. Bob
Sawyer's house, for the purpose of taking up Mr. Benjamin Allen.

It was with feelings of no small astonishment, when the
carriage drew up before the door with the red lamp, and the very
legible inscription of 'Sawyer, late Nockemorf,' that Mr. Pickwick
saw, on popping his head out of the coach window, the boy
in the gray livery very busily employed in putting up the shutters
--the which, being an unusual and an unbusinesslike proceeding
at that hour of the morning, at once suggested to his mind two
inferences: the one, that some good friend and patient of Mr.
Bob Sawyer's was 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 his
mouth to the whole breadth of his countenance.

'All right, all right!' cried Bob Sawyer, suddenly appearing at
the door, with a small leathern knapsack, limp and dirty, in one
hand, and a rough coat and shawl thrown over the other arm.
'I'm going, old fellow.'

'You!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'and a regular expedition we'll make
of it.  Here, Sam!  Look out!'  Thus briefly bespeaking Mr. Weller's
attention, Mr. Bob Sawyer jerked the leathern knapsack into
the dickey, where it was immediately stowed away, under the
seat, by Sam, who regarded the proceeding with great admiration.
This done, Mr. Bob Sawyer, with the assistance of the boy,
forcibly worked himself into the rough coat, which was a few
sizes too small for him, and then advancing to the coach window,
thrust in his 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 of the rough coat.

'My dear Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with some embarrassment,
'I had 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, you
know--that, and leaving the business to take care of itself, as it
seems to have made up its mind not to take care of me.'  With
this explanation of the phenomenon of the shutters, Mr. Bob
Sawyer pointed to the shop, and relapsed into an ecstasy of mirth.

'Bless me, you are surely not mad enough to think of leaving
your 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
a confidential whisper, 'they will be all the better for it; for,
being nearly out of drugs, and not able to increase my account
just now, I should have been obliged to give them calomel all
round, and it would have been certain to have disagreed with
some of them.  So it's all for the best.'

There was a philosophy and a strength of reasoning about this
reply, which Mr. Pickwick was not prepared for.  He paused a
few moments, and added, less firmly than before--

'But this chaise, my young friend, will only hold two; and I am
pledged to Mr. Allen.'

'Don't think of me for a minute,' replied Bob.  'I've arranged
it all; Sam and I will share the dickey between us.  Look here.
This little bill is to be wafered on the shop door: "Sawyer, late
Nockemorf.  Inquire of Mrs. Cripps over the way."  Mrs. Cripps
is my boy's mother.  "Mr. Sawyer's very sorry," says Mrs. Cripps,
"couldn't help it--fetched away early this morning to a
consultation of the very first surgeons in the country--couldn't do
without him--would have him at any price--tremendous
operation."  The fact is,' said Bob, in conclusion, 'it'll do me more
good 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 postboy
on one side, jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door,
put up the steps, wafered the bill on the street door, locked it,
put the key in his pocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the word
for starting, 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 the equipage.

So long as their progress was confined to the streets of Bristol,
the facetious Bob kept his professional green spectacles on, and
conducted himself with becoming steadiness and gravity of
demeanour; merely giving utterance to divers verbal witticisms
for the exclusive behoof and entertainment of Mr. Samuel Weller.
But when they emerged on the open road, he threw off his green
spectacles and his gravity together, and performed a great variety
of practical jokes, which were calculated to attract the attention
of the passersby, and to render the carriage and those it
contained objects of more than ordinary curiosity; the least
conspicuous among 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
occasionally waved in the air with various gestures indicative of
supremacy and defiance.

'I wonder,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping in the midst of a most
sedate conversation with Ben Allen, bearing reference to the
numerous good qualities of Mr. Winkle and his sister--'I wonder
what 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
pride in his tone.  'They're not used to see this sort of thing, every
day, I dare say.'

'Possibly,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'It may be so.  Perhaps it is.'

Mr. Pickwick might very probably have reasoned himself into
the belief that it really was, had he not, just then happening to
look out of the coach window, observed that the looks of the
passengers betokened anything but respectful astonishment, and
that various telegraphic communications appeared to be passing
between them and some persons outside the vehicle, whereupon
it occurred to him that these demonstrations might be, in some
remote degree, referable to the humorous deportment of Mr.
Robert Sawyer.

'I hope,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that our volatile friend is
committing 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 evidently proceeded
from the throat and lungs of the quietest creature breathing,
or in plainer designation, of Mr. Bob Sawyer himself.

Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen looked expressively at each
other, and the former gentleman taking off his hat, and leaning
out of the coach window until nearly the whole of his waistcoat
was outside it, was at length enabled to catch a glimpse of his
facetious friend.

Mr. Bob Sawyer was seated, not in the dickey, but on the roof
of the chaise, with his legs as far asunder as they would
conveniently go, wearing Mr. Samuel Weller's hat on one side of his
head, and bearing, in one hand, a most enormous sandwich,
while, in the other, he supported a goodly-sized case-bottle, to
both of which he applied himself with intense relish, varying the
monotony of the occupation by an occasional howl, or the
interchange of some lively badinage with any passing stranger.
The crimson flag was carefully tied in an erect position to the rail
of the dickey; and Mr. Samuel Weller, decorated with Bob
Sawyer's hat, was seated in the centre thereof, discussing a twin
sandwich, with an animated countenance, the expression of which
betokened his entire and perfect approval of the whole arrangement.

This was enough to irritate a gentleman with Mr. Pickwick's
sense of propriety, but it was not the whole extent of the aggravation,
for a stage-coach full, inside and out, was meeting them at
the moment, and the astonishment of the passengers was very
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
male head, who appeared to consider the display as part and
parcel of some 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 the
chaise 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 that
scandalous red handkerchief, I beg.  I insist, Sir.  Sam, take it down.'

Before Sam could interpose, Mr. Bob Sawyer gracefully struck
his colours, and having put them in his pocket, nodded in a
courteous manner to Mr. Pickwick, wiped the mouth of the case-
bottle, and applied it to his own, thereby informing him, without
any unnecessary waste of words, that he devoted that draught
to wishing him all manner of happiness and prosperity.  Having
done this, Bob replaced the cork with great care, and looking
benignantly down on Mr. Pickwick, took a large bite out of the
sandwich, and smiled.

'Come,' said Mr. Pickwick, whose momentary anger was not
quite 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
ride that 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 his
head into the chaise and pulled up the glass; but he had scarcely
resumed the conversation which Mr. Bob Sawyer had interrupted,
when he was somewhat startled by the apparition of a small dark
body, of an oblong form, on the outside of the window, which
gave sundry taps against it, as if impatient of admission.

'What's this?'exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'It looks like a case-bottle;' remarked Ben Allen, eyeing the
object in question through his spectacles with some interest; 'I
rather 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 his
friends inside would partake of its contents, in all good-fellowship
and 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;
'it would 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. Pickwick
gently let down the window and disengaged the bottle from
the stick; upon which the latter was drawn up, and Mr. Bob
Sawyer was heard to laugh heartily.

'What a merry dog it is!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round at
his companion, 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.
'It smells, I think, like milk-punch.'
'Oh, indeed?' said Ben.

'I THINK so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, very properly guarding
himself against the possibility of stating an untruth; 'mind, I
could not undertake to say certainly, without tasting it.'

'You had better do so,' said Ben; 'we may as well know what
it is.'

'Do you think so?' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'Well; if you are
curious to know, of course I have no objection.'

Ever willing to sacrifice his own feelings to the wishes of his
friend, Mr. Pickwick at once took a pretty long taste.

'What is it?' inquired Ben Allen, interrupting him with some
impatience.

'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
at Mr. Ben Allen; Mr. Ben Allen smiled; Mr. Pickwick did not.

'It would serve him right,' said the last-named gentleman, with
some 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 pull at the bottle, and handed it to Ben Allen, who was
not slow to imitate 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, 'his
pranks are really very amusing; very entertaining indeed.'

'You may say that,' rejoined Mr. Ben Allen.  In proof of Bob
Sawyer's being one of the funniest fellows alive, he proceeded to
entertain Mr. Pickwick with a long and circumstantial account
how that gentleman once drank himself into a fever and got his
head shaved; the relation of which pleasant and agreeable
history was only stopped by the stoppage of the chaise at the
Bell at Berkeley Heath, to change horses.

'I say!  We're going to dine here, aren't we?' said Bob, looking
in at the window.

'Dine!' said Mr. Pickwick.  'Why, we have only come nineteen
miles, and have eighty-seven and a half to go.'

'Just the reason why we should take something to enable us to
bear up against the fatigue,' remonstrated Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'Oh, it's quite impossible to dine at half-past eleven o'clock in
the 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
of an 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
the arrangements; in less than five minutes he returned
and declared them to be excellent.

The quality of the lunch fully justified the eulogium which
Bob had pronounced, and very great justice was done to it, not
only by that gentleman, but Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Pickwick
also.  Under the auspices of the three, the bottled ale and the
Madeira were promptly disposed of; and when (the horses being
once more put to) they resumed their seats, with the case-bottle
full of the best substitute for milk-punch that could be procured
on so short a notice, the key-bugle sounded, and the red flag
waved, without the slightest opposition on Mr. Pickwick's part.

At the Hop Pole at Tewkesbury, they stopped to dine; upon
which occasion there was more bottled ale, with some more
Madeira, and some port besides; and here the case-bottle was
replenished for the fourth time.  Under the influence of these
combined stimulants, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen fell fast
asleep for thirty miles, while Bob and Mr. Weller sang duets in
the dickey.

It was quite dark when Mr. Pickwick roused himself sufficiently
to 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 furnace
fires in the distance, the volumes of dense smoke issuing heavily
forth from high toppling chimneys, blackening and obscuring
everything around; the glare of distant lights, the ponderous
wagons which toiled along the road, laden with clashing rods of
iron, or piled with heavy goods--all betokened their rapid
approach to the great working town of Birmingham.

As they rattled through the narrow thoroughfares leading to
the heart of the turmoil, the sights and sounds of earnest occupation
struck more forcibly on the senses.  The streets were thronged
with working people.  The hum of labour resounded from every
house; lights gleamed from the long casement windows in the
attic storeys, and the whirl of wheels and noise of machinery
shook the trembling walls.  The fires, whose lurid, sullen light had
been visible for miles, blazed fiercely up, in the great works and
factories of the town.  The din of hammers, the rushing of steam,
and the dead heavy clanking of engines, was the harsh music
which arose from every quarter.
The postboy was driving briskly through the open streets, and
past the handsome and well-lighted shops that intervene between
the outskirts of the town and the Old Royal Hotel, before Mr.
Pickwick had begun to consider the very difficult and delicate
nature of the commission which had carried him thither.

The delicate nature of this commission, and the difficulty of
executing it in a satisfactory manner, were by no means lessened
by the voluntary companionship of Mr. Bob Sawyer.  Truth to
tell, Mr. Pickwick felt that his presence on the occasion, however
considerate and gratifying, was by no means an honour he
would willingly have sought; in fact, he would cheerfully have
given a reasonable sum of money to have had Mr. Bob Sawyer
removed to any place at not less than fifty miles' distance,
without delay.

Mr. Pickwick had never held any personal communication
with Mr. Winkle, senior, although he had once or twice corresponded
with him by letter, and returned satisfactory answers to
his inquiries 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, was not the most ingenious and likely means that could
have been hit upon to prepossess him in his favour.

'However,' said Mr. Pickwick, endeavouring to reassure
himself, 'I must do the best I can.  I must see him to-night, for I
faithfully promised to do so.  If they persist in accompanying
me, I must 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 chaise
stopped at the door of the Old Royal.  Ben Allen having been
partially awakened from a stupendous sleep, and dragged out by
the collar by Mr. Samuel Weller, Mr. Pickwick was enabled to
alight.  They were shown to a comfortable apartment, and Mr.
Pickwick at once propounded a question to the waiter concerning
the 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.  Private
residence is not--oh dear, no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir.'
Here the waiter blew a candle out, and made a feint of lighting it
again, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking
any further 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 then
stopping 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 relieved
from an overwhelming weight, by having at last got an order for
something, the waiter imperceptibly melted away.  Waiters never
walk or run.  They have a peculiar and mysterious power of
skimming 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
prevailed upon to wash his face and hands, and to submit to be
brushed by Sam.  Mr. Pickwick and Bob Sawyer having also
repaired the disorder which the journey had made in their
apparel, the three started forth, arm in arm, to Mr. Winkle's;
Bob Sawyer impregnating the atmosphere with tobacco smoke as
he walked along.

About a quarter of a mile off, in a quiet, substantial-looking
street, stood an old red brick house with three steps before the
door, and a brass plate upon it, bearing, in fat Roman capitals,
the words, 'Mr. Winkle.'The steps were very white, and the bricks
were very red, and the house was very clean; and here stood
Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Benjamin Allen, and Mr. Bob Sawyer, as the
clock struck ten.

A smart servant-girl answered the knock, and started on
beholding 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 I am sorry to trouble him at so late an hour; but I am
anxious to see him to-night, and have only just arrived.'
The girl looked timidly at Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was expressing
his admiration of her personal charms by a variety of wonderful
grimaces; and casting an eye at the hats and greatcoats which
hung in the passage, called another girl to mind the door while
she went upstairs.  The sentinel was speedily relieved; for the girl
returned immediately, and begging pardon of the gentlemen for
leaving them in the street, ushered them into a floor-clothed back
parlour, half office and half dressing room, in which the principal
useful and ornamental articles of furniture were a desk, a wash-
hand stand and shaving-glass, a boot-rack and boot-jack, a high
stool, four chairs, a table, and an old eight-day clock.  Over the
mantelpiece were the sunken doors of an iron safe, while a
couple of hanging shelves 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 winning
smile, 'but you was quite strangers to me; and we have such a
many trampers that only come to see what they can lay their
hands on, that really--'

'There is not the least occasion for any apology, my dear,' said
Mr. Pickwick good-humouredly.

'Not the slightest, my love,' said Bob Sawyer, playfully
stretching forth his arms, and skipping from side to side, as if to
prevent the young lady's leaving the room.

The young lady was not at all softened by these allurements,
for she at once expressed her opinion, that Mr. Bob Sawyer was
an 'odous creetur;' and, on his becoming rather more pressing in
his attentions, imprinted her fair fingers upon his face, and
bounced out of the room with many expressions of aversion and contempt.

Deprived of the young lady's society, Mr. Bob Sawyer proceeded
to divert himself by peeping into the desk, looking into all
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
of Mr. Winkle, senior, over his own, and making several other
humorous experiments upon the furniture, all of which afforded
Mr. Pickwick unspeakable horror and agony, and yielded Mr.
Bob Sawyer 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
of those belonging to Mr. Winkle, junior, excepting that he was
rather bald, trotted into the room with Mr. Pickwick's card in
one hand, 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
see you 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's friend.'

'Oh,' said Mr. Winkle the elder, looking rather grimly at Bob.
'I hope you are well, sir.'

'Right as a trivet, sir,' replied Bob Sawyer.

'This other gentleman,' cried Mr. Pickwick, 'is, as you will see
when you have read the letter with which I am intrusted, a very
near relative, or I should rather say a very particular friend of
your son's.  His name is Allen.'

'THAT gentleman?' inquired Mr. Winkle, pointing with the card
towards Ben Allen, who had fallen asleep in an attitude which
left nothing of him visible but his spine and his coat collar.

Mr. Pickwick was on the point of replying to the question, and
reciting Mr. Benjamin Allen's name and honourable distinctions
at full length, when the sprightly Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a view of
rousing his friend to a sense of his situation, inflicted a startling
pinch upon the fleshly part of his arm, which caused him to jump
up with a shriek.  Suddenly aware that he was in the presence of
a stranger, Mr. Ben Allen advanced and, shaking Mr. Winkle
most affectionately by both hands for about five minutes,
murmured, in some half-intelligible fragments of sentences, the
great delight he felt in seeing him, and a hospitable inquiry
whether he felt disposed to take anything after his walk, or
would prefer waiting 'till dinner-time;' which done, he sat down
and gazed about him with a petrified stare, as if he had not the
remotest idea where he was, which indeed he had not.

All this was most embarrassing to Mr. Pickwick, the more
especially as Mr. Winkle, senior, evinced palpable astonishment
at the eccentric--not to say extraordinary--behaviour of his two
companions.  To bring the matter to an issue at once, he drew a
letter 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, depend
his future happiness and welfare.  Will you oblige me by giving it
the calmest and coolest perusal, and by discussing the subject
afterwards with me, in the tone and spirit in which alone it ought
to be discussed?  You may judge of the importance of your
decision to your son, and his intense anxiety upon the subject, by
my waiting upon you, without any previous warning, at so late
an hour; and,' added Mr. Pickwick, glancing slightly at his two
companions--'and under such unfavourable circumstances.'

With this prelude, Mr. Pickwick placed four closely-written
sides of extra superfine wire-wove penitence in the hands of the
astounded Mr. Winkle, senior.  Then reseating himself in his chair,
he watched his looks and manner: anxiously, it is true, but with
the open front of a gentleman who feels he has taken no part
which he need excuse or palliate.
The old wharfinger turned the letter over, looked at the front,
back, and sides, made a microscopic examination of the fat little
boy on the seal, raised his eyes to Mr. Pickwick's face, and then,
seating himself on the high stool, and drawing the lamp closer to
him, broke the wax, unfolded the epistle, and lifting it to the
light, prepared to read.
Just at this moment, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whose wit had lain
dormant for some minutes, placed his hands on his knees, and
made a face after the portraits of the late Mr. Grimaldi, as clown.
It so happened that Mr. Winkle, senior, instead of being deeply
engaged in reading the letter, as Mr. Bob Sawyer thought,
chanced to be looking over the top of it at no less a person than
Mr. Bob Sawyer himself; rightly conjecturing that the face aforesaid
was made in ridicule and derision of his own person, he
fixed his eyes on Bob with such expressive sternness, that the late
Mr. Grimaldi's lineaments gradually resolved themselves into a
very fine expression of humility and confusion.

