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THE  PICKWICK  PAPKRS 


GREAT  ILLUSTRATED  CLASSICS 

THE  GREAT  ILLUSTRATED  CLASSICS  is  a  new  scries  of  the,  world1* 
great  novels,  printed  in  attractive,  readable  type,  and  illuHtrutcd 
with  photogravure  reproductions  of  drawings  by  famouH  contem- 
porary artists,  or  of  characters  and  scenes  connected  with  the 
novels.  The  binding,  jackets,  and  decorations  were  designed  by 
Oscar  Ogg. 


THE  ARABIAN  NIGHTS 
PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE 
LORNA  DOONE 

JANE  EYRE 

WUTHERING  HEIGHTS 

THE  SPY 

TWO  YEARS  BEFORE  THE  MAST 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POM  PEII    Sn 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE 

BARNABY  RUDGE 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD 

GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY 

THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP 

OLIVER  TWIST 

PICKWICK  PAPERS 

A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  IRON  MASK 

THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS 

TWENTY  YEARS  AFTER 

WESTWARD  110! 

THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH 

IVANHOE 

QUENTIN  DURWARD 

THE  TALISMAN 

BLACK  BEAUTY 

HENRY  ESMOND 

VANITY  FAIR 


JANK  AUSTKN 

CHAKLOTTK  BKONTK 

KMU.Y  BUONTK 
JAM KH  FK N i  M t >HK  ( 1o< >M«;K 
UK:  HAW>  HKNHY  U.VXA 
EI>WAI«>  (I.  K.  I 


DlCKBNfl 

DlCKKNB 


(1!!AULKH 


1>ICKB+N'H 

ALEXANDUK  DUMAH 


StE  WAI/FEE  Bccrrr 
Sin  W, 

Rut  WALTKE  Sc 
ANNA  \ 

WlLWAM  M',  Tj 
WlLUAM   M,  TltACKBIUtT 


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OFHER  TITtES  IN  PREPARATION 


DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 


The 

Posthumous  Papers 

of  the 

Pickwick  Club 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS 


With  illustrations  by  Cruikshank, 
"Phiz"  and  others 


194? 

NEW  YORK  •  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

PUBLISHED  IN  THE  UNITED 

STATES  OF  AMERICA,    1944 

BY  DODD,   MEAD  &  COMPANY,   INC* 


PRINTED    IN   THE    UNITED    STATES   OF   AMERICA 
BY  THE  CORNWALL  PRESS,  CORNWALL,  NEW  YORK 


PREFACE 

IT  was  observed,  in  the  PREFACE  to  the  original  Edition  of  the 
P^fhumous  Papers  of  the  Pickwick  Club,  that  they  were  designed 
lor  the  introduction  of  diverting  characters  and  incidents;  that  no 
ingenuity  of  plot  was  attempted,  or  even  at  that  time  considered 
very  feasible  by  the  author  in  connexion  with  the  desultory  mode  of 
publication  adopted;  and  that  the  machinery  of  the  Club,  proving 
cumbrous  in  the  management,  was  gradually  abandoned  as  the  work 
progressed.  Although,  on  one  of  these  points,  experience  and  study 
afterwards  taught  me  something,  and  I  could  perhaps  wish  now 
that  these  chapters  were  strung  together  on  a  stronger  thread  of 
general  interest,  still,  what  they  arc  they  were  designed  to  be. 

I  have  seen  various  accounts  of  the  origin  of  these  Pickwick 
Papers,  which  have,  at  all  events,  possessed- -for  me— the  charm  of 
perfect  novelty.  As  1  may  infer,  from  the  occasional  appearance  of 
such  histories,  that  my  readers  have  an  interest  in  the  matter,  1  will 
relate*  how  they  came  into  existence. 

I  was  a  young  man  of  two-  or  three-aml-twenty,  when  MESSRS 
CuM'MAN  and  HAU,,  attracted  by  some  pieces  I  was  at  that  time 
writing  in  the  Alorriing  Chronicle  newspaper,  or  had  just  written  in 
the  Old  Monthly  Magazine  (of  which  one  series  had  lately  been  col- 
lected and  published  in  two  volumes,  illustrated  by  MR  GEORGE 
CRIUKSHANK),  watted  upon  me  to  propose  a  something  that  should 
be  published  in  shilling  numbers -"then  only  known  to  me,  or,  1 
believe,  to  anybody  else,  by  a  dim  recollection  of  certain  intermi- 
nable novels  in  that  form,  which  used  to  be  carried  about  the  coun- 
try by  pedlars,  and  over  some  of  which  I  remember  to  have  shed 
innumerable  tears  before!  I  haul  served  my  apprenticeship  to  Life, 

When  I  opened  my  door  in  FuniivuFs  Inn  to  the  partner  who 
represented  the  linn,  1  recognised  in  him  tin*  person  from  whose 
hands  I  had  bought,  two  or  three  years  previously,  arid  whom  I 
had  never  KIT n  before  or  since,  my  first  copy  of  the  Magazine  in 
which  my  first  effusion'  -a  paper  in  tin*  Sketchy  called  "Mr  Minns 
and  hb  Cousin* *-  -dropped  stealthily  one  evening  at  twilight,  with 
fear  ami  trembling,  into  a  dark  letter-box,  in  a  dark  office,  up  a 
dark  court  in  Fleet  Street-- appeared  in  all  the  glory  of  print;  on 
which  occasion  I  walked  clown  to  Westminster  Hall,  and  turned 
into  it  for  half  an  hour>  because  my  eyes  were  so  dimmed  with  joy 
and  pride,  that  they  could  not  bear  the  street,  and  were  not  fit  to 
be  wnn  there.  I  torn  my  visitor  of  the  coincidence,  which  we  both 
hailed  m  a  ginxl  omen;  i;|  jp; 


vi -,      •:•   .*          THE -PICKWICK  PAPERS 


The  idea  propounded  to  me,  was,  that  the  monthly  something 
should  be  a  Vehicle  for  certain  plates  to  be  executed  by  MR  SEYMOUR; 
and  there  was  a  notion,  either  on  the  part  of  that  admirable  hu- 
morous artist,  or  of  my  visitor,  thai  a  "NiMROD  CLUB,"  the  members 
of  which  were  to  go  out  shooting,  fishing,  and  so  forth,  and  getting 
themselves  into  difficulties  through  their  want  of  dexterity,  would 
be  the  best  means  of  introducing  these.  I  objected,  on  considera- 
tion, that  although  born  and  partly  bred  in  the  country  I  was  no 
great  sportsman,  except  in  regard  of  all  kinds  of  locomotion;  that 
the  idea  was  not  novel,  and  had  been  already  much  used;  that  it 
would  be  infinitely  better  for  the  plates  to  arise  naturally  out  of  the 
text;  and  that  I  would  like  to  take  my  own  way,  with  a  freer  range 
of  English  scenes  and  people,  and  was  afraid  I  should  ultimately  do 
so  in  any  case,  whatever  course  I  might  prescribe  to  myself  at  start- 
ing. My  views  being  deferred  to,  I  thought  of  Mr  Pickwick,  and 
wrote  the  first  number;  from  the  proof-sheets  of  which,  MR  SEY- 
MOUR made  his  drawing  of  the  Club,  and  his  happy  portrait  of  its 
founder: — the  latter  on  MR  EDWARD  CHAPMAN'S  description  of  the 
dress  and  bearing  of  a  real  personage  whom  he  had  often  seen.  I 
connected  Mr  Pickwick  with  a  club,  because  of  the  original  sugges- 
tion, and  I  put  in  Mr  Winkle  expressly  for  the  use  of  MR  SKYMOHR. 
We  started  with  a  number  of  twenty-four  pages  instead  of  thirty- 
two,  and  four  illustrations  in  lieu  of  a  couple.  MR  SKYM<>I'K\S 
sudden  and  lamented  death  before  the  second  number  was  pub- 
lished, brought  about  a  quick  decision  upon  a  point  already  in 
agitation;  the  number  became  one  of  thirty-two  pages  with  only 
two  illustrations,  and  remained  so  to  the  end. 

It  is  with  great  unwillingness  that  1  notice  some  intangible  and 
incoherent  assertions  which  have  been  made,  professedly  on  behalf 
of  MR  SEYMOUR,  to  the  effect  that  he  had  some  share  in  the  invention 
of  this  book,  or  of  anything  in  it,  not  faithfully  described  in  the 
foregoing  paragraph.  With  the  moderation  that  is  due  equally  to 
my  respect  for  the  memory  of  a  brother-artist,  and  to  my  self* 
respect,  I  confine  myself  to  placing  on  record  here  the  facts: 

That,  MR  SEYMOUR  never  originated  or  suggested  an  incident,  a 
phrase,  or  a  word,  to  be  found  in  this  book.  That,  MR  SEYMOUR 
died  when  only  twenty-four  pages  of  this  book  were  published,  and 
when  assuredly  not  forty-eight  were  written.  That,  I  believe  I 
never  saw  MR  SEYMOUR'S  hand-writing  in  my  life.  That,  I  never 
saw  MR  SEYMOUR  but  once  in  my  life,  and  that  was  on  the  night  but 
one  before  his  death,  when  he  certainly  offered  no  ^suggestion  what* 
soever.  That  I  saw  him  then  in  the  presence  of  two  persons,  both 
living,  perfectly  acquainted  with  all  these  facts,  and  whose  written 
testimony  to  them  I  possess.  Lastly,  that  MR  EDWARD  CHAPMAN 
(the  survivor  of  the  original  firm  of  CHAPMAN  and  HALL)  has  sot 
down  in  writing,  for  similar  preservation,  his  personal  knowledge  of 


PREFACE  vil 


the  origin  and  progress  of  tins  book,  of  the  monstrosity  of  the  base- 
less assertions  in  question,  and  (tested  by  details)  even  of  the  self- 
evident  impossibility  of  there  being  any  truth  in  them.  In  the 
exercise  of  the  forbearance  on  which  I  have  resolved,  I  do  not  quote 

MR  EDWARD  CHAPMAN'S  account  of  his  deceased  partner's  reception, 
on  a  certain  occasion,  of  the  pretences  in  question. 

"Bo1/,"  my  signature  in  the  Morning  Chronicle,  and  in  the  Old 
Monthly  Magazine,  appended  to  the  monthly  cover  of  this  book,  and 

retained  long  afterwards,  was  the  nickname  of  a  pet  child,  a  younger 
brother,  whom  I  had  dubbed  Moses,  in  honour  of  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield;  which  being  facetiously  pronounced  through  the  nose, 
became  Boscs,  and  being-  shortened,  became  Box.  Box  was  a  very 
familiar  household  word  to  me,  long  before  1  was  an  author,  and  so 
I  came  to  adopt  It. 

It  has  been  observed  of  Mr  Pickwick,  that  there  is  a  decided 
change  iti  his  character,  as  these  pages  proceed,  and  that  he  be- 
comes more  good  and  more  sensible.  I  do  not  think  this  change 
will  appear  loroed  or  unnatural  to  my  readers,  if  they  will  reflect 
that  in 'real  life  the  peculiarities  and  oddities  of  a  man  who  has 
anything  whimsical  about  him,  generally  impress  us  first,  and  that 
it  is  not  until  wo  are  better  acquainted  with  him  that  we  usually 
begin  to  look  below  these  superficial  traits,,  and  to  know  the  better 
part  of  him, 

Lest  there  should  be  any  well-intentioned  persons  who  do  not 
perceive  the  difference  (as  some  such  could  not,  when  Old^Moriality 
was  newly  published),  between  religion  and  the  cant  of  religion, 
piety  and  the  pretence  of  piety,  a  humble  reverence  for  the  great; 
truths  of  Scripture  and  an  audacious  and  offensive  obtrusion  of  its 
loiter  and  not  its  spirit  in  the  commonest  dissensions  and  meanest 
affairs  of  life,  to  the  extraordinary  confusion  of  ignorant  minds,  let 
them  understand  that  it  is  always  the  latter,  and  never  the  former, 
which  is  satirized  hero.  Further,  that  the  latter  is  here  satimed  as 
being,  according  to  all  experience,  inconsistent  with  the  former, 
impossible  of  union  with  it,  and  one  of  the  most  evil  and  mischievous 
falsehoods  existent  in  society'  -whether  it  establish  its  headquarters, 
for  the  time  being,  in  Exeter  Hall,  or  Kbenezer  Chapel,  or  both, 
It  may  appear  unnecessary  to  offer  a  word  of  observation  on  so 
plain  a  head.  But  it  is  never  out;  of  season  to  protest  against  that 
coarse  familiarity  with  sacred  things  which  is  busy  on  the  lip,  and 
idle  in  the  heart;  or  against  the  confounding  of  Christianity  with 
any  class  of  persons  who,  in  the  words  of  SWIFT,  have  just  enough 
religion  to  make  them  hate,  and  not  enough  to  make  them  love, 

one  another* 

I  have  found  it  curious  and  interesting,  looking  over  the  sheets  of 
this  reprint,  to  mark  what  important  social  improvements  have 
taken  place  about  us,  almost  imperceptibly,  since  they  were  originally 


viii  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

written.  The  licence  of  Counsel,  and  the  degree  to  which  Juries 
are  ingeniously  bewildered,  are  yet  susceptible  of  moderation; 
while  an  improvement  in  the  mode  of  conducting  Parliamentary 
Elections  (and  even  Parliaments  too,  perhaps)  is  still  within  the 
bounds  of  possibility.  But  legal  reforms  have  pared  the  claws  of 
Messrs  Dodson  and  Fogg;  a  spirit  of  self-respect,  mutual  forbear- 
ance, education,  and  co-operation  for  such  good  ends,  has  dif Fused 
itself  among  their  clerks;  places  far  apart  are  brought  together,  to 
the  present  convenience  and  advantage  of  the  Public,  and  to  the 
certain  destruction,  in  time,  of  a  host  of  petty  jealousies,  blindnesses, 
and  prejudices,  by  which  the  Public  alone  have  always  been  the 
sufferers;  the  laws  relating  to  imprisonment  for  debt  arc  altered; 
and  the  Fleet  Prison  is  pulled  down! 

Who  knows,  but  by  the  time  the  series  reaches  its  conclusion,  it 
may  be  discovered  that  there  are  even  magistrates  in  town  and 
country,  who  should  be  taught  to  shake  hands  every  clay  with 
Common-sense  and  Justice;  that  even  Poor  Laws  may  have  mercy 
on  the  weak,  the  aged,  and  unfortunate;  that  Schools,  on  the  broad 
principles  of  Christianity,  are  the  best  adornment  for  the  length 
and  breadth  of  this  civilised  land;  that  Prison-doors  should  be 
barred  on  the  outside,  no  less  heavily  and  carefully  than  they  arc 
barred  within;  that  the  universal  diffusion  of  common  means  of 
decency  and  health  is  as  much  the  right  of  the  poorest  of  the  poor, 
as  it  is  indispensable  to  the  safety  of  the  rich,  and  of  the  State,  that 
a  few  petty  boards  and  bodies— less  than  drops  in  the  great  ocean 
of  humanity,  which  roars  around  them— are  not  for  ever  to  let 
loose  Fever  and  Consumption  on  God's  creatures  at  their  will,  or 
always  to  keep  their  jobbing  little  fiddles  going.,  for  a  Dance  of 
Death. 


FOREWORD 

IN  the  year  1836,  an  artist  named  Charles  Seymour  was  riding  high 
on  the  tide  of  popular  favor.  Pictorial  humor  and  satire  had  been 
for  some  time  in  partnership  with  literature,  and  in  certain  favorite 
publications  even  become  the  senior  partner.  People  were  writing 
words  for  pictures  as  well  as  drawing  pictures  for  words.  When,  in 
3809,  the  brilliant  comic  drawings  of  Thomas  Rowlanclson  set  The 
Travels  of  Dr  Syntax  In  Search  of  tlie  Picturesque  on  the  road  to  fame,, 
the  pictures  were  drawn  first  and  sent,,  one  at  a  time,  to  a  hack-writer 
named  Combe  who  hacked  out  copy  enough  to  go  with  it.  All  we 
now  praise,  or  even  remember,  in  Pierce  Egan's  once  notorious  Life  in 
London  are  the  illustrations  made  for  it  by  the  Cruikshank  brothers, 
who  could  scarcely  color  the  engravings  fast  enough  to  meet  the  de- 
mand. Seymour  was  scarcely  in  a  class  with  George  Cruikshank,  but  he 
had  a  special  gift  for  the  comic  side  of  sport,  and  people  enjoyed  his 
etchings  of  mishaps  in  the  field.  He  thought  it  would  be  both  pleasant 
and  profitable  to  bring  out  in  monthly  numbers — an  old  form  of  pub- 
lication that  keeps  coming  back  and  was  just  then  in  favor— a  series  of 
plates  showing  the  misadventures  of  a  Nimrocl  Club  of  "Sunday  sports- 
men,"  cockney  amateurs  at  hunting  shootin',  fishin'.  This  idea  he  took 
to  the  young  firm  of  Chapman  and  I  Ml,  publishers,  who  closed  with 
it  at  once.  Anyone  could  write  the  letter  press,  of  course,  provided  he 
could  be  trusted  to  get  it  in  on  time. 

The  first  man  to  whom  they  offered  the  job,  Charles  Whitehead, 
distrusted  his  own  ability  to  meet  a  dead  line.  There  was,  however,  a 
young  Mr  Dickens  who,  he  felt,  could  be  trusted  to  have  the  month's 
manuscript  ready  when  the  printer's  boy  called  for  It.  This  Charles 
Dickens  had  made  in  his  own  world  a  reputation  already  resounding. 
In  his  early  twenties,  he  was  the  best  Parliamentary  reporter  in  England. 
This  meant  something  when  you  brought  in  your  own  copy  without  aid 
of  telephone,  telegraph,  typewriter  or  rewrite  man;  when,  moreover,  you 
brought  it  in,  sometimes  from  a  long  distance,  by  horse-drawn  transport* 
Young  Mr  Dickens  could  take  down  a  debate  or  an  address  in  short- 
hand, miles  away,  transcribe  his  notes  as  the  chaise  rattled  home 
through  the  darkness  over  rough  roads,  and  beat  the  other  papers  every 
time.  But  the  feats  of  newspaper  men  were  then  known  only  inside 
the  little  world  of  newspaper  work— indeed  they  still  are— and  about  all 
Chapman  and  Hall  knew  of  him  was  that  he  had  written  stories  for 
various  magazines,  just  collected  under  the  curious  title  of  Sketches  by 
Boz*  These  had  amusing  plates  by  George  Cruikshank;  one  showed 
artist  and  illustrator  going  up  in  a  balloon,  as  their  first  flight  together. 


FOREWORD 


So  the  publishers  called  on  Mr  Dickens  in  his  rooms  at  Furnivcl's 
Inn  and  laid  the  idea  before  him. 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  His  eyes  widened.  In  that  instant  all  its 
possibilities — all  its  certainties,  as  he  saw  them — stood  out  before  him 
like  a  landscape  in  lightning.  Then  he  risked  all  this,  and  all  his  future, 
upon  an  instantaneous  decision. 

The  plan  was  excellent,  he  said.  He  would  like  to  carry  it  out— with, 
of  course,  certain  modifications.  Mr  Seymour's  club  idea  was  admirable. 
But  it  could  not  be  a  "Nirnrod"  Club.  They  saw,  of  course,  that  nobody 
could  be  expected  to  laugh  at  the  same  joke  every  month  for  a  year. 
Besides,  Charles  went  on,  he  would  not  know  enough  about  the  subject 
to  write  about  it;  he  was  himself  no  sportsman  "except  in  regard  to  all 
kinds  of  locomotion." 

Locomotion!     Getting  aboutl 

If  this  were  a  travel  club?  Getting  about  was  in  the  air.  Everybody 
was  talking  of  these  new  railways,  rushing  you  along  at  eighteen  miles  an 
hour.  Packet-boats  were  going  so  fast  that  they  blew  up  their  boilers.  If 
this  were  a  travel  club  of  ten  years  back,  one  that  would  go  eagerly,  yet 
comfortably,  about  England,  running  into  such  adventures  as  would  nat- 
urally spring  up,  changing  its  course  at  will  rather  than  by  plan?  Why, 
these  travellers  might  take  in  anything — might  go  on  for  months  and  no 
one  would  ever  tire  of  following  them! 

His  eyes  flashed.  The  publishers  caught  fire.  Of  course,  this  was  the 
right  idea,  they  cried.  They  would  mention  it  to  Mr  Seymour. 

And,  said  Charles,  as  simply  as  if  he  were  not  blowing  up  all  that  was 
left  of  that  gentleman's  plans,  it  would  be  infinitely  better  for  the  plates 
to  arise  from  the  text,  rather  than  the  other  way  round.  If  Mr  Seymour 
should  make  the  pictures  after  Charles  had  written  the  story r  and  make 
them  to  illustrate  it,  the  author  could  take  his  own  way  with  a  free  range 
of  the  English  scenes  and  people.  He  added,  it  being  now  perfectly  safe 
to  do  so,  that  he  feared  he  might  take  his  own  way  in  the  end  anyway, 
with  whatever  resolutions  to  the  contrary  he  might  begin* 

Chapman  and  Hall  said,  now  that  he  made  it  so  plain,  of  course,  tlifa 
was  the  right  idea.  And,  of  course,  it  was.  What  was  left  of  Seymour's 
idea  I  leave  you  to  determine  after  reading  this  account. 

So,  as  Charles  simply  and  magnificently  puts  it,  "I  thought  of  Mr 
Pickwick  and  wrote  the  first  number."  * 

It  wasn't  quite  so  easy  as  that.  Seymour's  sketch  of  Pickwick  was  of 
a  tall,  thin  man,  and  Chapman  had  to  describe  to  him  a  neighbor  of 
his  in  Richmond,  a  chubby  old  chap  who  always  wore  drab  gaiters, 
Seymour,  breathing  hard,  changed  the  figure  on  the  wrapper  of  tine 
parts  to  the  Pickwick  you  now  see  there,  asleep  in  a  boat;  in  the  book 
he  never  gets  into  a  boat.  But  the  first  number  plates  went  off  without 
further  friction,  and  though  nobody  paid  much  attention  to  the  first 
chapter,  it  introduced  not  only  the  cherubic  Pickwick  but  his  travelling 

*From  Introducing  Charles  Dickens  by  May  Lamberton  Becker,  Illustrated 
by  Oscar  Ogg.  Dodd,  Mead.  New  York,  1941. 


FOREWORD 


companions:  the  poetic  Snodgrass,  who  maintains  his  reputation  "by 
never  writing  any  poetry;  Tracy  Tupman,  who  succeeds  in  being  at  once 
sentimental,  fat  and  universally  beloved;  and  Charles's  one  concession 

to  Seymour,  the  gentleman  of  a  sporting  turn  named  Nathaniel  Winkle. 
A  chapter  that  gives  you  these  and  the  deathless  phrase  "in  a  Pickwick- 
ian sense"  is  not  to  be  sneezed  at,  but  the  book  really  begins  when 
"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." 

As  the  journey  of  the  Pickwickians  began,  Charles  had  time  to  take 
a  brief  one  of  his  own.  lie  had  been  for  some  months  engaged  to 
marry  Miss  Catherine  Hogarth—quite  as  pretty  as  his  first  love,  Maria 
Bcaclnell,  and  far  less  flirtatious— and  when  Chapman  and  Hall  had 
offered  him  "£14  a  month  to  write  and  edit  a  new  publication  they  con- 
template, entirely  by  myself,  to  be  published  monthly  and  each  num- 
ber to  contain  four  woodcuts,"  there  was  no  financial  reason  why  they 
should  wait.  Off  they  went  for  a  honeymoon  in  a  tiny  village  near 
Rochester,  Charles's  own  country,  through  which  the  Pickwick  Club  set 
out  on  its  first  number,  three  clays  before  the  wedding.  Only  400  copies 
were  stitched  for  that  first  number;  its  announcement  in  The  Times, 
March  26,  1838,  made  no  great  stir.  Even  Jingle,  "who,  I  flatter  my- 
self/' said  Charles  to  Catherine,  "will  make  a  decided  hit/'  scarcely 
caused  a  flutter.  Returning  to  London,  Charles  found  Seymour's  plates 
for  the  second  number  and  sent  him  a  congratulatory  note  on  "the 
pains  you  have  bestowed  on  our  mutual  friend  Mr  Pickwick."  But,  he 
went  on,  the  etching  for  The  Stroller's  Talc  wasn't  quite  his  idea,  and 
he  would  feel  personally  obliged  if  Seymour  would  make  another  draw- 
ing. He  explained  in  detail  just  how  it  was  to  be  made.  Would  the 
artist,  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen,  come  around  next  Sunday  evening 
and  talk  it  over?  Seymour  came,  went  home,  worked  all  night  on  the 
alterations,  and  in  the  morning  shot  himself. 

You  can  scarcely  wonder  that  Charles  was  more  upset  than  grieved 
by  this.  It  looked  as  though  the  whole  enterprise  would  crash.  These 
characters  had  been  impressed  upon  the  world  as  personalities,  not  in 
words  only  but  in  pictures  over  which  the  author  had  taken  immense 
personal  pains*  Everyone  knows  how  you  lose  confidence  in  a  character 
if  he  looks  one  way  on  one  page  and  otherwise  on  another.  How  was 
an  untried  artist,  called  in  to  fill  the  gap,  to  catch  the  right  spirit  and 
form  the  right  partnership?  A  popular  artist  named  Buss  couldn't  do 
it;  a  young  man  named  William  wt  Thackeray,  who  tried  for  the  job, 
was  told  that  the  people  he  drew  looked  too  much  alike— fortunately 
for  Victorian  fiction.  Then  came  Hablot  Knight  Browne;  the  perfect 
match  was  found.  And  then  came  Samuel  Weller  and  the  greatest 
rush  in  the  history  of  English  literature  began. 


FOREWORD 


Charles  gave  tip  his  newspaper  job;  temporarily  lost  interest  in  the 
stage,  where  the  operetta  for  which  he  had  provided  words,  TJic  Village 
Coquette,  was  at  last  in  production;  signed  a  contract  for  a  magazine 
serial  and  set  to  work  on  Oliver  Twist;  signed  another  for  a  book  that 
In  time  turned  out  to  be  Barnaby  Rudge— and  set  off  to  glory,  driving 
as  many  horses  at  once  as  Ben  Hur.  Blest  was  it  in  those  days  to  be 
alive,  but  to  be  young  was  very  heaven— and  to  this  day,  and  far  ahead 
into  the  days  beyond,  the  youthful  vigor,  the  abounding  life,  the  exuber- 
ance and  the  joy  of  Pickwick  will  greet  each  coming  generation  with  a 
cheer. 

MAY  LAMBKRTQN  BECKER 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I 

PAGE 

THE  PICKWICKIAN^ .         i 

CHAPTER   II 

THE  FIRST  DAY'S  JOUUNKY,  AND  THE  FIRST  EVENING'S  ADVENTURES; 

WITH  THEIR  CONSEQUENCES 6 

CHAPTER   III 

A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE.    THE  STROLLER'S  TALE.    A  DISAGREEABLE 

INTERRUPTION,  AND  AN  UNPLEASANT  ENCOUNTER 29 

CHAPTER   IV 

A  FIELD-DAY  AND  BIVOUAC.  MORE  NEW  FRIENDS.  AN  INVITA- 
TION TO  THE  COUNTRY 39 

CHAPTER   V 

A  SHORT  ONE.  SHOWING,  AMONG  OTHER  MATTERS,  HOW  MR  PICK- 
WICK UNDERTOOK  TO  DRIVE,  AND  MR  WlNKLE  TO  RIDE;  AND 
HOW  THEY  BOTH  DID  IT 5<> 

CHAPTER  VI 

AN  OLD-FASHIONED  CARD  PARTY,    THE  CLERGYMAN'S  VKRSKS.  THE 

STORY  OF  THE  CONVICT'S  RETURN  , 59 

CHAPTER  VII 
How  MR  WINKLE,  INSTEAD  OF  SHOOTING  AT  THK  PIGEON  AND 

KILLING   THE   CHOW,    SHOT   AT  THE   CttOW   AND   WOtlNPKI)  THE 

PIGEON;  HOW  THE  DINGLEY  DELL  CRICKET  CLXTB  PLAYED  ALL- 
MUOOLKTON,  AND  HOW  ALL-MllOGLKTON  DINED  AT  THK  DlNOLBY 
DELL  EXPENSE;  WITH  OTHER  INTERESTING  AND  INSTRUCTIVE 
MATTERS •  72 

CHAPTER  VIII 

STRONGLY  ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  THE  POSITION,  THAT  THE  COURSE  OF 

LOVE  is  NOT  A  RAILWAY 84 


x  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

CHAPTER  IX 
A  DISCOVERY  AND  A  CHASE , 


CHAPTER  X 

CLEARING  UP  ALL  DOUBTS  (IF  ANY  EXISTED)  OF  TIIK  DISINTERESTED- 
NESS OF  MR  JINGLE'S  CHARACTER 103 

CHAPTER  XI 

INVOLVING  ANOTHER  JOURNEY,  AND  AN  ANTIQUARIAN  DISCOVERY. 
RECORDING  MR  PICKWICK'S  DETERMINATION  TO  ISK  PRKSKNT  AT 
AN  ELECTION;  AND  CONTAINING  A  MANUSCRIPT  OF  THE  OLD 

CLERGYMAN'S Mf> 

CHAPTER  XII 

DESCRIPTIVE  OF  A  VERY  IMPORTANT  PROCEEDING  ON  THE  PART  OF 
MR  PICKWICK;  NO  LESS  AN  EPOCH  IN  HIS  LIFK,  THAN  IN  THIS 

HISTORY 131 

CHAPTER  XIII 

SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  EATANSWILL;  OF  THE  STATE  OF  PARTIES  THF.RHIN; 
AND  OF  THE  ELECTION  OF  A  MEMBER  TO  SERVE  IN  PARLIAMENT 
FOR  THAT  ANCIENT,  LOYAL,  AND  PATRIOTIC]  BOROUGH  ,  .  .  .  137 

CHAPTER  XIV 

COMPRISING  A  BRIEF  DESCRIPTION  OF  THK  COMPANY  AT  THE  PEACOCK 

ASSEMBLED;  AND  A  TALE  TOLD  BY  A  BAGMAN   .......     153 

CHAPTER  XV 

IN  WHICH  IS  GIVEN  A  FAITHFUL  PORTRAITURE  OF  TWO  DlSTINCH USIIKI) 

PERSONS:  AND  AN  ACCURATE  DESCRIPTION  OF  A  PUBLIC  BKKAK- 

FAST  IN  THEIR  HOUSE  AND  GROUNDS;    WHICH  PuBUC  BREAK- 
FAST LEADS  TO  THE  RECOGNITION  OF  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 

AND  THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  ANOTHER  CHAPTER i6B 

CHAPTER  XVI 

Too  FULL  OF  ADVENTURE  TO  BE  BRIEFLY  DESCRIBED  ......     iBo 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SHOWING  THAT  AN  ATTACK  OF  RHEUMATISM,  IN  SOME  CASKS,  ACTS 

AS   A   QjTICKENER  TO    INVENTIVE   GENIUS  ...,,..„.. 


CONTENTS  xl 


CHAPTER   XVI H 

!>AGK 

BRIEFLY    ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  TWO    POINTS;     FIRST,   THE   POWER   OF 

HYSTERICS,  AND,  SECONDLY,  TIIK    FORCE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES  ,     204 

CHAPTER   XIX 
A  PLKASANT  DAY,  wrnr  AN  UNPLEASANT  TERMINATION 213 

CHAPTER   XX 

SHOW  INC  HOW  HUDSON  AND  Fooo  WERE  MEN  OF  BUSINESS,  AND 
THEIR  CLERKS  MEN  OF  PLEASURE;  AND  now  AN  AFFECTING 
INTERVIEW  TOOK  PLACE  BETWEEN  MR  WELLER  AND  ins  LONG- 
LOST  PARENT;  SHOWING  ALSO  WHAT  CHOICE  SPIRITS  ASSKM-  • 

BLED    AT    THE     MAGPIE    AND    STUMP,    AND     WHAT    A    CAPITAL 

CHAPTKR  THE  NEXT  ONE  WILL  BE 225, 

CHAPTER   XXI 

IN  WHICH  THE  OLD  MAN  LAUNCHES  FORTH  INTO  ras  FAVOURITE 

THEME,  AND  RELATES  A  STORY   ABOUT  A  QUEER  CLIENT      .     239 

CHAFFER   XX11 

MR  PICKWICK  JOURNEYS  TO  IPSWICH,  AND  MEETS  WITH  A  ROMANTIC 
ADVENTURE  wrrn  A  MIDDLE-ACED  LADY  IN  YELLOW  CURL- 
PAPERS ,,..... 254 

CHAFFER   XXIII 

IN  WHICH  MR  SAMUEL  WELLER  BEGINS  TO  DEVOTE  HIS  ENERGIES 

TO  THE  RETURN  MATCH  BETWEEN  HIMSELF  AND  MR  TROTTER    268 

CHAPTER   XXIV 

WHEREIN  Mu  PETER  MAGNUS  GROWS  JEALOUS,  AND  TIIK  MIDDLE- 
ACKD  LADY  APPREHENSIVE,  wincn  BRINGS  THE  PICKWICKIAN^ 
WITHIN  TIIK  CHAHP  OF  TIIK  LAW,  ...,..,„..>.  275 

CHAPTER   XXV 

SHOWINO,  AMONG  A  VARIETY  OK  PLEASANT  MATTKRH,  now  MAJESTIC 

AND  IMPARTIAL  MR  NUPKINK  WAS;    AND  HOW  MR  WKLLER 

RETURNED  MR  Joil  TROTTKR'H  SlItt'ITLKCOCK  AS  HEAVILY  AS  IT 

CAME*     WITH  ANOTHER  MATTER,  WHICH  WILL  BE  FOUND  IN 

ITS  PLAGE      .,.,.,.. .    .    ,    .     289 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

WHICH  CONTAINS  A  BRIEF  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  PROGRESS  OF  THE  ACTION 

OF  BARDELL  AOAINST  PICKWICK    ...   * 305 


xii  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

PAGE 

SAMUEL  WELLER  MAKES  A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  DORKING,  AND  BEHOLDS 

HIS  MOTHER-IN-LAW 311 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  GOOD-HUMOURED  CHRISTMAS  CHAPTER,  CONTAINING  AN  ACCOUNT 
OF  A  WEDDING,  AND  SOME  OTHER  SPORTS  BKSIDK:  WHICH 
ALTHOUGH  IN  THEIR  WAY,  EVEN  AS  GOOD  CUSTOMS  AS  MAR- 
RIAGE ITSELF,  ARE  NOT  QUITE  SO  RELIGIOUSLY  KEPT  UP  IN 

THESE  DEGENERATE  TIMES ;J2<> 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  GOBLINS  WHO  STOLE  A  SEXTON  ......     339 

CHAPTER  XXX 

HOW  THE  PlCKWIGKIANS  MADE  AND  CULTIVATED  THE  ACQUAINTANCE 
OF  A  COUPLE  OF  NICE  YOUNG  MEN  BELONGING  TO  ONE  OF  TOE 
LIBERAL  PROFESSIONS;  HOW  THEY  DISPORTED  THKMSKLVEH  ON 
THE  ICE;  AND  HOW  THEIR  FlRST  VlSIT  CAME  TO  A  CONCLUSION  348 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

WHICH  IS  ALL  ABOUT  THE  L.AW3  AND  SUNDRY  GREAT  AUTHORITIES 

LEARNED   THEREIN |JJ}8 

CHAPTER  XXXII 

DESCRIBES,  FAR  MORE  FULLY  THAN  THE  COURT  NEWSMAN  EVER  iw>, 
A  BACHELOR'S  PARTY,  GIVEN  BY  MR  BOB  SAWYKR  AT  HW 

LODGINGS  IN  THE  BOROUGH 372 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 

MR  WELLER  THE  ELDER   DELIVERS   SOME   CRITICAL  SEKTIMKNTK 

RESPECTING  LlTERARY  COMPOSITION;     AND,  ASSISTED  BY  HIS  SON 

SAMUEL,  PAYS  A  SMALL  INSTALMENT  OF  RETALIATION  TO  Tine 
ACCOUNT  OF  THE  REVEREND  GENTLEMAN  WITH  THE  RED  NOSK    384, 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 

'Is  WHOLLY  DEVOTED  TO  A  FULL  AND  FAITHFUL  REPORT  OF  HIE 
MEMORABLE  TRIAL  OF  BARDELL  AGAINST  PICKWICK:  .  „  .  , 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

IN  WHICH  MR  PICKWICK  THINKS  HE  HAD  BETTER  oo  TO  BATH; 

AND   GOES   ACCORDINGLY ,,„.»..,.,       4M) 


CONTENTS  >uii 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

PAGE 

THE  CHIEF  FEATURES  OF  WHICH,  WILL  UK  FOUND  TO  BE  AN  AUTHENTIC 
VERSION  OF  THE  LEGEND  OF  PRINCE  BLADUD,  AND  A  MOST 

EXTRAORDINARY  CALAMITY  THAT  BEFELL  MR  WINKLE    .    .    .     433 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 

HONOURABLY  ACCOUNTS  FOR  MR  WKLLKR'K  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 443 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

How   MR  WINKLE,  WHEN  HE  STEPPED  OUT  OF  THE  FRYING-PAN, 

WALKED    GENTLY    AND   COMFORTABLY    INTO   THE   FlRE      ....       455 

CHAFFER  XXXIX 
MR  SAMUEL  WELLKR,  BEING  ENTRUSTED  WITH  A  MISSION  OF  LOVE, 

PROCEEDS  TO   EXECUTE   IT;      WITH  WHAT  SUCCESS  WILL  HEREIN- 
AFTER  APPEAR 

CHAP1W    XI, 

INTRODUCES  MR  PICKWICK  TO  A  NEW  AND  NOT  UNINTERESTING 

SCENE  IN  THE  GREAT  DRAMA  OF  LIFE 480 

CHAPTER   XLI 

WHAT  BEFELL  MR  PICKWICK  WHEN  IIE  GOT  INTO  THE  FLEET; 
WHAT  PRISONERS  HE  SAW  THERE;  AND  HOW  HE  PASSED  TOE 
Nuiirr 491 

CHAPTER  XLI  I 

ILLUSTRATIVE,  LIKE  THE  PRECEDING  ONE,  OF  THE  OLD  PROVERB 
THAT  ADVERSITY  IIKINUS  A  MAN  ACQUAINTED  wrrn  STRANGE 
BKD-FKLLOW«,  LIKEWISE  CONTAINING  MR  PICKWICK'S  EXTRA- 
ORDINARY AND  STARTLING  ANNOUNCEMENT  TO  MR  SAMUEL 
WKU.KK, $02 

CHAPTER  XLIH 
SHOWING  now  MR  SAMUEL  WELLRR  GOT  INTO  DIFFICULTIES    .    .    515 

CHAPTER   XLIV 

TREATS  OF  DIVRRR  LITTLE  MATTERS  WHICH  OCCURRED  IN  THE  FLEET, 
OF  Mli  WlNKXK*H  MYSTERIOUS  BEHAVIOUR;   AND  SHOWS 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


PAOK 

HOW  THE  POOR  CHANCERY  PRISONER  OBTAINED  ins  RELEASE 

AT    LAST  ........................       5*7 

CHAPTER  XLV 

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  RKSOLVKS  TO  MIX 

WITH   IT,    IN   FUTURE,    AS   LITTLE    AS    POSSIBLE   ........       539 

CHAPTER  XLVI 

RECORDS  A  TOUCHING  ACT  OF  DELICATE  FEELING,  NOT  UNMIXED 
WITH  PLEASANTRY,  ACHIEVED  AND  PERFORMED  BY  MESHES 

DODSON  AND  FOGG  ...................     554 

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  BE- 

NEVOLENCE PROVES  STRONGER  THAN  ins  OBSTINACY  .....     5% 

CHAPTER  XLVI  II 

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    573 

CHAPTER  XLIX 

CONTAINING  THE  STORY  OF  THE  BAGMAN'S  UNCLE  ......   .     584 

CHAPTER  L 

How  MR  PICKWICK  SPED  UPON  HIS  MISSION,  AND  now  UK  WAS 

REINFORCED  IN  THE  OUTSET  BY  A  MOST  UNEXPECTED  AUXILIARY      5f)C) 

CHAPTER  LI 

IN  WHICH  MR  PICKWICK  ENCOUNTERS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.  To 
WHICH  FORTUNATE  CIRCUMSTANCE  THE  READER  is  MAINLY  IN- 
DEBTED FOR  MATTER  OF  THRILLING  INTEREST  HEREIN  HKT  DOWN, 

CONCERNING  TWO  GREAT  PUBLIC  MEN  OF  MlOHT  ANJD  POWER 

CHAPTER  LII 

INVOLVING  A  SERIOUS  CHANGE  IN  THE  WELLER  FAMILY,  ANJD  TIIB 
UNTIMELY  DOWNFALL  OF  THE  RED-NOSED  MR  STIGGINS.  » 


CONTENTS  xv 


CHAPTER   UII 

PAGE 

COMPRISING  THE  FINAL  EXIT  OF  MR  JINGLK  AND  JOB  TROTTER; 
WITH  A  GREAT  MORNING  OF  BUSINESS  IN  GRAY'S  INN  SQUARE. 
CONCLUDING  WITH  A  DOUBLE  KNOCK  AT  MR  PERKER'S  DOOR  635 

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    HlSTORY 646 

CHAPTER   LV 
MR  SOLOMON  PKIX,  ASSISTED  BY  A  SELECT  COMMITTEE  OF  COACHMEN, 

ARRANGES  THE   AFFAIRS  OF  THE   ELDER   MR  WELLER     ....       66o 

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  UNEX- 
PECTEDLY   , ,  671 

CHAFFER    LVII 

IN  WHICH  THK  PICKWICK  CLUB  is  FINALLY  DISSOLVED,,  AND  EVERY- 
THING CONCLUDED  TO  THE  SATISFACTION  OF  EVERYBODY  .  „  682 


CHARACTERS 

MALE 

SAMUEL  PICKWICK,  Founder  of  the  Pickwick  Club 

AUGUSTUS  SNOIXJRASS  )    .-     -        -  ,    ^  ». 

r,,          ,f,  Members  of  the  Corresponding 

IRACY  IUPMAN  \         r..    .,.  .    .  ,  ,„  , 

XT  tAf  of  ttie  Pickwick  Club 

NATHANIEL  WINKLE    J        ^ 


BENJAMIN  ALLEN,  a  medical  student 

JACK  B AMBER 

ANUELO  CYRUS  BANTAM,  Esq. 

MASTER  'TOMMY  BARDELL 

CAPTAIN  BOLDWIO 

COLONEL  BULDER 

SERJEANT  BU/.FUZ 

THE  CHANCERY  PRISONER 

SIR  THOMAS  CLUBBER 

MR  DODSON,  an  attorney 

CAPTAIN  DOWLER 

DUBBLEY,  a  police  officer 

HORATIO  FIZKIN,  Esq. 

MR  Pooo,  an  attorney 

DANIEL  GRUMMKR 

JACK  HOPKINS,  a  medical  student 

ANTHONY  HUMM 

MR  LEO  HUNTER 

JEM  HUTLEY  ("Dismal  Jemmy") 

MR  JACKSON 

ALFRED  JIN«LE?  a  strolling  actor 

MR  JINKS 

JOR///MT  Pat  Biy 

"Mli    LoWTKNf 

PKTKR  MACNUH 

MR  MALLARD 

MR  MARTIN 

MR  M,ILLKR 

MR  MIVINS  ("The  Zephyr**) 


MR  JONAS  MUDGE 
MR  MITKZLE 
NEDDY 

(irKOROK    NtTPKINS,  Esq. 

DOCTOR  PAYNE 

MR  SOLOMON  PELL 

MR  PKHKKR 

MR  PHUNKY 

MR  POTT 

MR  RADDLE 

MR  TOM  ROKER 

BOB  SAWYKR,  a  medical  student 

DR  SLAMMER 

THE  HON.  SAMUEL  SLXJMKEY 

MR  SLURK 

S MANGLE 

JOHN  SMAUKER 

SERJEANT  SNUBBIN 

MR  JUSTICE  STARKLEIOH 

Tim  REV.   MR  STIGOINS  ("The 

SHEPHERD11) 

LnaiT.  TAPPLETON 

JOB   frHOTTER 

MR  TRUNDLE 
MR  WARDLE 
SAMUEL  WELLER 
TONY  WKLLER 
MR  WINKLE  senior 


ARABELLA  ALLEN 

MRH  MARTHA  BARDELL 
MRS  COLONEL  BULDBR 


FEMALE 


LADY  CLUBBER 
MRS  BETSY  CLUPWNS 
CRADDOCK 


XX 


THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 


MRS  DOWLER 

MRS  LEO  HUNTER 

MARY,  a  servant-girl 

MRS  NUPKINS 

Miss  HENRIETTA  NUPKINS 

MRS  POTT 

MRS  MARY  ANN  RADDLE 

MRS  SUSANNAH  SANDERS 


LADY  SNUPHANUPH 

Miss  EMILY  WARBLE 

MBS  ISABELLA  WARDLE 
Miss  RACHAEL  WARDLE 
MRS  WARDLE 

MRS  SUSAN  WKLLER 

MlSS    WlTHKRFIELD 

MRS  COLONEL  WUOSBY 


CHARACTERS    IN  THE   INTRODUCED   STORIES 


PRINCE  BLADUD 

JOHN  EDMUNDS 

MR  EDMUNDS 

GABRIEL  GRUB 

HENRY 

GEORGE  HEYLING 

MR  JINKINS 

JOHN,  a  pantomime  actor 


OLD  LOBBS 
JACK  MARTIN 
NATHANIEL  PIPKIN 
TOM  SMART 
MRS  EDMUNDS 
MARY  HEYLING 
KATE 
MARIA  LOBBS 


THE  POSTHUMOUS  PAPERS  OF 

THE   PICKWICK  CLUB 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   PICKWICKIANS 

THE  first  ray  of  light  which  illumines  the  gloom,  and  con- 
verts 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  be- 
fore 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  1 2*  1827.  Joseph  Smiggers,  Esq.,  P.V.P.M.P.C,,1  presid- 
ing. 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.O.,2  entitled  Speculations  on  (he 
Source*  of  the  Hampstmd  Ponds  9  with  Some  Observations  on  the  Theory  of 
Tittttibtitsi  and  that  this  Association  does  hereby  return  its  warmest 
thanks  to  the  said  Samuel  Pickwick,  Esq.,  G.G.M.P.G,,  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  re- 
searches of  Samuel  Pickwick,  Esq.,  G.C.M.P,C.,  in  Hornscy,  High- 
gate,  Brixton,  and  Gamberweti™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  afore- 
said Samuel  Pickwick,  Esq.,  G.C.M.P.C.,  and  three  other  Pick* 
wicMans  hereinafter  named*  for  forming  a  new  branch  of  United 

*  Perpetual  Vicc-President— Member  Pickwick  Club. 
a  General  Chairman~~Membcr  Pickwick  Club, 


THE  PICKWICK   PAPERS 


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.CLM.P.C!,, 
Tracy  Tupman,  Esq.,  M.P.C.,  Augustus  Snodgrass,  Esq.,  M.P.C5., 
and  Nathaniel  Winkle,  Esq.,  M.P.G.,  arc  hereby  nominated  mid 
appointed  members  of  the  same;  and  that  they  be  requested 
to  forward,  from  time  to  time,  authenticated  accounts  of  their 
journeys  and  investigations,  of  theifr  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  principles  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  thnu* 
they  please,  upon  the  same  terms. 

"That  the  members  of  the  aforesaid  Corresponding  Society  fn% 
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  sueh  pro- 
posal 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  arc 
indebted  for  the  following  account— a  casual  observer  might  pos- 
sibly 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  Piekwiek  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  inter- 
esting did  the  spectacle  become,  when,  starting  into  full  life  and 
animation,  as  a  simultaneous  call  for  "Piekwiek"  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  ones  hand 
gracefully  concealed  behind  his  coat-tails,  and  the  other  waving  m 
air,  to  assist  his  glowing  declamation;  his  elevated  position  revealing 


A  PICKWICKIAN   DEBATE 


those  tights  and  gaiters,  which,  had  they  clothed  an  ordinary  man, 
might  have  passed  without  observation,  but  which,  when  Pickwick 
clothed  thorn  -  if  we  may  use  the  expression— inspired  voluntary 
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  hand  sat  Mr  Tracy 
Tupman  the  too  susceptible  Tupman,  who  to  the  wisdom  and 
experience  of  muturer  years  supcracldcd  the  enthusiasm  and  ardour 
of  a  boy,  in  the  most  interesting  and  pardonable  of  human  weak- 
nesses love*  'I line  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  Snoclgrass,  and  near  him  again  the  sporting  Winkle, 
the  former  poetically  enveloped  in  a  mysterious  blue  coat  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  tht%  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)— possi- 
bly by  human  weaknesses— (loud  cries  of 'No');  but  this  he  would 
«,iy,  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- -lie  acknowledged  it  freely,  and  let  hi?  enemies  make  the 
most  of  it— he  had  felt  some  pride  when  he  presented  his  Tittleba- 
tian  Theory  to  the  world;  It  might  be  celebrated  or  it  might  not, 
(Aery  of  'It  is/  arid  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  furthest  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 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


on  this,  the  proudest  moment  of  his  existence.  (Cheers.)  He  was 
It  humble  individual.  ('No,  no/)  Still,  he  could  not  but  feel  that 
diey  had  selected  him  for  a  service  of  great  honour,  and  of  some 
danger.  Travelling  was  in  a  troubled  state,  and  the  minds  of  coach- 
men were  unsettled.  Let  them  look  abroad  and  contemplate  the 
scenes  which  were  enacting  around  them.  Stage-coaches  were  up- 
setting in  all  directions,  horses  were  bolting,  boats  were  overturn- 
ing, and  boilers  were  bursting.  (Cheers— a  voice 'No.')  No!  (Cheers.) 
ket  that  honourable  Pickwickian  who  cried  cNo'  so  loudly  cornc  for- 
ward and  deny  it,  if  he  could.  (Cheers.)  Who  was  it  that  cried 
'No3?  (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,3  4Yes/  *No/ 
'Go  on,'  'Leave  off,5  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  con- 
fusion, 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  with- 
draw 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*1) 
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.) ** 


A  PICKWICKIAN  DEBATE 


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  tilings  that 
lie  before  them,  look  not  to  the  truths  which  arc  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  notebook  in  hh  waist- 
coat, ready  for  the  reception  of  any  discoveries  worthy  of  being 
noted  down,  had  arrived  at  the  coach-stand  in  St  Martin VloGrancL 

"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,  rub- 
bing his  nose  with  the  shilling  he  had  reserved  for  the  fare. 

"Forty-two,"  replied  the  driver,  eyeing  him  askant* 

6 


THE   CABMAN  AND   HIS  HORSE 


"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  immov- 
able, so  he  noted  down  the  fact  forthwith. 

"And  how  long  do  you  keep  him  out  at  a  time?5'  inquired  Mr 
Pickwick,  searching  for  further  information. 

"Two  or  three  vccks,"  replied  the  man, 

" Weeks!"  said  Mr  Pickwick  in  astonishment-— and  out  came  the 
notebook  again. 

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

"On  account  of  his  weakness!"  reiterated  the  perplexed  Mi 
Pickwick, 

"He  always  falls  down  when  he's  took  out  o1  the  cab/*1  continued 
the  driver,  "but  when  he's  in  it,  we  bears  him  up  wcrry  tight, 
and  takes  him  in  werry  short,  so  as  he  can't  werry  well  fall  clown; 
and  we've  got  a  pair  o?  precious  large  wheels  on?  so  ven  he  does 
mov<%  they  run  after  him,  and  he  must  go  on—he  can't  help  it." 

Mr  Pickwick  entered  every  word  of  this  statement  in  his  notebook, 
with  the  view  of  communicating  it  to  the  club,  as  a  singular  in- 
stance of  the  tenacity  of  life  in  horses,  under  trying  circumstances. 
The  entry  was  scarcely  completed  when  they  reached  the  Golden 
(Iross,  Down  jumped  the  driver,  and  out  got  Mr  Pickwick.  Mr 
Tupman*  Mr  Snoclgrass,  and  Mr  Winkle,  who  had  been  anxiously 
waiting  the  arrival  of  their  illustrious  leader,  crowded  to  welcome 
him. 

"Here's  your  fare/9  said  Mr  Pickwick,  holding  out  the  shilling 
to  the  driver. 

What  was  the  learned  man's  astonishment,  when  that  unaccount- 
able 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/9  said  Mr  Snodgrass, 

"Or  clrunk/s  said  Mr  Winkle.  ' 

"Or  both,"  said  Mr  Tupman. 

"Come  on!"  said  the  cab-driver,  sparring  away  like  clockwork 
"Gome  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  any  body  believe,"  continued  the  cab-driver,  appealing 


8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

to  the  crowd,  "would  any  body  believe  as  an  informer  9ud  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  notebook). 

"Did  he  though?"  inquired  another  cabman, 

"Yes,  did  he,"  replied  the  first;  "and  then  arter  aggcrawatin* 
me  to  assault  him,  gets  three  witnesses  here  to  prove  it.  But  Til 
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  Sno<lgrass\s 
eye,  and  a  fourth,  by  way  of  variety,  in  Mr  Tupmaifs  waistcoat, 
and  then  danced  into  the  road,  and  then  back  again  to  the  pave- 
ment, 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  had  hitherto  been  passive  spectators  of  the  scene,  hut 
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  pas  try- 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  newcomer. 

"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  din- 
passionate  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— mpeetabk 
gentleman— know  him  well— none  of  your  nonsense— this  way,  sir  - 
where's  your  friends?— all  a  mistake,  I  see— never  mind—amdente 
will  happen — best  regulated  families— never  say  die-— down  urxm 


Mr.  Pickwick  had  been  wheeled  to  the  pound,  and  safety  depmited 
therein,  fast  asleep  in  the,  wheelbarrow 


THE  LIVELY  STRANGER 


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  travellers'  waiting-room,  whither  he  was  closely  fol- 
lowed by  Mr  Pickwick  and  his  disciples. 

"Here,  waiter!1'  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  lor  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— ch?-— 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  oc- 
curred. 

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  slices,  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 
pinchcd-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 
Ms  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  Pd  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 


10 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


Rochester  coachman,  to  announce  that  "The  Commodore"  was  cm 
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  but  tons -wont 
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  pre- 
sented 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,  whidi  in  those 
days  formed  the  entrance  to  the  coach-yard.  ^Terrible  place 
dangerous  work— other  day— five  children— mother— tall  lady,  fat- 
ing sandwiches— forgot  the  arch— crash— knock— children  look  round 
—mother's  head  off— sandwich  in  her  hand— no  mouth  to  put  ii  in  • 
head  of  a  family  off— shocking,  shocking!  Looking  at  Whitehall, 
sir? — fine  place— little  window— somebody  else's  head  off  there,  oh, 
sir?— he  didn't  keep  a  sharp  look-out  enough  cither— ch,  sir,  eh?" 

"I  am  ruminating/'  said  Mr  Pickwick,  <con  the  strange  mutability 
of  human  affairs." 

"Ah!  I  see — in  at  the  palace  door  one  clay,  out  at  the  window 
the  next.  Philosopher,  sir?'9 

"An  observer  of  human  nature,  sir/5  saicl  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/1  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;1    fired  a  musket— fired  with  an  itlra    • 

1  A  remarkable  instance  of  the  prophetic  force  of  Mr  Jingle's  imagination;  this  dia- 
logue occurring  in  the  year  1827,  and  the  Revolution  in  1830. 


A  TRAVIiLIJNG-COMPANION  n 


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?5'  abruptly  turning  to 
Mr  Winkle. 

"A  little,  sir/'  replied  that  gentleman. 

"Fine  pursuit,  sir  -  line  pursuit.— Dogs,  sir?" 

"Not  just  now/1  said  Mr  Winkle. 