'Did you speak, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, senior, after an
awful silence.

'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, with
indignant 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.  Having
frowned upon the abashed Bob with great magnificence, the old
gentleman again brought the letter to the light, and began to
read it seriously.

Mr. Pickwick eyed him intently as he turned from the bottom
line of the first page to the top line of the second, and from the
bottom of the second to the top of the third, and from the
bottom of the third to the top of the fourth; but not the slightest
alteration of countenance afforded a clue to the feelings with
which he received 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 the
carefulness and precision of a man of business, and, just when
Mr. Pickwick expected some great outbreak of feeling, dipped a
pen in the ink-stand, and said, as quietly as if he were speaking
on the most 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 the
back of the letter; and then, placing it in the desk, which he
locked, said, as he got off the stool and put the bunch of keys in
his pocket--

'I suppose there is nothing else which need detain us, Mr. Pickwick?'

'Nothing else, my dear Sir!' observed that warm-hearted
person in indignant amazement.  'Nothing else!  Have you no
opinion to express on this momentous event in our young friend's
life?  No assurance to convey to him, through me, of the
continuance of your affection and protection?  Nothing to say which
will cheer and sustain him, and the anxious girl who looks to him
for comfort and support?  My dear Sir, consider.'

'I will consider,' replied the old gentleman.  'I have nothing to
say just now.  I am a man of business, Mr. Pickwick.  I never
commit myself hastily in any affair, and from what I see of this,
I by no means like the appearance of it.  A thousand pounds is
not much, Mr. Pickwick.'

'You're very right, Sir,' interposed Ben Allen, just awake
enough to know that he had spent his thousand pounds without
the smallest difficulty.  'You're an intelligent man.  Bob, he's a
very knowing fellow this.'

'I am very happy to find that you do me the justice to make the
admission, sir,' said Mr. Winkle, senior, looking contemptuously
at Ben Allen, who was shaking his head profoundly.  'The fact is,
Mr. Pickwick, that when I gave my son a roving license for a
year or so, to see something of men and manners (which he has
done under your auspices), so that he might not enter life a mere
boarding-school milk-sop to be gulled by everybody, I never
bargained for this.  He knows that very well, so if I withdraw my
countenance from him on this account, he has no call to be
surprised.  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 to
say something on the right side; Ben accordingly now burst,
without the slightest preliminary notice, into a brief but
impassioned piece of eloquence.

'Sir,' said Mr. Ben Allen, staring at the old gentleman, out of a
pair of very dim and languid eyes, and working his right arm
vehemently up and down, 'you--you ought to be ashamed of
yourself.'

'As the lady's brother, of course you are an excellent judge of
the 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-stick
and opening the room door, politely motioned towards the passage.

'You will regret this, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, setting his teeth
close together to keep down his choler; for he felt how
important the 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.
Bob Sawyer, completely quelled by the decision of the old gentleman's
manner, took the same course.  Mr. Ben Allen's hat rolled
down the steps immediately afterwards, and Mr. Ben Allen's
body followed it directly.  The whole party went silent and supperless
to bed; and Mr. Pickwick thought, just before he fell asleep,
that if he had known Mr. Winkle, senior, had been quite so much
of a man of business, it was extremely probable he might never
have waited upon him, on such an errand.



CHAPTER LI
IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK ENCOUNTERS AN OLD
  ACQUAINTANCE--TO WHICH FORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCE
  THE READER IS MAINLY INDEBTED FOR MATTER OF
  THRILLING INTEREST HEREIN SET DOWN, CONCERNING
  TWO GREAT PUBLIC MEN OF MIGHT AND POWER


The morning which broke upon Mr. Pickwick's sight at eight
o'clock, was not at all calculated to elevate his spirits, or
to lessen the depression which the unlooked-for result of his
embassy inspired.  The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp
and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy.  The smoke hung sluggishly
above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and
the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the
spirit to pour.  A game-cock in the stableyard, deprived of every
spark of his accustomed animation, balanced himself dismally on
one leg in a corner; a donkey, moping with drooping head under the
narrow roof of an outhouse, appeared from his meditative and
miserable countenance to be contemplating suicide.  In the
street, umbrellas were the only things to be seen, and the
clicking of pattens and splashing of rain-drops were the only
sounds to be heard.

The breakfast was interrupted by very little conversation; even
Mr. Bob Sawyer felt the influence of the weather, and the previous
day'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 last
evening paper from London was read and re-read with an
intensity of interest only known in cases of extreme destitution;
every inch of the carpet was walked over with similar perseverance;
the windows were looked out of, often enough to justify
the imposition of an additional duty upon them; all kinds of
topics 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 came
down harder than it had done yet, and although the mud and wet
splashed in at the open windows of the carriage to such an
extent that the discomfort was almost as great to the pair of
insides as to the pair of outsides, still there was something in the
motion, and the sense of being up and doing, which was so
infinitely superior to being pent in a dull room, looking at the
dull rain dripping into a dull street, that they all agreed, on
starting, that the change was a great improvement, and wondered
how they could possibly have delayed making it as long as they
had done.

When they stopped to change at Coventry, the steam ascended
from the horses in such clouds as wholly to obscure the hostler,
whose voice was however heard to declare from the mist, that he
expected the first gold medal from the Humane Society on their
next distribution of rewards, for taking the postboy's hat off; the
water descending from the brim of which, the invisible gentleman
declared, must have drowned him (the postboy), but for his
great presence of mind in tearing it promptly from his head, and
drying the 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
a glass 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
young nobleman sweetly remarked wen they put him down in the
pension list 'cos his mother's uncle's vife's grandfather vunce lit
the 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-day arterwards
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 mysterious
whisper--'wos you ever called in, when you wos 'prentice to a
sawbones, 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
(as they 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's
tombstone, 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's
another thing that no man never see, and that's a dead donkey.
No man never see a dead donkey 'cept the gen'l'm'n in the black
silk smalls as know'd the young 'ooman as kep' a goat; and that
wos a French donkey, so wery likely he warn't wun o' the reg'lar breed.'

'Well, what has that got to do with the postboys?' asked Bob Sawyer.

'This here,' replied Sam.  'Without goin' so far as to as-sert, as
some wery sensible people do, that postboys and donkeys is both
immortal, wot I say is this: that wenever they feels theirselves
gettin' stiff and past their work, they just rides off together, wun
postboy to a pair in the usual way; wot becomes on 'em nobody
knows, but it's wery probable as they starts avay to take their
pleasure in some other vorld, for there ain't a man alive as ever
see either a donkey or a postboy a-takin' his pleasure in this!'

Expatiating upon this learned and remarkable theory, and
citing many curious statistical and other facts in its support, Sam
Weller beguiled the time until they reached Dunchurch, where a
dry postboy and fresh horses were procured; the next stage was
Daventry, and the next Towcester; and at the end of each stage
it rained harder than it had done at the beginning.

'I say,' remonstrated Bob Sawyer, looking in at the coach
window, 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'm
afraid you're wet.'

'Oh, you are, are you?' returned Bob.  'Yes, I am, a little that
way, Uncomfortably damp, perhaps.'

Bob did look dampish, inasmuch as the rain was streaming
from his neck, elbows, cuffs, skirts, and knees; and his whole
apparel shone so with the wet, that it might have been mistaken
for a full suit of prepared oilskin.

'I AM rather wet,' said Bob, giving himself a shake and casting
a little hydraulic shower around, like a Newfoundland dog just
emerged 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 to
assist in the conference; 'it's a cruelty to animals, sir, to ask 'em
to do 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 weal
cutlet; French beans, 'taturs, tart, and tidiness.  You'd better
stop vere you are, sir, if I might recommend.  Take adwice, sir,
as the doctor said.'

The host of the Saracen's Head opportunely appeared at this
moment, to confirm Mr. Weller's statement relative to the
accommodations of the establishment, and to back his entreaties
with a variety of dismal conjectures regarding the state of the
roads, the doubt of fresh horses being to be had at the next stage,
the dead certainty of its raining all night, the equally mortal
certainty of its clearing up in the morning, and other topics of
inducement familiar to innkeepers.

'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but I must send a letter to London
by some conveyance, so that it may be delivered the very first
thing in the morning, or I must go forwards at all hazards.'

The landlord smiled his delight.  Nothing could be easier than
for the gentleman to inclose a letter in a sheet of brown paper,
and send it on, either by the mail or the night coach from
Birmingham.  If the gentleman were particularly anxious to have
it left as soon as possible, he might write outside, 'To be delivered
immediately,' which was sure to be attended to; or 'Pay the
bearer half-a-crown extra 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 are
wet!' cried the landlord.  'This way, gentlemen; don't trouble
yourselves about the postboy now, sir.  I'll send him to you when
you ring for him, sir.  Now, John, the candles.'

The candles were brought, the fire was stirred up, and a
fresh log of wood thrown on.  In ten minutes' time, a waiter
was laying the cloth for dinner, the curtains were drawn, the fire
was blazing brightly, and everything looked (as everything
always does, in all decent English inns) as if the travellers had
been expected, and their comforts prepared, for days beforehand.

Mr. Pickwick sat down at a side table, and hastily indited a
note to Mr. Winkle, merely informing him that he was detained
by stress of weather, but would certainly be in London next day;
until when he deferred any account of his proceedings.  This note
was hastily made into a parcel, and despatched to the bar per
Mr. Samuel Weller.

Sam left it with the landlady, and was returning to pull his
master's boots off, after drying himself by the kitchen fire, when
glancing casually through a half-opened door, he was arrested by
the sight of a gentleman with a sandy head who had a large
bundle of newspapers lying on the table before him, and was
perusing the leading article of one with a settled sneer which
curled up his nose and all other features into a majestic expression
of haughty contempt.

'Hollo!' said Sam, 'I ought to know that 'ere head and them
features; the eyeglass, too, and the broad-brimmed tile!  Eatansvill
to vit, or I'm a Roman.'

Sam was taken with a troublesome cough, at once, for the
purpose of attracting the gentleman's attention; the gentleman
starting at the sound, raised his head and his eyeglass, and
disclosed to view the profound and thoughtful features of Mr.
Pott, of the Eatanswill GAZETTE.

'Beggin' your pardon, sir,' said Sam, advancing with a bow,
'my master's here, Mr. Pott.'

'Hush! hush!' cried Pott, drawing Sam into the room, and
closing the door, with a countenance of mysterious dread and
apprehension.

'Wot's the matter, Sir?' inquired Sam, looking vacantly about him.

'Not a whisper of my name,' replied Pott; 'this is a buff
neighbourhood.  If the excited and irritable populace knew I was
here, I should be torn to pieces.'

'No!  Vould you, sir?' inquired Sam.

'I should be the victim of their fury,' replied Pott.  'Now
young man, what of your master?'

'He's a-stopping here to-night on his vay to town, with a
couple of 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's
married.'

'Married!' exclaimed Pott, with frightful vehemence.  He
stopped, smiled darkly, and added, in a low, vindictive tone, 'It
serves him right!'
Having given vent to this cruel ebullition of deadly 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 consented to accompany
him to Mr. Pickwick's room, where a hearty welcome
awaited him, and an agreement to club their dinners together 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 whole
party had got their wet boots off, and dry slippers on.  'Is the
INDEPENDENT still in being?'

'The INDEPENDENT, sir,' replied Pott, 'is still dragging on a wretched
and lingering career.  Abhorred and despised by even the few
who are cognisant of its miserable and disgraceful existence, stifled
by the very filth it so profusely scatters, rendered deaf and blind
by the exhalations of its own slime, the obscene journal, happily
unconscious of its degraded state, is rapidly sinking beneath that
treacherous mud which, while it seems to give it a firm standing
with the low and debased classes of society, is nevertheless rising
above its detested head, and will speedily engulf it for ever.'

Having delivered this manifesto (which formed a portion of his
last week's leader) with vehement articulation, the editor paused
to 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
these kingdoms to support and to maintain?' suggested Pott.

'Why, I don't exactly know about that,' replied Bob Sawyer.
'I am--'

'Not buff, Mr. Pickwick,' interrupted Pott, drawing back his
chair, 'your friend is not buff, sir?'

'No, no,' rejoined Bob, 'I'm a kind of plaid at present; a
compound of all sorts of colours.'

'A waverer,' said Pott solemnly, 'a waverer.  I should like to
show you a series of eight articles, Sir, that have appeared in the
Eatanswill GAZETTE.  I think I may venture to say that you would
not be long in establishing your opinions on a firm and solid
blue basis, sir.'
'I dare say I should turn very blue, long before I got to the end
of 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 at
intervals in the Eatanswill GAZETTE in the course of the last three
months, and which have excited such general--I may say such
universal--attention and admiration?'

'Why,' replied Mr. Pickwick, slightly embarrassed by the
question, '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 on
Chinese 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
CRAMMED for it, to use a technical but expressive term; he read up
for the subject, at my desire, in the "Encyclopaedia Britannica."  '

'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'I was not aware that that
valuable work contained any information respecting Chinese
metaphysics.'

'He read, Sir,' rejoined Pott, laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's
knee, and looking round with a smile of intellectual superiority
--'he read for metaphysics under the letter M, and for China
under the letter C, and combined his information, Sir!'

Mr. Pott's features assumed so much additional grandeur at
the recollection of the power and research displayed in the
learned effusions in question, that some minutes elapsed before
Mr. Pickwick felt emboldened to renew the conversation; at
length, as the editor's countenance gradually relaxed into its
customary expression of moral supremacy, he ventured to
resume the discourse by asking--

'Is it fair to inquire what great object has brought you so far
from home?'

'That object which actuates and animates me in all my gigantic
labours, 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 this
disclosure, he was so little versed in local politics that he was
unable to form an adequate comprehension of the importance of
the dire conspiracy it referred to; observing which, Mr. Pott,
drawing forth the last number of the Eatanswill GAZETTE, and
referring to the same, delivered himself of the following paragraph:--


          HOLE-AND-CORNER BUFFERY.


'A reptile contemporary has recently sweltered forth his black
venom in the vain and hopeless attempt of sullying the fair name
of our distinguished and excellent representative, the Honourable
Mr. Slumkey--that Slumkey whom we, long before he gained
his present noble and exalted position, predicted would one day
be, as he now is, at once his country's brightest honour, and her
proudest boast: alike her bold defender and her honest pride--
our reptile contemporary, we say, has made himself merry, at the
expense of a superbly embossed plated coal-scuttle, which has
been presented to that glorious man by his enraptured
constituents, and towards the purchase of which, the nameless
wretch insinuates, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey himself
contributed, through a confidential friend of his butler's, more than
three-fourths of the whole sum subscribed.  Why, does not the
crawling creature see, that even if this be the fact, the Honourable
Mr. Slumkey only appears in a still more amiable and radiant
light than before, if that be possible?  Does not even his obtuseness
perceive that this amiable and touching desire to carry out
the wishes of the constituent body, must for ever endear him to
the hearts and souls of such of his fellow townsmen as are not
worse than swine; or, in other words, who are not as debased as
our contemporary himself?  But such is the wretched trickery of
hole-and-corner Buffery!  These are not its only artifices.  Treason
is abroad.  We boldly state, now that we are goaded to the
disclosure, and we throw ourselves on the country and its constables
for protection--we boldly state that secret preparations are at
this moment in progress for a Buff ball; which is to be held in a
Buff town, in the very heart and centre of a Buff population;
which is to be conducted by a Buff master of the ceremonies;
which is to be attended by four ultra Buff members of Parliament,
and the admission to which, is to be by Buff tickets!  Does our
fiendish contemporary wince?  Let him writhe, in impotent
malice, as we pen 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 he
considered his life in Mr. Pickwick's hands, and depended on his
secrecy.  Messrs. Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen, who had
irreverently fallen asleep during the reading of the quotation
from the Eatanswill GAZETTE, and the discussion which followed
it, were roused by the mere whispering of the talismanic word
'Dinner' in their ears; and to dinner they went with good
digestion waiting on appetite, 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
with his lady, she was then engaged in making a tour of different
fashionable watering-places with a view to the recovery of her
wonted health and spirits; this was a delicate veiling of the fact
that Mrs. Pott, acting upon her often-repeated threat of separation,
had, in virtue of an arrangement negotiated by her brother,
the lieutenant, and concluded by Mr. Pott, permanently retired
with the faithful bodyguard upon one moiety or half part of the
annual income and profits arising from the editorship and sale of
the Eatanswill GAZETTE.

While the great Mr. Pott was dwelling upon this and other
matters, enlivening the conversation from time to time with
various extracts from his own lucubrations, a stern stranger,
calling from the window of a stage-coach, outward bound,
which halted at the inn to deliver packages, requested to know
whether if he stopped short on his journey and remained there
for the night, he could be furnished with the necessary accommodation
of a bed and bedstead.

'Certainly, sir,' replied the landlord.

'I can, can I?' inquired the stranger, who seemed habitually
suspicious 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 snappish
manner, the stranger alighted.  He was a shortish gentleman, with
very stiff black hair cut in the porcupine or blacking-brush style,
and standing stiff and straight all over his head; his aspect was
pompous and threatening; his manner was peremptory; his eyes
were sharp and restless; and his whole bearing bespoke a feeling
of great confidence in himself, and a consciousness of immeasurable
superiority over all other people.

This gentleman was shown into the room originally assigned
to the patriotic Mr. Pott; and the waiter remarked, in dumb
astonishment at the singular coincidence, that he had no sooner
lighted the candles than the gentleman, diving into his hat, drew
forth a newspaper, and began to read it with the very same
expression of indignant scorn, which, upon the majestic features
of Pott, had paralysed his energies an hour before.  The man
observed too, that, whereas Mr. Pott's scorn had been roused by
a newspaper headed the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT, this gentleman's
withering contempt was awakened by a newspaper entitled the
Eatanswill 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
me now, man?'