"Ah!  you  should  keep  dogs  -fine  animals —sagacious  creatures 
—dog  of  my  own  once— Pointer—surprising  instinct— out  shoot- 
ing one  day— entering  enclosure —whistled—clog  stopped— whistled 
again  Ponto— no  go;  stoekstill—  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  enclosure1- —wouldn't  pass  it-— wonderful  dog— valuable  dog 
that"-  very." 

"Singular  circumstance  that/1  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  be- 
stowing sundry  anti-Pickwickian  glances  on  a  young  lady  by  the 
roadside)* 

"Very!"  said  Mr  Tupman. 

"English  girls  not  so  line  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  Fi/^gig— Grandee— only 
daughter-  -Donna  Christina— -splendid  creature—loved  me  to  dis- 
traction* *  jealous  father— high-soulcd  daughter—handsome  English- 
man™ Donna  Christina  in  despair— prussie  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." 

"In  the  lady  in  England  now,  sir?"  inquired  Mr  Tupman,  on 
whom  the  description  of  her  charms  had  produced  a  powerful  im- 
pression* 

"Dead,  sir— dead/*  said  the  stranger,  applying  to  his  right  eye  the 
brief  nun  nan t  of  a  very  old  cambric  handkerchief.  "Never  recov-* 
eml  the  stomach-pump— -undermined  constitution—fell  a  victim." 

"And  her  father?"  inquired  the  poetic  Snodgrass. 

"Remorse  and  misery/*  replied  the  stranger.  '^Sudden  disappear- 
ance—talk of  the  whole  city— search  made  everywhere—without 
success—public  fountain  in  the  great  square  suddenly  ceased  play- 
ing— weeks  elapsed— Ktill  a  stoppage— workmen  employed  to  clean 
it— water  drawn  off- "father-in-law  discovered  sticking  head  first 


12  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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.3"  ^ 

"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  "cm- 
strange  life  mine— rather  curious  history— not  extraordinary',  but 
singular.35 

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

"Magnificent  ruin!15  said  Mr  Augustus  Snodgrass,  with  all  the 
poetic  fervour  that  distinguished  him,  when  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  fine  old  castle. 

"What  a  study  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  worn  away  the  old  steps 
— little  Saxon  doors — confessionals  like  money-takers*  boxes  at  thea- 
tres— 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— matchlocks  Sar- 
cophagus— 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,  *6it 
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 


MR  PICKWICK'S  NOTES  13 

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  Christina3 
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 
on  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 
dock-yard  men.  The  commodities  chiefly  exposed  for  sale  in  the 
public  streets  are  marine  stores,  hardbake,  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  stag- 
gering 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  play- 
fulness) 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,9* 

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  BO  alteration  in  his  attire;  and  was*  if  possible,  more 
loquacious  than  ever. 


i4  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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/5  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  oh  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.1* 

"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-  pans  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  Kckwick'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  com- 
pany— fiddles  tuning — now  the  harp—there  they  go/*  The  various 
sounds  which  found  their  way  downstairs  announced  the  com* 
mencement  of  the  first  quadrille. 


GOING  TO  THE  BALL  15 


"How  I  should  like  to  go,'1  saicl  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^ealous 
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-olf  garments  or 
pecuniary  relief  is  almost  incredible. 

"1  should  be  very  happy  to  lend  you  a  change  of  appa**cl  for  the 
purpose,11  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,  ch?-~not  double  distilled,  but 
double  milled  *  ha!  ha!  pass  the  wine.31 

Whether  Mr  Tupman  was  somewhat  indignant  at  the  peremptory 
tone  in  which  he  was  desired  to  pass  the  wine  which  I  he  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/1  he  said,  "that  though  my  apparel 
would  be  too  large,  a  suit  of  my  friend  Mr  Winkle's  "would  perhaps 
fit  you  better/1 

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  under- 
gone* the  ordinary  transitions  from  the  height  of  conviviality  to  the 
depth  of  misery,  and  from  the  depth  of  misery  to  the  height  of  con- 
viviality. Like  a  gas-lamp  in  the  street,  with  the  wind  in  the  pipe, 
he  had  exhibited  for  a  momerit  an  unnatural  brilliancy;  then 
sunk  HO  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. 


16  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  knowl- 
edge 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/3  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;  al  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  situa- 
tion—fourteen coats  in  the  packing-cases,  and  obliged  to  wear  an- 
other man's — very  good  notion,  that — very." 

"We  must  purchase  our  tickets,"  said  Mr  Tupman, 

"Not  worth  while  splitting  a  guinea,"  said  the  stranger,  utoss 
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  companion's 
attention  to  the  large  gilt  button  which  displayed  a  bust  of  Mr 
Pickwick  in  the  centre,  and  the  letters  "P.G."  on  either  side. 

"P.C.,"  said  the  stranger— "queer  set  out— old  fellow's  likeness, 
and  T.C.'— What  does  T.G.'  stand  for— Peculiar  coat,  ch?M 

Mr  Tupman,  with  rising  indignation  and  great  importance,  ex- 
plained the  mystic  device, 

^  "Rather  short  in  the  waist,  an't  it?"  said  the  stranger,  screwing 
himself  round  to  catch  a  glimpse  in  the  glass  of  the  waist  buttons, 
which  were  half-way  up  his  back.  "Like  a  general  postman's  rout  - 
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  Tupmun'a 
new  companion  adjusted  his  dress,  or  rather  the  dress  of  Mr  Winkle; 
and,  accompanied  by  Mr  Tupman,,  ascended  the  staircase  leading 
to  the  ball-room. 


AT  THE  BALL  17 


"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'1;  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  Im- 
pression in  public  assemblies— /#£0#.  the  thing  —Gentlemen  from  Lon- 
don —distinguished  foreigners —any thing.5'  The  door  was  thrown 
open;  and  Mr  Tracy  Tupman,  and  the  stranger,  entered  the  ball- 
room. 

It  was  a  long  room,  with  crimson-covered  benches,  and  wax 
candies  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. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  the  stranger,  "fun  presently— nobs  not 
come  yet -•-queer  place— Dock-yard  people  of  upper  rank  don't 
know  Dock-yard  people  of  lower  rank— Dock-yard  people  of  lower 
rank  don't  know  small  gentry— small  gentry  don't  know  trades- 
people -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— En- 
sign 97  tin  ---Honourable  Wilmot  Snipe— great  family—Snipes— very," 

"Sir  Thomas  Clubber,  Lady  Clubber,  and  the  Miss  Clubbers!5* 
shouted  the  man  at  the  door  in  a  stentorian  voice.  A  great  sensa- 
tion 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  Miss  Clubbers;  and 
Sir  Thomas  Clubber  stood  bolt  upright,  and  looked  majestically 
over  his  black  neckerchief  at  the  assembled  company. 

"Mr  Smithic,  Mrs  Smithie,  and  the  Misses  Sxnithie,"  was  the  next 
announcement, 

"What**  Mr  Smithie?"  inquired  Mr  Tracy  Tupman, 

"Something  in  the  yard,"  replied  the  stranger.     Mr  Smithic 


i8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

bowed  deferentially  to  Sir  Thomas  Clubber;  and  Sir  Thomas 
Clubber  acknowledged  the  salute  with  conscious  condescension. 
Lady  Clubber  took  a  telescopic  view  of  Mrs  Smithic  and  family 
through  her  eyeglass,  and  Mrs  Smithie  stared  in  her  turn  at  Mrs 
Somebody  else,  whose  husband  was  not  in  the  Dock-yard  at  all 

"  Colonel  Bulder,  Mrs  Colonel  Bulder,  and  Miss  Bulder/1  were 
the  next  arrivals. 

"Head  of  the  Garrison,"  said  the  stranger,  in  reply  to  Mr  Tup- 
man's  inquiring  look. 

Miss  Bulder  was  warmly  welcomed  by  the  Miss  Clubbers;  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.59 

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  gyth  devoted 
themselves  to  the  families  of  the  less  important  functionaries  from 
the  Dock-yard.  The  solicitors'  wives,  and  the  wine-merchant's  wife, 
headed  another  grade  (the  brewer's  wife  visited  the  Bidders) :  and 
Mrs  Tomlinson,  the  post-office  keeper,,  seemed  by  mutual  consent 
to  have  been  chosen  the  leader  of  the  trad<?  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  tils 
head,  and  an  extensive  bald  plain  on  the  top  of  it— Doctor  Slammer, 
surgeon  to  the  gyth.  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  mantelpiece,  commenced  gazing  with  un  air  of 
respectful  and  melancholy  admiration  on  the  fat  countenance  of 
the  little  old  lady.  Mr  Tupman  looked  on,  in  mute  astonishment. 


AT  THE  BALL  19 

The  stranger  progressed  rapidly;  the  little  Doctor  danced  with 
another  lady;  the  widow  dropped  her  Ian,  the  stranger  picked  it  up 
and  presented  it  —a  smile --a  bow— a  curtsey— a  few  words  of  con- 
versation. 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  ()7th  rejected!  Impossible!  It  could  not 
be!  Yes,  it  was;  there  they  were.  What!  introducing  liis  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  he 
laughed  at,  but  a  severe  trial  to  the  feelings,  which  it  requires  in- 
flexible 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  bis- 
cuits, 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  counte- 
nance* in  a  perspiration  of  passion* 

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

"Sir!11  said  the  Doctor,  in  an  awful  voice,  producing  a  card,  and 
retiring  into  an  angle  of  the  passage,  Slmy  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  Ve  a  shuffler!  sir/*  gasped  the  furious  Doctor,  ua  pol- 
troon—a coward—a  liar—a1— a— will  nothing  induce  you  to  give  me 
your  card,  sir?*1 

"Oh!  I  nee/*  said  the  stranger,  half  aside,  "negus  too  strong  here— 


so  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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/1 

"Rather  you  found  me  out  than  found  me  at  home/7  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  Tup- 
man  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  an  exquisite  joke.  His  new  friend  departed;  ami,  after 
experiencing  some  slight  difficulty  in  finding  the  orifice  in  his  night- 
cap, 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  evolu- 
tions, 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.O.  on  it?" 

"It's  been  given  out  to  brush/3  thought  Mr  Pickwick,  "and  the 
man  has  forgotten  whom  it  belongs  to.— Mr  Winkle/1  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  him  from  his  oblivious  repose, 

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

"Winkle — Winkle!"  shouted  Mr  Tupman,  calling  into  the  inner 
room. 

"Hallo!"  replied  a  faint  voice  from  within  the  bedclothes. 

"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  put- 
ting on  a  few  articles  of  clothing:  "wanted!  at  this  distance  from  town 
— who  on  earth  can  want  me?" 


MR  WINKLE'S  COAT  21 

"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." 

uVery  odd!"  said  Mr  Winkle;  eTll  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,  uMr  Winkle,  1  presume?" 

"My  name  is  Winkle,  sir." 

"You  will  not  be  surprised,  sir,  when  I  inform  you,  that  I  have 
called  here  this  morning  on  behalf  of  my  friend,  Dr  Slammer,  of 
the  Ninety-seventh." 

"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  pur- 
sue towards  another." 

Mr  Winkle's  astonishment  was  too  real,  and  too  evident,  to  escape 
the  observation  of  Dr  Slammer's  friend;  he  therefore  proceeded— 
"My  friend,  Dr  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  permed  by  you,  from  my  dictation." 

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

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

"Were  you  entrusted  with  this  message  to  me,  by  name?"  inquired 
Mr  Winkle,  whose  intellects  were  hopelessly  confused  by  this  extraor- 
dinary conversation. 

"1  was  not  present  myself,"  replied  the  visitor,  "and  in  conse- 
quence of  your  firm  refusal  to  give  your  card  to  Doctor  Slammer, 
1  wan  desired  by  that  gentleman  to  identify  the  wearer  of  a  very 
uncommon  coat—a  bright  blue  dress-coat,  with  a  gilt  button  dis- 
playing a  bust,  and  the  letters  P*C1" 

Mr  Winkle  actually  staggered  with  astonishment  as  he  heard  his 
own  costume  thus  minutely  described.  Dr  Slammer's  friend  pro- 
ceeded;—"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,  1  immediately  sent  up  to  the 
gentleman  who  was  described  as  appearing  the  head  of  the  party, 
and  he  at  once  referred  me  to  you*" 


22  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  ad- 
dress. His  first  impression  was,  that  his  coat  had  been  stolen.  ifcWill 
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  after- 
wards. 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  con- 
siderations; the  first  of  which  was,  his  reputation  with  the  club, 
He  had  always  been  looked  up  to  as  a  high  authority  on  all  mutters 
of  amusement  and  dexterity,  whether  offensive,  defensive,  or  in- 
offensive; 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*  arid 
intimated  his  intention  of  accepting  the  Doctor's  challenge, 

"Will  you  refer  me  to  a  friend,  to  arrange  the  time  and  places  of 
meeting?"  said  the  officer, 

"Qjiite  unnecessary,"  replied  Mr  Winkle;  "name  them  to  me,  and 
I  can  procure  the  attendance  of  a  friend  afterwards.9* 

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

"Very  good/'  replied  Mr  Winkle;  thinking  in  Ms  heart  it  was 
very  bad. 


MR  WINKLE  CONFIDES  A   SECRET  23 

"You  know  Fort  Pitt?3' 

<vYcs;   I  saw  it  yesterday/' 

"If  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  turn  into  the  field  which  borders 
the*  trench,  take  the  footpath  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  ean  be  conducted 
without  fear  of  interruption." 

"Fear  of  interruption!"  thought  Mr  Winkle. 

"Nothing  more  to  arrange,  I  think,59  said  the  officer. 

"I  am  not  aware  of  anything  more,"  replied  Mr  Winkle.  uGood 
morning." 

"Good  morning":  and  the  officer  whistled  a  lively  air  as  he  strode 
away, 

That  morning's  breakfast  passed  heavily  off.  Mr  Tuprnan  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/1  said  Mr  Winkle,  when  they  had  turned  out  of  the 
public  street,  "Snoclgrass,  my  dear  fellow,  can  I  rely  upon  your 
secrecy?'*  AH  he  said  this,  he  most  devoutly  and  earnestly  hoped  he 
could  not. 

"You  can,1*  replied  Mr  Snodgrass.    "Hear  me  swear—" 

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

Mr  Hnodgrass  dropped  the  hand  which  he  had,  in  the  spirit  of 
poesy,  raised  towards  the  clouds  as  he  made  the  above  appeal,  ancl 
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  Ninety-seventh,"  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. 


24  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Mr  Snodgrass. 

"The  Doctor,  I  believe,  is  a  very  good  shot/'  said  Mr  Winkle. 

"Most  of  these  military  men  are,"  observed  Mr  Snodgrass,  calmly; 
"but  so  are  you,  an't  you?" 

Mr  Winkle  replied  in  the  affirmative;  and  perceiving  that  he  had 
not  alarmed  his  companion  sufficiently,  changed  his  ground 

"Snodgrass,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion,  uif  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  char 
friend,  will  be  tried  as  an  accessory  before  the  fact.  Shall  1  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  in- 
ternally, as  they  walked  silently  along,  side  by  side,  for  some  minutes, 
each  immersed  in  his  own  meditations!  The  morning  was  wearing 
away;  he  grew  desperate. 

"Snodgrass,"  he  said,  stopping  suddenly,  "do  not  let  me  be 
baulked  in  this  matter—do  not  give  information  to  the  local  authori- 
ties— do  not  obtain  the  assistance  of  several  peace  officers,  to  take 
either  me  or  Doctor  Slammer,  of  the  Ninety-seventh  Regiment,  at 
present  quartered  in  Chatham  Barracks,  into  custody,  and  thus  pre- 
vent this  duel; — I  say,  do  not." 

Mr  Snodgrass  seized  his  friend's  hand  warmly,  as  he  enthusias- 
tically 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  Snod- 
grass, and  a  case  of  satisfaction  pistols,  with  the  satisfactory  aocom* 
paniments  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  Snod- 
grass 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  instru- 
ments of  destruction. 

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


ON  THE  GROUND  25 

"Ev'rything,"  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  rny  pocket  for 

the  loadings." 

These  were  instances  of  friendship  for  which  any  man  might  rea- 
sonably 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  proba- 
bility 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  ob> 
served  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  melanchol) 
wind  sounded  through  the  deserted  fields,  like  a  distant  giant  whist- 
ling for  his  house-clog.  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. 

Tin*  officer  turned  suddenly  from  the  path,  and  after  climbing  a 
paling,  and  scaling  a  hedge,  entered  a  secluded  field.  Two  gentle- 
men 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  farther  to  say,  sir,  I  think/'  he  coldly  remarked 
a*  he  opened  the  case;  "an  apology  has  been  resolutely  declined/* 

"Nothing,  sir/*  said  Mr  Snodgrass,  who  began  to  feel  rather  un- 
comfortable 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 


26  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

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  load- 
ing 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  as- 
sented to  any  proposition,  because  he  knew  nothing  about  the 
matter.  The  officer  crossed  to  Doctor  Slammer,  and  Mr  Snodgruss 
went  up  to  Mr  Winkle. 

"It's  all  ready,"  he  said,  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  oilier, 

Mr  Winkle  was  always  remarkable  for  extreme  humanity.  It: 
is  conjectured  that  his  unwillingness  to  hurt  a  fellow-creature  in- 
tentionally 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  Dr  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  nqj" :  and  having  delivered  this  suggestion,  with  a 
very  sage  and  mysterious  air,  the  man  with  the  camp-stool  took  a 


MUTUAL   SATISFACTION  27 

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  per- 
ceiving by  what  he  had  afterwards  said,  that  there  was,  beyond  all 
question,  some  mistake  in  the  matter,  he  at  once  foresaw  the  in- 
crease 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.55 

"Then,  that,1'  said  the  man  with  the  camp-stool,  "is  an  affront  to 
Dr  Slammer,  and  a  sufficient  reason  for  proceeding  immediately." 

uPray  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  eamp-stool,  in- 
dignantly, 

""I  entreat  you  to  be  quiet,  Payne,"  said  the  other.  "May  I  re- 
peat 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  1  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," 

UI  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  sec- 
ond), 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/5  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 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


fell  from  me  at  an  earlier  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  lie 
was  only  induced  to  decline  by  his  entire  contentment  witli  the  whole 
proceedings.  The  two  seconds  adjusted  the  cases,  and  the  whole 
party  left  the  ground  in  a  much  more  lively  manner  than  they  hud 
proceeded  to  it. 

"Do  you  remain  long  here?"  inquired  Dr  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;  "arc  you  disengaged  this 
evening?" 

"We  have  some  friends  here/3  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/9  said  Mr  Winkle.  "I  shall  be  most  happy  to  in- 
troduce you  to  my  friends,  Mr  Pickwick  and  Mr  Tupman." 

"It  will  give  me  great  pleasure?  I  am  sure/'  replied  Doctor  Slam- 
mer, 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  wtTO 
exchanged,  and  the  party  separated.  Doctor  Slammer  and  his 
friends  repaired  to  the  barracks,  and  Mr  Winkle,  accompanied  by 
his  friend  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   conse- 
quence 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  care-worn  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  ar* 
observer  would  have  supposed  that  he  was  drawing  the  flesh  of  Ma 
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  buttonholes  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  hanc^  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  con- 
fidential tone*  "Rum  fellow— docs  the  heavy  business— no  actor — 
strange  man— all  sorts  of  miseries— Dismal  Jemmy,  we  call  Mm  on 


3o  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

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?'3 

The  dismal  individual  took  a  dirty  roll  of  paper  from  his  pocket, 
and  turning  to  Mr  Snodgrass,  who  had  just  taken  out  his  notebook, 
said  in  a  hollow  voice  perfectly  in  keeping  with  his  outward  man — 
ctAre  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  lights  and  music  do  the  stage— strip 
the  one  of  its  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." 

cc 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  Su- 
san— 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  vicissi- 
tudes 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  bet- 
ter days,  before  he  had  become  enfeebled  by  dissipation  and  ema- 
ciated by  disease,  he  had  been  in  the  receipt  of  a  good  salary,  which. 


A  TUMBLER  TUMBLING  DOWNWARD  31 

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,  pre- 
maturely, 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  fascina- 
tion for  him  which  he  could  not  resist.  Neglected  disease  and  hope- 
less 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. 

c '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  occa- 
sions 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  any- 
thing, 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  pantomime,  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  un- 


32  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

natural  appearance,  of  which  no  description  could  convey  an  ade- 
quate 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  to  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  lodging  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  story  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  wa£  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. 


THE   SICK  CLOWN  33 

"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  his  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;  cMr  Hutley,  that  you  sent 
for  to-night,  you  know.' 

"  'Ah!5  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  mur- 
der 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 


mer 


"  '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.5 
He  stared  wildly  at  her,  with  a  look  of  deadly  apprehension,  and  then 
whispered  in  my  ear,  1  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.3  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  of  the  woman's 
pale  face  and  wasted  form  would  have  sufficiently  explained  the 
real  state  of  the  case.  cYou  had  better  stand  aside/  said  I  to  the 
poor  creature.  Tou  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. 

"  4Is  she  gone?'  he  eagerly  inquired. 

"  cYes— yes/  said  I;   'she  shall  not  hurt  you.3 

"  Til  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.5 

"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 


34  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

tossed  about,  murmuring  exclamations  of  pain  or  impatience,  rest- 
lessly throwing  his  arms  here  and  there,  and  turning  constantly 
from  side  to  side.  At  length  he  fell  into  that  state  of  partial  uncon- 
sciousness, 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  pro- 
duced 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  dry  hard  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  T  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  deathbed. 
I  saw  the  wasted  limbs,  which  a  few  hours  before  had  been  dis- 
torted 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  or 
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  doggrel  rhymes — the  last  he  had  ever  learnt.  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 


VISITORS  35 


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  notebook  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 


36  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  gyth,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  rather 
oddly  this  morning.  You  will  like  them  very  much." 

Mr  Pickwick's  equanimity  was  at  once  restored.  The  waiter  re- 
turned, 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 — Dr  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  gentlemen  before,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  marked 
emphasis. 

"Indeed!"  said  Mr  Winkle. 

"And — and  that  person,  too,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor, 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  tibat  gentleman  start  as  perceptibly  as  if  a  pin  had 


THE  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR  MELTS  AWAY         37 

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  he  best 
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  Dr  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  sug- 
gest, 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  three  last  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 


38  THE   PICKWICK    PAPERS 

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  Dr  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.53 

"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  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  from 
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  circum- 
stances 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  com- 
municate them,  in  a  clear  and  gentle  stream,  through  the  medium 
of  these  numbers,  to  a  world  thirsting  for  Pickwickian  knowledge. 

Acting  in  this  spirit,  and  resolutely  proceeding  on  our  determina- 
tion to  avow  our  obligations  to  the  authorities  we  have  consulted, 
we  frankly  say,  that  to  the  notebook  of  Mr  Snodgrass  are  we  indebted 
for  the  particulars  recorded  in  this,  and  the  succeeding  chapter — 
particulars  which,  now  that  we  have  disburdened  our  conscience, 
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  at- 
tacked 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  enthusi- 
astic 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  a-foot,  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  impor- 

39 


THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 


tance.  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,,v^Uum-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  gurvetting,  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  rank  of  the  crowd,  and  patiently  awaited  the  commence- 
ment 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  ensure  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  be- 
hind 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  flutter- 
ing 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  rung  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 


want  to  know"  w'd  the  little  man,  solemnly,  ''who  you've  got  in 
this  house — " 


HUMOURS   OF  A  CROWD  43 

he  front.  The  military  bands  struck  up  all  together;  the  horses 
tood  upon  two  legs  each,  cantered  backwards,  and  whisked  their 
ails  about  in  all  directions:  the  dogs  barked,  the  mob  screamed, 
he  troops  recovered,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  on  either  side,  as 
ir  as  the  eye  could  reach,  but  a  long  perspective  of  red  coats  and 
/hite  trousers ,  fixed  and  motionless. 

Mr  Pickwick  had  been  so  fully  occupied  in  falling  about,  and 
isentangling  himself,  miraculously,  from  between  the  legs  of  horses, 
hat  he  had  not  enjoyed  sufficient  leisure  to  observe  the  scene  before 
im,  until  it  assumed  the  appearance  we  have  just  described.  When 
,e  was  at  last  enabled  to  stand  firmly  on  his  legs,  his  gratification 
nd  delight  were  unbounded. 

"Can  anything  be  finer  or  more  delightful?"  he  inquired  of  Mr 
Vinkle. 

* 'No thing,"  replied  that  gentleman,  who  had  had  a  short  man 
tanding  on  each  of  his  feet  for  the  quarter  of  an  hour  immediately 
•receding. 

"It  is  indeed  a  noble  and  a  brilliant  sight,"  said  Mr  Snodgrass, 
n  whose  bosom  a  blaze  of  poetry  was  rapidly  bursting  forth,  "to 
ee  the  gallant  defenders  of  their  country  drawn  up  in  brilliant  array 
>efore  its  peaceful  citizens;  their  faces  beaming — not  with  warlike 
srocity,  but  with  civilised  gentleness;  their  eyes  flashing — not  with 
he  rude  fire  of  rapine  or  revenge,  but  with  the  soft  light  of  humanity 
,nd  intelligence." 

Mr  Pickwick  fully  entered  into  the  spirit  of  this  eulogium,  but  he 
ould  not  exactly  re-echo  its  terms;  for  the  soft  lig'KFoFlSelligence 
>urnt  rather  feebly  in  the  eyes  of  the  warriors,  inasmuch  as  the  com- 
nand  "eyes  front"  had  been  given,  and  all  the  spectator  saw  before, 
dm  was  several  thousand  pairs  of  optics,  staring  straight  forward, 
wholly  divested  of  any  expression  whatever. 

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

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

66 What  are  they  doing  now?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick,  adjusting  his 
pectacles. 

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

"Nonsense,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  hastily. 

"I — I — really  think  they  are,"  urged  Mr  Snodgrass,  somewhat 
Jarmed. 

"Impossible,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick.  He  had  hardly  uttered  the 
rard,  when  the  whole  half-dozen  regiments  levelled  their  muskets 
,s  if  they  had  but  one  common  object,  and  that  object  the  Pickwick- 
msy  and  burst  forth  with  the  most  awful  and  tremendous  discharge 
hat  p.wr  shook  the  earth  to  its  centre,  or  an  elderlv  gentleman  off  his. 


42  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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,35  remonstrated  Mr  Winkle,  pallid  at  the 
supposition  he  was  himself  conjuring  up.  "I  heard  something 
whistle  through  the  air  just  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,33  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  PickwicMans. 

"Hoi — hoi — hoi!"  was  the  only  reply.  There  was  a  moment  of 
intense  bewilderment,  a  heavy  tramp  of  footsteps,  a  violent  con- 


THE  PICKWICKIANS   IN  A  BAROUCHE          43 

cussion,  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  gamboling  playfully  away  in  perspective. 

There  are  very  few  moments  in  a  man's  existence  when  he  ex- 
periences so  much  ludicrous  distress,  or  meets  with  so  little  chari- 
table 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  alto- 
gether. The  best  way  is,  to  keep  gently  up  with  the  object  of  pur- 
suit, 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 


44  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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. 

Pickwick  had  bestowed  a  hasty  glance  on  these  interesting  ob- 


jects, 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/5  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  bg^thejat 
boYJvaddled  to  the  _same  perch,  and  felDa£Laskg^^  "~ 

"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  an'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  some- 
body 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 


THE   FAT  BOY  WAITS  AT  DINNER  45 

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  barri- 
cades 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  Miss  Wardles  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. 
F  "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  yo.u.  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  previ- 
ous 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.33  A  similar  process  employed  in  the  distribu- 
tion 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  bgy.  He  jumped  up:  and  the  leaden  eyesa  which 
twinkled  behind  his  mountainous  cheeks,  leered  horribly  upon  the 
food  as  he  unpacked  it  from  the  baskdO 


46  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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, 
an4  on  everybody's  knees,  in  endless  number. 

(^cNow  an'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." 

;<JQe!" 

"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  Winklep^ 

"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  stranger  gentleman,"  whis- 
pered 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  them- 
selves, 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  contra- 
band, and  their  possession  without  a  permit  a  high  crime  and  misde«» 
meanour. 


THE  FAT   BOY  AGAIN  ASLEEP  47 

"Oh,  they  have,35  replied  Mr  Tupman,  not  exactly  making  the  sort 
of  reply  that  was  expected  from  him.  "It's  quite  delightful.33 

"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?33 

"Oh,  sir!"  Mr  Tupman  looked  most  impressive;  and  Rachael  ex- 
pressed her  fear  that  more  guns  were  going  off,  in  which  case,  of 
course,  she  would  have  required  support  again. 

"Do  you  think  my  dear  nieces  pretty?"  whispered  their  affection- 
ate 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  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  in- 
difference. 

"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  him- 
self. 

"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." 


48  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

"Is  she?"  replied  Isabella— "Hern!  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  your- 
self— 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  al- 
ways sleep  in  this  way!" 

"Sleep!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "he's  always  asleep.  Goes  on  er- 
rands 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  ad- 
justed 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  ex- 
ample, 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 — cewe  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  111 
give  you  plenty  of  it.^Joe — damn  that  boy,  he's  gone  to  sleep  again — 
Joe,  help  Tom  put  in  the  horses? 


THE  FAT  BOY  AGAIN  ASLEEP  49 

The  horses  were  put  in — the  driver  mounted — the  fat  boy  clam- 
bered 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  beau- 
tiful the  appearance  of  every  object  around,  as  Mr  Pickwick 
leant  over  the  balustrades  of  Rochester  Bridge,  contemplat- 
ing 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  m  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  own  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  the  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." 

50 


THE  DISMAL  MAN  51 

„  "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,  compas- 
sionately. 

"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. 

"/  have  thought  so,  often,"  said  the  dismal  man,  without  noticing 
the  action.  "The  calm,  cool  water  seems  to  me  to  murmur  an  invi- 
tation 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  ex- 
citement 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  instruc- 
tion. Suppose  I  forwarded  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. 


52  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Now,  about  Manor  Farm/'  said  Mr  Pickwick.    "How  shall  we 

g°?" 

"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-wheeled  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?" 

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  pave- 
ment 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." 


TRAVELLING  ARRANGEMENTS  53 

"He  don't  shy,  does  he?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Shy,  sir? — He  wouldn't  shy  if  he  was  to  meet  a  vaggdn-load  of 
monkeys  with  their  tails  burnt  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  ribbins."  "Shiny  Villiam"— so  called,  prob- 
ably, 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. 

ccWo — o!"  cried  Mr  Pickwick,  as  the  tall  quadruped  evinced  a 
decided  inclination  to  back  into  the  coffee-room  window. 

"Wo — o!s>  echoed  Mr  Tupman  and  Mr  Snodgrass,  from  the  bin. 

"Only  his  playfulness,  gen'lm'n/3  said  the  head  hostler  encourag- 
ingly; ccjist  kitch  hold  on  him,  Villiairu"  The  deputy  restrained  the 
animal's  impetuosity,  and  the  principal  ran  to  assist  Mr  Winkle  in 
mounting. 

"T'other  side,  sir,  if  you  please/3 

"Blowed  if  the  gen'lm'n  wornjt  a  gettin7  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/5  replied  Mr  Winkle  faintly. 

"Let  3em  go/'  cried  the  hostler — "Hold  him  in,  sir/5  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?'3  said  Mr  Snodgrass  in  the  bin,, 
to  Mr  Winkle  in  the  saddle. 

"I  can't  imagine/5  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  man- 
agement of  the  animal  attached  to  the  chaise,  who  displayed  various 
peculiarities,  highly  interesting  to  a  bystander,  but  by  no  means 
equally  amusing  to  anyone  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  pro- 
pensity for  darting  suddenly  every  now  and  then  to  the  side  of  the 


54  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  inter- 
rupted by  a  shout  from  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Woo!"  said  that  gentleman;   "I  have  dropped  my  whip,*" 

"Winkle/5  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  dis- 
position, 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  fellow5'  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  unsatis- 
factory 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,33 

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  thejoad,  and  stepped  back  to  the  assistance  of  his  dis- 
tressed companion,  leaving  Mr  Tupinan  and  Mr  Snodgrass  in  the 
vehicle. 


EQUINE  PECULIARITIES  55 

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  move- 
ment 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  Pick- 
wick gazing  on  each  other  with  countenances  of  blank  dismay.  A 
tattling  noise  at  a  little  distance  attracted  their  attention.  They 
looked  up. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  the  agonized  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  result  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  un- 
fortunate 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  walking  brought  the  travellers  to  a  little  roadside  public- 
house,  with  two  elm-trees,  a  horse-trough,  and  a  signpost,  in  front; 
one  or  two  dfeformed  hay-ricks  behind,  a  kitchen  garden  at  the  side, 
and  rotten  sheds  and  mouldering  outhouses  jumbled  in  strange  con- 
fusion all  about  it.  A  red-headed  man  was  working  in  the  garden; 
and  to  him  Mr  Pickwick  called  lustily — uHallo  there!53 

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

"Hallo  there!"  repeated  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Hallo!"  was  the  red-headed  man's  reply. 

"How  far  is  it  to  Dingley  Dell?53 


56  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Better  er  seven  mile." 
"Is  it  a  good  road?" 

"No  t'ant."  Having  uttered  this  brief  reply,  and  apparently 
satisfied  himself  with  another  scrutiny,  the  red-headed  man  resumed 

"We  want  to  put  this  horse  up  here/'  said  Mr  Pickwick;  CCI  sup- 
pose 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  blub 
pelisse,  with  the  waist  an  inch  or  two  below  her  arm-pits,  responded 
to  the  call.  t  < 

"0an  we  put  this  horse  up  here,  my  good  woman?"  said  Mr  Tup- 
man,  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  woant  have  nothin'  to  say  to  'un." 

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

fiel — j — 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. 

1      "Hallo,  you  fellow!"  said  the  angry  Mr  Pickwick,  "do  you  think 
we  stole  this  horse?" 

"Fm  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  mood- 
ily 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 


ARRIVAL   AT  MANOR   FARM  57 

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  Pick- 
wick 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  gentle- 
man, 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  com- 
municate, 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.  Gome,  girls,  bustle  about. 3> 

Three  or  four  buxom  girls  speedily  dispersed  in  search  of  the 
different  articles  in  requisition,  while  a  couple  of  large-headed,  circu- 
lar 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  shampoo'd  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  apart- 
ment, with  a  red  brick  floor  and  a  capacious  chimney;  the  ceiling 
garnished  with  hams,  sides  of  bacon,  and  ropes  of  onions.  The 


58  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  par- 
lour door. 

"Welcome,"  said  their  hospitable  host,  throwing  it  open  and  step- 
ping forward  to  announce  them,  "Welcome,  gentlemen,  to  Manor 
Farm." 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN   OLD-FASHIONED   CARD-PARTY.     THE   CLERGYMAN^   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  ap- 
pearance, and  speculate  upon  the  characters  and  pursuits,  of  the 
persons  by  whom  he  was  surrounded — a  habit  in  which  he  in  com- 
mon 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  certifi- 
cates 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  atten- 
tions 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,  Ribston-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  to- 
gether. 

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

59 


6o  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

"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  head- 
ing so  fine  a  family,  and  looking  so  young  and  well." 

"Ah!35  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/3  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  an't  a  better  spot  o'  ground  in  all  Kent,  sir,"  said  the 
hard-headed  man  with  the  pippin-face;  "there  an't  indeed,  sir — 
I'm  sure  there  an't,  sir."  The  hard-headed  man  looked  trium- 
phantly round,  as  if  he  had  been  very  much  contradicted  by  some- 
body, but  had  got  the  better  of  him  at  last. 

'There  an'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  con- 
tempt. 

"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  him- 
self 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.35 

"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?'" 


A   CARD-PARTY  6r 


"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/5  said  Mr 
Wardle;  "an'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  old  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  sedatenesTof  demeanour  which  befit  the  pursuit  entitled  'whist3 
— a  solemn  observance,  to  which,  as  it  appears  to  us,  the  title  of 
"game5  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. 


62  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Quite  aware  of  the  fact,  sir/3  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  uwent  partners,"  and  Emily  Wardle  and 
Mr  Snodgrass  did  the  same;  and  even  Mr  Tupman  and  the  spinster 
aunt  established  a  joint-stock  company  offish  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  dis- 
posed 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,  accom- 
panied 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  at  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  clergy- 
man looked  pleasantly  on;  for  the  happy  faces  which  surrounded  the 
table  made  the  good  old  man  feel  happy  too;  and  though  the  merri- 
ment 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, 


SONG  OF  THE  IVY  GREEN  63 

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  armchair,  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  melan- 
choly 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  cu- 
riosity had  been  greatly  excited  by  the  last  observations  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  gentle- 
man 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. 


64  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  notebook  to  his  pocket,  Mr  Pickwick  said: 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  for  making  the  remark  on  so  short  an  acquaint- 
ance; 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  ordi- 
nary 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  to- 
gether, especially  Mr  Tupman  and  the  spinster  aunt,  who  were 


A  WOMAN'S   ENDURANCES  65 

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  ad- 
monitory pinch,  administered  beneath  the  table  by  his  ex-partner, 
the  solemn  fat  man,  the  old  gentleman,  without  farther  preface,  com- 
menced 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,53  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  fero- 
cious in  his  disposition.  Beyond  the  few  lazy  and  reckless  vagabonds 
with  whom  he  sauntered  away  his  time  in  the  fields,  or  jattad.  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.  Those  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  neigh- 
bour'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- 


66  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  care-worn  face 
would  lighten  up  with  an  expression  of  heartfelt  gratitude;  and  she 
would  look,  if  not  cheerful  and  happy,  at  least  tranquil  and  con- 
tented. 

"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  of  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  antici- 
pated 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  aggra- 
vated nature  occasioned  a  vigilance  of  pursuit,  and  a  strictness  of 
search,  they  had  not  calculated  on.  Young  Edmunds  was  suspected 


A  CONDEMNED   SON  67 

with  three  companions.  He  was  apprehended — committed — tried — 
condemned — to  die. 

"The  wild  and  piercing  shriek  from  a  woman's  voice,  which  re- 
sounded through  the  court  when  the  solemn  sentence  was  pro- 
nounced, 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  com- 
pressed in  dogged  sullenness  throughout,  quivered  and  parted  in- 
voluntarily; 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  upon  her  knees  at  my  feet,  and  fervently  be- 
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  up- 
held her,  was  unable  to  contend  against  bodily  weakness  and  in- 
firmity. 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 


68  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  his  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  be- 
lieve, 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  innumer- 
able difficulties,  and  returned,  on  foot,  to  his  native  place. 

"On  a  fine  Sunday  evening,  in  the  month  of  August,  John  Ed- 
munds set  foot  in  the  village  he  had  left  with  shame  and  disgrace 
seventeen  years  before.  His  nearest  way  lay  through  the  church- 
yard. 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  path,  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 


THE   CONVICT'S  RETURN  69 

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  recollec- 
tion 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  cush- 
ion; 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.  Per- 
haps 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,  bid  him 
cgood  evening,5  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  school- 
fellow— 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  in- 
tensity 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  when  it  had  seemed  a  high  wall  to  him: 
and  he  looked  over  into  the  old  garden.  There  were  more  seeds  and 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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  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;  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  in- 
quiries, 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 
newcomer;  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  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  un- 
natural 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  upon  the  old  man's  face.  They  gazed  upon  each 
other  in  silence. 


A  CONTRITE   MAN  71 

"The  old  man  was  ghastly  pale.  He  shuddered  and  tottered  to  his 
feet.  Edmunds  sprang  to  his.  He  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two.  Ed- 
munds advanced. 

"  'Let  me  hear  you  speak/  said  the  convict,  in  a  thick  broken  voice. 

"  'Stand  off!3  cried  the  old  man,  with  a  dreadful  oath.  The  con- 
vict drew  closer  to  him. 

"  c  Stand  off  I'  shrieked  the  old  man.  Furious  with  terror  he  raised 
his  stick,  and  struck  Edmunds  a  heavy  blow  across  the  face. 

"  'Father — devil!5  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  em- 
ployment 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  EX- 
PENSE! WITH  OTHER  INTERESTING  AND  INSTRUCTIVE  MATTERS 

THE  fatiguing  adventures  of  the  day  or  the  somniferous  in- 
fluence 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  reproach- 
fully 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  consider- 
able length,  Mr  Pickwick  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  lattice,  and 
looked  around  him. 

The  rich,  sweet  smell  of  the  hayricks  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  a  fountain  of  inspiration 
to  them.  Mr  Pickwick  fell  into  an  enchanting  and  delicious  reverie. 

"Hallo!"  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  that  good-humoured  individual,  out  of 
breath  with  his  own  anticipations  of  pleasure.  "Beautiful  morning, 
an't  it?  Glad  to  see  you  up  so  early.  Make  haste  down,  and  come 
out.  I'll 'wait  for  you  here." 

72 


There  was  the  fat  boy,  perfectly  motionless,  with  his  large  circular  eyes 
staring  into  the  arbour 


MR  WINKLE   WITH   A   GUN  73 

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. 

"Hallo!"  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,  an't  he?" 

"I've  heard  him  say  he's  a  capital  one/5  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. 

ccGo  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'  walking3  in  an  avenue  of  trees.  The  information  was  un- 
necessary; for  the  incessant  cawing  of  the  unconscious  rooks  suf- 
ficiently indicated  their  whereabout. 

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  those  lads  for?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick  abruptly.  He 
was  rather  alarmed;  for  he  was  not  quite  certain  but  that  the  dis- 
tress of  the  agricultural  interest,  about  which  he  had  often  heard  a 
great  deal,  might  have  compelled  the  small  boys  attached  to  the 


74  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

soil  to  earn  a  precarious  and  hazardous  subsistence  by  making  marks 
of  themselves  for  inexperienced  sportsmen. 

"Only  to  start  the  game/3  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.  In- 
distinct 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. 

"Hallo!"  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.    £CI  declare  I  forgot  the  cap  1" 

The  slight  omission  was  rectified.  Mr  Pickwick  crouched  again. 
Mr  Winkle  stepped  forward  with  an  air  of  determination  and  reso- 
lution; 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  corporeal  anguish.  Mr  Tupman 
had  saved  the  lives  of  innumerable  unoflenaing  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  his  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 


ACCIDENT  TO  MR  TUPMAN  75 

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  sup- 
ported 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.  3Twas 
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/3  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,53  said  the  host. 

"Whafs  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,3'  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  hys- 
teric 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  symp- 
toms 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  quite  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  Tup- 
man gently  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  sank  upon  the  sofa. 


76  THE   PICKWICK  ^PAPERS 

"Are  you  faint?"  inquired  the  anxious  Rachael. 

"No,"  said  Mr  Tupman.  "It  is  nothing.  I  shall  be  better  pres- 
ently." He  closed  his  eyes. 

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

Mr  Tupman  jumped  up — "Oh,  say  those  words  again!"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

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  thejady.    "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  xone;  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  Pick- 
wick alone  was  silent  and  reserved.  Doubt  and  distrust  were  ex- 
hibited 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  affirma- 
tive. 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 


THE   ILLUSTRIOUS  TOWN  OF  MUGGLETON      77 

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  expedi- 
tion 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  inhabi- 
tants, 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  signpost  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  appro- 
priated to  the  diffusion  of  hats,  bonnets,  wearing  apparel,  cotton 
umbrellas,  and  useful  knowledge.  There  was  a  red  brick  house  with 
a  small  paved  court-yard  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 
would  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  ob- 
servations, 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  naapefttees  for 
the  rest  and  refreshment  of  the  contending  parties.    The  game  had 


78  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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  for- 
ward 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/3  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  gentle- 
man, 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  edifica- 
tion 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 


AT  THE   CRICKET -MATCH  79 

face  and  figure,  and  then  shook  hands  with  him  again3  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  kidneys — 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  satis- 
fied, 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  re- 
nowned 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  Dum- 
kins, 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  be- 
ginner at  leap-frog.  All  the  regular  players  do  this  sort  of  thing; — 
indeed  it's  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  ap- 
plied the  ball  to  his  right  eye  for  several  seconds.  Dumkins  confi- 
dently 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  con- 
clusion 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 


8o  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

till  their  arms  ached;  but  Dumkins  and  Podder  remained  uncon- 
quered.  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 
eye  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  ccAh, 
ah!— stupid"— "Now,  butter-fingers53— "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— rSir  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. " 


THE  DINNER  AT  THE   BLUE   LION  81 

"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  anx- 
iously 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  con- 
fidentially 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-Fll-con- 
tradict-you  sort  of  countenance,  who  remained  very  quiet;  occasion- 
ally looking  round  him  when  the  conversation  slackened,  as  if  he 
contemplated  putting  in  something  very  weighty;  and  now  and  then 


82  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  pro- 
found 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 " 

"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  those  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 — chung  out3  in  a  tub,  to  the  Emperor  Alexander: — £If  I  were 
not  Diogenes/  said  he,  CI  would  be  Alexander.'  I  can  well  imagine 
these  gentlemen  to  say,  clf  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 


ENTHUSIASM  AT  THE   BLUE   LION  83 

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  'Dum- 
kins  and  Fodder.'  " 

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  de- 
voted 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  of  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  also  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  in- 
tervals. 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  con- 
vocation 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  develop- 
ment 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 
Tuprnan  had  ever  gazed.  That  there  was  something  kindred  in 
their  nature,  something  congenial  in  their  souls,  something  mysteri- 
ously sympathetic  in  their  bosoms,  was  evident.  Her  name  was  the 
first  that  rose  to  Mr  Tupman5  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." 

84 


MR  TUPMAN  IS   SMITTEN  85 

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  further  end,  with  honeysuckle,  jessa- 
mine, 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  acci- 
dentally 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  canjww  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  happi- 
ness— 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  in- 
different 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 


86  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

round  the  neck  of  the  spinster  aunt,  imprinted  upon  her  lips  numer- 
ous 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 
physioguomist  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 
toink  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  fas,t  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  for- 
ward. 

The  supper  passed  off  without  any  attempt  at  a  general  conversa- 
tion. 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 


THE   GENTLEMEN  RETURN  87 

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,  por- 
trayed 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,  an'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  son^s — 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  w&nt  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  con- 


88  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

dition  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  Pick- 
wick accepted  the  proffered  arm  of  Mr  Tupman  and  quietly  disap- 
peared, 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  con- 
veying 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,  al- 
though 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 


THE  FAT  BOY  BETRAYS   MISS   RACHAEL          89 

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  griev- 
ous 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  terror,  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  this  moment.  He  too  heard  the  shout  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  con- 
cealed 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  hav^never  had  too  much  to  do;  and  you  have  always 
had  enough  to  eatTj 

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' " 


go  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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,  com- 
municated 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  communi- 
cation, the  probability  is  that  a  sudden  burst  of  laughter  would  have 
betrayed  his  close  vicinity  to  the  summer-house.  He  listened  at- 
tentively. 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  after  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  offhand  manner  was  by  no  means  disagreeable 
to  the  fair  object  of  his  attack;  and  he  had  more  than  a  strong  sus- 
picion 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  ob- 
ject, 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  tc 
favour  his  design.  Mr  Tupman  and  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  left 


A  SNAKE  IN  THE  GRASS  gi 

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,  "for- 
give intrusion — short  acquaintance — no  time  for  ceremony — all  dis- 
covered." 

"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 — dump- 
ling 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 — kiss- 
ing and  hugging — all  that  sort  of  thing — eh,  ma'am — eh?" 

"Mr  Jingle,"  said  the  spinster  aunt,  "if  you  come  here,  sir,  to  in- 
sult 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  execu- 
tion. 

"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  ad- 
vantage. 

"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  as- 
perity 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 


92  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  in- 
sensible 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  ques- 
tioned 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,  deep  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 — ctloves  anotner." 

"Another!"  ejaculated  the  spinster.    "Who?" 

"Short  girl — black  eyes — niece  Emily." 

There  was  a  pause. 

Now,  if  there  were  one  individual  in  the  whole  world,  of  whom  the 
spinster  aunt  entertained  a  mortal  and  deeply  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  5em,"  said  Jingle. 

"I  will,"  said  the  aunt. 

"Watch  his  looks." 

"I  will." 

"His  whispers." 

"I  will." 

"He'll  sit  next  her  at  table.59 

"Let  him." 


THE   SNAKE  VICTORIOUS  93 

"He'll  flatter  her." 

"Let  him.55 

"He'll  pay  her  every  possible  attention/' 

"Let  him.55 

"And  he'll  cut  you." 

"Cut  mel"  screamed  the  spinster  aunt.  "He  cut  me; — will  he!" 
and  she  trembled  with  rage  and  disappointment. 

"You  will  convince  yourself?55  said  Jingle. 

"I  will.55 

"You'll  show  your  spirit?55 

"I  will." 

"You'll  not  have  him  afterwards?" 

"Never.55 

"You'll  take  somebody  else?55 

"Yes.55 

"You  shall.55 

Mr  Jingle  fell  on  his  knees,  remained  thereupon  for  five  minutes 
thereafter:  and  rose  the  accepted  lover  of  the  spinster  aunt:  con- 
ditionally upon  Mr  Tupman5s  perjury  being  made  clear  and  mani- 
fest. 

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.55 

"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  rather  tall  and  slim.  They  were  Mr  Tupman  and  Mr  Jingle. 
The  stout  figure  commenced  the  dialogue. 

"How  did  I  do  it?55  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  there5  s  no  help  for  it — only  a  few  days 
more — when  old  folks  blinded — crown  your  happiness." 

"Any  message?" 


94  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  dis- 
interested 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  daresay  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  /'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/5  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,  sir  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  Pick- 
wick'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 — 

95 


96  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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 
telTee." 

"I  paid  his  expenses!55  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  un- 
happy gentleman  spun  round  and  round  the  apartment,  in  a  trans- 
port of  frenzy. 

"Lord  preserve  us!"  ejaculated  Mr  Pickwick,  eyeing  the  extraor- 
dinary 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  han'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-a-bull  story  of  my  sister 
and  your  friend  Tupman!"  (Here  Mr  Tupman  sunk  into  a  chair.) 
"Let  me  get  at  him!" 

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

"I  won't  be  held!"  cried  the  old  man.  uMr  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?" 


A  CHASE  97 


Mr  Pickwick's  mouth  and  chin  having  been  hastily  enveloped  in 
a  large  shawl,  his  hat  having  been  put  on  his  head,  and  his  great- 
coat 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  after- 
wards." 

"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  sprung  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  mo- 
ment's time  for  reflection.  "Pretty  situation  for  the  General  Chair- 
man 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." 


98  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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

"I  daresay  it  will,"  replied  his  friend  drily. 

Mr  Pickwick's  temporary  excitement  began  to  sober  down  a  little, 
as  he  reflected  upon  the  inconveniences  and  dangers  of  the  expedi- 
tion 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  some- 
thing 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  daresay  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  doubt- 
fully. 

"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  Ms  house,  and  bolted  the  door 
after  him. 


A  CHASE  99 


Meanwhile  the  chaise  proceeded,  without  any  slackening  of  pace, 
towards  the  conclusion  of  the  stage.  The  moon,  as  Wardle  had  fore- 
told, 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!5' 

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  harness- 
ing 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  goodwill,  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  reason- 
ably 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 
re-animated  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.55 

"Tall  gentleman— dress  coat— long  legs— thin  body?" 

"Yes,  sir.55 

"Elderly  lady— thin  face — rather  skinny— eh?55 

"Yes,  sir.35 


ioo  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"By  heavens,  it's  the  couple,  Pickwick/5  exclaimed  the  old  gentle- 
m  "Would  have  been  here  before/'  said  the  hostler,  "but  they  broke 

a  "It  is!"  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  oi 
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  ma- 
terially 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  exultmgly. 
They  were  indeed,  as  was  sufficiently  testified  to  Mr  Pickwick,  ^by 
his  constant  collisions  either  with  th$  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  ex- 
claimed 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  Jem  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/5  exclaimed  the  choleric  old  man.  "Damme,  I 
see  his  head." 


MR  JINGLE'S   SATISFACTION  101 

"So  do  I,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "that's  he." 

Mr  Pickwick  was  not  mistaken.  The  countenance  of  Mr  Jingle, 
completely  coated  with  the  mud  thrown  up  by  the  wheels,  was 
plainly  discernible  at  the  window  of  his  chaise;  and  the  motion  of 
his  arm,  which  he  was  waving  violently  towards  the  postilions,  de- 
noted 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,  ex- 
hausted 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  put,  Mr  Pickwick  felt  himself  violently  pulled  out  from  among 
the  ruins  of  the  chaise;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  gained  his  feet,  and 
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  postil- 
ions, 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. 

"Hallo!"  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 


102  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

trouble  yourself— love  to  Tuppy — won't  you  get  up  behind? — drive 
on,  boys." 

The  postilions  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  dis- 
turbed 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,33  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,  an'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  JINGLE3  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  waggons. 
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 
waggons,  each  with  a  pile  of  goods  beneath  its  ample  canopy,  about 
the  height  of  the  second-floor  window  of  an  ordinary  house,  were 


IC>4  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  bed- 
room 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 
further  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!" 

"Hallo/3  replied  the  man  with  the  white  hat. 

"Number  twenty-two  wants  his  boots." 

"Ask  number  twenty-two  whether  he'll  have  5em  now,  or  wait 
till  he  gets  'em,"  was  the  reply. 

"Come,  don't  be  a  fool,  Sam,"  said  the  girl,  coaxingly,  "the  gen- 
tleman 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;  reglar  rotation,  as  Jack  Ketch  said,  wen  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?" 

"Wouldn't  be  gen-teel  to  answer,  'till  you'd  done  talking,"  re- 
plied Sana,  gruffly. 

"Here,  clean  them  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. 


„„ 


AT  THE  WHITE  HART  105 

"Number  5,"  said  Sam,  as  he  picked  up  the  shoes,  and  taking  a 
piece  of  chalk  from  his  pocket,  made  a  memorandum  of  their  des- 
tination on  the  soles — "Lady's  shoes  and  private  sittin'-room!  I 
suppose  she  didn't  come  in  the  waggin." 

"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  vas  one  o3  the  regular  three-pennies.  Private  room! 
and  a  lady  too!  If  he's  anything  of  a  gen'lm'n,  he's  vorth  a  shiUin* 
a  day,  let  alone  the  arrands." 

Stimulated  by  this  inspiring  reflection,  Mr  Samuel  brushed  away 
with  such  hearty  goodwill,  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  and  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  Church-yard,  sir;  low  archway  on  the  carriage-side,  book- 
seller'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  wen  you  walk  in — 'Licence,  sir,  licence?'  Queer 
sort,  them,  and  their  mas'rs  too,  sir — Old  Baily  Proctors — and  no 
mistake." 

"What  do  they  do?"  inquired  the  gentleman. 

"Do!  You,  sir!  That  an't  the  wost  on  it,  neither.  They  puts 
things  into  old  gen'lm'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 — wery  smart — top-boots  on — nose- 
gay in  his  buttonhole — broad-brimmed  tile — green  shawl — quite  the 
gen'lm'n.  Goes  through  the  archvay,  thinking  how  he  should  in- 


io6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

west  the  money — up  comes  the  touter,  touches  his  hat — 'Licence, 
sir,  licence?5 — '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  Fm 
a  many  sizes  too  large/  says  he. — 'Not  a  bit  on  it,  sir/  says  the 
touter. — 'Think  not?'  says  my  father. — Tm  sure  not/  says  he;  'we 
married  a  gen'lm'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  feller  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  arter- 
wards?' — '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  /  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  vith  the  wheel  greased."  Having  said  which,  and 
having  paused  for  an  instant  to  see  whether  he  was  wanted  for  any- 
thing 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." 


A  MARRIAGE  LICENCE  107 

"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?"  in- 
quired 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  breakdown — be- 
sides— 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  Can- 
terbury, 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  gentle- 
men 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  bur- 
nishing 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  o5  the  adwice  gratis  order,"  thought  Sam,  "or  you 
wouldn't  be  so  werry  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  man3 


I08  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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,  not  m  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?53  said  the  little  man. 

"Oh,  werry  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  wen  ve  can  get  beef." 

"Ah,"  said  the  little  man,  "you're  a  wag,  an't  you?'3 

"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  re- 
newing 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  a  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 
curia,,  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  pro- 
found. 