The landlord scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, and at
the 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 fist
upon the table.  'And this is popularity!'

The landlord took a step or two towards the door; the stranger
fixing his eyes upon him, resumed.

'This,' said the stranger--'this is gratitude for years of labour
and study in behalf of the masses.  I alight wet and weary; no
enthusiastic crowds press forward to greet their champion; the
church bells are silent; the very name elicits no responsive
feeling in 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 to abandon 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
got a fire anywhere?'

'We can light one directly, Sir,' said the landlord.

'Which will throw out no heat until it is bed-time,' interrupted
Mr. Slurk.  'Is there anybody in the kitchen?'

Not a soul.  There was a beautiful fire.  Everybody had gone,
and the house door was closed for the night.

'I will drink my rum-and-water,' said Mr. Slurk, 'by the
kitchen fire.'  So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked
solemnly behind the landlord to that humble apartment,
and throwing himself on a settle by the fireside, resumed his
countenance of scorn, and began to read and drink in silent dignity.

Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen's
Head at that moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle
curiosity, happened to behold Slurk established comfortably
by the kitchen fire, and Pott slightly elevated with wine
in another room; upon which the malicious demon, darting
down into the last-mentioned apartment with inconceivable
rapidity, passed at once into the head 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 demon aforesaid.

'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, each
with his glass in his hand, at once betook themselves to the
kitchen, with Sam Weller heading the procession to show them
the way.

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
he should tread on some overgrown black beetle, or dropsical spider.

'That reptile,' whispered Pott, catching Mr. Pickwick by the
arm, and pointing towards the stranger.  'That reptile Slurk, of
the INDEPENDENT!'

'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 an
opposite settle, and selecting one from a little bundle of newspapers,
began to read against his enemy.

Mr. Pott, of course read the INDEPENDENT, and Mr. Slurk, of
course, read the GAZETTE; and each gentleman audibly expressed
his contempt at the other's compositions by bitter laughs and
sarcastic sniffs; whence they proceeded to more open expressions
of opinion, such as 'absurd,' 'wretched,' 'atrocity,' 'humbug,'
'knavery', 'dirt,' 'filth,' 'slime,' 'ditch-water,' and other critical
remarks of the like nature.

Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld these
symptoms of rivalry and hatred, with a degree of delight which
imparted great additional relish to the cigars at which they were
puffing most vigorously.  The moment they began to flag, the
mischievous Mr. Bob Sawyer, addressing Slurk with great
politeness, said--

'Will you allow me to look at your paper, Sir, when you have
quite done with it?'

'You will find very little to repay you for your trouble in this
contemptible THING, sir,' replied Slurk, bestowing a Satanic frown
on Pott.

'You shall have this presently,' said Pott, looking up, pale
with rage, 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 the
faces 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 upon Slurk.
Here, Mr. Slurk laughed very heartily, and folding up the
paper so as to get at a fresh column conveniently, said, that the
blockhead really amused him.

'What an impudent blunderer this fellow is,' said Pott, turning
from pink to crimson.

'Did you ever read any of this man's foolery, Sir?' inquired
Slurk 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 this
juncture; 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 the
paper to Bob, 'you will, perhaps, be somewhat repaid by a laugh
at the 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
that better; ha! ha!'

Mr. Pott retorted not a word at this jocose insult, but deliberately
folded up his copy of the INDEPENDENT, flattened it carefully
down, crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it with great
ceremony, and flung it into the fire.

'There, sir,' said Pott, retreating from the stove, 'and that's the
way 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 shall
never 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
withered an anchor.

'Serve him so, sir!' reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice
than before.

'I will not, sir,' rejoined Pott.

'Oh, you won't, won't you, sir?' said Mr. Slurk, in a taunting
manner; 'you hear this, gentlemen!  He won't; not that he's
afraid--, oh, no! he WON'T.  Ha! ha!'

'I consider you, sir,' said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, 'I
consider you a viper.  I look upon you, sir, as a man who has
placed himself 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 most
unparalleled and unmitigated viper.'

The indignant Independent did not wait to hear the end of this
personal denunciation; for, catching up his carpet-bag, which
was well stuffed with movables, he swung it in the air as Pott
turned away, and, letting it fall with a circular sweep on his head,
just at that particular angle of the bag where a good thick
hairbrush happened to be packed, caused a sharp crash to be
heard throughout the kitchen, and brought him at once to the ground.

'Gentlemen,' cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and seized
the fire-shovel--'gentlemen!  Consider, for Heaven's sake--help
--Sam--here--pray, gentlemen--interfere, somebody.'

Uttering these incoherent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed
between the infuriated combatants just in time to receive the
carpet-bag on one side of his body, and the fire-shovel on the
other.  Whether the representatives of the public feeling of
Eatanswill were blinded by animosity, or (being both acute
reasoners) saw the advantage of having a third party between
them to bear all the blows, certain it is that they paid not the
slightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying each other with
great spirit, plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovel most
fearlessly.  Mr. Pickwick would unquestionably have suffered severely
for his humane interference, if Mr. Weller, attracted by his
master's cries, had not rushed in at the moment, and, snatching
up a meal--sack, effectually stopped the conflict by drawing it over
the head and shoulders of the mighty Pott, and clasping him
tight round the shoulders.

'Take away that 'ere bag from the t'other madman,' said Sam
to Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but dodge
round the group, each with a tortoise-shell lancet in his hand,
ready to bleed the first man stunned.  'Give it up, you wretched
little creetur, or I'll smother you in it.'

Awed by these threats, and quite out of breath, the INDEPENDENT
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 put
you both in it, and let you fight it out vith the mouth tied, as I
vould a dozen sich, if they played these games.  And you have the
goodness to come this here way, sir, if you please.'

Thus addressing his master, Sam took him by the arm, and led
him off, while the rival editors were severally removed to their
beds by the landlord, under the inspection of Mr. Bob Sawyer and
Mr. Benjamin Allen; breathing, as they went away, many
sanguinary threats, and making vague appointments for mortal
combat next day.  When they came to think it over, however, it
occurred to them that they could do it much better in print, so
they recommenced deadly hostilities without delay; and all
Eatanswill rung with their boldness--on paper.

They had taken themselves off in separate coaches, early next
morning, before the other travellers were stirring; and the weather
having now cleared up, the chaise companions once more turned
their faces to London.



CHAPTER LII
INVOLVING A SERIOUS CHANGE IN THE WELLER FAMILY,
  AND THE UNTIMELY DOWNFALL OF Mr. STIGGINS


Considering it a matter of delicacy to abstain from introducing
either Bob Sawyer or Ben Allen to the young couple, until they
were fully prepared to expect them, and wishing to spare
Arabella's feelings as much as possible, Mr. Pickwick
proposed that he and Sam should alight in the neighbourhood of the
George and Vulture, and that the two young men should for
the present take up their quarters elsewhere.  To this they very
readily agreed, and the proposition was accordingly acted
upon; Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer betaking themselves
to a sequestered pot-shop on the remotest confines of the
Borough, behind the bar door of which their names had in
other days very often appeared at the head of long and complex
calculations worked in white chalk.

'Dear me, Mr. Weller,' said the pretty housemaid, meeting
Sam at 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' creetur you 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 along
with you.'  Thus admonishing him, the pretty housemaid pushed
Sam against the wall, declaring that he had tumbled her cap,
and put 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't
gone 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
lost long before this,' replied Mary.  'There, take it; it's more
than you deserve.'

With these words, after many pretty little coquettish doubts
and fears, and wishes that she might not have lost it, Mary
produced the letter from behind the nicest little muslin tucker
possible, and handed it to Sam, who thereupon kissed it with
much gallantry and devotion.

'My goodness me!' said Mary, adjusting the tucker, and
feigning unconsciousness, 'you seem to have grown very fond of
it all at once.'

To this Mr. Weller only replied by a wink, the intense meaning
of which no description could convey the faintest idea of; and,
sitting himself down beside Mary on a window-seat, opened the
letter and glanced at the contents.

'Hollo!' exclaimed Sam, 'wot's all this?'

'Nothing the matter, I hope?' said Mary, peeping over his
shoulder.

'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 eyes
twinkle with such slyness and beauty that they were perfectly
irresistible.

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 ill news your Mother in law cort cold consekens of imprudently
settin too long on the damp grass in the rain a hearing
of a shepherd who warnt able to leave off till late at night owen
to his having vound his-self up vith brandy and vater and not
being able to stop his-self till he got a little sober which took a
many hours to do the doctor says that if she'd svallo'd varm
brandy and vater artervards insted of afore she mightn't have
been no vus her veels wos immedetly greased and everythink
done to set her agoin as could be inwented your father had
hopes as she vould have vorked round as usual but just as she
wos a turnen the corner my boy she took the wrong road and
vent down hill vith a welocity you never see and notvithstandin
that the drag wos put on directly by the medikel man it wornt
of no use at all for she paid the last pike at twenty minutes afore
six o'clock yesterday evenin havin done the journey wery much
under the reglar time vich praps was partly owen to her haven
taken in wery little luggage by the vay your father says that
if you vill come and see me Sammy he vill take it as a wery
great favor for I am wery lonely Samivel n. b. he VILL have it
spelt that vay vich I say ant right and as there is sich a many
things to settle he is sure your guvner wont object of course
he vill not Sammy for I knows him better so he sends his dooty
in which I join and am Samivel infernally yours
               'TONY VELLER.'


'Wot a incomprehensible letter,' said Sam; 'who's to know wot
it means, 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 it
himself afterwards,' said the pretty housemaid.

'Stop a minit,' replied Sam, running over the letter again,
and pausing here and there, to reflect, as he did so.  'You've hit
it.  The gen'l'm'n as wrote it wos a-tellin' all about the
misfortun' in a proper vay, and then my father comes a-lookin'
over him, and complicates the whole concern by puttin' his oar
in.  That's just the wery sort o' thing he'd do.  You're right,
Mary, my dear.'

Having satisfied himself on this point, Sam read the letter all
over, once more, and, appearing to form a clear notion of its
contents for the first time, ejaculated thoughtfully, as he folded
it up--

'And so the poor creetur's dead!  I'm sorry for it.  She warn't
a bad-disposed 'ooman, if them shepherds had let her alone.
I'm wery sorry for it.'

Mr. Weller uttered these words in so serious a manner, that
the pretty housemaid cast down her eyes and looked very grave.

'Hows'ever,' said Sam, putting the letter in his pocket with a
gentle sigh, 'it wos to be--and wos, as the old lady said arter
she'd married 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 head away.

'Well, shake hands, won't you?' said Sam.

The pretty housemaid put out a hand which, although it was
a housemaid'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 slightest
possible toss in the air.  'You no sooner come, Mr. Weller, than
you go again.'

Mr. Weller drew the household beauty closer to him, and
entered upon a whispering conversation, which had not proceeded
far, when she turned her face round and condescended
to look at him again.  When they parted, it was somehow or
other indispensably necessary for her to go to her room, and
arrange the cap and curls before she could think of presenting
herself to her mistress; which preparatory ceremony she went
off to perform, bestowing many nods and smiles on Sam over the
banisters as she tripped 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 the
intelligence of his father's loss.

'As long as may be necessary, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
'you have my full permission to remain.'

Sam bowed.

'You will tell your father, Sam, that if I can be of any assistance
to him in his present situation, I shall be most willing and ready
to lend 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 from
the box of a stage-coach which passed through Dorking, stood
within a few hundred yards of the Marquis of Granby.  It was a
cold, dull evening; the little street looked dreary and dismal;
and the mahogany countenance of the noble and gallant marquis
seemed to wear a more sad and melancholy expression than it
was wont to do, as it swung to and fro, creaking mournfully in
the wind.  The blinds were pulled down, and the shutters partly
closed; of the knot of loungers that usually collected about the
door, not one was to be seen; the place was silent and desolate.

Seeing nobody of whom he could ask any preliminary
questions, Sam walked softly in, and glancing round, he quickly
recognised his parent in the distance.

The widower was seated at a small round table in the little
room behind the bar, smoking a pipe, with his eyes intently
fixed upon the fire.  The funeral had evidently taken place that
day, for attached to his hat, which he still retained on his head,
was a hatband measuring about a yard and a half in length,
which hung over 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, he still continued to smoke with the same fixed and quiet
countenance, and was only roused ultimately by his son's placing
the 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,
hanging his hat on a peg, 'but you didn't hear me.'

'No, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, again looking thoughtfully
at the 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, 'regarding
HER, Samivel.'  Here Mr. Weller jerked his head in the direction
of Dorking churchyard, in mute explanation that his words
referred to the late Mrs. Weller.

'I wos a-thinkin', Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, eyeing his son,
with great earnestness, over his pipe, as if to assure him that
however extraordinary and incredible the declaration might
appear, it was nevertheless 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
again fastening his eyes on the fire, shrouded himself in a cloud,
and mused deeply.

'Those wos wery sensible observations as she made, Sammy,'
said Mr. Weller, driving the smoke away with his hand, after a
long silence.

'Wot observations?' inquired Sam.

'Them as she made, arter she was took ill,' replied the old
gentleman.
'Wot was they?'

'Somethin' to this here effect.  "Veller," she says, "I'm afeered
I've not done by you quite wot I ought to have done; you're a
wery kind-hearted man, and I might ha' made your home more
comfortabler.  I begin to see now," she says, "ven it's too late,
that if a married 'ooman vishes to be religious, she should begin
vith dischargin' her dooties at home, and makin' them as is
about her cheerful and happy, and that vile she goes to church,
or chapel, or wot 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 on them 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 as I raly wos by natur."

'"Susan," says I--I wos took up wery short by this, Samivel; I
von't deny it, my boy--"Susan," I says, "you've been a wery
good vife to me, altogether; don't say nothin' at all about
it; keep a good heart, my dear; and you'll live to see me punch
that 'ere Stiggins's head yet."  She smiled at this, Samivel,' said
the old gentleman, stifling a sigh with his pipe, 'but she died
arter all!'

'Vell,' said Sam, venturing to offer a little homely consolation,
after the lapse of three or four minutes, consumed by the old
gentleman in slowly shaking his head from side to side, and
solemnly smoking, 'vell, gov'nor, ve must all come to it, one day
or another.'

'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 grave
approval.  'Wot 'ud become of the undertakers vithout it, Sammy?'

Lost in the immense field of conjecture opened by this reflection,
the elder Mr. Weller laid his pipe on the table, and stirred
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 of recognition upon Sam, silently stationed herself at the
back of his father's chair, and announced her presence by a slight
cough, the which, being disregarded, was followed by a louder one.

'Hollo!' said the elder Mr. Weller, dropping the poker as he
looked round, and hastily drew his chair away.  'Wot's the
matter now?'

'Have a cup of tea, there's a good soul,' replied the buxom
female coaxingly.
'I von't,' replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterous
manner.  'I'll see you--' Mr. Weller hastily checked himself,
and added in a low tone, 'furder fust.'

'Oh, dear, dear!  How adwersity does change people!' said the
lady, looking upwards.

'It's the only thing 'twixt this and the doctor as shall change
my condition,' 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
vith vich the penitent school-boy comforted his feelin's ven they
flogged him,' rejoined the old gentleman.

The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate and
sympathising air; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether his
father really ought not to make an effort to keep up, and not
give way to that lowness of spirits.

'You see, Mr. Samuel,' said the buxom female, 'as I was
telling him yesterday, he will feel lonely, he can't expect but
what he should, 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 be mended.  Which is what a very worthy
person said to me when my husband died.'  Here the speaker,
putting her hand before her mouth, coughed again, and looked
affectionately at the elder Mr. Weller.

'As I don't rekvire any o' your conversation just now, mum,
vill you have the goodness to re-tire?' inquired Mr. Weller, in a
grave and steady voice.

'Well, Mr. Weller,' said the buxom female, 'I'm sure I only
spoke to you out of kindness.'

'Wery likely, mum,' replied Mr. Weller.  'Samivel, show the
lady out, and shut the door after her.'

This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at once
left 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 wiolence
afore 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
I was locked up in a fireproof chest vith a patent Brahmin, she'd
find 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 actiwally
drove 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
a pot o' jam, and another a pot o' jelly, and another brews a
blessed large jug o' camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her own
hands.'  Mr. Weller paused with an aspect of intense disgust,
and looking round, 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
having broken an obstinate lump of coal, with a countenance
expressive of as much earnestness and malice as if it had been
the head of one of the widows last-mentioned, said:

'In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe anyveres but on the box.'

'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
vithout suspicion wot other men may not; 'cos a coachman may
be on the wery amicablest terms with eighty mile o' females, and
yet nobody think that he ever means to marry any vun among
'em.  And wot other 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,
'do you s'pose as that 'ere jury 'ud ever ha' conwicted him,
s'posin' it possible as the matter could ha' gone to that extremity?
They dustn't ha' done it.'

'Wy not?' said Sam, rather disparagingly.

'Wy not!' rejoined Mr. Weller; ''cos it 'ud ha' gone agin their
consciences.  A reg'lar coachman's a sort o' con-nectin' link
betwixt singleness and matrimony, and every practicable man
knows it.'

'Wot!  You mean, they're gen'ral favorites, and nobody takes
adwantage 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
such insiniwations, and is alvays looked up to--a-dored I may
say--by ev'ry young 'ooman in ev'ry town he vurks through, I
don't know.  I only know that so it is.  It's a regulation of natur
--a dispensary, as your 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
up so, at the places vere they gives you physic for nothin' in
your own bottles; that's all.'

With these words, Mr. Weller refilled and relighted his pipe,
and once more summoning up a meditative expression of
countenance, continued as follows--

'Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o' stoppin
here to be married vether I vant to or not, and as at the same
time I do not vish to separate myself from them interestin'
members o' society altogether, I have come to the determination
o' driving the Safety, and puttin' up vunce more at the Bell
Savage, vich is my nat'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' the
money, 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 name in--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
another vith 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'
the money is to be inwested for you, Samivel, in the funs; four
and a half per cent. reduced counsels, Sammy.'

'Wery kind o' the old lady to think o' me,' said Sam, 'and
I'm wery 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
take care you don't spend it all at vunst, my boy, and mind that
no widder gets a inklin' o' your fortun', or you're done.'

Having delivered this warning, Mr. Weller resumed his pipe
with a more serene countenance; the disclosure of these matters
appearing 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, and
another, and then a long row of taps; upon which Sam inquired
why the tapper was not admitted.

'Hush,' whispered Mr. Weller, with apprehensive looks, 'don't
take no notice on 'em, Sammy, it's vun o' the widders, p'raps.'

No notice being taken of the taps, the unseen visitor, after a
short lapse, ventured to open the door and peep in.  It was no
female head that was thrust in at the partially-opened door, but
the long black locks and red face of Mr. Stiggins.  Mr. Weller's
pipe fell from his hands.

The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almost
imperceptible degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough
to admit of the passage of his lank body, when he glided into the
room and closed it after him, with great care and gentleness.
Turning towards Sam, and raising his hands and eyes in token of
the unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded the calamity
that had befallen the family, he carried the high-backed chair to
his old corner by the fire, and, seating himself on the very edge,
drew forth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied the same
to his optics.

While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back
in his chair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his
knees, and his whole countenance expressive of absorbing and
overwhelming astonishment.  Sam sat opposite him in perfect
silence, waiting, with eager curiosity, for the termination of the scene.

Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before his
eyes for some minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then,
mastering his feelings by a strong effort, put it in his pocket and
buttoned it up.  After this, he stirred the fire; after that, he rubbed
his 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 a
vessel's heart bleed!'
Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur something
relative to making a vessel's nose bleed; but Mr. Stiggins heard
him not.
'Do you know, young man,' whispered Mr. Stiggins, drawing
his chair closer to Sam, 'whether she has left Emanuel 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', nor
the 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 his
chair still nearer, said--

'Nothing for ME, Mr. Samuel?'

Sam shook his head.

'I think there's something,' said Stiggins, turning as pale as he
could 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 the
man of wrath, Mr. Samuel?'

'I think that's wery likely, from what he said,' rejoined Sam;
'he wos a-speakin' about you, jist now.'

'Was he, though?' exclaimed Stiggins, brightening up.  'Ah!
He's changed, I dare say.  We might live very comfortably
together now, Mr. Samuel, eh?  I could take care of his property
when you are away--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 an extraordinary
sound, which, being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a
gasp, nor a growl, seemed to partake in some degree of the
character of all four.

Mr. Stiggins, encouraged by this sound, which he understood
to betoken remorse or repentance, looked about him,
rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and then, walking
softly across the room to a well-remembered shelf in one corner,
took down a tumbler, and with great deliberation put four
lumps of sugar in it.  Having got thus far, he looked about
him again, and sighed grievously; with that, he walked softly into
the bar, and presently returning with the tumbler half full of
pine-apple rum, advanced to 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 at the rum-and-water, stopped for breath.

The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make various
strange and uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a
single word during these proceedings; but when Stiggins stopped
for breath, he darted upon him, and snatching the tumbler from
his hand, threw the remainder of the rum-and-water in his face,
and the glass itself into the grate.  Then, seizing the reverend
gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kicking him
most furiously, accompanying every application of his top-boot
to Mr. Stiggins's person, with sundry violent and incoherent
anathemas 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 more
firmly on his father's head, and the old gentleman, resuming his
kicking with greater agility than before, tumbled with Mr.
Stiggins through the bar, and through the passage, out at the
front door, and so into the street--the kicking continuing the
whole way, and increasing in vehemence, rather than diminishing,
every time the top-boot was lifted.

It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed
man writhing in Mr. Weller's grasp, and his whole frame
quivering with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession;
it was a still more exciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller, after
a powerful struggle, immersing Mr. Stiggins's head in a horse-
trough full of water, and holding it there, until he was half suffocated.

'There!' said Mr. Weller, throwing all his energy into one
most complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. Stiggins to
withdraw his head from the trough, 'send any vun o' them lazy
shepherds here, and I'll pound him to a jelly first, and drownd
him artervards!  Sammy, help me in, and fill me a small glass of
brandy.  I'm out o' breath, my boy.'



CHAPTER LIII
COMPRISING THE FINAL EXIT OF Mr. JINGLE AND JOB
  TROTTER, WITH A GREAT MORNING OF BUSINESS IN
  GRAY'S INN SQUARE--CONCLUDING WITH A DOUBLE
  KNOCK AT Mr. PERKER'S DOOR


When Arabella, after some gentle preparation and many assurances
that there was not the least occasion for being low-spirited, was
at length made acquainted by Mr. Pickwick with the unsatisfactory
result of his visit to Birmingham, she burst into tears, and
sobbing aloud, lamented in moving terms that she should have been
the unhappy cause of any estrangement between a father and his son.

'My dear girl,' said Mr. Pickwick kindly, 'it is no fault of
yours.  It was impossible to foresee that the old gentleman would
be so strongly prepossessed against his son's marriage, you know.
I am sure,' added Mr. Pickwick, glancing at her pretty face, 'he
can have very little idea of the pleasure he denies himself.'

'Oh, my dear Mr. Pickwick,' said Arabella, 'what shall we do,
if he 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 his
father withdraws his assistance?' urged Arabella.

'In that case, my love,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, 'I will venture
to prophesy that he will find some other friend who will not be
backward 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
arms round his neck, and kissing him affectionately, she sobbed
louder than before.

'Come, come,' said Mr. Pickwick taking her hand, 'we will
wait here a few days longer, and see whether he writes or takes
any other notice of your husband's communication.  If not, I
have thought of half a dozen plans, any one of which would
make you happy 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.
Upon which, Arabella, who was one of the best little creatures
alive, put her handkerchief in her reticule, and by the time
Mr. Winkle joined them, exhibited in full lustre the same
beaming smiles and sparkling 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'll
walk up to Perker's, and consult him about the matter.'

As Mr. Pickwick was further prompted to betake himself to
Gray's Inn Square by an anxious desire to come to a pecuniary
settlement with the kind-hearted little attorney without further
delay, he made a hurried breakfast, and executed his intention
so speedily, that ten o'clock had not struck when he reached
Gray's Inn.

It still wanted ten minutes to the hour when he had ascended
the staircase on which Perker's chambers were.  The clerks had
not arrived yet, and he beguiled the time by looking out of the
staircase window.
The healthy light of a fine October morning made even the
dingy old houses brighten up a little; some of the dusty windows
actually looking almost cheerful as the sun's rays gleamed upon
them.  Clerk after clerk hastened into the square by one or other
of the entrances, and looking up at the Hall clock, accelerated
or decreased his rate of walking according to the time at which
his office hours nominally commenced; the half-past nine
o'clock people suddenly becoming very brisk, and the ten
o'clock gentlemen falling into a pace of most aristocratic slowness.
The clock struck ten, and clerks poured in faster than ever,
each one in a greater perspiration than his predecessor.  The
noise of unlocking and opening doors echoed and re-echoed on
every side; heads appeared as if by magic in every window; the
porters took up their stations for the day; the slipshod laundresses
hurried off; the postman ran from house to house; and
the whole legal hive was in a bustle.

'You're early, Mr. Pickwick,' said a voice behind him.

'Ah, Mr. Lowten,' replied that gentleman, looking round, and
recognising his old acquaintance.

'Precious warm walking, isn't it?' said Lowten, drawing a
Bramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein, to keep
the dust out.

'You appear to feel it so,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at
the clerk, who was literally red-hot.

'I've come along, rather, I can tell you,' replied Lowten.  'It
went the 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 extracted
the plug from the door-key; having opened the door, replugged
and repocketed his Bramah, and picked up the letters which the
postman had dropped through the box, he ushered Mr. Pickwick
into the office.  Here, in the twinkling of an eye, he divested
himself of his coat, put on a threadbare garment, which he took
out of a desk, hung up his hat, pulled forth a few sheets of
cartridge and blotting-paper in alternate layers, and, sticking a
pen behind his ear, rubbed his hands with an air of great satisfaction.

'There, you see, Mr. Pickwick,' he said, 'now I'm complete.
I've got my office coat on, and my pad out, and let him come as
soon as he 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 out
presently, and get a bottle of soda.  Don't I look rather queer
about the eyes, Mr. Pickwick?'

The individual appealed to, surveyed Mr. Lowten's eyes from
a distance, and expressed his opinion that no unusual queerness
was perceptible in those features.

'I'm glad of it,' said Lowten.  'We were keeping it up pretty
tolerably at the Stump last night, and I'm rather out of sorts this
morning.  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
that customer that we paid the ten shillings in the pound to the
bill-discounter for, on your account--to get him out of the
Fleet, you know--about getting him to Demerara.'

'Oh, Mr. Jingle,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily.  'Yes.  Well?'

'Well, it's all arranged,' said Lowten, mending his pen.  'The
agent at Liverpool said he had been obliged to you many times
when you were in business, and he would be glad to take him on
your recommendation.'

'That's well,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'I am delighted to hear it.'

'But I say,' resumed Lowten, scraping the back of the pen
preparatory 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
the reverse.'

'Well, and so did I, from what little I saw of him,' replied
Lowten, 'it only shows how one may be deceived.  What do you
think of his going to Demerara, too?'

'What!  And giving up what was offered him here!' exclaimed
Mr. Pickwick.

'Treating Perker's offer of eighteen bob a week, and a rise if
he behaved himself, like dirt,' replied Lowten.  'He said he must
go along with the other one, and so they persuaded Perker to
write again, and they've got him something on the same estate;
not near so good, Perker says, as a convict would get in New
South Wales, if he 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.  'He says that he's the only friend he ever had, and he's
attached to him, and all that.  Friendship's a very good thing in
its way--we are all very friendly and comfortable at the Stump,
for instance, over our grog, where every man pays for himself;
but damn hurting yourself for anybody else, you know!  No man
should have more than two attachments--the first, to number
one, and the second to the ladies; that's what I say--ha! ha!'
Mr. Lowten concluded with a loud laugh, half in jocularity, and
half in derision, which was prematurely cut short by the sound
of Perker's footsteps on the stairs, at the first approach of which,
he vaulted on his stool with an agility most remarkable, and
wrote intensely.

The greeting between Mr. Pickwick and his professional
adviser was warm and cordial; the client was scarcely ensconced
in the attorney's arm-chair, however, when a knock was heard at
the door, and a voice inquired whether Mr. Perker was within.

'Hark!' said Perker, 'that's one of our vagabond friends--
Jingle himself, 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 and
Job walked into the room, but, seeing Mr. Pickwick, stopped
short in some confusion.
'Well,' said Perker, 'don't you know that gentleman?'

'Good reason to,' replied Mr. Jingle, stepping forward.  'Mr.
Pickwick--deepest obligations--life preserver--made a man of
me--you shall never repent it, Sir.'

'I am happy to hear you say so,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'You look
much better.'

'Thanks to you, sir--great change--Majesty's Fleet--unwholesome
place--very,' said Jingle, shaking his head.  He was
decently and cleanly dressed, and so was Job, who stood bolt
upright behind him, staring at Mr. Pickwick with a visage of iron.

'When do they go to Liverpool?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, half
aside to Perker.

'This evening, Sir, at seven o'clock,' said Job, taking one step
forward.  '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 upon
myself to make an arrangement for the deduction of a small sum
from his quarterly salary, which, being made only for one year,
and regularly remitted, will provide for that expense.  I entirely
disapprove of your doing anything for him, my dear sir, which
is not dependent on his own exertions and good conduct.'

'Certainly,' interposed Jingle, with great firmness.  'Clear head
--man of the world--quite right--perfectly.'

'By compounding with his creditor, releasing his clothes from
the pawnbroker's, relieving him in prison, and paying for his
passage,' 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--
cash up--every farthing.  Yellow fever, perhaps--can't help that
--if not--' Here Mr. Jingle paused, and striking the crown of
his hat with great violence, passed his hand over his eyes, and
sat down.

'He means to say,' said Job, advancing a few paces, 'that if he
is not carried off by the fever, he will pay the money back again.
If he lives, 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
score or two of frowns upon Perker, to stop his summary of
benefits conferred, which the little attorney obstinately
disregarded, 'you must 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 foolish
notwithstanding; so Mr. Pickwick changed the subject by saying--

'You don't happen to know, do you, what has become of
another friend of yours--a more humble one, whom I saw at Rochester?'

'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 at
him closely, there IS a likeness.'

'We were always considered like each other, Sir,' said Job,
with a cunning look just lurking in the corners of his eyes, 'only
I was really of a serious nature, and he never was.  He emigrated
to America, 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 the
romance of real life," which he promised me one morning when
he appeared to be contemplating suicide on Rochester Bridge,
I suppose,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.  'I need not inquire
whether his dismal behaviour was natural or assumed.'

'He could assume anything, Sir,' said Job.  'You may consider
yourself very fortunate in having escaped him so easily.  On
intimate terms he would have been even a more dangerous
acquaintance than--' Job looked at Jingle, hesitated, and
finally added, 'than--than-myself even.'

'A hopeful family yours, Mr. Trotter,' said Perker, sealing a
letter which he had just finished writing.

'Yes, Sir,' replied Job.  'Very much so.'

'Well,' said the little man, laughing, 'I hope you are going to
disgrace it.  Deliver this letter to the agent when you reach
Liverpool, and let me advise you, gentlemen, not to be too
knowing in the West Indies.  If you throw away this chance, you
will both richly deserve to be hanged, as I sincerely trust you
will be.  And now you had better leave Mr. Pickwick and me
alone, for we have other matters to talk over, and time is
precious.'  As Perker said this, he looked towards the door, with
an evident desire to render the leave-taking as brief as possible.

It was brief enough on Mr. Jingle's part.  He thanked the little
attorney in a few hurried words for the kindness and promptitude
with which he had rendered his assistance, and, turning to his
benefactor, stood for a few seconds as if irresolute what to say
or how to act.  Job Trotter relieved his perplexity; for, with a
humble and grateful bow to Mr. Pickwick, he took his friend
gently by the arm, 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 do
you 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, they
have the recollection of very recent suffering fresh upon them.
What they may become, when that fades away, is a problem that
neither you nor I can solve.  However, my dear Sir,' added Perker,
laying his hand on Mr. Pickwick's shoulder, 'your object is
equally honourable, whatever the result is.  Whether that species
of benevolence which is so very cautious and long-sighted that
it is seldom exercised at all, lest its owner should be imposed
upon, and so wounded in his self-love, be real charity or a
worldly counterfeit, I leave to wiser heads than mine to determine.
But if those two fellows were to commit a burglary to-morrow,
my opinion of this action would be equally high.'

With these remarks, which were delivered in a much more
animated and earnest manner than is usual in legal gentlemen,
Perker drew his chair to his desk, and listened to Mr. Pickwick's
recital 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
young lady's persuasion; and that is what anybody but you
would have done at first.'

Mr. Perker was taking a pinch of snuff with various grotesque
contractions of countenance, eulogistic of the persuasive powers
appertaining unto young ladies, when the murmur of inquiry
and answer was heard in the outer office, and Lowten tapped at
the door.

'Come in!' cried the little man.

The clerk came in, and shut the door after him, with great mystery.

'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, 'I
appointed them to be here at half-past eleven, to settle that
matter of yours, Pickwick.  I gave them an undertaking on which
they sent down your discharge; it's very awkward, my dear
Sir; what will you do?  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
remain where he was: the more especially as Messrs. Dodson &
Fogg ought to be ashamed to look him in the face, instead of his
being ashamed to see them.  Which latter circumstance he begged
Mr. Perker to note, with a glowing countenance and many marks
of indignation.

'Very well, my dear Sir, very well,' replied Perker, 'I can only
say that if you expect either Dodson or Fogg to exhibit any
symptom of shame or confusion at having to look you, or
anybody else, in the face, you are the most sanguine man in your
expectations that I ever met with.  Show them in, Mr. Lowten.'

Mr. Lowten disappeared with a grin, and immediately returned
ushering in the firm, in due form of precedence--Dodson first,
and Fogg afterwards.

'You have seen Mr. Pickwick, I believe?' said Perker to
Dodson, inclining his pen in the direction where that gentleman
was seated.

'How do you do, Mr. Pickwick?' said Dodson, in a loud voice.

'Dear me,'cried Fogg, 'how do you do, Mr. Pickwick?  I hope
you are well, Sir.  I thought I knew the face,' said Fogg, drawing
up a chair, and looking round him with a smile.

Mr. Pickwick bent his head very slightly, in answer to these
salutations, and, seeing Fogg pull a bundle of papers from his
coat pocket, rose and walked to the window.

'There's no occasion for Mr. Pickwick to move, Mr. Perker,'
said Fogg, untying the red tape which encircled the little bundle,
and smiling again more sweetly than before.  'Mr. Pickwick is
pretty well acquainted with these proceedings.  There are no
secrets between us, I think.  He! he! he!'

'Not many, I think,' said Dodson.  'Ha! ha! ha!'  Then both
the partners laughed together--pleasantly and cheerfully, as men
who are going to receive money often do.

'We shall make Mr. Pickwick pay for peeping,' said Fogg, with
considerable native humour, as he unfolded his papers.  'The
amount of the taxed costs is one hundred and thirty-three, six,
four, Mr. Perker.'