DIPLOMACY  WITH  MR  WELLER  109 

"My  only  wish,  sir/5  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  re- 
mained a  wondering  listener  during  this  short  colloquy;  "everybody 
knows  vhat  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  except  of  half  a  guinea.  Werry  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 
wooden  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  Wellingtons  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." 


no  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"It  is  them/5  exclaimed  Wardle.   "By  heavens,  we've  found  them." 

"Hush!"  said  Sam.  "The  Wellingtons  has  gone  to  Doctors'  Com- 
mons." 

"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,  cau- 
tion." 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  in 
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  in  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  law- 
yer, Mr  Perker,  of  Gray's  Inn.  Perker,  Fll  have  this  fellow  prose- 
cuted— 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 


A  DISTRESSED   LADY  in 

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  ap- 
plied 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  an'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  vio- 
lence. 

The  landlady  was  about  to  enter  a  very  violent  protest  against 
this  proceeding,  and  had  already  given  vent  to  an  indignant  in- 
quiry 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  awk- 
ward situation.  It's  a  distressing  case — very;  I  never  knew  one 


ii2  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

more  so;  but  really,  my  dear  sir,  really  we  have  no  power  to  con- 
trol this  lady's  actions.  I  warned  you  before  we  came,  my  dear  sir, 
that  there  was  nothing  to  look  to  but  a  compromise.35 

There  was  a»  short  pause. 

"What  kind  of  compromise  would  you  recommend?'3  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.5' 

"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?35 

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?5' 

Mr  Jingle's  face  gradually  relaxed;  and  something  distantly  re- 
sembling a  wink  quivered  for  an  instant  in  his  left  eye. 

"Very  good,  very  good,"  said  the  little  man,  observing  the  im- 
pression 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,5'  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,35  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 


MAKING  A   COMPROMISE  113 

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/'  re- 
sumed 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  himj 
"just  tell  me  what  will  do." 

"Expensive  affair,"  said  Mr  Jingle.  "Money  out  of  pocket — post- 
ing, 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/* 


n4  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

If  any  dispassionate  spectator  could  have  beheld  the  countenance 
of  the  illustrious  man,  whose  name  forms  the  leading  feature  of  the 
tide  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. 

"Hallo,"  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'lm'n.  Hold  still,  sir;  wot's  the  use  o'  runnin3 
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  heart-rending  scene?  His 
notebook,  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  de- 
lineation 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 

ANIGHT  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  followers,  for  two  whole  days;  and  it  was  with  a  degree  of  pleas- 
ure and  delight,  which  no  common  imagination  can  adequately  con- 
ceive, 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  reflections. 

"Snodgrass,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  earnestly,  "how  is  our  friend — he 
is  not  ill?" 

"No,"  replied  Mr  Snodgrass;  and  a  tear  trembled  on  his  senti- 
mental eyelid,  like  a  raindrop  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  en- 
treat— 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. 

"5 


n6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"We  can  only  guess,  from  that  communication/3  replied  Mr  Snod- 
grass,  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  disap- 
peared: 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  handwriting, 
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  hid  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  re- 
folded 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  re- 
main 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 


A  DELIGHTFUL  WALK  117 

is  not  in  my  friend's  hand.  However,  whether  it  be  the  genuine 
production  of  a  maniac,1  or  founded  upon  the  ravings  of  some  un- 
happy being  (which  I  think  more  probable),  read  it,  and  judge  for 
yourself." 

Mr  Pickwick  received  the  manuscript,  and  parted  from  the  be- 
nevolent old  gentleman  with  many  expressions  of  goodwill  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  kind- 
ness. 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  cor- 
dialities with  their  fine  old  host  and  Mr  Trundle,  were  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  Snod- 
grass waft  in  the  air,  in  acknowledgment  of  something  very  like  a 
lady's  handkerchief,  which  was  waved  from  one  of  the  upper  win- 
dows, 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  rela- 
tive 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  pic- 
turesque 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 


u8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Leathern  Bottle, 
a  clean  and  commodious  village  ale-house,  the  three  travellers 
entered,  and  at  once  inquired  for  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Tup- 
man. 

"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  Tup- 
man,  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  fore- 
head 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  re- 
freshed 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  combatting 
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'S  DISCOVERY  119 

Mr  Pickwick  smiled;  they  shook  hands;  and  walked  back  to  re- 
join their  companions. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Mr  Pickwick  made  that  immortal  dis- 
covery, 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,  occa- 
sioned 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  dis- 
cern a  cross,  and  a  B,  and  then  a  T.  This  is  important,"  continued 
Mr  Pickwick,  starting  up.  "This  is  some  very  old  inscription,  exist- 
ing 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  war  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?"  '  8 

"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 


120 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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: 

+ 
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  re- 
mains 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 
dub— had  discovered  a  strange  and  curious  inscription  of  unques- 
tionable 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  un- 
derstood. 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  inter- 
esting 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  armchair  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  Cob- 
ham — 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 
turried  events  of  the  two  preceding  days. 


A  DISAGREEABLE   STATE  OF  MIND  121 

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  undress- 
ing 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  in- 
ability 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  in- 
terest 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  hand-writing,  and  the  paper  was  much  soiled  and  blotted. 
The  title  gave  him  a  sudden  start,  too;  and  he  could  not  avoid  cast- 
ing 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.  Shew  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  grip.  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 


122  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

straw,  transported  with  such  brave  music.     Hurrah  for  the  mad- 
house!   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  con- 
sume 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's  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  slum- 
bered, but  that  his  grandfather  had  lived  for  years  with  his  hands  fet- 
tered 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  6ver  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  leer- 
ing, 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  roar- 
ing 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-1 


GOLDEN  LETTERS  OF  INTRODUCTION          123 

"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  over-reached 
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  def- 
erence—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  bodyS 

"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  deathlike. 

"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 


i24  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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; — 
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,  deter- 
mined 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  mad- 
man'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  leant  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  know  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  re- 
placed the  razor  in  its  usual  drawer,  unfastened  the  door,  and  called 
loudly  for  assistance. 

c*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  fu- 
riously. 


A  CLEVER  MADMAN  125 

"Doctors  were  called  in— great  men  who  rolled  up  to  my  door  in 
easy  carnages,  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  clever- 
est 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  rny  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  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  to- 
gether, 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  fromlimb,  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. 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"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  fast  time, 

"I  kept  my  eyes  carefully  from  him  at  first,  for  I  knew  what  he  little 
thought—  and  I  gloried  in  the  knowledg;e—  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  observa- 
tion, 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  uni- 
form he  wore,  to  demand  this  explanation. 

"This  man  had  a  commission  in  the  army  —  a  commission,  pur- 
chased 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  degrada- 
tion! 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  as  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  eddy- 
ing through  my  veins,  and  the  old  spirits  whispering  and  taunting  me 
to  tear  his  heart  out. 

"  cDamn  you/  said  I,  starting  up,  and  rushing  upon  him;  T 
killed  her.  I  am  a  madman.  Down  with  you.  Blood,  blood!  I  will 
have  it!' 


AN  EXPLANATORY  NOTE  127 

"I  turned  aside  with  one  blow  the  chair  he  hurled  at  me  in  his  ter- 
ror, 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  pro- 
truded 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  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  grey  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  some- 
times 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  mel- 
ancholy 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 


128  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

the  latter  was  the  strange  delusion,  founded  upon  a  well-known  medi- 
cal 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  in- 
sanity, 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  con- 
cluded 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  that  town  about 
one  o'clock  (their  luggage  they  had  directed  to  be  forwarded  to  the 
City,  froigL  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  reference  to  that  most  important  undertaking  demands  a  sepa- 
rate 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  faith- 
ful 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 — 


HISTORY  OF  THE  STONE  129 

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  pre- 
maturely, 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  ridicu- 
lous. Mr  Blotton,  with  a  mean  desire  to  tarnish  the  lustre  of  the 
immortal  name  of  Pickwick,  actually  undertook  a  journey  to  Cob- 
ham  in  person,  and  on  his  return,  sarcastically  observed  in  an  ora- 
tion 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  nor  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  en- 
lightened an  Institution)  received  this  statement  with  the  contempt  it 
deserved,  expelled  the  presumptuous  and  ill-conditioned  Blotton,  and 
voted  Mr  Pickwick  a  pair  of  gold  spectacles,  in  token  of  their  con- 
fidence 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  though  ejected  was  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,  native 
and  foreign,  being  roused,  several  fresh  pamphlets  appeared;  the 
foreign  learned  societies  corresponded  with  the  native  learned  so- 
cieties; 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  discus- 
sion so  well  known  to  all  men,  as  the  Pickwick  controversy. 


130  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

But  this  base  attempt  to  injure  Mr  Pickwick,  recoiled  upon  the 
head  of  its  calumnious  author.  The  seventeen  learned  societies  unan- 
imously 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  great- 
ness, 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  com- 
fortable description,  but  peculiarly  adapted  for  the  resi- 
dence 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  be- 
fore the  dressing-glass  in  his  dormitory,  he  had  an  equal  opportunity 
of  contemplating  human  nature  in  all  the  numerous  phases  it  ex- 
hibits, 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  pre- 
cisely 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  anyone  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  morn- 
ing 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,  con- 
stantly referred  to  his  watch,  and  exhibited  many  other  manifesta- 
tions 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  herself  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  apart- 
ment. 

131 


1 32  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Sir/3  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/5  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  matri- 
monial 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  con- 
sulted 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. 


INNOCENCE  IN  DANGER  133 

"Oh,  I  never  thought  anything  of  the  trouble,  sir/5  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.33 

"I3m  sure  I  ought  to  be  a  very  happy  woman,3'  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.3'  And  Mr  Pickwick  smiled  placidly. 

"Oh,  you  dear "  said  Mrs  BardelL 

Mr  Pickwick  started. 

"Oh,  you  kind,  good,  playful  dear,"  said  Mrs  Bardell;  and  with- 
out 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  un- 
availing: 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  ex- 
planation. 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  re- 
mained in  exactly  the  same  relative  situations  until  the  suspended 
animation  of  the  lady  was  restored,  had  it  not  been  for  a  most  beauti- 
ful 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  as- 
tounded 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  ag- 


I34  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

gressor,  he  set  up  an  appalling  and  semi-earthly  kind  of  howling, 
and  butting  forward  with  his  head,  commenced  assailing  that  im- 
mortal 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/5  said  the  agonised  Mr  Pickwick, 

"he's  mad."  ^.  1 

"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  further  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  affec- 
tionate 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  forth- 
with 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.  "Tan't  a  werry  good  'un  to  look  at,"  said  Sam, 
"but  it's  an  astonishin'  3un  to  wear;  and  afore  the  brim  went,  it  was 
a  werry  handsome  tile.  Hows5 ever  it's  lighter  without  it,  that's  one 


MR  WELLER  IN  LIVERY  135 

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;  uout  vith  it,  as  the  father 
said  to  the  child,  wen  he  swallowed  a  farden." 

uWe  want  to  know,  in  the  first  place,5'  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "whether 
you  have  any  reason  to  be  discontented  with  your  present  situation." 

"Afore  I  answers  that  'ere  question,  genTm'n,"  replied  Mr  Weller, 
"/  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  gentle- 
men 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  in- 
quiries 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  empo- 
riums where  gentlemen's  new  and  second-hand  clothes  are  provided, 
and  the  troublesome  and  inconvenient  formality  of  measurement  dis- 
pensed with;  and  before  night  had  closed  in,  Mr  Weller  was  furnished 


136  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  va- 
riety 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  game- 
keeper, or  a  seedsman.  I  looks  like  a  sort  of  compo  of  every  one  on 
'em.  Never  mind;  there's  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!" 


But  entreaty  and  remonstrance  were  alike  unavailing,  for  Mrs.  Bardwell 
had  fainted  in  Mr.  Pickwick's  arms 


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.  Know- 
ing 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  con- 
sulted 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  ex- 
amined every  corner  of  the  Pocket  County  Maps  issued  for  the 
benefit  of  society  by  our  distinguished  publishers,  and  the  same  re- 
sult 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  notebook,  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  die  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,  con- 
scious 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 

137 


i38  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  representa- 
tive: and,  accordingly,  there  were  two  newspapers  in  the  town — the 
Eatanswill  Gazette  and  the  Eatanswill  Independent*,  the  former  advocat- 
ing 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  denuncia- 
tions were  strewn  plentifully  over  the  columns  of  each,  in  every  num- 
ber, 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  impera- 
tively 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  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  let- 
ters, 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 


A  DIFFICULT   QUESTION  139 

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  sur- 
rounded by  a  branch  mob  of  the  honest  and  independent,  who  forth- 
with 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,53  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  considera- 
tion 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  in- 
quire, sir."  Away  he  went  for  that  purpose,  and  presently  returned, 
to  ask  whether  the  gentlemen  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." 


140  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"He  is  Blue,  I  think?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.33 

"Then  we  are  Blue/3  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  re- 
tired; 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,33  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?33 

Mr  Pickwick  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"Spirited  contest,  my  dear  sir,33  said  the  little  man. 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,33  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?'3 

"Oh,  yes,33  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?33 — the  little  man  smiled  complacently,  and  took  a  large  pinch 
of  snuff. 

"And  what  are  the  probabilities  as  to  the  result  of  the  contest?33 
inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Why,  doubtful,  my  dear  sir;  rather  doubtful  as  yet,33  replied  the 
little  man.  "Fizkin's  people  have  got  three-and-thirty  voters  in  the 
lock-up  coach-house  at  the  White  Hart.'3 

"In  the  coach-house!33  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  fel- 
low indeed." 

Mr  Pickwick  stared,  but  said  nothing. 

"We  are  pretty  confident,  though/3  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.33 

"A  parasol!53  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 
effects  of  those  parasols.  Secured  all  their  husbands,  and  half  their 
brothers — beats  stockings,  and  flannel,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  hoi- 


HOW  TO  WORK  AN  ELECTION  141 

low.  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.53 

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  newcomer  was  intro- 
duced to  Mr  Pickwick  as  Mr  Pott,  the  editor  of  the  Eatanswill  Gazette* 
After  a  few  preliminary  remarks,  Mr  Pott  turned  round  to  Mr  Pick- 
wick, and  said  with  solemnity: 

"This  contest  excites  great  interest  in  the  metropolis,  sir?95 

"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.55 

"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  enor- 
mous 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 

^  Here  the  editor  of  the  Eatanswill  Gazette ,  appearing  to  ramble,  Mr 
Pickwick  came  to  his  relief,  and  said: 

"Certainly.53 

"And  what,  sir5' — said  Pott— "what,  sir,  let  me  ask  you  as  an  im- 
partial man,  is  the  state  of  the  public  mind  in  London,  with  reference 
to  my  contest  with  the  Independent?" 

"Greatly  excited,  no  doubt,55  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  men5s  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.5' 


i42  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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/3  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  expres- 
sion 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/3  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/3  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.3' 

"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  Pea- 
cock, and  I  can  boldly  say,  on  behalf  of  Mrs  Pott,  that  she  will  be 
delighted  to  accommodate  Mr  Pickwick  and  any  of  his  friends,  if  the 
other  two  gentlemen  and  their  servant  do  not  object  to  shifting,  as 
they  best  can,  at  the  Peacock." 

After  repeated  pressings  on  the  part  of  Mr  Pott,  and  repeated  pro- 
testations on  that  of  Mr  Pickwick  that  he  could  not  think  of  incom- 
moding 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  dining  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  TOWII  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  sub- 
missive 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/3  said  Mr  Pott,  "Mr  Pickwick— Mr  Pickwick  of  Lon- 
don.33 

Mrs  Pott  received  Mr-  Pickwick's  paternal  grasp  of  the  hand  with. 


MR  POTT  AND  MRS   POTT  143 

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/3  said  Mr  Pott.  "Permit  me,  Mrs  Pott, 
Mr " 

"Winkle,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Winkle,55  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  jw,"  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  con- 
versation in  which  these  gentlemen  might  take  some  rational  inter- 
est." 

"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-eight.  I'll  read  you — "  added  the  edi- 
tor, turning  to  Mr  Pickwick,  "I'll  just  read  you  a  few  of  the  leaders 


144  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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.35 

"I  should  like  to  hear  them  very  much,  indeed/'  said  Mr  Pick- 
wick. 

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  to  the  game  at  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  Pick- 
wick 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  ease  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  ad- 
miration 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  imag- 
ination. 

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  bed- 
room 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  col-lecting 


SAM'S   EXPERIENCES  AT  THE  PEACOCK         145 

down  at  the  1'own  Arms,  and  they're  a  hollering  themselves  hoarse 
already.35 

"Ah,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "do  they  seem  devoted  to  their  party, 
Sam?53 

"Never  see  such  dewotion  in  my  life,  sir.33 

"Energetic,  eh?35  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Uncommon,"  replied  Sam;  "I  never  see  men  eat  and  drink  so 
much  afore.  I  wonder  they  an't  afeer'd  o3  bustin3.33 

"That's  the  mistaken  kindness  of  the  gentry  here,33  said  Mr  Pick- 
wick. 

"Wery  likely,53  replied  Sam,  briefly. 

"Fine,  fresh,  hearty  fellows  they  seem,33  said  Mr  Pickwick,  glancing 
from  the  window. 

"Wery  fresh,33  replied  Sam;  "me,  and  the  two  waiters  at  the 
Peacock,  has  been  a  pumpin3  over  the  independent  woters  as  supped 
there  last  night.'3 

"Pumping  over  independent  voters!33  exclaimed  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Yes,33  said  his  attendant,  "every  man  slept  vere  he  fell  down;  we 
dragged  'em  out,  one  by  one,  this  mornin',  and  put  3em  under  the 
pump,  and  they're  in  reg'lar  fine  order,  now.  Shillin'  a  head  the 
committee  paid  for  that 3 ere  job.33 

"Can  such  things  be!"  exclaimed  the  astonished  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Lord  bless  your  heart,  sir,33  said  Sam,  "why  where  was  you  half 
baptized? — that's  nothin3,  that  an't." 

"Nothing?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Nothin3  at  all,  sir,33  replied  his  attendant.  "The  night  afore  the 
last  day  o'  the  last  election  here,  the  opposite  party  bribed  the  bar- 
maid at  the  Town  Arms,  to  hocus  the  brandy  and  water  of  fourteen 
unpolled  electors  as  was  a  stoppin3  in  the  house." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  focussing'  brandy  and  water?"  inquired 
Mr  Pickwick. 

"Puttin5  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,33  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  werry  place,  sir,"  replied 
Sam. 

"What  was  that?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Why  he  drove  a  coach  down  here  once,"  said  Sam;  "  'lection 
time  came  on,  and  he  was  engaged  by  vun  party  to  bring  down 
woters  from  London.  Night  afore  he  was  a  going  to  drive  up,  com- 
mittee on  t'other  side  sends  for  him  quietly*  and  away  he  goes  vith  the 


i46  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

messenger,  who  shows  him  in;— large  room— lots  of  genTm'n — heaps 
of  papers,  pens  and  ink,  and  all  that  'ere.  'Ah,  Mr  Waller,3  says 
the  genTm'n  in  the  chair,  'glad  to  see  you,  sir;  how  are  you?'— 
'Werry  well,  thank3 ee,  sir/  says  my  father;  'I  hope  you're  pretty 
rniddlinY  says  ha.— 'Pretty  well,  thank'ee  sir,'  says  the  genTm'n; 
esit  down,  Mr  Weller— pray  sit  down,  sir.5  So  my  father  sits  down, 
and  he  and  the  genTm'n  looks  werry  hard  at  each  other.  'You 
don't  remember  me?'  says  the  genTm'n.— 'Can't  say  I  do,'  says  my 
father. — 'Oh,  I  know  you,5  says  the  genTm'n;  cknow'd  you  when 
you  was  a  boy,'  says  he. — 'Well,  I  don't  remember  you,'  says  my 
father.— 'That's  very  odd,5  says  the  genTm'n.— 'Werry/  says  my 
father.— 'You  must  have  a  bad  mem'ry,  Mr  Weller,'  says  the  genTm'n. 
—'Well,  it  is  a  wery  bad  >un/  says  my  father  .—'I  thought  so,'  says 
the  genTm'n.  So  then  they  pours  him  out  a  glass  of  wine,  and  gam- 
mons him  about  his  driving,  and  gets  him  into  a  reg'lar  good  humour, 
and  at  last  shoves  a  twenty-pound  note  in  his  hand.  'It's  a  werry  bad 
road  between  this  and  London,'  says  the  genTm'n. — 'Here  and 
there  it  is  a  heavy  road,'  says  my  father. — *  'Specially  near  the  canal, 
I  think/  says  the  genTm'n.— 'Nasty  bit  that  'ere/  says  my  father.— 
'Well,  Mr  Weller/  says  the  genTm'n,  'you're  a  werY  g°od  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  a  bringing  these  here  woters  down,  and  should  tip  'em  over 
into  the  canal  vithout  hurtin'  of  'em,  this  is  for  yourself/  says  he. — 
'GenTm'n,  you're  wery  kind/  says  my  father,  'and  I'll  drink  your 
health  in  another  glass  of  wine/  says  he;  which  he  did,  and  then 
buttons  up  the  money,  and  bows  himself  out.  You  wouldn't  be- 
lieve, 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  genTm'n 
was  missin';  I  know  his  hat  was  found,  but  I  an'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  genT- 
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  call- 
ing 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 


ELECTIONEERING  PREPARATIONS  147 

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  Slumkey5  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  appro- 
priate devices,  in  golden  characters  four  feet  high,  and  stout  in  pro- 
portion. 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  jjpcJ&ades*  There  were 
electors  on  horseback,  and  electors  a-foot.  There  was  an  open  car- 
riage and  four,  for  the  Honourable  Samuel  Slumkey;  and  there  were 
four  carriages  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  assem- 
bled, 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  Press3*  inscribed  thereon, 
when  the  sandy  head  of  Mr  Pott  was  discerned  in  one  of  the  win- 
dows, by  the  mob  beneath;  and  tremendous  was  the  enthusiasm 
when  the  Honourable  Samuel  Slumkey  himself,  in  topboots,  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, 


148  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

e 'perhaps  if  you  could— I  don't  mean  to  say  it's  indispensable — but  if 
you  could  manage  to  kiss  one  of  5em,  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  re- 
signed 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  con- 
stables, 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  beside. 

There  was  a  moment  of  awful  suspense  as  the  procession  waited  for 
the  Honourable  Samuel  Slumkey  to  step  into  his  carriage.  Suddenly 
the  crowd  set  up  a  great  cheering. 

"He  has  come  out,"  said  little  Mr  Perker,  greatly  excited;  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  3em!"  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  proces- 
sion, 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  flagstaff,  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. 


ELECTIONEERING  PROCESSIONS  149 

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,'5  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  re- 
flections upon  the  honour  of  an  innocent  lady,  Mr  Pickwick's  indig- 
nation 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. 


i5o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Gentlemen/3  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. 

"Sue-cess  to  the  Mayor!3'  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  con- 
cluding sentence,  in  which  he  thanked  the  meeting  for  the  patient 
attention  with  which  they  had  heard  him  throughout — an  expression 
of  gratitude  which  elicited  another  burst  of  mirth,  of  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour's  duration. 

Next,  a  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  woice  under  the  pillow,"  begged  to  nom- 
inate 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  Parlia- 
ment; and  very  swimmingly  the  pink-faced  gentleman  would  have 
gone  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  Sam- 
uel 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  strug- 
gling, and  pushing,  and  fighting,  succeeded,  to  which  we  can  no 


TRIUMPH  OF  THE  SLUMKEY  PARTY  151 

more  do  justice  than  the  Mayor  could,  although  he  issued  impera- 
tive 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  de- 
clining 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  per- 
mitted 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 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


standing  during  the  whole  proceedings),  returned  thanks.  The  pro- 
cessions re-formed,  the  carriages  rolled  slowly  through  the  crowd, 
ancffirts  members  screeched  and  shouted  after  them  as  their  feelings 
or  caprice  dictated. 

During  the  whole  time  of  the  polling,  the  town  was  in  a  perpetual 
fever  of  excitement.  Everything  was  conducted  on  the  most  liberal 
and  delightful  scale.  Exciseable  articles  were  remarkably  cheap  at 
all  the  public-houses;  and  spring  vans  paraded  the  streets  for  the 
accommodation  of  voters  who  were  seized  with  any  temporary  dizzi- 
ness in  the  head  —  an  epidemic  which  prevailed  among  the  electors, 
during  the  contest,  to  a  most  alarming  extent,  and  under  the  in- 
fluence of  which  they  might  frequently  be  seen  lying  on  the  pave- 
ments 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  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  suf- 
ficiently 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,  notwith- 
standing 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  attrac- 
tions which  enabled  the  two  friends  to  resist  even  the  invitations  of 
the  gifted,  though  prosy,  Pott.  It  was  in  the  evening  that  the  Com- 
mercial 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  propprtion  to  the  size  of  the  room  as  a  lady's  pocket-handker- 
chief might  to  the  floor  of  a  watch-box.  The  walls  were  garnished 

153 


i54  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

with  one  or  two  large  maps;  and  several  weather-beaten  rough  great- 
coats, with  complicated  capes,  dangled  from  a  long  row  of  pegs  in  one 
corner.  The  mantelshelf  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  travellmg-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  tempo- 
rary 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  al- 
ways propose  that  toast  to  the  company,  and  drink  Mary  to  Myself. 
Eh,  Mary!55 

"Get  along  with  you,  you  wretch,"  said  the  handmaiden,  ob- 
viously not  ill-pleased  with  the  compliment,  however. 

"Don't  go  away,  Mary,5'  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  wink- 
ing upon  the  company  with  his  solitary  eye,  to  the  enthusiastic  de- 
light 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  fits  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. 


THE  COMPANY  AT  THE  PEACOCK  155 

''When  they're  in  a  good  humour,"  interposed  the  dirty-faced  man. 

"And  that's  very  true/3  said  the  placid  one. 

"I  repudiate  that  qualification/5  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/9  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/9  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  and 
Slum?  But  it  doesn't  matter  though,  whether  you  did  or  not,  be- 
cause 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  di- 
rection of  Bristol.  I  say  he  might  have  been  seen,  and  I  have  no 


i56  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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-no thing  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  copybooks  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  lain  itself  down  to  rest,  when,  whoo! 
he  would  hear  it  growling  and  whistling  in  the  distance,  and  on  it 
would  come  rushing  over  the  hilltops,  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 
as  if  in  ridicule  of  their  weakness,  and  triumphant  in  the  conscious- 
ness 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  pre- 
vent 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 


SNUGLY  HOUSED  157 


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. 

"  cWell,  damn  my  straps  and  whiskers,3  says  Tom  Smart  (Tom 
sometimes  had  an  unpleasant  knack  of  swearing) ,  'Damn  my  straps 
and  whiskers/  says  Tom,  eif  this  ain't  pleasant,  blow  me!5 

"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  till  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  crossbeams,  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  com- 
fortable-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 


158  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  dis- 
cover 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  compo- 
sition, and  did  make  him  feel  extremely  indignant;  the  more  espe- 
cially 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  an- 
other, 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  turn- 


A  REMARKABLE   CHAIR  159 

bier,  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  chim- 
ney-piece, to  the  glass  on  the  table;  and  as  he  felt  himself  become 
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  long  been  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  from  it  as  ever.  So,  after  deliberating  over  the  last  two  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  care- 
fully 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  some- 


160  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

thing  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; — Deuce  take  the  chair,  it  was 
such  a  strange  old  thing,  he  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  it. 

ce  'Well/  said  Tom,  slowly  undressing  himself,  and  staring  at  the 
old  chair  all  the  while,  which  stood  with  a  mysterious  aspect  by  the 
bedside,  CI  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  con- 
fused 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  play- 
ing 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  bed- 
clothes. There  it  was,  plainly  discernible  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  look- 
ing 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,  en- 
cased in  red  cloth  slippers;  and  the  old  chair  looked  like  a  very  ugly 
old  man,  of  the  previous  century,  with  his  arms  a-kimbo.  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  im- 
pudent 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: 

"  eWhat  the  devil  are  you  winking  at  me  for?5 

"  'Because  I  like  it,  Tom  Smart/  said  the  chair;  or  the  old  gentle- 
man, 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 


THE  CHAIR'S  DISCLOSURE  161 

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.  Dam'me,  you  couldn't  treat 
me  with  less  respect  if  I  was  veneered.9  When  the  old  gentleman 
said  this,  he  looked  so  fierce  that  Tom  began  to  be  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,5  said  the  old  fellow,  'perhaps  not — perhaps  not. 
Tom ' 


'Sir- 


"  'I  know  everything  about  you,  Tom;  everything.  You're  very 
poor,  Tom.3 

c;  el  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— re- 
markably fine  woman — eh,  Tom?'  Here  the  old  fellow  screwed  up 
his  eyes,  cocked  up  one  of  his  wasted  little  legs,  and  looked  alto- 
gether 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  grand- 
mother. She  was  very  fond  of  me — made  me  this  waistcoat,  Tom/ 

"  'Did  she?'  said  Tom  Smart. 

"  cAnd  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,  CI  am  a  good  deal  troubled  with  this 


1 62  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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,5  said  the  old  gentleman,  'that's  not  the  point.  Tom! 
I  want  you  to  marry  the  widow/ 

"  cMe,  sir!'  said  Tom. 

"  'You'  said  the  eld  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?5  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.5 

"  '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  wrotJvkecause  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. 

"  T  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  in- 
quisitive look. 

"  'You  may  say  that,  now/  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. 

*e  '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  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  thai  he  was  obliged  to  be  burnt.  Shocking  thing  that,  Tom/ 


"SILENCE  FOR  THE  CHAIR!"  163 

"  '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,5  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,5  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  mar- 
ried.' 

"  '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,3  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  day- 
light— most  men  are. 

"The  chair  remained  motionless,  and  spoke  not  a  word. 


164  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"  '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  him- 
self, 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  down- 
stairs, with  the  scrutinising  eye  of  a  landlord;  thinking  it^not  impos- 
sible, that  before  long,  they  and  their  contents  would  be  his  property. 
The  tall  man  was  standing  in  the  snug  little  bar,  with  his  hands  be- 
hind 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!  Comfort- 
able 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. 

"  cHe  is  a  very  fine  man,  sir/  replied  the  widow,  'and  a  very  nice 
gentleman.' 

"  £Ah!'  said  Tom. 

"  Ts  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  kind- 
ness to  sit  down  for  one  moment?' 


TOM  SMART  AND  THE  WIDOW  165 

"The  widow  looked  much  amazed,  but  she  sat  down,  and  Tom  sat " 
down  too,  close  beside  her.  I  don't  know  how  it  happened,  gentle- 
men—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  no- 
tion 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!' 

"  CI  scorn  to  flatter,  my  dear  ma'am/  said  Tom  Smart.  cYou 
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  comforts  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. 

"  CI  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,3  said  Tom,  'I  know  him.' 

"  T  am  sure  nobody  who  knows  him,  knows  anything  bad  of  him,* 
said  the  widow,  bridling  up  at  the  mysterious  air  with  which  Torn  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. 

"  Til  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. 

"  Til  astonish  you/  said  Tom,  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 


1 66  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"  'If  it  is,  that  he  wants  money/  said  the  widow,  'I  know  that  al- 
ready, and  you  needn't  trouble  yourself.' 

"  'Pooh,  nonsense,  that's  nothing,3  said  Tom  Smart.  '/  want 
money.  'Tan'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.  cYou  won't  scream?'  said  Tom,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  '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,3  said  Tom,  'because  I'll 
do  all  that  for  you;  you  had  better  not  exert  yourself.3 

"  'Well,  well,'  said  the  widow,  'let  me  see  it.' 

"  CI  will,3  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  man!'  said  the  widow. 

"  'Frightful,  my  dear  ma'am;  but  compose  yourself,'  said  Tom 
Smart. 

"  'Oh,  I  can't  compose  myself,3  shrieked  the  widow.  'I  shall  never 
find  anyone  else  I  can  love  so  much!3 

"  'Oh,  yes,  you  will,  my  dear  soul,3  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 
Toms3  hand.  She  looked  up  in  Tom3s  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,  gentle- 
men, I  rather  think  he  did. 

"At  all  events,  Tom  kicked  the  very  tall  man  out  at  the  front  door 
half  an  hour  after,  and  married  the  widow  a  month  after.  And  he 
used  to  drive  about  the  country,  with  the  clay-coloured  gig  with  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.33 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you,33  said  the  inquisitive  old  gentleman, 
"what  became  of  the  chair?33 

"Why,33  replied  the  one-eyed  bagman,  "it  was  observed  to  creak 


VERY  NICE   MEN  167 


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  after- 
wards." 

"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  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  BREAK- 
FAST 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    re- 
proaching 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  ter- 
minated, when  his  faithful  valet  put  into  his  hand  a  card,,  on  which 
was  engraved  the  following  inscription: 

jfMti  Heo  punter 

The  Den.    Eatanswill 

"Person's  a  waitin',"  said  Sam,  epigrammatically. 

"Does  the  person  want  me,  Sam?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 

"He  wants  you  particklar;  and  no  one  else'll  do,  as  the  Devil's 
private  secretary  said  ven  he  fetched  avay  Doctor  Faustus,"  replied 
MrWeller. 

"He.    Is  it  a  gentleman?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"A  wery  good  imitation  o*  one,  if  it  an't,"  replied  Mr  Weller. 

"But  this  is  a  lady's  card,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Given  me  by  a  genTm'n,  hows'ever,"  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  en- 
trance, 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; 
/  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. 

168 


"Permit  me  to  introduce  my  friends — Mr.  Tvpman — Mr.  Winkle — Mr.  Snodgrass 
— to  the  authoress  of  The  Expiring  Frog/* 


MR  LEO   HUNTER  CALLS  169 

"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/3  replied  Mr  Pickwick. 

"You  shall  make  it,  sir/3  said  the  grave  man.  "To-morrow  morn- 
ing, sir,  we  give  a  public  breakfast-^a  fete  champttre — to  a  great 
number  of  those  who  have  rendered  themselves  celebrated  by  their 
works  and  talents.  Permit  Mrs  Leo  Hunter,  sir,  to  have  the  grati- 
fication of  seeing  you  at  the  Den.55 

"With  great  pleasure,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Mrs  Leo  Hunter  has  many  of  these  breakfasts,  sir,"  resumed  the 
new  acquaintance — "  Teasts  of  reason,  sir,  and  flows  of  soul,5  as 
somebody  who  wrote  a  sonnet  to  Mrs  Leo  Hunter  on  her  breakfasts, 
feelingly  and  originally  observed.55 

"Was  he  celebrated  for  his  works  and  talents?55  inquired  Mr  Pick- 
wick. 

"He  was,  sir,55  replied  the  grave  man,  "all  Mrs  Leo  Hunter5s  ac- 
quaintance are;  it  is  her  ambition,  sir,  to  have  no  other  acquaint- 
ance.55 

"It  is  a  very  noble  ambition,5'  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"When  I  inform  Mrs  Leo  Hunter,  that  that  remark  fell  fromjwwr 
lips,  sir,  she  will  indeed  be  proud,55  said  the  grave  man.  "You  have 
a  gentleman  in  your  train,  who  has  produced  some  beautiful  little 
poems,  I  think,  sir.55 

"My  friend  Mr  Snodgrass  has  a  great  taste  for  poetry,55  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.55 

"I  don't  think  I  have,5'  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"You  astonish  me,  sir,55  said  Mr  Leo  Hunter.  "It  created  an  im- 
mense sensation.  It  was  signed  with  an  CL'  and  eight  stars,  and  ap- 
peared 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,55  said  Mr  Leo  Hunter,  "so  simple*" 

"Very,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 


1 7o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"The  next  verse  is  still  more  touching.    Shall  I  repeat  it?" 

"If  you  please/3  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!3' 

"Finely  expressed/3  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"All  point,  sir/'  said  Mr  Leo  Hunter,  "but  you  shall  hear  Mrs  Leo 
Hunter  repeat  it.  She  can  do  justice  to  it,  sir.  She  will  repeat  it,  in 
character,  sir,  to-morrow  morning/' 

"In  character!" 

"As  Minerva.    But  I  forgot — it's  a  fancy-dress  breakfast." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  glancing  at  his  own  figure — "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  Ms  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. 


PICKWICKIAN  WARMTH  171 

"Is  she?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"As  Apollo/'  replied  Mr  Winkle.    "Only  Pott  objects  to  the  tunic.33 

"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/'  interrupted  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  in- 
sult 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/3  said  Mr  Tupman,  speaking 
in  a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion,  and  tucking  up  his  wristbands 


172  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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?35 

"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,  nor  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  convinc- 


FANCY  COSTUMES  173 

ing  reasoning  of  Mr  Solomon  Lucas;  and  influenced  by  such  argu- 
ments did  Mr  Tupman,  Mr  Winkle,  and  Mr  Snodgrass3  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  accommoda- 
tion 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  de- 
licious 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,33  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  ad- 
jectives 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  pin- 
cushion over  his  back  and  shoulders:  the  upper  portion  of  his  legs 
encased  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  counte- 
nance, 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  nothing 
compared  with  the  shouting  of  the  populace  when  the  carriage  drew 
up,  behind  Mr  Potfs  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  jpaSijt 
in  his  hand — tastefully  typical  of  the  stern  and  mighty  power  of  the 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


Eatanswill  Gazette,  and  the  fearful  lashings  it  bestowed  on  public  of- 
fenders. 

"Bravo!"  shouted  Mr  Tupman  and  Mr  Snodgrass  from  the  pas- 
sage, when  they  beheld  the  walking  allegory. 

"Bravo!"  Mr  Pickwick  was  heard  to  exclaim,  from  the  passage. 

"Hoo  —  roar  Pott!"  shouted  the  populace.  Amid  these  saluta- 
tions, 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  cdid'  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  after- 
wards —  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  them- 
selves 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 


AN  ARRAY  OF  GENIUSES  175 

the  costume  of  their  country — and  very  dirty  costume  too.  And 
above  all,  there  was  Mrs  Leo  Hunter  in  the  character  of  Minerva,  re- 
ceiving the  company,  and  overflowing  with  pride  and  gratification  at 
the  notion  of  having  called  such  distinguished  individuals  together. 

"Mr  Pickwick,  ma'am/5  said  a  servant,  as  that  gentleman  ap- 
proached 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.  "Per- 
mit 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  compara- 
tive 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,3'  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  trump- 
eter 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  be- 
tween you." 

"Well,  and  if  they  did>  why  need  you  repeat  it,  before  strangers?" 


176  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  introduc- 
ing 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  gra- 
ciously 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  signifi- 
cantly. "Large  book  at  home — full  of  notes — music,  picture,  science, 
poetry,  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  Pick- 
wick's remark,  in  Count  Smorltork's  tablets,  with  such  variations 
and  additions  as  the  Count's  exuberant  fancy  suggested,  or  his  im- 
perfect 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. 


A  DISTINGUISHED   FOREIGNER  177 

"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  impor- 
tant and  valuable  additions  to  his  stock  of  information. 

"Wonderful  man,  Count  Smorltork/5  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  some- 
thing-ean singers  should  grunt,  while  the  fourth  howled.  This  in- 
teresting 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  tinder  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  mag- 
nified toad — all  which  feats  yielded  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  some- 
thing to  eat,  had  not  said  that  it  was  perfectly  shameful  to  take  ad- 
vantage 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  re- 
freshment-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  proceeding,  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  them- 
selves. 

>  /'Where  is  Mr  Pott?5'  said  Mrs  Leo  Hunter,  as  she  placed  the  afore- 
said lions  around  her. 


178  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  gi- 
gantic 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  linen3  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 . ' 3 

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  Pick- 
wick* 


SUDDEN  DEPARTURE  OF  MR  PICKWICK        179 

"Hallo!35  said  Jingle.  c 'Quite  forgot — no  directions  to  postillion — 
give  'em  at  once — back  in  a  minute.35 

"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,'3  replied 
Jingle.  With  these  words  he  disappeared  among  the  crowd. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you,  ma'am,35  said  the  excited  Mr  Pick- 
wick, rising  from  his  seat,  "who  that  young  man  is,  and  where  he 
resides!" 

"He  is  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  Mr  Pickwick,55  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  Pick- 
wick 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  de- 
ceived 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!  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  suc- 
ceeding 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  waggon,  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-burnt  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, 

180 


MR  WELLER'S  YOUTH  181 

he  sat  at  first  taciturn  and  contemplative,  brooding  over  the  means 
by  which  his  purpose  could  be  best  attained.  By  degrees  his  atten- 
tion 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/5  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Beats  the  chimley-pots,  sir/5  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  vagginer'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':  than  a  vagginer's,  then  a  helper,  then  a  boots.  Now  I'm  a 
genTm'n's  servant.  I  shall  be  a  genTm'n  myself  one  of  these  days, 
perhaps,  with  a  pipe  in  my  mouth,  and  a  summer-house  in  the  back- 
garden.  Who  knows?  /  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,  an'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  vagginer,  I  had 
unfurnished  lodgin's  for  a  fortnight." 

"Unfurnished  lodgings?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

^"Yes — the  dry  arches  of  Waterloo  Bridge.  Fine  sleeping-place— 
within  ten  minutes3  walk  of  all  the  public  offices — only  if  there  is  any 
objection  to  it,  it  is  that  the  situation's  rayther  too  airy.  I  see  some 
queer  sights  there." 

"Ah,  I  suppose  you  did,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  with  an  air  of  con- 
siderable interest. 

"Sights,  sir,"  resumed  Mr  Weller,  "as  'ud  penetrate  your  benevo- 
lent 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  rolls  themselves  in  the  dark  corners 
o?  them  lonesome  places — poor  creeturs  as  an't  up  to  the  twopenny 


182  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"And,  pray,  Sam,  what  is  the  twopenny  rope?"  inquired  Mr  Pick- 
wick. 

"The  twopenny  rope,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Weller,  "is  just  a  cheap 
lodgin'-house,  where  the  beds  is  twopence  a  night.53 

"What  do  they  call  a  bed  a  rope  for?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Bless  your  innocence,  sir,  that  an't  it,"  replied  Sam.  "Wen  the 
lady  and  genTm'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  lets  go  the  ropes  at  one  end,  and 
down  falls  all  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?5' 

"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  intelli- 
gence; 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 

"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  nothin5  so  refreshin'  as  sleep,  sir, 
as  the  servant-girl  said  afore  she  drank  the  egg-cupful  o'  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  any  inquiries  below  while  it's  a  getting 


AT  THE  ANGEL  AT  BURY  183 

ready;  I  could  worm  ev'ry  secret  out  o'  the  boots'  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  intelli- 
gence 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  Ms  return,  and  had  taken  his  servant  with  Mm. 
^  "Now,  sir/3  argued  Mr  Weller,  when  he  had  concluded  his  report, 
"if  I  can  get  a  talk  with  this  here  servant  in  the  morning  he'll  tell  me 
all  his  master's  concerns.'5 

"How  do  you  know  that?33  interposed  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Bless  your  heart,  sir,  servants  always  do/a  replied  Mr  Weller. 

^Oh,  ah,  I  forgot  that/3  said  Mr  Pickwick.    "Well.53 

"Then  you  can  arrange  what's  best  to  be  done,  sir,  and  we  can  act 
according.' * 

As  it  appeared  that  this  was  the  best  arrangement  that  could  be 
made,  it  was  finally  agreed  upon,  Mr  Weller,  by  his  master's  per- 
mission, 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  showerbath  (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  mul- 
berry-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. 

"Ypu?re  a  rum  'un  to  look  at,  you  are!"  thought  Mr  WeEer,  the 
first  time  his  eyes  encountered  the  glance  of  the  stranger  in  the  mul- 
berry 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  3un!"  thought  Mr  Weller;  and  thinking  this,  he  went 
on  washing  himself,  and  thought  no  more  about  him. 

Still  the  man  kept  glancing  from  his  hyma-book  to  Sam,  aad  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: 


184  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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',"  repKed  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?" 


*cAnd  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  mar- 
ried." 

"No." 


MR  JOB  TROTTER  IS  TREATED       185 

"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,  an'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  under- 
going 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, 
as  a  means  of  reminding  his  companion  that  he  had  nothing  left 
wherewith  10  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  masVs  wery  rich?"  said  Sam. 

Mr  Trotter  smiled,  and  holding  his  glass  in  his  left  hand,  gave 
four  distinct  slaps  on  the  pocket  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." 


i86  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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.  uMy  masVs  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  Pick- 
wick; "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  here  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  'ern,  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  ingen'.  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.  3T3an'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,  "al- 
though 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. 


MR  TROTTER  PENITENT  187 

"And  when,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  uwhen  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  fact  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'  reflec- 
tion. "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  con- 
fidence 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  01 
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.  Goon;  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 


i88  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  frustrat- 
ing 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  re- 
monstrance, 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." 

"Werry  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,  me- 
chanically. ' e 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 
highroad,  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 


MR  PICKWICK'S   ERRAND  189 

like  a  rain-water  spout  in  a  shower  on  such  good  terms.    How  do  you 
do  it?5' 

"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,  any 
how,"  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  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  incumbrance  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. 

"Very  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  very  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  com- 
pletely 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  whis- 
per, as  soon  as  he  recovered  from  the  surprise  consequent  upon  the 
mysterious  disappearance  of  his  master. 

"I  have  not  hurt  myself ~  Sam,  certainly,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick, 


i9o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

from  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  "but  I  rather  think  that  you  have 
hurt  me.53 

"I  hope  not,  sir/3  said  Sam. 

"Never  mind/3  said  Mr  Pickwick,  rising,  "it3s  nothing  but  a  few 
scratches.  Go  away,  or  we  shall  be  overheard.3' 

"Good-bye,  sir.3' 

"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  Pick- 
wick 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  neigh- 
bouring church  ringing  out  the  hour — half-past  eleven. 

"That  is  the  time,33  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  melo- 
dramatic 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,55  said  the  girl,  addressing  her- 
self to  some  one  in  the  house.  "Puss,  puss,  puss — tit,  tit,  tit.33 

But  no  animal  being  decoyed  by  these  blandishments,  the  girl 
slowly  closed  the  door,  and  refastened  it;  leaving  Mr  Pickwick  drawn 
up  straight  against  the  wall. 

"This  is  very  curious/3  thought  Mr  Pickwick.  "They  are  sitting 
up  beyond  their  usual  hour,  I  suppose.  Extremely  unfortunate, 


MR  PICKWICK  IN  AMBUSH  191 

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  be- 
fore 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  con- 
stable;— 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,53  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  keyhole.  No  reply; 
very  odd.  Another  knock.  He  listened  again.  There  was  a  low 
whispering  inside,  and  then  a  voice  cried: 

"Who's  there?33 

"That's  not  Job,33  thought  Mr  Pickwick,  hastily  drawing  himself 
straight  up  against  the  wall  again.  "It's  a  woman.33 

He  had  scarcely  had  time  to  form  this  conclusion,  when  a  window 
above  stairs  was  thrown  up,  and  three  or  four  female  voices  re- 
peated 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  super- 
natural 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. 


1 92  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Who's  there?"  screamed  a  numerous  chorus  of  treble  voices  from 
the  staircase  inside,  consisting  of  the  spinster  lady  of  the  establish- 
ment, 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— "Lor5!  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  im- 
mediately." 

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  im- 
patiently. 

"Don't  you  hear  your  missus,  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 
anything  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 
the  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  re- 
treated 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 


RELEASE  OF  MR  PICKWICK  193 

of  his  situation.  "Hear  me.  I  am  no  robber.  I  want  the  lady  of  the 
house.55 

"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 — every- 
thing," said  Mr  Pickwick,  exerting  his  lungs  to  the  utmost  pitch. 
"Call  her — only  be  quiet,  and  call  her,  and  you  shall  hear  every- 
thing.'^ 

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  establish- 
ment (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  gentle- 
man 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  Tom- 
kins  to  the  writing  and  ciphering  governess. 

"It's  my  opinion,  Miss  Tomkins,"  said  the  writing  and  ciphering 
governess,  "that  his  manservant  keeps  him.  /  think  he's  a  madman, 
Miss  Tomkins,  and  the  other's  his  keeper." 


I94  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"I  think  you  are  very  right,  Miss  Gwynn,"  responded  Miss  Tom- 
kins.  "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  pro- 
tect 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  philoso- 
phy 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  recognized,  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 
Mr  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  ladies5 11  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  em- 
phatically 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?" 


MR   PICKWICK   CRESTFALLEN  195 

"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/5  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  bedclothes. 

"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  WeUer.     "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  addi- 
tion to  the  exposure  he  so  richly  merits.  I  will,  or  my  name  is  not 
Pickwick." 

"And  wenever  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  an't  Weller.  Good  night,  sir!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SHOWING   THAT   AN    ATTACK   OF   RHEUMATISM,    IN   SOME    GASES, 
ACTS   AS   A   QUIGKENER   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  under- 
gone on  the  memorable  night,  recorded  in  the  last  chapter.     The 
process  of  being  washed  in  the  night  air,  atnd  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  im- 
paired, 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  his 
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  bed-chamber,  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  of  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  turnecUup 

196 


NATHANIEL  PIPKIN  197 

nose,  and  rather  turned-in  legs:  a  cast  in  his  eyes,  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  momen- 
tous 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  com- 
pound 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  pre- 
viously offended,  and  cuffed  and  knocked  him  about,  to  his  heart's 
content.  All  this  was  very  natural,  and  there's  nothing  at  all  to 
\Vonder  at  about  it. 

"It  is  matter  of  wonder,  though,  that  anyone  of  Mr  Nathaniel 
Pipkin's  retiring  disposition,  nervous  temperament,  and  most  par- 
ticularly 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 — old  Lobbs,  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 — old  Lobbs,  who  it  was  well  known,  on  festive  occa- 
sions 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 


1 98  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

should  be  his  daughter's  property  when  she  found  a  man  to  her 
mind.  I  repeat  it,  to  be  matter  of  profound  astonishment  and  in- 
tense -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  affectioas  of  Nathaniel  Pipkin,  he  would 
have  just  razed  the  schoolroom  to  the  ground,  or  exterminated  its 
master  from  the  surface  of  the  earth,,  or  committed  some  other  out- 
rage and  atrocity  of  an  equally  ferocious  and  violent  description; 
for  he  was  a  terrible  old  fellow,  was  Lobbs,  when  his  pride  was  in- 
jured, or  his  blood  was  up.  Swear!  Such  trains  of  oaths  would  come 
rolling  and  pealing  over  the  way;  sometimes,  when  he  was  denounc- 
ing 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  de- 
lightful, 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  out3 
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,  im- 
pudent-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 


A  SNUG  LITTLE  PARTY  igg 

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,  un- 
less he  were  permitted  to  rise  the  accepted  lover  of  Maria  Lobbs. 
Upon  this,  the  merry  laughter  of  Maria  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  hon- 
oured 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  grey  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 


202  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  old  Lobbs  would  have  carried 
this  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.  /  love  your  daughter,  sir;  and  /  am  here  for  the  purpose 
of  meeting  her.3 

"Old  Lobbs  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  at  this,  but  not  wider  than 
Nathaniel  Pipkin. 

"  'You  did?3  said  Lobbs:  at  last  finding  breath  to  speak. 

"  'I  did.5 

"  cAnd  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  swim- 
ming 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  grey  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  shyness  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  his  pipe,-and  smoked  it:  and  it  was  a  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance 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 


A  WEDDING  CELEBRATION  203. 

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  incar- 
cerated in  the  village  cage,  for  having,  in  a  state  of  extreme  intoxi- 
cation, 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   FORGE    OF    CIRCUMSTANCES 

FOR  two  days  after  the  breakfast  at  Mrs  Hunter's  the  Pick- 
wickians  remained  at  Eatanswill,  anxiously  awaiting  the  ar- 
rival 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  occa- 
sional 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  ex- 
pressly 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  char- 
acter towards  Mr  Winkle,  it  will  be  readily  imagined  that  con- 
siderable 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  sud- 
denly 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  mean- 
while. 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'  du- 
ration, he  said: 

204 


DOMESTIC   UNHAPPINESS  205 

"Serpent,  sir!  Serpent,  Mr  Pott!  What  can  you  mean,  sir? — 
this  is  pleasantry.55 

"Pleasantry,  sir!"  exclaimed  Pott,  with  a  motion  of  the  hand,  in- 
dicative of  a  strong  desire  to  hurl  the  Britannia-metal  teapot  at  the 
head  of  his  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!53  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,5'  said  Mr  Winkle,  warmly.    "Prove  it.5* 

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: 

"  cOur  obscure  and  filthy  contemporary,  in  some  disgusting  observa- 
tions 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  hap- 
pily conceals  HIS  private  life  from  general  ridicule,  not  to  say  from 
general  execration?  What,  if  we  were  even  to  point  out,  and  com- 
ment 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  have  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,*  vil- 
lain?" 

"What  rhymes  to  tinkle?"  said  Mrs  Pott,  whose  entrance  at  the 


2o6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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.5  '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  cotTage,  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  full  effect  upon  him.  The 
most  unskilful  observer  could  have  detected  in  his  troubled  counte- 
nance, a  readiness  to  resign  his  Wellington  boots  to  any  efficient  sub- 
stitute 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  petrified  Pott,— "I  didn't  say  I  believed  it; — 
I "  But  the  unfortunate  man's  voice  was  drowned  in  the  scream- 
ing of  his  partner. 

"Mrs  Pott,  let  me  entreat  you,  my  dear  ma'am,  to  compose  your- 
self," 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  inclina- 


MRS  POTT  HYSTERICAL  207 

tion  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  mis- 
tress, what  is  the  matter?" 

"Your  master — your  brutal  master/3  murmured  the  patient. 

Pott  was  evidently  giving  way. 

"It's  a  shame,"  said  the  bodyguard,  reproachfully.  "I  know  he'll 
be  the  death  of  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 — Fve  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  body- 
guard. 

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  con- 
tented 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  re- 
quired 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  in- 
sert it;  that's  all";  Mr  Pott  cast  an  imploring  look  at  the  innocent 


2o8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  body- 
guard. "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  member  of  the  party 
was  brooding  over  his,  or  her,  own  personal  grievances.  Mrs  Pott 


PICKWICKIAN  CONFIDENCES  209 

was  regretting  the  loss  of  a  beau;  Mr  Pott  his  rash  pledge  to  horse- 
whip the  Independent',  Mr  Winkle  his  having  innocently  placed  him- 
self 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,35  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  consolation,  Wardle  slapped  Mr  Tup- 
man  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  dovv^i 
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 'ern?" 

"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/3  said  the  old  gentleman.    "She's  living  at 


2 10  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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.  /  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  ad- 
venture 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,35 
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  ex- 
citement 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  pro- 
found 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  indiscre- 
tion, 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,95  replied  Mr  Weller.  "It's  sealed  with  a 
vafer,  and  directed  in  round  hand." 

6 'I  don't  know  this  hand/5  said  Mr  Pickwick,  opening  the  letter- 
"Mercy  on  us!  what's  this?  It  must  be  a  jest;  it — it — can't  be  true.53 

"What's  the  matter?5'  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: 


MR  PICKWICK  RECEIVES  NOTICE  OF  WRIT    211 

FREEMAN'S  COURT,  CORNHILL, 
August  28th,  1830 

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  AND  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,33  he  repeated  mechanically. 

"Bardell  and  Pickwick/5  said  Mr  Snodgrass,  musing. 

"Peace  of  mind  and  happiness  of  confiding  females/3  murmured 
Mr  Winkle,  with  an  air  of  abstraction. 

"It's  a  conspiracy/3  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 


212  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

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  won't  deny  it.    So  I  was.55 

"Hallo!"  said  Wardle;  "for  a  case  in  which  there's  nothing  suspi- 
cious, 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/9  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  making  up  to  that  ere  Mrs  Bardell — vith 
a  little  boy,  too!  Always  the  vay  with  these  here  old  'uns  hows'ever, 
as  is  such  steady  goers  to  look  at.  I  didn't  think  he'd  ha3  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  prepara- 
tions 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  af- 
fecting: 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,  and  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  colours  had  yet  faded  from  the  dye. 

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- 
leggined  boy:  each  bearing  a  bag  of  capacious  dimensions,  and  ac- 
companied by  a  brace  of  pointers. 

"I  say,'3  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?'3 

"Fill  them!33  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  re- 

213 


214  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

mained  in  the  open  air,  until  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.  Mar- 
tin?" 