There was a great comparing of papers, and turning over of
leaves, 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 the
pleasure of seeing you last, Mr. Pickwick.'

'Possibly not, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, who had been
flashing forth looks of fierce indignation, without producing the
smallest effect on either of the sharp practitioners; 'I believe I am
not, Sir.  I have been persecuted and annoyed by scoundrels of
late, Sir.'
Perker coughed violently, and asked Mr. Pickwick whether he
wouldn'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 the
Fleet; there are some odd gentry there.  Whereabouts were your
apartments, Mr. Pickwick?'

'My one room,' replied that much-injured gentleman, 'was on
the coffee-room flight.'

'Oh, indeed!' said Dodson.  'I believe that is a very pleasant
part of the establishment.'

'Very,'replied Mr. Pickwick drily.

There was a coolness about all this, which, to a gentleman of
an excitable temperament, had, under the circumstances, rather
an exasperating tendency.  Mr. Pickwick restrained his wrath by
gigantic efforts; but when Perker wrote a cheque for the whole
amount, and Fogg deposited it in a small pocket-book, with a
triumphant smile playing over his pimply features, which
communicated 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 on his 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 have
had the pleasure of making Mr. Pickwick's acquaintance.  I hope
you don't think quite so ill of us, Mr. Pickwick, as when we first
had the pleasure of seeing you.'

'I hope not,' said Dodson, with the high tone of calumniated
virtue.  'Mr. Pickwick now knows us better, I trust; whatever
your opinion of gentlemen of our profession may be, I beg to
assure you, sir, that I bear no ill-will or vindictive feeling towards
you for the sentiments you thought proper to express in our
office in Freeman's Court, Cornhill, on the occasion to which
my partner has referred.'

'Oh, no, no; nor I,' said Fogg, in a most forgiving manner.

'Our conduct, Sir,' said Dodson, 'will speak for itself, and
justify itself, I hope, upon every occasion.  We have been in the
profession some years, Mr. Pickwick, and have been honoured
with the confidence of many excellent clients.  I wish you good-
morning, Sir.'

'Good-morning, Mr. Pickwick,' said Fogg.  So saying, he put his
umbrella under his arm, drew off his right glove, and extended
the hand of reconciliation to that most indignant gentleman;
who, thereupon, thrust his hands beneath his coat tails, and
eyed the attorney 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 little
attorney, who had been in a state of nervous apprehension during
the 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, almost breathless;
'and your partner has tendered me his hand, and you have
both assumed a tone of forgiveness and high-mindedness, which
is an extent of impudence that I was not prepared for, even in you.'

'What, sir!' exclaimed Dodson.

'What, sir!' reiterated Fogg.

'Do you know that I have been the victim of your plots and
conspiracies?' continued Mr. Pickwick.  'Do you know that I
am the man whom you have been imprisoning and robbing?
Do you know that you were the attorneys for the plaintiff, in
Bardell and Pickwick?'

'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, and
failing most signally in so doing.  'Although I have long been
anxious to tell you, in plain terms, what my opinion of you is, I
should have let even this opportunity pass, in deference to my
friend Perker's wishes, but for the unwarrantable tone you have
assumed, and your insolent familiarity.  I say insolent familiarity,
sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, turning upon Fogg with a fierceness of
gesture which caused that person to retreat towards the door with
great expedition.

'Take care, Sir,' said Dodson, who, though he was the biggest
man of the party, had prudently entrenched himself behind
Fogg, and was speaking over his head with a very pale face.  'Let
him assault you, Mr. Fogg; don't return it on any account.'

'No, no, I won't return it,' said Fogg, falling back a little
more as he spoke; to the evident relief of his partner, who by
these means was gradually getting into the outer office.

'You are,' continued Mr. Pickwick, resuming the thread of his
discourse--'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 are
mean, 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 door
open?'

Mr. Lowten, with a distant giggle, replied in the affirmative.

'There, there--good-morning--good-morning--now pray, my
dear sirs--Mr. Lowten, the door!' cried the little man, pushing
Dodson & Fogg, nothing loath, out of the office; 'this way, my
dear sirs--now pray don't prolong this-- Dear me--Mr.
Lowten--the door, sir--why don't you attend?'

'If there's law in England, sir,' said Dodson, looking towards
Mr. 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 to him.

'Robbers!' cried Mr. Pickwick, running to the stair-head, as
the two attorneys descended.

'Robbers!' shouted Mr. Pickwick, breaking from Lowten and
Perker, and thrusting his head out of the staircase window.

When Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, his countenance
was smiling and placid; and, walking quietly back into the office,
he declared that he had now removed a great weight from his
mind, 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 of
laughing, which lasted five minutes; at the expiration of which
time he said that he supposed he ought to be very angry, but he
couldn't think of the business seriously yet--when he could, he
would be.

'Well, now,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'let me have a settlement with you.'
'Of the same kind as the last?' inquired Perker, with another laugh.
'Not exactly,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick, drawing out his pocket-
book, and shaking the little man heartily by the hand, 'I only
mean a pecuniary settlement.  You have done me many acts of
kindness that I can never repay, and have no wish to repay, for
I prefer continuing the obligation.'

With this preface, the two friends dived into some very complicated
accounts and vouchers, which, having been duly displayed and
gone through by Perker, were at once discharged by Mr. Pickwick
with many professions of esteem and friendship.

They had no sooner arrived at this point, than a most violent
and startling knocking was heard at the door; it was not an
ordinary double-knock, but a constant and uninterrupted
succession of the loudest single raps, as if the knocker were
endowed with the perpetual motion, or the person outside had
forgotten 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
there could be the smallest doubt of the fact.

The knocker made a more energetic reply than words could
have yielded, for it continued to hammer with surprising force
and noise, 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 that
it was quite impossible he could wait so long.  It made a
stupendous uproar.

'It's quite dreadful,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping his ears.

'Make haste, Mr. Lowten,' Perker called out; 'we shall have
the panels beaten in.'

Mr. Lowten, who was washing his hands in a dark closet,
hurried to the door, and turning the handle, beheld the appearance
which is described in the next chapter.



CHAPTER LIV
CONTAINING SOME PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO THE
  DOUBLE KNOCK, AND OTHER MATTERS: AMONG WHICH
  CERTAIN INTERESTING DISCLOSURES RELATIVE TO Mr.
  SNODGRASS AND A YOUNG LADY ARE BY NO MEANS
  IRRELEVANT TO THIS HISTORY

The object that presented itself to the eyes of the astonished
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 fat boy, in or out of a travelling caravan;
and this, coupled with the calmness and repose of his appearance,
so very different from what was reasonably to have been expected
of the inflicter of such knocks, 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 other
respects was motionless.

The clerk repeated the question thrice, and receiving no
answer, prepared to shut the door, when the boy suddenly
opened his eyes, winked several times, sneezed once, and raised
his hand as if to repeat the knocking.  Finding the door open, he
stared about 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 the
clerk 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 they
opened 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
out of the window.  Seeing an open carriage with a hearty old
gentleman in it, looking up very anxiously, he ventured to
beckon him; 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 old
Wardle, who, running upstairs and just recognising Lowten,
passed at once into Mr. Perker's room.

'Pickwick!' said the old gentleman.  'Your hand, my boy!  Why
have I never heard until the day before yesterday of your suffering
yourself 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
and a pinch of snuff; 'you know how obstinate he is?'

'Of course I do; of course I do,' replied the old gentleman.  'I
am heartily glad to see him, notwithstanding.  I will not lose
sight of him again, in a hurry.'

With these words, Wardle shook Mr. Pickwick's hand once
more, and, having done the same by Perker, threw himself into
an arm-chair, his jolly red face shining again with smiles and health.

'Well!' said Wardle.  'Here are pretty goings on--a pinch of
your snuff, 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 running
mad; that's no news, you'll say?  Perhaps it's not; but it's true,
for all that.'

'You have not come up to London, of all places in the world,
to tell us that, my dear Sir, have you?' inquired Perker.

'No, not altogether,' replied Wardle; 'though it was the main
cause of my coming.  How's Arabella?'

'Very well,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'and will be delighted to see
you, I am sure.'

'Black-eyed little jilt!' replied Wardle.  'I had a great idea of
marrying 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.  'Arabella
wrote, the day before yesterday, to say she had made a stolen
match without her husband's father's consent, and so you had
gone down to get it when his refusing it couldn't prevent the
match, and all the rest of it.  I thought it a very good time to say
something serious to my girls; so I said what a dreadful thing it
was that children should marry without their parents' consent,
and so forth; but, bless your hearts, I couldn't make the least
impression upon them.  They thought it such a much more
dreadful thing that there should have been a wedding without
bridesmaids, that I might as well have preached to Joe himself.'
Here the old gentleman stopped to laugh; and having done so
to his 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 been walking on mines for the last six months, and they're
sprung at last.'

'What do you mean?' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning pale;
'no other 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 young
fellow that I am almost afraid to tell you; but, however, if
Perker will sit between us to prevent mischief, I'll venture.'

Having closed the room door, and fortified himself with
another application to Perker's snuff-box, the old gentleman
proceeded with his great disclosure in these words--

'The fact is, that my daughter Bella--Bella, who married
young Trundle, 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 read
Arabella's letter to me--sat herself down by my side the other
evening, and began to talk over this marriage affair.  "Well, pa,"
she says, "what do you think of it?" "Why, my dear," I said,
"I suppose it's all very well; I hope it's for the best."  I answered
in this way because I was sitting before the fire at the time, drinking
my grog rather thoughtfully, and I knew my throwing in
an undecided word now and then, would induce her to continue talking.
Both my girls are pictures of their dear mother, and as I grow old
I like to sit with only them by me; for their voices and looks carry
me back to the happiest period of my life, and make me, for the
moment, as young as I used to be then, though not quite so light-hearted.
"It's quite a marriage of affection, pa," said Bella, after a short
silence.  "Yes, my dear," said I, "but such marriages do not always turn
out the happiest."'

'I question that, mind!' interposed Mr. Pickwick warmly.
'Very good,' responded Wardle, 'question anything you like
when it's your 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
your opinion against marriages of affection, pa," said Bella,
colouring a little.  "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 me could pat it, "for your mother's was one, and so
was yours."  "It's not that I meant, pa," said Bella.  "The fact is,
pa, I wanted to speak to you about Emily."'

Mr. Pickwick started.

'What's the matter now?' inquired Wardle, stopping in his narrative.

'Nothing,'replied Mr. Pickwick.  'Pray go on.'

'I never could spin out a story,' said Wardle abruptly.  'It must
come out, sooner or later, and it'll save us all a great deal of time
if it comes at once.  The long and the short of it is, then, that
Bella at last mustered up courage to tell me that Emily was very
unhappy; that she and your young friend Snodgrass had been in
constant correspondence and communication ever since last
Christmas; that she had very dutifully made up her mind to run
away with him, in laudable imitation of her old friend and
school-fellow; but that having some compunctions of conscience
on the subject, inasmuch as I had always been rather kindly
disposed to both of them, they had thought it better in the first
instance to pay me the compliment of asking whether I would
have any objection to their being married in the usual matter-of-
fact manner.  There now, Mr. Pickwick, if you can make it
convenient to reduce your eyes to their usual size again, and
to let me hear what you think we ought to do, I shall feel rather
obliged to you!'

The testy manner in which the hearty old gentleman uttered
this last sentence was not wholly unwarranted; for Mr. Pickwick's
face had settled down into an expression of blank amazement
and perplexity, quite curious to behold.

'Snodgrass!-since last Christmas!' were the first broken
words that issued from the lips of the confounded gentleman.

'Since last Christmas,' replied Wardle; 'that's plain enough,
and very bad spectacles we must have worn, not to have discovered
it before.'

'I don't understand it,' said Mr. Pickwick, ruminating; 'I
cannot really understand it.'

'It's easy enough to understand it,' replied the choleric old
gentleman.  'If you had been a younger man, you would have
been in the secret long ago; and besides,' added Wardle, after a
moment's hesitation, 'the truth is, that, knowing nothing of this
matter, I have rather pressed Emily for four or five months past,
to receive favourably (if she could; I would never attempt to
force a girl's inclinations) the addresses of a young gentleman
down in our neighbourhood.  I have no doubt that, girl-like, to
enhance her own value and increase the ardour of Mr. Snodgrass,
she has represented this matter in very glowing colours, and that
they have both arrived at the conclusion that they are a terribly-
persecuted pair of unfortunates, and have no resource but
clandestine matrimony, or charcoal.  Now the question is, what's
to be done?'

'What have YOU done?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'I!'

'I mean what did you do when your married daughter told
you this?'

'Oh, I made a fool of myself of course,' rejoined Wardle.

'Just so,' interposed Perker, who had accompanied this
dialogue with sundry twitchings of his watch-chain, vindictive
rubbings of his nose, and other symptoms of impatience.  'That's
very 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 great disturbance,'
rejoined the old gentleman.  'At last I got tired of rendering myself
unpleasant and making everybody miserable; so I hired a carriage at
Muggleton, and, putting my own horses in it, came up to town, under
pretence of bringing Emily to see Arabella.'

'Miss Wardle is with you, then?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'To be sure she is,' replied Wardle.  'She is at Osborne's Hotel
in the Adelphi at this moment, unless your enterprising friend
has run 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 and
moping ever since, except last night, between tea and supper,
when she made a great parade of writing a letter that I pretended
to 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 eager
countenance of Wardle, and taking several consecutive pinches
of his 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,
'my advice is, that you both walk away together, or ride away, or
get away by some means or other, for I'm tired of you, and just
talk this matter over between you.  If you have not settled it by
the next time I see you, I'll tell you what to do.'

'This is satisfactory,' said Wardle, hardly knowing whether to
smile or be offended.

'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir,' returned Perker.  'I know you both a
great deal better than you know yourselves.  You have settled
it already, 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 the
waistcoat of Mr. Wardle, upon which they all three laughed,
especially the two last-named gentlemen, who at once shook
hands again, without any obvious or particular reason.

'You dine with me to-day,' said Wardle to Perker, as he
showed them out.

'Can't promise, my dear Sir, can't promise,' replied Perker.
'I'll look in, in the evening, at all events.'

'I shall expect you at five,' said Wardle.  'Now, Joe!'  And Joe
having been at length awakened, the two friends departed in
Mr. Wardle's carriage, which in common humanity had a dickey
behind 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 Arabella
and her maid had sent for a hackney-coach immediately on the
receipt of a short note from Emily announcing her arrival in
town, and had proceeded straight to the Adelphi.  As Wardle had
business to transact in the city, they sent the carriage and the fat
boy to his hotel, with the information that he and Mr. Pickwick
would return together to dinner at five o'clock.

Charged with this message, the fat boy returned, slumbering as
peaceably in his dickey, over the stones, as if it had been a down
bed on watch springs.  By some extraordinary miracle he awoke
of his own accord, when the coach stopped, and giving himself
a good shake to stir up his faculties, went upstairs to execute
his commission.

Now, whether the shake had jumbled the fat boy's faculties
together, instead of arranging them in proper order, or had
roused such a quantity of new ideas within him as to render him
oblivious of ordinary forms and ceremonies, or (which is also
possible) had proved unsuccessful in preventing his falling asleep
as he ascended the stairs, it is an undoubted fact that he walked
into the sitting-room without previously knocking at the door;
and so beheld a gentleman with his arms clasping his young
mistress's waist, sitting very lovingly by her side on a sofa, while
Arabella and her pretty handmaid feigned to be absorbed in
looking out of a window at the other end of the room.  At the
sight of this phenomenon, the fat boy uttered an interjection,
the ladies a scream, and the gentleman an oath, almost simultaneously.

'Wretched creature, what do you want here?' said the gentleman,
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 head
aside, 'you stupid creature?'

'Master and Mr. Pickwick is a-going to dine here at five,'
replied the fat boy.

'Leave the room!' said Mr. Snodgrass, glaring upon the
bewildered 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 for
some minutes, during which the fat boy dozed.

'Joe,' said Arabella, at length, looking round with a most
bewitching 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 five
shillings for you, Joe!"

'I'll owe you five, Joe,' said Arabella, 'for old acquaintance
sake, you know;' and another most captivating smile was
bestowed upon the corpulent intruder.

The fat boy's perception being slow, he looked rather puzzled
at first to account for this sudden prepossession in his favour,
and stared about him in a very alarming manner.  At length his
broad face began to show symptoms of a grin of proportionately
broad dimensions; and then, thrusting half-a-crown into each of
his pockets, 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 have something to eat, immediately,' remarked Emily.

The fat boy almost laughed again when he heard this suggestion.
Mary, after a little more whispering, tripped forth from the
group and said--

'I am going to dine with you to-day, sir, if you have no objection.'

'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
pretty companion captivating all the waiters and angering all the
chambermaids as she followed him to the eating-room.

There was the meat-pie of which the youth had spoken so
feelingly, and there were, moreover, a steak, and a dish of
potatoes, and a pot of porter.

'Sit down,' said the fat boy.  'Oh, my eye, how prime!  I am SO hungry.'

Having apostrophised his eye, in a species of rapture, five or
six times, the youth took the head of the little table, and Mary
seated herself at the bottom.

'Will you have some of this?' said the fat boy, plunging into
the pie 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 his knife and fork, leaned forward in his chair, and letting
his hands, with the knife and fork in them, fall on his knees, said,
very slowly--

'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 young
gentleman's eyes to render the compliment a double one.

'Dear me, Joseph,' said Mary, affecting to blush, 'what do you mean?'

The fat boy, gradually recovering his former position, replied
with a heavy sigh, and, remaining thoughtful for a few moments,
drank a long draught of the porter.  Having achieved this feat, he
sighed again, and applied himself assiduously to the pie.