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  were  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  acknowledg- 
ment 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  its  position,  and 
in  so  doing,  contrived  to  bring  the  barrel  into  pretty  sharp  contact 
with  Mr  Weller's  head. 

"Hallo!"  said  Sam,  picking  up  his  hat,  which  had  been  knocked 
off,  and  rubbing  his  temple.  "Hallo,  sir!  if  you  comes  it  this  vay, 
you'll  fill  one  o9  them  bags,  and  something  to  spare,  at  one  fire." 

Here  the  leather-leggined  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." 

"An't  the  gentleman  a  shot,  sir?"  inquired  the  long  gamekeeper. 


MR  PICKWICK  IN  A  BARROW  215 

"No/5  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.  cclf  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  pro- 
tested against  the  introduction  into  a  shooting-party,  of  a  gentleman 
in  a  barrow,  as  a  gross  violation  of  all  established  rules  and  prece- 
dents. 

It  was  a  great  objection,  but  not  an  insurmountable  one.  The 
gamekeeper^  having  been  coaxed  and  feed,  and  having,  moreover, 
eased  his  mind  by  'punching3  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,  bring- 
ing 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  dif- 
ferent 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  unsportsman-like,"  reasoned  Winkle. 

"I  don't  care  whether  it's  unsportsman-like  or  not,"  replied  Mr 
Pickwick;  "I  am  not  going  to  be  shot  in  a  wheelbarrow,,  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  further, 

"What  now?"  said  Wardle. 

"That  gun  of  Tupman's  is  not  safe:  I  know  it  isn't/5  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." 


2I6  THE  PICKWICK   PAPERS 


"I  think  you  had  better,  sir,"  said  the  long  gamekeeper,  £^or  you  re 
quite  as  likely  to  lodge  the  charge  In  yourself  as  m  anything  else. 

Mr  Tupman,  with  the  most  obliging  haste,  placed  his  piece  m  the 
position  required,  and  the  party  moved  on  again;  the  two  amateurs 
marching  with  reversed  arms,  Eke  a  couple  of  privates  at  a  royal 

funeral.  t    _  , 

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  it  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/5  said  Wardle,  not  heeding  the  question  in 
the  excitement  of  the  moment  "Now,  then.55 

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.  „  t     t  .  , 

"Where  are  they?"  said  Mr  Winkle,  in  a  state  of  the  highest  ex- 
citement, 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.  %  99 

"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!  haP  roared  Mr  Weller. 

"Sam/5  said  Mr  Pickwick,  compassionating  his  follower's  con- 
fusion and  embarrassment. 

"Sir." 

"Don't  laugh." 

"Certainly  not,  sir."  So,  by  way  of  indemnification,  Mr  Weller 
contorted  his  features  from  behind  the  wheelbarrow,  for  the  exclusive 
amusement  of  the  boy  with  the  leggings,  who  thereupon  burst  into 
a  boisterous  laugh,  and  was  summarily  cuffed  by  the  Jong  ^game- 
keeper,  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." 


MR  WINKLE'S  GUN  GOES   OFF  217 

"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/5  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  per- 
formance 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 


2i8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  beauti- 
fully observes,  it  has  somehow  or  other  happened,  from  time  im- 
memorial, 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  open- 
ing 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/5  said  the  old  gentleman,  "y°u  singled  out  that  particu- 
lar bird?5* 

"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  estab- 
lished! 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  eeevery  bullet  has 
its  billet."  If  it  apply  in  an  equal  degree  to  shot,  those  of  Mr  Winkle 


A  DISPLAY  OF  FANCY  SHOOTING  219 

were  unfortunate  foundlings,  deprived  of  their  natural  rights,  cast 
loose  upon  the  world,  and  billeted  nowhere. 

"Well/3  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  genTm'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  pro- 
ceeded to  unpack  it  with  the  utmost  dispatch. 

"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  an'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,  CI  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  an'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  prices  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,  'cordin3  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 F  ? 


220  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"kHe  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  an't  a  woman's.  Bread — knuckle 
o'  ham,  regular  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— 
<ccold  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,  genTm'n,  Tall  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  them- 
selves 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  sin- 
cerity 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. 

"1*11  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  if  s  capital  practice." 

"I  know  a  genTman,  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. 


CAPITAL  COLD  PUNCH  221 

"Have  the  goodness  to  reserve  your  anecdotes  till  they  are  called 
for." 

"Cert'nly,  sir.35 

Here  Mr  Weller  winked  the  eye  which  was  not  concealed  by  the 
beer-can  he  was  raising  to  his  lips  with  such  exquisiteness,  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  Pick- 
wick, 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  dis- 
agreed 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  merri- 
ment twinkled  in  his  eye.  Yielding  by  degrees  to  the  influence  of 
the  exciting  liquid,  rendered  more  so  by  the  heat,  Mr  Pickwick  ex- 
pressed 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  be- 
gan 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  de- 
termined to  leave  Mr  Pickwick  asleep  in  the  barrow,  and  to  call  for 
him  on  their  return.  So  away  they  went,  leaving  Mr  Pickwick  snor- 
ing 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  re- 
main there  in  peace.  But  he  was  not  suffered  to  remain  there  in 
peace.  And  this  was  what  prevented  him. 

Captain  Bold  wig  was  a  little  fierce  man  in  a  stiff  black  neckerchief 


222  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Bold  wig's  wife's  sister  had 
married  a  Marquis,,  and  the  Captain's  house  was  a  villa,  and  his  land 
"grounds,3  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.'3 

"And  take  care  that  you  keep  me  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,  confound  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  Willans,  "but " 

"But  what?  Eh?"  roared  the  Captain;  and  following  the  timid 
glance  of  Wilkins,  his  eyes  encountered  the  wheelbarrow  and  Mr 
Pickwick. 

"Who  are  you,  you  rascal?"  said  the  Captain,  administering  sev- 
eral pokes  to  Mr  Pickwick's  body  with  the  thick  stick.  "What's  your 
name?" 


MR  PICKWICK  IN  THE  POUND  223 

"Cold  punch,"  murmured  Mr  Pickwick,  as  he  sunk  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 
wheelbarrow  with  him.  It  was  the  most  mysterious  and  unaccount- 
able 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  sepa- 
rately; 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  wheelbarrow,  to  the  im- 
measurable 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  gratifica- 
tion had  been  excited  by  seeing  him  wheeled  in,  how  many  hundred- 
fold 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  an- 
other, louder  than  the  first,  if  possible. 

"Here's  a  game!"  roared  the  populace. 


224  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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?53 

"Boldwig!    Captain  Boldwig!"  was  the  only  reply. 

"Let  me  out,"  cried  Mr  Pickwick.  "Where's  my  servant?  Where 
are  my  friends?" 

"You  an't  got  no  friends.  Hurrah!'3  Then  there  came  a  turnip, 
then  a  potato,  and  then  an  egg:  with  a  few  other  little  tokens  of  the 
playful  disposition  of  the  rnany-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  svear  in  a  new  'un,  I'll 
come  back  agin  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  Lon- 
don," 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  round  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  WEIXER  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  furthest  end 
of  Freeman's  Court,  Cornhill,  sat  the  four  clerks  of  Messrs  Dodson 
and  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  daytime,  which  the  latter  secluded  situation 
affords. 

The  clerks'  office  of  Messrs  Dodson  and  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  almanack,  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 

225 


226  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

little  semicircular  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  111  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  con- 
clusion of  some  inaudible  relation  of  his  previous  evening's  ad- 
ventures. 

"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  lushey,  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 — Veil, 
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/  CI  do  say  it,  though,'  said  Fogg,  fimy  clerk's 
just  gone  to  file  it.  Hasn't  Mr  Jackson  gone  to  file  that  declaration  in 


DODSON  AND   FOGG'S   CLERKS  227 

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.3  'None  at  all/  said  Fogg, 
coolly;  cso  you  had  better  go  back  and  scrape  some  more  together, 
and  bring  it  here  in  time.5  CI  can't  get  it,  by  God!3  said  Ramsey, 
striking  the  desk  with  his  fist.  'Don't  bully  me,  sir,3  said  Fogg,  getting 
into  a  passion  on  purpose.  'I  am  not  bullying  you,  sir,3  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.3  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  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  re- 
laxed their  minds  by  a  little  conversation  among  themselves,  conde- 
scended 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  object  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. 


228  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Twigging  of  me,  Sam!"  replied  Mr  Pickwick;  "what  do  you  mean 
by  twigging  me?" 

Mr  Weiler  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  up- 
stairs. 

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 
maa>  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  sentiment. 

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  Pick- 
wick?" 

"Hush,  Fogg,"  said  Dodson,  "let  me  hear  what  Mr  Pickwick  has 
to  say." 

"I  came,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  gazing  placidly  on  the 


MESSRS  DODSON  AND  FOGG  229 

two  partners,  "I  came  here,  gentlemen,  to  express  the  surprise  with 
which  I  received  your  letter  of  the  other  day3  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/3  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  jury- 
man 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  further  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  in- 
credulity. 

"The  writ,  sir,  which  commences  the  action,"  continued  Dodson,, 
"was  issued  regularly.  Mr  Fogg,  where  is  theprcecipe  book?" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Fogg,  handing  over  a  square  book,  with  a  parch- 
ment cover. 

"Here  is  the  entry,"  resumed  Dodson.  "  "Middlesex,  Capias 
Martha  Bardeil,  widow,  v.  Samuel  Pickwick.  Damages,  £1500.  Dodson 
and  Fogg  for  the  plaintiff,  Aug.  28,  1830.'  All  regular,  sir;  per- 
fectly." Dodson  coughed  and  looked  at  Fogg,  who  said  "Per- 
fectly," 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 


23o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

could  have  prevailed  upon  our  client,  they  would  have  been  laid  at 
treble  the  amount,  sir/5  replied  Dodson. 

"I  believe  Mrs  Bardell  specially  said,  however,  observed  *ogg, 
glancing  at  Dodson,  "that  she  would  not  compromise  for  a  iarthing 

less  ?> 

"Unquestionably/5  replied  Dodson,  sternly.  For  the  action  was 
only  just  begun;  and  it  wouldn't  have  done  to  let  Mr  Pickwick  com- 
promise it  then,  even  if  he  had  been  so  disposed.  . 

"As  you  offer  no  terms,  sir,3'  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,5'  said  Mr  Pickwick,  rising  m 
person  and  wrath  at  the  same  time;  "you  shall  hear  from  my  solicitor, 

S%^shall  be  very  happy  to  do  so/5  said  Fogg,  rubbing  his 

hands. 

"Very/3  said  Dodson,  opening  the  door. 

"And  before  I  go,  gentlemen/'  said  the  excited  Mr  Pickwick,  turn- 
ing round  on  the  landing,  "permit  me  to  say,  that  of  all  the  dis- 
graceful 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?"  CCT  .  r 

"I  did/'  said  Mr  Pickwick,  thoroughly  roused.  I  said,  sir,  that  ot 
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/3  said  Dodson. 
"Pray  do,  sir,  if  you  feel  disposed;  now,  pray  do,  sir." 

C£I  do/*  said  Mr  Pickwick.    "You  are  swindlers." 

"Very  good/5  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/5 
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  Pick- 
wick's clenched  fist,  there  is  little  doubt  that  that  gentleman  would 
have  complied  with  his  earnest  entreaty,  but  for  the  interposition  of 


THE  ELDER  MR  WELLER  APPEARS  231 

Sam,  who,  hearing  the  dispute,  emerged  from  the  office,  mounted 
the  stairs,  and  seized  his  master  by  the  arm. 

" You  just  come  avay,"  said  Mr  Weller.  "Battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock's a  wery  good  game,  vhen  you  an'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.35 

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  Man- 
sion 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,5'  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  warm  water,  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  fire-place,  'cos 
there  an't  no  leg  in  the  middle  o'  the  table,  wich  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  water  and  brandy  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  appar- 
ently under  the  especial  patronage  of  stage-coachmen:  for  sev- 
eral gentlemen,  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  partic- 
ular, 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  di- 
mensions of  the  quart  pot  admitted  of  its  receiving,  and  take  another 
look  at  Sam  and  Mr  Pickwick.  Then  he  would  take  another  half- 


232  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  newcomers, 
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  be- 
neath 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  ha3  believed  it,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Weller,  with 
astonished  eyes.  "It's  the  old  3un." 

"Old  one/'  said  Mr  Pickwick.    "What  old  one?" 

"My  father,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Weller.  "How  are  you,  my  ancient?" 
With  which  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  han'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 
con-dition.  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, 
"Pve  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  Hfe,  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  ad- 
dressing Mr  Pickwick,  after  a  considerable  pause,  "nothin'  personal, 
I  hope,  sir;  I  hope  you  han't  got  a  widder,  sir." 

"Not  I,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick,  laughing;  and  while  Mr  Pickwick 


Doctor  Slammer  looked  unutterable  ferocity,  as  he  fixed  his  hat  on  his 
head  with  an  indignant  knock 


TWO  OLD  ACQUAINTANCES  233 

laughed,  Sam  Weller  informed  his  parent  in  a  whisper,  of  the  re- 
lation 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?3* 

"None  whatever,3 '  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  Ms-self.  It's  the  only  way  to  make 
a  boy  sharp,  sir." 

"Rather  a  dangerous  process,  I  should  imagine,"  said  Mr  Pick- 
wick, 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  atten- 
tion, and,  at  its  termination,  said: 

"Worn't  one  o5  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. 

"T3  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  earnest- 
ness. 

"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  rheumatiz,  and  at  the 
Black  Boy  at  Chelmsford — the  wery  place  they'd  come  to — I  took  'em 
up,  right  through  to  Ipswich,  where  the  manservant — 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'Fm'n  so 
formiliar  with  his  servant;  and,  more  than  that,  as  they  sat  in  front, 
right  behind  the  box,  I  heerd  'em  laughing,  and  saying  how  they'd 
done  old  Fireworks." 

"Old  who?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 


234  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS       

"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. 

"Fll  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  Whitechapd;  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  thimble-full. 

"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'rin5  cure  for  that,  Sammy,"  said  Mr  Weller, 
setting  down  the  glass. 

"A  sovereign  cure  for  the  gout,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  hastily  pro- 
ducing his  notebook— "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?"  in- 
quired 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,  with  a  tear  of 
pity,  ven  he  buried  him." 

There  was  no  replying  to  this  very  apposite  conclusion,  and,  there- 
fore, 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  ja|^jgaciel,  who  were 


MR  PERKER'S   PEOPLE  235 

pouring  towards  the  different  avenues  of  egress,  warned  him  that  the 
majority  of  the  offices  had  closed  for  thafoay. 

After  climbing  two  pairs  of  steep  and  dirty  stairs,  he  found  his 
anticipations  were  realised.  Mr  Perker's  'outer  door5  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/5  said  Mr  Pickwick;  "I  shouldn5t  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  5ooman  comin5  upstairs,  sir/5  replied  Mr  Weller; 
"p'raps  she  knows  where  we  can  find  somebody.  Hallo,  old  lady, 
vere's  Mr  Parker's  people?55 

"Mr  Perker5s  people,55  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  old  woman. 

"Ah,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  half  aside  to  Sam,  "it's  a  curious  circum- 
stance, 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  any  thin',  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  appli- 
cation 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  ap- 
proximating to  the  back  of  New  Inn,  Mr  Pickwick  and  Sam  descended 


236  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

the  ricketty  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  a  money-making 
turn,  was  sufficiently  testified  by  the  fact  of  a  small  bulkhead  beneath 
the  tap-room  window,  in  si:;e  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  cyder  and  Dantzic  spruce,  while  a  large 
black  board,  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  con- 
sider 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  a  screen  therein,  and  presented  herself  before 
him. 

"Is  Mr  Lowten  here,  ma'am?'*  inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Yes,  he  is,  sir/3  replied  the  landlady.  "Here,  Charley,  show  the 
gentleman  in,  to  Mr  Lowten." 

"The  gen'Fm'n  can't  go  in  just  now,"  said  a  shambling  pot-boy, 
with  a  red  head,  "*cos  Mr  Lowten's  a  singin3  a  comic  song,  and  he'll 
put  him  out  He'll  be  done  d'rectly,  sir." 

The  red-headed  pot-boy  had  scarcely  finished  speaking,  when  a 
most  unanimous  hammering  of  tables,  and  jingling  of  glasses,  an- 
nounced that  the  song  had  that  instant  terminated;  and  Mr  Pick- 
wick, after  desiring  Sam  to  solace  himself  in  the  tap,  suffered  himself 
to  be  conducted  into  the  presence  of  Mr  Lowten. 

At  the  announcement  of  "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  voicf- 
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  $iis  end  of  the 
room  for  five  minutes,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you." 


AT  THE  MAGPIE  AND   STUMP  237 

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.35 

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* 
door — 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  study-- 
ing 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  Mo- 
saic studs,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick,  "I  like  it  very  much,  al- 
though 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  lodging 
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?'i'?aid  the  chairman. 
"Because  he  can't,"  said  Mr  Grundy. 


238  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"You  had  better  say  he  won't/'  replied  the  chairman. 

"Well,  then,  he  won't/'  retorted  Mr  Grundy*  Mr  Grundy's  posi- 
tive 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  before  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  for- 
ward when  silent,  Mr  Pickwick  had  not  observed  before.  He 
wondered,  though,  when  the  old  man  raised  his  shrivelled  face,  and 
bent  his  grey  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 
leant  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  grey  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!35  said  the  old  man,  a  brief  description  of  whose  man- 
ner and  appearance  concluded  the  last  chapter,  "Aha!  who 
was  talking  about  the  Inns?" 

"I  was,  sir/3  replied  Mr  Pickwick.  "I  was  observing  what  singular 
old  places  they  are.33 

"Tou!"  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  ^0  a  later  time,  and  a  very  different  day,  what  dp  you  know 
of  the  gradual  sinking  beneath  consumption,  or  the  quick  wasting 
of  fever — the  grand  results  of  'life3  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  gaol? 
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!  Commonplace  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.33 

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  impetu- 
osity, and  resuming  the  leer,  which  had  disappeared  during  his  pre- 
vious excitement,  said: 

"Look  at  them  in  another  light:  their  most  commonplace  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  will  never  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  Jpicide  perhaps,  or  the  shabby,  slipshod  drunkard.  Am 

239 


240  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  re- 
mainder 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.33 

"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?3  'Queer  old  places,3  said  L  cNot  at  all,'  said  he. 
"Lonely,3  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.  Every 
body  thought  he'd  gone  out  of  town." 

"And  how  was  he  found  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?"  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.    Ten- 
ant 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.    Til  make  the  other  room  my  bed-chamber,  and  this  my  sitting- 
room.'    He  made  the  change,  and  slept  very  well  at  night,  but  sud- 
denly found  that,  somehow,  he  couldn't  read  in  the  evening:  he  got 
nervous  and  uncomfortable,  and  used  to  be  always  snuffing  his  can- 
dles and  staring  about  him.    CI  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  anyone  behind  him— CI  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,    CI  have  felt  this  strange  feeling  before,'  said  he,  CI  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  enpugh,  standing 
bolt  upright  in  the  corner,  was  the  last  tenant,  witlUa  little  bottle 


A  GHOST'S  STATEMENT  241 

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/3  said  Mr  Pickwick, 
minutely  scanning  the  old  man's  countenance,  by  the  aid  of  his  glasses. 

"Strange!5*  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  con- 
tinued: 

"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  cer- 
tainly 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;  aTpretty 
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  Ms  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 
whiskey  he  had  ordered  on  credit,  wondering  whether  it  would  ever 
be  paid  for,  and  it  so,  in  how  many  years'  time,  when  his  eyes  en- 
countered the  glass  doors  of  the  wooden  press.  6Ah,3  says  he,  clf  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:  clf  it  wouldn't  cost  more  to  break  up 
your  old  carcase,  than  it  would  ever  be  worth  afterwards,  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  Mm  at  first,  but  thinking,  on  a  mo- 
ment'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  re* 
peated:  and  one  of  the  glass  doors  slowly  opening,  disclosed  a  pale 
and  emaciated  figure  in  soiled  and  worn  apparel,  standing  erect  in 
the  press.  Tl^e  figure  was  tall  and  tMn,  and  the  countenance  expres- 
sive of  care  and  anxiety;  but  there  was  something  in  the  hue  of  the 


242  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  fig- 
ure, "Who  are  you?3  'Don't  throw  that  poker  at  me,9  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  be- 
hind. I  am  a  spirit.5  cAnd,  pray,  what  do  you  want  here?'  faltered 
the  tenant.  cln  this  room,'  replied  the  apparition,  emy  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  de- 
posited. 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  ob- 
servation personally  to  you  because  it  is  equally  applicable  to  most 
of  the  ghosts  I  ever  heard  of;  but  it  does  appear  to  me  somewhat  in- 
consistent, 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  un- 
comfortable 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.3  'You  are 
very  right,  sir/  said  the  ghost,  politely,  'it  never  struck  me  till  now; 
I'll  try  change  of  air  directly.'  In  fact,  he  began  to  vanish  as  he 
spoke:  Ms  legs,  indeed,  had  quite  disappeared.  cAnd  if,  sir/  said  the 
tenant,  calling  after  him,  'if  you  would  have  the  goodness  to  suggest 
to  the  otiber  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  are  now  engaged  in  haunting 
old  empty  Iitees,  that  they  might  be  much  more  comfortable  else- 
where, you  will  confer  a  very  great  benefit  on  society.'  CI  will/ 
replied  the  ghost;  cwe  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." 


TALE  OF  A  QUEER  CLIENT  243 

"That  ain't  bad,  if  it's  true/'  said  the  man  in  the  Mosaic  studs, 
lighting  a  fresh  cigar. 

"7/7"  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  true3  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  decora- 
tions. 

"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  Saint  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  in- 
solvent debtor  in  the  Marshalsea  Prison.1 

"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 

1  Better.    But  this  is  past,  in  a  better  age,  and  tne  prison  exists  no  longer. 


244  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  confi- 
dence 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  flour- 
ishes there  for  a  brief  space,  until  it  droops  beneath  the  blight  of  dis- 
appointment and  neglect.  How  soon  have  those  same  eyes,  deeply 
sunken  in  the  head,  glared  from  faces  wasted  with  famine,  and  sal- 
low 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  Mm  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 
Ms  thin  and  sickly  face.  His  recollections  were  few  enough,  but  they 
were  all  of  one  kind:  all  connected  with  the  poverty  and  misery  of 
Ms  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 


BEREAVEMENTS  245 


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  re- 
gard 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  sunk 
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  shrunk  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,  shewed  Mm  a  change 
upon  her  features,  which  made  him  stagger  beneath  her  weight,  like 
a  helpless  infant. 

"  cSet  me  down,  George/  she  said  faintly.  He  did  so,  and  seating 
himself  beside  her,  covered  his  face  with  Ms  hands,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  clt  is  very  hard  to  leave  you,  George,5  she  said,  cbut  it  is  God's 
will,  and  you  must  bear  it  for  my  sake.  OhI  how  I  thank  Him  for 
having  taken  our  boy!  He  is  happy,  and  in  Heaven  now.  What 
would  he  have  done  here,  without  Ms  mother!3 

"  cYou  shall  not  die,  Mary,  you  shall  not  die!'  said  the  husband, 
starting  up.  He  paced  hurriedly  to  and  fro,  striking  his  head  with 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


his  clenched  fists;  then  reseating  himself  beside  her,  and  supporting 
her  in  Ms  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.' 

c<  CI  do,  I  do,3  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  still 
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  inextinguish- 
able; and  should  hunt  its  object  through  the  world. 

iCThe  deepest  despair,  and  passion  scarcely  human,  had  made  such 
fierce  ravages  on  his  face  and  form,  in  that  one  night,  that  his  com- 
panions in  misfortune  shrunk  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  in- 
stinctive 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 


FEVERED  VISIONS  247 

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  turn- 
keys 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  placey 
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  foam- 
ing sea.  Onward  they  bore,  amidst  the  roaring  mass  of  water,  with 
a  speed  and  force  which  nothing  could  resist;  and  striking  the  stern 
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  grey  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,  bare- 
foot and  alone.  The  sand  choked  and  blinded  Mm;  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  striv- 


248  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Ing  to  utter  a  cry  of  terror,  with  his  tongue  cleaving  to  his  mouth, 
lie  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,  sunk  into  a  delicious 
trance.  The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  roused  him.  An  old 
grey-headed  man  tottered  forward  to  slake  his  burning  thirst.  It 
was  he  again!  He  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  Ms  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  Mm  die  in  gaol — would  I  who  had  let  those  who  were  far 
dearer  to  Mm  than  Ms  own  existence,  die  of  want  and  sickness  of 
heart  that  medicine  cannot  cure — had  been  found  dead  on  Ms  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  Mm.  He  awoke  to  tMs, 
and  he  awoke  to  more.  To  recollect  the  purpose  for  wMch  he  lived, 
and  to  remember  that  Ms  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  Ms  door. 
Oh,  how  he  cursed  the  weakness  that  prevented  him  from  being  up, 
and  active,  in  Ms  scheme  of  vengeance! 

"He  caused  himself  to  be  carried  from  the  scene  of  Ms  loss  and 
misery,  and  conveyed  to  a  quiet  residence  on  the  seacoast;  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 
Ms  darling  object.  And  here,  some  evil  spirit  cast  in  his  way  the 
opportunity  for  Ms  first,  most  horrible  revenge. 

"It  was  summer-time;  and  wrapped  in  Ms  gloomy  thoughts,  he 
would  issue  from  Ms  solitary  lodgings  early  in  the  evening,  and 
wandering  along  a  narrow  path  beneath  the  cliffs,  to  a  wild  and 
lonely  spot  that  had  struck  Ms  fancy  in  Ms  rambHngs,  seat  Mmself 
on  some  fallen  fragment  of  the  rock,  and  burying  Ms  face  in  Ms  hands, 
remain  there  for  hours — sometimes  until  night  had  completely  closed 
ina  and  the  long  shadows  of  the  frowning  cliffs  above  his  head  cast  a 
tMck  black  darkness  on  every  object  near  Mm. 

"He  was  seated  here,  one  calm  evening  in  Ms  old  position,  now 
and  then  raising  Ms  head  to  watch  the  flight  of  a  seagull,  or  carry  Ms 


REVENGE  249 


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  pro- 
ceeded. 

"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  in- 
valid, 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  sonf  said  the  old  man,  fran- 
tically, 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  motion- 
less. 

"  '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 
tie  spot  where  the  young  man  was  struggling  for  life, 

"  'Hark!'  said  the  old  man.  'He  cries  once  more.  He  is  alive  yet. 
Hey  ling,  save  him,  save  him!' 

"The  stranger  smiled  again,  and  remained  immovable  as  a 
statue. 

"  T  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,5  said  the  stranger,  grasping  the  old  man  fiercely  by  the 
wrist:  'I  will  have  life  for  life,  and  here  is  ONE.  My  child  died,  be- 
fore 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 


25o  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  re- 
quested 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,3  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. 

"  Tt  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  some  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  obliga- 
tions accumulating  upon  him  at  once,  would  crush  him  to  the  earth.3 

"  *The  whole  amount  is  many  thousands  of  pounds,5  said  the  at- 
torney, looking  over  the  papers. 

cfi  'It  is/  said  the  client. 

<c  'What  are  we  to  do?*  inquired  the  man  of  business. 

cc  cDo!'  replied  the  client,  with  sudden  vehemence.  Tut  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  gaol.' 

"  'But  the  costs,  my  dear  sir,  the « costs  of  aU  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?' 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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?* 

"  4Yes,'  replied  Heyling.  'Stay!  No!  The  next  day.  You  are 
surprised  at  my  wishing  to  postpone  it,3  he  added,  with  a  ghastly 
smile;  'but  I  had  forgotten.  The  next  day  is  an  anniversary  in  his 
life:  let  it  be  done  then.3 

"  'Very  good/  said  the  attorney.  "Will  you  write  down  instruc- 
tions for  the  officer?* 

"  *No;  let  him  meet  me  here,  at  eight  in  the  evening,  and  I  will 
accompany  him,  myself.3 

"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  BOW,  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  curtesy  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?3  said  the  old  man.  'What  fresh  misery  is 
this?  What  do  you  want  here?3 

"  'A  word  withjrca,*  replied  Heyling.  As  he  spoke,  he  seated  him- 
self at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and,  throwing  off  his  cloak  and  cap, 
disclosed  his  features. 

"The  old  man  seemed  instantly  deprived  of  the  power  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. 

c<  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  pur- 
pose for  a  moment's  space;  but  if  I  had,  one  thought  of  her  uncom- 
plaining, 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.1 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  TALE   CONCLUDED  253 

"The  old  man  shivered,  and  his  hands  dropped  powerless  by  his 
side. 

"  el  leave  England  to-morrow/  said  Heyling,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  cTo-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.  CI  think  he  is  ill.'  The  woman  closed  the  door,  ran  hastily  up- 
stairs, and  found  him  lifeless. 


CCT 


'Beneath  a  plain  gravestone  in  one  of  the  most  peaceful  and 
secluded  churchyards  in  Kent,  where  wildflowers  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. 


T 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MR    PICKWICK   JOURNEYS   TO   IPSWICH,   AND   MEETS  WITH  A  ROMANTIC 
ADVENTURE  WITH   A  MIDDLE-AGED   LADY  IN  YELLOW   CURL-PAPERS 

^H4T  Jere  your  governor's  luggage,  Sammy?"  inquired  Mr 
Weller  of  his  affectionate  son,  as  he  entered  the  yard  ot  the 
Bull  inn,  Whitechapel,  with  a  travelling-bag  and  a  smaii 

portmanteau.  „       r    , 

"You  might  ha5  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  11 
be  down  here  presently." 

"He's  a  cabbin'  it,  I  suppose?"  said  the  father. 

"Yes,  he's  a  havin'  two  mile  o'  danger  at  cightpence,  responded 
the  son.  "How's  mother-in-law  this  mornin'?" 

"Queer,  Sammy,  queer,"  replied  the  elder  Mr  Weller,  with  im- 
pressive gravity.  "She's  been  gettin'  rayther  in  the  Methodistical 
order  lately,  Sammy;  and  she  is  uncommon  pious,  to  be  sure,  bhes 
too  good  a  creetur  for  me,  Sammy.  I  feel  I  don't  deserve  her. 

"Ah,"  said  Mr  Samuel,  "that's  wery  self-denyin'  o3  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  thinks  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  Sammy,  "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  com- 
mittee 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  seem'  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 


254 


TONY  WELLER  AT  A  TEA-PARTY  255 

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  o3  women  as  begins  whisperin'  at  one  another,  and  lookin5  at  me, 
as  if  they'd  never  seen  a  rayther  stout  genTm'n  of  eight-and-fifty 
afore.  By  and  bye,  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  smilin3 
avay  like  clockwork.  Such  goin's  on,  Sammy!  cThe  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  thinkin3 
whether  I  hadn't  better  begin  too — 'specially  as  there  was  a  wery 
nice  lady  a  sittin3  next  me — ven  in  comes  the  tea,  and  your  mother- 
in-law,  as  had  been  makin3  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  eatin3  and  drinkin3!  I 
wish  you  could  ha'  seen  the  shepherd  walkin3  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  nothin3  to  the  shepherd.  Well; 
arter  the  tea  was  over,  they  sang  another  hymn,  and  then  the  shep- 
herd began  to  preach:  and  wery  well  he  did  it,  considerin3  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 
sing3ler,  but  hows'ever,  I  says  nothing.  Presently  he  pulls  up  again, 
and  lookin3  wery  hard  at  me,  says,  'Where  is  the  sinner;  where  is 
the  mis'rable  sinner?3  and  all  the  women  groans  again,  ten  times 
louder  than  afore.  I  got  rather  wild  at  this,  so  I  takes  a  step  or  two 
for'ard  and  says,  cMy  friend,3  says  I,  cdid  you  apply  that  'ere  ob- 
serwation  to  me?3  3Stead  of  begging  my  pardon  as  any  genTm'n 
would  ha3  done,  he  got  more  abusive  than  ever:  called  me  a  wessel, 
Sammy — a  wessel  of  wrath — and  all  sorts  o3  names.  So  my  blood 
being  reg'larly  up,  I  first  give  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  ha3  heard  how  the  women  screamed, 

Sammy,  ven  they  picked  up  the  shepherd  from  under  the  table 

Hallo!  here3s  the  governor,  the  size  of  life.33 

As  Mr  Weller  spoke,  Mr  Pickwick  dismounted  from  a  cab^  aiad 
entered  the  yard. 

"Fine  mornin3,  sir,33  said  Mr  Weller  senior. 

"Beautiful  indeed,33  replied  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Beautiful  indeed,33  echoed  a  red-haired  man  with  an  inquisitive 
nose  and  blue  spectacles,  who  had  unpacked  himself  from  a  cab  at 
the  same  moment  as  Mr  Pickwick.  "Going  to  Ipswich,  sir?" 


256  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

tcl  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/5  said 
the  red-haired  man:  "we  are  positively  going  together."  And  the 
red-haired  man,  who  was  an  important-looking,  sharp-nosed,  mys- 
terious-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  newcomer,  "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?55 

"There's  no  denying  that  5ere,"  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  house- 
maid 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 
feet  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." 

"Ver^  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.3  It  amuses  my 
friends  very  much,  Mr  Pickwick." 


ANOTHER   PASSENGER  257 

"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,  genTm'n,"  said  the  hostler,  "coach  is  ready,  if  you  please.33 

"Is  all  rny  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  aU  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  uncer- 
tainty. I  am  quite  satisfied  from  that  man's  manner,  that  that 
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  un- 
tied." At  length  when  he  had  received  ocular  demonstration  of  the 
groundless  nature  of  each  and  every  of  these  suspicions,  he  con- 
sented 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,  an'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,  genTm'n,  'Heads,3  as  the 
pieman  says.  That'll  do,  Villam.  Let 'em  alone."  And  away  went 
the  coach  up  Whitechapel,  to  the  admiration  of  the  whole  popu- 
lation of  that  pretty  densely  populated  quarter. 

"Not  a  wery  nice  neighbourhood  this,  sir,"  said  Sam,  with  a 


258  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

touch  of  the  hat,  which  always  preceded  his  entering  into  conversa- 
tion with  his  master. 

"It  is  not  indeed,  Sam/5  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  seems  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  pro- 
found silence  prevailed  until  they  had  got  two  or  three  miles  further 
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  Mag- 
nus. 

"The  old  'un  means  a  turnpike-keeper,  genTm'n,"  observed  Mr 
Samuel  Weller,  in  explanation* 

"Oh,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "I  see.  Yes;  very  curious  life.  Very  un- 
comfortable." 

"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  vith  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'Pm'n  you'd  call  'em 
misanthropes,  but  as  it  is,  they  only  takes  to  pike-keepin'." 

With  such  conversation,  possessing  the  inestimable  charm  of  blend- 
ing amusement  with  instruction,  did  Mr  Weller  beguile  the  tedious- 
ness  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  loudlv  ex- 


AN  ENORMOUS   INN  259 

pressed  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,  dis- 
tantly resembling  an  insane  cart-horse,  which  is  elevated  above  the 
principal  door.  The  Great  White  Horse  is  famous  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, in  the  same  degree  as  a  prize  ox,  or  county  paper-chronicled 
turnip,  or  unwieldy  pig — for  its  enormous  size.  Never  were  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  Mag- 
nus 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?3' 

"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  gentle- 
man of  the  name  of  Tupman  here,  waiter?" 

A  corpulent  man,  with  a  fortnight's  napkin  under  his  arm,  and 
cctgyaJLstockings  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  appear- 
ance, 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.  Shew  us  a  private  room,  waiter." 

On  this  request  being  preferred,,  the  corpulent  man  condescended 


26o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  be- 
neath the  dispiriting  influence  of  the  place.  After  the  lapse  of  an 
hour,  a  bit  of  fish  and  a  steak  were  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  dis- 
position, 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  connexions,  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  blue 
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,53  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/5  replied  Mr  Pick- 
wick, with  one  of  his  beaming  smiles. 

"Ah!"  said  Mr  Magnus.  "But  do  you  really  think  so,  Mr  Pick- 
wick? 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,  / 
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/1  said  Mr  Pickwick,  archly. 

"Hush!  Yes,  you're  right,  that  was  it;  not  such  a  fool  as  to  see 
her,  though." 


RETIRING  TO  REST  261 

"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  for 
a  few  moments  apparently  absorbed  in  contemplation. 

"She's  a  fine  creature/3  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  very  probable,"  replied  that  gentleman. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr  Pickwick,"  said  Mr  Peter  Magnus,  "but 
I  am  naturally  rather  curious;  what  mayjWM  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  pain- 
ful 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 


THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 


leathern  hat-box,  and  the  brown-paper  parcel,  having  been  con- 
veyed 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  tor- 
tuous 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  ex- 
perience of  the  accommodations  of  the  Great  White  Horse  had  led 
him  to  expect. 

"Nobody  sleeps  in  the  other  bed,  of  course,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Oh,  no,  sir." 

"Very  good.  Tell  my  servant  to  bring  me  up  some  hot  water  at 
half-past  eight  in  the  morning,  and  that  I  shall  not  want  him  any 
more  to-night." 

"Yes,  sir."  And  bidding  Mr  Pickwick  good-night,  the  chamber- 
maid retired,  and  left  him  alone. 

Mr  Pickwick  sat  himself  down  in  a  chair  before  the  fire,  and  fell 
into  a  train  of  rambling  meditations.  First  he  thought  of  his  friends, 
and  wondered  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  and  Fogg.  From 
Dodson  and  Fogg's  it  flew  off  at  a  tangent,  to  the  very  centre  of  the 
history  of  the  queer  client;  and  then  it  came  back  to  the  Great 
White  Horse  at  Ipswich,  with  sufficient  clearness  to  convince  Mr 
Pickwick  that  he  was  falling  asleep.  So  he  roused  himself,  and  be- 
gan to  undress,  when  he  recollected  he  had  left  his  watch  on  the 
table  downstairs. 

Now,  this  watch  was  a  special  favourite  with  Mr  Pickwick,  hav- 
ing 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  be- 
neath 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 


MR   PICKWICK   LAUGHS   HEARTILY  263 

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  in- 
finitely 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/5  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "I  can 
undress  myself  just  as  well  by  the  light  of  the  fire.35 

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  night-cap,  secured  it 
firmly  on  his  head,  by  tying  beneath  his  chin  the  strings  which  he 
always  had  attached  to  that  article  of  dress.  It  was  at  this  moment 
that  the  absurdity  of  his  recent  bewilderment  struck  upon  his  mind. 
Throwing  himself  back  in  the  rush-bottomed  chair,  Mr  Pickwick 
laughed  to  himself  so  heartily, -that  it  would  have  been  quite  delight- 
ful to  any  man  of  well-constituted  mind  to  have  watched  the  smiles 
that  expanded  his  amiable  features  as  they  shone  forth  from  beneath 
the  night-cap. 

"It  is  the  best  idea,"  said  Mr  Pickwick  to  himself,  smiling  till  he 
almost  cracked  the  night-cap  strings:  "It  is  the  best  idea,  my  losing 
myself  in  this  place,  and  wandering  about  those  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  instanta- 
neously lost  in  a  look  of  the  most  unbounded  and  wonder-stricken 
surprise.  The  person,  whoever  it  was,  had  come  in  so  suddenly  and 


264  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  night-cap,  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  calHheir  '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!53  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  night-cap. 
"Never.  This  is  fearful/5 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  resist  the  urgent  desire  to  see  what  was 
going  forward.  So  out  went  Mr  Pickwick's  head  again.  The  pros- 
pect was  worse  than  before.  The  middle-aged  lady  had  finished 
arranging  her  hair;  had  carefully  enveloped  it  in  a  muslin  night-cap 
with  a  small  plaited  border;  and  was  gazing  pensively  on  the  fire. 

"This  matter  is  growing  alarming,"  reasoned  Mr  Pickwick  with 
himself.  "I  can't  allow  things  to  go  on  in  this  way.  By  the  self- 
possession  of  that  lady  it  is  clear  to  me  that  I  must  have  come  into 
the  wrong  room.  If  I  call  out  she'll  alarm  the  house;  but  if  I  remain 
here  the  consequences  will  be  still  more  frightful." 

Mr  Pickwick,  it  is  quite  unnecessary  to  say,  was  one  of  the  most 
modest  and  delicate-minded  of  mortals.  The  very  idea  of  exhibiting 
his  night-cap  to  a  lady  overpowered  him,  but  he  had  tied  those  con- 
founded 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 


Away  went  Mr.  Pickwick — hands  across — down  the  middle  to  the  very 

end  of  the  room 


AN  AWKWARD   SITUATION  265 

when  Mr  Pickwick,  under  the  impression  that  she  had  fainted  away 
stone-dead  from  fright,  ventured  to  peep  out  again,  she  was  gazing 
pensively  on  the  fire  as  before. 

"Most  extraordinary  female  this."  thought  Mr  Pickwick.,  popping 
in  again.  "Ha — hum!" 

These  last  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  to- 
wards the  door. 

"Ma'am,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  thrusting  out  his  head,  in  the  ex- 
tremity 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  appari- 
tion of  Mr  Pickwick's  night-cap  driven  her  back  into  the  remotest 
corner  of  the  apartment,  where  she  stood  staring  wildly  at  Mr  Pick- 
wick, 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  night-cap  danced  again. 
"I  am  almost  ready  to  sink,  ma'am,  beneath  the  confusion  of  ad- 
dressing a  lady  in  my  night-cap  (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.    "Ger- 


266  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

tainly,  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  Pick- 
wick's character  was  beautifully  displayed  at  this  moment,  under 
the  most  trying  circumstances.  Although  he  had  hastily  put  on  his 
hat  over  his  night-cap,  after  the  manner  of  the  old  patrol;  although 
he  carried  his  shoes  and  gaiters  in  his  hand,  and  his  coat  and  waist- 
coat 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  un- 
blemished 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  fruit- 
less 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  phil- 
osophically 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  con- 
cealment when,  to  his  unspeakable  horror,  a  man,  bearing  a  light, 
appeared  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  His  horror  was  suddenly  con- 
verted 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/5  said  Mr  Pickwick,  suddenly  appearing  before  him, 
"where3  s  my  bedroom?" 

Mr  Weller  stared  at  his  master  with  the  most  emphatic  surprise; 


MR   PICKWICK   FINDS   HIS   BEDROOM  26; 

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,  CCI  have  made  one 
of  the  most  extraordinary  mistakes  to-night,  that  ever  were  heard  of.'3 

"Wery  likely,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Weller  drily. 

"But  of  this  I  am  determined,  Sam/3  said  Mr  Pickwick;  "that  if 
I  were  to  stop  in  this  house  for  six  months,  I  would  never  trust  my- 
self 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,  wen  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  stable-yard,  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. 

It  is  very  possible  that  at  some  earlier  period  of  his  career,  Mr 
Waller'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 
j^xbkayicj  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  ex- 
hibited 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  gar- 
nished 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  waist- 
band. 

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. 

268 


PARENTAL  ADVICE  2t>g 

The  son  walked  up  to  the  pot  of  ale,  and  nodding  significantly  to 
his  parent,  took  a  long  draught  by  way  of  reply. 

"Werry  good  power  o3  suction,  Sammy,"  said  Mr  Weller  the  elder, 
looking  into  the  pot,  when  his  first-born  had  set  it  down  half  empty. 
"You'd  ha3  made  an  uncommon  fine  oyster,  Sammy,  if  you'd  been 
born  in  that  station  o*  life." 

"Yes,  I  des-say  I  should  ha3  managed  to  pick  up  a  respectable 
living"  replied  Sam,  applying  himself  to  the  cold  beef,  with  consider- 
able 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  ham  heerd  how  many  ord'nary 
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  an'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  genTm'n  as  beat  his  wife  with  the  poker, 
venever  he  got  jolly.  'And  arter  all,  my  lord/  says  he,  "it's  a 
amable  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,  governor,  and  as  soon  as  I  catches  hold  o*  this  ere  Trotter,  I'll 
have  a  good  3un." 

"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  the 
newly  arrived  pint,  and  handed  it  over  to  his  son,  to  dispose  of 
the  remainder,  which  he  instantaneously  did. 


THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"And  now,  Sammy/'  said  Mr  Weller,  consulting  the  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-bffl,  and  see  the  coach 
loaded;  for  coaches,  Sammy,  is  like  guns—  they  requires  to  be  loaded 
with  wery  great  care,  afore  they  go  off."  f  t 

At  this  parental  and  professional  joke,  Mr  Weller  junior  smiled  a 
filial  smile.  His  revered  parent  continued  in  a  solemn  tone: 

*Tm  a  goin'  to  leave  you,  Samivel  my  boy,  and  there's  no  telling 
ven  I  shall  see  you  again.  Your  mother-in-law  may  ha3  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' 
breeding  I  know  I  may  trust  you  as  veil  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  marrym'  anybody- 
no  matter  who—  jist  you  shut  yourself  up  in  your  own  room,  if  you've 
got  one,  and  pison  yourself  offhand.  Hangin's  wulgar,  so  don't  you 
have  notMn'  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  court-yard  of  venerable  ap- 
pearance —  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  WeUer's  particular  notice.  Whether 


MR  JOB  TROTTER  AGAIN  271 

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  court-yard; 
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  handywork  never  was  disguised  with  such  ex- 
traordinary artificial  carving,  as  the  man  had  overlaid  his  counte- 
nance with  in  one  moment. 

"Well!"  said  Mr  Weller  to  himself,  as  the  man  approached.  "This 
is  wery  odd.  I  could  ha3  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.53 

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. 

"Hallo,  you  sir!"  shouted  Sam,  fiercely. 

The  stranger  stopped. 

"Hallo!"  repeated  Sam,  still  more  gruffly. 

The  man  with  the  horrible  face,  looked,  with  the  greatest  sur- 
prise, up  the  court,  and  down  the  court,  and  in  at  the  windows  of  the 
houses — everywhere  but  at  Sam  Weller — and  took  another  step  for- 
ward, when  he  was  brought  to  again,  by  another  shout. 

"Hallo,  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' 
your'n  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!" 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"Ah/5  replied  Sam.    "You're  wery  glad  to  see  me,  ain't  you?" 

"Glad!35  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.53  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  en- 
deavouring to  extricate  himself  from  the  grasp  of  Ms  enthusiastic 
acquaintance.  "Get  off,  I  teU  you.  What  are  you  crying  over  me 
for,  you  portable  ingine?" 

"Because  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you/5  replied  Job  Trotter,  gradually 
releasing  Mr  Weller,  as  the  first  symptoms  of  his  pugnacity  dis- 
appeared. "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.  s 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  to  me,  afore  I  knock  your  head  oflr 
repeated  Mr  Weller,  in  a  threatening  manner. 

"EhF  said  Mr  Trotter,  with  a  look  of  virtuous  surprise, 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  to  me?'5 

"I,  Mr  Walker!" 

"Don't  call  me  Valker;  my  name's  Veller;  you  know  that  veil 
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  Ms  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  burnt  with  a  desire  to  make  a  demonstration  on  his  ribs.  Sam 
constrained  himself,  however,  and  replied  that  his  master  was  ex- 
tremely well. 

"Oh,  1  am  so  glad/5  replied  Mr  Trotter,  "is  he  here?" 

"Is  your'n?"  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. 


A  TALK  WITH  THE  MULBERRY  MAN  273 

"Oh,  shocking— terrible!" 

"At  a  boarding-school?"  said  Sam. 

"No,  not  at  a  boarding-school/3  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  com- 
panion closely. 

"No,  no — oh,  not  there,"  replied  Job,  with  a  quickness  very  un- 
usual to  him,  "not  there." 

"What  wasjw  a  doin5  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/3  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  de- 
vote 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  ha5  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." 


274  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Ah,"  said  Sam.  "I  don't  wonder  at  it.  What  a  comfort  you 
must  ha5  been  to  your  blessed  mother." 

At  these  words,  Mr  Job  Trotter  inserted  an  end  of  the  pink  hand- 
kerchief into  the  corner  of  each  eye,  one  after  the  other,  and  began 
to  weep  copiously, 

"Wot's  the  matter  vith  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,  de- 
serted her  for  a  better  speculation!  Oh!  Mr  Weller,  it  makes  me 
shudder/' 

"Oh5  that  was  the  vay,  was  it?"  said  Mr  Weller. 

"To  be  sure  it  was,"  replied  Job. 

"Veil,"  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  par- 
tickler  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  asking  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  until  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  have  found  'em  out,  sir,"  said  Sam. 

"Found  out  who?" 

"That  aere  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  con- 
tents of  the  two  bags,  the  leathern  hat-box,  and  the  brown-paper 
parcel,  displayed  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  gar- 
ments 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  break- 
fast 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  pro- 
pensity 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 — ne — he,"  tittered  Mr  Magnus,  affecting  cheerfulness,  and 
gasping  with  agitation.  "It  only  wants  two  minutes,  Mr  Pickwick. 
Am  I  pale,  sir?" 

275 


276  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  ex- 
perience, I  should  be  sorry  if  you  were  induced  to  regulate  your  pro- 
ceedings 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  di- 
verge to  my  own  un worthiness." 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr  Magnus. 

"Unworthiness  for  her  only,  mind,  sir,"  resumed  Mr  Pickwick; 
"for  to  shew  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  em- 
barrassing." 

"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 


THE  APPARITION  REAPPEARS  277 

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. 

ccMy  friends,  the  gentleman  I  was  speaking  of— Mr  Magnus/5 
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  mo- 
ment, sir." 

As  he  said  this,  Mr  Magnus  harnessed  his  forefinger  to  Mr  Pick- 
wick'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;  whfereupon  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  sur- 
prise. 

This  certainly  was,  to  all  appearance,  very  unaccountable  be- 
haviour; 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  Pick- 


278  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

wick's  nose,  than  the  lady  at  once  identified  the  countenance  which 
she  had  seen  surrounded  by  all  the  horrors  of  a  night-cap.  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  saying  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  per- 
son?" 

"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  avert- 
ing 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  sit- 
uation 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  in- 
creased effect.  "But  you  shall  answer  it,  sir." 

"Answer  what?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 


A  FIT  OF  JEALOUSY  279 

"Never  mind,  sir/'  replied  Mr  Magnus,  striding  up  and  down  the 
room.  "Never  mind.35 

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  encyclopaedias  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  un- 
fortunately at  that  particular  moment,  the  mind  of  Mr  Peter  Magnus 
was  in  anything  but  reasonable  order.  Consequently,  instead  of  re- 
ceiving Mr  Pickwick's  explanation  as  he  ought  to  have  done,  he 
forthwith  proceeded  to  work  himself  into  a  red-hot,  scorching,  con- 
suming 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  polite- 


28o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

ness,  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  civi- 
lised life.  Accordingly,  when  she  had  gained  her  bed-chamber, 
bolted  herself  in,  and  begun  to  meditate  on  the  scene  she  had  just 
witnessed,  the  most  terrific  pictures  of  slaughter  and  destruction  pre- 
sented themselves  to  her  imagination;  among  which  a  full-length 
portrait  of  Mr  Peter  Magnus  borne  home  by  four  men,  with  the  em- 
bellishment of  a  whole  barrel-full  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  tempera- 
ment to  venture  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  real  cause  of  her  agita- 
tion 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,  be- 
tween 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  excite- 
ment 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  DIGNITY  OF  THE  BENCH  281 

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  feel- 
ings, ma'am."  Here  Mr  Nupkins  looked  benignant.  "And  then  tell 
me  what  legal  business  brings  you  here,  ma'am."  Here  the  magis- 
trate 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  con- 
stables; 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,  reason- 
ing 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." 


282  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Jinks33>  said  the  magistrate,  "y°u?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  pro- 
ceeded 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  cutthroats  from 
London,  who  have  come  down  here  to  destroy  his  Majesty's  popula- 
tion: 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!" 

aYes,  your  worship." 

"Is  Grummer  downstairs?" 

"Yes,  your  worship." 

"Send  him  up." 

The  obsequious  Muzzle  retired,  and  presently  returned,  introduc- 
ing the  elderly  gentleman  in  the  top-boots,  who  was  chiefly  remark- 
able 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  Bang's  officers  is  set  at  nought,  we  must  have  the  Riot  Act  read. 
If  the  civil  power  cannot  protect  these  windows,  Grummer,  the 


WARRANTS   GRANTED  283 

military  must  protect  the  civil  power,  and  the  windows  too.  I  be- 
lieve that  is  a  maxim  of  the  constitution,  Mr  Jinks?" 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  Jinks. 

"Very  good/'  said  the  magistrate,  signing  the  warrants.  "Grum- 
mer,  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,33  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  re- 
tired, to  wipe  out,  by  his  mode  of  discharging  his  present  commis- 
sion, 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  con- 
servation 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  for- 
bidding countenance  peeped  into  the  room.  The  eyes  in  the  forbid- 
ding 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 


284  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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 
Ms  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 
Ms  Majesty  when  the  street  door's  once  passed.  That's  law.  Some 
people  maintains  that  an  Englishman's  house  is  Ms  castle.  That's 
gammon." 

The  Kckwickians  gazed  on  each  other  with  wondering  eyes. 

"Which  is  Mr  Tupman?"  inquired  Mr  Grummer.  He  had  an  in- 
tuitive 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  Pick- 
vict — against  the  peace  of  our  sufferin  Lord  the  King — stattit  in 
that  case  made  and  purwided — and  all  regular,  I  apprehend  you 
Pickvick!  Tupman — the  aforesaid." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  insolence?"  said  Mr  Tupman,  starting 
up:  "Leave  the  room!" 

"Halloo,"  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  Mgh,  and  stout  in  proportion,  squeezed  himself  through  the 
half-open  door  (making  Ms  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  Ms  staff,  and  looked  at  Mr  Dubbley;  Mr  Dub- 
bley pocketed  Ms  staff  and  looked  at  the  division;  the  division  pock- 
eted their  staves  and  looked  at  Messrs  Tupman  and  Pickwick, 


THE  OFFENDERS   IN   CUSTODY  285 

Mr  Pickwick  and  his  followers  rose  as  one  man. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  atrocious  intrusion  upon  my  privacy?3* 
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 
upon  him  whatever. 

When  the  executive  perceived  that  Mr  Pickwick  and  his  friends 
were  disposed  to  resist  the  authority  of  the  law,  they  very  signifi- 
cantly turned  up  their  coat-sleeves,  as  if  knocking  them  down  in  the 
first  instance,  and  taking  them  up  afterwards,  were  a  mere  profes- 
sional 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  cham- 
ber-maids, and  post-boys,  who  had  anticipated  a  delightful  commo- 
tion 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  jus- 
tice, 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  oppo- 
site 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  MX  Tupman,  at  least  as  con- 
veniently as  a  modern  post-chaise.  The  chair  was  hired,  and  brought 


286  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  edifiecLand 
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  cav- 
alcade, staff  in  hand;  loud  and  long  were  the  shouts  raised  by  the 
unsoaped;  and  amidst  these  united  testimonials  of  public  approba- 
tion, 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  unsuccess- 
ful 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  cheer- 
ing 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 
lie  was  suddenly  stopped  by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Mr  Winkle 
and  Mr  Snodgrass. 

"What's  the  row,  genTm'n?"  cried  Sam.  "Who  have  they  got  in 
this  here  watch-box  in  mournin3?" 

Both  gentlemen  replied  together,  but  their  words  were  lost  in  the 
tumult. 

"Who?"  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. 


CONDUCT  OF  MR  WINKLE  AND  MR  SNODGRASS     287 

"Hallo,  old  genTm'n!"  said  Sam.  "Who  have  you  got  In  this 
here  conwayance?" 

"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  genTrn'n,"  replied  Sam, 
"for  consulting  my  conwenience,  and  I'm  still  more  obliged  to  the 
other  genTm'n,  who  looks  as  if  he'd  just  escaped  from  a  giant's 
carrywan,  for  his  wery  'ansome  suggestion;  but  I  should  perfer  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,33  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  on- 
slaught on  a  small  boy  who  stood  next  him;  whereupon  Mr  Snod- 
grass,  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  delibera- 
tion. 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  re-formed;  the  chairmen 
resumed  their  stations;  and  the  march  was  recommenced. 

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  aU  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 


288  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Mowing,  Mr  Pickwick  oratonsing,  and  the  crowd 


shouting. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

SHOWING,  AMONG  A  VARIETY  OF  PLEASANT  MATTERS,  HOW  MAJESTIC 
AND  IMPARTIAL  MR  NUPKINS  WAS;  AND  HOW  MR  WELLER  RE- 
TURNED MR  JOB  TROTTER'S  SHUTTLECOCK  AS  HEAVILY  AS  rr 

GAME.      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  ap- 
pearance and  demeanour  of  Mr  Grummer  and  his  compan- 
ion: 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  court-yard  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  cap- 
tured 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  persever- 
ance with  which  people  will  flatten  their  noses  against  the  front  win- 
dows 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 

289 


29o  THE  PICKWICK   PAPERS 

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  further 
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  be- 
hind his  master's  chair  to  await  his  orders.  Mr  Nupkins  threw  him- 
self 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  Wel- 
ler,  elbowing  himself  into  the  front  rank.  "Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but 
this  here  officer  o'  yourn  in  the  gambooge  tops,  *ull  never  earn  a  de- 
cent livin'  as  a  master  o'  the  ceremonies  any  vere.  This  here,  sir,3' 
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  3ere's  Mr  Snodgrass;  and 
forder  on,  next  him  on  the  t'other  side,  Mr  Winkle — all  wery  nice 
genTm'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  wen  he  stabbed  the  f  other  king  in  the  Tower,  afore 
he  smothered  the  babbies.3* 

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." 


THE  WORTHY  MAGISTRATE  291 

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  Fs,  old  feller,"  said  Sam. 

Here  an  unfortunate  special  laughed  again,  whereupon  the  magis- 
trate 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. 

"Vare-ever  I  can,"  replied  Sam. 

"Put  down  that,  Mr  Jinks,"  said  the  magistrate,  who  was  fast  ris- 
ing 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  often  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  im- 
pression 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. 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"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/3  said  the  magistrate,  "I  shall  commit  that  man,  for  con- 
tempt. Make  out  his  committal,  Mr  Jinks.5' 

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  repri- 
mand 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  mur- 
mured 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'  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  re- 
tired to  his  end  of  the  table;  and  the  magistrate,  with  a  preparatory 
cough,  drew  himself  up  in  his  chair,  and  was  proceeding  to  com- 
mence 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/3 
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  shaft  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  as- 
tonishment, at  his  displaying  such  unwonted  temerity;  and  was  ap- 


TWO   SURETIES  REQUIRED  293 

parently  about  to  return  a  very  angry  reply,  when  Mr  Jinks  pulled 
Mm  by  the  sleeve,  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  To  this,, 
the  magistrate  returned  a  half-audible  answer,  and  then  the  whis- 
pering was  renewed.  Jinks  was  evidently  remonstrating. 

At  length  the  magistrate,  gulping  down,  witfi  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  teU  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,  Tupinan,  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." 

"Xo — 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  town's-people,"  said  the  magistrate. 

"Fifty  pounds  each,"  whispered  Jinks,  "and  householders,  of 
course." 

"I  shall  require  two  sureties  of  fifty  pounds  each,"  said  the  magis- 
trate, 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  house- 
holders 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  magis- 
trate's satisfaction,  if  he  had  not,  the  moment  he  ceased  speaking, 
been  pulled  by  the  sleeve  by  Mr  Weller,  with  whom  he  was  im- 
mediately engaged  in  so  earnest  a  conversation,  that  he  suffered 


294  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  an- 
other 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 
recognizances  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  magis- 
trate; the  officers  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement.  Mr  Nupkins 
turned  suddenly  pale.  Could  the  man  Weller,  in  a  moment  of  re- 
morse, 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 


ADJOURNMENT  TO  THE  PRIVATE  ROOM      295 

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/3  said  Mr  Pickwick;  "it  af- 
fects 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  waive  a  inch  or  two." 

"In  one  word,  sir,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "is  my  servant  right  in  sus- 
pecting 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  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  considera- 
tion; 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  racecourse.  Charmed  with  his  long 


296  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

list  of  aristocratic  acquaintance,  his  extensive  travel,  and  his  fashion- 
abk  demeanour,  Mrs  Nupkins  and  Miss  Nupkins  had  exhibited  Cap- 
tain 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 
Miss  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  repre- 
sentations?" 

"Confront  me  with  him,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "that  is  all  I  ask,  and 
aU  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  restate  his  complaint, 
but,  what  between  Mr  Jinks's  taking  down  his  words,  and  the  magis- 
trate's taking  them  up;  his  natural  tendency  to  rambling,  and  his 


MRS  NUPKINS   TO  BE  CONSULTED  297 

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  haughti- 
ness 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  un- 
frequently  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  al- 
ways 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  pro- 
portions into  the  corner  of  each  eye;  "the  idea  of  my  being  made  such 
a  fool  of!33 

"Ah!  you  may  thank  your  papa,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs  Nupkins; 
"how  have  I  implored  and  begged  that  man  to  inquire  into  the  Cap- 
tain's family  connections;  how  have  I  urged  and  entreated  him  to 
take  some  decisive  stepl  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  Nup- 
kins. 

"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  else- 
where." 

"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's!"  cried  Miss  Nupkins. 


298  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Or  the  Slummintowkens!"  cried  Mrs  Nupkins.  "But  what  does 
your  papa  care!  What  is  it  to  html"  At  this  dreadful  reflection,  Mrs 
Nupkins  wept  with  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  ar- 
rival, 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,  or  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 
hersy  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  con-siderable  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  come's  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*3* 


MR  WELLER  BELOW-STAIRS  299 

"Ah!  perhaps  I  may  as  well  have  a  rinse/5  replied  Mr  Weller, 
applying  plenty  of  yellow  soap  to  the  towel,  and  nibbing  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  washus." 

"Oh,  they  dines  in  the  washus,  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  con- 
ducted 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  com- 
fortable 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.  "Werry  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  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/3  replied  Mr  Weller. 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Mary. 

"  'Cos  ugliness  and  svindlin'  never  ought  to  be  formiliar  vith  ele- 
gance 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. 


300  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"I  han't  got  a  glass,"  said  Mary. 

"Drink  with  me,  my  dear/5  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?" 

"Talkin3  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  admin- 
istered 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  housemaid;  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  amaze- 
ment and  terror. 

"Here  he  is!"  said  Sam,  rising  with  great  glee.  "Why,  we  were 
that  wery  moment  a  speaking  o3  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 
havin3  the  pleasure  o3  meeting  your*n,  upstairs,  and  me  havin3  the 
joy  o*  meetin3  you  down  here.  How  are  you  gettin3  on,  and  how  £5-  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?3* 

"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. 


SAM  WELLER  AND  JOB  TROTTER  301 

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,  wether  you  don't  con-sider  yourself 
as  nice  and  well-behaved  a  young  genTm'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  chandlers3  shops  with  her,  you  injure  me  in  one  of  the 
most  delicatest  points  in  which  one  man  can  injure  another.  Do  you 
understand  me,  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  under- 
stand me,  sir?" 

Mr  Muzzle  again  paused  for  a  reply;  and  again  Mr  Trotter  dis- 
appointed 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  Wel- 
ler  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  des- 
perate 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  twin- 
ing 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. 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


At  this  moment,  the  bell  rang. 

"That's  for  you,  Job  Trotter/3  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  further  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  Mrs  Nupkins,  "we  scorn  your  base  insinuations." 

"I  always  hated  him,"  added  Henrietta. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Jingle.  "Tall  young  man  —  old  lover—  Sid- 
ney Porkenham  —  rich  —  fine  fellow  —  not  so  rich  as  captain,  though? 
—  turn  him  away  —  off  with  him  —  anything  for  captain  —  nothing  like 
captain  anywhere  —  all  the  girls  —  raving  mad  —  eh,  Job?" 

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  inti- 
mate 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  emphati- 
cally. 

Jingle  smiled,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Stay!"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

Jingle  stopped. 


AN  AIRY  LEAVE-TAKING  303 

"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  expos- 
ing 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  face- 
tious gravity  applied  his  hand  to  his  ear,  as  if  desirous  not  to  lose  a 
syllable  he  uttered. 

"And  I  have  only  to  add,  sir/5  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  the  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  de- 
scription, 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  im- 
mediately cleared  up;  for  the  wily  Mr  Muzzle,  by  concealing  himself 
behind  the  street-door,  and  rushing  violently  out,  at  the  right  in- 
stant, 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  Nup- 
kins,  "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 


304  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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/3  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;  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  acciden- 
tal 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,  rushing  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  jour- 
ney, by  the  exposure  of  Jingle,  Mr  Pickwick  resolved  on 
immediately  returning  to  London,  with  the  view  of  be- 
coming 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  meditations. 

"Sam,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Sir,'3  said  Mr  Weller. 

"I  have  just  been  thinking,  Sam,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  "that  having 
left  a  good  many  things  at  Mrs  £ardeU'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,"  con- 
tinued 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." 

305 


3o6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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." 

"Sir,"  said  Mr  Weller,  stepping  quickly  back,  and  closing  the  door 
behind  him. 

*CI  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  your  doing  this,  if  you  wish  it, 
Sam,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

*  Sam  gave  a  short  nod  of  intelligence,  and  left  the  room.  Mr  Pick- 
wick drew  the  silk  handkerchief  once  more  over  his  head,  and  com- 
posed 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  L" 
1  4CWell,  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 
headdresses  of  a  couple  of  Mrs  BardelFs  most  particular  acquaintance, 
who  had  just  stepped  in,  to  have  a  quiet  cup  of  tea,  and  a  little  warm 
sapper  of  a  couple  of  sets  of  g^totqesand  some  toasted  cheese.  The 
cheese  was  simmering  and  browning  "away,  most  delightfully,  in  a 
Ettle  Dutch  oven  before  the  fire;  the  pettitoes  were  getting  on  deli- 
ciously  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  conversa- 
tion about  and  concerning  all  their  particular  friends  and  acquaint- 
ance; when  Master  Bardell  came  back  from  answering  the  door,  and 
deEvered  the  message  intrusted  to  him  by  Mr  Samuel  Weller. 

"Mr  Pickwick's  servant!"  said  Mrs  Bardell,  turning  pale. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  said  Mrs  Cluppins. 


SAM  WELLER  IS   SENT  TO  MRS  BARBELL      307 

"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  communi- 
cation, otherwise  than  through  Dodson  and  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  Iambi"  said  Mrs  Sanders. 

At  all  which  moral  reflections,  Master  Bardell  howled  the  louder. 

"Now,  what  shall  I  do?"  said  Mrs  Bardell  to  Mrs  Cluppins. 

"7  think  you  ought  to  see  him,"  replied  Mrs  Cluppins.  "But  on  nd 
account  without  a  witness."  : 

"/  think  two  witnesses  would  be  more  lawful/9  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: 

"Werry  sorry  to  'casion  any  personal  inconwenience,  ma*am,  as 
the  house-breaker  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  con- 
versation. 

"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  governors  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  thaf& 
all." 

"Whatever  has  happened,"  said  Mrs  Bardell,  "I  always  have  said* 
and  always  will  say,  that  in  every  respect  but  one,  Mr  Pickwick  has 


3o8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

always  behaved  himself  like  a  perfect  gentleman.  His  money  always 
was  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  weU  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  uncom- 
fortable, 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 
Oluppins,  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.  Hows5 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  acquaintance3  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 
ithree  more  wine-glasses,  and  filled  them  too. 

"Lauk,  Mrs  Bardell,"  said  Mrs  Cluppins,  "see  what  you've  been 
tand  done!" 
..     "Well,  that  is  a  good  one!"  ejaculated  Mrs  Sanders. 


A   SPECULATIVE   SUIT  309 

"Ah,  my  poor  head!'5  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  laughing  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 
Gluppins  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. 

"Pve  heerd  somethin3  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.33 

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/5  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!3* 

"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. 

"Veil,"  said  Sam?  rising  and  setting  down  his  glass,  "All  I  can  say 
is,  that  I  wish  you  may  get  it," 

"Thank5 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  well  as  for  the  other  kind  and 
gen'rous  people  o'  the  same  purfession,  as  sets  people  by  the  ears, 
free  gratis  for  nothin3,  and  sets  their  clerks  to  work  to  find  out  little 
disputes  among  their  neighbours  and  acquaintances  as  vants  settlin* 
by  means  oj  law-suits — all  I  can  say  o'  them  is,  that  I  vish  they  had 
the  revard  I'd  give  3em." 

"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. 


3 io  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Amen  to  that/5  replied  Sam,  "and  a  fat  and  happy  livin5  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  went  his  way  back  to  the  George  and  Vulture,  and 
faithfully  recounted  to  his  master,  such  indications  of  the  sharp 
practice  of  Dodson  and  Fogg,  as  he  had  contrived  to  pick  up  in  his 
visit  to  Mrs  BardelPs.  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  and  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  Pickwiddans  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  remisjpess  in  never  thinking  of  this  moral  obligation  bo- 
fore.  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,  ap- 
provingly. 

"Wery,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Weller;  "if  ever  I  wanted  anythm*  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  havin3  it.  I  saved  him  a  world 
o'  trouble  in  this  vay?  sir." 

"That's  not  precisely  what  I  meant,  Sam,"  said  Mr  Pickwick, 
shaking  his  head,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"All  good  feeHn5,  sir — the  wery  best  intentions,  as  the  genTm'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  has  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 


3i2  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  signboard  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  ex- 
perienced 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  counte- 
nance, 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 


THE  DEPUTY  SHEPHERD  313 

Influence  of  the  bellows,  and  the  kettle  was  singing  gaily  under  the  in- 
fluence 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  pineapple  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  pineapple  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  un- 
heeded. It  was  not  until  it  had  been  twice  repeated,  each  time  in  a 
shriller  tone,  that  he  became  conscious  of  the  impropriety  of  his  be- 
haviour. 

"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  a  drivin3  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  blessing  Mr 
Stiggins." 

The  red-nosed  man  did  as  he  was  desired,  and  instantly  com- 
menced on  the  toast  w5th  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  com- 
menced 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  genTm'n  511  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 
Sana  followed  up  his  advantage  by  kissing  Ms  mother-in-law. 

**Get  along  with  you!"  said  Mrs  Weller,  pushing  him  away. 


3 14  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"For  shame,  young  man!"  said  the  gentleman  with  the  red  nose. 

"No  offence,  sir,  no  offence/9  replied  Sam;  "you're  WCI7  right, 
though;  It  ain't  the  right  sort  o'  thing,  wen  mothers-in-law  is  young 
and  good-looking,  is  it,  sir?" 

"It's  all  vanity,"  said  Mr  Stiggins. 

"Ah,  so  it  is,35  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?59  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  genTm'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 F^TxcIaimed  Mr  Stiggins.  He  took  a  large 
semicircular  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  mil  say  you  are  an  excellent  man — come  and  sit  here,  for  hours  to- 
gether, 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  woodcuts." 

*£Oh,  I  know,"  said  Sam;  "them  as  hangs  up  in  the  linen-drapers5 
shops,  with  beggars'  petitions  and  all  that  'ere  upon  'em?" 


A  DREADFUL  REPROBATE  315 

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  old 
gentleman. 

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!53  exclaimed  the  father. 

"What,  old  Nobs!"  ejaculated  the  son.  And  they  shook  hands 
heartily. 

"Werry  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  heaiin',"  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  oppo- 
site 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,  drily, 
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  vio- 
lently. 

"Seems  so,"  observed  Sam. 

"Good  hand  at  accounts,"  said  Mr  Weller. 

"Is  he?"  said  Sam. 

"Borrows  tighteenpence  on  Monday,  and  comes  on  Tuesday  for  a 
shillin*  to  make  it  up  half  a  crown;  calls  again  on  Vensday  for  an- 
other half  crown  to  make  it  five  shillin's;  and  goes  on,  doubling,  till 


316  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

he  gets  it  up  to  a  five  pound  note  in  no  time,  like  them  sums  in  the 
Arithmetic  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, 
Samrny,"  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/5 

As  Mr  Weller  said  this,  he  slowly  recovered  Ms  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  gamnijQBLJ?f  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  o5  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-drinkin3,  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  ac- 
count 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,  '11  be  softened,  and  turned  in  the  right  vay:  but  he 
rayther  thinks  he's  booked  for  somethin3  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 


TONY  WELLER'S   HIDDEN  EMOTIONS  317 

they're  the  wictirns  o'  gammon,  Samivel,  they're  the  wictlms  o' 
gammon." 

"I  s'pose  they  are/5  said  Sam. 

"Nothin5  else/'  said  Mr  Weller,  shaking  his  head  gravely;  "and 
wot  aggrawates  me,  Samivel,  is  to  see  3em  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  o5  these  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  any- 
thin'  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/5  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  genTm'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 
pineapple  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  pineapple  rum  and 
water,  wholly  unconscious  of  what  was  going  on. 

The  major  part  of  the  conversation  was  confined  to  Mrs  Weller 
and  the  reverend  Mr  Stiggins;  and  the  topics  principally  de§gaste$i 
on  were  the  virtues  of  the  shepherd,,  the  worthiness  of  his  ^ock,  and 


3i8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

the  high  crimes  and  misdemeanours  of  everybody  beside;  disserta- 
tions which  the  elder  Mr  Weller  occasionally  interrupted  by  half-sup- 
pressed 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  pineapple  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. 
Wen  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,  /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/ 
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  admira- 
tion 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 


TIME  ALONE   WILL   SHOW  319 

the  probable  consequences  of  Ms  own  advice,  and  the  likelihood  and 
unlikelihood  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 

A  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  ac- 
complished. 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  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  blest  and  happy!  How  many  old  recol- 
lections, 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  meet- 
ings, crowd  upon  our  ™inri  *+  ^o^k  v^nr-™^^  ^f  ^e  season,  as  if  the 
last  assemblage  had  1  happy  Christmas, 

that  can  win  us  back  sh  days;  that  can 

recall  to  the  old  man  ;hat  can  transport 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   DRIVE  321 

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  greatcoats, 
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  codfish  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  in- 
terest displayed  in  Mr  Pickwick's  countenance  is  most  intense,  as  Mr 
Weller  and  the  guard  try  to  squeeze  the  codfish  into  the  boot,  first 
head  first,  and  then  tail  first,  and  then  top  upward,  and  then  bot- 
tom upward,  and  then  sideways,  and  then  long- ways,  all  of  which 
artifices  the  implacable  codfish  sturdily  resists,  until  the  guard  acci- 
dentally 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  codfish,  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  re- 
turn, 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  reached  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,  codfish,  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 


322  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  gentle- 
man 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  blaz- 
ing fire,  and  throw  on  another  log  of  wood  against  father  comes  home; 
while  fkther  himself,  a  full  mile  oft",  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.  SlFPictwick  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-dealers  shop  the  brown 
paper  packet  he  took  out  of  the  little  pouch  which  hangs  over  his 


MR  WARBLE'S  FAVOURITE  PAGE  323 

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  grey  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,  genTm'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-collar? 
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  Mug- 
gleton  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  codfish,  when  he  felt  himself  gently  pulled  by 
the  skirts  of  the  coat.  Looking  round,  he  discovered  that  the  in- 
dividual 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  codfish  to  the  oyster-barrels,  and 
chuckled  joyously.  He  was  fatter  than  ever. 

"Well,  you  look  rosy  enough,  my  young  friend/'  said  Mr  Pickwick. 


324  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"I've  been  asleep,  right  in  front  of  the  tap-room  fire/5  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.35 

uYes,  yes,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  hastily,  for  he  remembered  how 
they  had  travelled  over  nearly  the  same  ground  on  a  previous  occa- 
sion. "Yes,  we  would  rather  walk.  Here,  Sam!5' 

"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." 

"Veil,  young  twenty  stun,"  said  Sam,  "you're  a  nice  specimen  of  a 
prize  boy,  you  are!" 

"ThanFee,"  said  the  fat  boy. 

"You  ain't  got  nothin5  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. 

"Veil,"  said  Sam,  "I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Do  you  ever  drink  any- 
thin?" 

"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  consider- 
ably 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. 


FINE  FROSTY  WEATHER  325 

"Can  you  drive?"  said  the  fat  boy. 

"I  should  rayther  think  so/3  replied  Sam. 

c 'There,  then,"  said  the  fat  boy,,  putting  the  reins  in  his  hand,  and 
pointing  up  a  lane, c  'it's  as  straight  as  you  can  go;  you  can't  miss  it.55 

With  these  words,  the  fat  boy  laid  himself  affectionately  down  by 
the  side  of  the  codfish:  and  placing  an  oyster-barrel  under  his  head 
for  a  pillow,  fell  asleep  instantaneously. 

"Well,33  said  Sam,  "of  all  the  cool  boys  ever  I  set  my  eyes  ona 
this  here  young  gen'Pm'n  is  the  coolest.  Come,  wake  up,  young 
dropsy!53 

But  as  young  dropsy  evinced  no  symptoms  of  returning  anima- 
tion, 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 
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,  dryt 
bracing  coldness;  and  the  rapid  approach  of  the  grey  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  ca  back/  Mr  Pickwick  would  have  accepted  Ms 
offer  with  the  utmost  avidity. 

However,  Mr  Tupman  did  not  volunteer  any  such  accommoda- 
tion, 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  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  there- 
after, Mr  Pickwick  was  joking  with  the  young  ladies  who  wouldn't 


326  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Snod- 
grass  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  ^tilejyere  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  col- 
oured up,  as  red  as  the  fat  boy  after  the  tap-room  fire;  and  the 
young  lady  with  the  black  eyes  and  the  fur  round  the  boots,  whis- 
pered something  in  Emily's  ear,  and  then  glanced  arpWy  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  in  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/9  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 


A  SOCIAL  AND  HAPPY  PARTY  327 

lady  tossed  her  head,  and  smoothed  down  her  lavender-coloured 
silk  dress,  with  trembling  hands. 

"Come,  come,  ma'am,35  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.3' 

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.3' 

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  evapo- 
rated 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,  an  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  en- 
treaties of  "Oh,  do  come  and  tie  me,  there's  a  dear!"  that  Mr  Pick- 
wick in  his  innocence  began  to  imagine  that  something  dreadful  must 


328  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  lain  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  fail- 
ing 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  Pick- 
wickians  were  in  most  blooming  array;  and  there  was  a  terrific  roar- 
ing 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  buttonhole,  and  all  of  whom  were  cheering  with 
might  and  main:  being  incited  thereunto,  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  Kfe.  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  sig- 
nature, 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  Winkle 
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 


THE  WEDDING-FEAST 


329 


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 
satisfacti3n. 

"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  Mr  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  Christinas  pie:  though  not  with 
the  coolness  and  deliberation  which  characterised  that  young  gentle- 
man'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  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 
Tolliniglower,  deceased:  at  all  of  which  the  old  lady  herself  laughed 


330  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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/3  said  Mr  Pickwick  to  his  old  acquaintance  the  hard- 
headed  gentleman,  "a  glass  of  wine?" 

"With  great  satisfaction,  Mr  Pickwick/9  replied  the  hard-headed 
gentleman,  solemnly. 

"You'll  take  me  in?5'  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  drank  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/9  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/3 

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  fiiends/3  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 


MR  PICKWICK  MAKES  A  SPEECH  331 

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  arn  persuaded, 
our  united  wish.  So,  let  us  drink  their  healths,  and  wish  them  pro- 
longed life,  and  every  blessing  P* 

Mr  Pickwick  concluded  amidst  a  whirlwind  of  applause;  and 
once  more  were  the  lungs  of  the  suj^piuni^raji^junder  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  Snod- 
grass.  One  of  the  poor  relations  proposed  Mr  Tupman,  and  the 
other  poor  relation  proposed  Mr  Winkle;  all  was  happiness  and  fes- 
tivity, 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  consumma- 
tion, 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  tip,  the  candles  burnt  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 


332  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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. 

"Tou  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  pat- 
tern. 

"I  hope  they  are,"  said  Mr  Pickwick  fixing  his  eyes  upon  his 
friend.  "You  see  nothing  extraordinary  in  the  stockings,  as  stock- 
ings, I  trust,  sir?" 

"Certainly  not.  Oh,  certainly  not/'  replied  Mr  Tupman.  He 
walked  away;  and  Mr  Pickwick's  countenance  resumed  its  custom- 
ary benign  expression. 

"We  are  all  ready,  I  believe,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  who  was  sta- 
tioned 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 


SAM'S  ADVICE  TO  THE  FAT  BOY 


333 


eyes  rested  on  Arabella,  "well,  I  don't  know  that  it  was  extraordi- 
nary, either,  after  all.35 

However,  there  was  no  time  to  think  more  about  the  matter,  for 
the  fiddles  and  harp  began  in  real  earnest.  Away  went  Mr  Pick- 
wick—hands across — down  the  middle  to  the  very  end  of  the  room, 
and  half-way  up  the  chimney,  back  again  to  the  door — goussette 
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  mar- 
ried 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?33  inquired  Sam  of  Emma. 

"Yes,  Mr  Weller,"  replied  Emma;  "we  always  have  on  Christ- 
mas Eve.  Master  wouldn't  neglect  to  keep  it  up  on  any  account." 

"Your  master's  a  wery  pretty  notion  of  keepin*  anytbin*  up,  my 
dear,"  said  Mr  Weller;  "I  never  see  such  a  sensible  sort  of  man  as 
he  is,  or  such  a  reg'lar  genTm'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-construe ter,"  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 
genTm'n  as  wore  the  pigtail." 

"What  did  they  do  to  him?"  inquired  the  fat  boy,  in  a  faltering 
voice, 

"I'm  a-goin*  to  teE  you/3  replied  Mr  Weller;    "he  was  one  o' 


334  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

the  largest  patterns  as  was  ever  turned  out— reg'lar  fat  manias 
hadn't  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  own  shoes  for  five-and-forty  year." 

"Lor'!33  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  manafacter,  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  genTm'n's  friends,  'you'll  be  robbed  on  it,3 
says  they.  'Shall  I?'  says  he.  Tes,  you  will/  says  they.  'Veil/ 
says  he,  'I  should  like  to  see  the  thief  as  could  get  this  here  watch 
out,  for  I'm  blest  if  I  ever  can,  it's  such  a  tight  fit,'  says  he;  'and 
venever  I  wants  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  vith  his  powdered  head 
and  pigtail,  and  rolls  down  the  Strand  vith  the  chain  hangin'  out 
furder  than  ever,  and  the  great  round  watch  almost  bustin'  through 
his  grey  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  o'  dragging 
such  a  heavy  old  genl'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-comin'  up,  arm  in  arm 
vith  a  little  boy  vith  a  wery  large  head.  'Here's  a  game/  says  the 
old  genTm'n  to  himself,  'they're  a-goin'  to  have  another  try,  but 
it  won't  dof  So  he  begins  a-chucklin'  wery  hearty,  wen,  all  of  a 
sudden,  the  little  boy  leaves  hold  of  the  pickpocket's  arm,  and  rushes 
headforemost  straight  into  the  old  genTm'n's  stomach,  and  for  a 
moment  doubles  him  right  up  vith  the  pain.  'Murder!5  says  the 
old  gen'l'm'n.  'All  right,  sir/  says  the  pickpocket,  a-wispenn'  in 
his  ear.  And  wen  he  come  straight  agin,  the  watch  and  chain  was 
gone,  and  what's  worse  than  that,  the  old  gen'lm'n's  digestion  was 
all  wrong  ever  artervards,  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  larg;e  kitchen, 
in  which  the  family  were  by  this  time  assembled,  according  to  an- 
nual 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 


UNDER  THE  MISTLETOE  335 

general  and  delightful  struggling  and  confusion;  in  the  midst  of 
which,  Mr  Pickwick,  with  a  gallantry  that  would  have  done  honour 
to  a  descendant  of  Lady  ToUiniglower  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  thor- 
oughly 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  par- 
ticularly 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 


336  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  were  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  sub- 
stantial 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  Christ- 
mas 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 
furthest  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  CHRISTMAS   CAROL  337 

A  inild  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  well  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  depend- 
ents 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  any- 
thing 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." 


338  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  Pick- 
wick, 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  gentlemen3  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  of- 
ficiated as  sexton  and  gravedigger  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  the  contents  of  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  smelt  the  numerous  savoury 
odours  consequent  thereupon,  as  they  steamed  up  from  the  kitchen 
windows  in  clouds.  AH  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,  hooping-cough,  and  a  good  many  other 
sources  of  consolation  besides. 

"In  this  happy  frame  of  mind,  Gabriel  strode  along:  returning  a 

339 


340  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

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  pro- 
ceeded 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  shout- 
ing 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,  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:  lock- 
ing the  gate  behind  him. 

"He  took  off  his  coat,  put  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: 

ec  '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  over  head,  and  damp  clay  around, 
Brave  lodgings  for  one,  these,  in  holy  ground! 

"  'Ho!  ho!3  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!  hoP 

"  'Ho!  ho!  hoF  repeated  a  voice  which  sounded  close  behind  him. 

"Gabriel  paused,  in  some  alarm,  in  the  act  of  raising  the  wicker 


A  STRANGE  UNEARTHLY  FIGURE  341 

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. 

"  clt  was  the  echoes,3  said  Gabriel  Grub,  raising  the  bottle  to  his 
lips  again. 

"  clt  was  not*  said  a  deep  voice. 

"Gabriel  started  up,  and  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  with  astonish- 
ment 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. 

"  clt  was  not  the  echoes,5  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,5  stammered  Gabriel  Grub. 

"  'What  man  wanders  among  graves  and  churchyards  on  such  a 
night  as  this?'  cried  the  goblin. 

c<  'Gabriel  Grub!  Gabriel  GrubF  screamed  a  wild  chorus  of  voices 
that  seemed  to  fill  the  churchyard.  Gabriel  look  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  gobHn. 


342  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

**  '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?3 

"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?3 

"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  con- 
templating 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,5  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!' 

"  Tm  afraid  my  friends  want  you,  Gabriel,'  said  the  goblin, 
thrusting  his  tongue  further  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  gentle- 
men 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  re- 
turned twenty-fold:  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. 


THE  GOBLINS'   REVEL  343 

"  CI — I — am  afraid  I  must  leave  you,  sir/  said  the  sexton,  making 
an  effort  to  move. 

"  'Leave  us!3  said  the  goblin,  'Gabriel  Grab  going  to  leave  us. 
Ho!  ho!  ho!5 

"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  covering'  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  Mm; 
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 
beside  him  stood  Gabriel  Grub  himself,  without  power  of  motion. 

"  cCold  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. 

"  cAhP  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.9 

"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. 


$44  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"  'And  now,3  said  the  king,  fantastically  poking  the  taper  corner  of 
bis  sugar-loaf  hat  into  the  sexton's  eye,  and  thereby  occasioning  him 
the  most  exquisite  pain:  cAnd  now,  show  the  man  of  misery  and 
gloom,  a  few  of  the  pictures  from  our  own  great  storehouse!5 

"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  shrunk  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,  knelt  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  GABRIEL  GRUB  SAW    -  345 

"  '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  a  miserable  man!'  said  the  goblin,  in  a  tone  of  excessive 
contempt.  "You!5  He  appeared  disposed  to  add  more,  but  indig- 
nation 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,  ad- 
ministered 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  in- 
variable 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  his  cheer- 
ing influence.  The  water  rippled  on,  with  a  pleasant  sound;  the 
trees  rustled  in  the  light  wind  that  murmured  among  their  Reaves; 
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  butter- 
fly 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!3  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  goblins3  feet,  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 
fkce  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 


346  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  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  sunk  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  shoul- 
ders when  he  attempted  to  rise,  assured  him  that  the  kicking  of  the 
goblins  was  certainly  not  ideal.  He  was  staggered  again,  by  ob- 
serving 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  want- 
ing 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 


MORAL  OF  THE  STORY  347 

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  weather- 
cock 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  mur- 
mured something  about  Gabriel  Grub  having  drunk  aU  the  Hol- 
lands, and  then  fallen  asleep  on  the  flat  tombstone;  and  they 
affected  to  explain  what  he  supposed  he  had  witnessed  in  the  gob- 
lin'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.'5 


CHAPTER   XXX 

HOW  THE  PIGKWICKIANS   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  FIRST  VISIT  CAME  TO  A  CONCLUSION 

WELL,  Sam,"  said  Mr  Pickwick  as  that  favoured  servitor  en- 
tered his  bed-chamber  with  his  warm  water,  on  the  morning 
of  Christmas  Day,  "still  frosty?1' 

"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  Pick- 
wick, untying  his  night-cap. 

"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  o3  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  thorough-bred  Sawbones;  they're  only  in 
trainin3." 

"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  night-cap  ener- 
getically on  the  counterpane.  "They  are  fine  fellows;  very  fine 
fellows;  with  judgments  matured  by  observation  and  reflection; 
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  sem,"  said  Sam,  not  noticing  his  master's  interrup- 

348 


BOB   SAWYER 


349 


tion,  "one  on  'em's  got  his  legs  on  the  table,  and  is  a  drinkin'  brandy 
neat,  vile  the  t'other  one — him  in  the  barnacles — has  got  a  barrel  o* 
oysters  atween  his  knees,  wich  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,  thickset  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. 


350  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Have  you  come  far  this  morning,  gentlemen?55  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  Mends  resumed  their 
attack  upon  the  breakfast,  more  freely  than  before,  as  if  the  recollec- 
tion 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  sur- 
prise 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?5'  inquired  Mr  Benjamin 
Allen,  somewhat  reproachfully.  Arabella  gracefully  held  out  her 
hands  in  acknowledgement  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 — yoi^been  in- 
troduced 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 


MR  WINKLE  ON  SKATES  351 

Winkle,  while  Mr  Winkle  and  Mr  Bob  Sawyer  glanced  mutual  dis- 
trust 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  j^eaLj  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!35  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  dfxterity  which  to  Mr  Winkle  was  perfectly  marvellous,  and 
described  circles  with  his  left  leg,  and  cut  figures  of  eight,  and  in- 
scribed upon  the  ice,  without  once  stopping  for  breath,  a  great  many 
other  pleasant  and  astonishing  devices,  to  the  excessive  satisfaction  of 


352  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  ajgmleUnto  the  soles  of  his  feet,  and  putting  his 
skates  on,  with  the  pwn6l>ehind,  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,  how- 
ever, 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!3*  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  demon- 
stration 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?"  in- 
quired Mr  Winkle,  staggering. 

"I'm  afeerd  there's  a  orkard  genTm'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  com- 
ing." 

"Just  a  goin'  to  begin,"  said  Sam,  endeavouring  to  disengage  him- 
self. "Now,  sir,  start  off!" 

"Stop  an  instant,  Sam,"  gasped  Mr  Winkle,  clinging  most  affec- 
tionately 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  ine  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: 


ON  THE  ICE  353 


"Sam!" 

"Sir?" 

"Here.    I  want  you." 

"Let  go,  sir,"  said  Sam.  "Don't  you  hear  the  governor  a  callin3? 
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  ac- 
curacy 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  Pick- 
wick 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  an- 
guish 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  remark- 
able words: 

"You're  a  humbug,  sir." 

"A  what?"  said  Mr  Winkle,  starting. 

"A  humbug,  sir.  I  will  speak  plainer,  if  you  wish  it.  An  im- 
postor, sir." 

With  those  words,  Mr  Pickwick  turned  slowly  on  his  heel,  and  re- 
joined his  friends. 

While  Mr  Pickwick  was  delivering  himself  of  the  sentiment  just 
recorded,  Mr  Weller  and  the  fat  boy,  having  by  their  joint  endeav- 
ours cut  out  a  slide,  were  exercising  themselves  thereupon,  in  a 
very  masterly  and  brilliant  manner.  Sam  Weller,  in  particular, 


354  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

was  displaying  that  beautiful  feat  of  fancy-sliding  which  is  currently 
denominated  "knocking  at  the  cobbler's  door/3  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  Pick- 
wick, 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  Snod- 
grass,  following  closely  upon  each  other's  heels,  and  running  after 
each  other  with  as  much  eagerness  as  if  all  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  be- 
hind, 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  pleas- 
antly through  the  snow,  and  his  eyes  beaming  cheerfulness  and 
gladness  through  his  spectacles.  And  when  he  was  knocked  down 


A  CATASTROPHE 


355 


(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  disap- 
peared; 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  Tup- 
man, 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  'Tire!"  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!35  bawled 
Mr  Snodgrass. 

"Yes,  do;  let,me  implore  you — for  my  sake!"  roared  Mr  Winkle, 
deeply  affected.  The  adjuration  was  rather  unnecessary;  the  proba- 
bility 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/3  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. 


356  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Oh,  hell  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,3'  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  unalter- 
able 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  pa- 
tient fell  into  the  vulgar  error  of  not  taking  enough  of  it. 

The  jovial  party  broke  up  next  morning.  Breakings  up  are  capi- 
tal things  in  our  schooldays,  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  dis- 
persed 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  Ben- 


THE   PARTY   BREAKS   UP  357 

jamin  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  Saint  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  adornment,  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  s§gejQYS 
and  porter:  and  think  there's  nothing  like  'life.3  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  profes- 
sion, where  writs  are  issued,  judgments  signed,  declarations  filed, 
and  numerous  other  ingenious  machines  put  in  motion  for  the  tor- 
ture 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  parch- 
ment, 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, 

358 


MR  JACKSON  ON  BUSINESS  359 

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  contain- 
ing 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  and  Fogg,  Freeman's  Court,  CornhilL  Instead  of 
returning  to  the  office  from  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,5'  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/3  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  gentle- 
man out." 

"Beg  your  pardon,  Mr  Pickwick,"  said  Jackson,  deliberately  de- 
positing 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?" 

Here  Mr  Jackson  cast  his  eye  on  the  parchment;  and,  resting  his 
hands  on  the  table,  and  looking  round  with  a  winning  and  per- 
suasive 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?" 


36o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

At  this  inquiry  Mr  Snodgrass  gave  such  a  very  undisguised  and 
palpable  start,  that  no  further  reply  was  needed. 

c*Ah!  I  thought  so,"  said  Mr  Jackson,  more  affably  than  before. 
"I've  got  a  little  something  to  trouble  you  with,  sir.55 

"Me!35  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  parch- 
ment before  the  eyes  of  Mr  Snodgrass,  and  slipped  the  paper  and  the 
shilling  into  his  hand.  .  . 

Mr  Tupman  had  witnessed  this  process  m  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  en- 
couragement in  that  gentleman's  widely  opened  eyes  to  deny  his 
name,  said: 

"Yes,  my  name  is  Tupman,  sir."  m 

"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,  'Tm  afraid  you'll  think  me  rather  trouble- 
some, 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  in- 
nocent 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, 


"Veil,  Sammy  ;y  said  the  father.  "Veil,  my  Prooshan  Blue;'  responded  the  son, 

laying  down  his  pen 


LEGAL  SERVICE  36r 


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,  al- 
most obsolete)  which  was  familiarly  denominated  'taking  a  grinder.9 

"No,  no,  Mr  Pickwick,'5  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*5* 

Mr  Pickwick  bestowed  a  look  of  excessive  disgust  on  his  unwel- 
come visitor,  and  would  probably  have  hurled  some  tremendous 
anathema  at  the  heads  of  Messrs  Dodson  and  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  expla- 
nation. 

"Which?"  said  Sam. 

"This,"  replied  Jackson,  shaking  the  parchment. 

"Oh,  that's  the  'rig'nal,  is  it?"  said  Sain.  "Well,  Pm  wery  glad 
I've  seen  the  'rig'nal,  cos  it's  a  gratifyin5  sort  os  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  hon'rable  thing  to  them, 
as  they  knows  how  to  reward  merit  werever  they  meets  it.  Besides 
wich,  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  BardelPs  action. 
He  breakfasted  betimes  next  morning,  and,  desiring  Sam  to  accom- 
pany 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?" 


362  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  coinadence  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  espe- 
cially 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  year  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 
inwenter  o'  the  patent-never-leavin'-off  sassage  steam  ingine,  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  o9 
that  machine  he  was,  as  it  was  nat'ral  he  should  be,  and  he'd  stand 
down  in  the  cellar  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  ingine  and  two  more  lovely  hinfants 
besides,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  his  wife,  who  was  a  most  ow-dacious 
wixin.  She  was  always  a  follerin'  him  about,  and  dinnin'  in  his 
ears,  'till  at  last  he  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer.  Til  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,  cand  I  wish 
the  'Merrikins  joy  of  their  bargain.'  Arter  wich  she  keeps  on 


A  CELEBRATED   SAUSAGE  FACTORY  363 

abusin5  of  him  for  half  an  hour,  and  then  runs  into  the  little  parlour 
behind  the  shop,  sets  to  a  screaming  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  3Mer- 
riker.  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  eyerythin3  (which  was  very  liberal,  seeinj  that  he  hadn't 
done  nothin'  at  all);  the  canals  was  dragged,  and  for  two  months 
artervards,  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  avay,  and  she  kep  on  the 
bis'ness.  One  Saturday  night,  a  little  thin  old  genTm'n  comes  into 
the  shop  in  a  great  passion  and  says,  'Are  you  the  missis  o'  this  here 
shop?'  cYes,  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  think  you'd  find  beef  come  nearly  as 
cheap  as  buttons.'  cAs  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!5  screams  the  little  old 
genTm'n,  turnin'  wery  pale.  'I  see  it  all/  says  the  widder;  'in  a 
fit  of  temporary  insanity  he  rashly  converted  his-self  into  sassagesF 
And  so  he  had,  sir,"  said  Mr  Weller,  looking  steadily  into  Mr  Pick- 
wick's horror-stricken  countenance,  "or  else  he'd  been  draw'd  into 
the  ingine;  but  however  that  might  ha'  been,  the  little  old  genTm'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  artervards  P' 

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 
shrunk  to  the  dark  side  of  the  staircase  as  Mr  Pickwick  approached. 

"It's  very  unfortunate/5  said  the  stranger,  with  a  sigh. 

"Very,"  said  Lowten,  scribbling  his  name  on  the  doorpost  with 
his  pen,  and  nibbing  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. 


364  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  to- 
wards 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  Chan- 
cery 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*U  see  you,  I  know.  Devilish  cold,"  he  added,  pettishly,  "stand- 
ing at  that  door,  wasting  one's  time  with  such  seedy  vagabonds!" 
Having  very  vehemently  stirred  a  particularly  large  fire  with  a  par- 
ticularly 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,  /  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  Ser- 
jeant Snubbin." 

"Is  he  a  good  man?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Good  man!"  replied  Perker;    "bless  your  heart  and  soul,  my 


CONFERENCE  WITH  MR  PERKER  365 

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  com- 
munication, and  nodded  mysteriously  to  Mr  Pickwick. 

"They  have  subpoena' d  my  three  friends,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Ah!  of  course  they  would,"  replied  Perker.  "Important  wit- 
nesses; 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?" 

;cThey  have  subpoena' d  my  servant  too,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  quit- 
ting 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 
intrusting  them  to  your  solicitor,  you  must  also  take  the  conse- 
quences." 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  consider- 
able 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 


366  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  delib- 
erate 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  J^iz3^top  of  which  had 
long  since  lost  all  claim  to  its  original  hue  of  green,  and  had  grad- 
ually grown  grey  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  3em."  The  clerk  smiled  as  he  said  this,  and  in- 
haled 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, 


MR  SERJEANT  SNUBBIN  367 

ha!33  At  this  the  Serjeant's  clerk  laughed  again;  not  a  noisy  bois- 
terous 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?35  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  recov- 
ering 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  inforniednSIr  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  Snubbin  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  hair-powder  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  on 


368  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  pro- 
fessional 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,35 
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  cu- 
riosity, turned  to  Mr  Perker,  and  said,  smiling  slightly  as  he  spoke: 

"Has  Mr  Pickwick  a  strong  case?" 

The  attorney  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Do  you  purpose  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  spec- 
tacles, through  which  he  had  attentively  regarded  such  demonstra- 
tions 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  cir- 
cumstance." 

The  Serjeant  tried  to  look  gravely  at  the  fire,  but  the  smile  came 
back  again. 


WITH  THE  SERJEANT  369 

"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  de- 
pends 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  dis- 
advantage of  making  such  a  declaration  to  you,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, 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 " 

"Phunk/s— Holborn  Court,  Gray's  lnn,s>  interposed  Perker. 
(Holborn  Court,  by  the  bye,  is  South  Square  now.)  "Mr  Phunfcy, 
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 


370  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

want  of  means,  or  interest,  or  connexion,  or  impudence,  as  the  case 
might  be.  He  was  overawed  by  the  Serjeant,  and  profoundly  cour- 
teous 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  Ser- 
jeant. 

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  com- 
municate. We  shall  have  a  consultation,  of  course."  With  this  hint 
that  he  had  been  interrupted  quite  long  enough,  Mr  Serjeant  Sriub- 
bin,  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  Mm:  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  Pljunky  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;  tttat  nobody  could  presume  to  calculate  on  the  issue  of  an 
action;  that  it  was  very  lucky  they  had  prevented  the  other  party 


BACK  TO  THE  CITY  371 

from  getting  Serjeant  Snubbin;  and  other  topics  of  doubt  and  conso- 
lation, 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  DIB, 

A  BACHELOR'S  PARTY,  GIVEN  BY  MR  BOB  SAWYER  AT  HIS  LODG- 
INGS 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  bye-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  him- 
self from  within  the  reach  of  temptation — to  place  himself  beyond 
the  possibility  of  any  inducement  to  look  out  of  the  window — he 
should  by  all  means  go  to  Lant  Street. 

In  this  happy  retreat  are  colonised  a  few  clear-starchers,  a  sprin- 
kling of  journeymen  bookbinders,  one  or  two  prison  agents  for  the 
Insolvent  Court,  several  small  housekeepers  who  are  employed  in  the 
Docks,  a  handful  of^antua-makera,  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 
tad  been  heaped  into  the  little  corner  outside  the  back-parlour  door; 
the  bonnet  and  shawl  of  the  landlady's  servant  had  been  removed 
from  the  banisters;  there  were  not  more  than  two  pairs  of  pattens  on 
the  street-door  mat,  and  a  kitchen  candle,  with  a  very  long  snuff, 
burnt  cheerfully  on  the  ledge  of  the  staircase  window.  Mr  Bob 
Sawyer  had  himself  purchased  the  spirits  at  a  wine  vaults  in  High 
Street,  and  had  returned  home  preceding  the  bearer  thereof,  to 
preclude  the  possibility  of  their  delivery  at  the  wrong  house.  The 

372 


MR  SAWYER  EXPECTS   COMPANY  373 

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  arrange- 
ments, 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.5  " 

"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  be- 
tween 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  re- 
duced 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  puM 
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  appre- 
hension, 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 


374  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

I'll  thank  you,  because  I've  got  my  rent  to  pay  this  afternoon,  and  my 
landlord's  a  waiting  below  now.33  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  gentle- 
man as  has  ever  lived  here,  has  kept  his  word,  sir,  as  of  course  any- 
body 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  imagi- 
nable humility,  "but  the  fact  is,  that  I  have  been  disappointed  in  the 
City  to-day."— Extraordinary  place  that  City.  An  astonishing  num- 
ber 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  disap- 
pointed 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  but- 
ter 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  quarter  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  8em  to  pay  their  bills?  Do  you " 

"My  good  soul,"  interposed  Mr  Benjamin  Allen,  soothingly. 


MRS   RADDLE  APPLIES  FOR  RENT  375 

"Have  the  goodness  to  keep  your  observashuns  to  yourself,  sir,  I 
beg,55  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,53  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  per- 
spiration 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'arn," 
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  the  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  every- 
body 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  ruflinly  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,  accom- 
panied 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  aU  the  umbrellas,  and  disappeared  into  the 
back  parlour  closing  the  door  after  her  with  an  awful  crash. 


376  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Does  Mr  Sawyer  live  here?"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  when  the  door  was 
opened. 

"Yes/3  said  the  girl,  "first  floor.  It's  the  door  straight  afore  you, 
when  you  gets  to  the  top  of  the  stairs."  Having  given  this  instruc- 
tion, 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  every- 
thing 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  pre- 
sented 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 — very  fair  case  indeed." 

"Do  you  mean  that  the  patient  is  in  a  fair  way  to  recover?"  in- 
quired Mr  Pickwick. 

"No,"  replied  Hopkins,  carelessly.  "No,  I  should  rather  say  he 
wouldn^t.  There  must  be  a  splendid  operation  though,  to-morrow — 
magnificent  sight  if  Slasher  does  it." 

"You  consider  Mr  Slasher  a  good  operator?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Best  alive/'  replied  Hopkins.  "Took  a  boy'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. 


REMARKABLE  STORY  OF  A  NECKLACE         377 

"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  eld- 
est sister  bought  a  necklace;  common  necklace,  made  of  large  black 
wooden  beads.  Child,  being  fond  of  toys,  cnbhed  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 — ftve-and-twenty  beads  in  all.  The  sister,  who 
was  an  industrious  girl,  and  seldom  treated  herself  to  a  bit  of  finery, 
cried  heir  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  fam- 
ily 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.  CI  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,  dam'me,  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  swal- 
lowed 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  mufHe  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?" 


378  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Certainly  not/'  replied  Mr  Bob  Sawyer. 

uVery  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  inter- 
rupted by  a  slight  dispute  between  the  scorbutic  youth  and  the  gentle- 
man with  the  pink  ancipo;  in  the  course  of  which,  the  scorbutic 
youth  intimated  a  Summg  desire  to  pull  the  nose  of  the  gentle- 
man 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  or  a  two-pronged  fork;  and  very  little 
was  done  in  this  way.  Very  little  of  the  beef  was  done  either;  and 
the  ham  (which  was  also  from  the  German-sausage  shop  round  the 
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,  to- 
gether 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  embar- 
rassing one  notwithstanding. 

The  fact  is,  the  girl  was  washing  the  glasses.  The  establishment 
boasted  four;  we  do  not  record  the  circumstance  as  at  aH  derogatory 


NO  WARM  WATER  ALLOWED  370 

to  Mrs  Raddle,  for  there  never  was  a  lodging-house  yet,  that  was  no 
short  of  glasses.  The  landlady's  glasses  were  little  thin  blown  glass 
tumblers,  and  those  which  had  been  borrowed  from  the  publiohous* 
were  great3  drogM£al3  bloated  articles,  each  supported  on  a  hug< 
gouty  leg.  Tluswould  have  been  in  itself  sufficient  to  have  possessec 
the  company  with  the  real  state  of  affairs;  but  the  young  woman  oi 
all  work  had  prevented  the  possibility  of  any  misconception  arising  ir 
the  mind  of  any  gentleman  upon  the  subject,  by  forcibly  dragging 
every  man's  glass  away,  long  before  he  had  finished  his  beer,  anc 
audibly  stating,  despite  the  winks  and  interruptions  of  Mr  Bot 
Sawyer,  that  it  was  to  be  conveyed  downstairs,  and  washed  forth- 
with. 

It  is  a  very  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good.  The  prim  mar 
in  the  cloth  boots,  who  had  been  unsuccessfully  attempting  to  make  a 
joke  during  the  whole  time  the  round  game  lasted,  saw  his  oppor- 
tunity, 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  anothei 
eminent  and  illustrious  individual  whom  he  had  never  been  able  tc 
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  back3 
when  Mr  Bob  Sawyer,  who  had  been  absorbed  in  attention  during 
the  whale  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  con- 
vivial. 

"Now,  Betsy,"  said  Mr  Bob  Sawyer,  with  great  suavity,  and  dispers- 
ing, 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." 


380  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"You  can't  have  no  warm  water,"  replied  Betsy. 

"No  warm  water!"  exclaimed  Mr  Bob  Sawyer, 

"No5"  said  the  girl,  with  a  shake  of  the  head  which  expressed  a 
more  decided  negative  than  the  most  copious  language  could  have 
conveyed.  uMissis  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.33 

"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  derange- 
ment," remarked  Bob  Sawyer  with  a  ghastly  smile;  "And  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  fel- 
low! 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  under- 
standing 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  /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  o3  window.3* 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir?"  inquired  Mr  Noddy. 

"What  I  say,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Gunter. 


A  PERSONAL  MISUNDERSTANDING  381 

"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  remon- 
strated with  both  parties  on  the  impropriety  of  their  conduct;  on 
which  Mr  Noddy  begged  to  state  that  his  father  was  quite  as  respect- 
able 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  com- 
pany; and  a  vast  quantity  of  talking  and  clamouring  ensued,  in  the 
course  of  which  Mr  Noddy  gradually  allowed  his  feelings  to  over- 
power 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  honour- 
able 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  tumul- 
tuous 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. 


382  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  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've  the  advantage  of  me  in  numbers,  my  dear." 

"Ugh,  you  coward!"  replied  Mrs  Raddle,  with  supreme  con- 
tempt. "D0  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  begin- 
ning 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," 


BREAK  UP  OF  THE  PARTY         383 

"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.33 

"Going!"  said  Mrs  Raddle,  thrusting  her  night-cap  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,33  remonstrated  Mr  Pickwick,  looking  up. 

"Get  along  with  you,  you  old  wretch!"  replied  Mrs  Raddle, 
hastily  withdrawing  the  night-cap.  "Old  enough  to  be  his  grand- 
father, 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  im- 
pression 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  RESPECT- 
ING 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  any- 
thing whatever  to  be  done,  for  the  consultation  had  taken  place, 
and  the  course  of  proceeding  to  be  adopted,  had  been  finally  de- 
termined on;  but  Mr  Pickwick  being  in  a  most  extreme  state  of 
excitementj  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  over-alls,  whose  garb  bespoke  a  laudable 
ambition  to  attain  iBrtteiT  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  bar- 
maid, conceiving  it  not  improbable  that  the  said  commission  might 
be  directed  to  the  tea  or  table  spoons  of  the  establishment,  accosted 
the  boy  with: 

384 


A  SUDDEN  REMINDER  385 

"Now,  young  man,  what  do  you  want?" 

"Is  there  anybody  here,  named  Sam?35  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  genTm'n  told  me  to,"  replied  the  boy. 

"What  old  genTm'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  ex- 
planatory air  to  the  young  lady  in  the  bar;  "blessed  if  I  think  he 
hardly  knows  wot  my  other  name  is.  Veil,  young  brockiley  sprout, 
wot  then?" 

"Why,  then,"  said  the  boy,  "y°u  was  to  come  to  him  at  six  o'clock 
to  our  'ouse,  'cos  he  wants  to  see  you — Blue  Boar,  Leaden'all  Maxkit. 
Shall  I  say  you're  comin'?" 

"You  may  wenture  on  that  'ere  statement,  sir,"  replied  Sam, 
And  thus  empowered,  the  young  gentleman  walked  away,  awaken- 
ing 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  dis- 
pleased 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  bye  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!" 


386  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  redjpeligse  with  a  parasol  of  the  same:  were  approach- 
ing the  meal  with  hungry  eyes,  up  a  Argentine  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  Valen- 
tine/ 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  ha5  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  conjectuii^lhat  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  pen- 
n'orth 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 


A  VALENTINE  387 


his  eyes  as  nearly  as  possible  on  a  level  with  the  paper,  while  glancing 
sideways  at  the  letters  he  is  constructing,  to  form  with  his  tongue 
imaginary  characters  to  correspond.  These  motions.,  although  un- 
questionably of  the  greatest  assistance  to  original  composition,  retard 
in  some  degree  the  progress  of  the  writer;  and  Sam  had  uncon- 
sciously 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. 

"Veil,  Sammy,"  said  the  father, 

"Veil,  my  Prooshan  Blue,"  responded  the  son,  laying  down  his 
pen.  "What's  the  last  bulletin  about  mother-in-law?" 

"Mrs  Veller  passed  a  wery  good  night,  but  is  uncommon  perwerse, 
and  unpleasant  this  mornin'.  Signed  upon  oath,  T.  Veller,  Esquire, 
Senior.  That's  the  last  vun  as  was  issued,  Sammy/3  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  doing  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  sayin3  it  ain't,"  replied  Sam.  "It's  a  walen- 
tine." 