'What a nice young lady Miss Emily is!' said Mary, after a
long silence.

The fat boy had by this time finished the pie.  He fixed his eyes
on 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
add point to the compliment, and put his eyes into something
between a squint and a cast, which there is reason to believe he
intended for an ogle.

'You mustn't talk to me in that way,' said Mary; 'you don't
mean it.'

'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
should have 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 a favour.'

The fat boy looked from the pie-dish to the steak, as if he
thought a favour must be in a manner connected with something
to eat; and then took out one of the half-crowns and glanced at
it nervously.

'Don't you understand me?' said Mary, looking slily in his fat face.

Again he looked at the half-crown, and said faintly, 'No.'

'The ladies want you not to say anything to the old gentleman
about the young gentleman having been upstairs; and I want
you too.'

,is that all?' said the fat boy, evidently very much relieved, as
he pocketed 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, and
got 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 his
arms to ravish a kiss; but as it required no great agility to elude
him, his fair enslaver had vanished before he closed them again;
upon which the apathetic youth ate a pound or so of steak with
a sentimental countenance, and fell fast asleep.

There was so much to say upstairs, and there were so many
plans to concert for elopement and matrimony in the event of old
Wardle continuing to be cruel, that it wanted only half an hour
of dinner when Mr. Snodgrass took his final adieu.  The ladies ran
to Emily's bedroom to dress, and the lover, taking up his hat,
walked out of the room.  He had scarcely got outside the door,
when he heard Wardle's voice talking loudly, and looking over
the banisters beheld him, followed by some other gentlemen,
coming straight upstairs.  Knowing nothing of the house, Mr.
Snodgrass in his confusion stepped hastily back into the room he
had just quitted, and passing thence into an inner apartment
(Mr. Wardle's bedchamber), closed the door softly, just as the
persons he had caught a glimpse of entered the sitting-room.
These were Mr. Wardle, Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle,
and Mr. Benjamin Allen, whom he had no difficulty in recognising
by their voices.

'Very lucky I had the presence of mind to avoid them,' thought
Mr. Snodgrass with a smile, and walking on tiptoe to another
door near the bedside; 'this opens into the same passage, and I
can walk quietly and comfortably away.'

There was only one obstacle to his walking quietly and comfortably
away, which was that the door was locked and the key gone.

'Let us have some of your best wine to-day, waiter,' said old
Wardle, 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 ladies
could know he had come in.  He ventured once to whisper,
'Waiter!' through the keyhole, but the probability of the wrong
waiter coming to his relief, flashed upon his mind, together with
a sense of the strong resemblance between his own situation and
that in which another gentleman had been recently found in a
neighbouring hotel (an account of whose misfortunes had
appeared under the head of 'Police' in that morning's paper), he
sat himself on a portmanteau, and trembled violently.

'We won't wait a minute for Perker,' said Wardle, looking at
his watch; 'he is always exact.  He will be here, in time, if he
means to come; and if he does not, it's of no use waiting.  Ha!  Arabella!'

'My sister!' exclaimed Mr. Benjamin Allen, folding her in a
most romantic 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
I do.'

Perhaps he did, having just left a pleasant little smoking-party
of twelve medical students, in a small back parlour with a large fire.

'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 me so.'

At this point of the reconciliation, Mr. Ben Allen allowed his
feelings and the cigars and porter to overcome him, and looked
round 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 old
gentleman'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
I am afraid I shall be obliged to forbid you the house.  People like
you, who get married in spite of everybody, ought not to be let
loose 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 a
state of remarkable vigilance, his eyes being wide open, and
looking as if they intended to remain so.  There was an alacrity in
his manner, too, which was equally unaccountable; every time
his eyes 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 his
increased sense of his own importance, and the dignity he
acquired from having been taken into the confidence of the
young ladies; and the smirks, and grins, and winks were so many
condescending assurances that they might depend upon his
fidelity.  As these tokens were rather calculated to awaken
suspicion than allay it, and were somewhat embarrassing besides,
they were occasionally answered by a frown or shake of the head
from Arabella, which the fat boy, considering as hints to be on
his guard, expressed his perfect understanding of, by smirking,
grinning, and winking, with redoubled assiduity.

'Joe,' said Mr. Wardle, after an unsuccessful search in all his
pockets, '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,'
said Wardle.  'Run into the next room and fetch it.'

The fat boy went into the next room; and, having been absent
about a minute, returned with the snuff-box, and the palest face
that 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
is intoxicated, I'm sure.'

Ben Allen replied that he thought he was; and, as that gentleman
had seen a vast deal of the disease in question, Wardle was
confirmed in an impression which had been hovering about his
mind for half an hour, and at once arrived at the conclusion that
the fat boy was drunk.

'Just keep your eye upon him for a few minutes,' murmured
Wardle.  'We shall soon find out whether he is or not.'

The unfortunate youth had only interchanged a dozen words
with Mr. Snodgrass, that gentleman having implored him to
make a private appeal to some friend to release him, and then
pushed him out with the snuff-box, lest his prolonged absence
should lead to a discovery.  He ruminated a little with a most
disturbed expression of face, and left the room in search of Mary.

But Mary had gone home after dressing her mistress, and the
fat boy came back again more disturbed than before.

Wardle and Mr. Ben Allen exchanged glances.
'Joe!' said Wardle.

'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, and
was at this moment engaged in an energetic conversation with
Emily and Mr. Winkle; bowing his head, courteously, in the
emphasis of his discourse, gently waving his left hand to lend
force to his observations, and all glowing with placid smiles.  He
took a piece of cheese from the plate, and was on the point of
turning round to renew the conversation, when the fat boy,
stooping so as to bring his head on a level with that of Mr.
Pickwick, pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, and made
the most horrible and hideous face that was ever seen out of a
Christmas pantomime.

'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, starting, 'what a very--Eh?'
He stopped, for the fat boy had drawn himself up, and was,
or pretended 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
upon my 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
profound silence and looks of general dismay; 'but his manner
to me this moment 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 my leg.  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 master
seized him by the collar.  'I ain't drunk.'

'Then you're mad; that's worse.  Call the waiters,' said the old
gentleman.

'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
to him.'

'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 his
forefingers.

'What did you want to say?' demanded Wardle, shaking him.

'Stop!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'allow me.  What did you wish to
communicate 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't
come near him; he's vicious; ring the bell, and let him be taken
downstairs.'

Just as Mr. Winkle caught the bell-rope in his hand, it
was arrested by a general expression of astonishment; the
captive lover, his face burning with confusion, suddenly walked
in from the bedroom, and made a comprehensive bow to the company.

'Hollo!' cried Wardle, releasing the fat boy's collar, and
staggering back.  'What's this?'

'I have been concealed in the next room, sir, since you
returned,' explained Mr. Snodgrass.

'Emily, my girl,' said Wardle reproachfully, 'I detest meanness
and deceit; this is unjustifiable and indelicate in the highest
degree.  I don't deserve this at your hands, Emily, indeed!'

'Dear papa,' said Emily, 'Arabella knows--everybody here
knows--Joe knows--that I was no party to this concealment.
Augustus, for Heaven's sake, explain it!'

Mr. Snodgrass, who had only waited for a hearing, at once
recounted how he had been placed in his then distressing
predicament; how the fear of giving rise to domestic dissensions
had alone prompted him to avoid Mr. Wardle on his entrance;
how he merely meant to depart by another door, but, finding it
locked, had been compelled to stay against his will.  It was a
painful situation 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 daughter
deeply and sincerely; that he was proud to avow that the feeling
was mutual; and that if thousands of miles were placed between
them, or oceans rolled their waters, he could never for an instant
forget those happy days, when first-- et cetera, et cetera.

Having delivered himself to this effect, Mr. Snodgrass bowed
again, looked into the crown of his hat, and stepped towards the door.

'Stop!' shouted Wardle.  'Why, in the name of all that's--'

'Inflammable,' mildly suggested Mr. Pickwick, who thought
something worse was coming.

'Well--that's inflammable,' said Wardle, adopting the substitute;
'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 the
use of asking all that now, especially when you know you had
set your covetous old heart on a richer son-in-law, and are so
wild and fierce besides, that everybody is afraid of you, except
me?  Shake hands with him, and order him some dinner, for
goodness gracious' sake, for he looks half starved; and pray have
your wine up at once, for you'll not be tolerable until you have
taken two bottles at least.'

The worthy old gentleman pulled Arabella's ear, kissed her
without the smallest scruple, kissed his daughter also with great
affection, and shook Mr. Snodgrass warmly by the hand.

'She is right on one point at all events,' said the old gentleman
cheerfully.  '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 had
despatched it, drew his chair next Emily, without the smallest
opposition on the old gentleman's part.

The evening was excellent.  Little Mr. Perker came out wonderfully,
told various comic stories, and sang a serious song which
was almost as funny as the anecdotes.  Arabella was very charming,
Mr. Wardle very jovial, Mr. Pickwick very harmonious,
Mr. Ben Allen very uproarious, the lovers very silent, Mr. Winkle
very talkative, and all of them very happy.



CHAPTER LV
Mr. SOLOMON PELL, ASSISTED BY A SELECT COMMITTEE
  OF COACHMEN, ARRANGES THE AFFAIRS OF THE ELDER
  Mr. WELLER


'Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, accosting his son on the morning after
the funeral, 'I've found it, Sammy.  I thought it wos there.'

'Thought wot wos there?' inquired Sam.

'Your mother-in-law's vill, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller.  'In
wirtue 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 I should 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' arter anybody's property, ven you're assistin' 'em in
illness.  It's like helping an outside passenger up, ven he's been
pitched off a coach, and puttin' your hand in his pocket, vile you
ask him, vith a sigh, how he finds his-self, Sammy.'

With this figurative illustration of his meaning, Mr. Weller
unclasped his pocket-book, and drew forth a dirty sheet of
letter-paper, on which were inscribed various characters crowded
together in remarkable confusion.

'This here is the dockyment, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.  'I found
it in the little black tea-pot, on the top shelf o' the bar closet.
She used to keep bank-notes there, 'fore she vos married,
Samivel.  I've seen her take the lid off, to pay a bill, many and
many a time.  Poor creetur, she might ha' filled all the tea-pots in
the house vith vills, and not have inconwenienced herself neither,
for she took wery little 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 hundred
pound vurth o' reduced counsels to my son-in-law, Samivel, and
all the rest o' my property, of ev'ry kind and description votsoever,
to my husband, Mr. Tony Veller, who I appint as my sole eggzekiter.'

'That's all, is it?' said Sam.

'That's all,' replied Mr. Weller.  'And I s'pose as it's all right
and satisfactory to you and me as is the only parties interested,
ve may as vell put this bit o' paper into the fire.'

'Wot are you a-doin' on, you lunatic?' said Sam, snatching the
paper away, as his parent, in all innocence, stirred the fire
preparatory to suiting the action to the word.  'You're a nice
eggzekiter, you are.'

'Vy not?' inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly round, with the
poker 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
a look, meanwhile, that he did mean it, and very seriously too.

'Then I'll tell you wot it is,' said Mr. Weller, after a short
meditation, 'this is a case for that 'ere confidential pal o' the
Chancellorship's.  Pell must look into this, Sammy.  He's the man
for a difficult question at law.  Ve'll have this here brought afore
the Solvent Court, directly, Samivel.'

'I never did see such a addle-headed old creetur!' exclaimed
Sam irritably; 'Old Baileys, and Solvent Courts, and alleybis,
and ev'ry species o' gammon alvays a-runnin' through his brain.
You'd better get your out o' door clothes on, and come to town
about this bisness, than stand a-preachin' there about wot you
don't understand nothin' on.'

'Wery good, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I'm quite agreeable
to anythin' 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
his shawl with the aid of a small glass that hung in the window,
was now, by dint of the most wonderful exertions, struggling into
his upper garments.  'Vait a minit' Sammy; ven you grow as old
as your father, you von't get into your veskit quite as easy as you
do now, my boy.'

'If I couldn't get into it easier than that, I'm blessed if I'd vear
vun at all,' rejoined his son.

'You think so now,' said Mr. Weller, with the gravity of age,
'but you'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 of
many years' personal experience and observation--he contrived,
by a dexterous twist of his body, to get the bottom button of his
coat to perform its office.  Having paused a few seconds to
recover breath, he brushed his hat with his elbow, and declared
himself ready.

'As four heads is better than two, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller,
as they drove along the London Road in the chaise-cart, 'and as
all this 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 soon down upon him if he comes anythin' irreg'lar; two o'
them as saw you 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, you ever know'd.'

'And of a lawyer too?' inquired Sam.

'The man as can form a ackerate judgment of a animal, can
form a ackerate judgment of anythin',' replied his father, so
dogmatically, that Sam did not attempt to controvert the position.

In pursuance of this notable resolution, the services of the
mottled-faced gentleman and of two other very fat coachmen
--selected by Mr. Weller, probably, with a view to their width and
consequent wisdom--were put into requisition; and this
assistance having been secured, the party proceeded to the
public-house in Portugal Street, whence a messenger was
despatched to the Insolvent Court over the way, requiring Mr.
Solomon Pell's immediate attendance.

The messenger fortunately found Mr. Solomon Pell in court,
regaling himself, business being rather slack, with a cold collation
of an Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy.  The message was no
sooner whispered in his ear than he thrust them in his pocket
among various professional documents, and hurried over the way
with such alacrity that he reached the parlour before the messenger
had even emancipated himself from the court.

'Gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, touching his hat, 'my service to
you all.  I don't say it to flatter you, gentlemen, but there are not
five other 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 the
late 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 feel
those appeals uncommonly.  I actually thought more than once
that he'd have sunk under 'em; I did, indeed.'

Here Mr. Pell shook his head and paused; on which, the elder
Mr. Weller, nudging his neighbour, as begging him to mark the
attorney's high connections, asked whether the duties in question
produced any permanent ill effects on the constitution of his
noble friend.

'I don't think he ever quite recovered them,' replied Pell; 'in
fact I'm sure he never did.  "Pell," he used to say to me many a
time, "how the blazes you can stand the head-work you do, is
a mystery to me."--"Well," I used to answer, "I hardly know
how I do it, upon my life."--"Pell," he'd add, sighing, and
looking at me with a little envy--friendly envy, you know,
gentlemen, mere friendly envy; I never minded it--"Pell, you're
a wonder; a wonder."  Ah! you'd have liked him very much if
you had known him, gentlemen.  Bring me three-penn'orth of
rum, my dear.'

Addressing this latter remark to the waitress, in a tone of
subdued 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 professional
man has no right to think of his private friendships when
his legal assistance is wanted.  By the bye, gentlemen, since I saw
you here before, we have had to weep over a very melancholy
occurrence.'

Mr. Pell drew out a pocket-handkerchief, when he came to the
word weep, but he made no further use of it than to wipe away
a slight tinge of rum which hung upon his upper lip.

'I saw it in the ADVERTISER, Mr. Weller,' continued Pell.  'Bless
my soul, not more than fifty-two!  Dear me--only think.'

These indications of a musing spirit were addressed to the
mottled-faced man, whose eyes Mr. Pell had accidentally caught;
on which, the mottled-faced man, whose apprehension of matters
in general was of a foggy nature, moved uneasily in his seat, and
opined that, indeed, so far as that went, there was no saying how
things was brought about; which observation, involving one of
those subtle propositions which it is difficult to encounter in
argument, 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 much
relishing this mode of discussing the subject, and yet thinking
that the attorney, from his long intimacy with the late Lord
Chancellor, must know best on all matters of polite breeding.
'She wos a wery fine 'ooman, sir, ven I first know'd her.  She wos
a widder, sir, at that time.'

'Now, it's curious,' said Pell, looking round with a sorrowful
smile; '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.  'More
widders 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;
her manners were the theme of universal admiration in our
neighbourhood.  I was proud to see that woman dance; there was
something 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 the
attorney 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
a noble shape, and a nose, gentlemen, formed to command and
be majestic.  She was very much attached to me--very much--
highly connected, too.  Her mother's brother, gentlemen, failed
for eight hundred pounds, as a law stationer.'

'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, who had grown rather restless during
this discussion, 'vith regard to bis'ness.'

The word was music to Pell's ears.  He had been revolving in
his mind whether any business was to be transacted, or whether
he had been merely invited to partake of a glass of brandy-and-
water, or a bowl of punch, or any similar professional compliment,
and now the doubt was set at rest without his appearing
at all eager for its solution.  His eyes glistened as he laid his hat
on the table, and said--

'What is the business upon which--um?  Either of these
gentlemen wish to go through the court?  We require an arrest;
a friendly arrest will do, you know; we are all friends here, I suppose?'

'Give me the dockyment, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, taking the
will 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, is
wery much the same; if you don't understand wot I mean, sir,
I des-say I can find them as does.'

'No offence, I hope, Mr. Weller,' said Pell meekly.  'You are
the executor, 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 other
gen'l'm'n is friends o' mine, just come to see fair; a kind of
umpires.'

'Oh!' said Pell, 'very good.  I have no objections, I'm sure.  I
shall want a matter of five pound of you before I begin, ha!
ha! ha!'

It being decided by the committee that the five pound might
be advanced, Mr. Weller produced that sum; after which, a long
consultation about nothing particular took place, in the course
whereof Mr. Pell demonstrated to the perfect satisfaction of the
gentlemen who saw fair, that unless the management of the
business had been intrusted to him, it must all have gone wrong,
for reasons not clearly made out, but no doubt sufficient.  This
important point being despatched, Mr. Pell refreshed himself
with three chops, and liquids both malt and spirituous, at the
expense of the estate; and then they all went away to Doctors' Commons.