"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.  Alter  the  warnin3  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  bein9  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  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 
agonizin'  trial  to  me  at  my  time  of  life,  but  Fm  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'U  be  a  trial?"  inquired  Sam, 


388  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"To  see  you  married,  Sammy — to  see  you  a  dilluded  wictim,  and 
thinkin3  In  your  innocence  that  it's  all  wery  capital/3  replied  Mr 
Weller.  "It's  a  dreadful  trial  to  a  father's  feelin's,  that  'ere,  Sammy." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Sam.  "I  ain't  a  goin3  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  dis- 
posed 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  mantelpiece  at  the  same 
time,  turned  towards  Sam,  and,  with  a  countenance  greatly  molli- 
fied 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  ap- 
peared, 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. 

"Werry  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr  Weller.  "Poetry's  unnat'ral; 
no  man  ever  talked  poetry  5cept  a  beadle  on  Boxin'  Day,  or  War- 
ren's blackin',  or  Rowland's  oil,  or  some  o'  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  dammed '  " 

"That  ain't  proper,"  said  Mr  Weller,  taking  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth. 

"No;  it  ain't  'dammed,'  "  observed  Sam,  holding  the  letter  up 
to  the  light,  "it's  'shamed/  there's  a  blot  there— 1  feel  myself 
ashamed.'  " 

"Werry  good,"  said  Mr  Weller.    "Go  on." 


SAM  READS  THE  VALENTINE  389 

"  Teel  myself  ashamed,  and  completely  cir 3  I  forget  what 

this  here  word  is,"  said  Sam,  scratching  Ms  head  with  the  pen  in 
vain  attempts  to  remember. 

"Why  don't  you  look  at  it,  then?'9  inquired  Mr  Weller. 

"So  I  am  lookin'  at  it,"  replied  Sam,  "but  there's  another  blot. 
Here's  a  ec,'  and  a  ci,J  and  a  cd.'  " 

"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. 

"Veil  p'raps  it  is  a  more  tenderer  word,"  said  Mr  Weller,  after  a 
few  moments'  reflection.  "Go  on,  Sammy." 

"  Teel  myself  ashamed  and  completely  circumscribed  in  a  dressin* 
of  you,  for  you  are  a  nice  gal  and  nothin3  but  it.'  " 

"That's  a  werry  pretty  sentiment,"  said  the  elder  Mr  Weller, 
removing  his  pipe  to  make  way  for  the  remark. 

*cYcs,  I  think  it  is  rayther  good,"  observed  Sam,  highly  flattered. 

"Wot  I  like  in  that  'ere  style  of  writing"  said  the  elder  Mr  Weller, 
"is,  that  there  ain't  no  callin'  names  in  it— no  Wenuses,  nor  nothin3 
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  werry  well  known  to  be  a  col-lection  o9 
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. 

"  c Afore  I  see  you,  I  thought  all  women  was  alike.3  " 

"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  /  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. 

"  cSo  I  take  the  privilidge  of  the  day,  Mary,  my  dear — as  the 
genTm'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 


39o  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  walentme  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-writinV  t 

"Well,"  said  Mr  Weller,  "there's  somethin'  in  that;  and  I  wish 
your  mother-in-law  'ud  only  conduct  her  conversation  on  the  same 
gen-teel  principle.  Ain't  you  a  goin*  to  sign  it?" 

"That's  the  difficulty,"  said  Sam;  'T  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  walentme  with  your  own 

"Sign  it  Tickvick/  then,"  said  Mr  Weller;  "it's  a  werry  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  wos  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  down- 
hill  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. 

"Veil,"  said  Mr  Weller,  "Now  I  s'pose  he'll  want  to  call  some 
witnesses  to  speak  to  his  character,  or  p'raps  to  prove  a  alleybL 


TONY  WELLER'S  ADVICE  391 


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  con-sideration,  Sammy,"  re- 
plied 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  con- 
viction that  the  Old  Bailey  was  the  supreme  court  of  judicature  in 
chis  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  as 
I  never  see  equalled.  He's  sitch  a  friend  o5  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  5ud  turpentine  and  bees'vax 
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  pineapple  rum  afore  he  goes  avay.3> 

"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, 


392  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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?3'  said  that  young  gentleman. 

"Well,5'  continued  his  progenitor,  looking  round  him  very  cau- 
tiously, "you  and  I'll  go,  punctiwal  to  the  time.  The  deputy  shep- 
herd 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,55  ex- 
claimed 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,5'  said  Mr  Weller,  looking  round  him  with  in- 
creased 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 5s 
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  arid 
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  commence- 
ment 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. 


Just  when  matters  were  at  their  height?  and  threatening  to  remain  so, 
Mr.  Pickwick  found  a  powerful  assistant  in  the  old  lady 


A  TEMPERANCE  ASSOCIATION  393 

On  this  particular  occasion  the  women  drank  tea  to  a  most  alarm- 
ing 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  3ere  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  for- 
tunately 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  encased  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  collection  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 
Mm  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  perspira- 
tion, 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 


394  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

the  cough  which  always  seizes  an  assembly,  when  anything  particular 
is  going  to  be  done,  having  been  duly  performed,  the  following  doc- 
ument 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. 

CCH.  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  edog3s  nose,3  which  your  committee  find  upon 
inquiry,  to  be  compounded  of  warm  porter,  moist  sugar,  gin,  and 
nutmeg  (a  groan,  and  cSo  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  drank  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  noth- 
ing 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  al- 
ways 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  instead  (the  announcement  of  this 
most  interesting  fact  was  received  with  deafening  enthusiasm) . 

"Henry  Beller  was  for  many  years  toast-master  at  various  corpora- 
tion 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  an- 
nouncement 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 


THE   SOFT  SEX  395 


(deep  sighs) .  Found  the  second-hand  wooden  legs  split  and  rot  very 
quickly;  is  firmly  persuaded  that  their  constitution  was  under- 
mined 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  Toung  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  en- 
abled him  in  the  beautiful  words  of  the  poet,  to 

"Row  along,  thinking  of  nothing  at  aH?)5> 

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  flock'd  to  his  boat  so  readily." 

(Loud  cheers,  in  which  the  ladies  joined.)  What  a  bright  example! 
The  sisterhood,  the  maidens,  flocking  round  the  young  waterman, 
and  urging  him  along  the  stream  of  duty  and  of  temperance.  But, 
was  it  the  maidens  of  humble  life  only,  who  soothed,  consoled,,  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) ,  how- 
ever unworthily,  was  "first  oars53  (unbounded  applause). 

"Wot  does  he  mean  by  the  soft  sex,  Sammy?"  inquired  Mr  Wetter, 
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  gam- 
moned 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 


[96  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

us  hearers  as  were  unacquainted  with  the  legend.  While  it  was 
>eing  sung,  the  little  man  with  the  drab  shorts  disappeared;  he 
•eturned  immediately  on  its  conclusion,  and  whispered  Mr  Anthony 
lumm,  with  a  face  of  the  deepest  importance. 

"My  friends,"  said  Mr  Humm,  holding  up  his  hand  in  a  depreca- 
ory  manner,  to  bespeak  the  silence  of  such  of  the  stout  old  ladies  as 
yere  yet  a  line  or  two  behind;  "my  friends,  a  delegate  from  the 
forking  branch  of  our  Society,  Brother  Stiggins,  attends  below/' 

Out  came  the  pocket-handkerchiefs  again,  in  greater  force  than 
*ver;  for  Mr  Stiggins  was  excessively  popular  among  the  female  con- 
stituency of  Brick  Lane. 

"He  may  approach,  I  think,"  said  Mr  Humm,  looking  round  him, 
a  fat  smile.  "Brother  Tadger,  let  him  come  forth  and  greet 


is." 

The  little  man  in  the  drab  shorts  who  answered  to  the  name  of 
Brother  Tadger,  bustled  down  the  ladder  with  great  speed,  and  was 
mmediately  afterwards  heard  tumbling  up  with  the  reverend 
VIr  Stiggins. 

"He's  a  comin%  Sammy/3  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 
:lose  to  the  door,  I  heard  him  a-knockin5  his  head  again  the  lath 
ind  plaster  now." 

As  Sam  Weller  spoke,  the  little  door  flew  open,  and  Brother  Tadger 
ippeared,  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  ac- 
mowledgment  than  staring  with  a  wild  eye,  and  a  fixed  smile, 
it  the  extreme  top  of  the  wick  of  the  candle  on  the  table:  swaying 
lis  body  to  and  fro,  meanwhile,  in  a  very  unsteady  and  uncertain 
nanner. 

"Are  you  unwell,  Brother  Stiggins?"  whispered  Mr  Anthony 
Humm. 

"I  am  all  right,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Stiggins,  in  a  tone  in  which  ferocity 
ras  blended  with  an  extreme  thickness  of  utterance;  "I  am  all  right, 
dr." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  rejoined  Mr  Anthony  Humm,  retreating  a  few 
>aces. 

"I  believe  no  man  here,,  has  ventured  to  say  that  I  am  not  all  right, 
ir?"  said  Mr  Stiggins. 

"Oh,  certainly  not,"  said  Mr  Humm. 

"I  should  advise  Mm  not  to,  sir;  I  should  advise  him  not,"  said 
AT  Stiggins. 

By  this  time  the  audience  were  perfectly  silent,  and  waited  with 
ome  anxiety  for  the  resumption  of  business. 


THE  ELDER  WELLER  ATTACKS  MR  STIGGINS     397 

"Will  you  address  the  meeting,  brother?35  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  drank* 
sir.  Brother  Tadger,  sir!"  said  Mr  Stiggins,  suddenly  increasing  in 
ferocity,  and  turning  sharp  round  on  the  little  man  in  the  drab  shorts3 
cyou  are  drunk,  sir!'*  With  this,  Mr  Stiggins,  entertaining  a  praise- 
worthy desire  to  promote  the  sobriety  of  the  meeting,  and  to  exclude 
therefrom  all  improper  characters,  hit  Brother  Tadger  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  nose  with  such  unerring  aim,  that  the  drab  shorts  disap- 
peared 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  Humrn,  who,  being  ex- 
tremely popular,  was  all  but  suffocated,  by  the  crowd  of  female  devo- 
tees 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.*5 

"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  pene- 
trated 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-Eke  manner,  which 
in  a  gentleman  at  his  time  of  life  was  a  perfect  marvel  to  behold. 

Finding  all  remonstrance  unavailing,  Sam  pulled  his  hat  firmly 
on,  threw  Ms  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,95  replied  Perker. 
"A  good,  contented,  well-breakfasted  juryman,  is  a  capital  thing  to 
get  hold  o£  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/  eSo  do  I/  says  every- 
body 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  plaintiffs  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  com- 
fortably. 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  Plckwickians  and  Mr  Perker  ensconced  them- 
selves 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  con- 
structed for  the  convenience  of  attorneys,  who  from  that  spot  can 
whisper  Into  the  ear  of  the  leading  counsel  in  the  case,  any  instruc- 

398 


IN  COURT 


tions  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?33  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,  wiiicb  Lowten  had  just  de~ 
posited  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  barristers3  seats:  who  presented,  as  a  body,  aE  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  oc- 
casionally scratched  their  noses  therewith,  to  impress  the  fact  more 
strongly  on  the  observation  of  the  spectators.  Other  gentlemen3  who 
had  no  briefs  to  show,  carried  under  their  arms  goodly  octavos,  with 
a  red  label  behind,  and  that  underdone-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  Snub- 
bin  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  moie  Serjeants;  and  among  them,  one  with  a  fat  body  and  a  red 
face,  who  nodded  in  a  friendly  manner  to  Mr  Serjeant  Snubbln,  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  BuHSaz,"  replied  Perker.    "He's  opposed  to  us;    he 


4oo  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

leads  on  the  other  side.  That  gentleman  behind  him  is  Mr  SHmpin, 
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!3'  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  gentlemen  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,  gentleman,  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  attend- 
ance.'* 

"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  irri- 
table,  and  brooked  not  contradiction. 


THE  JURY  SWORN  IN  401 

"I  know  I  ought  to  do,  if  I  got  on  as  well  as  I  deserved,  but  I  don% 
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,  sir7';  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  ac- 
quainted 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  com- 
posed 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  recol- 
lecting 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 
intreated  the  plaintiff  to  compose  herself.  Serjeant  Buzfuz  nibbed 
his  eyes  very  hard  with  a  large  white  handkerchief,  and  gave  an  ap- 
pealing look  towards  the  jury,  while  the  judge  was  visibly  affected, 
and  several  of  the  beholders  tried  to  cough  down  their  emotions. 

"Very  good  notion  that,  indeed,"  whispered  Perker  to  Mr  Pick- 
wick. "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  BardeU's  buttons 
and  the  buttonholes  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  con- 


402  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

siderable  opposition,  and  many  tears3  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/5  cried  the  gentleman  in  black,  calling  on 
the  case,,  which  stood  first  on  the  list. 

"I  am  for  the  plaintiff,  my  lord,33  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/3  said  the 
judge,  writing  down  the  names  in  his  notebook,  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 
Ms  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 
BOW  saw  in  that  box  before  him. 


SPEECH   OF   SERJEANT  BUZFUZ  403 

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 — £tyou 
have  heard  from  my  learned  friend,  gentlemen,  that  this  Is  an  action 
for  a  breach  of  promise  of  marriage.  In  which  the  damages  are  laid  at 
£1500.  But  you  have  not  heard  from  my  learned  friend.  Inasmuch 
as  it  did  not  come  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  In- 
dignant 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  shrunk  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  inscrip- 
tion— *  Apartments  furnished  for  a  single  gentleman.  Inquire 
within.*  "  Here  Serjeant  Buzfuz  paused,  while  several  gentlemen 
of  the  jury  took  a  note  of  the  document. 

"There  is  no  date  to  that,  Is  there,  sir?"  inquired  a  juror. 

"There  Is  no  date,  gentlemen/3  replied  Serjeant  Buzfuz;  "but  I 
ana  Instructed  to  say  that  it  was  put  in  the  plaintiffs  parlour- 
wiiadow  just  this  time  three  years.  I  mtreat  the  attention  of  the 
jury  to  the  wording  of  this  document.  'Apartments  furnished  for  a 
single  gentleman*!  Mrs  BardelTs  opinions  of  the  opposite  sex,  gentle- 
men, were  derived  from  a  long  contemplation  of  the  inestimable 
qualities  of  her  lost  husband.  She  had  no  fear,  she  had  no  distrust, 


404  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

she  had  no  suspicion,  all  was  confidence  and  reliance,  'Mr  Bar- 
dell/  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  the  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  mon- 
ster, knocked  at  the  door  of  Mrs  BardelFs  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  some-* 
thing  with  a  pen  without  any  ink  in  it,  and  looked  unusually  pro- 
found, to  impress  the  jury  with  the  belief  that  he  always  thought 
most  deeply  with  his  eyes  shut.  Serjeant  Buzfuz  proceeded. 

<cOf  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  villany." 

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,  look- 
ing 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  ges- 
tures 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 


SERJEANT  BUZFUZ   CONTINUES  405 

and  how  to  appreciate  them;  and  let  me  teU  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.5* 

This  little  divergence  from  the  subject  in  hand,  had  of  course,  the 
intended  effect  of  turning  all  eyes  to  Mr  Pickwick.  Serjeant  Buzfiiz, 
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  con- 
tinued to  reside  constantly,  and  without  interruption  or  intermission, 
at  Mrs  BardelTs  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  inten- 
tions; by  proving  to  you,  that  on  one  occasion,  when  he  returned 
from  the  country,  he  distinctly  and  in  terms,  offered  her  marriage: 
previously,  however,  taking  special  care  that  there  should  be  no 
witness  to  their  solemn  contract;  and  I  am  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  morn- 
ing 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 


THE  PICKWICK   PAPERS 


landwriting  of  the  defendant,  and  which  speak  volumes  indeed. 
These  letters,  too,  bespeak  the  character  of  the  man.  They  are  not 
>pen,  fervent,  eloquent  epistles,  breathing  nothing  but  the  language 
rf  affectionate  attachment.  They  are  covert,  sly,  underhanded  com- 
THinications,  but,  fortunately,  far  more  conclusive  than  if  couched 
n  the  most  glowing  language  and  the  most  poetic  imagery  —  letters 
hat  must  be  viewed  with  a  cautious  and  suspicious  eye  —  letters  that 
rare  evidently  intended  at  the  time,  by  Pickwick,  to  mislead  and 
ielude  any  third  parties  into  whose  hands  they  might  fall  Let  me 
*ead  the  first:  —  cGarra  way's,  twelve  o'clock.  Dear  Mrs  B.—  Chops 
ind  Tomato  sauce.  Yours,  PICKWICK.'  Gentlemen,  what  does 
Ms  mean?  Chops  and  Tomato  sauce!  Yours,  Pickwick!  Chops! 
Gracious  heavens!  and  Tomato  sauce!  Gentlemen,  is  the  happiness 
}f  a  sensitive  and  confiding  female  to  be  trifled  away,  by  such  shallow 
irtifices  as  these?  The  next  has  no  date  whatever,  which  is  in  itself 
auspicious.  '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  ! 
^Vhy,  gentlemen,  who  does  trouble  himself  about  a  warming-pan? 
When  was  the  peace  of  mind  of  man  or  woman  broken  or  disturbed 
yy  a  warming-pan,  which  is  in  itself  a  harmless,  a  useful,  and  I  will 
idd,  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 
lidden  fire  —  a  mere  substitute  for  some  endearing  word  or  promise, 
igrceably  to  a  preconcerted  system  of  correspondence,  artfully  con- 
trived by  Pickwick  with  a  view  to  his  contemplated  desertion,  and 
which  I  am  not  in  a  condition  to  explain?  And  what  does  this  allu- 
sion to  the  slow  coach  mean?  For  aught  I  know,  it  may  be  a  ref- 
erence to  Pickwick  himself,  who  has  most  unquestionably  been  a 
rriminally  slow  coach  during  the  whole  of  this  transaction,  but 
Afhose  speed  will  now  be  very  unexpectedly  accelerated,  and  whose 
wheels,  gentlemen,  as  he  will  find  to  his  cost,  will  very  soon  be 
jreased  by  you!19 

Mr  Serjeant  Buzfuz  paused  in  this  place,  to  see  whether  the  jury 
miled  at  Ms  joke;  but  as  nobody  took  it  but  the  greengrocer,  whose 
ensitiveness  on  the  subject  was  very  probably  occasioned  by  his 
laving  subjected  a  chaise-cart  to  the  process  in  question  on  that 
dentical  morning,  the  learned  Serjeant  considered  it  advisable  to 
indergo  a  slight  relapse  into  the  dismals  before  he  concluded. 

"But  enough  of  this,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  "it  is 
Hfficult  to  smile  with  an  aching  heart;  it  is  ill  jesting  when  our 
leepest  sympathies  are  awakened.  My  client's  hopes  and  prospects 
re  ruined,  and  it  is  no  figure  of  speech  to  say  that  her  occupation 
5  gone  indeed.  The  bill  is  down  —  but  there  is  no  tenant.  Eligible 
ingle  gentlemen  pass  and  repass  —  but  there  is  no  invitation  for 


MRS  CLUPPINS   IN  THE  BOX  407 

them  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  *com- 
moneys*  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  warm- 
ing-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  ray 
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,iMrs  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  emer- 
gency. 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  alarm- 
ing manifestations  of  an  approaching  fainting  fit,  or,  as  she  after- 
wards said,  of  her  feelings  being  too  many  for  hen 

"Do  you  recollect,  Mrs  Cluppins?"  said  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  after  a 
few  unimportant  questions,  "do  you  recollect  being  in  Mrs  BardelTs 
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/3  replied  Mrs  Cluppins. 

"Mr  Pickwick's  sitting-room  was  the  first-floor  front,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,  it  were*  sir/'  replied  Mrs  Cluppins. 


408  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  Bar- 
dell;  I  had  been  out  with  a  little  basket,  gentlemen,  to  buy  three 
pound  of  red  kidney  purtaties,  which  was  three  pound  tuppence 
ha'penny,  when  I  see  Mrs  BardelPs  street-door  on  the  jar.3' 

"On  the  what?"  exclaimed  the  little  judge, 

"Partly  open,  my  lord,"  said  Serjeant  Snubbin. 

"She  said  on  the  jar/3  said  the  little  judge,  with  a  cunning  look. 

"If  s  all  the  same,  my  lord/3  said  Serjeant  Snubbin.  The  little 
judge  looked  doubtful,  and  said  he'd  make  a  note  of  it.  Mrs  Chip- 
pins  then  resumed: 

"I  walked  in,  gentlemen,  just  to  say  good  momin*,  and  went,  in 
a  permiscuous  manner,  upstairs,  and  into  the  back  room.  Gentle- 
men, 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  ad- 
dressed himself  to  Mrs  Bardell,  repeated,  by  slow  degrees,  and  by 
dint  of  many  questions,  the  conversation  with  which  our  readers  are 
already  acquainted. 

The  jury  looked  suspicious,  and  Mr  Serjeant  Buzfuz  smiled  and 
sat  down.  They  looked  positively  awful  when  Serjeant  Snubbin 
intimated  that  he  should  not  cross-examine  the  witness,  for  Mr  Pick- 
wick 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  inter- 
esting 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,  undo:  the  escort  of  Mr 
Jackson,  without  further  parley. 

"Nathaniel  Winkle!"  said  Mr  Skimpin, 

"Here!"  replied  a  feeble  voice.    Mr  Winkle  entered  the  witness- 


MR  WINKLE  EXAMINED  409 

box,  and  having  been  duly  sworn,  bowed  to  the  judge  with  consider- 
able deference. 

"Don't  look  at  me,  sir/*  said  the  judge,  sharply,  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  salute;  "look  at  the  jury.33 

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  lord- 
ship and  the  jury  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  in- 
duce 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  carefol,  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  Mm  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  injunction  to  be  careful.  I  believe  you  are  a  particular 
friend  of  Pickwick,  the  defendant,  are  you  not?" 

"I  have  known  Mr  Pickwick  now,  as  well  as  I  recollect  at  this 
moment,  nearly ** 


4io  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Pray,  Mr  Winkle,  do  not  evade  the  question.  Are  you,  or  are 
you  not,  a  particular  friend  of  the  defendant's?" 

4*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  notebook. 

"Come,  sir,"  said  Mr  Skimpin,  "yes  or  no,  if  you  please." 

"Yes,  I  am,"  replied  Mr  Winkle. 

"Yes,  you  are.  And  why  couldn't  you  say  that  at  once,  sir? 
Perhaps  you  know  the  plaintiff,  too?  Eh,  Mr  Winkle?" 

"I  don't  know  her;   I've  seen  her." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  her,  but  you've  seen  her?  Now,  have  the 
goodness  to  tell  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  what  you  mean  by  that, 
Mr  Winkle." 

"I  mean  that  I  am  not  Intimate  with  her,  but  I  have  seen  her  when 
I  went  to  call  on  Mr  Pickwick  In  Goswell  Street." 

"How  often  have  you  seen  her,  sir?" 

"How  often?" 

"Yes,  Mr  Winkle,  how  often?  I'll  repeat  the  question  for  you  a 
dozen  times,  if  you  require  it,  sir."  And  the  learned  gentleman,  with 
a  firm  and  steady  frown,  placed  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and  smiled 
suspiciously  at  the  jury. 

On  this  question  there  arose  the  edifying  brow-beating,  customary 
on  such  points.  First  of  all,  Mr  Winkle  said  it  wras  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  conclu- 
sion 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  of  the  name  of  Snodgrass?" 

"Yes,  I  was." 

"Are  they  here?" 

"Yes,  they  are,"  replied  Mr  Winkle,  looking  very  earnestly  towards 
the  spot  where  his  friends  were  stationed. 

"Pray  attend  to  me,  Mr  Winkle,  and  never  mind  your  friends," 
said  Mr  Skimpin,  with  another  expressive  look  at  the  jury.  "They 


MR  WINKLE   CROSS-EXAMINED  411 

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/9  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  wasy  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  under- 
take to  swear  that  Pickwick,  the  defendant,  did  not  say  on  the  occa- 
sion in  question,  fiMy  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/3  said  Mr  Winkle, 
astounded  at  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/3  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  Pick- 
wick 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  eager- 
ness, that  Mr  Phunky  ought  to  have  got  him  out  of  the  box  with 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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  wink- 
ing at  him. 

uTsf  —  n  —  nOj"  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  winked  at  him,  or  if  Serjeant  Buzfuz  had  stopped  this  irregu- 
lar 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 
Mm. 

"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  agonized  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 


SAM  WELLER  IN  THE  BOX  413 

forcibly  carried  before  George  Nupkins,  Esq.,  magistrate  and  justice 
of  the  peace,  for  the  borough  of  Ipswich! 

"You  may  leave  the  box,  sir,7>  said  Serjeant  Snubbiru  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  be- 
neath 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  the  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  commomj. 

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.35  He  was  par- 
ticularly 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  rai!3  took  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  the  bar,  and  a  comprehensive  survey  of  the  benchs 
with  a  remarkably  cheerfol  and  lively  aspect. 

"What's  your  name,  sir?"  inquired  the  judge. 


THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"Sam  Weller,  my  lord/3  replied  that  gentleman. 

"Do  you  spell  It  with  a  CV  or  a  *W5?"  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  C\Y  " 

Here  a  voice  in  the  gallery  exclaimed  aloud,  "Qjiite  right  too, 
Samivel,  quite  right.  Put  it  down  a  we,  my  lord,  put  it  down  a  we." 

"Who  is  that,  who  dares  to  address  the  court?"  said  the  little  judge, 
looking  up.  "Usher." 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"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  in  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  genTman,  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  regular  new  fit  out  o*  clothes  that  momin*,  genTmen  of 
the  jury,"  said  Sam,  "and  that  was  a  wery  partickler  and  uncom- 
mon circumstance  vith  me  in  those  days." 


ATTEMPT  TO  FRIGHTEN  SAM  415 

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/3  replied  Sam;  "and 
I  was  wery  careful  o*  that  'ere  suit  o?  clothes;  wery  careful  indeed, 
my  lord.5' 

The  judge  looked  sternly  at  Sam  for  full  two  minutes,  but  Sam%s 
features  wrere  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,  fold- 
ing 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  rnagnifyin'  gas  microscopes 
of  hextra  power,  p'raps  I  might  be  able  to  see  through  a  flight  o* 
stairs  and  a  deal  door;  but  bein5  only  eyes,  you  see,  my  wision's 
limited." 

At  this  answer,  which  was  delivered  without  the  slightest  appear- 
ance of  irritation,  and  with  the  most  complete  simplicity  and  equa- 
nimity of  manner,  the  spectators  tittered,  the  little  judge  smiled,  and 
Serjeant  Buzfuz  looked  particularly  foolish.  After  a  short  consulta- 
tion with  Dodson  and  Fogg,  the  learned  serjeant  again  turned 
towards  Sam,  and  said,  with  a  painful  effort  to  conceal  his  vexation, 
"Now,  Mr  Weller,  111  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  BardelFs  house,  one  night  in 
November  last?" 

"Oh,  yes,  very  well." 

"Oh,  you  do  remember  that,  Mr  Weller,"  said  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  re- 
covering 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. 


4i6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"I  went  up  to  pay  the  rent;  but  we  did  get  a  talkin'  about  the 
trial/5  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/3  replied  Sam.  "Arter  a  few  un- 
important obserwations  from  the  two  wirtuous  females  as  has  been 
examined  here  to-day,  the  ladies  gets  into  a  very  great  state  o3  ad- 
miration at  the  honourable  conduct  of  Mr  Dodson  and  Fogg— them 
two  genTmen  as  is  settin3  near  you  now."  This,  of  course,  drew 
general  attention  to  Dodson  and  Fogg,  who  looked  as  virtuous  as 
possible. 

"The  attorneys  for  the  plaintiff/3  said  Mr  Serjeant  Buzfuz.  "Well! 
They  spoke  in  high  praise  of  the  honourable  conduct  of  Messrs  Dod- 
son and  Fogg,  the  attorneys  for  the  plaintiff,  did  they?33 

"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  5em  out  of  Mr  Pickwick.33 

At  this  very  unexpected  reply,  the  spectators  tittered  again,  and 
Dodson  and  Fogg,  turning  very  red,  leant  overdo  Serjeant  Buzfiiz, 
and  in  a  hurried  manner  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

"You  are  quite  right/3  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  genTman  like  to  ask  me  anythin3?"  inquired 
Sam,  taking  up  his  hat,  and  looking  round  most  deliberately. 

"Not  I,  Mr  Weller,  thank  you/3  said  Serjeant  Snubbin,  laughing. 

**You  may  go  down,  sir/'  said  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  waving  his  hand 
impatiently.  Sam  went  down  accordingly,  after  doing  Messrs  Dod- 
son and  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/3  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  inde- 
pendent 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  de- 
fendant; 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 


VERDICT  FOR  THE  PLAINTIFF  417 

deserts,  than  Serjeant  Snubbln  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  prepara- 
tions 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  jury7  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  per- 
fectly 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  an  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,35  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.3* 

"With  what  damages,  gentlemen?" 

"Seven  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.55 

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  and  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. 


4i8  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

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." 

44Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Dodson.  "You'll  think  better  of  that,  before 
next  term,  Mr  Pickwick.5' 

c£He?  he,  he!    Well  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*  doin5  bisness.  Oh, 
Sammy,  Sammy,  vy  worn't  there  a  alleybi!" 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

IN  "WHICH  MR  PICKWICK  THINKS  HE  HAD  BETTER  GO  TO 
BATH;    ANB  GOES  ACCORDINGLY 

BUT  surely,  my  dear  sir/'  said  little  Perker3  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  irrita- 
tion apart — that  you  won't  pay  these  costs  and  damages?" 

"Not  one  halfpenny,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  firmly;  "not  one  half- 
penny." 

"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, 
ccmy  friends  here,  have  endeavoured  to  dissuade  me  from  this  de- 
termination?  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  them- 
selves of  its  and  to  arrest  my  person3  I  shall  yield  myself  up  with 
perfect  cheerfulness  and  content  of  heart*  When  can  they  do  this?'5 

"They  can  issue  execution,  my  dear  sir3  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  suffi- 
ciently recovered  the  recollection  of  his  evidence  at  the  trial,  to 
make  any  observation  on  any  subject,  so  Mr  Pickwick  paused  in 
vain. 

"Well/9  said  that  gentleman,  "if  you  leave  me  to  suggest  our 
destination,  I  say  Bath.  I  think  none  of  us  have  ever  been  there.3* 

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 

4*9 


420  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

of  Ms  determination,  and  worse  of  a  debtor's  prison,  it  was  carried 
unanimously:  and  Sam  was  at  once  dispatched  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,' 5  walked  back  to  the  George  and  Vulture,  where  he  was 
pretty  busily  employed  until  bedtime  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 
smelt  mouldy;  the  wet  ran  off  the  hats  of  the  orange-venders  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  sponge  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  un- 
comfortable; 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  stem-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  seal-skin  travelling  cap,  and 
a  greatcoat  and  cloak,  lying  on  the  seat  beside  him.  He  looked  up 
from  his  breakfast  as  Mr  Kckwick  altered,  with  a  fierce  and  per- 
emptory air,  which  was  very  dignified;  and  having  scrutinised  that 
gentleman  and  his  companions  to  Ms  entire  satisfaction,  hummed  a 


THE  PIGKWIGKIANS  GO  TO  BATH  421 

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. 

"D'rectly,  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  Pick- 
wick, 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.  "Pve 
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. 
Pve  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  /  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  fel- 
low 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. 


42S  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

I  like  your  looks;  they  please  me.  Gentlemen,  your  hands  and 
names.  Know  me.5* 

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  illus- 
trious 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. — cYou  love  another?9 — 'Spare  my  blushes.5 — CI  know 
him.3 — "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  Mm.  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  up5  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  Pick- 
wick 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  deep- 
est 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  proprieator  o'  this  hare  coach  is  a  playin3  some  imperence  vith  us." 


INCIDENTS   OF  THE  JOURNEY  423 

"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,33  exclaimed  Mr  Pickwick,  quite  staggered  by  the  coin- 
cidence; "what  a  very  extraordinary  thing!31 

"Yes,  but  that  ain't  all,"  said  Sam,  again  directing  his  master's 
attention  to  the  coach  door;  "not  content  vith  writin'  up  'Pickwick,' 
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  ap- 
peared 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  coachman  to  a  pugilistic 
encounter  on  the  spot. 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick  eagerly;  "not  on  any  ac- 
count. Jump  up  to  your  seat  directly." 

"I'm  wery  much  afeerd,"  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  con- 
sidered 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  WinHe  listened  with  great  admiration,  and  at  in- 
tervals conversed  with  Mrs  Dowler,  who  was  a  very  agreeable  and 
fescinating  person.  So,  what  between  Mr  Dowler*s  stories,  and 


424  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Mrs  Bowler's  charms,  and  Mr  Pickwick's  good  humour,  and  Mr 
Winkle's  good  listening,  the  insides  contrived  to  be  very  companion- 
able 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  great  coat,  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  be- 
hind, who  was  familiar  with  farming.  There  was  a  constant  succes- 
sion 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,  oppo- 
site 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  morn- 
ing, when  a  waiter  brought  in  Mr  Dowler' $  card,  with  a  request  to  be 
allowed  permission  to  introduce  a  friend.  Mr  Dowler  at  once  fol- 
lowed 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  eyeglass  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  heavy  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  con- 
tracted 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 


-Your  health,  sir,"  said  Sam.  "I  like  your  conversation  much.  I  think  it's 

wery  pretty  " 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  CEREMONIES  425 

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,  mean- 
time, 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/5  replied 
Mr  Pickwick;  ccfor  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  I  was  never  here 
before." 

"Never  in  Ba — ath3  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  Pick-- 
wick; 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  waggon  to  his  bedroom 
in  town,  where  he  bathed,  sneezed,  and  same  day  recovered.  Very 
re — markable!" 

Mr  Pickwick  acknowledged  the  compliment  which  the  supposi- 
tion implied,  but  had  the  self-denial  to  repudiate  it,  notwithstanding; 
and  taking  advantage  of  a  moment's  silence  on  the  part  of  theM.C., 
begged  to  introduce  his  friends,  Mr  Tupman,  Mr  Winkle,  and  Mr 
Snodgrass.  An  introduction  which  overwhelmed  the  M.C.  with  de- 
light 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, 


426  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  a  book.  An  instance  of  condescension  at  which  Angelo 
Bantam  was  even  more  overpowered  than  before.  Tickets  of  ad- 
mission 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  street  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  delib- 
eration to  Queen  Square,  whistling  as  he  went  along,  several  of  the 
most  popular  airs  of  the  day,  as  arranged  with  entirely  new  move- 
ments for  that  noble  instrument  the  organ,  either  mouth  or  barrel. 
Arriving  at  the  number  in  Queen  Square  to  which  he  had  been  di- 
rected, he  left  off  whistling,  and  gave  a  cheerful  knock,  which  was 
instantaneously  answered  by  a  powdered-headed  footman  in  gor- 
geous 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  gor- 
geous livery. 

"Why,  young  man?"  was  the  haughty  inquiry  of  the  powdered- 
headed  footman. 

"  'Cos  if  it  is,  jist  you  step* into  him  with  that  'ere  card,  and  say  Mr 
Veller's  a  waiting  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 


PLUSH  AND   POWDER  427 

from  delivering  it,  he  smiled  in  a  friendly  manner,  and  said  that  the 
answer  would  be  ready  directly. 

"Werry  good/5  said  Sam.  "Tell  the  old  genTm'n  not  to  put  him- 
self 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  sort  o'  fellers." 

"Oh,  very  much  so,  indeed,  sir,"  said  the  powdered-headed  foot- 
man, taking  Sam's  remark  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  pull  at  the  bell,  reduced  the  powdered-headed  foot- 
man 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  1 

"There  is  the  answer,  sir,"  said  the  powdered-headed  footman. 
"I  am  afraid  you'll  find  it  inconveniently  large." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  Sam,  taking  a  letter  with  a  small  en- 
closure. "It's  just  possible  as  exhausted  nature  may  manage  to 
surwive  it." 

"I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,  sir,"  said  the  powdered-headed  foot- 
man, rubbing  his  hands,  and  following  Sam  out  to  the  doorstep. 

"You  are  wery  obliging  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 


428  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  eyeglass,  the  same  watch  and  seals,  the  same 
ringsa  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  rooms  to  receive  the  company. 

Bath  being  full,  the  company  and  the  sixpences  for  tea,  poured  in, 
in  shoals.  In  the  ball-room,  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  decrepid  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 
matchmaking  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, 
whOj  remembering  the  maternal  injunction  to  make  the  best  use  of 
their  youth,  had  already  commenced  incipient  flirtations  in  the  mis- 
laying of  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 


GAIETY,   GLITTER,  AND   SHOW  429 

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  al- 
ready 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,  Master  of  the  Ceremonies. 

"Stop  in  the  tea-room.  Take  your  sixpenn'orth.  They  lay  on  hot 
water,  and  call  it  tea.  Drink  it/5  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 
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  Mm,  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. 


430  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"It  is  very  warm,  my  lord/'  replied  the  M.C, 

"Confounded/3  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  excel- 
lent 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/3  said  the  Hon- 
ourable 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  cwirnson  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  hav- 
ing 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,  coax- 
ingly,  "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, 
re — markably  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  im- 


MR  PICKWICK  PLAYS  WHIST  431 

possible,  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/3  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  intro- 
duced 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  affec- 
tionately, 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  re- 
proachful 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  what- 
ever, 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  Miss  Matinters,  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  con- 
stant comings  in  and  goings  out,  made  Mr  Pickwick  play  rather 


432  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  accom- 
panied them  to  the  White  Hart,  and  having  soothed  his  feelings  with 
something  hot3  went  to  bed,  and  to  sleep,  almost  simultaneously. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE  CHIEF  FEATURES  OF  WHICH,  WILL  BE  FOUND  TO  BE  AH  AUTHENTIC 
VERSION  OF  THE  LEGEND  OF  PRINCE  BLADUD,  AND  A  MOST  EX- 
TRAORDINARY 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  bed- 
room 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  after- 
wards, to  congratulate  the  remainder  on  their  having  done  so. 
There  is  another  pump-room,  into  which  infirm  ladies  and  gentle- 
men are  wheeled,  in  such  an  astonishing  variety  of  chairs  and 
chaises,  that  any  adventurous  individual  who  goes  in  with  the  regu- 
lar number  of  toes,  is  in  imminent  danger  of  coming  out  with- 
out 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 

433 


434  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  per- 
haps 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,  peep- 
ing 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  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  nibbed  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  re- 
late to  Bath,  and  was  very  short:  Mr  Pickwick  unfolded  it,  lighted 
his  bedroom  candle  that  it  might  burn  up  well  by  the  time  he  fin- 
ished; and  drawing  his  chair  nearer  the  fire,  read  as  follows: 

THE  TRUE  LEGEND  OF  PRINCE  BLADUD 

*cLess  than  two  hundred  years  agone,  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. 

'Tor  many  hundred  years  before  that  time,  there  had  been 


THE  TRUE  LEGEND  OF  PRINCE  BLADUD      435 

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  husbandmen  and  pigs.  Among 
the  herd  (so  said  the  legend)  was  a  pig  of  grave  and  solemn  counte- 
nance, 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  civili- 
sation 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  dispatched,  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 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


of  which  time,  the  king  his  father  sent  the  lord  chamberlain  over, 
to  settle  the  bill,  and  to  bring  him  home;  which,  the  lord  chamber- 
lain 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  at  once  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  par- 
ticular 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  affec- 
tionate 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  good- 
ness 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 
were  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  min- 
strels: an  act  of  graciousness  which  has  been,  through  the  ignorance 
of  traditionary  historians,  attributed  to  King  Cole,  in  those  cele- 
brated 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,  for- 
getting 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  advan- 


THE  MIGHTY  FAMILY  OF  LUD  437 

tages  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  en- 
deavoured 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  gaoler,  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  for- 
ward on  the  green,  and  gay  faces  passing  to  and  fro,  ventured  to 
inquire  of  a  reveller  who  stood  near  Mm,  the  reason  for  this  re- 
joicing. 

"  'Know  you  not,  O  stranger/  was  the  reply,  cof  the  recent  procla- 
mation of  our  gracious  king?3 

"  'Proclamation!  No.  What  proclamation?3  rejoined  the  Prince 
— for  he  had  travelled  along  the  bye  and  little-frequented  ways,  and 
knew  nothing  of  what  had  passed  upon  the  public  roads,  such  as 
they  were. 


438  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"  "Why/  replied  the  peasant,  cthe  foreign  lady  that  our  Prince 
wished  to  wed,  is  married  to  a  foreign  noble  of  her  own  country; 
and  the  Bang  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!3 

"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  grey  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  ex- 
panse 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* 

cc  *OhP  said  the  unhappy  Bladud,  clasping  his  hands,  and  mourn- 
fiilly  raising  his  eyes  towards  the  sky,  cwould  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  prompt- 
ness, in  some  cases  extremely  awkward.  The  ground  opened  be- 
neath the  Prince's  feet;  he  sunk  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  ut- 
most weariness,  lighted  his  chamber  candle,  and  went  upstairs  to  bed* 


MRS  DOWLER  COMES  HOME  439 

He  stopped  at  Mr  Bowler'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  bed-chamber,  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  think- 
ing 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  odd  shapes,  you  have  a  sudden 
relapse  in  the  nose,  which  you  rub  as  if  to  nib  it  off— as  there  is  no 
doubt  you  would,  if  you  could.  Eyes,  too,  are  mere  personal  incon- 
veniences; 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  for- 
ward 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  chair- 
man, 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 


440  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  chair- 
man, warming  his  hands  at  the  attendant  link-boy's  torch. 

"I  wish  he'd  give  "em  a  squeeze  and  wake  'em,3'  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  apiece:  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,  how- 
ever, 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. 


ON  THE  WRONG  SIDE  OF  THE  DOOR         441 

"Here's  somebody  comin'  at  last,  ma'am/'  said  the  short  chair- 
man. 

"I  wish  I  wos  behind  him  vith  a  bradawl/3  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  encourag- 
ingly. 

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  some- 
body 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  rne!" 
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  night-cap,  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. 


442  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  hor- 
rible 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  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  DESCRIB- 
ING 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,35  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  genTm'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  produce 
a  letter  out  o'  any  friend  o'  mine,"  replied  Sam,  shaking  his  head 
dubiously;  "nothin'  less  than  a  nat'ral  conwulsion,  as  the  young 
genTm'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  bookin'  offices. 
It's  a  wery  strange  thing  now,  where  this  here  letter  can  ha3  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  with  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  held  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  enclose  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 
443 


444  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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. 

"Veil,"  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  be- 
took 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  dojou  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." 

*clt*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  if  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  hid  better  be  walking,"  said  Mr  Smauker,  consult- 


TEMPTATIONS  OF  PUBLIC  LIFE  445 

ing  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,35  replied  Sam,  ecor  they'll  overdo  the  swarry,  and 
that'll  spile  it." 

"Have  you  drank  the  waters,  Mr  Weller?"  inquired  his  compan- 
ion, as  they  walked  towards  High  Street. 

"Once,"  replied  Sam. 

"What  did  you  think  of 'em,  sir?" 

"I  thought  they  wos  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  exceedingly  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  o5  puttin3  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  bye  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  sub- 
lime 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. 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"That's  right,"  said  Mr  John  Smauker,  putting  up  the  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  wash- 
ing, 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  any  body  into  a  low  state  of  despondency  for  life,  stop  my 
quarter's  salary." 

At  this,  the  assembled  selection  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.  "Gentle-* 
men,  my  friend  Mr  Weller." 


THE  SELECT  FOOTMEN'S   "SWARRY"  447 

"Sony  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  opposit.  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, 
bye  and  bye." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  a 
gentleman  in  orange-coloured  plush,  accompanied  by  another  selec- 
tion in  purple  cloth,  with  a  great  extent  of  stocking.  The  newcomers 
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'm  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, 


448  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"We  consider  you  an  inattentive  reskel,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
the  orange  plush. 

"And  a  low  thief,55  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  epi- 
thets were  bestowed  upon  him,  in  the  true  spirit  of  the  very  small- 
est 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  appoint- 
ment 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  had'nt  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  newcomer  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  was  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,  deli- 
cacy!" And  the  man  in  blue,  pulling  up  his  neckerchief,  and  adjust- 
ing 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  especial  attention  at  first,  but  when  he  began  to  come  out 
in  this  way,  Sam  felt  more  than  ever  disposed  to  cultivate  his  ac- 
quaintance; so  he  launched  himself  into  the  conversation  at  once, 
with  characteristic  independence. 

"Your  health,  sir,"  said  Sam.  "I  like  your  conwersation  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 


SAM  WELLER  IS   REBUKED  449 

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  you're  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  genTm'n  on  the  right  side 
o'  the  garden  vail  said  to  the  man  on  the  wrong  'un,  ven  the  mad 
bull  wos  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  any  thin'  under  a  female  markis.  I  might  take 
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  srub  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  circum- 
stances 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  con- 
summate 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 


450  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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/5  said  Sam;  "then  I'll  amend  the  observation, 
and  call  them  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  ap- 
parently 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  put- 
ting 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  cor- 
ner, if  I  may  use  the  expression — to  make  known  an  afflicting  cir- 
cumstance which  has  come  to  my  knowledge;  which  has  happened 
I  may  say  within  the  soap  of  my  everyday  contemplation.  Gentle- 
men, 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 


SAM  MAKES  A  NEAT  SPEECH  451 

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  de- 
manded of  him,  he  had  no  alternative  but  to  state,  boldly  and  dis- 
tinctly, 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  dispo- 
sition. 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  him- 
self in  the  good  opinion  of  his  friends  by  his  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'  address  was  responded  to,  with  a  shout  of  admira- 
tion, and  the  health  of  the  interesting  martyr  was  drunk  in  a  most 
enthusiastic  manner;  for  this,  the  martyr  returned  thanks,  and  pro- 
posed 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  recommenda- 
tion 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;  wich,  comin'  from  sich  a  quarter,  is  wery  overvelmin'. 
I've  heerd  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'  o3 
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  vich  case  it's  wery  little  cold  swarry 
as  ever  he'll  be  troubled  with  agin." 


452  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Here  Sam  sat  down  with  a  pleasant  smile,  and  his  speech  having 
been  vociferously  applauded,  the  company  broke  up. 

"Why,  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  goin5,  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  greengrocer'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  and  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  spoilt  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  Fve  heerd  from  the  old  lady  downstairs,  sir,"  replied  Sam. 

"And  Pm  sorry  to  say,  Sam,"  continued  Mr  Pickwick,  with  a  most 
perplexed  countenance,  "that  in  dread  of  this  violence,  Mr  Winkle 
has  gone  away." 

"Gone  away!"  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." 

ecHe  should  ha*  stopped  and  fought  it  out,  sir,"  replied  Sam, 


A  DELICATE   MISSION  453 

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  after- 
wards was  heard  to  shut  the  street-door.  In  two  hours'  time  he 
returned  with  as  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  con- 
fidence. 

"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/5  whispered  Sam. 


454  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Well,  Sam/3  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  knockin5  down,  is  it,  sir?53 
inquired  Sam. 

"Perfectly,"  replied  Mr  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-PAN3 
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,  ccif  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;  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. 

455 


456  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  any  body  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  Fve  decent 
luck.  Get  out,  you  mouldy  old  villain,  get  out!"  With  this  adjura- 
tion, which  was  addressed  to  the  large  book,  the  medical  gentleman 
kicked  the  volume  with  remarkable  agility  to  the  further  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  the 
pressure. 

"I  wonder  you  didn't  see  the  name,"  said  Bob  Sawyer,  calling 


"Well,  Sam"  replied  Mr.  Pickwick,  thrusting  his  head  out  of  the  window 


BOB  SAWYER   IN  PRACTICE  457 

his  friend's  attention  to  the  outer  door,  on  which,  in  the  same  white 
paint,  were  traced  the  words  "Sawyer,  late  Nockemorf.3' 

"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!55  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  Fd  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  need- 
ful 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  wineglass,  and  cover  aem 
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  sur- 
prised. 

"I  hope  not,"  replied  Bob  Sawyer,  "else  where's  the  use  of  appear- 
ances, 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  Ms  elbow  a  black  bottle  half  full  of  brandy. 

"You  don't  take  water,  of  course?"  said  Bob  Sawyer. 


458  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Mr  Winkle.  "It's  rather  early.  I  should 
like  to  qualify  it,  if  you  have  no  objection.33 

"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  shovelsfoll  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  grey  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  profes- 
sion, 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  bed-time — pills  as  before — lotion  as  usual — the  powder.  From 
Sawyer's,  late  Nockemorf  s.  Physicians'  prescriptions  carefully  pre- 


MEDICAL  MYSTERIES  459 

pared,'  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:  cVery  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  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  them- 
selves back  in  their  respective  chairs,  and  laughed  boisterously. 
When  they  had  enjoyed  the  joke  to  their  hearts'  content,  the  dis- 
course 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  per- 
haps 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,'5  said  Ben.  "You  recollect 
Arabella,  Winkle?  My  sister  Arabella— a  little  girl,  Winkle,  with 


460  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  connexion 
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  sem,  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/5  said  Mr  Ben  Allen,  in  conclusion,  "/  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  Mm,"  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." 

~Qh,  the  aunt's  is  in  Bristol,  is  it?"  faltered  Mr  Winkle. 

*C5*:>,  no,  not  in  Bristol/*  replied  Mr  Ben  Allen,  jerking  his  thumb 


PROFESSIONAL   CONVIVIALITY  461 

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  grey  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  bache- 
lor, had  only  one  tumbler  in  the  house,  which  was  assigned  to  Mr 
Winkle  as  a  compliment  to  the  visitor:  Mr  Ben  Allen  being  accom- 
modated 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  prescrip- 
tions. These  preliminaries  adjusted,  the  punch  was  tasted,  and  pro- 
nounced 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  materi- 
ally 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 


462  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Nockeinorf  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  de- 
parture, 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  ele- 
vated 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  gentle- 
man drew  his  chair  aside  to  afford  the  newcomer  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  be- 
hind 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!53  said  Mr  Dowler,  looking  meeker  than  Mr  Winkle 
had  expected  in  a  gentleman  of  his  ferocity. 

"A  blow,  sir?33  stammered  Mr  Winkle. 

"A  blow,  sir,"  replied  Dowler.  "Compose  your  feelings.  Sit  down. 
Hear  me." 

"Sir/3  said  Mr  Winkle,  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  "before  I  con- 
sent 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.33  Here  Mr 
Winkle  turned  very  pale  indeed,  and  stopped  short. 

"I  did/3  said  Dowler,  with  a  countenance  almost  as  white  as  Mr 
Winkle3s.  "Circumstances  were  suspicious.  They  have  been  ex- 
plained. I  respect  your  bravery.  Your  feeling  is  upright.  Conscious 
innocence.  There's  my  hand.  Grasp  it.3' 

"Really,  sir/3  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 " 


MAGNANIMITY  463 


"I  know  what  you  mean/5  Interposed  Dowler.  "You  feel 
aggrieved.  Very  natural  So  should  L  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  vehe- 
mence, declared  he  was  a  fellow  of  extreme  spirit,  and  he  had  a  higher 
opinion  of  him  than  ever. 

"Now,55  said  Dowler,  "sit  down.  Relate  it  all.  How  did  you  find 
me?  When  did  you  follow?  Be  frank.  Tell  me.33 

"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,3  said  she.  CI  did/  said  I. 
"It  was  a  rash  one,5  said  she.  clt  was/ said  L  Til  apologise.  Where 
is  he?5  "  *  5 

"Who?55  inquired  Mr  Winkle. 

"You,"  replied  Dowler.  "I  went  downstairs.  You  were  not  to  be 
found.  Pickwick  looked  gloomy.  Shook  Ms  head.  Hoped  no  vio- 
lence would  be  committed.  I  saw  it  alL  You  felt  yourself  insulted. 
You  had  gone,  for  a  friend  perhaps.  Possibly  for  pistols.  cHigh 
spirit,5  said  I.  CI  admire  him/  " 

Mr  Winkle  coughed,  and  beginning  to  see  how  the  land  lay, 
assumed  a  look  of  importance. 

"I  left  a  note  for  you,55  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.55 

As  Dowler  progressed  in  his  explanation,  Mr  Winkle's  counte- 
nance 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  exist- 
ence, 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 


464  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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,53  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  genTm'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  re-locking  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  genTm'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  /  mean,"  retorted  Sam;  "come,  sir,  this  is  rayther 
too  rich,  as  the  young  lady  said,  wen  she  remonstrated  with  the 
pastry-cook,  arter  he'd  sold  her  a  pork-pie  as  had  got  nothin'  but  fat 
inside.  What  do  /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  ex-tremities;  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  con- 
seqvently  began  to  be  afeered  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  crack  him 
in  the  parlour-door."  At  the  end  of  this  address,  which  was  un- 
usually lengthy  for  him,  Mr  Weller  planted  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
and  looked  full  in  Mr  Winkle's  face,  with  an  expression  of  counte- 
nance 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,"  re- 


SAM  WELLER  REPROVES  MR  WINKLE           465 

sumed  Mr  Weller,  in  a  tone  of  moral  reproof,  ccto  go  Inwolving  our 
precious  governor  in  all  sorts  o*  fanteegs,  wen  he's  made  up  Ms  mind 
to  go  through  every  think  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  wery  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  com- 
promise 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  al- 
ways, that  in  the  event  of  an  alarm  of  fire,  or  other  dangerous  con- 
tingency, 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  immedi- 


466  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

ately  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,  Amazin3 
stupid  o'  me,  that  3ere!  Never  mind/3  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  com- 
mon with  the  other  inmates  of  the  house,  buried  in  profound  repose. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

MR  SAMUEL  WELLER,  BEING  ENTRUSTED  WITH  A  MISSION  OF  LOVE, 
PROCEEDS  TO  EXECUTE  IT;  WITH  WHAT  SUCCESS  WILL  HEREIN- 
AFTER APPEAR 

DURING  the  whole  of  next  day,  Sam  kept  Mr  Winkle 
steadily  In  sight,  fully  determined  not  to  take  his  eye  off 
him  for  one  instant,  until  he  should  receive  express  in- 
structions 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  Httle  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,  fore- 
stalled 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  greatcoat  and  travel- 
ling shawl,  "to  ascertain,  before  I  gave  my  consent  to  Sam's  employ- 
ment in  this  matter,  that  you  are  quite  in  earnest  and  serious,  with 
respect  to  this  young  lady.33 

"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.  1*11  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 

467 


468  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

hardly  know'd  which  was  the  best  ones  wen  he  heerd  'em  men- 
tioned." 

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  pres- 
ent 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 
whereabout. 

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  offered.  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,  wonder- 
ing 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,  ap- 
parently persuading  himself  that  he  was  doing  something  with  a 
spade  and  a  wheelbarrow.  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  anyone  else, 
especially  as  he  was  very  tired  with  walking,  and  there  was  a  good 


SAM  WELLER  MAKES  A  FEW  INQUIRIES       469 

large  stone  just  opposite  the  wheelbarrow;  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. 

"Mornin3,  old  friend,55  said  Sam. 

"Arternoon,  you  mean/3  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  neither/*  said  the  groom. 

"Veil/'  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;  Pll  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/5  rejoined  Sam. 
"It  *ud  be  worth  a  life's  board  vages  at  least,  to  you,  and  3ud  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  Mm,  and  wholly 
unheeding  Sam's  affectionate  request,  that  he  would  leave  Mm  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. 


470  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  stupefied,  for  in 
the  countenance  of  the  well-shaped  female  servant,  he  beheld  the 
very  eyes  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  pre- 
cisely say  what  reply  he  did  make.  We  merely  know  that  after  a 
short  pause  Mary  said,  "Lor3,  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  coine  here?"  said  Mary,  when  the  conver- 
sation to  which  this  interruption  had  been  offered,  was  resumed. 

"O3  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.  tsWho 
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?" 


SAM  OFFERS  HIS  ASSISTANCE  471 

"Ah  to  be  sure/'  said  Sam  with  a  cunning  look,  "that's  the  pint. 
Who  could  ha*  told  me?3' 

"It  wasn't  Mr  Muzzle,  was  it?"  inquired  Mary. 

"Oh,  no/'  replied  Sam,  with  a  solemn  shake  of  the  head,  "it 
warn't  him.5' 

"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  gover- 
nor'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  corn- 
foozled,  and  done  over  with  it." 

"Lor'!"  interposed  Mary. 