The next day there was another visit to Doctors' Commons,
and a great to-do with an attesting hostler, who, being inebriated,
declined swearing anything but profane oaths, to the great
scandal of a proctor and surrogate.  Next week, there were more
visits to Doctors' Commons, and there was a visit to the Legacy
Duty Office besides, and there were treaties entered into, for the
disposal of the lease and business, and ratifications of the same,
and inventories to be made out, and lunches to be taken, and
dinners to be eaten, and so many profitable things to be done,
and such a mass of papers accumulated that Mr. Solomon Pell,
and the boy, and the blue bag to boot, all got so stout that
scarcely anybody would have known them for the same man,
boy, and bag, that had loitered about Portugal Street, a few days before.

At length all these weighty matters being arranged, a day was
fixed for selling out and transferring the stock, and of waiting
with that view upon Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, stock-broker, of
somewhere 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 attired
accordingly.  Mr. Weller's tops were newly cleaned, and his dress
was arranged with peculiar care; the mottled-faced gentleman
wore at his button-hole a full-sized dahlia with several leaves;
and the coats of his two friends were adorned with nosegays of
laurel and other evergreens.  All three were habited in strict
holiday costume; that is to say, they were wrapped up to the
chins, and wore as many clothes as possible, which is, and has
been, a stage-coachman's idea of full dress ever since stage-
coaches were invented.

Mr. Pell was waiting at the usual place of meeting at the
appointed 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
we are with Mr. Flasher at a quarter past, we shall just hit the
best time.'

'What should you say to a drop o' beer, gen'l'm'n?' suggested
the mottled-faced man.
'And a little bit o' cold beef,' said the second 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 his
coming 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 being
promptly produced, the lunch was done ample justice to.  Where
everybody took so active a part, it is almost invidious to make a
distinction; but if one individual evinced greater powers than
another, it was the coachman with the hoarse voice, who took an
imperial pint of vinegar with his oysters, without betraying the
least emotion.

'Mr. Pell, Sir,' said the elder Mr. Weller, stirring a glass of
brandy-and-water, of which one was placed before every gentleman
when the oyster shells were removed--'Mr. Pell, Sir, it wos
my intention to have proposed the funs on this occasion, but
Samivel has vispered to me--'

Here Mr. Samuel Weller, who had silently eaten his oysters
with tranquil smiles, cried, 'Hear!' in a very loud voice.

--'Has vispered to me,' resumed his father, 'that it vould be
better to dewote the liquor to vishin' you success and prosperity,
and thankin' you for the manner in which you've brought this
here business through.  Here's your health, sir.'

'Hold hard there,' interposed the mottled-faced gentleman,
with sudden energy; 'your eyes on me, gen'l'm'n!'

Saying this, the mottled-faced gentleman rose, as did the other
gentlemen.  The mottled-faced gentleman reviewed the company,
and slowly lifted his hand, upon which every man (including him
of the mottled countenance) drew a long breath, and lifted his
tumbler to his lips.  In one instant, the mottled-faced gentleman
depressed his hand again, and every glass was set down empty.
It is impossible to describe the thrilling effect produced by this
striking ceremony.  At once dignified, solemn, and impressive, it
combined every element of grandeur.

'Well, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, 'all I can say is, that such
marks of confidence must be very gratifying to a professional
man.  I don't wish to say anything that might appear egotistical,
gentlemen, but I'm very glad, for your own sakes, that you came
to me; that's all.  If you had gone to any low member of the
profession, it's my firm conviction, and I assure you of it as a
fact, that you would have found yourselves in Queer Street
before this.  I could have wished my noble friend had been alive
to have seen my management of this 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 found here, gentlemen, but if I'm
not here, or over the way, that's my address.  You'll find my terms
very cheap and reasonable, and no man attends more to his
clients than I do, and I hope I know a little of my profession
besides.  If you have any opportunity of recommending me to
any of your friends, gentlemen, I shall be very much obliged to
you, and so will they too, when they come to know me.  Your
healths, gentlemen.'

With this expression of his feelings, Mr. Solomon Pell laid
three small written cards before Mr. Weller's friends, and,
looking at the clock 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; the
house of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was at Brixton, Surrey; the
horse and stanhope of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, were at an
adjacent livery stable; the groom of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire,
was on his way to the West End to deliver some game; the clerk
of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, had gone to his dinner; and
so Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, himself, cried, 'Come in,' when
Mr. Pell and his companions knocked at the counting-house door.

'Good-morning, Sir,' said Pell, bowing obsequiously.  'We want
to make a little transfer, if you please.'

'Oh, just come in, will you?' said Mr. Flasher.  'Sit down a
minute; 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 umpires
took what they could get, and looked at the almanac and one or
two papers which were wafered against the wall, with as much
open-eyed reverence as if they had been the finest efforts of the
old masters.

'Well, I'll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!' said
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which
Mr. Pell's entrance had caused a momentary interruption.

This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who wore
his hat on his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk,
killing flies with a ruler.  Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancing
himself on two legs of an office stool, spearing a wafer-box with
a penknife, which he dropped every now and then with great
dexterity into the very centre of a small red wafer that was stuck
outside.  Both gentlemen had very open waistcoats and very
rolling collars, and very small boots, and very big rings, and very
little watches, and very large guard-chains, and symmetrical
inexpressibles, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs.

'I never bet half a dozen!' said the other gentleman.  'I'll take
a dozen.'

'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
the other gentleman entered it also, in another little book with
another gold pencil-case.

'I see there's a notice up this morning about Boffer,' observed
Mr. Simmery.  'Poor devil, he's expelled the house!'

'I'll bet you ten guineas to five, he cuts his throat,' said Wilkins
Flasher, 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,
makes away with himself.'

'Kills himself, in fact,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.

'Just so,' replied Mr. Simmery, putting it down.  '"Flasher--
ten guineas to five, Boffer kills himself."  Within what time shall
we say?'

'A fortnight?' suggested Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.

'Con-found it, no,' rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for an
instant to smash a fly with the ruler.  'Say a week.'

'Split the difference,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.  'Make it
ten days.'

'Well; ten days,'rejoined Mr. Simmery.

So it was entered down on the little books that Boffer was to
kill himself within ten days, or Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was to
hand over to Frank Simmery, Esquire, the sum of ten guineas;
and that if 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
to send our butler to the sale to-morrow, to pick up some of that
sixty-four.'

'The devil you are!' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.  'My man's
going too.  Five guineas my man outbids your man.'

'Done.'

Another entry was made in the little books, with the gold
pencil-cases; and Mr. Simmery, having by this time killed all the
flies and taken all the bets, strolled away to the Stock Exchange
to see what was going forward.

Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, now condescended to receive Mr.
Solomon Pell's instructions, and having filled up some printed
forms, requested the party to follow him to the bank, which
they did: Mr. Weller and his three friends staring at all they
beheld in unbounded astonishment, and Sam encountering
everything with a coolness which nothing could disturb.

Crossing a courtyard which was all noise and bustle, and
passing a couple of porters who seemed dressed to match the
red fire engine which was wheeled away into a corner, they
passed into an office where their business was to be transacted,
and where 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-faced gentleman
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?' asked
the hoarse coachman.

'Reduced counsels, I s'pose,' replied Mr. Weller.  'Ain't they
the reduced counsels, Samivel?'

'Wy, you don't suppose the reduced counsels is alive, do you?'
inquired Sam, with some disdain.

'How should I know?' retorted Mr. Weller; 'I thought they
looked wery like it.  Wot are they, then?'

'Clerks,' replied Sam.

'Wot are they all a-eatin' ham sangwidges for?' inquired his father.

''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. Weller and his friends had scarcely had a moment to
reflect upon this singular regulation as connected with the
monetary system of the country, when they were rejoined by Pell
and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, who led them to a part of the
counter above which was a round blackboard with a large 'W.' on it.

'Wot's that for, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller, directing Pell's
attention 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's
somethin' wrong here.  We's our letter--this won't do.'

The referees at once gave it as their decided opinion that the
business 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,
undutiful behaviour of Sam, who, seizing his father by the skirt
of the coat, dragged him to the counter, and pinned him there,
until he had affixed 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 pippins while it was performing.

As the elder Mr. Weller insisted on selling out his portion
forthwith, they proceeded from the bank to the gate of the Stock
Exchange, to which Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, after a short
absence, returned with a cheque on Smith, Payne, & Smith, for
five hundred and thirty pounds; that being the money to which
Mr. Weller, at the market price of the day, was entitled, in
consideration of the balance of the second Mrs. Weller's funded
savings.  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 lounged back to his office.

Mr. Weller was at first obstinately determined on cashing the
cheque in nothing but sovereigns; but it being represented by the
umpires that by so doing he must incur the expense of a small
sack to carry them home in, he consented to receive the amount
in five-pound notes.

'My son,' said Mr. Weller, as they came out of the banking-
house--'my son and me has a wery partickler engagement this
arternoon, and I should like to have this here bis'ness settled out
of hand, so let's jest go straight avay someveres, vere ve can
hordit the accounts.'

A quiet room was soon found, and the accounts were produced
and audited.  Mr. Pell's bill was taxed by Sam, and some charges
were disallowed by the umpires; but, notwithstanding Mr. Pell's
declaration, accompanied with many solemn asseverations that
they were really too hard upon him, it was by very many degrees
the best professional job he had ever had, and one on which he
boarded, lodged, and washed, for six months afterwards.

The umpires having partaken of a dram, shook hands and
departed, as they had to drive out of town that night.  Mr.
Solomon Pell, finding that nothing more was going forward,
either in the eating or drinking way, took a friendly leave, and
Sam and his father were left alone.

'There!' said Mr. Weller, thrusting his pocket-book in his side
pocket.  'Vith the bills for the lease, and that, there's eleven
hundred and eighty pound here.  Now, Samivel, my boy, turn the
horses' heads to the George and Wulter!'



CHAPTER LVI
AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE TAKES PLACE BETWEEN
  Mr. PICKWICK AND SAMUEL WELLER, AT WHICH HIS
  PARENT ASSISTS--AN OLD GENTLEMAN IN A SNUFF-
  COLOURED SUIT ARRIVES UNEXPECTEDLY


Mr. Pickwick was sitting alone, musing over many things, and thinking
among other considerations how he could best provide for the young
couple whose present unsettled condition was matter of constant
regret and 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 may
his 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 communicated
this last intelligence with more warmth than seemed actually
necessary, or she might have observed the good-humoured smile
with which Mr. Pickwick regarded her, when she had finished
speaking.  She certainly held down her head, and examined the
corner of a very smart little apron, with more closeness than
there appeared 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 her message.

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
lost in thought.

'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, at length in a kind but somewhat
melancholy tone, 'it is the best way in which I could reward
him for his attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in Heaven's
name.  It is the fate of a lonely old man, that those about him
should form new and different attachments and leave him.  I have
no right to expect that it should be otherwise with me.  No, no,'
added Mr. Pickwick more cheerfully, 'it would be selfish and
ungrateful.  I ought to be happy to have an opportunity of
providing for him so well.  I am.  Of course I am.'

Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections, that a
knock at the door was three or four times repeated before he
heard it.  Hastily seating himself, and calling up his accustomed
pleasant looks, he gave the required permission, and Sam Weller
entered, followed by his father.

'Glad to see you back again, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.  'How
do you do, Mr. Weller?'

'Wery hearty, thank'ee, sir,' replied the widower; 'hope I see
you well, sir.'

'Quite, I thank you,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'I wanted to have a little bit o' conwersation with you, sir,' said
Mr. Weller, 'if you could spare me five minits or so, sir.'

'Certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'Sam, give your father a chair.'

'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 sat
himself down.

'Remarkably so, indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick.  'Very seasonable.'

'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
made several supplicatory and threatening gestures to his son, all
of which Sam Weller steadily abstained from seeing.

Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some embarrassment
on the old gentleman's part, affected to be engaged in cutting the
leaves 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
ekal to ex-pressin' myself ven there's anythin' partickler to
be done, and yet he'll stand and see me a-settin' here taking
up your walable time, and makin' a reg'lar spectacle o' myself,
rayther than 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 you
wos 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,
and all manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von't put out a
hand to help me.  I'm ashamed on you, Samivel.'

'The fact is, Sir,' said Sam, with a slight bow, 'the gov'nor's
been a-drawin' his money.'

'Wery good, Samivel, wery good,' said Mr. Weller, nodding
his head 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 at once.  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
attitude for Sam to resume his statement.

'You may sit down, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending that
the interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had expected.

Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round, he
continued--

'The gov'nor, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty pound.'

'Reduced counsels,' interposed Mr. Weller, senior, in an undertone.

'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, eleven
hundred and eighty pound.'

'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick.  'I am delighted to hear it.  I
congratulate you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.'

'Vait a minit, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, raising his hand in a
deprecatory manner.  'Get on, Samivel.'

'This here money,' said Sam, with a little hesitation, 'he's
anxious to put someveres, vere he knows it'll be safe, and I'm
wery anxious too, for if he keeps it, he'll go a-lendin' it to somebody,
or inwestin' property in horses, or droppin' his pocket-book
down an airy, or makin' a Egyptian mummy of his-self in
some vay or another.'

'Wery good, Samivel,' observed Mr. Weller, in as complacent
a manner as if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on
his prudence and foresight.  'Wery good.'

'For vich reasons,' continued Sam, plucking nervously at the
brim of his hat--'for vich reasons, he's drawn it out to-day, and
come here vith me to say, leastvays to offer, or in other vords--'

'To say this here,' said the elder Mr. Weller impatiently, 'that
it ain't o' no use to me.  I'm a-goin' to vork a coach reg'lar, and
ha'n't got 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 a temptation to the insides.  If you'll take care on
it for me, sir, I shall be wery much obliged to you.  P'raps,' said
Mr. Weller, walking up to Mr. Pickwick and whispering in his
ear--'p'raps it'll go a little vay towards the expenses o' that
'ere conwiction.  All I say is, just you keep it till I ask you for it
again.'  With these words, Mr. Weller placed the pocket-book
in Mr. Pickwick's hands, caught up his hat, and ran out of the room
with a celerity scarcely to be expected from so corpulent a subject.

'Stop him, Sam!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick earnestly.  'Overtake
him; 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 the
stairs, dragged him back by main force.

'My good friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, taking the old man by
the hand, '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 can
ever 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,' observed
Mr. Weller.

'Perhaps not,' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'but as I have no intention
of trying any such experiments, I am not likely to come to want.
I must beg you to take this back, Mr. Weller.'
'Wery well,' said Mr. Weller, with a discontented look.  'Mark
my vords, 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
his coat with great determination, said--

'I'll keep a pike.'

'Wot!' exclaimed Sam.

'A pike!' rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth; 'I'll keep
a pike.  Say good-bye to your father, Samivel.  I dewote the
remainder of my days to a pike.'

This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller, besides
appearing fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so
deeply 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 more
good with it, perhaps, than you can.'

'Just the wery thing, to be sure,' said Mr. Weller, brightening
up; '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 of
his visit, which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller's face, but
his arms, legs, and body also, during the locking up of the pocket-
book, suddenly gave place to the most dignified gravity as he
heard 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 in
her designs on Mr. Pickwick, choked his utterance.

'Did you happen to see a young girl downstairs when you came
in 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,
what did 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
of her manners, from what you saw of her?'

'Wery pleasant,' rejoined Mr. Weller.  'Wery pleasant and
comformable.'

The precise meaning which Mr. Weller attached to this last-
mentioned adjective, did not appear; but, as it was evident from
the tone in which he used it that it was a favourable expression,
Mr. Pickwick was as well satisfied as if he had been thoroughly
enlightened 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;
'a desire that she may be comfortable and prosperous.  You understand?'

'Wery clearly,' replied Mr. Weller, who understood nothing yet.

'That young person,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is attached to your son.'

'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're never safe vith 'em, Mr. Pickwick, ven they vunce has
designs on you; there's no knowin' vere to have 'em; and vile
you're a-considering of it, they have you.  I wos married fust, that
vay myself, Sir, and Sammy wos the consekens o' the manoover.'

'You give me no great encouragement to conclude what I have
to say,' observed Mr. Pickwick, 'but I had better do so at once.
This young person is not only attached to your son, Mr. Weller,
but your son is attached to her.'

'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, 'this here's a pretty sort o' thing to
come to 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
no doubt at all about it.  Supposing I were desirous of establishing
them comfortably as man and wife in some little business or
situation, where they might hope to obtain a decent living, what
should you think of it, Mr. Weller?'

At first, Mr. Weller received with wry faces a proposition
involving the marriage of anybody in whom he took an interest;
but, as Mr. Pickwick argued the point with him, and laid great
stress on the fact that Mary was not a widow, he gradually became
more tractable.  Mr. Pickwick had great influence over him, and
he had been much struck with Mary's appearance; having, in
fact, bestowed several very unfatherly winks upon her, already.
At length he said that it was not for him to oppose Mr. Pickwick's
inclination, and that he would be very happy to yield to his
advice; upon which, Mr. Pickwick joyfully took him at his word,
and called Sam back into the room.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his throat, 'your father and
I have been having some conversation about you.'

'About you, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, in a patronising and
impressive 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
towards Mrs. Winkle's maid,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'You hear this, Samivel?' said Mr. Weller, in the same judicial
form of speech as before.

'I hope, Sir,' said Sam, addressing his master, 'I hope there's
no harm in a young man takin' notice of a young 'ooman as is
undeniably good-looking and well-conducted.'

'Certainly not,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Not by no means,' acquiesced Mr. Weller, affably but magisterially.

'So far from thinking there is anything wrong in conduct so
natural,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'it is my wish to assist and
promote your wishes in this respect.  With this view, I have had
a little conversation with your father; and finding that he is of
my opinion--'

'The lady not bein' a widder,' interposed Mr. Weller in explanation.