"Yes,"  said  Sam:  "but  that's  nothin3  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 
wos  alvays  doin'  a  match  agin'  time,  and  never  vent  to  sleep — look- 
ing 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. 

"Veil,"  said  Sain  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,  Fve  got  a  message  to  her  as  I've  been  a  tryin'  all  day 
to  deliver." 


472  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  follow- 
ing 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^  ob- 
servation; 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  dispatch,  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  fold- 
ing 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  in  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  after- 
wards 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  inflam- 
matory sore  throat,  croup,  and  hooping-cough,  from  his  earliest 
infancy. 

Upon  this,  the  young  lady  cast  a  hurried  glance  towards  the  spot 
from  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 


SAM   GROWS   CHIVALROUS  473 

moving,  and  caused  her  to  sink  down  on  a  garden  seat;  which  hap- 
pened by  good  luck  to  be  near  at  hand. 

"She's  a  goin'  off/3  soliloquised  Sam  in  great  perplexity.  "Wot  a 
thing  it  is,  as  these  here  young  creeturs  will  go  a  faintin'  avay  just 
wen  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  straightveskit  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.  "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  speaking  on,  'ull  get  as  much  extra  lead 
in  his  head  as' 11  damage  the  dewelopment  o'  the  orgins  if  they  ever 
put  it  in  spirits  artervards." 

"Oh,  what  can  I  do  to  prevent  these  dreadful  quarrels!"  ex- 
claimed 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  must  appear,  Mr  Weller,  but  I  am 

very,  very  unhappy "  and  here  poor  Arabella  wept  so  bitterly, 

that  Sam  grew  chivalrous. 

"It  may  seem  very  strange  taJkin'  to  me  about  these  here  affairs, 


474  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

miss/3  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,  Fm  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  under- 
stand, with  many  professions  of  gratitude,  that  it  was  barely  possible 
she  might  be  in  the  garden  an  hour  later,  next  evening.  Sam  under- 
stood 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  arid 
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  specula- 
tion and  some  alarm. 

"We  must  be  careful/*  said  Mr  Pickwick,  after  listening  attentively 
to  Sam's  tale,  "not  for  our  own  sakes,  but  for  that  of  the  young  lady. 
We  must  be  very  cautious." 

"WW"  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: 

"W?,  sir!    I  shall  accompany  you/* 

"You!"  said  Mr  Winkle. 

"I3"  replied  Mr  Pickwick,  mildly.  "In  affording  you  this  inter- 
view, 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." 


ARMED  WITH  A  DARK-LANTERN  475 

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  dis- 
tance 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,  look- 
ing good-humouredly  round  at  his  follower,  who  was  trudging 
behind. 

"Wery  nice  things,  if  they're  managed  properly,  sir,"  replied  Mr 
Weller;  "but  when  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  appre- 
hension 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 


476  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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/5  exclaimed 
Sain,  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  foot- 
steps. Now,  Mr  Vinkle,  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  a  top  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 
Vinkle,  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  Pick- 
wick, 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 


MR  WINKLE  AT  ARABELLA'S  FEET  477 

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  conse- 
quence 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  elo- 
quence worthy  even  of  Mr  Pickwick  himself. 

While  these  things  were  going  on  in  the  open  air,  an  elderly  gentle- 
man of  scientific  attainments  was  seated  in  his  library,  two  or  three 
houses  off,  writing  a  philosophical  treatise,  and  ever  and  anon  mois- 
tening 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  ap- 
pearances 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 


478  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

were  not  fire-flies;  they  were  not  fire-works.  What  could  they  ber 
Some  extraordinary  and  wonderful  phenomenon  of  nature,  which  nc 
philosopher  had  ever  seen  before;  something  which  it  had  been 
reserved  for  him  alone  to  discover,  and  which  he  should  immortalize 
Ms  name  by  chronicling  for  the  benefit  of  posterity.  Full  of  this  idea3 
the  scientific  gentleman  seized  his  pen  again,  and  committed  to 
paper  sundry  notes  of  these  unparalleled  appearances,  with  the  date3 
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  atmos- 
pherical sages  that  ever  drew  breath  in  any  part  of  the  civilised 
globe. 

He  threw  himself  back  in  his  easy  chair,  wrapped  in  contempla- 
tions 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?53  said  the 
scientific  gentleman,  pointing  out  of  the  window,  as  the  light  again 
became  visible. 
"Yes,  I  did,  sir.35 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Pruffle?" 
"Think  of  it,  sir?5' 

ceYes.  You  have  been  bred  up  in  this  country.  What  should  you 
say  was  the  cause  of  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  gentle- 
man. 

ccThank  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;  occasion- 
ally drawing  back  the  slide  of  the  dark  lantern  to  keep  himself  from 
the  ditch.  The  alarm  was  no  sooner  given,  than  Mr  Winkle  scram- 
bled back  over  the  wall,  and  Arabella  ran  into  the  house;  the  gar- 


SCIENTIFIC  OBSERVATIONS  479 

den-gate  was  shut,  and  the  three  adventurers  were  making  the  best 
of  their  way  down  the  lane,  when  they  were  startled  by  the  scien- 
tific 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,  con- 
sidering the  burden  he  carried,  was  perfectly  astonishing. 

"Have  you  got  your  vind  back  again,  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.  "Gome  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  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  intelli- 
gence, 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  after- 
wards; 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   UNINTEREST- 
ING 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  com- 
menced. 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  cush- 
ions 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  dis- 
mounted, 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,  crumbling  it  in  his  hand, 
swaggered  up  the  court. 

It  had  not  escaped  Sam's  attention  that,  when  this  person  dis- 
mounted, a  shabby-looking  man  in  a  brown  greatcoat  shorn  of 
divers  buttons,  who  had  been  previously  slinking  about,  on  the  oppo- 

480 


AN  EARLY  VISITOR  481 

site  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  im- 
perious 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  ex- 
perienced Mr  Smouch  to  produce;  for  while  Sam,  anxious  to  return 
the  compliment,  was  grinding  that  gentleman's  body  against  the 
doorpost,  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  cur- 
tains. 

"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 


482  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Mr  Pickwick  a  friendly  tap  on  the  shoulder,  the  sheriffs  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: 

c£Are  you  a  Quaker?"  said  Sam. 

"I'll  let  you  know  who  I  am,  before  Fve  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,  gasp- 
ing 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  nothing  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  in- 
stant." 

"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  in- 
formed 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  dispatched  for  a  hackney  coach, 


NAMBY'S  COFFEE-ROOM  483 

and  in  It  the  triumvirate  proceeded  to  Coleman  Street.  It  was  fortu- 
nate 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  London35:  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  dispatched  Sam  for  Perker,  withdrew  into  an  obscure 
corner,  and  from  thence  looked  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  Ayres- 
leigh,"  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/1  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/5  said  Price,  turning  towards 


484  THE  PICKWICK   PAPERS 

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,  that  he  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?33 

"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  contemp- 
tuously., and  rang  the  bell. 

"Give  me  a  sheet  of  paper,  Crookey,"  said  Mr  Price  to  the  atten- 
dant, who  in  dress  and  general  appearance  looked  something  between 
a  bankrupt  grazier,  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  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  accom- 
modated 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  further  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  ad- 
vantage of  hearing  Mrs  Namby's  performance  on  a  square  piano 


MR  PICKWICK'S  RESOLUTION  485 

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  cheerful- 
ness 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  waid;  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  Serjeants5  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  parleying 
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  outs  looked  about  him  with  some  curiosity. 


486  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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 
behind  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,  unob- 
served 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,  pro- 
ducing it  from  Ms  waistcoat-pocket.  "I  accepted  it,  as  the  gentle- 
man 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  LEGAL  FICTION  487 

"A  what!'5  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  apart- 
ment, 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  those  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  ex- 
citable person  could  desire  to  behold.  There  were  yet  another  class 
of  persons — those  who  were  waiting  to  attend  summonses  their  em- 
ployers had  taken  out,  which  it  was  optional  to  the  attorney  on  the 


488  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  newcomer. 

Nobody  answered;  the  next  man  who  came  in,  was  hailed  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  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  de- 
tained until  the  amount  of  the  damages  and  costs  in  the  action  of 
BardeU  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  him- 
self 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 


TO   PRISON  489 


standing  near.     "How  he  would  bother  the  commissioners!     He'd 
set  3em  at  defiance  if  they  talked  of  committing  him,  sir.13 

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  ex- 
traordinary 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,  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  turn- 
key 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  5em  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  vont  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, 


490  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  gentle- 
man: who  had  apparently  been  disturbed  at  his  tea,  for  he  was  dis- 
posing 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  \^as  completed,  and  Mr  Pickwick  was  in- 
formed, 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  debtor's 
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  re- 
mote end. 

"This,53  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  stair- 
case, 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.  Un- 
pleasant 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,  wery  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  Hve  in, 
ain't  it?" 

As  Roker  turned  somewhat  fiercely  upon  Mr  Pickwick  in  saying 
this,  and,  moreover,  muttered  in  an  excited  fashion  certain  un- 
pleasant invocations  concerning  his  own  eyes,  limbs,  and  circulating 
fluids,  the  latter  gentleman  deemed  it  advisable  to  pursue  the  dis- 
course no  further.  Mr  Roker  then  proceeded  to  mount  another 
staircase,  as  dirty  as  that  which  led  to  the  place  which  had  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 

491 


492  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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."  Haying  said  all 
this  in  a  breath,  Mr  Roker  mounted  another  flight  of  stairs,  with  Mr 
Pickwick  and  Sam  WeUer  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  defrise  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,'3  from  the  fact  of  its  walls  having  once  displayed  the 
semblances  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  bed- 
steads. 

"There,"  said  Mr  Roker,  holding  the  door  open,  and  looking  tri- 
umphantly 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  anyone  go  to  sleep,  that  bedstead  would, 
whether  they  wanted  to  or  not." 

"I  should  think,"  said  Sam,  eyeing  the  piece  of  furniture  in  ques- 
tion with  a  look  of  excessive  disgust,  "I  should  think  poppies  was 
nothing  to  it." 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  PLACE  493 

"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  genTmen  as 
sleeps  here,  are  genTmen," 

"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.55 

"He  must  be  a  first-rater/5  said  Sam. 

"A  i,"  replied  Mr  Roker. 

Nothing  daunted,  even  by  this  intelligence,  Mr  Pickwick  smil- 
ingly 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  con- 
versation 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  be- 
cause 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  listless  jail-bird  careless  swagger,  a  vagabondish  who's- 


494  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  debtor's  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/3  said  Mr  Pickwick,  leaning  over  the  iron-rail 
at  the  stairhead,  "It  strikes  me,  Sam,  that  imprisonment  for  debt  is 
scarcely  any  punishment  at  all.'5 

"Think  not,  sir?33  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/3  rejoined  Sam,  "they  don't 
mind  it;  it's  a  regular  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  always  a 
workin'  wen  they  can,  it  damages  too  much.  'It's  unekal/  as  my 
father  used  to  say  wen  his  grog  warn't  made  half-and-half:  clt*s 
unekal,  and  that's  the  fault  on  it.'  " 

"I  think  you're  right,  Sam,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' 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 
nothing  multiplied  by  five  for  costs;  but  hows' ever  here  he  stopped 
for  seventeen  year.  If  he  got  any  wrinkles  in  his  face,  they  was 
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  beginnin5. 
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  tellin3  stories,  and 
all  that  'ere.  Vun  night  he  wos  in  there  as  usual,  along  vith  a  wery 


THE   STORY  OF   NUMBER  TWENTY  495 

old  friend  of  his,  as  wos  on  the  lock,  ven  he  says  all  of  a  sudden,  CI 
ain't  seen  the  market  outside,  Bill/  he  says  (Fleet  Market  wos  there 
at  that  time)— CI  ain't  seen  the  market  outside,  Bill/  he  says,  Tor 
seventeen  year.'  CI  know  you  ain't/  says  the  turnkey,  smoking  Ms 
pipe.  'I  should  like  to  see  it  for  a  minit,  Bill/  he  says.  fiWery 
probable/  says  the  turnkey,  smoking  his  pipe  wery  fierce,  and  mak- 
ing believe  he  warn't  up  to  wot  the  little  man  wanted.  'Bill/  says 
the  little  man,  more  abrupt  than  afore,  Tve  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.3 
'And  wot  'ud  become  o'  me  if  you  wos  struck  with  apoplexy?'  said 
the  turnkey.  cWy/  says  the  little  creetur,  'whoever  found  me,  3ud 
bring  me  home,  for  I've  got  my  card  in  my  pocket,  Bill/  he  says, 
cNo.  20,  Coffee-room  Flight5:  and  that  wos  true,  sure  enough,  for 
wen  he  wanted  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  any  newcomer,  he 
used  to  pull  put  a  little  limp  card  vith  them  words  on  it  and  nothin' 
else;  in  consideration  of  vich,  he  wos  alvays  called  Number  Tventy. 
The  turnkey  takes  a  fixed  look  at  him,  and  at  last  he  says  in  a  solemn 
manner,  Tventy/  he  says,  Til  trust  you;  you  won't  get  your  old 
friend  into  trouble.'  'No,  my  boy;  I  hope  I've  somethin5  better 
behind  here/  says  the  little  man;  and  as  he  said  it  he  hit  his  little 
veskit  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/5  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Wrong  for  vunce,  sir,"  replied  Mr  Weller,  "for  back  he  come, 
two  minits  afore  the  time,  a  bilin3  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.'5 

"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,  wich  he  did  for  ±  long  time,  always  comin'  back  reg'lar 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afore  the  gate  shut,  wich  wos  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  vent  on  gettin3  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/  cNo  I  wasn't/  says  the  little  man,  vith  a  smile.  *'Well  then, 
I'll  tell  you  wot  it  is,  my  friend/  says  the  turnkey,  opernn*  the  gate 


496  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

weiy  slow  and  sulky,  'it's  my  'pinion  as  you've  got  into  bad  com- 
pany o*  late,  wich  I'm  wery  sorry  to  see.  Now,  I  don't  wish  to  do 
nothing  harsh/  he  says,  cbut  if  you  can't  confine  yourself  to  steady 
circles,  and  find  your  vay  back  at  reglar  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'  trembling  and  never  vent  outside  the 
prison  walls  artervards!" 

As  Sam  concluded,  Mr  Pickwick  slowly  retraced  his  steps  down- 
stairs. 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  re- 
quest 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  spirit  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  and  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  emaci- 
ation and  misery,  was  walking  up  and  down  the  passage  in  conver- 
sation with  her  husband,  who  had  no  other  place  to  see  her  in, 
As  they  passed  Mr  Pickwick,  he  could  hear  the  female  sob;  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  Ms  arms,  and  tried  to  soothe  her. 

Mr  Pickwick's  heart  was  really  too  full  to  bear  it,  and  he  went 
upstairs  tofbed. 

Now,  although  the  warden's  room  was  a  very  uncomfortable  one 


SLEEPING  AND  WAKING  497 

(being,  in  every  point  of  decoration  and  convenience,  several  hun- 
dred degrees  inferior  to  the  common  infirmary  of  a  county  gaol),  it 
had  at  present  the  merit  of  being  wholly  deserted  save  by  Mr  Pick- 
wick himself.  So,  he  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  his  little  iron  bedstead, 
and  began  to  wonder  how  much  a  year  the  warden  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  mad.  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,  last- 
ing in  reality  some  half  hour,  seem  to  the  sleeper  to  have  been  pro- 
tracted 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  grey  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  tum- 
bled 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 


498  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  gawdy 
tassel  dangling  therefrom,  very  happily  in  keeping  with  a  common 
fustian  coat.  His  legs — which,  being  long,  were  afflicted  with  weak- 
ness— 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  3em  before,  only  I  was  afraid  they  might  be  broken  in  the 
waggon,  sir?" 

"Don't  overwhelm  the  gentleman  with  ordinary  civilities  when 
you  see  he's  anxious  to  have  something  to  drink/'  said  the  gentle- 
man 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 
takea  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  feHcity  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 
tho&e  which  come  under  the  denomination  of  practical  jokes.  View- 
ing the  matter  precisely  in  this  light,  Mr  Pickwick,  without  the 


MR  PICKWICK'S  GALLANTRY  499 

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  Hberal  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  manslaughter,  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,35  said 
the  Zephyr.  "Now  jump  into  bed  again,  or  you'll  catch  the  rheu- 
matics. No  malice,  I  hope?"  said  the  man,  extending  a  hand  the 
size  of  the  yellow  clump  of  fingers  which  sometimes  swing  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  honour,"  said  the  gentleman  with  the  whiskers, 
presenting  his  dexter  hand,  and  aspirating  the  h. 

"With  much  pleasure,  sir,"  said  Mr  Pickwick;  and  having  exe- 
cuted 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/3  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Hem,"  coughed  Mr  Smangle. 

"Did  you  speak,  sir?'*  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"No,  I  did  not,  sir,"  said  Mr  Smangle. 

"I  thought  you  did,  sir,"  said  Mr  Pickwick, 

All  this  was  very  genteel  and  pleasant;  and,  to  make  matters 
still  more  comfortable,  Mr  Smangle  assured  Mr  Pickwick  a  great 
many  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  the  Relief 
of you  know." 


5oo  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick.    "No,  I  am  not." 

"Going  out,  perhaps?"  suggested  Mivins. 

"I  fear  not,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick.  "I  refuse  to  pay  some  dam- 
ages, and  am  here  in  consequence." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr  S mangle,  "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  Pick- 
wick. 

"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  some- 
thing 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  Mm?" 

"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  crouch- 
ing 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 


A  GOOD  UNDERSTANDING  EFFECTED          501 

the  jug.     Or — stop — I'll  tell  you  what — I'll  tell  you  how  we'll  do 
him/3  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,  "I5//  smoke 
'em." 

This  manoeuvring  was  so  exceedingly  ingenious,  and,  withal,  per- 
formed 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  littled  cracked  mugs:  consid- 
erately remarking,  with  reference  to  himself,  that  a  gentleman  must 
not  be  particular  under  such  circumstances,  and  that,  for  Ms  part, 
he  was  not  too  proud  to  drink  out  of  the  jug.  In  \^hich,  to  show  his 
sincerity,  he  forthwith  pledged  the  company  in  a  draught  which 
half  emptied  it. 

An  excellent  understanding  having  been  by  these  means  pro- 
moted, 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 
thorough-bred  horse,  and  a  magnificent  Jewess,  both  of  surpassing 
beauty,  and  much  coveted  by  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  these  king- 
doms. 

Long  before  these  elegant  extracts  from  the  biography  of  a  gentle- 
man 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  were  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  BED- 
FELLOWS. 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  d  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,  occu- 
pied 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  Faux, 

"Well;  will  you  know  me  again?"  said  Mr  Smangle,  with  a  frown. 

"Fd  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,  1*11  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  I"  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  askjou  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  verg- 
ing on  the  personal,  Mr  Pickwick  deemed  it  a  fit  point  at  which  to 
interpose. 

"Sam,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Sir,"  rejoined  that  gentleman. 


LOOKING  FOR  A  LODGING  503 

"Has  anything  new  occurred  since  last  night?" 

"Nothing  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  alarmin3 
and  sangvinary  natur;  but  vith  that  5ere  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  port- 
manteau; 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 
thorough-bred  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  any- 
thing 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  wen  the  young  gentleman  objected  to  being  flogged 
by  the  butler/' 

"And  there's  nothing  that  I  can  send  in  my  little  box  to  the 
washerwoman's,  is  there?"  said  Smangle,  turning  from  Sam  to  Mr 
Pickwick,  with  an  air  of  some  discomfiture. 

"Nothin*  whatever,  sir,"  retorted  Sam;  "I'm  afeerd  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 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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  Hght  and  wholesome  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  in- 
mate 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  dispatching  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  Pickvick.  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. 

"/  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  be- 
fore 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  coining  up  the  Strand  between  the  two  street-keepers, 
a  little  sobered  by  the  bruising,  with  a  patch  o'  winegar  and  brown 


TWENTY-SEVEN  IN  THE  THIRD  FLIGHT       505 

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  in- 
quiry; Mr  Roker,  shaking  off  the  poetical  and  gloomy  train  of  thought 
into  which  he  had  been  betrayed,  descended  to  the  common  busi- 
ness of  life,  and  resumed  his  pen. 

"Do  you  know  what  the  third  gentleman  is?'5  inquired  Mr  Pick- 
wick, not  very  much  gratified  by  this  description  of  his  future  asso- 
ciates. 

"What  is  that  Simpson,  Neddy?"  said  Mr  Roker,  turning  to  his 
companion. 

"What  Simpson?3*  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  his  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  con- 
verse 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  potboy,  who  happened  to  be  pursuing  his 
morning  occupation  of  gleaning  for  pewter. 

"Which  is  twenty-seven,  my  good  fellow?"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Five  doors  further  on,"  replied  the  potboy.  "There's  the  like- 
ness of  a  man  being  hung,  and  smoking  a  pipe  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,  endeavour- 
ing, with  great  perseverance,  to  spit  upon  the  cro\m  of  the  hat  of  a 
personal  friend  on  the  parade  below.  As  neither  speaking,  cough- 
ing, sneezing,  knocking,  nor  any  other  ordinary  mode  of  attracting 


5o6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  begin- 
ning 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,  thrust- 
ing his  head  out  of  the  window,  gave  a  shrill  whistle,  and  pro- 
nounced 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." 


A  FILTHY  APARTMENT  507 

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?53 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  Mr  Pickwick.  "What  did  you  say? 
I  hardly  understood  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  apiece  more/5  said 
Mr  Martin. 

"What  do  you  say,  now?  We'll  pay  you  out  for  three-and-six- 
pence  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  any- 
where 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 


508  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  ad- 
mirable prudence  and  foresight3  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  furnitur.  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  be- 
longs 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  hand- 
some?" 

The  matter  was  soon  arranged,  as  the  turnkey  had  foretold.  The 
Chancery  prisoner  had  been  there  long  enough  to  have  lost  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  cove- 
nanted 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  totter- 
ing table. 


A  LODGING  FOUND  509 

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/5  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  founda- 
tions 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  mei  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  bed- 
stead, 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.  Pll  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. 


5io  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

A  prisoner  having  declared  upon  the  poor  side,  pays  neither  rent 
nor  chummage.  His  fees,  upon  entering  and  leaving  the  gaol,  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.'5  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  passers  by: 
but  we  still  leave  unblotted  in  the  leaves  of  our  statute  book,  for  the 
reverence  and  admiration  of  succeeding  ages,  the  just  and  whole- 
some 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 
heads,  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  eyes  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  hand,  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  (for  he  dressed  by  easy 
stages)  thrust  into  an  old  slipper.  Horses,  dogs,  and  drink,  had 


WHAT  MR  JINGLE  HAS   COME  TO  511 

brought  him  there,  pell-mell.  There  was  a  rusty  spur  on  the  sol- 
itary 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  steeple-chase  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  rivetted  on  the  floor,  and  his  face 
settled  into  an  expression  of  the  deepest  and  most  hopeless  despair. 
A  young  girl — his  little  granddaughter — was  hanging  about  him: 
endeavouring,  with  a  thousand  childish  devices,  to  engage  his  atten- 
tion; 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  noisily  talking  among  themselves.  There  was  a 
lean  and  haggard  woman,  too — a  prisoner's  wife — who  was  water- 
ing, with  great  solicitude,  the  wretched  stump  of  a  dried-up,  with- 
ered 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  Pick- 
wick'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  newcomer;  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  thing — 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  miser- 
able. 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  hours3  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  over-walking  yourself  here — Spike  park — grounds  pretty 
— romantic,  but  not  extensive — open  for  public  inspection — family 
always  in  town — housekeeper  desperately  careful — very." 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"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/5 

"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  wash- 
ing. 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'll  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  beeE 


MASTER  AND  MAN  SEPARATED  513 

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  Pick- 
wick'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  com- 
fort, 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  veil,  sir,"  responded  Sam,  looking  round  him  in  a  dis- 
paraging manner. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr  Tupman  and  our  other  fiiends?" 

"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. 

"Veil,  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.  "Inde- 
pendently 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 


5H  THE   PICKWICK   PAPERS 

be  attended  by  his  manservant  is  a  monstrous  absurdity.     Sam/ 
said  Mr  Pickwick,  "for  a  time,  you  must  leave  me.3' 

"Oh,  for  a  time,  eh,  sir?"  rejoined  Mr  Weller,  rather  sarcastically 

"Yes,  for  the  time  that  I  remain  here,"  said  Mr  Pickwick.  "You 
wages  I  shall  continue  to  pay.  Any  one  of  my  three  friends  will  b 
happy  to  take  you,  were  it  only  out  of  respect  to  me.  And  if  I  eve 
do  leave  this  place,  Sam/5  added  Mr  Pickwick,  with  assumed  cheer 
fulness:  "if  I  do,  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  you  shall  return  to  m< 
instantly." 

"Now  I'll  tell  you  wot  it  is,  sir,"  said  Mr  Weller,  in  a  grave  an< 
solemn  voice,  "This  here  sort  o3  thing  won't  do  at  all,  so  don't  let' 
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  grea 
precision,  and  abruptly  left  the  room. 

"Sam!"  cried  Mr  Pickwick,  calling  after  him,  "Sain!    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,  situate  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 
inclosure  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  cany  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  per- 
sonal 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  dedi- 
cated to  the  Genius  of  Seediness.  There  is  not  a  messenger  or  proc- 
ess-server attached  to  it,  who  wears  a  coat  that  was  made  for  him; 
not  a  tolerably  fresh,  or  wholesome-looking  man  in  the  whole  estab- 
lishment, except  a  little  white-headed  apple-faced  tipstaff,  and  even 

515 


5i6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Com- 
missioners, 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  ScnomoiTFell,  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  cameleon  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  re- 
covered. Being  short-necked  and  asthmatic,  however,  he  mgimL 
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  conse- 
quences." 

"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  WeUer  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* 


MR  PELL  EXCITES  ADMIRATION  517 

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  un- 
affected and  devoted  attachment  existed.  They  passed  each  other 
on  the  Dover  road,  every  day,  for  twenty-four  years,  never  exchang- 
ing any  other  greeting  than  this;  and  yet,  when  one  died,  the  other 
pined  away,  and  soon  afterwards  followed  him! 

"Veil,  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  grey  mare  made  over  to  anybody?"  inquired  Mr  Weller, 
anxiously. 

George  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"Veil,  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  down  hill.  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'U  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 

three  penn'orth  of  rum,  my  dear." 

The  officiating  damsel,  who  had  anticipated  the  order  before  it  was 
given,  set  the  glass  of  spirits  before  Pell3  and  retired. 


5i8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  o5  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,  Tell/ 
he  said,  eno  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.  cMy  lord/ 
I  said,  'you  flatter  me.'— Tell/  he  said,  cif  I  do,  I'm  damned.3  " 

"Did  he  say  that?"  inquired  Mr  Weller. 

"He  did,"  replied  Pell. 

"Veil,  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  his-self  in  confidence,  o*  course  that  was  another  thing," 


FATHER  AND  SON  519 

"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/5  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  profes- 
sional 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  vio- 
lently 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  im- 
petuosity immediately  afterwards;  for,  muttering  an  indistinct  ex- 
clamation 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  Ms  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?" 

"Veil,  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,  "alvays  a  goin' 
on  about  werdicks  and  alleybis,  and  that.  Who  said  anything  about 
the  werdick?" 


520  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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/3  said  Sam  impatiently,  "and  behave 
reasonable.  I  vent  all  the  vay  down  to  the  Markis  o'  Granby, 
arter  you,  last  night.3 * 

"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  gradi- 
vally  vith  too  much  o3  that  'ere  pineapple  rum,  and  other  strong 
medicines  o'  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  sub- 
sekent  disappintment,  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,  cc  'cept  about  the 
nose,  wich  is  redder  than  ever.  His  appetite  is  wery  so-so,  but  he 
imbibes  wunderfuL" 

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. 

"Veil,  now/*  said  Sam,  "about  my  affair.  Just  open  them  ears  o' 
yourn,  and  don't  say  nothin'  till  I've  done."  With  this  brief  preface, 
Sam  related,  as  succinctly  as  he  could,  the  last  memorable  conver- 
sation 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,  Sam- 
ivel,  it  can't  be  done." 

"O7  course  it  can't,"  asserted  Sam:  "I  know'd  that,  afore  I  came," 

"Wy,  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 
familiar  friends  won't  know  him.  Roast  pigeon's  nothin'  to  it, 
Sammy." 


On  */*e  opposite  side  of  Ike  room  an  old  man  was  seated  on  a  small 
wooden  box,  with  his  eyes  rivetted  on  the  floor 


THE   SENIOR  WELLER  IS  DESPONDENT         521 

Again  Sam  Weller  nodded. 

"It  oughtn't  to  be,  Samivel,"  said  Mr  Weller,  Bravely. 

"It  mustn't  be,"  said  Sam. 

"Cert'nly  not/'  said  Mr  Weller. 

"Veil  now,"  said  Sam,  "you've  been  a  prophesyin*  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  wam't  a  coach- 
man; 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  genTm'n  was  a  prophet." 

"Wot's  a  prophet?"  inquired  Mr  Weller,  looking  sternly  on  Ms 
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,'7 
said  Mr  Weller,  with  a  sigh. 

"Well,"  said  Sam,  "you've  been  a  prophesyin5  avay,  about  wot'll 
happen  to  the  gov'nor  if  he's  left  alone.  Don't  you  see  any  vay  o* 
takin5  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  sunk  his  voice  to  a  whisper.,  and 
applied  Ms  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,  1 
see  no  vay  at  all.  It's  no  thoroughfare,  Sammy,  no  thoroughfare.'1 

"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  'ull  that  do?"  inquired  Mr  Weller. 

"Never  mind,"  replied  Sam.  "P'raps  you  may  ask  for  it,  five 
minits  artervards;  p'raps  I  may  say  I  von't  pay,  and  cut  up  rough. 
You  von't  think  o3  arrestin'  your  own  son  for  the  money,  and  sendin' 
him  off  to  the  Fleet,  will  you,  you  unnatural  wagabone?" 

At  this  reply  of  Sam's,  the  father  and  son  exchanged  a  complete 
code  of  telegraphic  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  settin3  down  there  for,  con-wertin3  your 


522  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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,  compos- 
ing his  features.  "Hold  my  hat,  Sammy." 

Having  divested  himself  of  this  incumbrance,  Mr  Weller  gave  his 
body  a  sudden  wrench  to  one  side,  and,  by  a  dexterous  twist,  con- 
trived 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  whip-lashes, 
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  genTm'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  o5  that" 

"None  o'  wot?"  inquired  Mr  Weller. 

"Wy,  none  o'  them  unconstitootional  ways  o'  doing  it,"  retorted 
Sam.  "The  have-his-carcase,  next  to  the  perpetual  motion,  is  vun 
of  the  blessedest  things  as  wos  ever  made.  I've  read  that  'ere  in 
the  newspapers,  wery  ofen." 

"Well,  wof  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  no- 
tion. 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  white- 


AN  INEXORABLE   CREDITOR  523 

washed  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  char- 
acter, 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  gen- 
tleman 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  any  thin*  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!" 

n 

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. 


524  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

The  coachman  he  not  likin'  the  job, 
Set  off  at  a  full  gal-lop, 
But  Dick  put  a  couple  of  balls  in  his  nob, 
And  prewailed  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  mottle-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  no  thin5  said  to  the  contrairey." 

As  the  mottled-faced  gentleman  spoke  with  great  energy  and  de- 
termination: 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  sup- 
pose 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  WeUer. 

"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  WeUer'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 
reglar  prodigy  son!" 

"Prodigal,  prodigal  son,  sir,"  Suggested  Mr  Pell,  mildly. 


SAM  WELLER  A  PRISONER  525 

"Never  mind,  sir,"  said  Mr  Weller,  with  dignity.  "I  know  wof  s 
o'clock,  sir.  Wen  I  don't,  I'll  ask  you,  sir.53 

By  the  time  the  officer  arrived,  Sam  had  made  himself  so  ex- 
tremely 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  Serjeants'  Inn  Coffee-house  the  whole 
party  halted  to  refresh,  and,  the  legal  arrangements  being  com- 
pleted, 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  warden'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,  Sain,  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  fol- 
lower'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  con- 
fused manner. 

"Nothin5  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. 


526  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Well!"  said  Mr  Pickwick.    "Speak  out,  Sam/5    . 

"Why,  the  fact  is,"  said  Sam,  with  a  desperate  effort,  "P'raps  I'd 
better  see  arter  my  bed  afore  I  do  any  thin3  else.3' 

"Tour  bed!"  exclaimed  Mr  Pickwick,  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  my  bed,  sir,53  replied  Sam.  "I'm  a  pris'ner.  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, 
3ull  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  year  to  come,  I 
shall  be  a  pris'ner,  and  I'm  wery  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   XLIV 

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  preci^tate 
course  he  had  adopted,  in  voluntarily  consigning  himself  to  a  debtors' 
prison,  for  an  indefinite  period.  The  only  point  on  which  he  per- 
severed in  demanding  any  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 
ma-licious,  bad-disposed,  vorldly-minded,  spiteful,  windictive  cree- 
tur,  with  a  hard  heart  as  there  ain't  no  soft'nin'.  As  the  wirtuous 
clergyman  remarked  of  the  old  genTm'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  o5  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 

527 


5s8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Sam's  obstinacy  had  given  him.     "The  fame  of  the  gentleman  in 
question,  never  reached  my  ears." 

"No,  sir!"  exclaimed  Mr  Weiler.    "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 
genTm'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  genTm'n,  he 
din'd  ev'ry  day  at  the  same  place,  where  it  wos  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'  fourpence  ha'penny  a  day:  to  say  nothin'  at  all  o' 
the  aggrawation  o'  seein5  him  do  it.  So  uncommon  grand  with 
it  too!  'Post  arter  the  next  genTm'n/  he  sings  out  ev'ry  day  ven 
he  comes  in.  'See  arter  the  Times,  Thomas;  let  me  look  at  the 
Mornin*  Herald,,  wen  it's  out  o'  hand;  don't  forget  to  bespeak  the 
Chronicle;  and  just  bring  the  *Ti&r,  viU  you';  and  then  he'd  set  vith 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  clock,  and  rush  out,  just  a  quarter  of  a  minit 
afore  the  time,  to  waylay  the  boy  as  wos  a  comin'  in  with  the  evenin' 
paper,  wich  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  genTm'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.  Veil, 
sir,  here  he'd  stop,  occupyin'  the  best  place  for  three  hours,  and  never 
takin3  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.  cWot  have  you  been  a  eatin' 
on?*  says  the  doctor.  'Roast  weal,'  says  the  patient.  cWot's  the  last 
thing  you  dewoured?'  says  the  doctor.  'Crumpets,'  says  the  patient. 
'That's  it!*  says  the  doctor.  T'U  send  you  a  box  of  pills  directly,  and 


AN  ECCENTRIC   COBBLER  529 

don't  you  never  take  no  more  of  'em/  he  says.  'No  more  o5  wot?" 
says  the  patient — Tills?3  'No;  crumpets/  says  the  doctor.  cWy?* 
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  wholesome,  sir/ 
says  the  patient.  '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.3  'They'd  be  dear  to  you,  at  any 
price;  dear  if  you  wos  paid  to  eat  'em/  says  the  doctor.  Tour 
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  o5  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?5  says  the  patient.  'I  think  it  might/  says 
the  doctor.  'Three  shillins5  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 


530  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

the  cobbler,  shaking  his  head;  "and  if  you  want  to  meet  with  a  good 
one,,  Fm  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  Httle  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/3  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  per- 
severe in  bein*  obstinit  for,  vastin3  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  makin3  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  beginnin3 
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  building  wich  is  a  medical  term 
for  bein*  incurable." 

The  cobbler  shook  his  head  and  said,  "Try  again." 


THE  COBBLER'S   STORY  531 

"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  numer- 
ous 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'd 
married  his  relation,  you  see." 

"Wery  good,"  murmured  Sam. 

"And  being  surrounded  by  a  great  number  of  nieces  and  nevys, 
as  was  always  a  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  provided." 

"Wot  do  you  mean  by  leavin5  it  on  trust?"  inquired  Sam,  waking 
up  a  little.  "If  it  ain't  ready  money,  where'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  pro- 
bate of  the  will,  the  nieces  and  nevys,  who  was  desperately  disap- 
pointed 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-Ms-carcase. 
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 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


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  apiece  to  bother  him  regu- 
larly, he  takes  a  week  or  two  to  consider,  and  read  the  evidence  in  six 
vollums,  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  ^  de- 
cision of  the  old  gentleman  below.  After  that,  we  went  into 
Chancery  where  we  are  still,  and  where  I  shall  always  be.  My 
laWfSrc'have  had  all  my  thousand  pound  long  ago;  and  what  be- 
tween the  estate,  as  they  call  it,  and  the  costs,  Fm  here  for  ten 
thousand,  and  shall  stop  here,  till  I  die,  mending  shoes.  Some  gen- 
tlemen have  talked  of  bringing  it  afore  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  bedclothes  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  per- 
sonal 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  morn- 
ing? 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,  gentle- 
manly dog,  Mivins,  isn't  he?"  said  Smangle,  with  great  feeling. 


A  LITTLE  FAILING  533 

"I  know  so  little  of  the  gentleman/*  said  Mr  Pickwick,  hesitating 
-that  I " 

"I  know  you  do,"  interposed  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  wheelbarrow — 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  grand- 
father, sir,  was  to  rise  before  him  this  minute,  he'd  ask  him  for  the 
loan  of  his  acceptance  on  an  eighteenpenny  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  3em  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, 
re-closed  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 


534  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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, 

"Mornin5,  genTm'n,"  said  Sam,  entering  at  the  moment  with  the 
shoes  and  gaiters.  "Avay  vith  melincholly,  as  the  little  boy  said  ven 
his  school-missis  died.  Velcome  to  the  College,  genTm'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,  genTm'n,"  said  Sam,  "I'm  a — stand  steady,  sir,  if  you 
please — I'm  a  prisoner,  genTm'n.  Con-fined,  as  the  lady  said." 

"A  prisoner!"  exclaimed  Mr  Winkle,  with  unaccountable  vehe- 
mence. 

"Hallo,  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 


MR  WINKLE'S   UNACCOUNTABLE   CONDUCT     535 

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  jsay  wot  it  is,  Tear  it  should  be  a  wrong  5un." 

"I  have  no  right  to  make  any  further  inquiry  into  the  private 
affairs  of  a  friend,  however  intimate  a  friend/3  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  dif- 
ferent 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  dispatched  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  con- 
centrated 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  Pick- 
wick, 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  dis- 
engage Ms  hand. 


536  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"My  friend,  my  benefactor,  my  honoured  companion/3  murmured 
Mr  Winkle,  catching  at  his  wrist.  "Do  not  judge  me  harshly;  do 

not,  when  you  hear  that,  driven  to  extremity  by  hopeless  obstacles, 

j " 

"Now  then/3  said  Mr  Tup  man,  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  stairhead,  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  like  to  ha'  joined  you,  sir;  but  the  gov'ner  o'  course  is  paira- 
mount." 

"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  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  prof- 
fered glass.  "Yours,  sir." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  that  your  landlord's  wery  bad  to-night,  sir/5 
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  up- 
wards, 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 


DEATH  OF  THE   CHANCERY  PRISONER         537 

the  brims  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  mo- 
tioned 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.  Melancholy  sounds  to  a  quiet  listener 
at  any  time;  how  melancholy  to  the  watcher  by  the  bed  of  death! 

"There  is  no  air,"  said  the  sick  man  faintly.  "The  place  pol- 
lutes 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  ap- 
proached 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. 


538  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

<CI  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  dread- 
ful. 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,  stoop- 
ing 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  XLV 

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  accom- 
plished 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  abstrac- 
tion, 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!" 

539 


540  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  a-fire?" 

"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;  "makin5  your- 
self 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  are  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  whitevash  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." 

"Veil,  then,  wot  do  you  do  it  for?"  said  Sam.  "Now;  wot  have 
you  got  to  say?" 

"Who  do  you  think's  comehere  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  cheek  expanded  with  the 
laughter  that  was  endeavouring  to  find  a  vent. 

"Mottled-faced  man,  p'raps?"  suggested  Sam. 

Again  Mr  Weller  shook  his  head. 


APOPLECTIC  SYMPTOMS 


<£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  overspreading  his 
whole  countenance. 

^'They've  come  to  have  a  little  serious  talk  with  you,  Samivel/' 
said  Mr  Weller,  wiping  bis  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  goin3  any  vere  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 
blest,"  said  Mr  Weller,  with  a  look  of  deep  scorn:  "I'm  blest  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  foil  six  foot,  and  dashed  into 
a  million  o'  hatoms.  He  tumbled  in  at  last,  however,  and  avay 
he  vent;  and  I  rayther  think,  I  say  I  rayther  think,,  Sarnivel,  that  he 
found  bis-self  a  little  jolted  wen  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 
harm-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  convul- 
sive 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." 


542  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  ha3  done  it,  and  'ud  ha'  saved  a  good  many  vords  atween  your 
mother-in-law  and  me,  sometimes;  but  I  am  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  be- 
hind— 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,  till  the 
whites — or  rather  the  yellows — were  alone  visible;  but  made  no 
reply  in  words. 

"Is  this  here  genTm'n  troubled  vith  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  the  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  approach- 
ing 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  considera- 
tion 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." 


MR  STIGGINS   IS  THIRSTY  543 

"Wery  much  obleeged  to  you,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr  Weller; 
"but  Fm  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  wants  to  know  vether 
nothin'  'ull  do  you  good." 

"Wery  much  indebted  to  Mrs  Weller  for  her  po-Ete  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, 

"Hallo !  Here's  this  unforfnate  genTm'n  took  ill  agin,"  said 
Sam,  looking  round.  "Were  do  you  feel  it  now,  sir?" 

"In  the  same  place,  young  man,"  rejoined  Mr  Stiggins:  "in  the 
same  place." 

"Were  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  sup- 
press 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  Saint  Simon  Without,  and  Saint  Walker  Within. 

"I'm  afeerd,  mum,"  said  Sam,  "that  this  here  genTm'n,  with  the 
twist  in  his  countenance,  feels  rayther  thirsty,  with  the  melancholy 
spectacle  afore  him.  Is  it  the  case,  mum?" 

The  worthy  lady  looked  at  Mr  Stiggins  for  a  reply;  that  gentle- 
man, 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  which  is  your 
partickler  wanity.  Vich  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." 


544  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Wery  sorry  to  say,  sir,"  said  Sam,  "that  they  don't  allow  that 
partickler  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  perse- 
cutors!" 

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  gen- 
tleman 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  or- 
dered to  be  prepared.  Pending  its  preparation  the  red-nosed  man 
and  Mrs  Weller  looked  at  the  elder  W.  and  groaned. 

"Well,  Sammy,"  said  that  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  agngprc^bate^^P^Gd  Sam;  "and  I  desire  you  won't  ad- 
dress 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  wayTor?"  said  Sam,  with  great  promptitude.  "Don't  you  see 
you've  hit  the  genTm'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  gentle- 
man 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  expres- 
sive. 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 


A  DROP  OF  NEGUS  545 

the  whole  at  a  breath,  and  smacking  his  lips,  held  out  the  tumbler 
for  more. 

Nor  was  Mrs  Weller  behindhand  in  doing  justice  to  the  composi- 
tion. 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  gentle- 
man into  his  son's  ear,  after  a  long  and  steadfast  contemplation  of  his 
lady  and  Mr  Stiggins;  "I  think  there  must  be  somethm9  wrong  in 
your  mother-in-law's  inside,  as  veil  as  in  that  o3  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  5em;  it  all  turns  to  warm 
water,  and  comes  a  pourin'  out  o3  their  eyes.  5Pend  upon  it,  Sammy, 
it's  a  constitootional  infirmity." 

Mr  Weller  delivered  this  scientific  opinion  with  many  confirma- 
tory 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  con- 
clusion, that,  like  him,  he  was  a  most  estimable  and  blameless 
character,  and  that  all  his  acquaintance  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  dis- 
course, the  reverend  and  red-nosed  gentleman  became  singularly 
incoherent,  and  staggering  to  and  fro  in  the  excitement  of  his  elo- 


546  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

quence,  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  vir- 
tuous and  well-conducted  persons  of  many  excellent  sects  and  persua- 
sions. But  as  he  leant  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  hav- 
ing 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  Wellqr,  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  alto- 
gether. 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 
5ull  be  tipped  over  into  some  hedge  or  another,  with  the  shepherd  in 
it." 

At  this  supposition,  the  reverend  Mr  Stiggins,  in  evident  conster- 
nation, gathered  up  his  hat  and  umbrella,  and  proposed  an  im- 
mediate 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  a  aimin*  at,  is  it?"  said  Sam.    "Good-bye!" 


THE  SENIOR  WELLER'S  DARK  DESIGN         547 

"Sammy,"  whispered  Mr  Weller,  looking  cautiously  round;  "my 
duty  to  your  gov'ner,  and  tell  Mm  if  he  thinks  better  o'  this  here 
bis'ness,  to  commoonicate  vith  me.  Me  and  a  cab'net-maker  has 
dewised  a  plan  for  gettin'  him  out.  A  pianner,  Samivel,  a  planner!33 
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  planner  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  cab3 net-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  they  find  as  he's 
got  money  to  spend,  Sammy.  Let  the  gov'ner  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  asll  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;  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  genTm'n  vith  the  head  o3 
hair,  or  the  interestin5  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  ac- 
quaintances 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  miser- 
able than  before,  being  clad  in  a  half-worn  suit  of  clothes,  which, 


548  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

with  Mr  Pickwick's  assistance,  had  been  released  from  the  pawn- 
broker'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  Pick- 
wick saluted  him,  and  seemed  much  humbled  and  abashed  at  sight 
ofSamWeUer.  . 

Following  close  at  his  heels,  came  Mr  Job  Trotter,  m  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  ap- 
peared wholly  bereft  of  speech,  and  again  cast  his  eyes,  first  upon 
the  one  and  then  upon  the  other,  in  mute  perplexity  and  bewilder- 
ment. 

"Now,  Sam!"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  looking  back. 

"I'm  a  comin',  sir,"  replied  Mr  Weller,  mechanically  following 
his  master;  and  still  he  lifted  not  Ms  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  Mm!"  exclaimed  Sam:  and  having  established  Job's  identity 


OLD  ACQUAINTANCES  549 

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/5  exclaimed  Mr  Weller,  surveying  his 
companion's  rags  with  undisguised  wonder.  "This  is  rayther  a 
change  for  the  worse,  Mr  Trotter,  as  the  genTm'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  de- 
ception now,  Mr  Weller.  Tears,"  said  Job,  with  a  look  of  mo- 
mentary 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  3em 
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  coun- 
terfeited, 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  sleeves,  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  doin3  to  yourself?"  said  Sam,  recoiling. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Job. 

"Nothin5!"  echoed  Sam. 

"I  have  been  doin3  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  ex- 
planation until  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  med'cine." 

"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,  lilted  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  them- 
selves from  the  rim,  and  trickled  lazily  down. 


55o  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Well  done!"  said  Sam.     "How  do  you  find  yourself  arter  it?'5 

"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  di- 
mensions?" 

"I  would  rather  not,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir/3  replied  Job, 
"much  rather  not.5' 

"Veil,  then,  wot  do  you  say  to  some  wittles?"  inquired  Sam. 

"Thanks  to  your  worthy  governor,  sir/5  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,  emphat- 
ically. 

"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  no- 
body 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  o5  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,  nor  read  of  in  story-books,  nor  see  in  picters, 
any  angel  in  tights  and  gaiters — not  even  in  spectacles,  as  I  re- 
member, though  that  may  ha'  been  done  for  anythin3  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  confirm- 
atory 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  con- 
gregated 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  mean- 
while. 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  Ms  old  animation — with 
nothing  even  of  the  dismal  gaiety  which  he  had  assumed  when  Mr 


A  WHISTLING  SHOP  551 

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  whch  looked  (or  rather  would 
have  looked,  but  for  the  wall)  towards  St  Paul's  Cathedral.  Saun- 
tering 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  theTnsolvent 
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  pur- 
pose as  the  beasts  in  a  menagerie. 

Lolling  from  the  windows  which  commanded  a  view  of  this  prom* 
enade,  were  a  number  of  persons,  some  in  noisy  conversation  with 
their  acquaintance  below,  others  playing  at  ball  with  some  adven- 
turous throwers  outside,  others  looking  on  at  the  racket-players,  or 
watching  the  boys  as  they  cried  the  game.  Dirty  slipshod  women 
passed  and  re-passed,  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  con- 
veying spirits  into  debtors*  prisons,  and  such  commodities  being 


552  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

highly  prized  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  confined  therein,  it  had 
occurred  to  some  speculative  turnkey  to  connive,  for  certain  lucra- 
tive 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  turn- 
keys takes  wery  good  care  to  seize  hold  os  ev'ry  body  but  them  as 
pays  'em,  that  attempts  the  willany,  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 
fiat  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 


Here  Mrs.  Wetter  let  fall  some  more  tears,  and  Mr,  Stiggins  groaned 


MR.  PICKWICK'S  RESOLUTION  553 

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  TOUGHING  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  jsabdolet,  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,  com- 
pressed 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  tend- 
ing to  the  one  point  that  he  should  stop  at  Mrs  BardelPs  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  the  green  door,  driver/5  said  the  heavy 
gentleman. 

"Oh!  You  perwerse  creetur!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  vixenish 
ladies.  "Drive  to  the  ouse  with  the  yellow  door,  cabmin.55 

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  animaPs  fore- 
legs down  to  the  ground  again,  and  paused. 

"Now  vere  am  I  to  pull  up?3'  inquired  the  driver.  "Settle  it  among 
yourselves.  All  I  ask  is,  vere?'5 

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  the  head,  on  the  counter- 
irritation  principle. 

"Most  wotes  carries  the  day!53  said  one  of  the  vixenish  ladies  at 
length.  "The  ouse  with  the  yellow  door,  cabmin.33 

But  after  the  cabriolet  had  dashed  up,  in  splendid  style,  to  the 
house  with  the  yellow  door:  "making/5  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. 

554 


UNCOMMUNICATIVE   TOMMY  555 

"Aggrawatin'  thing!"  said  the  vixenish  lady  last  mentioned,  dart- 
ing 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  ouse  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  ignomini- 
ously  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!" 


556  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS ^ 

"Ah,  if  you  knew  what  was  in  the  cupboard,  you'd  say  so/3  replied 
Master  Bardell.  . 

"What  is  there,  Tommy?"  said  Mrs  Cluppins,  coaxmgly.  You  1J 
tell  me,  Tommy,  I  know." 

"No,  I  won't,"  replied  Master  Bardell,  shaking  his  head,  and  apply 
ing  himself  to  the  bottom  step  again. 

"Drat  the  child!"  muttered  Mrs  Cluppins.  "What  a  prowokin 
little  wretch  it  is!  Come,  Tommy,  tell  your  dear  Chippy."  ^  ^ 

"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  dis- 
pute, and  peremptorily  commanded  to  hold  his  tongue.  He  had  no 
opportunity  of  defending  himself,  however,  for  Mrs  Raddle  gave  un- 
equivocal 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  expres- 
sions 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  kind- 
ness 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  whafs  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  looks  at 
Mr  Raddle. 

"Why,  the  fact  is/5  said  that  unhappy  gentleman,  stepping  for- 


INTRODUCTION  OF  MRS  ROGERS  557 

ward,  "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.5' 

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  backyard.  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  Gluppins'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  in- 
timate, 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  a  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  pain- 
ful recollections,  Mrs  Raddle  applied  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes 
again,  and  uttered  a  half-suppressed  scream;  so  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 


558  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

old  crusted  port— that  at  one  and  nine— with  another  of  the  cele- 
brated East  India  sherry  at  fourteenpence,  which  were  all  produced 
in  honour  of  the  lodger,  and  afforded  unlimited  satisfaction  to  every- 
body. 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/5  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.3' 

"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,  turn- 
ing fiercely  to  the  first-floor  lodger,  "that  a  woman  could  be  married 
to  such  a  unmanly  creetur,  which  can  tamper  with  a  woman's  feel- 
ings as  he  does,  every  hour  in  the  day,  ma'am?" 

"My  dear,"  remonstrated  Mr  Raddle5  "I  didn't  mean  anything, 
my  dear." 


A  MESSENGER  FOR  MRS   BARBELL  559 

"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  Clup- 
pins.  "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,  wondered  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  a  elegant  young  man. 

"I  called  in  Goswell  Street,"  resumed  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." 


560  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Lor3!"  ejaculated  that  lady,  starting  at  the  sudden  nature  of 
the  communication. 

"Yes,"  said  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  and  Fogg 
would  never  have  sent;  and  further,  that  the  business  being  urgent, 
she  ought  to  repair  to  Dodson  and  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  reason- 
ably 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?5* 
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 


MRS  BARDELL  AT  THE  FLEET  561 

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.53 

"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  good- 
ness 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,  "Gome!"  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 


562  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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,  tak- 
ing his  nightly  allowance  of  air;  and  beside  him  leant  Samuel  Wel- 
ler,  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  pris'ner!"  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.  /  want  him  directly.  I  see  some  good  in  this, 
Here's  a  game.  Hooray!  were'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   XL VII 

IS  CHIEFLY  DEVOTED  TO  MATTERS  OF  BUSINESS,  AND  THE  TEMPORAL 
ADVANTAGE  OF  DODSON  AND  FOGG.  MR  WINKLE  REAPPEARS  UN- 
DER EXTRAORDINARY  CIRCUMSTANCES.  MR  PICKWICK'S  BENEVO- 
LENCE 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  pave- 
ment, 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;  regardless  of  all  obstacles,  he 
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  con- 
duct, Mr  Lowten  took  up  his  hat,  and  begging  the  assembled  com- 
pany 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 

563 


564  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  emi- 
nent 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?'5 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Lowten.  "This  is  a  messenger  from  Mr  Pick- 
wick, sir." 

"From  Pickwick,  eh?"  said  the  little  man,  turning  quickly  to  Job. 
<cWeU,  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,  em- 
phatically, "those  are  the  cleverest  scamps  I  ever  had  anything  ttf 
do  with!" 

"The  sharpest  practitioners  /  ever  knew,  sir,"  observed  Lowten. 

"Sharp!"  echoed  Perker,  "There's  no  knowing  where  to  have 
ttem." 

"Very  true,  sir,  there  is  not,"  replied  Lowten;  and  then,  both 
master  and  man  pondered  for  a  few  seconds,  with  animated  counte- 
nances, 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  admira- 
tion, 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.  "Sanr 
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  side* 
board  for  a  decanter  and  glasses. 


MR  PERKER  CONSULTED  565 

As  Lowten  did  mean  yes,  he  said  no  more  on  the  subject,  but  in- 
quired 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  con- 
sidering 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,35  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  exces- 
sive 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  most  extraordinary 
state?35 

"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.3* 

"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/3  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  sub- 
ject of  our  conversation." 


566  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  knbw  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  ener- 
getic, 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 


A  WAY  OUT  567 


only  do  that,  by  paying  the  costs  of  this  suit — both  of  plaintiff  and 
defendant — into  the  hands  of  these  Freeman's  Court  sharks.  Now 
pray  be  quiet,  my  dear  sir.5' 

Mr  Pickwick,  whose  face  had  been  undergoing  most  surprising 
changes  during  this  speech,  and  who  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  fur- 
ther— 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  indict- 
ment 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  has  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  ob- 
stinacy: 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 


568  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  dif- 
ference, 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  %  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  vouldn'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  with  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 
Mm  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 


A  PLEASANT  SURPRISE  569 

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  testi- 
mony 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  re- 
taining 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  peni- 
tent manner,  did;  whereupon  Mr  Pickwick  slapped  him  on  the  back 
several  times,  and  then  shook  hands  heartily  with  Perker,  who,  not 
to  be  behindhand  in  the  compliments  of  the  occasion,  saluted  both 
the  bride  and  the  pretty  housemaid  with  right  goodwill,  and,  hav- 
ing wrung  Mr  Winkle's  hand  most  cordially,  wound  up  his  demon- 
strations 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'm,"  replied  Sam.  "I 
only  assisted  natur',  ma'm;  as  the  doctor  said  to  the  boy's  mother, 
arter  he'd  bled  him  to  death." 


>7o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Mary,  my  dear,  sit  down/'  said  Mr  Pickwick,  cutting  short  these 
iompliments.  "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 
Deen  doing  these  three  months?" 

"Ah,  to  be  sure!"  interposed  Perker;  "come!  Account  for  this 
idleness.  You  see  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  warm-heartedness  and  kindly  feeling  can  communi- 
cate 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  Pick- 
wick3  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  pre- 
vent 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 


ADIEU   TO   THE   FLEET  571 

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,  con- 
tinuing 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  Bir- 
mingham 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  be- 
hoved 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  every- 
body 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  him- 
self dispensed  on  the  racket  ground  to  everybody  who  would  par- 
take 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 


572  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  the  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/5  replied  Perker,  looking  hard  at  Jingle. 
"You  wiU  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  innokilated  for  a  gallopin5  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  un- 
happy 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  be- 
hind, 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   XL VIII 

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?55  inquired  Mr  Ben  Allen,  at  the  same  time 
sharpening  his  intellects  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. 

573 


574  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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.  .  m 

"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  im- 
portance." 

"I  wish,"  said  Mr  Ben  Allen,  setting  his  teeth  together,  and  speak- 
ing 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  malig- 
nantly 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,"  re- 
torted 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  copybook?" 

"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." 


GLOOMY  REMINISCENCES  575 

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  grey 
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  ap- 
pearances are  common  to  many  vehicles  belonging  to,  and  main- 
tained 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  inter- 
view. 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  grey  livery,  opened  the  coach-door,  flung  down  the  steps, 
and  thrusting  iSTaTiand  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." 


576  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Mr  Martin  coughed  behind  the  dark  wash-leather  glove,  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.35  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  Ben  Allen,  "will  you  take  my  aunt  into  the  sur- 
gery?" 

"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  begin  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  won- 
drous wise.  "Medicine,  in  time,  my  dear  ma'am,  would  have  pre- 
vented it  all." 

"Mr  Sawyer,"  said  the  old  lady,  more  flurried  than  before,  "this 


MR  ALLEN'S  AUNT  ARRIVES  577 

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,  al- 
though 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  for- 
getting 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  anima- 
tion. "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  you  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  neckcloth  of  that  taciturn, 
servitor,  expressed  an  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 


578  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  remon- 
strance and  felled  Mr  Benjamin  Allen  to  the  ground.  As  that  gentle- 
man 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  accus- 
tomed energy,  and  loudly  called  upon  the  bystanders  to  interpose. 

This  roused  Mr  Bob  Sawyer,  who  had  been  hitherto  quite  para- 
lysed by  the  frenzy  of  his  companion.  With  that  gentleman's  assist- 
ance, 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  anythin5  as  may  cause  an  interruption  to  such  wery 
pleasant  proceedin's,  as  the  king  said  wen  he  dissolved  the  parlia- 
ment," 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."  y' 

"Strange  sitivation  for  one  o'  the  family,"  observed  Sam  Weller, 


AN   EXCITING  SCENE  579 

hoisting  the  aunt  into  a  chair.  "Now,  depitty  Sawbones,  bring  out 
the  wollatilly!" 

The  latter  observation  was  addressed  to  the  boy  in  grey,  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  grey, 
and  Mr  Bob  Sawyer,  and  Mr  Benjamin  Allen  (who  having  frightened 
his  aunt  into  a  fainting  fit,  was  affectionately  solicitous  for  her  re- 
covery) 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  grey  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/5  said  Mr  Pickwick,  turning  to  Benjamin 
Allen,  "is  in  London;  well  and  happy." 

"Her  happiness  is  no  object  to  me,  sir,"  said  Mr  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  very  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. 


58o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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!53  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-hand- 
kerchief. "I  have  rendered  no  assistance  in  this  matter,  beyond 
that  of  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  taken  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  hadknown  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  has  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  genTm'n  as  has  jist  give  over,"  said 
Mr  Weller,  stepping  forth,  "wich  is  this  here:  a  indiwidual  in  com- 
pany has  called  me  a  feller." 


RECONCILIATION  581 

"That  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  matter,  Sam,"  inter- 
posed 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  genTm'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  wot  I  wished  to  say,  sir,  and  I  hope  I've  now  made  that 
aere  genTm'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  flatter- 
ing 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  ^taredTitrcIose  conversa- 
tion to  the  inner  room,  where  Mr  Sawyer  was  observed  to  apply 
himself  several  times  to  the  mouth  of  a  black  bottle,  under  the  in- 
fluence 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  mak- 


582  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

ing  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,55  said  Bob  Sawyer,  rubbing  his  hands,  "we'll  have  a 
jolly  night.55 

"I  am  sorry,55  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.55 

"You'll  take  some  tea,  Mr  Pickwick?55  said  the  old  lady,  with 
irresistible  sweetness. 

"Thank  you,  I  would  rather  not,55  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  morn- 
ing. He  then  took  his  leave,  and,  followed  by  Samuel  Weller,  re- 
paired 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?55  inquired  Sam,  when  they 
reached  the  Bush. 

"Why,  no,  Sam,55  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  travellers5  room,  Sam.35 

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. 

"He5s  a  queer  customer,  the  vun-eyed  vun,  sir,"  observed  Mr 
Weller,  as  he  led  the  way.  "He's  a  gammonin5  that  'ere  landlord, 
he  is,  sir,  till  he  don5t  rightly  know  wether  he5s  a  standing  on  the 
soles  of  his  boots  or  the  crown  of  his1  hat." 


REAPPEARANCE   OF  THE   ONE-EYED  BAGMAN    583 

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  circum- 
stance 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  along  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  dorft  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  de- 
prived 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  recollec- 
tions 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-spoon- 
full.  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,  gentlemen:  something  like  Punch,  with  a 
handsomer  nose  and  chin;  his  eyes  were  always  twinkling  and 
sparkling  with  good  humour;  and  a  smile — not  one  of  your  unmean- 
ing 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  mile-stone.  There  he  lay, 

584 


THE  BAGMAN'S   UNCLE  585 

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  a  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  eye-brows,  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  Baillie  Mac  something  and  four  syllables 
after  it,  who  lived  in  the  old  town  of  Edinburgh.  There  were  the 
baillie's  wife,  and  the  baillie's  three  daughters,  and  the  baillie's 
grown-up  son,  and  three  or  four  stout,  bushy  eye-browed,  canny  old 


586  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 


Scotch  fellows,  that  the  baillie  had  got  together  to  do  honour  to  rny 
uncle,  and  help  to  make  merry.  It  was  a  glorious  supper.  There 
were  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  baillie3 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  baillie  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  baillie'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  al- 
most 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. 
Sut,  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  baillie's  door, 
and  settling  his  hat  firmly  on  his  head,  to  prevent  the  wind  from  tak- 
ing 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  baillie'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  ihe  dark  sky, 
tall  gaunt  straggling  houses,  with  time-stained  froncs,  and  windows 
that  seemed  to  have  shared  the  lot  of  eyes  in  mortals,  and  to  have 


OLD  MAIL-COACHES  587 

grown  dim  and  sunken  with  age.  Six,  seven,  eight  stories  high,  were 
the  houses;  story  piled  above  story,  as  children  build  with  cards — 
throwing  their  dark  shadows  over  the  roughly  paved  road,  and  mak- 
ing 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,  chaunted 
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,  gentle- 
men, because,  as  he  often  used  to  say  (and  with  great  reason  too) 
there  is  nothing  at  all  extraordinary  in  this  story,  unless  you  dis- 
tinctly 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 


588  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  en- 
thusiastic, 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  axletree,  began  to  con- 
template 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  imag- 
inable. 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  iron-work  was  rusty,  the  paint  was  worn  away; 
the  wind  whistled  through  the  chinks  in  the  bare  wood  work;  ^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  decay- 
ing 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  those  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  schoolboy,  the  very  child  who  tot- 
tered 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  learnt  it  out  of  some  book  afterwards, 
for  he  distinctly  stated  that  he  fell  into  a  kind  of  doze,  as  he  sat  on  the 
old  axletree  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, 


A  TRANSFORMATION  589 

gentlemen,  that  my  uncle  fell  into  the  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  iron-work  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  rushing 
about,  fixing  poles  into  every  coach;  passengers  arrived,  port- 
manteaus were  handed  up,  horses  were  put  to;  in  short,  it  was  per- 
fectly 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!5  said  a  voice,  as  my  uncle  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder^ 
c You're  booked  for  one  inside.  You'd  better  get  in/ 

"  6I  booked!5  said  my  uncle,  turning  round. 

"  'Yes,  certainly.5 

"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  lug- 
gage in  the  coach,  and  received  his  fare,  he  turned  round  and  was 
gone;  and  before  my  uncle  had  well  begun  to  wonder  what  had  be- 
come 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. 

"  cNow,  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. 

"  cHallo!'  said  my  uncle,  falling  back  a  step  or  two.  'That's 
familiar!' 

"  It's  so  on  the  way-bill,'  replied  the  guard. 

"  Isn't  there  a  "Mister"  before  it?5  said  my  uncle.    For  he  felt, 


59o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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. 

cNo,  there  is  not/  rejoined  the  guard  coolly. 

cls  the  fare  paid?'  inquired  my  uncle. 

cOf  course  it  is,'  rejoined  the  guard. 

'It  is,  is  it?'  said  my  uncle.    'Then  here  goes!    Which  coach?5 

'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  alHhe 
materials  at  once.  He  wore  knee-breeches,  and  a  kind  of  leggings 
rolled  up  over  his  silk  stockings,  and  shoes  with  buckles;  he  had  ruf- 
fles at  his  wrists,  a  three-cornered  hat  on  his  head,  and  a  long  taper 
sword  by  his  side.  The  flaps  of  his  waistcoat  came  halfway  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  di- 
rected, 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  apd  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  hi.s  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 


COOLNESS   OF  THE  BAGMAN'S   UNCLE          591 

young  lady,  who  shrunk  into  a  corner  at  his  approach,  my  uncle  was 
confirmed  in  his  original  impression  that  something  dark  and  myste- 
rious 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  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. 

"  Tink  him  behind!'  cried  the  ill-looking  gentleman  to  his  com- 
panion, as  he  struggled  to  regain  his  sword. 

"  cHe  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 


592  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  burnt  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  come  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,  gentlemen — so  am  L 

"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  at- 
tention to  him.  He  leant  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,  any  way — 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.  'Hallo!'  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. 

Til  do  nothing  of  the  sort,3  said  my  uncle. 

'Very  well,  then  stop  where  you  are/  said  the  guard. 

'I  will,3  said  my  uncle. 

'Do/  said  the  guard. 
'The  other  passengers  had  regarded  this  colloquy  with  great  at- 
tention, 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 


GHOSTLY  TRAVELLING  593 

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!3  Gentlemen,  my  uncle  leaped  out  of  the 
coach  at  once,  with  such  violence  that  it  rocked  on  the  springs  again. 

"  cOh!  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  v/ith  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. 

u  c  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  burnt  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,  CA  mail  travelling 
at  the  rate  of  six  miles  and  a  half  an  hour,  and  stopping  for  an  in- 
definite time  at  such  a  hole  as  this,  is  rather  an  irregular  sort  of  pro- 
ceeding, 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  unre- 
served 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  conversa- 
tion 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,5  rejoined  iny  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  ai* 
inch  too  much  or  too  little,  from  that  estimate  alone. 


594  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"  'Quit  this  room,5  said  both  the  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  fel- 
low with  the  large  sword,  drawing  it  at  the  same  time  and  flourishing 
it  in  the  air. 

cc  'Down  with  him!'  cried  the  gentleman  in  sky-blue,  drawing  his 
sword  also,  and  falling  back  two  or  three  yards.  'Down  with  him!5 
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  in- 
different to  what  was  going  on,  he  had  been  looking  slyly  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-hiked  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  in- 
applicable 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  show- 
ing fight  at  all.  But  here  he  was,  cutting  and  slashing  with  two  ex- 
perienced swordsmen:  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  combat- 
ants 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, 


A  NOISY  COMBAT  595 

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  ir- 
resistible, 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  packthread. 
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!5  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. 

"  cWe  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,9 
said  my  uncle,  looking  coolly  at  the  young  gentleman  as  he  stood 
fixed  up  against  the  wall,  in  the  cockchafer  fashion  I  have  described. 
'You  have  cut  off  the  entail,  my  love.' 

"  'I  have  been  torn  from  my  home  and  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  en  the  dying  heir  of  Filletoville. 

"  'As  you  may  guess  from  what  you  have  seen,'  -$aid  the  young 
lady,  'the  party  were  prepared  to  murder  me  if  I  appealed  to  anyone 
for  assistance.  If  their  accomplices  find  us  here,  we  are  lost.  Two 
minutes  hence  may  be  too  late.  The  mail!'  With  these  words, 
overpowered  by  her  feelings,  and  the  exertion  of  sticking  the  young 
Marquess  of  Filletoville,  she  sunk  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. 


596  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

£ '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  circum- 
stance, 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?  /  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. 

ee  'Never,5  said  my  uncle.    And  he  meant  it  too. 

ce  'My  dear  preserver!'  exclaimed  the  young  lady.  cMy  dear, 
kind,  brave  preserver!' 

"  'Don't,'  said  my  uncle,  interrupting  her. 

ce  'Why?'  inquired  the  young  lady. 

"  'Because  your  mouth  looks  so  beautiful  when  you  speak,'  re- 
joined 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,5  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  breaks,  with  six  blood  cattle  in  each. 

cc  cWe  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. 


GALLANTRY  OF  THE  BAGMAN'S   UNCLE        597 

"  'I  want  to  speak  to  you,'  said  the  young  lady;  'only  a  word. 
Only  one  word,  dearest.' 

"  'Must  I  get  down?3  inquired  my  uncle.  The  lady  made  no  an- 
swer, 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  anyone  but  me;  never  marry  anyone 
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!5 

"They  whirled  past  the  dark  trees,  as  feathers  would  be  swept  be- 
fore a  hurricane.  Houses,  gates,  churches,  haystacks,  objects  of  every 
kind  they  shot  by, with  a  velocity  and  noise  like  roaring  waters  sud- 
denly let  loose.  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  Taster!  Faster!'  My  uncle  gave  a  loud 
stamp  on  the  boot  in  the  energy  of  the  moment,  and — found  that  it 
was  grey  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 


598  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  pro- 
found attention. 

"The  dead  letters,  of  course,"  said  the  Bagman. 

ecOh,  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   REIN- 
FORCED   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  postil- 
lion 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  grey 
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.'5 

"No,  that's  just  the  very  thing,"  replied  Bob,  seizing  Mr  Pickwick 
by  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  "That's  the  joke." 

599 


600  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Oh,  that's  the  joke?"  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. 
Enquire  of  Mrs  Cripps  over  the  way.3  Mrs  Cripps  is  my  boy's 
mother.  'Mr  Sawyer's  very  sorry,3  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  began  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 


DEMONSTRATIONS  OUTSIDE  601 

together,  and  performed  a  great  variety  of  practical  jokes,  which 
were  calculated  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  passers-by,  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  indica- 
tive 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  numer- 
ous 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  be^ 
tokened  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, 


602  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

discussing  a  twin  sandwich,  with  an  animated  countenance,  the  ex- 
pression 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  mo- 
ment, 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  heads<  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!" 

"Hallo!"  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  unneces- 
sary waste  of  words,  that  he  devoted  that  draught  to  wishing  him  all 
manner  of  happiness  and  prosperity.  Having  done  this,  Bob  re- 
placed 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 


MILK-PUNCH  603 


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?55  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,5'  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,53  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  him- 
self 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  curi- 
ous 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." 


604  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"The  very  thing  that  occurred  to  me,"  said  Ben  Allen. 

"Is  it  indeed?5'  rejoined  Mr  Pickwick.  "Then  here's  his  health!5' 
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  en- 
tertain 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.  Hallo,  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  excel- 
lent. 

The  quality  of  the  lunch  folly  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  opposi- 
tion 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. 


REFRESHMENTS  BY  THE  WAY  605 

It  was  quite  dark  when  Mr  Pickwick  roused  himself  sufficiently 
to  look  out  of  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  waggons  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  stories, 
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  which  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  exe- 
cuting it  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  were  by  no  means  lessened  by  the 
voluntary  companionship  of  Mr  Bob  Sawyer.  Truth  to  tell,  Mr  Pick- 
wick 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  to  hope  that,  for 
their  own  sakes,  they  will  not  expose  themselves.3' 


606  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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 
fylr  Winkle's  residence. 

"Close  by,  sir,53  said  the  waiter,  "not  above  five  hundred  yards, 
sir.  Mr  Winkle  is  a  wharfinger,  sir,  at  the  canal,  sir.  Private  resi- 
dence 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  softly  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  skim- 
ming 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  behold- 
ing the  three  strangers. 

"Is  Mr  Winkle  at  home,  my  dear?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 


ARRIVAL   AT  MR  WINKLE   SENIOR'S  607 

"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  almanack,  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  alma- 
nack 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  candle-stick  in  the  other. 

"Mr  Pickwick,  sir,  how  do  you  do?"  said  Winkle  the  elder,  putting 


6o8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  gen- 
tleman is " 

<cMy  friend,  Mr  Sawyer/5  interposed  Mr  Pickwick,  "your  son's 
friend/3 

"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  entrusted,  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  fleshy  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-intel- 
ligible 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  dosely  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 


A  MAN  OF  BUSINESS  609 

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  upon  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,"  rejoined  the  old  gentleman,  with  indig- 
nant 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  announce- 
ment 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 
inkstand,  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. 


6io  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  Pick- 
wick?" 

"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  sus- 
tain 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  licence  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  into  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  your- 
self." 

"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!" 


RESULT  OF  THE  MISSION  611 

With  these  words  the  old  gentleman  took  up  the  candlestick,  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. 

CCI  am  at  present  of  a  different  opinion/'  calmly  replied  Mr  Winkle 
senior.  "Once  again,  gentlemen,  I  wish  you  a  good  night.35 

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  IN- 
DEBTED 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  stable-yard,  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  raindrops,  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  win- 
dows 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  dis- 
comfort 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  improve- 

612 


UNCOMFORTABLE  TRAVELLING  613 

ment,  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  inevitably  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  sveetly  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,  ven  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  where  there  wos  a  postboy's  tomb- 
stone, 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'Pm'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 


6i4  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

some  wery  sensible  people  do,  that  postboys  and  donkeys  is  both  im- 
mortal, 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  post- 
boy 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  awaking  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  accommo- 
dations 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  forward  at  all  hazards." 

The  landlord  smiled  his  delight.    Nothing  could  be  easier  than  for 


THE   SARACEN'S   HEAD,   TOWCESTER  615 

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  com- 
forts 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  his  other 
features  into  a  majestic  expression  of  haughty  contempt. 

"Hallo!"  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. 

"Beggin3  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  neigh- 
bourhood. If  the  excited  and  irritable  populace  knew  I  was  here,  I 
.should  be  torn  to  pieces." 

"No!    Vould  you,  sir?"  inquired  Sam. 


6i6  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"I  should  be  the  victim  of  their  fury/'  replied  Pott.  "Now,  young 
man,  what  of  your  master?" 

"He's  stopping  here  to-night  on  his  vay  to  town,  vith  a  couple  of 
friends/3  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  stop- 
ped, 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  Pick- 
wick's room,  where  a  hearty  welcome  awaited  him.  An  agreement  to 
club  dinners  together  was  at  once  made  and  ratified. 

"And  how  are  matters  going  on  in  Eatanswill?"  inquired  Mr  Pick- 
wick, 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  cognizant  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  uncon- 
scious 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  de- 
tested 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  king- 
doms 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  hi 
chair,  "your  friend  is  not  buff,  sir?" 

"No,  no,"  rejoined  Bob,  "I'm  a  kind  of  plaid  at  present;  a  com 
pound  of  all  sorts  of  colours." 


w  fmitf  Mr ••  Winkle, 'with  his  jace  and  hands  blue  with  the  cold,  ha 
been  forcing  a  gimlet  into  the  soles  of  his  feet,  and  putting  his  skates  on 


A  POWERFUL  ARTICLE  617 

"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  inter- 
vals 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  ques- 
tion, "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  sub- 
ject, at  my  desire,  in  the  Encyclopedia  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,  cehe 
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  ef- 
fusions 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  Pick- 
wick, he  whispered  in  a  deep  hollow  voice,  "A  buff  ball,  sir,  will  take 
place  in  Birmingham  to-morrow  evening." 


6i8  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"God  bless  me!33  exclaimed  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Yes,  sir,  and  supper/3  added  Pott. 

"You  don't  say  so!53  ejaculated  Mr  Pickwick. 

Pott  nodded  portentously, 

Now,  although  Mr  Pickwick  feigned  to  stand  aghast  at  this  dis- 
closure, 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 

"  CA  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  contem- 
porary, 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  pur- 
chase 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  contempo- 
rary 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!" 


A  POMPOUS  STRANGER  619 

The  landlord  and  waiter  entering  at  the  moment  with  dinner, 
caused  Mr  Pott  to  lay  his  finger  on  his  lip,  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 
jQapiet^or  half-part  of  the  annual  income  and  profits  arising  from  the 
e3ftfea?Aip  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  owujucub^  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, 


620  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  Inde- 
pendent, 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. 

"Do  you  know  me?"  demanded  the  gentleman. 

"I  have  not  that  pleasure,  sir,"  rejoined  the  landlord. 

"My  name  is  Shirk,"  said  the  gentleman. 

The  landlord  slightly  inclined  his  head. 

"Shirk,  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  enthusi- 
astic 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,  atad  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  bedtime,"  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  kitcheix 
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  be- 
gan to  read  and  drink  in  silent  dignity. 


THE  RIVAL  EDITORS  621 

Now,  some  demon  of  discord,  flying  over  the  Saracen's  Head  at 
that  moment,  or  casting  down  his  eyes  in  mere  idle  curiosity,  hap- 
pened to  behold  Shirk  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  apart- 
ment with  inconceivable  rapidity,  passed  at  once  into  the  head  of 
Mr  Bob  Sawyer,  and  prompted  him  for  his  (the  demon's)  own  evil 
purposes  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,  /  think,"  replied  Mr  Pick- 
wick. "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  4co2§ica]f  spider. 

"That  reptile,"  whispered  Pott,  catching  Mr  PickwicFBy  the  arm, 
and  pointing  towards  the  stranger.  "That  reptile  Slurk,  of  the  Inde- 
pendent?' 

"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 
of  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  symp- 
toms 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?" 


622  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"You  will  find  very  little  to  repay  you  for  your  trouble  in  this  con- 
temptible thing,  sir/'  replied  Slurk,  bestowing  a  Satanic  frown  on 
Pott. 

"You  shall  have  this  presently/5  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." 

Terrific  emphasis  was  laid  upon  this  "thing35  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 
Shirk. 

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  Shirk, 
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  to  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,  fortu- 
nately 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  Mm  so,  sir!"  reiterated  Slurk,  in  a  loud  voice. 

Mr  Pott  darted  a  look  of  contempt,  which  might  have  withered  an 
anchor. 


ASSAULT  AND  BATTERY  623 

"Serve  him  so,  sir!53  reiterated  Slurk5  in  a  louder  voice  than 
before. 

"I  will  not,  sir/5  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  worft.  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  un- 
mitigated viper." 

The  indignant  Independent  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  end  of  this  per- 
sonal 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  hair-brush  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  be- 
tween 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  ad- 
vantage 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 
'die  fire-shovel  most  fearlessly.  Mr  Pickwick  would  unquestion- 
ably 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  draw- 
ing it  over  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the  mighty  Pott,  and  clasping 
him  tight  round  the  shoulders, 

"Take  avay  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  ex- 
tinguisher 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 


624  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

vould  a  dozen  sich,  if  they  played  these  games.    And  you  have  the 
goodness  to  come  this  here  vay,  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   THE    RED-NOSED   MR   STIGGINS 

CONSIDERING  it  a  matter  of  delicacy  to  abstain  from  intro- 
ducing 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  pro- 
posed 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!" 

"Lor5,  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 
been  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 

625 


626  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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. 

"Hallo!"  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,3  '  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 


MY  DEAR  SAMMLE, 

I  am  wery  sorry  to  have  the  pleasure  of  bein  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  hearin  of  a  shepherd  who  warnt  able  to  leave 
off  till  late  at  night  owen  to  his  havin  vound  his-self  up  vith  brandy  and 
vater  and  not  being  able  to  stop  hisself  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  farther  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  notwithstanding  that  the  drag  wos  put  on  drectly  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  having  done  the 
jouney  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 
gnvner  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 


AN  AFFECTING  LETTER  627 

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  lookin5  over  him,  and  com- 
plicates 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  creatur'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  farthest," 
said  Sam,  when  he  had  communicated  to  Mr  Pickwick  the  intelli- 
gence 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  Ms  present  situation,  I  shall  be  most  willing  and  ready  to 
lend  him  any  aid  in  my  power,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 


628  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Thank'ee,  sir,"  rejoined  Sam.    "I'll  mention  it,  sir.5' 

And  with  some  expressions  of  mutual  goodwill  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  ma- 
hogany 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.  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  at- 
tached 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  wos  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." 

"Veil,  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. 


TONY  WELLER  LAMENTS  HIS  LOSS  629 

^"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?5'  inquired  Sam. 

"Them  as  she  made,  arter  she  was  took  ill/5  replied  the  old 
gentleman. 

"Wot  was  they?" 

"Somethin'  to  this  here  effect.  'Veller/  she  says,  Tm  afeard  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  comfor- 
tabler.  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  dis- 
chargin'  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,3  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!" 

"Veil/'  said  Sam,  venturing  to  offer  a  little  homely  consola- 
tion, 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;  "veil,  gov'ner,  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. 

"O5  course  there  is,"  replied  his  father  with  a  nod  of  grave  ap- 
proval ^  "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. 

"Hallo!"  said  the  elder  Mr  Weller,  dropping  the  poker  as  he 
looked  round,  and  hastily  drew  his  chair  away.  "Wot's  the  matter 


nowr 


630  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  adversity  does  change  people!  said  the 
lady,  looking  upwards. 

"It's  the  only  think  '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. 

"Nevermind.  It's  all  for  my  own  good;  vich  is  the  reflection  vith 
wich  the  penitent  schoolboy  comforted  his  feelin's  ven  they  flogged 
Mm,"  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  arter  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: 
1  "Sammy,  if  I  wos  to  stop  here  alone  vun  veek — only  vun  veek, 
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 
wos  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  "I  don't  take  no  pride  out  on  it,  Sarnmy,"  replied  Mr  Weller, 
poking  the  fire  vehemently,  "it's  a  horrid  sitiwation,  I'm  actiwally 
drove  out  o3  house  and  home  by  it.  The  breath  wos  scarcely  out  o3 


TONY  GIVES  UP  THE  BUSINESS  631 

your  poor  mother-in-law's  body,  ven  vun  old  'ooman  sends  me  a  pot 
o'  jam,  and  another  a  pot  o5  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  o5  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  sus- 
picion 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?" 

"Veil,  there's  somethin*  in  that,"  said  Sam. 

"If  your  gov'ner  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  ha5  gone  agin  their 
consciences.  A  reg'lar  coachman's  a  sort  o'  connectin'  link  betwixt 
singleness  and  matrimony,  and  every  practicable  man  knows  it." 

"Wot!  You  mean,  they're  gen'ral  fav'rites,  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  insiniwa- 
tions,  and  is  alvays  looked  up  to — adored  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  reg'lation  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,"  re- 
turned Mr  Weller;  "/  call  it  a  dispensary,  and  it's  alvays  writ  up  so, 
at  the  places  vere  they  gives  you  physic  for  nothin'  in  your  own  bot- 
tles; 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 


632  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

I  do  not  vish  to  separate  myself  from  them  interestin3  members  o* 
society  altogether,  I  have  come  to  the  determination  o'  drivin'  the 
Safety,  and  puttin3  up  vunce  more  at  the  Bell  Savage,  vich  is  my 
nat'ral-born  element,  Sammy.35 

"And  wot's  to  become  o'  the  bis'ness?"  inquired  Sam. 

"The  bis'ness,  Samivel,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  "goodvffl, 
stock,  and  fixters,  vill  be  sold  by  private  contract;  and  out  o3  the 
money,  two  hundred  pound,  agreeable  to  a  rekvest  o'  your  mother- 
in-law's  to  me  a  little  afore  she  died,  vill  be  inwested  in  your  name 
in — wot  do  you  call  them  things  agin?" 

"Wot  things?"  inquired  Sam. 

"Them  things  as  is  always  a  goin3  up  and  down,  in  the  City." 

"Omnibuses?"  suggested  Sam. 

"Nonsense,"  replied  Mr  Weller.  "Them  things  as  is  alvays  a 
fluctooatin',  and  gettin3  theirselves  inwolved  somehow  or  another 
vith  the  national  debt,  and  the  checquers  bills,  and  all  that." 

"Oh!  the  funds,"  said  Sam.  ] 

"Ah!"  rejoined  Mr  Weller,  "the  funs;  two  hundred  pounds  o5  the 
money  is  to  be  inwested  for  you,  Samivel,  in  the  funs;  four  and  a  half 
per  cent,  reduced  counsels,  Sammy." 

"Wery  kind  o3  the  old  lady  to  think  o3  me,33  said  Sam,  "and  Fm 
wery  much  obliged  to  her.33 

"The  rest  vill  be  inwested  in  my  name,35  continued  the  elder  Mr 
Weller;  "and  ven  Fm  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  inklin3  o3  your  fortun3,  or  you're  done." 

Having  delivered  this  warning,  Mr  Weller  resumed  his  pipe  with  a 
jnore  serene  countenance;  the  disclosure  of  these  matters  appearing 
to  have  eased  his  mind  considerably. 

"Somebody's  a  tappin3  at  the  door,33  said  Sam. 

"Let  3em  tap,33  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,33  whispered  Mr  Weller,  with  apprehensive  looks,  "don't 
take  no  notice  on  3em,  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  unspeak- 


ANXIOUS   INQUIRIES  BY  MR  STIGGINS         633 

able  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  as- 
tonishment. 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  Emmanuel  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  slyly  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." 


634  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  be- 
token 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  pineapple  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  dur- 
ing 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-boots  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  Weller5  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  os  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/3 


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.3  * 

"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,"  re- 
plied 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  back- 
ward in  helping  him  to  start  in  the  world." 

The  significance  of  this  reply  was  not  so  well  disguised  by  Mr  Pick- 
wick but  that  Arabella  understood  it.  So,  throwing  her  arms  around 
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. 

635 


636  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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,  and  having  opened  the  door,  replugged  and 
repocketed  his  Bramah,  and  picked  up  the  letters  which  the  postman 
had  dropped  through  the  box.  He  then  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. 


JOB  TROTTER'S  FIDELITY  637 

"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?3' 

"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  pre- 
paratory 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 


638  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  armchair,  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 — unwhole- 
some 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 


ANOTHER  cJHANGE  FOR  MR  JINGLE  639 

doing  anything  for  him,  my  dear  sir,  which  is  not  dependent  on  his 
own  exertions  and  good  conduct." 

"Certainly/3  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/5 
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  con- 
ferred, 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  notwith- 
standing; 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  sup- 
pose," 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  in- 
timate terms  he  would  have  been  even  a  more  dangerous  acquaint- 


640  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

ance  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  Liver- 
pool, 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  mat- 
ters 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  bene- 
factor, 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  a 
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  Pick- 
wick'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  honour- 
able, 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  ani- 
mated 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 


DODSON  AND   FOGG  ARRIVE  641 

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  ap- 
pointed 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 
and  Fogg  were,  Mr  Pickwick  replied  that  he  would  remain  where  he 
was:  the  more  especially  as  Messrs  Dodson  and  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  /  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  salu- 
tations, 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 


642  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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.  Mean- 
while, 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  ham  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  gigan- 
tic 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 


DODSON  AND  FOGG  BEAR  NO  ILL-WILL       643 

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  confi- 
dence 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  con- 
spiracies?" 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  Pick- 
wick?" 

"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 


644  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

man  of  the  party,  had  prudently  intrenched  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,  petti- 
fogging 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  and  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 


A  VIOLENT   KNOCKING  AT   THE   DOOR         645 

pecuniary  settlement.  You  have  done  me  many  acts  of  kindness 
that  I  can  never  repay,  and  have  no  wish  to  repay,  for  I  prefer  con- 
tinuing 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  per- 
petual 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  DIS- 
CLOSURES 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 

646 


MR  WARDLE  AT  GRAY'S  INN  047 

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  suffer- 
ing 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.33 

"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  armchair; 
his  jolly  red  face  shining  again  with  smiles  and  health. 

"Well!"  said  Wardle.  "Here  are  pretty  goings  on — a  pinch  o£ 
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  parent's  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." 


648  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"What  do  you  mean!"  exclaimed  Mr  Pickwick,  turning  pale; 
uno  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  young  fellow 
that  I  am  almost  afraid  to  tell  you;  but,  however,  if  Perker  will  sit 
between  us  to  prevent  mischief,  Pll  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  be- 
cause 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.  cYes3  my  dear,3  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,  Tor  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  nar- 
rative. 


Catching  up  his  carpet-bag,  which  was  well  stuffed  with  movables,  he 
swung  it  in  the  air  as  Pott  turned  away 


MORE  MARRYING  649 

"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  Christ- 
mas; that  she  had  very  dutifully  made  up  her  mind  to  run  away  with 
him,  in  laudable  imitation  of  her  old  friend  and  schoolfellow;  but 
that  having  some  compunctions  of  conscience  on  the  subject,  in- 
asmuch 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  compli- 
ment of  asking  whether  I  would  have  any  objection  to  their  being 
married  in  the  usual  matter-of-fact  manner.  There  now,  Mr  Pick- 
wick, 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  per- 
plexity, 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  really 
cannot  understand  it." 

"It's  easy  enough  to  understand,"  replied  the  choleric  old  gentle- 
man. "If  you  had  been  a  younger  man,  you  would  have  been  in  the 
secret  long  ago;  and  besides,"  added  Wardle  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, "the  truth  is,  that,  knowing  nothing  of  this  matter,  I  have 
rather  pressed  Emily  for  four  or  five  months  past,  to  receive  favour- 
ably (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  ques- 
tion is,  what's  to  be  done?" 

"What  h&vzyou  done?"  inquired  Mr  Pickwick. 

"I!'3 

"I  mean  what  did  you  do  when  your  married  daughter  told  you 
this?" 

"Oh,  I  made  a  fool  of  myself,  of  course,"  rejoined  Wardle. 


65o  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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?33 

"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  Osborae'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  counte- 
nance 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  al- 
ready, 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,  but  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,33  replied  Perker. 
"I'll  look  in,  in  the  evening,  at  all  events." 


THE  FAT  BOY  IN  FAVOUR  651 

"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  foot-board  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  trans- 
act 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  to- 
gether, 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  sight  of  this  phenomenon,  the  fat  boy  uttered  an  interjection,  the 
ladies  a  scream,  and  the  gentleman  an  oath,  almost  simulta- 
neously. 

"Wretched  creature,  what  do  you  want  here?'3  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  bewil- 
dered 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  be- 
witching smile,  "how  do  you  do,  Joe?" 


652  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"Joe/'  said  Emily,  "you're  a  verY  g°oci  b°Y;  *  won't  forget  you, 
Joe." 

"Joe/5  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  dimen- 
sions; and  then,  thrusting  half-a-crown  into  each  of  his  pockets,  and 
a  hand  and  wrist  after  it,  he  burst  into  a  hoarse  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  chamber- 
maids 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  fgrules^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,  leant  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. 


THE  FAT  BOY  TAKEN  INTO   CONFIDENCE      653 

"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!55  said  Mary. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  replied  the  fat  boy,  with  unwonted  vivacity. 

"What's  her  name?55  inquired  Mary. 

"What's  yours?5' 

"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  be- 
tween a  squint  and  a  cast,  which  there  is  reason  to  believe  he  in- 
tended 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,55  rejoined  Mary,  shaking  her  head,  cTm  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  ner- 
vously. 

"Don't  you  understand  me?"  said  Mary,  looking  slyly  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, 


654  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

the  old  gentleman  would  carry  you  all  away  miles  into  the  country, 
where  you'd  see  nobody.'3 

"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.  Know- 
ing nothing  of  the  house,  Mr  Snodgrass  in  his  confusion  stepped 
hastily  back  into  the  room  he  had  just  quitted,  and  passing  from 
thence  into  an  inner  apartment  (Mr  Wardle's  bed-chamber),  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  diffi- 
culty 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  com- 
fortably 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  as  the  probability  of  the  wrong  waiter  com- 
ing to  his  relief,  flashed  upon  his  mind,  together  with  a  sense  of  the 
strong  resemblance  between  his  own  situation  and  that  in  which  an- 
other gentleman  had  been  recently  found  in  a  neighbouring  hotel 
(an  account  of  whose  misfortunes  had  appeared  under  the  head  of 


MR  ALLEN  MEETS  HIS   SISTER  655 

"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  feel- 
ings 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  gentle- 
man'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  in- 
creased 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  assur- 
ances that  they  might  depend  upon  his  fidelity.  As  these  tokens  were 
rather  calculated  to  aWaken  suspicion  than  allay  it,  and  were  some- 
what embarrassing  besides,  they  were  occasionally  answered  by  a 
frown  or  shake  of  the  head  from  Arabella,  which  the  fat  boy  consider- 
ing as  hints  to  be  on  his  guard,  expressed  his  perfect  understanding 
of*  by  smirking,  grinning,  and  winking,  with  redoubled  assiduity. 


656  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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. 

"Oh3*  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  observa- 
tions, 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 


THE  FAT  BOY  IS  MYSTERIOUS  657 

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  was  really  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  do  you  run  sharp  instruments  into  Mr  Pick- 
wick'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. 

"Hallo!"  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/1 
explained  Mr  Snodgrass. 


658  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

"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  re- 
counted how  he  had  been  placed  in  his  then  distressing  predica- 
ment; 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 — 
and  so  on. 

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  some- 
thing 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  the1 
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  with- 
out 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  des- 
patched it,  drew  his  chair  next  Emily,  without  the  smallest  opposi- 
tion on  the  old  gentleman's  part. 

The  evening  was  excellent.    Little  Mr  Perker  came  out  wonder- 


A  HAPPY  EVENING  659 

fully,  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    COACH- 
MEN,   ARRANGES    THE   AFFAIRS   OF   THE  ELDER   MR   WELLER 

SAMIVEL,"  said  Mr  Weller,  accosting  his  son  on  the  morning 
after  the  funeral,  "Pve  found  it,  Sammy.  I  thought  it  wos  there.95 
"Thought  wot  wos  were?"  inquired  Sam. 

"Your  mother-in-law's  vill,  Sammy/5  replied  Mr  Weller.  "In 
wirtue  o5  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  any  thin'  about  it.  I  don't  know  as  I  should 
ha3  done  it  indeed,  if  I  had  remembered  it,"  added  Mr  Weller,  "for 
it's  a  rum  sort  o3  thing,  Sammy,  to  go  a  hankerin'  arter  anybody's 
property,  ven  you're  assistin'  'em  in  illness.  It's  like  helping  an  out- 
side 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  hisself, 
Sammy." 

With  this  figurative  illustration  of  his  meaning,  Mr  Weller  un- 
clasped 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  teapot,  on  the  top  shelf  o'  the  bar  closet.  She 
used  to  keep  bank-notes  there,  afore  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  teapots  in  the  house  vith  vills,  and 
not  have  inconwenienced  herself  neither,  for  she  took  wery  little  of 
any  thin'  in  that  vay  lately,  'cept  on  the  Temperance  nights,  ven  they 
just  laid  a  foundation  o'  tea  to  put  the  spirits  a- top  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  veil  put  this  bit  o'  paper  into  the  fire." 

660 


MRS  WELDER'S  WILL  66 1 

"Wot  are  you  a-doin'  on,  you  lunatic?"  said  Sam,  snatching  the 
paper  away,  as  his  parent,  in  all  innocence,  stirred  the  fire  prepara- 
tory 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  pro- 
bated, 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  medita- 
tion, "this  is  a  case  for  that  'ere  confidential  pal  o'  the  Chancellor- 
ship'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  no  thin' 
on.33 

"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'Pm'n, 


662  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  o5  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  anything"  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,  re- 
galing himself,  business  being  rather  slack,  with  a  cold  collation  of  an 
Abernethy  biscuit  and-  a  saveloy.  The  message  was  no  sooner  whis- 
pered 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  emanci- 
pated 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  of  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.  Tell,'  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,5 1  used  to  answer,  '/hardly  know  how  I  do  it,  upon  my 
life/ — Tell/  he'd  add,  sighing,  and  looking  at  me  with  a  little  envy- 
friendly  envy,  you  know,  gentlemen,  mere  friendly  envy;  I  never 
minded  it — Tell,  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." 


ANOTHER  GLIMPSE  OF  MR  PELL  663 

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,  drunk  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  occur- 
rence." 

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  wid- 
ders  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,  gentle- 
men, 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 


664  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

connected,  too!  Her  mother's  brother,  gentlemen,  failed  for  eight 
hundred  pounds,  as  a  Law  Stationer." 

"Veil,55  said  Mr  Weller,  who  had  grown  rather  restless  during  this 
discussion,  "vith  regard  to  bis'ness." 

The  word  was  music  to  PelFs  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  solu- 
tion. His  eyes  glistened  as  he  laid  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  said: 

4 '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 
dessay  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?"  in- 
quired Pell  with  a  congratulatory  smile. 

"Sammy  is  a  leg-at-ease,"  replied  Mr  Weller;  "these  other  genT- 
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  consul- 
tation 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  des- 
patched, 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  Doctors5  Com- 
mons, and  there  was  a  visit  to  the  Legacy  Duty  Office  besides,  and 
there  were  treaties  entered  into,  for  the  disposal  of  the  lease  and  busi- 
ness, and  ratifications  of  the  same,  and  inventories  to  be  made  out, 


A  LUNCHEON  AND  A  TOAST  665 

and  lunches  to  be  taken,  and  dinners  to  be  eaten,  and  so  many  profit- 
able 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,  Esq.,  stockbroker,  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  ac- 
cordingly. 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  Mr  Pell  wore  a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  clean  shirt  much 
frayed  at  the  collar  and  wristbands  by  frequent  washings. 

"A  quarter  to  two,35  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,  genTm'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,  sup- 
ported by  very  round  legs. 

"Hear,  hear!"  said  Pell;  "to  congratulate  Mr  Weller,  on  his  com- 
ing into  possession  of  his  property:  eh?  ha!  ha!" 

"I'm  quite  agreeable,  genTm'n,"  answered  Mr  Weller.  "Sammy, 
pull  the  bell." 

Sam  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  dis- 
tinction; 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—" 


666  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Here  Mr  Samuel  Weller,  who  had  silently  eaten  his  oysters  with 
tranquil  smiles,,  cried  "Hear!"  in  a  very  loud  voice. 

" — has  vispered  to  me/3  resumed  his  father,  "that  it  vould  be  better 
to  dewote  the  liquor  to  vishin'  you  success  and  prosperity,  and 
thankin5  you  for  the  manner  in  which  you've  brought  this  here  busi- 
ness through.  Here's  your  health,  sir." 

"Hold  hard  there/*  interposed  the  mottled-faced  gentleman,  with 
sudden  energy,  "your  eyes  on  me,  genTm'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,53  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.  Tour  healths,  gentle- 
men." 

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  stan- 
hope 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, 


ON  THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  667 

"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,  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  almanack  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  en- 
trance 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-handker- 
chiefs. 

"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.  "Per- 
haps 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.5  Within  what  time  shall  we  say?" 


668  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 


"A  fortnight?59  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/3  said  Wilkins  Flasher,  Esquire.  c  Make  it 
ten  days." 

"Well;   ten  days/5  rejoined  Mr  Simmery. 

So,  it  was  entered  down  in  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. 

"Frn  very  sorry  he  has  failed,"  said  Wilkins  Flasher,  Esquire. 
"Capital  dinners  he  gave." 

"Fine  port  he  had  too/5  remarked  Mr  Simmery.  We  are  going  to 
send  our  butler  to  the  sale  to-morrow,  to  pick  up  some  of  that  sixty- 

"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  Solo- 
mon 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  up- 
stairs 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  genTmen  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?"  in- 
quired Sam,  with  some  disdain. 

"How  should  I  know?"  retorted  Mr  Weller;  "I  thought  they 
looked  wery  like  it.  Wot  are  they,  then?" 


THE  ELDER  WELLER  SELLS   OUT  669 

"Clerks/5  replied  Sam. 

"Wot  are  they  all  a  eatin'  ham  sangwidges  for?"  inquired  his  father. 

"'Cos  it's  in  their  dooty,  I  suppose/3  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  black  board  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  busi- 
ness 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  Ribston  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,  and  Smith,  for  five  hundred  and  thirty 
pounds;  that  being  the  sum  of  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  particular  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.3* 

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  declara- 
tion, accompanied  with  many  solemn  asseverations  that  they  were 


670  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

really  too  hard  upon  him,  it  was  by  very  many  degrees  the  best  pro- 
fessional 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  de- 
parted, as  they  had  to  drive  out  of  town  that  night.  Mr  Solomon 
Pell,  finding  that  nothing  more  was  going  forward,  either  in  the  eat- 
ing 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  con- 
dition 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  Pick- 
wick. 

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 

671 


672  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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,  thankee,  sir,"  replied  the  widower;  "hope  I  stejyou 
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,  bring- 
ing 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  season- 
able." 

"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  aggerawatin'  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-pressin3  myself  ven  there's  any  thin'  partickler  to  be  done,  and 
yet  he'll  stand  and  see  me  a  settin*  here  takin'  up  your  walable  time, 
and  nxakin5  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  beginnin3?" 

"You  might  ha'  seen  I  warn't  able  to  start,"  rejoined  his  father; 
"I'm  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road,  and  backin3  into  the  palins,  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'ner's  been 
a  drawin'  his  money." 

"Wery  good,  Samivel,  wery  good/'  said  Mr  Weller,  nodding  his 


TONY  WELLER  INTERVIEWS  MR  PICKWICK    673 

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  ex- 
pected. 

Sam  bowed  again  and  sat  down;  his  father  looking  round,  he 
continued: 

"The  gov'ner,  sir,  has  drawn  out  five  hundred  and  thirty  pound." 

"Reduced  counsels,"  interposed  Mr  Weller,  senior,  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"It  don't  much  matter  vether  it's  reduced  counsels,  or  wot  not," 
said  Sam;  "five  hundred  and  thirty  pound  is  the  sum,  ain't  it?" 

"All  right,  Samivel,"  replied  Mr  Weller. 

"To  vich  sum,  he  has  added  for  the  house  and  bisness " 

"Lease,  goodvill,  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  con- 
gratulate you,  Mr  Weller,  on  having  done  so  well." 

"Vait  a  minit,  sir,"  said  Mr  Weller,  raising  his  hand  in  a  depreca- 
tory 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  lendin3  it  to  somebody,  or  inwestin' 
property  in  horses,  or  droppin'  his  pocket-book  down  a  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  drawd  it  out  to-day,  and  come  here 
vith  me  to  say,  leastvays  to  offer,  or  in  other  vords  to "  * 

"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'nt 
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  tempta- 
tion 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. 


674  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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!5' 

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,'3  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  b'ack,  Mr  Weller." 

"Wery  well,"  said  Mr  Weller  with  a  discontented  look.  "Mark  my 
vords,  Sammy.  I'll  do  somethin*  desperate  vith  this  here  property; 
somethin5  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 
o5  my  days  to  a  pike." 

This  threat  was  such  an  awful  one,  and  Mr  Weller  besides  appear- 
ing fully  resolved  to  carry  it  into  execution,  seemed  so  deeply  morti- 
fied by  Mr  Pickwick's  refusal,  that  that  gentleman,  after  a  short 
reflection,  said: 

"Well,  well,  Mr  Weller,  I  will  keep  the  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,  sud- 
denly gave  place  to  the  most  dignified  gravity  as  he  heard  these 
words. 


TONY  WELLER'S  PROPERTY  675 

"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  veil  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  con- 
formable." 

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  Pick- 
wick 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  under- 
stand?" 

"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  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  anythink  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  3em;  and  vile  you're  a-considering 
of  it,  they  have  you.  I  wos  married  fust,  that  vay  myself,  sir,  and 
Sammy  wos  the  consekens  o3  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 


676  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

young  person  is  not  only  attached  to  your  son,  Mr  Weller,  but  your 
son  is  attached  to  her." 

"Veil,"  said  Mr  Weller,  "this  here's  a  pretty  sort  o5  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  situa- 
tion, 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  im- 
pressive 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  undeni- 
ably good-looking  and  well-conducted." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mr  Pickwick. 

"Not  by  no  means,"  acquiesced  Mr  Weller,  affably  but  magisteri- 
ally. 

"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  conver- 
sation with  your  father;  and  finding  that  he  is  of  my  opinion " 

"The  lady  not  bein'  a  widder,"  interposed  Mr  Weller  in  explana- 
tion. 

"The  lady  not  being  a  widow,"  said  Mr  Pickwick,  smiling.  "I 
wish  to  free  you  from  the  restraint  which  your  present  position  im- 
poses 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 


SAM   WELLER'S   SELF-DENIAL  677 

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  said3 
in  a  low  husky  sort  of  voice,  but  firmly  withal: 

'Tin  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/3  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-tventy  in  you  still,  what  5ud  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/5  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,  veil  and  good,  have  him;  but  vages  or  no  vages, 
notice  or  no  notice,  board  or  no  board,  lodgin'  or  no  Ipdgin3,  Sam 
Veller,  as  you  took  from  the  old  inn  in  the  Borough,  sticks  by  you, 
come  what  come  may;  and  let  ev'rythin*  and  everybody  do  their 
wery  fiercest,  no  thin*  shall  ever  perwent  it!" 

At  the  close  of  this  declaration,,  which  Sam  made  with  great  emo- 
tion, the  elder  Mr  Weller  rose  from  his  chair,  and,  forgetting  all  con- 
siderations 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  con- 
sidered 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/* 


678  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

Who  could  combat  this  resolution?  Not  Mr  Pickwick.  He  de- 
rived, 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?35  inquired  the  little  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,5'  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  announc- 
ing 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  gentle- 
man'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  gentle- 
man; "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  clos- 
ing 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. 


MRS  WINKLE  RECEIVES  A  VISITOR  679 

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/3  replied  Arabella,  wondering  more  and  more. 

"I'll  take  a  chair,  if  you'll  allow  me,  ma'am,35  said  the  stranger. 

He  took  one;  and  drawing  a  spectacle-case  from  his  pocket,  lei- 
surely 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  ap- 
peal, 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  in- 
duced 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  foolish,  romantic,  unbusinesslike." 

"It  was  my  fault;  all  my  fault,  sir,"  replied  poor  Arabella,  weep- 
ing. 

"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 


68o  THE   PICKWICK  PAPERS 

gentleman,  looking  rather  slyly  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. 

CCI  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  gentleman.    "Serve  him  right!" 

"He  feels  it  on  my  account,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Arabella;  "and  in- 
deed, sir,  I  feel  it  deeply  on  his.  I  have  been  the  sole  means  of  bring- 
ing 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.  ecl  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 


THE  ELDER  WINKLE  IS  SATISFIED  681 

surprise.  I  have  judged  for  myself  now,  and  am  more  than  satisfied. 
Shall  I  make  any  more  apologies,  Mr  Pickwick?53 

"Not  one/5  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    EVERY- 
THING   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  pre- 
cise 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  unequivo- 
cally 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  unan- 
imously 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  twice  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: 

"AlHhe  changes  that  have  taken  place  among  us,"  said  Mr  Pick- 
wick, "I  mean  the  marriage  that  has  taken  place,  and  the  marriage 
that  will  take  place,  with  the  changes  they  involve,  rendered  it  neces- 
sary 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, 

68* 


SETTLING  DOWN  683 


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  affection- 
ate remembrance." 

Here  Mr  Pickwick  paused,  and  a  low  murmur  ran  round  the  table. 

"The  house  I  have  taken,33  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  sub- 
stantial 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  enter- 
tains 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  audi- 
bly. 

"I  have  communicated,  both  personally  and  by  letter,  with  the 
club,3'  resumed  Mr  Pickwick,  "acquainting  them  with  my  intention. 
During  our  long  absence,  it  had  suffered  much  from  internal  dissen- 
sions; 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  con- 
ception 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  very  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 


684  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  up  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  circum- 
stances 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  thalf  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  Muggletorf,  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  n^w  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,  au4 
trembled  at  the  right  times,  they  acquitted  themselves  to  the  ad- 
miration of  all  beholders.  «  - 

How  the  two  poor  relations  ever  reached  London — whether  they 
walked,  or  got  behind  coaches,  :or  procured  lifts  in  wagons,  or  car- 
ried each  other  by  turns — is -uncertain;,;  but  there  they  were,  before 
Wardle;  .and  the  veiy  £ut^.p£o£teir^  door 


MARRIAGE  PREPARATIONS  685 

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  buttonhole 
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  Mt  Pickwick's;  to  breakfast,  where  little  Mr 
Perker  already  awaited  them. 

Here,  all  the  light  clouds  of  the  taore  solemn  part  of  the  proceed- 
ings passed  away;  every  face  shone  forth  joyously;  nothing  .was  to 
be  heard  but  congratulations  and  commendations.  Everything' wa& 
so  beautiful!  The  lawn  in  front,  the  garden  behind,  the  miniature 
conservatory,  the  dining-room,  the  drawings-room,  the  bedrooms;* 
the  smoking-room,  and  above  all  the  study  with  its  pictures  and  easj* 
chairs,  and  odd  cabinets,  and  queer  tables,  and  books  out  of  number, 
with  a  large  cheerful  window  opening  upon,  a  pleasant 'lawn  an& 
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!  Everytihing  was  so  beautiful, 
so  compact,  so  neat,  and  in  such  exquisite  taste,  said  Everybody,  that 
there  really  was  ,no*deciding  what  to.admire  most.  /  *  i  :<  „  -i 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  stood  Mr  Pickwick,  his  countenance 
lighted  up  witbj/amiles,  which  the  heart  of  tua  man,'  woman,;  or  cKild, 
could  resist : ,  himself  tho  happiest  of  the  group :  shaking  hands)  over 
and  over  again  with  the  same  people,  and  when  his  own  hands 
\tere  not  so  employed,  rubbiixg  them  \Vith  pleasure:  turning -round 
in  a  different  direction  at  every  fresh  expression  of  gratification  or 
curiosity,  and  inspiring  everybody  with  hi?  looks  of  gl&dness*  and* 
delight,  ,  /  ..  i-  '  .  ;  •, '  .  ,  ,  ;,  •  ;  „.  -  :  /  '; 

Breakfast  is  announced.  •  Mr  Pickwick  leads  t^e-old  lakfyj('wHo  hasi 
been  very  eloquent  on  the  subject  of  Lady  Tollimglower),  to  the  top 
of  along  table;  Wardle  takes  the  bottom;  thefriends.airrangekfearn- 
selves  on  either  side;  Sam  takes  his.  station  behind  Jiis  mister's  chair ;J 
the  laughter  and  talking  cease;  Mr  Pickwick,  having  said"  grace, ! 
pauses  for  an  instant,  and  looks  round  him,.  r  As  he  does  so,  the  tears 
roll  down  his  cheeks*  in  the  fulness  of  his  joy.  -  *  .  i  * .  : .  - ,  / 

Let  us  leave  our  lold  frieM  in  one.  of  those  mpnkenis^ 
t  of  which, ;  if  we:  seek  them,  there  airfe 


686  THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS 

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  part- 
ing 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  pur- 
chased 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  en- 
courage 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  and  Fogg, 
continue  in  business,  from  which  they  realise  a  large  income,  and  in 


SUMMING  UP  687 


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  cir- 
cumstance 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  Pick- 
wick, 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,  employ- 
ing his  leisure  hours  in  arranging  the  memoranda  which  he  after- 
wards 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  amuse- 
ment. He  was  much  troubled  at  first,  by  the  numerous  applica- 
tions 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  al- 
ways 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  merrymaking  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  attach- 
ment which  nothing  but  death  will  terminate. 


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