'The lady not being a widow,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.  'I
wish to free you from the restraint which your present position
imposes upon you, and to mark my sense of your fidelity and
many excellent qualities, by enabling you to marry this girl at
once, and to earn an independent livelihood for yourself and
family.  I shall be proud, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, whose voice
had faltered a little hitherto, but now resumed its customary tone,
'proud and happy to make your future prospects in life my
grateful and peculiar care.'

There was a profound silence for a short time, and then Sam
said, in a low, husky sort of voice, but firmly withal--

'I'm very much obliged to you for your goodness, Sir, as is
only like 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
to become of you, Sir?'

'My good fellow,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'the recent changes
among my friends will alter my mode of life in future, entirely;
besides, I am growing older, and want repose and quiet.  My
rambles, 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,
for you've the spirit o' five-and-twenty in you still, what 'ud
become on 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 certainty
that 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 reason
wy you should alvays have somebody by you as understands you,
to keep you up and make you comfortable.  If you vant a more
polished sort o' feller, vell and good, have him; but vages or no
vages, 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 by you, come what may; and let ev'rythin' and ev'rybody
do their wery fiercest, nothin' shall ever perwent it!'

At the close of this declaration, which Sam made with great
emotion, the elder Mr. Weller rose from his chair, and, forgetting
all considerations of time, place, or propriety, waved his hat
above his head, and gave three vehement cheers.

'My good fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller had
sat down again, rather abashed at his own enthusiasm, 'you are
bound to consider the young woman also.'

'I do consider the young 'ooman, Sir,' said Sam.  'I have
considered the young 'ooman.  I've spoke to her.  I've told her
how I'm sitivated; she's ready to vait till I'm ready, and I believe
she vill.  If she don't, she's not the young 'ooman I take her for,
and I give her up vith readiness.  You've know'd me afore, Sir.
My mind's made up, and nothin' can ever alter it.'

Who could combat this resolution?  Not Mr. Pickwick.  He
derived, at that moment, more pride and luxury of feeling from
the disinterested attachment of his humble friends, than ten
thousand protestations from the greatest men living could have
awakened in his heart.

While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick's room,
a little old gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured clothes, followed
by a porter carrying a small portmanteau, presented himself
below; and, after securing a bed for the night, inquired of the
waiter whether one Mrs. Winkle was staying there, to which
question the waiter 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
me to 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, without
announcing me.'

As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he slipped
five 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 had
better do it at once.  It will save time.'

There was something so very cool and collected in the gentleman's
manner, that the waiter put the five shillings in his pocket,
and led him upstairs without another word.

'This is the room, is it?' said the gentleman.  'You may go.'
The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman
could be, and what he wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting
till he was out of sight, tapped at the door.

'Come in,' said Arabella.

'Um, a pretty voice, at any rate,' murmured the little old
gentleman; 'but that's nothing.'  As he said this, he opened the
door and walked in.  Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose on
beholding a stranger--a little confused--but by no means
ungracefully so.

'Pray don't rise, ma'am,' said the unknown, walking in, and
closing the door after him.  'Mrs. Winkle, I believe?'

Arabella inclined her head.

'Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old man at
Birmingham?' said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visible curiosity.

Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round,
as if 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
his nose.

'You don't know me, ma'am?' he said, looking so intently at
Arabella that she began to feel alarmed.

'No, sir,' she replied timidly.

'No,' said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; 'I don't know
how you 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 yet
removed his eyes from her countenance.  'You have been recently
married, ma'am?'

'I have,' replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone, laying
aside her work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, that
had occurred to her before, struck more forcibly upon her mind.

'Without having represented to your husband the propriety of
first consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think?'
said the stranger.

Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes.

'Without an endeavour, even, to ascertain, by some indirect
appeal, what were the old man's sentiments on a point in which
he would naturally feel much interested?' said the stranger.

'I cannot deny it, Sir,' said Arabella.

'And without having sufficient property of your own to afford
your husband any permanent assistance in exchange for the
worldly advantages which you knew he would have gained if he
had married agreeably to his father's wishes?' said the old gentleman.
'This is what boys and girls call disinterested affection, till
they have boys and girls of their own, and then they see it in a
rougher and very different light!'

Arabella's tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in extenuation that
she was young and inexperienced; that her attachment had alone
induced her to take the step to which she had resorted; and that
she had been deprived of the counsel and guidance of her parents
almost from infancy.

'It was wrong,' said the old gentleman in a milder tone, 'very
wrong.  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 that
he fell in love with you, I suppose?  Yes it was, though,' said the
old gentleman, looking rather slily at Arabella.  'It was your fault.
He couldn't help it.'

This little compliment, or the little gentleman's odd way of
paying it, or his altered manner--so much kinder than it was, at
first--or all three together, forced a smile from Arabella in the
midst 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
him to take a walk this morning.  He is very low and wretched at
not having 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; 'and
indeed, Sir, I feel it deeply on his.  I have been the sole means of
bringing 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 he is concerned.'

The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman's lips,
when footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, which he and
Arabella seemed both to recognise at the same moment.  The
little gentleman turned pale; and, making a strong effort
to appear composed, 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 have
you got to say to me?'

Mr. Winkle remained silent.

'You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, Sir?' said the old gentleman.

Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.

'Are you ashamed of yourself, Sir, or are you not?' inquired the
old gentleman.

'No, Sir,' replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella's arm through
his.  '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 your
affection for me, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle; 'but I will say, at the same
time, that I have no reason to be ashamed of having this lady for
my wife, nor you of having her for a daughter.'

'Give me your hand, Nat,' said the old gentleman, in an
altered voice.  '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
his father, whereupon they shook hands for five minutes incessantly.

'Mr. Pickwick, I thank you most heartily for all your kindness
to my son,' said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff, straightforward way.
'I am a hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was vexed and
taken by surprise.  I have judged for myself now, and am more
than satisfied.  Shall I make any more apologies, Mr. Pickwick?'

'Not one,' replied that gentleman.  'You have done the only
thing wanting to complete my happiness.'

Hereupon there was another shaking of hands for five minutes
longer, accompanied by a great number of complimentary
speeches, which, besides being complimentary, had the additional
and 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 had
been charged with the delivery of a note from Emily Wardle.

'I say,' said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, 'what a pretty
girl Mary is, isn't she?  I am SO fond of her, I am!'

Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply; but eyeing the fat
boy for a moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led him
by the collar to the corner, and dismissed him with a harmless
but ceremonious kick.  After which, he walked home, whistling.



CHAPTER LVII
IN WHICH THE PICKWICK CLUB IS FINALLY DISSOLVED,
  AND EVERYTHING CONCLUDED TO THE SATISFACTION
  OF EVERYBODY


For a whole week after the happy arrival of Mr. Winkle from
Birmingham, Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller were from home all day
long, only returning just in time for dinner, and then wearing
an air of mystery and importance quite foreign to their natures.
It was evident that very grave and eventful proceedings were on
foot; but various surmises were afloat, respecting their precise
character.  Some (among whom was Mr. Tupman) were disposed to think
that Mr. Pickwick contemplated a matrimonial alliance; but this
idea the ladies most strenuously repudiated.  Others rather inclined
to the belief that he had projected some distant tour, and was at
present occupied in effecting the preliminary arrangements; but
this again was stoutly denied 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 for six long days, by unavailing speculation, it was
unanimously resolved that Mr. Pickwick should be called upon to
explain his conduct, and to state distinctly why he had thus absented
himself from the society of his admiring friends.

With this view, Mr. Wardle invited the full circle to dinner at
the Adelphi; and the decanters having been thrice sent round,
opened the business.

'We are all anxious to know,' said the old gentleman, 'what
we have done to offend you, and to induce you to desert us and
devote yourself to these solitary walks.'

'Are you?' said Mr. Pickwick.  'It is singular enough that I had
intended to volunteer a full explanation this very day; so, if you
will give me another glass of wine, I will satisfy your curiosity.'

The decanters passed from hand to hand with unwonted
briskness, and Mr. Pickwick, looking round on the faces of his
friends 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 the
marriage that WILL take place, with the changes they involve,
rendered it necessary for me to think, soberly and at once, upon
my future plans.  I determined on retiring to some quiet, pretty
neighbourhood in the vicinity of London; I saw a house which
exactly suited my fancy; I have taken it and furnished it.  It is
fully prepared for my reception, and I intend entering upon it
at once, trusting that I may yet live to spend many quiet years in
peaceful retirement, cheered through life by the society of my
friends, and followed in death by their affectionate remembrance.'

Here Mr. Pickwick paused, and a low murmur ran round the table.

'The house I have taken,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is at Dulwich.
It has a large garden, and is situated in one of the most pleasant
spots near London.  It has been fitted up with every attention to
substantial comfort; perhaps to a little elegance besides; but of
that you shall judge for yourselves.  Sam accompanies me there.
I have engaged, on Perker's representation, a housekeeper--a
very old one--and such other servants as she thinks I shall
require.  I propose to consecrate this little retreat, by having a
ceremony in which I take a great interest, performed there.  I
wish, if my friend Wardle entertains no objection, that his
daughter should be married 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 heart to 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 the
club,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'acquainting them with my intention.
During our long absence, it has suffered much from internal
dissentions; and the withdrawal of my name, coupled with this
and other circumstances, has occasioned its dissolution.  The
Pickwick Club exists no longer.

'I shall never regret,' said Mr. Pickwick in a low voice, 'I shall
never regret having devoted the greater part of two years to
mixing 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 to
business and the pursuit of wealth, numerous scenes of which I
had no previous conception have dawned upon me--I hope to
the enlargement of my mind, and the improvement of my
understanding.  If I have done but little good, I trust I have done
less harm, and that none of my adventures will be other than a
source of amusing and pleasant recollection to me in the decline
of life.  God bless you all!'

With these words, Mr. Pickwick filled and drained a bumper
with a trembling hand; and his eyes moistened as his friends
rose with one accord, and pledged him from their hearts.

There were few preparatory arrangements to be made for the
marriage of Mr. Snodgrass.  As he had neither father nor mother,
and had been in his minority a ward of Mr. Pickwick's, that
gentleman was perfectly well acquainted with his possessions and
prospects.  His account of both was quite satisfactory to Wardle
--as almost any other account would have been, for the good old
gentleman was overflowing with Hilarity and kindness--and a
handsome portion having been bestowed upon Emily, the
marriage was fixed to take place on the fourth day from that time
--the suddenness of which preparations reduced three dressmakers
and a tailor to the extreme verge of insanity.

Getting post-horses to the carriage, old Wardle started off,
next day, to bring his mother back to town.  Communicating his
intelligence to the old lady with characteristic impetuosity, she
instantly fainted away; but being promptly revived, ordered the
brocaded silk gown to be packed up forthwith, and proceeded
to relate some circumstances of a similar nature attending the
marriage of the eldest daughter of Lady Tollimglower, deceased,
which occupied three hours in the recital, and were not half
finished at last.

Mrs. Trundle had to be informed of all the mighty preparations
that were making in London; and, being in a delicate state of
health, was informed thereof through Mr. Trundle, lest the news
should 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 new
cap and a black satin gown, and moreover avowed her determination
of being present at the ceremony.  Hereupon, Mr.
Trundle called in the doctor, and the doctor said Mrs. Trundle
ought to know best how she felt herself, to which Mrs. Trundle
replied that she felt herself quite equal to it, and that she had
made up her mind to go; upon which the doctor, who was a wise
and discreet doctor, and knew what was good for himself, as well
as for other people, said that perhaps if Mrs. Trundle stopped at
home, she might hurt herself more by fretting, than by going, so
perhaps she had better go.  And she did go; the doctor with great
attention sending in half a dozen of medicine, to be drunk upon
the road.

In addition to these points of distraction, Wardle was
intrusted with two small letters to two small young ladies who
were to act as bridesmaids; upon the receipt of which, the two
young ladies were driven to despair by having no 'things' ready for so
important an occasion, and no time to make them in--a circumstance
which appeared to afford the two worthy papas of the
two small young ladies rather a feeling of satisfaction than
otherwise.  However, old frocks were trimmed, and new bonnets
made, and the young ladies looked as well as could possibly
have been expected of them.  And as they cried at the subsequent
ceremony in the proper places, and trembled at the right times,
they acquitted themselves to the admiration of all beholders.
How the two poor relations ever reached London--whether
they walked, or got behind coaches, or procured lifts in wagons,
or carried each other by turns--is uncertain; but there they were,
before Wardle; and the very first people that knocked at the door
of Mr. Pickwick's house, on the bridal morning, were the two
poor relations, all smiles and shirt collar.

They were welcomed heartily though, for riches or poverty had
no influence on Mr. Pickwick; the new servants were all alacrity
and readiness; Sam was in a most unrivalled state of high spirits
and excitement; Mary was glowing with beauty and smart ribands.

The bridegroom, who had been staying at the house for two or
three days previous, sallied forth gallantly to Dulwich Church to
meet 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 and gorgeous suit of livery invented for the occasion.
They were met by the Wardles, and the Winkles, and the bride
and bridesmaids, and the Trundles; and the ceremony having
been performed, the coaches rattled back to Mr. Pickwick's to
breakfast, where little Mr. Perker already awaited them.

Here, all the light clouds of the more solemn part of the
proceedings passed away; every face shone forth joyously; and
nothing 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, with its pictures and easy-chairs, and odd cabinets, and
queer tables, and books out of number, with a large cheerful
window opening upon a pleasant lawn and commanding a pretty
landscape, dotted here and there with little houses almost hidden
by the trees; and then the curtains, and the carpets, and the
chairs, and the sofas!  Everything was so beautiful, so compact, so
neat, and in such exquisite taste, said everybody, that there really
was no deciding what to admire most.

And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, his countenance
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, and when
his own hands were not so employed, rubbing them with
pleasure: turning round in a different direction at every fresh
expression of gratification or curiosity, and inspiring everybody
with his looks of gladness and delight.

Breakfast is announced.  Mr. Pickwick leads the old lady (who
has been very eloquent on the subject of Lady Tollimglower) to
the top of a long table; Wardle takes the bottom; the friends
arrange themselves on either side; Sam takes his station behind
his master's chair; the laughter and talking cease; Mr. Pickwick,
having said grace, pauses for an instant and looks round him.
As he 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 unmixed
happiness, of which, if we seek them, there are ever some,
to cheer our transitory existence here.  There are dark shadows
on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast.  Some men,
like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the
light.  We, who have no such optical powers, are better pleased
to take our last parting look at the visionary companions of many
solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of the world is blazing
full upon them.


It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world, and
attain even the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose
them in the course of nature.  It is the fate of all authors or
chroniclers to create imaginary friends, and lose them in the
course of art.  Nor is this the full extent of their misfortunes; for
they are required to furnish 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
old gentleman, were shortly afterwards installed in a newly-
built house, not half a mile from Mr. Pickwick's.  Mr. Winkle,
being engaged 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 Christian ever afterwards.

Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass settled at Dingley Dell, where they
purchased and cultivated a small farm, more for occupation than
profit.  Mr. Snodgrass, being occasionally abstracted and melancholy,
is to this day reputed a great poet among his friends and
acquaintance, although we do not find that he has ever written
anything to encourage the belief.  There are many celebrated
characters, literary, philosophical, and otherwise, who hold a
high reputation on a similar tenure.

Mr. Tupman, when his friends married, and Mr. Pickwick
settled, took lodgings at Richmond, where he has ever since
resided.  He walks constantly on the terrace during the summer
months, with a youthful and jaunty air, which has rendered him
the 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; both gentlemen having received surgical appointments
from the East India 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 many conversable single gentlemen,
with great profit, but never brought any more actions for breach
of promise of marriage.  Her attorneys, Messrs. Dodson & Fogg,
continue in business, from which they realise a large income, and
in which they are universally considered among the sharpest of
the sharp.

Sam Weller kept his word, and remained unmarried, for two
years.  The old housekeeper dying at the end of that time, Mr.
Pickwick promoted Mary to the situation, on condition of her
marrying Mr. Weller at once, which she did without a murmur.
From the circumstance of two sturdy little boys having been
repeatedly seen at the gate of the back garden, there is reason to
suppose that Sam has some family.

The elder Mr. Weller drove a coach for twelve months, but
being afflicted with the gout, was compelled to retire.  The contents
of the pocket-book had been so well invested for him,
however, by Mr. Pickwick, that he had a handsome independence
to retire on, upon which he still lives at an excellent public-house
near Shooter's Hill, where he is quite reverenced as an oracle,
boasting very much of his intimacy with Mr. Pickwick, and
retaining a most unconquerable aversion to widows.

Mr. Pickwick himself continued to reside in his new house,
employing his leisure hours in arranging the memoranda which
he afterwards presented to the secretary of the once famous club,
or in hearing Sam Weller read aloud, with such remarks as
suggested themselves to his mind, which never failed to afford
Mr. Pickwick great amusement.  He was much troubled at first,
by the numerous applications made to him by Mr. Snodgrass,
Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Trundle, to act as godfather to their
offspring; but he has become used to it now, and officiates as a
matter of course.  He never had occasion to regret his bounty to
Mr. Jingle; for both that person and Job Trotter became, in time,
worthy members of society, although they have always steadily
objected to return to the scenes of their old haunts and temptations.
Mr. Pickwick is somewhat infirm now; but he retains all his
former juvenility of spirit, and may still be frequently seen,
contemplating the pictures in the Dulwich Gallery, or enjoying a
walk about the pleasant neighbourhood on a fine day.  He is
known by all the poor people about, who never fail to take their
hats off, as he passes, with great respect.  The children idolise him,
and so indeed does the whole neighbourhood.  Every year he
repairs to a large family merry-making at Mr. Wardle's; on this,
as on all other occasions, he is invariably attended by the faithful
Sam, between whom and his master there exists a steady and
reciprocal attachment which nothing but death will terminate.



End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens