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600060464Q 


Delicious  Comfouxd.— P.  il- 


THE 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES 


OF 


Nicholas  Nickleby, 


BY 


CHARLES    DICKENS. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


LONDON: 

WALTER  SCOTT,  14  PATERNOSTER  SQUARE, 

AND  NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE. 
1883. 


2xfoho 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP,  PAGE 

1. — Introduces  all  the  Rest .               .               .              .              .  .1 

2.— Of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  and  his  Establishment,  and  his  Undertakings  ,        4 

3.— Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  Receives  Sad  Tidings  of  his  Brother         .  .      12 

4. — Nicholas  and  his  Uncle  wait  npon  Mr.  Wackford  Sqneers       .  .      19 

5. — Nicholas  starts  for  Yorkshire,  and  what  befel  him  on  the  Road  .      28 

6. — The  Occurrence  of  the  Accident  affords  an  Opportunity  to  tell  Stories  *      85 

7. — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  at  Home    .               .               .               .  ,49 

8. — Of  the  Internal  Economy  of  Dotheboys  Hall             .               .  .55 

9. — Of  Miss  Squeers,  Mrs.  Squeers,  Master  Squeers,  and  Mr.  Squeers  .  .      63 

10. — How  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  Provided  for  his  Niece  and  Sister-in-Law  .      74 

11. — Newman  Noggs  Inducts  Mrs.  and  Miss  Nickleby  into  their  New  Dwelling     83 


12. — Whereby  the  Reader  will  trace  the  course  of  Fanny  Squeers's  Love 


13. — Nicholas  varies  the  Monotony  of  Dotheboys  Hall  by  vigorous  proceedings  94 

14.— Has  the  Misfortime  to  Treat  of  none  but  Common  People        .               .  103 

15.— Acquaints  the  Reader  with  the  Cause  and  Origin  of  the  Interruption      .  Ill 

16. — Nicholas  accepts  an  Engagement  as  Tutor  in  a  Private  Family               .  119 

17.— Follows  the  Fortunes  of  Miss  Nickleby      ....  132 

18. — Miss  Enag  makes  up  her  Mind  to  hate  Kate  Nickleby  for  Evermore      .  139 

19. — Descriptive  of  a  Dinner  at  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby's       .              .               .  148 

20. — ^Wherein  Nicholas  Encoimters  his  Uncle.    His  Resolution      .               .  158 

21. — Madame  Mantalini  finds  herself  in  a  Situation  of  some  Difficulty            .  166 

22. — Nicholas,  accompanied  by  Smike,  sallies  forth  to  seek  his  Fortune         .  174 

23. — ^Treats  of  the  Company  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  and  of  his  Affairs       .  184 

24. — Great  Bespeak  for  Miss  Snevellicci,  and  first  Appearance  of  Nicholas     .  193 

25. — Concerning  a  Young  Lady  from  London,  who  joins  the  Company           .  204 

26. — Is  Fraught  with  some  Danger  to  Miss  Nickleby's  peace  of  mind             .  213 

27. — Mrs.  Nickleby  becomes  Acquainted  with  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck         .  220 

28. — Miss  Nickleby  appeals,  as  a  last  Resource,  to  her  Uncle  for  Protection  230 

29. — Proceedings  of  Nicholas,  and  divisions  in  the  compaiiy  oi  Ifii,  CrraiMK^fe.?.  ^^kV 


86 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

80. — Nicholas  withdraws  himself  from  Mr.  Crummies  and  his  Companions    .  247 

31. — Of  Ralph  Nickleby  and  Newman  Noggs,  and  some  wise  Precautions      .  258 

82. — Relating  chiefly  to  some  Remarkable  Conversation  and  Proceedings       .  263 

33. — Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  is  Relieved  by  a  very  Expeditious  Process              .  270 

34. — Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  visited  by  Persons  whom  the  Reader  knows           .  374 

35. — Smike  becomes  known  to  Mrs.  Nickleby  and  Kate.    Brighter  days       .  285 

36. — ^Private  and  Confidential.    How  Mr.  Eenwigs  underwent  agitation        .  296 

37. — Nicholas  finds  further  Favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  Brothers  Cheeryble       .  302 

38. — Smike  encounters  a  very  old  friend,  who  invites  him  to  his  house          .  313 

39. — ^Another  old  Friend  encounters  Smike,  and  to  some  Purpose.                  .  323 

40. — Nicholas  employs  a  Mediator,  whose  proceedings  are  very  successful      .  329 

41. — Romantic  passages  between  Mrs.  Nickleby  and  the  Gentleman  next  door  340 

42. — The  Convivial  Sentiment  that  the  best  of  Friends  must  sometimes  part  349 

43. — Of&ciates  as  a  Gentleman  Usher  in  bringing  various  People  together      .  356 

44. — Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  cuts  an  acquaintance.    Carrying  a  joke  too  far      .  365 

45. — Containing  matter  of  a  Surprising  kind      ....  375 

46. — ^Light  upon  Nicholas's  love ;  if  for  good  or  evil  the  reader  must  say       .  884 

47. — Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  has  some  confidential  intercourse  with  a  Friend     .  393 

48. — Benefit  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  and  last  Appearance  on  this  Stage    .  403 

49. — The  Sequel  of  the  Adventures  of  the  Gentleman  in  Small-Clothes          .  411 

50. — Involves  a  Serious  Catastroph§    .....  421 

61. — ^The  project  of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  and  his  Friend  approaches  an  issue  .  430 

62. — Nicholas  despairs  of  Rescuing  Madeline  Bray,  but  plucks  up  his  spirits  .  438 

63. — Process  of  the  Plot  contrived  by  Ralph  Nickleby  and  Arthur  Gride      .  446 

64. — Crisis  of  the  Project  and  its  result             ....  457 

65. — Family  matters,  cares,  hopes,  disappointments,  and  sorrows  ,               .  465 

66. — Ralph  Nickleby  hatches  a  scheme  of  Retaliation  which  accident  suggests  473 

67. — ^How  Ralph  Nickleby's  auxiliary  went  about  his  Work           .              .  481 

68. — In  which  one  scene  of  this  History  is  Closed             .               .               .  488 

69.— The  Plots  begin  to  foil,  and  doubts  and  dangers  disturb  the  Plotter       .  492 

60. — The  dangers  thicken,  and  the  worst  is  told                .               .               .  502 

61. — Nicholas  and  his  Sister  forfeit  the  good  opinion  of  all  prudent  people    .  510 

62. — Ralph  makes  one  last  Appointment — and  keeps  it    .              .               .  516 

63. — The  Brothers  Cheeryble  make  various  declarations  for  themselves         .  520 

64. — ^An  old  Acquaintance  is  recognised  under  melancholy  Circumstances      .  527 

65. — Conclusion     .....••  633 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES 


Nicholas   Nickleby. 


E£BE  once  lived,  la  a  sequestered  part  of  tbe  coaaty  of 
DeTonBhire,  one  Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby ;  a  worthy 
DeQtleman,  who,  taking  it  icto  his  heiid  rather  late  in 
life  that  he  must  get  married,  and  not  heiiig  young 
enough  or  rich  enough  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of  a  lady  of 
fortune,  bad  wedded  an  old  flams  out  of  mere  attaeh- 
meot,  who  in  Lei  turn  had  taken  him  for  the  same 
reaaoD.  Thus  two  people  who  cannot  afford  to  play 
cards  for  money,  sometimes  sit  down  to  a  quiet  game 

Some  ill-conditioned  persons  who  sneer  at  the  life-matrimonisl,  may  perhaps 
suggest,  in  this  place,  that  the  good  couple  would  be  better  likened  to  two 
principals  in  a  spaning  match,  who,  when  fortune  is  low  and  backers  scarce, 
will  chivalrolisly  set  to,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  buffeting  ;  and  in  one 
respect,  indeed,  this  comparison  would  hold  good  :   for  as  the  adventurous 

Kir  of  the  Fires'  Court  will  afterwards  send  rouiiil  a  hat,  and  trust  to  the 
atity  of  the  lookers-on  for  the  means  of  nisaling  themselves,  so  Mr.  Godfrey 
Nickleby  and  hia  partner,  Che  honeymoon  oeine  orer,  looked  wistfully  out 
into  the  world,  relying  in  no  incanaiderable  degree  npon  chance  for  the 
improvement  of  their  means.  Mr.  Nickleby's  income,  at  the  period  of  bis 
maniage,  fluctuated  between  sixty  and  eighty  pounds  per  annum. 

There  are  people  enough  in  the  world,  heaven  knows  1  and  even  in  London 
(where  Mr.  Nic&lohy  dwelt  in  those  days)  but  few  complaints  prevail  of  the 
population  heing  scanty.  It  is  extraordinary  how  long  a  man  may  look 
among  the  crowd  without  discovering  the  face  of  a  friend,  but  it  is  no  less 
true.  Mr.  Nickleby  looked,  and  looked,  till  his  eyes  bscame  sore  as  his 
heart,  bat  no-&iend  appeared  ;  and  when,  growing  tired  of  the  search,  ha 
torned  his  eyei  homeward,  be  saw  very  little  there  to  relieve  his  weary  vision. 
A  painter  who  has  gazed  too  Ions  upon  some  glaring  colour,  refi'cslies  his 
dazzled  sight  by  locking  upon  a  darker  and  more  sombre  tint ;  but  every- 
thing 'that  met  Mr.  Nioi(leby's  gaze  wore  so  black  and  gVoom^  a.  \vie,  ftvaV 


2  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF    . 

he  would  have  been  beyond  description  refreshed  by  the  very  reverse  of  the 
contrast. 

At  length,  after  five  years,  when  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  presented  her  husband 
with  a  couple  of  sons,  and  that  embarrassed  gentleman,  impressed  with  the 
necessity  of  making  some  provision  for  his  family,  was  seriously  revolving  in 
his  mind  a  little  commercial  speculation  of  insuring  his  life  next  quarter-day, 
and  then  falling  from  the  top  of  the  Monument  by  accident,  there  came,  one 
morning,  by  the  general  post,  a  black-bordered  letter  to  inform  him  how  his 
uncle,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  was  dead,  and  had  left  him  the  bulk  of  his  little 
property,  amounting  in  all  to  five  thousand  pounds  sterling. 

As  the  deceased  had  taken  no  further  notice  of  his  nephew  in  his  life-time 
than  sending  to  his  eldest  boy  (who  had  been  christened  after  him  on  desperate 
speculation)  a  silver  spoon  in  a  morocco  case,  which,  as  he  had  not  too  much 
to  eat  with  it,  seemed  a  kind  of  satire  upon  his  having  been  born  without  that 
useful  article  of  plate  in  his  mouth,  Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby  could,  at  first, 
scarcely  believe  the  tidings  thus  conveyed  to  him.  On  examination,  however, 
they  turned  out  to  be  strictly  correct.  The  amiable  old  gentleman,  it  seemed, 
had  intended  to  leave  the  whole  to  the  Royal  Humane  Society,  and  had, 
indeed,  executed  a  will  to  that  effect ;  but  the  Institution  having  been  unfor- 
tunate enough,  a  few  months  before^  to  save  the  life  of  a  poor  relation  to  whom 
he  paid  a  weekly  allowance  of  three  shillings  and  sixpence,  he  had,  in  a  fit  of 
very  natural  exasperation,  revoked  the  bequest  in  a  codicil,  and  left  it  all  to 
Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby ;  with  a  special  mention  of  his  indignation,  not  only 
against  the  society  for  saving  the  poor  relation's  life,  but  against  the  poor 
relation  also,  for  allowing  himself  to  be  saved. 

With  a  portion  of  this  property  Mr.  Godfrey  Nickleby  purchased  a  small 
farm,  near  Dawlish,  in  Devonshire,  whither  he  retired  with  his  wife  and  two 
children,  to  live  upon  the  best  interest  he  could  get  for  the  rest  of  his  money, 
and  the  little  produce  he  could  raise  from  his  land.  The  two  prospered  so 
well  together  that,  when  he  died,  some  fifteen  years  after  this  period,  and 
some  five  after  his  wife,  he  was  enabled  to  leave  to  his  eldest  son,  Ralph, 
three  thousand  pounds  in  cash,  and  to  his  youngest  son,  Nicholas,  one 
thousand  and  the  farm,  which  was  as  small  a  landed  estate  as  one  would 
desire  to  see. 

These  two  brothers  had  been  brought  up  together  in  a  school  at  Exeter ; 
and,  being  accustomed  to  go  home  once  a-week,  had  often  heard  from  their 
mother's  lips  long  accounts  of  their  father's  sufferings  in  his  days  of  poverty, 
and  of  their  deceased  uncle's  importance  in  his  days  of  affluence ;  whidi 
recitals  produced  a  very  diflferent  impression  on  the  two ;  for,  while  the 
younger,  who  was  of  a  timid  and  retiring  disposition,  gleaned  from  thence 
nothing  but  forewarnings  to  shun  the  great  world  and  attach  himself  to  the 
quiet  routine  of  a  country  life,  Ralph,  the  elder,  deduced  from  the  often- 
repeated  tale  the  two  great  morals,  that  riches  are  the  only  true  source  of 
happiness  and  power,  and  that  it  is  lawful  and  just  to  compass  their  acquisition 
by  all  means  snort  of  felony.  **  And,"  reasoned  Ralph  with  himself,  **  if  no 
good  came  of  my  uncle's  money  when  he  was  alive,  a  great  deal  of  good  came 
of  it  after  he  was  dead,  inasmuch  as  my  father  has  got  it  now,  and  is  saving  it 
up  for  me,  which  is  a  highly  virtuous  purpose ;  and,  going  back  to  the  old 
gentleman,  good  did  come  of  it  to  him,  too,  for  he  had  the  pleasure  of  think- 
ing of  it  all  his  life  long,  and  of  being  envied  and  courted  by*all  his  family 
besides."  And  Ralph  always  wound  up  those  mental  soliloquies  by  arriving 
at  the  conclusion,  that  there  was  nothing  like  money. 

Not  confining  himself  to  theory,  or  permitting  his  faculties  to  rust,  even  at 
thskt  early  age,  in  mere  abstract  speculations,  this  promising  lad  commenced 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  3 

usurer  on  a  limited  scale  at  school ;  putting  out  at  good  interest  a  small 
capital  of  slate  pencils  and  marbles,  and  gradually  extending  his  operations 
until  they  aspired  to  the  copper  coinage  of  this  realm,  in  which  he  speculated 
to  considerable  advantage.  Nor  did  he  trouble  his  borrowers  with  abstract 
calculations  of  figures,  or  references  to  ready-reckoners ;  his  simple  rule  of 
interest  being  all  comprised  in  the  one  golden  sentence,  **  twopence  for  every 
halfpenny,"  which  greatly  simplified  the  accounts,  and  which,  as  a  familiar 
precept,  more  easily  acquired  and  retained  in  the  memory  than  any  known 
rule  of  arithmetic,  cannot  be  too  strongly  recommended  to  the  notice  of 
capitalists,  both  large  and  small,  and  more  especially  of  money-brokers  and 
bill-discounters.  Indeed,  to  do  these  gentlemen  justice,  many  of  them  are  to 
this  day  in  the  frequent  habit  of  adopting  it,  with  eminent  success. 

In  like  manner  did  young  Ralph  Nickleby  avoid  all  those  minute  and 
intricate  calculations  of  odd  days,  which  nobody  who  has  worked  sums  in 
simple-interest  can  fail  to  have  found  most  embarrassing,  by  establishing  the 
one  general  rule  that  all  sums  of  principal  and  interest  should  be  paid  on 
pocket-money  day — that  is  to  say,  on  Saturday ;  and  that  whether  a  loan 
were  contracted  on  the  Monday,  or  on  the  Frida3%  the  amount  of  interest 
should  be,  in  both  cases,  the  same.  Indeed,  he  argued,  and  with  great  show  of 
reason,  that  it  ou^ht  to  be  rather  more  for  one  day  than  five,  inasmuch  as  the 
borrower  might,  m  the  former  case,  be  very  fairly  presumed  to  be  in  great 
extremity,  other^vise  he  would  not  borrow  at  all  with  such  odds  against  him. 
This  fact  is  interesting,  as  illustrating  the  secret  connection  and  sympathy 
■which  always  exists  between  great  minds.  Though  Master  Ralph  Nickleby 
was  not  at  that  time  aware  of  it,  the  class  of  gentlemen  before  alluded  to 
proceed  on  just  the  same  principle  in  all  their  transactions. 

From  what  we  have  said  of  this  young  gentleman,  and  the  natural  admira- 
tion the  reader  will  immediately  conceive  of  his  character,  it  may  perhaps  be 
inferred  that  he  is  to  be  the  hero  of  the  work  which  we  shall  presently  begin. 
To  set  this  point  at  rest,  for  once  and  for  ever,  we  hasten  to  undeceive  them, 
and  stride  to  its  commencement. 

On -the  death  of  his  father,  Ralph  Nickleby,  who  had  been  some  time  before  * 
placed  in  a  mercantile  house  in  London,  applied  himself  passionately  to  his  old 
pursuit  of  money-getting,  in  which  he  speedily  became  so  buried  and  absorbed, 
that  he  quite  forgot  his  brother  for  many  years  ;  and  if,  at  times,  a  recol- 
lection of  his  old  playfellow  broke  upon  him  through  the  haze  in  which  he 
lived — for  gold  conjures  up  a  mist  about  a  man,  more  destructive  of  all  his  old 
senses  and  lulling  to  his  feelings  than  the  fumes  of  charcoal — it  brought  along 
with  it  a  companion  thought,  that  if  they  were  intimate  he  woula  want  to 
borrow  money  of  him.  So  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
said,  things  were  better  as  they  were. 

As  for  Nicholas,  he  lived  a  single  man  on  the  patrimonial  estate  until  he 
grpw  tired  of  living  alone,  and  then  he  took  to  wife  the  daughter  of  a 
neighbouring  gentleman,  with  a  dower  of  one  thousand  pounds.  This  good 
lady  bore  him  two  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter,  .and  when  the  son  was 
about  nineteen,  and  the  daughter  fourteen,  as  near  as  we  can  guess — impartial 
records  of  young  ladies'  ages  being,  before  the  passing  of  the  new  Act, 
nowhere  preserved  in  the  registries  of  this  country — Mr.  Nickleby  looked 
about  him  for  the  means  of  repairing  his  capital,  now  sadly  reduced  by  this 
increase  in  his  fieanily,  and  the  expenses  of  their  education. 

"Speculate  with  it,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

**  Spec — u — ^late,  my  dear  ? "  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  as  though  in  doubt. 

*•  Why  not  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"  Because,  my  dear,  if  we  should  lose  itj"  rejoined  ^Ix.  ^\c\L\e>i^,  y«\io  ^^a 


4  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

a  slow  and  time-taking  speaker,  **  if  we  sTiould  lose  it,  we  shall  no  longer  be 
able  to  live,  my  dear. 

"Fiddle,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"  I  am  not  altogether  sure  of  that,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby. 

"There's  Nicholas,"  pursued  the  lady,  "  quite  a  young  man — it's  time  he 
was  in  the  way  of  doing  something  for  himself;  and  Kate,  too,  poor  girl, 
without  a  penny  in  the  world.  Think  of  your  brother  I  Would  he  be  what 
he  is  if  he  nadn't  speculated  ? " 

"That's  true,"  replied  Mr.  Nickleby.  "Very  good,  my  dear.  Yes.  I 
mill  speculate,  my  dear." 

Speculation  is  a  round  game  ;  the  players  see  little  or  nothing  of  their  cards 
at  first  starting  ;  gains  may  be  great — and  so  may  losses.  The  run  of  luck 
went  against  Mr.  Nickleby.  A  mania  prevailed,  a  bubble  burst,  four  stock- 
brokers took  villa  residences  at  Florence,  four  hundred  nobodies  were  ruined, 
'  and  among  them  Mr.  Nickleby. 

"  The  very  house  I  live  in,"  sighed  the  poor  gentleman,  "maybe  taken 
from  me  to-morrow.  Not  an  article  of  my  old  furniture  but  will  be  sold  to 
strangers  1 " 

This  last  reflection  hurt  him  so  much  that  he  took  at  once  to  his  bed; 
apparently  resolved  to  keep  that,  at  all  events. 

"  Cheer  up,  sir  !  "  said  the  apothecary. 

"  You  mustn't  let  yourself  be  cast  down,  sir,"  said  the  nurse. 

"Such  things  happen  every  day,"  remarked  the  lawyer. 

"  And  it  is  very  sinful  to  rebel  against  them,"  whispered  the  clergyman. 

"  And  what  no  man  with  a  family  ought  to  do,"  added  the  neighbours. 

Mr.  Nickleby  shook  his  head,  and  motioning  them  all  out  of  the  room, 
embraced  his  wife  and  children,  and  having  pressed  them  by  turns  to  his 
languidly-beating  heart,  sunk  exhausted  on  his  pillow.  They  were  con- 
cerned to  find  that  his  reason  went  astray  after  this ;  for  he  babbled,  for 
a  long  time,  about  the  generosity  and  goodness  of  his  brother,  and  the 
merry  old  times  when  they  were  at  school  together.     This  fit  of  wandering 

East,  he  solemnly  commended  them  to  One  who  never  deserted  the  widow  or 
er  fatherless  children,  and  smiling  gently  on  them,  turned  upon  his  face, 
and  observed,  that  he  thought  he  could  fall  asleep. 


CHAPTER   II. 

OP  MR.  RALPH  NIOKLBBY,  AND  HIS  ESTABLISHMENT,  AND  HIS  UNDER- 
TAKINGS, AND  OF  A  GREAT  JOINT  STOCK  COMPANY  OP  VAST  NATIONAL 
IMPORTANCE. 

MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  what  you  would 
call  a  merchant,,  neither  was  he  a  banker,  nor  an  attorney,  nor  a 
special  pleader,  nor  a  notary.  He  was  certainly  not  a  tradesman,  and 
still  less  could  he  lay  any  claim  to  the  title  of  a  professional  gentleman  ;  for  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  mention  any  recognised  profession  to  which  he 
belonged.  Nevertheless,  as  he  lived  in  a  spacious  house  in  Golden  Square, 
which,  in  addition  to  a  brass  plate  upon  the  street-door,  had  another  brass 
plate,  two  sizes  and  a-half  smaller,  upon  the  left-hand  door-post,  surmounting 
a  brass  model  of  an  infant's  fist  grasping  a  fragment  of  a  skewer,  and  display- 
ing the  word  "Office,"  it  was  clear  that  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  did,  or  pretended 
to  do,  business  of  some  kind ;  and  the  fact,  if  it  required  any  further  circum- 


NICHOLAS  mCKLEBY.  5 

stantial  evidence,  was  abnndantly^  demonstrated  by  the  diurnal  attendance, 
between  the  hours  of  half-past  nine  and  five,  of  a  sallow-faced  man  in  rusty 
brown,  who  sat  upon  an  uncommonly  hard  stool  in  a  species  of  butler's  x>antry 
at  the  end  of  the  passage,  and  always  had  a  pen  behind  his  ear  when  he 
answered  the  bell. 

Although  a  few  members  of  the  graver  professions  live  about  Golden  Square, 
it  is  not  exactly  in  anybody's  way  to  or  from  anywhere.  It  is  one  of  the 
squares  that  have  been ;  a  quarter  of  the  town  that  has  gone  down  in  the 
world,  and  taken  to  letting  lodgings.  Many  of  its  first  and  second  floors  are 
Jet,  furnished,  to  single  gentlemen ;  and  it  takes  boarders  besides.  It  is  a 
great  resort  of  foreigners.  The  dark-complexioned  men  who  wear  large  rings, 
and  heavy  watch-guards,  and  bushy  whiskers,  and  who  congregate  under  the 
Opera  Colonnade,  and  about  the  box-office  in  the  season,  between  four  and  five 
in  the  afternoon,  when  they  give  away  the  orders — all  live  in  Golden  Square, 
or  within  a  street  of  it.  Two  or  three  violins  and  a  wind  instrument  from  the 
Opera  band  reside  within  its  precincts.  Its  boarding-houses  are  musical,  and 
the  notes  of  pianos  and  harps  float  in  the  evening-time  round  the  head  of  the 
mournful  statue,  the  guardian  genius  of  a  little  wilderness  of  shrubs,  in  the 
centre  of  the  square.  On  a  summer's  night,  windows  are  thrown  open,  and 
groups  of  swarthy  mustachioed  men  are  seen  by  the  passer-by,  lounging  at  the 
casements,  and  smoking  fearfully.  Sounds  of  gruff  voices  practising  vocal 
music  invade  the  evening's  silence  ;  and  the  fumes  of  choice  tobacco  scent  the 
air.  There,  snuff  and  cigars,  and  German  pipes  and  flutes,  and  violins  and 
violoncellos,  divide  the  supremacy  between  them.  It  is  the  region  of  song 
and  smoke.  Street  bands  are  on  their  mettle  in  Golden  Square  ;  and 
itinerant  glee-singers  quaver  involuntarily  as  they  raise  their  voices  within  its 
boundaries. 

This  would  not  seem  a  spot  very  well  adapted  to  the  transaction  of 
business ;  but  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  had  lived  there,  notwithstanding,  for 
many  years,  and  uttered  no  complaint  on  that  score.  He  knew  nobody  round 
about,  and  nobody  knew  him,  although  he  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being 
immensely  rich.  The  tradesmen  held  that  he  was  a  sort  of  lawyer,  and  the 
other  neighbours  opined  that  he  was  a  kind  of  general  agent ;  both  of  which 
guesses  were  as  correct  and  definite  as  guesses  about  other  people's  affairs 
usually  are,  or  need  to  be. 

Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  sat  in  his  private  office  one  morning,  ready  dressed  to 
walk  abroad.  He  wore  a  bottle-green  spencer  over  a  blue  coat ;  a  white  waist- 
coat, grey  mixture  pantaloons,  and  Wellington  boots  drawn  over  them.  The 
comer  of  a  small-plaited  shirt  frill  struggled  out,  as  if  insisting  to  show  itself, 
from  between  his  chin  and  the  top  button  of  his  spencer ;  and  the  latter 
garment  was  not  made  low  enough  to  conceal  a  long  gold  watch-chain,  com-, 
posed  of  a  series  of  plain  rings,  which  had  its  beginning  at  the  handle  of  a  gold 
repeater  in  Mr.  Nickleby's  pocket,  and  its  termination  in  two  little  keys :  one 
belonging  to  the  watch  itself,  and  the  other  to  some  patent  padlock.  He 
wore  a  sprinkling  of  powder  upon  his  head,  as  if  to  make  himself  look  bene- 
volent ;  but  if  tliat  were  his  purpose,  he  would  perhaps  have  done  better  to 
powder  his  countenance  also,  for  there  was  something  in  its  very  wrinkles, 
and  in  his  cold  restless  eye,  which  seemed  to  tell  of  cunning  that  would 
announce  itself  in  spite  of  him.  However  this  might  be,  there  ho  was  ;  and 
as  he  was  all  alone,  neither  the  powder,  nor  the  wrinkles,  nor  the  eyes,  had 
the  smallest  effect,  good  or  bad,  upon  anybody  just  then,  and  are  consequently 
no  business  of  ours  just  now. 

Mr.  Nickleby  closed  an  account-book  which  lay  on  his  desk,  and,  throwing 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  gazed  with  an  air  of  abstraction.  thiOTX^  MXv^  ^"cXrj 


6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

window.  Some  London  houses  have  a  melancholy  little  plot  of  ground  behind 
them,  usually  fenced  in  by  four  high  white-washed  walls,  and  frowned  upon 
by  stacks  of  chimneys :  in  which  there  withers  on,  from  year  to  year,  a 
crippled  tree,  that  makes  a  show  of  putting  forth  a  few  leaves  late  in  autmnn, 
when  other  trees  shed  theirs,  and,  drooping  in  the  effort,  lingers  on,  all 
crackled  and  smoke-dried,  till  the  following  season,  when  it  repeats  the  same 
process,  and  perhaps,  if  the  weather  be  particularly  genial,  even  tempts  some 
rheumatic  sparrow  to  chirrup  in  its  branches.  People  sometimes  call  these 
dark  yards  "gardens  ;"  it  is  not  supposed  that  they  were  ever  planted,  but 
rather  that  they  are  pieces  of  unreclaimed  land,  with  the  withered  vegetation 
of  the  original  brickfield.  No  man  thinks  of  walking  in  this  desolate  place, 
or  of  turning  it  to  any  account.  A  few  hampers,  half-a-dozen  broken  bottles, 
and  suchlike  rubbish,  may  be  thrown  there,  when  the  tenant  first  moves  in, 
but  nothing  more  ;  and  there  they  remain  until  he  goes  away  again :  the 
damp  straw  taking  just  as  long  to  moulder  as  it  thinks  proper  :  and  mingling 
with  the  scanty  box,  and  stunted  everbrowns,  and  broken  flower-pots,  that 
are  scattered  mournfully  about — a  prey  to  "blacks"  and  dirt. 

It  was  into  a  place  of  this  kind  that  Mr.  Ealph  Nickleby  gazed,  as  he  sat 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  looking  out  at  a  window.  He  had  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  a  distorted  fir  tree,  planted  by  some  former  tenant  in  a  tub  that  had 
once  been  green,  and  left  there,  years  before,  to  rot  away  piecemeal.  There 
was  nothing  very  inviting  in  the  object,  but  Mr.  Nickleby  was  wrapt  in  a 
brown  study,  and  sat  contemplating  it  with  far  greater  attention  than,  in  a 
more  conscious  mood,  he  would  have  deigned  to  bestow  upon  the  rarest  exotic. 
At  length,  his  eyes  wandered  to  a  little  dirty  window  on  the  left,  through 
which  the  face  of  the  clerk  was  dimly  visible  ;  that  worthy  chancing  to  look 
up,  he  beckoned  him  to  attend. 

In  obedience  to  this  summons  the  clerk  got  off  the  high  stool  (to  which  he 
had  communicated  a  high  polish  by  countless  gettings  off  and  on)  and 
presented  himself  in  Mr.  Nickleby's  room.  He  was  a  tall  man,  of  middle  age, 
with  two  goggle-eyes,  whereof  one  was  a  fixture,  a  rubicund  nose,  a  cadaverous 
face,  and  a  suit  of  clothes  (if  the  term  be  allowable  when  they  suited  him  not 
at  all)  much  the  worse  for  wear,  very  much  too  small,  and  placed  upon  such  a 
short  allowance  of  buttons,  that  it  was  marvellous  how  he  contrived  to  keep 
them  on. 

**  "Was  that  half-past  twelve,  Noggs  ?  **  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  in  a  sharp  and 
grating  voice. 

**  Not  more  than  five-and-twenty  minutes  by  the "  Noggs  was  going 

to  add  public-house  clock,  but  recollecting  himself,  substituted    "regular 
time." 

**  My  watch  has  stopped,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby  ;  "  I  don't  know  from  what 
cause.' 

**  Not  wound  up,"  said  Noggs. 

**  Yes  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby. 

"Over- wound,  then,"  rejoined  Nog:^ 

"That  can't  very  well  be,"  observed  Mr.  Nickleby. 

**  Must  be,"  said  Noggs. 

**  "Well ! "  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  putting  the  repeater  back  in  his  pocket, 
"perhaps  it  is." 

Noggs  gave  a  peculiar  grunt,  as  was  his  custom  at  the  end  of  all  disputes 
with  his  master,  to  imply  that  he  (Noggs)  triumphed ;  and  (as  ho  rarely  spoke 
to  anybody  unless  somebody  spoke  to  him)  fell  into  a  grim  silence,  and  ruobed 
his  hands  slowly  over  each  other  ;  cracking  the  joints  of  his  fingers,  and 
squeezing  them  into  all  possible  distortions.    The  incessant  performance  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  7 

this  routine  on  every  occasion,  and  the  communication  of  a  fixed  and  rigid 
look  to  his  unaffected  eye,  so  as  to  make  it  uniform  with  the  other,  and  to 
render  it  impossible  for  anybody  to  determine  where  or  at  what  he  was  looking, 
were  two  among  the  numerous  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Noggs,  which  struck  an 
inexperienced  observer  at  first  sight. 

**I  am  going  to  the  London  Taveni  this  morning,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby. 

"  Public  meeting  % "  inquired  Noggs. 

Mr.  Nickleby  jaodded.  "I  expect  a  letter  from  the  solicitor  respecting  that 
mortgage  of  Ruddle's.  If  it  comes  at  all  it  will  be  here  by  the  two  o  clock 
delivery.  I  shall  leave  the  City  about  that  time  and  walk  to  Charing-Cross, 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  way  ;  if  there  are  any  letters,  come  and  meet  me, 
and  bring  them  with  you." 

Noggs  nodded  ;  and  as  he  nodded  there  came  a  ring  at  the  office  bell.  The 
master  looked  up  from  his  papers,  and  the  clerk  calmly  remained  in  a 
stationary  position. 

**  The  bell,"  said  Noggs,  as  though  in  explanation.     **  At  home  ? " 

"Yes." 

•* To  anybody?" 

'*Yes." 

'*To  the  tax-gatherer?" 

**  No  !  let  him  call  again." 

Noggs  gave  vent  to  his  usual  grunt,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  thought  so  ! " 
and,  the  ring  being  repeated,  went  to  the  door,  whence  he  presently  returned, 
ushering  in,l)y  the  name  0/  Mr.  Bonney,  a  pale  gentleman,  in  a  violent  hurry, 
with  his  hair  standing  up  in  great  disorder  all  over  his  head,  and  a  very 
narrow  white  cravat  tied  loosely  round  his  throat,  looking  as  if  he  had  been 
knocked  up  in  the  night  and  had  not  dressed  himself  ^ince. 

**My  dear  Nickleby,"  said  the  gentleman,  taking  off"  a  white  hat,  which 
was  so  full  of  papers  that  it  would  scarcely  stick  upon  his  liead,  **  there's  not 
a  moment  to  lose  ;  I  have  a  cab  at  the  door.  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  takes  the 
chair,  and  three  members  of  parliament  are  positively  coming.  I  have  seen 
two  of  them  safely  out  of  bed.  The  third,  who  was  at  Crock  ford's  all  night, 
has  just  gone  home  to  put  a  clean' shirt  on,  and  take  a  bottle  or  two  of  soda 
water,  and  will  certainly  be  with  us  in  time  to  address  the  meeting.  He  is  a 
little  excited  by  last  night,  but  never  mind  that ;  he  always  speaks  the 
stronger  for  it. " 

**  It  seems  to  promise  pretty  well,"  said  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  whose 
deliberate  manner  was  strongly  opposed  to  the  vivacity  of  the  other  man  of 
business. 

**  Pretty  well !"  echoed  Mr.  Bonney.  "It's  the  finest  idea  that  was  ever 
started.  *  United  Metropolitan  Improved  Hot  Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking 
and  Punctual  Delivery  Company.  Capital,  five  millions,  in  five  hundred 
thousand  shares  of  ten  pounds  each.'  Why,  the  very  name  will  get  the  shares 
up  to  a  premium  in  ten  days." 

"  And  when  they  ar^  at  a  premium,"  said  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  smiling. 

'*  When  they  are,  you  know  what  to  do  with  them  as  well  as  any  man 
alive,  and  how  to  back  quietly  out  at  the  right  time,"  said  Mr.  Bonney, 
slapping  the  capitalist  familiarly  on  the  shoulder.  **  By-the-by,  what  a  very 
remarkable  man  that  clerk  of  yours  is." 

**Yes,  poor  devil!"  replied  Ralph,  drawing  on  his  gloves.  "Though 
Newman  Noggs  kept  his  horses  and  hounds  once. " 

"Aye,  aye  ? "  said  the  other,  carelessly. 

"Yes,"  continued  Ralph,  "and  not  many  years  ago,  either;  but  he 
squandered  his  money,  invested  it  anyhow,  borrowed  at  interest^  and  i\x  ^Vq.\\. 


8  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

made  first  a  thorough  fool  of  himself,  and  then  a  beggar.  He  took  to  drink- 
ing, and  had  a  toudi  of  paralysis,  and  then  came  here  to  borrow  a  pound,  as 
in  his  better  days  I  had ' 

*'Done  business  with  him,"  said  Mr.  Bonney,  with  a  meaning  look. 

"  Just  so,"  replied  Ralph ;  "  I  couldn't  lend  it,  you  know." 

"Oh,  of  course  not." 

**  But  as  I  wanted  a  clerk  just  then,  to  open  the  door  and  so  forth,  I  took 
him  out  of  charity,  and  he  has  remained  with  me  ever  sincd.  He  is  a  little 
mad,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  calling  up  a  charitable  look,  **  but  he  is 
useful  enough,  poor  creature — useful  enough." 

The  kind-hearted  gentleman  omitted  to  add  that  Newman  Noggs,  being 
utterly  destitute,  served  him  for  rather  less  than  the  usual  wages  of  a  boy  of 
thirteen ;  and  likewise  failed  to  mention  in  his  hasty  chronicle,  that  his 
eccentric  taciturnity  rendered  him  an  especially  valuable  person  in  a  place 
were  much  business  was  done,  of  which  it  was  desirable  no  mention  should  be 
made  out  of  doors.  The  other  gentleman  was  plainly  impatient  to  be  gone, 
however,  and  as  they  hurried  into  the  hackney  cabriolet  immediately  after- 
wards, perhaps  Mr.  Nickleby  forgot  to  mention  circumstances  so  unim- 
portant. 

There  was  a  great  bustle  in  Bishopsgate  Street  Within  as  they  drew  up, 
and  (it  being  a  windy  day)  half-a-dozen  men  were  tacking  across  the  road 
under  a  press  of  paper,  bearing  gigantic  announcements  that  a  Public  Meeting 
would  be  holden  at  one  o'clock  precisely,  to  take  into  consideration  the  pro- 
priety of  petitioning  Parliament  in  favour  of  the  United  Metropolitan  Improved 
Hot  Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual  Delivery  [Cfompany,  capital, 
five  millions,  in  five  hundred  thousand  shares  of  ten  pounds  each  ;  which  sums 
were  duly  set  forth  in  fat  black  figures  of  considerable  size.  Mr.  Bonney 
elbowed  his  way  briskly  upstairs,  receiving  in  his  progress  many  low  bows 
from  the  waiters  who  stood  on  the  landings  to  show  the  way,  and,  followed  by 
Mr.  Nickleby,  dived  into  a  suite  of  apartments  behind  the  great  public  room  ; 
in  the  second  of  which  was  a  business-looking  table,  and  several  business- 
looking  people. 

*'Hear  ) '  cried  a  gentleman  with  a  double-chin,  as  Mr.  Bonney  presented 
himself.     "  Chair,  gentlemen,  chair  !  " 

The  new  comers  were  received  with  universal  approbation,  and  Mr.  Bonney 
bustled  up  to  the  top  of  the  table,  took  off  his  hat,  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
hair,  and  knocked  a  hackney-coachman's  knock  on  the  table  with  a  little 
hammer  ;  whereat  several  gentlemen  cried  "  Hear  !  "  and  nodded  slightly  to 
each  other,  as  much  as  to  say  what  spirited  conduct  that  was.  Just  at  this 
moment,  a  waiter,  feverish  with  agitation,  tore  into  the  room,  and  throwing 
the  door  open  with  a  crash,  shouted,  "Sir  Matthew  Pupker  1 " 

The  committee  stood  up  and  clapped  their  hands  for  joy  ;  and  while  they 
were  clapping  them,  in  came  Sir  Matthew  Pupker,  attended  by  two  live 
members  of  parliament,  one  Irish  and  one  Scotch,  all  smiling  and  bowing, 
and  looking  so  pleasant  that  it  seemed  a  perfect  marvel  how  any  man 
could  have  the  heart  to  vote  against  them.  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  especially, 
who  had  a  little  round  head  with  a  flaxen  wig  on  the  top  of  it,  fell  into  such 
a  paroxysm  of  bows,  that  the  wig  threatened  to  be  jerked  off  every  instant. 
When  these  symptoms  had  in  some  degree  subsided,  the  gentlemen  who  were 
on  speaking  terms  with  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  or  the  two  other  members, 
crowded  round  them  in  three  little  groups,  near  one  or  other  of  which  the 
gentlemen  who  were  Twt  on  speaking  terms  with  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  or  the 
two  other  members,  stood  lingering  and  smiling,  and  rubbing  their  hands,  in 
the  desperate  hope  of  something  turning  up  which  might  bring  them  into 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  9 

notice.  All  this  time  Sir  Matthew  Papker  and  the  two  other  members  were 
relating  to  their  separate  circles  what  the  intentions  of  government  were, 
about  taking  up  the  bill ;  with  a  full  account  of  what  the  goyemment  had 
said  in  a  whisper  the  last  time  they  dined  with  it,  and  how  the  government 
had  been  observed  to  wink  when  it  said  so  ;  from  which  premises  they  were 
at  no  loss  to  draw  the  conclusion,  that  if  the  government  had  one  object  more 
at  heart  than  another,  that  one  object  was  the  welfare  and  advantage  of  the 
United  Metropolitan  Improved  Hot  Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual 
Delivery  Company. 

Meanwhile,  and  pending  the  arrangement  of  the  proceedings,  and  a  fair 
division  of  the  speechifying,  the  public  in  the  large  room  were  eyeing,  by 
turns,  the  empty  platform,  and  the  ladies  in  the  Music  Gallery.  In  these 
amusements  the  greater  portion  of  them  had  been  occupied  for  a  couple  of 
hours  before,  and  as  the  most  agreeable  diversions  pall  upon  the  taste  on  a  too 
protracted  enjoyment  of  them,  the  sterner  spirits  now  began  to  hammer  the 
floor  with  their  boot-heels,  and  to  express  their  dissatisfaction  by  various 
hoots  and  cries.  Tliese  vocal  exertions,  emanating  from  the  people  who  had 
been  there  longest,  naturally  proceeded  from  those  who  were  nearest  to  the 
platform  and  furthest  from  the  policemen  in  attendance,  who  having  no  great 
mind  to  fight  their  way  through  the  crowd,  but  entertaining,  nevertheless,^  a 
praisewortny  desire  to  do  something  to  quell  the  disturbance,  immediately 
began  to  drag  forth  by  the  coat-tails  and  collars  all  the  quiet  people  near  the 
door ;  at  the  same  time  dealing  out  various  smart  and  tingling  blows  with 
their  truncheons,  after  the  manner  of  that  ingenious  actor,  ^.  Punch  ;  whose 
brilliant  example,  both  in  the  fashion  of  his  weapons  and  their  use,  this 
branch  of  the  executive  occasionally  follows. 

Several  very  exciting  skirmishes  were  in  progress,  when  a  loud  shout 
attracted  the  attention  even  of  the  belligerents,  and  then  there  poured  on  to 
the  platform,  from  a  door  at  the  side,  a  long  line  of  gentlemen  with  their  hats 
ofif,  all  looking  behind  them,  and  uttering  vociferous  cheers ;  the  cause 
whereof  was  sufficiently  explained  when  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  and  the  two 
other  real  members  of  parliament  came  to  the  front,  amidst  deafening  shouts, 
and  testified  to  each  other  in  dumb  motions  that  they  had  never  seen  such  a 
glorious  sight  as  that  in  the  whole  course  of  their  public  career. 

At  lengni,  and  at  last,  the  assembly  left  off  shouting,  but  Sir  Matthew 
Pupker  being  voted  into  the  chair,  they  underwent  a  relapse  which  lasted  five 
minutes.  This  over.  Sir  Matthew  Pupker  went  on  to  say  what  must  be  his 
feelings  on  that  great  occasion,  and  what  must  be  that  occasion  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  and  what  must  be  the  intelligence  of  his  fellow-countrymen  before 
him,  and  what  must  be  the  wealth  and  respectability  of  his  honourable 
friends  behind  him,  and  lastly,  what  must  be  the  importance  to  the  wealth, 
tiie  happiness,  the  comfort,  the  liberty,  the  very  existence  of  a  free  and  great 
people,  of  such  an  Institution  as  the  United  Metropolitan  Improved  Hot 
Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual  Delivery  Company  ! 

Mr.  Bonney  then  presented  himself  to  move  the  first  resolution ;  and 
having  run  his  right  hand  through  his  hair,  and  planted  his  left  in  an  easy 
manner  in  his  ribs,  he  consigned  his  hat  to  the  care  of  the  gentleman  with  the 
double  chin  (who  acted  as  a  species  of  bottleholder  to  the  orators  generally), 
and  said  he  would  read  to  tnem  the  first  resolution — **  That  this  meeting 
views  with  alarm  and  apprehension  the  existing  state  of  the  Muffin  Trade  in 
this  Metropolis  and  its  neighbourhood  ;  that  it  considers  the  Muffin  Boys,  as 
at  present  constituted,  wholly  undeserving  the  confidence  of  the  public  ;  and 
that  it  deems  the  whole  Muffin  system  alike  prejudicial  to  the  health  and  morals 
of  the  people,  and  subversive  of  the  best  interests  of  a  great  ^QiiiLT[vsxc^<«i\.  vsA 


lo  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

mercantile  commimity."  The  honourable  gentleman  made  a  speech  which 
drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  the  ladies,  and  awakened  the  liveliest  emotions  in 
every  individual  present.  He  had  visited  the  houses  of  the  poor  in  the 
various  districts  of  London,  and  had  found  them  destitute  of  the  slightest 
vestige  of  a  muffin,  which  there  appeared  too  much  reason  to  believe  some  of 
these  indigent  persons  did  not  taste  from  year's  end  to  year's  end.  He  had 
found  that  among  muffin-sellers  there  existed  drunkenness,  debauchery,  and 
profligacy,  which  he  attributed  to  the  debasing  nature  of  their  employment  as 
at  present  exercised  ;  he  had  found  the  same  vices  among  the  poorer  class  of 
people  who  ought  to  be  muffin  consumers  ;  and  this  he  attributed  to  the 
despair  engendered  by  their  being  placed  beyond  the  reach  of  that  nutritious 
article,  which  drove  them  to  seeK  a  false  stimulant  in  intoxicating  liquors. 
He  would  undertake  to  prove  before  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
that  there  existed  a  comoination  to  keep  up  the  price  of  muffins,  and  to  give 
the  bellmen  a  monoply ;  he  would  prove  it  by  bellmen  at  the  bar  of  that 
House  ;  and  he  would  also  prove,  that  these  men  corresponded  with  each 
other  by  secret  words  and  signs,  as  ** Snooks,"  "Walker,"  "Ferguson," 
'*  Is  Murphy  right  ? "  and  many  others.  It  was  this  melancholy  state  of 
things  that  the  company  proposed  to  correct;  firstly,  by  prohibiting,  under 
heavy  penalties,  all  private  muffin  trading  of  every  description  ;  secondly,  by 
themselves  supplying  the  public  generally,  and  the  poor  at  their  own  homes, 
with  muffins  of  first  quality  at  reduced  prices.  It  was  with  this  object  that  a 
bill  had  been  introduced  into  parliament  by  their  patriotic  chairman,  Sir 
Matthew  Pupker ;  it  was  this  bill  that  they  had  met  to  support ;  it  was  the  sup- 
porters of  this  bill  who  would  confer  undying  brightness  and  splendour  upon 
England,  under  the  name  of  the  United  Metropolitan  Improved  Hot  Muffin 
and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual  Delivery  Company ;  he  would  add,  with  a 
capital  of  Five  Millions,  in  five  hundred  thousand  shares  of  ten  pounds  each. 

Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  seconded  the  resolution,  and  another  gentleman  having 
moved  that  it  be  amended  by  the  insertion  of  the  words  **  and  crumpet "  after 
the  word  "muffin,"  whenever  it  occurred,  it  was  carried  triumphantly. 
Only  one  man  in  the  crowd  cried  **  No  I  **  and  he  was  promptly  taKen  into 
custody,  and  straightway  borne  off. 

The  second  resolution,  which  recognised  the  expediency  of  immediately 
abolishing  "all  muffin  (or  crumpet)  sellers,  all  traders  in  muffins  (or  crumpets) 
of  whatsoever  description,  whether  male  or  female,  boys  or  men,  ringing  hand- 
bells or  otherwise,'  was  moved  by  a  grievous  gentleman  of  semi-clerical 
appearance,  who  went  at  once  into  such  deep  pathetics,  that  he  knocked  the 
first  speaker  clean  out  of  Xhe  course  in  no  time.  You  might  have  heard  a  pin 
fall — a  pin  1  a  feather — as  he  described  the  cruelties  inflicted  on  muffin  boys 
by  their  masters,  which  he  very  wisely  urged  were  in  themselves  a  sufficient 
reason  for  the  establishment  of  that  inestimable  company.  It  seemed  that 
the  unhappy  youths  were  nightly  turned  out  into  the  wet  streets  at  the  most 
inclement  periods  of  the  year,  to  wander  about,  in  darkness  and  rain — or  it 
might  be,  nail  or  snow — ^for  hours  together,  without  shelter,  food,  or  warmth  ; 
and  let  the  public  never  forget  upon  the  latter  point,  that  while  the  muffins 
were  provided  with  warm  clothing  and  blankets,  the  boys  were  wholly 
unprovided  for,  and  left  to  their  own  miserable  resources.  (Shame  !)  The 
honourable  gentleman  related  one  case  of  a  muffin  boy,  who,  having  been 
exposed  to  this  inhuman  and  barbarous  system  for  no  less  than  five  years,  at 
length  fell  a  victim  to  a  cold  in  the  head,  beneath  which  he  gradually  sank 
until  he  fell  into  a  perspiration  and  recovered ;  this  he  could  vouch  for  on 
his  own  authority,  but  he  had  heard  (and  he  had  no  reason  to  doubt  the  fact) 
of  a  still  more  heart-rending  and  appalling  circumstance.     He  had  hea^d  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  1 1 

the  case  of  an  orphan  muffin  boy,  who,  having  been  run  over  by  a  hackney 
carriage,  had  been  removed  to  the  hospital,  had  undergone  the  amputation  of 
his  leg  below  the  knee,  and  was  now  actually  pursuing  his  occupation  on 
crutches.     Fountain  of  justice,  were  these  things  to  last ! 

This  was  the  department  of  the  subject  that  took  the  meeting,  and  this  was 
the  style  of  speaking  to  enlist  their  sympathies.  The  men  shouted  ;  the 
ladies  wept  into  their  pocket-handkerchiefs  till  they  were  moist,  and  waved 
them  till  they  were  dry  ;  the  excitement  was  tremendous  ;  and  Mr.  Nickleby 
whispered  his  friend  that  the  shares  were  thenceforth  at  a  premium  of  five- 
and-twenty  per  cent. 

The  resolution  was,  of  course,  carried  with  loud  acclamations,  every  man 
holding  up  both  hands  in  favour  of  it,  as  he  would  in  his  enthusiasm  have 
held  up  both  legs  also,  if  he  could  have  conveniently  accomplished  it.  This 
done,  the  draft  of  the  proposed  petition  was  read  at  length  ;  and  the  petition 
said,  as  all  petitions  ao  say,  that  the  petitioners  were  very  humble,  and  the 
petitioned  very  honourable,  and  the  object  very  virtuous  ;  therefore  (said  the 
petition)  the  bill  ought  to  be  passed  into  a  law  at  once,  to  the  everlasting 
honour  and  glory  of  that  most  honourable  and  glorious  Commons  of  England 
in  Parliament  assembled. 

Then  the  gentleman  who  had  been  at  Crockford's  all  night,  and  who  looked 
something  the  worse  about  the  eyes  in  consequence,  came  forward  to  tell  his 
fellow-countrjrmen  what  a  speech  he  meant  to  make  in  favour  of  that  petition 
whenever  it  should  be  presented,  and  how  desperately  he  meant  to  taunt  the 
parliament  if  they  rejected  the  bill ;  and  to  inform  them  also,  that  he 
regretted  his  honourable  friends  had  not  inserted  a  clause  rendering  the 
purchase  of  muffins  and  crumpets  compulsory  upon  all  classes  of  the  com- 
munity, which  he — opposing  all  half  measures,  and  preferring  to  go  the 
extreme  animal — pledged  himself  to  propose  and  divide  upon  in  committee. 
After  announcing  this  detenfeination,  the  honourable  gentleman  grew  jocular  ; 
and  as  patent  boots,  lemon-coloured  kid  gloves,  and  a  fur  coat  collar  assist 
jokes  materally,  there  was  immense  laughter  and  much  cheering,  and  more- 
over such  a  brilliant  display  of  ladies'  pocket-handkerchiefs,  as  threw  the 
grievous  gentleman  quite  into  the  shade. 

And  when  the  petition  had  been  read  and  was  about  to  be  adopted,  there 
came  forward  the  Irish  member  (who  was  a  young  gentleman  of  ardent  tem- 
perament), with  such  a  speech  as  onl}'  an  Irish  member  can  make,  breathing 
the  true  soul  and  spirit  of  poetry,  and  poured  forth  with  such  fervour  that  it 
made  one  warm  to  look  at  him ;  in  the  course  whereof,  he  told  them  how 
he  would  demand  the  extension  of  that  great  boon  to  his  native  country  ;  how 
he  would  claim  for  her  equal  rights  in  the  muffin  laws  as  in  all  other  laws  ; 
and  how  he  yet  hoped  to  see  the  day  when  crumpets  should  be  toasted  in  her 
lowly  cabins,  and  muffin  bells  should  ring  in  her  rich  green  valleys.  And 
after  him  came  the  Scotch  member,  with  various  pleasant  allusions  to  the 
probable  amount  of  profits,  which  increased  the  good-humour  that  the  poetry 
had  awfidtened  ;  and  all  the  speeches  put  together  did  exactly  what  they  were 
intended  to  do,  and  established  in  the  hearers'  minds  that  there  was  no  specu- 
lation so  promising,  or  at  the  same  time  so  praiseworthy,  as  the  United 
Metropolitan  Improved  Hot  Muffin  and  Crumpet  Baking  and  Punctual 
Delivery  Company. 

So,  the  petition  in  favour  of  the  bill  was  agreed  upon,  and  the  meeting 
adjourned  with  acclamations,  and  Mr.  Nickleby  and  the  other  directors  went 
to  the  office  to  lunch,  as  they  did  every  day  at  half-past  one  o'clock ;  and  to 
remunerate  themselves,  for  which  trouble  (as  the  company  was  yet  in  its 
infancy)  ttiey  only  charged  three  guineas  each  man  for  every  auab.  ^^X^iArakR.^. 


12  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER   III. 

MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  RECEIVES  SAD  TIDINQS  OF  HIS  BROTHER,  BUT  BEARS 
UP  NOBLY  AGAINST  THE  INTELLIGENCE  COMMUNICATED  TO  HIM.  THE 
READER  IS  INFORMED  HOW  HE  LIKED  NICHOLAS,  WHO  IS  HEREIN 
INTRODUCED,  AND  HOW  KINDLY  HE  PROPOSED  TO  MAKE  HIS  FORTUNE 
AT  ONCE. 


HAYING  rendered  his  zealous  assistance  towards  despatching  the  lunch, 
with  all  that  promptitude  and  energjr  which  are  amongst  the  most 
important  qualities  that  men  of  business  can  possess,  Mr.  Ealph 
Nickleby  took  a  cordial  farewell  of  his  fellow-speculators,  and  bent  his  steps 
westward  in  unwonted  good-humour.  As  he  passed  St.  Paul's  he  stepped 
aside  into  a  doorway  to  set  his  watch,  and  with  his  hand  on  the  key  and  his 
eye  on  the  cathedral  dial,  was  intent  upon  so  doing,  when  a  man  suddenly 
stopped  before  him.     It  was  Newman  Noggs. 

"  Ah  !  Newman,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  looking  up  as  he  pursued  his  occupa- 
tion. "The  letter  about  the  mortgage  has  come,  has  it?  I  thought  it 
would." 

**  Wrong,"  replied  Newman. 

"What!  and  nobody  called  respecting  it?"  inquired  Mr.  Nickleby, 
pausing.     Noggs  shook  his  head. 

**  What  has  come,  then  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Nickleby. 

**  I  have,"  said  Newman. 

"  What  else  ? "  demanded  the  master,  sternly. 

*'This,"  said  Newman,  drawing  a  sealed  letter  slowly  from  his  pocket. 
"  Post-mark,  Strand,  black  wax,  black  border,  woman's  hand,  C.  N.  in  the 


corner." 


*'  Black  wax  ? "  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  glancing  at  the  letter.  "  I  know  some- 
thing of  that  hand,  too.  Newman,  I  shoul£i*t  be  surprised  if  my  brother 
were  dead." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would,"  said  Newman,  quietly. 

**  Why  not,  sir  ? "  demanded  Mr.  Nickleby. 

'*  You  never  are  surprised,"  replied  Newman,  •*  that's  all." 

Mr.  Nickleby  snatched  the  letter  from  his  assistant,  and  fixing  a  cold 
look  upon  him,  opened,  read  it,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  having  now  hit  the 
time  to  a  second,  oegan  winding  up  his  watch. 

"  It  is  as  I  expected,  Newman,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  while  he  was  thus 
engaged.  "He  is  dead.  Dear  me  !  Well,  that's  a  sudden  thing.  I 
shouldn't  have  thought  it,  really."  With  these  touching  expressions  of 
sorrow,  Mr.  Nickleby  replaced  his  watch  in  his  fob,  and  fitting  on  his  gloves 
to  a  nicety,  turned  upon  his  way,  and  walked  slowly  westward  with  his  hands 
behind  him. 

**  Children  alive  ? "  inquired  Noggs,  stepping  up  to  him. 

'*  Why,  that's  the  very  thing,"  replied  Mr.  Nickleby,  as  though  his  thoughts 
were  about  them  at  that  moment.     "  They  are  both  alive." 

'*  Both  1 "  repeated  Newman  Noggs,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  And  the  widow,  too,"  added  Mr.  Nickleby,  "  and  all  three  in  London, 
confound  them  !  all  three  here,  Newman." 

Newman  fell  a  little  behind  his  master,  and  his  face  was  curiously  twisted 
as  by  a  spasm  ;  but  whether  of  paralysis,  or  grief,  or  inward  laughter,  nobody 
hut  himself  could  possibly  explain.    The  expression  of  a  man's  face  is  com- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  13 

monly  a  help  to  his  thoughts,  or  glossary  on  his  speech  ;  but  the  countenance 
of  Newman  Noggs,  iu  his  ordinary  moods,  was  a  problem  which  no  stretch  of 
ingenuity  could  solve. 

*'  Go  home  !  "  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  after  they  had  walked  a  few  paces,  look- 
ing round  at  the  clerk  as  if  he  were  his  dog.  The  words  were  scarcely  uttered 
when  Newman  darted  across  the  road,  slunk  among  the  crowd,  and  dis- 
appeared in  an  instant. 

**  Reasonable,  certainly  1 "  muttered  Mr.  Nickleby  to  himself,  as  he  walked 
on,  **  very  reasonable  !  My  brother  never  did  anything  for  me,  and  I  never 
expected  it ;  the  breath  is  no  sooner  out  of  his  body  than  I  am  to  be  looked 
to  as  the  support  of  a  great,  hearty  woman,  and  a  grown  boy  and  girl.  What 
are  they  to  me  1    /  never  saw  them." 

Full  of  these  and  many  other  reflections  of  a  similar  kind,  Mr.  Nickleby 
made  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  Strand,  and,  referring  to  his  letter  as  if  to 
ascertain  the  number  of  the  house  he  wanted,  stopped  at  a  private  door  about 
half-way  down  that  crowded  thoroughfare. 

A  miniature-painter  lived  there,  for  there  was  a  large  gilt  frame  screwed 
upon  the  street-door,  in  which  were  displayed,  upon  a  black  velvet  ground,  two 
portraits  of  naval  dress  coats  with  faces  looking  out  of  them,  and  telescopes 
attached ;  one  of  a  young  gentleman  in  a  very  vermilion  uniform,  flourishing 
a  sabre ;  and  one  of  a  literary  character  with  a  high  forehead,  a  pen  and  ink, 
six  books,  and  a  curtain.  There  was,  moreover,  a  touching  representation  of 
a  young  lady  reading  a  manuscript  in  an  unfathomable  forest,  and  a  charming 
whole  length  of  a  large-headed  little  boy,  sitting  on  a  stool  with  his  legs  fore- 
shortened to  the  size  of  salt-spoons.  Besides  these  works  of  art,  there  were  a 
great  many  heads  of  old  ladies  and  gentlemen  smirking  at  each  other  out  of 
blue  and  brown  skies,  and  an  elegantly- written  card  of  terms  with  an  embossed 
border. 

Mr.  Nickleby  glanced  at  these  frivolities  with  great  contempt,  and  gave  a 
double  knock,  which,  having  been  thrice  repeated,  was  answered  by  a  servant 
girl  with  an  uncommonly  dirty  face. 

**  Is  Mrs.  Nickleby  at  home,  girl  ? "  demanded  Ralph,  sharply. 

**  Her  name  ain't  Nickleby,"  said  the  girl,  "  La  Creevy  you  mean." 

Mr.  Nickleby  looked  very  indignant  at  the  handmaid  on  being  thus  cor- 
rected, and  demanded  with  much  asperity  what  she  meant ;  which  she  was 
about  to  state,  when  a  female  voice,  proceeding  from  a  perpendicular  staucase 
at  the  end  of  the  passage,  inquired  who  was  wanted. 

**  Mrs.  Nickleby,"  said  Ralph. 

*'  It's  the  secona  floor,  Hannah,"  said  the  same  voice ;  ''what  a  stupid  thing 
you  are  I    Is  the  second  floor  at  home  t " 

*'  Somebody  went  out  just  now,  but  I  think  it  was  the  attic,  which  had  been 
a  cleaning  of  himself,"  replied  the  girL 

"You  had  better  see,"  said  the  invisible  female.  "Show  the  gentleman 
where  the  bell  is,  and  tell  him  he  mustn't  knock  double  knocks  for  the  second 
floor  ;  I  can't  allow  a  knock  except  when  the  bell's  broke,  and  then  it  must 
be  two  single  ones. " 

**  Here,'  said  Ralph,  walking  in  without  more  parley,  "  I  beg  your  pardon ; 
is  that  Miss  La  what's-her  name  ? " 

**  Creevy — La  Creevy,"  said  the  voice,  as  a  yellow  head-dress  bobbed  over 
the  banisters. 

**  I'll  speak  to  you  a  moment,  ma'am,  with  your  leave,"  said  Ralph. 

The  voice  replied  that  the  gentleman  was  to  walk  up  ;  but  he  had  walked 
up  before  it  spoke,  and  stepping  into  the  first  floor,  was  received  by  tVv^ 
wearer  of  the  yellow  head-dress,  who  had  a  gown  to  cotieai^ouvi,  «.iv^  ^^^  '^'^^ 


14  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

much  the  same  colour  herself.  Miss  La  Creevy  was  a  mincing;  young  lady  of 
fifty,  and  Miss  La  Creevy's  apartment  was  the  gilt  frame  downstairs  on  a 
large  scale,  and  something  dirtier. 

*'  Hem  !"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  coughing  delicately  behind  her  black  silk 
mitten.  **A  miniature,  I  presume.  A  very  strongly  marked  countenance 
for  the  purpose,  sir.     Have  you  ever  sat  before  * " 

"You  mistake  my  purpose,  I  see,  ma'am,"  replied  Mr  Nickleby  in  his 
usual  blunt  fashion.  "  I  have  no  money  to  throw  away  on  miniatures, 
ma'am,  and  nobody  to  give  one  to  (thank  God)  if  I  had.  Seeing  you  on  the 
stairs,  I  wanted  to  ask  a  question  of  you  about  some  lodgers  here.*' 

Miss  La  Creevy  coughed  once  more — this  cough  was  to  conceal  her  disap- 
pointment— and  said  **  Oh,  indeed  ! " 

**  I  infer  from  what  you  said  to  your  servant}  that  the  floor  above  belongs 
to  you,  ma'am  ? "  said  Mr.  Nickleby. 

Yes,  it  did.  Miss  La  Creevy  replied.  The  upper  part  of  the  house  belonged 
to  her,  and  as  she  had  no  necessity  for  the  second-floor  rooms  just  then,  slie 
was  in  the  habit  of  letting  them.  Indeed,  there  was  a  lady  from  the  country 
and  her  two  children  in  tnem  at  that  pcesent  speaking. 

**  A  widow,  ma'am  ?"  said  Ralph. 

"Yes,  she  is  a  widow,"  replied  the  lady. 

"A  jtoor  widow,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph,  with  a  powerful  emphasis  on  that 
adjective  which  conveys  so  much. 

"Well,  I  am  afraid  she  w  poor,"  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 

"  I  happen  to  know  that  she  is,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph.  **  Now  what  busi- 
ness has  a  poor  widow  in  such  a  house  as  this,  ma'am  % " 

"Very  true,"  replied  Miss  La  Creevy,  not  at  all  displeased  with  this 
implied  compliment  to  the  apartments.     **  Exceedingly  true." 

*'I  know  her  circumstances  intimately,  ma'am,"  said  IJalph  ;  "in  fact  I 
am  a  relation  of  the  family  ;  and  I  should  recommend  you  not  to  keep  them 
here,  ma'am." 

"  I  should  hope,  if  there  was  any  incompatibility  to  meet  the  pecuniary 
obligations,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  with  another  cough,  "  that  the  lady's 
family  would " 

"No,  they  wouldn't,  ma'am,"  interrupted  Ralph,  hastily.  "Don't  think 
it." 

"  If  I  am;to  understand  that,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  "  the  case  wears  a  very 
different  appearance." 

"You  may  understand  it  then,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph,  "and  make  your 
arrangements  accordingly.  I  am  the  family,  ma'am — at  least,  I  believe  I  am 
the  only  relation  they  have,  and  I  think  it  right  that  you  should  know  /can't 
support  them  in  their  extravagances.  How  long  have  they  taken  these 
lodgings  for  ? " 

"Only from  week  to  week,"  replied  Miss  La  Creevy  "Mrs.  Nickleby 
paid  the  first  week  in  advance." 

"  Then  you  had  better  get  them  out  at  the  end  of  it, "  said  Ralph.  * '  They 
can't  do  better  than  go  back  to  the  country,  ma'am  ;  they  are  in  everybody's 

way  here." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  rubbing  her  hands,  "  if  Mrs.  Nickleby 
took  the  apartments  without  the  means  of  paying  for  them,  it  was  very 
unbecoming  a  lady. " 

"  Of  course  it  was,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph. 

"  And  naturally,"  continued  Miss  La  Creevy,  "  I  who  am  ai  presew^— hem 
—an  unprotected  female,  cannot  afford  to  lose  by  the  apartments." 

"  Of  course  you  can't,  ma'am,"  replied  Ralph. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  1 5 

"  Though  at  the  same  time,"  added  Miss  La  Crccvy,  wlio  was  plainly 
wavering  between  her  good-nature  and  her  interest,  **  I  have  nothing  what- 
ever to  say  against  the  lady,  who  is  extremely  pleasant  and  affable,  though, 
])0()r  thing,  she  seems  terribly  low  in  her  spirits ;  nor  against  the  young 
people  cither,  for  nicer,  or  better-behaved  young  people  cannot  be." 

'*  Very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Balph,  turning  to  the  door,  for  these  oncomiumi 
on  poverty  irritated  him  ,  '*  I  have  done  my  duty,  and  perhaps  more  than  I 
ouglit :  of  course  nobody  will  thank  me  for  saying  what!  have." 

**  I  am  sure  /  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  at  least,  sir,"  said  Miss  La 
Creevy,  in  a  gracious  manner.  '*  Would  you  do  me  the  favour  to  look  at  a  few 
specimens  of  my  portrait  painting  ? " 

**  You're  very  good,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Nickleby,  making  off  with  great 
speed;  ''but as  I  have  a  visit  to  pay  upstairs,  and  my  time  is  precious,  I 
really  can't." 

"  At  any  other  time  when  you  are  passing,  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  said 
Miss  La  Creevy  ''Perhaps  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  take  a  card  of 
t<!rm8  with  you  ?    Thank  you — good  morning  1 " 

"  Good  morning,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph,  snutting  the  door  abruptly  after 
him  to  prevent  any  farther  conversation.  "Now  for  my  sister-iu-law. 
I5ah  1 " 

Climbing  up  another  perpendicular  flight,  composed  with  great  mechanical 
ingenuity  of  nothing  but  corner  stairs,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  stopped  to  take 
breath  on  the  landing,  when  ho  was  overtaken  oy  the  handmaid,  whom  the 
politeness  of  Miss  La  Creevy  had  despatched  to  announce  him,  and  who  had 
apparently  been  makinjO^  a  varietv  of  unsuccessful  attempts  since  their  last 
interview  to  wipe  her  dirtv  face  clean  upon  an  apron  much  dirtier. 

"  What  name  ? "  said  the  girl. 

"  Nickleby,"  replied  Ralph. 

"  Oh  1  Mrs.  Nickleby,"  said  the  girl,  throwing  open  the  door,  "  here's  Mr. 
Nickleby." 

A  ladv  in  deep  mourning  rose  as  Mr.  Ralph  Nicklebv  entered,  but  appeared 
incapable  of  advancing  to  meet  him,  and  leant  upon  the  arm  of  a  slignt  but 
very  beautiful  girl  of  about  seventeen,  who  had  been  sitting  by  Her.  A 
youth,  who  appeared  a  year  or  two  older,  stepped  forward  and  saluted  Ralph 
as  his  uncle. 

"Oh,"  growled  Ralph,  with  an  ill -flavoured  frown,  "you  are  Nicholas,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir,"  replied  the  youth. 

"Put  my  hat  down,"  said  Ralph,  imperiously.  "Well,  ma'am,  how  do 
you  do?    You  must  bear  up  against  sorrow,  ma'am  ;  /always  do." 

"  Mine  was  no  common  loss  ! "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  applying  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes 

"  It  was  no  i^Ticommon  loss,  ma'am,"  returned  Ralph,  as  he  coollv 
unbuttoned  his  spencer.     "  Husbands  die  every  day,  ma'am,  and  wives,  too. 

"  A.nd  brothers  also,  sir,"  said  Nicholas,  with  a  glance  of  indignation. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  puppies,  and  pug-dogs  likewise,"  replied  his  uncle,  taking  a 
chair.  "  You  didn't  mention  in  your  letter  what  my  brother's  complaint  was, 
ma  am. 

"The  doctors  could  attribute  it  to  no  particular  disease,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  shedding  tears.  "  We  have  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  he  died 
of  a  broken  heart. ' 

"  Pooh  I  "  said  Ralph,  "  there's  no  such  thing.  I  can  understand  a  man's 
dying  of  a  broken  neck,  or  suffering  from  a  broken  ami,  or  a  broken  head,  or 
a  broken  leg,  or  a  broken  nose  ;  but  a  broken  heart  1—  uouwwHvi,  \\J%  >i\v<i  c.^w\. 


i6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

of  the  day.  If  a  man  can't  pay  his  debts,  he  dies  of  a  broken  heart,  and  his 
widow's  a  martyr. " 

"Some  people,  I  believe,  have  no  hearts  to  byeak,"  observed  Nicholas, 
quietly. 

*'  How  old  is  this  boy,  for  God's  sake  ? "  inquired  Ral^h,  wheeling  back  his 
chair,  and  surveying  his  nephew  from  head  to  foot  with  intense  scorn. 

**  Nicholas  is  ver)' 'nearly  nineteen,"  replied  the  widow. 

f* Nineteen,  eh!"  said  Ralph.  **  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  for  your 
bread,  sir  ? " 

**  Not  to  live  upon  my  mother,"  replied  Nicholas,  his  heart  swelling  as  he 
spoke. 

**  You'd  have  little  enough  to  live  upon  if  you  did,"  retorted  the  uncle, 
eyeinc  him  contemptuously. 

**  Whatever  it  be,"  said  Nicholas,  flushed  with  anger,  "  I  shall  not  look  to 
you  to  make  it  more." 

**  Nicholas,  my  dear,  recollect  yourself,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

**  Dear  Nicholas,  pray,"  urged  the  young  lady. 

'* Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  Ralph.  **Upon  my  word!  Fine  begin- 
nings, Mrs.  Nickleby — fine  beginnings  !  " 

Mrs.  Nickleby  made  no  other  reply  than  entreating  Nicholas  by  a  gesture 
to  keep  silent ;  and  the  uncle  and  nephew  looked  at  each  other  for  some 
seconds  without  speaking.  The  face  of  the  old  man  was  stem,  hard-featured, 
and  forbidding ;  that  of  the  young  one,  open,  handsome,  and  ingenuous. 
The  old  man's  eye  was  keen  with  the  twinklings  of  avarice  and  cunning  ;  the 
young  man's  bright  with  the  light  of  intelligence  and  spirit.  His  figure 
was  somewhat  slight,  but  manly  and  well-formed ;  and  apart  from  all  the 
grace  of  youth  and  comeliness,  there  was  an  emanation  from  the  warm  young 
heart  in  his  look  and  bearing  which  kept  the  old  man  down. 

However  striking  such  a  contrast  as  this  may  be  to  lookers-on,  none  ever 
feel  it  with  half  the  keenness  or  acuteness  of  perfection  with  which  it  strikes 
to  the  very  soul  of  him  whose  inferiority  it  marks.  It  galled  Ralph  to  the 
heart's  core,  and  he  hated  Nicholas  from  that  hour. 

The  mutual  inspection  was  at  length  brought  to  a  close  by  Ralph  with- 
drawing his  eyes,  with  a  great  show  of  disdain,  and  calling  Nicholas  a  '*  boy." 
This  word  is  much  used  as  a  term  of  reproach  by  elderly  gentlemen,  to  wards 
their  juniors  i  probably  with  the  view  of  deluding  society  into  the  belief  that 
if  they  could  be  young  again,  they  wouldn't  on  any  account. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph,  impatiently,  "the  creditors  have  admin- 
istered, you  teU  me,  and  there*s  nothing  left  for  you  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"  And  you  spent  what  little  money  you  had  in  coming  all  the  way  to 
London  to  see  what  I  could  do  for  you  ? "  pursued  Ralph. 

"  I  hoped,"  faltered  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  that  you  might  have  an  opportunity 
of  doing  something  for  your  brother's  children.  It  was  his  dying  wish  that  I 
should  appeal  to  you  in  their  behalf." 

**  I  don  t  know  how  it  is,"  muttered  Ralph,  walking  up  and  down  the  room, 
"  but  whenever  a  man  dies  without  any  property  of  his  own,  he  always  seems 
to  think  he  has  a  right  to  dispose  of  other  people's.  What  is  your  daughter 
fit  for,  ma'am  ? " 

"  Kate  has  been  well  educated,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "  Tell  your  uncle, 
my  dear,  how  far  you  went  in  French  and  extras." 

The  poor  girl  was  about  to  murmur  something,  when  her  uncle  stopped  her, 
very  unceremoniously. 


BiLPH's  VISIT  w>  Mm.  Nicklbbt,-  p.  is. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  17 

'•Tfo  must  try  and  get  you  apprenticed  at  some  boarding-school,"  said 
Ralph.     '*  You  have  not  been  brought  up  too  delicately  for  that,  1  hope  %  " 

**  No,  indeed,  uncle,"  replied  the  weeping  girl.  **  I  will  try  to  do  anything 
that  will  gain  me  a  home  and  bread." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Ralph,  a  little  softened,  either  by  his  niece's  beauty  or 
her  distress  (stretch  a  point,  and  say  the  latter).     "  You  must  try  it,  and  if 
the  life  is  too  hard,  perhaps  dressmaking  or  tambour- work  will  come  lighter. 
Have  ym.1  ever  done  anything,  sir  ?  "  (turning  to  his  nephew). 

**No,"  replied  Nicholas,  bluntly. 

*'  No,  I  thought  not !  "  said  Ralph.  "This  is  the  way  my  brother  brought 
up  his  children,  ma'am." 

"  Nicholas  has  not  long  completed  such  education  as  his  poor  father  could 
give  him,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  and  he  was  thinking  of " 

"  Of  making  something  of  him  some  day,"  said  Ralph.  **  The  old  story  ; 
always  thinking,  and  never  doin^.  If  my  brother  had  been  a  man  of  activity 
and  prudence,  ne  might  have  left  you  a  rich  woman,  ma'am  :  and  if  he  had 
turned  his  son  into  the  world,  as  my  father  turned  me,  when  I  wasn't  as  old 
as  that  boy  by  a  year  and  a-half,  he  would  have  been  in  a  situation  to  help 
you,  instead  of  being  a  burden  upon  you,  and  increasing  your  distress.  My 
brother  was  a  thoughtless,  inconsiderate  man,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  nobody,  I 
am  sure,  can  have  better  reason  to  feel  that  than  you." 

This  appeal  set  the  widow  upon  thinking  that  perhaps  she  might  have  made 
a  more  successful  venture  with  her  one  thousand  pounds,  and  then  she  began 
to  reflect  what  a  comfortable  sum  it  would  have  been  just  then  ;  which  dismal 
thoughts  made  her  tears  flow  faster,  and  in  the  excess  of  these  griefs  she  (being 
a  well-meaning  woman  enough,  but  weak  withal)  fell  first  to  deploring  her 
hard  fate,  and  then  to  remarking,  with  many  sobs,  that  to  be  sure  she  had 
been  a  slave  to  poor  Nicholas,  and  had  often  told  him  she  might  have  married 
better  (as  indeed  she  had,  very  often),  and  that  she  never  knew  in  his  lifetime 
how  the  money  went,  but  that  if  he  had  confided  in  her  they  might  all  have 
been  better  off  that,  day  ;  with  other  bitter  recollections  common  to  most 
married  ladies,  either  during  their  coverture,  or  afterwards,  or  at  both  periods. 
Mrs.  Nickleby  concluded  by  lamenting  that  the  dear  departed  had  never 
deigned  to  profit  by  her  advice,  save  on  one  occasion  :  which  was  a  strictly 
veracious  statement,  inasmuch  as  he  had  only  acted  upon  it  once,  and  had 
ruined  himself  in  consequence. 

Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  heard  all  this  with  a  half  smile  ;  and  when  the  widow 
had  finished,  quietly  took  up  the  subject  where  it  had  been  left  before  the 
above  outbreak. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  work,  sir  ?"  he  inquired,  frowning  on  his  nephew. 

**  Of  course  I  am,"  replied  Nicholas,  haughtily. 

"  Then  see  here,  sir,"  said  his  uncle.  **  This  caught  my  eye  this  morning, 
and  you  may  thank  your  stars  for  it. " 

With  this  exordium,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  took  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket, 
and  after  unfolding  it,  and  looking  for  a  short  time  among  the  advertisements, 
read  as  follows  : — 

*'  Education. — At  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers's  Academy,  Dotheboys  Hall,  at 
the  delightful  village  of  Dotheboys,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  Youth 
are  boarded,  clothed,  booked,  furnished  with  pocket-money,  provided  with  all 
necessaries,  instructed  in  all  languages  living  and  dead,  mathematics,  ortho- 
graphy, geometry,  astronomy,  trigonometry,  the  use  of  the  globes,  algebra, 
single-stick  (if  required),  writing,  arithmetic,  fortification,  and  every  other 
branch  of  classical  literature.  Terms,  twenty  guineas  per  annum.  No  extras.^ 
no  vacations,  and  diet  unparalleled.    Mr.  Squeers  is  in  tov/n,  aiv^  a.\X.evi^^  ^^A-^  ^ 

u  \ 


1 8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

from  one  till  four,  at  the  Saracen's  Head,  Snow  Hill.  N.  B. — An  able  assistant 
wanted.     Annual  salary,  £5.     A  Master  of  Arts  would  be  preferred." 

*' There!"  said  Ralph,  folding  the  paper  again.  ''Let  him  get  that 
situation  and  his  fortune  is  made. 

**  But  he  is  not  a  Master  of  Arts,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

**  That,"  replied  Ralph,  "that,  I  think,  can  be  got  over." 

'*  But  the  salary  is  so  small,  and  it  is  such  a  long  way  off,  uncle  ! "  faltered 
Kate. 

"Hush,  Kate,  my  dear,"  interposed  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  *'your  uncle  must 
know  best. " 

**Isay,"  repeated  Ralph,  tartly,  "let  him  get  that  situation  and  his 
fortune  is  made.  If  he  don't  like  that,  let  him  get  one  for  himself.  Without 
friends,  money,  recommendation,  or  knowledge  of  business  of  any  kind,  let 
him  find  honest  employment  in  London  which  will  keep  him  in  shoe-leather, 
and  I'll  give  him  a  thousand  pounds.  At  least,"  said  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby, 
checking  himself,  "  I  would,  if  I  had  it" 

"  Poor  fellow  I "  said  the  young  lady.  "  Oh,  uncle,  must  we  be  separated 
60  soon  ? " 

"  Don't  teaze  your  uncle  with  questions,  when  he  is  thinking  only  for  our 
good,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  **  Nicholas,  my  dear,  I  wish  you  would 
say  something." 

"Yes,  mother,  yes,"  said  Nicholas,  who  had  hitherto  remained  silent  and 
absorbed  in  thought.  "If  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  be  appointed  to  this 
post,  sir,  for  which  I  am  so  imperfectly  qualified,  what  will  become  of  those  I 
leave  behind  ? " 

"Your  mother  and  sister,  sir,"  replied  Ralph,  "will  be  provided  for,  in 
that  case  (not  otherwise)  by  me,  and  placed  in  some  sphere  of  life  in  which 
they  will  be  able  to  be  independent.  That  will  be  my  immediate  care ; 
they  will  not  remain  as  they  are  one  week  after  your  departure,  I  will 
undertake." 

"Then,"  said  Nicholas,  starting  gaily  up,  and  wringing  his  uncle's  hand, 
"  I  am  ready  to  do  anything  you  wish  me.  Let  us  try  our  fortune  with  Mr. 
Squeeis  at  once  ;  he  can  but  refuse." 

"  He  won't  do  that,"  said  Ralph.  "  He  will  be  glad  to  have  you  on  my 
recommendation.  Make  yourself  of  use  to  him,  and  you'll  rise  to  be  a 
partner  in  the  establishment  in  no  time.  Bless  me,  only  think  !  if  he  were 
to  die,  why,  your  fortune's  made  at  once. " 

"To  be  sure,  I  see  it  all,"  said  poor  Nicholas,  delighted  with  a  thousand 
visionary  ideas,  that  his  good  spirits  and  inexperience  were  conjuring  up 
before  him.  "  Or  suppose  that  some  young  nobleman  who  is  being  educated 
at  the  Hall  were  to  take  a  fancy  to  me,  and  get  his  father  to  appoint  me  his 
travelling  tutor  when  he  left,  and  when  we  came  back  from  the  Continent 
procured  me  some  handsome  appointment.     Eh  !  uncle  \ " 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  ! "  sneered  Ralph. 

"  And  who  knows,  but  when  he  came  to  see  me  when  I  was  settled  (as  he 
would,  of  course),  he  might  fall  in  love  with  Kate,  who  would  be  keeping  my 
house,  and — and — marry  her,  eh  !  uncle  ?    "Who  knows  ? " 

"  Who,  indeed  !  "  snarled  Ralph. 

"How  happy  we  should  be  !"  cried  Nicholas,  with  enthusiasm.  "The 
pain  of  parting  is  nothing  to  the  joy  of  meeting  again.  Kate  will  be  a  beauti- 
ful woman,  and  I  so  proud  to  hear  them  say  so,  and  mother  so  happy  to  be 

with  us  once  again,  and  all  these  sad  times  forgotten,  and "    The  picture 

was  too  bright  a  one  to  bear,  and  Nicholas,  fairly  overpowered  by  it,  smiled 
faintly,  and  burst  into  tears. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  19 

This  simple  family,  born  and  bred  in  retirementi  and  wholly  unacquainted 
with  what  is  called  the  world — a  conventional  phrase  which,  being  inter- 
preted, often  signifieth  all  the  rascals  in  it — mingled  their  tears  together  at 
the  thought  of  their  first  separation  ;  and,  this  first  gush  of  feeling  over,  were 
proceeding  to  dilate,  with  all  the  buoyancy  of  untried  hope,  on  the  bright 
prospects  before  them,  when  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  suggested  that,  if  they  lost 
time,  some  more  fortunate  candidate  might  deprive  Nicholas  of  the  stepping- 
stone  to  fortune  which  the  advertisement  pointed  out,  and  so  undermine  all 
their  air-built  castles.  This  timely  reminder  effectually  stopped  the  con- 
versation. Nicholas,  having  carefully  copied  the  address  of  Mr.  Squeers,  the 
uncle  and  nephew  issued  forth  together  in  quest  of  that  accomplished  gentle- 
man ;  Nicholas  firmly  persuading  himself  that  he  had  done  his  relative  great 
injustice  in  disliking  him  at  first  sight ;  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  being  at  some 

Sains  to  inform  her  daughter  that  she  was  sure  he  was  a  much  more  kindly- 
isposed  person  than  he  seemed  ;  which.  Miss  Nickleby  dutifully  remarked, 
he  might  very  easily  be. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  good  lady's  opinion  had  been  not  a  little  influenced 
by  her  brother-in-law's  appeal  to  her  better  understanding,  and  his  implied 
compliment  to  her  high  deserts ;  and  although  she  had  dearly  loved  her 
husband,  and  still  doated  on  her  children,  he  had  struck  so  successfully  on 
one  of  those  little  jarring  chords  in  the  human  heai*t  (Ralph  was  well 
acquainted  with  its  worst  weaknesses,  though  he  knew  nothing  of  its  best), 
that  she  had  already  begun  seriously  to  consider  herself  the  amiable  and 
suffering  victim  of  her  late  husband's  imprudence. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

NICHOLAS  AND  HIS  UNCLE  (TO  SECURE  THE  FORTUNE  WITHOUT  LOSS  OF 
time)  WAIT  UPON  ME.  WACKFORD  SQUEERS,  THE  YORKSHIRE  SCHOOL- 
MASTER. 

SNOW  HILL  1  What  kind  of  nlace  can  the  quiet  town's-people  who  see 
the  words  emblazoned,  in  all  the  legibility  of  gilt  letters  and  dark 
shading,  on  the  north-country  coaches,  take  Snow  Hill  to  be?  All 
people  have  some  undefined  and  shadowy  notion  of  a  place  whose  name  is 
frequently  before  their  eyes,  or  often  in  their  ears.  What  a  vast  number  of 
random  ideas  there  must  be  perpetually  floating  about,  regarding  this  same 
Snow  Hill.  The  name  is  such  a  gooa  one.  Snow  Hill — Snow  Hill,  too, 
coupled  with  a  Saracen's  Head ;  picturing  to  us,  by  a  double  association  of 
ideas,  something  stem  and  rugged  !  A  bleak,  desolate  tract  of  country,  open 
to  piercing  blasts  and  fierce  wintry  storms — a  dark,  cold,  gloomy  heath, 
lonely  by  day,  and  scarcely  to  be  thought  of  by  honest  folks  at  night — 
a  place  which  solitary  wayfarers  shun,  and  where  desperate  robbers  congre- 

fate — this,  or  something  like  this,  should  bo  the  prevalent  notion  of  Snow 
[ill,  in  those  remote  and  rustic  parts,  through  which  the  Saracen's  Head, 
like  some  grim  apparition,  rushes  each  day  and  night,  with  mysterious  and 
ghost-like  punctuality  ;  holding  its  swift  and  headlong  course  in  all  weathers, 
and  seeming  to  bid  defiance  to  the  very  elements  themselves. 

The  reality  is  rather  different,  but  by  no  means  to  be  despised,  notwith- 
standing. There,  at  the  very  core  of  London,  in  the  heart  of  its  business  and 
animation,  in  the  midst  of  a  whirl  of  noise  and  motion  ;  stemming,  as  it  were, 
the  giant  currents  of  life  that  flow  ceaselessly  on  from  different  c^^^ax^j^T^^  ^\A 


20  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

meet  beneath  its  walls,  stands  Newgate  ;  and  in  that  crowded  street  on  which 
it  frowns  so  darkly — within  a  few  feet  of  the  squalid  tottering  houses — upon 
the  very  spot  on  which  the  vendors  of  soup  and  fish  and  damaged  fruit  are 
now  plying  their  trades — scores  of  human  beings,  amidst  a  roar  of  sounds  to 
which  even  the  tumult  of  a  great  city  is  as  nothing,  four,  six,  or  eight  strong 
men  at  a  time,  have  been  hurried  violently  and  swiftly  from  the  world,  when 
the  scene  has  been  rendered  frightful  with  excess  of  human  life  ;  when  curious 
eyes  have  glared  from  casement  and  house-top,  and  wall  and  pillar  ;  and  when, 
in  the  mass  of  white  and  upturned  faces,  the  dying  wretch,  in  his  all-com- 
prehensive look  of  agony,  has  met  not  one — not  one — that  bore  the  impress  of 
pity  or  compassion. 

Near  to  the  jail,  and  by  consequence  near  to  Smithfield  also,  and  the 
Compter,  and  the  bustle  and  noise  of  the  City ;  and  just  on  that  particular 
part  of  Snow  Hill  where  omnibus  horses  going  eastward  seriously  think  of 
falling  down  on  purpose,  and  where  horses  in  hackney  cabriolets  going  west- 
ward not  unfrequently  fall  by  accident,  is  the  coach -yard  of  the  Saracen's 
Head  Inn  ;  its  portal  guarded  by  two  Saracen's  heads  and  shoulders,  which  it 
was  once  the  pride  and  glory  or  the  choice  spirits  of  this  metropolis  to  pull 
down  at  night,  but  which  have  for  some  time  remained  in  undisturbed 
tranquillity ;  possibly  because  this  species  of  humour  is  now  confined  to  St. 
James's  parish,  where  door-knockers  are  preferred  as  being  more  portable, 
and  bell-wires  esteemed  as  convenient  tooth-picks.  Whether  this  be  the 
reason  or  not,  there  they  are,  frowning  upon  you  from  each  side  of  the  gate  • 
way.  The  inn  itself,  garnished  with  another  Saracen's  head,  frowns  upon 
you  from  the  top  of  the  yard,  while  from  the  door  of  the  hind  boot  of  all  the 
red  coaches  that  are  standing  therein  there  glares  a  small  Saracen's  head, 
with  a  twin  expression  to  the  large  Saracen's  heads  below,  so  that  the  general 
appearance  of  the  pile  is  decidedly  of  the  Saracenic  order. 

When  you  walk  up  this  yard,  you  will  see  the  booking-office  on  your  left, 
and  the  tower  of  St.  Sepulchre's  church,  darting  abruptly  up  into  the  sky,  on 
your  right,  and  a  gallery  of  bed-rooms  on  both  sides.  Just  before  you,  you 
will  observe  a  long  window  with  the  words  "cofiee-room"  legibly  painted 
above  it ;  and  looking  out  of  that  window,  you  would  have  seen  in  addition, 
if  you  had  gone  at  the  right  time,  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets. 

Mr.  Squeers's  appearance  was  not  prepossessing.  He  had  but  one  eye,  and 
the  popular  prejudice  runs  in  favour  of  two.  The  eye  he  had  was  unquestion- 
ably use/ul,  but  decidedly  not  ornamental :  being  of  a  greenish -grey,  and  in 
shape  resembling  the  fanlight  of  a  street  door.  The  blank  side  of  his  face  was 
much  wrinkled  and  puckered  up,  which  gave  him  a  very  sinister  appearance, 
especially  when  he  smiled,  at  which  times  his  expression  bordered  closely  on 
the  villainous.  His  hair  was  very  flat  and  shiny,  save  at  the  ends,  where  it 
was  brushed  stifily  up  from  a  low  protruding  forehead,  which  assorted  well 
with  his  harsh  voice  and  coarse  manner.  He  was  about  two  or  three  and 
fifty,  and  a  trifle  below  the  middle  size  ;  he  wore  a  white  neckerchief  with  long 
ends,  and  a  suit  of  scholastic  black  ;  but  his  coat  sleeves  being  a  great  deal  too 
long,  and  his  trousers  a  great  deal  too  short,  he  appeared  ill  at  ease  in  his 
clothes,  and  as  if  he  were  in  a  perpetual  state  of  astonishment  at  finding 
himself  so  respectable. 

Mr.  Squeers  was  standing,  in  a  box  by  one  of  the  cofiee-room  fireplaces, 
fitted  with  one  such  table  as  is  usually  seen  in  coffee-rooms,  and  two  of  extra- 
ordinary shapes  and  dimensions  made  to  suit  the  angles  of  the  partition.  In 
a  corner  of  tne  seat  was  a  very  small  deal  trunk,  tied  round  with  a  scanty 
j)iece  of  cord ;  and  on  the  trunk  was  perched — his  lace-up  half-boots  and 


NICHOLAS  NICK LE BY,  21 

corduroy  trousers  dangling  in  the  air — a  diminutive  boy,  with  his  shoulders 
drawn  up  to  his  ears,  and  his  hands  planted  on  his  knees,  who  glanced 
timidly  at  the  schoolmaster  from  time  to  time,  with  evident  dread  and 
apprehension. 

"Half-past  three,"  muttered  Mr.  Squeers,  turning  from  the  window,  and 
looking  sulkily  at  the  coffee-room  clock.  ''There  will  be  nobody  here 
to-day." 

Much  vexed  at  this  reflection,  Mr.  Squeers  looked  at  the  little  boy  to  see 
whether  he  was  doing  anything  he  could  beat  him  for.  As  he  happened  not 
to  be  doing  anything  at  all  he  merely  boxed  his  ears,  and  told  him  not  to  do 
it  again. 

**  At  midsummer,"  muttered  Mr.  Squeers,  resuming  his  complaint,  "  I  took 
down  ten  boys ;  ten  twenties  is  two  hundred  pound.  I  go  back  at  eight 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  and  have  got  only  three — three  oughts  is  an 
ought — three  twos  is  six — sixty  pound,  what's  come  of  all  the  boys  ?  what's 
parents  got  in  their  heads  ?  what  does  it  all  mean  ? " 

Here  the  little  boy  on  the  top  of  the  trunk  gave  a  violent  sneeze. 

**  Halloa,  sir  1 "  growled  the  schoolmaster,  turning  round.  **  What's  that, 
sir  1 

"Nothing,  please  sir,"  replied  the  little  boy. 

"  Nothing,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Squeers. 

'*  Please,  sir,  I  sneezed,"  rejoined  the  boy,  trembling  till  the  little  trunk 
shook  under  him. 

**0h,  sneezed,  did  you?"  retorted  Mr.  Squeers.  "Then  what  did  you 
say  *  nothing '  for,  sir  ?  " 

In  default  of  a  better  answer  to  this  question,  the  little  boy  screwed  a 
couple  of  knuckles  into  each  of  his  eyes  and  began  to  cry,  wherefore  Mr. 
Squeers  knocked  him  off  the  trunk  with  a  blow  on  one  side  of  his  face,  and 
knocked  him  on  again  with  a  blow  on  the  other. 

"Wait  till  I  get  you  down  into  Yorkshire,  my  young  gentleman,"  said 
Mr.  Squeers,  ''and  then  I'll  give  you  the  rest.  Will  you  nold  that  noise, 
sir?" 

**  Ye — ye — yes,"  sobbed  the  little  boy,  rubbing  his  face  very  hard  with  the 
Beg^r's  Petition  in  printed  calico. 

"Then  do  so  at  once,  sir,"  said  Squeers.     "  Do  you  hear  ? " 

As  this  admonition  was  accompanied  with  a  threatening  gesture,  and  uttered 
with  a  savage  aspect,  the  little  boy  rubbed  his  face  harder,  as  if  to  keep  the 
tears  back,  and  beyond  alternately  sniffing  and  choking,  gave  no  further  vent 
to  his  emotions. 

"Mr.  Squeers,"  said  the  waiter,  looking  in  at  this  juncture,  "here's  a 
gentleman  asking  for  you  at  the  bar." 

"Show  the  gentleman  in,  Richard,"  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  soft  voice. 
"  Put  your  handkerchief  in  your  pocket,  you  little  scoundrel,  or  I'll  murder 
you  when  the  gentleman  goes." 

The  schoolmaster  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  in  a  fierce  whisper,  when 
the  stranger  entered.  Affecting  not  to  see  him,  Mr.  Squeers  feigned  to  be 
intent  upon  mending  a  pen,  and  offering  benevolent  advice  to  his  youthful 
pupil. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  "all  people  have  their  trials.     This  early 
trial  of  yours  that  is  fit  to  make  your  little  heart  burst,  and  your  very  eyes 
come  out  of  your  head  with  crying,  what  is  it  ?    Nothing ;  less  than  nothing. 
You  are  leaving  your  friends,  but  you  will  have  a  father  in  me,  my  dsax,  «sA 
a  mother  in  Mrs.  Squeers.     At  the  deliglitf\il  yiWage  ol  'Do\\i^o^^^  w^*^ 


22  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Greta  Bridge,   in  Yorkshire,   where  youth  are  boarded,   clothed,   booked, 
washed,  furnished  with  pocket-money,  provided  with  all  necessaries " 

"It  w  the  gentleman,"  observed  the  stranger,  stopping  the  schoolmaster 
in  the  rehearsal  of  his  advertisement.     *'Mr.  Squeers,  I  believe,  sir  ? " 

"The  same,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  with  an  assumption  of  extreme  sur- 
prise, 

"  The  gentleman,"  said  the  stranger,  "that  advertised  in  the  Times  news- 
paper ? " 

" — Morning  Post,  Chronicle,  Serald,  and  Advertiser,  regarding  the 
Academy  called  Dotheboys  Hall,  at  the  delightful  village  of  Dotheboys,  near 
Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,"  added  Mr.  Squeers.  "You  come  on  business, 
sir.  I  see  by  my  young  friends.  How  do  you  do,  my  little  gentleman  ?  and 
how  do  you  do,  sir  ?  "  With  this  salutation  Mr.  Squeers  patted  the  heads  of 
two  hollow-eyed,  small-boned  little  boys,  whom  the  applicant  had  brought 
with  him,  and  waited  for  further  communications, 

"I  am  in  the  oil  and  colour  way.  My  name  is  Snawley,  sir,"  said  the 
stranger, 

Squeers  inclined  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  "And  a  remarkably  pretty 
name,  too." 

The  stranger  continued.  "  I  have  been  thinking,  Mr.  Squeers,  of  placing 
my  two  boys  at  your  school." 

"It  is  not  forme  to  say,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  "but  I  don't  think 
you  could  possibly  do  better." 

"  Hem  1  *  said  the  other.  "  Twenty  pounds  per  annewum,  I  believe,  Mr. 
Squeers. " 

"Guineas,"  rejoined  the  schoolmaster,  with  a  persuasive  smile. 

"Pounds  for  two,  I  thiiik,  Mr.  Squeers,"  said  Mr.  Snawley,  solemnly. 

"  I  don't  think  it  could  be  done,  sir,"  replied  Squeers,  as  if  he  had  never 
considered  the  proposition  before.  "Let  me  see.  Four  fives  is  twenty, 
double  that,  and  aeduct  the — well,  a  pound  either  way  shall  not  stand 
betwixt  us.  You  must  recommend  me  to  your  connection,  sir,  and  make  it 
up  that  way." 

"  They  are  not  great  eaters,"  said  Mr.  Snawley, 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  replied  S(jueers.  "We  don't  consider 
the  boys'  appetites  at  our  establishment."  This  was  strictly  true  ;  they  did 
not, 

"Every  wholesome  luxury,  sir,  that  Yorkshire  can  afford,"  continued 
Squeers;  "every  beautiful  moral  that  Mrs,  Squeers  can  instil;  every — in 
short,  every  comfort  of  a  home  that  a  boy  could  wish  for,  will  be  theirs,  Mr. 
Snawley." 

"  I  should  wish  their  morals  to  be  particularly  attended  to,"  said  Mr. 
Snawley. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  sir,"  replied  the  schoolmaster,  drawing  himself  up. 
"  They  have  come  to  the  right  shop  for  morals,  sir." 

"  You  are  a  moral  man  yourself, '  said  Mr.  Snawley. 

"I  rather  believe  I  am,  sir,"  replied  Squeers. 

"I  have  the  satisfaction  to  know  ^ou  are,  sir,"  said  Mr,  Snawley.  "I 
asked  one  of  your  references  and  he  said  you  were  pious." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hope  I  am  a  little  in  that  line,"  replied  Squeers. 

"  I  hope  I  am  also,"  rejoined  the  other.  "Could  I  say  a  few  words  with 
you  in  the  next  box  ? " 

"By  all  means,"  rejoined  Squeers,  with  a  grin.  "My  dears,  will  you 
speak  to  your  new  playfellow  a  minute  or  two  ?  That  is  one  of  my  boys,  sir. 
BaUmg  ma  name  is— a  Taunton  boy  that,  sir." 


MCHOLAS  NICKLEBV.  ^3 

**  Is  he,  indeed  ? "  rejoined  Mr.  Snawley,  looking  at  the  poor  little  urchin 
as  if  he  were  some  extraordinary  natural  curiosity. 

**  He  goes  down  with  me  to-morrow,  sir,"  said  Squeera.  **  That's  his  lug- 
gage that  he  is  a  sitting  upon  now.  Each  boy  is  required  to  bring,  sir,  two 
suits  of  clothes,  six  shirts,  six  pairs  of  stocking,  two  night-caps,  two  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  two  pair  of  shoes,  two  hats,  and  a  razor.' 

"  A  razor ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Snawley,  as  they  walked  into  the  next  box. 
"What  for?" 

'*  To  shave  with,"  replied  Squeers,  in  a  slow  and  measured  tone. 

There  was  not  much  in  these  three  words,  but  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing in  the  manner  in  which  they  were  said  to  attract  attention  ;  for  the 
schoolmaster  and  his  companion  looked  steadily  at  each  other  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  then  exchanged  a  very  meaning  smile.  Snawley  was  a  sleek, 
fiat-nosed  man,  clad  in  sombre  garments  and  lon^  black  gaiters,  and  bearing 
in  his  countenance  an  expression  of  much  mortincation  and  sanctity ;  so  his 
smiling  without  any  obvious  reason  was  the  more  remarkable. 

"Up  to  what  age  do  you  keep  boys  at  your  school,  then?"  he  asked  at 
length. 

**  Just  as  long  as  their  friends  make  the  quarterly  payments  to  my  agent  in 
town,  or  until  such  time  as  they  run  away,"  replied  Squeers.  "  Let  us 
understand  each  other ;  I  see  we  may  safely  do  so.  What  are  these  boys — 
natural  children  ? " 

"No,'  rejoined  Snawley,  meeting  the  gaze  of  the  schoolmaster's  one  eye, 
"They  ain't" 

"I  thought  they  might  be,"  said  Squeers,  coolly.  "We  have  a  good 
many  of  them  ;  that  boy  s  one." 

"  Him  in  the  next  box  ? "  said  Snawley. 

Squeers  nodded  in  the  affirmative  ;  his  companion  took  another  peep  at  the 
little  boy  on  the  trunk,  and  turning  round  again,  looked  as  if  he  were  quite 
disappointed  to  see  him  so  much  like  other  boys,  and  said  he  should  hardly 
have  thought  it. 

"  He  is,  cried  Squeers.  "But  about  these  boys  of  yours  ;  you  wanted  to 
speak  to  me  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  Snawley.  "The  fact  is,  I  am  not  their  father,  Mr. 
Squeers.     "  I  am  only  their  father-in-law." 

"  Oh  !  Is  that  it  ? "  said  the  schoolmaster.  "  That  explains  it  at  once.  I 
was  wondering  what  the  devil  you  were  going  to  send  them  to  Yorkshire  for. 
Ha  !  ha  !    Oh,  I  understand  now." 

"You  see  I  have  married  the  mother,"  pursued  Snawley  ;  "it's  expensive 
keeping  boys  at  home,  and  as  she  has  a  little  money  in  her  own  right,  I  am 
afraid  (women  are  so  very  foolish,  Mr.  Squeers)  that  she  might  be  led  to 
squander  it  on  them,  which  would  be  their  ruin,  you  know." 

"/see,"  returned  Squeers,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  waving 
his  hand. 

"And  this,"  resumed  Snawley,  "has  made  me  anxious  to  put  them  to 
some  school  a  good  distance  ofif,  where  there  are  no  holidays — none  of  those 
ill-judged  comings  home  twice  a-year  that  unsettle  children's  minds  so— and 
where  they  may  rough  it  a  little — you  comprehend  ? " 

"The  payments  regular,  and  no  questions  asked,"  said  Squeers,  nodding 
his  head. 

"  That's  it,  exactly,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  Morals  strictly  attended  to, 
thoi^h." 

"Strictly,"  said  Squeers. 


24  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Not  too  much  writing  home  allowed,  I  suppose  % "  said  the  father-in-law, 
hesitating. 

**  None,  except  a  circular  at  Christmas,  to  say  they  never  were  so  happy, 
and  hope  they  may  never  be  sent  for,"  rejoined  Squeers. 

"  Nothing  could  be  better,"  said  the  father-in-law,  rubbing  his  hands. 

**Then,  as  we  understand  each  other,"  said  Squeers,  *' will  you  allow  me 
to  ask  you  whether  you  consider  me  a  highly  virtuous,  exemplary,  and  well- 
conducted  man  in  private  life  ;  and  whether,  as  a  person  whose  business  it  is 
to  take  charge  of  youth,  you  place  the  stongest  confidence  in  my  unimpeach- 
able integrity,  liberality,  religious  principles,  and  ability  ? " 

"Certainly  I  do,"  replied  the  father-in-law,  reciprocating  the  school- 
master's grin. 

"  Perhaps  you  won't  object  to  say  that  if  I  make  you  a  reference  ? " 

*'  Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"  That's  your  sort  1 "  said  Squeers,  taking  up  a  pen ;  *  *  this  is  doing  business, 
and  that's  what  I  like." 

Having  entered  Mr.  Snawley's  address,  the  schoolmaster  had  next  to  per- 
form the  still  more  agreeble  office  of  entering  the  receipt  of  the  first  quarter's 
payment  in  advance,  which  he  had  scarcely  completed,  when  another  voice 
was  heard  in(^uiring  for  Mr.  Squeers. 

"  Here  he  is,"  replied  the  schoolmaster,  **  what  is  it  ?" 

**  Only  a  matter  of  business,  sir,"  said  Ralph  Nickleby,  presenting  himself, 
closely  followed  by  Nicholas.  "There  was  an  advertisement  of  yours  in  the 
papers  this  morning  ? " 

"There  was,  sir.  This  way,  if  you  please,"  said  Squeers,  who  had  by  this 
time  got  back  to  the  box  by  the  fireplace.     "Won't  you  be  seated  ? " 

"Why,  I  think  I  will,"  replied  Ralph,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and 
placing  his  hat  on  the  table  before  him.  "This  is  my  nephew,  sir,  Mr. 
Nicholas  Nickleby." 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ? "  said  Squeers, 

Nicholas  bowed,  said  he  was  very  well,  and  seemed  very  much  astonished 
at  the  outward  appearance  of  the  proprietor  of  Dotheboys  Hall ;  as  indeed  he 
wa& 

"  Perhaps  you  recollect  me  ? "  said  Ralph,  looking  narrowly  at  the  school- 
master. 

"  You  paid  me  a  small  account  at  each  of  my  half-yearly  visits  to  town,  for 
some  years,  I  think,  sir,"  replied  Squeers. 

"  I  did,"  rejoined  Ralph. 

**  For  the  parents  of  a  boy  named  Dorker,  who  unfortunately ^" 

*' unfortunately  died  at  Dotheboys  Hall,"  said  Ralph,  finishing  the 

sentence. 

"I  remember  very  well,  sir,"  rejoined  Squeers.  "Ah  1  Mrs.  Squeers,  sir, 
was  as  partial  to  that  lad  as  if  he  had  been  her  own  ;  the  attention,  sir,  that 
was  bestowed  upon  that  boy  in  his  illness  !  Dry  toast  and  warm  tea  ofi*ered 
him  every  night  and  morning  when  he  couldn't  swallow  anything — a  candle 
in  his  bed-room  on  the  very  night  he  died — the  best  dictionary  sent  up  for  him 
to  lay  his  head  upon — I  don't  regret  it,  though.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to 
reflect  that  one  did  one's  duty  by  him." 

Ralph  smiled,  as  if  he  meant  anything  but  smiling,  and  looked  round  at 
the  strangers  present. 

"  These  are  only  some  pupils  of  mine,"  said  Wackford  Squeers,  pointing  to 
the  little  boy  on  the  trunk  and  the  two  little  boys  on  the  floor,  who  had  been 
staring  at  each  other  without  uttering  a  word,  and  writhing  their  bodies  into 
most  remarkable  contortions,  according  to  the  custom  of  little  boys  when  they 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  25 

first  become  acquainted.  "This  gentleman,  sir,  is  a  parent  who  is  kind 
enough  to  compliment  me  upon  the  course  of  education  adopted  at  Dotheboys 
Hall,  whicL  t  s  situated,  sir,  at  the  delightful  village  of  Dotheboys,  near 
Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  where  youth  are  boarded,  clothed,  booked, 
washed,  furnished  with  pocket-money " 

**  Yes,  we  know  all  about  that,  sir,"  interrupted  Ralph,  testily.  **  It's  in 
the  advertisement." 

**  You  are  very  right,  sir  ;  it  is  in  the  advertisement,"  replied  Squeers. 

**And  in  the  matter  of  fact  besides,"  interrupted  Mr.  Snawley.  "I  feel 
bound  to  assure  you,  sir,  and  I  am  proud  to  have  this  opportunity  of 
assuring  you,  that  I  consider  Mr.  Squeers  a  gentleman  highly  virtuous, 
exemplary,  well-conducted,  and " 

**  I  make  no  doubt  of  it,  sir,"  interrupted  Ralph,  checking  the  torrent  of 
recommendation  ;  **  no  doubt  of  it  at  all.     Suppose  we  come  to  business  ?  " 

'*  With  all  my  heart,  sir,"  rejoined  Squeers.  "  *  Never  postpone  business,' 
is  the  very  first  lesson  we  instil  into  our  commercial  pupils.  Master  Belling, 
my  dear,  always  remember  that ;  do  you  hear  ? " 

**  Yes,  sir,"  repeated  Master  Belling. 

''  He  recollects  what  it  is,  does  he  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"  Tell  the  gentleman,"  said  Squeers. 

"  Never,"  repeated  Master  Belling. 

**  Very  good,    said  Squeers  ;  "  go  on." 

**  Never,"  repeated  M^aster. Belling,  again. 

"  Very  good  indeed,"  said  Squeers.     *'  Yes  " 

"  P,"  suggested  Nicholas,  good-naturedly. 

*  *  Perform — business ! "  said  Master  Belling.    *  *  Never — perform — business ! " 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Squeers,  darting  a  withering  look  at  the  culprit. 
'*  You  and  I  will  perform  a  little  business  on  our  private  account  by-and-by." 

**  And  just  now,"  said  Ralph,   **  we  had  better  transact  our  own,  perhaps." 

*'  If  you  please,"  said  Squeers. 

**  Well,"  resumed  Ralph,  "it's  brief  enough  ;  soon  broached  ;  and  I  hope 
easily  concluded.     You  have  advertised  for  an  able  assistant,  sir  ? " 

*•  Precisely  so,"  said  Squeers. 

"  And  you  really  want  one  ? " 

"Certainly,"  answered  Squeers. 

"Here  he  is  !  "  said  Ralph.  " My  nephew  Nicholas,  hot  from  school,  with 
everything  he  leanit  there  fermenting  in  his  head,  and  nothing  fermenting  in 
his  pocket,  is  just  the  man  you  want." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Squeers,  perplexed  with  such  an  application  from  a 
youth  of  Nicholas's  figure,  "  I  am  afraid  the  young  man  won  t  suit  me." 

"  Yes,  he  will,"  said  Ralph  ;  "  I  know  better.  Don't  be  cast  down,  sir  ; 
you  will  be  teaching  all  the  young  noblemen  in  Dotheboys  Hall  in  less  than  a 
week's  time,  unless  this  gentleman  is  more  ojl^stinate  than  I  take  him  to  be." 

"  I  fear,  sir,"  said  Nicholas,  addressing  Mr.  Squeers,  "that  you  object  to 
my  youth,  and  to  my  not  being  a  Master  of  Arts  ? " 

-"  The  absence  of  a  college  degree  is  an  objection,"  replied  Squeers,  looking 
as  grave  as  he  could,  aud  considerably  puzzled,  no  less  by  the  contrast 
between  the  simplicity  of  the  nephew  and  the  worldly  manner  of  the  uncle, 
than  by  the  incomprehensible  allusion  to  the  young  noblemen  under  his 
tuition. 

"  Look  here,  sir,"  said  Ralph ;  "I'll  put  this  matter  in  its  true  light  in  two 
seconds." 

"  If  you'll  have  the  goodness,"  rejoined  Squeers. 

"  This  is  a  boy,  or  a  youth,  or  a  lad,  or  a  young  man,  or  a  kobbUds\iQ»'^  ^  ^^ 


26  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

whatever  you  like  to  call  him,  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  or  thereabouts,"  said 
Kalph. 

"  That  I  see,"  observed  the  schoolmaster. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Snawley,  thinking  it  as  well  to  back  his  new  friend 
occasionally. 

**  His  father  is  dead, 'he  is  wholly  ignorant  of  the  world,  has  no  resources 
whatever,  and  wants  something  to  do,"  said  Ralph.  **  I  recommend  him  to 
this  splendid  establishment  of  yours,  as  an  opening  which  will  lead  him  to 
fortune,  if  he  turns  it  to  proper  account.     Do  you  see  that  ? " 

"  Everybody  must  see  that,"  replied  S^ueers,  half  imitating  the  sneer  with 
which  the  old  gentleman  was  regarding  his  unconscious  relative. 

**  I  do,  of  course,"  said  Nicholas,  eagerly. 

**  He  does,  of  course,  you  observe,"  said  Ralph,  in  the  same  dry,  hard 
manner.  **  If  any  caprice  of  temper  should  induce  him  to  cast  aside  this 
golden  opportunity  before  he  has  brought  it  to  perfection,  I  consider  myself 
absolved  from  extending  any  assistance  to  his  mother  and  sister.  Look  at 
him,  and  think  of  the  use  he  may  be  to  you  in  half-a-dozen  ways  !  Now,  the 
question  is,  whether,  for  some  time  to  come  at  all  events,  he  won't  serve  your 
purpose  better  than  twenty  of  the  kind  of  people  you  would  get  under 
ordinary  circumstances.     Isn't  that  a  question  for  consideration  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  Squeers,  answering  a  nod  of  Ralph's  head  with  a  nod  of 
his  own. 

*'  Good,"  rejoined  Ralph.     "  Let  me  have  two  words  with  you." 

The  two  words  were  had  apart ;  in  a  couple  of  minutes  Mr.  "Wackford 
Squeers  announced  that  Mr.  Nicholas  Nickleby  was,  from  that  moment, 
thoroughly  nominated  to,  and  installed  in,  the  office  of  first  assistant-master 
at  Dotheboys  Hall. 

**  Your  uncle's  recommendation  has  done  it,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Wackford 
Squeers. 

Nicholas,  overjoyed  at  his  success,  shook  his  uncle's  hand  warmly,  and 
could  almost  have  worshipped  Squeers  upon  the  spot. 

*'  He  is  an  odd-looking  man,"  thought  Nicholas.  *'  What  of  that  ?  Porson 
was  an  odd-looking  man,  and  so  was  Doctor  Johnson  ;  all  these  bookworms 
are. 

"  At  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  *'  the 
coach  starts.  You  must  be  here  at  a  quarter  before,  as  we  take  these  boys 
with  us." 

'*  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Nicholas. 

"And  your  fare  down  I  have  paid,"  growled  Ralph.  "So  you'll  have 
nothing  to  do  but  keep  yourself  warm." 

Here  was  another  instance  of  his  uncle's  generosity  !  Nicholas  felt  his 
unexpected  kindness  so  much,  that  he  could  scarcely  find  words  to  thank 
him  ;  indeed,  he  had  not  found  half  enough,  when  they  took  leave  of  the 
schoolmaster,  and  emerged  from  the  Saracen's  Head  gateway. 

"  I  shall  be  here  in  the  morning  to  see  you  fairly  oflf,"  said  Ralph.  "  No 
skulking ! " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  *'I  never  shall  forget  this  kindness." 

"  Take  care  you  don't,"  replied  his  uncle.  "You  had  better  go  home  now, 
and  pack  up  what  you  have  got  to  pack.  Do  you  think  you  could  find  your 
way  to  Golden  Square  first  ? 

"  Certainly,"  said  Nicholas.     "  I  can  easily  inquire." 

"  Leave  these  papers  with  my  clerk,  then,"  said  Ralph,  producing  a  small 
parcel,  " and  tell  him  to  wait  till  I  come  home." 

Nicholas  cheerfully  undertook  the  errand,  and  bidding  his  worthy  uncle  an 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  27 

affectionate  farewell,  which  that  warm-hearted  old  gentleman  acknowledged 
by  a  growl,  hastened  away  to  execute  his  commission. 

He  found  Golden  Square  in  due  course ;  Mr.  Noggs,  who  had  stepped  out 
for  a  minute  or  so  to  the  public-house,  was  opening  tne  door  with  a  latch-key 
as  he  reached  the  steps. 

"  What's  that  % "  inquired  Noggs,  pointing  to  the  parcel. 

**  Papers  from  my  uncle,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  **  and  you're  to  have  the  good- 
ness to  wait  till  he  comes  home,  if  you  please." 

"  Uncle  ! "  cried  Noggs. 

**Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Nicholas,  in  explanation. 

**  Come  in,"  said  Newman. 

Without  another  word  he  led  Nicholas  into  the  passage,  and  thence  into 
the  official  pantry^  at  the  end  of  it,  where  he  thrust  him  into  a  chair,  and 
mounting  upon  his  high  stool,  sat,  with  his  arms  hanging  straight  down  by 
his  sides,  gazing  fixedly  upon  him,  as  from  a  tower  of  observation. 

"There  is  no  answer,"  said  Nicholas,  laying  the  parcel  on  a  table  beside 
him. 

Newman  said  nothing,  but  folding  his  arms,  and  thrusting  his  head  forward 
so  as  to  obtain  a  nearer  view  of  Nicholas's  face,  scanned  his  features  closely. 

**No  answer,"  said  Nicholas,  speaking  very  loud,  under  the  impression 
that  Newman  Noggs  was  deaf. 

Newman  placedhis  hands  upon  his  knees,  and,  without  uttering  a  syllable, 
continued  the  same  close  scrutiny  of  his  companion's  face. 

This  was  such  a  very  singular  proceeding  on  the  part  of  an  utter  stranger,  and 
his  appearance  was  so  extremely  peculiar,  that  Nicholas,  who  had  a  sufficiently 
keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  could  not  refrain  from  breaking  into  a  smile  as  he 
inquired  whether  Mr.  Noggs  had  any  commands  for  him. 

Noggs  shook  his  head  and  sighed ;  upon  which  Nicholas  rose,  and  remark- 
ing that  he  required  no  rest,  bade  him  good  morning. 

It  was  a  great  exertion  for  Newman  Noggs,  and  nobody  knows  to  this  day 
how  he  ever  came  to  make  it,  the  other  party  being  wholly  anknown  to  him, 
but  he  drew  a  long  breath  and  actually  said,  out  loud,  without  once  stopping, 
that  if  the  young  gentleman  did  not  object  to  tell,  he  should  like  to  know 
what  his  uncle  was  going  to  do  for  him. 

Nicholas  had  not  the  least  objection  in  the  world,  but  on  the  contrary,  was 
rather  pleased  to  have  an  opportunity  of  talking  on  the  subject  which  occupied 
his  thoughts  ;  so  he  sat  down  again,  and  (his  sanguine  imagination  warming 
as  he  spoke)  entered  into  a  fervent  and  glowing  description  of  all  the  honours 
and  advantages  to  be  derived  from  his  appointment  at  that  seat  of  learning, 
Dotheboys  Hall. 

**  But  what's  the  matter — are  you  ill? "  said  Nicholas,  suddenly  breaking 
off,  as  his  companion,  after  throwing  himself  into  a  variety  of  uncouth 
attitudes,  thrust  his  hands  under  the  stool,  and  cracked  his  finger-joints  as  if 
he  were  snapping  all  the  bones  in  his  hands. 

Newman  Noggs  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  shrugging  his  shoulders  and 
cracking  his  finger-joints  ;  smiling  horribly  all  the  time,  and  looking  stead- 
fastly at  nothing,  out  of  the  tops  of  his  eyes,  in  a  most  ghostly  manner. 

At  first,  Nicholas  thought  the  mysterious  man  was  in  a  fit,  but,  on  further 
consideration,  decided  that  he  was  in  liquor,  under  which  circumstances  he 
deemed  it  prudent  to  make  off  at  once.  He  looked  back  when  he  had  got  the 
street-door  open.  Newman  Noggs  was  still  indulging  in  the  same  extra- 
ordinary gestures,  and  the  cracking  of  his  fingers  sounded  louder  than  ever. 


28  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


,   CHAPTER   V. 

KICnOLAS  STAIITS  FOR  YOllKSUIIlE.      OF  HIS  LEAVE-TAKING  AND  HIS  FELLOW- 
TIIAVELLEIIS,    AND  WHAT  BEFELL  THEM   ON  THE  IIOAD. 

Y  F  tears  dropped  into  a  trunk  were  charms  to  preserve  its  owner  from  sorrow 
t  and  misfortune,  Nicholas  Nickleby  would  have  commenced  his  expedition 
under  most  happy  auspices.  There  was  so  much  to  be  done,  and  so  little 
time  to  do  it  in  ;  so  many  kind  words  to  be  spoken,  and  such  bitter  pain  in 
the  hearts  on  which  they  rose  to  impede  tneir  utterance,  that  the  little 
preparations  for  his  journey  were  made  mournfully  indeed.  A  hundred  things 
which  the  anxious  care  of  nis  mother  and  sister  deemed  indispensable  for  his 
comfort,  Nicholas  insisted  on  leaving  behind,  as  they  might  prove  of  some 
after  use,  or  might  be  convertible  into  money  if  occasion  required.  A 
hundred  affectionate  contests  on  such  points  as  these  took  place  on  the  sad 
night  which  preceded  his  departure ;  and,  as  the  termination  of  every  anger- 
less  dispute  brought  them  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  close  of  their  slight  prepara- 
tions, Kate  grew  busier  and  busier,  and  wept  more  silently. 

The  box  was  packed  at  last,  and  then  there  came  supper,  with  some  little 
delicacy  provided  for  the  occasion,  and  as  a  set-off  against  the  expense  of 
which,  Kate  and  her  mother  had  feigned  to  dine  when  Nicholas  was  out. 
The  poor  lad  nearly  choked  himself  by  attempting  to  partake  of  it,  and  almost 
suffocated  himself  m  affecting  a  jest  or  two,  and  forcing  a  melancholy  laugh. 
Thus  they  lingered  on  till  the  hour  of  separating  for  the  night  was  long  past ; 
and  then  they  found  that  they  might  as  well  have  given  vent  to  their  real 
feelings  before,  for  they  could  not  suppress  them,  do  what  they  would.  So 
they  let  them  have  their  way,  and  even  that  was  a  relief. 

Nicholas  slept  well  till  six  next  morning  ;  dreamed  of  home,  or  of  what  was 
home  once — no  matter  which,  for  things  that  are  changed  or  gone  will  come 
back  as  they  used  to  be,  thank  God  1  in  sleep — and  rose  quite  orisk  and  gay. 
He  wrote  a  few  lines  in  pencil,  to  say  the  good-bye  which  he  was  afraid  to 

Eronounceliimself,  and  laying  them,  with  half  his  scanty  stock  of  money,  at 
is  sister's  door,  shouldered  his  box  and  crept  softly  downstairs. 

*'  Is  that  you,  Hannah  ? "  cried  a  voice  from  Miss  La  Creevy's  sitting-room, 
whence  shone  the  light  of  a  feeble  candle. 

"It  is  I,  Miss  La  Creevy,*  said  Nicholas,  putting  down  the  box  and 
looking  in.  • 

"  Bless  us  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  La  Creevy,  starting  and  putting  her  hand  to 
her  curl-papers  ;  '*  you're  up  very  early,  Mr.  Nickleby." 

"  So  are  you,"  replied  Nicholas. 

**  It's  the  fine  arts  that  bring  me  out  of  bed,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  returned  the 
lady.     *'  I'm  waiting  for  the  light  to  carry  out  an  idea." 

Miss  La  Creevy  had  got  up  early  to  put  a  fancy  nose  into  a  miniature  of  an 
ugly  little  boy,  destined  for  his  grandmother  in  the  country,  who  was  expected 
to  bequeath  nira  property  if  he  was  like  the  family. 

"  To  carry  out  an  idea,"  repeated  Miss  La  Creevy  ;  **  and  that's  the  great 
convenience  of  living  in  a  thoroughfare  like  the  Strand.  When  I  want  a  nose 
or  an  eye  for  any  particular  sitter,  I  have  only  to  look  out  of  window  and  wait 
till  I  get  one." 

"  Does  it  take  long  to  get  a  nose,  now  ? "  inquired  Nicholas,  smiling. 

*<  Why,  that  depends  in  a  great  measure  on  the  pattern,"  replied  Miss  La 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  29 

Creevy.  "  Snubs  and  Romans  are  plentiful  enough,  and  there  are  flats  of  all 
sorts  and  sizes  when  there's  a  meeting  at  Exeter  Hall ;  but  perfect  aquilines, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  are  scarce,  and  we  generally  use  them  for  uniforms  or 
public  characters." 

**  Indeed  1 "  said  Nicholas.  **  If  I  should  meet  with  any  in  my  travels,  I'll 
endeavour  to  sketch  them  for  you." 

**  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  really  going  all  the  way  down  into 
Yorkshire  this  cold  winter's  weather,  Mr.  Nickleby  ?  '  said  Miss  La  Creevy. 
"  I  heard  something  of  it  last  night." 

**I  do,  indeed,"  replied  Nicholas.  **  Needs  must,  you  know,  when  some- 
body drives.  Necessity  is  my  driver,  and  that  is  only  another  name  for  the 
same  gentleman." 

**  Well,  I'm  very  sorry  for  it ;  that's  all  I  can  say,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy  ; 
"  as  much  on  your  mother's  and  sister's  accounts  as  on  yours.  Your  sister  is 
a  very  pretty  young  lady,  Mr.  Nickleby,  and  that  is  an  additional  reason  why 
she  should  have  somebody  to  protect  her.  I  persuaded  her  to  give  me  a 
sitting  or  two,  for  the  street-door  case.  Ah  !  she'll  make  a  sweet  miniature." 
As  Miss  La  Creevy  spoke,  she  held  up  an  ivory  countenance  intersected  with 
very  perceptible  sky-blue  veins,  and  regarded  it  with  so  much  complacency, 
that  Nicholas  quite  envied  her. 

**  If  you  ever  have  an  opportunity  of  showing  Kate  some  little  kindness," 
said  Nicholas,  presenting  his  hand,  "  I  think  you  will." 

'*  Depend  upon  that,"  said  the  good-natured  miniature-painter  ;  *'  and  God 
bless  you,  Mr.  Nickleby  ;  and  I  wish  you  well." 

It  was  very  little  that  Nicholas  knew  of  the  world,  but  he  guessed  enough 
about  its  ways  to  think,  that  if  he  gave  Miss  La  Creevy  one  little  kiss,  perhaps 
she  might  not  be  the  less  kindly  disposed  towards  those  he  was  leaving  behind. 
So  he  gave  her  three  or  four  with  a  kind  of  jocose  gallantry,  and  Miss  La 
Creevy  evinced  no  greater  symptoms  of  displeasure  than  declaring,  as  she 
adjusted  her  yellow  turban,  that  she  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing,  and 
couldn't  have  believed  it  possible. 

Having  terminated  the  unexpected  interview  in  this  satisfactory  manner, 
Nicholas  hastily  withdrew  himself  from  the  house.  By  the  time  he  had  found 
a  man  to  carry  his  box  it  was  only  seven  o'clock,  so  he  walked  slowly*on,  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  porter,  and  very  probably  with  not  half  as  light  a  heart  in 
his  breast  as  the  man  had,  although  he  had  no  waistcoat  to  cover  it  with,  and 
had  evidently,  from  the  appearance  of  his  other  garments,  been  spending  the 
night  in  a  stable,  and  taking  his  breakfast  at  a  pump. 

Regarding,  with  no  small  curiosity  and  interest,  all  the  busy  preparations 
for  the  coming  day  which  every  street  and  almost  every  house  displayed ;  and 
thinking  now  and  then,  that  it  seemed  rather  hard  that  so  many  people  of  all 
ranks  and  stations  could  earn  a  livelihood  in  London,  and  that  he  should  bo 
compelled  to  journey  so  far  in  search  of  one  ;  Nicholas  speedily  arrived  at  the 
Saracen's  Head,  Snow  Hill.  Having  dismissed  his  attendant,  and  seen  the 
box  safely  deposited  in  the  coach-office,  he  looked  into  the  coffee-room  in 
search  of  Mr.  Squeers. 

He  found  that  learned  gentleman  sitting  at  breakfast,  with  the  three  little 
boys  before  noticed,  and  two  others  who  had  turned  up  by  some  lucky  chance 
since  the  interview  of  the  previous  day,  ranged  in  a  row  on  the  opposite  seat. 
Mr.  Squeers  had  before  him  a  small  measure  of  coffee,  a  plate  of  hot  toast,  and 
a  cold  round  of  beef ;  but  ho  was  at  that  moment  intent  on  preparing 
breakfast  for  the  little  boys. 

"  This  is  twoponn'orth  of  milk,  is  it,  waiter  ? "  said  Mr.  Squeeta,  Iq^Vycv^ 


30  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

down  into  a  large  blue  mug,  and  slanting  it  gently,  so  as  to  get  an  accurate 
view  of  the  quantity  of  liquid  contained  in  it. 

"Tliat's  twopenn'orth,  sir,"  replied  the  waiter, 

"  What  a  rare  article  milk  is,  to  be  sure,  in  London  ! "  said  Mr.  Squeers, 
with  a  sigh.  **  Just  fill  that  mug  up  with  lukewarm  water,  William,  will 
you  ? " 

**To  thewery  top,  sir?"  inquired  the  waiter.  **Why,  the  milk  will  be 
drownded." 

*'  Never  you  mind  that,"  renlied  Mr.  Squeers.  **  Serve  it  right  for  being 
80  dear.    You  ordered  that  thick  bread  and  butter  for  three,  did  you  ? " 

'*  Coming  directly,  sir." 

"  You  needn't  hurry  yourself,"  said  Squeers ;  **  there's  plenty  of  time. 
Conquer  your  passions,  boys,  and  don't  be  eager  after  vittles."  As  he  uttered 
this  moral  precept,  Mr.  Squeers  took  a  large  bite  out  of  the  cold  beef,  and 
recognised  Nicholas. 

*'Sit  down,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers.  "Here  we  are,  a  breakfasting, 
you  see ! " 

Nicholas  did  iwt  see  that  anybody  was  breakfasting  except  Mr.  Squeers ; 
but  he  bowed  with  all  becoming  reverence,  and  looked  as  cheerful  as  he 
could. 

"Oh,  that's  the  milk  and  water,  is  it,  William?"  said  Squeers.  "Very 
good  ;  don't  forget  the  bread  and  butter  presently." 

At  this  fresh  mention  of  the  bread  and  butter,  the  five  little  boys  looked 
very  eager,  and  followed  the  waiter  out  with  their  eyes ;  meanwhile,  Mr. 
Squeers  tasted  the  milk  and  water. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  that  gentleman,  smacking  his  lips,  "  here's  richness  !  Think 
of  the  many  beggars  and  orphans  in  the  streets  that  would  be  glad  of  this, 
little  boys.     A  snockin^  thing  hunger  is,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Nickleby  ?  ' 

"  Very  shocking,  sir,  *  said  Nicholas. 

"  When  I  say  number  one,"  pursued  Mr.  Squeers,  putting  the  mug  before 
the  children,  "the  boy  on  the  left  hand  nearest  the  window  may  take  a 
drink  :  and  when  I  say  number  two,  the  boy  next  him  will  go  in,  and  so  till 
we  come  to  number  five,  which  is  the  last  boy.     Are  you  ready  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  cried  all  the  little  boys,  with  great  ea^rness. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Squeers,  calmly  getting  on  with  his  breakfast ;  "keep 
ready  till  I  tell  you  to  begin.  Subdue  your  appetites,  my  dears,  and  you've 
conquered  human  natur'.  This  is  the  way  we  inculcate  strength  of  mind,  Mr. 
Nickleby,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  turning  to  Nicholas,  and  speaking  with  his 
mouth  very  full  of  beef  and  toast. 

Nicholas  murmured  something — he  knew  not  what — ^in  renly ;  and  the 
little  boys,  dividing  their  gaze  between  the  mug,  the  bread  and  butter  (which 
had  by  this  time  arrived),  and  every  morsel  which  Mr.  Squeers  took  into  liis 
mouth,  remained  wiUi  strained  eyes  in  torments  of  expectation. 

"  Thank  God  for  a  good  breakfast,"  said  Squeers  when  he  had  finished. 
"  Number  one  may  take  a  drink." 

Number  one  seized  the  mug  ravenously,  and  had  just  drunk  enough  to 
make  him  wish  for  more,  when  Mr.  Squeers  gave  the  signal  for  number  two, 
who  gave  up  at  the  same  interesting  moment  to  number  three ;  and  the 
process  was  repeated  until  the  milk  and  water  terminated  with  number  five. 

"  And  now,  said  the  schoolmaster,  dividing  the  bread  and  butter  for  three 
into  as  many  portions  as  there  were  children,  "you  had  better  look  sharp 
with  your  bre^ast,  for  the  horn  will  blow  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  then 
every  boy  leaves  off." 

Permission  being  thus  given  to  fall  to,  the  boys  began  to  eat  voraciously, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  31 

and  in  desperate  haste :  while  the  schoolmaster  (who  was  in  high  good- 
humour  after  his  meal)  picked  his  teeth  with  a  fork,  and  looked  smilingly 
on.     In  a  very  short  time  the  horn  was  heard. 

**  I  thought  it  wouldn't  he  long,"  said  Squeers,  jumping  up  and  producing 
a  little  basket  from  under  the  seat ;  "  put  what  you  haven't  had  time  to 
eat,  in  here,  boys  !    You'll  want  it  on  the  road  ! " 

Nicholas  was  considerably  startled  by  these  very  economical  arrangements  ; 
but  he  had  no  time  to  reflect  upon  them,  for  the  little  boys  had  to  be  got 
up  to  the  top  of  the  coach,  and  their  boxes  had  to  be  brought  out  and  put  in, 
and  Mr.  Squeers's  lu^age  was  to  be  seen  carefully  deposited  in  the  boot,  and 
all  these  omces  were  in  his  department.  He  was  in  the  full  heat  and  bustle 
of  concluding  these  operations,  when  his  uncle,  Mr.  Balph  Nickleby,  accosted 
him. 

**0h,  here  you  are,  sir!"  said  Ralph.  "Here  are  your  mother  and 
sister,  sir." 

**  Where  ?"  cried  Nicholas,  looking  hastily  round. 

**Here  !"  replied  his  uncle.  *' Having  too  much  money  and  nothing  at 
all  to  do  with  it,  they  were  paying  a  hackney  coach  as  I  came  up,  sir." 

**  We  were  afraid  of  being  too  late  to  see  him  before  he  went  away  from 
us,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  embracing  her  son,  heedless  of  the  unconcerned 
lookers-on  in  the  coach-yard. 

"  Very  good,  ma'am,"  returned  Ralph,  '*  yon're  the  best  judge,  of  course. 
I  merely  said  that  you  were  paying  a  hackney  coach,  /never  pay  a  hackney 
coach,  ma'am  ;  I  never  hire  one.  I  hav'n't  been  in  a  hackney  coach  of  my 
own  hiring  for  thirty  years,  and  I  hope  I  shan't  be  for  thirty  more,  if  I  live 
as  long." 

**I  should  never  have  forgiven  myself  if  I  had  not  seen  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby.  **Poor  dear  boy — agoing  away  without  his  breakfast,  too,  because 
he  feared  to  distress  us  ! " 

"Mighty  fine,  certainly,"  said  Ralph,  with  great  testiness.  "When  I 
first  went  to  business,  ma'am,  I  took  a  penny  loaf  and  a  ha'porth  of  milk  for 
my  breakfast  as  I  walked  to  the  City  every  morning ;  what  do  you  say  to 
that,  ma'am  %    Breakfast !    Bah  ! " 

**  Now,  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  coming  up  at  the  moment  buttoning  his 
greatcoat ;  "  I  think  you'd  better  get  up  behind.  I'm  afraid  of  one  of  them 
boys  falling  oif,  and  then  there's  twenty  pound  a-year  gone." 

**Dear  Nicholas,"  whispered  Kate,  touching  her  brother's  arm,  "who  is 
that  vulgar  man  ? " 

"Eh  !"  growled  Ralph,  whose  quick  ears  had  caught  the  inquiry.  "Do 
yon  wish  to  be  introduced  to  Mr.  Squeers,  my  dear  ? " 

**That  the  schoolmaster  !  No,  uncle.  Oh,  no  !"  replied  Kate,  shrinking 
back. 

"  I'm  sure  I  heard  you  say  as  much,  my  dear,"  retorted  Ralph,  in  his  cold, 
sarcastic  manner.     "  Mr.  Squeers,  here's  my  niece — Nicholas's  sister  !  " 

"Veiy  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  miss,"  said  Squeers,  raising  his 
hat  an  inch  or  two.  "  I  wish  Mrs.  Squeers  took  gals,  and  we  had  you  for  a 
teacher.  I  don't  know,  though,  whether  she  mightn't  grow  jealous  if  we  had. 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

If  the  proprietor  of  Dotheboys  Hall  could  have  known  what  was  passing  in 
his  assistant's  breast  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  discovered  with  some 
surprise,  that  he  was  as  near  being  soundly  pummelled  as  he  had  ever  been  in 
his  life.  Kate  Nickleby,  having  a  quicker  perception  of  her  brother's 
emotions,  led  him  gently  aside,  and  thus  prevented  Mr.  Squeers  from  being 
impressed  with  the  fact  in  a  peculiarly  disagreeable  manner. 


32  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**My  dear  Nicholas,"  said  the  young  lady,  "who  is  this  man?  What 
kind  of  place  can  it  be  that  you  are  going  to  ? " 

"  I  hardly  know,  Kate,"  replied  Nicholas,  pressing  his  sister's  hand.  **  I 
suppose  the  Yorkshire  folks  are  rather  rough  and  uncultivated  ;  that's  all." 

'•  But  this  person  ? "  urged  Kate. 

"  Is  my  employer,  or  master,  or  whatever  the  proper  name  may  be,"  replied 
Nicholas,  quickly,  **  and  I  was  an  ass  to  take  nis  coarseness  ill.  They  are 
looking  this  way,  and  it  is  time  I  was  in  my  place.  .  Bless  you,  love,  and 
good-bye  !  Mother,  look  forward  to  our  meeting  again  some  day !  Uncle, 
farewell !  Thank  you  heartily  for  all  you  have  done  and  all  you  mean  to  do. 
Quite  ready,  sir  ! " 

With  these  hasty  adieux  Nicholas  mounted  nimbly  to  his  seat,  and  waved 
his  hand  as  gallantly  as  if  his  heart  went  with  it. 

At  this  moment,  when  the  coachman  and  guard  were  comparing  notes  for 
the  last  time  before  starting,  on  the  subject  of  the  way-bill ;  when  porters 
were  screwing  out  the  last  reluctant  sixpences,  itinerant  newsmen  making 
the  last  offer  of  a  morning  paper,  and  the  horses  giving  the  last  impatient 
rattle  to  their  harness ;  Nicholas  felt  somebody  pulling  softly  at  his  leg. 
He  looked  down,  and  there  stood  Newman  Noggs,  who  pushed  up  into  his 
hand  a  dirty  letter. 

*'  What's  this  ? "  inquired  Nicholas. 

**Hushr*  rejoined  Noggs,  pointing  to  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  who  was 
saying  a  few  earnest  words  to  Squeers,  a  short  distance  off.  "Take  it. 
Read  it.     Nobody  knows.     That's  all." 

**  Stop  !  "  cried  Nicholas. 

"No,"  replied  Noggs. 

Nicholas  cried  stop  again,  but  Newman  Noggs  was  gone. 

A  minute's  bustle,  a  banging  of  the  coach  doors,  a  swaying  of  the  vehicle 
to  one  side,  as  the  heavy  coachman,  and  still  heavier  guard,  climbed  into 
their  seats  ;  a  cry  of  "All  right,"  a  few  notes  from  the  horn,  a  hasty  glance 
of  two  sorrowful  faces  below,  and  the  hard  features  of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby — 
and  the  coach  was  gone  too,  and  rattling  over  the  stones  of  Smithfield. 

The  little  boys'  legs  bein^  too  short  to  admit  of  their  feet  resting  upon  any- 
thing as  they  sat,  and  the  little  bovs'  bodies  being  consequently  in  imminent 
hazard  of  being  jerked  off,  Nicholas  had  enough  to  do,  over  the  stones,  to 
hold  them  on.  Between  the  manual  exertion  and  the  mental  anxiety 
attendant  upon  this  task,  he  was  not  a  little  relieved  when  the  coach  stopped 
at  the  Peacock,  at  Islington.  He  was  still  more  relieved  when  a  hearty-looking 
gentleman,  with  a  very  good-humoured  face,  and  a  very  fresh  colour,  got  up 
behind,  and  proposed  to  take  the  other  corner  of  the  seat. 

"  If  we  put  some  of  these  youngsters  in  the  middle,"  said  the  new-comer, 
"they'll  be  safer  in  case  of  their  going  to  sleep,  eh  ? " 

"If  you'll  have  the  goodness,  sir,  replied  Squeers,  "that'll  be  the  very 
thing.  Mr.  Nicklebv,  take  three  of  them  boys  between  you  and  the  gentle- 
man. Belling  and  tte  youngest  Snawley  can  sit  between  me  and  the  guard. 
Three  children,"  said  Squeers,  explaining  to  the  stranger,  "  books  as  two." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  objection  I  am  sure,"  said  the  fresh-coloured  gentle- 
man ;  "  I  have  a  brother  who  wouldn't  object  to  book  his  six  children  as  two 
at  any  butcher's  or  baker's  in  the  kingdom,  I  dare  say.     Far  from  it." 

"Six  children,  six  ? "  exclaimed  Squeers. 

"Yes,  and  all  boys,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  in  great  haste,  "  catch  hold  of  that  basket. 
Let  me  give  you  a  card,  sir,  of  an  establishment  where  those  six  boys  can  be 
brought  up  in  an  enlightenedi  liberali  and  moral  manner,  with  no  mistake  at 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  n 

all  about  it,  for  twenty  guineas  a-year  each — twenty  guineas,  sir — or  I'd  take 
all  the  boys  together  upon  an  average  right  through,  and  say  a  hundred  pound 
a-year  for  the  lot." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  the  gentleman,  glancing  at  the  card,  * '  you  are  the  Mr. 
Squeers  mentioned  here,  I  presume  ? " 

"Yes  I  am,  sir,"  replied  the  worthy  pedagogue  ;  "Mr.  Wackford  Squeers 
is  my  name,  and  I'm  very  far  from  being  ashamed  of  it.  These  are  some  of 
my  boys,  sir ;  that's  one  of  my  assistants,  sir — Mr.  Nickleby,  a  gentleman's 
son,  and  a  good  scholar,  mathematical,  classical,  and  commercial.  We  don't 
do  things  by  halves  at  our  shop.  All  manner  of  learning  my  boys  take  down, 
sir  ;  the  expense  is  never  thought  of ;  and  they  get  paternal  treatment  and 
washing  in. 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  the  gentleman,  glancing  at  Nicholas  with  a  half 
smile,  and  a  more  than  half  expression  of  surprise,  "these  are  advantivges, 
indeed." 

"  You  may  say  that,  sir,"  rejoined  Squeers,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  great- 
coat pockets.  "The  most  unexceptionable  references  are  given  and  required, 
I  wouldn't  take  a  reference  with  any  boy  that  wasn't  responsible  for  the  pay- 
ment of  five  pound  five  a-quarter,  no,  not  if  you  went  obwn  on  your  knees, 
and  asked  me,  with  the  tears  running  down  your  face,  to  do  it." 

"Highly  considerate,"  said  the  passenger. 

"It's  my  great  aim  and  end  to  be  considerate,  sir,"  rejoined  Squeers, 
"Snawley,  junior,  if  you  don't  leave  off  chattering  your  teeth,  and  shaking 
with  the  cold,  I'll  warm  you  with  a  severe  thrashing  in  about  half-a-minute*s 
time. " 

"Sit  fast  here,  genelmen,"  said  the  guard,  as  he  climbed  up. 

"  All  ri^ht  behind  there,  Dick  ? "  cried  the  coachman. 

"All  right,"  was  the  reply.  "Off  she  goes  !"  And  off  she  did  go — if 
coaches  be  feminine — amidst  a  loud  flourish  from  the  guard's  horn,  and  the 
calm  approval  of  all  the  judges  of  coaches  and  coach-horses  congregated  at  the 
Peacock,  but  more  especially  from  the  helpers,  who  stood  with  the  cloths  over 
their  arms,  watching  the  coach  till  it  disappeared,  and  then  lounged  admir- 
ingly stablewards,  bestowing  various  gruff  encomiums  on  the  beauty  of  the 
turn-out. 

When  the  guard  (who  was  a  stout  old  Yorkshireman)  had  blown  himself 
quite  out  of  breath,  he  put  the  horn  into  a  little  tunnel  of  a  basket  fastened 
to  the  coach-side  for  the  purpose,  and  giving  himself  a  plentiful  shower  of 
blows  on  the  chest  and  shoulders,  observed  it  was  uncommon  cold ;  after 
which  he  demanded  of  every  person  separately  whether  he  was  going  right 
through,  and  if  not,  where  he  w(m  going.  Satisfactory  replies  being  made  to 
these  queries,  he  surmised  that  the  roads  were  pretty  heavy  arter  that  fall 
last  night,  and  took  the  liberty  of  asking  whether  any  of  them  gentlemen 
carried  a  snuff-box.  It  happening  that  nobody  did,  he  remarked  with  a 
mysterious  air  that  he  had  heard  a  medical  gentleman  as  went  down  to  Gran- 
tham last  week,  say  how  that  snuff-taking  was  bad  for  the  eyes  ;  but  for  his 
part  he  had  never  found  it  so,  and  what  he  said  was,  that  everybody  should 
speak  as  they  found.  Nobody  attempting  to  controvert  this  position,  he  took 
a  small  brown -paper  parcel  out  of  his  hat,  and  putting  on  a  pair  of  hom- 
spectacles  (the  writing  being  crabbed),  read  the  direction  half-a-dozen  times 
over ;  having  done  which,  he  consigned  the  parcel  to  its  old  place,  put  up  his 
spectacles  again,  and  stared  at  everybody  in  turn.  After  this  he  took  another 
blow  at  the  horn  by  way  of  refreshment ;  and  having  now  exhausted  his 
usual  topics  of  conversation,  folded  his  arms  as  well  as  he  could  in  so  many 
coats,  and  falling  into  a  solemn  silence,  looked  carelessl'^  ^  *^^  ^sssS^sss, 


34  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

objects  which  met  his  eye  on  every  side  as  the  coach  rolled  on ;  the  only 
things  he  seemed  to  care  for  being  horses  and  droves  of  cattle,  which  he  scrutin- 
ised mth  a  critical  air  as  they  were  passed  upon  the  road. 

The  weather  was  intensely  and  bitterly  cold  ;  a  great  deal  of  snow  fell  from 
time  to  time  ;  and  the  wind  was  intolerably  keen.  Mr.  Squeers  got  down  at 
almost  every  stage — to  stretch  his  legs,  as  he  said — and  as  he  always  came  back 
I'rom  such  excursions  with  a  very  red  nose,  and  com}>oscd  himself  to  sleep 
directly,  there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  he  derived  great  benefit  from  the  pro- 
cess. The  little  pupils  having  being  stimulated  with  the  remains  of  their 
breakfast,  and  further  invigorated  by  sundry  small  sups  of  a  curious  cordial 
carried  by  Mr.  Squeers,  which  tasted  very  like  toast-and-water  put  into  a 
brandy  bottle  by  mistake,  went  to  sleep,  woke,  shivered,  and  cried,  as  their  feel- 
ings prompted.  Nicholas  and  the  good-tempered  man  found  so  many  things 
to  talk  about,  that  between  conversing  together,  and  cheering  up  the  boys, 
the  time  passed  with  them  as  rapidly  as  it  could,  under  such  adyerae 
circumstances. 

So  the  day  wore  on.  At  Eton-Slocomb  there  was  a  good  coach  dinner,  of  which 
the  box,  the  four  front  outsides,  the  one  inside,  Nicholas,  the  good-tempered 
man,  and  Mr.  Squeers  partook ;  while  the  five  littie  boys  were  put  to  thaw  by  the 
lire,  and  regaled  with  sandwiches.  A  stage  or  two  further  on,  the  lamps  were 
lighted,  and  a  great  to-do  occasioned  by  the  taking  up,  at  a  road-side  inn,  of 
a  very  fastidious  lady  with  an  infinite  variety  of  cloaks  and  small  parcels,  who 
loudly  lamented,  for  the  behoof  of  the  outsides,  the  non-arrival  of  her  own 
carriage  which  was  to  have  taken  her  on,  and  made  the  guard  solemnly  pro- 
mise to  stop  every  green  chariot  he  saw  coming ;  which,  as  it  was  a  dark  night, 
and  he  was  sitting  with  his  face  the  other  way,  that  oflficer  undertook,  with 
many  fervent  asseverations,  to  do.  Lastly,  the  fastidious  lady,  finding  there 
was  a  solitary  gentleman  inside,  had  a  small  lamp  lighted  which  she  carried 
in  her  reticule,  and  being,  after  much  trouble,  shut  in,  the  horses  were  put  into 
a  brisk  canter,  and  the  coach  was  once  more  in  rapid  motion. 

The  night  and  the  snow  came  on  together,  and  dismal  enough  they  were. 
There  was  no  sound  to  be  heard  but  the  howling  of  the  wind  ;  for  the  n(^ 
of  the  wheels,  and  the  tread  of  the  horses*  feet,  were  rendered  inaudible  by 
the  thick  coating  of  snow  which  covered  the  ground,  and  was  fast  increasing 
every  moment.  The  streets  of  Stamford  were  deserted  as  they  passed  througn 
the  town  ;  and  its  old  churches  rose,  frowning  and  dark,  from  the  whitened 
ground.  Twenty  miles  further  on,  two  of  the  front  outside  passengers,  wisely 
availing  themselves  of  their  arrival  at  one  of  the  best  inns  in  England,  turned 
in  for  the  night  at  the  Greorge,  at  Grantham.  The  remainder  wrapped  them- 
selves  more  closely  in  their  coats  and  cloaks,  and  leaving  the  light  and  warmth 
of  the  town  behind  them,  pillowed  themselves  against  the  luggage,  and  pre- 
])ared,  with  many  half-suppressed  moans,  again  to  encounter  the  piercing  blast 
which  swept  across  the  open  country. 

They  were  little  more  than  a  stage  out  of  Grantham,  or  about  half-way 
between  it  and  Newark,  when  Nicholas,  who  had  been  asleep  for  a  short  time, 
was  suddenly  roused  by  a  violent  jerk  which  nearly  threw  him  from  his  seat. 
(rrasping  the  rail,  he  found  that  the  coach  had  sunk  greatly  on  one  side, 
though  it  was  still  dragged  forward  by  the  horses  ;  and  while— confused  by 
their  plunging  and  the  loud  screams  of  the  lady  inside — he  hesitated  for  an 
instant  whether  he  should  jump  off"  or  not,  the  vehicle  turned  easily  over, 
and  relieved  him  from  all  uncertainty  by  flinging  him  into  the  road. 


NICHOLAS  NICK LE BY.  35 


CHAPTER    VI. 

IN  WHICH  THE  OCCURRENCE  OP  THE  ACCIDENT  MENTIONED  IN  THE  LAST 
CHAPTER  AFFORDS  AN  OPPORTUNITY  TO  A  COUPLE  OF  GENTLEMEN  TO 
TELL  STORIES  AGAINST  EACH  OTHER. 

'*  ^Q  KO  HO  !  "  cried  the  guard,  on  his  legs  in  a  minute,  and  running  to- 
\A/  the  leaders'  heads.  "  Is  there  ony  genelman  there  as  can  len'  a 
*  "      hand  here  ?    Keep  quiet,  dang  ye  !     Wo  ho  !  " 

**  What's  the  matter  ? "  demanded  Nicholas,  looking  sleepily  up. 

**  Matther,  mun  ?  matther  eneaf  for  one  neight,"  replied  the  guard  ;  **  dang 
the  wall-eyed  bay,  he's  gane  mad  wi'  glory,  I  think,  carse  t'coorch  is  over. 
Here,  can't  ye  len'  a  hond  ?  Dom  it,  I'd  ha'  dean  it  if  all  my  boans  were 
brokken." 

**  Here  !  "  cried  Nicholas,  staggering  to  his  feet,  **  I'm  ready.  I'm  only  a 
little  abroad,  that's  all." 

**  Hoold  *em  toight,"  cried  the  guard,  "while  ar  coot  treaces.  Hang  on 
tiv  'em  sumhoo.  Weel  deane,  my lod.  That's  it.  Let  'em  goa  noo.  Dang 
*em,  they'll  gang  whoam  fast  eneaf !  " 

In  truth,  the  animals  were  no  sooner  released  than  they  trotted  back,  with 
much  deliberation,  to  the  stable  they  had  just  left,  which  was  distant  not  a 
mile  behind. 

'*  Can  you  bio'  a  ham  ? "  asked  the  guard,  disengaging  one  of  the  coach- 
lamps. 

**  I  daresay  I  can,"  replied  Nicholas. 

**  Then  just  bio'  into  that  'un  as  lies  on  the  gmnd,  fit  to  wakkcn  the  deead, 
will'ee,"  said  the  man,  "  while  I  stop  some  o*  this  here  squealing  inside. 
Cumin',  cumin'.     Dean't  make  that  noise,  wooman." 

As  the  man  spoke  he  proceeded  to  wrench  open  the  uppermost  door  of  the 
coach,  while  Nicholas,  seizing  the  horn,  awoke  the  echoes  far  and  wide  with 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  performances  on  that  instrument  ever  heard 
by  mortal  ears.  It  had  its  effect,  however,  not  only  in  rousing  such  of  the 
passengers  as  were  recovering  from  the  stunning  effects  of  their  fall,  but  in 
summoning  assistance  to  their  relief ;  for  lights  gleamed  in  the  distance,  and 
people  were  already  astir. 

In  fact,  a  man  on  horseback  galloped  down,  before  the  passengers  were  well 
collected  together ;  and  a  careful  investigation  being  instituted,  it  appeared 
that  the  lady  inside  had  broken  her  lamp,  and  the  gentleman  his  head  ;  that 
the  two  front  outsides  had  escaped  with  black  eyes  ;  the  box  with  a  bloody 
nose  ;  the  coachman  with  a  contusion  on  the  temple  ;  Mr.  Squeers  with  a. 
portmanteau  bruise  on  his  back  ;  and  the  remaining  passengers  without  any 
injury  at  all — thanks  to  the  softness  of  the  snow-drift  in  which  they  had  been 
overturned.  These  facts  were  no  sooner  thoroughly  ascertained,  than  the 
lady  gave  several  indications  of  fainting,  but  being  forewarned  that  if  she 
did,  she  must  be  carried  on  some  gentleman's  shoulders  to  the  nearest 
public-house,  she  prudently  thought  better  of  it,  and  walked  back  with  the 
rest. 

They  found  on  reaching  it,  that  it  was  a  lonely  place  with  no  very  great 
accommodation  in  the  way  of  apartments — that  portion  of  its  resources  being 
all  comprised  in  one  public  room  with  a  sanded  floor,  and  a  chair  or  tvro. 
However,  a  large  fagot  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  coala  \)e\ng  ^ie^^^  \iL-^t» 


36  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

the  fire,  the  appearance  of  things  was  not  long  in  mending  ;  and,  by  the  time 
they  had  washed  off  all  effaceable  marks  of  the  late  accident,  the  room  was 
warm  and  light,  which  was  a  most  agreeable  exchange  for  the  cold  and  dark- 
ness out  of  doors. 

**  Well,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  insinuating  himself  into  the  warmest 
comer,  "  you  did  very  right  to  catch  hold  of  them  horses.  I  should  have 
done  it  myself  if  I  had  come  to  in  time,  but  I'm  very  glad  you  did  it.  You 
did  it  very  well ;  very  well." 

**  So  well,"  said  the  merry-faced  gentleman,  who  did  not  seem  to  approve 
very  much  of  the  patronising  tone  adopted  by  Squeers,  **  that  if  they  had 
not  been  firmly  checked  when  they  were,  you  would  most  probably  have  had 
no  brains  left  to  teach  with." 

This  remark  called  up  a  discourse  relative  to  the  promptitude  Nicholas 
had  displayed,  and  he  was  overwhelmed  with  compliments  and  commenda- 
tions. 

**  I  am  very  glad  to  have  escaped,  of  course,"  observed  Squeers  ;  "every 
man  is  glad  when  he  escapes  from  danger  ;  but  if  any  one  of  my  charges  had 
been  hurt — if  I  had  been  prevented  from  restoring  any  one  of  these  little 
boys  to  his  parents  whole  and  sound  as  I  received  him — what  would  have 
been  my  feelings  I  Why,  the  wheel  a-top  of  my  head  would  have  been  far 
preferable  to  it." 

"Are  they  all  brothers,  sir?"  inquired  the  lady  who  had  carried  the 
**  Davy,"  or  safety-lamp. 

"  In  one  sense  they  are,  ma'am,"  replied  Squeers,  diving  into  his  great- 
coat pocket  for  cards.  "  They  are  all  under  the  same  parental  and  affectionate 
treatment.  Mrs.  Squeers  and  myself  are  a  mother  and  a  father  to  every  one 
of  'em.  Mr.  Nickfeby,  hand  the  lady  them  cards,  and  offer  these  to  the 
gentlemen.  Perhaps  they  might  know  of  some  parents  that  would  be  glad  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  establishment" 

Expressing  himself  to  this  effect,  Mr.  Squeers,  who  lost  no  opportunity  of 
advertising  gratuitously,  placed  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  and  looked  at  the 
pupils  with  as  much  benignity  as  he  could  possibly  affect,  while  Nicholas, 
blushing  with  shame,  handed  round  the  cards  as  directed. 

**  I  hope  you  suffer  no  inconvenience  from  the  overturn,  ma'am  ? "  said  the 
merry-faced  gentleman,  addressing  the  fastidious  lady,  as  though  he  were 
charitably  desirous  to  change  the  subject. 

*'  No  bodily  inconvenience,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  No  mental  inconvenience,  I  hope  ? " 

'*  The  subject  is  a  very  painful  one  to  my  feelings,  sir,"  replied  the  la(ly, 
with 'strong  emotion  ;  "  and  I  beg  you,  as  a  gentleman,  not  to  refer  to  it." 

"Dear  me,"  said  the  merry-faced  gentleman,  looking  merrier  still,  **I 
merely  intended  to  inquire " 

"  I  hope  no  inquiries  will  be  made,"  said  the  lady,  "  or  I  shall  be  compelled 
to  throw  myself  on  the  protection  of  the  other  ^ntlemen.  Landlord,  pray 
direct  a  boy  to  keep  watch  outside  the  door — and  if  a  green  chariot  passes  in 
the  direction  of  Grantham,  to  stop  it  instantly." 

The  people  of  the  house  were  evidently  overcome  by  this  request,  and  when 
the  lady  charged  the  boy  to  remember,  as  a  means  of  identifying  the  expected 
green  chariot,  that  it  would  have  a  coachman  with  a  gold-laced  hat  on  the 
box,  and  a  jfootman,  most  probably  in  silk  stockings,  behind,  the  attentions 
of  the  good  woman  of  the  inn  were  redoubled.  Even  the  box-passenger  caught 
the  infection,  and  growing  wonderfully  deferential,  immediately  inquired 
whether  there  was  not  very  good  society  in  that  neighbourhood,  to  which  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  37 

lady  replied,  Yes,  there  was :  in  a  manner  which  sufficiently  implied  that  she 
moved  at  the  very  tiptop  and  summit  of  it  alL 

''  As  the  guard  has  gone  on  horseback  to  Grantham  to  get  another  coach/' 
said  the  good-tempered  gentleman,  when  they  had  been  aU  sitting  round  the 
fire  for  some  time  in  silence,  "  and  as  he  must  be  gone  a  couple  of  hours  at 
the  very  least,  I  propose  a  bowl  of  hot  punch.     What  say  you,  sir  ? " 

This  question  was  addressed  to  the  broken-headed  inside,  who  was  a 
man  of  very  genteel  appearance,  dressed  in  mourning.  He  was  not  past 
the  middle  age,  but  his  hair  was  grey ;  it  seemed  to  have  been  prematurely 
turned  by  care  or  sorrow.  He  rei^ily  acceded  to  the  proposal,  and  appeared 
to  be  prepossessed  by  the  frank  good-nature  of  the  individual  from  whom  it 
emanated. 

This  latter  personage  took  upon  himself  the  office  of  tapster,  when  the 
punch  was  ready,  and  after  dispensing  it  all  round,  led  the  conversation  to  the 
antiquities  of  York,  with  which  both  he  and  the  grey-haired  gentleman 
appeared  well  acquainted.  When  this  topic  flagged,  he  turned  with  a  smile 
to  the  grey-headed  gentleman,  and  asked  if  he  could  sing. 

"  I  cannot,  indeed,"  replied  the  gentleman,  smiling  in  his  turn. 

"  That's  a  pity,"  said  the  owner  of  the  good-humoured  countenance.  "  Is 
there  nobody  here  who  can  sing  a  song  to  lighten  the  time  ? " 

The  passengers,  one  and  ail,  protested  that  they  could  not ;  that  they 
wished  they  could ;  that  they  couldn't  remember  the  words  of  anything 
without  the  book  ;  and  so  forth. 

**  Perhaps  the  lady  would  not  object,"  said  the  president,  with  great 
respect,  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  Some  little  Italian  thing  out  of 
the  last  opera  brought  out  in  town  would  be  most  acceptable,  I  am  sure. " 

As  the  lady  condescended  to  make  no  reply,  but  tossed  her  head  con- 
temptuously, and  murmured  some  further  expression  of  surprise  regarding 
the  absence  of  the  green  chariot,  one  or  two  voices  urged  upon  the  president 
himself  the  propriety  of  making  an  attempt  for  the  general  benefit. 

"  I  would  if  I  could,"  said  he  of  the  good- tempered  face  ;  **  for  I  hold  that 
in  this,  as  in  all  other  cases  where  people  who  are  strangers  to  each  other  are 
thrown  unexpectedly  together,  they  should  endeavour  to  render  themselves, as 
pleasant,  for  the  joint  sake  of  the  little  community,  as  possible." 

**  I  wish  the  maxim  were  more  generally  acted  on,  m  all  cases,"  said  the 
grey-headed  gentleman. 

'*  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  returned  the  other.  *'  Perhaps,  as  you  can't  sing, 
you'll  teU  us  a  story  ? " 

"  Nay.     I  should  ask  you." 

**  After  you,  I  will,  with  pleasure." 

*'  Indeed  ! "  said  the  grey-haired  gentleman,  smiling.  *'  Well,  let  it  be  so. 
I  fear  the  turn  of  my  thoughts  is  not  calculated  to  lighten  the  time  you  must 
TOSS  here ;  but  you  have  brought  this  upon  yourselves,  and  shall  judge. 
We  were  speaking  of  York  Minster  just  now.  My  story  shall  have  some 
reference  to  it.     Let  us  call  it — 

THE  FIVE  SISTERS  OF  YORK. 

After  a  murmur  of  approbation  from  the  other  passengers,  during  which  the 
fastidious  lady  drank  a  glass  of  punch  unobserved,  the  grey-headed  gentleman 
thus  went  on  : — 

"A  great  many  years  ago — for  the  fifteenth  century  was  scarce  two  years 
old  at  tne  time,  and  King  Henry  the  Fourth  sat  upon  the  throne  of  England 
— there  dwelt,  in  the  ancient  city  of  York,  five  maiden  sisters,  the  subjects  of 
my  tale. 


38  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

''These  five  sisters  were  all  of  surpassing  beauty.  The  eldest  was  in  her 
twenty-third  year,  the  second  a  year  younger,  the  third  a  year  younger  than 
the  second,  and  the  fourth  a  year  younger  than  the  third.  They  were  tall, 
stately  figures,  with  dark,  flashing  eyes  and  hair  of  jet ;  dignity  and  grace 
were  in  their  every  movement ;  and  the  fame  of  their  great  beauty  had  spread 
through  all  the  country  round. 

"  But  if  the  four  elaer  sisters  were  lovely,  how  beautiful  was  the  youngest, 
a  fair  creature  of  sixteen  !  The  blushing  tints  in  the  soft  bloom  on  tlie  fruit, 
or  the  delicate  painting  on  the  flower,  are  not  more  exquisite  than  was  the 
blending  of  the  rose  and  lily  in  her  gentle  face,  or  the  deep  blue  of  her  eye. 
The  vine,  in  all  its  elegant  luxuriance,  is  not  more  graceful  than  were  the 
clusters  of  rich  brown  hair  that  sported  round  her  brow. 

''  If  we  all  had  hearts  like  those  which  beat  so  lightly  in  the  bosoms  of  the 
young  and  beautiful,  what  a  heaven  this  earth  would  be  !  If,  while  our 
bodies  grew  old  and  withered,  our  hearts  could  but  retain  their  early  youth 
and  freshness,  of  what  avail  would  be  our  sorrows  and  suff'erinffs  !  But  the 
faint  image  of  Eden  which  is  stamped  upon  them  in  childhood,  chafes  and 
rubs  in  our  rough  struggles  with  the  world,  and  soon  wears  away  ;  too  often 
to  leave  nothing  but  a  mournful  blank  remaining. 

**The  heart  of  this  fair  ffirl  bounded  with  joy  and  gladness.  Devoted 
attachment  to  her  sisters,  and  a  fervent  love  of  all  beautiful  things  in  nature, 
were  its  pure  aflections.  Her  gleesome  voice  and  merry  laugh  were  the 
sweetest  music  of  their  home.  She  was  its  very  light  and  life.  The  brightest 
flowers  in  the  garden  were  reared  by  her ;  the  cage  birds  sang  when  they 
heard  her  voice,  and  pined  wh^n  they  missed  its  sweetness.  Alice,  dear 
Alice  ;  what  living  thing  within  the  sphere  of  her  gentle  witchery  could  fail  to 
love  her  ! 

**  You  may  seek  in  vain,  now,  for  the  spot  on  which  these  sisters  lived,  for 
their  very  names  have  passed  away,  and  dusty  antiquaries  tell  of  them  as  of  a 
fable.  But  they  dwelt  in  an  old  wooden  house — old  even  in  those  days — with 
overhanging  gables  and  balconies  of  rudely-carved  oak,  which  stood  within  a 
pleasant  orchard,  and  was  surrounded  by  a  rough  stone  wall,  whence  a  stout 
archer  might  have  winged  an  arrow  to  St.  Mary's  Abbey.  The  old  abbey 
flourished  then  ;  and  the  five  sisters,  living  on  its  fair  domains,  paid  yearly 
dues  to  the  black  monks  of  Saint  Benedict,  to  which  fraternity  it  belonged. 

*'  It  was  a  bright  and  sunny  morning  in  the  pleasant  time  of  summer,  when 
one  of  these  black  monks  emerged  from  the  abbey  portal,  and  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  house  of  the  fair  sisters.  Heaven  above  was  blue,  and  earth 
beneath  was  green  ;  the  river  glistened  like  a  path  of  diamonds  in  the  sun  ; 
the  birds  poured  forth  their  songs  from  the  shady  trees  ;  the  lark  soared  high 
above  the  waving  corn  ;  and  the  deep  buzz  of  insects  filled  the  air.  Every- 
thing looked  gay  and  smiling  ;  but  the  holy  man  walked  gloomily  on,  with 
his  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground.  The  beauty  of  the  earth  is  but  a  breath, 
and  man  is  but  a  shadow.  What  sympathy  should  a  holy  preacher  have  witli 
either  ? 

**  With  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground,  then,  or  only  raised  enough  to  prevent 
his  stumbling  over  such  obstacles  as  lay  in  his  way,  the  religious  man  moved 
slowly  forward  until  he  reached  a  small  postern  in  the  wall  of  the  sisters* 
orchard,  through  which  he  passed,  closing  it  behind  him.  The  noise  of  soft 
voices  in  conversation,  and  of  merry  laughter,  fell  upon  his  ear  ere  he  had 
advanced  many  paces ;  and  raising  his  eyes  higher  than  was  his  humble  wont, 
he  descried,  at  no  great  distance,  the  five  sisters  seated  on  the  grass,  with 
Alice  in  the  centre  ;  all  busily  plying  their  customary  task  of  embroidering. 

**  *  Save  you,  fair  daughters  ! '  said  the  friar  ;  and  fair  in  truth  they  were. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  39 

Even  a  monk  might  have  loved  them  as  choice  masterpieces  of  his  Maker's 
hand. 

''The  sisters  sainted  the  holy  man  with  becoming  reverence,  and  the  eldest 
motioned  him  to  a  mossy  seat  beside  them  ;  but  the  good  friar  shook  his  head, 
and  bumped  himself  down  on  a  very  hard  stone — at  which,  no  doubt,  approv- 
ing angels  were  gratified. 

**  *  Ye  were  merry,  daughters,'  said  the  monk. 

"  *  You  know  how  light  of  heart  sweet  Alice  is,*  replied  the  eldest  sister, 
passing  her  fingers  through  the  tresses  of  the  smiling  girl. 

*'  *  And  what  joy  and  cheerfulness  it  wakes  up  within  us,  to  see  all  nature 
beaming  in  brightness  and  sunshine,  father,'  added  Alice,  blushing  beneath 
the  stern  look  of  the  recluse. 

"  The  monk  answered  not,  save  by  a  gravfi  inclination  of  the  head,  and  the 
sisters  pursued  their  task  in  silence. 

**  *  Still  wasting  the  precious  hours,'  said  the  monk,  at  length,  turning  to 
the  eldest  sister  as  he  spoke,  *  still  wasting  the  precious  hours  on  this  vain 
trifling.  Alas,  alas  !  that  the  few  bubbles  on  the  service  of  eternity — all  that 
heaven  wills  we  should  see  of  that  dark  stream — should  be  so  lightly 
scattered !  * 

**  'Father,*  urged  the  maiden,  pausing,  as  did  each  of  the  others,  in  her 
busy  task,  *  we  have  prayed  at  matins,  our  daily  alms  have  been  distributed 
at  the  gate,  the  sick  peasants  have  been  tended — all  our  morning  tasks  have 
been  performed.     I  hope  our  occupation  is  a  blameless  one  ? ' 

"  *  See  here,'  said  the  friar,  taking  the  frame  from  her  hand,  *an  intricate 
winding  of  gaudy  colours,  without  purpose  or  object,  unless  it  be  that  one  day 
it  is  destined  for  some  vain  ornament,  to  minister  to  the  pride  of  your  frail 
and  giddy  sex.  Day  after  day  has  been  employed  upon  this  senseless  task, 
and  yet  it  is  not  half  acomplished.  The  shade  of  each  departed  day  falls 
upon  our  graves,  and  the  worm  exults  as  ho  beholds  it,  to  know  that  we  are 
hastening  thither.  Daughters,  is  there  no  better  way  to  pass  the  fleeting 
hours  1 ' 

'  *  The  four  elder  sisters  cast  down  their  eyes,  as  if  abashed  by  the  holy 
man's  reproof ;  but  Alice  raised  hers,  and  bent  them  mildly  on  the  friar. 

**  *  Our  dear  mother,'  said  the  maiden  ;  '  Heaven  rest  her  soul  ! ' 

'*  *  Amen  ! '  cried  the  friar,  in  a  deep  voice. 

"  'Our  dear  mother,'  faltered  the  fair  Alice,  'was  living  when  these  long 
tasks  began,  and  bade  us,  when  she  should  be  no  more,  ply  them,  in  all  dis- 
cretion and  cheerfulness,  in  our  leisure  hours  ;  she  said  that  if  in  harmless 
mirth  and  maidenly  purauits  we  passed  those  hours  together,  they  would 
prove  the  happiest  and  most  peaceful  of  our  lives,  and  that  if,  in  later  times, 
we  went  forth  into  the  world,  and  mingled  with  its  cares  and  trials — if, 
allured  by  its  temptations  and  dazzled  by  its  glitter,  we  ever  forgot  that  love 
and  duty  which  should  bind,  in  holy  ties,  the  children  of  oue  loved  parent — a 
glance  at  the  old  work  of  our  common  girlhood  would  awaken  good  thoughts 
of  by-gone  days,  and  soften  our  hearts  to  affection  and  love. ' 

"'Alice  speaks  truly,  father,'  said  the  elder  sister,  somewhat  proudly. 
And  so  saying  she  resumed  her  work,  as  did  the  others. 

"It  was  a  kind  of  sampler,  of  large  size,  that  each  sister  had  before  her  ; 
the  device  was  of  a  complex  and  intricate  description,  and  the  pattern  and 
colours  of  all  five  were  the  same.  The  sisters  bent  gracefully  over  their  work; 
the  monk  resting  his  chin  upon  his  hands,  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in 
silence. 

"  *  How  much  better,'  he  said  at  length,  'to  shun  all  such  thoughts  and 
chances,  and,  in  the  peaceful  shelter  of  the  church,  devote  your  lvc«9i  \ft 


40  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

heaven )  Infancy,  childhood,  the  prime  of  life,  and  old  age,  wither  as 
rapidly  as  they  crowd  upon  each  other.  Think  how  human  dust  rolls  onward 
to  the  tomb,  and  turning  your  faces  steadily  towards  that  goal,  avoid  the 
cloud  which  takes  its  rise  among  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  and  cheats  the 
senses  of  their  votaries.     The  veil,  daughters,  the  veil ! ' 

<<  'Never,  sisters,'  cried  Alice.  'Barter  not  the  light  and  air  of  heaven, 
and  the  freshness  of  earth,  and  all  the  beautiful  things  which  breathe  upon  it, 
for  the  cold  cloister  and  the  cell.  Nature's  own  blessings  are  the  proper  goods 
of  life,  and  we  may  share  them  sinlessly  together.  To  die  is  our  heavy  por- 
tion, but,  oh,  let  us  die  with  life  about  us ;  when  our  cold  hearts  cease  to  beat, 
let  warm  hearts  be  beating  near  ;  let  our  last  look  be  upon  the  bounds  which 
God  has  set  to  his  own  bright  skies,  and  not  on  stone  walls  and  bars  of  iron  1 
Dear  sisters,  let  us  live  and  die,  if  you  list,  in  this  gi'een  garden's  compass  ; 
only  shun  the  gloom  and  sadness  of  a  cloister,  and  we  shall  be  hajppy.' 

''The  tears  ^11  fast  from  the  maiden's  eyes  as  she  closed  her  impassioned 
appeal,  and  hid  her  face  in  the  bosom  of  her  sister.    . 

"  "Take  comfort,  Alice,"  said  the  eldest,  kissing  her  fair  forehead.  '  The 
veil  shall  never  cast  its  shadow  on  thy  young  brow.  How  say  you,  sistei-s  ? 
For  yourselves  you  speak,  and  not  for  Alice,  or  for  me.' 

"The  sisters,  as  with  one  accord,  cried  that  their  lot  was  cast  together,  and 
that  there  were  dwellings  for  peace  and  virtue  beyond  the  convent's  walls. 

**  *  Father,'  said  the  eldest  lady,  rising  with  dignity,  *  you  hear  our  final 
resolve.  The  same  pious  care  which  enriched  the  Abbey  of  St.  Mary,  and  left 
lis,  orphans,  to  its  holy  guardianship,  directed  that  no  constraint  should  be 
imposed  upon  our  inclinations,  but  tnat  we  should  be  free  to  live  according  to 
our  choice.  Let  us  hear  no  more  of  this,  we  pray  you.  Sisters,  it  is  nearly 
noon.  Let  us  take  shelter  until  evening  ! '  With  a  reverence  to  the  friar, 
the  lad^  rose  and  walked  towards  the  house,  hand  in  hand  with  Alice  ;  the 
other  sisters  followed. 

*'  The  holy  man,  who  had  often  urged  the  same  point  before,  but  had  never 
met  with  so  direct  a  repulse,  walked  some  little  distance  behind,  with  his  eyes 
bent  upon  the  earth,  and  his  lips  moving  aa  if  va  prayer.  As  the  sisters 
reached  the  porch,  he  quickened  his  pace,  and  called  upon  them  to  stop. 

*'  *■  Stay  ! '  said  the  monk,  raising  nis  right  hand  in  the  air,  and  directing 
an  angry  glance  by  turns  at  Alice  and  the  eldest  sister.  *  Stay,  and  hear  from 
me  what  these  recollections  are,  which  you  would  cherish  above  eternity,  and 
awaken — ^if  in  mercy  they  slumber — by  means  of  idle  toys.  The  jnemory  of 
earthly  things  is  charged,  in  after  life,  with  bitter  disappointment,  affliction, 
death  ;  with  dreary  change  and  wasting  sorrow.  The  time  will  one  day  come 
when  a  change  at  those  unmeaning  baubles  will  tear  open  deep  wounds  in  the 
hearts  of  some  among  you,  and  stiike  to  your  inmost  souls.  When  that  hour 
arrives — and  mark  me,  come  it  will — turn  from  the  world  to  which  you  clung, 
to  the  refuge  which  you  spurned.  Find  me  the  cell  which  shall  be  colder 
than  the  fire  of  mortals  grows,  when  dimmed  by  calamity  and  trial,  and  there 
weep  for  the  dreams  of  youth.  These  things  are  heaven's  will,  not  mine,' 
said  the  friar,  subduing  his  voice  as  he  looked  round  upon  the  shrinking  girls. 
*  The  Virgin's  blessing  be  upon  you,  daughters  1  * 

''  With  these  words  he  disappeared  through  the  postern  ;  and  the  sisters 
hastening  into  the  house  were  seen  no  more  that  day. 

''But  nature  will  smile  though  priests  may  frown,  and  next  day  the  sun 
shone  brightly,  and  on  the  next,  and  the  next  again.  And  in  the  morning's 
glare,  and  in  the  evening's  soft  repose,  the  five  sisters  still  walked  or  worked, 
or  beguiled  the  time  by  cheerful  conversation  in  their  quiet  orchard. 

Time  passed  away  as  a  tale  that  is  told ;  faster,  indeed,  than  many  tales 


(ii 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  41 

that  are  told,  of  which  number  I  fear  this  may  be  one.  The  house  of  the 
five  sisters  stood  where  it  did,  and  the  same  trees  cast  their  pleasant  shade 
upon  the  orchard  grass.  The  sisters,  too,  were  there,  and  lovely  as  at  first, 
but  a  change  had  come  over  their  dwelling.  Sometimes  there  was  the  clash 
of  armour,  and  the  gleaming  of  the  moon  on  caps  of  steel ;  and  at  others,  jaded 
coursers  were  spurred  up  to  the  gate,  and  a  female  form  glided  hurriedly 
forth,  as  if  eacer  to  demand  tidings  of  the  weary  messenger.  A  goodly  train 
of  knights  and  ladies  lodged  one  night  within  the  abbey  walls,  and  next  day 
rode  away  with  two  of  the  fair  sisters  among  them.  Then  horsemen  began  to 
come  less  frequently,  and  seemed  to  bring  bad  tidings  when  they  did,  and  at 
length  they  ceased  to  come  at  all,  and  footsore  peasants  slunk  to  the  gate 
after  sunset,  and  did  their  errand  there  by  stealth.  Once  a  vassal  was 
despatched  in  haste  to  the  abbey  at  dead  of  night,  and  when  morning 
came,  there  were  sounds  of  woe  and  wailing  in  the  sisters'  house  ;  and  after 
this,  a  mournful  silence  fell  upon  it,  and  knight  or  lady,  horse  or  armour, 
was  seen  about  it  no  more. 

*' There  was  a  sullen  darkness  in  the  sky,  and  the  sun  had  gone  angrily 
down,  tinting  the  dull  clouds  with  the  last  traces  of  his  wratn,  when  the 
same  black  monk  walked  slowlv  on,  with  folded  arms,  within  a  stone's-throw 
of  the  abbey.  A  blight  had  fallen  on  the  trees  and  shrubs  ;  and  the  wind,  at 
length  beginning  to  break  the  unnatural  stillness  that  had  prevailed  all  day, 
sighed  heavily  from  time  to  time,  as  though  foretelling  in  grief  the  ravages  of 
the  coming  storm.  The  bat  skimmed  in  fantastic  flights  through  the  heavy 
air,  and  the  ground  was  alive  with  crawling  things,  whose  instinct  brought 
them  forth  to  swell  and  fatten  in  the  rain. 

"  No  longer  were  the  friar's  eyes  directed  to  the  earth ;  they  were  cast 
abroad,  and  roamed  from  point  to  point,  as  if  the  gloom  and  desolation  of  the 
scene  found  a  quick  response  in  his  own  bosom.  Again  he  paused  near  the 
sisters'  house,  and  aofain  he  entered  by  the  postern. 

'*  But  not  again  did  his  ear  encounter  the  sound  of  laughter,  or  his  eyes 
rest  upon  the  beautiful  figures  of  the  five  sisters.  All  was  silent  and  deserted. 
The  boughs  of  the  trees  were  bent  and  broken,  and  the  grass  had  grown  long 
and  rank.     Ko  light  feet  had  pressed  it  for  many,  many  a  day. 

"  With  the  indifference  or  abstraction  of  one  well  accustomed  to  the  change, 
the  monk  glided  into  the  house,  aud  entered  a  low,  dark  room.  Four  sisters 
sat  there.  Their  black  garments  made  their  pale  faces  whiter  still,  and  time 
and  sorrow  had  worked  deep  ravages.  They  were  stately  yet ;  but  the  flush 
and  pride  of  beauty  were  gone. 

*  *  And  Alice — where  was  she  ?    In  heaven . 

'*  The  monk— even  the  monk — could  bear  with  some  grief  here ;  for  it  was 
long  since  these  sisters  had  met,  and  there  were  furrows  in  their  blanched  faces 
which  years  could  never  plough.  He  took  his  seat  in  silence,  and  motioned 
them  to  continue  their  speech. 

"  *They  are  here,  sisters,'  said  the  elder  lady,  in  a  trembling  voice.  *  I 
have  never  borne  to  look  upon  them  since,  and  now  I  blame  myself  for  my 
weakness.  What  is  there  in  her  memory  that  we  should  dread  ?  To  call  up 
our  old  days  shall  be  a  solemn  pleasure  yet.' 

"She  glanced  at  the  monk  as  she  spoke,  and  opening  a  cabinet,  brought 
forth  the  five  frames  of  work,  completed  long  before.  Her  step  was  firm,  but 
her  hand  trembled  as  she  produced  the  last  one  ;  and  when  the  feelings  of  the 
other  sisters  gushed  forth  at  sight  of  it,  her  pent-up  tears  made  way,  and 
she  sobbed  '  God  bless  her  ! ' 

The  monk  rose  and  advanced  towards  them.  '  It  was  almost  the  last  thing 
she  touched  in  health,'  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 


42  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  *  It  was,'  cried  the  elder  lady,  weeping  bitterly. 

**  The  monk  turned  to  the  second  sister. 

"  *  The  gallant  youth  who  looked  into  thine  eyes,  and  hung  upon  thy  very 
breath  when  first  he  saw  thee  intent  upon  this  pastime,  lies  buried  on  a  plain 
whereof  the  turf  is  red  with  blood.  Rusty  fragments  of  armour,  once  brightly 
burnished,  lie  rotting  on  the  ground,  and  are  as  little  distinguishable  for  his 
as  are  the  bones  that  crumble  in  the  mould  ! ' 

"The  lady  groaned,  and  wrung  her  hands. 

"  *  The  policy  of  courts,'  he  continued,  turning  to  the  two  other  sisters, 
*  drew  ye  from  your  peaceful  home  to  scenes  of  revelry  and  splendour.  The 
same  policy,  and  the  restless  ambition  of  proud  and  fiery  men,  have  sent  ye 
back  widowed  maidens  and  humbled  outcasts.     Do  I  speak  truly  ?  * 

**  The  sobs  of  the  two  sisters  were  their  only  reply. 

"  *  There  is  little  need,'  said  the  monk,  with  a  meaning  look,  *to  fritter 
away  the  time  in  gewgaws  which  shall  raise  up  the  pale  ghosts  of  hopes  of 
early  years.  Bury  them,  heap  penance  and  mortification  on  their  heads,  keep 
them  down,  and  let  the  convent  be  their  grave  ! ' 

"The  sisters  asked  for  three  days  to  deliberate  ;  and  felt  that  night  as 
though  the  veil  were  indeed  the  fitting  shroud  for  their  dead  joys.  But 
morning  came  again,  and  though  the  boughs  of  the  orchard  trees  diooped 
and  ran  wild  upon  the  ground,  it  was  the  same  orchard  still.  The  grass  was 
coarse  and  high,  but  there  was  yet  the  spot  on  which  they  had  so  often  sat 
together,  when  change  and  sorrow  were  but  names.  There  was  every  walk 
and  nook  which  Alice  had  made  glad  ;  and  in  the  minster  nave  was  one  fiat 
stone  beneath  which  she  slept  in  peace. 

"And  could  they,  remembering  how  her  young  heart  had  sickened  at  the 
thought  of  cloistered  walls,  look  upon  her  grave  in  garbs  which  would  chill 
the  very  ashes  within  it?  Could  they  bow  down  in  prayer,  and  when  all 
heaven  turned  to  hear  them,  bring  the  dark  shade  of  sadness  on  one  angel's 
face  ?    No. 

"They  sent  abroad  to  artists  of  great  celebrity  at  those  times,  and  having 
obtained  the  church's  sanction  to  their  work  of  piety,  caused  to  be  executed, 
in  five  largo  compartments  of  richly  stained  glass,  a  faithful  copy  of  their  old 
embroidery  work.  These  were  fitted  into  a  large  window,  until  that  time 
bare  of  ornament ;  and  when  the  sun  shone  brightly,  as  she  had  so  well 
loved  to  see  it,  the  familiar  patterns  were  reflected  iu  their  original  colours, 
and  throwing  a  stream  of  brilliant  light  upon  the  pavement,  fell  warmly  on 
the  name  of  %\\kz* 

"For  many  hours  in  every  day  the  sisters  paced  slowly  up  and  down 
the  nave,  or  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  flat,  broad  stone.  Only  three  were  seen 
in  the  customary  place,  after  many  years  ;  then  but  two,  and,  for  a  long  time 
afterwards,  but  one  solitary  female  bent  with  age.  At  length  she  came  no 
more,  and  the  stone  bore  five  plain  Christian  names. 

"That  stone  has  worn  away  and  been  replaced  by  others,  and  many 
generations  have  come  and  gone  since  then.  Time  has  softened  down  the 
colours,  but  the  same  stream  of  light  still  falls  upon  the  forgotten  tomb,  of 
which  no  trace  remains  ;  and,  to  this  day,  the  stranger  is  shown  in  York 
Cathedral  an  old  window  called  the  Five  Sisters." 


"That's  a  melancholy  tale,"  said  the  merry-faced  gentleman,  emptying  his 
glass. 

"  It  is  a  tale  of  life,  and  life  is  made  up  of  such  sorrows,"  returned  the 
other,  courteously,  but  in  a  grave  and  sad  tone  of  voice. 

"There  are  shades  in  all  good  pictures,  but  there  are  lights  too,  if  we 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  43 

choose  to  contemplate  them/'  said  the  gentleman  with  the  merry  lace. 
*'  The  youngest  sister  in  your  tale  was  always  light-hearted." 

**  And  died  early,"  said  the  other,  gently. 

"  She  would  have  died  earlier,  perhaps,  had  she  been  less  happy,"  said  the 
first  speaker,  with  much  feeling.  *'Do  you  think  the  sisters  who  loved  her 
80  well  would  have  grieved  the  less  if  her  life  had  been  one  of  gloom  and 
sadness  ?  If  anything  could  soothe  the  first  sharp  pain  of  a  heavy  loss,  it 
would  be — with  me — the  reflection,  that  those  I  mourned,  by  being  inno- 
cently happy  here,  and  loving  all  about  them,  had  prepared  themselves  for  a 
purer  ana  a  happier  world.  The  sun  does  not  shine  upon  this  fair  earth  to 
meet  frowning  eyes,  depend  upon  it." 

**  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  the  gentleman  who  had  told  the  story. 

**  Believe  ! "  retorted  the  other,  **  can  anybody  doubt  it  ?  Take  any 
subject  of  sorrowful  regret,  and  see  with  how  much  of  pleasure  it  is  associated. 
The  recollection  of  past  pleasure  may  become  pain ' 

**  It  does,"  interposed  the  other. 

"  Well ;  it  does.  To  remember  happiness  which  cannot  be  restored  is 
pain,  but  of  a  softened  kind.  Our  recollections  are  unfortunately  mingled 
with  much  that  we  deplore,  and  with  many  actions  which  we  bitterly  repent ; 
still  in  the  most  chequered  life  I  finnly  think  there  are  so  many  little  rays  of 
sunshine  to  look  back  upon  that  I  do  not  believe  any  mortal  (unless  he  had 
put  himself  without  the  pale  of  hope)  would  deliberately  drain  a  goblet  of  the 
waters  of  Lethe,  if  he  had  it  in  his  power." 

"  Possibly  you  are  correct  in  that  belief,"  said  the  grey-haired  gentleman, 
after  a  short  reflection.     **  I  am  inclined  to  think  you  are." 

"  Why,  then,"  replied  the  other,  "  the  good  in  this  state  of  existence 
preponderates  over  the  bad,  let  miscalled  philosophers  tell  us  what  they  will, 
if  our  affections  be  tried,  our  affections  are  our  consolation  and  comfort ;  and 
memory,  however  sad,  is  the  best  and  purest  link  between  this  world  and  a 
better.     But  come  !    I'll  tell  you  a  story  of  another  kind." 

After  a  very  brief  silence,  the  merry-faced  gentleman  sent  round  the  punch, 
and,  glancing  slily  at  the  fastidious  lady,  who  seemed  desperately  apprehen- 
sive that  he  was  going  to  relate  something  improper,  began — 

THE  BARON  OF  GROGZWIG. 

"  The  Baron  Von  Koeldwethout  of  Grogzwig,  in  Germany,  was  as  likely  a 
young  baron  as  you  would  wish  to  see.  I  needn't  say  that  he  lived  in  a 
castle,  because  that's  of  course  ;  neither  need  I  say  that  he  lived  in  an  old 
castle  ;  for  what  German  baron  ever  lived  in  a  new  one  ?  There  were  many 
strange  circumstances  connected  with  this  venerable  building,  among  which, ' 
not  the  least  startling  and  mysterious  were,  that  when  the  wind  blew,  it 
rumbled  in  the  chimneys,  or  even  howled  among  the  trees  in  the  neighbouring 
forest ;  and  that  when  the  moon  shone,  she  found  her  way  through  certaiu 
small  loopholes  in  the  wall,  and  actually  made  some  parts  of  the  wide  halls 
and  galleries  quite  light,  while  she  left  others  in  gloomy  shadow.  I  believe 
that  one  of  the  baron's  ancestors,  being  short  of  money,  had  inserted  a  dagger 
in  a  gentleman  who  called  one  night  to  ask  his  way,  and  it  was  supposed  tliat 
these  miraculous  occurrences  took  place  in  consequence.  And  yet  I  hardly 
know  how  that  could  have  been  either,  because  the  baron's  ancestor,  who  was 
an  amiable  man,  felt  very  sorry  afterwards  for  having  been  so  rash,  and 
laying  violent  hands  upon  a  quantity  of  stone  and  timber  which  belonged  to  a 
weaker  baron,  built  a  chapel  as  an  apology,  and  so  took  a  receipt  from  heaven, 
in  full  of  all  demands. 

**  Talking  of  the  baron's  ancestor  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  bato\i'^  ^^-aJc 


44  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

claims  to  respect  on  the  score  of  his  pedigree.  I  am  afraid  to  say,  I  am  sure, 
how  many  ancestors  the  baron  had  ;  out  I  know  that  he  had  a  great  many 
more  than  any  other  man  of  his  time  ;  and  I  only  wish  that  he  had  lived  in 
these  latter  days,  that  he  might  have  had  more.  It  is  a  very  hard  thing 
upon  the  great  men  of  past  centuries,  that  they  should  have  come  into  the 
world  so  soon,  because  a  man  who  was  born  three  or  four  hundred  years  ago 
cannot  reasonably  be  expected  to  have  had  as  many  relations  before  him 
as  a  man  who  is  bom  now.  The  last  man,  whoever  he  is — and  he  may  be  a 
cobbler  or  some  low,  vulgar  dog  for  aught  we  know — will  have  a  longer 
pedigree  than  the  greatest  nobleman  now  alive  ;  and  I  contend  that  this  is 
not  fair. 

"  Well,  but  the  Baron  Von  Koeldwethout,  of  Grogzwig  !  He  was  a  fine 
swarthy  fellow,  with  dark  hair  and  large  moustachios,  who  rode  a-hunting  in 
clothes  of  Lincoln  green,  with  russet  boots  on  his  feet,  and  a  bugle  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  like  uie  guard  of  a  lon^  stage.  When  he  blew  this  bugle,  four- 
and-twenty  other  gentlemen  of  inferior  rank,  in  Lincoln  green  a  little  coarser, 
and  russet  boots  with  a  little  thicker  soles,  turned  out  directly  ;  and  away 
galloped  the  whole  train,  with  spears  in  their  hands  like  lacquered  area- 
railings,  to  hunt  down  the  boars,  or  perhaps  encounter  a  bear ;  in  which 
latter  case  the  baron  killed  him  first,  and  greased  his  whiskers  with  him 
afterwards. 

"  This  was  a  merry  life  for  the  Baron  of  Grogzwig,  and  a  merrier  still  for 
the  baron's  retainers,  who  drank  Bhine  wine  every  night  till  they  fell  under 
the  table,  and  then  had  the  bottles  on  the  floor,  and  called  for  pipes.  Never 
were  such  jolly,  roystering,  rollicking,  merry-making  blades  as  the  jovial 
crew  of  Grogzwig. 

''  But  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  or  the  pleasures  of  under  the  table,  require 
a  little  variety ;  especially  when  the  same  five-and-twenty  people  sit  daily 
down  to  the  same  board,  to  discuss  the  same  subjects,  and  tell  the  same 
stories.  The  baron  grew  weary,  and  wanted  excitement.  He  took  to  quarrel- 
ling with  his  gentlemen,  and  tried  kicking  two  or  three  of  them  every  day 
after  dinner.  This  was  a  pleasant  change  at  first ;  but  it  became  monotonous 
after  a  week  or  so,  and  the  baron  felt  quite  out  of  sorts,  and  cast  about,  in 
despair,  for  some  new  amusement. 

"One  night,  after  a  day's  sport,  in  which  he  had  outdone  Nimrod  or 
Gillingwater,  and  slaughtered  '  another  fine  bear '  and  brought  him  home  in 
triumph,  the  Baron  Yon  Koeldwethout  sat  moodily  at  the  head  of  his  table, 
eyeing  the  smoky  roof  of  the  hall  with  a  discontented  aspect.  He  swallowed 
huge  bumpers  of  wine,  but  the  more  he  swallowed  the  more  he  frowned.  The 
gentlemen  who  had  been  honoured  with  the  dangerous  distinction  of  sitting 
on  his  right  and  left,  imitated  him  to  a  miracle  in  the  drinking,  and  frowned 
at  each  other. 

**  *  I  will,*  cried  the  baron,  suddenly,  smiting  the  table  with  his  right 
hand,  and  twirling  his  moustache  with  his  left.  '  Fill  to  the  Lady  of 
Grogzwig  I ' 

**The  four-and-twenty  Lincoln  greens  turned  pale,  with  the  exception  of 
their  four-and-twenty  noses,  which  were  unchangeable. 

"  *  I  said  to  the  Lady  of  Grogzwig,*  repeated  the  baron,  looking  round  the 
board. 

**  *To  the  Lady  of  Grogzwig  !'  shouted  the  Lincoln  greens  ;  and  down 
their  four-and-twenty  throats  went  four-and-twenty  imperial  pints  of  such 
rare  old  hock,  that  they  smacked  their  eight-and-forty  lips,  and  winked 
again. 

"  *  The  fair  daughter  of  the  Baron  Von  Swillenhausen,'  said  Koeldwethout, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  45 

condescending  to  explain.  '  We  will  demand  her  in  marriage  of  her  father 
ere  the  sun  goes  down  to-morrow.  If  he  refuse  our  suit,  we'll  cut  off  his 
nose.* 

'*  A  hoarse  murmur  arose  from  the  company  ;  every  man  touched,  first  the 
hilt  of  his  sword,  and  then  the  tip  of  his  nose,  with  appalling  significance. 

''  What  a  pleasant  thing  filial  piety  is  to  contemplate  !  If  the  daughter  of 
the  Baron  Yon  Swillenhausen  had  pleaded  a  preoccupied  heart,  or  fallen  at 
her  father's  feet  and  corned  them  in  salt  tears,  or  only  fainted  away,  and 
complimented  the  old  gentleman  in  frantic  ejaculations,  the  odds  are  a 
hundred  to  one  but  Swillenhausen  Castle  would  have  been  turned  out  at 
window,  or  rather  the  baron  turned  out  at  window,  and  the  castle  demolished. 
The  damsel  held  her  peace,  however,  when  an  early  messenger  bore  the 
request  of  Von  Koeldwethout  next  morning,  and  modestly  retired  to  her 
chamber,  from  the  casement  of  which  she  watched  the  coming  of  her  suitor 
and  his  retinue.  She  was  no  sooner  assured  that  the  horseman  with  the 
lar^e  moustachios  was  her  proffered  husband,  than  she  hastened  to  her 
father's  presence,  and  expressed  her  readiness  to  sacrifice  herself  to  secure 
his  peace.  The  venerable  baron  caught  his  child  in  his  arms,  and  shed 
a  wink  of  joy. 

"There  was  great  feasting  at  the  castle  that  day.  The  four-and-twenty 
Lincoln  greens  of  Von  Koeldwethout  exchanged  vows  of  eternal  friendship 
with  twelve  Lincoln  greens  of  Von  Swillenhausen,  and  promised  the  old  baron 
that  they  would  drink  his  wine  *  till  all  was  blue ' — meaning,  probably,  until 
their  whole  countenances  had  acquired  the  same  tint  as  their  noses.  Every- 
body slapped  everybody  else's  back,  when  the  time  for  parting  came :  and  the 
Baron  Von  Koeldwethout  and  his  followers  rode  gaily  home. 

"  For  six  mortal  weeks  the  bears  and  boars  had  a  holiday.  The  houses  of 
Koeldwethout  and  Swillenhausen  were  united  ;  the  spears  rusted  ;  the  baron's 
bugle  grew  hoarse  for  lack  of  blowing. 

**  Those  were  great  times  for  the  four-and-twenty ;  but,  alas !  their  high 
and  palmy  days  had  taken  boots  to  themselves,  and  were  already  walking  off. 

**  *  My  dear,'  said  the  baroness. 

**  *  My  love,'  said  the  baron. 

'*  *  Those  coarse,  noisy  men ' 

"  *  Which,  ma'am  ? '  said  the  baron,  starting. 

**  The  baroness  pointed,  from  the  window  at  which  they  stood,  to  the  court- 
yard beneath,  where  the  unconscious  Lincoln  greens  were  taking  a  copious 
stirrup-cup,  preparatory  to  issuing  forth  after  a  boar  or  two. 

**  *  My  hunting- train,  ma'am,'  said  the  baron. 

**  *  Disband  them,  love,*  murmured  the  baroness. 

**  *  Disband  them  !  *  cried  the  baron,  in  amazement. 

*'  *  To  please  me,  love,*  replied  the  baroness. 

*'  *  To  please  the  devil,  ma  am,'  answered  the  baron. 

"Whereupon  the  baroness  uttered  a  great  cry,  and  swooned  away  at  the 
baron's  feet. 

"  What  could  the  baron  do  ?  He  called  for  the  lady's  maid,  and  roared  for 
the  doctor  ;  and  then,  rushing  into  the  yard,  kicked  the  two  Lincoln  greens 
who  were  the  most  used  to  it,  and  cursing  the  others  all  round,  bade  them  go 

but  never  mind  where.     I  don't  know  the  German  for  it,  or  I  would  put 

it  delicately  that  way. 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  say  by  what  means  or  by  what  degrees  some  wives 
manage  to  keep  down  some  husbands  as  they  do,  although  I  may  have  my 
private  opinion  on  the  subject,  and  may  think  that  no  member  of  parliament 
ought  to  be  married,  inasmuch  as  three  married  members  out  ot  «^«t^  i<2^a 


a6  life  and  adventures  of 

must  vote  according  to  their  wives'  consciences  (if  there  be  such  things),  and 
not  according  to  their  own.  All  I  need  say  just  now  is,  that  the  Baroness 
Von  Koeldwethout  somehow  or  other  acquired  great  control  over  the  Baron 
Von  KoSldwethout,  and  that,  little  by  little,  and  bit  by  bit,  and  day  by  day, 
and  year  by  year,  the  baron  got  the  worst  of  some  disputed  question,  or  was 
slily  unhorsed  from  some  ola  hobby  ;  and  that,  by  the  time  he  was  a  fat, 
hearty  fellow  of  forty-eight  or  thereabouts,  he  had  no  feasting,  no  revelry, 
no  hunting-train,  and  no  hunting — nothing,  in  short,  that  he  liked,  or  used 
to  have  ;  and  that,  although  he  was  as  fierce  as  a  lion  and  as  bold  as  brass,  ho 
was  decidedly  snubbed  and  put  down  by  his  own  lady,  in  his  own  castle  of 
Grogzwig. 

**  Nor  was  this  the  whole  extent  of  the  baron's  misfortunes.  About  a  year 
after  his  nuptials  there  came  into  the  world  a  lusty  young  baron,  in  whose 
honour  a  great  many  fireworks  were  let  off,  and  a  great  many  dozens  of  wine 
drunk ;  but  next  year  there  came  a  young  baroness,  and  next  year  another 
young  baron,  and  so  on,  every  year,  either  a  baron  or  baroness  (and  one  year 
both  together),  until  the  baron  found  himself  the  father  of  a  small  family  of 
twelve.  Upon  every  one  of  these  anniversaries  the  venerable  Baroness  Von 
Swillenhausen  was  nervously  sensitive  for  the  well-being  of  l&er  child,  the 
Baroness  Von  Koeldwethout ;  and  although  it  was  not  found  that  the  good 
lady  ever  did  anything  material  towards  contributing  to  her  child's  recovery, 
still  she  made  it  a  point  of  duty  to  be  as  nervous  as  possible  at  the  castle  of 
Grogzwig,  and  to  divide  her  time  between  moral  observations  on  the  baron's 
housekeeping,  and  bewailing  the  hard  lot  of  her  unhappy  daughter.  And  if 
the  Baron  of  Grogzwig,  a  little  hurt  and  irritated  at  this,  took  heart,  and 
ventured  to  suggest  that  his  wife  was  at  least  no  worse  off  than  the  wives  of 
other  barons,  the  Baroness  of  Swillenhausen  begged  all  persons  to  take  notice 
that  nobody  but  she  sympathised  with  her  dear  daughter's  sufferings  ;  upon 
which,  her  relations  and  friends  remarked  that  to  be  sure  she  did  cry  a  great 
deal  more  than  her  son-in-law,  and  that  if  there  were  a  hard-hearted  brute 
alive,  it  was  that  Baron  of  Grogzwig. 

**  The  poor  baron  bore  it  all  as  long  as  he  could,  and  when  he  could  bear  it 
no  longer,  lost  his  appetite  and  his  spirits,  and  sat  himself  gloomily  and 
dejectedly  down.  But  there  were  worse  troubles  yet  in  store  for  him,  and  as 
they  came  on  his  melancholy  increased.  Times  changed.  He  got  into  debt. 
The  Grogzwig  coffers  ran  low,  though  the  Swillenhausen  family  had  looked 
upon  them  as  inexhaustible  ;  and  just  when  the  baroness  was  on  the  point  of 
making  a  thirteenth  addition  to  the  family  pedigree,  Von  Koeldwethout  dis- 
covered that  he  had  no  means  of  replenishing  them. 

"  *I  don't  see  what  is  to  be  done,'  said  the  baron.  *I  think  I'll  kill 
myself.' 

"This  was  a  bright  idea.  The  baron  took  an  old  hunting-knife  from  a 
cupboard  hard  by,  and  having  sharpened  it  on  his  boot,  made  what  boys  call 
'  an  offer '  at  his  throat. 

***Hemr  said  the  baron,  stopping  short  'Perhaps  it's  not  sharp 
enough.  * 

"  The  baron  sharpened  it  again,  and  made  another  offer,  when  his  hand 
was  arrested  by  a  loud  screaming  among  the  young  barons  and  baronesses, 
who  had  a  nursery  in  an  upstairs  tower  with  iron  bars  outside  the  window,  to 
prevent  their  tumbling  out  into  the  moat. 

**  *  If  I  had  been  a  bachelor,'  said  the  baron,  sighing,  *  I  might  have  done 
it  fifty  times  over  without  being  interrupted.  Halloa  I  Put  a  flask  of  wine 
and  the  largest  pipe  in  the  little  vaulted  room  behind  the  hall.' 

"  One  of  the  dpmestics,  in  a  very  kind  manner,  executed  the  baron's  order 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  47 

in  the  course  of  half-an-hour  or  so,  and  Von  Koeldwethout  being  apprised 
thereof,  strode  to  the  vaulted  room,  the  walls  of  which,  being  of  dark  shining 
wood,  gleamed  in  the  light  of  the  blazing  logs  which  were  piled  upon  the 
hearth.  The  bottle  and  pipe  were  ready,  and,  upon  the  whole,  the  place 
looked  very  comfortable. 

**  'Leave  the  lamp,'  said  the  baron. 

"  'Anything  else,  my  lord  ?  *  inquired  the  domestic. 

"*The  room,'  replied  the  baron.  The  domestic  obej'ed,  and  the  baron 
locked  the  door. 

''Til  smoke  a  last  pipe,'  said  the  baron,  'and  then  I'll  be  off.'  So, 
])utting  the  knife  upon  the  table  till  he  wanted  it,  and  tossing  off  a  goodly 
measure  of  wine,  the  Lord  of  Grogzwig  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
stretched  his  legs  out  before  the  fire,  and  puffed  away. 

"He  thought  about  a  great  many  things — about  his  present  troubles  and 
past  days  of  bachelorship,  and  about  the  Lincoln  greens,  long  since  dispersed 
up  and  down  the  country,  no  one  knew  whither  ;  with  the  exception  of  two 
who  had  been  unfortunately  beheaded,  and  four  who  had  killed  themselves 
with  drinking.  His  mind  was  running  upon  bears  and  boars,  when,  in  the 
process  of  draining  his  glass  to  the  bottom,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  saw,  for 
the  first  time,  and  with  unbounded  astonishment,  that  he  was  not  alone. 

"No,  he  was  not;  for,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire  there  sat  with 
folded  arms  a  wrinkled,  hideous  figure,  with  deeply  sunk  and  bloodshot  eyes, 
and  an  immensely  long  cadaverous  face,  shadowed  by  jagged  and  matted 
locks  of  coarse  black  hair.  He  wore  a  kind  of  tunic  of  a  dull  bluish  colour, 
which,  the  baron  observed,  on  regarding  it  attentively,  was  clasped  or  orna- 
mented down  the  front  with  comn  handles.  His  legs,  too,  were  encased  in 
coffin  plates  as  though  in  armour,  and  over  his  left  shoulder  he  wore  a  short 
dusky  cloak,  which  seemed  made  of  a  remnant  of  some  pall.  He  took  no 
notice  of  the  baron,  but  was  intently  eyeing  the  fire. 

"  '  Halloa  ! '  said  the  baron,  stamping  his  foot  to  attract  attention. 

"  *  Halloa  I '  replied  the  stranger,  moving  his  eyes  towards  the  baron,  but 
not  his  face  or  himself.     '  What  now  ? ' 

" '  What  now  ?  *  replied  the  baron,  nothing  daunted  by  his  hollow  voice 
and  lustreless  eyes,  'J  should  ask  that  question.     How  did  you  get  here  % ' 

"  '  Through  the  door,'  replied  the  figure. 

"  *  What  are  you  ? '  says  the  baron. 

"  *  A  man,'  replied  the  figure. 

"  'I  don't  believe  it,'  says  the  baron". 

"' Disbelieve  it,  then,'  says  the  figure. 

"  *  I  will,'  rejoined  the  baron. 

"The  figure  looked  at  the  bold  Baron  of  Grogzmg  for  some  time,  and  then 
said  familiarly — 

"  '  There's  no  coming  over  you,  I  see.     I'm  not  a  man  ! ' 

"  *  What  are  you  then  ? '  asked  the  baron. 

"  *  A  genius,'  replied  the  figure. 

"  *  You  don't  look  much  like  one,'  returned  the  baron,  scornfully. 

*•  *I  am  the  Genius  of  Despair  and  Suicide,'  said  the  apparition.  'Now 
you  know  me.* 

"  With  these  words  the  apparition  turned  towards  the  baron,  as  if  com- 
posing himself  for  a  talk — and  what  seemed  remarkable  was,  that  he  threw 
his  cloak  aside,  and  displaying  a  stake,  which  was  run  through  the  centre  of 
his  body,  pulled  it  out  with  a  jerk,  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  as  composedly  as 
if  it  had  been  his  walking  stick. 

"  *Now,'  said  the  figure,  glancing  at  the  knife,  '  are  you  ready  Cot  Taft\' 


48  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

•' '  Not  quite,'  rejoined  the  baron,  *  I  must  finish  this  pipe  first.' 

'*  *  Look  sharp,  then,*  said  the  figure. 

"  *  You  seem  in  a  hurry,*  said  the  baron. 

"  *  Why,  yes,  I  am,'  answered  the  fi^re;  'they're  doing  a  pretty  brisk 
business  in  my  way  over  in  England  and  France  just  now,  and  my  time  is  a 
good  deal  taken  up. ' 

**  *  Do  you  drink  ? '  said  the  baron,  touching  the  bottle  with  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe. 

"  *  Nine  times  out  of  ten,  and  then  very  hard,*  rejoined  the  figure,  drily. 

**  *  Never  in  moderation  ? '  asked  the  baron. 

'* '  Never,'  replied  the  figure,  with  a  shudder,  '  that  breeds  cheerfulness.' 

"  The  baron  took  another  look  at  his  new  friend,  whom  he  thought  an  un- 
commonly queer  customer,  and  at  length  inquired  whether  he  took  any  active 
part  in  such  little  proceedings  as  that  which  he  had  in  contemplation. 

**  *  No,'  replied  the  figure,  evasively  ;  *  but  I  am  always  present.' 

"  '  Just  to  see  fair,  I  suppose  % '  said  the  baron. 

*'  *  Just  that,'  replied  the  figure,  playing  with  his  stake,  and  examining  the 
ferule.  '  Be  as  quick  as  you  can,  will  you,  for  there's  a  young  gentleman  who 
is  afflicted  with  too  much  money  and  leisure  wanting  me  now,  I  find.' 

**  *  Going  to  kill  himself  because  he  has  too  much  money  ? '  exclaimed  the 
baron,  quite  tickled  ;  *  ha  1  ha  !  that's  a  good  one.'  (This  was  the  first  time 
the  baron  had  laughed  for  many  a  long  day. ) 

***I  say,'  expostulated  the  figure,  looking  very  much  scared,  'don't  do 
that  again.' 

*' '  Why  not?  *  demanded  the  baron. 

"  *  Because  it  gives  me  pain  all  over,'  replied  the  figure.  *  Sigh  as  much 
as  you  please  ;  that  does  me  good.' 

"The  baron  sighed  mechanically  at  the  mention  of  the  word  ;  the  figure, 
brightening  up  again,  handed  him  the  hunting-knife  with  most  winning 
politeness. 

"  *  It's  not  a  bad  idea,  though,*  said  the  baron,  feeling  the  e«lgc  of  the 
weapon  ;  '  a  man  killing  himself  because  he  has  too  much  money.' 

**  '  Pooh,'  said  the  apparition,  petulantly,  '  no  better  than  a  man's  killing 
himself  because  he  has  none  or  little.' 

"  WTiether  the  genius  unintentionally  committed  himself  in  saying  this,  or 
whether  he  thought  the  baron's  mind  was  so  thoroughly  made  up  that  it 
didn't  matter  what  he  said,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing.  I  only  know  that 
the  baron  stopped  his  hand,  all  of  a  sudden,  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  looked 
as  if  quite  a  new  light  had  come  upon  him  for  the  first  time. 

"  *  Why,  certainly,'  said  Von  Koeldwethout,  '  nothing  is  too  bad  to  be 
retrieved.' 

"  *  Except  empty  coffers,'  cried  the  genius. 
**  *  Well ;  but  they  may  be  one  day  tilled  again,'  said  the  baron. 
'  Scolding  wives,'  snarled  the  genius. 
Oh  !    They  can  be  made  quiet,'  said  the  baron. 
Thirteen  children,'  shouted  the  genius. 
'*  *  Can't  all  go  wrong,  surely,'  said  the  baron. 

"  The  genius  was  evidently  growing  very  savage  with  the  baron  for  holding 
these  opinions  all  at  once  ;  but  he  tried  to  laugh  it  off,  and  said  if  he  would 
let  him  know  when  he  had  left  off  joking,  he  snould  feel  obliged  to  him. 

"  *  But  I  am  not  joking ;  I  was  never  farther  from  it,'  remonstrated  the 
baron. 

Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,'   said  the  genius,  looking  very  grim, 


it 
tt  t 


i(  I 


NICHOLA  S  NICKLEB  V.  49 

'  because  a  joke,  without  any  figure  of  speech,  is  the  death  of  me.    Come  ! 
Quit  this  dreary  world  at  once.' 

"  *  I  don't  know,*  said  the  baron,  playing  with  the  knife  ;  *  if  s  a  dreary 
one,  certainly,  but  I  don't  think  yours  is  much  better,  for  you  have  not  the 
appearance  of  being  particularly  comfortable.  That  puts  me  in  mind — what 
security  have  I  that  I  shall  be  any  the  better  for  going  out  of  the  world  after 
all ! '  he  cried,  starting  up  ;  '  I  never  thought  of  that.* 

'*  *  Despatch,'  cried  the  figure,  gnashing  its  teeth. 

'*  *  Keep  off !  *  said  the  baron.  *  I'll  brood  over  miseries  no  longer,  but  put 
a  good  face  on  the  matter,  and  try  the  fresh  air  and  the  bears  again  ;  and  if 
that  don't  do,  I'll  talk  to  the  baroness  soundly,  and  cut  the  Yon  Swillen* 
liuusens  dead.'  With  this  the  baron  fell  into  his  chair,  and  laughed  so  long 
and  boisterously,  that  the  room  rang  with  it. 

"  The  figure  fell  back  a  pace  or  two,  regarding  the  baron  meanwhile  with  a 
look  of  intense  terror,  and  when  he  had  ceased,  caught  up  the  stake,  plunged 
it  violently  into  its  body,  uttered  a  frightful  howl,  and  disappeared. 

'*  Von  Koeldwethout  never  saw  it  again.  Having  once  made  up  his  mind 
to  action,  he  soon  brought  the  baroness  and  the  Yon  Swillenhausens  to 
reason,  and  died  mskuf  years  afterwards :  not  a  rich  man  that  I  am  aware  of, 
but  certainly  a  happy  one :  leaving  behind  him  a  numerous  family,  who  had 
been  carefully  educated  in  bear  and  boar-hunting  under  his  own  personal 
eye.  And  my  advice  to  all  men  is,  that  if  ever  they  become  hipped  and 
melancholy  from  similar  causes  (as  very  many  men  do),  they  look  at  both 
sides  of  the  question,  applying  a  magnifying  glass  to  the  best  one ;  and  if 
they  still  feel  tempted  to  retire  without  leave,  that  they  smoke  a  large  pipe 
and  drink  a  full  bottle  first,  and  profit  by  the  laudable  example  of  the  Baron 
ofGrogzwig." 

**  The  fresh  coach  is  ready,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  if  you  please,"  said  a  new 
driver,  looking  in. 

This  intelligence  caused  the  punch  to  be  finished  in  a  great  hurry,  and 
prevented  any  discussion  relative  to  the  last  story.  Mr.  Squeers  was  observed 
to  draw  the  grey-headed  gentleman  to  one  side,  and  to  ask  a  question  with 
great  apparent  interest ;  it  bore  reference  to  the  Five  Sisters  of  York,  and 
was,  in  fact,  an  inquiry  whether  he  could  inform  him  how  much  per  annum 
the  Yorkshire  convents  got  in  those  days  with  their  boarders. 

The  journey  was  then  resumed.  Nicholas  fell  asleep  towards  morning,  and, 
when  he  awoke,  found,  with  great  regret,  that,  during  his  nap,  both  the 
Baron  of  Grogzwig  and  the  grey-haired  gentleman  had  got  down  and  were 
gone.  The  day  dragged  on  uncomfortably  enough.  At  about  six  o'clock  that 
night  he  and  Mr.  Squeers,  and  the  little  boys,  and  their  united  luggage,  were 
all  put  down  together  at  the  George  and  New  Inn,  Greta  Bridge. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

MR.    AND   MES.    SQUEERS  AT  HOME. 


MB.  SQUEERS,  being  safely  landed,  left  Nicholas  and  the  boys  standing 
with  the  luggage  in  the  road,  to  amuse  themselves  by  looking  at  the 
coach  as  it  changed  horses,  while  he  ran  into  the  tavern  and  went 
through  the  leg-stretching  process  at  the  bar.  After  some  minutes  he 
returned,  with  his  legs  thoroughly  stretched,  if  the  hue  of  his  nose  and  &  ^\\<^\\, 


50  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

hiccup  afforded  any  criterion  ;  and  at  the  same  time  there  came  out  of  the 
yard  a  rusty  pony-chaise,  and  a  cart,  driven  by  two  labouring  men. 

"  Put  the  boys  and  the  boxes  into  the  cart,"  said  Squeers,  rubbing  his 
hands  ;  ''and  this  young  man  and  me  will  go  on  in  the  chaise.  Get  in, 
Nickleby." 

Nicholas  obeyed.  Mr.  Squeers  with  some  difficulty  inducing  the  pony  to 
obey  also,  they  started  off,  leaving  the  cart-load  of  infant  misery  to  follow  at 
leisure. 

"Are  you  cold,  Nickleby?"  inquired  Squeers,  after  they  had  travelled 
some  distance  in  silence. 
♦  •  "  Rather,  sir,  I  must  say." 

*'  Well,  I  don't  find  fault  with  that,"  said  Squeers  ;  **  it's  a  long  journey 
this  weather." 

**  Is  it  much  farther  to  Dotheboys  Hall,  sir? "  asked  Nicholas. 

**  About  three  mile  from  here,"  replied  Squeers.  "  But  you  needn't  call  it 
a  Hall  down  here." 

Nicholas  coughed,  as  if  he  would  like  to  know  why. 

"  The  fact  is,  it  ain't  a  Hall,"  observed  Squeers,  drily. 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  said  Nicholas,  whom  this  piece  of  intelligence  much 
astonished. 

"  No,"  replied  Squeers.  "  We  call  it  a  Hall  up  in  London,  because  it 
sounds^setter,  but  they  don't  know  it  by*  that  name  in  these  parts.  A  man 
may  call  his  house  an  island  if  he  likes  ;  there's  no  act  of  parliament  against 
that,  I  believe  ? " 

**  I  believe  not,  sir,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

Squeers  eyed  his  companion  slily,  at  the  conclusion  of ^  this  little  dialogue, 
and  finding  that  he  haa  grown  thoughtful  and  appeared  in  nowise  disposed  to 
volunteer  any  observations,  contented  himself  with  lashing  the  pony  until 
they  reached  their  journey's  end. 

"  Jump  out,"  said  Squeeers.  **  Hallo,  there  !  come  and  put  this  horse  up. 
Be  quick,  will  you  !  " 

While  the  schoolmaster  was  uttering  these  and  other  impatient  cries, 
Nicholas  had  time  to  observe  that  the  school  was  a  long,  cold-looking  house, 
one  storey  high,  with  a  few  straggling  out-buildings  behind,  and  a  barn  and 
stable  adjoining.  After  the  lapse  of  a  minute  or  two,  the  noise  of  somebody 
unlocking  the  yard-gate  was  heard,  and  presently  a  tall,  lean  boy,  with  a 
lantern  in  his  hand,  issued  forth. 

**  Is  that  you,  Smike  % "  cried  Squeers. 

**  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

**  Then  why  the  devil  didn't  you  come  before  % " 

•*  Please,  sir,  I  fell  asleep  over  the  fire,"  answered  Smike,  with  humility. 

"Fire!  what  fire?  Where's  there  a  fire?"  demanded  the  schoolmaster, 
sharply. 

"  Only  in  the  kitchen,  sir,"  replied  the  boy.  **  Missus  said  as  I  was  sitting 
up,  I  might  go  in  there  for  a  warm." 

"Your  missus  is  a  fool,"  retorted  Squeers.  "You'd  have  been  a  deuced 
deal  more  wakeful  in  the  cold,  I'll  engage." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Squeers  had  dismounted  ;  and  after  ordering  the  boy  to 
see  to  the  pony,  and  to  take  care  that  he  hadn't  any  more  corn  that  night,  he 
told  Nicholas  to  wait  at  the  front  door  a  minute,  while  he  went  round  and  let 
him  in. 

A  host  of  unpleasant  misgivings,  which  had  been  crowding  upon  Nicholas 
during  the  whole  journey,  thronged  into  his  mind  with  redoubled  force  when 
he  was  left  alone.     His  great  distance  from  home  and  the  impossibility  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  51 

reaching  it,  except  on  foot,  should  he  feel  ever  so  anxious  to  return,  presented 
itself  to  him  in  most  alarming  colours ;  and  as  he  looked  up  at  the  dreary 
house  and  dark  windows,  and  upon  the  wild  country  round,  covered  witn 
snow,  he  felt  a  depression  of  heart  and  spirit  which  he  had  never  experienced 
before. 

"  Now  then  ! "  cried  Squeers,  poking  his  head  out  at  the  front  door. 
'*  Where  are  you,  Nickleby  ?  '* 

**  Here,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"Come  in,  then,"  said  Squeers;  "the  wind  blows  in  at  this  door  fit  to 
knock  a  man  off  his  legs." 

Nicholas  sighed,  and  hurried  in.  Mr.  Squeers  having  bolted  the  door  to 
keep  it  shut,  ushered  him  into  a  small  parlour  scantily  furnished  with  a  few 
chairs,  a  yellow  map  hung  against  the  wall,  and  a  couple  of  tables :  one  of 
which  bore  some  preparations  for  supper ;  while,  on  the  other,  a  tutor's 
assistant,  a  Murray's  grammar,  half-a-dozen  cards  of  terms,  and  a  worn 
letter  directed  to  Wacldbrd  Squeers,  Esquire,  were  arranged  in  picturesque 
confusion. 

They  had  not  been  in  this  apartment  a  couple  of  minutes  when  a  female 
bounced  into  the  room,  and,  seizing  Mr.  Squeers  by  the  throat,  gave  him  two 
loud  kisses :  one  close  after  the  other,  like  a  postman's  knock.  The  lady,  who 
was  of  a  large  raw-boned  figure,  was  about  half-a-head  taller  than  Mr.  Squeers, 
and  was  dressed  in  a  dimity  night-jacket,  with  her  hair  in  papers  ;^ne  had 
also  a  dirty  nightcap  on,  relieved  by  a  yellow  cotton  handkerchief  which 
tied  it  under  the  chin. 

"  How  is  my  Squeery  ? "  said  this  lady,  in  a  playful  manner,  and  a  very 
hoarse  voice. 

**  Quite  well,  my  love,"  replied  Squeers.     *'  How's  the  cows  1 " 

**  All  right,  every  one  of  'em,"  answered  the  lady. 

"And  the  pigs  ?  *  said  Squeers. 

**  As  well  as  they  were  wnen  you  went  away." 

"  Come  ;  that's  a  blessing,"  said  Squeers,  pulling  off  his  great-coat.  **  The 
boys  are  all  as  they  were,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

"  Oh,  yes,  they're  well  enough,"  replied  Mrs.  Squeers,  snappishly.  '*  That 
young  Pitcher's  had  a  fever." 

"No  !"  exclaimed  Squeers.  "Damn  that  boy,  he's  always  at  something 
of  that  sort." 

"  Never  was  such  a  boy,  I  do  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers ;  "  whatever 
he  has  is  always  catching,  too.  I  say  it's  obstinacy,  and  nothing  shall  ever 
convince  me  that  it  isn  t.  I'd  beat  it  out  of  him  ;  and  I  told  you  that  six 
months  ago." 

"  So  you  did,  my  love,"  rejoined  Squeers.     "  We'll  try  what  can  be  done." 

Pending  these  little  endearments,  Nicholas  had  stood,  awkwardly  enough,  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  ;  not  very  well  knowing  whether  he  was  expected  to 
retire  into  the  passage,  or  to  remain  where  he  was.  He  was  now  relieved  from 
his  perplexity  by  Mr.  Squeers. 

"  This  is  the  new  young  man,  my  dear,"  said  that  gentleman. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Mrs.  Squeers,  nodding  her  head  at  Nicholas,  and  eyeing  him 
coldly  from  top  to  toe. 

"  He'll  take  a  meal  with  lis  to-night,"  said  Squeers,  "  and  go  among  the 
boys  to-morrow  morning.  You  can  give  him  a  shake-down  here,  to-night, 
can't  you  ? " 

**We  must  manage  it  somehow,"  replied  the  lady.  "You  don't  much 
mind  how  you  sleep,  I  suppose,  sir  ? " 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  "  I  am  not  particular." 


52  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  That's  lucky,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers.  And  as  the  lady's  humour  was  con- 
sidered to  lie  chiefly  in  retorti  Mr.  Squeers  laughed  heartily,  and  seemed  to 
expect  that  Nicholas  should  do  the  same. 

After  some  further  conversation  between  the  master  and  mistress  relative  to 
the  success  of  Mr.  Squeers's  trip,  and  the  people  who  had  paid,  and  the  people 
who  had  made  default  in  payment,  a  young  servant  girl  brought  in  a  York- 
shire pie  and  some  cold  beef,  which  being  set  upon  the  table,  the  boy  Smike 
appeared  with  a  jug  of  ale. 

Mr.  Squeers  was  emptying  his  great-coat  pockets  of  letters  to  different  boys, 
and  other  small  documents,  which  he  had  brought  down  in  them.  The  boy 
glanced,  with  an  anxious  and  timid  expression,  at  the  papers,  as  if  with  a 
sickly  hope  that  one  among  them  might  relate  to  him.  The  look  was  a  very 
painful  one,  and  went  to  Nicholas's  heart  at  once  ;  for  it  told  a  long  and  very 
sad  history. 

It  induced  him  to  consider  the  boy  more  attentively,  and  he  was  surprised 
to  observe  the  extraordinary  mixture  of  garments  which  formed  his  dress. 
Although  he  could  not  have  been  less  than  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  old, 
and  was  tall  for  that  age,  he  wore  a  skeleton  suit,  such  as  is  usually  put  upon 
very  little  boys,  and  which,  though  most  absurdly  short  in  the  arms  and  legs, 
was  quite  wiae  enough  for  his  attenuated  frame.  In  order  that  the  lower  part 
of  his  legs  mi^ht  be  in  perfect  keeping  with  this  singular  dress,  he  had  a  very 
large  pHLr  of  boots,  originally  made  for  tops,  which  might  have  been  once 
worn  by  some  stout  farmer,  but  were  now  too  patched  and  tattered  for  a 
beggar.  Heaven  knows  how  long  he  had  been  there,  but  he  still  wore  the 
same  linen  which  he  had  first  taken  down  ;  for,  round  his  neck,  was  a  tattered 
child's  frill,  only  half  concealed  by  a  coarse,  man's  neckerchief.  He  was 
lame ;  and  as  he  feigned  to  be  busy  in  arranging  the  table,  glanced  at  the 
letters  with  a  look  so  keen,  and  yet  so  dispirited  and  hopeless,  that  Nicholas 
could  hardly  bear  to  watch  him. 

**  What  are  you  bothering  about  there,  Smike ? "  cried  Mrs.  Squeers  ;  "let 
the  things  alone,  can't  you." 

**  Eh  ! "  said  Squeers,  looking  up.     '*  Oh  !  it's  you,  is  it  ? " 

**  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  youth,  pressing  his  hands  together,  as  though  to 

control,  by  force,  the  nervous  wandering  of  his  fingers  ;  **is  there " 

"WeU!"  said  Squeers. 

**  Have  you — did  anybody — has  nothing  been  heard — about  me  ? " 
"  Devil  a  bit,"  replied  Squeers,  testily. 

The  lad  withdrew  his  eyes,  and,  putting  his  hand  to  his  face,  moved  towards 
the  door. 

*  *  Not  a  word,"  resumed  Squeers,  **  and  never  will  be.  Now,  this  is  a  pretty 
sort  of  thing,  isn't  it,  that  you  should  have  been  left  here  all  these  years  and 
no  money  paid  after  the  first  six — nor  notice  taken,  nor  no  clue  to  be  got  who 
you  belong  to  ?  It's  a  pretty  sort  of  thing  that  I  should  have  to  feed  a  great 
fellow  like  you,  and  never  hope  to  get  one  penny  for  it,  isn't  it  ? " 

The  boy  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  if  he  were  making  an  effort  to  recollect 
something,  and  then,  looking  vacantly  at  his  questioner,  gradually  broke  into 
a  smile,  and  limped  away. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Squeers,"  remarked  his  wife  as  the  door  closed,  "I 
think  that  younc  chap's  turning  silly." 

"I  hope  not,     said  the  schoolmaster;  "for  he's  a  handy  fellow  out  of 

doors,  and  worth  his  meat  and  drink,  any  way.     I  should  think  he'd  have  wit 

enough  for  us,  though,  if  he  was.     But  come  ;  let's  have  supper,  for  I'm 

hungry  and  tired,  and  want  to  get  to  bed. " 

This  reminder  brought  in  an  exclusive  steak  for  Mr.  Squeers,  who  speedily 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.     •  53 

proceeded  to  do  it  ample  justice.     Nicholas  drew  up  his  chair,  but  his  appetite 
was  effectually  taken  away. 

"How's  the  steak,  Squeers  ?"  said  Mrs.  S. 

**  Tender  as  a  lamb,"  replied  Squeers.     **  Have  a  bit  ? " 

"I  couldn't  eat  a  morsel,"  replied  his  wife.  "What'U  the  young  man 
take,  my  dear  ? " 

'*  Whatever  he  likes  that's  present,"  rejoined  Squeers,  in  a  most  unusual 
burst  of  generosity.     . 

**  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Knuckleboy  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Squeers. 

**  I'll  take  a  little  of  the  pie,  if  you  please, '  replied  Nicholas.  **  A  very 
little,  for  I'm  not  hungry." 

"  Well,  it's  a  pity  to  cut  the  pie  if  you're  not  hungry,  isn't  it  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Squeers.     **  Will  you  try  a  bit  of  the  beef  ? " 

**  Whatever  you  please,"  replied  Nicholas,  abstractedly ;  **  it's  all  the  same 
to  me." 

Mrs.  Squeers  looked  vastly  gracious  on  receiving  this  reply  ;  and  nodding 
to  Squeers,  as  much  as  to  say  that  she  was  glad  to  find  the  young  man  knew 
his  station,  assisted  Nicholas  to  a  slice  of  meat  with  her  own  fair  nands. 

'*  Ale,  Squeery  ? "  inquired  the  lady,  winking  and  frowning  to  give  him  to 
understand  that  the  question  propounded  was,  whether  Nicholas  should  have 
ale,  and  not  whether  ne  (Squeers)  would  take  any. 

"Certainly,"  said  Squeers,  re- telegraphing  in  the  same  manner.  "A 
glassful." 

So  Nicholas  had  a  glassful,  and,  being  occupied  with  his  own  reflections, 
drank  it  in  happy  innocence  of  all  the  foregoing  proceedings. 

"  Uncommon  juicy  steak  that,"  said  Squeers,  as  he  laid  down  his  knife  and 
fork,  after  plying  it  in  silence  for  some  time. 

"  It's  prime  meat,"  rejoined  his  lady.  **  I  bought  a  good  large  piece  of  it 
myself  on  purpose  for- 


*'  For  wnat  ? "  exclaimed  Squeers,  hastily.     "  Not  for  the- 


No,  no;  not  for  them,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers;  "on  purpose  for  you 
against  you  came  home.  Lor  !  you  didn't  think  I  could  have  made  such  a 
mistake  as  that." 

"Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  I  didn't  know  what  you  were  going  to  say,** 
said  Squeers,  who  had  turned  pale. 

"  You  needn't  make  yourself  uncomfortable,"  remarked  his  wife,  laughing 
heartily.     "  To  think  that  I  should  be  such  a  noddy  !    Well  I  " 

This  part  of  the  conversation  was  rather  unintelligible  ;  but  popular  rumour 
in  the  neighbourhood  asserted  that  Mr.  Squeers,  being  amiably  opposed  to 
cruelty  to  animals,  not  unfrequently  purchased  for  boy-consumption  the 
bodies  of  horned  cattle  who  had  died  a  natural  death.  Possibly  he  was  appre- 
hensive of  having  unintentionally  devoured  some  choice  morsel  intended  for  the 
young  gentlemen. 

Supper  being  over,  and  removed  by  a  small  servant-girl  with  a  hungry  eye, 
Mrs.  Squeers  retired  to  lock  it  up,  and  also  to  take  into  safe  custody  the 
clothes  of  the  five  boys  who  had  just  arrived,  and  who  were  half  way  up  the 
troublesome  flight  of  steps  which  leads  to -death's  door,  in  consequence  of 
exposure  to  the  cold.  They  were  then  regaled  with  a  light  supper  of  porridge, 
and  stowed  away,  side  by  side,  in  a  small  bedstead,  to  warm  each  other,  and 
dream  of  a  substantial  meal,  with  something  hot  after  it,  if  their  fancies  set 
that  way  :  which  it  is  not  at  all  improbable  they  did. 

Mr.  Squeers  treated  himself  to  a  stiff  tumbler  of  brandy  and  water,  made  on 
the  liberal  half-and-half  principle,  allowing  for  the  dissolution  of  the  sugar  ; 
and  his  amiable  helpmate  mixed  Nicholas  the  ghost  of  a  amaU  ^lftsa^\3l  oi  >^^ 


54  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

same  compound.  This  done,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  drew  close  up  to  the  fire, 
and  sitting  with  their  feet  on  the  fender,  talked  confidentially  in  whispers ; 
while  Nicholas,  taking  up  the  tutor's  assistant,  read  the  interesting  legends 
in  the  miscellaneous  questions  and  all  the  figures  into  the  bargain,  with  as 
much  thought  or  consciousness  of  what  he  was  doing  as  if  he  had  been  in  a 
magnetic  slumber. 

At  length  Mr.  Squeers  yawned  fearfully,  and  opined  that  it  was  high  time 
to  go  to  bed  ;  upon  which  signal,  Mrs.  Squeers  and  the  girl  dragged  in  a  small 
straw  mattress  and  a  couple  of  blankets,  and  arranged  them  into  a  couch  for 
Nicholas. 

"We'll  put  you  into  your  regular  bed-room  to-morrow,  Nickleby,"  said 
Squeers.     **  Let  me  see  !    Who  sleeps  in  Brooks's  bed,  my  dear  ? " 

"In  Brooks's?"  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  pondering.  "There's  Jennings,  little 
Bolder,  Greymarsh,  and  what's-his-name." 

** So  there  is,"  rejoined  Squeers.     "Yes!  Brooks  is  full." 

•'  Full ! "  thought  Nicholas,  **  I  should  think  he  was." 

"There's  a  place  somewhere,  I  know,"  said  Squeers  ;  "  but  I  can't  at  this 
moment  call  to  mind  where  it  is.  However,  we'll  have  all  that  settled  to- 
morrow.    Good  night,  Nickleby.     Seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  mind.  *' 

"  I  shall  be  ready,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas.     "  Good  night" 

"  I'll  come  in  myself  and  show  you  where  the  well  is,"  said  Squeers. 
"You'll  always  find  a  little  bit  of  soap  in  the  kitchen  window ;  that  belongs 
to  you." 

Nicholas  opened  his  eyes,  but  not  his  mouth ;  and  Squeers  was  again  going 
away  when  he  once  more  turned  back. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  he  said,  "  whose  towel  to  put  you  on  ;  but 
if  you'll  make  shift  with  something  to-morrow  morning,  Mrs.  Squeers  will 
arrange  that  in  the  course  of  the  day.     My  dear,  don't  forget." 

"I'll  take  care,"  replied  Mrs.  Saucers  ;  "and  mind  you  take  care,  young 
man,  and  get  first  wash.  The  teacner  ought  always  to  have  it ;  but  they  get 
the  better  of  him  if  they  can." 

Mr.  Squeers  nudged  Mrs.  Squeers  to  bring  away  the  brandy-bottle,  lest 
Nicholas  should  help  himself  in  the  night ;  and  the  lady  having  seized  it 
with  great  precipitation,  they  retired  together. 

Nicholas,  being  left  alone,  took  half-a-dozen  turns  up  and  down  the  room 
-in  a  condition  of  much  agitation  and  excitement ;  but  growing  gradually 
calmer,  sat  himself  down  in  a  chair,  and  mentally  resolved  that,  come  what 
might,  he  would  endeavour  for  a  time  to  bear  whatever  wretchedness  there 
might  be  in  store  for  him,  and  that  remembering  the  helplessness  of  his 
mother  and  sister,  he  would  give  his  uncle  no  plea  for  deserting  them  in  their 
need.  Good  resolutions  seldom  fail  of  producing  some  good  effect  in  the  mind 
from  which  they  spring.  He  grew  less  desponding,  and — so  sanguine  and 
buoyant  is  youth — even  hoped  that  affairs  at  Dotheboys  Hall  might  yet  prove 
better  than  they  promised. 

He  was  preparing  for  bed  with  something  like  renewed  cheerfulness,  when  a 
sealed  letter  fell  from  his  coat  p(Jfket.  In  the  hurry  of  leaving  London  it 
had  escaped  his  attention,  and  had  not  occurred  to  him  since,  but  it  at  once 
brought  Dack  to  him  the  recollection  of  the  mysterious  behaviour  of  Newman 
Noggs. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Nicholas,   "  what  an  extraordinary  hand  ! " 
It  was  directed  to  himself,  was  written  upon  very  dirty  paper,  and  in  such 
cramped  and  crippled  writing  as  to  be  almost  illegible.     After  great  difficulty 
and  much  puzzling  he  contrived  to  read  as  follows : — 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  55 

**  My  dear  Young  Man,— I  know  the  world.  Your  father  did  not,. or  he 
would  not  have  done  me  a  kindness  when  there  was  no  hope  of  return.  You 
do  not,  or  you  would  not  be  bound  on  such  a  journey. 

"  If  ever  you  want  a  shelter  in  London  (don't  be  angry  at  this,  1  once 
thought  I  never  should),  they  know  where  I  live  at  the  sign  of  the  Crown  in 
Silver  Street,  Golden  Square  It  is  at  the  corner  of  Silver  Street  and  James 
Street,  with  a  bar  door  both  ways.  You  can  come  at  night  Once,  nobody 
was  ashamed — never  mind  that.     It's  all  over. 

**  Excuse  errors.  I  should  forget  how  to  wear  a  whole  coat  now.  I  have 
forgotten  all  my  old  ways.     My  spelling  may  have  gone  with  them. 

"Newman  Noggs. 

"P. 51, — If  you  should  go  near  Barnard  Castle,  there  is  good  ale  at  the 
King's  Head.  Say  you  know  me,  and  I  am  sure  they  will  not  charge  you 
for  it.  You  may  say  Mr.  Noggs  there,  for  I  was  a  gentleman  then.  I  was 
indeed. " 

It  may  be  a  very  undignified  circumstance  to  record,  but  after  he  had 
folded  this  letter  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket-book,  Nicholas  Nickleby's  eyes 
were  dimmed  vrith  a  moisture  that  might  have  been  taken  for  tears. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

OF  THE  INTERNAL  ECONOMY  OF  DOTHEBOYS  HALL. 

A  RIDE  of  two  hundred  and  odd  miles  in  severe  weather  is  one  of  the  best 
softeners  of  a  hard  bed  that  ingenuity  can  devise.  Perhaps  it  is  even  a 
sweetener  of  dreams,  for  those  which  hovered  over  the  rough  couch  of 
Nicholas,  and  whispered  their  airy  nothings  in  his  ear,  were  of  an  agreeable 
and  happy  kind.  He  was  making  his  fortune  very  fast  indeed,  when  the 
faint  glimmer  of  an  expiring  candle  shone  before  his  eyes,  and  a  voice  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  recognising  as  part  and  parcel  of  Mr.  Squeers,  admonished  him 
that  it  was  time  to  rise. 

**  Past  seven,  Nickleby,"  said  Mr.  Squeers. 

"  Has  morning  come  already  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  sitting  up  in  bed. 

"Ah!  that  it  has,"  replied  Squeers,  "  and  ready  iced  too.  Now,  Nickleby, 
come  ;  tumble  up,  will  you  ? " 

Nicholas  needed  no  further  admonition,  but  "tumbled  up"  at  once,  and 
proceeded  to  dress  himself  by  the  light  of  the  taper  which  Mr.  Squeers  carried 
in  his  hand. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  go,"  said  that  gentleman  ;  "  the  pump's  froze." 

*'  Indeed  ! "  said  Nicholas,  not  much  interested  in  the  intelligence. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Squeers.     "  You  can't  wash  yourself  this  morning." 

"  Not  wash  myself !  "  exclaimed  Nicholas. 

"No,  not  a  bit  of  it,"  rejoined  Squeers,  tartly.  "So  you  must  bo  con- 
tented with  giving  yourself  a  dry  polish  till  we  break  the  ice  in  the  well,  and 
can  get  a  bucketful  out  for  the  boys.  Don't  stand  staring  at  me,  but  do  look 
sharp,  will  you  ? " 

Otfering  no  further  observation,  Nicholas  huddled  on  his  clothes.  Squeers 
meanwhile  opened  the  shutters  and  blew  the  candle  out ;  when  the  voice  of 
his  amiable  consort  was  heard  in  the  passage,  demanding  admittance. 

"  Come  in,  my  love,"  said  Squeers. 

Mrs.  Squeers  came  in,  still  habited  in  the  primitive  night-jacket  whifttilaa.^ 


56  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

displayed  the  symmetry  of  her  figure  on  the  previous  night,  and  further 
ornamented  with  a  heaver  honnet  of  some  antiquity,  which  she  wore,  with 
much  ease  and  lightness,  on  the  top  of  the  nightcap  before  mentioned. 

"Drat  the  things,"  said  the  lady,  opening  the  cupboard ;  **  I  can't  find  the 
school  spoon  anywhere." 

"Never  mind  it,  my  dear,"  obsei-ved  Squeers,  in  a  soothing  manner; 
**  it's  of  no  consequence." 

**  No  consequence  ;  why,  how  you  talk  !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers,  sharply  ; 
**  isn't  it  brimstone  morning  ? " 

"  I  forgot,  my  dear,"  rejoined  Squeers  ;  **yes,  it  certainly  is.  We  purify 
the  boys'  blood  now  and  then,  Nickleby." 

"Purify  fiddlesticks'  ends,"  said  his  lady.  "Don't  think,  young  man, 
that  we  go  to  the  expense  of  flower  of  brimstone  and  molasses  just  to  purify 
them  ;  because  if  you  think  we  carry  on  the  business  in  that  way  you'll  find 
yourself  mistaken,  and  so  I  tell  you  plainly." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Squeers,  frowning.     "  Hem  !  " 

"  Oh  1  nonsense,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers.  "  If  the  young  man  comes  to  be 
a  teacher  here,  let  him  understand  at  once  that  we  don't  want  any  foolery 
about  the  boys.  They  have  the  brimstone  and  treacle,  partly  because  if  they 
hadn't  something  or  other  in  the  way  of  medicine  they'd  be  always  ailing  and 
giving  a  world  of  trouble,  and  partly  because  it  spoils  their  appetites  and 
comes  cheaper  than  breakfast  and  dinner.  So,  it  does  them  good  and  us  good, 
at  the  same  time,  and  that's  fair  enough  I'm  sure." 

Having  given  this  explanation,  Mrs.  Squeers  put  her  head  into  the  closet 
and  instituted  a  stricter  search  after  the  spoon,  in  which  Mr.  Squeers 
assisted.  A  few  words  passed  between  them  while  they  were  thus  engaged, 
but  as  their  voices  were  partially  stifled  by  the  cupboard,  all  that  Nicholas 
could  distinguish  was  that  Mr.  Squeers  said  what  Mrs.  Squeers  had  said 
was  injudicious,  and  that  Mrs.  Squeers  said  that  what  Mr.  Squeers  said 
was  "stuff." 

A  vast  deal  of  searching  and  rummaging  ensued,  and  it  proving  fruitless, 
Smike  was  called  in,  and  pushed  by  Mrs.  Squeers,  and  boxed  by  Mr.  Squeers  ; 
which  course  of  treatment  brightening  his  intellects,  enabled  him  to  suggest 
that  possibly  Mrs.  Squeers  might  have  the  spoon  in  her  pocket,  as  indeed 
turned  out  to  be  the  case.  As  Mrs.  Squeers  had  previously  protested, 
however,  that  she  was  quite  certain  she  had  not  got  it,  Smike  received 
another  box  on  the  ear  for  presuming  to  contradict  his  mistress,  together 
with  a  promise  of  a  sound  thrashing  if  he  were  not  more  respectful  in  future  ; 
so  that  he  took  nothing  very  advantageous  by  his  motion. 

"A  most  invaluable  woman  that,  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  when  his 
consort  had  hurried  away,  pushing  the  drudge  before  her. 

"  Indeed,  sir  I "  observed  Nicholas. 

"I  don't  know  her  equal,"  said  Squeers;  "  I  do  not  know  her  equal. 
That  woman  is  always  the  same — always  the  same  bustling,  lively,  active, 
saving  creetur  that  you  see  her  now." 

Nicholas  sighed  involuntarily  at  the  thought  of  the  agreeable  domestic 
prospect  thus  opened  to  him ;  but  Squeers  was,  fortunately,  too  much  occupied 
with  his  own  reflections  to  perceive  it. 

"  It's  my  way  to  say,  when  I  am  up  in  London,"  continued  Squeers,  "  that 
to  them  boys  she  is  a  mother.  But  she  is  more  than  a  mother  to  them  ;  ten 
times  more.  She  does  things  for  them  boys,  Nickleby,  that  I  don't  believe 
half  the  mothers  going  would  do  for  their  own  sons." 

"  I  should  think  they  would  not,  sir,"  answered  Nicholas. 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  viewed  the  boys  in  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  57 

light  of  their  proper  and  natural  enemies  ;  or,  in  other  words,  they  held  and 
considered  that  their  husiness  and  profession  was  to  get  as  much  from  every 
hoy  as  could  by  possibility  be  screwed  out  of  him.  On  this  point  they  were 
both  agreed,  and  behaved  in  unison  accordingly.  The  only  difference  between 
them  was,  tiiat  Mrs.  Squeers  waged  war  against  the  enemy  openly  and 
fearlessly,  and  that  Squeers  covered  his  rascality,  even  at  home,  with  a  spice 
of  his  habitual  deceit ;  as  if  he  really  had  a  notion  of  some  day  or  other 
being  able  to  take  himself  in,  and  persuade  his  own  mind  that  he  was  a  very 
good  fellow. 

"  But  come,"  said  .Squeers,  interrupting  the  progress  of  some  thoughts  to 
this  effect  in  the  mind  of  his  usher,  "  let's  go  to  the  school-room  ;  and  lend 
me  a  hand  with  my  school-coat,  will  you  ? " 

Nicholas  assisted  his  master  to  put  on  an  old  fustian  shooting-jacket,  which 
he  took  down  from  a  peg  in  the  passage  ;  and  Squeers,  arming  himself  with 
his  cane,  led  the  way  across  the  yard,  to  a  door  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 

**  There,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  as  they  stepped  in  together ;  **  this  is  our 
shop,  Nickleby." 

It  was  such  a  crowded  scene,  and  there  were  so  many  objects  to  attract 
attention,  that,  at  first,  Nicholas  stared  about  him,  really  without  seeing 
anything  at  all.  By  degrees,  however,  the  place  resolved  itself  into  a  bare 
and  dirty  room,  with  a  couple  of  windows,  whereof  a  tenth  part  might  be  of 
glass,  the  remainder  being  stopped  up  with  old  copybooks  and  paper.  There 
were  a  couple  of  long,  old,  rickety  desks,  cut  and  notched,  and  inked,  and 
damaged,  in  every  possible  way ;  two  or  three  forms ;  a  detached  desk  for 
Squeers  ;  and  another  for  his  assistant.  The  ceiling  was  supported,  like  that 
of  a  barn,  by  cross  beams  and  rafters  ;  and  the  walls  were  so  stained  and 
discoloured,  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  they  had  ever  been  touched 
with  paint  or  whitewash. 

But  the  pupils — the  young  noblemen  !  How  the  last  faint  traces  of  hope, 
the  remotest  glimmering  of  any  good  to  be  derived  from  his  efforts  in  this 
den,  faded  from  the  mind  of  Nicholas  as  he  looked  in  dismay  around  !  Pale 
and  haggard  faces,  lank  and  bony  figures,  children  with  the  countenances  of 
old  men,  deformities  with  irons  upon  their  limbs,  boys  of  stunted  growth,  and 
others  whose  long  meagre  legs  would  hardly  bear  their  stooping  bodies,  all 
crowded  on  the  view  together  ;  there  were  the  bleared-eye,  the  hare  lip,  the 
crooked  foot,  and  every  ugliness  or  distortion  that  told  of  unnatural  aversion 
conceived  by  parents  for  their  offspring,  or  of  young  lives  which,  from  the 
earliest  dawn  of  infancy,  had  been  one  horrible  endurance  of  cruelty  and 
neglect.  There  were  little  faces  which  should  have  been  handsome,  darkened 
with  the  scowl  of  sullen,  dogged  suffering  ;  there  was  childhood  with  the  light 
of  its  eye  quenched,  its  beauty  gone,  and  its  helplessness  alone  remaining ; 
there  were  vicious-faced  boys,  brooding,  with  leaden  eyes,  like  malefactors  in  a 
jail ;  and  there  were  young  creatures  on  whom  the  sins  of  their  frail  parents 
had  descended,  weeding  even  for  the  mercenary  nurses  they  had  known, 
and  lonesome  even  m  their  loneliness.  With  every  kindly  sympathy  and 
affection  blasted  in  its  birth,  with  every  young  and  healthy  feeling  flogged 
and  starved  down,  with  every  revengeful  passion  tliat  can  fester  in  swollen 
hearts,  eating  its  evil  way  to  their  core  in  silence,  what  an  incipient  Hell  was 
breeding  here  ! 

And  yet  this  scene,  painful  as  it  was,  had  its  grotesque  features,  which,  in 
a  less  interested  observer  than  Nicholas,  mi^ht  have  provoked  a  smile.  Mrs. 
Squeers  stood  at  one  of  the  desks,  presiding  over  an  immense  basin  of 
brimstone  and  treacle,  of  which  delicious  compound  she  administered  a  large 
instalment  to  each  boy  in  succession  :  using  for  the  purpose  a  common  ^ood^^v 


58  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

spoon,  which  might  have  been  originally  manufactured  for  some  gigantic  top, 
and.  which  widened  every  young  gentleman's  mouth  considerably  :  they  bein^ 
all  obliged,  under  heavy  corporal  penalties,  to  take  in  the  whole  of  the  bow4 
at  a  gasp.  In  another  corner,  huddled  together  for  companionship,  were  the 
little  boys  who  had  arrived  on  the  previous  night,  three  of  them  in  very  large 
leather  breeches,  and  two  in  old  trousers,  a  something  tighter  fit  than 
drawers  are  usually  worn  ;  at  no  great  distance  from  these  was  seated  the 
juvenile  son  and  heir  of  Mr.  Squeers — a  striking  likeness  of  his  father — 
kicking,  with  great  vigour,  under  the  hands  of  Smike,  who  was  fitting  upon 
him  a  pair  of  new  boots  that  bore  a  most  suspicious  resemblance  to  those 
which  tne  least  of  the  little  boys  had  worn  on  the  journey  down — as  the  little 
boy  himself  seemed  to  think,  for  he  was  regarding  the  appropriation  with  a 
look  of  the  most  rueful  amazement. 

Besides  these,  there  was  a  long  row  of  boys  waiting,  with  countenances  of 
no  pleasant  anticipation,  to  be  treacled  ;  and  another  file,  who  had  just 
escaped  from  the  infliction,  making  a  variety  of  wry  mouths,  indicative  of 
anything  but  satisfaction.  The  whole  were  attired  in  such  motley,  ill- 
assorted,  extraordinary  garments,  as  would  have  been  irresistibly  ridieulous, 
but  for  the  foul  appearance  of  dirt,  disorder,  and  disease,  with  which  they 
were  associated. 

"  Now,"  said  Squeers,  giving  the  desk  a  great  rap  with  his  cane,  which 
made  half  the  little  boys  nearly  jump  out  of  their  boots,  ''is  that  physicking 
over?" 

"Just  over,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  choking  the  last  boy  in  her  hurry,  and 
tapping  the  crown  of  his  head  with  the  wooden  spoon  to  restor3  him.  "  Here, 
you  Smike  ;  take  this  away  now.     Look  sharp  ! " 

Smike  shuffled  out  with  the  basin,  and  Mrs.  Squeers  having  called  up  a 
little  boy  with  a  curly  head,  and  wiped  her  hands  upon  it,  hurried  out  after 
him  into  a  species  of  wash-house,  where  there  was  a  smail  fire  and  a  large 
kettle,  together  with  a  number  of  little  wooden  bowls  which  were  ranged 
upon  a  board. 

Into  these  bowls  Mrs.  Squeers,  assisted  by  the  hungry  servant,  poured  a 
brown  composition,  which  looked  liked  diluted  pincushions  without  the 
covers,  and  was  called  porridge.  A  minute  wedge  of  brown  bread  was 
inserted  in  each  bowl,  and  when  they  had  eaten  the  porridge  by  means  of  the 
bread,  the  boys  ate  the  bread  itself,  and  had  finished  their  breakfast ;  where- 
upon Mr.  Squeers  said,  in  a  solemn  voice,  **  For  what  we  have  received  may 
the  Lord  make  us  truly  thankful " — and  went  away  to  his  own. 

Nicholas  distended  his  stomach  with  a  bowl  of  porridge,  for  much  the  same 
reason  which  induces  some  savages  to  swallow  earth — lest  they  should  be 
inconveniently  hungry  when  there  is  nothing  to  eat  Having  further  disposed 
of  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter,  alloted  to  him  in  virtue  of  his  office,  he  sat 
himself  down  to  wait  for  school  time. 

He  could  not  but  observe  how  silent  and  sad  the  boys  all  seemed  to  be. 
There  was  none  of  the  noise  and  clamour  of  a  school-room  ;  none  of  its 
boisterous  play  or  hearty  mirth.  The  children  sat  crouching  and  shivering 
together,  and  seemed  to  lack  the  spirit  to  move  about.  The  only  pupil  who 
evinced  the  slightest  tendency  towards  locomotion  or  playfulness  was  Master 
Squeers,  and  as  his  chief  amusement  was  to  tread  upon  the  other  boys*  toes 
in  his  new  boots,  his  flow  of  spirits  was  rather  disagreeable  than  otherwise. 

After  some  half-hour's  delay,  Mr.  Squeers  appeared,  and  the  boys  took 
their  places  and  their  books,  of  which  latter  commodity  the  average  was 
about  one  to  eight  learners.  A  few  minutes  having  elapsed,  during  which 
Mr.  Squeers  looked  very  profound,  as  if  he  had  a  perfect  apprehension  of  what 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  59 

was  inside  all  the  books,  and  conld  say  every  word  of  their  contents  by  heart 
if  he  only  chose  to  take  the  trouble,  that  gentleman  callea  up  the  first  class. 

Obedient  to  this  summons  there  ranged  themselves  in  front  of  the  school- 
master's desk  half-a-dozen  scarecrows,  out  at  knees  and  elbows,  one  of  whom 
placed  a  torn  and  filthy  book  beneath  his  learned  eye. 

"This  is  the  first  class  in  English  spelling  and  philosophy,  Nickleby," 
said  Squeers,  beckoning  Nicholas  to  stand  beside  him.  **  We'll  get  up  a 
Latin  one,  and  hand  that  over  to  you.     Now,  then,  where's  the  first  boy  ? 

"  Please,  sir,  he's  cleaning  the  back  parloui*  window,"  said  the  temporary 
head  of  the  philosophical  class. 

**So  he  is,  to  be  sure,"  rejoined  Squeers.  "We  go  upon  the  practical 
mode  of  teaching,  Nickleby  ;  the  regular  education  system.  C-1-e-a-n,  clean, 
verb  active,  to  make  bright,  to  scour.  W-i-n,  win,  d-e-r,  der,  winder  a  case- 
ment. When  the  boy  knows  this  out  of  book,  he  goes  and  does  it.  It's  just 
the  same  principle  as  the  use  of  the  globes.     Where's  the  second  boy  ? " 

**  Please,  sir,  he's  weeding  the  garden,"  replied  a  small  voice. 

**  To  be  sure,"  said  Squeeis,  by  no  means  disconcerted.  "  So  he  is.  B-o-t, 
hot,  t-i-n,  tin,  bottin,  n-e-y,  ney,  bottinney,  noun  substantive,  a  knowledge 
of  plants.  When  he  has  learned  that  bottinney  means  a  knowledge  of 
plants,  he  goes  and  knows  'em.  That's  our  system,  Nickleby :  what  do  you 
think  of  it  ? " 

**  It's  a  very  useful  one,  at  any  rate,"  answered  Nicholas. 

"I  believe  you,"  rejoined  Squeers,  not  remarking  the  emphasis  of  his 
usher.     "  Third  boy,  what's  a  horse  ? " 

•*  A  beast,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Squeers.     *  *  Ain't  it,  Nickleby  ?  '* 

"  I  believe  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,  sir,"  answered  Nicholas. 

"Of  course  there  isn't,"  said  Squeers.  "A  horse  is  a  quadruped,  and 
quadruped's  Latin  for  beast,  as  everbody  that's  gone  through  the  grammar 
knows,  or  else  where's  the  use  of  having  grammars  at  all  ? " 

"  Where,  indeed  1 "  said  Nicholas,  abstractedly. 

"As  you're  perfect  in  that,"  resumed  Squeers,  turning  to  the  boy,  "go 
and  look  after  771^  horse,  and  rub  him  down  well,  or  I'll  rub  you  down.  The 
rest  of  the  class  go  and  draw  water  up,  till  somebody  tells  you  to  leave  ofi', 
for  it's  washing-day  to-morrow,  and  they  want  the  coppers  filled. " 

So  saying,  he  dismissed  the  first  class  to  their  experiments  in  practical 
philosophy,  and  eyed  Nicholas  with  a  look,  half  cunning  and  half  doubtful, 
as  if  he  were  not  altogether  certain  what  he  might  think  of  him  by  this  time. 

•"  That's  the  way  we  do  it,  Nickleby,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  manner  that  was  scarcely  perceptible, 
and  said  he  saw  it  was. 

"And  a  very  good  way  it  is  too,"  said  Squeers.  "Now,  just  take  them 
fourteen  little  boys  and  hear  them  some  reading,  because,  you  know,  you 
must  begin  to  be  useful.     Idling  about  here  won't  do. " 

Mr.  Squeers  said  this,  as  if  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  either  that  he 
must  not  say  too  much  to  his  assistant,  or  that  his  assistant  did  not  say 
enough  to  him  in  pmise  of  the  establishment.  The  children  were  ranged  in 
a  semicircle  round  the  new  master,  and  he  was  soon  listening  to  their  dull, 
drawling,  hesitating  recital  of  those  stories  of  engrossing  interest  which  are 
to  be  found  in  the  more  antiquated  spelling  books. 

In  this  exciting  occupation  the  morning  Tagged  heavily  on.  At  one  o'clock, 
the  boys  having  previously  had  their  appetites  thoroughly  taken  away  by  stir- 
about and  potatoes,  sat  down  in  the  kitchen  to  some  hard  salt  beef,  of  which 
Nicholas  was  graciously  permitted  to  take  his  portion  to  his  own  solitAx^ 


6o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

desk*  to  eat  it  there  in  peace.     After  tliisi  there  was  another  hour  of  crouch- 
inff  in  the  school-room  and  shivering  ¥rith  cold,  and  then  school  began  again. 

It  was  Mr.  Squeers's  custom  to  call  the  boys  together,  and  make  a  sort  of 
report,  after  every  half-yearly  visit  to  the  metropolis,  regarding  the  relations 
and  friends  he  had  seen,  the  news  he  had  heard,  the  letters  he  had  brought 
down,  the  bills  which  had  been  paid,  the  accounts  which  had  bc^n  left 
unpaid,  and  so  forth.  This  solemn  proceeding  always  took  place  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  day  succeeding  his  return  ;  perhaps,  because  the  boys  acquired 
strength  of  mind  from  the  suspense  of  the  morning,  or  possibly  because  Mr. 
Squeers  himself  acquired  greater  sternness  and  inflexibility  from  certain  warm 
potations  in  which  lie  was  wont  to  indulge  after  his  early  dinner. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  boys  were  recaUed  firom  the  house- window,  garden, 
stable,  and  cow-yard,  and  the  school  were  assembled  in  full  conclave,  when 
Mr.  Squeers,  with  a  small  bundle  of  papers  in  his  band,  and  Mrs.  S.  following 
with  a  pair  of  canes,  entered  the  room  and  proclaimed  silence. 

**  Let  any  boy  speak  a  word  vrithout  leave,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  mildly, 
**  and  I'll  take  the  skin  off  his  back." 

The  special  proclamation  bad  the  desired  effect,  and  a  deathlike  silence  im- 
mediately preindled,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr.  Squeers  went  on  to  say — 

**  Boys,  I*re  been  to  London,  and  have  returned  to  my  family  and  you  as 
strong  and  well  as  ever." 

AocordinfT  to  half-yearly  custom,  the  boys  gave  three  feeble  cheers  at  this 
refreshing  intelligence.  Such  cheers !  Sighs  of  extra  strength  with  the 
chill  on. 

**  I  have  seen  the  parents  of  some  boys,"  continued  Squeers,  turning  over 
his  papers,  "  and  they're  so  g^ad  to  hear  how  their  sons  are  getting  on,  that 
there's  no  prospect  at  all  of  their  goin^  away,  which  of  course  is  a  very 
pleasant  thing  to  reflect  upon,  for  all  parties." 

Two  or  three  hands  went  to  two  or  three  eyes  when  Squeers  said  this,  but 
the  greater  part  of  the  young  gentlemen  having  no  particular  parents  to  speak 
of,  were  wholly  uninterested  in  the  thing  one  way  or  other. 

**I  have  had  disappointments  to  contend  against,"  said  Squeers,  looking 
very  grim  ;  **  Bolder  s  father  was  two  pound  ten  short.     Where  is  Bolder  I " 

**Here  he  is,  please  sir,"  r^oined  twenty  officious  voices.  Boys  are  very 
like  men  to  be  sure. 

**  Come  here.  Bolder,"  said  Squeers. 

An  unhealthy-looking  boy,  with  warts  all  over  his  hands,  stepped  from  his 
place  to  the  master  s  desk,  and  raised  his  eyes  imploringly  to  ^ueers's  £ace  ; 
his  own  quite  white  from  the  ranid  beating  <tf  his  heart 

*' Bolder,"  said  Squeers,  speaking  very  slowly,  for  he  was  considering,  as 
the  saying  goes,  where  to  have  him.  **  Bolder,  if  your  £ither  thinks  that 
because — why,  what's  this,  sir  ? " 

As  Squeers  spoke,  he  caught  up  the  boy's  hand  by  the  cuff  of  his  jacket, 
and  surveyed  it  with  an  edifying  aspect  of  horror  and  disgust. 

**  What  do  you  oUl  this,  sir  I  *  demanded  the  schoolmaster,  administering 
a  cut  with  the  cane  to  expedite  a  reply. 

**  I  can't  help  it,  indeed,  sir,"  r^oined  the  boy,  crying.  **  They  will  come  ; 
it's  the  dirty  work  I  think,  sir— «t  least  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  sir,  but  it's 
not  my  fcult." 

^'  Bolder,"  said  Squeers,  tucking  up  his  wristbands,  and  moistening  the 
palm  of  his  right  hajid  to  get  a  gooa  gnp  of  the  cane,  **  3rou*re  an  incorrigible 
yo«ng  scoundrel,  and  as  the  last  thn^hing  did  you  no  good,  we  must  see  what 
another  will  do  towards  beating  it  out  of  you." 

With  this,  and  wholly  disregarding  a  piteous  cry  for  mercy,  Mr.  Squeers 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  6i 

fell  upon  the  boy  and  caned  him  soundly :  not  leaving  off,  indeed,  until  his 
arm  was  tired  out. 

"  There,"  said  Squeers,  when  he  had  quite  done  ;  **  rub  as  hard  as  you  like, 
you  won't  rub  that  off  in  a  hurry.  Oh  !  you  won't  hold  that  noise,  won't 
you  ?    Put  him  out,  Smike." 

The  drudge  knew  better  from  long  experience  than  to  hesitate  about  obey- 
ing, so  he  bundled  the  victim  out  by  a  side  door,  and  Mr.  Squeers  perched 
himself  again  on  his  own  stool,  supported  by  Mrs.  Squeers,  who  occupied 
another  at  his  side. 

"Now  let  us  see,"  said  Squeers.  **A  letter  for  Cobbey.  Stand  up, 
Cobbey." 

Another  boy  stood  up,  and  eyed  the  letter  very  hard  while  Squeers  made  a 
mental  abstract  of  the  same. 

''  Oh  ! "  said  Squeers — *  *  Cobbey's  grandmother  is  dead,  and  his  uncle  John 
has  took  to  drinking,  which  is  all  the  news  his  sister  sends,  except  eighteen- 
pence,  which  will  just  pay  for  that  broken  square  of  glass.  Mrs.  Squeers,  my 
dear,  will  you  take  the  money  ? " 

The  worthy  lady  pocketed  the  eighteenpence  with  a  most  business-like  air, 
and  Squeers  passed  on  to  the  next  boy,  as  coolly  as  possible. 

**  Gray  marsh,"  said  Squeers,  "he's  the  next     Stand  up,  Graymarsh." 

Another  boy  stood  up,  and  the  schoolmaster  looked  over  the  letter  as  before. 

"  Graymarsh's  maternal  aunt,"  said  Squeers,  when  he  had  possessed  himself 
of  the  contents,  "  is  very  glad  to  hear  he's  so  well  and  happy,  and  sends  her 
respectful  compliments  to  Mrs.  Squeers,  and  thinks  she  must  be  an  angel. 
She  likewise  thinks  Mr.  Squeers  is  too  good  for  this  world  ;  but  hopes  he  may 
long  be  spared  to  carry  on  the  business.  Would  have  sent  the  two  pairs  of 
stockings  as  desired,  but  is  short  of  money,  so  forwards  a  tract  instead,  and 
hopes  Graymarsh  will  put  his  trust  in  Providence.  Hopes,  above  all,  that  he 
will  study  in  everything  to  please  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers,  and  look  upon  them 
as  his  only  friends ;  and  that  he  will  love  Master  Saueers  ;  and  not  object  to 
sleeping  five  in  a  bed,  which  no  Christian  should.  Ah  1 "  said  Squeers, 
folding  it  up,  "a  delightful  letter.     Very  affecting  indeed." 

It  was  afiecting  in  one  sense,  for  Graymarsh's  maternal  aunt  was  strongly 
supposed,  by  her  more  intimate  friends,  to  be  no  other  than  his  maternal 
parent ;  Squeers,  however,  without  alluding  to  this  part  of  the  story  (which 
would  have  sounded  immoral  before  boys),  proceeded  with  the  business  by 
calling  out  "  Mobbs,"  whereupon  another  boy  rose,  and  Graymarsh  resumed 
his  seat. 

**  Mobbs's  mother-in-law,"  said  Squeers,  "  took  to  her  bed  on  hearing  that 
he  wouldn't  eat  fat,  and  has  been  very  ill  ever  since.  She  wishes  to  know  by  an 
early  post  where  he  expects  to  ^o  to  if  he  quarrels  with  his  vittles  ;  and  with 
what  feelings  he  could  turn  up  his  nose  at  the  cow's  liver  broth,  after  his  good 
master  had  asked  a  blessing  on  it  This  was  told  her  in  the  London  news- 
papers— not  by  Mr.  Squeers,  for  he's  too  kind  and  good  to  set  anybody  against 
anybody — and  it  has  vexed  her  so  much,  Mobbs  can't  think.  She  is  sorry  to 
find  he  is  discontented,  which  is  sinful  and  horrid,  and  hopes  Mr.  Squeers 
will  flog  him  into  a  happier  state  of  mind ;  with  which  view  she  has  also 
stopped  his  halfpenny  a  week  pocket-money,  and  given  a  double-bladed  knife 
with  a  corkscrew  in  it  to  the  Missionaries,  which  she  had  bought  on  purpose 
for  him." 

"A  sulky  state  of  feeling,"  said  Squeers,  after  a  temble  pause,  during 
which  he  had  moistened  the  palm  of  his  right  hand  again,  **  won  t  do.  Cheer- 
fulness and  contentment  must  be  kept  up.     Mobbs,  come  to  me  ! " 

Mobbs  moved  slowly  towards  the  desk,  rubbing  his  eyes  in  aii\.\&v^^^cst^  ^\ 


62  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

good  etiiM  for  doing  w ;  uid  he  soon  •fUnrards  teUrod  \>y  the  Bide  door,  with 
u  good  caoM  w  s  boy  need  bave. 

Mr.  SqaeeiB  tbea  proceeded  to  open  a  miBceltaneooa  collection  of  letters, 
iome  eaclodng  monej,  wbich  Mrs.  Sqneers  ' '  took  care  of ;  "  and  otbers  refer- 
rlng  to  small  articles  of  apparel,  as  caps  aad  so  forth,  all  of  irhich  the  same 
ladr  stated  to  be  too  large,  or  too  small,  and  caicnlated  for  nobody  but 
yoQDg  Sqaeers,  wbo  wonld  appear,  indeed,  to  hare  had  moat  accommodating 
limbs,  BiDce  everything  tbat  came  into  the  school  fitted  htm  to  a  nicety.  His 
liead,  in  particular,  mnst  have  been  aingnlarlj  elastic,  far  bate  and  caps  of  all 
UimensioDB  vere  alike  to  him. 

This  bosiness  despatched,  a  few  slovenly  lessons  were  performed,  and 
Sqaeers  retired  to  his  fireside,  leaving  Nicholas  to  take  care  of  tbe  boys  in  the 
school-room,  which  was  very  cold,  and  where  a  meal  of  bread  and  cheeas  was 
served  out  ahortly  after  dsrlt. 

There  was  a  small  stove  at  that  comer  of  the  room  which  was  nearest  to  the 
tnaater's  desk,  and  t^  it  Nicholas  eat  down,  so  depressed  and  self-degraded  by 
the  consciousness  of  his  poaition,  that  if  death  could  have  come  upon  him 
at  that  time  he  would  have  been  almost  happy  to  meet  it.  The  cruelty  of 
which  he  had  been  an  unwilling  witness,  the  coarse  and  ruffianly  behaviour  of 
Stj^ueets,  even  in  his  best  mood^  the  filthy  place,  the  sights  and  sounds 
about  him,  all  contributed  to  this  state  of  feehng ;  but  when  be  recollected 
that,  being  there  as  an  assiatant,  he  actually  seemed — no  matter  what 
unhappy  train  of  circumstances  had  brought  him  to  that  pass — to  be  tbe  sider 
and  alnttor  of  a  system  which  filled  him  with  honest  di^ost  and  indignation, 
he  loathed  himself,  and  felt,  for  the  moment,  as  though  the  mere  coDscmnaneaa 
of  hia  present  aitoation  must,  through  aU  time  to  come,  prevent  bis  nising 
his  head  afpiiii. 

But,  for  the  present,  Iiis  resolve  was  taken,  and  the  resolution  he  had 
formed  on  the  preceding  ni^ht  remained  undisturbed.  He  hsd  written  to  hia 
mother  and  sister,  announcing  the  safe  conclusion  of  his  Journey,  and  saying 
as  little  about  Dothehoys  Hall,  and  saying  that  little  as  cbeerfnliy,  as  he 
possibly  could.  He  hoped  tbat  by  remaining  where  be  was  he  might  do  some 
good,  even  there  ;  at  all  events,  others  depended  too  much  on  his  uncle's 
favour  to  admit  of  his  awakening  hia  wrath  jnat  then. 

One  reOection  disturbed  him  far  more  than  any  selfish  considerations 
ariaing  out  of  his  owu  position.  This  was,  the  probable  destination  of  his 
sister  Kate.  His  uncle  had  deceived  him,  and  might  he  not  consign  her  to 
some  miserable  place  where  her  youth  and  beauty  wonld  prove  a  far  greater 
cnree  than  nglineaa  and  decrepitude!  To  a  ca^ed  man,  bound  band  and 
foot,  this  was  a  terrible  idea — but  no,  he  thought,  his  mother  was  by  ; 
there  was  the  portrait- painter,  too— simple  enough,  but  still  living  in  the 
world,  and  of  it.  He  was  willing  to  believe  that  Kalpb  Nickleby  had  con- 
ceived a  personal  dislike  to  himself.  Having  pretty  good  reason,  by  this 
time,  to  reciprocate  it,  he  bad  no  great  difficulty  in  arriving  ut  this  eouclueion, 
and  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  the  feeling  extended  no  further  than 
between  them. 

As  be  was  absorbed  in  these  meditations,  he  all  at  once  encountered  tbe 

tamed  face  of  Sniike,  who  was  on  bis  knees  before  the  atove,  picking  a  few 
from  tha  hearth  and  plantiug  them  on  the  fire.  He  had  -pauaed 
1     .  ^Ti.i._   ami  wiien  be  aaw  that  he  was  observed,  shrank 

"  said  Kioholas,  kindly.     ' '  Are  yon  cold  I " 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  63 

'•  I  am  not  cold,"  replied  Smike,  quickly.     **  I'm  used  to  it." 

There  was  ^uch  an  obvious  fear  of  giving  o£fence  in  his  manner,  and  he  was 
such  a  timid,  broken-spiritod  creature,  that  Nicholas  could  not  help  exclaimincr, 
"  Poor  fellow  ! " 

If  he  had  struck  the  drudge,  he  would  have  slunk  away  without  a  word. 
But  now  he  burst  into  tears. 

' '  Oh  dear,  oh  dear ! "  he  cried,  covering  his  face  with  his  cracked  and 
horny  hands.     '*  My  heart  will  break.     It  will,  it  will ! " 

*'  Hush  ! "  said  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Be  a  man  ; 
you  are  nearly  one  by  years,  God  nelp  you." 

"  By  years  !  "  cried  Smike.  *'  Oh  dear,  dear,  how  many  of  them  !  How 
many  of  them  since  I  was  a  little  child,  younger  than  any  that  ere  here  now  ! 
Where  are  they  all ! " 

**  Whom  do  you  speak  of  ? "  inquired  Nicholas,  wishing  to  rouse  the  poor 
half-witted  creature  to  reason.     "Tell  me." 

**  My  friends,"  he  replied,  **  myself— my — oh  !  what  sufferings  mine  have 
been  ! " 

**  There  is  always  hope,"  said  Nicholas ;  he  knew  not  what  to  say. 

**  No,"  rejoined  the  other,  **  no  ;  none  for  me.  Do  you  remember  the  boy 
that  died  here  ? " 

**  I  was  not  here,  you  know,"  said  Nicholas,  gently  ;  **  but  what  of  him  ? " 

"  Why,"  replied  the  youth,  drawing  closer  to  his  questioner's  side,  *'  I  was 
with  him  at  night,  and  when  it  was  all  silent  he  cried  no  more  for  friends  he 
wished  to  come  and  sit  with  him,  but  began  to  see  faces  round  his  bed  that 
came  from  home  ;  he  said  they  smiled,  and  talked  to  him  ;  and  he  died  at  last 
lifting  his  head  to  kiss  them.     Do  you  hear  ? " 

**  Yes,  yes,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

**  What  faces  mil  smile  on  me  when  I  die  ? "  cried  his  companion,  shivering. 
**  Who  will  talk  to  me  in  these  long  nights  ?  They  cannot  come  from  home  ; 
they  would  frighten  me  if  they  did,  for  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  and  shouldn't 
know  them,  rain  and  fear,  pain  and  fear  for  me,  alive  or  dead.  No  hope, 
no  hope  I " 

The  bell  rang  to  bed  ;  and  the  boy  subsiding  at  the  sound  into  his  usual 
listless  state,  crept  away  as  if  anxious  to  avoid  notice.  It  was  with  a  heavy 
heart  that  Nicholas  soon  afterwards — no,  not  retired  ;  there  was  no  retirement 
there — followed — to  his  dirty  and  crowded  dormitory. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

OF  MISS  SQUEERS,  MRS.  SQUEERS,  MASTER  SQUEERS,  AND  MR.  SQUEERS  ;  AND 
OF  VARIOUS  MATTERS  AND  PERSONS  CONNECTED  NO  LESS  WITH  THE 
SQUEERSES  THAN  WITH  NICHOLAS  NICKLEBT. 

WHEN  Mr.  Squeers  left  the  school-room  for  the  night,  he  betook  himself, 
as  has  been  before  remarked,  to  his  own  fireside,  which  was  situated — 
not  in  the  room  in  which  Nicholas  had  supped  on  the  night  of  his 
arrival,  but  in  a  smaller  apartment  in  the  rear  of  the  premises,  where  his  lady 
wife,  his  amiable  son,  and  accomplished  daughter,  were  in  the  full  enjoyment 
of  each  other's  society  ;  Mrs.  Squeers  being  engaged  in  the  matronly  pursuit 
of  stocking-darning :  and  the  young:  lady  and  gentleman  being  occupied  in  the 
adjustment  of  some  youthful  difiSrences,  by  means  of  a  pug>l\&t.\((^  ^qti\.^^\. 


64  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

across  the  table,  which,  on  the  approach  of  their  honoured  parent,  subsided 
into  a  noiseless  exchange  of  kicks  beneath  it. 

And,  in  this  place,  it  may  be  as  well  to  apprise  the  reader,  that  Miss  Fanny 
Squeers  was  in  her  three-and-twentieth  year.  If  there  be  any  one  grace  or 
loveliness  inseparable  from  that  particular  period  of  life.  Miss  Squeers  may  be 
presumed  to  have  been  possessed  of  it,  as  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
she  was  a  solitary  exception  to  an  universal  rule.  She  was  not  tall  like  her 
mother,  but  short  like  her  father ;  from  the  former  she  inherited  a  voice  of 
harsh  (juality ;  from  the  latter  a  remarkable  expression  of  the  right  eye, 
something  akin  to  having  none  at  alL 

Miss  Squeers  had  been  spending  a  few  days  with  a  neighbouring  friend,  and 
had  only  just  returned  to  the  parental  roof.  To  this  circumstance  may  be 
referred,  her  having  heard  nothing  of  Nicholas,  until  Mr.  Squeers  himself  now 
made  him  the  subject  of  conversation. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Squeers,  drawing  up  his  chair,  *'  what  do  you  think 
of  him  by  this  time  ? " 

"Think  of  who?"  inquired  Mrs.  Squeers;  who  (as  she  often  remarked) 
was  no  grammarian,  thank  heaven. 

"  Of  the  young  man — the  new  teacher — who  else  could  I  mean  ? " 

**  Oh  !  that  Knuckleboy,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  impatiently.     "  I  hate  him." 

**  What  do  you  hate  him  for,  my  dear  ? "  asked  Squeers. 

**  What's  that  to  you?"  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers.  "  If  I  hate  him,  that's 
enough,  ain't  it." 

"  Quite  enough  for  him,  my  dear,  and  a  great  deal  too  much  I  dare  say,  if 
he  knew  it,"  replied  Squeers,  in  a  pacific  tone.  **  I  only  asked  from  curiosity, 
my  dear. " 

**  Well,  then,  if  you  want  to  know,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers,  "  I'll  tell  you. 
Because  he's  a  proud,  haughty,  consequential,  turned-up-nosed  peacock." 

Mrs.  Squeers,  when  excited,  was  accustomed  to  use  strong  language,  and 
moreover,  to  make  use  of  a  plurality  of  epithets,  some  of  which  were  of  a 
figurative  kind,  as  the  word  peacock,  and  furthermore  the  allusion  to 
Nicholas's  nose,  which  was  not  intended  to  be  taken  in  its  literal  sense,  but 
rather  to  bear  a  latitude  of  construction  according  to  the  fancy  of  the  hearers. 
Neither  were  they  meant  to  bear  reference  to  each  other,  so  much  as  to  the 
object  on  whom  they  were  bestowed,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  present  case  :  a 
peacock  with  a  turned-up-nose  being  a  novelty  in  ornithology,  and  a  thing  not 
commonly  seen. 

"  Hem  !  "  said  Squeers,  as  if  in  mild  deprecation  of  this  outbreak.  "  He 
is  cheap,  my  dear  ;  the  young  man  is  very  cheap." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers. 

**  Five  pound  a-year,"  said  Squeers. 

"What  of  that;  it's  dear  if  you  don't  want  him,  isn't  it?"  replied  his 
wife. 

"  But  we  djo  want  him,"  urged  Squeers. 

"I  don't  see  that  you  want  him  any  more  than  the  dead,"  said  Mrs. 
Squeers.  "  Don't  tell  me.  You  can  put  on  the  cards  and  in  the  advertise- 
ments, 'Education  by  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers  and  able  assistants,'  without 
having  any  assistants,  can't  you  ?  Isn't  it  done  every  day  by  all  the  masters 
about  ?    f  ve  no  patience  with  you." 

" Haven't  you  I "  said  Squeers,  sternly.  "Now  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mrs. 
Squeers.  In  this  matter  of  having  a  teacher,  I'll  take  my  own  way,  if  you 
please.  A  slave-driver  in  the  West  Indies  is  allowed  a  man  under  him,  to  sec 
that  his  blacks  don't  run  away,  or  get  up  a  rebellion  ;  and  I'll  have  a  man 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  65 

under  me  to  do  the  same  with  our  blacks,  till  such  time  as  little  Wackford  is 
able  to  take  charge  of  the  schooL" 

**  Am  I  to  take  care  of  the  school  when  I  grow  up  a  man,  father  ? "  said 
Wackford,  junior,  suspending,  in  the  excess  of  his  delight,  a  vicious  kick 
which  he  was  administering  to  his  sister. 

'*  You  are,  my  son,"  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  sentimental  voice. 

**  Oh,  my  eye,  won't  I  give  it  to  the  boys ! "  exclaimed  the  interesting 
child,  grasping  his  father's  cane.  *  *  Oh,  father,  won't  I  make  'em  squeak 
again ! 

It  was  a  proud  moment  in  Mr.  Squeers's  life  when  he  witnessed  that  burst 
of  enthusiasm  in  his  young  child's  mind,  and  saw  in  it  a  foreshadowing  of  his 
future  eminence.  He  pressed  a  penny  into  his  hand,  and  gave  vent  to  his 
feelings  (as  did  his  exemplary  wife  also),  in  a  shout  of  approving  laughter. 
The  infantine  appeal  to  their  common  sympathies  at  once  restored  cheerfulness 
to  the  conversation,  and  harmony  to  tlie  company. 

*' He*8  a  nasty  stuck-up  monkey,  that's  what  I  consider  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Squeers,  reverting  to  Nicholas. 

**  Supposing  he  is,"  said  Squeers,  '*heis  as  well  stuck  up  in  our  school- 
room as  anywhere  else,  isn't  he  ? — especially  as  he  don't  like  it." 

"Well,"  observed  Mrs.  Squeers,  "  there's  something  in  that.  I  hope  it'll 
bring  his  pride  down,  and  it  shall  be  no  fault  of  mine  if  it  don't. " 

Now,  a  proud  usher  in  a  Yorkshire  school  was  such  a  very  extraordinary 
and  unaccountable  thing  to  hear  of — any  usher  at  all  being  a  novelty  ;  but  a 
proud  one,  a  being  of  whose  existence  the  wildest  imagination  could  never 
nave  dreamed — that  Miss  Squeers,  who  seldom  troubled  herself  with  scholastic 
matters,  inquired  with  much  curiosity  who  this  Knuckleboy  was,  that  gave 
himself  such  airs. 

**  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  spelling  the  name  according  to  some  eccentric 
system  which  prevailed  in  his  own  mind  j  **  your  mother  always  calls  things 
and  people  by  their  wrong  names." 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers.  "I  see  them  with  right  eyes, 
and  that's  quite  enough  for  me.  I  watched  him  when  you  were  laying  on  to 
little  Bolder  this  afternoon.  He  looked  as  black  as  thunder  all  the  wliile,  and 
one  time  started  up  as  if  he  had  more  than  got  it  in  his  mind  to  make  a  rush 
at  you.     /saw  him,  though  he  thought  I  didn't." 

**  Never  mind  that,  father,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  as  the  head  of  the  family 
was  about  to  reply.     "  Who  is  the  man  ? " 

"  Why,  your  father  has  got  some  nonsense  in  his  head  that  he's  the  son  of 
a  poor  gentleman  that  died  the  other  day,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers. 

"  The  son  of  a  gentleman  !  " 

**  Yes ;  but  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  If  he's  a  gentleman's  son  at  all, 
he's  a  fondling,  that's  my  opinion." 

Mrs.  Squeers  intended  to  say  *'  foundling,"  but  as  she  frequently  remarked, 
when  she  made  any  such  mistake,  it  would  be  all  the  same  a  hundred  years 
hence  ;  with  which  axiom  of  philosophy,  indeed,  she  was  in  the  constant 
habit  of  consoling  the  boys  when  they  laboured  under  more  than  ordinary  ill- 
usage. 

**  He's  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Squeers,  in  answer  to  the  above  remark, 
**  for  his  father  was  married  to  his  mother,  years  before  he  was  born,  and  she 
is  alive  now.  If  he  was,  it  would  be  no  business  of  ours,  for  we  make  a  very 
good  friend  by  having  him  here  ;  and  if  he  likes  to  learn  the  boys  anything 
besides  minding  them,  I  have  no  objection  I  am  sure." 

**  I  say  again,  I  hate  him  worse  than  poison,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers 
vehemently. 

'  u  ^ 


66  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"If  you  dislike  him,  my  dear,"  returned  Squeers,  "I  don*t  know  any- 
body who  can  show  dislike  better  than  you,  and  of  course  there's  no  occasion, 
with  him,  to  take  the  .trouble  to  hide  it." 

**  I  don't  intend  to,  I  assure  you,"  interposed  Mrs.  S. 

**  That's  right,"  said  Squeers  ;  "and  if  he  has  a  touch  of  pride  about  him, 
as  I  think  he  has,  I  don't  believe  there's  a  woman  in  all  England  that  can 
bring  anybody's  spirit  down  as  quick  as  you  can,  my  love." 

Mrs.  Squeers  chuckled  vastly  on  the  receipt  of  these  flattering  compliments, 
and  said,  she  hoped  she  had  tamed  a  high  spirit  or  two  in  her  day.  It  is  but 
due  to  her  character  to  say,  that  in  conjunction  with  her  estimable  husband, 
she  had  broken  many  and  many  a  one. 

Miss  Fanny  Squeers  carefully  treasured  up  this,  and  much  more  conversa- 
tion on  the  same  subject,  until  she  retired  for  the  night,  when  she  questioned 
the  hungry  servant  minutely  regarding  the  outward  appearance  and  de- 
meanour of  Nicholas ;  to  which  queries  the  girl  returned  such  enthusiastic 
replies,  coupled  with  so  many  laudatory  remarks  touching  his  beautiful  dark 
eyes,  and  his  sweet  smile,  and  his  straight  legs — upon  which  last-named 
articles  she  laid  particular  stress  ;  the  general  run  of  legs  at  Dotheboys  Hall 
being  crooked — that  Miss  Squeers  was  not  long  in  arriving  at  the  conclusion 
that  the  now  usher  must  be  a  very  remarkable  person,  or,  as  she  herself 
significantly  phrased  it,  "something  quite  out  of  the  common."  And  so 
Miss  Squeers  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  take  a  personal  observation  of 
Nicholas  the  very  next  day. 

In  pursuance  of  this  design,  the  young  lady  watched  the  opportunity  of  her 
mother  being  engaged,  and  her  father  absent,  and  went  accidentally  into  the 
school-room  to  get  a  pen  mended :  where,  seeing  nobody  but  Nicholas  presiding 
over  the  boys,  she  blushed  very  deeply,  and  exhibited  great  confusion. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  faltered  Miss  Squeers ;  **  I  thought  my  father  was — 
or  might  be — dear  me,  how  very  awkward  !  " 

"Mr.  Squeers  is  out,"  said  Nicholas,  by  no  means  overcome  by  the  appari- 
tion, unexpected  though  it  was. 

"Do  you  know  will  he  be  long,  sir?"  asked  Miss  Squeers,  with  bashful 
hesitation. 

"  He  said  about  an  hour,"  replied  Nicholas — politely  of  course,  but  without 
any  indication  of  being  stricken  to  the  heart  by  Miss  Sc^ueers's  charms. 

"I  never  knew  anything  happen  so  cross,"  exclaimed  the  young  lady. 
"Thank  you  1  I  am  very  sorry  I  intruded,  I  am  sure.  If  I  hadn't  thought 
my  father  was  here,  I  wouldn't  upon  any  account  have — it  is  very  provoking 
— must  look  so  very  strange,"  murmured  Miss  Squeers,  blushing  once  more, 
and  glancing,  from  the  pen  in  her  hand,  to  Nicholas  at  his  desk,  and  back 
again. 

"  If  that  is  all  you  want,"  said  Nicholas,  pointing  to  the  pen,  and  smiling, 
in  spite  of  himself,  at  the  affected  embarrassment  of  the  schoolmaster's 
daughter,  "  perhaps  I  can  supply  his  place." 

Miss  Squeers  glanced  at  the  door,  as  if  dubious  of  the  propriety  of  advanc- 
ing any  nearer  to  an  utter  stranger  ;  then  round  the  school-room,  as  though  in 
some  measure  reassured  by  the  presence  of  forty  boys  ;  and  finally  sidled  up  to 
Nicholas  and  delivered  the  pen  into  his  hand,  with  a  most  winning  mixture  of 
reserve  and  condescension. 

"  Shall  it  be  a  hard  or  a  soft  nib  1 "  inquired  Nicholas,  smiling  to  prevent 
himself  from  laughing  outright. 

"  He  Tias  a  beautiful  smile,"  thought  Miss  Squeers. 

"  Which  did  you  say  ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

"Dear  me,  I  was  thinking  of  something  else  for  the  moment,  I  declare," 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  67 

replied  Miss  Squeers — "Oh,  as  soft  as  possible,  if  you  please."  With  which 
words.  Miss  Squeers  sighed.  It  might  be,  to  give  Kicholas  to  understand 
that  her  heart  was  soft,  and  that  the  pen  was  wanted  to  match. 

Upon  these  instructions  Nicholas  made  the  pen  ;  when  he  gave  it  to  Miss 
Squeers,  Miss  Squeers  dropped  it ;  and  when  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  Miss 
Squeers  stooped  also,  and  they  knocked  their  heads  together  ;  whereat  five- 
and-twenty  little  boys  laughed  aloud  :  being  positively  for  the  first  and  only 
time  that  half-year. 

**  Very  awkward  of  me,"  said  Nicholas,  opening  the  door  for  the  young 
lady's  retreat. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  replied  Miss  Squeers ;  "it  was  my  fault.  It  was  all  my 
foolish— a — a — good  morning  !  " 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Nicholas.  **  The  next  I  make  for  you  I  hope  will  be 
made  less  clumsily.     Take  care  !    You  are  biting  the  nib  off  now." 

**  Really,"  said  Miss  Squeers  ;  "so  embarrassing  that  I  scarcely  know  what 
I — very  sorry  to  give  you  so  much  trouble." 

"  Not  the  least  trouble  in  the  world,"  replied  Nicholas,  closing  the  school- 
room door. 

"  I  never  saw  such  legs  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life  ! "  said  Miss  Squeers, 
as  she  walked  away. 

In  fact,  Miss  Squeers  was  in  love  with  Nicholas  Nickleby. 

To  account  for  the  rapidity  with  which  this  young  lady  had  conceived  a 
passion  for  Nicholas,  it  may  be  necessary  to  state,  that  the  friend  from  whom 
she  had  so  recently  returned  was  a  miller's  daughter  of  only  eighteen,  who 
had  contracted  herself  unto  the  son  of  a  small  corn-factor,  resident  in  the 
nearest  market-town.  Miss  Squeers  and  the  miller's  daughter,  being  fast 
friends,  had  covenanted  together  some  two  years  before,  according  to  a  custom 
prevalent  among  young  ladies,  that  whoever  was  first  engaged  to  be  married, 
should  straightway  confide  the  mighty  secret  to  the  bosom  of  the  other, 
before  communicating  it  to  any  living  soul,  and  bespeak  her  as  bridesmaid 
without  loss  of  time ;  in  fulfilment  of  which  pledge  the  miller's  daughter, 
when  her  engagement  was  formed,  came  out  express,  at  eleven  o'clock  at 
night,  as  the  corn-factor's  son  made  an  ofier  of  his  hand  and  heart  at  twenty- 
five  minutes  past  ten  by  the  Dutch  clock  in  the  kitchen,  and  rushed  into  Miss 
Squeers's  bedroom  with  the  gratifying  intelligence.  Now,  Miss  Squeers  being 
five  years  older,  and  out  of  her  teens  (which  is  also  a  great  matter),  had, 
since,  been  more  than  commonly  anxious  to  return  the  compliment,  and 
possess  her  friend  with  a  similar  secret ;  but  either  in  consequence  of  finding 
it  hard  to  please  herself,  or  harder  still  to  please  anybody  else,  had  never  had 
an  opportunity  so  to  do,  inasmuch  as  she  had  no  such  secret  to  disclose.  The 
little  interview  with  Nicholas  had  no  sooner  passed,  as  above  described, 
however,  than  Miss  Squeers,  putting  on  her  bonnet,  made  her  way,  with 
great  precipitation,  to  her  friend's  house,  and  upon  a  solemn  renewal  of  divers 
old  vows  of  secrecy,  revealed  how  that  she  was — not  exactly  engaged,  but 
going  to  be — to  a  gentleman's  son — (none  of  your  corn-factors,  but  a  gentle- 
man's son  of  high  descent) — who  had  come  down  as  teacher  to  Dotheboys 
Hall,  under  most  mysterious  and  remarkable  circumstances — indeed,  as  Miss 
Squeers  more  than  once  hinted,  she  had  good  reason  to  believe,  induced,  by 
the  fame  of  her  many  charms,  to  seek  her  out,  and  woo  and  win  her. 

"Isn't  it  an  extraordinary  thing?"  said  Miss  Squeers,  emphasising  the 
adjective  strongly. 

"Most  extraordinary,"  replied  the  friend.  "But  what  has  he  said  to 
you  ? " 

"Don't  ask  me  what  he  said,  my  dear,"  rejoined  Miss  Squeers.     " If  '^wsl 


68  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

had  only  seen  his  looks  and  smiles  !    I  never  was  so  overcome  in  all  my 
life." 

**  Did  he  look  in  this  way  ? "  inqnired  the  miller's  daughter,  counterfeiting, 
as  nearly  as  she  could,  a  favourite  leer  of  the  corn-factor. 

"  Very  like  that — only  more  genteel,"  replied  Miss  Squeers. 

"  Ah, '  said  the  friend,  *'  then  he  means  something,  depend  on  it." 

Miss  Squeers,  having  slight  misgivings  on  the  subject,  was  by  no  means  ill- 
pleased  to  be  confirmed  by  a  competent  authority  ;  and  discovering,  on 
further  conversation  and  comparison  of  notes,  a  great  many  points  of  resem- 
blance between  the  behaviour  of  Kicholas  and  that  of  the  corn-factor,  grew 
so  exceedingly  confidential,  that  she  entrusted  her  friend  with  a  vast  number 
of  things  Nicholas  had  not  said,  which  were  all  so  very  complimentary  as  to 
bb  quite  conclusive.  Then,  she  dilated  on  the  fearful  hardship  of  having  a 
father  and  mother  strenuously  opposed  to  her  intended  husband  ;  on  which 
unhappy  circumstance  she  dwelt  at  great  length  ;  for  the  friend's  father  and 
mother  were  quite  agreeable  to  her  oeing  married,  and  the  whole  courtship 
was  in  consequence  as  flat  and  commonplace  an  afifair  as  it  was  possible  to 
imagine. 

**  How  I  should  like  to  see  him  ! "  exclaimed  the  friend. 

"So  you  shall,  "Tilda,"  replied  Miss  Squeers.  "  I  should  consider  myself 
one  of  the  most  ungrateful  creatures  alive  if  I  denied  you.  I  think  mother's 
going  away  for  two  days  to  fetch  some  boys  ;  and  when  she  does,  I'll  ask  you 
and  John  up  to  tea,  and  have  him  to  meet  you." 

This  was  a  charming  idea,  and  having  fully  discussed  it,  the  friends  parted. 

It  so  fell  out,  that  Mrs.  Squeers's  journey,  to  some  distance,  to  fetch  three 
new  boys  and  dun  the  relations  of  two  old  ones  for  the  balance  of  a  small 
account,  was  fixed  that  very  afternoon  for  the  next  day  but  one  ;  and  on 
the  next  day  but  one,  Mrs.  Squeers  got  up  outside  the  coach,  as  it  stopped 
to  change  at  Greta  Bridge,  taking  with  her  a  small  bundle  containing 
something  in  a  bottle,  ana  some  sandwiches,  and  carrying  besides  a  large 
white  top-coat  to  wear  in  the  night-time  ;  with  which  baggage  she  went  her 
Vay. 

Whenever  such  opportunities  as  these  occurred,  it  was  Squeers's  custom  to 
drive  over  to  the  market  town  every  evening,  on  pretence  of  urgent  business, 
and  stop  till  ten  or  eleven  o'clock  at  a  tavern  he  much  affected.  As  the 
party  was  not  in  his  way,  therefore,  but  rather  afforded  a  means  of  com- 
promise with  Miss  Squeers,  he  readily  yielded  his  full  assent  thereunto,  and 
willingly  communicated  to  Nicholas  that  he  was  expected  to  take  his  tea  in 
the  parlour  that  evening  at  five  o'clock. 

To  be  sure  Miss  Squeers  was  in  a  desperate  flutter  as  the  time  approached, 
and  to  be  sure  she  was  dressed  out  to  the  best  advantage  :  with  her  hair — it 
had  more  than  a  tinge  of  red,  and  she  wore  it  in  a  crop — curled  in  five 
distinct  rows,  up  to  the  very  top  of  her  head,  and  arranged  dexterously  over 
the  doubtful  eye  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  blue  sash  which  floated  down  her 
back,  or  the  worked  apron,  or  the  long  gloves,  or  the  green  gauze  scarf,  worn 
over  one  shoulder  and  under  the  other  ;  or  any  of  the  numerous  devices 
which  were  to  be  as  so  many  arrows  to  the  heart  of  Nicholas.  She  had 
scarcely  completed  these  arrangements  to  her  entire  satisfaction,  when  the 
friend  arrived  with  a  whitey  brown  parcel — flat  and  three-cornered — contain- 
ing sundry  small  adornments  which  were  to  be  put  on  upstairs,  and  which 
the  friend  i)ut  on,  talking  incessantly.  When  Miss  Squeers  had  "  done  "  the 
friend's  hair,  the  friend  **did"  Miss  Squeers's  hair,  throwing  in  some 
striking  improvements  in  the  way  of  ringlets  down  the  neck  ;  and  then,  when 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  69 

they  were  both  touched  up  to  their  entire  satisfaction,  they  went  downstairs 
in  full  state,  with  the  long  gloves  on,  all  ready  for  company. 

"  Where's  John,  'TUda  ?     said  Miss  Squeers. 

•*  Only  gone  home  to  clean  himself,"  replied  the  friend.  **  He  will  be  here 
by  the  time  the  tea's  drawn." 

**  I  do  80  palpitate,"  observed  Miss  Squeers. 

*'  Ah  !  I  know  what  it  is,"  replied  the  friend. 

**  I  have  not  been  used  to  it,  you  know,  "Tilda,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  apply- 
ing her  hand  to  the  left  side  of  her  sash. 

"  You'll  soon  get  the  better  of  it,  deaf,"  rejoined  the  friend.  While  they 
were  talking  thus,  the  hungry  servant  brought  in  the  tea  things,  and  soon 
afterwards  somebody  tapped  at  the  room  door. 

"There  he  is  !  "  cried  Miss  Squeers.     "  Oh,  'Tilda  !  " 

'*  Hush  !  "  said  'Tilda.     "  Hem  1  say,  come  in." 

**  Come  in,"  cried  Miss  Squeers,  faintly.     And  in  walked  Nicholas. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  that  young  gentleman,  all  unconscious  of  his  con- 
quest.    **  I  understood  from  Mr.  Squeers  that " 

**0h,  yes;  it's  all  right,"  interposed  Miss  Squeers.  "Father  don't  tea 
with  us,  but  you  won't  mind  that,  I  dare  say."    (This  was  said  archly.) 

Nicholas  opened  his  eyes  at  this,  but  he  turned  the  matter  off  very  coolly — 
not  caring,  particularly,  about  anything  just  then — and  went  through  the 
ceremony  of  introduction  to  the  miller's  daughter,  with  so  much  grace,  that 
that  young  lady  was  lost  in  admiration. 

"  We  are  only  waiting  for  one  more  gentleman,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  taking 
off  the  teapot  lid,  and  looking  in  to  see  how  the  tea  was  getting  on. 

It  was  matter  of  equal  moment  to  Nicholas  whether  they  were  waiting  for 
one  gentleman  or  twenty,  so  he  received  the  intelligence  with  perfect  un- 
concern ;  and,  being  out  of  spirits,  and  not  seeing  any  especial  reason  why  he 
should  make  himself  agreeable,  looked  out  of  the  window  and  sighed 
involuntarily. 

As  luck  would  have  it.  Miss  Squeers's  friend  was  of  a  playful  turn,  and 
hearing  Nicholas  sigh,  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  rally  the  lovers  on  their 
lowness  of  spirits. 

**  But  if  it's  caused  by  my  being  here,"  said  the  young  lady,  "  don't  mind 
me  a  bit,  for  I'm  quite  as  bad.  You  may  go  on,  just  as  you  would  if  you 
were  alone." 

"  'Tilda,*  said  Miss  Squeers,  colouring  up  to  the  top  row  of  curls,  "  I  am 
ashamed  of  you  ;  "  and  here  the  two  friends  burst  into  a  variety  of  giggles, 
and  glanced,  from  time  to  time,  over  the  tops  of  their  pocket-handkerchiefs, 
at  Nicholas,  who,  from  a  state  of  unmixed  astonishment,  gradually  fell  into 
one  of  irrepressible  laughter — occasioned,  partly  by  the  bare  notion  of  his 
being  in  love  with  Miss  Squeers,  and  partly  by  the  preposterous  appearance 
and  behaviour  of  the  two  girls.  These  two  causes  of  merriment,  taken 
together,  struck  him  as  being  so  keenly  ridiculous,  that,  despite  his  miserable 
condition,  he  laughed  till  he  was  thoroughly  exhausted. 

"Well,"  thought  Nicholas,  "as  I  am  here,  and  seem  expected,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  to  be  amiable,  it's  of  no  use  looking  like  a  goose.  I  may  as 
•well  accommodate  myself  to  the  company." 

We  blush  to  tell  it ;  but  his  youthful  spirits  and  vivacity,  getting,  for  a 
time,  the  better  of  his  sad  thoughts,  he  no  sooner  formed  this  resolution  than 
he  saluted  Miss  Squeers  and  the  friend  with  great  gallantry,  and  drawing  a 
chair  to  the  tea-table,  began  to  make  himself  more  at  home  than  in  all 
probability  an  usher  has  ever  done  in  his  employer  s  house  since  ushers  yte^t^ 
first  invented. 


70  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

The  ladies  were  in  the  full  delight  of  this  altered  behaviour  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Nickleby,  wlien  the  expected  swain  arrived,  with  his  hair  very  damp 
from  recent  washing,  and  a  clean  shirt,  whereof  the  collar  might  have 
belonged  to  some  giant  ancestor,  forming,  together  with  a  white  waistcoat  of 
similar  dimensions,  the  chief  ornament  of  his  person. 

**  Well,  John,"  said  Miss  Matilda  Price  (which,  by-the-by,  was  the  name  of 
the  miller's  daughter). 

**  Weel,"  said  John,  with  a  grin  that  even  the  collar  could  not  conceal. 

*'  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interposed  Miss  Squeers,  hastening  to  do  the  honours, 
"Mr.  Nickleby — Mr.  John  Browdie." 

**  Servant,  sir,"  said  John,  who  was  something  over  six  feet  high,  with  a 
face  and  body  rather  above  the  due  proportion  than  below  it. 

**  Yours  to  command,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas,  making  fearful  ravages  on  the 
bread  and  butter. 

Mr.  Browdie  was  not  a  gentleman  of  great  conversational  powers,  so  he 
grinned  twice  more,  and  having  now  bestowed  his  customary  mark  of  recog- 
nition on  every  person  in  company,  grinned  at  nothing  particular  and  helped 
himself  to  food. 

"  Old  wooman  awa*,  bean't  she  ? "  said  Mr.  Browdie,  with  his  mouth  full. 

Miss  Squeers  nodded  assent. 

Mr.  Browdie  gave  a  grin  of  special  width,  as  if  he  thought  that  really  was 
something  to  laugh  at,  and  went  to  work  at  the  bread  and  butter  with 
increased  vigour.  It  was  quite  a  sight  to  behold  how  he  and  Nicholas  emptied 
the  plate  between  them. 

**  Ye  wean't  get  bread  and  butther  ev'ry  neight,  I  expect,  mun,"  said  Mr. 
Browdie,  after  he  had  sat  staring  at  Nicholas  a  long  time  over  the  empty 
plate.  , 

Nicholas  bit  his  lip,  and  coloured,  but  affected  not  to  hear  the  remark. 

"Ecod,"  said  Mr.  Browdie,  laughing  boisterously,  "they  doan't  put  too 
much  intiv  'em.  Ye'll  be  nowt  but  skeen  and  boans  if  you  stop  here  long 
eneaf.     Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  " 

"You  are  facetious,  sir,"  said  Nicholas,  scornfully. 

"Na ;  I  dean't  know,"  replied  Mr.  Browdie,  "but  t'oother  teacher,  'cod, 
he  wur  a  lean  *un,  he  wur."  The  recollection  of  the  last  teacher's  leanness 
seemed  to  afford  Mr  Browdie  the  most  exquisite  delight,  for  he  laughed  until 
he  found  it  necessary  to  apply  his  coat  cuffs  to  his  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  your  perceptions  are  quite  keen  enough,  Mr. 
Browdie,  to  enable  you  to  understand  that  your  remarks  are  offensive," 
said  Nicholas,  in  a  towering  passion,  "but  if  they  are,  have  the  goodness 
to '' 

"If  you  say  another  word,  John,"  shrieked  Miss  Price,  stopping  her 
admirer's  mouth  as  he  was  about  to  interrupt,  "  only  half  a  word,  I'll  never 
forgive  you  or  speak  to  you  again." 

"  Weel,  my  lass,  I  dean't  care  about  'un,"  said  the  corn-factor,  bestowing  a 
hearty  kiss  on  Miss  Matilda  ;  "let  'un  gang  on,  let  'un  gang  on." 

It  now  became  Miss  Squeers's  turn  to  intercede  with  Nicholas,  which  she 
did  with  many  symptoms  of  alarm  and  horror  ;  the  effect  of  the  double  inter- 
cession was,  that  he  and  John  Browdie  shook  hands  across  the  table  with 
much  gravity ;  and  such  was  the  imposing  nature  of  the  ceremonial,  that  Miss 
Squeers  was  overcome  and  shed  tears. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Fanny  % "  said  Miss  Price. 

"Nothing,  'Tilda,"  replied  Miss  Squeers,  sobbing. 

"  There  never  was  any  danger,"  said  Miss  Price ;  "  was  there,  Mr. 
Nickleby  I " 


NICHOLAS  mcKLEB  K  7 1 

"  Koue  at  all,"  replied  Nicholas.     **  Absurd." 

** That's  right,"  whispered  Miss  Price;  "say  something  kind  to  her,  and 
she'll  soon  come  round.  Here  1  Shall  John  and  I  go  into  the  little  kitchen 
and  come  back  presently  ?  " 

"  Not  on  any  account,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  quite  alarmed  at  the  proposition. 
'*  What  on  earth  should  you  do  that  for  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Price,  beckoning  him  aside,  and  speaking  with  some 
degree  of  contempt — **  you  are  a  one  to  keep  company." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  Nicholas  ;  *'  I  am  not  a  one  to  keep  company 
at  all — here  at  all  events.     I  can't  make  this  out." 

"  No,  nor  I  neither,"  rejoined  Miss  Price  ;  *'  but  men  are  always  fickle,  and 
Iways  were,  and  always  will  be  ;  that  I  can  make  out,  very  easily." 
"Mckle  !  "  cried  Nicholas  ;  "what  do  you  suppose  ?    You  don't  mean  to 

say  that  you  think '* 

**  Oh,  no,  I  think  nothing  at  all,"  retorted  Miss  Price,  pettishly.  "  Look  at 
her,  dressed  so  beautiful  and  looking  so  well — really  almost  handsome.  I  am 
ashamed  at  you." 

"My  dear  girl,  what  have  I  got  to  do  with  her  dressing  beautifnlly  or 
looking  well  ?     inquired  Nicholas. 

"  Come,  don't  call  me  a  dear  girl,"  said  Miss  Price — smiling  a  little  though, 
for  she  was  pretty,  and  a  coquette,  too,  in  her  small  way,  and  Nicholas  was 
good-looking,  and  she  supposed  him  the  property  of  somebody  else,  which 
were  all  reasons  why  she  should  be  gratified  to  think  she  had  made  an  impres- 
sion on  him,  "  or  Fanny  will  be  saying  it's  my  fault.  Come  ;  we're  going  to 
have  a  game  at  cards."  Pronouncing  these  last  words  aloud,  she  tripped 
away  and  rejoined  the  big  Yorkshireman. 

This  was  wholly  unintelligible  to  Nicholas,  who  had  no  other  distinct 
impression  on  his  mind  at  the  moment  than  that  Miss  Squeers  was  an 
ordinary-looking  girl,  and  her  friend  Miss  Price  a  pretty  one  ;  but  he  had  not 
time  to  enlighten  nimself  by  reflection,  for  the  hearth  being  by  this  time  swept 
up,  and  the  candle  snuffed,  they  sat  down  to  play  speculation. 

"There  are  only  four  of  us,  'Tilda,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  looking  slyly  at 
Nicholas  ;  "  so  we  had  better  go  partners,  two  against  two." 
"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Nickleby  ? "  inquired  Miss  Price. 
"With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,"  replied  Nicholas.  And  so  saying,  quite 
unconscious  of  his  heinous  offence,  he  amalgamated  into  one  common  neap 
those  portions  of  a  Dotheboys  Hall  card  of  terms  which  represented  his  own 
counters,  and  those  allotted  to  Miss  Price,  respectively. 

"Mr.  Browdie,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  hysterically,  "shall  wo  make  a  bank 
against  them  ? " 

The  Yorkshireman  assented — apparently  quite  overwhelmed  by  the  new 
usher's  impudence — and  Miss  Squeers  darted  a  spiteful  look  at  her  friend,  and 
giggled  convulsively. 

The  deal  fell  to  Nicholas,  and  the  hand  prospered. 
"  We  intend  to  win  everything,"  said  he. 

"  'Tilda  Aflw  won  something  she  didn't  expect,  I  think ;  haven  t  you,  dear  1 " 
said  Miss  Squeers,  maliciously. 

"  Only  a  dozen  and  eight,  love,"  replied  Miss  Price,  affecting  to  take  the 
question  in  a  literal  sense. 

"  How  dull  you  are  to-night ! "  sneered  Miss  Squeers. 
"No,  indeed,"   replied  Miss  Price,    "I  am  in  excellent  spirits.    I  was 
thinking  you  seemed  out  of  sorts." 

"Me!"  cried  Miss  Squeers,  biting  her  lips,  and  trembling  with  very 
jealousy  ;  "  oh,  no  I " 


72  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"That's  well,"  remarked  Miss  Price.     "Your  hair's  coming  out  of  curl, 
dear." 

"  Never  mind  me,"  tittered  Miss  Squeers  ;  "  you  had  better  attend  to  your 
partner.!* 

**  Thank  you  for  reminding  her,"  said  Nicholas.  **  So  she  had." 
The  Yorkshireman  flattened  his  nose,  once  or  twice,  with  his  clenched  fist, 
as  if  to  keep  his  hand  in  till  he  had  an  opportunity  of  exercising  it  upon  the 
features  of  some  other  gentleman  ;  and  Miss  Squeers  tossed  her  head  with 
such  indignation,  that  the  gust  of  wind  raised  by  the  multitudinous  curls  in 
motion  nearly  blew  the  candle  out. 

**  I  never  had  such  luck,  really,"  exclaimed  coquettish  Miss  Price,  after 
another  hand  or  two .  '  *  It's  all  along  of  you,  Mr.  Nickleby,  I  think.  I  should 
like  to  have  you  for  a  partner  always." 

**  I  wish  you  had." 

"You'll  have  a  bad  wife,  though,  if  you  always  win  at  cards,"  said  Miss 
Price. 

**Not  if  your  wish  is  gratified,"  replied  Nicholas.  "I  am  sure  I  shall 
have  a  good  one  in  that  case  " 

To  see  how  Miss  Squeers  tossed  her  head,  and  the  corn-factor  flattened  his 
nose,  while  this  conversation  was  carrying  on  !  It  would  have  been  worth  a 
small  annuity  to  have  beheld  that ;  let  alone  Miss  Price's  evident  joy  at 
making  them  jealous,  and  Nicholas  Nickleby's  happy  unconsciousness  of 
making  anybody  uncomfortable. 

**We  have  all  the  talking  to  ourselves,  it  seems,"  said  Nicholas,  looking 
good-humouredly  round  the  table  as  he  took  up  the  cards  for  a  fresh  deal. 

"You  do  it  so  well,"  tittered  Miss  Squeers,  "  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
interrupt,  wouldn't  it,  Mr.  Browdie  ?    He  !  he  !  he  ! " 

"Nay,"  said  Nicholas,  "we  do  it  in  default  of  having  anybody  else  to 
talk  to." 

"  "We'll  talk  to  you,  you  know,  if  you'll  say  anything,"  said  Miss  Price. 

"Thank  you,  'Tilda  dear,"  retorted  Miss  Squeers,  majestically. 

"Or  you  can  talk  to  each  other  if  you  don't  choose  to  talk  to  us,"  said 
Miss  Price,  rallying  her  dear  friend.  "John,  why  don't  you  say  some- 
thing ? " 

"  Say  summat  ? "  repeated  the  Yorkshireman. 

"  Ay,  and  not  sit  there  so  silent  and  glum." 

"  "Weol,  then,"  said  the  Yorkshireman,  striking  the  table  heavily  with  his 
fist,  "what  I  say's  this — Dang  my  boans  and  boddy,  if  I  stan'  this  ony 
longer.  Do  ye  gang  whoam  wi'  me ;  and  do  yon  loight  an'  toight  young 
whipster  look  sharp  out  for  a  brokken  head  next  time  he  cums  under  my 
bond." 

"Mercy  on  us,  what's  all  this?"  cried  Miss  Price,  in  afi'ected  astonish- 
ment. 

"Cum  whoam,  tell'e,  cum  whoam,"  replied  the  Yorkshireman,  sternly. 
And  as  he  delivered  the  reply.  Miss  Squeers  burst  into  a  shower  of  tears ; 
arising  in  part  from  desperate  vexation,  and  in  part  from  an  impotent  desire 
to  lacerate  somebody's  countenance  with  her  fair  finger-nails. 

This  state  of  things  had  been  brought  about  by  divers  means  and  workings. 
Miss  Squeers  had  brought  it  about  by  aspiring  to  the  high  state  and  condition 
of  being  matrimonially  engaged,  without  good  grounds  for  so  doing ;  Miss  Price 
had  brought  it  about  by  indulging  in  three  motives  of  action  :  first,  a  desire 
to  punish  her  friend  for  laying  claim  to  a  rivalship  in  dignity,  having  no  good 
title  ;  secondly,  the  gratification  of  her  own  vanity,  in  receiving  the  compli- 
ments of  a  smart  young  man  ;  and  thirdly,  a  wish  to  convince  the  corn-factor 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  yz 

of  the  great  danger  he  ran  in  deferring  the  celebration  of  their  expected 
nuptials ;  while  Nicholas  had  brought  it  about  by  half-an -hour's  gaiety  and 
thoughtlessness,  and  a  very  sincere  desire  to  avoid  the  imputation  of  inclining 
at  all  to  Miss  Squcers.  So  the  means  employed  and  the  end  produced  were 
alike  the  most  natural  in  the  world  ;  for  young  ladies  will  look  forward  to 
being  married,  and  will  jostle  each  in  the  race  to  the  altar,  and  will  avail 
themselves  of  all  opportunities  of  displaying  their  own  attractions  to  the  best 
advantage,  down  to  the  very  end  of  time,  as  they  have  done  from  its 
beginning. 

' '  Why,  and  here's  Fanny  in  tears  now !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Price,  as  if  in 
fresh  amazement,     **  What  can  be  the  matter  ? " 

"Oh,  you  don't  know,  Miss,  of  course  you  don't  know.  Pray  don't 
trouble  yourself  to  inquire,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  producing  that  change  of 
countenance  which  children  call  making  a  face. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Price. 

"And  who  cares  Whether  you  are  sure  or  not,  ma'am?"  retorted  Miss 
Squeers,  making  another  face. 

"  You  are  monstrous  polite,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Price. 

**  I  shall  not  come  to  you  to  take  lessons  in  the  art,  ma'am  ! "  retorted  Miss 
Squeers. 

"  You  needn't  take  the  trouble  to  make  yourself  plainer  than  you  are, 
ma'am,  however,"  rejoined  Miss  Price,  "  because  that's  quite  unnecessary." 

Miss  Squeers  in  reply  turned  very  red,  and  thanked  God  that  she  hadn't 
the  bold  faces  of  some  people.  Miss  Price,  in  rejoinder,  congratulated  herself 
upon  not  being  possessed  of  the  envious  feelings  of  other  people  ;  whereupon 
Miss  Squeers  made  some  general  remark  touching  the  danger  of  associating 
with  low  persons  ;  in  which  Miss  Price  entirely  coincided :  observing  that  it 
was  very  true,  indeed,  and  she  had  thought  so  a  long  time. 

"  "Tilda,"  exclaimed  Miss  Squeers,  with* dignity,  "  I  hate  you." 

"  Ah  !  There's  no  love  lost  between  us,  I  assure  you,"  said  Miss  Price, 
tying  her  bonnet  strings  with  a  jerk.  "  You'll  cry  your  eyes  out  when  I  am 
gone  ;  you  know  you  will." 

"  I  scorn  your  words.  Minx,"  said  Miss  Squeers. 

"  You  pay  me  a  great  compliment  when  you  say  so,"  answered  the  miller's 
daughter,  curtseying  very  low.  "Wish  you  a  very  good  night,  ma'am,  and 
pleasant  dreams  attend  your  sleep  !  " 

With  this  parting  benediction,  Miss  Price  swept  from  the  room  followed  by 
the  huge  Yorkshireman,  who  exchanged  with  Nicholas,  at  parting,  that 
peculiarly  expressive  scowl  with  which  the  cut-and-thrust  counts,  in  melo- 
dramatic performances,  inform  each  other  they  will  meet  again. 

They  were  no  sooner  gone  than  Miss  Squeers  fulfilled  the  prediction  of  her 
quondam  friend  by  giving  vent  to  a  most  copious  burst  of  tears,  and  uttering 
various  dismal  lamentations,  and  incoherent  words.  Nicholas  stood  looking 
on  for  a  few  seconds,  rather  doubtful  what  to  do,  but  feeling  uncertain 
whether  the  fit  would  end  in  his  bqing  embraced  or  scratched,  and  considering 
that  either  infliction  would  be  equally  agreeable,  he  walked  off  very  quietly 
while  Miss  Squeers  was  moaning  in  her  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  This  is  one  consequence,"  thought  Nicholas,  when  he  had  groped  his  way 
to  the  dark  sleeping-room,  "  of  my  cursed  readiness  to  adapt  myself  to  any 
society  in  which  chance  carries  me.  If  I  had  sat  mute  and  motionless,  as  I 
might  have  done,  this  would  not  have  happened." 

He  listened  for  a  few  minutes,  but  all  was  quiet. 

"  I  was  glad,"  he  murmured,  "to  grasp  at  any  relief  from  the  sight  of  this 
dreadful  place,  or  the  presence  of  its  vile  master.     I  have  set  tli^E^  '^s^q»'^<^  X^'S 


74  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

the  ears,  and  made  two  new  enemies,  where,  heaven  knows,  I  needed  none. 
Well,  it  is  a  just  punishment  for  having  forgotten,  even  for  an  hour,  what  is 
around  me  now  ! 

So  saying,  he  felt  his  way  among  the  throng  of  weary-hearted  sleepers,  and 
crept  into  his  poor  bed. 


CHAPTER    X. 

HOW  MR.   RALPH    NIOKLEBY  PROVIDED  FOR  HIS  NIECE  AND  SISTER-IN-LAW. 

ON  the  second  morning  after  the  departure  of  Nicholas  for  Yorkshire,  Kate 
Nickleby  sat  in  a  very  faded  chair,  raised  upon  a  very  dusty  throne,  in 
Miss  La  Creevy's  room,  giving  that  lady  a  sitting  for  the  portrait  upon 
which  she  was  engaged,  and  towards  the  fuU  perfection  of  which  Miss  La 
Creevy  had  had  the  street-door  case  brought  upstairs  in  order  that  she  might 
be  the  better  able  to  infuse  into  the  counterfeit  countenance  of  Miss  Nickleby 
a  bright  salmon  flesh -tint,  which  she  had  originally  hit  upon  while  executing 
the  miniature  of  a  young  officer  therein  contained,  and  which  bright  salmon 
flesh-tint  was  considered  by  Miss  La  Creevy's  chief  friends  and  patrons  to  be 
quite  a  novelty  in  art :  as  Indeed  it  was. 

**  I  think  I  have  caught  it  now,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  "  The  very  shade  ! 
This  will  be  the  sweetest  portrait  I  have  ever  done,  certainly." 

**  It  will  be  your  genius  that  makes  it  so,  then,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Kate, 
smiling. 

"No,  no,  I  won't  allow  that,  my  dear,"  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy.  "It*s  a 
very  nice  subject — a  very  nice  subject,  indeed — though  of  course  something 
depends  upon  the  mode  of  treatment." 

**  And  not  a  little,"  observed  Kate. 

*'  Why,  my  dear,  you  are  right  there,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  **  in  the  main 
you  are  right  there  ;  though  I  don't  allow  that  it  is  of  such  very  great  import- 
ance in  the  present  case.     Ah  I  the  difficulties  of  art,  my  dear,  are  great." 

"They  must  be,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Kate,  humouring  her  good-natured 
little  friend. 

"They  are  beyond  anything  you  can  form  the  faintest  conception  of," 
replied  Miss  La  Creevy.  "  What  with  bringing  out  eyes  with  all  one's  power, 
and  keeping  down  noses  with  all  one's  force,  and  adding  to  heads,  and  taking 
away  teeth  altogether,  you  have  no  idea  of  the  trouble  one  little  miniature 
is." 

"  The  remuneration  can  scarcely  repay  you,"  said  Kate. 

"  Why,  it  does  not,  and  that's  the  truth,"  answered  Miss  La  Creevy;  **and 
then  people  are  so  dissatisfied  and  unreasonable,  that,  nine  times  out  of  ten, 
there's  no  pleasure  in  painting  them.  Sometimes  they  say,  *  Oh,  how  very 
serious  you  have  made  me  look.  Miss  La  Creevy  !  *  and  at  others,  *  La,  Miss 
La  Creevy,  how  very  smirking  ! '  when  the  very  essence  of  a  good  portrait  is, 
that  it  must  be  either  serious  or  smirking,  or  it's  no  portrait  at  all." 

*•  Indeed  !  "  said  Kate,  laughing. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  ;  because  the  sitters  are  always  either  the  one  or  the 
other,"  replied  Miss  La  Creevy.  '  Look  at  the  Royal  Academy  I  All  those 
beautiful  shiny  portraits  of  gentlemen  in  black  velvet  waistcoats,  with  their 
fists  doubled  up  on  round  tables,  or  marble  slabs,  are  serious,  you  know .;  and 
all  the  ladies  who  are  playing  with  little  parasols,  or  little  dogs,  or  little 
Cibildren— it's  the  same  rule  in  art,  only  varying  the  objects — are  smirking. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  75 

III  fact,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  sinking  her  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper, 
"  there  are  only  two  styles  of  portrait  painting — the  serious  and  the  smirk  ; 
and  we  always  use  the  serious  for  professional  people  (except  actors  sometimes), 
and  the  smirk  for  private  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  don't  care  so  much  about 
lookingj  clever." 

Kate  seemed  highly  amused  by  this  information,  and  Miss  La  Creevy  went 
on  painting  and  talking  with  immovable  complacency. 

**  What  a  number  of  officers  you  seem  to  paint ! "  said  Kate,  availing  her- 
self of  a  pause  in  the  discourse,  and  glancing  round  the  room. 

**  Number  of  what,  child  ?  "  inquired  Miss  La  Creevy,  looking  up  from  her 
work.  **  Character  portraits,  oh,  yes — they're  not  real  military  men,  you 
know." 

"No!" 

'*  Bless  your  heart,  of  course  not ;  only  clerks  and  that,  who  hire  a  uniform 
coat  to  be  painted  in  and  send  it  here  in  a  carpet  bag.  Some  artists,"  said 
Miss  La  Creevy,  **  keep  a  red  coat,  and  charge  seven-and-sixpence  extra  for 
hire  and  carmine  ;  but  I  don't  do  that  myselfi  for  I  don't  consider  it  legiti- 
mate." 

Drawing  herself  up,  as  though  she  plumed  herself  greatly  upon  not  resort- 
ing to  these  lures  to  catch  sitters,  Miss  La  Creevy  applied  herself  more  intently 
to  her  task :  only  raising  her  head  occasionally,  to  look  with  unspeakable 
satisfaction  at  some  touch  she  had  just  put  in :  and  now  and  then  giving 
Miss  Nickleby  to  understand  what  particular  feature  she  was  at  work  upon  at 
the  moment ;  **  Not,"  she  expressly  observed,  *'  that  you  should  make  it  up 
for  painting,  my  dear,  but  because  it's  our  custom  sometimes,  to  tell  sitters 
what  part  we  are  upon,  in  order  that  if  there's  any  particular  expression  they 
want  introduced,  they  may  throw  it  in  at  any  time,  you  know." 

**  And  when,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  after  a  long  silence,  to  wit,  an  interval 
of  full  a  minute  and  a-half,  "  when  do  you  expect  to  see  your  uncle  again  ? " 

"  I  scarcely  know ;  I  had  expected  to  have  seen  him  before  now,"  replied 
Kate.     **Soon,  I  hope,  for  this  state  of  uncertainty  is  worse  than  an)'^thing." 

**  I  suppose  he  has  money,  hasn't  he  ? "  inquired  Miss  La  Creevy. 

**  He  is  very  rich,  I  have  heard,"  rejoined  Kate.  *•  I  don't  know  that  he 
is,  but  I  believe  so." 

**  Ah,  you  may  depend  upon  it  he  is,  or  he  wouldn't  be  so  surly,"  remarked 
Miss  La  Creevy,  who  was  an  odd  little  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  simplicity. 
**  When  a  man's  a  bear,  he  is  generally  pretty  independent." 

*'  His  manner  is  rough,"  said  Kate. 

**  Bough  ! "  cried  Miss  La  Creevy,  "  a  porcupine's  a  feather  bed  to  him  !  I 
never  met  with  such  a  cross-grained  old  savage." 

"  It  is  only  his  manner,  I  believe,"  observed  Kate,  timidly  :  **  he  was  clis- 
appointed  in  early  life,  I  think  I  have  heard,  or  has  had  his  temper  soured  by 
some  calamity.  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  ill  of  him  until  I  knew  ho 
deserved  it " 

**  Well ;  that's  very  right  and  proper,"  observed  the  miniature  painter  ; 
**  and  heaven  forbid  that  I  should  be  the  cause  of  your  doing  so  !  But,  now, 
mightn't  he,  without  feeling  it  himself,  make  you  and  your  mamma  some  nice 
litue  allowance  that  would  keep  you  both  comfortable  until  you  were  well 
married,  and  be  a  little  fortune  to  her  afterwards  ?  What  would  a  hundred 
a- year,  for  instance,  be  to  him  ? " 

**I  don't  know  what  it  would  be  to  him,"  said  Kate,  with  energy,  "but 
it  would  be  that  to  me  I  would  rather  die  than  take." 

"  Heyday  1 "  cried  Miss  La  Creevy. 


76  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

'*  A  dependence  upon  him,"  said  Kate,  **  would  embitter  my  whole  life.  I 
should  feel  begging  a  far  less  degradation." 

**  Well  I  "  exclaimed  Miss  La  Creevy.  '*  This  of  a  relation  whom  you  will 
not  hear  an  indifferent  person  speak  ill  of,  my  dear,  sounds  oddly  enough,  I 
confess." 

"I  daresay  it  docs,"  replied  Kate,  speaking  more  gently,  "indeed  I  am 
sure  it  must.  I — I — only  mean  that  with  the  feelings  and  recollection  of 
better  times  upon  me,  I  could  not  bear  to  live  on  anybody's  bounty — not  his 
l>articularly,  but  anybody's." 

Miss  La  Creevy  looked  slyly  at  her  companion,  as  if  she  doubted  whether 
Ralph  himself  were  not  the  subject  of  dislike,  but  seeing  that  her  young  friend 
was  distressed,  made  no  remark. 

"  I  only  ask  of  him,"  continued  Kate,  whose  tears  fell  while  she  spoke, 
**  that  he  will  move  so  little  out  of  his  way,  in  my  behalf,  as  to  enable  mo  by 
his  recommendation — only  by  his  recommendation — to  earn,  literally,  my 
bread,  and  remain  with  my  mother.  Whether  we  shall  ever  taste  happiness 
again  depends  upon  the  fortunes  of  my  dear  brother  ;  but  if  he  will  do 
this,  and  Nicholas  only  tells  us  that  he  is  well  and  cheerful,  I  shall  bo 
contented." 

As  she  ceased  to  speak,  there  was  a  rustling  behind  the  screen  which  stood 
between  her  and  the  door,  and  some  person  knocked  at  the  wainscot. 

**  Come  in,  whoever  it  is  !  "  cried  Miss  La  Creevy. 

The  person  complied,  and,  coming  forward  at  once,  gave  to  view  the  form 
and  features  of  no  less  an  individual  than  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  himself. 

"Your  servant,  ladies,"  said  Ralph,  looking  sharply  at  them  by  turns. 
**  You  were  talking  so  loud,  that  I  was  unable  to  make  you  hear." 

When  the  man  of  business  had  a  more  than  commonly  vicious  snarl  lurking 
at  his  heart,  he  had  a  trick  of  almost  concealing  his  eyes  under  their  thick  and 
protruding  brows  for  an  instant,  and  then  displaying  them  in  their  full 
keenness.  As  he  did  so  now,  and  tried  to  keep  down  the  smile  which  parted 
his  thin  compressed  lips,  and  puckered  up  the  bad  lines  about  his  mouth, 
they  both  felt  certain  that  some  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  their  recent 
conversation  had  been  overheard. 

**  I  called  in,  on  my  way  upstairs,  more  than  half  expecting  to  j&nd  you 
here,"  said  Ralph,  addressing  his  niece,  and  looking  contemptuously  at  the 
portrait.     **  Is  that  my  niecos  portrait,  ma'am  ? " 

"  Yes  it  is,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  with  a  very  sprightly  air, 
*'  and  between  you  and  me  and  the  post,  sir,  it  will  be  a  very  nice  portrait, 
too,  though  I  say  it  who  am  the  painter. " 

'*Don*t  trouble  yourself  to  show  it  to  me,  ma'am,"  cried  Ralph,  moving 
away,  "  I  have  no  eye  for  likenesses.     Is  it  nearly  finished  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  replied  Miss  La  Creevy,  considering  with  the  pencil-end  of 
her  brush  in  her  mouth.     **Two  sittings  more  will " 

*'  Have  them  at  once,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph.  **  She'll  have  no  time  to  idle 
over  fooleries  after  to-morrow.  Work,  ma'am,  work ;  we  must  all  work. 
Have  you  let  your  lodgings,  ma'am  ?  " 

**  I  have  not  put  a  bill  up  yet,  sir." 

**  Put  it  up  at  once,  ma'am  ;  they  won't  want  the  rooms  after  this  week,  or 
if  they  do,  can't  pay  for  them.  Now,  my  dear,  if  you're  ready,  we'll  lose  no 
more  time." 

With  an  assumption  of  kindness  which  sat  worse  upon  him  even  than  his 
usual  manner,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  motioned  to  the  young  lady  to  precede 
him,  and  bowing  gravely  to  Miss  La  Creevy,  closed  the  door  and  followed 
upstoirsj  where  Mrs.  Nickleby  received  him  with  many  expressions  of  rogiurd. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  77 

Stopping  them  somewhat  abruptlyi  Ralpli  waved  his  hand  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  and  proceeded  to  the  object  of  his  visit. 

'*  I  have  found  a  situation  for  your  daughter,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph. 

"Well,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickkby.  "Now  I  will  say  that  that  is  only  just 
what  I  have  expected  of  you.  *  Depend  upon  it,*  I  said  to  Kate,  only  yester- 
day morning  at  breakfast,  *  that  after  your  uncle  has  provided,  in  that  most 
ready  manner,  for  Nicholas,  he  will  not  leave  us  until  he  has  done  at  least 
the  same  for  you.'  These  were  my  very  words,  as  near  as  I  remember.  Kate, 
ray  dear,  why  don't  you  thank  your " 

"  Let  me  proceed,  ma'am,  pray,"  said  Ralph,  interrupting  his  sister-in-law 
in  the  full  torrent  of  her  discourse. 

"  Kate,  my  love,  let  your  uncle  proceed,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"  I  am  most  anxious  that  he  should,  mamma,"  rejoined  Kate. 

"Well,  my  dear,  if  you  are  anxious  that  he  should,  you  had  better  allow 
your  uncle  to  say  what  he  has  to  say,  without  interruption,"  observed  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  with  many  small  nods  and  frowns.  "  Your  uncle's  time  is  very 
valuable,  my  dear  ;  and  however  desirous  you  may  be — and  naturally  desirous, 
as  I  am  sure  any  affectionate  relations  who  have  seen  so  little  of  your  uncle  as 
we  have,  must  naturally  be — to  protract  the  pleasure  of  having  him  among 
us,  still,  we  are  bound  not  to  be  selfish,  but  to  take  into  consideration  the 
important  nature  of  his  occupations  in  the  city." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  sneer.  "An  absence  of  business  habits  in  this  family  leads, 
apparently,  to  a  great  waste  of  words  before  business — when  it  does  come 
under  consideration — is  arrived  at,  at  all." 

"  I  fear  it  is  so,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  sigh.  "  Your  poor 
brother " 

"  My  poor  brother,  ma'am,"  interposed  Ralph,  tartly,  "  had  no  idea  what 
bosiness  was — was  unacquainted,  I  verily  believe,  with  the  very  meaning  of 
the  word." 

"  I  fear  he  was,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 
"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  I  don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  him." 

What  strange  creatures  we  are  !  The  slight  bait  so  skilfully  thrown  out  by 
Ralph,  on  their  first  interview,  was  dangling  on  the  hook  yet.  At  every 
small  deprivation  or  discomfort  which  presented  itself  in  the  course  of  the 
four-and- twenty  hours  to  remind  her  of  her  straitened  and  altered  circum- 
stances, peevish  visions  of  her  dower  of  one  thousand  pounds  had  arisen 
before  Mrs.  Nickleby's  mind,  until  at  last  she  had  come  to  persuade  herself 
that  of  all  her  late  husband's  creditors  she  was  the  worst  used  and  the  most  to 
be  pitied.  And  yet,  she  had  loved  him  dearly  for  many  years,  and  had  no 
greater  share  of  selfishness  than  is  the  usual  lot  of  mortals.  Such  is  the 
irritability  of  sudden  poverty.  A  decent  annuity  would  have  restored  her 
thoughts  to  their  old  train  at  once. 

" Repining  is  of  no  use,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph.  "Of  all  fruitless  errands, 
sending  a  tear  to  look  after  a  day  that  is  gone  is  the  most  fruitless." 

"  So  it  is,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Nickleby.     "  So  it  is." 

"  As  you  feel  so  keenly,  in  your  own  purse  and  person,  the  consequences 
of  inattention  to  business,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph,  "  I  am  sure  you  will  impress 
upon  your  children  the  necessity  of  attaching  themselves  to  it,  early  in  lite." 

"  Of  course  I  must  see  that,'    rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby.     "Sad  experience, 

you  know,  brother-in-law Kate,  my  dear,  put  that  down  in  the  next 

letter  to  Nicholas,  or  remind  me  to  do  it  if  I  write. " 

Ralph  paused  for  a  few  moments,  and  seeing  that  he  had  now  made  ^x^\X.^ 


UFE  AXD  ADVEXTVRES  OF 

■X  ixz^'aa  obJKttd  to  hi*  pntpcstian,  went  on 
i  iiLUTss:  u>  pneav,  tsi'izn,  U  witli — with 

Lt^l^  u  1  =t«c  =::  ^~'~^  t:=.  :rt*a.  wh^an  io  v^U  i-iiumteil  with 

S>w,  da"irK  i;sM  i»Ufti  =?  i=  Its.  SliZfiy'*  =^i  br  tte  worda 
*■  — -"^*- 1=1  '  I  III  i1  «e»  o:=^';«ia  vi:^  .vinia  viewer  baskets  luied 
wf^  ili:k  --■"'*V^,  vhf ;^  &*  lC£i:£.l>;rcd  »  llTf  w«3  arrfc-i  to  and  fro  in 
i^  fiiiK3  :  b=:.  as  Tt*'r*"  pr^sHdid.  ^ck  .'=«.■ --j-.—^,  u.^  rerc  njJaced  by 
ni^  ef  Iks*  Lccms  k  :1j  Wi3j-i=i,  =«»;  j rirat*  sairiiss.  and  »  basker^ 
V^k ;  all  «f  ■ii^i  JsagM  t=A-*edal  e».'h  i:-i::ir  wiii  Fis'i  rapidity,  diat  ha 

•'  TTha:  t;-^  -di^t  sits  is  vct  vt:;.  Ki;c.  z:t  iac~  skI  Mrs.  Xicklebf. 
"  1  rkII^i;:  whia  To=r  Voor  rara  azi  I  :a3.t  v-  mttz  ifar  ws  a-*^  nuiried, 
liu  a  T«=a?  i»iT-  br?v:T  =:?  '^;>=j  a  m^  ^"'^^ti^iw^*;,  wuh  white  and 

^Tsez  r-^ '"J-j  az.1  ^TNZ  Ftisuc  lisin^  I3  Itr  csn  :4:7it^,  vhich  dmre 

cpsstLe  dj£K?=Il  £aL:p — a:  lea^^  I  u::  _::  ^':i::e  Jgi^r.  K-Kherit  was  her 
OV3  la^riuT  oc  a  £a^=iT  eLarij:.  ^=:  1  r:::?—^  tjtt  «:II  that  the  horet 
'::^  rL-=z.i,  i:ii  lii:  jvzr  pocr  papa  said  be 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  79 

*'  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  uncle,"  said  the  young  lady,  after  they 
had  hurried  on  in  silence  for  some  time,  **  very." 

*'  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Ralph.     **  I  hope  you'll  do  your  duty." 

**  I  wiU  try  to  please,  uncle,"  replied  Kate  ;  "indeed  I " 

"  Don't  begin  to  cry,"  growled  Kalph  ;  **  I  hate  crying." 

'*  It's  very  foolish,  I  know,  uncle,"  began  poor  Kate. 

*' It  is,"  replied  Ralph,  stopping  her  short,  **and  very  affected  besides, 
Liet  me  see  no  more  of  it." 

Perhaps  this  was  not  the  best  way  to  dry  the  tears  of  a  young  and  sensitive 
female,  about  to  make  her  first  entry  on  an  entirely  new  scene  of  life,  among 
cold  and  uninterested  strangers  ;  but  it  had  its  effect  notwithstanding.  Kate 
coloured  deeply,  breathed  quickly  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  walked  on 
with  a  firmer  and  more  determined  step. 

It  was  a  curious  contrast  to  see  how  the  timid  country  girl  shrunk  through 
the  crowd  that  hurried  up  and  down  the  streets,  giving  way  to  the  press  of 
people,  and  clinging  closely  to  Ralph  as  though  she  feared  to  lose  him  in  the 
throng  ;  and  how  the  stern  and  hard-featured  man  of  business  went  doggedly 
on,  elbowing  the  passengers  aside,  and  now  and  then  exchanging  a  gruff 
salutation  with  some  passing  acquaintance,  who  turned  to  look  back  upon  his 
pretty  charge,  with  looks  expressive  of  surprise,  and  seemed  to  wonder  at  tlie 
ill-assorted  companionship.  But  it  would  have  been  a  stranger  contrast  still 
to  have  read  the  hearts  that  were  beating  side  by  side  ;  to  have  laid  bare  tho 
gentle  innocence  of  the  one  and  the  rugged  villainy  of  the  other ;  to  have 
hung  upon  the  guileless  thoughts  of  the  affectionate  girl,  and  been  amazed 
that,  among  all  the  wily  plots  and  calculations  of  the  old  man,  there  should 
not  be  one  word  or  figure  denoting  thought  of  death,  or  of  the  grave.  But  so 
it  was ;  and  stranger  still — though  this  is  a  thing  of  every  day — the  warm 
young  heart  palpitated  with  a  thousand  anxieties  and  apprehensions,  while 
tbat  of  the  old  worldly  man  lay  rusting  in  its  cell,  beating  only  as  a  piece  of 
cunning  mechanism,  and  yielding  no  one  throb  of  hope,  or  fear,  or  love,  or 
care,  for  any  living  thing. 

**  Uncle,  said  Kate,  when  she  judged  they  must  be  near  their  destination, 
**  I  must  ask  one  question  of  you.     I  am  to  live  at  home  ? " 

"  At  home  !  "  replied  Ralph  ;  "  where's  that  ? " 

**  I  mean  with  my  mother — the.  ividowt"  said  Kate,  emphatically. 

**  You  will  live,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  here,"  rejoined  Ralph  ;  **for 
here  you  will  take  your  meals,  and  here  you  will  bo  from  morning  till  night — 
occasionally,  perhaps,  till  morning  again  " 

*'  But  at  night,  I  mean,"  said  Kate  ;  "  I  cannot  leave  her,  uncle.  I  must 
have  some  place  that  I  can  call  a  home  ;  it  will  be  wherever  she  is,  you  know, 
and  may  be  a  very  humble  one." 

**May  be!"  said  Ralph,  walking  faster,  in  the  impatience  provoked  by 
the  remark,  "must  be,  you  mean.  May  be  a  humble  one!  Is  the  girl 
mad  ? " 

"The  word  slipped  from  my  lips;  I  did  not  mean  it,  indeed,"  urged 
Kate. 

"  I  hope  not,'*  said  Ralph. 

**  But  my  question,  uncle  ;  you  have  not  answered  it." 

*'  Why,  I  anticipated  something  of  the  kind,"  said  Ralph  ;  **  and — though 
I  object  very  strongly,  mind — have  provided  against  it.  I  spoke  of  you  as  an 
out-of-door  worker  ;  so  you  will  go  to  this  home,  that  may  be  humble,  every 
night." 

There  was  comfort  in  this.  Kate  poured  forth  many  thanks  for  her  uncle's 
consideration,  which  Ralph  received  as  if  he  had  deserved  them,  all,  ^\i<ic^Xi^^ 


8o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

arrived  witliout  any  further  conversation  at  the  drHsamaker'a  door,  which  dia- 


s  let  off  to  an  importer  of  otto  of  loaea.  Madame  Maatalini'a 
abow-rooma  were  on  the  first  floor ;  a  fact  which  was  notified  to  the  nobility 
and  gentry  by  the  casual  eihibition,  near  the  handaomBly-curtained  windows, 
of  two  or  three  elegant  bonnets  of  the  newest  fashion,  and  same  costly 
gannents  in  the  most  approved  taste. 

A  liveried  footman  opened  the  door,  and  in  reply  to  Ralph's  inquiry  whether 
Madame  Mantalini  was  at  home,  nahared  them  through  a  handsome  hall,  and 
up  a  spacious  staircase,  into  the  show  saloon,  which  comprised  two  spacious 
drawing -rooms,  and  exhibited  an  immense  variety  of  superb  dresses  and 
matcri^s  for  dresses  :  some  arranged  on  stands,  others  laid  carelessly  on  sofaa, 
and  others  again,  scattered  over  the  carpet,  hanging  on  the  cheval  glasses,  or 
mingling,  in  soma  other  way,  with  the  rich  furniture  of  various  descriptions, 
whiSi  was  jirofusely  displayed. 

Thej  waited  hers  a  much  longer  time  than  was  agreeable  to  Mr.  Balpb 
Nickleby,  who  eyed  the  gaudy  frippery  about  him  with  very  little  concern, 
and  was  at  leugm  about  to  piill  the  bell,  when  a  gentleman  suddenly  popped 
his  head  into  the  room,  and  seeing  somebody  there,  aa  suddenly  popped  it  oat 
again. 

"Here.     Hollo"  cried  Ralph.     "  Who's  that  ?" 

At  the  sound  of  Ralph's  voice  the  head  reappeared,  and  the  mouth,  dis- 
playing a  very  long  row  of  very  white  teeth,  uttered  in  a  mincing  tone  the 
words,  "Demmit  What,  Nickleby  1  oh,  demmit !"  Having  uttered  which 
ejacnlationa,  the  gentleman  advanced  and  shook  hands  with  Ralph  with  great 
warmth.  He  was  dressed  in  a  gorgeous  morning-gown,  with  a  waistcoat  and 
Turkish  trousers  of  the  same  pattern,  a  pink  silk  neckerchief,  nud  bright  green 
sHppers,  and  had  a  very  copiona  watch  chain  wound  round  his  body.  More- 
over, he  had  whiskers  and  a  moustache,  both  dyed  black,  and  gracefully  curled. 

"Demmit,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  want  me,  do  you,  demmit!"  said 
thia  gentleman,  smiting  Ralph  on  the  shoulder. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Ralph,  sarcastically. 

"Ha!  hat  demmit,  cried  the  gentleman  ;  when,  wheeling  round  to  laogh 
with  greater  elegance,  he   encountered  Kate  Nickleby,  who  was  standing 

"  My  niece,"  said  Ralph. 

'' I  remember,"  said  the  gentleman,  striking  his  nose  with  the  kntickle  of 
his  forefinger  as  a  chastening  for  his  forgetfulnees.  "Demmit,  I  remember 
what  you  come  for.  Step  this  way,  Nickleby  ;  my  dear,  will  you  follow  met 
Ha  !  ha  \    They  all  follow  me,  Nickleby  ;  al\vays  did,  demmit,  always." 

Oiving  loose  to  the  playfulness  of  his  imagination  after  this  fashion,  the 
gentlemnn  led  the  wiy  to  a  private  sitting-room  on  the  second  floor,  scarcely 
less  elegantly  furnished  than  the  apartment  below,  where  the  presence  of  a 
aCver  cotf"i'  pot,  an  egg-shell,  and  sloppy  china  for  one,  seemed  to  show  that 
he  had  just  breakfasted. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear,"  said  the  gentleman  ;  first  staring  Miss  Nickleby  out 

*~~ md  thou  grinning  in  delight  at  the  acTiicv lament.      "Thia 

'"^kaa  one's  breath  away.    These  infernal  aky-parlours — I'm 
iRckleby." 

—  "  replied  Ralph,  looking  bitterly  around. 

)U  are,  Kifldeby,"  said  the  eentleman,   "  tte 
A-lempered  old  coiner  of  gold  and  silver  ever 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  8i 

Having  complimented  Ralph  to  this  effect,  the  gentleman  rang  the  bell,  and 
stared  at  Miss  Nickleby  nntil  it  was  answered,  when  he  left  off  to  bid  the 
man  desire  his  mistress  to  come  directly  ;  after  which  he  began  again,  and 
left  ofif  no  more  until  Madame  Mantalini  appeared. 

The  dressmaker  was  a  buxom  person,  handsomely  dressed  and  rather  good- 
lookinff,  but  much  older  than  the  gentleman  in  the  Turkish  trousers,  whom 
she  had  married  six  months  before.  His  name  was  originally  Muntle  ;  but  it 
had  been  converted,  by  an  easy  transition,  into  Mantalini :  the  lady  rightly 
considering  that  an  English  appellation  would  be  of  serious  injury  to  the 
business.  He  had  married  on  his  whiskers ;  upon  which  property  ho  had 
previously  subsisted,  in  a  genteel  manner,  for  some  years  ;  and  which  he  had 
recently  improved,  after  patient  cultivation,  by  the  addition  of  a  moustache, 
which  promised  to  secure  him  an  easy  independence  :  his  share  in  the  labours 
of  the  business  being  at  present  confined  to  spending  the  money,  and 
occasionally,  when  that  ran  short,  driving  to  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  to  procure 
discount — at  a  percentage— for  the  customers'  bills. 

**My  life,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  **  what  a  demd  devil  of  a  time  you  have 
been  ! " 

"I  didn't  even  know  Mr.  Nickleby  was  here,  my  love,"  said  Madame 
Mantalini. 

*•  Then  what  a  doubly  demd  infernal  rascal  that  footman  must  be,  my  soul," 
remonstrated  Mr.  Mantalini. 

**  My  dear,"  said  Madame,  **  that  is  entirely  your  fault" 

**  My  fault,  my  heart's  joy  ? " 

** Certainly,"  returned  the  lady;  "what  can  you  expect,  dearest,  if  you 
will  not  correct  the  man  ? " 

**  Correct  the  man,  my  soul's  delight !  " 

**  Yes  ;  I  am  sure  he  wants  speaking  to  badly  enough,"  said  Madame, 
pouting. 

**  Then  do  not  vex  itself,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini ;  **  he  shall  be  horsewhipped 
till  he  cries  out  demnebly."  With  this  promise  Mr.  Mantalini  kissed  Madame 
Mantalini,  and  after  that  performance,  Madame  Mantalini  pulled  Mr.  Man- 
talini playfully  by  the  ear  :  which  done,  they  descended  to  business. 

"Now,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph,  who  had  looked  on,  at  all  this,  with  such 
scorn  as  few  men  can  express  in  looks,  **  this  is  my  niece." 

**  Just  so,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  replied  Madame  Mantalini,  surveying  Kate  from 
head  to  foot,  and  back  again.     *'  Can  you  speak  French,  child  ? " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Kate,  not  daring  to  look  up  ;  for  she  felt  that  the 
eyes  of  the  odious  man  in  the  dressing-gown  were  directed  towards  her. 

*'  Like  a  demd  native  ? "  asked  the  husband. 

Miss  Nickleby  offered  no  reply  to  this  inquiry,  but  turned  her  back  upon 
the  questioner,  as  if  addressing  herself  to  make  answer  to  what  his  wife  might 
demand. 

**  We  keep  twenty  young  women  constantly  employed  in  the  establish- 
ment," said  Madame. 

"Indeed,  ma'am,"  replied  Kate,  timidly. 

**  Yes ;  and  some  of  'em  demd  handsome,  too," 

**  Mantalini !  "  exclaimed  his  wife,  in  an  awful  voice. 

•*  My  senses'  idol !  "  said  Mantalini. 

**  Do  you  wish  to  break  my  heart  ? " 

"Not  for  twenty  thousand  hemispheres  populated  with — with — with  little 
ballet-dancers,"  replied  Mantalini,  in  a  poetical  strain. 

**  Then  you  will,  if  you  persevere  in  that  mode  of  speaking,"  said  his  wife. 
'*  What  can  Mr.  Nickleby  think  when  he  hears  youl' 

u  ^ 


82  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

*'  Oh  !  Nothing,  ma'am,  nothing,"  replied  Ralph,  "  I  know  his  amiable 
nature,  and  yours — mere  little  remarks  that  give  a  zest  to  your  daily  inter- 
course—lovers' quarrels  that  add  sweetness  to  those  domestic  joys  which 
promise  to  last  so  long — that's  all ;  that's  all. " 

If  an  iron  door  could  be  supposed  to  quarrel  with  its  hinges,  and  to  make  a 
firm  resolution  to  open  with  slow  obstinacy,  and  grind  them  to  powder  in  the 
process,  it  would  emit  a  pleasanter  sound  in  so  doing  than  did  these  words 
m  the  rough  and  bitter  voice  in  which  they  were  uttered  by  Ralph.  Even 
Mr.  Mantalini  felt  their  influence,  and  turning  affrighted  round,  exclaimed, 
**  What  a  demd  horrid  croaking  !  " 

"  You  will  pay  no  attention,  if  you  please,  to  what  Mr.  Mantalini  says," 
observed  his  wife,  addressing  Miss  Nickleby. 

**  I  do  not,  ma'am,"  said  Kate,  with  quiet  contempt. 

**  Mr.  Mantalini  knows  nothing  whatever  about  any  of  the  young  women," 
continued  Madame,  looking  at  her  husband,  and  speaking  to  Kate.  ''If  he 
has  seen  any  of  them,  he  must  have  seen  them  in  the  street,  going  to,  or 
returning  from,  their  work,  and  not  here.  He  was  never  even  in  the  room. 
I  do  not  allow  it.     "What  hours  of  work  have  you  been  accustomed  to  ? " 

"  I  have  never  yet  been  accustomed  to  work  at  all,  ma'am,"  replied  Elate, 
in  a  low  voice. 

**  For  which  reason  she'll  work  all  the  better  now,"  said  Ralph,  putting  in 
a  word,  lest  this  confession  should  injure  the  negotiation. 

**  I  hope  so,"  returned  Madame  Mantalini ;  **  our  hours  are  from  nine  to 
nine,  with  extra  work  when  we're  very  full  of  business,  for  which  I  allow  pay- 
ment as  overtime." 

Kate  bowed  her  head,  to  intimate  that  she  heard,  and  was  satisfied. 

"  Your  meals,"  continued  Madame  Mantalini,  **  that  is  dinner  and  tea,  you 
will  take  here.  I  should  think  your  wages  would  average  from  five  to  seven 
shillings  a- week ;  but  I  can't  give  you  any  certain  information  on  that  point 
until  I  see  what  you  can  do." 

Kate  bowed  her  head  again. 

**  If  you're  ready  to  come,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  "you  had  better  begin 
on  Monday  morning  at  nine  exactly,  and  Miss  Knag,  the  forewoman,  shall  then 
have  directions  to  try  you  with  some  easy  work  at  first.  Is  there  anything 
more,  Mr.  Nickleby  ? " 

"Nothing  more,  ma'am,"  replied  Ralph,  rising. 

**  Then  I  believe  that's  all,"  said  the  lady.  Having  arrived  at  this  natural 
conclusion,  she  looked  at  the  door,  as  if  she  wished  to  be  gone,  but  hesitated 
notwithstanding,  as  though  unwilling  to  leave  to  Mr.  Mantalini  the  sole 
lionour  of  showing  them  downstairs.  Ralph  relieved  her  from  her  perplexity 
by  taking  his  departure  without  delay :  Madame  Mantalini  making  many 
gracious  inquiries  why  he  never  came  to  see  them  :  and  Mr.  Mantalini 
anathematising  the  stairs  with  great  volubility  as  he  followed  them  down,  in 
the  hope  of  inducing  Kate  to  look  round — a  hope,  however,  which  was  destined 
to  remain  ungratified. 

"There!"  said  Ralph,  when  they  got  into  the  street;  "now  you're 
provided  for." 

Kate  was  about  to  thank  him  again,  but  he  stopped  her. 

"  I  had  some  idea,"  he  said,   "  of  providing  for  your  mother  in  a  pleasant 

Eart  of  the  country" — (he  had  a  presentation  to  some  alms-houses  on  the 
orders  of  Cornwall,  which  had  occurred  to  him  more  than  once) — "but  as 
you  want  to  be  together,  I  must  do  something  else  for  her.  She  has  a  little 
money  ? " 

"  A  very  little,"  replied  Kate. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  83 

"A  little  will  go  a  long  way  if  it's  used  sparingly,"  said  Ralph.  "She 
must  see  how  long  she  can  make  it  last  living  rent  free.  You  leave  your 
lodgings  on  Saturday  ? " 

**  You  told  us  to  do  so,  uncle." 

**  Yes  ;  there  is  a  house  empty  that  belongs  to  me,  which  I  can  put  you 
into  till  it  is  let,  and  then,  if  nothing  else  turns  up,  perhaps  I  shall  have 
another.     You  must  live  there." 

**  Is  it  far  from  here,  sir  ? "  inquired  Kate. 

**  Pretty  well,"  said  Ralph  ;  **  in  another  quarter  of  the  town — at  the  East- 
end  ;  but  111  send  my  clerk  down  to  you  at  five  o'clock  on  Saturday,  to  take 
you  there.     Good-bye.     You  know  your  way  ?    Straight  on." 

Coldly  shaking  his  niece's  hand,  Ralph  left  her  at  the  top  of  Regent  Street, 
and  turned  down  a  bye  thoroughfare,  intent  on  schemes  of  money-getting. 
Kate  walked  sadly  back  to  their  lodgings  in  the  Strand. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

NEWMAN    NOaOS    INDUCTS    MRS.     AND    MISS    NICKLEBY    INTO    THEIR    NEW 

DWELLING  IN  THE  CITY. 

MISS  NICKLEBY'S  reflections,  as  she  wended  her  way  homewards,  were 
of  that  desponding  nature  which  the  occurrences  of  the  morning  had 
been  sufficiently  calculated  to  awaken.  Her  uncle's  was  not  a  manner 
likely  to  dispel  any  doubts  or  apprehensions  she  might  have  formed  in  the 
outset,  neither  was  the  glimpse  she  had  had  of  Madame  Mantalini's  establish- 
ment by  any  means  encouraging.  It  was  with  many  gloomy  forebodings  and 
misgivings,  therefore,  that  she  looked  forward,  with  a  heavy  heart,  to  the 
opening  of  her  new  career. 

If  her  mother's  consolations  could  have  restored  her  to  a  pleasanter  and 
more  enviable  state  of  mind,  there  were  abundance  of  them  to  produce  the 
effect.  By  the  time  Kate  reached  home,  the  good  lady  had  called  to  mind 
two  authentic  cases  of  milliners  who  had  been  possessed  of  Considerable 
property,  though  whether  they  had  acquired  it  all  in  business,  or  had  had  a 
capital  to  start  with,  or  had  been  lucky  and  married  to  advantage,  she  could 
not  exactly  remember.  However,  as  she  very  logically  remarked,  there  must 
have  been  some  young  person  in  that  way  of  business  who  had  made  a  fortune 
without  having  anything  to  begin  with,  and  that  being  taken  for  granted, 
why  should  not  Kate  do  the  same  ?  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  was  a  member  of 
the  little  council,  ventured  to  insinuate  some  doubts  relative  to  the  probability 
of  Miss  Nickleby's  arriving  at  this  happy  consummation  in  the  compass  of  an 
ordinary  lifetime  ;  but  the  good  lady  set  that  question  entirely  at  rest,  by 
informing  them  that  she  had  a  presentiment  on  the  subject — a  species  of 
second-sight  with  which  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  clenching  every 
argument  with  the  deceased  Mr.  Nickleby,  and,  in  nine  cases  and  three- 
quarters  out  of  every  ten,  determining  it  the  wrong  way. 

**I  am  afraid  it  is  an  unhealthy  occupation,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  **I 
recollect  getting  thi-ee  young  millinera  to  sit  to  me,  when  I  first  began  to 
paint,  and  I  remember  that  theV'  were  all  very  pale  and  sickly." 

**  Oh,  that's  not  a  general  rule,  by  any  means,"  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby  ; 
"for  I  remember,  as  well  as  if  it  were  only  yesterday,  employing  one  that  I 
was  particularly  recommended  to,  to  make  me  a  scarlet  cloak.  aX  tk<d  tVm^  ^V^*^ 


84  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

scarlet  cloaks  were  fashionable,  and  she  had  a  very  red  face — a  very  red  face, 
indeed." 

*'  Perhaps  she  drank,"  suggested  Miss  La  Creevy. 

**  I  don't  know  how  that  may  have  been,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby  ;  **  but 
I  know  she  had  a  very  red  face,  so  your  argument  goes  for  nothing." 

In  this  manner,  and  with  like  powerful  reasoning,  did  the  worthy  matron 
meet  every  little  objection  that  presented  itself  to  the  new  scheme  of  the 
morning.  Happy  Mrs.  Nickleby  !  A  project  had  but  to  be  new,  and  it  came 
home  to  her  mind  brightly  varnished  and  gilded  as  a  glittering  toy. 

This  question  disposed  of,  Kate  communicated  her  uncle's  desire  about  the 
empty  house,  to  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  assented  with  equal  readiness,  charac- 
teristically remarking  that,  on  the  fine  evenings,  it  would  be  a  pleasant 
amusement  for  her  to  walk  to  the  West-end  to  fetch  her  daughter  home  ;  and 
no  less  characteristically  forgetting,  that  there  were  such  things  as  wet  nights 
and  bad  weather  to  be  encountered  in  almost  every  week  of  the  year. 

**  I  shall  be  sorry — truly  sorry  to  leave  you,  my  kind  friend,"  said  Kate, 
on  whom  the  good  feeling  of  the  poor  miniature-painter  had  made  a  deep 
impression. 

**  You  shall  not  shake  me  off,  for  all  that,"  replied  Miss  La  Creevy,  with 
as  much  sprightliness  as  she  could  assume.  *'  I  shall  see  you  very  often,  and 
come  and  near  how  you  get  on  ;  and  if,  in  all  London,  or  all  the  wide  world 
besides,  there  is  no  other  heart  that  takes  an  interest  in  your  welfare,  there 
will  be  one  little  lonely  woman  that  prays  for  it  night  and  day." 

With  this,  the  poor  soul,  who  had  a  heart  big  enough  for  Gog,  the  guardian 
genius  of  London,  and  enough  to  spare  for  Magog  to  boot,  after  making  a 
great  many  extraordinary  faces,  which  would  have  secured  her  an  ample 
fortune  could  she  have  transferred  them  to  ivory  or  canvas,  sat  down  in  a 
corner,  and  had  what  she  termed  **  a  real  good  cry." 

But  no  crying,  or  talking,  or  hoping,  or  fearing,  could  keep  oflf  the  dreaded 
Saturday  afternoon,  or  Newman  Noggs  either  ;  who,  punctual  to  his  time, 
limped  up  to  the  door,  and  breathed  a  whiff  of  cordial  gin  through  the 
keyhole,  exactly  as  such  of  the  church  clocks  in  the  neighbourhood  as  agreed 
among  themselves  about  the  time  struck  five.  Newman  waited  for  the  last 
stroke,  and*  then  knocked. 

**  From  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,"  said  Newman,  announcing  his  errand,  when 
he  got  upstairs,  with  all  possible  brevity. 

**  We  shall  be  ready  airectly,"  said  Kate.  **  We  have  not  much  to  carry, 
but  I  fear  we  must  have  a  coach." 

**  I'll  get  one,"  replied  Newman. 

**  Indeed,  you  shall  not  trouble  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 

**  I  will,"  said  Newman. 

**  I  can't  suffer  you  to  think  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 

**  You  can't  help  it,"  said  Newman. 

"  Not  help  it  !  ^ 

"  No ;  I  thought  of  it  as  I  came  along  ;  but  didn't  get  one,  thinking 
you  mightn't  be  ready.  I  think  of  a  great  many  things.  Nobody  can 
prevent  that." 

**0h,  yes,  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Noggs,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "Our 
thoughts  are  free,  of  course.     Everybody's  thoughts  are  their  own,  clearly." 

"They  wouldn't  be,  if  some  people  had  th'eir  way,"  muttered  Newman. 

"  Well,  no  more  they  would,  Mr.  Noggs,  and  that's  very  true,"  rejoined 
Mrs.  Nickleby.     "  Some  people,  to  be  sure,  are  such — how's  your  master  t " 

Jf^awnuiii  darted  a  meaning  glance  at  Kate,  and  replied  with  a  strong 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  85 

emphasis  on  the  last  word  of  his  answer,  that  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  was  well, 
and  sent  his  hve, 

**  I  am  sure  we  are  very  mnch  obliged  to  him,"  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

*•  Very,"  said  Newman.     *'  I'll  tell  him  so." 

It  was  no  very  easy  matter  to  mistake  Newman  Noggs,  after  having  once 
seen  him,  and  as  Kate,  attracted  by  the  singularity  of  his  manner  (in  which 
on  this  occasion,  however,  there  was  something  respectful  and  even  delicate, 
notwithstanding  the  abruptness  of  his  speech),  looked  at  him  more  closely, 
she  recollected  having  caught  a  passing  glimpse  of  that  strange  figure  before. 

** Excuse  my  curiosity,'  she  said,  "but  did  I  not  see  you  in  the  coach- 
yard,  on  the  morning  my  brother  went  away  to  Yorkshire  ?  " 

Newman  cast  a  wistful  glance  on  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  said  **No,"  most 
uublushingly. 

**  No ! "  exclaimed  Kate,  '*  I  should  have  said  so  anywhere." 

"You'd  have  said  wrong,'*  rejoined  Newman.  "It's  the  first  time  I've 
been  out  for  three  weeks.     I've  had  the  gout." 

Newman  was  very,  very  far  from  having  the  appearance  of  a  gouty  subject, 
and  so  Kate  could  not  help  thinking ;  but  the  conference  was  cut  short  by 
Mrs.  Nickleby's  insisting  on  having  the  door  shut,  lest  Mr.  Noggs  should 
take  cold,  and  further  persisting  in  sending  the  servant  girl  for  a  coach, 
for  fear  he  should  bring  on  another  attack  of  his  disorder.  To  both  con- 
ditions Newman  was  compelled  to  yield.  Presently  the  coach  came ;  and, 
after  many  sorrowful  farewells,  and  a  great  deal  of  running  backwards  and 
forwards  across  the  pavement  on  the  part  of  Miss  La  Creevy,  in  the  course 
of  which  the  yellow  turban  came  into  violent  contact  with  sundry  foot 
passengers,  it  (that  is  to  say — the  coach,  not  the  turban)  went  away  again, 
with  the  two  ladies  and  their  luggage  inside  ;  and  Newman— despite  all  Mrs. 
Nickleby's  assurances  that  it  would  be  his  death — on  the  box  beside  the 
driver. 

They  went  into  the  City,  turning  down  by  the  river  side  ;  and,  after  a  long 
and  very  slow  drive,  the  streets  being  crowded  at  that  hour  with  vehicles 
of  every  kind,  stopped  in  front  of  a  large  old  dingy  house  in  Thames  Street ; 
the  door  and  windows  of  which  were  so  bespattered  with  mud,  that  it  would 
have  appeared  to  have  been  uninhabited  for  years. 

The  door  of  this  deserted  mansion  Newman  opened  with  a  key  which  he 
took  out  of  his  hat — in  which,  by-the-by,  in  consequence  of  the  dilapidated 
state  of  his  pockets,  he  deposited  everything,  and  would  most  likely  have 
carried  his  money  if  he  had  nad  any — and  the  coach  being  discharged,  he  led 
the  way  into  the  interior  of  the  mansion. 

Old,  and  gloomy,  and  black,  in  truth  it  was,  and  sullen  and  dark  were  the 
rooms,  once  so  bustling  with  life  and  enterprise.  There  was  a  wharf  behind, 
opening  on  the  Thames.  An  empty  dog-kennel,  some  bones  of  animals, 
fragments  of  iron  hoops,  and  staves  of  old  casks,  lay  strewn  about,  but  no  life 
was  stirring  there.     It  was  a  picture  of  cold,  silent  decay. 

**  This  house  depresses  and  chills  one,"  said  Kate,  "and  seems  as  if  some 
blight  had  fallen  on  it.  If  I  were  superstitious,  I  should  be  almost  inclined 
to  oelieve  that  some  dreadful  crime  had  been  perpetrated  within  these  old 
walls,  and  that  the  place  had  never  prospered  since.  How  frowning  and  how 
dark  it  looks  ! " 

"Lord,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "don't  talk  in  that  way,  or 
you'll  frighten  me  to  death." 

"  It  is  only  my  foolish  fancy,  mamma,"  said  Kate,  forcing  a  smile. 

"  Well,  then,  my  love,  I  wish  you  would  keep  your  foolish  fancy  to  yourself, 
and  not  wake  up  my  foolish  fancy  to  keep  it  company,"   xQtot{&^  ^x^. 


86  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Nickleby.  "  Why  didn't  you  think  of  all  this  before — ^yon  are  so  careless — 
we  might  have  asked  Miss  La  Creevy  to  keep  us  company,  or  borrowed  a  doff, 
or  a  thousand  things — bnt  it  always  was  the  way,  and  was  just  the  same  with. 

your  p<»r  dear  father.     Unless  I  thought  of  everything "    This  was  Mrs. 

Nickleby's  usual  commencement  of  a  general  lamentation,  running  through  a 
dozen  or  so  of  complicated  sentences  addressed  to  nobody  in  particular,  and 
into  which  she  now  launched  until  her  breath  was  exhausted. 

Newman  appeared  not  to  hear  these  remarks,  but  preceded  them  to  a  couple 
of  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  which  some  kind  of  attempt  had  been  made  to 
render  habitable.  In  one  were  a  few  chairs,  a  table,  an  old  hearth-mg,  and 
some  faded  baize  ;  and  a  fire  was  ready  laid  in  the  grate.  In  the  other  stood 
an  old  tent  bedst«id  and  a  few  scanty  articles  of  chamber  furniture. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  trjdng  to  be  pleased,  "now  isn't 
this  thoughtful  and  considerate  of  your  uncle  ?  Why,  we  should  not  have 
had  anything  but  the  bed  we  bought  yesterday  to  lie  down  upon,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  his  thoughtfulness  ! " 

"  Very  kind,  indeed,"  replied  Kate,  looking  round. 

Newman  Noggs  did  not  say  that  he  had  hunted  up  the  old  furniture  they 
saw,  from  attic  and  cellar ;  or  that  he  had  taken  in  the  halfpennyworth  of  • 
milk  for  tea  that  stood  upon  a  shelf,  or  filled  the  rusty  kettle  on  the  hob,  or 
collected  the  wood-chips  from  the  wharf,  or  begged  the  coals.  But  the  notion 
of  Ralph  Nickleby  having  directed  it  to  be  done  tickled  his  fancy  so  much, 
that  he  could  not  refrain  from  cracking  all  his  ten  fingers  in  succession  ;  at 
which  performance  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  rather  started  at  first,  but  supposing  it 
to  be  in  some  remote  manner  connected  with  the  gout,  did  not  remark  upon. 

**  We  need  detain  you  no  longer,  I  think,"  said  Kate. 

*'  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  ? '   asked  Newman. 

"  Nothing,  thank  you,"  rejoined  Miss  Nickleby. 

"Perhaps,  my  dear,  Mr.  Noggs  would  like  to  drink  our  healths,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  fumbling  in  her  reticule  for  some  small  coin. 

**I  think,  mamma,"  said  Kate,  hesitating,  and  remarking  Newman's 
averted  face,  **  you  would  hurt  his  feelings  if  you  oflered  it" 

Newman  Noggs,  bowing  to  the  young  lady  more  like  a  gentleman  than 
the  miserable  wietch  he  seemed,  placed  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  and  pausing 
for  a  moment,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  struggles  to  speak  but  is  uncertain 
what  to  say,  quitted  the  room. 

As  the  jarring  echoes  of  the  heavy  house-door,  closing  on  its  latch,  reverbe- 
rated dismally  through  the  building,  Kate  felt  half  tempted  to  call  him  back, 
and  beg  him  to  remain  a  little  while  ;  but  she  was  ashamed  to  own  her  fears, 
and  Newman  Noggs  was  on  his  road  homewards. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WHEREBY  THE  READER  WILL  BE  ENABLED  TO  TRACE  THE  FITRTHKR  OOITRSB 
OF  MISS  FANNY  SQUEERS's  LOVE,  AND  TO  ASCERTAIN  WHETHER  IT  RAN 
SMOOTH  OR  OTHERWISE. 

YT  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  Miss  Fanny  Squeers,  that  when  her 
T  worthy  ^apa  returned  home  on  the  night  of  the  small  tea-party,  he  was 
^  what  the  initiated  tenn  "  too  far  gone  "  to  observe  the  numerous  tokens 
of  extreme  vexation  of  spirit  which  were  plainly  visible  in  her  countenance. 
Being,  however,  of  a  ratner  violent  and  quarrelsome  mood  in  his  cups,  it  is 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  87 

not  impossible  tbat  lie  might  liave  fallen  out  with  her,  either  on. this  or  some 
imaginary  topic,  if  the  young  lady  liad  not,  with  a  foresight  and  pnidence 
highly  commendable,  kept  a  boy  up,  on  purpose  to  bear  the  first  brunt  of  the 
good  gentleman's  anger ;  which,  having  vented  itself  in  a  variety  of  kicks  and 
cuffs,  subsided  sufficiently  to  admit  of  his  being  persuaded  to  go  to  bed. 
Which  he  did  with  his  boots  on  and  an  umbrella  under  his  arm. 

The  hungry  servant  attended  Miss  Squeers  in  her  own  room  according  to 
custom,  to  curl  her  hair,  perform  the  other  little  offices  of  her  toilet,  and 
administer  as  much  flattery  as  she  could  get  up  for  the  purpose ;  for  Miss 
Squeers  was  quite  lazy  enough  (and  sufficiently  vain  and  frivolous  withal)  to 
have  been  a  fine  lady  ;  and  it  was  only  the  arbitrary  distinctions  of  rank  anJ 
station  which  prevented  her  from  being  one. 

'*  How  lovely  your  hair  do  curl  to-night,  miss  ! "  'said  the  handmaiden. 
"  I  declare  if  it  isn't  a  pity  and  a  shame  to  brush  it  out ! " 

"Hold  your  tongue  ! "  replied  Miss  Squeers,  wrathfully. 

Some  considerable  experience  prevented  the  girl  from  being  at  all  surprised 
at  any  outbreak  of  ill-temper  on  the  part  of  Miss  Squeers.  Having  a  half  per- 
ception of  what  had  occurred  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  she  changed  her 
mode  of  making  herself  agreeable,  and  proceeded  on  the  indirect  tack. 

**  Well,  I  couldn't  help  saying,  miss,  if  you  was  to  kill  me  for  it,"  said 
the  attendant,  ''that  I  never  see  nobody  look  so  vulgar  as  Miss  Price  this 
night." 

Miss  Squeers  sighed,  and  composed  herself  to  listen. 

**Iknow  it's  very  wrong  in  me  to  say  so,  miss,"  continued  the  girl,  de- 
lighted to  see  the  impression  she  was  making,  '*  Miss  Price  being  a  friend  of 
youm,  and  all ;  but  she  do  dress  herself  out  so,  and  go  on  in  a  such  a  manner 
to  get  noticed,  that — oh — well,  if  people  only  saw  themselves  ! " 

**What  do  you  mean,  Phib?"  asked  Miss  Squeers,  looking  in  her  own 
little  glass,  where,  like  most  of  us,  she  saw — now  herself,  but  the  reflection  of 
somepleasant  image  in  her  own  brain.     **  How  you  talk  !  " 

**  Talk,  miss  !  It's  enough  to  make  a  Tom  cat  talk  French  grammar,  only 
to  see  how  she  tosses  her  head,"  replied  the  handmaid. 

**She  does  toss  her  head,"  observed  Miss  Squeers,  with  an  air  of  abstrac- 
tion. 

**  So  vain,  and  so  very — ^very  plain,"  said  the  girl. 

**  Poor  'Tilda  ! "  sighed  Miss  Squeers,  compassionately. 

"And  always  laying  herself  out  so,  to  get  to  be  admired,"  pursued  the 
servant.     **  Oh,  dear!    It's  positive  indelicate. " 

**  I  can't  allow  you  to  talk  in  that  way,  Phib,"  said  Miss  Squeers. 
**  'Tilda's  friends  are  low  people,  and  if  she  don't  know  any  better,  it's  their 
fault,  and  not  hers." 

"Well,  but  you  know,  miss,"  said  Phoebe,  for  which  name  "Phib"  was 
used  as  a  patronising  abbreviation,  "if  she  was  only  to  take  a  copy  by  a 
friend — oh  !  if  she  only  knew  how  wrong  she  was,  and  would  but  set  herself 
right  by  you,  what  a  nice  young  woman  she  might  be  in  time  !  " 

"Phib,"  rejoined  Miss  Squeers,  with  a  stately  air,  "it's  not  proper  for 
me  to  hear  these  comparisons  drawn  ;  they  make  'Tilda  look  a  coarse, 
improper  sort  of  person,  and  it  seems  unfriendly  in  me  to  listen  to  them.  I 
would  rather  you  dropped  the  subject,  Phib  ;  at  the  same  time  I  must 
say,  that  if  "filda  Price  would  take  pattern  by  somebody — not  me  par- 
ticularly  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  you,  miss,"  interposed  Phib. 

"  Well,  me,  Phib,  if  you  will  have  it  so,"  said  Miss  Squeers.  "  I  must  say 
that  if  she  would,  she  would  be  all  the  better  for  it." 


88  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

''So  somebody  else  thinks,  or  I  am  mucb.  mistaken,"  said  the  g^rl, 
mysteriously. 

**  What  do  you  mean  ? "  demanded  Miss  Squeers. 

**  Never  mind,  miss,"  replied  the  girl ;  **  /know  what  I  know,  that's  alL" 

"Phib,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  dramatically,  ''I  insist  upon  your  explaining 
yourself.     "What  is  this  dark  mystery  ?    Speak." 

''Why,  if  you  will  have  it,  miss,  it's  this,"  said  the  servant  girl.  "Mr. 
John  Browdie  thinks  as  you  think  ;  and  if  he  wasn't  too  far  gone  to  do  it 
creditable,  he'd  be  very  glad  to  be  off  with  Miss  Price  and  on  with  Miss 
Squeers." 

"  Gracious  heavens ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Squeers,  clasping  her  hands  with 
great  dignity.     *'  What  is  this  ? " 

**  Truth,  ma'am,  and  nothing  but  truth,"  replied  the  artful  Phib. 

**  What  a  situation  1 "  cried  Miss  Squeers  ;  "on  the  brink  of  unconsciously 
destroying  the  peace  and  happiness  of  my  own  'Tilda,  What  is  the  reason 
that  men  fall  in  love  with  me  whether  I  like  it  or  not,  and  desert  their 
chosen  intendeds  for  my  sake  ? " 

"Because  they  can't  help  it,  miss,"  replied  the  girl ;  " the  reason's  plain." 
(If  Miss  Squeers  were  the  reason  it  was  very  plain.) 

"  Never  let  me  hear  of  it  again,"  retorted  Miss  Squeers.  "  Never  !  Do 
you  hear  ?  'Tilda  Price  has  faults — many  faults — but  I  wish  her  well,  and 
above  all,  I  wish  her  married  ;  for  I  think  it  highly  desirable — most  desirable 
from  the  very  nature  of  her  failings — that  she  should  be  married  as  soon  as 
possible.  No,  Phib.  Let  her  have  Mr.  Browdie.  I  may  pity  Am,  poor 
fellow ;  but  I  have  a  great  regard  for  'Tilda,  and  only  hope  she  may  make  a 
better  wife  than  I  think  she  will." 

With  this  effusion  of  feeling  Miss  Squeers  went  to  bed. 

Spite  is  a  little  word,  but  represents  as  strange  a  jumble  of  feelings  and 
compound  of  discords  as  any  polysyllable  in  the  language.  Miss  Squeers 
knew  as  well  in  her  heart  of  hearts  that  what  the  miserable  servant  girl  had 
said,  was  sheer,  coarse,  lying  flattery,  as  did  the  girl  herself ;  yet  the  mere 
opportunity  of  venting  a  little  ill-nature  against  the  offending  Miss  Price, 
and  affecting  to  compassionate  her  weaknesses  and  foibles,  thougli  only  in  the 
presence  of  a  solitary  dependant,  was  almost  as  great  a  relief  to  her  spleen  as 
if  the  whole  had  been  gospel  truth.  Nay,  more.  We  have  such  extra- 
ordinary powers  of  persuasion  when  they  are  exerted  over  ourselves,  that 
Miss  Squeers  felt  quite  high-minded  and  great  after  her  noble  renunciation  of 
John  Browdie's  hand,  and  looked  down  upon  her  rival  with  a  kind  of  holy 
calmness  and  tranquillity  that  had  a  mighty  effect  in  soothing  her  ruffled 
feelings. 

This  happy  state  of  mind  had  some  influence  in  bringing  about  a  reconcilia- 
tion ;  for,  when  a  knock  came  at  the  front  door  next  day,  and  the  miller's 
daughter  was  announced,  Miss  Squeers  betook  herself  to  the  parlour  in  a 
Christian  frame  of  spirit,  perfectly  beautiful  to  behold. 

"Well,  Fanny,"  said  the  miller's  daughter,  "you  see  I  have  come  to  see 
you,  although  we  Jwd  some  words  last  night." 

"  I  pity  your  bad  passions,  'Tilda,"  replied  Miss  Squeers  ;  "  but  I  bear  no 
malice.     I  am  above  it." 

"Don't  be  cross,  Fanny,"  said  Miss  Price.  "I  have  come  to  tell  you 
something  that  I  know  will  please  you." 

"  What  may  that  be,  'Tilda  ? "  demanded  Miss  Squeers  ;  screwing  up  her 
lips,  and  looking  as  if  nothing  in  earth,  air,  fire,  or  water,  could  affora  her  t^e 
slightest  gleam  of  satisfaction. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  89 

"  This,"  rejoined  Miss  Price.  "  After  we  left  here  last  night,  John  and  I 
had  a  dreadful  quarrel." 

*'That  doesnt  please  me,"  said  Miss  Sqneers — relaxing  into  a  smile, 
though. 

**  Lor !  I  wouldn't  think  so  bad  of  you  as  to  suppose  it  did,"  rejoined  her 
companion.     **, That's  not  it." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Miss  Sqneers,  relapsing  into  melancholy.     "  Go  on." 

"After  a  great  deal  of  wrangling,  and  saying  we  would  never  see  each  other 
any  more,"  continued  Miss  Price,  **  we  made  it  up,  and  this  morning  John 
went  and  wrote  our  names  down  to  be  put  up,  for  the  first  time,  next  Sunday, 
so  we  shall  be  married  in  three  weeks,  and  I  give  you  notice  to  get  your  frock 
made." 

There  was  mingled  gall  and  honey  in  this  intelligence.  The  prospect  of  the 
friend's  being  married  so  soon  was  the  gall,  and  the  certainty  of  her  not 
entertaining  serious  designs  upon  Nicholas  was  the  honey.  Upon  the  whole, 
the  sweet  greatly  preponderated  over  the  bitter,  so  Miss  Squeers  said  she 
would  get  the  frock  made,  and  that  she  hoped  'Tilda  might  be  nappy,  though 
at  the  same  time  she  didn't  know,  and  would  not  have  her  build  too  much 
upon  it,  for  men  were  strange  creatures,  and  a  great  many  married  women 
were  very  miserable,  and  wished  themselves  single  again  with  all  their  hearts  ; 
to  which  condolences  Miss  Squeers  added  others  equally  calculated  to  raise 
her  friend's  spirits  and  promote  her  cheerfulness  of  mind. 

"But  come,  now,  Fanny,"  said  Miss  Price,  **I  want  to  have  a  word  or 
two  with  you  about  young  Mr.  Nickleby." 

"  He  is  nothing  to  me,"  interrupted  Miss  Squeers,  with  hysterical  symptoms. 
*'  I  despise  him  too  much  !  " 

**  Oh,  you  don't  mean  that,  I'm  sure  ? "  replied  her  friend.  "  Confess, 
Fanny  ;  don't  you  like  him,  now  ? " 

Without  returning  any  direct  reply.  Miss  Squeers,  all  at  once,  fell  into  a 
paroxysm  of  spiteful  tears,  and  exclaimed  that  she  was  a  wretched,  neglected, 
miserable  castaway. 

**  I  hate  everybody,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  "and  I  wish  that  everybody  was 
dead— that  I  do." 

"Dear,  dear!"  said  Miss  Price,  quite  moved  by  this  avowal  of  misan- 
thropical sentiments.     **  You  are  not  serious,  I  am  sure." 

"Yes,  I  am,"  reioined  Miss  Squeers,  tying  tight  knots  in  her  pocket- 
handkerchief  and  clenching  her  teeth.  "And  I  wish  I  was  dead,  too. 
There  ! " 

"  Oh  I  you'll  think  very  differently  in  another  five  minutes,"  said  Matilda. 
**  How  much  better  to  take  him  into  favour  again,  than  to  hurt  yourself  by 
going  on  in  that  way.  Wouldn't  it  be  much  nicer,  now,  to  have  him  all  to 
yourself  on  good  terms,  in  a  company-keeping,  love-making,  pleasant  sort  of 
manner  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  but  what  it  would,"  sobbed  Miss  Squeers.  "Oh  !  'Tilda, 
how  could  you  have  acted  so  mean  and  dishonourable  1  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  it  of  you,  if  anybody  had  told  me." 

"  Heyday  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Price,  giggling,  "  One  would  suppose  I  had 
been  murdering  somebody  at  least." 

"  Verv  nigh  as  bad,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  passionately. 

"  And  all  this,  because  I  happen  to  have  enough  of  good  looks  to  make 
people  civil  to  me,"  cried  Miss  Price.  "  Persons  don't  make  their  own  faces, 
and  it's  no  more  my  fault  if  mine  is  a  good  one,  than  it  is  other  people's  fault 
if  theirs  is  «  bad  one. " 


90  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**HoM  your  tongue,"  shrieked  Miss  Squeers,  in  her  shrillest  tone;  "or 
you'll  make  me  slap  you,  'Tilda,  and  afterwards  1  should  be  sorry  for  it ! " 

It  is  needless  to  say,  that,  by  this  time,  the  temper  of  each  yoane  lady  was 
in  some  slight  degree  affected  by  the  tone  of  her  conrersation,  and  that  a  dash 
of  i^rsonality  was  infused  into  the  altercation  in  consequence.  Indeed,  the 
quarrel,  from  slight  beginnings,  rose  to  a  considerable  height,  and  was 
assuming  a  very  violent  complexion,  when  both  parties,  falling  into  a  great 
passion  of  tears,  exclaimed  simultaneously,  that  they  had  never  thought  of 
being  spoken  to  in  that  way  :  which  exclamation,  leading  to  a  remonstrance, 
gradually  brouirUt  on  an  explanation :  and  the  upshot  was,,  that  they  fell 
into  each  other's  arms  ami  vowed  eternal  friendship ;  the  occasion  in  question 
making  the  tifty-second  time  of  repeating  the  same  impressive  ceremony 
within  a  twelvemonth. 

Perfect  amicability  beins;  thus  restored,  a  dialogue  naturally  ensued  upon 
the  number  and  nature  of  the  garments  which  would  be  indispensable  for  Miss 
EVice's  entrance  into  the  holy  state  of  matrimony,  when  Miss  S(|ueers  dearij 
showeti  that  a  great  many  more  than  the  miller  could,  or  would,  afford,  were 
ab^uutely  necessary,  and  could  not  decently  be  tlLspensed  with.  The  young 
lady  then,  by  an  easy  digression,  letl  the  discourse  to  her  own  wardrobe,  and 
after  recounting  its  principal  beauties  at  some  length,  took  her  fHend 
upstairs  to  make  inspection  thereof.  The  treasures  of  two  drawers  and  m 
clotset  having  been  displayed,  and  all  the  smaller  articles  tried  on,  it  wis 
time  for  Miss  Price  to  return  home  :  and  as  she  had  been  in  raptures 
wi:h  all  tlie  frocks,  aaa  had  been  stricken  t^uite  dumb  with  admiration 
of  a  new  pink  scarf.  Miss  Squeers  said,  in  high  good-humour,  that  she 
wo-old  walk  part  of  tlie  way  wi:h  her.  tor  the  pleasure  of  her  company ; 
and  off  tiiey  went  together :  Miss  :?t|aeers  dilating,  as  they  walked  along, 
upon  her  father's  accomplishments ;  and  multirlyiiig  his  income  by  ten,  to 
give  her  firiezd  some  faint  notion  of  the  vast  importance  and  superiority  of 
her  family. 

It  happened  thafr  that  particular  time,  comprising  the  short  daily  interval 
whi.a  was  s:i5er«d  to  elapse  between  what  was  pleaaan.tly  called  the  dinner,  of 
Mr.  S^inctrr$*3  pupils^  and  t:;<?fr  return  to  the  p::rsuir»  of  useful  knowledge, 
WAS  precisely  tiie  hour  wlien  XL'ho'-as  :v-is  accustomed  to  issue  forth  for  m 
nie*an:lioly  walk,  and  to  brood,  as  he  sauntered  listlessly  through  the  Tillage, 
uron  uis  'miserable  lor.  i[:ss  S^^^ueers  knew  t-iis  pertectly  well,  but  had 
periars  forp^rten  it.  t-^r  when  slie  can^rlit  sirht  of  that  young  gentleman 
a.ivi--:izc  towards  tliiui.  she  evince^l  :vanv  svmrton:<  of  surprise  and 
ccusrcr-UAti-'u.  mi  i?4iur^rc  c.:r  irirud  tua:  52.:  •*  ir.t  r.t  to  ^irop  into  the 
earth-" 

**  Shall  w^  turn  bdjc.  or  rin  into  a  vvrtaci:  •*'  ask^  Miss  Price.  "  He 
ion  t  see  ns  yit/" 

"  Xo,  Til'ia."  repli-^:  >[:ss  S-neer?.  **  i:  -Is  my  slury  ro  ;??  throogli  with  it, 
an-.i  I  wi.^ . 

As  Miss  Syifers  «iii  this  iu  the  tor.-?  oc'  :::?  who  his  nLadeahigii  moral 
rsfolutior.  ml  was*  btsii-s.  taken  wi:h  or;  :r  t\v-o  ohofce*  and  catchings 
of  brisiti.  iniioative  :c'  rVlirjr?  a"  a  hL:'_  rrsrsjicre.  her  friend  made  no 
farther  rscMr^.  and  they  l?«-ce  sTrthrht  irv-  n?cn  Xicholis.  whoi,  walking 
witi.  hij  ^y^'s  :en:  urcn  th'f  cr-:.:"  h  ^v-as  -  •:  iwar^  of  their  aprcoaich  until 
chey  wTir;  vrlose  "vcr.  >::n  :  :rherwi>e  he  n:i-:hr.  rerhapi?.  hav«  taken  skelter 

htTTT«ll 

"  Vtvvd  aomin;;  ■  "  Siii-i  yi'h'.' Js*  K'  virc..  i"  i  rossiuc  ^y. 

**  He  » liotrj:."  ninrr-i-:r«ii  Misi?  S;u«:er5.     "  I  sli^ll  :h:k.*.  T^l'Ia." 
**Coo«  W'k.  Mr.  yicilicv.  1:     '"  ^r.O'i  Mix?  Irioe.  a^o.tL-^  alarm  at  her 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  91 

friend's  threat,  but  really  actuated  by  a  malicious  wish  to  hear  what  Nicholas 
would  say  ;  **  come  back,  Mr.  l^ickleby  !  " 

Mr.  Nickleby  came  back,  and  looked  as  confused  as  might  be,  as  he  inc^uii'ed 
whether  the  ladies  had  any  commands  for  him. 

**  Don't  stop  to  talk,"  urged  Miss  Price,  hastily ;  **  but  support  her  on  the 
other  side.     How  do  you  feel  now,  dear  ? " 

**  Better,"  sighed  Miss  Squeers,  laying  a  beaver  bonnet  of  a  reddish-brown 
with  a  green  veil  attached,  on  Mr.  Nickleby's  shoulder.  **This  foolish 
faintness ! " 

*'  Don't  call  it  foolish,  dear,"  said  Miss  Price :  her  bright  eye  dancing  with 
merriment  as  she  saw  the  perplexity  of  Nicholas  ;  **  you  have  no  reason  to  bo 
ashamed  of  it.  It's  those  who  are  too  proud  to  come  round  again,  without  all 
this  to-do,  that  ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"You  are  resolved  to  fix  it  upon  me,  I  see,"  said  Nicholas,  smiling, 
**  although  I  told  you  last  night  it  was  not  my  fault." 

*'  There  ;  he  says  it  was  not  his  fault,  my  dear,"  remarked  the  wicked  Miss 
Price.  **  Perhaps  you  wore  too  jealous,  or  too  hasty  with  him  ?  He  says  it 
was  not  his  fault.     You  hear  ;  I  think  that's  apology  enough." 

**  You  will  not  understand  me,"  said  Nicholas.  "  Pray  dispense  with  this 
jesting,  for  I  have  no  time,  and  really  no  inclination,  to  be  the  subject  or 
promoter  of  mirth  just  now." 

**  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Miss  Price,  affecting  amazement. 

"Don't  ask  him,  'Tilda,"  cried  Miss  Squeers  ;  "  I  forgive  him." 

'*  Dear  me,"  said  Nicholas,  as  the  brown  bonnet  went  down  on  his  shoulder 
again,  **this  is  more  serious  than  I  supposed.  Allow  me  !  Will  you  have 
the  goodness  to  hear  me  speak  ?  " 

Here  he  rajsed  up  the  brown  bonnet,  and  regarding  with  most  unfeigned 
astonishment  a  look  of  tender  reproach  from  Miss  Squeers,  shrunk  back  a  few 
paces  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  the  fair  burden,  and  went  on  to  say — 

"  I  am  very  sorry — truly  and  sincerely  sorry — for  having  been  the  cause  of 
any  difference  among  you  last  night.  I  reproach  myseli  most  bitterly  for 
having  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  cause  the  dissension  that  occurred,  although 
I  did  so,  I  assure  you,  most  unwittingly  and  heedlessly. " 

**  Well ;  that's  not  all  you  have  got  to  say,  surely,"  exclaimed  Miss  Price, 
as  Nicholas  paused. 

"  I  fear  there  is  nothing  more,"  stammered  Nicholas,  with  a  half  smile, 
and  looking  towards  Miss  Squeers,  "it  is  a  most  awkward  thing  to  say — but 
— the  very  mention  of  such  a  supposition  makes  one  look  like  a  puppy — still 
— ^may  I  ask  if  that  lady  supposes  that  I  entertain  any — in  short,  does  she 
think  I  am  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

**  Delightful  embarrassment,"  thought  Miss  Squeers,  "  I  have  brought  him 
to  it  at  last.     Answer  for  me,  dear,"  she  whispered  to  her  friend. 

*'  Does  she  think  so  ?  "  rejoined  Miss  Price  ;  **  of  course  she  does." 

**  She  does  !  "  exclaimed  Nicholas,  with  such  energy  of  utterance  as  might 
have  been,  for  the  moment,  mistaken  for  rapture. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Miss  Price. 

**  If  Mr.  Nickleby  has  doubted  that,  'Tilda,"  said  the  blushing  Miss 
Squeers,  in  soft  accents,  *  *  he  may  set  his  mind  at  rest.  His  sentiments  are 
recipro " 

"Stop,"  cried  Nicholas,  hurriedly;  "pray  hear  me.  This  is  the  grossest 
and  wildest  delusion,  the  completest  and  most  signal  mistake,  that  ever 
human  being  laboured  under  or  committed.  I  have  scarcely  seen  the  young 
lady  half-a-dozen  times,  but  if  I  had  seen  her  sixty  times,  or  am  destined  to 
see  her  sixty  thousand,  it  would  be,  and  will  be,  precisely  the  aame.    \  V'a^^ 


92  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

not  one  thought,  wishi  or  hope  connected  with  her,  unless  it  be — and  I  say 
this,  not  to  hurt  her  feelings,  but  tp  impress  her  with  the  real  state  of  my 
own — unless  it  be  the  one  object,  dear  to  my  heart  as  life  itself,  of  being 
one  day  able  to  turn  my  back  upon  this  accursed  place,  never  to  set  foot  in  it 
again,  or  think  of  it — even  think  of  it — but  with  loathing  and  disgust" 

With  this  particularly  plain  and  straightforward  declaration,  which  he 
made  with  all  the  vehemence  that  his  indignant  and  excited  feelings  could 
bring  to  bear  upon  it,  Nicholas,  waiting  to  hear  no  more,  retreated. 

But  poor  Miss  Squeors  i  Her  anger,  rage,  and  vexation  ;  the  rapid  succes- 
sion of  bitter  and  passionate  feelings  that  whirled  through  her  mind,  are  not 
to  be  described.  Refused  1  refused  by  a  teacher,  picked  up  by  advertisement, 
at  an  annual  salary  of  five  pounds,  payable  at  indefinite  periods,  and  **  found" 
in  food  and  lodging  like  the  very  boys  themselves ;  and  this,  too,  in  the 
presence  of  a  little  chit  of  a  miller's  daughter  of  eighteen,  who  was  going  to 
be  married  in  three  weeks*  time  to  a  man  who  haa  gone  down  on  his  very 
knees  to  ask  her !  She  could  have  choked  in  right  good  earnest  at  the 
thought  of  being  so  humbled. 

But  there  was  one  thing  clear  in  the  midst  of  her  mortification  ;  and  that 
was,  that  she  hated  and  detested  Nicholas  with  all  the  narrowness  of  mind 
and  littleness  of  purpose  worthy  of  a  descendant  of  the  house  of  Squeers. 
And  there  was  one  comfort  too ;  and  that  was,  that  every  hour  in  every  day 
she  could  wound  his  pride,  and  goad  him  with  the  infliction  of  some  slight, 
or  insult,  or  deprivation,  which  could  not  but  have  some  effect  on  the  most 
insensible  person,  and  must  be  acutely  felt  by  one  so  sensitive  as  Nicholas. 
With  these  two  reflections  uppermost  in  her  mind.  Miss  Squeers  made  the 
best  of  the  matter  to  her  friend,  by  observing  that  Mr.  Nickleby  was  such  an 
odd  creature,  and  of  such  a  violent  temper,  that  she  feared  she  should  be 
obliged  to  give  him  up  ;  and  parted  from  her. 

And  here  it  may  be  remarked,  that  Miss  Squeers,  having  bestowed  her 
affections  (or  whatever  it  might  be  that,  in  the  absence  of  anything  better, 
represented  them)  on  Nicholas  Nickleby,  had  never  once  seriously  contem- 
plated the  possibility  of  his  being  of  a  difl'crent  opinion  from  herself  in  the 
business.  Miss  Squeers  reasoned  that  she  was  prepossessing  and  beautiful, 
and  that  her  father  was  master,  and  Nicholas  man,  and  that  her  father  had 
saved  money,  and  Nicholas  had  none,  all  of  which  seemed  to  her  conclusive 
arguments  why  the  young  man  should  feel  only  too  much  honoured  by  her 
preference.  She  had  not  failed  to  recollect,  either,  how  much  more  agreeable 
she  could  render  his  situation  if  she  were  his  friend,  and  how  much  more  dis- 
agreeable if  she  were  his  enemy ;  and,  doubtless,  many  less  scrupulous  young 
gentlemen  than  Nicholas  would  have  encouraged  her  extravagance  had  it  been 
only  for  this  very  obvious  and  intelligible  reason.  However,  he  had  thought 
proper  to  do  otherwise,  and  Miss  Squeers  was  outrageous. 

**Let  him  see,"  said  the  irritated  young  lady,  when  she  had  regained  her 
own  room,  and  eased  her  mind  by  committing  an  assault  on  Phib,  **if  I  don't 
set  mother  against  him  a  little  more  when  she  comes  back  !  " 

It  was  scarcely  necessary  to  do  this,  but  Miss  Squeers  was  as  good  aa  her 
word ;  and  poor  Nicholas,  in  addition  to  bad  food,  dirty  lodging,  and  the 
being  compelled  to  witness  one  dull,  unvarying  round  of  squalid  misery,^  was 
treated  with  every  special  indignity  that  malice  could  suggest,  or  the  most 
grasping  cupidity  put  upon  him. 

Nor  was  this  all.  There  was  another  and  deeper  system  of  annoyance 
which  made  his  heart  sink,  and  nearly  drove  him  wild,  by  its  injustice  and 
cruelty. 

The  wretched  creature,  Smike,  since  the  night  Nicholas  had  spoken  kindly 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  93 

to  him  in  the  school-room,  had  followed  him  to  and  fro,  with  an  ever  restless 
desire  to  serve  or  help  him  ;  anticipating  such  little  wants  as  his  humble 
ability  could  supply,  and  content  only  to  be  near  him.  He  would  sit  beside 
him  for  hours,  looking  patiently  into  his  face  ;  and  a  word  would  brighten  up 
his  care-worn  visage,  and  call  into  it  a  passing  gleam  even  of  happiness.  He 
was  an  altered  being  ;  he  had  an  object  now  ;  and  that  object  was,  to  show  his 
attachment  to  the  only  person — that  person  a  stranger — who  had  treated  him 
not  to  say  with  kindness,  but  like  a  human  creature. 

Upon  this  poor  being  all  the  spleen  and  ill-humour  that  could  not  be  vented 
on  Nicholas  were  unceasingly  bestowed.  Drudgery  would  have  been  nothing 
— Smike  was  well  used  to  that.  Buffetings  inflicted  without  cause  would 
have  been  equally  a  matter  of  course ;  for  to  them  also  he  had  served  a  long 
and  weary  apprenticeship ;  but  it  was  no  sooner  observed  that  he  had  become 
attached  to  Nicholas,  than  stripes  and  blows,  stripes  and  blows,  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  were  his  only  portion.  Squeers  was  jealous  of  the  influence 
which  his  ipan  had  so  soon  acquired,  and  nis  family  hated  him,  and  Smike 
paid  for  both.  Nicholas  saw  it,  and  ground  his  teeth  at  every  repetition  of 
the  savage  and  cowardly  attack. 

He  had  arranged  a  few  regular  lessons  for  the  boys  ;  and  one  night  as  he 
paced  up  and  down  the  dismal  schoolroom,  his  swollen  heart  almost  bursting  to 
think  that  his  protection  and  countenance  should  have  increased  the  misery 
of  the  wretched  being  whose  peculiar  destitution  had  awakened  his  pity,*  he 
paused  mechanically  in  a  dark  corner  where  sat  the  object  of  his  thoughts. 

The  poor  soul  was  poring  hard  over  a  tattered  book,  with  the  traces  of 
recent  tears  still  upon  his  face ;  vainly  endeavouring  to  master  some  task 
which  a  child  of  nine  years  old,  possessed  of  ordinary  powers,  could  have  con- 
quered with  ease,  but  which  to  the  addled  brain  of  the  crushed  boy  of 
nineteen  was  a  sealed  and  hopeless  mystery.  Yet,  there  he  sat,  patiently 
conning  the  page  again  and  again,  stimulated  by  no  boyish  ambition,  for  he 
was  the  common  jest  and  scon  even  of  the  uncouth  objects  that  congregated 
about  him,  but  inspired  by  the  one  eager  desii'e  to  please  his  solitary  friend. 

Nicholas  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  said  the  dejected  creature,  looking  up  with  bitter  dis- 
appointment in  every  feature.     "  No,  no." 

"Do  not  try,"  replied  Nicholas. 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  and  closing  the  book  with  a  sigh,  looked  vacantly 
round,  and  laid  his  head  upon  his  arm.     He  was  weeping. 

"Do  not,  for  God's  sake,"  said  Nicholas,  in  an  agitated  voice  ;  " I  cannot 
bear  to  see  you." 

**  They  are  more  hard  with  me  than  ever,"  sobbed  the  boy. 

"  I  know  it,"  rejoined  Nicholas.     "  They  are." 

"  But  for  you,"  said  the  outcast,  *'  I  should  die.  They  would  kill  me  ; 
they  would  ;  I  know  they  would." 

**  You  will  do  better,  poor  fellow,"  replied  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head 
mournfully,  **  when  I  am  gone." 

**  Gone  ! "  cried  the  other,  looking  intently  in  his  face. 

**  Softly  !  "  rejoined  Nicholas.     * '  Yes. " 

'*  Are  you  going  ? "  demanded  the  boy  in  an  earnest  whisper. 

**  I  cannot  say,"  replied  Nicholas.  "  I  was  speaking  more  to  my  own 
thoughts  than  to  you." 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  boy,  imploringly.  "Oh,  do  tell  me,  will  you  go — 
toiUyouV* 

"  I  shall  be  di'iven  to  that  at  last ! "  said  Nicholas.  "  The  world  is  before 
me,  after  alL" 


94  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  Tell  me,"  urged  Smike,  '*  is  the  world  as  bad  and  dismal  as  this  place  ? " 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  replied  Nicholas,  pursuing  the  train  of  his  own  thoughts  j 
•*  its  hardest,  coarsest  toil  were  happiness  to  this." 

"Should  I  ever  meet  you  there?"  demanded  the  boy,  speaking  with 
unusual  wildness  and  volubility. 

'*  Yes,"  replied  Nicholas,  willing  to  soothe  him. 

*'  No,  no,"  said  the  other,  clasping  him  by  the  hand.  "  Should  I — should 
I— tell  me  that  again.     Say  I  should  be  sure  to  find  you." 

"You  would,"  replied  Nicholas,  with  the  same  humane  intention,  "and  I 
would  help  and  aid  you,  and  not  bring  fresh  sorrow  on  you,  as  I  have  done 
here." 

The  boy  caught  both  the  young  man's  hands  passionately  in  his,  and, 
hugging  them  to  his  breast,  uttered  a  few  broken  sounds  which  were  unin- 
telligible. Squeers  entered  at  the  moment,  and  he  shrunk  back  into  his  old 
corner. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

NICHOLAS  VAMES  THE  MONOTONY  OF  DOTHEBOYS  HALL  BY  A  MOST  YIGOKOUB 
AND  BEMARKABLE  FROOEEDINO,  WHICH  LEADS  TO  CONSEQUENCES  OF 
SOME  IMPORTANCE. 

THE  cold,  feeble  dawn  of  a  January  morning  was  stealing  in  at  the 
windows  of  the  common  sleeping- room,  when  Nicholas,  raising  himself 
on  his  aim,  looked  among  the  prostrate  forms  which  on  every  side 
surrounded  him,  as  though  in  search  of  some  particular  object. 

It  needed  a  quick  eye  to  detect,  from  among  the  huddled  mass  of  sleepers, 
the  form  of  any  given  individual.  As  they  lay  closely  packed  together, 
covered,  for  warmth's  sake,  with  their  patched  and  ragged  clothes,  little  could 
be  distinguished  but  the  sharp  outlines  of  pale  faces,  over  which  the  sombre 
light  shed  the  same  dull  heavy  colour ;  with  here  and  there  a  gaunt  arm 
thrust  forth  ;  its  thinness  hidden  by  no  covering,  but  fully  exposed  to  view, 
in  all  its  shrunken  ugliness.  There  were  some  who,  lying  on  their  backs,  with 
upturned  faces  and  clenched  hands,  just  visible  in  the  leaden  light,  bore  more 
the  aspect  of  dead  bodies  than  of  living  creatures  ;  and  there  were"  others 
coiled  up  into  strange  and  fantastic  postures,  such  as  might  have  been  taken 
for  the  uneasy  efforts  of  pain  to  gain  some  temporary  relief,  rather  than  the 
freaks  of  slumber.  A  few — and  these  were  among  the  youngest  of  the  children 
— slept  peacefully  on,  with  smiles  upon  their  faces,  dreaming  perhaps  of 
home  ;  but  ever  and  again  a  deep  and  heavy  sigh,  breaking  the  stillness  of 
the  room,  announced  niat  some  new  sleeper  had  awakened  to  the  misery  of 
another  day  ;  and,  as  morning  took  the  place  of  night,  the  smiles  gradually 
laded  away  with  the  friendly  darkness  which  had  given  them  birth. 

Dreams  are  the  bright  creatures  of  poem  and  legend,  who  sport  on  earth  in 
the  night  season,  and  melt  away  in  the  first  beam  of  the  sun,  which  lights 
grim  care  and  stern  reality  on  their  daily  pilgrimage  through  the  world. 

Nicholas  looked  upon  the  sleepers  ;  at  first,  with  the  air  of  one  who  gazes 
upon  a  scene  which,  though  familiar  to  him,  has  lost  none  of  its  sorrowful 
effect  in  consequence  ;  and,  afterwards,  witli  a  more  intense  and  searching 
scrutiny,  as  a  man  would,  who  missed  something  his  eye  was  accustomed  to 
meet,  and  had  expected  to  rest  upon.  He  was  still  occupied  in  this  search, 
and  had  hsdf  risen  from  his  bed  in  the  eagerness  of  his  (]^uest,  when  the  roice 
of  Squeers  was  heard,  calling  from  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  95 

'*  Now  then,"  cried  that  gentleman,  *'are  you  going  to  sleep  all  day,  up 
there " 

"You  lazy  hounds?"  added  Mrs.  Squeers,  finishing  the  sentence,  and 
producing,  at  the  same  time,  a  sharp  sound,  like  that  which  is  occasioned  by 
the  lacing  of  stays. 

"  "We  shall  be  down  directly,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

**  Down  directly  !  "  said  Squeers.     "  Ah  !  you  had  better  be  down  directly, 
or  ril  be  down  upon  some  of  you  in  less.     Where's  that  Smike  ? " 

Nicholas  looked  hurriedly  round  again,  but  made  no  answer. 

**  Smike  !  "  shouted  Squeers. 

**  Do  you  want  your  head  broke  in  a  fresh  place,  Smike  ?  "  demanded  his 
amiable  lady,  in  the  same  key. 

Still  there  was  no  reply,  and  still  Nicholas  stared  about  him,  as  did  the 
greater  part  of  the  boys,  who  were  by  this  time  roused. 

' '  Confound  his  impudence ! "  muttered  Squeers,  rapping  the  stair  rail 
impatiently  with  his  cane.     **  Nickleby  !  " 

'*  Well,  sir." 

**  Send  that  obstinate  scoundrel  down  ;  don't  you  hear  me  calling  ? " 

**  He  is  not  here,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

**  Don't  tell  me  a  lie,"  retorted  the  schoolmaster.     **  He  is." 

**  He  is  not,"  retorted  Nicholas,  angrily,  *'  don't  tell  me  one." 

**  We  shall  soon  see  that,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  rushing  upstairs.  **  I'll  find 
him,  I  warrant  you." 

With  which  assurance,  Mr.  Squeers  bounced  into  the  dormitory,  and, 
swinging  his  cane  in  the  air  ready  for  a  blow,  darted  into  the  corner  where  the 
lean  body  of  the  drudge  was  usually  stretched  at  night.  The  cane  descended 
harmlessly  upon  the  ground.     There  was  nobody  there. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ? "  said  Squeers,  turning  round  with  a  very  pale 
face.     *'  Where  have  you  hid  him  ? " 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him  since  last  night,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"Come,"  said  Squeers,  evidently  frightened,  though  he  endeavoured  to 
look  otherwise,  "  you  won't  save  him  this  way.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

**  At  the  bottom  of  the  nearest  pond,  for  aught  I  know,"  rejoined  Nicholas, 
in  a  low  voice,  and  fixing  his  eyes  full  on  the  master's  face. 

**D — n  you,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  retorted  Squeers,  in  great  per- 
turbation. Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  inquired  of  the  boys  whether  any 
one  among  them  knew  anything  of  their  missing  schoolmate. 

There  was  a  general  hum  of  anxious  denial,  in  the  midst  of  which,  one  shrill 
voice  was  heard  to  say  (as,  indeed,  everybody  thought) — 

"Please,  sir,  I  think  Smike's  run  away,  sir." 

•'Ha  ! "  cried  Squeers,  turning  sharply  round  ;  **  who  said  that  ? " 

"Tompkins,  please,  sir,"  rejomed  a  chorus  of  voices.  Mr.  Squeers  made  a 
plunge  into  the  crowd,  and,  at  one  dive,  caught  a  very  little  boy,  habited  still 
in  ^)^  night  gear,  and  the  perplexed  expression  of  whose  countenance  as  he  - 
was  brought  forward,  seemed  to  intimate  that  he  was  as  yet  uncertain  whether 
he  was  about  to  be  punished  or  rewarded  for  the  suggestion.  He  was  not  long 
in  doubt. 

**  You  think  he  has  run  away,  do  you,  sir  ? "  demanded  Squeers. 

"Yes,  please,  sir,"  replied  the  little  boy. 

"And  what,  sir,"  said  Squeers,  catching  the  little  boy  suddenly  by  the 
arms,  and  whisking  up  his  drapery  in  a  most  dexterous  manner,  "  what 
reason  have  you  to  suppose  that  any  boy  would  want  to  run  away  from  this 
establishment     Eh,  sir  ?  " 

The  child  raised  a  dismal  cry,  by  way  of  answer,  and  Mr.  Squeers,  throwing 


96  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

himself  into  the  most  favourable  attitude  for  exercising  his  strength,  beat  him 
until  the  little  urchin  in  his  writhings  actually  rolled  out  of  his  nands,  when 
ho  mercifully  allowed  him  to  roll  away  as  he  best  could. 

"There,"  said  Squeers.  "Now,  if  any  other  boy  thinks  Sinike  has  nm 
away,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  talk  with  him." 

There  was,  of  course,  a  profound  silence,  during  which  Nicholas  showed 
his  disgust  as  plainly  as  looks  could  show  it. 

'*  Well,  Nickleby,"  said  Squeers,  eyeing  him  maliciously.  "  To}k  think  he 
has  run  away,  I  suppose  % " 

**  I  think  it  extremely  likely,"  replied  Nicholas,  in  a  quiet  manner. 

**  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ?  "  sneered  Squeers.     **  Maybe  you  know  he  hast*' 

**  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind." 

*'  He  didn't  tell  you  he  was  going,  I  suppose,  did  he  \ "  sneered  Squeers. 

'•He  did  not,"  replied  Nicholas;  "1  am  very  glad  he  did  not,  for  it 
would  then  have  been  my  duty  to  have  warned  you  in  time." 

**  Which  no  doubt  you  would  have  been  devilish  sorry  to  do,"  said  Squeers, 
in  a  taunting  fashion. 

**  I  should,  indeed,"  replied  Nicholas.  **  You  interpret  my  feelings  with 
great  accuracy." 

Mrs.  Squeers  had  listened  to  this  conversation  from  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  ;  but,  now  losing  all  patience,  she  hastily  assumed  her  night-jacket,  and 
made  her  way  to  the  scene  of  action. 

'*  What's  all  this  here  to-do  ? "  said  the  lady,  as  the  boys  fell  off  right  and 
left,  to  save  her  the  trouble  of  clearing  a  passage  with  her  brawny  arms. 
"  What  on  earth  arc  you  a  talking  to  him  for,  Squeery  ? " 

**Why,  my  dear,"  said  Squeers,.  **the  fact  is,  that  Smike  is  not  to  be 
found." 

•*Well,  I  know  that,"  said  the  lady,  "andwhere's  the  wonder?  If  yoa 
g(3t  a  parcel  of  proud-stomached  teachers  that  set  the  young  dogs  a  rebelling, 
what  else  can  you  look  for  ?  Now,  young  man,  you  just  have  the  kindness 
to  take  yourself  off  to  the  school-room,  and  take  the  boys  off  with  you,  and 
don't  you  stir  out  of  there  'till  you  have  leave  given  you,  or  you  and  I  may 
lall  out  in  a  way  that'll  spoil  your  beauty,  handsome  as  you  think  yourself, 
and  so  I  tell  you." 

**  Indeed  1 "  said  Nicholas. 

**  Yes  ;  and  indeed  and  indeed  again.  Mister  Jackanapes,"  said  the  excited 
lady  ;  ''  and  I  wouldn't  keep  such  as  you  in  the  house  another  hour,  if  I  had 
my  way. " 

**  Nor  would  you,  if  I  had  mine,"  replied  Nicholas.     "  Now,  boys." 

**  Ah  !  Now,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  mimicking,  as  nearly  as  she  could, 
the  voice  and  manner  of  the  usher.     ''Follow  your  leader,  boys,  and  take 

Eattern  by  Smike  if  you  dare.     See  what  he'll  get  for  himself  when  he  is 
rought  back  ;  and  mind,  I  tell  you  that  you  shall  have  as  bad,  and  twice  as 
bad,  if  you  so  much  as  open  your  mouths  about  him." 

"  If  I  catch  him,"  said  Squeers,  '*  I'll  only  stop  short  of  flaying  him  alive. 
I  give  you  notice,  boys." 

^'*  1/  you.  catch  him,"  retorted  Mrs.  Squeers,  contemptuously,  '*you  are 
sure  to,  you  can't  help  it,  if  you  go  the  right  way  to  work.  Come  !  Away 
with  you ! " 

With  these  words,  Mrs.  Squeers  dismissed  the  boys,  and  after  a  little  light 
skirmishing  with  those  in  the  rear  who  were  pressing  forward  to  get  out  of  the 
way,  but  were  detained  for  a  few  moments  by  the  throng  in  front,  succeeded 
in  clearing  the  room,  when  she  confronted  her  spouse  alone. 

"  He  is  off,"  said  Mrs.  Squeers.     "The  cow-house  and  stable  are  locked  up, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  97 

BO  he  can't  be  there  ;  and  he's  not  downstairs  anywhere,  for  the  girl  has  looked. 
He  must  have  gone  York  way,  and  by  a  public  road,  too." 

*'  Why  must  he  ? "  inquired  Squeers. 

*' Stupid!"  said  Mrs.  Squeers,  angrily.  **He  hadn't  any  money,  had 
he  ? " 

"Never  had  a  penny  of  his  own  in  his  whole  life,  that  I  know  of,"  replied 
Squeers. 

**To  be  sure,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Squeers,  **  and  he  didn't  take  anythitfg  to  eat 
"with  him  ;  that  I'll  answer  for.     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

**  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! "  laughed  Squeers. 

**  Then,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  **  he  must  beg  his  way,  and  he  could  do 
that  nowhere  but  on  the  public  road." 

"That's  true,"  exclaimed  Squeers,  clapping  his  hands. 

**  True  !  Yes  ;  but  you  would  never  have  thought  of  it,  for  all  that,  if  I 
hadn't  said  so,"  replied  his  wife.  •*  Now,  if  you  take  the  chaise  and  go  one 
road,  and  I  borrow  Swallow's  chaise,  and  go  the  other,  what  with  keeping  our 
eyes  open,  and  asking  questions,  one  or  other  of  us  is  pretty  certain  to  lay 
hold  of  him." 

The  worthy  lady's  plan  was  adopted  and  put  in  execution  without  a 
moment's  delay.  After  a  very  hasty  breakfast,  and  the  prosecution  of  some 
inquiries  in  the  village,  the  result  of  which  seemed  to  show  that  he  was 
on  the  right  track,  Squeers  started  forth  in  the  pony-chaise,  intent  upon 
discovery  and  vengeance.  Shortly  afterwards,  Mrs.  Squeers,  arrayed  in  the 
white  topcoat,  and  tied  up  in  various  shawls  and  handkerchiefs,  issued  forth 
in  another  chaise  and  another  direction,  taking  with  her  a  good-sized 
bludgeon,  several  odd  pieces  of  strong  cord,  and  a  stout  labouring  man  : 
all  provided  and  carried  upon  the  expedition  with  the  sole  object  of  assisting 
in  the  capture,  and  (once  caught)  insuring  the  safe  custody  of  the  unfortunate 
Smike. 

Nicholas  remained  behind,  in  a  tumult  of  feeling,  sensible  that  whatever 
might  be  the  upshot  of  the  boy's  flight,  nothing  but  painful  and  deplorable 
consequences  were  likely  to  ensue  from  it.  Death,  from  want  and  exposure 
to  the  weather,  was  the  best  that  could  be  expected  from  the  protracted 
wandering  of  so  poor  and  helpless  a  creature,  alone  and  unfriended,  through  a 
country  of  which  he  was  wholly  ignorant.  There  was  little,  perhaps,  to 
choose  between  this  fate  and  a  return  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Yorkshire 
school ;  but  the  unhappy  being  had  established  a  hold  upon  his  sympathy  and 
compassion,  which  made  his  heart  ache  at  the  prospect  of  the  suffering  he  wa» 
destined  to  undergo.  He  lingered  on  in  restless  anxiety,  picturing  a  thousand 
possibilities,  until  the  evening  of  next  day,  when  Squeers  returned,  alone  and 
unsuccessful. 

**  No  news  of  the  scamp  !  "  said  the  schoolmaster,  who  had  evidently  been 
stretching  his  legs,  on  the  old  principle,  not  a  few  times  during  the  journey. 
**  I'll  have  consolation  for  this  out  of  somebody,  Nickleby,  if  Mrs.  Squeers 
don't  hunt  him  down  ;  so  I  give  you  warning." 

**  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  console  you,  sir,"  said  Nicholas.  "  It  is  nothing 
to  me." 

*'  Isn't  it  ? "  said  Squeers,  in  a  threatening  manner.     **  We  shall  see  !  " 

**  We  shall,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

**  Here's  the  pony  mn  right  off  his  legs,  and  me  obliged  to  come  home  with 
a  hack  cob,  that'll  cost  fifteen  shillings  besides  other  expenses,"  said  Squeers  ; 

who's  to  pay  for  that,  do  you  hear  ? " 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  remained  silent. 

**  I'U  have  it  out  of  somebody,  I  tell  you,"  said  Squeers,  Ida  xxawsX  \xax^^ 

u  \ 


(( 


98  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

crafty  manner  changed  to  open  bullying.  *•'  None  of  your  whining  yapourings 
liere,  Mr.  Puppy,  but  be  off  to  your  kennel,  for  it's  past  your  bedtime  I 
Come  !    Get  out !  " 

Nicholas  bit  his  lip  and  knit  his  hands  involuntarily,  for  his  finger-ends 
tingled  to  avenge  the  insult ;  but  remembering  that  the  man  was  drunk,  and 
that  it  could  come  to  little  but  a  noisy  brawl,  he  contented  himself  with 
darting  a  contemptuous  look  at  the  tyrant,  and  walked,  as  majestically  as  he 
could,  upstairs ;  not  a  little  nettled,  however,  to  observe  that  Miss  Squeers  and 
Master  Squeers,  and  the  servant  girl,  were  enjoying  the  scene  from  a  snug 
corner ;  the  two  former  indulging  in  many  edifying  remarks  about  the  presump- 
tion of  poor  upstarts,  which  occasioned  a  vast  deal  of  laughter,  in  which  even 
the  most  miserable  of  all  miserable  servant  girls  joined  ;  while  Nicholas,  stung 
to  the  quick,  drew  over  his  head  such  bed-clothes  as  he  had,  and  sternly 
resolved  that  the  outstanding  account  between  himself  and  Mr.  Squeers  should 
be  settled  rather  more  speedily  than  the  latter  anticipated. 

Another  day  came,  and  Nicholas  was  scarcely  awake  when  he  heard  the 
wheels  of  a  chaise  approaching  the  house.  It  stopj)ed.  The  voice  of  Mrs, 
Squeers  was  heard,  and  in  exultation,  ordering  a  glass  of  spirits  for  some- 
body, which  was  in  itself  a  sufficient  sign  that  something  extraordinary  had 
happened.  Nicholas  hardly  dared  to  look  out  ^f  the  window  ;  but  he  did  so, 
and  the  very  first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was  the  wretched  Smike  :  so  be- 
dabbled with  mud  and  rain,  so  haggard,  and  worn,  and  wild,  that,  but  for  his 
garments  being  such  as  no  scarecrow  was  ever  seen  to  wear,  he  might  have 
been  doubtful,  even  then,  of  his  identity. 

"  Lift  him  out,"  said  Squeers,  after  he  had  literally  feasted  his  eyes,  in 
silence,  upon  the  culprit.     **  Bring  him  in  ;  bring  him  in  !  " 

**  Take  care,"  cried  Mrs.  S(iueers,  as  her  husband  proffered  his  assistance. 
**  We  tied  his  legs  under  the  apron  and  made  'em  fast  to  the  chaise  to  prevent 
him  giving  us  the  slip  again." 

With  hands  trembling  with  delight,  Squeers  unloosened  the  cord  ;  and 
Smike,  to  all  appearance  more  dead  than  alive,  was  brought  into  the  house 
and  securely  locked  up  in  a  cellar,  until  such  time  as  Mr.  Squeers  should  deem 
it  expedient  to  operate  upon  him,  in  presence  of  the  assembled  school. 

Upon  a  hasty  consideration  of  the  circumstances,  it  may  bo  matter  of 
surprise  to  some  persons  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squeers  should  have  taken  so 
much  trouble  to  repossess  tliemselves  of  an  encumbrance  of  which  it  was  their 
wont  to  complain  so  loudly  ;  but  their  surprise  will  cease  when  they  are 
informed  that  the  manifold  services  of  the  drudge,  if  performed  by  anybody 
else,  would  have  cost  the  establishment  some  ten  or  twelve  shillings  per  week 
in  the  shape  of  wages  ;  and  furthermore,  that  all  runaways  were,  as  a  matter 
of  policy,  made  severe  examples  of  at  Dotheboys  Hall,  inasmuch  as,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  limited  extent  of  its  attractions,  there  was  but  little  induce- 
ment, beyond  the  powerful  impulse  of  fear,  for  any  pupil,  provided  with  the 
usual  number  of  legs  and  the  power  of  using  them,  to  remain. 

The  news  that  Smike  had  been  caught  and  brought  back  in  triumph,  ran 
like  wild-fire  through  the  hungry  community,  and  expectation  was  on  tiptoe 
all  the  morning.  On  tiptoe  it  was  destined  to  remain,  however,  until  after- 
noon ;  when  Squeers,  having  refreshed  himself  with  his  dinner,  and  further 
strengthened  himself  by  an  extra  libation  or  so,  made  his  appearance  (accom- 
panied by  his  amiable  partner)  with  a  countenance  of  portentous  import,  and 
a  fearful  instrument  of  flagellation,  strong,  supple,  wax-ended,  and  new — ^in 
short,  purchased  that  morning  expressly  for  the  occasion. 

'*  Is  every  boy  here  ? "  asked  Squeers,  in  a  tremendous  voice. 

Every  boy  was  there,  but  every  boy  was  afraid  to  speak ;  so  Squeers  glared 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  99 

along  the  lines  to  assure  himself;  and  every  eye  drooped,  and  every  head 
cowered  down,  as  he  did  so. 

"  Each  boy  keep  his  place,"  said  Squeers,  administering  his  favourite  blow 
to  the  desk,  and  regarding  with  gloomy  satisfaction  the  universal  start  which 
it  never  failed  to  occasion.     **  Nickleby  !  to  your  desk,  sir." 

It  was  remarked  by  more  than  one  small  observer,  that  there  was  a  very 
curious  and  unusual  expression  in  the  usher's  face  ;  but  he  took  his  seat 
without  opening  his  lips  in  reply.  Squeers,  casting  a  triumphant  glance  at  his 
assistant,  and  a  look  of  most  comprehensive  despotism  on  the  boys,  left  the 
room,  and  shortly  afterwards  returned,  dragging  Smike  by  the  collar — or 
rather  by  tliat  fragment  of  his  jacket  which  was  nearest  the  place  where  his 
collar  would  have  been,  had  he  boasted  such  a  decoration. 

In  any  other  place  the  appearance  of  the  wretched,  jaded,  spiritless  object 
would  have  occasioned  a  murmur  of  compassion  and  remonstrance.  It  had 
some  effect  even  there  ;  for  the  lookers-on  moved  uneasily  in  their  seats  ;  and 
a  few  of  the  boldest  ventured  to  steal  looks  at  each  other,  expressive  of 
indignation  and  pity. 

They  were  lost  on  Squeers,  however,  whose  gaze  was  fastened  on  the  luck- 
less Smike,  as  he  inquired,  according  to  custom  in  such  cases,  whether  he  had 
anything  to  say  for  himself." 

**  Nothing,  I  suppose,"  said  Squeers,  with  a  diabolical  grin. 
Smike  glanced  round,  and  his  eye  rested,  for  an  instant,  on  Nicholas,  as  if 
he  had  expected  him  to  intercede  ;  but  his  look  was  riveted  on  his  desk. 

**  Have  you  anything  to  say  ?  "  demanded  Squeers  again,  giving  his  right 
arm  two  or  three  flourishes  to  try  its  power  and  suppleness.     **  Stand  a  little 
out  of  the  way,  Mrs.  Squeers,  my  dear  ;  I've  hardly  got  room  enough." 
"  Spare  me,  sir,"  cried  Smike. 

**  Oh  !  that's  all,  is  it  ?  "  said  Squeers.  "Yes,  I'll  flog  you  within  an  inch 
of  your  life,  and  spare  you  that. " 

**  Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  ^Mrs.  Squeers,   '*  that's  a  good  'un  !  " 
*'  1  was  driven  to  do  it,"    said  Smike,   faintly ;    and   casting  another 
imploring  look  about  him. 

*•  Driven  to  do  it,  were  you  ?  "  said  Squeers.  **  Oh  !  it  wasn't  your  fault ; 
it  was  mine,  I  suppose — eh  ? " 

**A  nasty,  ungrateful,  pig-headed,  brutish,  obstinate,  sneaking  dog," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Squeers,  taking  Smike's  head  under  her  arm,  and  administer- 
ing a  cuff  at  every  epithet ;  "  what  does  he  mean  by  that  ? " 

**  Stand  aside,  my  dear,"  replied  Squeers.     **  We'll  try  and  find  out." 
Mrs.  Squeers,  being  out  of  breath  with  her  exertions,  complied.     Squeers 
caught  the  boy  firmly  in  his  grip  ;  one  desperate  cut  had  fallen  on  his  body — 
he  was  wincing  from  the  lash  and  uttering  a  scream  of  pain — it  was  raised 
again,  arid  again  about  to  fall — when  Nicholas  Nickleby,  suddenly  starting 
up,  cried  **  Stop  !  "  in  a  voice  that  made  the  rafters  ring. 
**  Who  cried  stop  ? "  said  Squeers,  turning  savagely  round. 
**  I,"  said  Nicholas,  stepping  forward.     "This  must  not  go  on." 
**  Must  not  go  on  !  "  cried  Squeers,  almost  in  a  shriek. 
'*  No  !  "  thundered  Nicholas. 

Aghast  and  stupefied  by  the  boldness  of  the  interference,  Squeers  released 
his  hold  of  Smike,  and,  falling  back  a  pace  or  two,  gazed  upon  Nicholas  with 
looks  that  were  positively  frightful. 

"1  say,  must  not,"  repeated  Nicholas,  nothing  daunted;  "shall  not.  I 
will  prevent  it." 

Squeers  continued  to  gaze  upon  him,  with  his  eyes  starting  out  of  his  head  ; 
but  astoniBhment  had  actually,  for  the  moment,  bereft  liim  o^  «^^^^\l. 


loo  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"You  havo  disregarded  all  my  quiet  interference  in  this  miserable  lad's 
behalf,"  said  Nicholas  ;  '*  you  have  returned  no  answer  to  the  letter  in  which 
I  begged  forgiveness  for  him,  and  offered  to  be  responsible  that  he  would 
remain  quietly  here.  Don't  blame  me  for  this  public  interference.  You  have 
brought  it  upon  yourself ;  not  I. " 

**  Sit  down,  beggar  !"  screamed  Squeers,  almost  beside  himself  with  rage, 
and  seizing  Smike  as  he  spoke. 

**  Wretcn,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  fiercely,  "  touch  him  at  your  peril !  I  will 
not  stand  by  and  see  it  done.  My  blood  is  up,  and  I  have  the  strength  of 
ten  such  men  as  you.  Look  to  yourself,  for  by  heaven  I  will  not  spare  you, 
if  you  drive  me  on  !  " 

"Stand  back,"  cried  Squeers,  brandishing  his  weapon. 

**  I  have  a  long  series  of  insults  to  avenge,"  said  Nicholas,  flushed  with 
passion;  "and  my  indignation  is  aggravated  by  the  dastardly  cruelties 
practised  on  helpless  infancy  in  this  foul  den.  Have  a  care  ;  for  if  you  do 
raise  the  devil  within  me,  the  consequences  shall  fall  heavily  upon  your  own 
head  ! " 

Ho  had  scarcely  spoken,  when  Squeers,  in  a  violent  outbreak  of  wrath,  and 
with  a  cry  like  the  howl  of  a  wild  beast,  spat  upon  him,  and  struck  him 
a  blow  across  the  face  with  his  instrument  of  torture,  which  raised  up  a  bar  of 
livid  flesh  as  it  was  inflicted.  Smarting  with  the  agony  of  the  blow,  and 
concentrating  into  that  one  moment  all  his  feelings  of  rage,  scorn,  and  indigna- 
tion, Nicholas  sprang  upon  him,  wrested  the  weapon  from  his  hand,  and 
pinning  him  by  the  tnroat,  beat  the  ruffian  till  ho  roared  for  mercy. 

The  boys — with  the  exception  of  Master  Squeers,  who,  coming  to  his 
father's  assistance,  harassed  the  enemy  in  the  rear — moved  not  hand  or  foot ; 
but  Mrs.  Squeers,  with  many  shrieks  for  aid,  hung  on  to  the  tail  of  her 
partner's  coat,  and  endeavoured  to  drag  him  from  his  infuriated  adversary ; 
while  Miss  Squeers,  who  had  been  peeping  through  the  keyhole  in  expectation 
of  a  very  different  scene,  darted  in  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  attack,  and 
after  launching  a  shower  of  inkstands  at  the  usher's  head,  beat  Nicholas  to  her 
heart's  content :  animating  herself  at  every  blow  with  the  recollection  of  his 
having  refused  her  proffered  love,  and  thus  imparting  additional  strength  to 
an  arm  which  (as  she  took  after  her  mother  in  this  respect)  was,  alTno  time, 
one  of  the  weakest. 

Nicholas,  in  the  full  torrent  of  his  violence,  felt  the  blows  no  more  than  if 
they  had  been  dealt  with  feathers :  but,  becoming  tired  of  the  noise  and 
uproar,  and  feeling  that  his  arm  grew  weak  besides,  he  threw  all  his  remain- 
ing strength  into  half-a-dozen  finishing  cuts,  and  flung  Squeers  from  him  with 
all  the  force  he  could  muster.  The  violence  of  his  fail  precipitated  Mra. 
Squeers  completely  over  an  adjacent  form  ;  and  Squeers,  striking  his  head 
against  it  in  his  descent,  lay  at  his  full  length  on  the  ground,  stunned  and 
motionless. 

Having  brought  affairs  to  this  happy  termination,  and  ascertained  to  his 
thorough  satisfaction  that  Squeers  was  only  stunned,  and  not  dead  (upon 
which  point  he  had  had  some  unpleasant  doubts  at  first),  Nicholas  left  his 
family  to  restore  him,  and  retired  to  consider  what  course  he  had  oetter 
adopt.  He  looked  anxiously  round  for  Smike  as  he  left  the  rooni,  but  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen. 

After  a  brief  consideration,  he  packed  up  a  few  clothes  in  a  small  leathern 
valise,  and,  finding  that  nobody  offered  to  oppose  his  progress,  marched 
boldly  out  by  the  front  door,  and,  shortly  afterwards,  struck  into  the  road 
which  led  to  Greta  Bridge. 

When  he  had  cooled  sufficiently  to  be  enabled  to  give  his  present  circnm- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  loi 

stances  some  little  reflection,  they  did  not  appear  in  a  yery  encouraging  light ; 
he  had  only  four  shillinss  and  a  few  ^ence  m  his  pocket,  and  was  something 
more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  London,  whither  he  resolved 
to  direct  his  steps,  that  he  might  ascertain,  among  other  things,  what  account 
of  the  morning's  proceedings  Mr.  Squeers  transmitted  to  his  most  affectionate 
uncle. 

Lifting  up  his  eyes,  as  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  there  was  no 
remedy  for  this  unfortunate  state  of  things,  he  heheld  a  horseman  coming 
towards  him,  whom,  on  nearer  approach,  he  discovered,  to  his  infinite  chagrin, 
to  be  no  other  than  Mr.  John  Browdie,  who,  clad  in  cords  and  leather  leggings, 
was  urging  his  animal  forward  by  means  of  a  thick  ash  stick  which  seemed  to 
have  been  recently  cut  from  some  stout  sapling. 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  more  noise  and  riot,*  thought  Nicholas,  **  and  yet, 
do  what  I  will,  I  shall  have  an  altercation  with  this  honest  blockhead,  and 
perhaps  a  blow  or  two  from  yonder  staff. " 

In  truth,  there  appeared  some  reason  to  expect  that  such  a  result  would 
follow  from  the  encounter,  for  John  Browdie  no  sooner  saw  Nicholas  advancing 
than  he  reined  in  his  horse  by  the  footpath,  and  waited  until  such  time  as  he 
should  come  up ;  looking,  meanwhile,  very  sternly  between  the  horse's  ears 
at  Nicholas,  as  he  came  on  at  his  leisure. 

'*  Servant,  young  genelman,"  said  John. 

**  Yours,"  said  Nicholas. 

<*  Weel ;  we  ha'  met  at  last,"  observed  John,  making  the  stirrup  ring  under 
a  smart  touch  of  the  ash  stick. 

**  Yes,"  replied  Nicholas,  hesitating.  **  Come  ! "  he  said,  frankly,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  **  we  parted  on  no  very  good  terms  the  last  time  we  met ; 
it  was  my  fault,  I  believe ;  but  I  had  no  intention  of  offending  you,  and  no 
idea  that  I  was  doing  so.  I  was  very  sorry  for  it,  afterwards.  Will  vou  shake 
hands  ? " 

** Shake  bonds  !"  cried  the  good-humoured  Yorkshireman  ;  "ah  !  that  I 
we^i^  "  at  the  same  time,  he  bent  down  from  the  saddle,  and  gave  Nicholas's 
fist-tf  huge  wrench  :  '*  but  wa'at  be  the  matther  wi'  thy  feace,  mun  ?  it  be  all 
brokken  loike." 

**  It  is  a  cut,"  said  Nicholas,  turning  scarlet  as  he  spoke — **  a  blow  ;  but  I 
returned  it  to  the  giver,  and  with  good  interest  too." 

•*  Noa,  did'ee,  though  % "  exclaimed  John  Browdie.  **  Well  deane  !  I  loike 
'unforthot" 

**The  fact  is,"  said  Nicholas,  not  very  well  knowing  how  to  make  the 
avowal,  "  the  fact  is  that  I  have  been  ill-treated." 

**Noa,"  interposed  John  Browdie,  in  a  tone  of  compassion;  for  he  was  a 
giant  in  strength  and  stature,  and  Nicholas,  very  likely,  in  his  eyes,  seemed  a 
mere  dwarf ;  "  dean't  say  thot." 

**  Yes,  I  have,"  replied  Nicholas,  **  by  that  man  Squeers,  and  I  have  beaten 
him  soundly,  and  am  leaving  this  place  in  consequence." 

•*  What !"  cried  John  Browdie,  with  such  an  ecstatic  shout,  that  the  horse 
quite  shied  at  it.  **  Beatten  the  schoolraeasther  I  Ho!  ho!  ho!  Beatten 
the  schoolmeasther  !  who  ever  heard  o'  the  loike  o'  thot  noo  !  Giv*  us  thee 
bond  agean,  yoongster.  Beatten  the  schoolmeasther  !  Dang  it,  I  loove  thee 
for't ! " 

With  these  expressions  of  delight  John  Browdie  laughed  and  laughed  again 
— so  loud  that  the  echoes,  far  and  wide,  sent  back  nothing  but  jovial  peals  of 
merriment — and  shook  Nicholas  by  the  hand,  meanwhile,  no  less  heartily. 
When  his  mirth  had  subsided,  he  inquired  what  Nicliolas  meant  to  do  ;  on  his 
informing  him  to  go  straight  to  London,  he  shook  his  head  doubtfallY^  ^tv^ 


102  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

inquired  if  he  knew  how  much  the  coaches  charged  to  carry  passengera  to 
far. 

**3Sro,  I  do  not,"  said  Nicholas  ;  **hut  it  is  of  no  great  consequence  to  me, 
for  I  intend  walking." 

**  Gang  awa'  to  Lunnon  afoot !  "  cried  John,  in  amazement. 

"Every  step  of  the  way,"  replied  Nicholas,  "I  should  be  many  steps 
further  on  by  this  time,  and  so  good-bye  ! " 

**Nay,  noo,"  replied  the  honest  countryman,  reining  in  his  impatient 
horse,  **stan'  still,  tell'ee.     Hoo  much  cash  hast  thee  gotten  % " 

**Not  much,"  said  Nicholas,  colouring,  "but  I  can  make  it  enough. 
Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way,  you  know." 

John  Browdie  made  no  verbal  answer  to  this  remark,  but  putting  his  hand 
in  his  pocket  pulled  out  an  old  purse  of  soiled  leather,  and  insisted  that 
Nicholas  should  borrow  from  him  whatever  he  required  for  his  present 
necessities. 

**Dean*t  be  afeard,  raun,"  he  said;  **tak*  eneaf  to  carry  thee  whoam. 
Thee'U  pay  me  van  day,  a'  warrant." 

Nicholas  could  by  no  means  be  prevailed  upon  to  borrow  more  than  a 
sovereign,  with  which  loan  Mr.  Browdie,  after  many  entreaties  that  he  would 
accept  of  more  (observing,  with  a  touch  of  Yorkshire  caution,  that  if  he  didn't 
spend  it  all,  he  could  put  the  surplus  by  till  he  had  an  opportunity  of  remit- 
ting it  carriage  free),  was  fain  to  content  himself. 

*'Tak*  that  bit  o'  timber  to  help  thee  on  wi',  mun,"  he  added,  pressing  his 
stick  on  Nicholas,  and  giving  his  hand  another  squeeze ;  *•  keep  a  good  heart 
and  bless  thee.  Beatten  the  schoolmeasther  1  'Cod  it's  the  best  thing  a've 
heard  this  twenty  year  !  " 

So  saying,  and  indulging,  with  more  delicacy  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  him,  in  another  series  of  loud  laughs,  for  the  purpose  of  avoid- 
ing the  thanks  which  Nicholas  poured  forth,  John  Browdie  set  spurs  to  his 
horse,  and  went  off  at  a  smart  canter :  looking  back,  from  time  to  time,  as 
Nicholas  stood  gazing  after  him,  and  waving  his  hand  cheerily,  as  if  to 
encourage  him  on  his  way.  Nicholas  watched  the  horse  and  rider  until 
they  disappeared  over  the  brow  of  a  distant  hill,  and  then  set  forward  on  his 
journey. 

He  did  not  travel  far  that  afternoon,  for  by  this  time  it  was  nearly  dark, 
and  there  had  been  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  which  not  only  rendered  the  way 
toilsome,  but  the  track  uncertain  and  difficult  to  find  after  daylight,  save  by 
experienced  wayfarers.  He  lay  that  night  at  a  cottage,  where  beds  were  let 
at  a  cheap  rate  to  the  more  humble  class  of  travellers ;  and,  rising  betimes 
next  morning,  made  his  way  before  night  to  Boroughbridge.  Passing  through 
that  town  in  search  of  some  cheap  resting-place,  he  stumbled  upon  an  empty 
barn  within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  of  the  roadside  ;  in  a  warm  corner  of 
which  he  stretched  his  weary  limbs  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  next  morning,  and  tried  to  recollect  his  dreams,  which  had 
been  all  connected  with  his  recent  sojourn  at  Dotheboys  Hall,  he  sat  up,  rub- 
bed his  eyes,  and  stared — not  with  the  most  composed  countenance  possible — 
at  some  motionless  object  which  seemed  to  be  stationed  within  a  few  yards  in 
front  of  him. 

'•Strange  !  "  cried  Nicholas  ;  '*can  this  be  some  lingering  creation  of  the 
visions  that  have  scarcely  left  me  !  It  cannot  be  real — and  yet  I — I  am 
awake  !    Smike  !  " 

The  form  moved,  rose,  advanced,  and  dropped  upon  its  knees  at  hi»  feet 
It  was  Smike  indeed. 

"  Why  do  you  kneel  to  me  ? "  said  Nicholas,  hastily  raising  him. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  103 

"To  go  with  you — anywhere — everywhere — to  the  world's  end — to  the 
churchyard  grave,"  replied  Smike,  clinging  to  his  hand.  **  Let  me,  oh,  do  let 
me.     You  are  my  home — my  kind  friend — take  me  with  you,  pray." 

"I  am  a  friend  that  can  do  little  for  you,"  said  Nicholas,  kindly.  ** How 
came  you  here  ?  " 

He  had  followed  him,  it  seemed  ;  had  never  lost  sight  of  him  all  the  way  ; 
had  watched  while  he  slept,  and  when  he  halted  for  refreshment ;  and  had 
feared  to  appear  before,  lest  he  should  be  sent  back.  He  had  not  intended  to 
appear  now,  but  Nicholas  had  awakened  more  suddenly  than  he  looked  for, 
and  he  had  had  no  tim«  to  conceal  himself. 

** Poor  fellow  ! "  said  Nicholas,  "your  hard  fate  denies  you  any  friend  but 
one,  and  he  is  nearly  as  poor  and  helpless  as  yourself." 

"May  I — may  I  go  with  you?"  asked  Smike,  timidly.  "I  will  be  your 
faithful,  hard-working  servant,  I  will,  indeed.  .  I  want  no  clothes,"  added  the 
poor  creature,  drawing  his  rags  together;  "these  will  do  very  well.  I  only 
want  to  be  near  you. " 

"And  you  shall,"  cried  Nicholas.  "  And  the  world  shall  deal  by  you  as  it 
does  by  me,  till  one  or  both  of  us  shall  quit  it  for  a  better.     Come  ! " 

"With  these  words  he  strapped  his  burden  on  his  shoulders,  and,  taking  his 
stick  in  one  hand,  extended  the  other  to  his  delighted  charge ;  and  so  they 
passed  out  of  the  old  barn  together. 


CHAPTER    XIY. 


HAVING  THE  MISFORTTJNE  TO  TREAT  OF  NONE  BUT  COMMON  PEOPLE,   IS 
NECESSARILY  OF  A  MEAN  AND  VULGAR  CHARACTER. 

Y  N  that  quarter  of  London  in  which  Golden  Square  is  situated,  there  is  a 
t  bygone,  faded,  tumble-down  street,  with  two  irregular  rows  of  tall,  meagre 
^  houses,  which  seem  to  have  stared  each  other  out  of  countenance  years 
ago.  The  very  chimneys  appear  to  have  grown  dismal  and  melancholy,  from 
having  had  nothing  better  to  look  at  than  the  chimneys  over  the  way.  Their 
tops  are  battered,  and  broken,  and  blackened  with  smoke  ;  and  here  and  there 
some  taller  stack  than  the  rest  inclining  heavily  to  one  side,  and  toppling  over 
the  roof,  seems  to  meditate  taking  revenge  for  half-a-century*s  neglect  by 
crushing  the  inhabitants  of  the  garrets  beneath. 

The  fowls  who  peck  about  the  kennels,  jerking  their  bodies  hither  and 
thither  with  a  gait  which  none  but  town  fowls  are  ever  seen  to  adopt,  and 
which  any  country  cock  or  hen  would  be  puzzled  to  understand,  are  perfectly 
in  keeping  with  the  crazy  habitations  of  their  owners.  Dingy,  ill-plumed, 
drowsy  flutterers,  sent,  like  many  of  the  neighbouring  children,  to  get  a  liveli- 
hood in  the  streets,  they  hop  from  stone  to  stone,  in  forlorn  search  of  some 
hidden  eatable  in  the  mud,  and  can  scarcely  raise  a  crow  among  them.  The 
only  one  with  anything  approaching  to  a  voice  is  an  aged  bantam  at  the 
baker's ;  and  even  he  is  hoarse,  in  consequence  of  bad  living  in  his  last 
place. 

To  judge  from,the  size  of  the  houses,  they  have  been,  at  one  time,  tenanted 
by  persons  of  better  condition  than  their  present  occupants  ;  but  they  are  now 
let  off,  by  the  week,  in  floors  or  rooms,  and  every  door  has  almost  as  many 
plates  or  bell-handles  as  there  are  apartments  within.  The  windows  are,  for 
.the  same  reason,  sufficiently  diversified  in  appearance,  being  ornamented  with 
every  variety  of  common  blind  and  curtain  that  can  easily  be  imagined*. 


104  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

while  every  doorway  is  blocked  up  and  rendered  nearly  impassable  by  a 
motley  collection  of  children  and  porter-pots  of  all  sizes,  from  the  baby  in 
arms  and  the  half-pint  pot,  to  the  fall-grown  girl  and  half-gallon  can. 

In  the  parlour  of  one  of  these  houses,  which  was,  perhaps,  a  thought  dirtier 
than  any  of  its  neighbours  ;  which  exhibited  more  bell -handles,  children,  and 
porter-pots,  and  caught,  in  all  its  freshness,  the  first  gust  of  the  thick  black 
smoke  that  poured  forth,  night  and  day,  from  a  large  breweiy  hard  by ;  hung 
a  bill  announcing  that  there  was  yet  one  room  to  let  within  its  walls,  though 
on  what  storey  the  vacant  room  could  be — regard  being  had  to  the  outward 
tokens  of  many  lodgers  which  the  whole  front  displayed,  from  the  mangle  in 
the  kitchen  window  to  the  flower-pots  on  the  parapet—it  would  have  been 
beyond  the  power  of  a  calculating  boy  to  discover. 

The  common  stairs  of  this  mansion  were  bare  and  carpetless  ;  but  a  curious 
visitor  who  had  to  climb  his  way  to  the  top,  might  have  observed  that  there 
were  not  wanting  indications  of  the  progressive  poverty  of  the  inmates, 
although  their  rooms  were  shut.  Thus,  the  first-floor  lodgers,  being  flush  of 
furniture,  kept  an  old  mahogany  table — real  mahogany — on  the  lanaing-plaoe 
outside,  whicn  was  only  taken  in  when  occasion  required.  On  the  second 
storey  the  spare  furniture  dwindled  down  to  a  couple  of  old  deal  chairs^  of 
which  one,  belonging  to  the  back-room,  was  shorn  of  a  leg,  and  bottomless. 
The  storey  above  ooasted  no  greater  excess  than  a  worm-eaten  wash-tub  ;  and 
the  garret  landing-place  displayed  no  costlier  articles  than  two  crippled 
pitchers  and  some  broken  blacking-bottles. 

It  was  on  this  garret  landing-place  that  a  hard-featured,  square-faced  man, 
elderly  and  shabby,  stopped  to  unlock  the  door  of  the  front  attic,  into  which, 
having  surmounted  the  task  of  turning  the  rusty  key  in  its  still  more  rusty 
wards,  he  walked  with  the  air  of  legal  owner. 

This  person  wore  a  wig  of  short,  coarse,  red  hair,  which  he  took  off  with  his 
hat,  and  hung  upon  a  nail.  Having  adopted  in  its  place  a  dirty  cotton  night- 
cap, and  groped  about  in  the  dark  till  he  found  a  remnant  of  candle,  he 
knocked  at  the  partition  which  divided  the  two  garrets,  and  inquired,  in  a 
loud  voice,  whether  Mr.  Noggs  had  a  light. 

The  sounds  that  came  back  were  stifled  by  the  lath  and  plaster,  and  it 
seemed,  moreover,  as  though  the  speaker  had  uttered  them  from  the  interior  of 
a  mug  or  other  drinking  vessel ;  but  they  were  in  the  voice  of  Newman,  and 
conveyed  a  reply  in  the  affirmative. 

"A  nasty  night,  Mr.  Noggs  !"  said  the  man  in  the  nightcap,  stepping  in 
to  light  his  candle. 

* '  Does  it  rain  ? "  asked  Newman. 

**  Does  it  ? "  replied  the  other,  pettishly.     **  I  am  wet  through." 

•*It  doesn't  take  much  to  wet  you  and  mo  through,  Mr.  Growl,"  said 
Newman,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  lappel  of  his  threadbare  coat. 

"Well ;  and  that  makes  it  the  more  vexatious,"  observed  Mr.  Growl,  in 
the  same  pettish  tone. 

Uttering  a  low,  querulous  growl,  the  speaker,  whose  harsh  countenance  was 
the  very  epitome  of  selfishness,  raked  the  scanty  fire  nearly  out  of  the  grate, 
and,  emptying  the  glass  which  Noggs  had  pushed  towards  him,  inquired  where 
he  kept  his  coals. 

Newman  Noggs  pointed  to  the  bottom  of  a  cupboard,  and  Mr.  Growl, 
seizing  the  shovel,  threw  on  half  the  stock ;  which  Noggs  very  deliberately 
took  off"  again,  without  saying  a  word. 

**  You  have  not  turned  saving  at  this  time  of  day,  I  hope  ?"  said  Growl. 

Newman  pointed  to  the  empty  glass,  as  though  it  were  a  sufficient  refuta- 
tion of  the  charge,  and  briefly  said  that  he  was  going  downstairs  to  supper. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  105 

**  To  the  Kenwiffses  \ "  asked  Growl. 

Newman  nodded  assent. 

**  Think  of  that,  now  ! "  said  Growl.  **  If  I  didn't — thinking  that  you  were 
certain  not  to  go,  because  you  said  you  wouldn't — tell  Kenwigs  I  couldn't 
come,  and  make  up  my  mind  to  spend  the  evening  with  you  ! " 

"  I  was  obliged  to  go,"  said  Newman.     ** They  would  have  me." 

"Well ;  but  what's  to  become  of  me?"  urged  the  selfish  man,  who  never 
thought  of  anybody  else.  "  It's  all  your  fault.  I'll  tell  you  what — I'll  sit  by 
your  fire  till  you  come  back  again. " 

Newman  cast  a  despairing  glance  at  his  small  store  of  fuel,  but  not  having 
the  courage  to  say  no — a  word  which  in  all  his  life  he  never  had  said  at  the 
right  time,  either  to  himself  or  anyone  else — gave  way  to  the  proposed 
arrangement.  Mr.  Growl  immediately  went  about  making  himself  as  com- 
fortable with  Newman  Noggs's  means  as  circumstances  would  admit  of  his 
being  made. 

The  lodgers  to  whom  Growl  had  made  allusion  under  the  designation  of 
"the  Kenwigses,"  were  the  wife  and  olive  branches  of  one  Mr.  Kenwigs,  a 
turner  in  ivory,  who  was  looked  upon  as  a  person  of  some  consideration  on 
the  premises,  inasmuch  as  he  occupied  the  wnole  of  the  first  floor,  comprising 
a  suite  of  two  rooms.  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  too,  was  quite  a  lady  in  her  manners, 
and  of  a  very  genteel  family,  having  an  uncle  who  collected  a  water-rate ; 
besides  which  distinction,  the  two  eldest  of  her  little  girls  went  twice  a-week 
to  a  dancing-school  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  had  flaxen  hair,  tied  with  blue 
ribbons,  hanging  in  luxuriant  pigtails  down  their  backs  ;  and  wore  little 
white  trousers  with  frills  rouna  the  ankles — for  all  of  which  reasons,  and 
many  more  equally  valid  but  too  numerous  to  mention,  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was 
considered  a  very  desirable  person  to  know,  and  was  the  constant  theme  of 
all  the  gossips  in  the  street,  and  even  three  or  four  doors  round  the  corner  at 
both  ends. 

It  was  the  anniversary  of  that  happy  day  on  which  the  Ghurch  of  England, 
as  by  law  established,  had  bestowed  Mrs.  Kenwigs  upon  Mr.  Kenwigs ;  and 
in  gi'ateful  commemoration  of  the  same,  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  invited  a  few  select 
friends  to  cards  and  a  supper  in  the  first  floor,  and  had  put  on  a  new  gown  to 
receive  them  in :  which  gown,  being  of  a  flaming  colour  and  made  upon  a 
juvenile  principle,  was'so  successful  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  said  the  eight  years  of 
matrimony  and  the  five  children  seemed  all  a  dream,  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
younger  and  more  blooming  than  on  the  very  first  Sunday  he  had  kept  com- 
pany with  her. 

Beautiful  as  Mrs.  Kenwigs  looked  when  she  was  dressed,  though,  and  so 
stately  that  you  would  have  supposed  she  had  a  cook  and  a  housemaid  at 
least,  and  nothing  to  do  but  order  them  about,  she  had  a  world  of  trouble 
with  the  preparations  ;  more,  indeed,  than  she,  being  of  a  delicate  and  genteel 
constitution,  could  have  sustained,  had  not  the  pride  of  housewifery  upheld 
her.  At  last,  however,  all  the  things  that  had  to  be  got  together  were  got  to- 
gether, and  all  the  things  that  had  to  be  got  out  of  the  way  were  got  out  of 
the  way,  and  everything  was  ready,  and  the  collector  himself  having  promised 
to  come,  fortune  smiled  upon  the  occasion. 

The  party  was  admirably  selected.  There  were,  first  of  all,  Mr.  Kenwigs 
and  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  four  olive  Kenwigses  who  sat  up  to  supper ;  firstly, 
because  it  was  but  right  that  they  should  have  a  treat  on  such  a  day  ;  and 
secondly,  because  their  going  to  bed,  in  presence  of  the  company,  would  have 
been  inconvenient,  not  to  say  improper.  Then  there  was  a  young  lady  who 
had  made  Mrs.  Kenwigs's  dress,  and  who — it  was  the  most  convenient  thing 
in  the  world — living  in  the  two-pair  back,  gave  up  her  bed  to  the  baby^  wx^X 


io6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

got  a  little  girl  to  watch  it.  Then,  to  match  this  young  lady,  was  a  yonng 
man,  who  had  known  Mr.  Kenwigs  when  he  was  a  bachelor,  and  was  much 
esteemed  by  the  ladies,  as  bearing  the  reputation  of  a  rake.  To  these  were 
added  a  newly-married  couple,  who  had  visited  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  in 
their  courtship  ;  and  a  sister  of  Kenwigs's,  who  was  quite  a  beauty  ;  besides 
whom,  there  was  another  young  man,  supposed  to  entertain  honourable 
designs  upon  the  lady  last  mentioned  ;  and  Mr.  Noggs,  who  was  a  genteel 
person  to  ask,  because  he  had  been  a  gentleman  once.  There  were  also  an 
elderly  lady  from  the  back  parlour,  ana  one  more  young  lady,  who,  next  to 
the  collector,  perhaps  was  the  great  lion  of  the  party,  being  the  daughter  of  a 
theatrical  fireman,  who  **  went-on  "  in  the  pantomime,  and  had  the  greatest 
turn  for  the  stage  that  was  ever  known,  being  able  to  sing  and  recite  in  a 
manner  that  brought  the  tears  into  Mrs.  Kenwigs's  eyes.  There  was  only 
one  drawback  upon  the  pleasure  of  seeing  such  friends,  and  that  was,  that  the 
lady  in  the  back  parloUr,  who  was  very  fat,  and  turned  of  sixty,  came  in  a 
low  book-muslin  dress  and  short  kid  gloves,  which  so  exasperated  Mrs. 
Kenwigs,  that  that  lady  assured  her  visitors,  in  private,  that  if  it  hadn't 
happened  that  the  supper  was  cooking  at  the  back  parlour  grate  at  that 
moment,  she  certainly  would  have  requested  its  representative  to  withdraw. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  "wouldn't  it  be  better  to  begin  a  round 
game  ? " 

"  Kenwigs,  my  dear,"  returned  his  wife,  *'  I  am  surprised  at  you.  Would 
you  begin  without  my  uncle  ? " 

"  I  forgot  the  collector,"  said  Kenwigs  ;  "oh,  no,  that  would  never  do." 

"  He's  so  particular,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  turning  to  the  other  married 
lady,  "  that  if  we  began  without  him,  I  should  be  out  of  his  will  for  ever." 

"  Dear  !  "  cried  the  married  lady. 

"You've  no  idea  what  he  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Kenwigs  ;  "and  yet  as  good  a 
creature  as  ever  breathed." 

"  The  kindest-hearted  man  as  ever  was,"  said  Kenwigs. 

"  It  goes  to  his  heart,  I  believe,  to  be  forced  to  cut  the  water  off,  when  the 
people  don't  pay,"  observed  the  bachelor  friend,  intending  a  joke. 

"George,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  solemnly,  "  none  of  that,  if  you  please." 

"It  was  only  my  joke,"  said  the  friend,  abashed. 

"George,"  rejoined  Mr.  Kenwigs,  "a  joke  is  a  wery  good  thin^--a  weiy 
good  thing — but  when  that  joke  is  made  at  the  expense  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs  i 
feelings,  I  set  my  face  against  it.  A  man  in  public  life  expects  to  be  sneered 
at — it  is  the  fault  of  his  clewated  sitiwation,  and  not  of  himself.  Mrs.  Ken- 
wigs's relation  is  a  public  man,  and  that  he  knows,  George,  and  that  he  can 
bear ;  but  putting  Mrs.  Kenwigs  otit  of  the  question  (if  I  coML  put  Mrs. 
Kenwigs  out  of  the  question  on  such  an  occasion  as  this),  I  have  the  honour 
to  bo  connected  with  the  collector  by  marriage ;  and  I  cannot  allow  these 

remarks  in  my "    Mr.    Kenwigs  was  going  to  say    "house,"   but  he 

rounded  the  sentence  with  "apartments." 

At  the  conclusion  of  these  observations,  which  drew  forth  evidences  of 
acute  feeling  from  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  had  the  intended  effect  of  impressing 
tlie  company  with  a  deep  sense  of  the  collector's  dignity,  a  ring  was  heard  iS 
the  bell. 

"Tliat's  him,"  whispered  Mr.  Kenwigs,  greatly  excited.  "Morleena,  my 
dear,  run  down  and  let  your  uncle  in,  and  kiss  him  directly  you  get  the  door 
open.     Hem  !    Let's  be  talking." 

Adopting  Mr.  Kenwigs's  suggestion,  the  company  spoke  very  loudly,  to  look 
easy  and  unembarrassed  ;  and  almost  as  soon  as  they  had  begun  to  do  so^  a 
short  old  gentleman,  in  drabs  and  gaiters,  with  a  face  that  might  have  b«Bn 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  107 

earved  out  of  lignum  vitoBj  for  anything  that  appeared  to  the  contrary,  was 
Jed  plajrfuUy  in  by  Miss  Morleena  Kenwigs,  regarding  whose  uncommon 
Christian' name  it  may  be  here  remarked  that  it  had  been  invented  and  com- 
posed by  Mrs.  Kenwigs  previous  to  her  first  lying-in,  for  the  special  distinction 
of  her  eldest  child,  in  case  it  should  prove  a  daughter. 

"Oh,  uncle,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  kissing  the  col- 
lector affectionately  on  both  cheeks.     **  So  glad  ! " 

"  Many  happy  returns  of  the  day,  my  dear,"  replied  the  collector,  returning 
the  compliment.  • 

Now,  this  was  an  interesting  thing.  Here  was  a  collector  of  water-rates, 
without  his  book,  without  his  pen  and  ink,  without  his  double  knock,  without 
his  intimidation,  kissing — actually  kissing — an  agreeable  female,  and  leaving 
taxes,  summonses,  notices  that  he  had  called,  or  announcements  that  he  would 
never  call  again,  for  two  quarters*  due,  wholly  out  of  the  question.  It  was 
pleasant  to  see  how  the  company  looked  on,  quite  absorbed  in  the  sight,  and 
to  behold  the  nods  and  winks  with  which  they  expressed  their  gratification  at 
finding  so  much  humanity  in  a  tax-gatherer. 

"Where  will  you  sit,  uncle  T'  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  in  the  full  glow  of 
family  pride,  which  the  appearance  of  her  distinguished  relation  occasioned. 

"Anywheres,  my  dear, '  said  the  collector,   "  I  am  not  particular." 

Not  particular  !  What  a  meek  collector.  If  he  had  been  ^n  author,  who 
knew  his  place,  he  couldn't  have  been  more  humble. 

"Mr.  Lilly vick,"  said  Kenwigs,  addressing  the  collector,  "some  friends 
here,  sir,  are  very  anxious  for  the  honour  of — thank  you — Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cutler,  Mr.  Lilly  vick." 

"Piiud  to  know  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Cutler,  "I've  heerd  of  you  very 
often."  These  were  not  mere  words  of  ceremony ;  for,  Mr.  Cutler  having 
kept  house  in  Mr.  Lillyvick's  parish,  had  heard  of  him  very  often  indeed. 
His  attention  in  calling  had  been  quite  extraordinary. 

"George,  you  know,  I  think,  Mr.  Lilly  vick,"  said  Kenwigs  ;  "lady  from 
downstairs — Mr.  Lillyvick.  Mr.  Snewks — Mr.  Lillyvick.  Miss  Green — Mr. 
LiUyvick.  Mr.  Lillyvick — Miss  Petowker  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane. 
Very  glad  to  make  two  public  characters  acquainted !  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  my 
dear,  will  you  sort  the  counters  ? " 

Mrs.  Kenwigs,  with  the  assistance  of  Newman  Noggs  (who,  as  he  performed 
sundry  little  acts  of  kindness  for  the  children  at  all  times  and  seasons,  was 
humoured  in  his  request  to  be  taken  no  notice  of,  and  was  merely  spoken 
about  in  a  whisper  as  the  decayed  gentleman),  did  as  she  was  desired  ;  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  guests  sat  down  to  speculation,  while  Newman  himself, 
Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  Miss  Petowker  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane,  looked 
after  the  supper-table. 

While  the  ladies  were  thus  busying  themselves,  Mr.  Lillyvick  was  intent 
upon  the  game  in  progress,  and  as  all  should  be  fish  that  comes  to  a  water- 
collector's  net,  the  dear  old  gentleman  was  by  no  means  scrupulous  in  appro- 
priating to  himself  the  property  of  his  neighbours,  whicli,  on  the  contrary,  he 
abstracted  whenever  an  opportunity  presented  itself,  smiling  good-humouredly 
all  the  while,  and  making  so  many  condescending  speeches  to  the  owners,  that 
they  were  delighted  with  his  amiability,  and  thought  in  their  hearts  that  he 
deserved  to  be  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  at  least. 

After  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  the  adminstration  of  many  slaps  on  the 
head  to  the  infant  Kenwigses,  whereof  two  of  the  most  rebellious  were  sum- 
marily banished,  the  cloth  was  laid  with  much  elegance,  and  a  pair  of  boiled 
fowls,  a  large  piece  of  pork,  apple-pie,  potatoes  and  greens,  were  served  ;  at 
nght  of  which,  the  worthy  Mr.  Lillyvick  vented  a  great  many  witticisms,  «.\i^ 


io8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

E lucked  up  amazingly :  to  the  immense  delight  and  satisfaction  of  the  whole 
ody  of  admirers. 

Very  well  and  very  fast  the  supper  want  off ;  no  more  serious  difficulties 
occurring  than  those  which  arose  from  the  incessant  demand  for  clean  knives 
and  forks :  which  made  poor  Mrs.  Kenwigs  wish,  more  than  once,  that  priyste 
society  adopted  the  principle  of  schools,  and  required  that  every  guest  should 
hring  his  own  knife,  fork,  and  spoon ;  which  douhtless  would  be  a  great 
accommodation  in  many  cases,  and  to  no  one  more  so  than  to  the  lady  and 
gentleman  of  the  house,  especially  if  the  school  principle  were  carried  out  to 
the  full  extent,  and  the  articles  were  expected,  as  a  matter  of  delicacy,  not  to 
be  taken  away  again. 

Everybody  having  eaten  everything,  the  table  was  cleared  in  a  most  alarm- 
ing hurry,  and  with  great  noise  ;  and  the  spirits,  whereat  the  eyes  of  Newman 
Noggs  glistened,  being  arranged  in  order,  with  water  both  hot  and  cold,  the 
party  composed  themselves  for  conviviality  ;  Mr.  LUlyvick  being  stationed  in 
a  large  arm-chair  by  the  fireside,  and  the  four  little  Eenwigses  disposed  on  a 
small  form  in  front  of  the  company,  with  their  flaxen  tails  towards  them,  and 
their  faces  to  the  fire  ;  an  arrangement  which  was  no  sooner  perfected,  than 
Mrs.  Eenwigs  was  overpowered  by  the  feeling  of  a  mother,  and  fell  upon  the 
left  shoulder  of  Mr.  Kenwigs  dissolved  in  tears. 

**  They  are  so  beautiful,'   said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  sobbing. 

**0h,  dear,"  said  all  the  ladies,  "so  they  are!  It's  very  natural  yon 
should  feel  proud  of  that ;  but  don't  give  way,  don't. " 

"I  can — not  help  it,  and  it  don't  signify,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Kenwigs;  "ohl 
they're  too  beautiful  to  live,  much  too  beautiful !  " 

On  hearing  this  alarming  presentiment  of  their  being  doomed  to  an  early 
death  in  the  flower  of  their  infancy,  all  four  little  girls  raised  a  hideous  cry, 
and,  burying  their  heads  in  their  mother's  lap  simultaneously,  screamed  until 
the  eight  flaxen  tails  vibrated  again  ;  Mrs.  Kenwigs  meanwhile  claspine  them 
alternately  to  her  bosom,  with  attitudes  expressive  of  distraction,  which  Miss 
Petowker  herself  might  have  copied. 

At  length  the  anxious  mother  permitted  herself  to  be  soothed  into  a  more 
tranquil  state,  and  the  little  Kenwigses,  being  also  composed,  were  distributed 
among  the  company,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs  being  again 
overcome  by  the  blaze  of  tlieir  combined  beauty.  This  done,  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  united  in  prophesying  that  they  would  live  for  many,  many  years, 
and  there  was  no  occasion  at  all  for  Mrs.  Kenwigs  to  distress  herself :  which, 
in  good  truth,  there  did  not  appear  to  be  ;  the  loveliness  of  the  children  by  no 
means  justifying  her  apprehensions. 

"  This  day  eight  year,"  said  ^Ir.  Kenwigs,  after  a  pause,     "  Dear  me — ah  ! " 

This  reflection  was  echoed  by  all  present,  who  said  *'Ah!"  first,  and 
** dear  me"  afterwards. 

"  I  was  younger  then,"  tittered  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

"  No,"  said  the  collector. 

"Certainly  not,"  added  everybody. 

"  I  remember  my  niece,"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  surveying  his  audience"  with  a 
grave  air  ;  "I  remember  her,  on  that  very  afternoon,  when  she  first  acknow- 
ledged to  her  mother  a  partiality  for  Kenwigs.  *  Mother,'  she  says,  *  I  love 
him  ! ' " 

"  *  Adore  him,'  I  said,  uncle,"  interposed  Mrs.  Kenwi/^s. 

**  'Love  him,'  I  think,  my  dear,"  said  the  collector,  firmly. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  uncle,"  replied  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  submissively.  "I 
thought  it  was  *  adore.'  " 

***Love,'  my  dear,"  retorted  Mr.   Lillyvick.      ** 'Mother,'  she  says,    *I 


NICHOLAS  NICKIEBY.  109 

love  him  1 '  '  What  do  I  hear  ? '  cries  her  mother ;  and  instantly  falls  into 
strong  conwulsions." 

A  general  exclamation  of  astonishment  burst  from  the  company. 

**  Into  strong  conwulsions,"  repeated  Mr.  Lilly vick,  regarding  them  with  a 
rigid  look.  "  Xenwigs  will  excuse  my  saying,  in  the  presence  of  friends,  that 
there  was  a  very  great  objection  to  him,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  beneath 
the  family,  and  would  disgrace  it.     You  remember,  Kenwigs  ? " 

"Certainly,"  replied  that  gentleman,  in  no  way  displeased  at  the  remin- 
iscence, inasmuch  as  it  proved,  beyond  all  doubti  what  a  high  family  Mrs. 
Kenwigs  came  of. 

"  I  shared  in  that  feeling,"  said  Mr.  Lilly  vick  ;  "  perhaps  it  was  natural ; 
perhaps  it  wasn't." 

A  gentle  murmur  seemed  to  say,  that,  in  one  of  Mr.  Lillyvick's  station,  the 
objection  was  not  only  natural,  but  highly  praiseworthy. 

**I  came  round  to  him  in  time,"  said  Lilly  vick.  **  After  they  were 
married,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it,  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  say  that  Kenwigs 
must  be  taken  notice  of.  The  family  did  take  notice  of  him  in  consequence, 
and  on  my  repi*esentation  ;  and  I  am  bound  to  say — and  proud  to  say — that  I 
have  always  found  him  a  very  honest,  well-behaved,  upright,  respectable  sort 
of  man      Kenwigs,  shake  hands." 

**  I  am  proud  to  do  it,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs. 

*'  So  am  I,  Kenwigs,"  rejoined  Mr.  Lilly  vick. 

"A  very  happy  life  I  have  led  with  your  niece,  sir,"  said  Kenwigs. 

**  It  would  have  been  your  own  fault  if  you  had  not,  sir,"  remarked  Mr. 
Lillyvick. 

**  Morleena  Kenwigs,"  cried  her  mother,  at  this  crisis,  much  aflfected,  ''kiss 
your  dear  uncle  ! " 

The  young  lady  did  as  she  was  requested,  and  the  three  other  little  girls 
were  successively  hoisted  up  to  the  collector's  countenance,  and  subjected  to 
the  same  process,  which  was  afterwards  repeated  on  them  by  the  majority  of 
those  present. 

"On,  dear  Mrs.  Kenwigs,"  said  Miss  Petowker,  '* while  Mr.  Noggs  is 
making  that  punch  to  drink  happy  returns  in,  do  let  Morleena  go  through  that 
figure  dance  before  Mi.  Lillyvick." 

"No,  no,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  *'  it  will  only  worry  my  uncle." 

"  It  can't  worry  him,  I  am  sure,"  said  Miss  Petowker.  **  You  will  be  very 
mnch  pleased,  won't  you,  sir  ? " 

"That  I  am  sure  I  shall,"  replied  the  collector,  glaucing at  the  punch-mixer. 

"Well  then,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  "  Morleena  shall  do 
the  steps,  if  uncle  can  persuade  Miss  Petowker  to  recite  us  the  'Blood-Drinker's 
Burial,  afterwards." 

There  was  a  great  clapping  of  hands  and  stamping  of  feet  at  this  proposi- 
tion ;  the  subject  whereof  gently  inclined  her  head  several  times  in  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  reception. 

** You  know,"  said  Miss  Petowker,  reproachfully,  "that  I  dislike  doing 
anything  professional  in  private  parties." 

•'Oh,  but  not  here  ! '  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs.  "  We  are  all  so  very  friendly 
and  pleasant,  that  you  might  as  well  be  going  through  it  in  your  own  room  ; 
besides,  the  occasion " 

"  I  can't  resist  that/'  interrupted  Miss  Petowker,  "  anything  in  my  humble 
power  I  shall  be  delighted  to  do. 

Mrs.  Kenwigs  and  Miss  Petowker  had  arranged  a  small  programme  of  the 
entertainments  between  them,  of  which  this  was  the  prescribed  order,  but  they 
hmd  settled  to  have  a  little  pressing  on  both  sides,  because  it  looked  iclqpc^ 


no  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

natnral.  Tlie  company  being  all  ready,  Miss  Petowker  liammed  a  tune,  and 
Morloeiia  danced  a  dance  ;  having  previously  had  the  soles  ot*  her  sho^ 
chalked,  with  as  much  care  as  if  she  were  poing  on  the  tight-rope.  It  was  a 
very  beautiful  figure,  comprising  a  great  deal  of  work  for  the  arms,  and  was 
received  with  unbounded  applause. 

**  If  I  was  blessed  with  a — a  child "  said  Miss  Petowker,  blushing,  "  of 

such  genius  as  that,  I  would  have  her  out  at  the  Opera  instantly." 

Mrs.  Ken  wigs  sighed,  and  looked  at  ]Mr.  Kenwigs,  who  shook  his  head,  and 
observed  that  he  was  doubtful  about  it 

"  Konwiijs  is  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  K. 

•*  AVhat  of  ■  "  inquired  Miss  Petowker,  "  not  of  her  failing  ? " 

"  Oil.  no,"  replied  Mrs.  Kenwiis,  **  but  if  she  grew  up  "what  she  is  now — 
only  think  of  the  young  dukes  and  marquises." 

"  Very  riglir."  said  the  collector. 

**  Still."  sul uiitted  Miss  Petowker,  *'if  she  took  a  proper  pride  in  herself, 
you  ki'.ow " 

'•  There's  a  irood  deal  in  that,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwi>:s,  looking  at  her  husband. 

**I  only  kr.ow — "*  faltered  Miss  Petowker — **  it  may  In?  no  rule  to  be  sure — 
bur  /have  never  found  any  incotivenience  or  unpleasantness  of  that  sort." 

^\t.  Kcn\vi_:s,  w::h  Incoming  gallanrry,  said  that  settled  the  question  at 
or.ce,  ar.d  th:::  he  would  take  the  subject  into  liis  serious  consMeration.  This 
b<;i:ic:"es:!ved  uvon.  Miss  Petowker  was  entreated  to  begin  the  "Blooil-Drinker's 
P»ur:ir"  :  to  wliioli  end,  that  young  lady  let  down  her  back  hair,  and  taking  up 
her  jvsition  at  the  other  end  of  the  rev^m,  with  the  bachelor  friend  posted  in  a 
corner,  to  rush  out  at  the  cue  "in  death  expire."  and  catch  her  in  his  arms 
when  she  died  raving  mad.  wont  threugh  the  performance  with  extraordiDary 
spirit,  aud  to  the  great  terror  of  the  little  Keuwigses,  who  were  all  bot 
frigiitened  into  tits. 

The  ecstasies  consequent  upon  the  etfort  had  not  yet  subsided,  and  Xew- 
n:an  ,who  hai  not  lv?en  thoroughly  sober  at  so  late  an  hour  for  a  long,  long  time) 
ha.;  nor  yer  been  able  to  put  in  a  word  of  aniiounv'er.ieur  rhat  the  pimch  was 
rea.ly.  when  a  hasry  kuock  was  heard  at  the  nvm-door.  which  elicited  a  shriek 
fr^^ui*  Mrs.  Kenwigs.  who  immediately  di vine  i  that  the  baby  had  fallen  out  of  bed. 

**AVho  is  that '  "  demandcvl  ilr.  Kenw:;:s.  sharrlv. 


ar:  1 1:  s  :ast  as.eep,  ana  so  is  tne  c:r. :  an  ;  i  aou  r  t:imK  tne  candle  will  set 
lire  ro  r  "le  bed-curtain,  unless  a  draught  was  to  get  inro  the  room — it's  Mr. 
^ic^;:r<  that's  want-.\I." 

'*  M:?  ;  "  orie'i  Newruan,  mi:.*h  ast'^nished. 

••  \v.  y  ::  :"s  a  quc-j?  hour,  isn't  ir .'  "  replied  Crowl.  who  was  not  best  pleased 
at  :he  rr:s;  ecr  o:  losing  his  tiro  :  "  and  ru:y  ar,^  qu;?er-looking  people,  too^ all 
ccv.T.'.i  wi:h  n:iu  and  mud.     Shall  I  tell  thtiu  to  g.^  away  *  '* 

"  No.'"  sdi.i  Xewu;i:;.  risi::::.     ••  People  '     How  uiauv  j  " 

ft-  ^  m 

T**  ■         -  >      ,  ^  ' 

WO ,    r*;; c : ut'  I  L  :  o  w . . 

**  Vv'aur  ::::  ?     Py  v..ir.'.c  .' "  asxcd  Xewman. 

••  P>v  u.iiue,"  r--i.:cd  Cr:'.vl.     ••  Mr.  Xev.uiar.  Xoccs.  as  rvit  as  need  be. 


LPology  ._ 

tx:  la::a::o:\  a  M^:;:ivi  ciii^i.e  and  :uu;bler  of  hot  puuch  from  the  table,  darted 
awuy  like  a  madu:iu. 

"'Whit  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  him  1 "  exclaiai^d  Crovl,  thxowine  tin 
door  open.     *  *  llirk  1    Is  there  any  coi*?  abore  *  ** 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  iil 

The  guests  rose  in  great  confusion,  and,  looking  in  each  other's  faces  with 
much  perplexity  and  some  fear,  stretched  their  necks  forward  and  listened 
attentively. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


ACQUAINTS  THE  READER  WITH  THE  CAUSE  AND  ORIGIN  OF  THE  INTERRUP- 
TION DESCRIBED  IN  THE  LAST  CHAPTER,  AND  WITH  SOME  OTHER 
MATTERS  NECESSARY  TO  BE  KNOWN. 

H  Y  EWMAN  NOGGS  scrambled  in  violent  haste  upstairs  with  the  steaming 
t^      beverage  which  he  had  so  unceremoniously  snatched  from  the  table  of 

•  Mr.  Kenwigs,  and  indeed  from  the  very  grasp  of  the  water-rate  col- 
lector, who  was  eyeing  the  contents  of  the  tumbler,  at  the  moment  of  its  un- 
expected abstraction  with  lively  marks  of  pleasure  visible  in  his  countenance. 
He  bore  his  prize  straight  to  his  own  back  garret,  where,  footsore  and  nearly 
shoeless,  wet,  dirty,  jaded,  and  disfigured  with  every  mark  of  fatiguing  travel, 
sat  Nicholas  and  Smike,  at  once  the  cause  and  partner  of  his  toil ;  both  per- 
fectly worn  out  by  their  unwonted  and  protracted  exertion. 

Newman's  first  act  was  to  compel  Nicholas,  with  gentle  force,  to  swallow 
half  of  the  punch  at  a  breath,  nearly  boiling  as  it  was  ;  and  his  next,  to  pour 
the  remainder  down  the  throat  of  Smike,  who,  never  having  tasted  anything 
stronger  than  aperient  medicine  in  his  whole  life,  exhibited  various  odd 
manifestations  of  surprise  and  delight  during  the  passage  of  the  liquor  down 
his  throat,  and  turned  up  his  eyes  most  emphatically  when  it  was  all  gone. 

"You  are  wet  through,"  said  Newman,  passing  his  hand  hastily  over  the 
coat  which  Nicholas  had  thrown  off;  "and  I — I — haven't  even  a  change," 
he  added,  with  a  wistful  glance  at  the  shabby  clothes  he  wore  himself. 

**  I  have  dry  clothes,  or  at  least  such  as  will  serve  my  turn  well,  in  my 
bundle,"  replied  Nicholas.  **Ifyou  look  so  distressed  to  see  me,  you  will 
add  to  the  pain  I  feel  already,  at  being  compelled,  for  one  night,  to  cast 
myself  upon  your  slender  means  for  aid  and  shelter." 

Newman  did  not  look  the  less  distressed  to  hear  Nicholas  talking  in  this 
strain  ;  but,  upon  his  young  friend  grasping  him  heartily  by  the  hand,  and 
assuring  him  that  nothing  but  implicit  confidence  in  the  sincerity  of  liis 
professions,  and  kindness  of  feeling  towards  himself,  would  have  induced  him, 
on  any  consideration,  even  to  have  made  him  acc^uainted  with  his  arrival  in 
London,  Mr.  NoggS  brightened  up  again,  and  \ivent  about  making  such 
arrangements  as  were  in  his  power  for  the  comfort  of  his  visitors,  witli 
extreme  alacrity. 

These  were  simple  enough  ;  poor  Newman's  means  halting  at  a  very  con- 
siderable distance  short  of  his  inclinations  ;  but,  slight  as  they  were,  they 
were  not  made  without  much  bustling  and  running  about.  As  Nicholas  had 
husbanded  his  scanty  stock  of  money  so  well  that  it  was  not  yet  quite 
expended,  a  supper  of  bread  and  cheese,  with  some  cold  beef  from  the  cook's 
shop,  was  soon  placed  upon  the  table  ;  and  these  viands  being  flanked  by  a 
bottle  of  spirits  and  a  pot  of  porter,  there  was  no  ground  for  apprehension  on 
the  score  of  hunger  and  thirst,  at  all  events.  Such  preparations  as  Newman 
had  it  in  his  power  to  make  for  the  accommodation  of  his  guests  during  the 
night,  occupied  no  very  great  time  in  completing ;  and  as  he  had  insisted,  as 
an  express  preliminary,  that  Nicholas  should  change  his  clothes,  and  that 
Smike  should  invest  himself  in  his  solitary  coat  (which  no  entreaties  WQ\3JL!l 


112  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

dissuade  him  from  stripping  off  for  the  purpose),  the  travellers  x>artook  of  their 
frugal  fare,  with  more  satisfaction  than  one  of  them  at  least  had  derived  from 
many  a  better  meal. 

They  then  drew  near  tlie  fire,  which  Newman  Noggs  had  made  up  as  well  as 
he  could,  after  the  inroads  of  Growl  upon  the  fuel  ;  and  Nicholas,  who  had 
hitherto  been  restrained  by  the  extreme  anxiety  of  his  friend  that  he  should 
refresh  himself  after  his  journey,  now  pressed  him  with  earnest  questions  con- 
cerning his  mother  and  sister. 

"Well;"  replied  Newman,  with  his  accustomed  taciturnity;  "both 
well." 

"  They  are  living  in  the  City  still  ?  "  in(j[uired  Nicholas. 

**  They  are,"  said  Newman. 

**  And  my  sister" — added  Nicholas.  **  Is  she  still  engaged  in  the  business 
which  she  wrote  to  tell  me  she  thouglit  she  should  like  so  much  ?  " 

Newman  opened  his  eyes  rather  wider  tlian  usual,  but  merely  replied  by  i 
gasp,  which,  according  to  the  action  of  the  head  that  accompanied  it,  was 
interpreted  by  his  friends  as  meaning  yes  or  no.  In  the  present  instance,  the 
pantomime  consisted  of  a  nod,  and  not  a  shake  ;  so  Nicholas  took  the  answer 
as  a  favourable  one. 

**  Now  listen  to  me,"  said  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  on  Newman's  shoulder. 
**  Before  I  would  make  an  efibrt  to  see  them,  I  deemed  it  expedient  to  come 
to  you,  lest,  by  gratifying  my  own  selfish  desire,  I  should  inflict  an  injury 
upon  them  wliich  I  can  never  renair.  What  has  my  uncle  heard  worn 
Yorkshire  ? " 

Newman  opened  and  shut  his  mouth  several  times,  as  though  he  were 
trying  his  utmost  to  speak,  but  could  make  nothing  of  it,  and  finally  fibced  his 
eyes  on  Nicholas  with  a  grim  and  gliastly  stare. 

"What  has  he  heard?"  urged  Nicholas,  colouring.  ** You  see  that  I  am 
prepared  to  hear  the  very  worst  that  malice  can  have  suggested.  Why 
should  you  conceal  it  from  me  ?  I  must  know  it  sooner  or  later  ;  and  what 
purpose  can  be  gained  by  trifling  with  the  matter  for  a  few  minutes,  when 
half  the  time  would  put  me  in  possession  of  all  that  has  occurred  %  Tell  me 
at  once,  pray." 

*'  To-morrow  morning,"  said  Newman  ;  "  hear  it  to-morrow." 

"  What  purpose  would  that  answer  ? "  urged  Nicholas. 

"  You  would  sleep  the  better,"  replied  Newman. 

*'I  should  sleep  the  worse,"  answered  Nicholas,  impatiently.  "Sleep! 
Exhausted  as  I  am,  and  standing  in  no  common  need  of  rest,  I  cannot  hope  to 
close  my  eyes  all  night,  unless  you  tell  me  everything."  *. 

"  And  if  I  should  tell  you  everything,"  said  Newman,  hesitating. 

*'  Why,  then  j'ou  may  rouse  my  indignation  or  wound  my  pride,"  rejoined 
Nicholas  ;  **  but  you  will  not  break  my  rest ;  for  if  the  scene  were  acted  over 
again,  I  could  take  no  other  part  than  1  have  taken  ;  and  whatever  con- 
sequences may  accrue  to  myself  from  it,  I  shall  never  regret  doing  as  I  hiw 
done — never,  if  I  starve  or  beg  in  consequence.  What  is  a  little  poverty  or 
sufl'ering  to  the  disgrace  of  the  basest  and  most  inhuman  cowardice  I  I  tell 
you,  if  I  had  stood  by,  tamely  and  passively,  I  should  have  hated  myself 
and  merited  the  contempt  of  every  man  in  existence.  The  black-hearted 
scoundrel ! " 

AVith  this  gentle  allusion  to  the  absent  Mr.  Squecrs,  Nicholas  repressed  hit 
rising  wrath,  and  relating  to  Newman  exactly  what  had  passed  at  DotheboTi 
Hall,  entreated  him  to  speak  out  without  more  pressing.  Thus  abjured,  Mr< 
Noggs  took,  from  an  old  trunk,  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  appeared  to  have  beo 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  113 

scrawled  over  in  ^eat  haste  ;  and  after  sundry  extraordinary  demonstration& 
of  reluctance,  delivered  himself  in  the  following  terms. 

**  My  dear  young  man,  you  mustn't  give  way  to — this  sort  of  thing  will 
never  do,  you  know — as  to  getting  on  in  the  world,  if  you  take  everybody's 
part  that's  ill-treated — Damn  it,  I  am  proud  to  hear  of  it ;  and  would  have 
done  it  myself !  " 

Newman  accompanied  this  very  unusual  outbreak  with  a  violent  blow  upon 
the  table,  as  if,  in  the  heat  of  the  moment,  he  had  mistaken  it  for  the  chest 
or  ribs  of  Mr.  Wackford  Squeers.  Having,  by  this  open  declaration  of  his 
feelings,  quite  precluded  himself  from  offering  Nicholas  any  cautious  worldly 
advice  (which  had  been  his  first  intention),  Mr.  Noggs  went  straight  to  the 
point. 

**The  day  before  yesterday,"  said  Newman,  "your  uncle  received  this 
letter.     I  took  a  hasty  copy  of  it  while  he  was  out.     Shall  I  read  it  ? " 

'*If  you  please,"  replied  Nicholas.  Newman  Noggs  accordingly  read  as 
follows : — 

**  Dotheloys  Hall, 

"  Thursday  Morning, 

**  SiK— My  pa  requests  me  to  write  to  you,  the  doctors  considering  it 
doubtful  whether  he  will  ever  recuvver  the  use  of  his  legs  which  prevents  his 
holding^a  pen. 

*  *  We  are  in  a  state  of  mind  beyond  everything,  and  my  pa  is  one  mask  of 
brooses  both  blue  and  green  likewise  two  forms  are  steepled  in  his  Goar.  We 
were  kimpelled  to  have  him  carried  down  into  the  kitchen  where  he  now  lays. 
You  will  judge  from  this  that  he  has  been  brought  very  low. 

*  *  When  your  nevew  that  you  recommended  for  a  teacher  had  done  this 
to  my  pa  and  jumped  upon  his  body  with  his  feet  and  also  langwedge  which 
I  will  not  poUewt  my  pen  with  describing,  he  assaulted  my  ma  with  dreadful 
violence,  dashed  her  to  the  earth,  and  drove  her  back  comb  several  inches 
into  her  head.  A  very  little  more  and  it  must  have  entered  her  skull.  We 
have  a  medical  certifiket  that  if  it  had,  the  tortershell  would  have  affected 
the  brain. 

*'  Me  and  my  brother  were  then  the  victims  of  his  feury  since  which 
"we  have  suffered  very  much  which  leads  us  to  the  arrowing  belief  that  we 
have  received  some  injury  in  our  insides,  especially  as  no  marks  of  violence 
are  visible  externallv.  I  am  screaming  out  loud  all  the  time  I  write  and 
so  is  my  brother  which  takes  off  my  attention  rather  and  I  hope  will  excuse 
mistakes. 

**  The  monster  having  sasiated  his  thirst  for  blood  ran  away,  taking  with 
him  a  boy  of  desperate  caracter  that  he  had  excited  to  rebellyon,  and  a 
garnet  ring  belonging  to  my  ma,  and  not  having  been  apprehended  by  the 
constables  is  supposed  to  have  been  took  up  by  some  stage-coach.  My 
pa  begs  that  if  he  comes  to  you  the  ring  may  be  returned,  and  that  you 
will  let  the  thief  and  assassin  go,  as  if  we  prosecuted  him  he  would  only  be 
transported,  and  if  he  is  let  go  he  is  sure  to  be  hung  before  long  which  will 
save  us  trouble  and  be  much  more  satisfactory.  Hoping  to  hear  from  you 
when  convenient 

'  *  I  remain 

*'  Yours  and  cetrer 

"Fanny  Squeers. 

**  P.S. — I  pity  his  ignorance  and  despise  him." 

A  profound  silence  succeeded  to  the  reading  of  this  choice  epistle,  during 
which  Newman  Noggs,  as  he  folded  it  up,  gazed  with  a  kind  of  grotesque 

u  ^ 


114  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

pity  at  the  boy  of  desperate  character  therein  referred  to ;  who,  haying  no 
more  distinct  perception  of  the  matter  in  hand  than  that  he  had  been  the 
unfortunate  cause  of  heaping  trouble  and  falsehood  upon  Nicholas,  sat  mate 
and  dispirited,  with  a  most  woe-begone  and  heart-stricKen  look. 

**  Mr.  Noggs,"  said  Nicholas,  after  a  few  moments'  reflection,  "  I  must  go 
out  at  once." 

**  Go  out !  "  cried  Newman. 

"Yes,"  said  Nicholas,  **to  Golden  Square.  Nobody  who  knows  me 
would  believe  this  story  of  the  ring  ;  but  it  may  suit  the  purpose,  or  ^ratify 
the  hatred,  of  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  to  feign  to  attach  credence  to  it  It 
is  due — not  to  him,  but  to  myself — that  I  should  state  the  truth*;  and, 
moreover,  I  have  a  word  or  two  to  exchange  with  him  which  will  not  keep 
cool." 

**  They  must,"  said  Newman. 

**  They  must  not,  indeed,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  firmly,  as  he  prepared  to  leave 
the  house. 

**  Hear  me  speak,"  said  Newman,  planting  himself  before  his  impetuous 
young  friend.  **  He  is  not  there.  He  is  away  from  town.  He  will  not  be 
back  for  three  days  ;  and  I  know  that  letter  will  not  be  answered  before  he 
returns." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  chafing  violently,  and  pacing  the 
narrow  room  with  rapid  strides. 

**  Quite,"  rejoined  Newman.  **  He  had  hardly  read  it  when  he  was  called 
away.     Its  contents  are  known  to  nobody  but  himself  and  us." 

*'  Are  you  certain  ?"  demanded  Nicholas,  precipitately  ;  "  not  even  to  my 
mother  or  sister  ?  If  I  thought  that  they — I  will  go  there — I  must  see  them. 
Which  is  the  way  ?    AVhere  is  it  ? " 

*'  Now,  be  advised  by  me,"  said  Newman,  speaking  for  the  moment,  in  his 
earnestness,  like  any  other  man — **make  no  effort  to  see  even  them  till  he 
comes  home.  I  know  the  man.  Do  not  seem  to  have  been  tampering  with 
anybody.  When  he  returns,  go  straight  to  him,  and  speak  as  boldly  as  yon 
like.  Guessing  at  the  real  truth,  he  knows  it  as  well  as  you  or  I.  Trust  him 
for  that." 

**  You  mean  well  to  me,  and  should  know  him  better  than  I  can,"  replied 
Nicholas,  after  some  consideration.     **  Well ;  let  it  be  so." 

Newman,  who  had  stood  during  the  foregoing  conversation  with  his  back 
planted  against  the  door,  ready  to  oppose  any  egress  from  the  apartment 
by  force,  if  necessary,  resumed  his  seat  with  much  satisfaction ;  and  as 
the  water  in  the  kettle  was  by  this  time  boiling,  made  a  glassful  of  spirits 
and  water  for  Nicholas,  and  a  cracked  mugful  for  the  joint  accommodation 
of  himself  and  Smike,  of  which  the  two  partook  in  great  harmony,  while 
Nicholas,  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  remained  buried  in  melancholy 
meditation. 

Meanwhile,  the  company  below  stairs,  after  listening  attentively  and  not 
hearing  any  noise  which  would  justify  them  in  interfering  for  the  gratification 
of  their  curiosity,  returned  to  tlie  chamber  of  the  Kenwigses,  and  employed 
themselves  in  hazarding  a  great  variety  of  conjectures  relative  to  the  cause  of 
Mr.  Noggs's  sudden  disappearance  and  detention. 

**Lor,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs.  "Suppose  it  should  be  an 
express  sent  up  to  say  that  his  property  has  all  come  back  again  !  " 

"Dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs*;  "it's  not  impossible.  Perhaps,  in  that 
case,  we'd  better  send  up  and  ask  if  he  won't  take  a  little  more  punch." 

"  Kenwigs  I "  said  Mr.  Lilly vick,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I'm  surprised  at 
you." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  115 

**  What's  the  matter,  sir  ?"  asked  Mr.  Eenwigs,  with  becoming  submission 
to  the  collector  of  water-rates. 

•*  Making  such  a  remark  as  that,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Lilly vick,  angrily. 
**  He-  has  had  punch  already,  has  he  not,  sir  ?  I  consider  the  way  in  which 
that  punch  was  cut  off,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  highly  disrespectful  to 
this  company ;  scandalous,  perfectly  scandalous.  It  may  be  the  custom 
to  allow  such  things  in  this  house,  but  it's  not  the  kind  of  behaviour  that 
I've  been  used  to  see  displayed,  and  so  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Ken  wigs. 
A  gentleman  has  a  glass  oi  punch  before  him,  to  which  he  is  just  about  to  set 
his  lips,  when  another  gentleman  comes  and  collars  that  glass  of  punch, 
without  a  *with  your  leave,'  or  'by  your  leave,'  and  carries  that  glass  of 
punch  away.  This  may  be  good  manners — I  daresay  it  is — but  I  don't  under- 
stand it,  that's  all ;  and  what's  more,  I  don't  care  if  I  never  do.  It's  my  way 
to  speak  my  mind,  Eenwigs,  and  that  is  my  mind  ;  and  if  you  don't  like  it, 
it's  past  my  regular  time  for  going  to  bed,  and  I  can  find  my  way  home 
without  making  it  later." 

Here  was  an  untoward  event  I  The  collector  had  sat  swelling  and  fuming 
in  offended  dignity  for  some  minutes,  and  had  now  fairly  burst  out.  The 
great  man — the  rich  relation — the  unmarried  uncle — who  had  it  in  his  power 
to  make  Morleena  an  heiress,  and  the  very  baby  a  legatee — was  offended. 
Gracious  Powers,  where  was  this  to  end  ! 

**  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ken  wigs,  humbly. 

**  Don't  tell  me  you're  sorry,"  retorted  Mr.  Lilly  vick,  with  much  sharpness. 
*'  You  should  have  prevented  it,  then." 

The  company  were  quite  paralysed  by  this  domestiq  crash.  The  back  par- 
lour sat  with  her  mouth  wide  open,  staring  vacantly  at  the  collector,  in  a 
stupor  of  dismay  ;  the  other  gu«sts  were  scarcely  less  overpowered  by  the 
great  man's  irritation.  Mr.  Kenwigs,  not  being  skilful  in  such  matters,  only 
Sinned  the  flame  in  attempting  to  extinguish  it. 

"I  didn't  think  of  it,  I  am  sure,  sir,"  said  that  gentleman.  "I  didn't 
suppose  that  such  a  little  thing  as  a  glass  of  punch  would  have  put  you  out  of 
temper." 

"Out  of  temper !  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that  piece  of  imper- 
tinence, Mr.  Kenwigs  ? "  said  the  collector.  *  *  Morleena,  child,  give  me  my 
hat" 

**0h,  you're  not  going,  Mr.  Lilly  vick,  sir,"  interposed  Miss  Petowker,  with 
her  most  bewitching  smile. 

But  still  Mr.  Lilly  vick,  regardless  of  the  siren,  cried  obdurately,  "Mor- 
leena, my  hat ! "  upon  the  fourth  repetition  of  which  demand,  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
sunk  back  in  her  chair,  with  a  cry  that  might  have  softened  a  water-butt,  not 
to  say  a  water-collector ;  while  the  four  little  girls  (privately  instructed  to  that 
effect)  clasped  their  uncle's  drab  shorts  in  their  arms,  and  prayed  him  in 
imperfect  English  to  remain. 

"Why  should  I  stop  here,  my  dears?"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick ;  "I'm  not 
wanted  here." 

"Oh,  do  not  speak  so  cruelly,  uncle,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  "unless  you 
wish  to  kill  me." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  some  people  were  to  say  I  did,"  replied  Mr.  Lilly- 
Tick,  glancing  angrily  at  Kenwigs.     '*  Out  of  temper  ! " 

"  On,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  him  look  so  at  my  husband,"  cried  Mrs.  Ken- 
wigs ;  "  it's  so  dreadful  in  families.     Oh  !  " 

"  Mr.  Lillyvick,"  said  Kenwigs,  "  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  your  niece,  that 
you  won't  object  to  be  reconciled." 


Ii6  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

The  collector's  features  relaxed,  as  the  company  added  their  entreaties  to 
those  of  his  nephew-in-law.     He  ^ve  up  his  hat,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"There,  Ken  wigs,"  said  Mr.  Lilly  vick  ;  "and  let  me  tell  you,  at  the  same 
time,  to  show  you  how  much  out  of  temper  I  was,  that  if  1  had  ^ne  away 
without  another  word,  it  would  hare  made  no  difference  respecting  that  pound 
or  two  which  I  shall  leave  amoDg  your  children  when  I  die.  * 

**  Morleena  Ken  wigs,"  cried  her  mother,  in  a  torrent  of  affection,  "  go  down 
upon  your  knees  to  your  dear  uncle,  and  heg  him  to  love  you  all  his  life 
throuj^h,  for  he's  more  a  angel  than  a  man,  and  IVe  always  said  so." 

Miss  Morleena  approaching  to  do  homage,  in  compliance  with  this  injunc- 
tion, was  summarily  caught  up  and  kissed  by  Mr.  Lilly  vick  ;  and  thereupon 
Mrs.  Kenwigs  darted  forward  and  kissed  the  collector,  and  an  irrepressible 
murmur  of  applause  broke  from  the  company  who  had  witnessed  his 
magnanimity. 

The  worthy  gentleman  then  became  once  more  the  life  and  soul  of  the 
society ;  being  again  reinstated  in  his  old  post  of  lion,  from  which  high  station 
the  temporary  distraction  of  their  thoughts  had  for  a  moment  dispossessed 
him.  Quadruped  lions  are  said  to  be  savage  only  when  they  are  nungry ; 
biped  lions  are  rarely  sulky  longer  than  when  their  appetite  for  distinction 
remains  unappeascd.  Mr.  Lilly  vick  stood  higher  than  ever  ;  for  he  had  shown 
his  power  ;  hinted  at  his  property  and  testamentary  intentions  ;  gained  great 
credit  for  his  disinterestedness  and  virtue  ;  and,  in  addition  to  all,  was  finally 
accommodated  with  a  much  larger  tumbler  of  punch  than  that  which  Newman 
Noggs  had  so  feloniously  made  off  with. 

*'I  say  !  I  beg  everybody's  pardon  for  intruding  again,"  said  Crowl,  look- 
ing in  at  this  happy  juncture  ;  **  but  what  a  queer  business  this  is,  isn't  it? 
Xoggs  has  lived  in  this  house  now  going  on  for  five  years,  and  nobody  has 
ever  been  to  see  him  before  within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant." 

**  It's  a  strange  time  of  night  to  be  called  away,  sir,  certainly,"  said  the 
collector ;  *'  and  the  behaviour  of  Mr.  Noggs  himself,  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
mysterious." 

"  AVell,  so  it  is,"  rejoined  Crowl ;  **  and  I'll  tell  you  what's  more — ^I  think 
these  two  geniuses,  whoever  they  are,  have  run  away  from  somewhere." 

"What  makes  you  think  that,  sir?"  demanded  the  collector,  who  seemed, 
by  a  tacit  understanding,  to  have  been  chosen  and  elected  mouthpiece  to  the 
company.  "You  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  they  have  run  away  firom 
anywhere  without  paying  the  rates  and  taxes  due,  I  hope  ? " 

Mr.  Crowl,  with  a  look  of  some  contempt,  was  about  to  enter  a  general  pro- 
test against  the  payment  of  rates  or  taxes,  under  any  circumstances,  wnen 
he  was  checked  by  a  timely  whisper  from  Kenwigs,  and  several  frowns  and 
winks  from  Mrs.  K.,  which  providentially  stopped  him. 

**  Why  the  fact  is,"  said  Crowl,  who  had  been  listening  at  Newman's  door, 
with  all  his  might  and  main;  "the  fact  is,  that  they  have  been  talking  so 
loud,  that  they  quite  disturbed  me  in  my  room,  and  so  I  couldn't  help  catch- 
ing a  word  here  and  a  word  there  ;  and  all  I  heard  certainly  seemed  to  refer 
tr>  their  having  bolted  from  some  place  or  other.  I  don't  wish  to  alarm  Mrs. 
Kenwigs ;  but  I  hope  they  haven't  come  from  any  gaol  or  hospital,  and 
brought  away  a  fever  or  some  unpleasantness  of  that  sort,  which  might  be 
catching  for  the  children." 

Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  so  overpowered  by  this  supposition,  that  it  needed  all  the 
tender  attentions  of  Miss  Petowker,  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane,  to 
restore  her  to  anjrthing  like  a  state  of  calmness  ;  not  to  mention  the  assiduity 
of  Mr.  Kenwigs,  who  neld  a  fat  smelling-bottle  to  his  lady's  nose,  until  it 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  1 17 

became  a  matter  of  some  doubt  whether  the  tears  which  coursed  down  her  face 
were  the  results  of  feelings  or  sal  volatile. 

The  ladies  having  expressed  their  sympathy,  singly  and  separately,  fell, 
according  to  custom,  into  a  little  chorus  of  soothing  expressions,  among  which, 
such  condolences  as  "  Poor  dear  !" — **  I  should  feel  just  the  same,  if  I  was 
her" — "  To  be  sure,  it's  a  very  trying  thing" — and  **  Nobody  but  a  mother 
knows  what  a  mother's  feelings  is,"  were  among  the  most  prominent,  and 
most  frequently  repeated.  In  short,  the  opinion  of  the  company  was  so  clearly 
manifested,  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  was  on  the  point  of  repairing  to  Mr.  Noggs's 
room,  to  demand  an  explanation,  and  had  indeed  swallowed  a  preparatory 
glass  of  punch,  with  great  inflexibility  and  steadiness  of  purpose,  when  the 
attention  of  all  present  was  diverted  by  a  new  and  terrible  surprise. 

This  was  nothing  less  than  the  sudden  pouring  forth  of  a  rapid  succession  of 
the  shrillest  and  most  piercing  screams  from  an  upper  storey  ;  and  to  all 
appearance  from  the  very  two-pair  back  in  which  the  infant  Kenwigs  was  at 
that  moment  enshrined.  They  were  no  sooner  audible,  than  Mrs.  Kenwigs, 
opiDing  that  a  strange  cat  had  come  in,  and  sucked  the  baby's  breath  while 
the  girl  was  asleep,  made  for  the  door,  wringing  her  hands,  and  shrieking 
dismally  ;  to  the  great  consternation  and  confusion  of  the  company. 

"Mr.  Kenwigs,  see  what  it  is;  make  haste!"  cried  the  sister,  laying 
violent  hands  upon  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  holding  her  back  by  force.  "  Oh,  don't 
twist  abont  so,  dear,  or  I  can  never  hold  you. 

**My  baby,  my  blessed,  blessed,  blessed,  blessed  baby  !"  screamed  Mrs. 
Kenwigs,  making  every  blessed  louder  than  the  last.  **My  own  darling, 
sweet,  innocent  Lillyvick — Oh,  let  me  go  to  him.     Let  me  go-o-o-o  !  " 

Pen4ing  the  utterance  of  these  frantic  cries,  and  the  wails  and  lamentations 
of  the  lour  little  girls,  Mr.  Kenwigs  rushed  upstairs  to  the  room  whence  the 
sounds  proceeded ;  at  the  door  of  which  he  encountered  Nicholas,  with  the 
child  in  his  arms,  who  darted  out  with  such  violence,  that  the  anxious  father 
was  thrown  down  six  stairs,  and  alighted  on  the  nearest  landing-place,  before 
he  had  found  time  to  open  his  mouth  to  ask  what  was  the  matter. 

**  Don't  be  alarmed,'  cried  Nicholas,  running  down  ;  "here  it  is  ;  it's  all 
out — it's  all  over  ;  pray  compose  yourselves ;  there's  no  harm  done  ; "  and  with 
these  and  a  thousand  other  assurances,  he  delivered  the  baby  (whom  in  his 
hurry,  he  had  carried  upside  down),  to  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  and  ran  back  to 
assist  Mr.  Kenwigs,  who  was  rubbing  his  head  very  hard,  and  looking  much 
bewildered  by  his  tumble. 

Boassured  by  this  cheering  intelligence,  the  company  in  some  degree 
recovered  from  their  fears,  which  had  been  productive  of  some  most  singular 
instances  of  a  total  want  of  presence  of  mind  ;  thus,  the  bachelor  friend  had 
for  a  long  time  supported  in  his  arms  Mrs.  Kenwigs's  sister,  instead  of  Mrs. 
Kenwigs ;  and  the  worthy  Mr.  Lillyvick  had  been  actually  seen,  in  the 
perturbation  of  his  spirits,  to  kiss  Miss  Petowker  several  times,  behind  the 
room  door,  as  calmly  as  if  nothing  distressing  were  going  forward. 

**  It  is  a  mere  nothing,"  said  Nicholas,  returning  to  Mrs.  Kenwigs  ;  "  the 
little  girl,  who  was  watching  the  child,  being  tired  I  suppose,  fell  asleep,  and 
set  her  hair  on  fire." 

**0h,  you  malicious  little  wretch!"  cried  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  impressively 
shaking  her  fore-finger  at  the  small  unfortunate,  who  might  be  thirteen  years 
old,  and  was  looking  on  with  a  singed  head  and  a  frightened  face. 

"I  heard  her  cries,"  continued  Nicholas,  "and  ran  down  in  time  to 
prevent  her  setting  fire  to  anything  else.  You  may  depend  upon  it  that  the 
child  is  not  hurt ;  for  I  took  it  on  the  bed  myselfi  and  brought  it  here  to 
convince  yoo." 


1 1 8  LIFE  AND  AD  VENTURES  OF 

This  brief  explanation  over,  the  infant,  who,  as  he  was  christened  after  the 
collector,  rejoiced  in  the  names  of  Lillyvick  Eenwigs,  was  partially  suffocated 
under  the  caresses  of  the  audience,  and  squeezed  to  his  mother's  bosom  until 
he  roared  again.  The  attention  of  the  company  was  then  directed,  by  a 
natural  transition,  to  the  little  girl  who  had  had  the  audacity  to  burn  her  hair 
ofi',  and  who,  after  receiving  sundry  small  slaps  and  pushes  from  the  more 
energetic  of  the  ladies,  was  mercifully  sent  home  ;  the  ninepence,  with  which 
she  was  to  have  been  rewarded,  being  escheated  to  the  Kenwigs  family. 

"And  whatever  we  are  to  say  to  you,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kenwigs, 
addressing  young  Lilly vick's  deliverer,  *'  I  am  sure  I  don't  know." 

"You  need  say  nothing  at  all,"  replied  Nicholas.  "  I  have  done  nothing 
to  found  any  very  strong  claim  upon  your  eloquence,  I  am  sure." 

*'He  might  have  been  burnt  to  death,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  sir," 
simpered  Miss  Petowker. 

**Not  very  likely,  I  think,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  "for  there  was  abundance  of 
assistance  here,  which  must  have  reached  him  before  he  had  been  in  any 
danger." 

"You  will  let  us  drink  your  health,  anyvays,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
motioning  towards  the  table. 

" In  my  absence,  by  all  means,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  with  a  smile.     **I 

have  had  a  very  fatiguing  journey,  and  should  be  most  indifferent  company — 
a  far  greater  check  upon  your  merriment  than  a  promoter  of  it,  even  if  I  kept 
awake,  which  I  think  very  doubtful.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I'll  return  to  my 
friend,  Mr.  Noggs,  who  went  upstairs  again  when  he  found  nothing  serious 
had  occurred.     Good  night ! " 

Excusing  himself  in  these  terms  from  joining  in  the  festivities,  Nicholas 
took  a  most  winning  farewell  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs  and  the  other  ladies,  and 
retired,  after  making  a  very  extraordinary  impression  upon  the  company. 

"  Wliat  a  delightful  youug  man  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

"Uncommon  gentlemanly,  really,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  " Don't  you  think 
so,  Mr.  Lillyvick  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  the  collector,  with  a  dubious  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  **he  i« 
gentlemanly,  very  gentlemanly — in  appearance." 

' '  I  hope  you  don't  see  anything  against  him,  uncle  ? "  inquired  Mrs. 
Kenwigs. 

"No,  my  dear,"  replied  the  collector,  "no.  I  trust  he  may  turn  out — 
well — no  matter — my  love  to  you,  my  dear,  and  long  life  to  the  baby  I " 

"  Your  namesake,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  with  a  sweet  smile. 

"And  I  hope  a  worthy  namesake,  observed  Mr.  Kenwigs,  willing  to 
propitiate  the  collector.  '  *  I  hope  a  baby  as  will  never  disgrace  his  godfather, 
and  as  may  be  considered,  in  arter  years,  of  a  piece  with  the  Lillyvicks  whose 
name  he  bears.  I  do  say — and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  is  of  the  same  sentiment,  and 
feels  it  as  strong  as  I  do — that  I  consider  his  being  called  Lillyvick  one  of  the 
greatest  blessings  and  honours  of  my  existence." 

"  Th&  greatest  blessing,  Kenwigs,"  murmured  his  lady. 

"  The  greatest  blessing,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  correcting  himself.  "  A  bless- 
ing that  I  hope,  one  of  these  days,  I  may  be  able  to  deserve." 

This  was  a  politic  stroke  of  the  Kenwigses,  because  it  made  Mr.  Lillyvick 
the  great  head  and  fountain  of  the  baby's  importance.  The  good  gentleman 
felt  the  delicacy  and  dexterity  of  the  touch,  and  at  once  proposed  tne  health 
of  the  gentleman,  name  unknown,  who  had  signalised  himself  that  night  by 
his  coolness  and  alacrity. 

"  Who,  I  don't  mind  saying,"  observed  Mr.  Lillyvick,  as  a  great  conceasioiif 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  119 

"is  a  good-looking  young  man  enough,  with  manners  that  I  hope  his 
character  may  be  equal  to. 

**  He  has  a  very  nice  face  and  style,  really,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

**He  certainly  has,"  added  Miss  Petowker.  "There's  something  in  his 
appearance  quite — dear,  dear,  what's  that  word  again  ?  " 

**  What  word  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Lilly  vick. 

"Why— dear  me,  how  stupid  I  am,"  replied  Miss  Petowker,  hesitating. 
**  What  do  you  call  it,  when  lords  break  off  door-knockers,  and  beat  police- 
men, and  play  at  coaches  with  other  people's  money,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  ? " 

"Aristocratic?"  suggested  the  collector. 

"Ah!  aristocratic,'  replied  Miss  Petowker;  "  something  very  aristocratic 
about  him,  isn't  there  ? " 

The  gentlemen  held  their  peace,  and  smiled  at  each  other,  as  who  should 
say,  "Well!  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes;"  but  the  ladies  resolved 
unanimously  that  Nicholas  had  an  aristocratic  air  ;  and  nobody  caring  to 
dispute  the  position,  it  was  established  triumphantly. 

The  punch  being,  by  this  time,  drunk  out,  and  the  little  Kenwigses  (who 
had  for  some  time  previously  held  their  little  eyes  open  with  their  little  fore- 
fingers) becoming  fractious,  and  requesting  rather  urgently  to  be  put  to  bed, 
the  collector  made  a  move  by  pulling  out  his  watch,  and  acquainting  the 
company  that  it  was  nigh  two  o'clock  ;  whereat  some  of  the  guests  were  sur- 
prised and  others  shocked,  and  hats  and  bonnets  being  groped  for  under  the 
tables,  and  in  course  of  time  found,  their  owners  went  away,  after  a  vast  deal 
of  shaking  of  hands,  and  many  remarks  how  they  had  never  spent  such  a 
delightful  evening,  and  how  they  marvelled  to  find  it  so  late,  expecting  to 
have  heard  that  it  was  half-past  ten  at  the  very  latest,  and  how  they  wished 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  a  wedding-day  once  a- week,  and  how  they 
wondered  by  what  hidden  agency  Mrs.  Kenwigs  could  possibly  have  managed 
so  well ;  and  a  great  deal  more  of  the  same  kind.  To  all  of  which  flattering 
expressions,"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  replied,  by  thanking  every  lady  and 
gentleman,  seriatim,  for  the  favour  of  their  company,  and  hoping  they  might 
have  enjoyed  themselves  only  half  as  well  as  they  said  they  had. 

As  to  Nicholas,  quite  unconscious  of  the  impression  he  had  produced,  he 
had  long  since  fallen  asle'^p,  leaving  Mr.  Newman  Noggs  and  Smike  to  empty 
the  spirit  bottle  between  them ;  and  this  office  they  performed  with  such 
extreme  goodwill,  that  Newman  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  determine  whether 
he  himself  was  quite  sober,  and  whether  he  had  ever  seen  any  gentleman  so 
heavily,  drowsily,  and  completely  intoxicated  as  his  new  acquaintance. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


NICHOLAS  SEEKS  TO  EMPLOY  HIMSELF  IN  A  NEW  CAPACITY,  AND  BEING  UNSUC- 
CESSFUL,   ACCEPTS  AN  ENGAGEMENT  AS  TUTOR   IN  A   PRIVATE   FAMILY. 

THE  first  care  of  Nicholas  next  morning  was  to  look  after  some  room  in 
which,  until  better  times  dawned  upon  him,  he  could  contrive  to  exist, 
without  trenching  upon  the  hospitality  of  Newman  Noggs,  who  would 
have  slept  upon  the  stairs  with  pleasure,  so  that  his  young  friend  was  accom- 
modated. 

The  vacant  apartment  to  which  the  bill  in  the  parlour  window  bore 
referencei  appeared,  on  inquiry,  to  be  a  small  back  room  on  the  Bi&(^o\i6^  ^c^^t^ 


\io  Life  and  adventures  of 

reclaimed  from  the  leads,  and  overlooking  a  soot-bospeckled  prospect  of  tiki 
and  chimney-puts.  For  the  letting  of  this  portion  of  the  honse  m>in  week  to 
week,  •  n  reasonable  terms,  the  parlour  lodger  was  empowered  to  treat ;  he 
being  deputed  by  the  landlord  to  disclose  of  the  rooms  as  they  became  victiit^ 
and  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out  that  the  lodgers  didn't  run  away.  As  a  metns 
of  securing  the  punctual  discharge  of  which  last  service  he  was  permitted  to 
live  rent  free,  lest  he  should  at  any  time  be  tempted  to  run  away  Dimself. 

Of  this  chamber  Nicholas  became  the  tenant ;  and  having  hired  a  few 
common  articles  of  furniture  from  a  neighbouring  broker,  and  paid  the  first 
week's  hire  in  advance,  out  of  a  small  fund  raised  by  the  conversion  of  some 
spare  clothes  into  ready  money,  he  sat  himself  down  to  ruminate  upon  his 
]>rospects,  which,  like  the  prospect  outside  his  window,  were  sufficiently  con- 
lined  and  dingy.  As  they  by  no  means  improved  on  better  acquaintance,  and  u 
familiarity  breeds  contempt,  he  resolved  to  banish  them  from  his  thoughts  by 
dint  of  hard  walking.  So,  taking  up  his  hat,  and  leavinjj^  poor  Smike  to 
arrange  and  re-arrange  the  room  with  as  much  delight  as  if  it  had  been  the 
costliest  palace,  he  betook  himself  to  the  streets,  and  mingled  with  the  crowd 
which  thronged  them. 

Although  a  man  may  lose  a  sense  of  his  own  importance  when  he  is  a  mere 
unit  among  a  busy  throng,  all  utterly  regardless  of  him,  it  by  no  mesns 
follows  that  he  can  dispossess  himself,  with  equal  facility,  of  a  very  strong 
sense  of  the  importance  and  magnitude  of  his  cares.  The  unhappy  state  m 
his  own  affairs  was  the  one  idea  which  occupied  the  brain  of  Nicholas,  waUc 
as  fast  as  he  would  ;  and  when  he  tried  to  dislodge  it  by  speculating  on  the 
situation  and  prospects  of  the  people  who  surrounded  him,  he  caught  himself, 
in  a  few  seconds,  contrasting  their  condition  with  his  own,  and  gliding  almost 
imperceptibly  back  into  his  old  train  of  thought  again. 

Occupied  in  these  reflections,  as  he  was  making  his  way  along  one  of  the 
great  public  thoroughfares  of  London,  he  chanced  to  raise  his  eyea  to  a  bloe 
board,  whereon  was  inscribed,  in  characters  of  gold,  "General  Agency  OfSce; 
for  places  and  situations  of  all  kinds  inquire  within."  It  was  a  shop  fronts 
fitted  up  with  a  gauze  blind  and  an  inner  door  ;  and  in  the  window  hung  a 
long  and  tempting  array  of  written  placards,  announcing  vacant  places  of 
every  grade,  from  a  secretary's  to  a  footboy's. 

Nicholas  halted,  instinctively,  before  this  temple  of  promise,  and  ran  his 
eye  over  the  capital-te±t. openings  in  life  which  were  so  profusely  displayed. 
When  he  had  completed  his  survey  he  walked  on  a  little  way,  and  then  back, 
and  then  on  again  ;  at  length,  after  pausing  irresolutely  several  times  before 
the  door  of  the  General  Agency  Office,  he  made  up  his  mind,  and  stepped  in. 

He  found  himself  in  a  little  floor-clothed  room,  with  a  high  desk  railed  off 
in  one  corner,  behind  which  sat  a  lean  youth  with  cunning  eyes  and  a  pro- 
truding chin,  whose  performances  in  capital-text  darkened  the  window.  He 
had  a  tliick  ledger  lying  open  before  him,  and  with  the  Angers  of  his  right 
hand  inserted  between  the  leaves,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  very  fat  old  lady  in 
a  mob-cap — evidently  the  proprietress  of  the  establishment---who  was  airing 
herself  at  the  fire,  seemed  to  be  only  waiting  her  direction  to  refer  to  some 
entries  contained  within  its  rusty  clasj>s. 

As  there  was  a  board  outside  which  acquainted  the  public  that  servants-of- 
all-work  were  perpetually  in  waiting  to  be  hired  from  ten  till  four,  Nicholas 
knew  at  once  that  some  half-dozen  strong  young  women,  each  with  pattensand 
an  umbrella,  who  were  sitting  upon  a  form  in  one  corner,  were  in  attendance 
for  that  purpose ;  especially  as  the  poor  things  looked  anxious  and  weary. 
He  was  not  quite  so  certain  of  the  callings  and  stations  of  two  smart  young 
ladies  who  were  in  conversation  with  the  fat  lady  before  the  firOi  until — ^havixig 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  121 

sat  himself  down  in  a  comer,  and  remarked  that  ho  would  wait  until  the 
other  customers  had  been  served — the  fat  lady  resumed  the  dialogue  which 
liis  entrance  had  interrupted. 

**  Cook,  Tom,"  said  the  fat  lady,  still  airing  herself  as  aforesaid. 

**  Cook,"  said  Tom,  turning  over  some  leaves  of  the  ledger      "  Well ! " 

"  Read  out  an  easy  place  or  two,"  said  the  fat  lady. 

"  Pick  out  very  light  ones,  if  you  please,  young  man,"  interposed  a  genteel 
female  in  shepherd's-plaid  boots,  who  appeared  to  be  the  client. 

•*.*Mi*s.  Marker,'  "  said  Tom,  '*  'residing  in  Russell  Place,  Russell  Square  ; 
oflers  eighteen  guineas  ;  tea  and  sugar  found.  Two  in  family,  and  see  very 
little  company.     Five  servants  kept.     No  man.     No  followers. '  " 

**OLor!"  tittered  the  client  **  T?uU  won't  do.  Read  another,  young 
man,  will  you?" 

**  *  Mrs.  Wrymug,' "  said  Tom,  **  *  Pleasant  Place,  Finsbury.  Wages  twelve 
guineas.     No  tea,  no  su^r.     Serious  family ' " 

•*  Ah  !  you  needn't  mmd  reading  that,"  interrupted  the  client. 

"  *  Three  serious  footmen,' "  said  Tom,  impressively. 

"  Three,  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  client,  in  an  altered  tone. 

**  Three  serious  footmen,"  replied  Tom.  **  *  Cook,  housemaid,  and  nurse- 
maid ;  each  female  servant  required  to  join  the  Little  Bethel  Congregation 
three  times  every  Sunday — with  a  serious  footman.  If  the  cook  is  more 
serious  than  the  footman,  she  will  be  expected  to  improve  the  footman  ;  if  the 
footman  is  more  serious  than  the  cook,  he  will  be  expected  to  improve  the 
cook.' " 

"  I'll  take  the  address  of  that  place,"  said  the  client ;  "I  don't  know  but 
what  it  mightn't  suit  me  pretty  well. " 

'*  Here's  another,"  remarked  Tom,  turning  over  the  leaves.  **  *  Family  of 
Mr.  Gallanbile,  M.P.  Fifteen  guineas,  tea  and  sugar,  and  servants  allowed 
to  see  male  cousins,  if  godly.  Note. — Cold  dinner  in  the  kitchen  on  the 
Sabbath,  Mr.  Gallanbile  being  devoted  to  the  Observance  question.  No 
victuals  whatever  cooked  on  the  Lord's  Day,  with  the  exception  of  dinner  for 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gallanbile,  which,  being  a  work  of  piety  and  necessity,  is 
exempted.  Mr.  Gallanbile  dines  late  on  the  day  of  rest,  in  order  to  prevent 
the  sinfulness  of  the  cook's  dressing  herself. '  " 

**  I  don't  think  that'll  answer  as  well  as  the  other,"  said  the  client,  after  a 
little  whispering  with  her  friend.  **ril  take  the  other  direction,  if  you 
please,  young  man.     I  can  but  come  back  again  if  it  don't  do." 

Tom  made  out  the  address,  as  requested,  and  the  genteel  client,  having 
satisfied  the  fat  lady  with  a  small  fee,  meanwhile,  went  away,  accompanied  by 
her  friend. 

As  Nicholas  opened  his  mouth  to  request  the  young  man  to  turn  to  letter 
S,  and  let  him  know  what  secretaryships  remained  undisposed  of,  there 
came  into  the  o£Q[ce  an  applicant,  in  whose  favour  he  immediately  retired,  and 
whose  appearance  both  surprised  and  interested  him. 

This  was  a  young  lady  who  could  be  scarcely  eighteen,  of  very  slight  and 
delicate  figure,  but  exquisitely  shaped,  who,  walking  timidly  up  to  the  desk, 
made  an  inquiry,  in  a  very  low  tone  of  voice,  relative  to  some  situation  as 
governess,  or  companion  to  a  lady.  She  raised  her  veil  for  an  instant, 
while  she  preferred  the  inquiry,  and  disclosed  a  countenance  of  most  un- 
common beauty,  though  shaded  by  a  cloud  of  sadness,  which,  in  one  so 
young,  was  doubly  remarkable.  Having  received  a  card  of  reference  to 
some  person  on  the  books,  she  made  the  usual  acknowledgment  and  glided 
awav. 

She  was  neatlyi  but  very  quietly  attired ;  so  much  so,  indeed^  that  \t 


122  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

seemed  as  though  her  dress,  if  it  had  been  worn  by  one  who  imparted  fewer 
graces  of  her  own  to  it,  might  have  looked  poor  and  shabby.  Her  attendant, 
lor  she  had  one,  was  a  red-faced,  round-eyed,  slovenly  girl,  who,  from  « 
certain  roughness  about  the  bare  arms  that  peeped  from  under  her  draggled 
shawl,  and  the  half-washed-out  traces  of  smut  and  black-lead  which  tattooed 
her  countenance,  was  clearly  of  a  kin  with  the  servants-of-all-work  on  the 
form  ;  between  whom  and  herself  there  had  passed  various  grins  and  glances, 
indicative  of  the  freemasonry  of  the  craft 

This  girl  followed  her  mistress ;  and,  before  Nicholas  had  recovered  from 
the  first  effects  of  his  surprise  and  admiration,  the  young  lady  was  gone.  It 
is  not  a  matter  of  such  complete  and  utter  improbability  as  some  sober  people 
may  think,  that  he  would  have  followed  them  out,  had  he  not  been  restrained 
by  what  passed  between  the  fat  lady  and  her  bookkeeper. 

*'  When  is  she  coming  again,  Tom  % "  asked  the  fat  lady, 

**  To-morrow  morning,"  replied  Tom,  mending  his  pen. 

•*  Where  have  you  sent  her  to  ? "  asked  the  fat  lady. 

*'  Mrs.  Clark's,"  replied  Tom. 

"  She'll  have  a  nice  life  of  it  if  she  goes  there,"  observed  the  fat  lady,  taking 
a  pinch  of  snuff  from  a  tin  box. 

Tom  made  no  other  reply  than  thrusting  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and 
pointing  the  feather  of  his  pen  towards  Nicholas — reminders  which  elicited 
from  the  fat  lady  an  inquiry  of,  **  Now,  sir,  what  can  we  do  for  you  I" 

Nicholas  briefly  replied,  that  he  wanted  to  know  whether  there  was  any 
such  post  to  be  had  as  secretary  or  amanuensis  to  a  gentleman. 

**  Any  such  !  "  rejoined  the  mistress  ;  '*  a  dozen  such.     An't  there,  Tom  ?** 

"/should  think  so,"  answered  that  young  gentleman  ;  and  as  he  said  it, 
he  winked  towards  Nicholas  with  a  degiee  of  familiarity  which  he,  no  doubt, 
intended  for  a  rather  flattering  compliment,  but  with  which  Nicholas  was 
most  ungratefully  disgusted. 

Upon  reference  to  the  book,  it  appeared  that  the  dozen  secretaryships  had 
dwindled  down  to  one.  Mr.  Gregsbury,  the  great  member  of  parliament,  of 
Manchester  Buildings,  Westminster,  wanted  a  young  man  to  keep  his  papers 
and  correspondence  in  order ;  and  Nicholas  was  exactly  the  sort  of  young  man 
that  Mr.  Gregsbury  wanted. 

**  I  don't  know  what  the  terms  are,  as  he  said  he'd  settle  them  himself  with 
the  party,"  observed  the  fat  lady;  "but  they  must  be  pretty  good  ones, 
because  he's  a  member  of  parliament." 

Inexperienced  as  he  was,  Nicholas  did  not  feel  quite  assured  of  the  force  of 
this  reasoning,  or  the  justice  of  this  conclusion  ;  but  without  troubling 
himself  to  question  it,  he  took  down  the  address,  and  resolved  to  wait  upon 
Mr.  Gregsbury  without  delay. 

**  I  don't  know  what  the  number  is,"  said  Tom  ;  "  but  Manchester  Build- 
ings isn't  a  large  place  ;  and  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  it  won't  take 
you  very  long  to  knock  at  all  the  doors  on  both  sides  of  the  way  'till  you  find 
him  out.     I  say,  what  a  good-looking  gal  that  was,  wasn't  she  ? " 
"  What  girl  ? "  demanded  Nicholas,  steraly. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  know — what  gal,  eh  ? "  whispered  Tom,  shutting  one  eye, 
and  cocking  his  chin  in  the  air.  "You  didn't  see  her,  you  didn't — I  say, 
don't  you  wish  you  was  me,  when  she  comes  to-morrow  morning  ? " 

Nicholas  looked  at  the  ugly  clerk,  as  if  he  had  a  mind  to  reward  his 
admiration  of  the  young  lady  by  beating  the  ledger  about  his  ears,  but  he 
refrained,  and  strode  haughtily  out  of  the  office ;  setting  at  defiance,  in  his 
indignation,  those  ancient  laws  of  chivalry,  which  not  only  made  it  proper 
and  lawful  for  all  good  knights  to  hear  the  praise  of  the  ladies  to  whom  they 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  123 

were  devoted,  but  rendered  it  incumbent  upon  them  to  roam  about  the  world, 
and  knock  at  head  all  such  matter-of-fact  and  unpoetical  characters  as 
declined  to  exalt,  above  all  the  earth,  damsels  whom  they  had  never  chanced 
to  look  npon  or  hear  of — as  if  that  were  any  excuse  ! 

Thinking  no  longer  of  his  own  misfortunes,  but  wondering  what  could  be 
those  of  the  beautiful  girl  he  had  seen,  Nicholas,  with  many  wrong  turns,  and 
many  in(|uiries,  and  almost  as  many  misdirections,  bent  his  steps  toward  the 
place  whither  he  had  been  directed. 

Within  the  precints  of  the  ancient  city  of  Westminster,  and  within  half  a 
quarter  of  a  mil^  of  its  ancient  sanctuary,  is  a  narrow  and  dirty  region,  the 
sanctuary  of  the  smaller  members  of  parliament  in  modern  days.  It  is  all 
comprised  in  one  street  of  gloomy  lodging-houses,  from  whose  windows,  in 
vacation  time,  there  frown  long  melancholy  rows  of  bills,  which  say,  as 
plainly  as  did  the  countenances  of  their  occupiers,  ranged  on  ministerial  and 
opposition  benches,  in  the  session  which  slumbers  with  its  fathers,  "  To  Let," 
**  To  Let."  In  busier  periods  of  the  year  these  bills  disappear,  and  the  houses 
swarm  with  legislators.  There  are  legislators  in  the  parlours,  in  the  first 
floor,  in  the  second,  in  the  third,  in  the  garrets  ;  the  small  apartments  reek 
with  the  breath  of  deputations  and  delegates.  In  damp  weather  the  place 
is  rendered  close  by  the  steams  of  moist  Acts  of  Parliament  and  frowzy 
petitions  ;  general  postmen  grow  faint  as  they  enter  its  infected  limits,  and 
shabby  figures  in  quest  of  franks  flit  restlessly  to  and  fro  like  the  troubled 
ghosts  of  Complete  Letter- writers  departed.  This  is  Manchester  Buildings  ; 
and  here,  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  may  be  heard  the  rattling  of  latch-keys  in 
their  respective  key -holes :  with  now  and  then — when  a  gust  of  wind  sweeping 
across  the  water  which  washes  the  Building's  feet,  impels  the  sound  towards  its 
entrance — the  weak,  shrill  voice  of  some  young  member  practising  to-morrow's 
speech.  All  the  livelong  day  there  is  a  grinding  of  organs  and  clashing  and 
clanging  of  little  boxes  of  music  ;  for  Manchester  Buildings  is  an  eel-pot, 
which  has  no  outlet  but  its  awkward  mouth — a  case-bottle  which  has  no 
thoroughfare,  and  a  short  and  narrow  neck — and  in  this  respect  it  may  be 
typical  of  the  fate  of  some  few  among  its  more  adventurous  residents,  who, 
after  wriggling  themselves  into  parliament  by  violent  efforts  and  contortions, 
find  that  it,  too,  is  no  thoroughfare  for  them  ;  that  like  Manchester  Buildings, 
it  leads  to  nothing  beyond  itself ;  and  that  they  are  fain  at  last  to  back  out, 
no  wiser,  no  richer,  not  one  whit  more  famous,  than  they  went  in. 

Into  Manchester  Buildings  Nicholas  turned,  with  the  address  of  the  great 
Mr.  Gregsbury  in  his  hand.  As  there  was  a  stream  of  people  pouring  into  a 
shabby  house  not  far  from  the  entrance,  he  waited  until  they  had  made  their 
way  in,  and  then  making  up  to  the  servant,  ventured  to  inquire  if  he  knew 
where  Mr.  Gregsbury  lived. 

The  servant  was  a  very  pale,  shabby  boy,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  slept 
nndergronnd  from  his  infancy,  as  very  likely  he  had.  "Mr.  Gregsbury?" 
said  he  ;  "  Mr.  Gregsbury  lodges  here.     It's  all  right.     Come  in  ! " 

Nicholas  thought  he  might  as  well  get  in  while  he  could,  so  in  he  walked  ; 
and  he  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  the  boy  shut  the  door  and  made  off. 

This  was  odd  enough  ;  but  what  was  more  embarrassing  was,  that  all  along 
the  passage,  and  all  along  the  narrow  stairs,  blocking  up  the  window,  and 
making  the  dark  entry  darker  still,  was  a  confused  crowd  of  persons  with 
great  importance  depicted  in  their  looks  ;  who  were,  to  all  appearance,  wait- 
uig  in  ^ent  expectation  of  some  coming  event.  From  time  to  time  one  man 
would  whisper  his  neighbour,  or  a  little  group  would  whisper  together,  and 
then  the  whisperers  would  nod  -fiercely  to  eacn  other,  or  give  their  heads  a 


124  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

relentless  shake,  as  if  they  were  bent  upon  doing  something  very  desperate, 
and  were  determined  not  to  bo  put  oflf,  whatever  happened.  ' 

As  a  few  minutes  elapsed  without  anything  occurring  to  explain  this 
phenomenon,  and  as  he  felt  his  own  position  a  peculiarly  uncomfortable  one, 
Nicholas  was  on  the  point  of  seeking  some  information  from  the  man  next 
him,  when  a  sudden  move  was  visible  on  the  stairs,  and  a  voice  was  heard  to 
cry,  *'  Now,  gentlemen,  have  the  goodness  to  walk  up." 

So  far  from  walking  up,  the  gentlemen  on  the  stairs  began  to  walk  down 
with  great  alacrity,  and  to  entreat,  with  extraordinary  politeness,  that  the 
gentlemen  nearest  the  street  would  go  first ;  the  gentlemen  nearest  the  street 
retorted  with  equal  courtesy,  that  they  couldn't  think  of  suclna  thing  on  any 
account ;  but  they  did  it  without  thinking  of  it,  inasmuch  as  the  other 
gentlemen  pressing  some  half-dozen  (among  whom  was  Nicholas)  forward,  and 
closing  up  Dehind,  pushed  them  not  merely  up  the  stairs,  but  into  the  very 
sitting-room  of  Mr.  Gregsbury,  which  they  were  thus  compelled  to  enter  with 
most  unseemly  precipitation,  and  without  the  means  of  retreat ;  the  press 
behind  them  more  than  filling  the  apartment. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  "you  are  welcome.  I  am  rejoiced  to 
see  vou." 

For  a  gentleman  who  was  rejoiced  to  see  a  body  of  visitors,  Mr.  Gregsbury 
looked  as  uncomfortable  as  might  be  ;  but  perhaps  this  was  occasioned  by 
senatorial  gravity,  and  a  statesman-like  habit  of  keeping  his  feelings  under 
control.  He  was  a  tough,  burly,  thick-headed  gentleman,  with  a  loud  voice, 
a  pompous  manner,  a  tolerable  command  of  sentences  with  no  meaning  in 
them*  and,  in  short,  every  requisite  for  a  very  good  member  indeed. 

**Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  tossing  a  great  bundle  of  papers 
into  a  wicker  basket  at  his  feet,  and  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair  with 
his  arms  over  the  elbows,  "you  are  dissatisfied  with  my  conduct,  I  see  by  the 
newspapers." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Gregsbury,  we  are,"  said  a  plump  old  gentleman  in  a  violent 
heat,  bursting  out  of  the  throng,  and  planting  himself  in  the  front. 

"Do  my  eyes  deceive  me,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  looking  towards  the 
speaker,  "  or  is  that  my  old  friend  Pugstyles  ?  " 

"  I  am  that  man,  and  no  other,  sir,  '  replied  the  plump  old  gentleman. 

"Give  me  your  hand,  my  worthy  friend,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  "Pug- 
styles, my  dear  friend,  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  here. " 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  here,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pugstyles  ;  "  but  your  conduct, 
Mr.  Gregsbury,  has  rendered  this  deputation  from  your  constituents  impera- 
tively necessary." 

"  My  conduct,  Pugstyles,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  looking  round  upon  the 
deputation  with  gracious  magnanimity — "my  conduct  has  been,  and  ever 
will  be,  regulated  by  a  sincere  regard  for  the  true  and  real  interest  of  this 
great  and  happy  country.  Whether  I  look  at  home  or  abroad  ;  whether  1 
behold  the  peaceful  industrious  communities  of  our  island  home  ;  her  rivers 
covered  with  steamboats,  her  roads  with  locomotives,  her  streets  with  cabs, 
her  skies  with  balloons  of  a  power  and  magnitude  hitherto  unknown  in  the 
history  of  aeronautics  in  this  or  any  other  nation — I  say,  whether  I  look 
merely  at  home,  or,  stretching  my  eyes  farther,  contemplate  the  boundless 
prospect  of  conquest  and  possession — achieved  by  British  perseverance  and 
British  valour — which  is  outspread  before  me,  I  clasp  my  hands,  and  turning 
my  eyes  to  the  broad  expanse  above  my  head,  exclaim,  *  Thank  heaven,  I  am 
a  Briton  I '  " 

Tlie  time  had  been,  when  this  burst  of  enthusiasm  would  have  been  cheered 
to  the  very  echo  \  but  now,  the  deputation  received  it  with  chilling  coldni 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  125 

The  general  impression  seemed  to  be,  that  as  an  explanation  of  Mr.  Gregs- 
bury's  political  conduct  it  did  not  enter  quite  enough  into  detail ;  and  one 
gentleman  in  the  rear  did  not  scruple  to  remark  aloud,  that,  for  his  purpose, 
it  savoured  rather  too  much  of  a  "gammon  "  tendency. 

"  The  meaning  of  that  term — gammon,"  said  Mr.  Grcgsbury,  *'  is  unknown 
to  me.  If  it  means  that  I  grow  a  little  too  fervid,  or  perhaps  even  hyper- 
bolical, in  extolling  my  native  land,  I  admit  the  full  justice  of  the  remark.  I 
am  proud  of  this  free  and  happy  country.  My  form  dilates,  my  eye  glistens, 
my  breast  heaves,  my  heart  swells,  my  bosom  burns,  when  I  call  to  mind  her 
greatness  and  her  glory." 

**We  wish,  sir,"  remarked  Mr.  Pngstyles,  calmly,  "to  ask  you  a  few 
questions." 

"If  you  please,  gentlemen  ;  my  time  is  yours — and  my  country's — and  my 
conntry's,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

This  permission  being  conceded,  Mr.  Pugstyles  put  on  his  spectacles,  and 
referred  to  a  written  paper  which  he  drew  from  his  pocket ;  whereupon  nearly 
every  other  member  of  the  deputation  pulled  a  written  paper  from  his  pocket, 
to  check  Mr.  Pugstyles  off,  as  he  read  the  questions. 

This  done,  Mr.  Pugstyles  proceeded  to  business. 

"  Question  number  one. — Whether,  sir,  you  did  not  give  a  voluntary 
pledge  previous  to  your  election,  that  in  event  of  your  being  returned,  you 
would  immediately  put  down  the  practice  of  coughing  and  groaning  in  tlio 
House  of  Commons.  And  whether  you  did  not  submit  to  be  coughed  and 
groaned  down  in  the  very  first  debate  of  the  session,  and  have  since  made  no 
effort  to  effect  a  reform  in  this  respect  ?  AVhether  you  did  not  also  pledge 
yourself  to  astonish  the  government,  and  make  them  shrink  in  their  shoes. 
And  whether  you  have  astonished  them,  and  made  them  shrink  in  their 
shoes  or  not  ? " 

**  Go  on  to  the  next  one,  my  dear  Pugstyles,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

**  Have  you  any  explanation  to  oft'er  with  reference  to  that  question,  sir  ?  ** 
asked  Mr.  Pugstyles. 

**  Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

The  members  of  the  deputation  looked  fiercely  at  each  other,  and  afterwards 
at  the  member.  "  Dear  Pugstyles,"  having  taken  a  very  long  stare  at  Mr. 
Gregsbury  over  the  tops  of  his  spectacles,  resumed  his  list  of  inquiries. 

"  Question  number  two. — Whether,  sir,  you  did  not  likewise  give  a  volun- 
tary pledge  that  you  would  support  your  colleague  on  every  occasion  ;  and 
whether  you  did  not,  tlie  night  before  last,  desert  him  and  vote  upon  the 
other  side,  because  the  wife  of  a  leader  on  that  other  side  had  invited  Mrs. 
Gregsbury  to  an  evening  party  ? " 

**  Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

**  Nothing  to  say  on  that  either,  sir  ? "  asked  the  spokesman. 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  replied  Mr.  Gregsbury.  The  deputation,  who  had 
only  seen  him  at  canvassing  or  election  time,  were  struck  dumb  by  his 
coolness.  He  didn't  appear  like  the  same  man  ;  then  lie  was  all  milk  and 
honey  ;  now  he  was  all  starch  and  vinegar.  But  men  arc  so  diUorent  at 
different  times  ! 

"  Question  number  three— and  last — "  said  Mr.  Pugstyles,  emphatically. 
**  Whether,  sir,  you  did  not  state  upon  the  hustings,  that  it  was  your  firm 
and  determined  intention  to  oppose  everything  proposed  ;  to  divide  the 
house  upon  every  question,  to  move  for  returns  on  every  subject,  to  place 
a  motion  on  the  books  every  day,  and,  in  short,  in  your  own  memorable 
words,  to  play  the  very  devil  with  everything  and  everybody  ?  "     With  tUia 


126  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

comprehensive  inquiry,  Mr.  Fagstyles  folded  up  his  list  of  qaestlons,  as  did 
all  his  backers. 

Mr.  Gregsbury  reflected,  blew  his  nose,  threw  himself  further  back  in  bis 
chair,  came  forward  again,  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  table,  made  a  triangle 
with  his  two  thumbs  and  his  two  forefingers,  and  tapping  his  nose  with  the 
apex  thereof,  replied  (smiling  as  he  said  it),  *'  I  deny  everything." 

At  this  unexpected  answer,  a  hoarse  murmur  arose  from  the  deputation  ; 
and  the  same  gentleman  who  had  expressed  an  opinion  relative  to  the  gam- 
moning nature  of  the  introductory  speech,  again  made  a  monosyllabic  demon- 
stration, by  growling  out,  "  Resign  !  "  Which  growl  being  taken  up  by  his 
fellows,  swelled  into  a  very  earnest  and  general  remonstrance. 

"  I  am  requested,  sir,  to  express  a  hope,"  said  Mr.  Pugstylea,  with  a 
distant  bow,  *'that  on  receiving  a  requisition  to  that  effect  from  a  great 
majority  of  your  constituents,  you  will  not  object  at  once  to  resign  your  seat 
in  favour  of  some  candidate  whom  they  think  they  can  better  trust." 

To  this,  Mr.  Gregsbury  read  the  following  reply,  which,  anticipating  the 
request,  he  had  composed  in  the  form  of  a  letter,  whereof  copies  had  been 
made  to  send  round  to  the  newspapers. 

**  My  Dear  PuGSTYLES-^lText  to  the  welfare  of  our  beloved  island — ^this 
great  and  free  and  happy  country,  whose  powers  and  resources  are,  I  sincerely 
believe,  illimitable — I  value  that  noble  mdependence  which  is  an  English- 
man's proudest  boast,  and  which  I  fondly  hope  to  bequeath  to  my  children, 
untarnished  and  unsullied.  Actuated  by  no  personal  motives,  but  moved 
only  by  high  and  great  constitutional  considerations,  which  I  will  not 
attempt  to  explain,  for  they  are  really  beneath  the  comprehension  of  those 
who  have  not  made  themselves  masters,  as  I  have,  of  the  intricate  and' 
arduous  study  of  politics  ;  I  would  rather  keep  my  seat,  and  intend  doing  so. 

'•  Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  present  my  compliments  to  the  constituent 
body,  and  acquaint  them  with  this  circumstance  % 

"  With  great  esteem, 

**  My  dear  Pugstyles, 

**  Etc.,  etc." 

**  Then  you  will  not  resign,  under  any  circumstances  ? "  asked  the  spokes- 
man. 

Mr.  Gregsbury  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

*'  Then,  good  morning,  sir,"  said  Pugstyles,  angrily. 

"Heaven  bless  you!"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  And  the  deputation,  with 
many  growls  and  scowls,  filed  off  as  quickly  as  the  narrowness  of  the  staircase 
would  allow  of  their  getting  down. 

The  last  man  being  gone,  Mr.  Gregsbury  rubbed  his  hands  and  chuckled,  as 
merry  fellows  will,  when  they  think  they  have  said  or  done  a  more  than 
commonly  good  thing  ;  he  was  so  engrossed  in  this  self- congratulation,  that 
he  did  not  observe  that  Nicholas  had  been  left  behind  in  the  shadow  of  the 
window-curtains,  until  that  young  gentleman,  fearing  he  might  otherwise 
overhear  some  soliloquy  intended  to  have  no  listeners,  coughed  twice  or  thrice, 
to  attract  the  member's  notice. 

"  What's  that  ? "  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  in  sharp  accents. 

Nicholas  stepped  forward  and  bowed. 

"What  do  you  do  here,  sir?"  asked  Mr.  Gregsbury;  "a  spy  upon  my 
privacy  I  A  concealed  voter  I  You  have  heard  my  answer,  sir.  Pray  follow 
the  deputation." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  127 

"I  should  have  done  so,  if  I  had  belonged  to  it,  but  I  do  not/'  said 
Nicholas. 

**  Then  how  came  you  here,  sir  ? "  was  the  natural  inquiry  of  Mr.  Gregs- 
bury,  M.P.  **And  where  the  devil  have  you  come  from,  sir?"  was  the 
question  which  followed  it. 

**  I  brought  this  card  from  the  General  Agency  Office,  sir,"  said  Nicholas, 
"  wishing  to  offer  myself  as  your  secretary,  and  understanding  that  you  stood 
in  need  of  one." 

"  That's  all  you  have  come  for,  is  it  ? "  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  eyeing  him  in 
some  doubt. 

Nicholas  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

^*  You  have  no  connection  with  any  of  those  rascally  papers,  have  you  ? " 
said  Mr.  Gregsbury.  **  You  didn't  get  into  the  room  to  hear  what  was  going 
forward,  and  put  it  in  print,  eh  ? " 

*'  I  have  no  connection,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  with  anything  at  present," 
rejoined  Nicholas,  politely  enough,  but  quite  at  his  ease. 

**  Oh  ! "  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.    **  How  did  you  find  your  way  up  here,  then  ? " 

Nicholas  related  how  he  had  been  forced  up  by  the  deputation. 

**  That  was  the  way,  was  it  ? "  said  Mr.  Gregsbury.     **  Sit  down." 

Nicholas  took  a  chair,  and  Mr.  Gregsbury  stared  at  him  for  a  long  time,  as 
if  to  make  certain,  before  he  asked  any  further  questions,  that  there  were  no 
objections  to  his  outward  appearance. 

•*  You  want  to  be  my  secretary,  do  you  ? "  he  said  at  length. 

•*  I  wish  to  be  employed  in  that  capacity,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

**  Well,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury ;  *'  now  what  can  you  do  %  " 

**  I  suppose,'*  replied  Nicholas,  smiling,  **  that  I  can  do  what  usually  falls 
to  the  lot  of  other  secretaries." 
•  "  What's  that  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

•*  What  is  it  % "  replied  Nicholas. 

**  Ah  !  What  is  it  ? "  retorted  the  member,  looking  shrewdly  at  him,  with 
his  head  on  one  side. 

"A  secretary's  duties  are  rather  difficult  to  define,  perhaps,"  said  Nicholas, 
considering.     "They  include,  I  presume,  correspondence  ?" 

*'  Good,    interposed  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

•*  The  arrangement  of  papers  and  aocuments  % " 

"  Very  goo£" 

"Occasionally,  perhaps,  the  writing  from  your  dictation;  and  possibly, 
sir,"  said  Nicholas,  with  a  half  smile,  **the  copying  of  your  speech,  for  some 
public  journal,  when  you  have  made  one  of  more  than  usual  importance." 

**  Certainly,"  rejoined  Mr.  Gregsbury.     **  What  else  ?  " 

'*Beally,"  said  Nicholas,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "I  am  not  able,  at 
this  instant,  to  recapitulate  any  other  duty  of  a  secretary,  beyond  the  general 
one  of  making  himself  as  agreeable  and  useful  to  his  employer  as  he  can,  con- 
sistently with  his  own  respectability,  and  without  overstepping  that  line  of 
duties  which  he  undertakes  to  perform,  and  which  the  designation  of  his  office 
is  usually  understood  to  imply.  * 

Mr.  Gregsbury  looked  fixedly  at  Nicholas  for  a  short  time,  and  then  glancing 
warily  round  the  room,  said  in  a  suppressed  voice — 

•*  This  is  all  very  well,  Mr. what  is  your  name  ? " 

"Nickleby." 

**  This  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  Nickleby,  and  very  proper,  so  far  as  as  it  goes 
— so  far  as  it  goes,  but  it  doesn't  go  far  enough.  There  are  other  duties,  Mr. 
Nickleby,  which  a  secretary  to  a  parliamentary  gentleman  must  never  lose 
sight  of.     I  should  require  to  be  crammed,  sir." 


128  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

■ 

'*  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interposed  Nicholas,  doubtful  whether  he  had  heard 
aright. 

"To  be  crammed,  sir,"  repeated  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

"May  I  beg  your  pardon  again,  if  I  inquire  what  you  mean,  sir?"  said 
Nicholas. 

"My  meaning,  sir,  is  perfectly  plain,"  replied  Mr.  Gregsbury,  with  a 
solemn  aspect.  "  My  secretary  would  have  to  make  himself  master  of  the 
foreign  policy  of  the  world,  as  it  is  mirrored  in  the  newspapers  ;  to  run  his  eye 
over  all  accounts  of  public  meetings,  all  leading  articles,  and  accounts  of  tne 
proceedings  of  public  bodies  ;  and  to  make  notes  of  anything  which  it  ap^ared 
to  him  might  be  made  a  point  of  in  any  little  speech  upon  the  question  of 
some  petition  lying  on  the  table,  or  anything  of  that  kind.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  I  think  I  do,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  "it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  make 
himself  acquainted,  from  day  to  day,  with  newspaper  paragraphs  on  passing 
events ;  such  as  •  Mysterious  disappearance,  and  supposed  suicide  of  a  pot- 
boy,* or  anything  of  that  sort,  upon  which  I  might  found  a  question  to  the 
Secretary  of  State  for  the  Home  Department  Then,  he  would  have  to  copy  the 
question,  and  as  much  as  I  remembered  of  the  answer  (including  a  little  compli- 
ment about  independence  and  good  sense) ;  and  to  send  the  manuscript  in  a 
frank  to  the  local  paper,  with  perhaps  half-a-dozen  lines  of  leader  to  the  effect 
that  I  was  always  to  be  found  in  my  place  in  parliament,  and  never  shrank 
from  the  responsible  and  arduous  duties,  and  so  forth.     You  see  ? " 

Nicholas  bowed, 

"  Besides  which,"  continued  Mr.  Gregsbury,  "  I  should  expect  him  now 
and  then  to  go  through  a  few  figures  in  the  printed  tables  and  to  pick  oat  a 
few  results,  so  that  I  might  come  out  pretty  well  on  timber  duty  questions, 
and  finance  questions,  and  so  on  ;  and  I  should  like  him  to  get  up  a  few  little 
arguments  about  the  disastrous  effects  of  a  return  to  cash  payments  and  a 
metallic  currency,  with  a  touch  now  and  then  about  the  exportation  of  bullion, 
and  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  and  bank-notes,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  which 
t's  only  necessary  to  talk  fluently  about,  because  nobody  understands  it.  Do 
f  ou  take  me  ? " 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  said  Nicholas. 

"With  regard  to  such  questions  as  are  not  political,"  continued  Mr. 
Gregsbury,  warming  ;  "  and  which  one  can't  be  expected  to  care  a  curse  about, 
beyond  the  natural  care  of  not  allowing  inferior  people  to  be  as  well  off  as 
ourselves — else  where  are  our  privileges  ? — I  should  wish  my  secretary  to  get 
together  a  few  little  flourishing  speeches  of  a  patriotic  cast.  For  instance,  if 
any  preposterous  bill  were  brought  forward  for  giving  poor  grubbing  devils  of 
authors  a  right  to  their  own  property,  I  should  like  to  say,  that  I  for  one 
should  never  consent  to  opposing  an  insurmountable  bar  to  the  diffusion  of 
literature  among  ilh&  people — you  understand  ? — that  the  creations  of  the 
pocket  being  man's,  might  belong  to  one  man  or  one  family  ;  but  that  the 
creations  of  the  brain,  being  God's,  ought  as  a  matter  of  course  to  belone  to 
the  people  at  large — and  if  I  was  pleasantly  disposed,  I  should  like  to  maKe  a 
joke  about  posterity,  and  say  that  those  who  wrote  for  posterity  should  be 
content  to  be  rewarded  by  the  approbation  of  posterity  ;  it  might  take  with 
tlie  House,  and  could  never  do  me  any  harm,  because  posterity  can't  be 
expected  to  know  anything  about  me  or  my  jokes  either — do  you  see  ?  ** 

"  I  see  that,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  You  must  always  bear  in  mind,  in  such  cases  as  this,  where  our  interests 
are  not  aflected,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  "to  put  it  very  strong  about  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  129 

people,  because  it  comes  out  very  well  at  election -time  ;  and  you  could  be  as 
funny  as  you  liked  about  the  authors ;  because  I  believe  the  greater  part  of 
them  live  in  lodgings,  and  are  not  voters.  This  is  a  hasty  outline  of  the  chief 
things  you'd  have  to  do,  except  waiting  in  the  lobby  every  night,  in  case  I 
forgot  anything,  and  should  want  fresh  cramming ;  and,  now  and  then, 
during  great  debates,  sitting  in  the  front  row  of  the  gallery,  and  saying  to 
the  people  about — 'You  see  that  gentleman,  with  his  hand  to  his  face,  and  his 
arm  twisted  round  the  pillar — that's  Mr.  Gregsbury — the  celebrated  Mr. 

Gregsbury *  with  any  other  little  eulogium  that  mi^ht  strike  you  at  the 

moment.  And  for  the  salary,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  winding  up  with  great 
rapidity ;  for  he  was  out  of  breath — '*  and  for  salary,  I  don't  mind  saying 
at  once  in  round  numbers,  to  prevent  any  dissatisfaction — though  it's  more 
than  I've  been  accustomed  to  give — fifteen  shillings  a- week,  and  find  yourself. 
There ! " 

With  this  handsome  offer,  Mr.  Gregsbury  once  more  threw  himself  back  in 
his  chair,  and  looked  like  a  man  who  had  been  most  profligately  liberal  but  is 
determined  not  to  repent  of  it  notwithstanding. 

**  Fifteen  shillings  a-week  is  not  much,"  said  Nicholas,  mildly. 

**  Not  much  !  Fifteen  shilling  a- week  not  much,  young  man  ? "  cried  Mr. 
Gregsbury.     **  Fifteen  shillings  a " 

**  Pray  do  not  suppose  that  I  quarrel  with  the  sum,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas  ; 
"  for  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess,  that  whatever  it  may  be  in  itself,  to  me  it 
is  a  great  deal.  But  the  duties  and  responsibilities  make  the  recompense 
small,  and  they  are  so  very  heavy  that  I  fear  to  undertake  them." 

•*  Do  you  decline  to  undertake  them,  sir  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Gregsbury,  with 
his  hand  on  the  bell-rope. 

*'  I  fear  they  are  too  great  for  my  powers,  however  good  my  will  may  be, 
sir,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"That  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  you  had  rather  not  accept  the  place,  and 
that  you  consider  fifteen  shillings  a-week  too  little,"  said  Mr.  Gregsbury. 
**  Do  you  decline  it,  sir  ? " 

•*  I  have  no  alternative  but  to  do  so,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  Door,  Matthews  1 "  said  Mr.  Gregsbury,  as  the  boy  appeared. 

"I  am  sorry  I  have  troubled  you  unnecessarily,  sir,"  said  Nicholas. 

"I  am  sorry  you  have,"  rejoined  Mr.  Gregsbury,  turning  his  back  upon 
him.     "Door,  Matthews  !  " 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Nicholas. 

"Door,  Matthews  !  "  cried  Mr.  Gregsbury. 

The  boy  beckoned  Nicholas,  and  tumbling  lazily  downstairs  before  him, 
opened  the  door,  and  ushered  him  into  the  street.  With  a  sad  and  pensive 
air  he  retraced  his  steps  homewards. 

Smike  had  scraped  a  meal  together  from  the  remnant  of  last  night's  supper, 
and  was  anxiously  awaiting  his  return.  The  occurrences  of  the  morning  had 
not  improved  Nicholas's  appetite,  and  by  him  the  dinner  remained  untasted. 
He  was  sitting  in  a  thoughtful  attitude,  with  the  plate  which  the  poor  fellow 
had  assiduously  filled  with  the  choicest  morsels  untouched  by  his  side,  when 
Newman  Noggs  looked  into  the  room, 

•'  Come  bi^  1 "  asked  Newman. 

**  Yes,"  replied  Nicholas,  "  tired  to  death  ;  and  what  is  worse,  might  have 
remained  at  home  for  all  the  good  I  have  done." 

**  Couldn't  expect  to  do  much  in  one  morning,"  said  Newman. 

"May  be  so,  but  I  am  sanguine,  and  did  expect,"  said  Nicholas,  "and 
am  proportionately  disappointed."  Saying  which,  he  gave  Newman  an 
account  of  his  proceedings. 

u  9 


I30  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

'*If  I  could  do  anything,"  said  Nicholas,  "anything,  however  slight, 
until  Ralph  Nickleby  returns,  and  I  have  eased  my  mind  by  confrontlDg 
him,  I  should  feel  happier.  I  should  think  it  no  disgrace  to  work,  heaven 
knows.     Lying  indolently  here,  like  a  half-tamed  sullen  beast^  distracts  me." 

**  I  don't  know,"  said  Newman  :  "  small  things  offer — they  would  pay  the 
rent,  and  more — but  you  wouldn't  like  them ;  no,  you  could  hardly  be 
expected  to  undergo  it — no,  no." 

"  What  could  I  hardly  be  expected  to  undergo  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  raising 
his  eyes.  "  Show  me,  in  this  wide  waste  of  London,  any  honest  means  by 
which  I  could  even  defray  the  weekly  hire  of  this  poor  room,  and  see  if  I 
shrink  from  resorting  to  them  !  Undergp  !  I  have  undergone  too  much,  my 
friend,  to  feel  pride  or  squeamishness  now.  Except —  added  Nicholas, 
hastily,  after  a  short  silence,  ''except  such  squeamishness  as  is  common 
honesty,  and  so  much  pride  as  constitutes  self-respect.  I  see  little  to  choose 
between  assistant  to  a  brutal  pedagogue,  and  toad-eater  to  a  mean  and 
ignorant  upstart,  be  he  member  or  no  member." 

'*  I  hardly  know  whether  I  should  tell  you  what  I  heard  this  morning  or 
not,"  said  Newman. 

**  Has  it  reference  to  what  you  said  just  now  ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

"It  has." 

"Then  in  heaven's  name,  my  good  friend,  tell  it  me,"  said  Nicholas. 
"  For  God's  sake  consider  my  deplorable  condition ;  and  while  I  promise  to 
take  no  step  without  taking  counsel  with  you,  give  me,  at  least,  a  vote  in  my 
own  behalf." 

Moved  by  this  entreaty,  Newman  stammered  forth  a  variety  of  most  un- 
accountable and  entangled  sentences,  the  upshot  of  which  was,  that  Mrs, 
Kenwigs  had  examined  nim  at  great  length  that  morning  touching  the  origin 
of  his  acquaintance  with,  and  the  whole  life,  adventures,  and  pedigree  of 
Nicholas  ;  that  Newman  had  parried  these  questions  as  long  as  he  could,  but 
being  at  length  hard  pressed  and  driven  into  a  corner,  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
admit  that  Nicholas  was  a  tutor  of  great  accomplishments,  involved  in  some 
misfortunes  which  he  was  not  at  liberty  to  explain,  and  bearing  the  name  of 
Johnson.  That  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  impelled  by  gratitude  or  ambition,  or 
maternal  pride,  or  maternal  love,  or  all  four  powerful  motives  conjointly,  had 
taken  secret  confidence  with  Mr.  Kenwigs,  and  had  finally  returned  to  pro- 
pose that  Mr.  Johnson  should  instruct  the  four  Miss  Kenwigses  in  the  French 
language  as  spoken  by  natives,  at  the  weekly  stipend  of  five  shillings,  corrent 
coin  of  the  realm ;  being  at  the  rate  of  one  shilling  per  week  per  each 
Miss  Kenwigs,  and  one  shilling  over,  until  such  time  as  the  baby  might  be 
able  to  take  it  out  in  grammar. 

*'  Which,  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,"  observed  Mrs,  Kenwiss  in 
making  the  proposition,  "will  not  be  very  long;  for  such  clever  children, 
Mr.  Noggs,  never  were  born  into  this  world,  I  do  believe." 

"There,"  said  Newman,  "that's  all.  It's  beneath  you,  I  know;  but  I 
thought  that  perhaps  you  might " 

"Might!"  cried  Nicholas,  with  great  alacrity;  "of  course  I  shalL  I 
accept  the  offer  at  once.  Tell  the  worthy  mother  so,  without  delay,  my  dear 
fellow  ;  and  that  I  am  ready  to  begin  whenever  she  pleases." 

Newman  hastened,  with  joyful  steps,  to  inform  Mrs.  Kenwigs  of  his  friend's 
ac(iuiescenco,  and  soon  returning,  brought  back  word  that  they  would  be 
happy  to  see  him  in  the  first  floor  as  soon  as  convenient ;  that  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
had,  upon  the  instant,  sent  out  to  secure  a  second-hand  French  grammar  and 
dialogues,  which  had  long  been  fluttering  in  the  sixpenny  box  at  the  book- 
stall round  the  corner ;  and  that  the  family,  highly  excited  at  the  prospect  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y,  131 

this  addition  to  their  gentility,  wished  the  initiatory  lesson  to  come  off  im- 
mediately. 

And  here  it  may  be  observed,  that  Kicholas  was  not,  in  the  ordinary  sense 
of  the  word,  a  young  man  of  high  spirit.  He  would  resent  an  affront  to  him- 
self, or  interpose  to  redress  a  wrong  offered  to  another,  as  boldly  and  freely  as 
any  knight  that  ever  set  lance  in  rest ;  but  he  lacked  that  peculiar  excess  of 
coolness  and  great-minded  selfishness,  which  invariably  distinguish  gentlemen 
of  high  spirit.  In  truth,  for  our  own  part,  we  are  disposed  to  look  upon  such 
gentlemen  as  being  rather  encumbrances  than  otherwise  in  rising  families : 
happening  to  be  acquainted  with  several  whose  spirit  prevents  their  settling 
down  to  any  grovelling  occupation,  and  only  displays  itself  in  a  tendency  to 
coltivate  moustachios  and  look  fierce  ;  and  although  moustachios  and  ferocity 
are  both  very  pretty  things  in  their  way,  and  very  much  to  be  commended, 
we  confess  to  a  desire  to  see  them  bred  at  the  owner's  proper  cost,  rather  than 
at  the  expense  of  low-spirited  people. 

Nicholas,  therefore,  not  being  a  high-spirited  young  man  according  to 
common  parlance,  and  deeming  it  a  greater  degradation  to  borrow,  for  the 
supply  of  his  necessities,  from  Newman  Noggs,  than  to  teach  French  to  the 
litt&  Kenwigses  for  five  shillings  a-week,  accepted  the  offer  with  the  alacrit}' 
already  described,  and  betook  himself  to  the  first  floor  with  all  convenient 
speed. 

Here  he  was  received  by  Mrs.  Kenwigs  with  a  genteel  air,  kindly  intended 
to  assure  him  of  her  protection  and  support ;  and  here,  too,  he  found  Mr. 
Lillyvick  and  Miss  Petowker ;  the  four  Miss  Kenwigses  on  their  form  of 
audience ;  and  the  baby  in  a  dwarf  porter's  chair  with  a  deal  tray  before 
it,  amusing  himself  with  a  toy  horse  without  a  head ;  the  said  horse  being 
composed  of  a  small  wooden  cylinder,  not  unlike  an  Italian  iron,  supported 
on  four  crooked  pegs,  and  painted  in  ingenious  resemblance  of  red  wafers  set 
in  blacking. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Johnson?"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  ** Uncle — Mr. 
Johnson." 

•*  How  do  you  do,  sir  1 "  said  Mr.  Lillyvick — rather  sharply  ;  for  he  had 
not  known  what  Nicholas  was,  on  the  previous  night,  and  it  was  rather  an 
aggravating  circumstance  if  a  tax-collector  had  been  too  polite  to  a  teacher. 

*'  Mr.  Jonnson  is  engaged  as  private  master  to  the  children,  uncle,"  said. 
Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

"  So  you  said  just  now,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

'•But  I  hope,'*  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  drawing  herself  up,  '*that  that  will 
not  make  them  proud ;  but  that  they  will  bless  their  own  good  fortune, 
which  has  born  them  superior  to  common  people's  children.  Do  you  hear,. 
Morleena?" 

"  Yes,  ma,"  replied  Miss  Kenwigs. 

"  And  when  you  go  out  in  the  streets,  or  elsewhere,  I  desire  that  you  don't 
boast  of  it  to  the  other  children,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs  ;  *'  and  that  if  you  must 
say  anything  about  it,  you  don't  say  no  more  than,  *  We've  got  a  private 
master  comes  to  teach  us  at  home,  but  we  ain't  proud,  because  ma  says  it's- 
sinful.'    Do  you  hear,  Morleena  ? " 

**  Yes,  ma,"  replied  Miss  Kenwigs  again. 

"Then  mind  you  recollect,  and  do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 
•*  Shall  Mr.  Johnson  begin,  uncle  ? " 

••  I  am  ready  to  hear,  if  Mr.  Johnson  is  ready  to  commence,  my  dear,"  said 
the  collector,  assuming  the  air  of  a  profound  critic.  *'  What  sort  of  language 
do  yon  consider  French,  sir  ? " 

**  How  do  you  mean  1 "  asked  Nicholas. 


132  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  Do  yon  consider  it  a  good  languagei  sir  ?  **  said  the  collector  ;  "  a  pretty 
language,  a  sensible  language  ? " 

**  A  pretty  language,  certainly,"  replied  Nicholas ;  '*  and  as  it  has  a  name 
for  everything,  and  admits  of  elegant  conversation  about  everything,  I  presume 
it  is  a  sensible  one." 

*'  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  doubtfully.  "  Do  you  call  it  a  cheer- 
ful language,  now  ? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Nicholas,  **  I  should  say  it  was,  certainly." 

**  It's  very  much  changed  since  my  time,  then,"  said  the  collector,  "  very 
much. " 

"Was  it  a  dismal  one  in  your  time?"  asked  Nicholas,  scarcely  able  to 
repress  a  smile. 

**Very,"  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  with  some  vehemence  of  manner.  "It's 
the  war  time  that  I  speak  of ;  the  last  war.  It  may  be  a  cheerful  language. 
I  should  be  sorry  to  contradict  anybody  ;  but  I  can  only  say  that  I've  heard 
the  French  prisoners,  who  were  natives,  and  ought  to  know  how  to  speak  it, 
talking  in  such  a  dismal  manner,  that  it  made  one  miserable  to  hear  them. 
Ay,  that  I  have,  fifty  times,  sir— fifty  times  !  " 

Mr.  Lillyvick  was  waxing  so  cross,  that  Mrs.  Kenwigs  thought  it  expedient 
to  motion  to  Nicholas  not  to  say  anything ;  and  it  was  not  untu  Miss  Petowker 
had  practised  several  blandishments  to  soften  the  excellent  old  gentleman, 
that  he  deigned  to  break  silence,  by  asking — 

"  What's  the  water  in  French,  sir  ? " 

**L*Eau"  replied  Nicholas. 

"Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  shaking  his  head  mournfully,  '*  I  thought  as 
much.     Lo,  eh  ?    I  don't  think  anything  of  that  language — nothing  at  aU." 

**  I  suppose  the  children  may  beein,  uncle  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs. 

**  Oh,  yes  ;  they  may  begin,  my  dear,"  replied  the  collector,  discontentedly. 
"  I  have  no  wish  to  prevent  them." 

This  permission  being  conceded,  the  four  Miss  Kenwigses  sat  in  a  row, 
with  their  tails  all  one  way,  and  Morleena  at  the  top  ;  while  Nicholas, 
taking  the  book,  began  his  preliminary  explanations.  Miss  Petowker  and 
Mrs.  Kenwigs  looked  on  in  silent  admiration,  broken  only  by  the  whispered 
assurances  of  the  latter,  that  Morleena  would  have  it  all  by  heart  in  no 
time  ;  and  Mr.  Lillyvick  regarded  the  group  with  frowning  and  attentive 
eyes,  lying  in  wait  for  something  upon  which  he  could  open  a  fresh  discussion 
on  the  language. 


I 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

FOLLOWS  THE  FORTUNES   OF  MISS   NICKLEBY. 

T  was  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  many  sad  forebodings  which  no  effort 
could  banish,  that  Kate  Nickleby,  on  the  morning  appointed  for  the 
commencement  of  her  engagement  with  Madame  Mantalini,  left  the  dty 
when  its  clocks  yet  wanted  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  eight,  and  threaded  her 
way  alone,  amid  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  streets,  towards  l^e  west  end  of 
London. 

At  this  early  hour  many  sickly  girls,  whose  business,  like  that  of  the  poor 
worm,  is  to  produce,  with  patient  toil,  the  finery  that  bedecks  the  thoughtless 
and  luxurious,  traverse  our  streets,  making  towards  the  scene  of  their  daily 
labour,  and  catching,  as  if  by  stealth,  in  their  hurried  walk,  the  only  gasp  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  1 33 

wholesome  air  and  glimpse  of  sunlight  which  cheers  their  monotonous  exist- 
ence during  the  long  train  of  hours  that  make  a  working  day.  As  she  drew 
nigh  to  the  more  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town,  Elate  marked  many  of  this 
elass  as  the^  passed  by,  hurrying,  like  herself,  to  their  painful  occupations,  and 
saw,  in  their  unhealtny  looks  and  feeble  gait,  but  too  clear  an  evidence  that 
her  misgivings  were  not  wholly  groimdless. 

•  She  arrived  at  Madame  Mantanni's  some  minutes  before  the  appointed  hour, 
and  after  walking  a  few  times  up  and  down,  in  the  hope  that  some  other 
female  might  arrive  and  spare  her  the  embarrassment  of  stating  her  business 
to  the  servant,  knocked  timidly  at  the  door ;  which,  after  some  delay,  was 
opened  by  the  footman,  who  had  been  putting  on  his  striped  jacket  as  he  came 
upstairs,  and  was  now  intent  on  fastening  his  apron. 

"  Is  Madame  Mantalini  in  ? "  faltered  Kate. 

"Not  often  out  at  this  time,  miss,"  replied  the  man,  in  a  tone  which 
rendered  **Miss"  something  more  offensive  than  **  My  dear." 

*•  Can  I  see  her  ? "  asked  Kate. 

"  £h  t "  replied  the  man,  holding  the  door  in  his  hand,  and  honouring  the 
inquirer  with  a  stare  and  a  broad  grin,   ''  Lord,  no." 

•*I  came  by  her  own  appointment,"  said  Kate;  **I  am — I  am — to  be 
employed  here." 

**  Oh  !  you  should  have  rung  the  workers'  bell,"  said  the  footman,  touching 
the  handle  of  one  in  the  door-post.  **  Let  me  see,  though,  I  forgot — Miss 
Nickleby,  is  it  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  Kate. 

"You're  to  walk  upstairs  then,  please,"  said  the  man.  "Madame 
Mantfdini  wants  to  see  you — this  way — take  care  of  these  things  on  the 
floor." 

Cautioning  her,  in  these  terms,  not  to  trip  over  a  heterogeneous  litter  of 
pastry-cook's  trays,  lamps,  waiters  full  of  glasses,  and  piles  of  rout  seats  which 
were  strewn  about  the  hall,  plainly  bespeaking  a  late  party  on  the  previous 
night,  the  man  led  the  way  to  the  second  storey,  and  ushered  Kate  into  a  back 
room,  communicating  by  mlding-doors  with  the  apartment  in  which  she  had 
first  seen  the  mistress  of  the  establishment. 

"  If  you'll  wait  here  a  minute,"  said  the  man,  "I'll  tell  her  presently." 
Having  made  this  promise  with  much  affability,  he  retired  and  left  Kate 
alone. 

There  was  not  much  to  amuse  in  the  room  ;  of  which  the  most  attractive 
feature  was  a  half-length  portrait  in  oil  of  Mr.  Mantalini,  whom  the  artist 
had  depicted  scratching  his  head  in  an  easy  manner,  and  thus  displaying  to 
advantage  a  diamond  nng,  the  gift  of  Madame  Mantalini  before  her  marriage. 
TOiere  was,  however,  the  sound  of  voices  in  conversation  in  the  next  room  ; 
and  as  the  conversation  was  loud  and  the  partition  thin,  Kate  could  not  help 
discovering  that  they  belonged  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mantalini 

"  If  you  will  be  odiously,  demnebly,  outrageously  jealous,  my  soul,"  said 
Mr.  Mantalini,  **you  will  be  very  miserable — horrid  miserable — demnition 
miserable."  And  then  there  was  a  sound  as  though  Mr.  Mantalini  was 
sipping  his  coffee. 

"  I  am  miserable,"  returned  Madame  Mantalini,  evidently  pouting. 

"Then  you  are  an  ungrateful,  unworthy,  demd  unthankful  little  fairy," 
said  Mr.  Mantalini. 

"  I  am  not,"  returned  Madame,  with  a  sob. 

"  Do  not  put  itself  out  of  humour,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  breaking  an  egg. 
"  It  is  a  pretty,  bewitching  little  demd  countenance,  and  it  a\io\x\^xiQX,\i?i  wjX 


134  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

of  humour,  for  it  spoils  its  loveliness,  and  makes  it  cross  and  gloomy  like  A 
frightful,  naughty,  derad  hobgoblin." 

*'  I  am  not  to  be  brought  round  in  that  way  always,"  rejoined  Madame, 
sulkily. 

*'  It  shall  be  brought  round  in  any  way  it  likes  best,  and  not  brought  round 
at  all  if  it  likes  that  better,"  retorted  !&.  Mantalini,  with  his  egg-spoon  in 
his  mouth. 

**  It's  very  easy  to  talk,"  said  Mrs.  Mantalini. 

"Not  so  very  easy  when  one  is  eating  a  demnition  egg,"  replied  Mr. 
Mantalini ;  "for  the  yolk  runs  down  the  waistcoat,  and  yolk  of  egg  does  not 
match  any  waistcoat  but  a  yellow  waistcoat,  demmit." 

*'You  were  flirting  with  her  during  the  whole  night,"  said  Madame 
Mantalini,  apparently  desirous  to  lead  the  conversation  back  to  the  point 
from  which  it  had  strayed. 

"  No,  no,  my  life." 

**  You  were,"  said  Madame  ;  **  I  had  my  eye  upon  you  all  the  time." 

"Bless  the  little  winking  twinkling  eye  ;  was  it  on  me  all  the  timel" 
cried  Mantalini,  in  a  sort  of  lazy  rapture.     "  Oh,  demmit !  " 

"And  I  say  once  more,"  resumed  Madame,  "that  you  ought  not  to  waltz 
with  anybody  but  your  own  wife  ;  and  I  will  not  bear  it,  Mantalini,  if  I  take 
poison  first." 

"  She  will  not  take  poison  and  have  horrid  pains,  will  she  % "  said  Manta- 
lini ;  who,  by  the  altered  sound  of  his  voice,  seemed  to  have  moved  his  chair, 
and  taken  up  his  position  nearer  to  his  wife.  "  She  will  not  take  poison, 
because  she  has  a  aemd  fine  husband  who  might  have  married  two  countesBes 
and  a  dowager " 

"  Two  countesses,"  interposed  Madame.     "  You  told  me  one  before  !  " 

"Two!"  cried  MantalinL  "Two  demd  fine  women,  real  countesses  and 
splendid  fortunes,  demmit." 

"  And  why  didn't  you  ? "  asked  Madame,  playfully. 

"Why  didn't  I !  "  replied  her  husband.  "  Had  I  not  seen,  at  a  morning 
concert,  the  demdest  little  fascinator  in  all  the  world,  and  while  that  little 
fascinator  is  my  wife,  may  not  all  the  countesses  and  dowagers  in  England 
be " 

Mr.  Mantalini  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  he  gave  Madame  Mantalini 
a  very  loud  kiss,  which  Madame  Mantalini  returned  ;  after  which,  there 
seemed  to  be  some  more  kissing  mixed  up  with  the  progress  of  the  breakfast. 

"  And  what  about  the  cash,  my  existence's  jewel  ? "  said  Mantalini,  when 
these  endearments  ceased.     "  How  much  have  we  in  hand  ? " 

"  Very  little,  indeed,"  replied  Madame. 

"We  must  have  some  more,"  said  Mantalini;  "we  must  have  some 
discount  out  of  old  Nickleby  to  carry  on  the  war  with,  demmit." 

**  You  can't  want  any  more  just  now,"  said  Madame,  coaxiugly. 

"My  life  and  soul,"  returned  her  husband,  "there  is  a  horse  for  sale  ftt 
Scrubbs's,  which  it  would  be  a  sin  and  a  crime  to  lose — going,  my  senses*  joy, 
for  nothing." 

"  For  nothing  I "  cried  Madame,  "  I  am  glad  of  that." 

"For  actually  nothing,"  replied  Mantalini.  "A  hundred  guineas  down 
will  buy  him  ;  mane,  and  crest,  and  legs,  and  tail,  all  of  the  demdest  beauty. 
I  will  ride  him  in  the  park  before  the  very  chariots  of  the  rejected  countesses. 
The  derad  old  dowager  will  faint  with  grief  and  rage  ;  the  other  two  will  say 
'  He  is  married,  he  has  made  away  with  himself,  it  is  a  demd  thing,  it  is  all 
up  1 '  They  will  hate  each  other  demnebly,  and  wish  you  dead  and  buried. 
JiaJhal    Demmit." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  135 

Madame  Mantalini's  prudence,  if  she  had  any,  was  not  proof  against  these 
triumphal  pictures ;  after  a  little  jingling  of  keys,  she  observed  that  she 
would  see  what  her  desk  contained,  and  rising  for  that  purpose,  opened  the 
folding-door,  and  walked  into  the  room  where  Kate  was  seated. 

*  *  Dear  me,  child  ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Mantalini,  recoiling  in  surprise. 
**  How  came  you  here  ? " 

**  Child  ! "  cried  Mantalini,  hurrying  in.  *'  How  came — eh  ! — oh — demmit, 
how  d'ye  do  ? " 

**  I  have  been  waiting  here  some  time,  ma'am,"  said  Kato,  addressing 
Madame  Mantalini.  *'  The  servant  must  have  forgotten  to  let  you  know  that 
I  was  here,  I  think." 

**  You  really  must  see  to  that  man,"  said  Madame,  to  her  husband.  **  He 
forgets  everything." 

*  *  I  will  twist  his  demd  nose  off  his  countenance  for  leaving  such  a  very 
pretty  creature  all  alone  by  herself,"  said  her  husband. 

**  Mantalini,"  cried  Madame,   **  you  forget  yourself." 

**  I  don't  forget  yaw,  my  soul,  and  never  shall  and  never  can,"  said 
Mantalini,  kissing  his  wife's  hand,  and  grimacing  aside  to  Miss  Nickleby,  who 
turned  away. 

Appeased  by  this  compliment,  the  lady  of  the  business  took  some  papers 
from  her  desk,  which  she  handed  over  to  Mr.  Mantalini,  who  received  tliem 
with  great  delight.  She  then  requested  Kate  to  follow  her,  and  after  several 
feints  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mantalini  to  attract  the  young  lady's  attention,  they 
went  away,  leaving  that  gentleman  extended  at  full  length  on  the  sofa,  with 
his  heels  in  the  air  and  a  newspaper  in  his  hand. 

Madame  Mantalini  led  the  way  down  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  through  a 
passage,  to  a  large  room  at  the  back  of  the  premises,  where  were  a  number  of 
young  women  employed  in  sewing,  cutting  out,  making  up,  altering,  and 
various  other  processes  known  only  to  those  who  are  cunning  in  the  arts  of 
millinery  and  dressmaking.  It  was  a  close  room  with  a  skylight,  and  as  dull 
and  quiet  as  a  room  need  be. 

On  Madame  Mantalini  calling  aloud  for  Miss  Knag,  a  short,  bustling,  over- 
dressed female,  full  of  importance,  presented  herself,  and  all  the  young  ladies 
suspending  their  operations  for  the  moment,  whispered  to  each  other  sundry 
criticisms  upon  the  make  and  texture  of  Miss  Nickleby's  dress,  her  complexion, 
cast  of  features,  and  personal  appearance,  with  as  much  good  breeding  as  could 
have  been  displayed  by  the  very  best  society  in  a  crowded  ball-room. 

*'  Oh,  Miss  Knag,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  *'  this  is  the  young  person  I 
spoke  to  you  about." 

Miss  ^ag  bestowed  a  reverential  smile  upon  Madame  Mantalini,  which  she 
dexterously  transformed  into  a  gracious  one  for  Kate,  and  said  that  certainly, 
although  it  was  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  have  young  people  who  wore  wholly 
unused  to  the  business,  still  she  was  sure  the  young  person  would  try  to  do 
her  best — impressed  with  which  conviction  she  (Miss  Knag)  felt  an  interest  in 
her  already. 

**  I  think  that,  for  the  present  at  all  events,  it  will  be  better  for  Miss 
Nickleby  to  come  into  the  show-room  with  you,  and  try  things  on  for  people, " 
said  Madame  Mantalini.  "  She  will  not  be  able  for  the  present  to  be  of  much 
use  in  any  other  way  ;  and  her  appearance  will " 

*•  Suit  very  well  with  mine,  Madame  Mantalini,"  interrupted  Miss  Knag. 
**So  it  will ;  and  to  be  sure  I  might  have  known  that  you  would  not  be  long 
in  finding  that  out ;  for  you  have  so  much  taste  in  all  those  matters,  that 
really,  as  I  often  say  to  the  young  ladies,  I  do  not  know  how,  when,  or  where, 
you  possibly  could  have  acquired  all  you  know — hem — Hiaa  "S\c\L\<i\i^  ^w"^"^  \ 


136  LIFE  AXD  ADVENTURES  OF 

are  quite  a  pair,  Madame  Mantaiiui,  only  I  aiu  a  little  darker  than  Mia 
Niokleby,  auil — hem — I  think  my  foot  may  be  a  little  smaller.  Misa  Nickleb/i 
I  am  sure,  will  not  be  offended  at  my  saying  that,  when  she  heara  that  our 
family  ali^-ays  have  been  celebrated  for  small  feet  ever  since — ^hem — erer 
since  oar  family  had  any  feet  at  all,  indeed,  I  think.  I  had  an  nnole  onoe, 
Madame  Mantalini,  who  lived  in  Cheltenham,  and  bad  a  most  ezcellent 
business  as  a  tobacconist — hem — who  had  such  small  feet,  that  they  were  no 
big^r  than  those  which  are  usually  joined  to  wooden  legs — the  most  synunet- 
rical  feet,  Madame  Mantalini,  that' even  yon  can  imagine." 

'*  Thev  must  have  had  something  the  appearance  of  club  feet.  Miss  Knag," 
said  Madame. 

"Well  now,  that  is  so  like  you."  returned  Miss  Knag.  '*Ha  1  ha  1  ha! 
Of  club  feet !  Oh,  very  gooil !  As  I  often  remark  to  the  young  ladies,  *  Well 
I  must  say,  and  I  do  not  care  who  knows  it,  of  all  the  ready  humour — ^bem~ 
I  ever  heard  anywhere  * — and  I  have  heard  a  good  deal ;  for  when  my  dear 
brother  was  alive  (I  kept  liouse  for  him,  Miss  Kickleby),  we  had  to  anpper 
once  a- week  two  or  three  yountr  nien  highly  celebrated  in  those  days  for  their 
humour,  Madame  Mantalini — *0f  all  the  ready  humour,'  I  say  to  the  young 
ladies,  *  /  ever  heard,  Madame  Mauralini's  is  tlie  most  remarkable — hem.  It 
is  so  gentle,  so  sarcastic,  and  yet  so  gixxl-natured  (as  I  was  observing  to  MisB 
Simmouds  only  this  morning\  that  how,  or  when,  or  by  what  means,  she 
acquiriHi  it,  is  to  me  a  mystt-ry  indeed.' " 

Here  Miss  Knag  pausevl  to  take  bi-oath,  and  while  she  pauses,  it  maybe 
olkierved — not  tliat  she  was  marvellously  lot[uacious  and  marvellously  defena- 
tial  to  Madame  Mantalini,  since  these  are  lacts  which  require  no  comment; 
but  that,  every  now  and  then,  she  ^4-as  accustomed,  in  the  torrent  of  her 
discourse,  to  introduce  a  loud,  shrill,  clear  *'  hem  ! "  the  import  and  meaning 
of  which  was  variously  interpreted  by  her  acquaintance  ;  some  holding  that 
Miss  Knag  dealt  in  exaggenition,  and  introiluced  the  monosyllable  when  any 
fresh  invention  was  in  course  of  coinage  in  her  brain ;  others,  that  when  she 
ift-anted  a  worvl,  she  thivw  it  in  to  g;un  time,  and  prevent  anybody  else  from 
striking  into  the  conversation.  It  may  be  fuither  remarked  that  Miss  Knag 
still  aimed  at  youth,  although  she  had  shot  beyond  it  years  ago  ;  and  that 
she  was  weak  and  vain,  and  one  of  these  people  who  are  best  described 
by  the  axiom,  that  you  may  trust  them  as  far  as  yon  can  see  them,  and  no 
farther. 

"You'll  take  care  that  Miss  Niokleby  understands  her  hours,  and  so  forth," 
said  ^kladame  Mantalini ;  **  and  so  1*11  leave  licr  with  you.  You'll  not  foiget 
my  dirootions,  Miss  Knag  ? " 

Miss  Knag  of  coui'se  ivplied,  that  to  forget  anything  Madame  Mantalini  had 
directed  was  a  moral  im{>ossibiIity :  and  that  lady,  dispensing  a  general  good 
morning  among  her  assistants,  sailed  away. 

"Charming  cn\ituro,  bn't  she,  Miss  Nickleby  t "  said  Miss  Knag,  mbbing 
her  liamls  together. 

*'  I  have  seen  very  little  of  her."  said  Kate.     "  I  hardly  kPiOW  yet." 

"  Have  vou  seen  Mr.  Mantalini  t"  inquiivd  Miss  Knag. 

•*  Yea ;  I  have  seen  him  twice." 

^?J|Bi't  JU  a  charming  cn\ituro  f " 

~  he  docs  not  strike  me  as  lacing  so,  by  any  means,"  replied  Kate, 
dear  t "  cried  Miss  Knag,  elevating  her  hands.     "  Why,  goodness 
Oy,  Where's  your  taste  '    Such  a  tine,  tall,  fuU-whiskeitid,  dashingi 
maUi  with  such  teeth  and  hair,  and — hem — well  now,  yon  m 


I  am 


Tery  foolish,"  rcplieil  Kate,  laying  aside  her  bonnet; 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  137 

"  bat  as  my  opinion  is  of  very  little  importance  to  him  or  anyone  else,  I  do 
not  regret  having  formed  it,  and  shall  be  slow  to  change  it,  I  think." 

"  He  is  a  very  fine  man,  don't  you  think  so  ? "  asked  one  of  the  young 
ladies. 

"Indeed  he  may  be,  for  anything  I  could  say  to  the  contrary  ! "  replied 
Kate. 

"  And  drives  very  beautiful  horses,  doesn't  he  % "  inquired  another. 

"  I  dare  say  he  may,  but  I  never  saw  them,"  answered  Kate. 

"Never  saw  them!'*  interposed  Miss  Knag.  "Oh,  well!  There  it  is  at 
once,  you  know  ;  how  can  you  possibly  pronounce  an  opinion  about  a  gentle- 
man— hem — ^if  you  don't  see  him  as  he  turns  out  altogetner  ? " 

There  was  so  much  of  the  world— even  of  the  little  world  of  the  country 
girl — in  the  idea  of  the  old  milliner,  that  Elate,  who  was  anxious,  for  every 
reason,  to  change  the  subject,  made  no  further  remark,  and  left  Miss  Knag  in 
possession  of  the  field. 

After  a  short  silence,  during  which  most  of  the  young  people  made  a  closer 
inspection  of  Kate's  appearance,  and  compared  notes  respecting  it,  one  of  them 
offered  to  help  her  off  with  her  shawl,  and  the  offer  being  accepted,  inquired 
whether  she  did  not  find  black  very  uncomfortable  wear. 

••  I  do  indeed,"  replied  Kate,  with  a  bitter  sigh. 

"So  dusty  and  hot,"  observed  the  speaker,  adjusting  her  dress  for  her. 

Kate  might  have  said,  that  mourning  is  sometimes  the  coldest  wear  which 
mortals  can  assume  ;  that  it  not  only  chills  the  breasts  of  those  it  clothes,  but, 
extending  its  influence  to  summer  fiiends,  freezes  up  their  sources  of  good-will 
and  kindness,  and  withering  all  the  buds  of  promise  they  once  so  liberally  put 
forth,  leaves  nothing  but  bared  and  rotten  hearts  exposed.  There  are  few  who 
have  lost  a  friend  or  relative  constituting  in  life  their  sole  dependence,  who 
have  not  keenly  felt  this  chilling  influence  of  their  sable  garb.  She  had  felt 
it  acutely,  and  feeling  it  at  the  moment,  could  not  quite  restrain  her  tears. 

••  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  wounded  you  with  my  thoughtless  speech,"  said 
her  companion.  "  I  did  not  think  of  it.  You  are  in  mourning  for  some  near 
relation  ? " 

•«  For  my  father,"  answered  Kate. 

"For  what  relation,  Miss  Simmonds?"  asked  Miss  Knag  in  an  audible 
voice. 

"Her  father,"  replied  the  other,  softly. 

"  Her  father,  eh  1 "  said  Miss  Knag,  without  the  slightest  depression  of  her 
voice.     "  Ah  !  a  long  illness.  Miss  Simmonds  ? " 

"  Hush,"  replied  the  girl ;  "  I  don't  know." 

"  Our  misfortune  was  very  sudden,"  said  Kate,  turning  away,  "or  I  might, 
perhaps,  at  a  time  like  this,  be  enabled  to  support  it  better." 

There  had  existed  not  a  little  desire  in  the  room,  according  to  invariable 
cnstom  when  any  new  "young  person"  came,  to  know  who  Kate  was,  and 
what  she  was,  and  all  about  her ;  but,  although  it  might  have  been  very 
naturally  increased  by  her  appearance  and  emotion,  the  knowledge  that  it 
pained  her  to  be  questioned  was  sufficient  to  repress  even  this  curiosity  ;  and 
Miss  Knag,  finding  it  hopeless  to  attempt  extracting  any  further  particulars 
jnst  then,  reluctantly  commanded  silence,  and  bade  the  work  proceed. 

In  silence,  then,  the  tasks  were  plied  until  half-past  one,  when  a  baked  leg 
of  mutton,  with  potatoes  to  correspond,  were  served  in  the  kitchen.  The 
meal  over,  and  the  ladies  having  enjoyed  the  additional  relaxation  of  washing 
their  hands,  the  work  began  again,  and  was  again  performed  in  silence,  until 
the  noise  of  carriages  rattling  through  the  streets,  and  of  loud  d.o\y\A&VT!k!^0«.<^ 


138  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

at  doors,  gare  token  that  the  day's  work  of  the  more  fortunate  members  isit 
society  was  proceeding  in  its  turn. 

One  of  these  double  knocks  at  Madame  Mantalini's  door  announced  the 
equipage  of  some  great  lady — or  rather,  rich  one,  for  there  is  occasionally  a 
distinction  between  riches  and  greatness — who  had  come  with  her  daughter  to 
approve  of  some  court  dresses  which  had  been  a  long  time  preparing,  and  upon 
whom  Kate  was  deputed  to  wait,  accompanied  by  Miss  Knag,  and  officered,  of 
course,  by  Madame  Mantalini. 

Kate's  part  in  the  pageant  was  humble  enough,  her  duties  being  limited  to 
holding  articles  of  costume  until  Miss  Knag  was  ready  to  try  them  on,  and 
now  and  then  tying  a  string,  or  fastening  a  hook-and-eye.  She  migh^  not 
unreasonably,  have  supposed  herself  beneath  the  reach  of  any  arrogance  or 
bad  humour ;  but  it  happened  that  the  lady  and  daughter  were  both  out  of 
temper  that  day,  and  the  poor  girl  came  in  for  her  share  of  their  revilings. 
She  was  awkward — her  hands  were  cold — dirty — coarse — she  could  do  nothing 
right ;  they  wondered  liow  Madame  Mantalini  could  have  such  people  about 
her  ;  requested  they  might  see  some  other  young  woman  the  next  time  they 
came  ;  and  so  forth. 

So  common  an  occurrence  would  hardly  be  deserving  of  mention,  but  for  its 
effect.  Kate  shed  many  bitter  tears  when  these  people  were  gone,  and  felt,  for 
the  first  time,  humbled  by  her  occupation.  She  had,  it  is  true,  quailed  at  the 
prospect  of  drudgery  and  hard  service ;  but  she  had  felt  no  degradation  in 
working  for  her  bread,  until  she  found  herself  exposed  to  insolence  and  pride. 
Philosophy  would  have  taught  her  that  the  degradation  was  on  the  side  of 
those  who  had  sunk  so  low  as  to  display  such  passions  habitually,  and  without 
cause ;  but  she  was  too  young  for  such  consolation,  and  her  honest  feeling  was 
hurt.  May  not  the  complaint,  that  common  people  are  above  their  station, 
often  take  its  rise  in  the  fact  of  uncommon  people  being  below  theirs  ? 

In  such  scenes  and  occupations  the  time  wore  on,  until  nine  o'clock,  when 
Kate,  jaded  and  dispirited  with  the  occurrences  of  the  day,  hastened  from  the 
confinement  of  the  work-room,  to  join  her  mother  at  the  street  corner,  and 
walk  home — the  more  sadly,  from  having  to  disguise  her  real  feelings,  and 
feign  to  participate  in  all  the  sanguine  visions  of  her  companion. 

**  Bless  my  soul,  Kate,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby  ;  **  I've  been  thinking  all  day, 
what  a  delightful  thing  it  would  be  for  Madame  Mantalini  to  take  you  into 
partnership — such  a  likely  thing,  too,  you  know  !  Why,  your  poor  dear  papa's 
cousin's  sister-in-law — a  Miss  Browndock — was  taken  into  partnership  by  a 
lady  that  kept  a  school  at  Hammersmith,  and  made  her  fortune  in  no  time  at 
all.  I  forget,  by-the-by,  whether  that  Miss  Browndock  was  the  same  lady 
that  got  the  ten  thousand  pounds  prize  in  the  lottery,  but  I  think  she  was  ; 
indeed,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  am  sure  she  was.  *  Mantalini  and 
Nickleby,'  how  well  it  would  sound  ! — and  if  Nicholas  has  any  good  fortune, 
you  might  have  Doctor  Nickleby,  the  head-master  of  Westminster  School, 
living  in  the  same  street." 

*'  Dear  Nicholas  !  "  cried  Kate,  taking  from  her  reticule  her  brother's  letter 
from  Dotheboys  Hall.  **In  all  our  misfortunes,  how  happy  it  makes  me, 
mamma,  to  hear  he  is  doing  well,  and  to  find  him  writing  in  such  good 
spirits  !  It  consoles  me  for  all  we  may  undergo,  to  think  that  he  is  comfort- 
able and  happy." 

Poor  Kate  !  she  little  thought  how  weak  her  consolation  was,  and  how 
soon  she  would  be  undeceived. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  139 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

MISS  EKAO,  AFTER  DOTING  ON  KATE  NICKLEBY  FOR  THREE  WHOLE  DAYS, 
MAKES  UP  HER  MIND  TO  HATE  HER  FOR  EVERMORE.  THE  CAUSES  WHICH 
LEAD  MISS  KNAQ  TO  FORM  THIS  RESOLUTION. 

THERE  are  many  lives  of  much  pain,  hardship,  and  suffering,  which, 
having  no  stirring  interest  for  any  but  those  who  lead  them,  are  dis- 
regarded by  persons  who  do  not  want  thought  or  feeling,  but  who 
pamper  their  compassion  and  need  high  stimulants  to  rouse  it 

There  are  not  a  few  among  the  disciples  of  charity  who  require,  in  their 
vocation,  scarcely  less  excitement  than  the  votaries  of  pleasure  in  theirs ;  and 
hence  it  is  that  diseased  sympathy  and  compassion  are  every  day  expended  on 
out-of-the-way  objects,  when  only  too  many  demands  upon  the  legitimate 
exercise  of  the  same  virtues  in  a  healthy  state  are  constantly  within  the  sight 
and  hearing  of  the  most  unobservant  person  alive.  In  short,  charity  must 
have  its  romance,  as  the  novelist  or  playwright  must  have  his.  A  thief  in 
fustian  is  a  vulgar  character,  scarcely  to  be  thought  of  by  persons  of  refine- 
ment ;  but  dress  him  in  green  velvet,  with  a  high-crowned  hat,  and  change 
the  scene  of  his  operations  from  a  thickly-peopled  city  to  a  mountain  road, 
and  you  shall  find  in  him  the  very  soul  of  poetry  and  adventure.  So  it  is 
with  the  one  great  cardinal  virtue,  which,  properly  nourished  and  exercised, 
leads  to,  if  it  does  not  necessarily  include,  all  the  others.  It  must  have  its 
romance ;  and  the  less  of  real,  hard,  struggling  work-a-day  life  there  is  in 
that  romance  the  better. 

The  life  to  which  poor  Kate  Nickleby  was  devoted  in  consequence  of  the 
unforeseen  train  of  circumstances  already  developed  in  this  narrative,  was  a 
hard  one ;  but  lest  the  very  dulness,  unhealthy  confinement,  and  bodily 
fatigue,  which  made  up  its  sum  and  substance,  should  deprive  it  of  any 
interest  with  the  mass  of  the  charitable  and  symjpathetic,  I  would  rather  keep 
Miss  Nickleby  herself  in  view  just  now,  than  chill  them,  in  the  outset,  by  a 
minute  and  lengthened  description  of  the  establishment  presided  over  by 
Madame  Mantalini. 

"  Well,  now,  indeed,  Madame  Mantalini,"  said  Miss  Knag,  as  Kate  was 
taking  her  weary  way  homewards  on  the  first  night  of  her  noviciate,  **  that 
Miss  Nickleby  is  a  very  creditable  young  person — a  very  creditable  young 
person  indeed — hem — upon  my  word,  Madame  Mantalini,  it  does  very  extra- 
ordinary credit  even  to  your  discrimination  that  you  should  have  found  such 
a  very  excellent,  very  well-behaved,  very — hem — very  unassuming  young 
woman  to  assist  in  the  fitting  on.  I  have  seen  some  young  women  when  they 
had  the  opportunity  of  displaying  before  their  betters,  behave  in  such  a — oh, 
dear — well — but  you're  always  right,  Madame  Mantalini,  always  ;  and  as  I 
very  often  tell  the  young  ladies,  how  you  do  contrive  to  be  always  right,  when 
so  many  people  are  so  often  wrong,  is  to  me  a  mystery  indeed." 

**  Beyond  putting  a  very  excellent  client  out  of  humour.  Miss  Nickleby  has 
not  done  anything  very  remarkable  to-day — that  I  am  aware  of,  at  least," 
said  Madame  Mantalini,  in  reply. 

** Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Miss  Knag  ;  "but  you  must  allow  a  great  deal  for  inex- 
perience, you  know." 

**  And  youth  ? "  inquired  Madame. 


I40  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"Oh,  I  say  nothing  about  that,  Madame  Mantaliui,"  replied  Mias  Kna^^ 
reddening  ;  **  because  if  youth  were  any  excuse,  you  wouldn  t  have        " 

*'  Quite  80  good  a  forewoman  as  I  have,  I  suppose,"  suggested  Madame. 

*'  Well,  I  never  did  know  anybody  like  you,  Madame  Man talini,"  rcjoinad 
Miss  Knag,  most  complacently,  *'and  that's  the  fact,  for  yon  know  wbit 
one's  going  to  say  befoi'e  it  has  time  to  rise  to  one's  lips.  Oh,  very  good ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

*'  For  myself,"  observed  Madame  Mantalini,  glancing  with  affected  care- 
lessness at  her  assistant,  and  laughing  heartily  in  her  sleeve,  "I  consider 
Miss  Nickleby  the  most  awkward  girl  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

"Poor  dear  thing,"  said  Miss  Knag,  "it's  not  her  fault.  If  it  waa,  ve 
might  hope  to  cure  it ;  but  as  it's  her  misfortune,  Madame  Mantalini, 
why,  really  you  know,  as  the  man  said  about  the  blind  horse,  we  onght  to 
respect  it." 

'*Her  uncle  told  me  she  had  been  considered  pretty,"  remarked  M^*^*™* 
Mantalini.     '*  I  think  her  one  of  the  most  ordinary  girls  I  ever  met  with." 

"Ordinary!"  cried  Miss  Knag,  with  a  countenance  beaming  delijdit; 
"  and  awkward  !  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  Madame  Mantalini,  that  i  quite  lofB 
the  poor  girl ;  and  that  if  she  was  twice  as  indiilerent-looking,  and  twice  ai 
awkward  as  she  is,  I  should  be  only  so  much  the  more  her  friend,  and  thal^t 
the  truth  of  it." 

In  fact,  Miss  Knag  had  conceived  an  incipient  affection  for  Kate  Xicklelij 
after  witness;ing  her  failure  that  morning,  and  this  short  conversation  with 
her  superior  increased  the  favourable  prepossession  to  a  most  sorprisiiig 
extent ;  which  was  the  more  remarkable,  as  when  she  first  scanned  that  young 
lady's  face  and  figure,  she  had  entertained  certain  inward  misgivings  that 
they  would  never  agree. 

"But  now,"  said  Miss  Knag,  glancing  at  the  reflection  of  herself  in  a 
mirror  at  no  great  distance,  "  I  love  her — I  quite  love  her — I  declare  I  do !" 

Of  such  a  highly  disinterested  Quality  was  this  devoted  friend^p,  and  ao 
superior  was  it  to  the  little  weaknesses  of  flattery  or  ill-nature,  that  the 
kind-hearted  Miss  Knag  candidly  informed  Kate  Nickleby  next  day,  that  she 
saw  she  would  never  do  for  the  business,  but  that  she  need  not  give  herself 
the  slightest  uneasiness  on  this  account,  for  that  she  (Miss  Knag)  by  increased 
ex(;rtions  on  her  own  part,  would  keep  her  as  much  as  possible  in  the  back- 
ground, and  that  all  she  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  remain  perfectly  quiet 
before  company,  and  to  shrink  from  attracting  notice  by  every  means  in  her 
power.  This  last  suggestion  was  so  much  in  accordance  with  the  timid  girl's 
own  feelings  and  wishes,  that  she  readily  promised  implicit  reliance  on  the 
excellent  spinster's  advice  ;  without  questioning,  or,  indeed,  bestowing  a 
moment's  reflection  upon  the  motives  that  dictated  it. 

"  I  take  quite  a  lively  interest  in  you,  my  dear  soul,  upon  my  word,"  said 
Miss  Knag;  "a  sister's  interest,  actually.  It's  the  most  singular  circum- 
stance I  ever  knew. " 

Undoubtedly  it  was  singular,  that  if  Miss  Knag  did  feel  a  strong  interest  in 
Kate  Nickleby,  it  should  not  rather  have  been  the  interest  of  a  maiden  aunt 
or  grandmother ;  that  being  the  conclusion  to  which  the  difference  in  their 
respective  ages  would  have  naturally  tended.  But  Miss  Knag  wore  clothes  of 
a  very  youthful  pattern,  and  perhaps  her  feelings  took  the  name  shape. 

"  Bless  you  ! '  said  Miss  Knag,  bestowing  a  kiss  upon  Kate  at  the  condn- 
sion  of  the  second  day's  work,   "  Iiow  very  awkward  you  have  been  all  day." 

"  I  fear  your  kind  and  open  communication,  which  has  rendered  me  more 
painfully  conscious  of  my  own  defects,  has  not  improved  me,"  sighed  Kate. 

"  No,  no,  I  daresay  not,"  rejoined  Miss  Knag,  in  a  most  uncommon  flow 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  141 

of  good-humour.  "  But  how  much  better  that  you  should  know  it  at  first, 
and  so  be  able  to  go  on,  straight  and  comfortable  !  Which  way  are  you 
walking,  my  love  ? " 

"Towards  the  city,"  replied  Kate. 

"The  city?"  cried  Miss  Knag,  regarding  herself  with  great  favour  in  the 
glass  as  she  tied  her  bonnet.  *'€roodness  gracious  me  !  now  do  you  really 
live  in  the  city  ? " 

"Is  it  so  very  unusual  for  anybody  to  live  there?"  asked  Kate,  half- 
smiling. 

**I  couldn't  have  believed  it  possible  that  any  young  woman  could  have 
lived  there,  under  any  circumstances  whatever,  for  three  days  together," 
replied  Miss  Knag. 

**  Beduced — I  should  say  poor  people,"  answered  Kate,,  correcting  herself 
hastily,  for  she  was  afraid  of  appearing  proud,  **  must  live  where  they  can." 

**  Ah. !  very  true,  so  they  must ;  very  proper  indeed  !  "  rejoined  Miss  Knag, 
with  that  sort  of  half  sigh,  which,  accompanied  by  two  or  three  slight  nods 
of  tiie  head,  is  pity's  small  change  in  general  society;  "and  that's  what  I 
very  often  tell  my  brother  when  our  servants  go  away  ill,  one  after  another, 
and  he  thinks  the  back  kitchen's  rather  too  damp  for  'em  to  sleep  in.  These 
sort  of  people,  I  tell  him,  are  glad  to  sleep  anywhere  !  Heaven  suits  the  back 
to  the  burden.     What  a  nice  thing  it  is  to  think  that  it  should  be  so,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  Very,"  replied  Kate. 

**  I'll  walk  with  you  part  of  the  way,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Knag,  "  for  you 
must  go  very  near  our  house  ;  and  as  it's  quite  dark,  and  our  last  servant  went 
to  the  hospital  a  week  ago,  with  St.  Anthony's  iire  in  her  face,  I  shall  be  glad 
of  your  company." 

'  Kate  would  willingly  have  excused  herself  from  this  flattering  companion- 
ship ;  but  Miss  Knag  having  adjusted  her  bonnet  to  her  entire  satisfaction, 
took  her  arm  with  an  air  which  plainly  showed  how  much  she  felt  the 
compliment  she  was  conferring,  and  they  were  in  the  street  before  she  could 
say  another  word. 

*'  I  fear,"  said  Kate,  hesitating,  "  that  mamma — my  mother,  I  mean — is 
waiting  for  me." 

"You  needn't  make  the  least  apology,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Knag,  smiling 
sweetly  as  she  spoke  ;  "  I  daresay  she  is  a  very  respectable  old  person,  and  I 
shall  be  quite — hem — quite  pleased  to  know  her." 

As  poor  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  cooling — not  her  heels  alone,  but  her  limbs 

fenerally — at  the  street  corner,  Kate  had  no  alternative  but  to  make  her 
nown  to  Miss  Knag,  who,  doing  the  last  new  carriage  customer  at  second- 
hand, acknowledged  the  introduction  with  condescending  politeness.  The 
three  then  walked  away  arm-in-arm :  with  Miss  Knag  in  the  middle,  in  a 
special  state  of  amiability. 

**  I  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  your  daughter,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  you  can't 
think,"  said  Miss  Knag,  after  she  had  proceeded  a  little  distance  in  dignified 
silence. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby  ;  "  though  it  is  nothing 
new  to  me  that  even  strangers  should  like  Kate." 

"  Hem  I "  cried  Miss  Knag. 

•*  You  will  like  her  better  when  you  know  how  good  she  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby.  "  It  is  a  great  blessing  to  me,  in  my  misfortunes,  to  have  a  child 
who  knows  neither  pride  nor  vanity,  and  whose  bringing-up  might  very  well 
have  excused  a  little  of  both  at  first.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  lose  a 
husband,  Miss  Knag." 

As  Miss  Knag  had  never  yet  known  what  it  was  to  gain  one,  it  followed 


142  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

very  nearly  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  she  didu't  know  what  it  was  to  km 
one;  so  she  said  in  some  haste,  "No,  indeed  I  don't,"  and  said  it  with  in 
air  intending  to  signify  that  she  should  like  to  catch  herself  marrying  anybody 
— no,  no,  slie  knew  better  than  that 

''  Kate  has  improved,  even  in  this  little  time,  I  have  no  doubt/'  sud  Mn. 
Nickleby,  glancing  proudly  at  her  daughter. 

'*  Oh  !  of  course,*   said  Miss  Knag. 

"  And  will  improve  still  more,"  added  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

''That  she  will,  I'll  be  bound,"  replied  Miss  Knag,  squeezing  Kate's  arm 
in  her  own,  to  point  the  joke. 

"She  always  was  clever,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  brightening  up, 
"  always,  from  a  baby.  I  recollect  when  she  was  only  two  years  and  a-half  old, 
that  a  gentleman  who  used  to  visit  very  much  at  our  house — Mr.  Watiuui, 
you  know,  Kate,  my  dear,  that  your  poor  papa  went  bail  for,  who  afterwaidi 
ran  away  to  the  United  States,  and  sent  us  a  pair  of  snow  shoes,  with  such  an 
affectionate  letter  that  it  made  your  poor  dear  father  cry  for  a  week.  Ton 
remember  the  letter  ?  In  which  he  said  that  he  was  very  sorry  he  conldn't 
repay  the  fifty  pounds  just  then,  because  his  capital  was  all  out  at  interest, 
and  he  was  very  busy  making  his  fortune,  but  that  he  didn't  forget  you  wen 
his  god-daughter,  and  he  should  take  it  very  unkind  if  we  didn  t  buy  yon  t 
silver  coral  and  put  it  down  to  his  old  account  \  Dear  me,  yes,  my  dear,  how 
stupid  you  are  !  and  spoke  so  affectionately  of  the  old  port  wine  that  he  used 
to  drink  a  bottle  and  a-half  of  every  time  he  came.  You  must  remember, 
Kate  ! " 

"  Yes,  yes,  mamma  ;  what  of  him  ? " 

**  Why,  that  Mr.  Watkins,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  slowly,  as  if  she 
were  making  a  tremendous  effort  to  recollect  something  of  paramount  import- 
ance ;  ''that  Mr.  Watkins — he  wasn't  any  relation,  Miss  Knag  will  nnderstand, 
to  the  Watkins  who  kept  the  Old  Boar  in  the  village  ;  by-the-by,  I  don't 
remember  whether  it  was  the  Old  Boar  or  the  George  the  Third,  bat  it  wii 
one  of  the  two,  I  know,  and  it's  much  the  same — that  Mr.  Watkins  said, 
when  you  were  only  two  years  and  a-half  old,  that  you  were  one  of  the 
most  astonishing  children  he  ever  saw.  He  did,  indeed,  Miss  Knag,  and  he 
wasn't  at  all  fond  of  children,  and  couldn't  have  had  the  slightest  motive  for 
doing  it.  I  know  it  was  he  who  said  so,  because  I  recollect,  as  well  as  if  it 
was  only  yesterday,  his  borrowing  twenty  pounds  of  her  poor  dear  papa  the 
very  moment  afterwards." 

Having  quoted  this  extraordinary  and  most  disinterested  testimony  to  her 
daughter  s  excellence,  Mrs.  Nickleby  stopped  to  breathe ;  and  Miss  Kn^ 
finding  that  the  discourse  was  turning  upon  family  greatness,  lost  no  time  in 
striking  in  with  a  small  reminiscence  on  ner  own  account. 

"  Don't  talk  of  lending  money,  Mrs.  Nickleby,"  said  Miss  Knag,  **or  youll 
drive  me  crazy — perfectly  crazy.  My  mamma — hem — ^was  the  most  lo?eIy 
and  beautiful  creature,  with  the  most  striking  and  exquisite — ^hem — the  most 
cxtjuisite  nose  tliat  ever  was  put  upon  a  human  face,  I  do  believe,  Mn 
Nickleby  (here  Miss  Knag  rubbed  her  own  nose  most  sympathetically) ;  the 
most  delightful  and  accomplished  woman,  })erhaps,  that  ever  was  seen ;  but 
she  had  that  one  failing  of  lending  money,  and  carried  it  to  snch  an  extent 
that  she  lent — hem — oh  !  thousands  of  pounds,  all  our  little  fortunes,  and 
what's  more,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  I  don't  think,  if  we  were  to  live  till — till— hem 
— till  the  very  end  of  time,  that  we  should  ever  get  them  back  again.  I  don't 
indeed." 

After  concluding  this  effort  of  invention  without  being  interrupted,  Mia 
Knag  fell  into  many  more  recollections,  no  less  interesting  than  true,  the  full 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  143 

tide  of  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  in  vain  attempting  to  stem,  at  length  sailed 
smoothly  down,  by  adding  an  imdercurrent  of  her  own  recollections  ;  and  so 
both  ladies  went  on  talking  together  in  perfect  contentment ;  the  only  differ- 
ence between  them  being,  that  whereas  Miss  Knag  addressed  herself  to  Kate, 
and  talked  very  loud,  Mrs.  Nickleby  kept  on  in  one  unbroken  monotonous 
flow,  perfectly  satisfied  to  be  talking,  and  caring  very  little  whether  anybody 
listened  or  not. 

In  this  manner  they  walked  on,  very  amicably,  until  they  arrived  at  Miss 
Knag's  brother's,  who  was  an  ornamental  stationer  and  small  circulating 
library-keeper,  in  a  by-street  off  Tottenham  Court  Road  ;  and  who  let  out  by 
the  day,  week,  month,  or  year,  the  newest  old  novels,  whereof  the  titles  were 
displayed  in  pen-and-ink  characters  on  a  sheet  of  pasteboard,  swinging  at  his 
door-post.  As  Miss  Knag  happened,  at  the  moment,  to  be  in  the  middle  of 
an  account  of  her  twenty-second  offer  from  a  gentleman  of  large  property,  she 
insisted  upon  their  all  going  in  to  supper  together  ;  and  in  they  went. 

"Don't  go  away,  Mortimer,"  said  Miss  Knag  as  they  entered  the  shop. 
"  It's  only  one  of  our  young  ladies  and  her  mother.  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Nickleby." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ! "  said  Mr.  Mortimer  Knag.     "  Ah  ! " 

Having  given  utterance  to  these  ejaculations  with  a  very  profound  and 
thoughtful  air,  Mr.  Knag  slowly  snuffed  two  kitchen  candles  on  the  counter, 
and  two  more  in  the  window,  and  then  snuffed  himself  from  a  box  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket. 

There  was  something  very  impressive  in  the  ghostly  air  with  which  all  this 
was  done ;  and  as  Mr.  Knag  was  a  tall  lank  gentleman  of  solemn  features, 
wearing  spectiacles,  and  garnished  with  much  less  hair  than  a  gentleman 
bordering  on  forty,  or  thereabouts,  usually  boasts,  Mrs.  Nickleby  whispered 
her  daughter  that  she  thought  he  must  be  literary. 

"Past  ten,"  said  Mr.  Knag,  consulting  his  watch.  "Thomas,  close  the 
warehouse." 

Thomas  was  a  boy  nearly  half  as  tall  as  a  shutter,  and  the  warehouse  was  a 
shop  about  the  size  of  three  hackney  coaches. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Knag  once  more,  heaving  a  deep  sigh  as  he  restored  to  its 
parent  shelf  the  book  he  had  been  reading.  "  Well — yes — I  believe  supper  is 
ready,  sister." 

With  another  sigh  Mr.  Knag  took  up  the  kitchen  candles  from  the  counter, 
and  preceded  the  ladies  with  mournful  steps  to  a  back  parlour,  where  a  char- 
woman, employed  in  the  absence  of  the  sick  servant,  and  remunerated  with 
certain  eighteenpences  to  be  deducted  from  her  wages  due,  was  putting  the 
supper  out. 

"Mrs.  Blockson,"  said  Miss  Knag,  reproachfully,  "how  very  often  I  have 
begged  you  not  to  come  into  the  room  with  your  bonnet  on  I " 

**  I  can't  help  it,  Miss  Knag,"  said  the  charwoman,  bridling  up  on  the 
shortest  notice.  "There's  been  a  deal  o'  cleaning  to  do  in  this  house,  and  if 
you  don't  like  it,  I  must  trouble  you  to  look  out  foT  somebody  else,  for  it  don't 
hardly  pay  me,  and  that's  the  truth,  if  I  was  to  be  hung  this  minute. " 

"  I  don't  want  any  remarks,  if  y(m  please,"  said  Miss  Knag,  with  a  strong 
emphasis  on  the  personal  pronoun.  "  Is  there  any  fire  downstairs  for  some 
hot  water  presently  ?  " 

"No  there  is  not,  indeed,  Miss  Knag,"  replied  the  substitute  ;  "and  so  I 
won't  tell  you  no  stories  about  it." 

"  Then  why  isn't  there  ? "  said  Miss  Knag. 

"  Because  there  ain't  no  coals  left  out,  and  if  I  could  make  coals  I  would. 


144  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

but  as  I  can't  I  won't,  and  so  I  make  bold  to  tell  you,  mem/'  replied  Mrs. 
Blockson. 

**  Will  you  hold  your  tongue — female?"  said  Mr.  Mortimer  Knag,  plung- 
ing violeurly  into  this  dialogue. 

"  By  your  leave,  Mr.  Knag,"  retorted  the  charwoman,  turning  sharp  round. 
"  I'm  only  too  glad  not  to  speak  in  this  house,  excepting  when  and  where  I'm 
spoke  to,  sir  ;  and  with  regard  to  being  a  female,  sir,  I  should  wish  to  know 
what  you  considered  yourself?" 

*•  A  miserable  wretch,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Knag,  striking  his  forehead.  "A 
miserable  wretch." 

**  I'm  very  glad  to  find  that  you  don't  call  yourself  out  of  your  name,  sir," 
said  Mrs.  Blockson  ;  *'  and  as  I  had  two  twin  children  the  day  before  yesterday 
was  only  seven  weeks,  and  my  little  Charlie  fell  down  a  airy  and  put  his  elb«r 
out  last  Monday,  I  shall  take  it  as  a  favior  if  you'll  send  nine  shillings, 
for  one  week's  work,  to  my  house,  afore  the  clock  strikes  ten  to-morrow." 

With  these  parting  words,  the  good  woman  quitted  the  room  with  great 
ease  of  manner,  leaving  the  door  wide  open  ;  Mr.  Knag  at  the  same  moment 
flung  himself  into  the  "  warehouse,"  and  groaned  aloud. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  that  gentleman,  pray  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
greatly  disturbed  by  the  sound. 

"  Is  he  ill  ?  "  inquired  Kate,  really  alarmed. 

*'  Hush  !  "  replied  Miss  Knag  ;  "  a  most  melancholy  history.  He  was  once 
most  devotedly  attached  to — hem — to  Madame  Mantalini." 

•*  Bless  me  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"Yes,"  continued  Miss  Knag,  "and  received  great  encouragement  too, 
and  confidently  hoped  to  marry  her.  He  has  a  most  romantic  heart,  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  as  indeed — hem — as  indeed  all  our  family  have,  and  the  disappoint- 
ment was  a  dreadful  blow.  He  is  a  wonderfully  accomplished  man — most 
extraordinarily  accomplished — reads — hem — reads  every  novel  that  comes  out ; 
I  mean  every  novel  that — hem — that  has  any  fashion  in  it,  of  course.  The 
fact  is,  that  he  did  find  so  much  in  the  books  he  read  applicable  to  his  own 
misfortunes,  and  did  find  himself  in  every  respect  so  mucn  like  the  heroes — 
because  of  course  he  is  conscious  of  his  own  superiority,  as  we  all  are,  and 
very  naturally — that  he  took  to  scorning  everything,  and  became  a  genius ; 
and  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  is,  at  this  very  present  moment,  writing  another 
book." 

"Another  book  !  "  repeated  Kate,  finding  that  a  pause  was  left  for  some- 
body to  say  something. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Knag,  nodding  in  great  triumph;  "another  boolc  in 
three  volumes,  post  octavo.  Of  course  it's  a  great  advantage  to  him,  in  aU  his 
little  fashionable  descriptions,  to  have  the  benefit  of  ray — hem — of  my 
experience,  because,  of  course,  few  authors  who  write  about  such  things  can 
have  such  opportunities  of  knowing  them  as  I  have.  He's  so  wrapped  up  in 
high  life,  that  the  least  allusion  to  business  or  worldly  matters — like  that 
woman  just  now,  for  instance — quite  distracts  him ;  but  as  1  often  say,  I 
think  his  disappointment  a  great  thing  for  him,  because  if  he  hadn't  been 
disappointed  he  couldn't  have  written  about  blighted  hopes  and  all  that ;  and 
the  fact  is,  if  it  hadn't  happened  as  it  has,  I  don't  believe  his  genius  would 
ever  have  come  out  at  all. 

How  much  more  communicative  Miss  Knag  might  have  become  under  mon 
favourable  circumstances,  it  is  impossible  to  divine,  but  as  the  gloomy  one 
was  within  ear-shot,  and  the  fire  wanted  making  up,  her  disclosures  stopped 
here.  To  judge  from  all  appearances,  and  the  difficulty  of  making  the  water 
warm,  the  last  servant  could  not  have  been  much  accustomed  to  any  other 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  145 

fire  than  St.  Anthony's  ;  but  a  little  brandy  and  water  was  made  at  last,  and 
the  guests,  having  been  previously  regaled  with  cold  leg  of  mutton  and  bread 
and  cheese,  soon  afterwards  took  leave ;  Kate  amusing  herself  all  the  way 
home  with  the  recollection  of  her  last  glimpse  of  Mr.  Mortimer  Knag  deeply 
abstracted  in  the  shop ;  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  by  debating  within  herself 
whether  the  dressmaking  firm  would  ultimately  become  **Mantalini,  Knag, 
and  Nickleby,"  or  *^*  Mantalini,  Nickleby,  and  Knag." 

At  this  high  point  Miss  Knag's  friendship  remained  for  three  whole  days, 
much  to  the  wonderment  of  Madame  Mantalini's  young  ladies,  who  had  never 
beheld  such  constancy  in  that  quarter  before  ;  but  on  the  fourth  it  received  a 
check  no  less  violent  than  sudden,  which  thus  occurred. 

It  happened  that  an  old  lord  of  great  family,  who  was  going  to  marry  a 
young.  lady  of  no  family  in  particular,  came  with  the  young  lady  and  the 
young  lady's  sister,  to  witness  the  ceremony  of  trying  on  two  nuptial  bonnets 
which  had  been  ordered  the  day  before  ;  and  Madame  Mantalini  announcing; 
the  fact  in  a  shrill  treble  through  the  speaking-pipe  which  communicated 
with  the  work-room.  Miss  Knag  darted  hastily  upstairs  with  a  bonnet  in  each 
hand,  and  presented  herself  in  the  show-room,  in  a  charming  state  of  palpita- 
tion, intended  to  demonstrate  her  enthusiasm  in  the  cause.  The  bonnets  were 
no  sooner  fairly  on,  than  Miss  Knag  and  Madame  Mantalini  fell  int^  con- 
vnlsions  of  admiration. 

'*  A  most  elegant  appearance,"  said  Madame  Mantalini. 

**  I  never  saw  anything  so  exquisite  in  my  life,"  said  Miss  Knag. 

Now,  the  old  lord,  who  was  a  very  old  lord,  said  nothing,  but  mumbled  and 
chuckled  in  a  state  of  great  delight,  no  less  with  the  nuptial  bonnets  and  their 
wearers,  than  with  his  own  address  in  getting  such  a  fine  woman  for  his  wife ; 
and  the  young  lady,  who  was  a  very  lively  young  lady,  seeing  the  old  lord  in 
this  rapturous  condition,  chased  the  old  lord  behind  a  cheval-glass,  and  then 
and  there  kissed  him,  while  Madame  Mantalini  and  the  other  young  lady 
looked  discreetly  another  way. 

But,  pending  the  salutation,  Miss  Knag,  who  was  tinged  with  curiosity, 
stepped  accidentally  behind  the  glass,  and  encountered  the  lively  young  lady's 
eye  just  at  the  very  moment  when  she  kissed  the  old  lord  ;  upon  which  the 
young  lady,  in  a  pouting  manner,  murmured  something  about  "  an  old  thing," 
and  ''great  impertinence,"  and  finished  by  darting  a  look  of  displeasure  at 
Miss  Knag,  and  smiling  contemptuously. 

"Madame  Mantalini,"  said  the  young  lady. 

"Ma'am,"  said  Madame  Mantalini. 

**  Pray  have  up  that  pretty  young  creature  we  saw  yesterday." 

'*  Oh,  yes,  do,    said  the  sister. 

**  Of  ail  things  in  the  world,  Madame  Mantalini,"  said  the  lord's  intended, 
throwing  herself  languidly  on  the  sofa,  •*  I  hate  being  waited  upon  by  frights 
or  elderly  persons.  Let  me  always  see  that  young  creature,  1  beg,  whenever 
I  come." 

**By  all  means,"  said  the  old  lord  ;  "the  lovely  young  creature,  by  all 
means. " 

"Everybody  is  talking  about  her,"  said  the  young  lady,  in  the  same  care- 
less manner ;  "  and  my  lord,  being  a  great  admirer  of  beauty,  must  positively 
see  her. " 

"Shew  universally  admired,"  replied  Madame  Mantalini.  "Miss  Knag, 
send  up  Miss  Nickleby.     You  needn't  return." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame  Mantalini,  what  did  you  say  last?"  asked 
Miss  Knag,  trembling. 

"  You  needn't  return,"  repeated  the  superior,  sharply.    Miss  Knag  vanished 


146  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

without  another  word,  and  in  all  reasonable  time  was  replaced  by  Kate,  who 
took  ofif  the  new  bonnets  and  put  on  the  old  ones :  blushing  very  much  to 
find  that  the  old  lord  and  the  two  young  ladies  were  staring  her  out  of  coun- 
tenance all  the  time. 

**  Why,  how  you  colour,  child  !  '*  said  the  lord's  chosen  bride. 

''  She  is  not  quite  so  accustomed  to  her  business  as  she  will  be  in  a  week  or 
two,"  interposed  Madame  Mautalini,  with  a  gracious  smile. 

'*  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  giving  her  some  of  your  wicked  looks,  my 
lord,"  said  the  intended. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  replied  the  old  lord,  "no,  no,  I'm  going  to  be  married  and 
lead  a  new  life.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  a  new  life,  a  new  life  !  ha,  ha,  ha  ! " 

It  was  a  satisfactory  thing  to  hear  that  the  old  gentleman  was  going 
to  lead  a  new  life,  for  it  was  pretty  evident  that  his  old  one  would  not  last 
him  much  longer.  The  mere  exertion  of  protracted  chuckling  reduced  him  to 
a  fearful  ebb  of  coughing  and  gasping ;  it  was  some  minutes  before  he  could 
find  breath  to  remark  that  the  girl  was  too  pretty  for  a  milliner. 

*'  I  hope  you  don't  think  good  looks  a  disqualification  for  the  business,  my 
lord,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  simpering. 

*'  Not  by  any  means,"  replied  the  old  lord,  '*  or  you  would  have  left  it  long 
ago.'* 

"You  naughty  creature,"  said  the  lively  lady,  poking  the  peer  with  her 
parasol ;  **  I  won't  have  you  talk  so.     How  dare  you  ? " 

This  playful  inquiry  was  accompanied  with  another  poke,  and  another,  and 
then  the  old  lord  caught  the  parasol,  and  wouldn't  give  it  up  again,  which 
induced  the  other  lady  to  come  to  the  rescue,  and  some  very  pretty  sportiTe- 
ness  ensued. 

''You  will  sec  that  those  little  alterations  are  made  Madame  MantaUni," 
said  the  lady.  "  Nay,  you  bad  man,  you  positively  shall  go  first ;  I  wouldn't 
leave  you  behind  with  that  pretty  girl,  not  for  half-a-second.  I  know  yon 
too  well.     Jane,  my  dear,  let  him  go  first,  and  we  shall  be  quite  sure  of  him." 

The  old  lord,  evidently  much  flattered  by  this  suspicion,  bestowed  t 
grotesque  leer  upon  Kate  as  he  passed  ;  and,  receiving  another  tap  with  the 
parasol  for  his  wickedness,  tottered  downstairs  to  the  door,  where  his  sprightly 
body  was  hoisted  into  the  carriage  by  two  stout  footmen. 

**  Foh  ! "  said  Madame  Mantalini,  **  how  he  ever  gets  into  a  carriage  with- 
out thinking  of  a  hearse,  /  can't  think.  There,  take  the  things  away,  my 
dear ;  take  them  away." 

Kate,  who  had  remained  during  the  whole  scene  with  her  eyes  modestly 
fixed  upon  the  ground,  was  only  too  happy  to  avail  herself  of  the  permissioii 
to  retire,  and  hasten  joyfully  downstairs  to  Miss  Knag's  dominion. 

The  circumstances  of  the  little  kingdom  had  greatly  changed,  however, 
during  the  short  period  of  her  absence.  In  place  of  Miss  Knag  being  stationed 
in  her  accustomed  scat,  preserving  all  the  uignity  and  greatness  of  Madame 
Mantalini's  representative,  that  worthy  soul  was  reposing  on  a  large  box, 
bathed  in  tears,  while  three  or  four  of  the  young  laaies  in  close  attendance 
upon  her,  together  with  the  presence  of  hartshorn,  vinegar,  and  other  reston* 
tives,  would  have  borne  ample  testimony,  even  without  the  derangement  of 
the  head-dress  and  front  row  of  curls,  to  her  having  fainted  desperately. 

"  Bless  me  ! "  said  Kate,  stepping  hastily  forward,  **  What  is  the  matter!" 

This  inquiry  produced  in  Miss  Knag  violent  symptoms  of  a  relapse ;  and 
several  young  ladies,  darting  angry  looks  at  Kate,  applied  more  vinegar  and 
hartshorn,  and  said  it  was  **a  shame," 

*'  What  is  a  shame  ? "  demanded  Kate.  ''  What  is  the  matter  ?  Whathai 
happened?  tell  me." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  147 

"  Matter  ! "  cried  Miss  Knag,  coining,  all  at  once,  bolt  upright,  to  the  great 
consternation  of  the  assembled  maidens ;  "matter !  Fie  upon  you,  you  nasty 
creature ! " 

"  Gracious  ! "  cried  Kate,  almost  paralysed  by  the  violence  with  which  the 
adjecttve  had  been  jerked  out  from  between  Miss  Knag's  closed  teeth  ;  "  have 
/oflfendedyout" 

"  You  offended  me ! "  retorted  Miss  Knag.  "  You  ?  a  chit,  a  child,  an  up- 
start nobody  1    Oh,  indeed  !    Ha,  ha ! " 

Now,  it  was  evident,  as  Miss  Knag  laughed,  that  something  struck  her  as 
being  exceedingly  funny  ;  and  as  the  young  ladies  took  their  tone  from  Miss 
^lag—she  being  the  chief— they  all  got  up  a  laugh  without  a  moment's  delay, 
and  nodded  their  heads  a  little,  and  smiled  sarcastically  to  each  other,  as 
much  as  to  say,  how  very  good  that  was  ! 

'*  Here  she  is,"  continu^  Miss  Knag,  getting  off  the  box,  and  introducing 
Kate  with  much  ceremony  and  many  low  curtseys  to  the  delighted  throng ; 
"here  she  is — everbody  is  talking  about  her — the  belle,  ladies — the  beauty, 
the— oh,  yon  bold-&ced  thing ! " 

At  this  crisis  Miss  Knag  was  unable  to  repress  a  virtuous  shudder,  which 
immediately  communicated  itself  to  all  the  young  ladies  ;  after  which  Miss 
Knag  laughed,  and  after  that  cried. 

"for  fifteen  years,"  exclaimed  Miss  Knag,  sobbing  in  a  most  affecting 
manner,  "  for  fifteen  years  have  I  been  the  credit  and  ornament  of  this  room 
and  the  one  upstairs.  Thank  God,"  said  Miss  Knag,  stamping  first  her  right 
foot  and  then  her  left  with  remarkable  energy,  "  I  have  never  in  all  that 
time,  till  now,  been  exposed  to  the  arts,  the  vile  arts,  of  a  creature  who 
disgraces  us  with  all  her  proceedings,  and  makes  proper  people  blush  for 
themselves.     But  I  feel  it,  I  do  feel  it,  although  I  am  disgusted. 

Miss  Knag  here  relapsed  into  softness,  and  the  young  ladies  renewing  their 
attentions,  murmured  that  she  ought  to  be  superior  to  such  things,  and  that 
for  their  part  they  despised  them,  and  considered  them  beneath  their  notice  ; 
in  witness  whereof,  they  called  out,  more  emphatically  than  before,  that  it 
was  a  shame,  and  that  they  felt  so  angry,  they  did,  they  hardly  knew  what  to 
do  with  themselves. 

"Have  I  lived  to  this  day  to  be  called  a  fright!"  cried  Miss  Knag, 
saddenly  becoming  convulsive,  and  making  an  effort  to  tear  her  front  off. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  replied  the  chorus,  *'  pray  don't  say  so  ;  don't  now  1 " 

"  Have  I  deserved  to  be  called  an  elderly  person  ? "  screamed  Miss  Knag, 
wrestling  with  the  supernumeraries. 

"  Doirt  think  of  such  things,  dear,"  answered  the  chorus. 

"  I  hate  her,"  cried  Miss  Knag  ;  "I  detest  and  hate  her.  Never  let  her 
apeak  to  me  again  ;  never  let  anybodv  who  is  a  friend  of  mine  speak  to  her  ; 
a  slut,  a  hussy,  an  impudent,  artful  hussy ! "  Having  denounced  the  object 
of  her  wrath  in  these  terms.  Miss  Knag  screamed  once,  hiccupped  thrice, 
gargled  in  her  throat  several  times,  slumbered,  shivered,  woke,  came  to, 
composed  her  head-dress,  and  declared  herself  quite  well  again. 

Poor  Kate  had  regarded  these  proceedings  at  first  in  perfect  bewilder- 
ment. She  had  then  turned  red  and  pale  by  turns,  and  once  or  twice  essayed 
to  speak ;  but,  as  the  true  motives  of  this  altered  behaviour  developed 
themselves,  she  retired  a  few  paces,  and  looked  calmly  on  without  deigning  a 
xeply.  Nevertheless,  although  she  walked  proudly  to  her  seat,  and  turned 
her  l)ack  upon  the  group  of  little  satellites  who  clustered  round  tiiieir  ruHng 
planet  in  the  remotest  corner  of  the  room,  she  gave  way,  in  secret,  to  some 
such  bitter  tears  as  would  have  gladdened  Miss  Knag's  inmost  soul,  if  she 
could  hare  seen  thsm  fall. 


148  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

DESCEIPTIVB  OF  A  DINNER  AT  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY'S,  AND  OF  THE  MANNER 
IN  WHICH  THE  COMPANY  ENTERTAINED  THEMSELVES  BEFORE  DINNER, 
AT  DINNER,   AND  AFTER  DINNER. 

THE  bile  and  rancour  of  the  worthy  Miss  Knag  undergoing  no  diminution 
during  the  remainder  of  the  week,  but  rather  augmenting  with  every 
successive  hour ;  and  the  honest  ire  of  all  the  young  ladies  rising,  •  or 
seeming  to  rise,  in  exact  proportion  to  the  good  spinster's  indignation,  and 
both  waxing  very  hot  every  time  Miss  Nickleby  was  called  upstairs  ;  it  will 
be  readily  imagined  that  that  young  lady's  daily  life  was  none  of  &e  most 
cheerful  or  enviable  kind.  She  hailed  the  arrival  of  Saturday  night  as  a 
prisoner  would  a  few  delicious  hours'  respite  from  slow  and  wearing  torture, 
and  felt  that  the  poor  pittance  for  her  first  week's  labour  would  have  been 
dearly  and  hardly  earned  had  its  amount  been  trebled. 

When  she  joined  her  mother,  as  usual,  at  the  street  corner,  she  was  not  a 
little  surprised  to  find  her  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  ;  bat  her 
surprise  was  soon  redoubled,  no  less  by  the  matter  of  their  conversation,  than 
by  the  smoothed  and  altered  manner  of  Mr.  Nickleby  himself. 

'*  Ah  !  my  dear  ! ''  said  Ralph  ;  '*  we  were  at  that  moment  talking  about 
you." 

'*  Indeed  ! "  replied  Kate,  shrinking,  though  she  scarce  knew  why,  from  her 
uncle's  cold,  glistening  eye. 

'*  That  instant,"  said  Ralph,  "  I  was  coming  to  call  for  you,  making  sure 
to  catch  you  before  you  left ;  but  your  mother  and  I  have  been  talking  over 
family  affairs,  and  the  time  has  slipped  away  so  rapidly " 

**  Well,  now,  hasn't  it  ? "  interposed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  quite  insensible  to  the 
sarcastic  tone  of  Ralph's  last  remark.     "  Upon  my  word,  I  couldn't  have 

believed  it  possible  that  such  a Kate,  my  dear,  you're  to  dine  with  your 

uncle  at  half-past  six  o'clock  to-morrow. " 

Triumphing  in  having  been  the  first  to  communicate  this  extraordinary 
intelligence,  Mrs.  Nickleby  nodded  and  smiled  a  great  many  times,  to 
impress  its  full  magnificence  on  Kate's  wondering  mind,  and  then  fl.ew  off,  at 
an  acute  angle,  to  a  committee  of  ways  and  means. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  good  lady.  '*  Your  black  silk  frock  will  be  quite 
dress  enough,  my  dear,  with  that  pretty  little  scarf,  and  a  plain  band  in  your 

hair,  and  a  pair  of  black  silk  stock Dear,  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby, 

flying  off  at  another  angle,  'Mf  I  had  but  those  unfortunate  amethvsts  of 
mine — you  recollect  them,  Kate,  my  love — how  they  used  to  sparkle,  yoa 
know — but  your  papa,  your  poor  dear  papa — ah  !  there  never  was  anythiiogso 
cruelly  sacrificed  as  those  jewels  were,  never ! "  Overpowered  by  tiiiis 
agonising  thought,  Mrs.  Nickleby  shook  her  head  in  a  melancholy  manner, 
and  applied  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  want  them,  mamma,  indeed,"  said  Kate.  *'  Forget  that  you  ever 
had  them." 

**Lord,  Kate,  my  dear,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby,  pettishly,  "how  like  a 
child  you  talk  I  Four-and-twenty  silver  teaspoons,  brother-in-law,  two 
gravies,  four  salts,  all  the  amethysts — necklace,  brooch,  and  ear-rings— all 
made  away  with  at  the  same  time,  and  I  saying,  almost  on  my  bended  kueei, 
to  that  poor,  good  soul,   *Why  don't  you  do  something,  Nicholas?    "Why 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  149 

don't  yoQ  make  some  arrangement  ? '  I  am  sure  that  anybody  who  was  about 
us  at  that  time  will  do  me  the  justice  to  onu,  that  if  I  said  that  once,  I  said 
it  fifty  times  a-day.  Didn't  I,  Kate,  my  dear  ?  Did  I  ever  lose  an  oppor- 
tunity of  impressing  it  on  your  poor  papa  ? " 

**No,  no,  mamma,  never,"  repUed  Kate.  And  to  do  Mrs.  Nickleby 
justice,  she  never  had  lost — and  to  do  married  ladies  as  a  body  justice,  they 
seldom  do  lose — any  occasion  of  inculcating  similar  golden  precepts,  whose 
only  blemish  is,  the  slight  degree  of  vagueness  and  uncertainty  in  which 
they  are  usually  enveloped. 

**  Ah  ! "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  great  fervour,  "  if  my  advice  had  been 
taken  at  the  beginning — Well,  I  have  always  done  my  duty,  and  that's  some 
comfort" 

When  she  had  arrived  at  this  reflection,  Mrs.  Nickleby  sighed,  rubbed  her 
hands,  cast  up  her  eyes,  and  finally  assumed  a  look  of  meek  composure  ;  thus 
importing  that  she  was  a  persecuted  saint,  but  that  she  wouldn't  trouble  her 
hearers  by  mentioning  a  circumstance  which  must  be  so  obvious  to  everybody. 
"Now,"  said  Balph,  with  a  smile,  which  in  common  with  all  other  tokens 
of  emotion,  seemed  to  skulk  under  his  face,  rather  than  play  boldly  over  it — 
'*  to  return  to  the  point  from  which  we  have  strayed.  1  have  a  little  party  of 
— of — ^gentlemen  with  whom  I  am  connected  in  business  just  now,  at  my 
house  to-morrow  ;  and  your  mother  has  promised  that  you  shall  keep  house 
for  me.  I  am  not  much  used  to  parties ;  but  this  is  one  of  business,  and 
such  fooleries  are  an  important  part  of  it  sometimes.  You  don't  mind 
obliging  me  ? " 

«•  Mind  I "  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby.     "  My  dear  Kate,  why " 

"Pray,"  interrupted  Ralph,  motioning  her  to  be  silent  **  I  spoke  to  my 
niece." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad,  of  course,  uncle,"  replied  Kate  ;  '*  but  I  am  afraid 
yoa  will  find  me  awkward  and  embarrassed." 

•*Oh,  no,"  said  Ralph;  "come  when  you  like,  in  a  hackney  coach — I'll 
pay  for  it     Good  night — a — a — God  bless  you. " 

The  blessing  seemed  to  stick  in  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby's  throat,  as  if  it  were 
not  used  to  the  thoroughfare,  and  didn't  know  the  way  out.  But  it  got  out 
somehow,  though  awkwardly  enough  ;  and  having  disposed  of  it,  shooK  hands 
with  his  two  relatives,  and  abruptly  left  them. 

"What  a  very  strongly-marked  countenance  your  uncle  has!"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  quite  struck  with  his  parting  look.  "I  don't  see  the  slightest 
resemblance  to  his  poor  brother." 

"  Mamma  ! "  saia  Kate,  reprovingly.     '*  To  think  of  such  a  thing  !  " 
** No^"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  musing.     "There  certainly  is  none.     But  it's 
a  very  honest  face." 

The  worthy  matron  made  this  remark  with  great  emphasis  and  elocution, 
as  if  it  comprised  no  small  quantity  of  ingenuity  and  research  ;  and,  in  truth, 
it  was  not  unworthy  of  being  classed  among  the  extraordinary  discoveries  of 
the  age.     Kate  looked  up  hastily,  and  as  hastily  looked  down  again. 

**  What  has  come  over  you,  my  dear,  in  the  name  of  goodness?"  asked 
Mr&  Nickleby,  when  they  had  walked  on  for  some  time  in  silence. 
••  I  was  only  thinking, "mamma,"  answered  Kate. 

"Thinking!"  repeated  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "Aye,  and  indeed  plenty  to 
think  about,  too.  Tour  uncle  has  taken  a  strong  fancy  to  you,  that's  quite 
clear,  and  if  some  extraordinary  good  fortune  doesn't  come  to  you  after  this, 
I  shall  be  a  little  surprised,  that's  all." 

With  this  she  launched  out  into  sundry  anecdotes  of  young  ladies  who 
had  had  thousand  pound  notes  given  them  in  reticules  by  eccentric  uncU^  \ 


ISO  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

and  of  young  ladies  who  had  accidentally  met  amiahle  gentlemen  of  enormoiuk 
wealth  at  their  uncles'  houses,  and  married  them  after  short  but  ardent  cooit- 
ships  ;  and  Kate,  listening,  first  in  apathy  and  afterwards  in  amusement,  felt, 
as  they  walked  home,  something  of  her  mother's  sanguine  complexion  gradually 
awakening  in  her  own  bosom,  and  began  to  think  that  her  prospects  mkrht 
be  brightening,  and  that  better  days  might  be  dawning  upon  them.  Such  is 
hope,  heaven's  own  gift  to  struggling  mortals ;  pervading,  like  some  subtle 
essence  from  the  skies,  all  things,  both  good  and  oad ;  as  universal  as  death, 
and  more  infectious  than  disease  ! 

The  feeble  winter's  sun — and  winter's  suns  in  the  city  are  very  feeble  in- 
deed— might  have  brightened  up,  as  he  shone  through  the  dim  windows  of 
the  large  old  house,  on  witnessing  the  unusual  sight  which  one  half-furnished 
room  displayed.  In  a  gloomy  comer,  where  for  years  had  stood  a  silent  dusty 
pile  of  merchandise,  sheltering  its  colony  of  mice,  and  frowning,  a  dull  and 
lifeless  mass,  upon  the  panelled  room,  save  when,  responding  to  the  roll  of 
heavy  waggons  m  the  street  without,  it  quaked  with  sturdy  tremblings,  and 
caused  the  bright  eyes  of  its  tiny  citizens  to  grow  brighter  still  with  fear,  and 
struck  them  motionless,  with  attentive  ear  and  palpitating  heart,  until  the 
alarm  had  passed  away — in  this  dark  corner  was  arranged  with  scrupulous 
care  all  Kate's  little  finery  for  the  day  ;  each  article  of  dress  partaking  of  that 
indescribable  air  of  jauntiness  and  individuality  which  empty  garments — 
whether  by  association  or  that  they  become  moulded,  as  it  were,  to  the  owner^s 
form — will  take,  in  eyes  accustomed  to  or  picturing  the  wearer's  smartness. 
In  place  of  a  musty  bale  of  goods,  there  lay  the  black  silk  dress ;  the  neatest 
possible  figure  in  itself.  The  small  shoes,  with  toes  delicately  turned  out, 
stood  upon  the  very  pressure  of  some  old  iron  weight ;  and  a  pile  of  harsh, 
discoloured  leather  had  unconsciously  given  place  to  the  very  same  little 
pair  of  black  silk  stocking  which  had  been  the  objects  of  Mrs.  Nickleby's 
peculiar  care.  Rats  and  mice,  and  such  small  gear,  had  lon^  ago  been  starved, 
or  had  emigrated  to  better  quarters  ;  and  in  their  stead  appeared  gloves, 
bands,  scarfs,  hair-pins,  and  many  other  little  devices,  almost  as  ingenious  in 
their  way  as  rats  and  mice  themselves  for  the  tantalisation  of  mankind. 
About  and  among  them  all  moved  Kate  herself,  not  the  least  beautiful  or 
unwonted  relief  to  the  storn,  old,  gloomy  building. 

In  good  time,  or  in  bad  time,  as  the  reader  likes  to  take  it— ^for  Mrs. 
Nickleby's  impatience  went  a  good  deal  faster  than  the  clocks  at  that  end 
of  the  town,  and  Kato  was  dressed  to  the  very  last  hair-pin  a  full  hour 
and  a-half  before  it  was  at  all  necessary  to  begin  to  think  about  it — in  good 
time,  or  in  bad  time,  the  toilet  was  completea ;  and  it  being  at  length  the 
hour  agreed  upon  for  starting,  the  milkman  fetched  a  coach  from  the  nearest 
stand,  and  Kate,  with  many  adieus  to  her  mother,  and  many  kind  messages 
to  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  was  to  come  to  tea,  seated  herself  in  it,  and  went 
away  in  state,  if  ever  anybody  went  away  in  state  in  a  hackney  coach  yet 
And  the  coach,  and  the  coachman,  and  the  horses,  rattled  and  jangled  and 
whipped,  and  cursed  and  swore,  and  tumbled  on  together,  until  they  came  to 
Golden  Square. 

The  coachman  gave  a  tremendous  double  knock  at  the  door,  which  was 
opened  long  before  he  had  done,  as  quickly  as  if  there  had  been  a  man  behind 
it,  with  his  hand  tied  to  the  latoh.  Kate,  who  had  expected  no  more 
uncommon  appearance  than  Newman  Noggs  in  a  clean  shirt,  was  not  a  little 
astonished  to  see  that  the  opener  was  a  man  in  handsome  livery,  and  that . 
there  were  two  or  three  others  in  the  hall.  There  was  no  doubt  about  its 
being  the  right  house,  however,  for  there  was  the  name  upon  the  door ;  so 
she  accepted  the  laced  coat-sleeve  which  was  tendered  her,  and  entering  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  151 

honse,  was  ushered  upstairs  into  a  back  drawing-room,  where  she  was  left 
alone. 

If  she  had  been  surprised  at  the  apparition  of  the  footman,  she  was  perfectly 
absorbed  in  amazement  at  the  richness  and  splendour  of  the  furniture.  The 
softest  and  most  elegant  carpets,  the  most  exquisite  pictures,  the  costliest 
mirrors,  articles  of  richest  ornament,  quite  dazzling  from  their  beauty,  and 
perplexing  from  the  prodigality  with  which  they  were  scattered  around, 
encountered  her  on  every  side.  The  very  staircase,  nearly  down  to  the  hall- 
door,  was  crammed  with  beautiful  aud  luxurious  things,  as  though  the  house 
were  brimful  of  riches,  which  with  a  very  •  trifling  addition  woiSd  fairly  run 
over  into  the  street. 

Presently  she  heard  a  series  of  loud  double  knocks  at  the  street-door,  and 
after  every  knock  some  new  voice  in  the  next  room,  and  the  tones  of  Mr. 
Ralph  Nickleby  "were  easily  distinguishable  at  first,  but  by  degrees  they 
merged  into  the  general  buzz  of  conversation,  and  all  she  could  ascertain  was 
that  there  were  several  gentlemen  with  no  very  musical  voices,  who  talked 
very  loud,  laughed  very  heartily,  and  swore  more  than  she  would  have 
thought  quite  necessary.     But  this  was  a  question  of  taste. 

At  length  the  door  opened,  and  Ralph  himself,  divested  of  his  boots,  and 
ceremoniously  embellished  with  black  silks  and  shoes,  presented  his  crafty 
face. 

"  I  couldn't  see  you  before,  my  dear,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  and  pointing, 
as  he  spoke,  to  the  next  room.  "  I  was  engaged  in  receiving  them.  Now — 
shall  I  take  you  in  ? " 

"Pray,  uncle,"  said  Kate,  a  little  flurried,  as  people  much  more  con- 
versant with  society  often  are,  when  they  are  about  to  enter  a  room  full  of 
strangers,  and  have  had  time  to  think  of  it  previously,  "  are  there  any  ladies 
here  ? " 

••  No,"  said  Ralph,  shortly,  '*  I  don't  know  any." 

*•  Must  I  go  in  immediately  ? "  asked  Kate,  drawing  back  a  little. 

"As  you  please,"  said  Ralph,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "They  are  all 
come,  and  dinner  will  be  announced  directly  afterwards — that's  all." 

Kate  would  have  entreated  a  few  minutes'  respite,  but  reflecting  that  her 
nnde  might  consider  the  payment  of  the  hackney-coach  fare  a  sort  of  bargain 
for  her  punctuality,  she  suffered  him  to  draw  her  arm  through  his,  and  to  lead 
her  away. 

Seven  or  eight  gentlemen  were  standing  round  the  fire  when  they  went  in, 
and,  as  they  were  talking  very  loud,  were  not  aware  of  their  entrance  until 
Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  touching  one  on  the  coat-sleeve,  said,  in  a  harsh, 
emphatic  voice,  as  if  to  attract  general  attention — 

**  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht,  my  niece,  Miss  Nickleby." 

The  group  dispersed,  as  if  in  great  surprise,  and  the  gentleman  addressed, 
turning  round,  exhibited  a  suit  of  clothes  of  the  most  superlative  cut,  a  pair 
of  whiskers  of  similar  quality,  a  moustache,  a  head  of  hair,  and  a  young 

face. 

"Eh  ! "  said  the  gentleman.     "  What— the— dey vie  !  " 

With  which  broken  ejaculations  he  fixed  his  glass  in  his  eye^  and  stared  at 
Miss  Nickleby  in  great  surprise. 

*•  My  niece,  my  lord,"  said  Ralph. 

"Then  my  ears  did  not  deceive  me,  and  it's  not  wa-a-x  work,"  said  his 
lordship.  "How  de  do  ?  I'm  very  happy."  And  then  his  lordship  turned 
to  another  superlative  gentleman,  something  older,  something  stouter,  some- 
thing redder  in  the  face,  and  something  longer  upon  town,  and  said  in  a  loud 
whisper  that  the  girl  was  "  deyvlish  pitty." 


152  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Introduce  rae,  Nickleby,"  said  this  second  gentleman,  who  was  louugixig 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  both  elbows  on  the  chimney-piece. 

"  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,"  said  Ralph. 

**  Otherwise  the  most  knowing  card  in  the  pa-ack,  Miss  Nickleby,"  sold 
Lord  Frederick  Verisopht. 

"Don't  leave  me  out,  Nickleby,"  cried  a  sharp-faced  gentleman,  who  was 
sitting  on  a  low  chair  with  a  hisjh  back,  reading  the  paper. 

"Mr.  Pyke,"  said  Ralph.     ' 

"  Nor  me,  Nickleby,"  cried  a  gentleman  with  a  flushed  face  and  a  flash  air, 
from  the  elbow  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 

"Mr.  Pluck,"  said  Ralph.  Then  wheeling  about  again,  towards  a  gentle- 
man with  the  neck  of  a  stork  and  the  legs  of  no  an^al  in  particular,  Kalph 
introduced  him  as  the  Honourable  Mr.  Snobb  ;  and  a  white-headed  person  at 
the  table  as  Colonel  Chowser.  The  colonel  was  in  conversation  with  some- 
body, who  appeared  to  be  a  make-weight,  and  was  not  introduced  at  all. 

There  were  two  circumstances  which,  in  this  early  stage  of  the  party,  struck 
home  to  Kate's  bosom,  and  brought  the  blood  tingling  to  her  face.  One  was 
the  flippant  contempt  with  which  the  guests  evidently  regarded  her  uncle, 
and  the  other,  the  easy  insolence  of  their  manner  towards  herself.  That  the 
first  symptom  was  very  likely  to  lead  to  the  aggravation  of  the  second, 
it  needed  no  great  penetration  to  foresee.  And  here  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  had 
reckoned  without  his  host ;  for  however  fresh  from  the  country  a  young  lady 
(by  nature)  may  be,  and  however  unacquainted  with  conventional  behaviour, 
the  chances  are,  that  she  will  have  quite  as  strong  an  innate  sense  of  the 
decencies  and  proprieties  of  life  as  if  she  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  a  dozen 
London  seasons — possibly  a  stronger  one,  for  such  senses  have  been  known  to 
blunt  in  this  improving  process. 

When  Ralph  liad  completed  the  ceremonial  of  introduction,  he  led  his 
blushing  niece  to  a  seat.  As  he  did  so,  ho  glanced  warily  round  as  though 
to  assure  himself  of  the  impression  which  her  unlooked-for  appearance  had 
created. 

*'An  unexpected  playsure,  Nickleby,"  said  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht,  taking 
his  glass  out  of  his  right  eye,  where  it  had,  until  now,  done  duty  on  Eate, 
and  fixing  it  in  his  left,  to  bring  it  to  bear  on  Ralph. 

"  Designed  to  surprise  you.  Lord  Frederick,"  said  Mr.  Pluck. 

"  Not  a  bad  idea, '  said  his  lordship,  "  and  one  that  would  almost  warrant 
the  addition  of  an  extra  two  and  a-half  per  cent." 

"  Nickleby,"  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  in  a  thick,  coarse  voice,  **  take  the 
hint,  and  tack  it  on  to  the  other  five-aud-twenty,  or  whatever  it  is,  and  give 
me  half  for  the  advice." 

Sir  Mulberry  garnished  this  speech  with  a  hoarse  laugh,  and  terminated  it 
with  a  pleasant  oath  regarding  Mr.  Nickleby 's  limbs,  whereat  Messrs.  Pyke 
and  Pluck  laughed  consumedly. 

These  gentlemen  had  not  yet  quite  recovered  the  jest,  when  dinner  was 
announced,  and  then  they  were  thrown  into  fresh  ecstasies  by  a  similar  cause; 
for  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  in  an  excess  of  humour,  shot  dexterously  past  Lord 
Frederick  Verisopht,  who  was  about  to  load  Kate  downstairs,  and  drew  her 
arm  through  his  up  to  the  elbow. 

"No,  damn  it,  Verisopht,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  "fair  play's  a  jewel,  and 
Miss  Nickleby  and  I  settled  the  matter  with  our  eyes  ten  minutes  ago." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  Honourable  Mr.  Snobb,  "very  good,  very 
good." 

Rendered  additionally  witty  by  this  applause.  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  leered 
upon  his  friends  most  facetiously,  and  led  Kate  downstairs  with   an  air  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  '  153 

familiarity,  which  roused  in  her  gentle  breast  such  buroing  indignation  as  she 
felt  it  almost  impossible  to  repress.  Nor  was  the  intensity  of  these  feelings 
at  all  diminished  when  she  found  herself  placed  at  the  top  of  the  table,  with 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  and  Lord  Frederick  Veriaopht  on  either  side. 

**  Oh,  you've  found  your  way  into  our  neighbourhood,  have  you  ? "  said  Sir 
Mulberry,  as  his  lordship  sat  down. 

**0f  course,"  replied  Lord  Frederick,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Miss  Nickleby, 
**  how  can  you  ask  me  ? " 

**  Well,  you  attend  to  your  dinner,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  **  and  don't 
mind  Miss  Nickleby  and  me,  for  we  shall  prove  very  indiifereut  company,  I 
daresay. " 

"  I  wish  you'd  interfere  here,  Nickleby,"  said  Lord  Frederick. 

**  "What  is  the  matter,  my  lord  ? "  demanded  Ralph,  from  the  bottom  of  the 
table,  where  he  was  supported  by  Messrs  Pike  and  Pluck. 

**  This  fellow,  Hawk,  is  monopolising  your  niece,"  said  Lord  Frederick. 

**  He  has  a  tolerable  share  of  everything  that  you  lay  claim  to,  my  lord," 
said  Ealph,  with  a  sneer. 

**Gad,  so  he  has,"  replied  the  young  man  ;  "deyvle  take  me  if  I  know 
which  is  master  in  my  house,  he  or  L" 

"  /know,"  muttered  Ralph. 

•*  I  think  I  shall  cut  him  off  with  a  shilling,"  said  the  young  nobleman, 
jocosely. 

**  No,  no,  curse  it,"  said  Sir  Mulberry.  **  When  you  come  to  the  shilling 
— the  last  shilling — 1*11  cut  you  fast  enough  ;  but  till  then,  I'll  never  leave 
you — you  may  take  your  oath  of  it." 

This  sally  (which  was  strictly  founded  on  fact)  was  received  with  a  general 
roar,  above  which  was  plainly  distinguishable  the  laughter  of  Mr.  Pike  and 
Mr.  Pluck,  who  were,  evidently.  Sir  Mulberry's  toads-in-ordinary.  Indeed, 
it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  the  majority  of  the  company  preyed  upon  the 
unfortunate  young  lord,  who,  weak  and  silly  as  he  was,  appeared  by  far  the 
least  vicious  of  the  party.  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  was  remarkable  for  his  tact  in 
miniDg,  by  himself  and  his  creatures,  young  gentlemen  of  fortune — a  genteel 
and  elegant  profession,  of  which  he  had  undoubtedly  gained  the  head.  With 
all  the  boldness  of  an  original  genius,  he  had  struck  out  an  entirely  new 
course  of  treatment  quite  opposed  to  the  usual  method  ;  his  custom  being, 
when  he  had  gained  the  ascendency  over  those  he  took  in  hand,  rather  to  keep 
them  down  than  to  give  them  their  own  way  ;  and  to  exercise  his  vivacity 
upon  them,  openly,  and  without  reserve.  Thus,  he  made  them  butts,  in  a 
double  sense,  and  while  he  emptied  them  with  great  address,  caused  them  to 
ring  with  sundry  well-administered  taps  for  the  diversion  of  society. 

The  dinner  was  as  remarkable  for  the  splendour  and  completeness  of  its 
appointments  as  the  mansion  itself,  and  the  company  were  remarkable  for 
doing  it  ample  justice,  in  which  respect  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  particularly 
signalised  themselves  ;  these  two  gentlemen  eating  of  every  dish,  and  drink- 
ing of  every  bottle,  with  a  capacity  and  perseverance  truly  astonishing.  They 
were  remarkably  fresh,  too,  notwithstanding  their  great  exertions :  for,  on 
the  appearance  of  the  dessert,  they  broke  out  again,  as  if  nothing  serious  had 
taken  place  since  breakfast. 

**  Well,"  said  Lord  Frederick,  sipping  his  first  glass  of  port,  "  if  this  is  a 
discounting  dinner,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  deyvle  take  me,  if  it  wouldn't  be  a 
good  pla-an  to  get  discount  every  day. " 

•'You'll  have  plenty  of  it  in  your  time,"  returned  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  ; 
«•  Nickleby  will  tell  you  that." 


156  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

soul,  they're  perfect.  Why  did  I  speak,  and  destroy  such  a  pretty  little 
picture ! " 

"  Do  mo  the  favour  to  be  silent  now,  sir,"  replied  Eate. 

''  No,  don't,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  folding  his  crush  hat  to  lay  his  elbow  go, 
and  bringing  himself  still  closer  to  the  young  lady  ;  '*upon  my  life,  yoa 
oughtn't  to.  Such  a  devoted  slave  of  yours.  Miss  Nickleby — it's  an  infernal 
thing  to  treat  him  so  harshly,  upon  my  soul  it  is." 

''1  wisli  you  to  understand,  sir,"  said  Kate,  trembling-  in  spite  of  herself, 
but  speaking  with  great  indignation,  '*that  your  behaviour  offends  and 
disgusts  me.  If  you  have  a  spark  of  gentlemanly  feeling  remaining,  you  will 
leave  me." 

"Now,  why,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  "why  will  you  keep  up  this  appearance 
of  excessive  rigour,  my  sweet  creature  ?  Now,  be  more  natural — my  dear 
Miss  Nickleby,  be  more  natural — do." 

Kate  hastily  rose ;  but  as  she  rose.  Sir  Mulberry  caught  her  dress,  and 
forcibly  detained  her. 

"Let  me  go,  sir,"  she  cried,  her  heart  swelling  with  anger.  "Do  y<m 
hear?    Instantly — this  moment." 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,"  said  Sir  Mulberry  ;  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Unhand  me,  sir,  this  instant,"  cried  Kate. 

"Not  for  the  world,"  rejoined  Sir  Mulberry.  Thus  speaking,  ho  leaned 
over,  as  if  to  replace  her  in  her  chair ;  but  the  young  lady,  making  a  violent 
effort  to  disengage  herself,  he  lost  his  balance,  and  measured  his  length  upon 
the  ground.  As  Kate  sprang  forward  to  leave  the  room,  Mr.  Balph  Nickleby 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  confronted  her. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"It  is  this,  sir,"  replied  Kate,  violently  agitated  ;  "that  beneath  the  roof 
where  I,  a  helpless  girl,  your  dead  brother's  child,  should  most  have  found 
protection,  I  have  been  exposed  to  insult  which  should  make  you  shrink  to 
look  upon  me.     Let  me  pass  you." 

Ralph  dids  shrink,  as  tne  indignant  girl  fixed  her  kindling  eye  upon  him ; 
but  he  did  not  comply  with  her  injunction,  nevertheless  ;  for  he  led  her  to  a 
distant  seat,  and  returning,  and  approaching  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  who  had  by 
this  time  risen,  motioned  towards  the  door. 

"  Your  way  lies  there,  sir,"  said  Ralph,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  that  some 
devil  might  have  owned  with  pride. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  demanded  his  friend,  fiercely. 

The  swollen  veins  stood  out  like  sinews  on  Ralph's  wrinkled  forehead,  and  the 
nerves  about  his  mouth  worked  as  though  some  unendurable  emotion  wrung 
them ;  but  he  smiled  disdainfully,  and  again  pointed  to  the  door. 

"Do  you  know  me,  you  old  madman ?  '  asked  Sir  Mulberry. 

"Well,"  said  Ralph.  .The  fashionable  vagabond  for  the  moment  quite 
quailed  under  the  steady  look  of  the  older  sinner,  and  walked  towards  the  door, 
muttering  as  he  went. 

"You  wanted  the  lord,  did  you? "  he  said,  stopping  short  when  he  reached 
the  door,  as  if  a  new  light  had  broken  in  upon  him,  and  confronting  Ralph 
again.     "  Damme,  I  was  in  the  way,  was  I ! 

Ralph  smiled  again,  but  made  no  answer. 

"Who  brought  him  to  you  first?"  pursued  Sir  Mulberry;  "and  how, 
without  me,  could  you  ever  have  wound  him  in  your  net  as  you  have  ? " 

"  The  net  is  a  large  one,  and  rather  full,"  said  Ralph.  "Take  care  that  it 
chokes  nobody  in  the  meshes." 

"  You  would  sell  your  flesh  and  blood  for  money  ;  yourself,  if  you  have  not 
already  made  a  bargain  with  the  devil,"  retorted  the  other.     "Do  you  mean 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  157 

to  tell  me  that  your  pretty  niece  was  not  brought  here  as  a  decoy  for  the 
drunken  boy  downstairs  ? " 

Although  this  hurried  dialogue  was  carried  on  in  a  suppresed  tone  on  both 
sides,  Bsdph  looked  involuntanly  round  to  ascertain  that  Kate  had  not  moved 
her  position  so  as  to  be  within  hearing.  His  adversary  saw  the  advantage  he 
had  gained,  and  followed  it  up. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  asked  again,  "  that  it  is  not  so  ?  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  if  he  had  found  his  way  up  here  instead  of  me,  you  wouldn't 
have  been  a  little  more  blind,  and  a  little  more  deaf,  and  a  little  less  flourish- 
ing, than  you  have  been  %    Gome,  Nickleby,  answer  me  that. " 

"  I  tell  you  this,"  replied  Ralph,  ''that  if  I  brought  her  here  as  a  matter 
of  business " 

**  Aye,  that's  the  word,"  interposed  Sir  Mulberry,  with  a  laugh.  "  You're 
coming  to  yourself  again  now." 

" As  a  matter  of  business,"  pursued  Ralph,  speaking  slowly  and  firmly, 

as  a  man  who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  say  no  more,  '*  because  I  thought  she 
might  make  some  impression  on  the  silly  youth  you  have  taken  in  hand  and 
are  lending  good  help  to  ruin,  I  knew — knowing  him — that  it  would  be  long 
before  he  outraged  her  girl's  feelings,  and  that  unless  he  offended  by  mere 
puppyism  and  emptiness,  he  would,  with  a  little  management,  respect  the 
sex  and  conduct  even  of  his  usurer's  niece.  But  if  I  thought  to  draw  him  on 
more  gently  by  this  device,  I  did  not  think  of  subjecting  the  girl  to  the 
licentiousness  and  brutality  of  so  old  a  hand  as  you.  And  now  we  understand 
each  other." 

•*  Especially  as  there  was  nothing  to  be  got  by  it— eh  ? "  sneered  Sir  Mul- 
berry. 

'*  Exactly  so,"  said  Ralph.  He  had  turned  away,  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder  to  make  this  last  reply.  The  eyes  of  the  two  worthies  met,  with  an 
en>res8ioli  as  if  each  rascal  felt  that  there  was  no  disguising  himself  from  the 
other ;  and  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  walked  slowly 
out. 

His  friend  closed  the  door,  and  looked  restlessly  towards  the  spot  where  his 
niece  still  remained  in  the  attitude  in  which  he  had  left  her.  She  had  flung 
herself  heavilv  upon  the  couch,  and  with  her  head  drooping  over  the  cushion, 
and  her  face  nidden  in  her  hands,  seemed  to  be  still  weeping  in  an  agony  of 
shame  and  grief. 

Ralph  would  have  walked  into  any  poverty-stricken  debtor's  house,  and 
pointed  him  out  to  a  bailiff,  though  in  attendance  upon  a  young  child's  death- 
bed, without  the  smallest  concern,  because  it  would  have  been  a  matter  quite 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  business,  and  the  man  would  have  been  an  offender 
against  his  only  code  of  morality.  But  here  was  a  young  girl  who  had  done 
no  wrong  save  that  of  coming  into  the  world  alive  ;  who  had  patiently  yielded 
to  all  his  wishes  ;  who  had  tried  hard  to  please  him — above  all,  who  didn't 
owe  him  money — and  he  felt  awkward  and  nervous. 

Ralph  took  a  chair  at  some  distance  ;  then  another  chair  a  little  nearer  ; 
then  moved  a  little  nearer  still ;  then  nearer  again,  and  finally  sat  himself 
on  the  same  sofa,  and  laid  his  hand  on  Kate's  arm. 

"Hnsh,  my  dear !"  he  said,  as  she  drew  it  back,  and  her  sobs  burst  out 
afresh.     **  Hush,  hush  !    Don't  mind  it  now  ;  don't  think  of  it." 

**  Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  let  me  go  home  !  "  cried  Kate.  **  Let  me  leave  this 
honse,  and  go  home  ! " 

*' Yes,  yes,"  said  Ralph.  **You  shall.  But  you  must  dry  your  eyes  first, 
and  compose  yourself.     Let  me  raise  your  head.     There — there." 

'*0h,  uncle  1 "  exclaimed  Kate,  clasping  her  hands.     **  What  have  I  do\i^ 


156  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

soul,  they're  perfect.  Why  did  I  speak,  and  destroy  such  a  pretty  little 
picture ! " 

"  Do  mo  the  favour  to  be  silent  now,  sir,"  replied  Kate. 

**  No,  don't,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  folding  his  crush  hat  to  lay  his  elbow  on, 
and  bringing  himself  still  closer  to  the  young  lady  ;  **upon  my  life,  you 
oughtn't  to.  Such  a  devoted  slave  of  yours,  Miss  Nickleby — it's  an  infernal 
thing  to  treat  him  so  harshly,  upon  my  soul  it  is. " 

*' I  wish  you  to  understand,  sir,"  said  Kate,  trembling-  in  spite  of  herself, 
but  speaking  with  great  indignation,  ''that  your  behaviour  ofifends  and 
disgusts  me.  If  you  have  a  spark  of  gentlemanly  feeling  remaining,  yon  will 
leave  mo." 

*' Now,  why,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  "why  will  you  keep  up  this  appearance 
of  excessive  rigour,  my  sweet  creature  ?  Now,  be  more  natural — my  dear 
Miss  Nickleby,  be  more  natural — do." 

Kate  hastily  rose ;  but  as  she  rose,  Sir  Mulberry  caught  her  dress,  and 
forcibly  detained  her. 

"Let  me  go,  sir,"  she  cried,  her  heart  swelling  with  anger.  "Do  yon 
hear?    Instantly — this  moment." 

*'  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  said  Sir  Mulberry  ;  "  I  want  to  talk  to  yon." 

"Unhand  me,  sir,  this  instant,"  cried  Kate. 

"Not  for  the  world,"  rejoined  Sir  Mulberry.  Thus  speaking,  he  leaned 
over,  as  if  to  replace  her  in  her  chair ;  but  the  young  lady,  making  a  violent 
effort  to  disengage  herself,  he  lost  his  balance,  and  measured  his  length  upon 
the  ground.  As  Kate  sprang  forward  to  leave  the  room,  Mr.  Balph  Nickleby 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  confronted  her. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"It  is  this,  sir,"  replied  Kate,  violently  agitated  ;  "that  beneath  the  roof 
where  I,  a  helpless  girl,  your  dead  brother's  child,  should  most  have  foond 
protection,  I  have  been  exposed  to  insult  which  should  make  you  shrink  to 
look  upon  me.     Let  me  pass  you." 

Ralph  dids  shrink,  as  tne  indignant  girl  fixed  her  kindling  eye  upon  him ; 
but  he  did  not  comply  with  her  injunction,  nevertheless  ;  for  he  led  her  to  a 
distant  seat,  and  returning,  and  approaching  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  who  liad  by 
this  time  risen,  motioned  towards  the  door. 

"  Your  way  lies  there,  sir,"  said  Ralph,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  that  some 
devil  might  have  owned  with  pride. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  demanded  his  friend,  fiercely. 

The  swollen  veins  stood  out  like  sinews  on  Ralph's  wrinkled  forehead,  and  the 
nerves  about  his  mouth  worked  as  though  some  unendurable  emotion  wrong 
them  ;  but  he  smiled  disdainfully,  and  again  pointed  to  the  door. 

"Do  you  know  me,  you  old  madman  ?  '  asked  Sir  Mulberry. 

"Well,"  said  Ralph.  The  fashionable  vagabond  for  the  moment  quite 
quailed  under  the  steady  look  of  the  older  sinner,  and  walked  towards  the  door, 
muttering  as  he  went. 

"You  wanted  the  lord,  did  you  ? "  he  said,  stopping  short  when  he  reached 
the  door,  as  if  a  new  light  had  broken  in  upon  him,  and  confronting  Balph 
again.     "  Damme,  I  was  in  the  way,  was  I ! 

Ralph  smiled  again,  but  made  no  answer. 

"Who  brought  him  to  you  first?"  pursued  Sir  Mulberry;  "and  how, 
without  me,  could  you  ever  have  wound  nim  in  your  net  as  you  have  ? " 

"  The  net  is  a  large  one,  and  rather  full,"  said  Ralph.  "  Take  care  that  it 
chokes  nobody  in  the  meshes." 

"  You  would  sell  your  flesh  and  blood  for  money  ;  yourself,  if  you  have  not 
already  made  a  bargain  with  the  devil,"  retorted  the  other.     "I)o  you  mean 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  157 

to  tell  me  that  your  pretty  niece  was  not  brought  here  as  a  decoy  for  the 
dmnken  boy  downstairs  % " 

Although  this  hurried  dialogue  was  carried  on  in  a  suppresed  tone  on  both 
sides,  Balph  looked  involuntanly  round  to  ascertain  that  Kate  had  not  moved 
her  position  so  as  to  be  within  hearing.  His  adversary  saw  the  advantage  he 
had  ^ined,  and  followed  it  up. 

<<  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  asked,  again,  "  that  it  is  not  so  ?  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  if  he  had  found  his  way  up  here  instead  of  me,  you  wouldn't 
have  been  a  little  more  blind,  and  a  little  more  deaf,  and  a  little  less  flourish- 
ing, than  you  have  been  ?    Come,  Nickleby,  answer  me  that. " 

**I  tell  you  this,"  replied  Balph,  "that  if  I  brought  her  here  as  a  matter 
of  business ** 

**  Aye,  that's  the  word,"  interposed  Sir  Mulberry,  with  a  laugh.  "  You're 
coming  to  yourself  again  now." 

** ^As  a  matter  of  business,"  pursued  Ralph,  speaking  slowly  and  firmly, 

as  a  man  who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  say  no  more,  "because  I  thoiight  she 
might  make  some  impression  on  the  silly  youth  you  have  taken  in  hand  and 
are  lending  good  help  to  ruin,  I  knew — knowing  him — that  it  would  be  long 
before  he  outraged  her  girl's  feelings,  and  that  unless  he  offended  by  mere 
puppyism  and  emptiness,  he  would,  with  a  little  management,  respect  the 
sex  and  conduct  even  of  his  usurer's  niece.  But  if  I  thought  to  draw  him  on 
more  gently  by  this  device,  I  did  not  think  of  subjecting  the  girl  to  the 
licentiousness  and  brutality  of  so  old  a  hand  as  you.  And  now  we  understand 
each  other." 

**  Especially  as  there  was  nothing  to  be  got  by  it— eh  ? "  sneered  Sir  Mul- 
berry. 

'*  Exactly  so,"  said  Ralph.  He  had  turned  away,  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder  to  make  this  last  reply.  The  eyes  of  the  two  worthies  met,  with  an 
expressioli  as  if  each  rascal  felt  that  there  was  no  disguising  himself  from  the 
other ;  and  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  walked  slowly 
oat. 

His  friend  closed  the  door,  and  looked  restlessly  towards  the  spot  where  his 
niece  still  remained  in  the  attitude  in  which  he  had  left  her.  She  had  flung 
herself  heavily  upon  the  couch,  and  with  her  head  drooping  over  the  cushion, 
and  her  face  hidaen  in  her  hands,  seemed  to  be  still  weeping  in  an  agony  of 
shame  and  grief. 

Balph  would  have  walked  into  any  poverty-stricken  debtor's  house,  and 
pointeil  him  out  to  a  bailiff,  though  in  attendance  upon  a  young  child's  death- 
bed, without  the  smallest  concern,  because  it  would  have  been  a  matter  quite 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  business,  and  the  man  would  have  been  an  offender 
against  his  only  code  of  morality.  But  here  was  a  young  girl  who  had  done 
no  wrong  save  that  of  coming  iuto  the  world  alive  ;  who  had  patiently  yielded 
to  all  his  wishes ;  who  had  tried  hard  to  please  him — above  all,  who  didn't 
owe  him  money — and  he  felt  awkward  and  nervous. 

Balph  took  a  chair  at  some  distance  ;  then  another  chair  a  little  nearer  ; 
then  moved  a  little  nearer  still ;  then  nearer  again,  and  finally  sat  himself 
on  the  same  sofa,  and  laid  his  hand  on  Kate's  arm. 

**Hush,  my  dear !"  he  said,  as  she  drew  it  back,  and  her  sobs  burst  out 
afresh.     "Hush,  hush  !    Don't  mind  it  now ;  don't  think  of  it." 

"Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  let  me  go  home  !  "  cried  Kate.  " Let  me  leave  this 
house,  and  go  home  ! " 

*' Yes,  yes,"  said  Ralph.  "You  shall.  But  you  must  dry  your  eyes  first, 
and  compose  yourself.     Let  me  raise  your  head.     There — there." 

"Oh|  unde  1"  exclaimed  Kate,  clasping  her  hands.     "  What  have  I  done 


158  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

— what  have  I  done — that  you  should  subject  me  to  this  ?  If  I  had  wronged 
you  in  thought,  or  word,  or  deed,  it  would  have  been  most  cruel  to  me,  and 
the  memory  of  one  you  must  have  loved  in  some  old  time  ;  but ** 

''Only  listen  to  me  for  a  moment,"  interrupted  Ralph,  seriously  alanned 
by  the  violence  of  her  emotions.  "  I  didn't  know  it  would  be  so  ;  it  was  im- 
Dossible  for  me  to  foresee  it.  I  did  all  I  could.  Come,  let  oa  walk  about 
You  are  faint  with  the  closeness  of  the  room,  and  the  heat  of  these  lamps. 
You  will  be  better  now,  if  you  make  the  slightest  eflfort." 

" I  will  do  anything,"  replied  £ate,  ''if  you  will  only  send  me  home." 

"Well,  well,  I  will,"  said  Ralph;  "but  you  must  get  bade  your  own 
looks ;  for  those  you  have  will  frighten  them,  and  nobody  must  know  of  this 
but  you  and  I.  Now  let  us  walk  the  other  way.  There.  You  look  better 
even  now." 

With  such  encouragements  as  these,  Ralph  Nickleby  walked  to  and  froj  with 
his  niece  leaning  on  his  arm  ;  actually  trembling  beneath  her  touch. 

In  the  same  manner,  when  he  judged  it  prudent  to  allow  her  to  depart,  he 
supported  her  downstairs,  after  adjusting  her  shawl  and  performing  such  Uttle 
offices,  most  probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  Across  the  hall,  and  down 
the  steps,  Ralph  led  her  too ;  nor  did  he  withdraw  his  hand  until  she  was 
seated  in  the  coach. 

As  tlie  door  of  the  vehicle  was  roughly  closed,  a  comb  fell  from  Kate*8  hair, 
close  at  her  uncle's  feet ;  and  as  he  picked  it  up  and  returned  it  into  her  hand, 
the  light  from  a  neighbouring  lamp  shone  upon  her  face.  The  lock  of  hair 
that  had  escaped  and  curled  loosely  over  her  brow,  the  traces  of  tears  yet 
scarcely  dry,  the  flushed  cheek,  the  look  of  sorrow,  all  fired  some  train  of 
dormant  recollection  in  the  old  man's  breast ;  and  the  face  of  his  dead  brother 
seemed  present  before  him,  with  the  very  look  it  bore  on  some  occasioa  of 
boyish  grief,  of  which  every  minutest  circumstance  flashed  upon  his  mind, 
with  the  distinctness  of  a  scene  of  yesterday. 

Ralph  Nickleby,  who  was  proof  against  all  appeals  of  blood  and  kindred— 
who  was  steeled  against  every  tale  or  sorrow  and  distress — staggered  while  be 
looked,  and  went  back  into  his  house  as  a  man  who  had  seen  a  spirit  fitoo 
some  world  beyond  the  grave. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


WHEREIN    NIOnOLAS    AT     LAST    ENCOUNTERS     HIS    UNCLE,     TO     WHOM 
EXPRESSES  HIS  SENTIMENTS  WITH  MUCH   CANDOUR.      HIS  BSSOLUTION. 


LITTLE  Miss  La  Creevy  trotted  briskly  through  divers  streets  at  the 
end  of  the  town,  early  on  Monday  morning — the  day  after  the  dinnap- 
charged  with  the  important  commission  of  acquainting* Madame  Mai* 
talini  that  Miss  Nickleby  was  too  unwell  to  attend  that  day,  out  hoped  to  bi 
enabled  to  resume  her  duties  on  the  morrow.  And  as  Miss  La  Creevy  walked 
along,  revolving  in  her  mind  various  genteel  forms  and  elegant  turns  of  ex- 
pression, with  a  view  to  the  selection  of  the  very  best  in  which  to  coach  hei 
communication,  she  cogitated  a  good  deal  upon  the  probable  causes  of  her 
young  friend's  indisposition. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy.     '*  Her  ayei 
were  decidedly  red  last  night.     She  said  she  had  a  headache  ;  headaches  don't 
occasion  red  eyes.     She  must  have  been  crying. " 
Arriving  at  this  conclusion,  which,  indeed,  she  had  estal^ished  to  her 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  1 59 

perfect  satisfaction  on  the  previous  evening,  Miss  La  Creevy  went  on  to 
consider — as  she  had  done  nearly  all  night — what  new  cause  of  unhappiness 
her  young  friend  could  possibly  have  had. 

"  I  can't  think  of  anything,"  said  the  little  portrait  painter.  '*  Nothing 
at  all,  unless  it  was  the  behaviour  of  that  old  bear.  Cross  to  her,  I  suppose  ! 
Unpleasant  brute  1 " 

Believed  by  this. expression  of  opinion,  albeit  it  was  vented  upon  empty  air, 
Miss  La  Creevy  trotted  on  to  Madame  Mantalini's ;  and  being  informed  that 
the  governing  power  was  not  yet  out  of  bed,  requested  an  interview  with  the 
second  in  command  ;  whereupon  Miss  Knag  appeared. 

"So  far  as  /am  concerned,"  said  Miss  Knag,  when  the  message  had  been 
delivered,  with  many  ornaments  of  speech  ;  ''  f  could  spare  Miss  Nickleby  for 
evermore." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  ma'am  ! "  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy,  highly  offended.  **  But, 
you  see,  you  are  not  mistress  of  the  business,  and  therefore  it's  of  no  great 
consequence." 

"  Very  good,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Knag.  '*  Have  you  any  further  commands 
for  me  ? " 

''  No,  I  have  not,  ma'am,"  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 

"  Then,  good  morning,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Knag. 

"  Good  morning  to  you,  ma'am  ;  and  many  obligations  for  your  extreme 
politeness  and  good  breeding,"  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 

Thns  terminating  the  interview,  during  which  both  ladies  had  trembled 
very  much,  and  been  marvellously  polite — certain  indications  that  they  were 
within  an  inch  of  a  very  desperate  quarrel — Miss  La  Creevy  bounced  out  of  the 
room,  and  into  the  street. 

"  I  wonder  who  that  is,"  said  the  queer  little  soul.  "A  nice  person  to 
know,  I  should  think  )  I  wish  I  had  the  painting  of  her  :  Td  do  her  justice." 
So,  feeling  <^uite  satisfied  that  she  had  said  a  very  cutting  thing  at  Miss  J^ag's 
expense.  Miss  La  Creevy  had  a  hearty  laugh,  and  went  home  to  breakfast  in 
great  good-humour. 

Here  was  one  of  the  advantages  of  having  lived  alone  so  long  \  The  little, 
bustling,  active,  cheerful  creature,  existed  entirely  within  herself,  talked  to 
herself,  made  a  confidant  of  herself,  was  as  sarcastic  as  she  could  be,  on  people 
who  offended  her,  by  herself;  pleased  herself,  and  did  no  harm.  If  she 
indulged  in  scandal,  nobody's  reputation  suffered  ;  and  if  she  enjoyed  a  little 
bit  of  revenge,  no  living  soul  was  one  atom  the  worse.  One  of  the  many 
to  whom,  from  straitened  circumstances,  a  consequent  inability  to  form  the 
associations  they  would  wish,  and  a  disinclination  to  mix  with  the  society  they 
cotUd  obtain,  London  is  as  complete  a  solitude  as  the  plains  o(  Syria ;  the 
humble  artist  had  pursued  her  lonely  but  contented  way  for  many  years ; 
and,  untQ  the  peculiar  misfortunes  of  the  Nickleby  family  attracted  her 
attention,  had  made  no  friends,  though  brimful  of  the  friendliest  feelings  to 
all  mankind.  There  are  many  warm  neaits  in  the  same  solitary  guise  as  poor 
little  Miss  La  Creevy's. 

However,  that's  neither  here  nor  there,  just  now.  She  went  home  to  break- 
fast, and  had  scarcely  caught  the  full  flavour  of  her  first  sip  of  tea,  when  the 
servant  announced  a  gentleman,  whereat  Miss  La  Creevy,  at  once  imagining  a 
new  sitter  transfixed  by  admiration  at  the  street-door  case,  was  in  unspeakable 
consternation  at  the  presence  of  the  tea-things. 

"  Here,  take  'em  away  ;  run  with  'em  into  the  bed-room  ;  anywhere,"  said 
Miss  Ia  Creevy.  ''  Dear,  dear,  to  think  that  I  should  be  late  on  this  par- 
ticular morning,  of  all  others,  after  being  ready  for  three  weeks  by  half-past 
eight  o'docki  and  not  a  soul  coming  near  the  place  1 " 


"W1.T,  I  :i::=i  I  5=^:1:1  *ri-  Iit^  fc^^ir^  t.--z  if  I  hiJ  met  tod  in  tb* 
Kr^K,"   lali  MitB  La  C^^;TT.  ir;;V.  1  j'^i!?.     "  Hir.r.ir.,  another  cap  idJ 

"  YiU  irosli  c:r  b;  t^tv  anerr.  ■-.-•Tili  Toa  '■ "  a*kfti  XiL-holu. 
"WoiZin't  I  :"   sili  MUi"  L»  Crf^TT.      "Yos  haj  better  try  ;   thit^ 

XiAo'.as,  n-lTh  i^.-oTrJ^ij  giV.antrf.  :=:3!f.llj:^'T  t^iifc  Miss  I«  Creery  it 
h-r  iro;^,  nho  ct:e:\d  a  tais:  «.-Team  i=i  slapiwd  hi»  faoe  :  but  it  ms  iiota 

"  I  never  saw  saeh  a  rade  irwa:'^Te '. "  exjiaisied  ilisa  La  Creeiy. 

"  Well :  hzf  I  was  sneakies  in.';:l.'i"v.~  rfvibed  Miss  La  CreeTv, 

"Oh;  itats  t::->:l.rT  thiaj,""  said  Si;'_c  j*  :  ■■v<m  should  have  told  ma 
thar,  To\" 

"I  diresavyiia  didn't  ksoif,  inlfed  ; "  retLir;*.!  Mis*  La  Creevy.  "But 
sow  1  look  at  Ton  af:ain.  vju  Kt:a  (Mncer  iLan  when  I  sav  Ton  lut,  ind 
Tonr  face  is  hajj^rd  aud  pale,     iai  tow  ova*  voa  to  liave  left  Vorkshiie  t" 

She  stopped  here  :  fcr  ib#t«  wis  k>  matti  h^rt  in  her  altered  tons  ml 
mann.T,  thai  Sioholis  was  •!«;[*  tucvei 

"I  need  look  fomewhat  ehan^d,"  he  £i:d,  after  a  nhort  silence  ;  "for  I 
have  Diidergoitc  some  suffl<Iinj^  both  of  mini  and  boJv,  ance  I  left  London. 
I  have  been  verv  poor,  Too,  and  iiave  fven  sutTirivi  from  want." 

"  Good  hearen,  Mr.  Nit^holas ! "  exo'iimrd  Miss  L»  Creevy,    "  what  in 

"Soihing  which  iiecd  di$ms*  too  flHite  to  maoh,"  onswered  Nicholas 
nith  a  more  spiishllv  air  1  "  neither  did  1  eoiiie  here  to  bewail  my  lot,  bat  an 
matter  more  to  The  purpose.  I  wish  10  meet  niv  unole  hce  to  face.  T  ahoiild 
tell  von  that  first." 

"^henallIhavetos.vaKiiitt1iatia."  iuten.ose.l  Misa  U  Creovy,  "that 
I  don't  envr  von  vour  tasii- :  and  tlat  sillinc  in  the  s«nic  room  with  his  very 
Iwors  would  imt  me  out  of  humour  for  a  fortmsht."' 

"  In  the  main,"  said  Nit'liolax.  "  there  iiiay  be  no  great  difTerence  d 
opinion  between  yon  and  me.  so  lar :  but  you  will  nnderstaiid  that  I  daoit 
to  confront  him,  to  jiutifv  mvself,  and  to  east  liis  duplicity  and  malice  in  hn 
throat." 

"Tlmt'a  quite  nuolher  matter,"  ri'ji>ine»l  Miss  La  Creevy.  "Heaven  fo^ 
Riya  mei  but  I  ahouldu'l  cry  my  eyes  ijuiie  out  of  my  head  if  thoy  chakd 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  *i6i 

seeing  my  mother  and  sister  to-day,  and  giving  them  his  version  of  the  occur- 
rences that  have  befallen  me.     I  will  meet  him  there." 

'*  That's  right,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  rubbing  her  hands.  "  And  yet,  I 
don't  know,"  she  added,  "there  is  much  to  be  thought  of— others  to  be 
considered." 

"I  have  considered  others,"  rejoined  Nicholas;  "but  as  honesty  and 
honour  are  both  at  issue,  nothing  shall  deter  me." 

*'  You  should  know  best,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy. 

"  In  this  case  I  hope  so,"  answered  Nicholas.  "  And  all  I  want  you  to  do 
for  me  is,  to  prepare  them  for  my  coming.  They  think  me  a  long  way  off, 
and  if  I  went  wholly  unexpected,  I  should  frighten  them.  If  you  can  spare 
time  to  tell  them  that  you  have  seen  me,  and  that  I  shall  be  with  them  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards,  you  will  do  me  a  great  service. " 

**  I  wish  I  could  do  you,  or  any  of  you,  a  greater,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy  ; 
"but  the  power  to  serve  is  as  seldom  joined  with  the  will,  as  the  will  is  with 
the  power,  /think." 

Talking  on  very  fast  and  very  much,  Miss  La  Creevy  finished  her  breakfast 
with  great  expedition,  put  away  the  tea-caddy  and  hid  the  key  under  the 
fender,  resumed  her  bonnet,  and  taking  Nicholas's  arm,  sallied  forth  at  once 
to  the  city.  Nicholas  left  her  near  the  door  of  his  mother's  house,  and  pro- 
mised to  return  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

It  so  chanced  that  Ralph  Nickleby,  at  length  seeing  fit,  for  his  own  purposes, 
to  communicate  the  atrocities  of  which  Nicholas  had  been  guilty,  had  (instead 
of  first  proceeding  to  another  quarter  of  the  town  on  business,  as  Newman 
Koggs  supposed  he  would)  gone  straight  to  his  sister-in-law.  Hence,  when 
Miss  La  Creevy,  admitted  by  a  girl  who  was  cleaning  the  house,  made  her  way 
to  the  sitting-room,  she  found  Mrs.  Nickleby  and  Kate  in  tears,  and  Ealph 
just  concluding  his  statement  of  his  nephew's  misdemeanours.  Kate  beckoned 
her  not  to  retire,  and  Miss  La  Creevy  took  a  seat  in  silence. 

"You  are  here  already,  are  you,  my  gentleman?"  thought  the  little 
woman.  "  Then  he  shall  announce  himself,  and  see  what  efiect  that  has  on 
you." 

"This  is  pretty,"  said  Ralph,  folding  up  Miss  Squeers's  note;  "very 
pretty.  I  recommended  him — against  all  previous  conviction,  for  I  knew  he 
would  never  do  any  good — to  a  man  with  whom,  behaving  himself  properly, 
he  might  have  remained,  in  comfort,  for  years.  "What  is  the  result  ?  Con- 
duct, tor  which  he  might  hold  U]p  his  hand  at  the  Old  Bailey." 

"I  never  will  believe  it,"  said  Kate,  indignantly;  "never.  It  is  some 
base  conspiracy,  which  carries  its  own  falsehood  with  it." 

"My  aear,  said  Ralph,  "you  wrong  the  worthy  man.  These  are  not 
inventions.  The  man  is  assaulted,  your  brother  is  not  to  be  found ;  this  boy, 
of  whom  they  speak  goes  with  him — remember,  remember. " 

"It  is  impossible,'  said  Kate.  "Nicholas! — and  a  thief,  too!  Mamma, 
how  can  you  sit  and  hear  such  statements  ?  " 

Poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  had  at  no  time  been  remarkable  for  the  possession 
of  a  very  clear  understanding,  and  who  had  been  reduced  by  the  late  changes 
in  her  affairs  to  a  most  complicated  state  of  perplexity,  made  no  other  reply 
to  this  earnest  remonstrance  than  exclaiming  from  behind  a  mass  of  pocket- 
handkerchief,  that  she  never  could  have  believed  it — thereby  most  ingeniously 
leaving  her  hearers  to  suppose  that  she  did  believe  it. 

"  It  would  be  my  duty,  if  he  came  in  my  way,  to  deliver  him  up  to  justice," 
lud  Ralph,  "my  bounden  duty  ;  I  should  have  no  other  course,  as  a  man  of 
tlie  world  and  a  man  of  business,  to  pursue.  And  yet,"  said  Ralph,  speaking 
in  a  very  marked  manner,  and  looking  furtively,  but  fixedly  at  Kate,  "and 

u  \\ 


i6?  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

yiA  I  woulil  not.  I  ivoul'l  spare  tht  feelings  of  his — of  bu  sister.  And  liii 
motlicr,  of  courH;,"  added  Balxih,  as  though  by  an  afterthought,  and  irith  \>l 
\ii%  emphasis. 

Kate  rery  ircll  anderstood  that  this  vas  held  oat  as  to  additional  indues- 
in>:Dt  to  lier  to  pi-eifcire  the  strictest  silence  re/^nliDg  the  events  of  the  ]in- 
e«ding  niglit.  .Slie  l<>oked  involuntarily  tonaiila  Ralph  as  he  ceaiwd  to  speik, 
bat  be  had  tiirneit  hi^  eye^  another  way,  and  seemed  for  the  moment  quite 
UDcooscious  of  her  presence. 

"  Everything,"  said  Kalph,  after  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  Jba 
KickUby  s  sobs,  "  crerythinc;  combines  to  prove  the  truth  of  this  letter,  if 
indeed  theie  were  any  possibility  of  diBiraling  it.  Do  innocent  men  steal  amy 
from  the  sight  of  honest  folks,  and  skulk  in  biding-placea,  like  ontlnn-s  T  Sv 
innocent  men  inveigle  nameless  va^bonds,  nnd  prowl  about  th:  country  ssidli 
robbers  do !    Assamt,  riot,  theft — what  do  jou  call  these  1 " 

"A  lie  1 "  tried  a  voice,  as  the  door  was  dashed  open,  and  Nicholas  □ 
"-    thert 


In  tbe  hrst  moment  of  surprise,  and  possibly  of  alarm,  Ralph  rose  from  bii 
s?at  and  fell  back  a  few  paces,  r]uite  taken  (M  his  gusrd  by  this  nneiH  '  ' 
apparition.     In  another  moment,  he  stood,  fixed  snd  immovable,  with  fc 


ind  fell  back  a  few  paces,  r]uite  taken  (M  his  gusrd  by  this  nneipected 
,  ,  rition.  In  another  moment,  he  stood,  fixed  snd  immovable,  with  folded 
aims,  regarding  his  nephew  with  a  scowl :  while  Kate  and  Miss  I^  Crcery 
threw  tliemsclves  between  the  tno,  to  prevent  the  personal  violence  which  tlu 
fierce  excilein«nt  of  Nicholas  ajipeared  to  threaten. 

"Dear  Nicholas,"    cried  his  sister,   clinging  to  him.      "Be    calm,  coa- 

"  Consider,  Kate  \"  cried  Nicholas,  claspiugher  hand  so  tight,  in  the  tumnlt 
of  his  anger,  that  she  could  scarcely  beat  the  jiain.  "  Wlicu  I  consider  ill 
and  think  of  wliat  has  passed,  I  need  be  luaile  of  iroji  to  stand  before  him," 

"  Or  bronzt',"  said  Ralph,  iiuittiv  ;  "  there  Is  not  hardihood  enough  iafleill 
Olid  blood  10  face  it  out '"^ 

"Oh,  dear,  di>ar  ! "  cried  Sirs.  Kicklebv,  "  that  things  should  liavo  cc 
sucliapassas  this!" 

"  Who  speaks  in  a  tone  as  if  I  had  dune  wrong,  and  broaght  lUagmce  oi 
Iht'iii  \  "  said  Nicholas,  lookiii';  round. 

'*  Your  mother,  sir,"  replied  Ralph,  m 

"Whose  ears  have  been  poisoned  by  you,"  sail  Nicholas;  "byyop — itha, 
Mnder  pretence  of  deservinj;  the  thaiis  she  poured  upon  you,  heaped  eveiy 
insult,  wrong,  and  iudigaily  upou  my  luad.  You,  who  sent  me  to  a  iIm 
where  sordid  crutlty,  worthy  of  yourself,  runs  wanton,  and  youthful  iniierj 
s:alks  precocious  ;  wliere  the  lightness  of  childhood  shrinks  into  the  heaviuM 
of  age,  and  its  eveiy  promise  blights  and  uitheis  as  it  grows.  I  csll  heava 
toM'icness,"  said  ^  iiholas,  looking  eagerly  around,  "  that  1  have  seen  all  thi^ 
and  ihat  lie  kuons  it." 

"  Refute  these  calumnies,"  said  Kate,   "and  be  more  patient,  so  that 
may  give  them  no  advantage.     Tell  u^  whai  you  really  did,  and  show 
they  ate  untrue." 
^^^^^?0f  »hat  do  they — or  of  what  does  he — accuse  me ! "  said  Nicholas. 
^^^^■■Mjk^L^tuking  your  master,  and  bt^ing  within  an  ace  of  qutli^iaf 
^^^^^^^^^^Ktikd  for  murder,''  iatuq)i>~i.il  Itilph,     "  I  speak  plainly,  yonf 

^^^^^^^^■M  lud  Nicholas,   "to  save  a  miserable  creature  fnmi  tb 
^^^^^^HHUao  doing,  I  indicted  such  punishment  upon  a 

^^^^^b^^gft  -'-"■-'■  


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  •    163 

would  strike  harder  and  heavier,  and  brand  him  with  such  marks  as  he  should 
carry  to  his  grave,  go  to  it  when  he  would." 

**  You  hear  ?  **  said  Ralph,  turning  to  Mrs.  Nickleby.     **  Penitence  this  1 " 

**0h,  dear  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "I  don't  know  what  to  think,  I 
really  don't." 

"Do  not  speak  just  now,  mamma,  I  entreat  you,"  said  Kate.  "Dear 
Nicholas,  I  only  tell  you,  that  you  may  know  what  wickedness  can  prompt, 
but  they  accuse  you  of— a  ring  is  missing,  and  they  dare  to  say  that " 

** The  woman,"  said  Nicholas,  haughtily,  "the  wife  of  the  fellow  from 
whom  these  charges  come,  dropped — as  I  suppose — a  worthless  ring  among 
some  clothes  of  mine,  early  in  the  morning  on  which  I  left  the  house.  At 
least  I  know  that  she  was  in  the  bed-room  where  they  lay,  struggling  with  an 
unhappy  child,  and  that  I  found  it  when  I  opened  my  bundle  on  the  road. 
I  returned  it  at  once  by  coach,  and  they  have  it  now." 

"  I  knew,  I  knew,"  said  Eate,  looking  towards  her  uncle.  "About  this 
boy,  love,  in  whose  company  they  say  you  left  ? " 

"  The  boy,  a  silly,  helpless  creature  from  brutality  and  hard  usage,  is  with 
me  now,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"You  hear?"  said  Ralph,  appealing  to  the  mother  again,  "everything 
proved,  even  upon  his  own  confession.  Do  you  choose  to  restore  that  boy, 
sir?" 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Nicholas. 

'*  You  do  not  ? "  sneered  Ralph. 

**  No,"  repeated  Nicholas,  "  not  to  the  man  with  whom  I  found  him.  I 
would  that  I  knew  on  whom  he  has  the  claim  of  birth :  I  might  wring  some- 
thing from  his  sense  of  shame,  if  he  were  dead  to  every  tie  of  nature." 

"Indeed  !"  said  Ralph.  "Now,  sir,  will  you  hear  a  word  or  two  from 
me?" 

"  You  can  speak  when  and  what  you  please,"  replied  Nicholas,  embracing 
his  sister.     "  I  take  little  heed  of  wliat  you  say  or  threaten." 

**  Mighty  well,  sir,"  retorted  Ralph  ;  "but  perhaps  it  may  concern  others, 
who  may  think  it  worth  their  while  to  listen,  and  consider  what  I  tell  them. 
I  will  address  your  mother  sir  who  knows  the  world." 

"  Ah  !  and  I  only  too  dearly  wish  I  didn't,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

There  really  was  no  necessity  for  the  good  lady  to  be  much  distressed  upon 
this  particular  head  ;  the  extent  of  her  worldly  knowledge  being,  to  say  the 
least,  very  questionable  ;  and  so  Ralph  seemed  to  think,  for  he  smiled  as  she 
spoke.  He  then  glanced  steadily  at  her  and  Nicholas  by  turns,  as  he 
delivered  himself  in  these  words — 

"Of  what  I  have  done,  or  what  I  meant  to  do,  for  you,  ma'am,  and  my 
niece,  I  say  not  dne  syllable.  I  held  out  no  promise,  and  leave  you  to  judge 
for  yourself.  I  hold  out  no  threat  now,  but  I  say  that  this  boy,  headstrong, 
wilful,  and  disorderly  as  he  is,  should  not  have  one  penny  of  my  money,  or 
one  crust  of  my  bread,  or  one  grasp  of  my  hand,  to  save  him  from  the  loftiest 
gallows  in  all  Europe.  I  will  not  meet  him,  come  where  he  comes,  or  hear 
his  name.  I  will  not  help  him,  or  those  who  help  him.  With  a  full  know- 
ledge of  what  he  brought  upon  you  by  so  doing,  he  has  come  back  in  his 
selfish  sloth,  to  be  an  aggravation  of  your  wants,  and  a  burden  upon  his 
sister's  scanty  wages.  I  regret  to  leave  you,  and  more  to  leave  her  now,  but  I 
will  not  encourage  this  compound  of  meanness  and  cruelty,  and  as  I  will  not 
ask  you  to  renounce  him,  I  see  you  no  more." 

If  Ralph  had  not  known  and  felt  his  power  in  wounding  those  ho  hated,  his 
fijlanccs  at  Nicholas  would  have  shown  it  him,  in  all  its  force,  as  he  proceeded 
STthe  above  address.     Innocent  as  the  young  man  was  of  all  wrong,  every 


i64  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

artful  insinuation  stung,  every  well-considered  sarcasm  cut  him  to  the  quick  ; 
luul  when  Ralph  noted  his  pale  face  and  quivering  lip,  he  hugged  himself  to 
mark  how  well  he  had  chosen  the  taunts  oest  calculated  to  strike  deep  into  a 
young  and  ardent  spirit. 

**  I  can't  help  it,  '  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  **  I  know  you  have  been  very  good 
to  us  and  meant  to  do  a  good  deal  for  my  dear  daughter.  I  am  quite  sure  of 
that ;  I  know  you  did,  and  it  was  very  kind  of  you,  having  her  at  your  house 
and  all — and  of  course  it  would  have  been  a  great  thing  for  her  and  for  me 
too.  But  I  can't,  you  know,  brother-in-law,  I  can't  renounce  my  own  son, 
even  if  he  has  done  all  you  say  he  has — it's  not  possible  ;  I  couldn't  do  it ;  so 
we  must  go  to  rack  and  ruin,  Kate,  my  dear.  I  can  bear  it,  I  dare  say." 
Pouring  forth  these  and  a  perfectly  wonderful  train  of  other  disjointed  expres- 
sions ot  regret,  which  no  mortal  power  but  Mrs.  Nickleby's  could  ever  nave 
strung  together,  that  lady  wrung  her  hands,  and  her  tears  fell  faster. 

**  Why  do  you  say,  '  if  Nicholas  has  done  what  they  say  he  has,'  mammaf" 
asked  Kate,  with  an  honest  anger.     **  You  know  he  has  not." 

**  I  don't  know  what  to  think,  one  way  or  other,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby  ;  **  Nicholas  is  so  violent,  and  your  uncle  has  so  much  composnT«i 
that  I  can  only  hear  what  he  says,  and  not  what  Nicholas  does.  Never  mind, 
don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it.  We  can  go  to  the  Workhouse,  or  the 
Kefuge  for  the  Destitute,  or  the  Magdalen  Hospital,  I  daresay ;  and  the 
sooner  we  go  the  better."  With  this  extraordinary  jumble  of  charitable 
institutions,  Mrs.  Nickleby  again  gave  way  to  her  tears. 

•*  Stay,"  said  Nicholas,  as  Ralph  turned  to  go.  **  You  need  not  leave  this 
place,  sir,  for  it  will  be  relieved  of  my  presence,  in  one  minute,  and  it  will  be 
long,  very  long,  before  I  darken  these  doors  again." 

"Nicholas,"  cried  Kate,  throwing  hei-self  on  her  brother's  shoulder,  "do 
not  say  so.  My  dear  brother,  you  will  break  my  heart.  Mamma,  speak  to 
him.  Do  not  mind  her,  Nicholas  ;  she  does  not  mean  it,  you  shoula  know 
her  better.     Uncle,  somebody,  for  heaven's  sake,  speak  to  him. " 

**  I  never  meant,  Kate,"  said  Nicholas,  tenderly,  **  I  never  meant  to  stay 
among  you  ;  think  better  of  me  than  to  suppose  it  possible.  I  may  turn  my 
back  on  this  town  a  few  hours  sooner  than  I  intended,  but  what  of  thatt  We 
shall  not  forget  each  other  apart,  and  better  days  will  come  when  we  shall 
l)art  no  more.  Be  a  woman,  Kate,"  he  whispered,  proudly,  **  and  do  not 
make  me  one,  while  he  looks  on."  • 

"No,  no,  I  will  not,"  said  Kate,  eagerly,  "but  will  you  not  leave  uii 
Oh  !  think  of  all  the  happy  days  we  have  had  together,  before  these  terrible 
misfortunes  came  upon  us  ;  of  all  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  home,  andtiie 
trials  we  have  to  bear  now  ;  of  our  having  no  protector  under  all  the  slifhti 
and  wrongs  that  poverty  so  much  favours,  and  you  cannot  leave  us  to  beir 
them  alone,  without  one  hand  to  help  us." 

"  You  will  be  helped  when  I  am  away,"  replied  Nicholas,  hurriedly.  "I 
am  no  help  to  you,  no  protector  ;  I  should  bring  you  nothing  but  sorrow  and 
want,  and  suffering.  My  own  mother  sees  it,  and  her  fondness  and  fears  for 
you  point  to  the  course  that  I  should  tako.  And  so  all  good  angels  ble0 
you,  Kate,  till  I  can  carry  you  to  some  home  of  mine,  where  we  may  revive  tb« 
hapj)iness  denied  to  us  now,  and  talk  of  these  trials  as  of  things  gone  by.  Do 
not  keep  me  here,  but  let  me  go  at  once.     There.     Dear  girl-— dear  girL" 

The  grasp  which  had  detained  him  relaxed,  and  Kate  swooned  in  his  armii 
Nicholas  stooped  over  her  for  a  few  seconds,  and  placing  her  gently  in  a  chiir, 
confided  her  to  their  honest  friend. 

"  1  need  not  entreat  your  sympathy,"  he  said,  wringing  her  hand,  *'  for  I 
know  your  nature.     You  will  never  forget  them." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  165 

Ho  stepped  up  to  Ralph,  who  remained  in  the  same  attitude  which  he  had 
preserved  throughout  the  interview,  and  moved  not  a  finger. 

**  Whatever  step  you  take,  sir,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  inaudible  beyond  them- 
selves, *'  I  shall  keep  a  strict  account  of.  I  leave  them  to  you  at  your  desire. 
There  will  be  a  day  of  reckoning,  sooner  or  later,  and  it  will  be  a  heavy  one 
for  you  if  they  are  wronged." 

Balph  did  not  allow  a  muscle  of  his  face  to  indicate  that  he  hoard  ono 
word  of  this  parting  address.  Ho  hardly  knew  that  it  was  concluded,  and 
Mrs.  Nickleby  had  scarcely  made  up  her  mind  to  detain  her  son,  by  force  if 
necessary,  when  Nicholas  was  gone. 

As  he  hurried  through  the  streets  to  his  obscure  lodging,  seeking  to  keep 
pace,  as  it  were,  with  the  rapidity  of  the  thoughts  which  crowded  upon  him, 
many  doubts  and  hesitations  arose  in  his  mind,  and  almost  tempted  him  to 
return.  But  what  would  they  gain  by  this  ?  Suppose  he  were  to  put  Ralph 
Nickleby  at  defiance,  and  were  even  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  some  small 
employment,  his  being  with  them  could  only  render  their  present  condition 
worse,  and  might  greatly  impair  their  future  prospects  ;  for  his  mother  had 
spoken  of  some  new  kindnesses  towards  Kate  which  she  had  not  denied. 
**No,"  thought  Nicholas,  **  I  have  acted  for  the  best." 

But  before  he  had  gone  five  hundred  yards,  some  other  and  different  feeling 
would  come  upon  him,  and  then  he  would  lag  again,  and  pulling  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  give  way  to  the  melancholy  reflections  which  pressed  thickly  upon 
him.  To  have  committed  no  fault,  and  yet  to  be  so  entirely  alone  in  the 
world  ;  to  be  separated  from  the  only  persons  he  loved,  and  to  be  proscribed 
like  a  crimnal,  when  six  months  ago  he  had  been  surrounded  by  every  comfort, 
and  looked  up  to  as  the  chief  hope  of  his  family — this  was  hard  to  bear.  He 
had  not  deserved  it  either.  Well,  there  was  comfort  in  that ;  and  poor 
Nicholas  would  brighten  up  again,  to  be  again  depressed,  as  his  quickly- 
shifting  thoughts  presented  every  variety  of  light  and  shade  before  him. 

Undergoing  these  alterations  of  hope  and  misgiving,  which  no  one  placed 
in  a  situation  of  ordinary  trial  can  fail  to  have  experienced,  Nicholas  at 
length  reached  his  poor  room,  where,  no  longer  borne  up  by  the  excitement 
which  had  hitherto  sustained  him,  but  depressed  by  the  revulsion  of  feeling  it 
left  behind,  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and  turning  his  face  to  the  wall, 
gave  free  vent  to  the  emotions  he  had  so  long  stifled. 

He  had  not  heard  anybody  enter,  and  was  unconscious  of  the  presence  of 
Smike,  until,  happening  to  raise  his  head,  he  saw  him,  standing  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  room,  looking  wistfully  towards  him.     Ho  withdrew  nis  eyes  when        r 
he  saw  that  he  was  observed,  and  afl'ected  to  be  busied  with  some  scanty  pre- 
parations  for  dinner. 

"Well,  Smike,"  said  Nicholas,  as  cheerfully  as  he  could  speak,  **let  mo 
hear  what  new  acquaintances  you  have  made  this  morning,  or  what  now 
wonder  you  have  found  out,  in  the  compass  of  this  street  and  the  next  one." 

"No,  said  Smike,  shaking  his  head  mournfully  ;  "  I  must  talk  of  some- 
thing else  to-day. 

**  Of  what  you  like,"  replied  Nicholas,  good-humouredly. 

"Of  this,  said  Smike.  "I  know  you  are  unhappy,  and  have  got  into 
great  trouble  by  bringing  me  away.  I  ought  to  have  Known  that,  and  stopped 
behind — I  would,  indeed,  if  I  had  thought  it  then.  You — you — are  not  rich  ; 
you  have  not  enough  for  yourself,  and  1  should  not  be  here.  You  grow,"  said 
the  lad,  laying  his  hand  timidly  on  that  of  Nicholas,  "  you  grow  thinner 
every  day  ;  your  cheek  is  paler  and  your  eye  more  sunk.  Indeed,  I  cannot 
bear  to  see  you  so,  and  think  how  I  am  burdening  you.  I  tried  to  go  away 
to-day,  but  the  thought  of  your  kind  face  drew  me  back.    I  couIOl  hqX.  \<^^n^ 


1 66  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

you  without  a  word."    The  poor  fellow  could  say  no  more,  for  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears  and  his  voice  was  gone. 

**The  word  which  separates  us,"  said  Nicholas,  grasping  him  heartily  by 
the  shoulder,  **  shall  never  be  said  by  me,  for  you  are  my  only  comfort  and 
stay.  I  would  not  lose  you  now,  Smike,  for  all  the  world  coiid  give.  The 
thought  of  you  has  upheld  me  through  all  I  have  endured  to-day,  and  shall 
through  fifty  times  such  trouble.  Give  me  your  hand.  My  heart  is  linked  to 
yours.  We  will  journey  from  this  place  together  before  the  week  is  out 
What  if  I  am  steeped  in  poverty?  You  lighten  it,  and  we  will  be  poor 
together." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

MADAME  MANTALINI  FINDS  HERSELF  IN  A  SITUATION  OF  SOME  DIPFICULTY, 
AND  MISS  NICKLEBY  FINDS  HERSELF  IN  NO  SITUATION  AT  AXL. 

THE  agitation  she  had  undergone  rendered  Kate  Nickleby  unable  to 
resume  her  duties  at  the  dressmaker's  for  three  days,  at  the  expiration 
of  which  interval  she  betook  herself  at  the  accustomed  hour,  and  with 
languid  steps,  to  the  temple  of  fashion  where  Madame  Mantalini  reigned  para- 
mount and  supreme. 

The  ill-will  of  Miss  Knag  had  lost  none  of  its  virulence  in  the  interval 
The  young  ladies  still  scrupulously  shrunk  from  all  companionship  with  their 
denounced  associate ;  and  when  that  exemplary  female  arrived  a  few  minutes 
afterwards,  she  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  the  displeasure  with  which  she  re- 
garded Kate's  return. 

**Upon  my  word!"  said  Miss  Knag,  as  the  satellites  flocked  round  to 
relieve  her  of  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  **  I  should  have  thought  that  some 
people  would  have  had  spirit  enough  to  stop  away  altogether,  when  they 
know  what  an  encumbrance  their  presence  is  to  right-minded  persons.  Bti. 
it's  a  queer  world ;  oh,  it's  a  queer  world  ! " 

Miss  Knag  having  passed  this  comment  on  the  world  in  the  tone  in  which 
most  people  do  pass  comments  on  the  world  when  they  are  out  of  temper- 
that  is  to  say,  as  if  they  by  no  means  belonged  to  it,  concluded  by  heaviug  a 
sigh,  wherewith  she  seemed  meekly  to  compassionate  the  wickedness  of  man- 
kind. 

The  attendants  were  not  slow  to  echo  the  sigh,  and  Miss  Knag  was  apparently 
on  the  eve  of  favouring  them  with  some  further  moral  reflections,  wnen  the 
voice  of  Madame  Mantalini,  conveyed  through  the  speaking-tube,  ordered 
Miss  Nickleby  upstairs  to  assist  in  the  arrangement  of  the  show-room  ;  a  dis- 
tinction which  caused  Miss  Knag  to  toss  her  head  so  much,  and  bite  her  lipi 
so  hard,  that  her  powers  of  conversation  were  for  the  time  annihilated. 

**  Well,  Miss  Nickleby,  child,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  when  Kate  presented 
herself ;  *'  are  you  quite  well  again  ? " 

**  A  great  deal  better,  thank  you,"  replied  Kate. 

"I  wish  I  could  say  the  same,"  replied  Madame  Mantalini,  seating  herself 
with  an  air  of  weariness. 

*'  Are  you  ill  \ "  asked  Kate.     *'  I  am  very  sorry  for  that." 

**Not  exactly  ill,  but  worried,  child — worried,"  rejoined  Madame. 

**  I  am  still  more  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Kate,  gently.  **  Bodily  illnesi 
is  more  easy  to  bear  than  mental." 

"  Ah !  and  it's  much  easier  to  talk  than  to  bear  either,"  said  Madame, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  167 

rabbiDg  her  nose  with  much  irritability  of  manner.  "There,  get  to  your 
work,  child,  and  put  the  things  in  order,  do." 

While  Kate  was  wondering  within  herself  what  these  symptoms  of  unusual 
vexation  ^rtended,  Mr.  Mantalini  put  the  tips  of  his  whiskers,  and,  by 
degrees,  his  head,  through  the  half-opened  door,  and  cried,  in  a  soft  voice — 

**  Is  my  life  and  soul  there  ? " 

"  No,    replied  his  wife. 

"  How  can  it  say  so,  when  it  is  blooming  in  the  front  room  like  a  little  rose 
in  a  demnition  flower-pot  ? "  urged  Mantalini.  "  May  its  poppet  come  in  and 
talk?" 

**  Certainly  not,"  replied  Madame ;  **you  know  I  never  allow  you  here. 
Go  along ! " 

The  poppet,  however,  encouraged  perhaps  by  the  relenting  tones  of  this 
reply,  ventured  to  rebel,  and,  stealing  into  the  room,  made  towards  Madame 
Mantalini  on  tiptoe,  blowing  her  a  kiss  as  he  came  along. 

**Why  will  it  vex  itself  and  twist  its  little  face  into  bewitching  nut- 
crackers ? "  said  Mantalini,  putting  his  left  arm  round  the  waist  of  his  life  and 
soul,  and  drawing  her  towards  him  with  his  right. 

*'  Oh  I  I  can't  bear  you,"  replied  his  wife. 

**  Not — eh,  not  bear  me  / "  exclaimed  Mantalini.  *'  Fibs,  fibs.  It  couldn't 
be.  There's  not  a  woman  alive  that  could  tell  me  such  a  thing  to  my  face — 
to  my  own  face."  Mr.  Mantalini  stroked  his  chin  as  he  said  this,  and  glanced 
complacently  at  an  opposite  mirror. 

"  Such  destructive  extravagance,"  reasoned  his  wife,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  All  in  its  joy  at  having  gained  such  a  lovely  creature,  such  a  little  Venus, 
such  a  demd,  enchanting,  bewitching,  engrossing,  captivating  little  Venus," 
said  Mantalini. 

"See  what  a  situation  you  have  placed  me  in  !  "  urged  Madame. 

'*  No  harm  will  come,  no  harm  shall  come,  to  its  own  darling,"  rejoined 
Mr.  Mantalini  "It  is  all  qver ;  there  will  be  nothing  the  matter  ;  money 
shall  be  got  in ;  and  if  it  don't  come  in  fast  enough,  old  Nickleby  shall 
'Stomp  up  again,  or  have  his  jugular  separated  if  he  dares  to  vex  and  hurt  the 
Uttle ^" 

"  Hush  I "  interposed  Madame.     "  Don't  you  see  ? " 

Mr.  Mantalini,  who,  in  his  eagerness  to  make  up  matters  with  his  wife,  had 
overlooked,  or  feigned  to  overlook.  Miss  Nickleby  hitherto,  took  the  hint, 
and  laying  his  finger  on  his  lip,  sunk  his  voice  still  lower.  There  was  then 
a  great  deal  of  whispering,  during  which  Madame  Mantalini  appeared  to  make 
reference,  more  than  once,  to  certain  debts  incurred  by  Mr.  Mantalini  previous 
to  her  coverture ;  and  ^so  to  an  unexpected  outlay  of  money  in  payment  of  the 
aforesaid  debts ;  and  furthermore,  to  certain  agreeable  weaknesses  on  that 

gentleman's  part,  such  as  gaming,  wasting,  idling,  and  a  tendency  to  horse- 
esh  ;  each  of  which  matters  of  accusation  Mr.  Mantalini  disposed  of,  by  one 
kiss  or  more,  as  its  relative  importance  demanded.  The  upshot  of  it  all  was, 
that  Madame  Mantalini  was  in  raptures  with  him,  and  that  they  went  upstairs 
to  breakfast. 

Kate  busied  herself  in  what  she  had  to  do,  and  was  silently  arranging 
the  various  articles  of  decoration  in  the  best  taste  she  could  display,  when 
she  started  to  hear  a  strange  man's  voice  in  the  room,  and  started  again, 
to  observe,  on  looking  round,  that  a  white  hat,  and  a  red  neckerchief,  and 
a  broad,  round  face,  and  a  large  head,  and  part  of  a  green  coat,  were  in  the 
room,  too. 

**  Don't  alarm  yourself,  miss,"  said  the  proprietor  of  these  appearances. 
•*  I  say ;  this  here's  the  mantie-making  con-sam,  a'nt  it  ? " 


i68  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Eate,  greatly  astonished.     '*  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

The  stranger  answered  not ;  but  first  looking  back,  as  though  to  beckon  to 
some  unseen  person  outside,  came,  very  deliberately,  into  the  room,  and  wis 
closely  followed  by  a  little  man  in  brown,  very  much  the  worse  for  wear,  who 
brought  with  him  a  mingled  fumigation  of  stale  tobacco  and  fresh  onion& 
The  clothes  of  this  gentleman  were  much  bespeckled  with  flue  ;  and  his  shoes, 
stockings,  and  nether  garments,  from  his  heels  to  the  waist-buttons  of  his 
coat  inclusive,  were  profusely  embroidered  with  splashes  of  mud,  canght  a 
fortnight  previously — before  the  setting-in  of  the  fine  weather. 

Kate's  very  natural  impression  was,  that  these  engaging  individuals  had 
called  with  the  view  of  possessing  themselves,  unlawfully,  of  any  portaUa 
articles  that  chanced  to  strike  their  fancy.  She  did  not  attempt  to  Hiwgq^t^ 
her  apprehensions,  and  made  a  move  towards  the  door. 

''Wait  a  minnit,"  said  the  man  in  the  green  coat,  closing  it  softly,  and 
standing  with  his  back  against  it.     "This  is  a  unpleasant  bisness.     veitfb'j 
your  govvernor  ? " 

"  My  what — did  you  say  ? "    asked  Kate,  trembling  ;   for  she  th( 
•*  governor  "  might  be  slang  for  watch  or  money. 

''Mister  Muntlehiney,"  said  the  man;  "  wot's  come  on  himt    la  ha 
home  ? " 

"  He  is  abovestairs,  I  believe,"  replied  Kate,  a  little  reassured  by 
inquiry.     "  Do  you  want  him  % " 

'  *  No,"  replied  the  visitor.     "  I  don't  ezactly  want  him,  if  it's  made  a  &i 
on.     You  can  jist  give  him  this  'ere  card,  and  tell  him  if  he  wants  to  s] 
me,  and  save  trouble,  here  I  am  ;  that's  all." 

With  these  words,  the  stranger  put  a  thick,  square  card  into  Ejite'a 
and,  turning  to  his  friend,  remarked,  with  an  easy  air,  "  that  the  rooma 
a  good  high  pitch  ; "  to  which  the  friend  assented,  adding,  by  way  of  illi 
tion,  "  that  there  was  lots  of  room  for  a  little  boy  to  ^ow  up  a  man  in  eitbtf 
on  'em,  vithout  much  fear  of  his  ever  bringing  his  head  into  contract  with  thf 
ceiling." 

After  ringing  the  bell  which  would  summon  Madame  Mantalini,   KataJ 
glanced  at  the  card,  and  saw  that  it  displayed  the  name  of  "  Scaley,"  toget 
with  some  other  information  to  which  sne  had  not  had  time  to  refer,  when  li 
attention  was  attracted  by  Mr.  Scaley  himself,  who,  walking  up  to  one  of  tl 
cheval-glasses,  gave  it  a  hard  poke  in  the  centre  with  his  stick,  as  coolly  at 
it  had  been  made  of  cast-iron. 

"  Good  plate,  this  here,  Tix,"  said  Mr.  Scaley  to  his  friend. 

"Ah  !"   rejoined  Mr.  Tix,  placing  the  marks  of  his  four  fingers,  and 
duplicate  impression  of  his  thumb  on  a  piece  of  sky-blue  silk  ;  "  and  thia ' 
article  wam't  made  for  nothing,  mind  you." 

From  the  silk,  Mr.  Tix  transferred  his  admiration  to  some  elegant 
of  wearing  apparel,  while  Mr.  Scaley  adjusted  his  neckcloth,  at  leisure, 
the  glass,  and  afterwards,  aided  by  its  reflection,  proceeded  to  the  mlnnta 
sideration  of  a  pimple  on  his  chin  :  in  which  absorbing  occupation  he 
engaged,  when  Madame  Mantalini  entering  the  room,  uttered  an  ezc] 
of  surprise  which  roused  him. 

"  Oh  !  is  this  the  missis  ?  "  inquired  Scaley. 

"  It  is  Madame  Mantalini,"  said  Kate. 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Scaley,  producing  a  small  document  from  his  poekflt 
and  unfolding  it  very  slowly,    "  this  is  a  writ  of  excution,  and  if  if  s  Wit 
conwenient  to  settle,  we'll  go  over  the  house  at  wunst,  please,  andtakethll 
inwentory." 

Poor  Madame  Mantalini  wrung  her  hands  for  grief,  and  rung  the  beU  ftr 


i-so^. 


Ma,  UASTiUm  ATTEMPn  TO  DEHTRDI  HIIURLF.— P.  UB. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  169 

her  hnsband  ;  which  done,  she  fell  into  a  chair  and  a  fainting  fit  simul- 
taneously. The  professional  gentlemen,  however,  were  not  at  all  discomposed 
by  this  event,  for  Mr.  Scaley,  leaning  upon  a  stand  on  which  a  handsome  dress 
was  displayed  (so  that  his  shoulders  appeared  above  it,  in  nearly  the  same 
manner  as  the  shoulders  of  the  lad^  for  whom  it  was  designed  would  have 
done  if  she  had  had  it  on),  pushed  his  hat  on  one  side,  and  scratched  his  head 
with  perfect  unconcern,  while  his  friend  Mr.  Tix,  taking  that  opportunity  for 
a  general  survey  of  the  apartment  preparatory  to  entering  on  business,  stood, 
with  his  inventory  book  under  his  arm  and  his  hat  in  his  hand,  mentally 
occupied  in  putting  a  price  upon  every  object  within  his  range  of  vision. 

Such  was  the  posture  of  afrairs  when  Mr.  Mantalini  hurried  in  ;  and  as  that 
distinguished  specimen  had  had  a  pretty  extensive  intercourse  with  Mr. 
Scaleys  fraternity  in  his  bachelor  days,  and  was,  besides,  very  far  from  being 
taken  by  surprise  on  the  present  agitating  occasion,  he  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  thrust  his  hands  down  to  the  bottom  of  his  pockets,  elevated  his 
eyebrows,  whistled  a  bar  or  two,  swore  an  oath  or  two,  and,  sitting  astride 
upon  a  chair,  put  the  best  face  upon  the  matter  with  great  composure  and 
decency. 

"What's  the  demd  total ? "  was  the  first  question  he  asked. 

"Fifteen  hundred  and  twenty-seven  pound,  four  and  ninepence  ha'penny," 
replied  Mr.  Scaley,  without  moving  a  limb. 

**  The  halfpenny  be  demd,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  impatiently. 

"  By  all  means,  if  you  vish  it,"  retorted  Mr.  Scaley  ;  '*  and  the  ninepence." 

"  It  don't  matter  to  us  if  the  fifteen  hundred  and  twenty-seven  pound  went 
along  with  it,  that  I  know  on,"  observed  Mr.  Tix. 

"Not  a  button,"  said  Scaley. 

"  Well ;"  said  the  same  gentleman,  after  a  pause,  "  wot's  to  be  done — any- 
thing 1  Is  it  only  a  small  crack,  or  a  out-and-out  smash  ?  A  break-up  of 
the  constitootion  is  it — werry  good.  Then  Mr.  Tom  Tix,  esk-vire,  you  must 
inform  your  angel  wife  and  lovely  family  as  you  wont  sleep  at  home  for  three 
nights  to  come,  along  of  being  in  possession  here.  Wot's  the  good  of  the  lady 
a  fretting  herself?"  continued  Mr.  Scaley,  as  Madame  Mantalini  sobbed. 
'  *  A  good  half  of  wot's  here  isn't  paid  for,  I  des-say,  and  wot  a  consolation 
oughtn't  that  to  be  to  her  feelings  1 " 

With  these  remarks,  combining  great  pleasantry  with  sound  moral  en- 
couragement under  difficulties,  Mr.  Scaley  proceeded  to  take  the  inventory,  in 
which  delicate  task  he  was  materially  assisted  by  the  uncommon  tact  and 
experience  of  Mr.  Tix,  the  broker. 

"My  cup  of  happiness's  sweetener,"  said  Mantalini,  approaching  his  wife 
with  a  penitent  air  ;  "  will  you  listen  to  me  for  two  minutes  ? " 

"Oh  !  don't  speak  to  me,"  replied  his  wife,  sobbing.  "You  have  ruined 
me,  and  that's  enough." 

Mr.  Mantalini,  who  had  doubtless  well  considered  his  part,  no  sooner  heard 
these  words  pronounced  in  a  tone  of  grief  and  severity,  than  he  recoiled  several 
paces,  assumed  an  expression  of  consuming  mental  agony,  rushed  headlong 
from  the  room,  and  was  soon  afterwards  heard  to  slam  the  door  of  an  upstairs 
dressing-room  with  great  violence. 

"Miss  Nickleby,'  cried  Madame  Mantalini,  when  this  sound  met  her  ear, 
"make  haste  for  heaven's  sake  ;  he  will  destroy  himself !  I  spoke  unkindly  to 
him,  and  he  cannot  bear  it  from  me.     Alfred,  my  darling  Alfred." 

With  such  exclamations  she  hurried  upstairs,  followed  by  Kate,  who, 
although  she  did  not  quite  participate  in  the  fond  wife's  apprehension,  was  a 
little  flurried  nevertheless.  The  dressing-room  door  being  hastily  flung 
open,  Ifo.  Mantalini  was  disclosed  to  viewi  with  his  shirt  collar  symmetricallY 


I70  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

thrown  back  :  putting  a  fine  edge  to  a  breakfast  knife  by  means  of  his  nzor- 
strop. 

*' Ah  !"  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  "interrupted  ! "  and  whisk  went  the  break- 
fast knife  into  Mr.  Mantalini's  dressing-gown  pocket,  while  Mr.  Mantalini's 
eyes  rolled  wildly,  and  his  hair  floating  in  wild  disorder,  mingled  with  his 
whiskers. 

"  Alfred,"  cried  his  wife,  flinging  her  arms  about  him,  "  I  didn't  mean  to 
say  it,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  it !  * 

"Ruined!"  cried  Mr.  Mantalini.  "Have  I  brought  ruin  upon  the  best 
and  purest  creature  that  ever  blessed  a  demnition  vagabond  !  Demmit,  let  me 
go."  At  this  crisis  of  his  ravings  Mr.  Mantalini  made  a  pluck  at  the  break- 
fast knife,  and  being  restrained  by  his  wife's  grasp,  attempted  to  dash  Ms 
head  against  the  wall — taking  very  good  care  to  be  at  least  six  feet  from  it 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  own  angel,"  said  Madame.  "  It  was  nobody's 
fault ;  it  was  mine  as  much  as  yours,  we  shall  do  very  well  yet.  Come, 
Alfred,  come." 

Mr.  Mantalini  did  not  think  proper  to  come  to  all  at  once ;  but  after 
calling  several  times  for  poison,  and  requesting  some  lady  or  gentleman  to 
blow  his  brains  out,  gentler  feelings  came  upon  him,  and  he  wept  pathetically. 
In  this  softened  frame  of  mind  he  did  not  oppose  the  capture  of  the  knife — 
which,  to  tell  the  truth  he  was  rather  glad  to  be  rid  of,  as  an  inconvenient  and 
dangerous  article  for  a  skirt  pocket — and  finally  he  suffered  himself  to  be 
led  away  by  his  affectionate  partner. 

After  a  delay  of  two  or  three  hours,  the  young  ladies  were  informed  that 
their  services  would  be  dispensed  with  until  further  notice,  and  at  the  expira- 
tion of  two  days,  the  name  of  Mantalini  appeared  in  the  list  of  bankrupts: 
Miss  Nickleby  receiving  an  intimation  per  post,  on  the  same  morning,  that 
the  business  would  be  in  future  carried  on  under  the  name  of  Miss  Knag,  and 
that  her  assistance  would  no  longer  be  required — a  piece  of  intelligence  with 
which  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  no  sooner  made  acquainted,  than  that  good  lady 
declared  that  she  had  expected  it  all  along,  and  cited  divers  unknown  occasions 
on  which  she  had  prophesied  to  that  precise  eflect. 

"  And  I  say  again,'  remarked  Mrs.  Nickleby  (who,  it  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  observe,  had  never  said  so  before),  "  I  say  again,  that  a  milliner's  and  dress- 
maker's is  the  very  last  description  of  business,  Kate,  that  you  should  have 
thouglit  of  attaching  yourself  to.  I  don't  make  it  a  reproach  to  you,  my 
love  ;  but  still  I  will  say,  that  if  you  had  consulted  your  own  mother " 

**"VVell,  well,  mamma,"  said  Kate,  mildly;  **  what  would  you  recommend 
now  ? " 

'•  Recommend  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "isn't  it  obvious,  my  dear,  that  of 
all  occupations  in  this  world  for  a  young  lady  situated  as  you  are,  that  of 
companion  to  some  amiable  lady  is  the  very  thing  for  which  your  education, 
and  manners,  and  personal  appearance,  and  cverytliing  else,  exactly  qualify 
you  ?  Did  you  never  hear  your  poor  dear  papa  speak  of  the  young  lady  who 
was  the  daughter  of  the  old  lady  who  boarded  in  the  same  house  that  he 
boarded  in  once,  when  he  was  a  bachelor — what  was  her  name  again  ?  I  know 
it  began  with  a  B,  and  ended  with  a  g,  but  whether  it  was  Waters  or — ^no  it 
couldn't  have  been  that,  either  ;  but  whatever  lier  name  was,  don't  yon  know 
that  that  young  lady  went  as  companion  to  a  married  lady  who  died  soon 
afterwards,  and  that  she  married  the  husband,  and  had  one  of  the  finest  little 
boys  that  the  medical  man  had  ever  seen — all  within  eighteen  months  ?  " 

Kate  knew  perfectly  well  that  this  torrent  of  favourable  recollection  was 
occasioned  by  some  opening,  real  or  imaginary,  which  her  mother  had  dis- 
covered in  the  companionship  walk  of  life.      She  therefore  waited  very 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  171 

patiently  nntil  all  reminiscences  and  anecdotes,  bearing  or  not  bearing  upon 
the  subject,  had  been  exhausted,  and  at  last  ventured  to  inquire  what  discovery 
had  been  made.  The  truth  came  out.  Mrs.  Nickleby  had,  that  morning,  had 
a  yesterday's  newspaper  of  the  very  first  respectability  from  the  public-house 
where  the  porter  came  from ;  and  in  this  yesterday's  newspaper  was  an 
advertisement,  couched  in  the  purest  and  most  grammatical  English,  announ- 
cing that  a  married  lady  was  in  want  of  a  genteel  young  person  as  companion, 
and  that  the  married  lady's  name  and  address  were  to  be  known  on  applica- 
tion at  a  certain  library  at  the  west  end  of  the  town,  therein  mentioned. 

"And  I  say,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  laying  the  paper  down  in  triumph, 
"that  if  your  uncle  don't  object,  it's  well  worth  the  trial." 

Eate  was  too  sick  at  heart  after  the  rough  jostling  she  had  already  had 
with  the  world,  and  really  cared  too  little  at  the  moment  what  fate  was 
reserved  for  her,  to  make  any  objection.  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby  offered  none, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  highly  approved  of  the  suggestion  ;  neither  did  he 
express  any  great  surprise  at  Madame  Mantalini's  sudden  failure  ;  indeed,  it 
would  have  been  strange  if  he  had,  inasmuch  as  it  had  been  procured  and 
brought  about  chiefly  by  himself.  So  the  name  and  address  were  obtained 
without  loss  of  time,  and  Miss  Nickleby  and  her  mamma  went  off  in  quest  of 
Mrs.  Wititterly,  of  Cadogan  Place,  Sloane  Street,  that  same  forenoon. 

Cadogan  Place  is  the  one  slight  bond  that  joins  two  great  extremes  ;  it  is 
the  connecting  link  between  the  aristocratic  pavements  of  Belgrave  Square 
and  the  barbarism  of  Chelsea.  It  is  in  Sloane  Street,  but  not  of  it.  The 
people  in  Cadogan  Place  look  down  upon  Sloane  Street,  and  think  Brorapton 
low.  They  affect  fashion,  too,  and  wonder  where  the  New  Road  is.  .  Not 
that  they  claim  to  be  on  precisely  the  same  footing  as  the  high  folks  of 
Belgrave  Square  and  Grosvenor  Place,  but  that  they  stand,  with  reference  to 
them,  rather  in  the  light  of  those  illegitimate  children  of  the  great  who  are 
content  to  boast  of  their  connections,  although  their  connections  disavow 
them.  Wearing  as  much  as  they  can  of  the  airs  and  semblances  of  loftiest 
rank,  the  people  of  Cadogan  Place  have  the  realities  of  middle  station.  It  is 
the  conductor  which  communicates  to  the  inhabitants  of  regions  beyond  its 
limit  the  shock  of  pride  of  birth  and  rank,  which  it  has  not  within  itself,  but 
derives  from  a  fountain-head  beyond  ;  or,  like  the  ligament  which  unites  the 
Siamese  twins,  it  contains  something  of  the  life  and  essence  of  two  distinct 
bodies,  and  yet  belongs  to  neither. 

Upon  this  doubtful  ground  lived  Mrs.  Wititterly,  and  at  Mrs.  Wititterly's 
door  Kate  Nickleby  knocked  with  trembling  hand.  The  door  was  opened  by 
a  big  footman  with  his  head  floured,  or  chalked,  or  painted  in  some  way  (it 
didn't  look  genuine  powder),  and  the  big  footman,  receiving  the  card  of 
introduction,  gave  it  to  a  little  page  ;  so  little,  indeed,  that  his  body  would 
not  hold,  in  ordinary  array,  the  number  of  small  buttons  which  are  indis- 
pensable to  a  page's  costume,  and  they  were  consequently  obliged  to  be  stuck 
on  four  abreast.  This  young  gentleman  took  the  card  upstairs  on  a  salver, 
and  pending  his  return,  Kate  and  her  mother  were  shown  into  a  dining-room 
of  rather  dirty  and  shabby  aspect,  and  so  comfortably  arranged  as  to  be 
adapted  to  almost  any  purpose  rather  than  eating  and  drinking. 

Now,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  and  according  to  all  authentic 
descriptions  of  high  life,  as  set  forth  in  books,  Mrs.  Wititterly  ought  to  have 
been  in  her  boudoir ;  but  wliether  it  was  that  Mr.  Wititterly  was  at  that 
moment  shaving  himself  in  the  boudoir  or  what  not,  certain  it  is  that  ^Irs. 
Wititterly  gave  audience  in  the  drawing-room,  where  was  everything  proper 
and  necessary,  including  curtains  and  furniture  coverings  of  a  roseate  hue,  to 
shed  a  delicate  bloom  on  Mrs.  Wititterly's  complexion,  and  a  little  dog  to 


173  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

snap  at  strangers'  legs  for  Mrs.  Wititterly's  amnsement,  and  the  afore- 
mentioned page  to  hand  chocolate  for  Mrs.  Wititterly's  refreshment. 

The  lady  had  an  air  of  sweet  insipidity,  and  a  face  of  engaging  paleneea ; 
there  was  a  faded  look  about  her,  and  about  the  furniture,  and  about  the  house. 
She  was  reclining  on  a  sofa  in  such  a  very  unstudied  attitude,  that  she  might 
have  been  taken  for  an  actress  all  ready  for  the  first  scene  in  the  ballet,  and 
only  waiting  for  the  drop  curtain  to  go  up. 

"  Place  chairs." 

Tlie  page  placed  them. 

"  Leave  the  room,  Alehouse." 

The  page  left  it ;  but  if  ever  an  Alphonse  carried  plain  Bill  in  his  face  and 
figure,  that  page  was  the  boy. 

*'I  have  ventured  to  call,  ma'am,"  said  Eate,  after  a  few  seconds  of 
awkward  silence,  '*  from  having  seen  your  advertisement." 

'*Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Wititterly,  "one  of  my  people  put  it' in  the  paper. 
Yes. " 

''  I  thought,  perhaps,"  said  Eate,  modestly,  "  that  if  you  had  not  already 
made  a  final  choice,  you  would  forgive  my  troubling  you  with  an  applica- 
tion." 

"  Yes,"  drawled  Mrs.  Wititterly,  again. 

**  If  you  have  already  made  a  selection ^" 

**0h,  dear  no,"  interrupted  the  lady,  "  I  am  not  so  easily  suited.  I 
really  don't  know  what  to  say.  You  have  never  been  a  companion  before, 
have  you  ? " 

Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  had  been  eagerly  watching  her  opportunity,  came 
dexterously  in  before  Kate  could  reply.  **  Not  to  any  stranger,  ma'am,"  said 
the  good  lady  ;  '*  but  she  has  been  a  companion  to  me  for  some  years.  I  am 
her  mother,  ma'am. " 

*'  Oh  I  "  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  *'  I  apprehend  you." 

**I  assure  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "that  I  very  little  thought, 
at  one  time,  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  my  daughter  to  go  out  into  the 
world  at  all,  for  her  poor  dear  papa  was  an  independent  gentleman,  and  would 
have  been  at  this  moment  if  he  had  but  listened  in  time  to  my  constant 
entreaties  and " 

"  Dear  mamma,"  said  Kate,  in  a  low  voice. 

**  My  dear  Kate,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  speak,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "I 
shall  take  the  liberty  of  explaining  to  this  lady " 

* '  I  think  it  is  almost  unnecessary,  mamma. " 

And  notwithstanding  all  the  frowns  and  winks  with  which  Mrs.  Nickleby 
intimated  that  she  was  going  to  say  something  which  would  clench  the 
business  at  once,  E^ate  maintained  her  point  by  an  expressive  look,  and  for 
once  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  stopped  upon  the  very  brink  of  an  oration. 

"  What  are  your  accomplishments  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  her  eyes 
shut. 

Kate  blushed  as  she  mentioned  her  principal  acquirements,  and  Mn. 
Nickleby  checked  them  all  off,  one  by  one,  on  her  fingers,  having  calculated 
the  number  before  she  came  out.  Luckily  the  two  calculations  agreed,  so 
Mrs.  Nickleby  had  no  excuse  for  talking. 

"  You  are  a  good  temper  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Wititterly,  opening  her  eyes  for  an 
instant,  and  shutting  them  again. 

**  I  hope  so,"  rejoined  Kate. 

**  And  have  a  highly  respectable  reference  for  everything,  have  you  I " 

Kate  replied  that  she  had,  and  laid  her  uncle's  card  upon  the  taole. 

* '  Have  the  goodness  to  draw  your  chair  a  little  nearer,  and  let  me  look  at 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  1 73 

you,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly ;  "I  am  so  very  near-sighted,  that  I  can't  quite 
discern  your  features." 

Kate  complied,  though  not  without  some  emharrassment,  with  tliis  request, 
and  Mrs.  Wititterly  took  a  languid  survey  of  her  countenance,  which  lasted 
some  two  or  three  minutes. 

**  I  like  your  appearance,"  said  that  lady,  ringing  a  little  bell.  **  Alplionse, 
request  your  master  to  come  here." 

The  page  disappeared  on  this  errand,  and  after  a  short  interval,  during 
which  not  a  word  was  spoken  on  either  side,  opened  the  door  for  an  important 
gentleman  of  about  eight-and-thirty,  of  rather  plebian  countenance,  and  with 
a  very  light  head  of  hair,  who  leant  over  Mrs.  Wititterly  for  a  little  time,  and 
conversed  with  her  in  whispers. 

"  Oh  ! "  he  said,  turning  round,  **  yes.  This  is  a  most  important  matter. 
Mrs.  Wititterly  is  of  a  very  excitable  nature  ;  very  delicate  ;  very  fragile  ;  a 
hothouse  plant,  an  exotic." 

**  Oh  !  Henry,  my  dear,"  interposed  Mrs.  Wititterl3^ 

**  You  are,  my  love,  you  know  you  are  ;  one  breath  " — said  Mr.  W.,  blowing 
an  imamnary  feather  away — '*  pho  I  you're  gone  !  " 

The  mdy  sighed. 

**Your  soul  is  too  large  for  your  body,"  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  "Your 
intellect  wears  you  out ;  all  the  medical  men  say  so  j  you  know  that  there  is 
not  a  physician  who  is  not  proud  of  being  called  in  to  you.  What  is  their 
unanimous  declaration  ?  *  My  dear  doctor,'  said  I  to  Sir  Tumley  Snuffim,  in 
this  very  room,  the  very  last  time  he  came.  *My  dear  doctor,  what  is  my 
wife's  complaint  ?  Tell  me  all.  I  can  bear  it.  Is  it  nerves  ? '  *  My  dear 
fellow,*  he  said,  *  be  proud  of  that  woman ;  make  much  of  her  ;  she  is  an 
ornament  to  the  fashionable  world,  and  to  you.  Her  complaint  is  soul.  It 
swells,  expands,  dilates — the  blood  fires,  the  pulse  quickens,  the  excitement 
increases — Whew  ! ' "  Here  Mr.  Wititterly,  who,  in  the  ardour  of  his  descrip- 
tion, had  flourished  his  right  hand  to  within  something  less  than  an  inch  of 
Airs.  Nickleby's  bonnet,  drew  it  hastily  back  again,  and  blew  his  nose  as 
fiercely  as  if  it  had  been  done  by  some  violent  machinery. 

"  You  make  me  out  worse  than  I  am,  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

**I  do  not,  Julia,  I  do  not,"  said  Mr.  W.  **The  society  in  which  you 
move — necessarily  move,  from  your  station,  connections,  and  endowments — is 
one  vortex  and  whirlpool  of  the  most  frightful  excitement.  Bless  my  heart 
and  body,  can  I  ever  forget  the  night  you  danced  with  the  baronet's  nephew, 
at  the  election  ball,  at  Exeter  !    It  was  tremendous." 

**  I  always  suffer  for  these  triumphs  afterwards,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly. 

"And  for  that  very  reason,"  rejoined  her  husband,  **you  must  have  a 
companion  in  whom  there  is  great  gentleness,  great  sweetness,  excessive 
sympathy,  and  perfect  repose." 

Here,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wititterly,  who  had  talked  rather  at  the  Nicklebys 
than  to  each  other,  left  off  speaking,  and  looked  at  their  two  hearers,  with  an 
expression  of  countenance  which  seemed  to  say,  *•  What  do  you  think  of  all 
this?" 

"  Mrs.  Wititterly,"  said  her  husband,  addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
"  is  sought  after  and  courted  by  glittering  crowds  and  brilliant  circles.  She 
is  excited  by  the  opera,  the  drama,  the  fine  arts,  the — the — the " 

"  The  nobility,  my  love,"  interposed  Mrs.  Wititterly. 

"  The  nobility,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Wititterly.  '•  And  the  military.  She 
forms  and  expresses  an  immense  variety  of  opinions  on  an  immense  variety  of 
subjects.     If  some  people  in  public  life  were  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Wititterly's 


174  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

real  opinion  of  them,  they  would  not  hold  their  heads,  perhaps,  qiiite  so  high 
as  they  do." 

**  Hush,  Henry,"  said  the  lady,  *'  this  is  scarcely  fair." 

**I  mention  no  names,  Julia,"  replied  Mr.  Wititterly ;  "and  nobody  is 
injured.  I  merely  mention  the  circumstance  to  show  that  you  are  no  ordinary 
person  ;  that  there  is  a  constant  friction  perpetually  going  on  between  your 
mind  and  your  body  ;  and  that  you  must  be  soothed  and  tended.  Now,  let 
me  hear,  dispassionately  and  calmly,  what  are  this  young  lady's  qualifications 
for  the  office." 

In  obedience  to  this  request,  the  qualifications  were  all  gone  through  again, 
with  the  addition  of  many  interruptions  and  cross-questionings  iiom  Mr. 
Wititterly.  It  was  finally  arranged  that  inquiries  should  be  made,  and  a 
decisive  answer  addressed  to  Miss  Nickleby  under  cover  to  her  uncle,  within 
two  days.  These  conditions  agreed  upon,  the  page  showed  them  down  as  far 
as  the  staircase  window  ;  and  the  big  footman,  relieving  guard  at  that  point, 
piloted  them  in  perfect  safety  to  the  street-door. 

**  They  are  very  distinguished  people,  evidently,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
as  she  took  her  daughter's  arm.  **"\Vhat  a  superior  person  Mrs.  Wititterly 
is!" 

**  Do  you  think  so,  mamma  ? "  was  all  Kate's  reply. 

"Why,  who  can  help  thinking  so,  Kate,  my  love  ?  "  rejoined  her  mother. 
**She  is  pale,  though,  and  looks  much  exhausted.  I  hope  she  may  not  he 
wearing  herself  out,  but  I  am  very  much  afraid." 

These  considerations  led  the  deep- sighted  lady  into  a  calculation  of  the 
probable  duration  of  Mrs.  Wititterly's  life,  and  the  chances  of  the  discon- 
solate widower  bestowing  his  hand  on  her  daughter.  Before  reaching  home, 
she  had  freed  Mrs.  Wititterly's  soul  from  all  bodily  restraint,  married  Kate 
with  great  splendour  at  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square,  and  only  left  undecided 
the  minor  question  whether  a  splendid  French- polished  mahogany  bedstead 
should  be  erected  for  herself  in  the  two-pair  back  of  the  house  in  Cadogan 
Place,  or  in  the  three-pair  front ;  between  which  apartments  she  could  not 
quite  balance  the  advantages,  and  therefore  adjusted  the  question  at  last  by 
determining  to  leave  it  to  the  decision  of  her  son-in-law. 

The  inquiries  were  made.  The  answer — not  to  Kate's  very  great  joy- 
was  favourable ;  and  at  the  expiration  of  a  week  she  betook  herself,  with 
all  her  movables  and  valuables,  to  Mrs.  Wititterly's  mansion,  where,  for 
the  present,  we  will  leave  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


NICHOLAS,  ACCOMPANIED  BY  SMIKE,  SALLIES  FOltTH  TO  SEEK  HIS  FOllTUSE. 
HE  ENOOUNTEIIS  Mil.  VINCENT  CEUMMLES  ;  AND  WHO  HE  WAS  IS  UEIUSIN 
MADE  MANIFEST. 

THE  whole  capital  which  Nicholas  found  himself  entitled  to,  either  iu 
possession,  reversion,  remainder,  or  expectancy,  after  paying  his  rent, 
and  settling  with  the  broker  from  whom  he  had  hired  his  poor  fumitore, 
did  not  exceed,  by  more  than  a  few  halfpence,  the  sum  of  twenty  shillings. 
And  yet  he  hailed  the  morning  on  which  he  had  resolved  to  quit  Lonra 
with  a  light  heart,  and  sprang  from  his  bed  witli  an  elasticity  of  spirit  which 
is  happily  the  lot  of  young  persons,  or  the  world  would  never  be  stocked  with 
old  ones. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  175 

It  was  a  cold,  dry,  foggy  morning  in  early  spring.  A  few  meagre  shadows 
flitted  to  and  fro  in  the  misty  streets,  and  occasionally  there  loomed  through 
the  dull  yapour  the  heavy  outline  of  some  hackney-coach  wending  homewards, 
which,  drawing  slowly  nearer,  rolled  jangling  by,  scattering  the  thin  crust  of 
frost  from  its  whitened  roof,  and  soon  was  lost  again  in  the  cloud.  At 
intervals  were  heard  the  tread  of  slipshod  feet,  and  the  chilly  cry  of  the  poor 
sweep  as  he  crept,  shivering,  to  his  early  toil ;  the  heavy  footfall  of  the  official 
watcher  of  the  night,  pacing  slowly  up  and  down,  and  cursing  the  tardy  hours 
that  still  intervened  between  him  and  sleep  ;  the  rumbling  of  ponderous  carts 
and  waggons ;  the  roll  of  the  lighter  vehicles  which  carry  buyers  and  sellers 
to  the  different  markets ;  the  sound  of  ineffectual  knocking  at  the  doors  of 
heavy  sleepers — all  these  noises  fell  upon  the  ear  from  time  to  time,  but  all 
seemed  muffled  by  the  fog,  and  to  be  rendered  almost  as  indistinct  to  the  ear 
as  was  every  object  to  the  sight.  The  sluggish  darkness  thickened  as  the  day 
came  on ;  and  those  who  had  the  courage  to  rise  and  peep  at  the  gloomy 
street  from  their  curtained  windows,  crept  back  to  bed  again,  and  coiled 
themselves  up  to  sleep. 

Before  even  these  indications  of  approaching  morning  were  rife  in  busy 
London,  Nicholas  had  made  his  way  alone  to  the  city,  and  stood  beneath  the 
windows  of  his  mother's  house.  It  was  dull  and  bare  to  see,  but  it  had  light 
and  life  for  him  ;  for  there  was  at  least  one  heart  within  its  old  walls  to  which 
insult  and  dishonour  would  bring  the  same  blood  rushing  that  flowed  in  his 
own  veins. 

He  crossed  the  road,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  the  window  where  he  knew  his 
sister  slept.  It  was  closed  and  dark.  *' Poor  girl,"  thought  Nicholas,  **she 
little  thinks  who  lingers  here  !  " 

He  looked  again,  and  felt,  for  the  moment,  almost  vexed  that  Kate  was  not 
there  to  exchange  one  word  at  parting.  •*  Grood  God  I "  he  thought,  suddenly 
correcting  himself,  "what  a  boy  I  am  ! " 

•*  It  is  better  as  it  is,"  said  Nicholas,  after  he  had  lounged  on  a  few  paces, 
and  returned  to  the  same  spot.  "  When  I  left  them  before,  and  could  have 
said  good-bye  a  thousand  times  if  I  had  chosen,  I  spared  them  the  pain  of 
leave-taking,  and  why  not  now  ? "  As  he  spoke,  some  fancied  motion  of  the 
curtain  almost  persuaded  him,  for  the  instant,  that  Kate  was  at  the  window ; 
and  by  one  of  tnose  strange  contradictions  of  feeling  which  are  common  to  us 
all,  he  shrunk  involuntarily  into  a  doorway,  that  she  might  not  see  him.  Ho 
smiled  at  his  own  weakness ;  said  ''God  bless  them  ! "  and  walked  away  with 
a  lighter  step. 

Smike  was  anxiously  expecting  him  when  he  reached  his  old  lodgings,  and 
so  was  Newman,  who  had  expended  a  day's  income  in  a  can  of  rum  and  milk 
to  prepare  them  for  the  journey.  They  had  tied  up  the  luggage,  Smike 
shouldered  it,  and  away  they  went,  with  Newman  Noggs  in  company ;  for  he 
had  insisted  on  walking  as  far  as  he  could  with  them  overnight. 

*'  Which  way  ? "  asked  Newman,  wistfully. 

**To  Kingston  first,"  replied  Nicholas. 

**  And  where  afterwards  ? "  asked  Newman.     "  Why  won't  you  tell  me  ? " 

"Because  I  scarcely  know  myself,  good  friend,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  laying 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder ;  "  and  if  I  did,  I  have  neither  plan  nor  prospect 
yet,  and  might  shift  my  quarters  a  hundred  times  before  you  could  possibly 
communicate  with  me." 

**  I  am  afraid  you  have  some  deep  scheme  in  your  head,"  said  Newman, 
doubtfully. 

**  So  deep,"  replied  his  young  friend,  "  that  even  I  can't  fathom  it.  What- 
ever I  resolve  upon,  depend  upon  it  I  will  write  you  soon." 


176  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

*'  You  won't  forget  ? "  said  Newman. 

"I  am  not  very  likely  to,"  rejoined  Nicholas.      "I  have  not  so  many 
friends  that  I  shall  grow  confused  among  the  numher,  and  forget  my  best 


one." 


Occupied  in  such  discourse,  they  walked  on  for  a  couple  of  hours,  as  they 
might  have  done  for  a  couple  of  days  if  Nicholas  had  not  sat  himself  down  on 
a  stone  by  the  wayside,  and  resolutely  declared  his  intention  of  not  moving 
another  step  until  Newman  Noggs  turned  back.  Having  pleaded  ineffectually, 
first  for  another  half  mile,  and  afterwards  for  another  quarter,  Newman  was 
lain  to  comply,  and  to  shape  his  course  towards  Golden  Square,  after  inter- 
changing many  hearty  and  affectionate  farewells,  and  many  times  turning 
back  to  wave  his  hat  to  the  two  wayfarers  when  they  had  become  mere 
specks  in  the  distance. 

"Now  listen  to  me,  Smike,"  said  Nicholas,  as  they  trudged  with  stoat 
hearts  onwards.     **  We  are  bound  for  Portsmouth. " 

Smike  nodded  his  head  and  smiled,  but  expressed  no  other  emotion ;  for 
whether  they  had  been  bound  for  Portsmouth  or  Port  Royal  would  have  been 
alike  to  him  so  they  had  been  bound  together. 

"  I  don't  know  much  of  these  matters,"  resumed  Nicholas  ;  **but  Ports- 
mouth is  a  sea-port  town,  and  if  no  other  employment  is  to  be  obtained,  I 
should  think  we  might  get  on  board  some  ship.  I  am  young  and  active,  and 
could  be  useful  in  many  ways.     So  could  you. " 

'*I  hope  so,"  replied  Smike.  **  When  I  was  at  that — you  know  where  I 
mean  % " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Nicholas.     *'  You  needn't  name  the  place." 

"  Well,  when  I  was  there,"  resumed  Smike,  his  eyes  sparkling  at  the  pros- 
pect of  displaying  his  abilities,  "  I  could  milk  a  cow  and  groom  a  horse  with 
anybody." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Nicholas,  gravely.  **  I  am  afraid  they  don't  keep  many 
animals  of  either  kind  on  board  ship,  Smike,  and  even  when  they  have  horses, 
that  they  are  not  very  particular  about  rubbing  them  down ;  still,  you  can 
learn  to  do  something  else,  you  know.     Where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way." 

"  And  I  am  very  willing,"  said  Smike,  brightening  up  again. 

"  God  knows  you  are,"  rejoined  Nicholas ;  *'  and  if  you  fail  it  shall  go  hard 
but  I'll  do  enough  for  us  both." 

*'  Do  we  go  all  the  way  to-day  ? "  asked  Smike,  after  a  short  silence. 

"  That  would  be  too  severe  a  trial  even  for  your  willing  legs,"  said  Nicholas, 
with  a  good-humoured  smile.  "No.  Godalming  is  some  thirty  and  odd 
miles  from  London — as  I  found  from  a  map  I  borrowed — and  I  purpose  to  rest 
there.  We  must  push  on  again  to-morrow,  for  we  are  not  rich  enough  to 
loiter.     Let  me  relieve  you  of  that  bundle  !    Come  !  " 

"  No,  no,"  rejoined  Smike,  falling  back  a  few  steps.  "  Don't  ask  me  to 
give  it  up  to  you." 

*  *  Why  not  % "  asked  Nicholas. 

"Let  me  do  something  for  you,  at  least,"  said  Smike.  "You  will  never 
let  me  serve  you  as  I  ought.  You  will  never  know  how  I  think,  day  and 
niglit,  of  ways  to  please  you." 

**  You  are  a  foolish  fellow  to  say  it,  for  I  know  it  well,  and  see  it,  or  I 
should  be  a  blind  and  senseless  beast,"  rejoined  Nicholas.  "  Let  mo  ask  you 
a  question  while  I  think  of  it,  and  there  is  no  one  by,"  he  added,  looking  him 
steadily  in  the  face.     "Have  you  a  good  memory  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Smike,  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully.  '"  I  think  I 
had  once  ;  but  it's  all  gone  now — all  gone." 

"  Why  do  you  think  you  had  once  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  turning  quickly 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  '    177 

upon  him  as  though  tlie  answer  in  some  way  helped  out  the  purport  of  his 
question. 

**  Because  I  could  remember,  when  I  was  a  child,"  said  Smike,  "  but  that 
is  very,  very  long  ago,  or  at  least  it  seems  so.  I  was  always  confused  and 
giddy  at  that  place  you  took  me  from  ;  and  could  never  remember,  and  some- 
times couldn't  even  understand  what  they  said  to  me.  I — let  me  see — let  me 
see  ! " 

**  You  are  wandering  now,"  said  Nicholas,  touching  him  on  the  arm. 

'*  No,"  replied  his  companion,  with  a  vacant  look.  "  I  was  only  thinking 
how "    He  shivered  involuntarily  as  he  spoke. 

**  Think  no  more  of  that  place,  for  it  is  all  over,"  retorted  Nicholas,  fixing  his 
eye  full  upon  that  of  his  companion,  which  was  fast  settling  into  an  unmean- 
ing, stupefied  gaze,  once  habitual  to  him,  and  common  even  then.  '*  What  of 
the  first  day  you  went  to  Yorkshire  % " 

'*Eh!"  cried  the  lad. 

"That  was  before  you  began  to  lose  your  recollection,  you  know,"  said 
Nicholas,  quietly.     '*  Was  the  weather  hot  or  cold  ? " 

**  Wet,"  replied  the  boy.  "Very  wet  I  have  always  said,  when  it  has 
rained  hard,  that  it  was  like  the  night  I  came ;  and  they  used  to  crowd 
round  and  laugh  to  see  me  cry  when  the  rain  fell  heavily.  It  was  like  a 
nhild,  they  said,  and  that  made  me  think  of  it  more.  I  turned  cold  all  over 
sometimes,  for  I  could  see  myself  as  I  was  then,  coming  in  at  the  very  same 
door." 

**As  you  were  then^"  repeated  Nicholas,  with  assumed  carelessness; 
"  How  was  that  ? " 

**  Such  a  little  creature,"  said  Smike,  '*  that  they  might  have  had  pity  and 
mercy  upon  me,  only  to  remember  it." 

*  *  You  didn't  find  your  way  there  alone, "  remarked  Nicholas. 

"No,"  rejoined  Smike,  "oh,  no." 

**  Who  was  with  you  ? " 

'*  A  man — a  dark,  withered  man.  I  have  heard  them  say  so  at  the  school, 
and  I  remembered  that  before.  I  was  glad  to  leave  him,  I  was  afraid  of  him  ; 
but  they  made  me  more  afraid  of  them,  and  used  me  harder,  too." 

"Look  at  me,"  said  Nicholas,  wishing  to  attract  his  full  attention. 
**  There  ;  don't  turn  away.  Do  you  remember  no  woman,  no  kind  woman, 
who  hung  over  you  once,  and  kissed  your  lips,  and  called  you  her  child  ? " 

**  No,"  said  the  poor  creature,  shaking  his  head,   "  no,  never." 

**  Nor  any  house  but  that  house  in  Yorkshire  ? " 

**  No,"  rejoined  the  youth,  with  a  melancholy  look  ;  "a  room — I  remem- 
ber I  slept  in  a  room,  a  large,  lonesome  room  at  the  top  of  a  house,  where  there 
was  a  trap-door  in  the  cefiing.  I  have  covered  my  head  with  the  clothes 
often,  not  to  see  it,  for  it  frightened  me  :  a  young  child  with  no  one  near  at 
night ;  and  I  used  to  wonder  what  was  on  the  other  side.  There  was  a  clock 
too,  an  old  clock  in  one  corner.  I  remember  that.  I  have  never  forgotten 
that  room  ;  for  when  I  have  terrible  dreams  it  comes  back,  just  as  it  was.  I 
see  things  and  people  in  it  that  I  had  never  seen  then,  but  there  is  the  room 
just  as  it  used  to  be  ;  t?iat  never  changes." 

"Will  you  let  me  take  the  bundle  now?"  asked  Nicholas,  abruptly 
changing  the  theme. 

"  No,     said  Smike,  "no.     Come,  let  us  walk  on." 

He  quickened  his  pace  as  he  said  this,  apparently  under  the  impression  that 
they  had  been  standing  still  during  the  whole  of  the  previous  dialogue, 
Nicholas  marked  him  closely,  and  every  word  of  this  conversation  remained 
upon  his  memory. 

u  VI 


178  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

It  was  by  this  timo  within  an  hour  of  noon,  and  although  a  dense  vapour 
still  enveloped  the  city  they  had  loft,  as  if  the  very  breath  of  its  bu^  people 
hiiug  over  their  schemes  of  gain  and  profit,  and  found  greater  attraction  then 
than  in  the  quiet  region  above,  in  the  open  country  it  was  dear  and  fidr. 
Occasionally,  in  some  low  sjiots  they  came  upon  patches  of  mist  whic^  tfaa 
sun  had  not  yet  driven  from  their  strongholds  ;  but  these  were  soon  passed, 
and  as  they  laboured  up  the  hills  beyond,  it  was  pleasant  to  look  down,  and  see 
how  the  sluggish  mass  rolled  heavily  olf  before  the  cheering  influence  of  day. 
A  broad,  iinc,  honest  sun  lighted  up  the  green  pastnres  and  dimpled  water 
with  the  semblance  of  summer,  while  it  left  the  travellers  all  the  invigoratiiig 
freshness  of  that  early  timo  of  the  year.  The  ground  seemed  elastic  nnder  their 
feet ;  the  sheep-bells  were  music  to  their  ears  ;  and  exhilarated  by  exercise, 
and  stimulated  by  hope,  they  pushed  onward  with  the  strength  of  lions. 

The  day  wore  on,  and  all  these  bright  colours  subsided  and  assumed  • 
quieter  tint,  like  young  hopes  softened  down  by  time,  or  youthful  features  by 
degrees  resolving  into  the  calm  and  serenity  of  age.  But  they  were  scarcely 
less  beautiful  in  their  slow  decline  than  they  had  been  in  their  prime ;  for 
nature  gives  to  every  time  and  season  some  beauties  of  its  own ;  and  from 
morning  to  night,  as  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  it  is  but  a  succession  of 
changes  so  gentle  and  easy,  that  we  can  scarcely  mark  their  progress. 

To  Goilalming  they  came  at  last,  and  here  they  bargained  for  two  humUe 
beds,  and  slept  soundly.  In  the  morning  they  were  astir :  though  not  qnita 
so  early  as  the  sun  :  and  again  afoot ;  if  not  with  all  the  freshness  of  yestB^ 
(lay,  still,  with  enough  of  hope  and  spirit  to  bear  them  cheerily  on. 

It  was  a  harder  day's  journey  than  yesterday's,  for  there  were  long  and 
weary  hills  to  climb  ;  and  in  journeys,  as  in  life,  it  is  a  great  deal  easier  to  go 
down  hill  than  up.  However,  they  kept  on,  >vith  unabated  perseverance ; 
and  the  hill  has  not  yet  lifted  its  face  to  heaven  that  perseverance  will  not 
gain  the  summit  of  at  last. 

They  walked  upon  the  rim  of  tho  Dovil's  Punch  Bowl ;  and  Smike  listened 
with  greedy  interest  as  Nicholas  read  the  inscription  upon  the  stone  which, 
reared  upon  that  wild  spot,  tells  of  a  murder  committed  there  by  night.  The 
grass  on  which  they  stood  had  once  been  dyed  with  gore  ;  and  the  blood  of 
the  murdered  man  had  run  down,  drop  by  drop,  into  the  hollow  which  givei 
the  place  its  name.  "The  Devil's  Bowl,"  thought  Nicholas,  as  he  looked 
into  the  void,   "  never  held  fitter  liquor  than  that !  " 

Onward  they  kept,  with  steady  purpose,  and  entered  at  length  upon  a  wide 
and  spacious  tract  of  downs,  with  every  variety  of  little  hill  and  plain  to 
change  their  verdant  surface.  Here  there  shot  up,  almost  perpendicularly, 
into  tho  sky,  a  height  so  steep  as  to  be  hardly  accessible  to  any  but  the  sheep 
and  goats  that  fed  upon  its  sides,  and  there  stood  a  mound  of  green,  sloping 
and  tapering  off  so  delicately,  and  merging  so  gently  into  the  level  ground, 
that  you  could  scarce  define  its  limits.  Hills  swelling  above  each  other; 
and  undulations,  shapely  and  uncouth,  smooth  and  rugged,  graceful  and 
grotesque,  thrown  negligently  side  by  side,  bounded  tho  view  in  each  direc* 
tion  ;  while  frequently,  with  unexpected  noise,  there  uprose  from  the  ground 
a  fiight  of  crows,  who,  cawing  and  wheeling  round  the  nearest  hflls,  as 
if  uncertain  of  their  course,  suddenly  poised  themselves  upon  the  winff,  and 
skimmed  down  the  long  vista  of  some  opening  valley  with  the  speed  of  l^t 
itself. 

By  degrees  the  prospect  receded  more  and  more  on  either  hand,  and  as  they 
had  been  shut  out  from  rich  and  extensive  scenery,  so  they  emerged  once  stfsin 
upon  the  o})en  country.  Tho  knowledge  that  they  were  drawing  near  their  place 
of  destination  gave  them  fresh  courage  to  proceed  ;  but  the  way  had  been  diffi- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  179 

cnlt,  and  they  had  loitered  on  the  road,  and  Smike  was  tired.  Thus,  twiliglit 
had  already  closed  in,  when  thoy  turned  off  the  path  to  the  door  of  a  roadside 
inn,  yet  twelve  miles  short  of  Portsmouth. 

"Twelve  miles,"  said  Nicholas,  leaning  with  both  hands  on  his  stick,  and 
looking  doubtfully  at  Smike. 

**  Twelve  long  miles,"  repeated  the  landlord. 

**  Is  it  a  good  road  ? "  inquired  Nicholas. 

**  Very  bad,"  said  the  landlord.  As  of  course,  being  a  landlord,  he  would 
say. 

"  I  want  to  get  on,"  observed  Nicholas,  hesitating.  **I  scarcely  know 
what  to  do." 

"Don't  let  me  influence  you,"  rejoined  the  landlord,  "/wouldn't  go  on 
if  it  was  me." 

**  "Wouldn't  you  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  with  the  same  uncertainty. 

**  Not  if  I  knew  when  I  was  well  off,"  said  the  landlord.  And  having  said 
it  he  palled  up  his  apron,  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and,  taking  a  ste}) 
or  two  outside  the  door,  looked  down  the  dark  road  with  an  assumption  of 
great  indifference. 

A  glance  at  the  toil-worn  face  of  Smike  determined  Nicholas,  so  without 
any  further  consideration  he  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  where  he  was. 

The  landlord  led  them  into  the  kitchen,  and  as  there  was  a  good  Are  he 
remarked  that  it  was  very  cold.  If  there  had  happened  to  be  a  bad  one  he 
would  have  observed  that  it  was  very  warm. 

"  What  can  you  give  us  for  supper  ? "  was  Nicholas's  natural  question. 

•  *  Why — what  would  you  like  ?     was  the  landlord's  no  less  natural  answer. 

Nicholas  suggested  cold  meat,  but  there  was  no  cold  meat — poached  eggs, 
bnt  there  was  no  eggs — mutton-chops,  but  there  wasn't  a  mutton-chop  within 
three  miles,  though  there  had  been  more  last  week  than  they  knew  what  to 
io  with,  and  would  be  an  extraordinary  supply  the  day  after  to-morrow. 

"  Then,"  said  Nicholas,  **  I  must  leave  it  entirely  to  you,  as  I  would  have 
lone  at  first  if  you  had  allowed  me." 

•*  Why,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  rejoined  the  landlord.  **  There's  a  gentle- 
nan  in  the  parlour  that  s  ordered  a  hot  beef-steak  pudding  and  potatoes  at 
line.  There's  more  of  it  than  he  can  manage,  and  I  have  very  little  doubt, 
f  I  ask  leave,  you  can  sup  with  him.     I'll  do  that  in  a  minute." 

**  No,  no,"  said  Nicholas,  detaining  him.  "  I  would  rather  not.  I — at 
east — pshaw  !  why  cannot  I  speak  out.  Here  ;  you  see  that  I  am  travelling 
n  a  very  humble  manner,  and  have  made  my  way  hither  on  foot.  It  is  more 
han  probable,  I  think,  that  the  gentleman  may  not  relisli  my  company  ;  and 
ithongh  I  am  the  dusty  figure  you  see,  I  am  too  proud  to  thrust  myself  into 

lis." 

*'IiOrd  love  you,"  said  the  landlord,  **it's  only  Mr.  Crummies;  he  isn't 
karticular." 

*  •  Is  he  not  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  on  whoso  mind,  to  tell  the  traitli,  the  pros- 
pect of  the  savoury  pudding  was  making  some  impression. 

*  •  Not  he,"  replied  the  landlord.  *'  He'll  like  your  way  of  talking,  I  know. 
iat  we'll  soon  see  all  about  that.     Just  wait  a  minute." 

The  landlord  hurried  into  the  parlour,  without  staying  for  further  permis- 
ion,  nor  did  Nicholas  strive  to  prevent  him  ;  wisely  considering  that  supper, 
inder  the  circumstances,  was  too  serious  a  matter  to  trifle  with.  It  was  not 
ong  before  the  host  returned,  in  a  condition  of  much  excitement. 

••All  right,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  '*I  knew  he  would.  You'll  see 
omething  rather  worth  seeing  in  there.     Ecod,  how  they  are  a  going  of  it ! " 

There  was  no  time  to  inquire  to  what  this  exclamation,  which  was  delivered 


i8o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

in  a  very  rapturous  tone,  referred  ;  for  ho  had  already  thrown  open  the  door 
of  the  room ;  into  which  Nicholas,  followed  by  Smiko  with  the  bundle 
on  his  shoulder  (he  carried  it  about  with  him  as  vigilantly  as  if  it  had  been 
a  sack  of  gold),  straightway  repaired. 

Nicholas  was  prepared  for  something  odd,  but  not  for  something  quite  so 
odd  as  the  sight  he  encountered.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  room  were  a  couple 
of  boys,  one  of  them  very  tall  and  the  other  very  short,  both  dressed  as  sailors 
— or  at  least  as  theatrical  sailors,  with  belts,  buckles,  pigtails,  and  pistols  com- 
plete— fighting  what  is  called  in  playbills  a  terrific  combat,  with  two  of  those 
short  broadswords  mth  basket  hilts  which  are  commonly  used  at  our  minor 
theatres.  The  sliort  boy  had  gained  a  great  advantage  over  the  tall  boy,  who 
was  reduced  to  mortal  strait,  and  both  wore  overlooked  by  a  large,  heavy  man, 
perched  against  the  corner  of  a  table,  who  emphatically  adjured  them  to  strike 
a  little  more  fire  out  of  the  swords,  and  they  couldn't  fail  to  bring  the  house 
down  on  the  very  first  night. 

**  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,"  said  the  landlord,  with  an  air  of  gi-eat  deference, 
"this  is  the  young  gentleman." 

Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  received  Nicholas  with  an  inclination  of  the  head, 
something  between  the  courtesy  of  a  Roman  emperor  and  the  nod  of  a  pot- 
companion  ;  and  bade  the  landlord  shut  the  door  and  begone. 

**  There's  a  picture,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  motioning  Nicholas  not  to  advance 
and  spoil  it.  "  The  little  'un  has  him  ;  if  the  big  *un  doesn't  knock  under  in 
three  seconds,  he's  a  dead  man.     Do  that  again,  boys." 

The  two  combatants  went  to  work  afresh,  and  chopped  away  until  the 
swords  emitted  a  shower  of  sparks  ;  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Crummies, 
who  appeared  to  consider  this  a  very  great  point  indeed.  The  engagement  com> 
menccd  with  about  two  Imndvcd  chops  administered  by  the  short  sailor  and  the 
tall  sailor  alternately,  without  producing  any  particular  result,  until  the  short 
sailor  was  chopped  down  on  one  knee  ;  but  tliis  was  nothing  to  liim,  for  he 
worked  himself  about  on  the  one  knee  with  the  assistance  of'  his  left  hand,  and 
fought  most  desperately  until  the  tall  sailor  chopped  his  sword  out  of  his 
grasp.  Now,  the  inference  was,  that  the  short  sailor,  reduced  to  this  ex- 
tremity, would  give  in  at  once  and  cry  quarter,  but  instead  of  that,  he  all  of  a 
sudden  drew  a  large  pistol  from  his  belt  and  presented  it  at  the  face  of  the  tall 
sailor,  who  was  so  overcome  at  this  (not  expecting  it)  that  he  let  the  short 
sailor  pick  up  his  sword  and  begin  again.  Then  tlie  chopping  recommenced, 
and  a  variety  of  fancy  chops  were  administered  on  both  sides  ;  such  as  chops 
dealt  with  the  left  hand,  and  under  the  leg,  and  over  the  right  shoulder,  and 
over  the  left ;  and  when  the  short  sailor  made  a  vigorous  cut  at  the  tall  sailor's 
legs,  which  would  have  shaved  them  clean  off  if  it  had  taken  effect,  the  tall 
sailor  jumped  over  the  sliort  sailor's  sword,  wherefore  to  balance  the  matter, 
and  make  it  all  fair,  the  tall  sailor  administered  the  same  cut,  and  the  short 
sailor  jumped  over  his  sword.  After  this,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  dod|nng 
about,  and  hitching  up  of  the  inexpressibles  in  the  absence  of  braces,  and  uian 
tlie  short  sailor  (who  was  the  moral  character  evidently,  for  he  always  hod  tha 
best  of  it)  made  a  violent  demonstration  and  closed  with  the  tall  sailor,  who, 
after  a  few  unavailing  struggles,  went  down,  and  expired  in  great  torture  ts 
the  short  sailor  put  his  foot  upon  his  breast,  and  bored  a  hole  in  him  throngh 
and  through. 

"That'll  be  a  double  eiicorc  if  you  take  care,  boys,"  said  Mr.  Crummies. 
"  You  had  better  get  your  wind  now^,  and  change  your  clothes." 

Having  addressed  these  wonln  to  the  combatants,  he  saluted  Nicholas,  who 
then  observed  that  the  face  of  Mr.  Crummies  was  quite  proportionate  in  size 
to  his  body ;  that  he  had  a  very  full  under-lip,  a  hoarse  voice,  as  though  ha 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  i8i 

were  in  the  habit  of'shouting  very  niuch,  and  very  short,  black  hair,  shaved 
oir  Dearly  to  the  crown  of  his  head — to  admit  (as  he  afterwards  learnt)  of  his 
more  eaoly  wearing  character  wigs  of  any  shape  or  pattern. 

**  What  did  you  think  of  that,  sir  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Crummies. 

**  Very  good,  indeed — capital,"  answered  Nicholas. 

"You  won't  see  such  ooys  as  those  very  often,  I  think,"  said  Mr. 
Crummies. 

Nicholas  assented — observing  that  if  they  were  a  little  better  match 

"Match  1"  cried  Mr.  Crummies. 

"I  mean  if  they  were  a  little  more  of  a  size,"  said  Nicholas,  explaining 
himself. 

"Size!"  repeated  Mr.  Crummies  ;  "why,  it's  the  essence  of  the  combat 
that  there  should  be  a  foot  or  two  between  them.  How  are  you  to  get  up  the 
sympathies  of  the  audience  in  a  legitimate  manner,  if  there  isn't  a  little  man 
contending  against  a  big  one — unless  there's  at  least  live  to  one,  and  we 
haven't  hands  enough  for  that  business  in  our  company." 

**  I  see,"  replied  Nicholas.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  That  didn't  occur  to  me, 
I  confess." 

"  It's  the  main  point,"  said  Mr.  Crummies.  **  I  open  at  Portsmouth  the 
day  after  to-morrow.  If  you're  going  there,  look  into  the  theatre,  and  see 
how  that'll  teU." 

Nicholas  promised  to  do  so  if  he  could,  and  drawing  a  chair  near  the  fire, 
fell  into  conversation  with  the  manager  at  once.  He  was  very  talkative  and 
communicative,  stimulated,  perhaps,  not  only  by  his  natural  disposition,  but 
by  the  spirits  and  water  he  sipped  very  plentifully,  or  the  snuif  he  took  in 
lai^e  Quantities  from  a  piece  of  whitey-brown  paper  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
He  laid  open  his  affairs  without  the  smallest  reserve,  and  descanted  at  some 
length  upon  the  merits  of  his  company,  and  the  acquirements  of  his  family  ; 
of  both  of  which  the  two  broad-sword  boys  formed  an  honourable  portion. 
There  was  to  be  a  gathering,  it  seemed,  of  the  different  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  Portsmouth  on  the  morrow,  whither  the  father  and  sons  were  proceeding 
(not  for  the  regular  season,  but  in  the  course  of  a  wandering  speculation), 
after  fulfilling  an  engagement  at  Guildford  with  the  greatest  applause. 

"  You  are  going  that  way  % "  asked  the  manager. 

"  Ye-yes,"  said  Nicholas'.     "  Yes,  I  am." 

*'  Do  you  know  the  town  at  all  ? "  inquired  the  manager,  who  seemed  to 
consider  himself  entitled  to  the  same  degree  of  confidence  as  he  had  himself 
exhibited. 

**  No,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"Never  there?" 

"Never." 

Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  gave  a  short,  dry  cough,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  If 
you  won't  be  communicative,  you  won't ; "  and  took  so  many  pinches  of  snutf 
from  the  piece  of  paper,  one  after  another,  that  Nicholas  quite  wondered  where 
it  all  went  to. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Mr.  Crummies  looked,  from  time  to  time,  with 
great  interest  at  Smike,  with  whom  he  had  appeared  considerably  struck 
from  the  first.     He  had  now  fallen  asleep,  and  was  nodding  in  his  chair. 

"Excuse  my  saying  so,"  said  the  manager,  leaning  over  to  Nicholas,  and 
sinking  his  voice,   "  but  what  a  capital  countenance  your  friend  has  got ! " 

"  Poor  fellow  ! "  said  Nicholas,  with  a  half  smUe,  **  I  wish  it  were  a  little 
more  plump,  and  less  haggard." 

"Plump  I"  exclaimed  the  manager,  quite  horrified,  "you'd  spoil  it  for 
ever." 


i82  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Do  you  think  80  ? " 

**  Think  so,  sir !  Why,  as  he  is  now,"  said  the  manager,  striking  bis  knee 
cinfihatically ;  **  without  a  pad  upon  his  body,  and  hardly  a  touch  of  paint 
upon  his  face,  he'd  make  such  an  actor  for  the  starved  business  as  was  never 
soen  in  this  country.  Only  let  him  be  tolerably  well  up  in  the  Apothecary  in 
Komeo  and  Juliet,  with  the  slightest  possible  dab  of  red  on  the  tip  of  his  nose, 
and  he'd  be  certain  of  three  rounds  the  moment  he  put  his  head  out  of  the 
practicable  door  in  the  front  grooves  O.  P." 

"  You  view  him  with  a  professional  eye,"  said  Nicholas,  laughing. 

"And  well  I  may,"  rejoined  the  manager.  **  I  never  saw  a  young  fellow  so 
regularly  cut  out  for  that  line  since  I've  been  in  the  profession.  And  I  played 
the  heavy  children  when  I  was  eighteen  months  old." 

The  appearance  of  the  beef-steak  pudding,  which  came  in  simultaneously 
with  the  junior  Vincent  Crummleses,  turned  the  conversation  to  other  matters, 
and,  indeed,  for  a  time  stopped  it  altogether.  These  two  young  gentlemen 
wielded  their  knives  and  forks  with  scarcely  less  address  than  their  broad- 
swords, and  as  the  whole  party  were  quite  as  sharp  set  as  either  class  of  weapons, 
there  was  no  time  for  talking  until  the  supper  had  been  disposed  of. 

The  Master  Crummleses  had  no  sooner  swallowed  the  last  procurable  morsel 
of  food  than  they  evinced,  by  various  half-suppressed  yawns  and  stretchings 
of  their  limbs,  an  obvious  inclination  to  retire  for  the  night,  which  Smike  had 
betrayed  still  more  strongly ;  he  having,  in  the  course  of  the  meal,  fedlen 
asleep  several  times  while  in  the  very  act  of  eating.     Nicholas  therefore  pro- 

Eosed  that  they  should  break  up  at  once,  but  the  manager  would  by  no  means 
ear  of  it,  vowing  that  he  had  promised  himself  the  pleasure  of  inviting  his 
new  acquaintance  to  share  a  bowl  of  punch,  and  that  if  he  declined  he  should 
deem  it  very  unhandsome  behaviour. 

**Let  them  go,"  said  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  **and  we'll  have  it  snugly 
and  cosily  together  by  the  fire." 

Nicholas  was  not  much  disposed  to  sleep  :  being,  in  truth,  too  anxious  :  bo, 
after  a  little  demur,  he  accepted  the  offer,  and  liaving  exchanged  a  shake  of 
the  hand  with  the  young  Crummleses,  and  the  manager  having  on  his  part 
bestowed  a  most  affectionate  benediction  on  Smike,  he  sat  himself  down 
opposite  to  that  gentleman  by  the  fireside,  to  assist  in  emptying  the  bowl, 
which  soon  afterwards  appeared,  steaming  in  a  manner  which  was  quits 
exhilarating  to  behold,  and  sending  forth  a  most  grateful  and  inviting 
fragrance. 

l^ut  despite  the  punch  and  the  manager,  who  told  a  variety  of  stories^  and 
smoked  tobacco  from  a  pipe,  and  inhaled  it  in  the  shape  of  snuff,  with  a  most 
astonishing  power,  Nicholas  was  absent  and  dispirited.  His  thoughts  were  in 
his  old  home,  and  when  they  reverted  to  his  present  condition,  the  uncertainty 
of  the  morrow  cast  a  gloom  upon  him,  which  his  utmost  efforts  were  unable  to 
dispel.  His  attention  wandered  ;  although  he  heard  the  manager's  voice,  bs 
was  deaf  to  what  he  said  ;  and  when  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  concludcMl  the 
history  of  the  adventure  with  a  loud  laugh,  and  an  inquiry  what  Nicholu 
would  have  done  under  the  same  circumstances,  he  was  obliged  to  make  the 
best  apology  in  his  power,  and  to  confess  his  entire  ignorance  of  all  he  had 
been  talking  about. 

"Why,  so  I  saw,"  observed  Mr.  Crummies.  "You're  uneasy  in  yoor 
mind.     What's  the  matter  ?  " 

Nicholas  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  at  the  abruptness  of  the  qnostioo; 
but,  thinking  it  scarcely  worth  while  to  parry  it,  owned  that  he  was  under 
some  apprehensions  lest  he  might  not  succeed  in  the  object  which  had  brought 
him  to  that  part  of  the  country. 


\ 


mctiOLAS  NICkLEBV,  183 

"  And  what's  that  ? "  asked  the  mauager. 

"  Getting  something  to  do  which  will  keep  me  and  my  poor  fellow- traveller 
in  the  common  necessaries  of  life,"  said  Nicholas.  "  That's  the  truth.  You 
guessed  it  long  ago,  I  daresay,  so  I  may  as  well  have  the  credit  of  telliug  it 
you  with  a  good  grace." 

"  What's  to  be  got  to  do  at  Portsmouth  more  than  anywhere  else  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  melting  the  sealing-wax  on  the  stem  of  his  pipe  in 
the  candle,  and  rolling  it  out  afresh  with  his  little  finger. 

"There  are  many  vessels  leaving  the  port,  I  suppose,"  replied  Nicholas. 
"  I  shall  try  for  a  berth  in  some  ship  or  other.  There  is  meat  and  drink 
there,  at  all  events." 

"Salt  meat  and  new  rum;  pease-pudding  and  chaff  biscuits,"  said  the 
manager,  taking  a  whiff  at  his  pipe  to  keep  it  alight,  and  returning  to  his 
work  of  embellishment. 

**  One  may  do  worse  than  that,"  said  Nicholas.  **  I  can  rough  it,  I  believe, 
as  well  as  most  men  of  my  age  and  previous  habits." 

"  You  need  be  able  to,"  said  the  manager,  "if  you  go  on  board  ship  ;  but 
you  won't." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  there's  not  a  skipper  or  mate  that  would  think  you  worth  your 
salt,  when  he  could  get  a  practised  hand,"  replied  the  manager  \  "and  they 
as  plentiful  there  as  the  oysters  in  the  streets." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  alarmed  by  this  prediction,  and 
the  confident  tone  in  which  it  had  been  uttered.  "Men  are  not  born  able 
seamen.     They  must  be  reared,  I  suppose  ? " 

Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  nodded  his  head.  "  They  must ;  but  not  at  your 
age,  or  from  young  gentlemen  like  you." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  countenance  of  Nicholas  fell,  and  he  gazed  ruefully 
at  the  fire. 

"  Does  no  other  profession  occur  to  you,  which  a  young  man  of  your  figure 
and  address  could  take  up  easily,  and  see  the  world  to  advantage  in  ? "  asked 
the  manager. 

"  No,"  said  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head. 

**  Why,  then,  I'll  tell  you  one,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  throwing  his  pipe  into 
the  fire,  and  raising  his  voice.     "  The  stage." 

"  The  stage  I  "  cried  Nicholas,  in  a  voice  almost  as  loud. 

"The  theatrical  profession,"  said  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies.  "I  am  in  the 
theatrical  profession  myself,  my  wife  is  in  the  theatrical  profession,  my 
children  are  in  the  theatrical  profession.  I  had  a  dog  that  lived  and  died  in 
it  from  A  puppy  ;  and  my  chaise-pony  goes  on  in  Timour  the  Tartar.  I'll 
bring  you  out,  and  your  friend,  too.     Say  the  word.     I  want  a  novelty." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  whose  breath  had 
been  almost  taken  away  by  this  sudden  proposaL  "  I  never  acted  a  part  in 
my  life,  except  at  school." 

"  There's  genteel  comedy  in  your  walk  and  manner,  juvenile  tragedy  in 
your  eye,  and  touch-and-go  farce  in  your  laugh,"  said  Mr.  Vincent  Cnumnlcs. 
"  You'll  do  as  well  as  if  you  had  thought  of  nothing  else  but  the  lamps  from 
your  birth  downwards." 

Nicholas  thought  of  the  small  amount  of  small  cliange  that  would  remain  in 
his  pocket  after  paying  the  tavern  bill,  and  he  hesitated. 

"  You  can  be  useful  to  us  in  a  hundred  ways,"  said  Crummies.  "  Think 
what  capital  bills  a  man  of  your  education  could  write  for  the  shop- 
windows." 

"  Weill  I  think  I  could  manage  that  department,"  said  Nicholas. 


1 84  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"To  bo  sure  you  could,"  replied  Mr.  Cnimmles.  *'*For  farther  par- 
ticulars see  small  hand-bills ' — we  might  have  half  a  volume  iu  every  one  of 
'cm.  Pieces,  too  ;  why,  you  could  write  us  a  piece  to  bring  out  the  whole 
strength  of  the  company,  whenever  we  wanted  one." 

*'  1  am  not  quite  so  confident  about  that,"  replied  Nicholas.  "  But  I  dare- 
say I  could  scribble  something  now  and  then  that  would  suit  you." 

*'  We'll  have  a  new  show-piece  out  directly,"  said  the  manager.  "  Let  mo 
see — peculiar  resources  of  this  establishment — new  and  splendid  scenery — you 
must  manage  to  introduce  a  real  nump  and  two  washing- tubs." 

"  Into  the  piece  ? "  said  Nicholas. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  manager.  "I  bought  *em  cheap,  at  a  sale  the  other 
day,  and  they'll  come  in  admirably.  That  s  the  London  plan.  They  look  up 
K<^me  dresses  and  properties,  and  have  a  piece  written  to  fit  'em.  Most  of  the 
theatres  keep  an  author  on  purpose." 

**  Indeed  !  "  cried  Nicholas. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  manager  ;  "  a  common  thing.  It'll  look  very  well  in 
the  bills  in  separate  lines — Real  pumps ! — Splendid  pump ! — Great  attraction ! 
You  don't  happen  to  be  anything  of  an  artist,  do  you  ?  * 

"  That  is  not  one  of  my  accomplishments,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"Ah  !  Then  it  can't  be  helped,"  said  the  manager.  "  If  you  had  been, 
we  might  have  had  a  large  woodcut  of  the  last  scene  for  the  postera,  showing 
the  whole  depth  of  the  stage,  with  the  pump  and  tubs  in  the  middle  ;  but, 
however,  if  you're  not,  it  can't  be  helped." 

"  What  should  I  get  for  all  this  ?  "  inquired  Nicholas,  after  a  few  moments' 
refiection.     "  Could  I  live  by  it  ? " 

"Live  by  it!"  said  the  manager.  "Like  a  prince!  With  your  own 
salary,  and  your  friend's,  and  your  writings,  you'd  make  a  pound  a-week  !  ** 

"  You  don't  say  so  !" 

"I  do,  indeed ;  and  if  we  had  a  run  of  good  houses,  nearly  double  the 
money, " 

Nicholas  shrugged  his  shoulders  ;  but  sheer  destitution  was  before  him  ; 
and  if  he  could  summon  fortitude  to  undergo  the  extremes  of  want  and  hard- 
ship, for  what  had  he  rescued  his  helpless  charge  if  it  were  only  to  bear  as 
hard  a  fate  as  that  from  which  he  had  wrested  him  ?  It  was  easy  to  think  of 
seventy  miles  as  nothing,  when  he  was  in  the  same  town  with  the  man  who 
had  treated  him  so  ill  and  roused  his  bitterest  thoughts  ;  but  now  it  seemed 
far  enough.  What  if  he  went  abroad,  and  his  mother  or  Kate  were  to  die  the 
while  ? 

Without  more  deliberation  he  hastily  declared  that  it  was  a  bargain,  and 
gave  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  his  hand  upon  it. 


CHAPTER    XXIIL 

TREATS  OF  THE  COMPANY  OF  MR.  VINCENT  CRUMMLES,  AND  OF  HIS  AFFAIRS, 

DOMESTIC  AND   THEATRICAL. 

AS  Mr.  Crummies  had  a  strange  four-legged  animal  in  tlie  inn  stables 
which  he  called  a  pony,  and  a  vehicle  of  unknown  design  on  which  he 
bestowed  the  appellation  of  a  four-wheeled  phaeton,  Nicholas  proceeded 
on  his  journey  next  morning  with  greater  ease  than  he  had  expected ;  the 
manager  and  himself  occupying  the  Iront  seat ;  and  the  Master  Crummleses 
and  Smike  being  packed  together  behind,  in  company  with  a  wicker  basket 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  185 

defended  from  wet  by  a  stbut  oilskin,  in  which  were  the  broadswords,  pistols, 
pigtails,  nautical  costumes,  and  other  professional  necessaries  of  the  aforesaid 
young  gentlemen. 

The  pony  took  his  time  upon  the  road,  and — possibly  in  conse(juence  of  his 
theatrical  education — evinced,  every  now  and  then,  a  strong  inclination  to  lie 
down.  However,  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  kept  him  up  pretty  well  by  jerking 
the  rein  and  plying  the  whip  ;  and  when  these  means  failed,  and  the  animal 
came  to  a  stand,  the  elder  Master  Crummies  got  out  and  kicked  him.  By 
dint  of  these  encouragements  he  was  persuaded  to  move  from  time  to  time, 
and  they  jogged  on  (as  Mr.  Crummies  truly  observed)  very  comfortably  for  all 
parties. 

"  He's  a  good  pony  at  bottom,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  turning  to  Nicholas. 

He  might  have  been  at  bottom,  but  he  certainly  was  not  at  top,  seeing  that 
his  coat  was  of  the  roughest  and  most  ill-favoured  kind.  So  Nicholas  merely 
observed  that  he  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was. 

**  Many  and  many  is  the  circuit  this  pony  has  gone,"  said  Mr.  Crummies, 
flicking  him  skilfully  on  the  eyelid  for  old  acquaintance  sake.  *'  He  is  quite 
one  of  us.     His  mother  was  on  the  stage. " 

**  Was  she  ?"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

**  She  ate  apple-pie  at  a  circus  for  upwards  of  fourteen  years,"  said  the 
manager ;  "  fired  pistols,  and  went  to  bed  in  a  nightcap  ;  and,  in  short,  took 
the  low  comedy  entirely.  .  His  father  was  a  dancer." 

**  Was  he  at  all  distinguished  ? " 

'*  Not  very,"  said  the  manager.  "  He  was  rather  a  low  sort  of  pony.  The 
fact  is  he  had  been  originally  jobbed  out  by  the  day,  and  he  never  quite  got 
over  his  old  habits.  He  was  clever  in  melodrama,  too,  but  too  broad — too 
broad.     When  the  mother  died,  he  took  the  port-wine  business." 

"The  port-wine  business  !"  cried  Nicholas. 

**  Drinking  port- wine  with  the  clown,"  said  the  manager;  **but  he  was 
greedy,  amd  one  night  bit  off  the  bowl  of  the  glass,  and  choked  himself,  so  his 
vulgarity  was  the  death  of  him  at  last." 

The  descendant  of  this  ill-starred  animal  requiring  increased  attention  from 
Mr.  Crummies  as  he  progressed  in  his  day's  work,  that  gentleman  had  very 
little  time  for  conversation.  Nicholas  was  thus  left  at  leisure  to  entertain 
himself  with  his  own  thoughts,  until  they  arrived  at  the  drawbridge  at  Ports- 
mouth, when  Mr.  Crummies  pulled  up. 

"We'll get  down  here,"  said  the  manager,  "and  the  boys  will  take  him 
round  to  the  stable,  and  call  at  my  lodgings  with  the  luggage.  You  had 
better  let  yours  be  taken  there  for  the  present." 

Thanking  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  for  his  obliging  offer,  Nicholas  jumped 
out,  and,  giving  Smike  his  arm,  accompanied  the  manager  up  High  Street  on 
their  way  to  the  theatre  ;  feeling  nervous  and  uncomfortable  enough  at  the 
prospect  of  an  immediate  introduction  to  a  scene  so  new  to  him. 

They  passed  a  great  many  bills,  pasted  against  the  walls  and  displayed  in 
windows,  wherein  the  names  of  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  Mrs.  Vincent 
Crummies,  Master  Crummies,  Master  P.  Crummies,  and  Miss  Crummies, 
were  printed  in  very  large  letters,  and  everything  else  in  very  small  ones ;  and 
turning  at  length  into  an  entry,  in  which  was  a  strong  smell  of  orange-peel 
and  lamp-oil,  with  an  undercurrent  of  sawdust,  groped  their  way  through 
a  dark  passage,  and  descending  a  step  or  two,  threaded  a  little  mJi/.e  of 
canvas  screens  and  paint  pots,  and  emerged  upon  the  stage  of  the  Portsmouth 
Tlieatre. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

It  was  not  very  light,  but  Nicholas  found  himself  close  to  the  first  euti:a.\i.QA 


186  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

on  the  prompt  side,  among  bare  walls,  dusty  scenes,  mildewed  doods,  heifily 
da  11  bed  draperies,  and  dirty  floors.  He  looked  abont  him ;  ceiling,  pit,  boxa, 
^Mllery,  orchestra,  fittings  and  decorations  of  every  kind — all  looked  gcmueHi 
cold,  gloomy,  and  wretched. 

"  Is  this  a  theatre  ? "  whispered  Smike,  in  amazement ;  "  I  thought  it  «u 
a  blaze  of  light  and  finery." 

'*  Why,  so  it  is,"  replied  Nicholas,  hardly  less  sorprised ;  "  but  notl^diy, 
Smike — not  by  day." 

The  manager's  voice  recalled  him  from  a  more  careful  inspection  of  the 
building,  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  proscenium,  where,  at  a  small  maboguy 
table  with  rickety  legs  and  of  an  oblong  shape,  sat  a  stout,  portly  femik^ 
apparently  between  forty  and  fifty,  in  a  tarnished  silk  cloak,  with  her  bonnet 
dangling  by  the  strings  in  her  hand,  and  her  hair  (of  which  she  bad  a  gmt 
quantity)  braided  in  a  large  festoon  over  each  temple. 

"Mr.  Johnson,"  said  the  manager  (for  Nicholas  had  given  the  name  which 
Newman  Noggs  had  bestowed  upon  him  in  his  conversation  with  Mn 
Kenwigs),  **let  me  introduce  Mrs.  Vincent  Cmmmles." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent  Onmmles,  in  a  sepnlchnl 
voice.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  and  still  more  happy  to  hail  yon  is  • 
promising  member  of  our  corps." 

The  lady  shook  Nicholas  by  the  hand  as  she  addressed  him  in  these  tanni; 
lie  saw  it  was  a  large  one,  but  had  not  expected  quite  such  an  iron  grip  asthit 
with  which  she  honoured  him. 

"And  this,"  said  the  lady,  crossing  to  Smike,  as  tragic  actresses  crai 
when  they  obey  a  stage  direction,  "  and  this  is  the  other.  You,  too,  ars  vbI' 
come,  sir." 

"  He'll  do,  I  think,  my  dear  ?"  said  the  manager,  taking  a  pinch  of  smdt 

"  He  is  admirable,"  replied  the  lady.     "  An  acquisition,  indeed." 

As  Mrs.  Vincent  Crummies  recrossed  back  to  the  table,  there  bounded  ontD 
the  stage,  from  some  mysterious  inlet,  a  little  girl  in  a  dirty  white  frock  inA 
tucks  up  to  the  knees,  short  trousers,  sandaUed  shoes,  white  spencer,  pink 
gauze  bonnet,  green  veil,  and  curl-papers  ;  who  turned  a  pirouette,  cut  twiei 
in  the  air,  turned  another  pirouette,  then,  looking  off  at  the  opposite  winft 
shrieked,  bounded  forward  to  within  six  inches  ofthe  footlights,  and  fell  mis 
a  beautiful  attitude  of  terror,  as  a  shabby  gentleman  in  an  old  pair  of  bnf 
slippers  came  in  at  one  powerful  slide,  and  chattering  his  teeth  fisrodj 
brandished  a  walking-stick. 

"They  are  going  through  the  Indian  Savage  and  the  Maiden,"  said  Hn 
Crummies. 

'*01i,"  said  the  manager,  "  the  little  ballet  interlude.  Very  good,  go  on 
A  little  this  way,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Johnson.     That'll  do.     Now  I " 

The  manager  clapped  his  hands  as  a  signal  to  proceed,  and  the  SavM 
becoming  ferocious,  made  a  slide  towards  the  maiden  ;  but  the  maiden  avoiaw 
him  in  six  twirls,  and  came  down,  at  the  end  of  the  last  one,  upon  the  th7 
points  of  her  toes.  This  seemed  to  make  some  impression  upon  the  saTige; 
for,  after  a  little  more  ferocity  and  chasing  of  the  maiden  into  comeiii  hi 
began  to  relent,  and  stroked  his  face  several  times  with  his  right  thnmb  isi 
four  fingers,  thereby  intimating  that  he  was  struck  with  admiration  of  thi 
maiden's  beauty.  Acting  upon  the  impulse  of  this  passion  he  (the  siT^ 
began  to  hit  himself  severe  thumps  in  the  chest,  and  to  exhibit  other  indiflf 
tioiis  of  being  desperately  in  love,  which  being  rather  a  prosy  proceedini^  *■ 
very  likely  the  cause  of  the  maiden's  falling  asleep ;  whether  it  wis  or  b% 
asleep  she  did  fall,  sound  as  a  church,  on  a  slopmg  bank,  and  the  sivilp 
X)erceiving  it,  leant  his  left  ear  on  his  left  hand,  and  nodded  sideways  t> 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  187 

intimate  to  all  whom  it  might  concern  that  she  was  asleep,  and  no  shamming. 
Being  left  to  himself,  the  savage  had  a  dance  all  alone.  Just  as  he  left  off  the 
maiden  woke  up,  rubbed  her  eyes,  got  off  the  bank,  and  had  a  dance  all  alone 
too — such  a  dance  that  the  savage  looked  on  in  ecstasy  all  the  while,  and 
when  it  was  done  plucked  from  a  neighbouring  tree  some  botanical  curiosity, 
resembling  a  small  pickled  cabbage,  and  offered  it  to  the  maiden,  who  at  first 
wouldn't  have  it ;  out  on  the  savage  shedding  tears,  relented.  Then  the 
savage  jumped  for  joy  ;  then  the  maiden  jumped  for  rapture  at  the  sweet 
smell  of  the  pickled  cabbage.  Then  the  savage  and  the  maiden  danced 
violently  together  ;  and  finally  the  savage  dropped  down  on  one  knee,  and  the 
maiden  stood  on  one  leg  upon  his  other  knee  ;  tnus  concluding  the  ballet,  and 
leaving  the  spectators  in  a  state  of  pleasing  uncertainty  whether  she  would 
ultimately  marry  the  savage  or  return  to  her  friends. 

*•  Very  well  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Crummies ;  *'  bravo  !  " 

*•  Bravo!"  cried  Nicholas,  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  everything. 
•*  Beautiful!" 

**This,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  bringing  the  maiden  forward, 
"  this  is  the  infant  phenomenon — Miss  Ninetta  Crummies." 

"  Your  daughter  f  "  inquired  Nicholas. 

"  My  daughter — my  daughter,"  replied  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies  ;  **  the  idol 
of  every  place  we  go  into,  sir.  We  have  had  complimentary  letters  about  this 
girl,  sir,  from  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  almost  every  town  in  England." 

-I  am  not  surprised  at  that, '  said  Nicholas  ;  "  she  must  be  quite  a  natural 
genius. 

*'  Quite  a !  "  Mr.  Crummies  stopped ;  language  was  not  powerful  enough 

to  describe  the  infimt  phenomenon.  "  I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,"  he  said,  *'  the 
talent  of  this  child  is  not  to  be  imagined.  She  must  be  seen,  sir — seen— to 
be  ever  so  faintly  appreciated.     There  ;  go  to  your  mother,  my  dear. " 

"  May  I  ask  how  old  she  is  ? "  inquired  Nicholas. 

•'You  may,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  looking  steadily  in  his  questioner's 
face,  as  some  men  do  when  they  have  doubts  about  being  implicitly  believed 
in  what  they  are  going  to  say.     **  She  is  ten  years  of  age,  sir. 

"Not  more!" 

•'Not  a  day." 

*'  Dear  me  ! "  said  Nicholas,  "  it's  extraordinary." 

It  was ;  for  the  infant  phenomenon,  though  of  short  stature,  had  a  com- 
paratively aged  countenance  ;  and  had,  moreover,  been  precisely  the  same  age 
— not,  perhaps,  to  the  full  extent  of  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant,  but 
•certainly  for  five  good  years.  But  she  had  been  kept  up  late  every  night,  and 
put  upon  an  unlimited  allowance  of  gin-and-water  from  infancy,  to  prevent 
her  growing  tall ;  and  perhaps  this  system  of  training  had  produced  in  the 
infant  phenomenon  these  additional  phenomena. 

While  this  short  dialogue  was  going  on,  the  gentleman  who  had  enacted  the 
savage  came  up,  with  his  walking  shoes  on  his  feet,  and  his  slippers  in  his 
hand,  to  within  a  few  paces,  as  if  desirous  of  joining  in  the  conversation. 
Deeming  this  a  g6od  opportunity,  he  put  in  his  word. 

«*  Talent  there,  sir,"  said  the  savage,  nodding  towards  Miss  Crummies. 

Nicholas  assented. 

"  Ah  1 "  said  the  actor,  setting  his  teeth  together,  and  drawing  in  his 
breath  with  a  hissing  sound,  **she  oughtn't  to  be  in  the  provinces,  she 
oughtn't" 

"  What  do  you  mean,"  asked  the  manager. 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  replied  the  other,  warmly,  "  that  she  is  too  good  for 
ooontry  boards,  and  that  she  ought  to  be  in  one  of  the  large  houses  in  London  ^ 


1 88  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

or  nowhere  ;  and  I  toll  you  more,  without  mincing  the  matter,  that  if  it 
wasn't  for  envy  and  jealousy  in  some  quarter  that  you  know  of,  she  would  be. 
Terhups  you'll  introduce  mo  here,  Mr.  Crummies." 

"  Mr.  Folair,"  said  the  manager,  presenting  him  to  Nicholas. 

*'  Happy  to  know  you,  sir."  Mr.  Folair  touched  the  brim  of  his  hat  with 
his  foretinger,  and  then  shook  hands.     **  A  recruit,  sir,  I  understand  I " 

**  An  unworthy  one,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  set-out  as  that  ?  "  whispered  the  actor,  drawiog 
him  away,  as  Crummies  left  them  to  speak  to  his  wife. 

"As  what?" 

Mr.  Folair  made  a  funny  face  from  his  pantomime  collection,  and  pointed 
over  his  shoulder, 

"  You  don't  mean  the  infant  phenomenon  ? " 

"  Infant  humbug,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Folair.  "  There  isn't  a  female  child  of 
connnon  sharpness  in  a  charity  school  that  couldn't  do  better  than  that.  She 
may  thank  her  stars  she  was  born  a  manager's  daughter." 

"  ^"ou  seem  to  take  it  to  heart,"  said  Nicholas,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  by  Jove,  and  well  I  may,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  drawing  his  arm  throngh 
his,  and  walking  him  up  and  down  the  stage.  **  Isn't  it  enough  to  make  a 
man  crusty  to  see  that  little  sprawler  put  up  in  the  best  business  every  night, 
and  actually  keeping  money  out  of  the  house  by  being  forced  down  people's 
throats,  whilst  other  people  are  passed  over  ?  Isn't  it  extraordinary  to  see  a 
man's  confounded  family  conceit  blinding  him,  even  to  his  own  interest? 
Why,  I  "know  of  fifteon-and-sixpence  that  came  to  Southampton  one  night  last 
month  to  see  me  dance  the  Highland  Fling;  and  what's  the  consequence ! 
I've  never  been  ])ut  up  in  it  since — never  once — while  the  *  infant  phenomenon' 
has  been  grinning  through  artificial  flowers  at  five  people  and  a  baby  in  the 
pit,  and  two  boys  in  the  gallery,  every  uight." 

"  If  I  may  judge  from  what  I  have  seen  of  you,"  said  Nicholas,  "  you  must 
be  a  valuable  member  of  the  company." 

"Oh  !  "  replied  Mr.  Folair,  beating  his  slippers  together  to  knock  the  dost 
out ;  "  I  can  come  it  pretty  well — nobody  better,  perhaps,  in  my  own  line- 
but  liaving  such  business  as  one  gets  here  is  like  putting  lead  on  one's  feet 
instead  of  chalk,  and  dancing  in  fetters  without  the  credit  of  it.  Hollot  I 
old  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  " 

The  gentleman  addressed  in  these  latter  words  was  a  dark-complexioiied 
man,  inclining,  indeed,  to  sallow,  with  long,  thick  black  hair,  and  veiy 
evident  indications  (although  he  was  close  shaved)  of  a  stiif  beard,  and 
whiskers  of  the  same  deep  shade.  His  age  did  not  appear  to  exceed  thirty, 
though  many  at  first  sight  would  have  considered  him  much  older,  as  his  face 
was  long,  and  very  pale,  from  the  constant  application  of  stage  paint.  He 
wore  a  checked  shirt,  an  old  green  coat,  with  new  gilt  buttons,  a  neckorchief 
of  brr)ad  red  and  green  stripes,  and  full  blue  trousers ;  he  carried,  too,  • 
common  ash  walking-stick,  apparently  more  for  show  than  use,  as  he  ilonrished 
it  about,  with  the  hooked  end  downwards,  except  when  he  raised  it  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  throwing  himself  into  a  fencing  attitude,  made  a  pass  or  two  at 
the  side-scenes,  or  at  any  other  object,  animate  or  inanimate,  that  chanced  to 
ailbrd  him  a  pretty  good  mark  at  the  moment. 

"  AVell,  Tommy,"  said  this  gentleman,  making  a  thrust  at  his  friend,  who 
I'arried  it  dexterously  with  his  slipper,  "  what's  the  news  ?  " 

"  A  new  appearance,  that's  all,  *  replied  Mr.  Folair,  looking  at  Nicholas. 

"  Do  the  honours.  Tommy,  do  the  honours,"  said  the  other  gentleman, 
la2)ping  him  reproachfully  on  the  crown  of  the  hat  with  his  stick. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  189 

**  This  is  Mr.  Lenville,  who  does  our  first  tragedy,  Mr.  Johnson,"  said  the 
pantomimist. 

*  *  Except  when  old  bricks  and  mortar  takes  it  into  his  head  to  do  it  himself, 
you  should  add.  Tommy,"  remarked  Mr.  Lenville.  ''You  know  who  bricks 
and  mortar  is,  I  suppose,  sir  ? " 

**  I  do  not,  indeed,"  replied  Nicholas. 

*  *  We  call  Crummies  that,  because  his  style  of  acting  is  rather  in  the  heavy 
and  ponderous  way,"  said  Mr.  Lenville.  "  I  mustn't  be  cracking  jokes, 
though,  for  I've  got  a  part  of  twelve  lengths  here,  which  I  must  be  up  in  to- 
morrow night,  and  I  haven't  had  time  to  look  at  it  yet ;  I'm  a  confounded 
quick  study,  that's  one  comfort." 

Consoling  himself  with  this  reflection,  Mr.  Lenville  drew  from  his  coat- 
pocket  a  greasy  and  crumpled  manuscript,  and  having  made  another  pass  at 
his  friend,  proceedetl  to  walk  to  and  fro,  conning  it  to  himself,  and  indulging 
occasionally  in  such  appropriate  action  as  his  iiiiaginatiou  and  the  text 
suggested. 

A  pretty  general  muster  of  the  company  had  by  this  time  taken  place  ;  for 
besides  Mr.  Lenville  and  his  friend  Tommy,  there  were  present  a  slim  young 
gentleman  with  weak  eyes,  who  played  the  low-spirited  lovers  and  sang  tenor 
songs,  and  who  had  come  arm-in-arm  with  the  comic  countryman — a  man 
with  a  tumed-up  nose,  large  mouth,  .broad  face,  and  staring  eyes.  Making 
himself  very  amiable  to  the  infant  phenomenon,  was  an  inebriated  elderly 
gentleman,  in  the  last  depths  of  shabbiness,  who  played  the  calm  and 
virtuous  old  men  ;  and  paying  especial  court  to  Mrs.  Crummies  was  another 
elderly  gentleman,  a  shade  more  respectable,  wlio  played  the  irascible  old 
men — those  funny  fellows  who  have  nephews  in  the  army,  and  perpetually 
run  about  with  thick  sticks  to  compel  them  to  marry  heiresses.  Besides 
these,  there  was  a  roving-looking  person  in  a  rough  great-coat,  who  strode  up 
and  down  in  front  of  the  lamps,  flourishing  a  dress  cane,  and  rattling  away, 
in  an  undertone,  with  great  vivacity,  for  the  amusement  of  an  ideal  audience. 
He  was  not  quite  so  young  as  he  had  been,  and  his  figure  was  rather  running 
to  seed  ;  but  there  was  an  air  of  exaggerated  gentility  about  him,  which 
bespoke  the  hero  of  swaggering  comedy.  There  was,  also,  a  little  group  of 
three  or  four  young  men,  with  lantern  jaws  and  thick  eyebrows,  who  were 
conversing  in  one  corner  ;  but  they  seemed  to  be  of  secondary  importance, 
and  laughed  and  talked  together  without  attracting  any  attention. 

The  ladies  were  gathered  in  a  little  knot  by  themselves  round  the  rickety 
table  before  mentioned.  There  was  Miss  Snevellicci — who  could  do  anything, 
from  a  medley  dance  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  also  always  played  some  part  in 
blue  silk  knee-smalls  at  her  benefit — glancing,  from  the  depths  of  her  coal- 
scuttle straw  bonnet,  .at  Nicholas,  and  affecting  to  be  absorbed  in  the  recital 
of  a  diverting  story  to  her  friend  Miss  Ledrook,  who  had  brought  her  work, 
and  was  making  up  a  ruff"  in  the  most  natural  manner  possible.  There  was 
Miss  Belvawney — who  seldom  aspired  to  speaking  parts,  and  usually  went  on 
as  a  page  in  white  silk  hose,  to  stand  with  one  leg  bent,  and  contemplate  the 
audience,  or  to  go  in  and  out  after  Mi*.  Crummies  in  stately  tragedy — twisting 
up  the  ringlets  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Bravassa,  who  had  once  had  her  likeness 
taken  "  in  character  "  by  an  engraver's  apprentice,  whereof  impressions  were 
bung  up  for  sale  in  the  ])astry-cook*s  window,  and  the  greengrocer's,  and  at 
the  circulating  library,  and  the  box-office,  whenever  the  announce  bills  came 
out  for  her  annual  night.  There  was  ^Irs.  Lenville,  in  a  very  limp  bonnet 
and  veil,  decidedly  in  that  way  in  whicli  she  would  wish  to  be  if  she  truly 
loved  Mr.  Lenville  ;  there  was  Miss  Gazin^i,  with  an  imitation  ermine  boa,  tied 
in  a  loose  knot  round  her  neck,  flogging  Mr.  Crummies,  junior,  with  both  cuds 


I90  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

in  fun.  Lastly,  there  was  Mrs.  Grudden,  in  a  brown  clotli  pelisse  and  a  beaver 
bonnet,  who  assisted  Mrs.  Crummies  in  her  domestic  affairs,  and  took  money 
at  the  doors,  and  dressed  the  ladies,  and  swept  the  house,  and  held  the 
prompt-book  when  everybody  else  was  on  for  the  last  scene,  and  acted  any 
kind  of  part  on  any  emergency  without  ever  learning  it,  and  was  put  down  in 
the  bills  under  any  name  or  names  whatever  that  occurred  to  Mr.  Cmmmles 
as  looking  well  in  print. 

Mr.  Folair  having  obligingly  confided  these  particulars  to  Nicholas,  left  him 
to  mingle  with  his  fellows ;  the  work  of  personal  introduction  was  completed 
by  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  who  publicly  lieralded  the  new  actor  as  a  prodigy 
of  genius  and  learning. 

''I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  sidling  towards  Nicholas, 
"  but  did  you  ever  play  at  Canterbury  ? " 

**  I  never  did,"  replied  Nicholas. 

'*  I  recollect  meeting  a  gentleman  at  Canterbury,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci, 
**  only  for  a  few  moments,  for  I  was  leaving  the  company  as  he  joined  it,  so 
like  you  that  I  felt  almost  certain  it  was  the  same." 

**  I  see  you  now  for  the  first  time,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  with  all  due 
gallantry.     **  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  you  before ;  I  couldn't  have  forgotten  it" 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure — it's  very  flattering  of  you  to  say  so,"  retorted  Miss 
Snevellicci,  with  a  graceful  bend.  **  Now  I  look  at  you  again,  I  see  that  the 
gentleman  at  Canterbury  hadn't  the  same  eyes  as  you — you'll  think  me  very 
foolish  for  taking  notice  of  such  things,  won't  you  ? " 

**  Not  at  all,"  said  Nicholas.  **  How  can  I  feel  otherwise  than  flattered  by 
your  notice  in  any  way  ? " 

*'  Oh  !  you  men  are  such  vain  creatures  !  "  cried  Miss  Snevellicci.  Where- 
upon, she  became  charmingly  confused,  and,  pulling  out  her  pocket  hand- 
kerchief from  a  faded  pink-silk  reticule  with  a  gilt  clasp,  called  to  Miss 
Ledrook — 

"Led,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci. 

"  "Well,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Miss  Ledrook. 

"It's  not  the  same." 

"Not  the  same  what?" 

"  Canterbury — you  know  what  I  mean.  Come  here  !  I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

But  Miss  Ledrook  wouldn't  come  to  Miss  Snevellicci,  so  Miss  SneveUieci 
was  obliged  to  go  to  Miss  Ledrook,  which  she  did  in  a  skipping  manner  that 
was  qwite  fascinating  ;  and  Miss  Ledrook  evidently  joked  Miss  Snevellicci 
about  being  struck  with  Nicholas  ;  for,  after  some  playful  whispering.  Miss 
Snevellicci  hit  Miss  Ledrook  very  hard  on  the  backs  of  her  hands,  and  retired 
up,  in  a  state  of  pleasing  confusiqn. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  who  had  been 
writing  on  a  piece  of  paper,  "  we'll  caU  the  Mortal  Struggle  to-morrow  at 
ten  ;  everybody  for  the  procession.  Intrigue,  and  Ways  and  Means,  you're 
all  up  in  ;  so  we  shall  only  want  one  rehearsal.  Everybody  at  ten,  if  you 
please." 

"Everybody  at  ten,"  repeated  Mrs.  Grudden,  looking  about  her. 

"On  Monday  morning  wo  shall  read  a  new  piece,"  said  Mr.  Cmmmles; 
"the  name's  not  known  yet,  but  everybody  will  have  a  good  part  Mr. 
Johnson  will  take  care  of  that." 

"  Hallo  ! "  said  Nicholas,  starting,   "  I " 

"On  Monday  morning,"  repeated  Mr.  Crummies,  raising  his  voice,  to 
drown  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Johnson's  remonstrance  ;  "that'll  do,  ladies  and 
^eutlemen." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  191 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  required  no  second  notice  to  quit,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  theatre  was  deserted,  save  by  the  Crummies'  family,  Nicholas, 
and  Smike. 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  Nicholas,  taking  the  manager  aside,  "I  don't 
think  I  can  be  ready  by  Monday." 

*'  Pooh,  pooh,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies. 

**  But  really  I  can  t,"  returned  Nicholas  ;  "  my  invention  is  not  accustomed 
to  these  demands,  or  possibly  I  might  produce " 

**  Invention  !  what  the  devil's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?"  cried  the  manager, 
hastily. 

"Everything,  my  dear  sir." 

"Nothing,  my  dear  sir,"  retorted  the  manager,  with  evident  impatience. 
"  Do  you  understand  French  ? " 

"Perfectly  well." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  manager,  opening  the  table-drawer,  and  giving  a 
roll  of  paper  from  it  to  Nicholas.  "  There  !  Just  turn  that  into  English,  and 
put  your  name  on  the  title-page.  Damn  me,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  angrily, 
"  tf  I  haven't  often  said  that  I  wouldn't  have  a  man  or  woman  in  my  com- 
pany that  wasn't  master  of  the  language,  so  that  they  might  learn  it  from 
the  original,  and  play  it  in  English,  and  save  all  this  trouble  and  expense." 

Nicholas  smiled  and  pocketed  the  play. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  your  lodgings  ? "  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

Nicholas  could  not  help  thinking  that,  for  the  Urst  week,  it  would  be  an 
uncommon  convenience  to  have  a  turn-up  bedstead  in  the  pit ;  but  he  merely 
remarked  that  he  had  not  turned  his  thoughts  that  way. 

"Come  home  with  me,  then,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  "and  my  boys  shall 
go  with  you  after  dinner,  and  show  you  the  most  likely  place." 

The  offer  was  not  to  be  refused ;  Nicholas  and  Mr.  Crummies  gave  Mrs. 
Cnunmles  an  arm  each,  and  walked  up  the  street  in  stately  array.  Smike, 
the  boys,  and  the  phenomenon,  went  home  by  a  shorter  cut,  and  Mrs. 
Gradden  remained  behind  to  take  some  cold  Irish  stew  and  a  pint  of  porter 
in  the  box-office. 

Mrs.  Crummies  trod  the  pavement  as  if  she  were  going  to  itimediate  execu- 
tion with  an  animating  consciousness  of  innocence,  and  that  heroic  fortitude 
which  virtue  alone  inspires.  Mr.  Crummies,  on  the  other  hand,  assumed  the 
look  and  gait  of  a  hardened  despot ;  but  they  both  attracted  some  notice  from 
many  of  the  passers-by,  and  when  they  heard  whisper  of  "Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Crummies  I  **  or  saw  a  little  boy  run  back  to  stare  them  in  the  face,  tlio 
severe  expression  of  their  countenances  relaxed,  for  they  felt  it  was  popularity. 

Mr.  Crummies  lived  in  Saint  Thomas's  Street,  at  the  house  of  one  Bulph,  a 
pilot,  who  sported  a  boat-green  door,  with  window-frames  of  the  same  colour, 
and  had  the  little  figure  of  a  drowned  man  on  his  parlour  mantle-shelf,  with 
other  maritime  and  natural  curiosities.  He  displayed  also  a  brass  knocker,  a 
brass  plate,  and  a  brass  bell-handle,  all  very  bright  and  shining  ;  and  had  a 
mast,  with  a  vane  on  the  top  of  it,  in  his  back-yard. 

"  You  are  welcome,"  said  Mrs.  Crummies,  turning  round  to  Nicholas  when 
they  reached  the  bow-windowed  front  room  on  the  first  floor. 

Nicholas  bowed  his  acknowledgments,  and  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  the 
cloth  laid. 

**  We  have  but  a  shoulder  of  mutton  with  onion  sauce,"  said  Mrs.  Crummies, 
in  the  same  charnel-house  voice  ;  "  but  such  as  our  dinner  is,  we  beg  you  to 
partake  of  it." 

*«  You  are  very  good,"  replied  Nicholas,  "  I  shall  do  it  ample  justice." 

**  Vincent,"  said  Mrs.  Crummies,  "  what  is  the  hour  ? " 


192  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  Five  minutes  past  dinner-time,"  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

Mrs.  Crummies  rang  the  bell.     **  Let  the  mutton  and  onion  sauce  appear." 

The  slave  who  attended  upon  Mr.  Bulph's  lodgers  disappeared,  and  after  a 
short  interval  re-appeared  with  the  festive  banquet.  Nicholas  and  the  ijnfant 
phenomenon  opposed  each  other  at  the  pembroke-table,  and  Smike  and  the 
master  Crummleses  dined  on  the  sofa  bedstead. 

"  Are  they  very  theatrical  people  here  \ "  asked  Nicholas. 

*'No,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  shaking  his  head,  "far  from  it — far  from 
it." 

"  I  pity  them,"  observed  Mrs.  Crummies. 

**So  do  I,"  said  Nicholas  ;  **  if  they  have  no  relish  for  theatrical  entertain- 
ments, properly  conducted." 

"Then  they  have  none,  sir,"  rejoined  Mr.  Crummies.  "To  the  infant's 
benefit,  last  year,  on  which  occasion  she  repeated  three  of  her  most  popular 
characters,  and  also  appeared  in  the  Fairy  Porcupine,  as  originally  performed 
by  her,  there  was  a  house  of  no  more  than  four  pound  twelve. " 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  cried  Nicholas. 

"And  two  pound  of  that  was  trust,  pa,"  said  the  phenomenon. 

"And  two  pound  of  that  was  trust,"  repeated  Mr  Crummies.  "Mrs. 
Crummies  herself  has  played  to  mere  handfuls." 

"But  they  are  always  a  taking  audience,  Vincent,"  said  the  mant^er's' 
wife. 

"Most  audiences  are,  when  they  have  good  acting — real  good  acting — ^the 
regular  thing,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  forcibly. 

"Do  you  give  lessons,  ma'am  ? "  inquired  Nicholas. 

"  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Crummies. 

"There  is  no  teaching  here,  I  suppose." 

"There  has  been,"  said  Mrs.  Cnimmles.  "I  have  received  pupils  hera 
I  imparted  tuition  to  the  daughter  of  a  dealer  in  ships*  provision ;  but  it 
afterwards  appeared  that  she  was  insane  wlien  slie  first  came  to  me.  It  was 
very  extraordinary  that  she  should  come,  under  such  circumstances." 

Not  feeling  quite  so  sure  of  that,  Nicholas  thought  it  best  to  hold  his 
peace. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  the  manager,  cogitating  after  dinner.  "Would  yon 
like  some  nice  little  part  with  the  infant  ?  " 

"You  are  very  good,"  replied  Nicholas,  hastily  ;  "  but  I  think  perhaps  it 
would  bo  better  if  I  had  somebody  of  my  own  size  at  first,  in  case  I  should 
turn  out  awkward.     I  should  feel  more  at  Jiome,  perhaps." 

" True,"  said  the  manager.  "Perhaps  you  would.  And  you  could  play 
up  to  the  infant  in  time,  you  know." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Nicholas  :  devoutly  hoping  that  it  would  be  a  veiy 
long  time  before  he  was  honoured  with  this  distinction. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  Mr.  Crummies.  "  You  shall  atndy 
Romeo  when  you've  done  that  piece — don't  forget  to  throw  the  pump  and  tubs 
in,  by-the-by — Juliet,  Miss  Snevellicci,  old  Grudden,  the  nurse — Yes,  that'll 
do  very  well.  Rover,  too — you  might  get  up  Rover  while  you  were  aboat  it, 
and  Cassio,  and  Jeremy  Diddler.  You  can  easily  knock  them  off :  one  ptit 
helps  the  other  so  much.     Here  they  are,  cues  and  all." 

With  these  hasty  general  directions  ^Mr.  Crummies  thrust  a  number  of  little 
books  into  the  faltering  hands  of  Nicholas,  and  bidding  his  eldest  son  go  with 
him  and  show  where  lodgings  were  to  be  had,  sliook  him  by  the  hand,  and 
wished  him  good  night. 

There  is  no  lack  of  comfortable  furnished  apartments  in  Portsmouth,  and  no 
difficulty  in  finding  some  that  are  proportionate  to  very  slender  finances ;  but 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  193 

the  former  were  too  good,  and  the  latter  too  bad,  and  they  went  into  so  many 
houses,  and  came  out  unsaited,  that  Nicholas  seriously  began  to  think  ho 
should  be  obliged  to  ask  permission  to  spend  the  night  in  the  theatre  after 
all. 

Eventually,  however,  they  stumbled  upon  two  small  rooms  up  three  pair 
of  stairs,  or  rather  two  pair  and  a  ladder,  at  a  tobacconist's  shop,  on  the  Com- 
mon Hard:  a  dirty  street  leading  down  to  the  dockyard.  These  Nicholas 
engaged,  only  too  happy  to  have  escaped  any  request  for  payment  of  a  week's 
rent  beforehand. 

**  There  !  Lay  down  our  personal  property,  Smike,"  he  said,  after  showing 
young  Crummies  downstairs.  **We  have  fallen  upon  strange  times,  and 
heaven  only  knows  the  end  of  them  ;  but  I  am  tired  with  the  events  of  ^hese 
three  days,  and  will  postpone  reflection  till  to-morrow — if  I  can." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


OF  THE  GREAT   BESPEAK    FOR    MISS    SNEVELLICCI,    AND   THE   FIRST   APPEAR- 
ANCE OP  NICHOLAS  UPON  ANY  STAGE. 

HICHOLAS  was  up  betimes  in  the  morning ;  but  he  had  scarcely  begun 
to  dress,  notwitnstanding,  when  he  heard  footsteps  ascending  the  stairs, 
and  was  presently  saluted  by  the  voices  of  Mr.  Folair,  the  pantomimist, 
and  Mr.  Lenville,  the  tragedian. 

**  House,  house,  house  ! "  cried  Mr.  Folair. 

**  What,  ho  !  within  there  !  "  said  Mr.  Lenville,  in  a  deep  voice. 

"Confound  these  fellows  ! "  thought  Nicholas  ;  "  they  have  come  to  break- 
fast, I  suppose.     I'll  open  the  door  directly,  if  you'll  wait  an  instant." 

The  gentlemen  entreated  him  not  to  hurry  himself;  and,  to  beguile  the 
interval,  had  a  fencing  bout  with  their  walking-sticks  on  the  very  small 
landing-place:  to  the  unspeakable  discomposure  of  all  the  other  lodgers 
downstairs. 

"Here,  come  in,"  said  Nicholas,  when  he  had  completed  his  toilet.  "  In 
the  name  of  all  that's  horrible,  don't  make  that  noise  outside." 

"  An  uncommon  snug  little  box  this,"  said  Mr.  Lenville,  stepping  into  the 
front  room,  and  taking  his  hat  ofif  before  he  could  get  in  at  all.  "  remicious 
snug." 

**  For  a  man  at  all  particular  in  such  matters  it  might  be  a  trifle  too  snug," 
said  Nicholas ;  "for  although  it  is,  undoubtedly,  a  great  convenience  to  be 
able  to  reach  anything  you  want  from  the  ceiling  or  the  floor,  or  either  side  of 
the  room,  without  having  to  move  from  your  chair,  still  these  advantages  can 
only  be  had  in  an  apartment  of  the  most  limited  size." 

**  It  isn't  a  bit  too  confined  for  a  single  man,"  returned  Mr.  Lenville. 
**  That  reminds  me — my  wife,  Mr.  Johnson — I  hope  she'll  have  some  good 
part  in  this  piece  of  yours  ? " 

•*  I  glanced  at  the  French  copy  last  night,"  said  Nicholas.  "  It  looks  very 
good,  I  think." 

**  What  do  you  mean  to  do  for  me,  old  fellow  ? "  asked  Mr.  Lenville,  poking 
the  struggling  fire  with  his  walking-stick,  and  afterwards  wiping  it  on  the 
skirt  of  his  coat.     "Anything  in  the  gruff  and  grumble  way  ? " 

**  You  turn  your  wife  and  child  out  of  doors,"  said  Nicholas ;  "and,  in  a  fit 
of  rage  and  jealousy,  stab  your  eldest  son  in  the  library." 

••  "Do  1  though  I  '  exclaimed  Mr.  Lenville.     **  That's  very  good  b\isvw^?a." 

u  \^ 


194  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

•*  After  which,"  said  Nicholas,  **you  are  troubled  with  remorse  till  the  last 
act,  and  then  you  make  up  your  mind  to  destroy  yourself.  But  just  as  you 
are  raising  the  pistol  to  your  head,  a  clock  strikes — ten." 

**Isee,"  cried  Mr.  Lenville.     '*  Very  good." 

"You  pause,"  said  Nicholas  ;  '*you  recollect  to  have  heard  a  clock  strike 
ten  in  your  infancy.  The  pistol  falls  from  your  hand — you  are  overcome — 
you  burst  into  tears,  and  become  a  virtuous  and  exemplary  character  for  e?er 
afterwards." 

**  Capital  ! "  said  Mr.  Lenville  ;  **  that's  a  sure  card,  a  sure  card.  Get  the 
curtain  down  with  a  touch  of  nature  like  that,  and  it'll  be  a  triumphant 


success." 


**  Is  there  anything  good  for  me?"  inquired  Mr.  Folair,  anxiously. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Nicholas.  **You  play  the  faithful  and  attached 
servant ;  you  are  turned  out  of  doors  with  the  wife  and  child. " 

"Always  coupled  with  that  infernal  phenomenon,"  sighed  Mr.  Folair; 
**  and  we  go  into  poor  lodgings,  where  I  won't  take  any  wages,  and  talk  senti- 
ment, I  suppose  ?  ' 

**  Why — yes,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  "that  is  the  course  of  the  piece." 

"  I  must  have  a  dance  of  some  kind,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Folair.  "You'll 
have  to  introduce  one  for  the  phenomenon,  so  you'd  better  make  it  a  jmu  d* 
deitx,  and  save  time." 

"  There's  nothing  easier  than  that,"  said  Mr.  Lenville,  observing  the  dis- 
turbed looks  of  the  young  dramatist. 

"Upon  my  word  I  don't  see  how  it's  to  be  done,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"Why,  isn't  it  obvious?"  reasoned  Mr.  Lenville.  "Gadzooks  !  who  cm 
help  seeing  the  way  to  do  it  ? — you  astonish  me !  You  get  the  distressed  lady, 
and  the  little  child,  and  the  attached  servant,  into  the  poor  lodgings,  don't 
you  ?  Well,  look  here.  The  distressed  lady  sinks  into  a  chair,  and  buries  her 
face  in  her  pocket-handkerchief.  *  What  makes  you  weep,  mamma?  *  says  tbc 
child.  'Don't  weep,  mamma,  or  you'll  make  me  weep  too!*  *And  me!* 
says  the  faithful  servant,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  arm.  *  What  can  we  do 
to  raise  your  spirits,  dear  mamma? '  saj's  the  little  child.  *Aye,  what  can  m 
do  ? '  says  the  faithful  servant.  *  Oh,  Pierre  ! '  says  the  distressed  lady : 
*  would  that  I  could  shake  otf  these  painful  thoughts.*  *Try,  ma'am,  try, 
says  the  faithful  servant ;  *  rouse  yourself,  ma'am  ;  be  amused.'  *  I  will,'  says 
the  lady,  *  I  will  learn  to  suffer  with  fortitude.  Do  you  remember  that  dance, 
my  honest  friend,  which  in  happier  days  you  practised  with  this  sweet  angel  t 
It  never  failed  to  calm  my  spirits  then.  Oh,  let  me  see  it  once  again  before  I 
die  ! '  There  it  is — cue  for  the  band,  before  I  die — and  olf  they  go.  That's 
the  regular  thing  ;  isn't  it,  Tommy  ? " 

"  That's  it,"  replied  Mr.  Folair.  "  The  distressed  lady,  overpowered  by 
old  recollections,  faints  at  the  end  of  the  dance,  and  you  close  in  with  a 
l)icture. " 

Profiting  by  these  and  other  lessons,  which  were  the  result  of  the  personal 
experience  of  the  two  actors,  Nicholas  willingly  gave  them  the  best  breakfast 
ho  could,  and,  when  he  at  length  got  rid  of  them,  applied  himself  to  his  task: 
by  no  means  displeased  to  find  that  it  was  so  much  easier  than  he  had  at  first 
supposed.  He  worked  very  hard  all  day,  and  did  not  leave  his  room  until  the 
evening,  when  he  went  down  to  the  theatre,  whither  Smike  liad  repaired 
before  him  to  go  on  with  another  gentleman  as  a  general  rebellion. 

Here  all  the  people  were  so  much  changed  that  he  scarcely  knew  them. 
False  hair,  false  colour,  false  calves,  false  muscles — they  had  become  different 
beings.  Mr.  Lenville  was  a  blooming  warrior  of  most  exquisite  proportions; 
Mr.  Crummies,  liis  large  face  shaded  by  a  profusion  of  black  hair,  a  Highland 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  195 

outlaw  of  most  m^estic  bearing  ;  one  of  the  old  gentlemen  a  gaoler,  and  the 
other  a  venerable  patriarch  ;  the  comic  countryman,  a  fighting-man  of  great 
valour,  relieved  by  a  touch  of  humour ;  each  of  the  Master  Crummleses,  a 
prince  in  his  own  right ;  and  the  low-spirited  lover,  a  desponding  captive. 
There  was  a  gorgeous  banquet  ready  spread  for  the  third  act,  consisting 
of  two  pasteboard  vases,  one  plate  of  biscuits,  a  black  bottle,  and  a  vinegar- 
cruet  ;  and,  in  short,  everything  was  on  a  scale  of  the  utmost  splendour  and 
preparation. 

Nicholas  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  curtain,  now  contemplating  the 
first  scene,  which  was  a  gothic  archway,  about  two  feet  shorter  than  Mr. 
Crummies,  through  which  that  gentleman  was  to  make  his  first  entrance,  and 
now  listening  to  a  couple  of  people  who  were  cmcking  nuts  in  the  gallery, 
wondering  whether  they  made  the  whole  audience,  when  the  manager  himself 
walked  familiarly  up  and  accosted  him. 

**  Been  in  front  to-night  ? "  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

**  No,"  replied  Nicholas,  **  not  yet.     I  am  going  to  see  the  play." 

**  We've  had  a  pretty  good  Let,"  said  Mr.  Crummies.  **  Four  front  places 
in  the  centre,  and  the  whole  of  the  stage-box." 

**  Oh,  indeed  ! "  said  Nicholas  ;  "  a  family,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  "yes.  It's  an  affecting  thing.  There  are 
six  children,  and  they  never  come  unless  the  phenomenon  plays." 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  any  party,  family  or  otherwise,  to  have 
visited  the  theatre  on  a  night  when  the  phenomenon  did  not  play,  inasmuch 
as  she  always  sustained  one,  and  not  uncommonly  two  or  three  characters 
every  night ;  but  Nicholas,  sympathising  with  the  feelings  of  a  father,  re- 
frained from  hinting  at  this  trifling  circumstance,  and  Mr.  Crummies  continued 
to  talk  uninterrupted  by  him. 

"  Six,"  said  that  gentleman  ;  "  Pa  and  Ma  eight,  aunt  nine,  governess  ten, 
grandfather  and  grandmother  twelve.  Then  there's  the  footman,  who  stands 
outside  with  a  bag  of  oranges  and  a  jug  of  toast  and  water,  and  sees  the  play 
for  nothing  through  the  little  pane  of  glass  in  the  box- door — it's  cheap  at  a 
guinea  ;  they  gain  by  taking  a  box." 

"I  wonder  you  allow  so  many,"  observed  Nicholas. 

•'  There's  no  help  for  it,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies  ;  "  it's  always  expected 
in  the  country.  If  there  are  six  children,  six  people  come  to  hold  them 
in  their  laps.  A  family-box  carries  double  always.  Ring  in  the  orchestra, 
Grudden." 

That  useful  lady  did  as  she  was  requested,  and  shortly  afterwards  the  tuning 
of  three  fiddles  was  heard.  Which  process  having  been  protracted  as  long  as 
it  was  supposed  that  the  patience  of  the  audience  could  possibly  bear  it,  was 
put  a  stop  to  by  another  jerk  of  the  bell,  which,  being  the  signal  to  begin  in 
earnest,  set  the  orchestra  playing  a  variety  of  popular  airs  with  involuntary 
variations. 

If  Nicholas  had  been  astonished  at  the  alteration  for  the  better  which  the 
gentlemen  displayed,  the  transformation  of  the  ladies  Was  still  more  extra- 
ordinary. When,  from  a  snug  corner  of  the  manager's  box,  he  beheld  Miss 
Snevellicci  in  all  the  glories  of  white  muslin  with  a  gold  hem,  and  Mrs. 
Crummies  in  all  the  dignity  of  the  outlaw's  wife,  and  Miss  Bravassa  in  all  the 
sweetness  of  Miss  Snevellicci's  confidential  friend,  and  Miss  Belvawnej'^  in  the 
white  silks  of  a  page  doing  duty  everywhere,  and  swearing  to  live  and  die  in 
the  service  of  everybody,  he  could  scarcely  contain  his  admiration,  which 
testified  itself  in  great  applause,  and  the  closest  possible  attention  to  the 
business  of  the  scene.  The  plot  was  most  interesting.  It  belonged  to  no 
particular  age,  people,  or  country,  and  was  perhaps  the  more  delightful  oil 


196  LTFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

that  account,  as  nobody's  previous  information  could  afford  the  remotest 
glimmering  of  what  would  ever  come  of  it.     Au  outlaw  had  been  very  success- 
ful in  doing  something  somewhere,  and  came  home  in  triumph,  to  the  sound 
of  shouts  and  fiddles,  to  greet  his  wife — a  lady  of  masculine  mind,  who  talked 
a  good  deal   about  her  father's  bones,   wliich  it  seemed  were  unburied, 
though  whether  from  a  peculiar  taste  on  the  jjart  of  the  old  gentleman 
himself,    or   the   reprehensible    neglect  of   his   relations,   did  not  appear. 
This  outlaw's  wife  was,  somehow  or  other,  mixed  up  with  a  patriarch  living 
in  a  castle  a  long  way  off,  and  this  patriarch  was  the  father  of  several  of  the 
characters,  bnt  he  didn't  exactly  know  which,  and  was  uncertain  whether  he 
had  brought  up  the  right  ones  in  his  castle,  or  the  wrong  ones,  but  rather 
inclined  to  the  latter  opinion,  and  bein^  uneasy,  relieved  his  mind  with  a 
banquet,  during  which  solemnity  somebody  in  a  cloak  said,  **  Beware,"  which 
somebody  was  known  by  nobody  (except  the  audience)  to  be  the  outlaw 
himself,  who  had  come  there  for  reasons  unexplained,  but  possibly  with  an  eye 
to  the  spoons.     There  was  an  agreeable  surprise  in  the  way  of  certain  love- 
passages  between  the  despairing  captive  and  Miss  Snevellicci,  and  the  comic 
fighting-man  and  Miss  Bravassa  ;   besides  which,  Mr.  Lenville  had  several 
very  tra^c  scenes  in  the  dark,  while  on  throat-cutting  expeditions,  which 
were  all  baffled  by  the  skill  and  bravery  of  the  comic  fighting-man  (who  over- 
heard whatever  was  said  all  through  the  piece)  and  the  intrepidity  of  Miss 
Snevellicci,  who  adopted  tights,  and  therein  repaired  to  the  prison  of  her 
captive  lover,  with  a  small  basket  of  refreshments  and  a  dark  lantern.     At 
last,  it  came  out  that  the  patriarch  was  the  man  who  had  treated  the  bones  of 
the  outlaw's  father-in-law  with  so  much  disrespect,  for  which  cause  and  reason 
the  outlaw's  wife  repaired  to  his  castle  to  kill  him,  and  so  got  into  a  dark 
room,  where,  after  a  good  deal  of  groping  in  the  dark,  eyerybody  got  hold  of 
everybody  else,  and  took  them  for  somebody  besides,  which  occasioned  a  vast 
quantity  of  confusion,  with  some  pistolling,  loss  of  life,  and  torchlight ;  after 
which  the  patriarch  came  forward,  and  observing,  with  a  knowing  look,  that 
he  knew  all  about  his  children  now,  and  would  tell  them  when  they  got 
inside,  said  that  there  could  not  be  a  more  appropriate  occasion  for  marryinff 
the  young  people  than  that,  and  therefore  he  joined  their  hands,  with  the  ftifi 
consent  of  the  indefatigable  page,  who  (being  the  only  other  person  survivins^) 
pointed  ^vith  his  cap  into  the  clouds,  and  his  right  hand  to  the  gronnd; 
thereby  invoking  a  blessing,  and  giving  the  cue  for  the  curtain  to  come  down, 
which  it  did,  amidst  general  applause. 

*•  What  did  you  think  of  that  ? "  asked  Mr.  Crummies,  when  Nicholas  went 
round  to  the  stage  again.  Mr.  Crummies  was  very  red  and  hot,  for  your  out- 
laws are  desperate  fellows  to  shout. 

**  I  think  it  was  very  capital  indeed,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  '*  Miss  Snevellicd 
in  particular  was  uncommonly  good." 

"She's  a  genius,"  said  Mr.  Crummies;  "quite  a  genius,  that  girl.  By- 
the-by,  I've  been  thinking  of  bringing  out  that  piece  of  yours  on  her  bespeak 
night." 

"  When  ?"  asked  Nicholas. 

"The  night  of  her  bespeak.  Her  benefit  night,  when  her  friends  and 
patrons  bespeak  the  ])lay,"  said  Mr.  Crummies. 

"Oh,  I  understand,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"You  see,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  "it's  sure  to  go  on  such  an  occasion,  and 
even  if  it  should  not  work  up  quite  as  well  as  we  expect,  why,  it  will  be  her 
risk,  you  know,  and  not  ours. " 

"  Yours,  you  mean,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  I  said  mine,  didn't  I  ?  "  returned  Mr.  Crummies.     "Next  Monday  week. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  197 

What  do  you  say  ?    You'll  have  done  it,  and  are  sure  to  be  up  in  the  lover's 
part  long  before  that  time. " 

**  I  don't  know  about  *  long  before,' "  replied  Nicholas  ;  "  but  hy  that  time 
I  think  I  can  undertake  to  bo  ready." 

**Yerj  good,"  pursued  Mr.  Crummies,  "then  we'll  call  that  settled. 
Now,  I  want  to  ask  you  something  else.  There's  a  little — what  shall  I  call 
it — a  little  canvassing  takes  place  on  these  occasions." 

**  Among  the  patrons,  I  suppose  ? "  said  Nicholas. 

"  Among  the  patrons ;  and  the  fact  is,  that  Snevellicci  has  had  so  many 
bespeaks  in  this  place,  that  she  wants  an  attraction.  She  had  a  bespeak  when 
her  mother-in-law  died,  and  a  bespeak  when  her  uncle  died  ;  and  Mrs. 
Crnmmles  and  myself  have  had  bespeaks  ou  the  anniversary  of  the  pheno- 
menon's birthday,  and  our  wedding-day,  and  occasions  of  that  description,  so 
that,  in  fact,  there's  some  difficulty  in  getting  a  good  one.  Now,  won't 
you  help  this  poor  girl,  Mr.  Johnson  ? "  said  Crummies,  sitting  himself 
down  on  a  drum,  and  taking  a  great  pinch  of  snuff,  as  he  looked  him 
steadily  in  the  face. 

**  How  do  you  mean  ? "  rejoined  Nicholas. 

**  Don't  you  think  you  could  spare  half-au-hour  to-morrow  morning,  to  call 
with  her  at  the  houses  of  one  or  two  of  the  principal  people  ? "  murmured  the 
manager,  in  a  persuasive  tone. 

"Oh,  dear  me  ! "  said  Nicholas,  with  an  air  of  very  strong  objection,  **  I 
shouldn't  like  to  do  that." 

**  The  infant  will  accompany  her,"  said  Mr.  Crummies.  "  The  moment  it 
was  suggested  to  me,  I  gave  permission  for  the  infant  to  go.  There  will  not 
be  the  smallest  impropriety — Miss  Snevellicci,  sir,  is  the  very  soul  of  honour. 
It  would  be  of  material  service — the'gentleman  from  London — author  of  the 
new  piece — actor  in  the  new  piece — first  appearance  on  any  boards — it  would 
lead  to  a  great  bespeak,  Mr.  Johnson." 

•*  I  am  very  sorry  to  throw  a  damp  upon  the  prospects  of  anybody,  and 
more  especially  a  lady,"  replied  Nicholas;  *'but  really  I  must  decidedly 
object  to  making  one  of  the  canvassing  party. " 

**  What  does  Mr.  Johnson  say,  Vincent  ?  "  inquired  a  voice  close  to  his  ear  ; 
and  looking  round,  he  found  Mrs.  Crummies  and  Miss  Snevellicci  herself 
standing  behind  him. 

**He  has  some  objection,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  looking  at 
Nicholas. 

**  Objection  !  **  exclaimed  Mrs.  Crummies.     *'  Can  it  be  possible  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not !  "  cried  Miss  Snevellicci.  "  You  surely  are  not  so  cruel 
— oh,  dear  me  1 — Well,  I — to  think  of  that  now,  after  all  one's  looking  forward 
to  it ! " 

** Mr.  Johnson  will  not  persist,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Crummies.  "Think 
better  of  him  than  to  suppose  it.  Gallantry,  humanity,  all  the  best  feelings 
of  his  nature,  must  be  enlisted  in  this  interesting  cause." 

**  Which  moves  even  a  manager,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  smiling. 

"And  a  manager's  wife,"  added  Mrs.  Crummies,  in  her  accustomed  tragedy 
tones.     "Come,  come,  you  will  relent,  I  know  you  will." 

**It  is  not  in  my  nature,"  said  Nicholas,  moved  by  these  appeals,  "to 
resist  any  entreaty,  unless  it  is  to  do  something  positively  wrong ;  and,  beyond 
a  feeling  of  pride,  I  know  nothing  which  should  prevent  my  doing  this.  I 
know  nobody  here,  and  nobody  knows  me.     So  be  it  then.     I  yield.  ' 

Miss  Snevellicci  was  at  once  overwhelmed  with  blushes  and  expressions  of 
gratitude,  of  which  latter  commodity  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Crummies  was  by 
any  means  sparing.    It  was  arranged  that  Nicholas  should  call  upon  her,  at 


198  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

her  lodgings,  at  eleven  next  morning,  and  soon  after  they  parted  ;  he  to  return 
home  to  his  authorship ;  Miss  Snevellicci  to  dress  for  the  after-piece  ;  and  the 
disinterested  manager  and  his  wife  to  discuss  the  prohahle  gains  of  the  forth- 
coming bespeak,  of  which  they  were  to  have  two-thirds  of  the  profits  by 
solemn  treaty  of  agreement. 

At  the  stipulated  hour  next  morning  Nicholas  repaired  to  the  lodgings  of 
Miss  Snevellicci,  which  were  in  a  place  called  Lombard  Street,  at  the  nonseof 
a  tailor.  A  strong  smell  of  ironing  pervaded  the  little  passage ;  and  the 
tailor's  daughter,  who  opened  the  door,  appeared  in  that  flutter  of  spirit  which 
is  so  often  attendant  upon  the  periodical  getting  up  of  a  family's  linen. 

"  Miss  Snevellicci  lives  here,  I  believe  ? "  said  Nicholas,  when  the  door  was 
opened. 

The  tailor's  daughter  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  let  her  know  that  Mr.  Johnson  is  here  I " 
said  Nicholas. 

**  Oh,  if  you  please,  you're  to  come  upstairs,"  replied  the  tailor's  daughter, 
with  a  smile. 

Nicholas  followed  the  young  lady,  and  was  shown  into  a  small  apartment  on 
the  first  floor,  communicating  with  a  back  room  ;  in  which  as  he  judged  from 
a  certain  half-subdued  clinking  sound,  as  of  cups  and  saucers.  Miss  dnevellioei 
was  then  taking  her  breakfast  in  bed. 

**  You're  to  wait,  if  you  please,"  said  the  tailor's  daughter,  after  a  short 
period  of  absence,  during  which  the  clinking  in  the  back  room  had  ceasedi  and 
been  succeeded  by  whispering — "she  won't  be  long." 

As  she  spoke  she  pulled  up  the  window-blind,  and  having  by  this  means  (as 
she  ^thought)  diverted  Mr.  Johnson's  attention  from  the  room  to  the  street, 
caught  up  some  articles  which  were  airing  on  the  fender,  and  had  very  much 
the  appearance  of  stockings,  and  darted  off. 

As  there  were  not  many  objects  of  interest  outside  the  window,  Nicholas 
looked  about  the  room  with  more  cariosity  than  he  might  otherwise  have 
bestowed  upon  it.  On  the  sofa  lay  an  old  guitar,  several  thumbed  pieces  of 
music,  and  a  scattered  litter  of  curl  papers  ;  together  with  a  confused  heap  of 
play-bills,  and  a  pair  of  soiled  white  satin  shoes  with  large  blue  rosettes. 
Hanging  over  the  back  of  a  chair  was  a  half-finished  muslin  apron  with  little 
pockets  ornamented  with  red  ribbons,  such  as  waiting-women  wear  on  the 
stage,  and  (by  consequence)  are  never  seen  with  anywhere  else.  In  one  comer 
stood  the  diminutive  pair  of  top-boots  in  which  Miss  Snevellicci  was  accns- 
tomed  to  enact  the  little  jockey,  and,  folded  on  a  chair  hard  by,  was  a  small 
parcel,  which  bore  a  very  suspicious  resemblance  to  the  companion  smalls. 

But  the  most  interesting  object  of  all  was,  perhaps,  the  open  scrap-book, 
displayed  in  the  midst  of  some  theatrical  duodecimos  that  were  strewn  upon 
the  table  ;  and  pasted  into  which  scrap-book  were  various  critical  notices  of 
Miss  Snevellicci  s  acting,  extracted  from  diflereut  provincial  journals,  together 
with  one  poetic  address  in  her  honour,  commencing — 

"  Sing,  God  of  Love,  and  tell  me  in  what  dearth 
Thrice-gifted  Snevellicci  came  on  earth, 
To  thrill  us  with  her  smile,  her  tear,  her  eye. 
Sing,  God  of  Love,  and  tell  me  quickly  why." 

Besides  this  effusion,  there  were  innumerable  complimentary  allusions,  also 
extracted  from  newspapers,  such  as — **  We  observe  from  an  advertisement  in 
another  part  of  our  paper  of  to-day,  that  the  charming  and  highly-talentad 
Miss  Snevellicci  takes  her  benefit  on  Wednesday,  for  which  occasion  she  hil 
put  forth  a  bill  of  fare  that  might  kindle  exhilaration  in  the  breast  of  i 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  199 

misanthrope.  In  the  confidence  that  our  fellow-townsmen  have  not  lost  that 
high  appreciation  of  public  ability  and  private  worth  for  which  they  have 
long  been  so  pre-eminently  distinguished,  we  predict  that  this  charming  actress 
willbe  greeted  with  a  bumper."  "  To  Correspondents. — J.  S.  is  misiuformed 
when  he  supposes  that  tne  highly-gifted  and  beautiful  Miss  Snevellicci, 
nightly  captivating  all  hearts  at  our  pretty  and  commodious  little  theatre,  is 
fuit  the  same  lady  to  whom  the  young  gentleman  of  immense  fortune,  residing 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  the  good  city  of  York,  lately  made  honourable  pro- 
posals. We  have  reason  to  know  that  Miss  Snevellicci  is  the  lady  who  was 
implicated  in  that  mysterious  and  romantic  affair,  and  whose  conduct  on  that 
occasion  did  no  less  honour  to  her  head  and  heart  than  do  her  histrionic 
triumphs  to  her  brilliant  genius."  A  copious  assortment  of  such  paragraphs 
as  these,  with  long  bills  of  benefits,  all  ending  with  "  Come  E^rly,"  in  large 
capitals,  formed  the  principal  contents  of  Miss  Snevellicci's  scrap-book. 

Nicholas  had  read  a  great  many  of  these  scraps,  and  was  absorbed  in  a  cir- 
cumstantial and  melancholy  account  of  the  train  of  events  which  had  led  to 
Miss  Snevellicci's  spraining  her  ankle  by  slipping  on  a  piece  of  orange-peel 
Hung  by  a  monster  in  human  form  (so  the  paper  said)  upon  the  stage  at 
Winchester — when  that  youug  lady  herself,  attired  in  the  coal-scuttle  bonnet 
and  walking-dress  complete,  tripped  into  the  room,  with  a  thousand  apologies 
for  having  detained  him  so  long  after  the  appointed  time. 

**  But  really,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  **  my  darling  Led,  who  lives  with  me 
here,  was  taken  so  very  ill  in  the  night  that  I  thought  she  would  have  expired 
in  my  arms." 

•*  Such  a  fate  is  almost  to  be  envied,"  returned  Nicholas  ;  **  but  I  am  very 
sorry  to  hear  it,  nevertheless. " 

•*  What  a  creature  you  are  to  flatter  !  "  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  buttoning  her 
glove  in  much  confusion. 

"  If  it  be  flattery  to  admire  your  charms  and  accomplishments,"  rejoined 
Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  scrap-book,  **  you  have  better  specimens 
of  it  here." 

*'  Oh,  you  cruel  creature,  to  read  such  things  as  those  !  I'm  almost  ashamed 
to  look  you  in  the  face  afterwards,  positively  I  am,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci, 
seizing  the  book,  and  putting  it  away  in  a  closet.  *'  How  careless  of  Led. 
How  could  she  be  so  naughty  ? " 

•*I  thought  you  had  kindly  left  it  here  on  purpose  for  me  to  read,"  said 
Nicholas.     And  really  it  did  seem  possible. 

••  I  wouldn't  have'had  you  see  it  for  the  world  ! "  rejoined  Miss  Snevellicci. 
"  I  never  was  so  vexed — never  !  But  she  is  such  a  careless  thing,  there's  no 
trusting  her." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  phenomenon, 
who  had  discreetly  remained  in  the  bed-room  up  to  this  moment,  and  now 
presented  herself,  with  much  grace  and  lightness,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  very 
little  green  parasol,  with  a  broad  fringe  border,  and  no  handle.  After  a  few 
words  of  course,  they  sallied  into  the  street. 

The  phenomenon  was  rather  a  troublesome  companion,  for  first  the  right 
sandal  came  down,  and  then  the  left,  and  these  mischances  being  repaired,  one 
leg  of  the  little  white  trousers  was  discovered  to  be  longer  than  the  other  ; 
besides  these  accidents,  the  green  parasol  was  dropped  down  an  iron  grating, 
and  only  fished  up  again  with  great  difficulty,  and  by  dint  of  much  exertion. 
However,  it  was  impossible  to  scold  her,  as  she  was  the  manager's  daughter, 
so  Nicholas  took  it  all  in  perfect  good-humour,  and  walked  on,  with  Miss 
Snevellicci,  arm-in-arm  on  one  side,  and  the  oflending  infant  on  the  other. 

The  first  house  to  which  they  bent  their  steps  was  situated  in  a  tetc^A,^  ol 


200  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

respectable  appearance.  Miss  Snevellicci's  modest  double  knock  was  answered 
by  a  footboy,  who,  in  reply  to  her  inquiry  whether  Mrs.  Curdle  was  at  home, 
opened  his  eyes  very  widie,  grinned  very  much,  and  said  he  didn't  know,  hot 
he'd  inquire.  With  this  he  showed  them  into  a  parlour,  where  he  kept  them 
waiting,  until  the  two  women  servants  had  repaired  thither,  under  false  pre- 
tences, to  see  the  playactors  ;  and  having  compared  notes  with  them  in  the 
passage,  and  joined  in  a  vast  quantity  of  whispering  and  giggling,  he  at  length 
went  upstairs  with  Miss  Snevellicci's  name. 

Now,  Mrs.  Curdle  was  supposed,  by  those  who  were  best  informed  on  such 
points,  to  possess  quite  the  London  taste  in  matters  relating  to  literatare  and 
the  drama ;  and  as  to  Mr.  Curdle,  he  had  written  a  pamphlet  of  sizty-foor 
].)ages,  post  octavo,  on  the  character  of  the  Nurse's  deceased  husband  in  Borneo 
and  Juliet,  with  an  inquiry  whether  he  really  had  been  a  '* merry  man"  in 
his  lifetime,  or  whether  it  was  merely  his  widow's  affectionate  partiality  that 
induced  her  so  to  report  him.  He  had  likewise  proved,  that  by  altering  the 
received  mode  of  punctuation,  any  one  of  Shakespeare's  plays  could  be  made 
quite  different,  and  the  sense  completely  changed  ;  it  is  needless  to  say, 
therefore,  that  he  was  a  great  critic,  and  a  very  profound  and  most  original 
thinker. 

''Well,  Miss  Snevellicci,"  said  Mrs.  Curdle,  entering  the  parlour,  *'and 
how  do  y<m  do  ? " 

Miss  Snevellicci  made  a  graceful  obeisance,  and  hoped  Mrs.  Curdle  was  well, 
as  also  Mr.  Curdle,  who  at  the  same  time  appeared.  Mrs.  Curdle  was  dressed 
in  a  morning  wrapper,  with  a  little  cap  stuck  upon  the  top  of  her  head.  Mr. 
Curdle  wore  a  loose  robe  on  his  back,  and  his  right  forefinger  on  his  forehead, 
after  the  portraits  of  Sterne,  to  whom  somebody  or  other  had  once  said  he 
bore  a  striking  resemblance. 

*'I  ventured  to  call,  for  the  purpose  of  asking  whether  you  would  put 
your  name  to  my  bespeak,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  prodacing 
documents. 

**  Oh  !  I  really  don't  know  what  to  say,"  replied  Mrs.  Curdle.  "It's 
not  as  if  the  theatre  was  in  its  high  and  palmy  days — you  needn't  stand, 
Miss  Snevellicci — the  drama  is  gone,  perfectly  gone." 

''As  an  exquisite  embodiment  of  the  poet's  visions,  and  a  realisation  of 
human  intellectuality,  gilding  with  refulgent  light  our  dreamy  moments, 
and  laying  open  a  new  and  magic  world  before  the  mental  eye,  tho  drama  is 
gone,  perfectly  gone,"  said  Mr.  Curdle. 

"  What  man  is  there,  'now  living,  who  can  present  before  us  all  those 
changing  and  prismatic  colours  with  which  the  character  of  Hamlet  is 
invested  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Curdle. 

' '  What  man  indeed — upon  the  stage  ?  "  said  Mr.  Curdle,  with  a  small 
reservation  in  favour  of  himself.  "  Hamlet !  Pooh  1  ridiculous  !  Hamlet  ii 
gone,  perfectly  gone." 

Quite  overcome  by  these  dismal  reflections,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Curdle  sighed, 
and  sat  for  some  short  time  without  speaking.  At  length  the  lady,  taming 
to  Miss  Snevellicci,  inquired  what  play  she  proposed  to  have. 

**  Quite  a  now  one,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  "  of  which  this  gentleman  ii 
the  author,  and  in  which  he  plays ;  being  his  first  appearance  on  any 
stage.     Mr.  Johnson  is  the  gentleman's  name." 

**  I  hope  you  have  preserved  the  unities,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Curdle. 

"The  original  piece  is  a  French  one,"  said  Nicholas.  "There  is  abund- 
ance of  incident,  sprightly  dialogue,  strongly-marked  characters—" 

"AH  unavailing  without  a  strict  observance  of  the  unities,  sir,"  retamad 
Mr,  Cardie*     "  The  unities  of  t\ie  drama  \)fttot^  w«^\\i\u^v" 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  201 

"Might  I  ask  you,"  said  Nicholas,  hesitating  between  the  respect  he 
ou^ht  to  assame  and  his  love  of  the  whimsical,  '*  might  I  ask  you  what  the 
unities  are  ?  " 

Mr.  Curdle  coughed  and  considered.  "The  unities,  sir,"  he  said,  *'are  a 
completeness — a  kind  of  a  universal  dovetailedness  with  regard  to  place  and 
time — a  sort  of  a  general  oneness,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  use  so  strong  an 
expression.  I  take  those  to  be  the  dramatic  unities,  so  far  as  I  have  been 
enabled  to  bestow  attention  upon  them,  and  I  have  read  much  upon  the  sub- 
ject, and  thought  much.  I  find,  running  through  the  performances  of  this 
child,"  said  Mr.  Curdle,  turning  to  the  phenomenon,  "  a  unity  of  feeling,  a 
breadth,  a  light  and  shade,  a  warmth  of  colouring,  a  tone,  a  harmony,  a  glow, 
an  artbtical  development  of  original  conceptions,  which  I  look  for  in  vain 
among  older  performers — I  don't  know  whether  I  make  myself  understood  ? " 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Curdle,  pulling  up  his  neckcloth.  "That  is  my 
definition  of  the  unities  of  the  drama." 

Mrs.  Curdle  had  sat  listening  to  this  lucid  explanation  with  great  com- 
placency. It  being  finished,  she  inquired  what  Mr.  Curdle  thought  about 
putting  down  their  names. 

"  I  aon't  know,  my  dear  ;  upon  my  word  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Curdle. 
"  If  we  do,  it  must  be  disthicuy  understood  that  we  do  not  pledge  ourselves 
to  the  quality  of  the  performances.  Let  it  go  forth  to  the  world,  that  we  do 
not  giTe  (kem  the  sanction  of  our  names,  but  that  we  confer  the  distinction 
tneruy  upon  Miss  Snevellicci.  That  being  clearly  stated,  I  take  it  to  be,  as 
Lt  were,  a  duty,  that  we  should  extend  our  patronage  to  a  degraded  stage,  even 
for  the  sake  of  the  associations  with  which  it  is  entwined.  Have  you  got 
two-and-sixpence  for  half-a-crown.  Miss  Snevellicci  ? "  said  Mr.  Curdle,  turn- 
ing over  four  of  those  pieces  of  money. 

Miss  Snevellicci  felt  in  all  the  corners  of  the  pink  reticule,  but  there  was 
nothing  in  any  of  them.  Nicholas  murmured  a  jest  about  his  being  an  author, 
and  thought  it  best  not  to  go  through  the  form  of  feeling  in  his  pockets  at  all. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Mr.  Curdle  ;  "  twice  four's  eight — four  shillings  a-piece 
to  the  boxes,  Miss  Snevellicci,  is  exceedingly  dear  in  the  present  state  of  the 
drama — ^three  half-crowns  is  seven-and-six  ;  we  shall  not  diJSer  about  sixpence, 
I  suppose  ?    Sixpence  will  not  part  us.  Miss  Snevellicci  ?  " 

Poor  Miss  Snevellicci  took  the  three  half-crowns,  with  many  smiles  and 
bends,  and  Mrs.  Curdle,  addins  several  supplementary  directions  relative  to 
keeping  the  places  for  them,  and  dusting  the  seat,  and  sending  two  clean  bills  a.o 
soon  as  they  came  out,  rang  the  bell  as  a  signal  for  breaking  up  of  the  conference. 

"  Odd  people  those,"  said  Nicholas,  when  they  got  clear  of  the  house. 

"I  assure  you,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  taking  his  arm,  "  that  I  think  my- 
self veiy  lucky  they  did  not  owe  all  the  money  instead  of  being  sixpence  short 
Ifow,  if  you  were  to  succeed,  they  would  give  people  to  understand  that  they 
liad  always  patronised  you,  and  if  you  were  to  fail,  they  would  have  been 
quite  certain  of  that  from  the  very  beginning." 

At  the  next  house  they  visited,  they  were  in  great  glory  ;  for  there  resided 
the  six  children  who  were  so  enraptured  with  the  public  actions  of  the 
phenomenon,  and  who,  being  called  down  from  the  nursery  to  be  treated  with 
|fc  private  view  of  that  young  lady,  proceeded  to  poke  their  fingers  into  her 
^es,  and  tread  upon  her  toes,  and  show  her  many  other  little  attentions 
peeiUiar  to  their  time  of  life. 

"I  shall  certainly  persuade  Mr.  Borum  to  take  a  private  box,"  said  the 
lidj  of  the  house,  after  a  most  gracious  reception.  '  *  I  shall  only  teke  two 
Of  the  children,  and  will  make  up  the  rest  of  the  party,  of  gentlemen — ^^q\ix 


202  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

admirers.  Miss  Snevellicci.     Augustus,  you  naughty  boy,  leave  the  little  girl 
alone." 

This  was  addressed  to  a  young  gentleman  who  was  pinching  the  phenomenon 
behind,  apparently  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  whether  she  was  reaL 

"  I  am  sure  you  must  be  very  tired,"  said  the  mamma,  turning  to  Min 
Snevellicci.  * '  I  cannot  think  of  allowing  you  to  go  without  first  taking  a 
glass  of  wine  !  Fie,  Charlotte,  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Miss  Lane,  my  dw, 
pray  see  to  the  children." 

Miss  Lane  was  the  governess,  and  this  entreaty  was  rendered  necessary  by 
the  abrupt  behaviour  of  the  youngest  Miss  Borum,  who,  having  filched  tin 
phenomenon's  little  green  parasol,  was  now  carrying  it  bodily  off,  while  the 
distracted  infant  looked  helplessly  on. 

"I  am  sure,  where  you  ever  learnt  to  act  as  you  do,"  said  good>natnred 
Mrs.  Borum,  turning  again  to  Miss  Snevellicci,  "  I  cannot  understand  (Emma, 
don't  stare  so) ;  laughing  in  one  piece,  and  crying  in  the  next,  and  so  natmal 
in  all — oh  dear !  " 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  you  express  so  favourable  an  opinion,"  said  Kias 
Snevellicci.     '*  It's  (juite  delightful  to  think  you  like  it" 

**  Like  it ! "  cried  Mrs.  Borum.  "Who  can  help  liking  it  ?  I  would  go  to 
the  play  twice  a- week  if  I  could :  I  dote  upon  it — only  you're  too  affecting 
sometimes.  You  do  put  me  in  such  a  state — into  such  fits  of  crying  !  Good 
gracious  me.  Miss  Lane,  how  can  you  let  them  torment  that  poor  child  so !" 

The  phenomenon  was  really  in  a  fair  way  of  being  torn  limb  from  limb ;  for 
two  strong  little  boys,  one  holding  on  by  each  of  her  hands,  were  dra^^iqg 
her  in  different  directions  as  a  trial  of  strength.  However,  Miss  Lane  (wlii 
had  herself  been  too  much  occupied  in  contemplating  the  grown-up  acton,  t* 
pay  the  necessary  attention  to  these  proceedings)  rescued  the  unhappy  infnt 
at  this  juncture,  who,  being  recruited  with  a  glass  of  wine,  was  shortly  afttt^ 
wards  taken  away  by  her  friends,  after  sustaining  no  more  serious  damage  than 
a  flattening  of  the  pink  gauze  bonnet,  and  a  rather  extensive  creasing  of  tlw 
white  frock  and  trousers. 

It  was  a  trying  morning  ;  for  there  were  a  great  many  calls  to  make,  and 
everybody  wanted  a  different  thing.  Some  wanted  tragedies,  and  othen 
comedies  ;  some  objected  to  dancing ;  some  wanted  scarcely  anything  elw. 
Some  thought  the  comic  singer  decidedly  low,  and  others  hoped  he  wooM 
have  more  to  do  than  he  usually  had.  Some  people  wouldn't  promise  to  p% 
because  other  people  wouldn't  promise  to  go  ;  and  other  people  wouldn't  got* 
all  because  other  people  went.  At  length,  and  by  little  and  little,  omitUif 
something  in  this  place,  and  adding  something  in  that.  Miss  SneveUicfl 
pledged  herself  to  a  bill  of  fare  which  was  comprehensive  enough,  if  it  had  ■• 
other  merit  (it  included  among  other  trifles,  four  pieces,  divers  songs,  a  fc* 
combats,  and  several  dances) ;  and  they  returned  home,  pretty  well  ezhanatrf 
with  the  business  of  the  day. 

Nicholas  worked  away  at  the  piece,  which  was  speedily  put  into  reheanA 
and  then  worked  away  at  his  own  part,  which  he  studied  with  great  pei* 
verance,  and  acted — as  the  whole  company  said — to  perfection.  At  lengtn  thi 
great  day  arrived.  The  crier  was  sent  round  in  the  morning  to  proclium  thj 
(jntertainments  with  sound  of  bell  in  all  the  thoroughfares  ;  and  extra  bills  « 
three  feet  long  by  nine  inches  wide  were  dispersed  in  all  direotions,  floiS 
down  all  the  areas,  thrust  under  aU  the  knockers,  and  developed  in  all  ti* 
shops.  They  were  placarded  on  all  the  walls  too,  though  not  with  com]^' 
success,  for  an  illiterate  person  having  undertaken  this  office  during  the  indli* 
position  of  the  regular  bill-sticker,  a  part  were  posted  sideways,  and  tli^|j 
remainder  upside  down. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  203 

At  half-past  five  there  was  a  rush  of  four  people  to  the  gallery  door  ;  at  a 
][iiarter  before  six  there  were  at  least  a  dozen ;  at  six  o'clock  the  kicks  were 
:errific ;  and  when  the  elder  Master  Crummies  opened  the  door,  he  was 
>bliged  to  run  behind  it  for  his  life.  Fifteen  shillings  were  taken  by  Mrs. 
jrmdden  in  the  first  ten  minutes. 

Behind  the  scenes  the  same  unwonted  excitement  prevailed.  Miss  Snevel- 
licci  was  in  such  a  perspiration  that  the  paint  would  scarcely  stay  on  her  face. 
Kirs.  Crummies  was  so  nervous  that  she  could  hardly  remember  her  part 
Biiss  Bravassa's  ringlets  came  out  of  curl  with  the  heat  and  anxiety ;  even 
Ifr.  Crummies  himself  kept  peeping  through  the  hole  in  the  curtain,  and 
running  back  every  now  and  then  to  announce  that  another  man  had  come 
into  the  pit. 

At  last  the  orchestra  left  off,  and  the  curtain  rose  upon  the  new  piece. 
Fhe  first  scene,  in  which  there  was  nobody  particular,  passed  off  calmly 
Snough,  but  when  Miss  Snevellicci  went  on  in  the  second,  accompanied  by  the 
phenomenon  as  child,  what  a  roar  of  applause  broke  out !  The  people  in  the 
Dorum  box  rose  as  one  man,  waving  tneir  hats  and  handkerchiefs,  and  utter- 
ing shouts  of  "  Bravo  !  "  Mrs.  Borum  and  the  governess  cast  wreaths  upon 
the  stage,  of  which,  some  fluttered  into  the  lamps,  and  one  crowned  the 
temples  of  a  fat  gentleman  in  the  pit,  who,  looking  eagerly  towards  the  scene, 
remained  unconscious  of  the  honour ;  the  tailor  and  his  family  kicked  at  the 
panels  of  the  upper  boxes  till  they  threatened  to  come  out  altogether ;  the 
very  ginger-beer  boy  remained  transfixed  in  the  centre  of  the  house  ;  a  young 
officer,  supposed  to  entertain  a  passion  for  Miss  Snevellicci,  stuck  his  glass  in 
bJB  eye  as  though  to  hide  a  tear.  Again  and  again  Miss  Snevellicci  curtseyed 
lower  and  lower,  and  again  and  again  the  applause  came  down  louder  and 
louder.  At  length,  when  the  phenomenon  picked  up  one  of  the  smoking 
wreaths  and  put  it  on,  sideways,  over  Miss  Snevellicci's  eye,  it  reached  its 
dimax,  and  the  play  proceeded. 

But  when  Nicholas  came  on  for  his  crack  scene  with  Mrs.  Crummies,  what 

a  clapping  of  hands  there  was  1    When  Mrs.  Crummies  (who  was  his  unworthy 

mother) .sneered,  and  called  him   ''presumptuous  boy,"  and  he  defied  her, 

what  a  tumult  of  applause  came  on  !    When  he  quarrelled  with  the  other 

■  gentleman  about  the  young  lady,  and  producing  a  case  of  pistols,  said,  that  if 

he  leas  a  gentleman,  he  would  fight  him  in  that  drawing-room,  until  the 

lomiture  was  sprinkled  with  the  blood  of  one,  if  not  of  two — how  boxes,  pit, 

tnd  gallery  joined  in  one  most  vigorous  cheer  !    When  he  called  his  mother 

ittmes,  b^use  she  wouldn't  give  up  the  young  lady's  property,  and  she 

i^elenting,  caused  him  to  relent  likewise,  and  fall  down  on  one  knee  and  ask 

W  blessing,  how  the  ladies  in  the  audience  sobbed  !    When  he  was  hid 

Uibiai  the  curtain  in  the  dark,  and  the  wicked  relation  poked  a  sharp  sword 

in  every  direction,  save  where  his  legs  where  plainly  visible,  what  a  thrill  of 

t&zious  fear  ran  through  the  house  !    His  air,  his  figure,  his  walk,  his  look, 

Everything  he  said  or  did,  was  the  subject  of  commendation.     There  was  a 

Vonnd  of  applause  every  time  he  spoke.    And  when,  at  last,  in  the  pump-and- 

t|Q»  scene,  Mrs.  Grudden  lighted  the  blue  fire,   and  all  the  unemployed 

^tembers  of  the  company  came  ijit  &nd  tumbled  down  in  various  directions — 

^^  because  that  had  anything  to  do  with  the  plot,  but  in  order  to  finish  off 

Pith  a  tableau — the  audience  (who  had  by  this  time  increased  considerably) 

Viwe  vent  to  such  a  shout  of  enthusiasm  as  had  not  been  heard  in  those  walls 

it  many  and  many  a  day. 

In  short,  the  success  of  both  new  piece  and  new  actor  was  complete,  and 
^0D  Miss  Snevellicci  was  called  for  at  the  end  of  the  play,  Nicholas  led  her 
BH,  and  divided  the  applause. 


204  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

CONCERNINO  A  YOTJNO  LAT)"X'  FROM  LONDON,  WHO  JOINS  TUB  CGltPANYj  AND 
AN  ELDERLY  ADMIRER  WHO  FOLLOWS  IN  HER  TRAIN  ;  WITH  AN  AFFECT- 
INO  OEltEMONY  CONSEQUENT  ON  THEIR  ARRIVAL. 

THE  new  piece  being  a  decided  liit,  was  announced  for  every  eyening  of 
performance  until  further  notice,  and  the  evenings  when  the  thMtre 
was  closed  were  reduced  from  three  in  the  week  to  two.  Nor  wew 
these  the  only  tokens  of  extraordinary  success  ;  for,  on  the  succeeding  Satur- 
day, Nicholas  received,  by  favour  of  the  indefatigable  Mrs.  Grudden,  no  lesB 
a  sum  than  thirty  shillings  ;  besides  which  substantial  reward,  he  enjoyed 
considerable  fame  and  honour :  having  a  presentation  copy  of  Mr.  CurdQe'i 
pamphlet  forwarded  to  the  theatre,  with  that  gentleman's  own  autograph  (h 
itself  an  inestimable  treasure)  on  the  fly  leaf,  accompanied  with  a  note,  con* 
taining  many  expressions  of  approval,  and  an  unsolicited  assurance  that  Mr. 
Curdle  would  be  very  happy  to  read  Shakespeare  to  him  for  three  hours  everj 
morning  before  breakfast  during  his  stay  in  the  town. 

"  I've  got  another  novelty,  Johnson,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  one  morning  in 
great  glee. 

*'  What's  that  ? "  rejoined  Nicholas.     *'  The  pony  ?  " 

**No,  no,  we  never  come  to  the  pony  till  everything  else  has  failed,"  nid 
^Ir.  Crummies.  "I  don't  think  wo  shall  come  to  the  X'ony  at  all  thii 
season.     No,  no,  not  the  pony." 

**  A  boy  phenomenon,  perhaps  ? "  suggested  Nicholas. 

*'  There  is  only  one  phenonicuon,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies,  impressiveljTf 
*' and  that's  a  cirl." 

**  Very  true,  said  Nicholas.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  Then  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  I  am  sure." 

"  Wliat  should  you  say  to  a  young  lady  from  London?"  inquired  Mr. 
Crummies.     "  Miss  So-and-so,  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane  ? 

"  I  should  say  she  would  look  very  well  in  the  bills,"  said  Nicholas. 

"You're  about  right  there,"  said  Mr.  Crummies  ;  **and  if  you  had  laki 
she  would  look  very  well  upon  the  stage,  too,  you  wouldn't  have  been  far  out 
Look  here  ;  what  do  you  think  of  this  ? " 

With  this  inquiry  Mr.  Crummies  unfolded  a  red  poster,  and  a  blue  posttfi 
and  a  yellow  poster,  at  the  top  of  each  of  which  public  notification  was  to- 
scribed  in  enormous  characters — "First  appearance  of  the  unrivalled  Mi* 
Tctowker,  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane  !  " 

'•  Dear  me  ! "  said  Nicholas,  **  I  know  that  lady." 

*•  Then  you  are  acquainted  with  as  much  talent  as  ever  was  compressed  int* 
one  young  person's  body,"  retorted  Mr.  Crummies,  rolling  up  the  oills  aguBj 
*'  that  is,  talent  of  a  certain  sort — of  a  certain  sort.  '  The  lilood  Drinker,' 
added  Mr.  Cruminhss,  with  a  prophetic  sigh,  "  'The  lilood  Drinker'  willdil 
with  that  girl  ;  and  she's  the  only  sylph  /  ever  saw  who  could  stand  up0i 
one  leg  and  play  the  tambourine;  on  her  other  knee,  lUct  a  sylph." 

"  When  does  she  come  down  ?  "  asked  Nicholas. 

**  We  expect  her  to-day,"  reidied  Mr.  Crumnilus.  "She  is  an  old  friend  ft 
Mrs.  Crummles's.  Mrs.  Crummies  saw  what  slie  could  do — always  knew  it 
from  the  first.  She  taught  her,  indeed,  nearly  all  she  knows.  Mrs.  Crammli 
was  the  original  Blood  Drinker." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  205 

"  Was  8he,  indeed  ? " 

**  Yea.     She  was  obliged  to  give  it  up,  though." 
**  Did  it  disagree  with  her  ?     asked  Nicholas. 

**  Not  80  much  with  her  as  witli  her  audiences,"  replied  Mr.  Crummlos. 
"Nobody  could  stand  it  It  was  too  tremeudous.  You  don't  quite  know 
what  Mrs.  Crummies  is  ^et." 
Nicholas  ventured  to  insinuate  that  he  thought  he  did. 
"No,  no,  you  don't,"  said  Mr.  Crummies  ;  "you  don't,  indeed.  I  don't, 
and  that's  a  fact.  I  don't  think  her  country  ^ill,  till  she  is  dead.  Some 
new  proof  of  talent  bursts  from  that  astonishing  woman  every  year  of  her  lite. 
Look  at  her — mother  of  six  children — three  of  'em  alive,  and  all  upon  the 
stage  I" 

•*  Extraordinary  ! "  cried  Nicliolas. 

•*  Ah  I  extraordinary,  indeed,"  rejoined  Mr.  Crummies,  taking  a  complacent 
pinch  of  snuff,  and  shaking  his  head  gravely.  **  I  pledge  you  my  professional 
word  I  didn't  even  know  she  could  dance  till  her  last  benefit,  and  then  she 
played  Juliet,  and  Helen  Macgregor,  and  did  the  skipping-rope  hornpipe 
between  the  pieces.  The  very  hrst  time  I  saw  that  admirable  woman, 
Johnson,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  drawing  a  little  nearer,  and  speaking  in  the 
tone  of  confidential  friendship,  "she  stood  upon  her  head  on  the  butt-end  of 
a  spear,  surrounded  with  blazing  fireworks." 
"You  astonish  me  !"  said  Nicholas. 

**  She  astonished  WKJ  /  "  returned  Mr.  Crummies,  with  a  very  serious  coun- 
tenance.  "Such  gmce,  coupled  with  such  dignity!  I  adored  her  from 
that  moment." 

The  arrival  of  the  gifted  subject  of  these  remarks  put  an  abrupt  termination 
to  Mr.  Crummles's  eulogium.  Almost  immediately  afterwards  Master  Percy 
Cnimmles  entered  with  a  letter,  which  had  arrived  by  the  General  Post,  ami 
was  directed  to  his  gracious  mother  ;  at  sight  of  the  superscription  whereof, 
Mrs.  Crummies  exclaimed,  "  From  Henrietta  Petowker,  I  do  declare!"  and 
instantly  became  absorbed  in  the  contents. 

"  Is  it ? "  inquired  Mr.  Crummies,  hesitating. 

**0h,  yes,  it's  all  right,"  replied  Mrs.  Crummies,  anticipating  the  question. 
"  What  an  excellent  thing  for  her,  to  be  sure  I " 

"It's  the  best  thing,  altogether,  that  I  ever  heard  of,  I  think,"  said  Mr. 
Cnunmles ;  and  then  Mr.  Crummies,  Mrs.  Crummies,  and  Master  Percy 
Cnunmles,  all  fell  to  laughing  violently.  Nicholas  left  them  to  enjoy  their 
mirth  together,  and  walked  to  his  lodgings  :  wondering  very  much  what 
tnyrtery  connected  with  Miss  Petowker  could  provoke  such  merriment,  and 
iKmderiog  still  more  on  the  extreme  surprise  with  which  that  lady  would 
fgard  his  sudden  enlistment  iu  a  profession  of  which  she  was  such  a  dis- 
ti^^hed  and  brilliant  ornament. 

But,  in  this  latter  respect  he  was  mistaken  ;  for — whether  ]Mr.  Vincent 
Crummies  had  paved  the  way,  or  Miss  Petowker  had  some  special  reason  for 
t^Btting  him  with  even  more  than  her  usual  amiability — their  meeting  at  the 
th«ttre  next  day  was  more  like  that  of  two  dear  friends  who  had  been  insepar- 
able from  infancy,  than  a  recognition  passing  between  a  lady  and  gentleman 
Jho  had  only  met  some  half-dozen  times,  and  then  by  mere  chance.     Nay, 
fiisB  Petowker  even  whispered  that  she  had  wholly  dropped  the  Kenwigscs  in 
Jer  conversations  with  the  manager's  family,  and  had  represented  herself  as 
^^ving encountered  Mr.  Johnson  in  the  very  first  and  most  fashionable  circles  ; 
•lui  on  Nicholas  receiving  this  intelligence  with  unfeigned  surprise,  she  added, 
^'th  a  sweet  glance,  that  she  had  a  claim  on  his  good-nature  now,  and  might 
taix  it  before  k>Dg. 


2o6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Nicholas  had  the  honour  of  playing  in  a  slight  piece  with  Miss  Petowker 
that  night,  and  could  not  but  observe  that  the  warmth  of  her  reception  vu 
mainly  attributable  to  a  most  persevering  umbrella  in  the  upper  boxes ;  he 
eaw,  too,  that  the  enchanting  actress  cast  many  sweet  looks  towards  the 
quarter  whence  these  sounds  proceeded ;  and  that  every  time  she  did  so  the 
umbrella  broke  out  afresh.  Once,  he  thought  that  a  peculiarly-shaped  hat  in 
the  same  corner  was  not  wholly  unknown  to  him  ;  but  being  occupied  with 
his  share  of  the  stage  business  he  bestowed  no  great  attention  upon  this 
circumstance,  and  it  had  quite  vanished  from  his  memory  by  the  time  he 
reached  home. 

He  had  just  sat  down  to  supper  with  Smike,  when  one  of  the  people  of  the 
house  came  outside  the  door,  and  announced  that  a  gentleman  below  stain 
wished  to  speak  to  Mr.  Johnson. 

*'  Well,  if  he  does,  you  must  tell  him  to  come  up ;  that's  all  I  know/ 
replied  Nicholas.     **  One  of  our  hungry  brethren,  I  suppose,  Smike." 

His  fellow-lodger  looked  at  the  cold  meat,  in  silent  calculation  of  the 
quantity  that  would  be  left  for  dinner  next  day,  and  put  back  a  slice  he  had 
cut  for  himself,  in  order  that  the  visitor's  encroachments  might  be  less  for- 
midable in  their  effects. 

*' It  is  not  anybody  who  has  been  here  before,"  said  Nicholas,  "forheii 
tumbling  up  every  stair.  Come  in,  come  in.  In  the  name  of  wonder  !  Mr. 
Lilly  vick  ?  '* 

It  was,  indeed,  the  collector  of  water-rates,  who,  regarding  Nicholas  with  t 
fixed  look  and  immovable  countenance,  shook  hands  with  most  portentona 
solemnity,  and  sat  himself  down  in  a  seat  by  the  chimney-comer. 

**  Why,  when  did  you  come  here  ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

*'  This  morning,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Lilly  vick. 

'*  Oh !  I  see ;  then  you  were  at  the  theatre  to-night,  and  it  was  your 
umb " 

''This  umbrella,"  said  Mr.  Lilly  vick,  producing  a  fat  green  cotton  one  with 
a  battered  ferrule.     "  What  did  you  think  of  that  performance  ? " 

''  So  far  as  I  could  judge,  being  on  the  stage,"  replied  Nicholas,  "  I  thought 
it  very  agreeable." 

"Agreeable!"  cried  the  collector.  "I  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  it  was 
delicious." 

Mr.  Lillyvick  bent  forward  to  pronounce  the  last  word  with  great  emphasis ; 
and  having  done  so,  drew  himself  up,  and  frowned  and  nodded  a  great  many 
times. 

*'Isay,  delicious,"  repeated  Mr.  Lillyvick.  "Absorbing,  fairy-like,  too- 
multuous."  And  again  Mr.  Lillyvick  drew  himself  up,  and  again  he  frowned 
and  nodded. 

"Ah  !"  said  Nicholas,  a  little  surprised  at  these  symptoms  of  ecstatic 
approbation.     "  Yes — she  is  a  clever  girl." 

"She  is  a  divinity,"  returned  Mr.  Lillyvick,  giving  a  collector's  double 
knock  on  the  ground  with  the  umbrella  before  mentioned.  "  I  have  known 
divine  actresses  before  now,  sir ;  I  used  to  collect — at  least  I  used  to  ectUfor 
— and  very  often  call  for — the  water-rate  at  the  house  of  a  divine  actress,  who 
lived  in  my  beat  for  upwards  of  four  year,  but  never — no  never,  sir— -of  all 
divine  creatures,  actresses  or  no  actresses,  did  I  see  a  diviner  one  than  iB 
Henrietta  Petowker." 

Nicholas  had  much  ado  to  prevent  himself  from  laughing  ;  not  tmsting 
himself  to  speak,  he  merely  nodded  in  accordance  with  Mr.  Lilly  vick's  noda^ 
and  remained  silent. 

"  Let  me  speak  a  word  with  you  in  private,"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  207 

Nicholas  looked  good-humouredly  at  Smike,  who,  taking  the  hint,  dis- 
appeared. 

••  A  bachelor  is  a  miserable  wretch,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

"  Is  he? "  asked  Nicholas. 

"  He  is,"  rejoined  the  collector.  '*  I  have  lived  in  the  world  for  nigh  sixty 
year,  and  I  ought  to  know  what  it  is." 

**  You  ov4ht  to  know,  certainly,"  thouglit  Nicholas  ;  "  but  whether  you  do 
or  not,  is  another  question." 

"If  a  bachelor  happens  to  have  saved  a  little  matter  of  money,"  said  Mr. 
Lillyvick,  "  his  sisters  and  brothers,  and  nephews  and  nieces,  look  to  that 
money,  and  not  to  him  ;  even  if,  by  being  a  public  character,  he  is  the  head 
of  the  family,  or,  as  it  may  be,  the  main  from  which  all  the  other  little 
branches  are  turned  on,  they  still  wish  him  dead  all  the  while,  and  get  low- 
spiiited  every  time  they  see  him  looking  in  good  health,  because  they  want  to 
come  into  his  little  property.     You  see  that  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  **  it's  very  true,  no  doubt." 

'*  The  great  reason  for  not  being  married,"  resumed  Mr.  Lillyvick,  '•  is  the 
expense  ;  that's  what's  kept  me  off,  or  else — Lord  ! "  said  Mr.  Lillyvick, 
snapping  his  fingers,  *'  I  mi^ht  have  had  fifty  women." 

**  Fine  women  ?"  asked  Nicholas. 

"  Fine  women,  sir  1 "  replied  the  collector  ;  *'  aye  ! — not  so  fine  as  Henrietta 
Petowker,  for  she  is  an  uncommon  specimen,  but  such  women  as  don't  fall 
into  every  man's  way,  I  can  tell  you.  Now  suppose  a  man  can  get  a  fortune 
«i»  a  wife  instead  of  with  her — eh  ? " 

"Why,  then,  he's  a  lucky  fellow,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  retorted  the  collector,  patting  him  benignantly  on  the 
side  of  the  head  with  his  umbrella  ;  ''just  what  I  say.  Henrietta  Petowker, 
the  talented  Henrietta  Petowker,  has  a  fortune  in  herself,  and  I  am  going 
to " 

"  To  make  her  Mrs.  Lillyvick  ? "  suggested  Nicholas. 

"No,   sir,   not    to    make    her   Mrs.    Lillyvick,"    replied    the    collector. 


•t 


Actrrases,  sir,  always  keep  their  maiden  names — tliat's  the  regular  thing 
— ^but  I'm  going  to  marry  her ;  and  the  day  after  to-morrow,  too." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  sir,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  collector,  buttoning  his  waistcoat.  *'  I  shall 
dnw  her  sadary,  of  course,  and  I  hope  after  all  that  it's  nearly  as  cheap  to 
keep  two  as  it  is  to  keep  one  ;  that's  a  consolation." 

**  Surely  you  don't  want  any  consolation  at  such  a  moment  % "  observed 
Ificholas. 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  shaking  his  head  nervously  ;  "no — of  course 
not" 

"  Bat  how  came  you  both  here,  if  you're  going  to  be  married,  Mr.  Lilly- 
vick ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

"Why,  that's  what  I  came  to  explain  to  you,"  replied  the  collector  of 
^ter-rate.  "The  fact  is,  we  have  thought  it  best  to  keep  it  secret  from  the 
IbUy ! " 

••Family  ! "  said  Nicholas.     "  What  family  ? " 

"The  Kenwigses,  of  course,"  rejoined  Mr.  Lillyvick.  *'  If  my  niece  and  the 
children  had  known  a  word  about  it  before  I  came  away,  they'd  have  gone  into 
fits  at  my  feet,  and  never  have  come  out  of  *em  till  I  took  an  oath  not  to  marry 
tnybody — or  they'd  have  got  out  a  commission  of  lunacy,  or  some  dreadful 
tfung,"  said  the  collector,  quite  trembling  as  he  spoke. 

**To  be  sure,"  said  Nicholas,  *'yes;  they  would  have  been  jealous,  no 
doubt." 


2o8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**To  prevent  which,"  said  Mr.  Lilly vick,  **  Henrietta  Petowker  (it 
settled  between  us)  should  come  down  here  to  her  friends,  the  CrummlesM, 
under  pretence  of  this  engagement,  and  I  should  go  down  to  Guildford  the 
day  before,  and  join  her  on  the  coach  there,  which  I  did,  and  we  came  down 
from  Guildford  yesterday  together.  Now,  for  fear  you  should  be  writing  to 
Mr.  Noggs,  and  might  say  anything  about  us,  we  have  thought  it  best  to  let 
you  into  the  secret.  We  shall  be  married  from  the  Crummleses*  lodgings,  and 
shall  be  deli<;hted  to  see  you — either  before  church  or  at  breakfast-time,  which 
you  like.  It  won't  be  expensive,  you  know,"  said  the  collector,  highly 
anxious  to  prevent  any  misunderstanding  on  this  point ;  ''just  mnfSns 
and  coffee,  with  perhaps  a  shrimp  or  something  of  that  sort  for  a  telish, 
you  know." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand,"  replied  Nicholas.  **0h,  I  shall  bemost  ha|^ 
to  come  ;  it  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure.  Where's  the  lady  stoppings 
with  Mrs.  Crummies  ? " 

"Why,  no,"  said  the  collector  ;  *'  they  couldn't  very  well  dispose  of  her  at 
night,  and  so  she  is  staying  with  an  acquaintance  of  hers,  and  another  young 
lady  ;  they  both  belong  to  the  theatre." 

*  *  Miss  Snevellicci,  I  suppose  ? "  said  Nicholas. 

**  Yes,  that's  the  name." 

"And  they'll  be  bridesmaids,  I  presume  ?"  said  Nicholas. 

"  Why,"  said  the  collector,  with  a  rueful  face,  '*  they  vMl  have  four  brides- 
maids ;  I'm  afraid  they'll  make  it  rather  theatrical." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all,"  replied  Nicholas,  with  an  awkward  attempt  to  convert 
a  laugh  into  a  cough.  "  Who  may  the  four  be  ?  Miss  Snevellicci  of  course^ 
Miss  Ledrook " 

"The — the  phenomenon,"  groaned  the  collector. 

**  Ha,  ha  ! "  cried  Nicholas.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  don't  know  what  Fm 
langliing  at — yes,  that'll  be  very  pretty — the  phenomenon — who  else  ? " 

"Some  young  woman  or  other, '  replied  the  collector,  rising  ;  ** some  other 
friend  of  Henrietta  Petowker's.  Well,  you'll  be  careful  not  to  say  anytbiDg 
about  it,  will  you  ?  " 

"You  may  safely  depend  upon  me,"  replied  Nicholas.  "Won't  you  take 
anything  to  eat  or  drink  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  collector ;  "  I  haven't  any  appetite.  I  should  think  it  was 
a  very  pleasant  life,  the  married  one — eh  ? " 

"  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  of  it,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"Yes,"  said  the  collector  ;  "certainly.    Oh,  yes.    No  doubt.    Goodnight." 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Lillyvick,  whose  mauner  had  exhibited  through  th^ 
whole  of  this  interview  a  most  extraordinary  compound  of  precipitation^ 
hesitation,  confidence,  and  doubt ;  fondness,  misgiving,  meanness,  and  self-^ 
importance,  turned  his  back  upon  the  room,  and  left  Nicholas  to  enjoy  a  laugfc*- 
by  himself,  if  he  felt  so  disposed. 

Without  stopping  to  inquire  whether  the  intervening  day  appeared  t^ 
Nicholas  to  consist  of  the  usual  number  of  hours  of  the  ordinar}'  length,  i^ 
may  be  remarked  that,  to  the  parties  more  directly  interested  in  the  forth-' 
coming  ceremony,  it  passed  with  great  rapidity,  insomuch  that  when  Mii0 
Petowker  awoke  on  the  succeeding  morning  in  the  chamber  of  Miss  Snevelliceiv 
she  declared  that  nothing  should  ever  persuade  her  that  that  really  was  thc^ 
day  which  was  to  behold  a  change  in  her  condition. 

"  I  never  will  believe  it,"  said  Miss  Petowker  ;  **  I  cannot  really.  It's  of 
no  use  talking,  I  never  can  make  up  my  mind  to  go  through  with  saeh  • 
trial ! " 

On  hearing  this,  Miss  Snevellicci  and  Miss  Ledrook,  who  knew  perfectly 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  209 

well  that  their  fair  friend's  mind  had  been  made  up  for  three  or  four  years,  at 
any  period  of  which  time  she  would  have  cheerfully  undergone  the  desperate 
trial  now  approaching  if  she  could  have  found  any  eligible  gentleman  disposed 
for  the  venture,  began  to  preach  comfort  and  firmness,  and  to  say  how  very 
proud  she  ought  to  feel  that  it  was  in  her  power  to  confer  lasting  bliss  on  a 
deserving  object,  and  how  necessary  it  was  for  the  happiness  of  mankind  in 
general  that  women  should  possess  fortitude  and  resignation  on  such  occasions ; 
and  that  although  for  their  parts  they  held  true  happiness  to  consist  in  a 
single  life,  which  they  would  not  willingly  exchange — no,  not  for  any  worldly 
consideration — still  (thank  God),  if  ever  the  time  should  come,  they  hoped 
they  knew  their  duty  too  well  to  repine,  but  would  the  rather  submit  with 
meekness  and  humility  of  spirit  to  a  fate  for  which  Providence  had  clearly 
designed  them  with  a  view  to  the  contentment  and  reward  of  their  fellow- 
creatures. 

•*  I  might  feel  it  was  a  great  blow,"  said  Miss  Snevcllicci,  "  to  break  up  old 
associations  and  what-do-you-callems  of  that  kind,  but  I  would  submit,  my 
dear,  I  would,  indeed." 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Miss  Ledrook  ;  *'  I  would  rather  court  the  yoke  than 
shun  it.  I  have  broken  hearts  before  now,  and  I'm  very  sorry  for  it ;  for  it's 
a  terrible  thing  to  reflect  upon. " 

**It  is  indeed,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci.  "Now,  Led,  my  dear,  we  must 
positively  get  her  ready,  or  we  shall  be  too  late,  we  shall  indeed." 

This  pious  reasoning,  and  perhaps  the  fear  of  being  too  late,  supported  the 
bride  through  the  ceremony  of  robing,  after  which,  strong  tea  and  brandy 
were  administered  in  alternate  doses  as  a  means  of  strengthening  her  feeble 
limbs  and  causing  her  to  walk  steadier. 

**  How  do  you  feel  now,  my  love  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Snevellicci. 
**  Oh,  Lillyvick  !  "  cried  the  bride,  "if  you  knew  what  I  am  undergoing  for 
you ! " 
"  Of  course  he  knows  it,  love,  and  will  never  forget  it,"  said  Miss  Ledrook. 
"Do  you  think  he  won't?"   cried  Miss  Petowker,  really  showing  great 
capability  for  the  stage.     "  Oh,  do  you  think  he  won't  ?    Do  you  think  LUly- 
vick  will  always  remember  it — always,  always,  always  ? " 

There  is  no  knowing  in  what  this  burst  of  feeling  might  have  ended,  if 
Hiss  Snevellicci  had  not  at  that  moment  proclaimed  the  arrival  of  the  fly, 
^hich  so  astounded  the  bride  that  she  shook  otf"  divers  alarming  symptoms 
which  were  coming  on  very  strong,  and  running  to  the  glass  adjusted  her 
dress,  and  calmly  declared  that  she  was  ready  for  the  sacrihce. 

She  was  accordingly  supported  into  the  coach,  and  there  "kept  up"  (as 
^^  SneveUicci  said)  with  perpetual  sniifs  of  sal  volatile  and  sips  of  brandy 
and  other  gentle  stimulants,  until  they  reached  the  manager's  door,  which 
"w**  already  opened  by  the  two  Master  Crummleses,  who  wore  white  cockades, 
and  were  decorated  with  the  choicest  and  most  resplendent  waistcoats   in 
the  theatrical  wardrobe.     By  the  combined  exertions  of  these  young  gentle- 
i    inen  and  the  bridesmaids,  assisted  by  the  coachman.  Miss  Petowker  was  at 
^    length  supported  in  a  condition  of  much  exhaustion  to  the  first  floor,  where 
wte  no  sooner  encountered  the  youthful  bridegroom  than  she  fainted  with 
pB»t  decorum. 
"Henrietta  Petowker  !  "  said  the  collector  ;  *'  cheer  up,  my  lovely  one." 
Miss  Petowker  grasped   the  collector's  hand,  but   emotion   choked  her 
utterance. 
"Is  the  sight  of  me  so  dreadful,  Henrietta  Petowker  ? "  said  the  collector. 
"Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  rejoined  the  bride  ;  "but  all  the  friends — the  darling 
ftends—of  my  youthful  days — to  leave  them  all — it  is  such  a  shock  I  " 

U  \^ 


210  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

With  such  expressions  of  sorrow  Miss  Petowker  went  on  to  enumerate  the 
dear  friends  of  her  youthful  days  one  by  one,  and  to  call  upon  such  of  them  as 
were  present  to  come  and  embrace  her.  This  done,  she  remembered  that  Mrs. 
Crummies  had  been  more  than  a  mother  to  her,  and  after  that,  that  Mr. 
Crummies  had  been  more  than  a  father  to  her,  and  after  that,  that  the  Master 
Crummleses  and  Miss  Ninetta  Crummies  had  been  more  tlian  brothers  and 
sisters  to  her.  These  various  remembrances  being  each  accompanied  with  a 
series  of  hugs,  occupied  a  long  time,  and  they  were  obliged  to  drive  to  church 
very  fast,  for  fear  they  should  be  too  late. 

The  procession  consisted  of  two  flys ;  in  the  first  of  which  were  Miss  Bravassa 
(the  fourth  bridesmaid),  Mrs.  Crummies,  the  collector,  and  Mr.  Folair,  who 
liad  been  chosen  as  his  second  on  the  occasion.  In  the  other  were  the  bride, 
Mr.  Crummies,  Miss  Snevellicci,  Miss  Ledrook,  and  the  phenomenon.  The 
costumes  were  beautiful.  The  bridesmaids  were  quite  covered  with  artificial 
flowers,  and  the  phenomenon,  in  particular,  was  rendered  almost  invisible  by 
the  portable  arbour  in  which  she  was  enshrined.  Miss  Ledrook,  who  was  of  a 
romantic  turn,  wore  in  her  breast  the  miniature  of  some  field  officer  unknown^ 
which  she  had  purchased,  a  great  bargain,  not  very  long  before ;  the  other 
ladies  displayed  several  dazzling  articles  of  imitative  jewellery,  almost  equal 
to  real ;  and  Mrs.  Crummies  came  out  in  a  stern  and  gloomy  majesty,  which 
attracted  the  admiration  of  all  beholders. 

But  perhaps  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Crummies  was  more  striking  and  appro- 
priate than  that  of  any  member  of  the  party.  This  gentleman,  who 
personated  the  bride's  father,  had,  in  pursuance  of  a  happy  and  original  con- 
ception, "  made  up  "  for  the  part  by  arraying  himself  in  a  theatrical  wig,  of 
a  style  and  ])attern  commonly  known  as  a  brown  George  ;  and,  moreover, 
assuming  a  snuflf-coloured  suit,  of  the  previous  century,  with  grey  silk 
stockings,  and  buckles  to  his  shoes.  The  better  to  support  his  assumed 
character,  he  had  determined  to  be  greatly  overcome,  and,  consequently, 
when  they  entered  the  church,  the  sobs  of  the  affectionate  parent  were  so 
heartrending  that  the  pew-opener  suggested  the  propriety  of  his  retiring  to 
the  vestry,  and  comforting  himself  with  a  glass  of  water  before  the  ceremony 
began. 

The  procession  up  tlie  aisle  was  beautiful.     The  ])ride,  with  the  four  brides- 
maids, forming  a  group  previously  arranged  and   rehearsed  ;    the  collector, 
followed  by  his  second,  imitating  his  walk  and  gestures,  to  the  indescribable 
amusement  of  some  theatrical  friends  in  the  gallery  ;  Mr.  Crummies,  with  an 
infirm  and  feeble  gait  ;   Mrs.   Crummies  advancing  with  that  stage  walk 
which  consists  of  a  stride  and  a  stop  alternately — it  was  the  completest  thiiVf 
ever  witnessed.     The  ceremony  was  very  quickly  disposed  of,  and  all  partiM 
present  having  signed  the  register  (for  which  purpose,  when  it  came  to  hi* 
turn,  Mr.  Crummies  carefully  wiped  and  put  on  an  immense  pair  of  spectacles)^ 
they  went  back  to  breakfast  in  high  spirits.     And  here  they  found  Nicholii 
awaiting  their  arrival. 

•'Now,  then,"  said  Crummies,  who  had  been  assisting  Mrs.  Grudden  in  the 
preparations,  which  were  on  a  more  extensive  scale  than  was  quite  agreetbiB 
to  the  collector,   *'  breakfast,  breakfast." 

No  second  invitation  was  required.  The  company  crowded  and  squeeffd 
themselves  at  the  table  as  well  as  they  could,  and  fell  to .  immediately  ;  Mi* 
Petowker  blushing  very  nmch  when  anybody  was  looking,  and  eating  very 
nmch  when  anybody  was  not  looking  ;  and  Mr.  Lillyvick  going  to  worktt 
though  with  the  cool  resolve,  that  since  the  good  thin^  must  be  paid  for  \H 
him,  he  would  leaye  as  little  as  possible  for  the  Crummleses  to  ett  19 
afterwards. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  211 

**  It*«  very  soon  done,  sir,  isn't  it  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Folair  of  tlie  collector, 

leaning  over  the  table  to  address  him. 

**  'V\Qiat  is  soon  done,  sir  ? "  returned  Mr.  Lilly vick. 

"The  tying  up — the  fixing  oneself  with  a  wife,"  replied  Mr.  Folair.     "  It 

don't  take  long,  does  it  ? " 

*•  No,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Lilly  vick,  colouring ;  "it  does  not  take  long.     And 

what  then,  sir  ? 

*•  Oh,  nothing,"  said  the  actor.     *'  It  don't  take  a  man  long  to  hang  himself 

either,  eh  ?  ha,  ha  !  " 
Mr.  Lillyvick  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  looked  round  the  table 

with  indignant  astonishment. 

**  To  hang  himself ! "  repeated  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

A  profound  silence  came  upon  all,  for  Mr.  Lillyvick  was  dignified  beyond 

expression. 

•*To    hang   himself!"    cried    Mr.    Lillyvick  again.      "Is  any  parallel 

attempted  to  be  drawn  in  this  company  between  matrimony  and  hanging  ? " 
**  The  noose,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  a  little  crestfallen. 
"The  noose,  sir ? "  retorted  Mr.  Lillyvick.     "  Does  any  man  dare  to  speak 

to  me  of  a  noose  and  Henrietta  Pe " 

**  Lillyvick,"  suggested  Mr.  Crummies. 

** and  Henrietta  Lillyvick  in  the  same  breath?"    said  the  collector. 

**  In  this  house,  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cmmrales,  who  have  brought 

np  a  talented  and  virtuous  family  to  be  blessings  and  phenomenons,  and  what 

not,  are  we  to  hear  talk  of  nooses  ? " 

•'  Folair,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  deeming  it  a  matter  of  decency  to  be  affected 

by  this  allusion  to  himself  and  partner,   '*  I'm  astonished  at  you." 

"  "What  are  you  going  on  in  this  way  at  me  for  % "  urged  the  unfortunate 

actor.     "  What  have  I  done  ? " 

*•  Done,  sir ! "  cried  Mr.  Lillyvick,  "  aimed  a  blow  at  the  whole  framework 

of  society " 

"And  the  best  and  tenderest  feelings,"  added  Crummies,  relapsing  into  the 

old  man. 
"And  the  highest  and  most  estimable  of  social  ties,"  said  the  collector. 

"  Noose  !    As  if  one  was  caught,  trapped  into  the  married  state,  pinned  by 

the  leg^  instead  of  going  into  it  of  one's  own  accord,  and  glorying  in  the 
act!" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  make  it  out  that  you  were  caught  and  trapped,  and 
pinned  by  the  leg,"  replied  the  actor.  "  I'm  sorry  for  it ;  I  can't  say  any 
more." 

"So  you  ought  to  be,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Lillyvick ;  "and  I  am  glad  to 
liear  that  you  have  enough  of  feeling  left  to  be  so." 

The  quarrel  appearing  to  terminate  with  this  reply,  Mrs.  Lillyvick  con- 
s^ered  that  the  fittest  occasion  (the  attention  of  the  company  being  no  longer 
^listracted)  to  burst  into  tears,  and  require  the  assistance  of  all  four  brides- 
maids, which  was  immediately  rendered,  though  not  without  some  confusion, 
for  the  room  being  small,  and  the  table-cloth  long,  a  whole  detachment  of 
plates  were  swept  off  the  board  at  the  very  first  move.  Regardless  of  this 
^icomstance,  however,  Mrs.  Lillyvick  refused  to  be  comforted  until  the 
belligerents  had  passed  their  words  that  the  dispute  should  be  carried  no 
Airther,  which,  alter  a  sufficient  show  of  reluctance,  they  did,  and  from  that 
time  Mr.  Folair  sat  in  moody  silence,  contenting  himself  with  pinching 
JVjcholas's  leg  when  anything  was  said,  and  so  expressing  his  contempt  both 
6r  tiie  speaker  and  the  sentiments  to  which  he  gave  utterance. 
There  were  a  great  number  of  speeches  made,  some  by  Nicholas,  axidi  ^^isx^ 


212  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

by  Crummies,  aud  some  by  the  collector  ;  two  by  the  Master  Crummleses  in 
returning  thanks  for  themselves,  and  one  by  the  phenomenon  on  behalf  of  the 
bridesmaids,  at  which  Mrs.  Crummies  shed  tears.  There  was  some  sin^ng, 
too,  from  Miss  Ledrook  and  Miss  Bravassa,  and  very  likely  there  might  nave 
been  more  if  the  fly-driver,  who  stopped  to  drive  the  happy  pair  to  the  spot 
where  they  proposed  to  take  steam-boat  to  Ryde,  had  not  sent  in  a  peremptory 
message,  intimating  that  if  they  didn't  come  directly  he  should  infallibly 
demand  eighteenpence  over  and  above  his  agreement. 

This  desperate  threat  effectually  broke  up  the  party.  After  a  most  pathetic 
leave-taking,  Mr.  Lillyvick  and  his  bride  departed  for  Ryde,  where  they  were 
to  spend  the  next  two  days  in  profound  retirement,  and  whither  they  were 
accompanied  by  the  infant,  who  had  been  appointed  travelling  bridesmaid  on 
Mr.  LiUyvick's  express  stipulation,  as  the  steam-boat  people,  deceived  by  her 
size,  would  (he  had  previously  ascertained)  transport  her  at  half-price. 

As  there  "^ras  no  performance  that  night,  Mr.  Crummies  declared  his  inten- 
tion of  keeping  it  up  till  everything  to  drink  was  disposed  of ;  but  Nicholas 
having  to  play  Romeo  for  the  first  time  on  the  ensuing  evening,  contriyed  to 
slip  away  in  the  midst  of  a  temporary  confusion,  occasioned  by  the  unex- 
pected development  of  strong  symptoms  of  inebriety  in  the  conduct  of  Mrs. 
Grudden. 

To  this  act  of  desertion  ho  was  led,  not  only  by  his  own  inclinations,  but 
by  his  anxiety  on  account  of  Smike,  who,  having  to  sustain  the  character  ol 
the  Apothecary,  had  been  as  yet  wholly  unable  to  get  any  more  of  the  part 
into  his  head  than  the  general  idea  that  he  was  very  hungry,  which — ^perhaps 
from  old  recollections— he  had  acquired  with  great  aptitude. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done,  Smike,"  said  Nicholas,  laying  down  the 
book.     *•  I  am  afraid  you  can't  learn  it,  my  poor  fellow." 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Smike,  shaking  his  head.  **I  think  if  you — but 
that  would  give  you  so  much  trouble." 

*•  What  ?  "  inquired  Nicholas.     **  Never  mind  me." 

"I  think,"  said  Smike,  "if  you  were  to  keep  saying  it  to  me  in  little 
bits,  over  and  over  again,  I  should  be  able  to  recollect  it  from  hearing 
you." 

**Do  you  think  so?"  exclaimed  Nicholas.  "Well  said.  Let  us  see 
who  tires  first.  Not  I,  Smike,  trust  me.  Now  then.  'Who  calls  » 
loud  ? ' " 

"  *  Who  calls  so  loud  ? '  "  said  Smike. 

"  *  Who  calls  so  loud  \ '  "  repeated  Nicholas. 

"  '  Who  calls  so  loud  ? '  "  cried  Smike. 

Thus  they  continued  to  ask  each  other  who  called  so  loud,  over  and  over 
again  ;  and  when  Smike  had  that  by  heart,  Nicholas  went  to  another 
sentence,  and  then  to  two  at  a  time,  and  then  to  three,  and  so  on,  until  ftt 
midnight  poor  Smike  found  to  his  unspeakable  joy  that  he  really  began  to 
remember  something  about  the  text. 

Early  in  the  morning  they  went  to  it  again,  and  Smike,  rendered  mow 
confident  by  the  progress  he  had  already  made,  got  on  faster  and  with  better 
heart.  As  soon  as  he  began  to  acquire  the  words  pretty  freely,  Nicholas 
showed  him  how  he  must  come  in  with  both  hands  spread  out  upon  hii 
stomach,  and  how  he  must  occasionally  rub  it,  in  compliance  with  the 
established  form  by  which  people  on  the  stage  always  denote  that  they  want 
something  to  eat  After  the  morning's  rehearsal  they  went  to  work  agaitti 
nor  did  they  stop,  except  for  a  hasty  dinner,  until  it  was  time  to  repair  to  the 
theatre  at  night. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y,  213 

Never  had  master  a  more  anxious,  humble,  docile  pupil.  Never  had  pupil 
a  more  patient,  unwearying,  considerate,  kind-hearted  master. 

As  soon  as  they  were  dressed,  and  at  every  interval  when  he  was  not  upon 
the  stage,  Nicholas  renewed  his  instructions.  They  prospered  well.  The 
Borneo  was  received  with  hearty  plaudits  and  unbounded  favour,  and  Smike 
was  pronounced  unanimously,  alike  by  audience  and  actors,  the  very  prince 
and  prodigy  of  Apothecaries. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

IS  FBAT70HT  WITH  SOME  DANQER  TO  MISS  NIOKLEBY's  PEACE  OF  MIND. 

rE  place  was  a  handsome  suite  of  private  apartments  in  Regent  Street , 
the  time  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  to  the  dull  and  plodding, 
and  the  first  hour  of  morning  to  the  gay  and  spirited ;  the  persons 
were  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht,  and  his  friend  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 

These  distinguished  gentlemen  were  reclining  listlessly  on  a  couple  of  sofas, 
with  a  table  Mtween  them,  on  which  were  scattered  in  rich  confusion  the 
materials  of  an  untasted  breakfast  Newspapers  lay  strewn  about  the  room, 
but  these,  like  the  meal,  were  neglected  and  unnoticed  ;  not,  however, 
bemuse  any  flow  of  conversation  prevented  the  attractions  of  the  journals 
from  being  called  into  request,  for  not  a  word  was  exchanged  between  the 
two,  nor  was  any  sound  uttered,  save  when  one,  in  tossing  about  to  find  an 
easier  resting-place  for  his  aching  head,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  impatience, 
and  seemed  for  the  moment  to  communicate  a  new  restlessness  to  his 
companion. 

These  appearances  would  in  themselves  have  furnished  a  pretty  strong  clue 
to  the  extent  of  the  debauch  of  the  previous  night,  even  if  there  had  not  been 
other  indications  of  the  amusements  in  which  it  had  been  passed.  A  couple 
of  billiard-balls,  all  mud  and  dirt,  two  battered  hats,  a  champagne  bottle  with 
a  soiled  glove  twisted  round  the  neck,  to  allow  of  its  being  grasped  more  surely 
in  its  capacity  of  an  ofiensive  weapon  ;  a  broken  cane  ;  a  card-case  without 
the  top ;  an  empty  purse ;  a  watch-guard  snapped  asunder  ;  a  handful  of 
silver,  mingled  with  fragments  of  half-smoked  cigars,  and  their  stale  and 
crumbled  ashes — these  and  many  other  tokens  of  riot  and  disorder  hinted 
very  intelligibly  at  the  nature  of  last  night's  gentlemanly  frolics. 

Lord  Frederick  Verisopht  was  the  first  to  speak.  Dropping  his  slippered 
foot  on  the  ground,  and  yawning  heavily,  he  struggled  into  a  sitting  posture, 
ftnd  turned  his  dull,  languid  eyes  towards  his  friend,  to  whom  he  called  in 
a  Urow^  voice. 

"  HaUo  ! "  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  round. 
"Are  we  going  to  be  here  all  da-a-y  ? "  said  the  lord. 
"  I  don't  know  that  we're  fit  for  anything  else,"    replied  Sir  Mulberry  ; 
*'yet  awhile,  at  least.     I  haven't  a  grain  of  life  in  me  this  morning." 

"Life  1"  cried  Lord  Veiisopht.     "I  feel  as  if  there  would  be  nothing  so 
^ng  and  comfortable  as  to  die  at  once." 
'•  Then  why  don't  you  die  ?  "  said  Sir  Mulberry. 

With  which  inquiry  he  turned  his  face  away,  and  seemed  to  occupy  himself 
IQ  an  attempt  to  fall  asleep. 

His  hopeful  friend  and  pupil  drew  a  chair  to  the  breakfast-table,  and  essayed 
to  eat ;  but  finding  that  impossible,  lounged  to  the  window,  then  loitered  u\\ 


214  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

and  down  the  room  with  his  hand  to  his  fevered  head,  and  finally  tlirew 
himscJf  again  on  his  sofa,  and  roused  his  friend  once  more. 

"  What  the  devil's  the  matter  ? "  groaned  Sir  Mulberry,  sitting  upright  on 
the  couch. 

Although  Sir  Mulberry  said  this  with  sufficient  ill-humour,  he  did  not  seem 
to  feel  himself  quite  at  liberty  to  remain  silent ;  for,  after  stretching  himself 
very  often,  and  declaring  with  a  shiver  that  it  was  **  infernal  cold,"  he  made 
an  experiment  at  the  breakfast- table,  and  proving  more  successful  in  it  than 
his  less-seasoned  friend,  remained  there. 

*'  Suppose,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  pausing  with  a  morsel  on  the  point  of  his 
fork,  "  suppose  we  go  back  to  the  subject  of  little  Nickleby,  eh  ?  * 

"Which  little  Nickleby :  the  money-lender  or  the  ga-a-1?"  asked  Lord 
Verisopht. 

*'  You  take  me,  I  see,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry.     '*  The  girl,  of  course." 

"  You  promised  me  you'd  find  her  out,"  said  Lord  Verisopht. 

"So  I  did,"  rejoined  his  friend;  '*but  I  have  thought  further  of  the 
matter  since  then.  You  distrust  me  in  the  business — you  shall  find  her  ont 
yourself." 

"  Na — ay,"  remonstrated  Lord  Verisopht. 

"  But  I  say  yes,"  returned  his  friend.  **  You  shall  find  her  out  yourself. 
Don't  think  that  I  mean,  when  you  can — I  know  as  well  as  you  that  if  I  did, 
you  could  never  get  sight  of  her  without  me.  No.  I  say  you  shall  find  her 
out — shall — and  I'llput  you  in  the  way." 

"  Now,  curse  me,  if  you  ain't  a  real,  deyvlish,  downright,  thorough-paced 
friend,"  said  the  young  lord,  on  whom  this  speech  had  produced  a  most 
reviving  effect. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all,"  said  Sir  Mulberry.  **  She  was  at  that  dinner  as  a  bait 
for  you." 

'*  No  !  "  cried  the  young  lord.     "  What  the  dey " 

**As  a  bait  for  you,"  repeated  his  friend;  "old  Nickleby  told  me  so 
himself." 

"What  a  fine  old  cock  it  is!"  exclaimed  Lord  Verisopht;  "a  noble 
rascal  ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  "he  knew  she  was  a  smart  little  creature ** 

"Smart!"  interposed  the  young  lord.  "Upon  my  soul,  Hawk,  she's  a 
perfect  beauty — a — a  picture,  a  statue,  a — a — upon  my  soul  she  is  I " 

"  Well,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  manifesting  an 
indifference,  whether  he  felt  it  or  not ;  "  that's  a  matter  of  taste  ;  if  mine 
dosen't  agree  with  yours,  so  much  the  better." 

"  Confound  it !  "  reasoned  the  lord,  "you  were  thick  enough  with  her  that 
day,  anyhow.     I  could  hardly  get  in  a  word." 

"  Well  enough  for  once,  well  enough  for  once,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry;  "bat 
not  worth  the  trouble  of  being  agreeable  to  again.  If  you  seriously  want  to 
follow  up  the  niece,  tell  the  uncle  that  you  must  know  where  she  lives,  and 
how  she  lives,  and  with  whom,  or  you  are  no  longer  a  customer  of  his.  He'll 
tell  you  fast  enough." 

"Why  didn't  you  say  this  before?"  asked  Lord  Verisopht,  "instead  of 
letting  me  go  on  burning,  consuming,  dragging  out  a  miserable  existence  for 
an  a-age ! " 

"  I  didn't  know  it,  in  the  first  place,"  answered  Sir  Mulberry,  carelessly; 
"  and  in  the  second,  I  didn't  believe  you  were  so  very  much  in  earnest." 

Now,  the  truth  was,  that  in  the  interval  which  had  elapsed  since  the  dinner 
at  Ralph  Nickh^by's,  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  had  been  furtively  trying  by 
every  means  in  his  power  to  discover  whence  Kate  had  so  suddenly  appeareo. 


NICHOLAS  NJCKLEB  K  215 

and  whither  she  had  disappeared.  tTnaesieted  by  Ralph,  however,  with  whom 
he  had  held  no  communication  since  their  angry  partiog  on  that  occasioo,  all 
his  efforts  were  wholly  unavailing,  and  he  had  therefore  arrived  at  the  deter- 
mination of  communicating  to  the  yoimg  lord  the  substance  of  the  admission 
he  had  gleaned  from  that  worthy.  To  this  he  was  impelled  by  various  con- 
siderations ;  among  which  the  certainty  of  knowing  whatever  the  weak  young 
man  knew  was  decidedly  not  the  least,  as  the  desire  of  encountering  the  usurer's 
niece  again,  and  using  his  utmost  arts  to  reduce  her  pride,  and  revenge  him- 
self for  her  contempt,  was  uppermost  in  his  thoughts.  It  was  a  politic  course 
of  proceeding,  and  one  which  could  not  fail  to  redound  to  his  advantage  in 
every  point  of  view,  since  the  very  circumstance  of  his  having  extorted  from 
Balph  Niokleby  his  real  design  in  introducing  his  niece  to  such  society, 
coupled  with  his  extreme  disinterestedness  in  communicating  it  so  freely  to 
his  friend,  could  not  but  advance  his  interests  in  that  quarter,  and  greatly 
facilitate  the  passage  of  coin  (pretty  frequent  and  speedy  already)  from  the 
pockets  of  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht  to  those  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 

Thus  reasoned  Sir  Mulberry,  and  in  pursuance  of  this  reasoning  he  and  his 
friend  soon  afterwards  repaired  to  Ralpn  Nickleby's,  there  to  execute  a  plan 
of  operations  concerted  by  Sir  Mulberry  himself,  avowedly  to  promote  his 
friend's  object,  and  reallv  to  attain  his  own. 

They  fonnd  Ralph  at  home  and  alone.  As  he  led  them  into  the  drawing- 
room  the  recollection  of  the  scene  which  had  taken  place  there  seemed  to 
occur  to  him,  for  he  cast  a  curious  look  at  Sir  Mulberry,  who  bestowed  upon 
it  no  other  acknowledgment  than  a  careless  smile. 

They  had  a  short  conference  upon  some  money  matters  then  in  progress, 
which  were  scarcely  disposed  of  when  the  lordly  dupe  (in  pursuance  of  his 
friend's  instructions)  requested  with  some  embarrassment  to  speak  to  Ralph 
alone. 

"Alone,  eh?''  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  affecting  surprise.  ''Oh,  very  good. 
I'll  walk  into  the  next  room  here.    Don't  keep  me  long,  that's  all." 

So  sayinff.  Sir  Mulberry  took  up  his  hat,  and  humming  a  fragment  of  a  song, 
disappeared  through  the  door  of  communication  between  the  two  drawing- 
rooms,  and  closed  it  after  him. 

"  Now,  my  lord,"  said  Ralph,  »'  what  is  it  1 " 

"  Nickleby,"  said  his  client,  throwing  himself  along  the  sofa  on  which  he 
had  been  previously  seated,  so  as  to  bring  his  lips  nearer  to  the  old  man's  ear, 
"what  a  pretty  creature  your  niece  is  ! " 

"  Is  she,  my  lord  ? "  replied  Ralph.  "  Maybe — maybe — I  don't  trouble  my 
head  with  such  matters." 

"  You  know  she's  a  deyvlish  fine  girl,"  said  the  client.  "  You  must  know 
that,  Nickleby.    Come,  don't  deny  that." 

"Yes,  I  believe  she  is  considered  so,"  replied  Ralph.     "Indeed,  I  know 
-she  is.     If  I  did  not,  you  are  an  authority  on  such  points,  and  your  taste,  my 
lord — on  all  points,  indeed — is  undeniable." 

Nobody  but  the  young  man  to  whom  these  words  were  addressed  could  have 
been  deaf  to  the  sneering  tone  in  which  they  were  spoken,  or  blind  to  the  look 
of  contempt  by  which  they  were  accompanied.  But  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht 
was  both,  and  took  them  to  be  complimentary. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "p'raps  you're  a  little  right,  and  p'raps  you're  a  little 
wrong — a  little  of  both,  Nickleby.  I  want  to  know  where  tnis  beauty  lives, 
that  I  may  have  another  peep  at  her,  Nickleby." 

"  Really "  Ralph  began  in  his  usual  tones. 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud,"  cried  the  other,  achieving  the  great  point  of  his 
lesson  to  a  miracle.     "  I  don't  want  Hawk  to  hear." 


2i6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

'*  Yon  know  be  is  yonr  rival,  do  you  ? "  said  Ralph,  looking  sbarply  at  him. 

"He  always  is,  d-a-amn  him,"  replied  the  client ;  *'and  I  want  to  steal  a 
march  upon  him.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  He'll  cut  up  so  rough,  Nickleby,  at  onr  talk- 
ing together  without  him.  Where  does  she  live,  Nickleby,  that's  all  1  Only 
tell  me  where  she  lives,  Nickleby." 

♦*  He  bites,"  thought  Ralph.     **  He  bites." 

"  Eh,  Nickleby,  eh  ? "  pursued  the  client.     **  Where  does  she  live  %  ** 

"Really,  my  lord,"  said  Ralph,  rubbing  his  hands  slowly  over  each  other, 
"  I  must  think  before  I  tell  yon." 

**No,  not  a  bit  of  it,  Nickleby ;  you  mustn't  think  at  all,"  replied  Yen- 
sopht.     "  Where  is  it  ? " 

"No  good  can  come  of  your  knowing,"  replied  Ralph.  "She  has  been 
virtuously  and  well  brought  up ;  to  be  sure  she  is  handsome,  poor,  unprotected 
—poor  girl,  poor  girl." 

Ralph  ran  over  this  brief  summary  of  Kate's  condition  as  if  it  were  merely 
passing  through  his  own  mind,  and  he  had  no  intention  to  speak  alond ;  bat 
the  shrewd,  s^  look  which  he  directed  at  his  companion  as  he  delivered  it 
gave  this  poor  assumption  the  lie. 

"  I  tell  you  I  only  want  to  see  her,"  cried  his  client.  "-A  ma-an  may  look 
at  a  pretty  woman  without  harm,  mayn't  he  ?  Now,  where  does  she  live  I  Yoa 
know  you're  making  a  fortune  out  of  me,  Nicklebv,  and  upon  my  soul,  nobody 
shall  ever  take  me  to  anybody  else,  if  you  only  tell  me  this." 

"As  you  promise  that,  my  lord,"  said  Ralph,  with  feigned  relactanee^ 
"and  as  I  am  most  anxious  to  oblige  you,  and  as  there's  no  harnoi  in  it — ^no 
harm — I'll  tell  you.  But  you  had  better  keep  it  to  yourself,  my  lord  ;  strictly 
to  yourself."  Ralph  pointed  to  the  adjoining  room  as  he  spoke,  and  nodded 
expressively. 

The  young  lord,  feigning  to  be  equally  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  tUi 
precaution,  Ralph  disclosed  the  present  address  and  occupation  of  his  niecfl^ 
observing  that  n'om  what  he  heard  of  the  family  they  appeared  very  ambitfoni 
to  have  distinguished  acquaintances,  and  that  a  lord  could,  doubtless,  intro* 
duce  himself  with  great  ease,  if  he  felt  disposed. 

"Your  object  being  only  to  see  her  again,"  said  Ralph,  "  you  could  eflBsct 
it  at  any  time  you  chose  by  that  means.  ' 

Lord  Yerisopht  acknowledged  the  hint  with  a  great  many  squeezes  of 
Ralph's  hard,  horny  hand,  and  whispering  that  they  would  now  clo  well  to 
close  the  conversation,  called  to  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  that  he  might  come  huA, 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone  to  sleep,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  re-appearing  witk 
an  ill-tempered  air. 

"Sorry  to  detain  you,"  replied  the  gull ;  "but  Nickleby  has  been  • 
ama-aziugly  funny  that  I  couldn't  tear  myself  away." 

"No,  no,"  said  Ralph ;  "it  was  all  his  lordship.  You  know  what  awitt^ 
humorous,  elegant,  accomplished  man  Lord  Frederick  is.  Mind  the  step^  if 
lord — Sir  Mulberry,  pray  give  way." 

With  such  courtesies  as  these,  and  many  low  bows,  and  the  same  cold 
upon  his  face  all  the  while,  Ralph  busied  himself  in  showing  his  visi^'*'^** 
downstairs,  and  otherwise  than  by  the  slightest  possible  motion  about 
corners  of  his  mouth,  returned  no  show  of  answer  to  the  look  of  admi: 
with  which  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  seemed  to  compliment  him  on  being  such 
accomplished  and  most  consummate  scoundrel. 

There  had  been  a  ring  at  the  bell  a  few  moments  before,  which  was  ans 
by  Newman  Noggs,  just  as  they  reached  the  hall.     In  the  ordinary  couns 
business  Newman  would  have  either  admitted  the  new  comer  in  silence, 
have  requested  him  or  her  to  stand   aside   while   the  gentlemen 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  217 

out.  Bat  he  no  sooner  saw  who  it  was,  than,  as  if  for  some  private 
reason  of  his  own,  he  boldly  departed  from  the  established  custom  of  Ralph's 
mansion  in  business  hours,  and  looking  towards  the  respectable  trio  who  were 
approaching,  cried  in  a  loud  and  sonorous  voice,  **  Mrs.  Nickleby  ! " 

"Mrs.  Nickleby?"  cried  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  as  his  friend  looked  back, 
and  stared  him  in  the  face. 

It  was,  indeed, [that  well-intentioned  lady,  who,  having  received  an  offer  for 
the  empty  house  in  the  city  directed  to  the  landlord,  had  brought  it  post- 
haste to  Mr.  Nickleby  without  delay. 

**  Nobody  you  know,"  said  Ralph.  **  Step  into  the  office,  my — my — dear. 
Fll  be  with  you  directly." 

**  Nobody  I  know  !  "  cried  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  advancing  to  the  astonished 
lady.  "  Is  this  Mrs.  Nickleby — the  mother  of  Miss  Nickleby — the  delightful 
creature  that  I  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  in  this  house  the  very  last  time 
I  dined  here  !    But  no  ;"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  stopping  short.     **  No,  It  can't 

be.     There  is  the  same  cast  of  features,  the  same  indesciibable  air  of 

Bat  no  ;  no.     This  lady  is  too  young  for  that." 

''  I  think  you  can  teil  the  gentleman,  brother-in-law,  if  it  concerns  him  to 
know,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  acknowledging  the  compliment  with  a  graceful 
bend,  "that  Kate  Nickleby  is  my  daughter." 

"Her  daughter,  my  lord!"  cried  JSir  Mulberry,  turning  to  his  friend. 
"  This  lady's  daughter,  my  lord." 

"  My  lord  ! "  thought  Mrs.  Nickleby.     **  Well,  I  never  did ! " 

'*  This,  then,  my  lord,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  *'  is  the  lady  to  whose  obliging 
marriage  we  owe  so  much  happiness.  This  lady  is  the  mother  of  sweet  Miss 
Nickleby.  Do  you  observe  the  extraordinary  likeness,  my  lord  ?  Nickleby 
— introduce  as." 

Ralph  did  so  in  a  kind  of  desperation. 

**  Upon  my  soul,  it's  a  most  delightful  thing,"  said  Lord  Frederick,  pressing 
forward  ;  **  how  de  do  ? " 

Mrs.  Nickleby  was  too  much  flurried  by  these  uncommonly  kind  salutations, 
and  her  regrets  at  not  having  on  her  other  bonnet,  to  make  any  immediate 
reply,  so  she  merely  continued  to  bend  and  smile,  and  betray  great  agitation. 

**  A — and  how  is  Miss  Nickleby  ?/'  said  Lord  Frederick.     **  Well,  I  hope." 

'*  She  is  quite  well,  I'm  obliged  to  you,  my  lord,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
recovering.  "Quite  well.  She  wasn't  well  for  some  days  after  that  day  she 
dined  here,  and  I  can't  help  thinking  that  she  caught  cold  in  that  hackney- 
coach  coming  home.  Hackney-coaches,  my  lord,  are  sucli  nasty  things,  that 
it's  almost  better  to  walk  at  any  time,  for  althougli  I  believe  a  hackney-coach- 
man can  be  transported  for  life  if  he  has  a  broken  window,  still  they  are  so 
reckless,  that  they  nearly  all  have  broken  windows.  I  once  had  a  swelled 
face  for  six  weeks,  my  lord,  from  riding  in  a  hackney-coach — I  think  it  was  a 
hackney-coach,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  reflecting,  "though  I'm  not  quite  cer- 
tain whether  it  wasn't  a  chariot ;  at  all  events  I  know  it  was  a  dark  green, 
with  a  very  long  number,  beginning  with  a  nought  and  ending  with  a  nine — 
no,  beginning  with  a  nine  and  ending  with  a  nought,  that  was  it,  and  of 
course  the  Stamp  Office  people  would  know  at  once  whether  it  was  a  coach  or 
a  chariot  if  any  inquiries  were  made  there — liowever  that  was,  there  it  was 
with  a  broken  window,  and  there  was  I  for  six  weeks  with  a  swelled  face — I 
think  that  was  the  very  same  hackney-coach  that  we  found  out  afterwards 
had  the  top  open  all  the  time,  and  we  should  never  even  have  known  it,  if  they 
haiin't  charged  us  a  shilling  an  hour  extra  for  having  it  open,  which  it  seems 
is  the  law,  or  was  then,  and  a  most  shameful  law  it  appears  to  be — I  don't 


2i8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

understand  the  subject,  but  I  should  say  the  Corn  Laws  ooold  be  nothing  to 
thai  Act  of  Parliament. " 

Having  pretty  well  run  herself  out  by  this  time,  Mrs.  Nickleby  stopped  as 
suddenly  as  she  had  started  off,  and  repeated  that  Kate  was  quite  well.  "In- 
deed," said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  I  don't  think  she  ever  was  better,  since  she  had 
tlie  hooping-cough,  scarlet-fever,  and  measles,  all  at  the  same  time,  and  that's 
the  fact." 

' '  Is  that  letter  for  me  ? "  growled  Ralph,  pointing  to  the  little  packet  Mrs. 
Nickleby  held  in  her  hand. 

** For  you,  brother-in-law,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "and  I  walked  all  the 
way  up  here  on  purpose  to  give  it  you." 

"All  the  way  up  here !"  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  seizing  upon  the  chance  of 
discovering  where  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  come  from.  "  What  a  confounded  dis- 
tance !    How  far  do  you  call  it,  now  ? " 

"  How  far  do  I  call  it !  "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.     "  Let  me  see.     It's  just  a 
mile  from  our  door  to  the  Old  Bailey." 
"  No,  no.    Not  so  much  as  that,    urged  Sir  Mulberry. 
"  Oh  !    It  is  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.     "  I  appeal  to  his  lordship." 
"  I  should  decidedly  say  it  was  a  mile,"  remarked  Lord  Frederick,  with  a 
solemn  aspect. 

"It  must  be;  it  can't  be  a  yard  less,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "All  down 
Newgate  Street,  all  down  Cheapside,  all  up  Lombard  Street,  down  Grace- 
church  Street,  and  along  Thames  Street,  as  far  as  Spigwiffin's  Wharf.  Oh, 
it's  a  mile." 

"Yes,  on  second  thoughts  I  should  say  it  was,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry. 
"  But  you  don't  surely  mean  to  walk  all  the  way  back  ? " 

"Oh,  no,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "I  shall  go  back  in  an  omnibiu.  I 
didn't  travel  about  in  omnibuses  when  my  poor  dear  Nicholas  was  alife, 

brother-in-law.    But  as  it  is,  you  know " 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Ralph,  impatiently,  "and  you  had  better  ffet  bade 
before  dark." 

"  Thank  you,  brother-in-law,  so  I  had,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "  I  think 
I  had  better  say  good-bye  at  once. " 

"  Not  stop  and-— rest  ? "  said  Ralph,  who  seldom  offered  refreshments  unless 
something  was  to  be  got  by  it. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  no,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  glancing  at  the  diaL 
"  Lord  Frederick,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  "  wo  are  going  Mrs.  Nickleby's  way. 
We'll  see  her  safe  to  the  omnibus  ?  " 
"  By  all  means.     Ye-es." 

"  Oil,  I  really  couldn't  think  of  it ! "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
But  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  and  Lord  Verisopht  were  peremptory  in  their 
politeness,  and  leaving  Ralph,  who  seemed  to  think,  not  unwisely,  that  be 
looked  less  ridiculous  as  a  mere  spectator  than  he  would  have  done  if  he  had 
taken   any  part  in   those  proceedings,  they  quitted   the  house  with  Mm 
Nickleby  between  them  ;  that  good  lady  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  satisfaction,  no 
less  with  the  attentions  shown  her  by  two  titled  gentlemen,  than  with  the 
conviction  that  Kate  might  now  pick  and  choose,  at  least  between  twolai]^ 
fortunes,  and  most  unexceptionable  husbands. 

As  she  was  carried  away  for  the  moment  by  an  irresistible  train  of  thodglit, 
all  connected  with  her  daughter's  future  greatness.  Sir  Mulbernr  Htvk 
and  his  friend  exchanged  glances  over  the  top  of  the  bonnet  which  the 
poor  lady  so  much  regretted  not  having  left  at  home,  and  proceeded  to 
dilate  with  great  rapture,  but  much  respect,  on  the  manfold  perfections  rf 
Miss  Nickleby. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  219 

"  What  a  delieht,  what  a  comfort,  what  a  happinessi  this  amiable  creature 
must  be  to  you,  said  Sir  Mulberry,  throwing  into  his  voice  an  indication  of 
the  warmest  feeling. 

"She  is  indeed,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  "she  is  the  sweetest- 
temx>ered,  kindest-hearted  creature — and  so  clever  !  " 

**  She  looks  clayver,"  said  Lord  Verisopht,  with  the  air  of  a  judge  of  clever- 
ness. 

"  I  assure  you  she  is,  my  lord,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "When  she  was 
at  school  in  Devonshire,  she  was  universally  allowed  to  be  beyond  all  exception 
the  very  cleverest  girl  there,  and  there  were  a  great  many  very  clever  ones  too, 
and  that's  the  truth — twenty-five  young  ladies,  fifty  guineas  a-year  without 
the  et-ceteras,  both  the  Miss  Dowdies,  the  most  accomplished,  elegant, 
fascinating  creatures — Oh,  dear  me  ! '"said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "I  never  shall 
forget  what  pleasure  she  used  to  give  me  and  her  poor  dear  papa  when  she 
was  at  that  school,  never — such  a  delightful  letter  every  half-year,  telling  us 
that  she  was  the  first  pupil  in  the  whole  establishment,  and  had  made 
more  progress  than  anybody  else  I  I  can  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  it  even 
now.  The  girls  wrote  all  the  letters  themselves,"  added  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
**  and  the  writing-master  touched  them  up  afterwards  with  a  magnifying-glass 
and  a  silver  pen  ;  at  least  I  think  they  wrote  them,  though  Kate  was  never 
quite  certain  about  that,  because  she  didn't  know  the  handwriting  of  hers 
again ;  but  anyway,  I  know  it  was  a  circular  which  they  all  copied,  and  of 
coarse  it  was  a  very  gratifying  thing — very  gratifying." 

With  similar  recollections  Mrs.  Nickleby  beguiled  the  tediousness  of  the 
way,  until  they  reached  the  omnibus,  which  the  extreme  politeness  of  her  new 
friends  would  not  allow  them  to  leave  until  it  actually  started,  when  they 
took  (their  hats,  as  Mrs.  Nickleby  solemnly  assured  her  hearers  on  many 
subsequent  occasions,  "completely  off,"  and  kissed  their  straw-coloured  kid 
gloves  till  they  were  no  longer  visible. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  leant  back  in  the  furthest  comer  of  the  conveyance,  and, 
closing  her  eyes,  resigned  herself  to  a  host  of  the  most  pleasing  meditations. 
Kate  had  never  said  a  word  about  having  met  either  of  these  gentlemen  ; 
"that,"  she  thought,  "argues  that  she  is  strongly  prepossessed  in  favour  of 
one  of  them."  Then  the  question  arose  which  one  could  it  be.  The  lord  was 
the  youngest,  and  his  title  was  certainly  the  grandest ;  still,  Kate  was  not  tho 
girl  to  be  swayed  by  such  considerations  as  these.  "  I  will  never  put  any 
constraint  upon  her  inclinations,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby  to  herself,  "but  upon 
my  word,  I  think,  there's  no  comparison  between  his  lordship  and  Sir  Mulberry 
— Sir  Mulberry  is  such  an  attentive  gentlemanly  creature,  so  much  manner, 
such  a  fine  man,  and  has  so  much  to  say  for  himself.  1  hope  it's  Sir  Mulberry 
— I  think  it  must  be  Sir  Mulberry  !  "  And  then  her  thoughts  flew  back  to 
her  old  predictions,  and  the  number  of  times  she  had  said,  that  Kate  with  no 
fortune  would  marry  better  than  other  people's  daughters  with  thousands  ; 
and,  as  she  pictured,  with  the  brightness  of  a  mother's  fancy,  all  the  beauty 
and  grace  of  the  poor  girl  who  had  struggled  so  cheerfully  with  her  new 
life  of  hardship  and  trial,  her  heart  grew  too  full,  and  the  tears  trickled  down 
her  face. 

Meanwhile,  Ralph  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  little  back  office,  troubled  in 
mind  by  what  had  just  occurred.  To  say  that  Ralph  loved  or  cared  for — in 
the  most  ordinary  acceptation  of  those  terms — any  one  of  God's  creatures, 
would  be  the  wildest  fiction.  Still,  there  had  somehow  stolen  upon  him  from 
time  to  time  a  thought  of  his  niece  which  was  tinored  with  compassion  and  pity, 
breaking  through  the  dull  cloud  of  dislike  or  indifference  which  darkened  men 
and  women  in  his  eyes  ;  there  was,  in  her  case,  the  faintest  gleam  of  light — a 


220  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

most  feeble  and  sickly  ray  at  the  best  of  times — bnt  there  it  was,  and  it 
showed  the  poor  girl  in  a  better  and  purer  aspect  than  any  in  which  he  had 
looked  on  human  nature  yet. 

**  I  wish,"  thouj?ht  llalph,  "  I  had  never  done  this.  And  yet  it  will  kee{» 
this  boy  to  me,  while  there  is  money  to  be  made.  Selling  a  girl — throwing 
her  in  the  way  of  temptation,  and  insult,  and  coarse  speech.  Nearly  two 
thousand  pounds  proiit  from  him  already,  though*  Pshaw  1  match-making 
mammas  do  the  same  thing  every  day. " 

He  sat  down,  and  told  the  chances,  for  and  against,  on  his  fingers. 

"  If  I  had  not  put  them  in  the  right  track  to-day,"  thought  Kalpb,  "this 
foolish  womau  would  have  done  so.  Well.  If  her  daughter  is  as  true  to 
herself  as  she  should  be  from  what  I  have  seen,  what  harm  ensnea !  A  little 
teazing,  a  little  humbling,  a  few  tears.  Yes,"  said  Ralph  aloud,  as  he  locked 
his  iron  safe.     ^*  She  must  take  her  chance.    She  must  take  her  chance." 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


MRS.    NICKLEBY   BECOMES    ACQUAINTED    WITH    MESSRS.    PYKB    AND    PLUOX, 
WHOSE  AFFECTION  AND  INTSllBST  ARE  BEYOND  ALL  BOUNDS. 

MRS.  NICKLEBY  had  not  felt  so  proud  and  important  for  many  a  day, 
as  when,  on  reaching  home,  she  cave  herself  wholly  up  to  the  pleasant 
visions  which  had  accompanied  her  on  her  wav  thither.  Lady 
^[ulberry  Hawk — that  was  the  prevalent  idea.  Lady  Mulberry  Hawk  ! — On 
Tuesday  last,  at  St  George's,  Hanover  Square,  by  the  Right  Reverend  the 
Bishop  of  Llandatr,  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  of  Mulberry  Castle,  North  Wales,  to 
Catherine,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Nicholas  Niokleby,  Esquire,  of  Devon- 
shire.  "Upon  my  word  !"  cried  Mrs.  Nicholas  Nickleby,  **it  sounds  very 
well." 

Having  despatched  the  ceremony,  with  its  attendant  festivities,  to  the 
perfect  satisfaction  of  her  own  mind,  the  sanguine  mother  pictured  to  her 
imagination  a  long  train  of  honoui's  and  distinctions  which  could  not  fail  to 
accompany  Kate  in  her  new  and  brilliant  sphere.  She  would  be  presented  at 
court,  of  course.  On  the  annivei'sary  of  her  birthday,  which  was  upon  the 
19th  of  July  ('*  at  ten  minutes  juist  throe  o'eloc^k  in  the  morning,"  thought 
]^li"s.  Nickleby,  in  a  parouthosis,  **  for  1  recollect  asking  what  o'clock  it  was"), 
Sir  Mulberry  would  give  a  great  feast  to  all  his  tenants,  and  would  return 
them  three  and  a-half  ^)er  cent  on  the  amount  of  their  last  half-year's  rent, 
as  would  be  fully  described  and  recorded  in  tlio  fashionable  intelligence,  to  the 
inuiieasumble  delight  aud  admiration  of  all  the  readers  thereof.  Kate's 
picture,  too,  would  bo  in  at  least  half-a-dozen  of  the  annuals,  and  on  the 
opposite  piige  would  appear,  in  delicate  type,  "  Lines  on  contemplating  the 
Portrait  of  Jjady  Mulberry  Hawk.  By  Sir  Diugleby  Dabber.'  Perhaps 
some  one  annual,  of  more  comprehensive  desimi  than  its  fellows,  might  even 
contain  a  portrait  of  the  mother  of  l^dy  Mulberry  Hawk,  with  lines  by  the 
father  of  Sir  Diugleby  Dabber.  ^lore  unlikely  things  had  come  to  pass. 
Less  interesting  portraits  had  api^ared.  As  this  thought  occurred  to  the 
giHnl  lady,  her  countenance  unconsciously  assumed  that  compound  expression 
of  simpering  and  sleepiness  which,  being  eoninion  to  all  such  portraits,  ii 
|H.'rhaps  one  reason  why  they  are  always  so  charming  and  agi'ecable. 

^Vith  such  triumphs  of  aerial  architecture  did  Airs.  Nickleby  occupy  the 
whole  oveuiug  after  her  accidental  introduction  to  Ralph's  titled  friends ;  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  22 1 

dreams,  no  less  prophetic  and  equally  promising,  haunted  her  sleep  that 
night.  She  was  preparing  for  her  frugal  dinner  next  day,  still  occupied  with 
the  same  ideas — a  little  softened  down,  perhaps,  by  sleep  and  daylight — wlien 
the  girl  who  attended  her,  partly  for  company,  and  partly  to  assist  in  the 
household  affairs,  rushed  into  the  room  in  unwonted  agitation,  and  announced 
that  two  gentlemen  were  waiting  in  the  passage  for  permission  to  walk 
upstairs. 

"  Bless  my  heart ! "  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  hastily  arranging  her  cap  and 
front,  **  if  it  should  be — dear  me,  standing  in  the  passage  all  this  time — wliy 
don't  you  go  and  ask  them  to  walk  up,  you  stupid  thing  ?  " 

While  the  girl  was  gone  on  this  errand,  Mrs.  Nicklcby  hastily  swept  into  a 
cupboard  all  vestiges  of  eating  and  drinking ;  which  she  had  scarcely  done, 
and  seated  herself  with  looks  as  collected  as  she  could  assume,  when  two 
gentlemen,  both  perfect  strangers,  presented  themselves. 

* ' How  do  you  do?'*  said  one  gentleman,  laying  great  stress  on  the  last 
word  of  the  inquiry. 

'*  How  do  you  do  ? "  said  the  other  gentleman,  altering  the  emphasis,  as  if 
to  give  variety  to  the  salutation. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  curtseyed  and  smiled,  and  curtseyed  again,  and  remarked, 
rubbing  her  hands  as  she  did  so,  that  she  hadn't  the — really — the  honour 
to 

"To  know  us,"  said  the  first  gentleman.  "The  loss  has  been  ours,  Mrs. 
Nickleby.     Has  the  loss  been  ours,  Pyke  ?  " 

**  Jt  his,  Pluck,"  answered  the  other  gentleman. 

"  We  have  regretted  it  very  often,  I  believe,  Pyke  ? "  said  the  first  gentle- 
man. 

**  Very  often,  Pluck,"  answered  the  second. 

"But  now,"  said  the  first  gentleman,  "now  we  have  the  happiness  wo 
have  pined  and  languished  for.  Have  we  pined  and  languished  for  this 
happiness,  Pyke,  or  have  we  not  ? " 

•*  You  know  we  have,  Pluck,"  said  Pyke,  reproachfully. 

**  You  hear  him,  ma'am  ? "  said  Mr.  Pluck,  looking  round  ;  "  you  hear  the 
nnimpeachable  testimony  of  my  friebd  Pyke — that  reminds  me — formali- 
ties, formalities,  must  not  be  neglected  in  civilised  society.  Pyke — Mrs. 
Nickleby." 

Mr.  Pyke  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart  and  bowed  low. 

**  Whether  I  shall  introduce  myself  with  the  same  formality,"  said  Mr. 
Plnck — **  whether  I  shall  say  myself  that  my  name  is  Pluck,  or  whether  I 
shall  ask  my  friend  Pyke  (who  bein^  now  regularly  introduced,  is  competent 
to  the  office)  to  state  for  me,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  that  my  name  is  Pluck  ;  wnether 
I  shall  claim  your  acquaintance  on  the  plain  ground  of  the  strong  interest  I 
take  in  your  welfare,  or  whether  I  shall  make  myself  known  to  you  as  the 
friend  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk — these,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  are  considerations 
which  I  leave  you  to  determine." 

••  Any  friend  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk's  requires  no  better  introduction  to 
me,"  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  graciously. 

*'  It  is  delightful  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Mr.  Pluck,  drawing  a  chair 
close  to  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  sitting  himself  down.  **  It  is  refreshing  to  know 
that  you  hold  my  excellent  friend.  Sir  Mulberry,  in  such  high  esteem.  A 
word  in  your  ear,  Mrs.  Nickleby.  When  Sir  Mulberry  knows  it  he  will  be  a 
happy  man — I  say,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  a  happy  man.     Pyke,  be  seated." 

"  iff/  good  opinion,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  the  poor  ladv  exulted  in  the 
idea  that  she  was  marvellously  sly — "  my  good  opinion  can  be  of  very  little 
eontequence  to  a  gentleman  like  Sir  Mulberry." 


222  LIFE  ArtD  ADVENTURES  OF 

** Of  little  consequence!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pluck.  "Pyke,  of  what  con- 
sc(iuence  to  our  friend,  Sir  Mulberry,  is  the  good  opinion  of  Mrs.  Kickleby ! "' 

*  •  Of  what  consequence  ? "  echoed  Pyke. 

**  Aye,"  repeated  Pluck  ;  **  is  it  of  the  greatest  consequence  ? " 

*'  Of  the  very  greatest  consequence,"  replied  Pyke. 

**Mrs.  Nicklcby  cannot  be  ignorant,"  said  Mr.  Pluck,  "of  the  immense 
impression  which  that  sweet  girl  has " 

**  Pluck  !  "  said  his  friend,  **  beware  !  " 

"  Pyke  is  right,"  muttered  Mr.  Pluck,  after  a  short  pause  ;  "  I  was  not  to 
mention  it.     Pyke  is  very  right.     Thank  you,  Pyke." 

"Well,  now,  really,"  thought  Mrs.  Nickleby  within  herself.  "Such 
delicacy  as  that,  I  never  saw  !  " 

Mr.  Pluck,  after  feigning  to  be  in  a  condition  of  great  embarrassment  for 
some  minutes,  resumed  the  conversation  by  entreating  Mrs.  Nickleby  to  take 
no  heed  of  what  he  had  inadvertently  said — to  consider  him  imprudent,  rash, 
injudicious.  The  only  stipulation  he  would  make  in  his  own  favour  was^ 
that  she  should  give  him  credit  for  the  best  intentions. 

"  But  when,"  said  Mr.  Pluck,  "when  I  see  so  much  sweetness  and  beauty 
on  the  one  hand,  and  so  much  ardour  and  devotion  on  the  other,  I — pardon 
me,  Pyke,  I  didn't  intend  to  resume  that  theme.     Change  the  subject,  rySe." 

"  We  promised  Sir  Mulberry  and  Lord  Frederick,"  said  Pyke,  "that  we'd 
call  this  morning  and  inquire  whether  you  took  any  cold  last  night." 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world  last  night,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  with 
many  thanks  to  liis  lordship  and  Sir  Mulberry  for  doing  me  the  honour  to 
iiKiuire  ;   not  the  least — which  is  the  mora  singular,  as  I  really  am  veiy 
subject  to  colds,    indeed — very  subject.      I*  had  a   cold  once,"   said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  "  I  think  it  was  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  seventeen  ;  let 
me  see,  four  and  live  are  nine,  and — yes,  eighteen  hundred  and  seventeen, 
tliat  I  thought  I  never  sliould  get  rid  of;   actually  and   seriously,  that   I 
thought  I  never  should  get  rid  of.     I  was  only  cured  at  last  by  a  remedy 
that  I  don't  know  whether  you  ever  happened  to  hear  of,  Mr.  Pluck.     You 
have  a  gallon  of  water  as  hot  as  you  can  possibly  bear  it,  with  a  pound  of 
salt  and  sixpen'orth  of  the  finest  bran,  and  sit  with  your  head   in   it  for 
twenty  minutes  every  night  just  before  going  to  bed  ;  at  least,  I  don't  mean 
your  head — your  feet.     It's  a  most  extraordinary  cure — a  most  extraordinaiy 
cure.     I  used  it  for  the  first  time,  I  recollect,  the  day  after  Christmas  Day, 
and  by  the  middle  of  April  following  the  cold  was  gone.      It  seems  quite 
a  miracle  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  for  I  had  it  ever  since  the  beginuiJii; 
of  September." 

"  What  an  afflicting  calamity  ! "  said  Mr.  Pyke. 

"  Perfectly  horrid  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pluck. 

"But  it's  worth  the  pain  of  hearing,  only  to  know  that  Mrs.  Nickleby 
recovered  from  it,  isn't  it,  Pluck  ?  "  cried  ^Mr.  Pyke. 

"  That  is  the  circumstance  which  gives  it  such  a  thrilling  interest,"  replied 
Mr.  Pluck. 

"But  come,"  said  Pyke,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  himself;  "we  mnst 
not  forget  oiu  mission  in  the  pleasure  of  this  interview.  We  come  on  a 
mission,  Mrs.  Nickleby." 

"On  a  mission,"  exclaimed  that  good  lady,  to  whose  mind  a  definite 
I)joposal  of  marriage  for  Ivate  at  once  presented  itself  in  lively  colours. 

"  From  Sir  Mulberry,"  replied  Pyke.     "  You  must  be  very  dull  here." 

"  Rather  dull,  I  confess,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"We  bring  the  compliments  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  and  a   thoaaand 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  223 

entreaties,  that  you'll  take  a  seat  in  a  private  box  at  the  play  to-night/'  said 
Mr.  Pluck. 

**  Oh,  dear  ! "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  I  never  get  out  at  all,  never." 

**  And  that  is  the  very  reason,  my  dear  Mrs.  Nickleby,  why  you  should  go 
out  to-night,"  retorted  Mr.  Pluck.     *•' Pyke,  entreat  Mrs.  Nickleby." 

**0h,  pray  do,"  said  Pyke. 

**  You  positively  must,  *  urged  Pluck. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  hesitating  ;  **  but " 

**  There's  not  a  but  in  the  case,  my  dear  Mrs.  Nickleby,"  remonstrated  Mr. 
Pluck  ;  **  not  such  a  word  in  the  vocabulary.  Your  brother-in-law  joins  us, 
Lord  Frederick  joins  us,  Sir  Mulberry  joins  us — Pyke  joins  us — a  refusal  is 
out  of  the  question.  Sir  Mulberry  sends  a  carriage  for  you — twenty  minutes 
before  seven  to  the  moment — you'll  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  disappoint  the  wliole 
party,  Mrs.  Nickleby  ?  " 

"You  are  so  very  pressing,  that  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say,"  replied  the 
worthy  lady. 

**  Say  nothing;  not  a  word,  not  a  word,  my  dearest  madam,"  urged  Mr. 
Pluck.  "Mrs.  Nickleby,"  said  that  excellent  gentleman,  lowering  his  voice, 
**  there  is  the  most  trifling,  the  most  excusable  breach  of  confidence  in  what  I 
am  about  to  say  ;  and  yet  if  my  friend  Pyke  there  overheard  it — such  is  tliat 
man's  delicate  sense  of  honour,  Mrs.  Nickleby — he'd  have  mo  out  before 
dinner-time." 

Mrs.  Nickleby  cast  an  apprehensive  glance  at  the  warlike  Pyke,  who  had 
walked  to  the  window ;  and  Mr.  Pluck,  squeezing  her  hand,  went  on — 

"Your  daughter  has  made  a  conquest — a  conquest  on  which  I  may  con- 
gratulate you.  Sir  Mulberry,  my  dear  ma* am.  Sir  Mulbcny  is  her  devoted 
slave.     Hem  ! " 

"Hah  !"  cried  Mr.  Pyke  at  this  juncture,  snatching  something  from  the 
chimney-piece  with  a  theatrical  air.     **  What  is  this  !  what  do  I  behold  ! " 

"  What  djo  you  behold,  my  dear  fellow  ?  "  asked  ^Mr.  Pluck. 

**  It  is  the  face,  the  countenance,  the  expression,"  cried  Mr.  Pyke,  falling 
into  his  chair  with  a  miniature  in  his  hand  ;  "feebly  portrayed,  imperfectly 
caught,  but  still  iht  face,  ih&  countenance,  ih&  expression." 

•*I  recognise  it  at  this  distance!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pluck,  in  a  fit  of 
enthusiasm.     *'  Is  it  not,  my  dear  madam,  the  faint  similitude  of " 

*'  It  is  my  daughter's  portrait,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  great  pride.  And 
so  it  'was.  And  little  Miss  La  Creevy  had  brought  it  home  for  inspection  only 
two  ni^ts  before. 

Mr.  ryke  no  sooner  ascertained  that  he  was  quite  right  in  his  conjecture, 

than  he  launched  into  the  most  extravagant  encomiums  of  the  divine  original ; 

and  in  the  warmth  of  his  enthusiasufl  kissed  the  picture  a  thousand  times, 

while  Mr.  Pluck  pressed  Mrs.  Nickleby's  hand  to  his  heart,  and  congratulated 

her  on  the  possession   of  such   a  daughter,  with  so  much  earnestness  and 

affection  that  the  tears  stood,  or  seemed  to  stand,  in  his  eyes.     Poor  Mrs. 

iSfickleby,  who  had   listened   in  a   state   of  enviable  complacency  at  first, 

hecame  at  length  quite  overpowered  by  these  tokens   of  regard  for,  and 

Attachment  to,  the  family ;  and  even  the  servant  girl,  who  had  peeped  in  at 

the  door,  remained  rooted  to  the  spot  in  astonishment  at  the  ecstasies  of  the 

two  friendly  visitors. 

By  degrees  these  raptures  subsided,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  went  on  to  entertain 
W  guests  with  a  lament  over  her  fallen  fortunes,  and  a  picturesque  account 
of  her  old  house  in  the  country  ;  comprising  a  full  description  of  the  ditferent 
apartments,  not  forgetting  the  little  store-room,  and  a  lively  recollection  of 
bow  many  steps  you  went  down  to  get  into  the  garden,  and  which  way  ^^^ 


224  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

turned  when  you  came  out  at  the  parlour  door,  and  what  capital  fixtares  tiiere 
were  in  the  kitchen.  This  last  reflection  naturally  conducted  her  into  the 
wash-house,  where  she  stumhled  upon  the  brewing  utensils,  among  which  she 
mi^ht  have  wandered  for  an  hour,  if  the  mere  mention  of  those  implements 
had  not,  by  an  association  of  ideas,  instantly  reminded  Mr.  Pyke  that  he  was 
**  amazing  thirsty." 

**And  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Pyke;  "if  you'll  send  round  to  the 
public-house  for  a  pot  of  mild  half-and-half,  positively  and  actually  I'll 
drink  it." 

And  positively  and  actually  Mr.  Pyke  did  drink  it,  and  Mr.  Pluck  helped 
him,  while  Mrs.  Nickleby  looked  on  in  divided  admiration  of  the  con- 
descension of  the  two,  and  the  aptitude  with  which  they  accommodated  them- 
selves to  the  pewter-pot ;  in  explanation  of  which  seeming  marvel  it  may  be 
here  observed  that  gentlemen  who,  like  J^Iessrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck,  live  upon 
their  wits  (or  not  so  much,  perhaps,  upon  the  presence  of  their  own  wits  as 
upon  the  absence  of  wits  in  other  people)  are  occasionally  reduced  to  very 
narrow  shifts  and  straits,  and  are  at  such  periods  accustomed  to  regale  them- 
selves in  a  very  simple  and  primitive  manner. 

**At  twenty  minutes  before  seven,  then,"  said  Mr.  Pyke,  rising,  "the 
coach  will  be  here.  One  more  look — one  little  look — at  that  sweet  face.  Ah  I 
here  it  is.  Unmoved,  unchanged  ! "  This,  by-the-way,  was  a  very  remark- 
able circumstance,  miniatures  being  liable  to  so  many  changes  of  expression — 
*'0h.  Pluck!  Pluck!" 

Mr.  Pluck  made  no  other  reply  than  kissing  Mrs.  Nickleby's  hand  with  a 
great  show  of  feeling  and  attachment ;  Mr.  Pyke  having  done  the  same,  both 
gentlemen  hastily  withdrew. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  was  commonly  in  the  habit  of  giving  herself  credit  for  a 
pretty  tolerable  share  of  penetration  and  acuteness,  but  she  had  never  felt  so 
satisfied  with  her  own  sharp-sightedness  as  she  did  that  day.  She  had  found 
it  all  out  the  night  before.  She  had  never  seen  Sir  Mulberry  and  Kate 
together — never  even  heard  Sir  Mulberry's  name — and  yet  hadn't  she  said  to 
herself  from  the  very  first,  that  she  saw  how  the  case  stood  ?  and  what  a 
triumph  it  was,  for  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  If  these  flattering  attentions 
to  herself  were  not  sufficient  proof.  Sir  Mulberry's  confidential  friend  had 
suffered  the  secret  to  escape  him  in  so  many  words.  "I  am  quite  in  love 
with  that  dear  Mr.  Pluck,  I  declare  I  am,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

There  was  one  great  source  of  uneasiness  in  the  midst  of  this  good  fortune^ 
and  that  was,  the  having  nobody  by  to  whom  she  could  confide  it.  Once  or 
twice  she  almost  resolved  to  walk  straight  to  Miss  La  Creevy's,  and  tell  it  all 
to  her.  "But  I  don't  know,"  thought  Mrs.  Nickleby;  "she  is  a  voy 
worthy  person,  but  I  am  afraid  too  much  beneath  Sir  Mulberry's  station  for 
us  to  make  a  companion  of.  Poor  thing ! "  Acting  upon  this  grave  con- 
sideration, she  rejected  the  idea  of  taking  the  little  portrait-painter  into  her 
confidence,  and  contented  herself  with  holding  out  sundry  vague  iwl 
mysterious  hopes  of  preferment  to  the  servant  girl,  who  received  these  obscnn 
hints  of  dawnmg  greatness  with  much  veneration  and  respect. 

Punctual  to  its  time  came  the  promised  vehicle,  which  was  no  hackney- 
coach,  but  a  private  chariot,  having  behind  it  a  footman,  whose  legs,  although 
somewhat  large  for  his  body,  might,  as  mere  abstract  legs,  have  set  themselves 
up  for  models  at  the  Royal  Academy.  It  was  quite  exhilarating  to  bear  the 
clash  and  bustle  with  which  he  banged  the  door  and  jumped  up  behind  after 
Mrs.  Nickleby  was  in  ;  and  as  that  good  lady  was  perfectly  unconscious  thtt 
he  applied  the  gold-headed  end  of  his  long  stick  to  his  nose,  and  so  telegraphed 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  225 

most  disraBpectfully  to  the  coachman  over  her  head,  she  sat  in  a  state  of  much 
BtifiEhess  and  dignity,  not  a  little  proud  of  her  position. 

At  the  theatre  entrance  there  was  more  banging  and  more  bustle,  and  there 
were  also  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  waiting  to  escort  her  to  her  box  :  and  so 
polite  were  they  that  Mr.  Pyke  threatened,  with  many  oaths,  to  "  smifiigate  " 
a  very  old  man  with  a  lantern  who  accidentally  stumbled  in  her  way — to  the 
great  terror  of  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who,  conjecturing  more  from  Mr.  Pyke's  excite-  • 
mcnt  than  any  previous  acquaintance  with  the  etymology  of  the  word,  that 
smifligation  and  bloodshed  must  be  in  the  main  one  and  the  same  thing,  was 
alarmed  beyond  expression,  lest  something  should  occur.  Fortunately,  how- 
ever, Mr.  I^ke  confined  himself  to  mere  verbal  smifligation,  and  they  readied 
their  box  with  no  more  serious  interruption  by  the  way  than  a  desire  on  the 
part  of  the  same  pugnacious  gentleman  to  **  smash  "  the  assistant  box-keeper 
for  happening  to  mistake  the  number. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  had  scarcely  been  put  away  behind  the  curtain  of  the  box  in 
an  arm-chair,  when  Sir  Mulberry  and  Lord  Verisopht  arrived,  arrayed  from 
the  crowns  of  their  heads  to  the  tips  of  their  gloves,  and  from  the  tips  of  their 

f  loves  to  the  toes  of  their  boots,  in  the  most  elegant  and  costly  manner.  Sir 
[ulberry  was  a  little  hoarser  than  on  the  previous  day,  and  Lord  Verisopht 
looked  rather  sleepy  and  queer ;  from  which  tokens,  as  well  as  from  the  cir- 
cumstance of  their  both  being  to  a  trifling  extent  unsteady  upon  their  legs, 
Mrs.  Niddeby  justly  concluded  that  they  had  taken  dinner. 

"We  have  been — we  have  been — toasting  your  lovely  daughter,  Mrs. 
Nickleby,"  whispered  Sir  Mulberry,  sitting  down  behind  her. 

"Oh,  oh  !"  thought  the  knowing  lady  ;  **  wine  in  ;  tnith  out  You  are 
very  kind,  Sir  Mulmrry." 

"  No,  no,  upon  my  soul ! "  replied  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk.  **  It's  you  that's 
kind,  upon  my  soul  it  is.     It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come  to-night." 

"80  very  kind  of  you  to  invite  me,  you  mean,  Sir  Mulberry,"  replied  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  tossing  her  head,  and  looking  prodigiously  sly. 

"  I  am  so  anxious  to  know  you,  so  anxious  to  cultivate  your  good  opinion, 
BO  deslious  that  there  should  be  a  delicious  kind  of  harmonious  family  under- 
standing between  us,"   said  Sir  Mulberry,    "that  you  mustn't  think  I'm 
dirinterested  in  what  I  do.     I'm  infernal  selfish  ;  I  am — upon  my  soul  I  am." 
"I  am  sure  you  can't  be  selfish,  Sir  Mulberry  ! "  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
"Yon  have  much  too  open  and  generous  a  countenance  for  that." 
"  What  an  extraordinary  observer  you  are  ! "  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 
"Oh,  no,  indeed,  I  don't  see  very  far  into  things,  Sir  Mulberry,"  replied 
Hrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  left  the  baronet  to  infer  that  she  saw 
Very  far  indeeid. 

••  I  am  quite  afraid  of  you,"  said  the  baronet.  "  Upon  my  soul,"  repeated 
Sir  Mnlbeny,  looking  round  to  his  companions,  "I  am  afraid  of  Mrs. 
I^ickleby.     She  is  so  immensely  sharp." 

Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  shook  their  heads  mysteriously,  and  obsen^ed 
together  that  they  had  found  that  out  lon^  ago  ;  upon  which  Mrs.  Nickleby 
Ottered,  and  Sir  Mulberry  laughed,  and  Pyke  and  Pluck  roared. 

**  But  Where's  my  brother-in-law,  Sir  Mulberry  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
**  I  shouldn't  be  here  without  him.     I  hope  he's  coming.  ' 

"Pyke,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  taking  out  his  toothpick  and  lolling  back  in 
■k  chiur,  as  if  he  were  too  laay  to  invent  a  reply  to  this  question.  '*  Where's 
lilnh  Nickleby  1" 

''Pluck,"  said  Pyke,  imitating  the  baronet's  action,  and  turning  the  lie 
orer  to  his  friend,  "  where's  Ralph  Nickleby  ? " 
Mr.  Pluck  was  about  to  return  some  evasive  reply,  when  the  bustle  caused 

u  \^ 


226  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

by  a  party  entering  the  next  box  seemed  to  attract  the  attention  of  all  fonr 
gentlemen,  who  exchanged  glances  of  much  meaning.  The  new  party  ban- 
ning to  converse  together,  Sir  Mulberry  suddenly  assumed  the  character  of  a 
most  attentive  listener,  and  implored  his  friends  not  to  breathe — ^not  to 
breathe. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.     "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

**Hush!"  replied  Sir  .Mulberry,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "Lord 
Frederick,  do  you  recognise  the  tones  of  that  voice  ? " 

"  Deyvle  take  me  if  I  didn't  think  it  was  the  voice  of  Miss  Nickleby." 

*'  Lor,  my  lord  ! "  cried  Miss  Nickleby's  mamma,  thrusting  her  head  round 
the  curtain.     **  Why,  actually — Kate,  my  dear  Kat«." 

**  You  here,  mamma  !     Is  it  possible  !  " 

**  Possible,  my  dear  ?    Yes." 

**Why,  who — who  on  earth  is  that  you  have  with  you,  mamma?"  said 
Kate,  shrinking  back  as  she  caught  siglit  of  a  man  smiling  and  kissing  his 
hand. 

**  Who  do  you  suppose,  my  dear  ? "  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  bendine  towards 
Mrs.  Wititterly,  and  speaking  a  little  louder  for  that  lady's  edificatioD. 
*'  There's  Mr.  Pyke,  Mr.  Pluck,  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  and  Lord  Frederick 
Verisopht." 

**  Gracious  heaven  !  "  thought  Kate,  hurriedly.  **  How  comes  she  in  siieh 
society  ? " 

Now,  Kate  thought  thus  so  hurriedly,  and  the  surprise  was  so  great,  and, 
moreover,  brought  back  so  forcibly  the  recollection  of  what  had  paawd  at 
Ralph's  delectable  dinner,  that  she  turned  extremely  pale  and  appeared  greitlj 
agitated,  which  symptoms  being  observed  by  Mrs.  Nickleby,  were  at  once  wX 
down  by  that  astute  lady  as  being  caused  and  occasioned  by  violent  love. 
But,  although  she  was  in  no  small  degree  delighted  by  this  discovery,  whiek 
reflected  so  much  credit  on  her  quickness  of  perception,  it  did  not  lessen  her 
motherly  anxiety  in  Kate's  behalf ;  and  accordingly,  with  a  vast  quantify  of 
trepidation,  she  quitted  her  own  box  to  hasten  into  that  of  Mrs.  Wititteriy. 
Mrs.  Wititterly,  keenly  alive  to  the  glory  of  having  a  lord  and  a  baroi^ 
among  her  visiting  dcquaintance,  lost  no  time  in  signing  to  Mr.  Wititterly  to 
open  the  door,  and  thus  it  was  that  in  less  than  thirty  seconds  Mrs.  NidcleWi 
X^arty  had  made  an  irruption  into  Mrs.  Wititterly 's  box,  which  it  filled  to  the 
very  door,  there  being,  in  fact,  only  room  for  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  to  get  n 
their  heads  and  waistcoats. 

"  My  dear  Kate,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  kissing  her  daughter  affectioo- 
ately,  ''how  ill  you  looked  a  moment  ago  !  You  quite  frightened  me^  I 
declare  ! " 

"  It  was  mere  fancy,  mamma — the — the — reflection  of  the  lights,  perhapi»" 
replied  Kate,  glancing  nervously  round,  and  flnding  it  impossible  to  whisptf 
any  caution  or  explanation. 

**  Don't  you  see  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  my  dear  ? " 

Kate  bowed  slightly,  and  biting  her  lip,  turned  her  head  towards  the  itaitfc 

But  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  was  not  to  be  so  easily  repulsed,  for  he  advaneei 
with  extended  hand  ;  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  ofliciously  informing  Kate  of  thii 
circumstance,  she  was  obliged  to  extend  her  own.  Sir  Mulberry  detained  it 
while  he  murmured  a  profusion  of  compliments,  which  Kate,  rememberiDC 
what  had  passed  between  them,  rightly  considered  as  so  many  aggravatioiii  » 
the  insult  he  had  already  put  upon  her.  Then  followed  the  recognition  tf 
Lord  Verisopht,  and  then  the  gieetiug  of  Air.  Pyke,  and  then  that  of  Mt 
Pluck,  and  finally,  to  complete  the  young  lady's  mortification,  she  *• 
compelled  at  Mrs.  Wititterly's  request  to  perform  the  ceremony  of  intro* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K.  227 

dttcing  the  odious  persons  wliom  she  regarded  with  the  utmost  indignation 
and  abhorrence. 

"  Mrs.  "Wititterly  is  delighted,"  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  rubbing  his  hands  ; 
*  *  delighted,  my  lord,  I  am  sure,  with  this  opportunity  of  contracting  an 
acquaintance  which,  I  trust,  my  lord,  we  shall  improve.  Julia,  my  dear, 
you  must  not  allow  yourself  to  be  too  much  excited,  you  must  not.  Indeed 
you  must  not.  Mrs.  Wititterly  is  of  a  most  excitable  nature,  Sir  Mulberry. 
The  snuff  of  a  candle,  the  wick  of  a  lamp,  the  bloom  on  a  peach,  the  down 
on  a  butterfly.  You  might  blow  her  away,  my  lord  ;  you  might  blow  her 
away." 

Sir  Mulberry  seemed  to  think  that  it  would  be  a  great  convenience  if  the 
lady  could  be  blown  away.  He  said,  however,  that  the  delight  was  mutual, 
and  Lord  Verisopht  added  that  it  was  mutual,  whereupon  Messrs.  Pyke 
and  Pluck  were  heard  to  murmur  from  the  distance  that  it  was  very  mutual 
indeed* 

'*  I  take  an  interest,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"sach  an  interest  in  the  drama.' 

**Ye — es.     It's  very  interasting,"  replied  Lord  Verisopht. 

'  *  I'm  always  ill  after  Shakespeare,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly.  * '  I  scarcely  exist 
the  next  day,  I  find  the  reaction  so  very  great  after  a  tragedy,  my  lord,  and 
Shakespeare  is  such  a  delicious  creature." 

•*  Ye — es  !  "  replied  Lord  Verisopht,     "  He  was  a  clayver  man." 

"  Do  you  know,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  after  a  long  silence,  "  I  find 
I  take  80  much  more  interest  in  his  plays  after  having  been  to  that  dear  little 
dnll  house  he  was  bom  in  !    Were  you  ever  there,  my  lord  ? " 

"No,  nayver,"  replied  Verisopht. 

*•  Then  really  you  ought  to  go,  my  lord,"  returned  Mrs.  Wititterly,  in  very 
languid  and  drawling  accents.  ''I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  after  you've 
seen  the  place  and  written  vour  name  in  the  little  book,  somehow  or  other 
yon  seem  to  be  inspired  ;  it  kindles  up  quite^a  fire  within  one." 

**  Ye — es,"  replied  Lord  Verisopht,  **  I  shall  certainly  go  there." 

**  Julia,  piy  lite,"  interposed  Mr.  Wititterly,  **you  are  deceiving  his  lord- 
ship— ^unintentionally,  my  lord,  she  is  deceiving  you.  It  is  your  poetical 
temperament,  my  dear — your  lethereal  soul — your  fervid  imagination,  which 
throws  you  into  a  glow  of  genius  and  excitement.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
place,  my  dear — nothing,  nothing." 

"  I  think  there  must  be  something  in  the  place,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who 
liad  been  listening  in  silence  ;  '  *  for,  soon  after  I  was  married,  I  went  to 
Stratford  with  poor  dear  Mr.  Nickleby,  in  a  post-chaise  from  Birmingham — 
was  it  a  post-chaise,  though!"  said  Mrs.  !Nickleby,  considering;  "  3'es,  it 
must  have  been  a  post-chaise,  because  I  recollect  remarking  at  the  time  that 
the  driver  had  a  green  shade  over  his  left  eye — in  a  post-chaise  from  Birming- 
bam,  and  after  we  had  seen  Shakespeare's  tomb  and  birth-place,  we  went  back 
to  the  inn  there,  where  we  slept  that  night,  and  I  recollect  that  all  night  long 
I  dreamt  of  nothing  but  a  black  gentleman  at  full  length  in  plastor-of- Paris, 
With  a  lay-down  collar  tied  with  two  tassels,  leaning  against  a  post  and 
thinking ;  and  when  I  woke  in  the  morning  and  described  him  to  Mr. 
Kickleby,  he  said  it  was  Shakespeare  just  as  he  had  been  when  he  was  alive, 
Which  was  very  curious,  indeed.  Stratford — Stratford,"  continued  Mrs. 
Kickleby,  considering.  **  Yes,  I  am  positive  about  that,  because  I  recollect 
I  was  in  the  family-way  with  my  son  Nicholas  at  the  time,  and  I  had  been 
>eyy  much  frightened  by  an  Italian  image  boy  that  very  morning.  In  fact, 
it  was  quite  a  mercy,  ma'am,"  added  Mrs,  Nickleby,  in  a  whisper,  to  Mca. 


228  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  Ob 

Wititterly,   "  that  my  son  didn't  turn  out  to  be  a  Shakespeare,  and  what  a 
dreadful  thing  that  would  have  been  ! " 

When  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  brought  this  interesting  anecdote  to  a  elose^ 
Pyke  and  Pluck,  ever  zealous  in  their  patron's  cause,  proposed  the  adjonni- 
ment  of  a  detachment  of  the  party  into  the  next  box  ;  and  with  so  mu^  ^ill 
were  the  preliminaries  adjusted,  that  Kate,  despite  all  she  could  say  or  do  to 
the  contrary,  had  no  alternative  but  to  suffer  herself  to  be  led  awav  by  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk.  Her  mother  and  Mr.  Pluck  accompanied  them,  out  the 
worthy  lady,  pluming  herself  upon  her  discretion,  took  particular  care  not  lo 
much  as  to  look  at  her  daughter  during  the  whole  evening,  and  to  seemi  wholly 
absorbed  in  the  jokes  and  conversation  of  Mr.  Pluck,  who,  having  been 
appointed  sentry  over  Mrs.  Nickleby  for  that  especial  purpose,  neglected,  on 
his  side,  no  possible  opportunity  of  engrossing  her  attention. 

Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht  remained  in  the  next  box  to  be  talked  to  by  Mrs. 
Wititterly,  and  Mr.  Pyke  was  in  attendance  to  throw  in  a  word  or  two  when 
necessary.  As  to  Mr.  Wititterly,  he  was  sufficiently  busy  in  the  body  of  the 
house,  informing  such  of  his  friends  and  acquaintance  as  happened  to  be  there^ 
that  those  two  gentlemen  upstairs,  whom  they  had  seen  in  conversation  witii 
Mrs.  W.,  were  the  distinguished  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht  and  his  most 
intimate  friend,  the  gay  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk — a  communication  which 
inflamed  several  respectable  housekeepers  with  the  utmost  jealousy  and  rage, 
and  reduced  sixteen  unmarried  daughters  to  the  very  brink  of  despair. 

The  evening  came  to  an  end  at  last,  but  Eate  had  yet  to  be  handed  down- 
stairs by  the  detested  Sir  Mulberrv ;  and  so  skilfully  were  the  manceuvres  of 
Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck  conducted,  that  she  and  the  baronet  were  the  last  of 
the  party,  and  were  even — without  an  appearance  of  effort  or  design — ^left  at 
some  little  distance  behind. 

"Don't  hurry,  don't  hurry,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  as  Kate  hastened  on,  and 
attempted  to  release  her  arm. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  still  pressed  forward. 

*  *  Nay,  then "  coolly  observed  Sir  Mulberry,  stopping  her  outright 

''  You  had  best  not  seek  to  detain  me,  sir  ! "  said  Kate,  angrily. 

"And  why  not?"  retorted  Sir  Mulberry.  **  My  dear  creature;  now  why 
do  you  keep  up  this  show  of  displeasure  ? " 

"  Shcm  !  "  repeated  Kate,  indignantly.  **  How  dare  you  presume  to  speak 
to  me,  air — to  address  me — to  come  into  my  presence  ?  " 

**  You  look  prettier  in  a  passion.  Miss  Nickleby,"  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk, 
stooping  down,  the  better  to  see  her  face. 

*'I  hold  you  in  the  bitterest  detestation  and  contempt,  sir,"  said  Kate. 
**  If  you  find  any  attraction  in  looks  of  disgust  and  aversion,  you — let  me 
rejoin  my  friends,  sir,  instantly.  Whatever  considerations  may  have  withheld 
me  thus  far,  I  will  disre^rd  them  all,  and  take  a  course  that  even  you  might 
feel,  if  you  do  not  immediately  suffer  me  to  proceed." 

Sir  Mulberry  smiled,  and  still  looking  in  her  face,  and  retaining  her  arm, 
walked  towards  the  door. 

"  If  no  regard  for  my  sex  or  helpless  situation  will  induce  you  to  desist  fhnn 
this  coarse  and  unmanly  persecution,"  said  Kate,  scarcely  knowing,  in  the 
tumult  of  her  passions,  what  she  said — **  I  have  a  brother  who  will  resent  it 
dearly  one  day. " 

**Upon  my  soul  I  "  exclaimed  Sir  Mulberry,  as  though  quietly  communing; 
with  himself ;  passing  his  arm  round  her  waist  as  he  spoke,  **  she  looks  more 
beautiful,  and  I  like  her  better  in  this  mood  than  when  her  eyes  are  cast 
down,  and  she  is  in  perfect  repose." 

How  Kate  reached  the  lobby,  where  her  friends  were  waiting,  she  never 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  229 

knew,  bnt  she  harried  across  it  without  at  all  regarding  them,  and  disengaged 
herself  suddenly  from  her  companion,  sprang  into  the  coach,  and  throwing 
herself  into  its  darkest  comer,  burst  into  tears. 

Messrs  Pyke  and  Pluck,  knowing  their  cue,  at  once  threw  the  party  into 
great  commotion  by  shouting  for  the  carriages,  and  getting  up  a  violent 
quarrel  with  sundry  inoffensive  bystanders ;  in  the  midst  of  which  tumult 
tney  put  the  affrighted  Mrs.  Nickleby  in  her  chariot,  and  having  got  her 
safely  off,  turned  tncir  thoughts  to  Mrs.  Wititterly,  whose  attention  also  they 
had  now  effectually  distracted  from  the  young  lady,  by  throwing  her  into  a 
state  of  the  utmost  bewilderment  and  consternation.  At  length  the  convey- 
ance in  which  she  had  come  rolled  off  too,  with  its  load,  and  the  four  worthies 
beingleft  alone  under  the  portico,  enjoyed  a  hearty  laugh  together. 

"There,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  to  his  noble  friend.  " Didn't  I  tell 
yon  last  night  that  if  we  could  find  where  they  were  going  by  bribing  a 
servant  through  my  fellow,  and  then  established  ourselves  close  by  with  the 
mother,  these  people's  honour  would  be  our  own  ?  Why,  here  it  is,  done  in 
foor-and-twen^  hours." 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  the  dupe.  **  But  I  have  been  tied  to  the  old  woman  all 
ni-ight." 

"  Hear  him,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  to  his  two  friends.  "  Hear  this 
discontented  ja^mbler.  Isn't  it  enough  to  make  a  man  swear  never  to 
help  him  in  his  plots  and  schemes  again  %    Isn't  it  an  infernal  shame  ? " 

^ke  asked  Pluck  whether  it  was  not  an  infernal  shame,  and  Pluck  asked 
Pyke ;  but  neither  answered. 

' '  Isn't  it  the  truth  %  "  demanded  Verisopht.     *  *  Wasn't  it  so  ? " 

**  Wasn't  it  so  ! "  repeated  Sir  Mulberry.  "  How  would  you  have  had  it  ? 
How  could  we  have  got  a  general  invitation  at  first  sight — come  when  you 
like,  go  when  you  like,  stop  as  long  as  you  like,  do  what  you  like — if  you,  the 
lord,  had  not  made  yourself  agreeable  to  the  foolish  mistress  of  the  house  ! 
Do  /  care  for  this  girl,  except  as  your  friend  ?  Haven't  I  been  sounding  your 
praises  in  her  ears,  and  bearing  her  pretty  sulks  and  peevishness  all  night  for 
you  ?  What  sort  of  stuff  do  you  think  I'm  made  of?  Would  I  do  this  for 
every  man — don't  I  deserve  even  gratitude  in  return  ? " 

"You're  a  deyvlish  good  fellow,"  said  the  poor  young  lord,  taking  his 
friend's  arm.     "  Upon  my  life,  you're  a  deyvlish  good  fellow.  Hawk," 

"And  I  have  done  right,  have  I  ? "  demanded  Sir  Mulberry. 

"  Quite  ri-ght." 

"  And  like  a  poor,  silly,  good-natured  friendly  dog  as  I  am,  eh  ?" 

"  Te-es,  ye-es — like  a  friend,"  replied  the  other. 

"Well,  then,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  "I'm  satisfied.  And  now  let's  go 
and  have  our  revenge  on  the  Grerman  baron  and  the  Frenchman,  who  cleaned 
you  out  so  handsomely  last  night." 

With  these  words  the  friendly  creature  took  his  companion's  arm,  and  led 
him  away,  turning  half  round  as  he  did  so,  and  bestowing  a  wink  and  a 
contemptuous  smile  on  Messrs.  Pyke  and  Pluck,  who,  cramming  their  liand- 
kerchiefs  into  their  mouths  to  denote  their  silent  enjoyment  of  the  whole 
proceedings,  followed  their  patron  and  his  victim  at  a  little  distance. 


230  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MISS  NICKLEBY,  RENDERED  DESPERATE  BY  THE  PERSECUTION  OF  SIR  MUL- 
BERRY HAWK,  AND  THE  COMPLICATED  DIFFICULTIES  AND  DISTREHSBB 
WHICH  SURROUND  HER,  APPEALS,  AS  A  LAST  RESOURCE,  TO  HEB  UNOLE 
FOR  PROTECTION. 

THE  ensuing  morning  brought  reflection  with  it,  as  morning  usually  does; 
but  widely  different  was  the  train  of  thought  it  awakened  in  the 
diiferent  persons  who  had  been  so  unexpectedly  brought  together  on 
the  preceding  evening,  by  the  active  agency  of  Messrs  Pyke  and  Pluck. 

The  reflections  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk — if  such  a  term  can  be  applied  to  the 
thoughts  of  the  systematic  and  calculating  man  of  dissipation,  whose  jojs, 
regrets,  pains,  and  pleasures,  are  all  of  self,  and  who  would  seem  to  retain 
nothing  of  the  intellectual  faculty  but  the  power  to  debase  himself,  and  to 
degrade  the  very  nature  whose  outward  semblance  he  wears — the  reflections  of 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  turned  upon  Kate  Nickleby,  and  were,  in  brief,  that  she 
was  undoubtedly  handsome ;  that  her  coyness  vfmst  be  easily  conquerablo  by 
a  man  of  his  address  and  experience,  and  that  the  pursuit  was  one  which  coola 
not  fail  to  redound  to  his  credit,  and  greatly  to  enhance  his  reputation  with 
the  world.  And  lest  this  last  consideration — no  mean  or  secondary  one  with 
Sir  Mulberry — should  sound  strangely  in  the  ears  of  some,  let  it  be  remembered 
that  most  men  live  in  a  world  of  their  own,  and  that  in  that  limited  drele 
alone  are  they  ambitious  for  distinction  and  applause.  Sir  Mulberry's  wodd 
was  peopled  with  profligates,  and  he  acted  accordingly. 

Thus,  cases  of  injustice,  and  oppression,  and  tyranny,  and  the  most  extravt* 
gant  bigotry,  are  in  constant  occurrence  among  us  every  day.  It  is  the 
custom  to  trumpet  forth  much  wonder  and  astonishment  at  the  chief  acton 
therein  setting  at  defiance  so  completely  the  opinion  of  the  world  ;  but  then 
is  no  greater  fallacy ;  it  is  precisely  because  they  do  consult  the  opinioB  of 
their  own  little  world  that  such  things  take  place  at  all,  and  strike  the  gieit 
world  dumb  with  amazement 

The  reflections  of  Mrs.  Nickleby  were  of  the  proudest  and  most  complioent 
kind  ;  and  under  the  influence  of  her  very  agreeable  delusion  she  straightwiy 
sat  down  and  indited  a  long  letter  to  Kate,  in  which  she  expressed  her  entin 
approval  of  the  admirable  choice  she  had  made,  and  extoUea  Sir  Mulbeny  te 
the  skies  ;  asserting,  for  the  more  complete  satisfaction  of  her  daughtei^s  feel* 
ings,  that  he  was  precisely  the  individual  whom  she  (Mrs.  Nickleby)  wonM 
have  chosen  for  her  son-in-law,  if  she  had  had  the  picking  and  choosing  fkoB 
all  mankind.  The  good  lady  then,  with  the  preliminary  observation  that  lit 
might  be  fairly  supposed  not  to  have  lived  in  the  world  so  long  without  know- 
ing its  ways,  communicated  a  great  many  subtle  precepts,  applicable  to  the 
state  of  courtship,  and  confirmed  in  their  wisdom  by  her  own  personal  ezpen* 
ence.  Above  all  things,  she  commended  a  strict,  maidenly  reserve,  as  beini 
not  only  a  laudable  thing  in  itself,  but  as  tending  materially  to  strengthen  and 
increase  a  lover's  ardour.  **  And  I  never,"  added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  was  mow 
delighted  in  my  life,  than  to  observe  last  night,  my  dear,  that  your  good  seiM 
had  already  told  you  this."  With  which  sentiment,  and  various  hints  of  the 
pleasure  she  derived  from  the  knowledge  that  her  daughter  inherited  so  large 
an  instalment  of  her  own  excellent  sense  and  discretion  (to  nearly  the  foU 


I 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  23 \ 

measure  of  which  she  might  hope,  with  care,  to  succeed  in  time),  Mrs.  Nicklcby 
concluded  a  very  long  and  rather  illegible  letter. 

Poor  Kate  was  well-nigh  distracted  oA  the  receipt  of  four  closely-written 
and  closely-crossed  sides  of  congratulation  on  the  very  subject  which  had  pio- 
▼ented  her  closing  her  eyes  all  night,  and  kept  her  weeping  and  watching  in 
her  chamber ;  still  worse  and  more  trying  was  the  necessity  of  rendering Tici- 
self  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Wititterly,  who,  being  in  low  spirits  after  the  fatigue  of 
the  preceding  night,  of  course  expected  her  companion  (else  wherefore  had 
she  board  and  salary?)  to  be  in  the  best  spirits  possible.  As  to  Mr.  Wititterly, 
he  went  about  all  day  in  a  tremor  of  delight  at  having  shaken  hands  with  a 
lord,  and  having  actually  asked  him  to  come  and  see  him  in  his  own  house. 
The  lord  hiiftself,  not  bein^  troubled  to  any  inconvenient  extent  with  the 
power  of  thinking,  regaled  himself  with  the  conversation  of  Messrs.  Tyke  and 
Flack,  who'  sharpened  their  wit  by  a  plentiful  indulgence  in  various  costly 
stimulants  at  his  expense. 

It  was  four  in  the  afternoon^tliat  is,  the  vulgar  afternoon  of  the  sun  and 
tlie  clock — and  Mrs.  Wititterly  reclined,  according  to  custom,  on  the  drawing-- 
room sofa,  while  Rate  read  aloud  a  new  novel  in  three  volumes,  entitled  Tli^ 
Lady  FkUfella,  which  Alphonse  the  doubtful  had  procured  from  the  library 
that  very  morning.  And  it  was  a  production  admirably  suited  to  a  lady 
lahonring  under  Mrs.  Wititterly's  complaint,  seeing  there  was  not  a  line  in  it, 
from  heginning  to  end,  which  could,  by  the  most  remote  contingency,  awaken 
the  smiulest  excitement  in  any  person  breathing. 

Kate  read  on. 

"  '  Cherizette,*  said  the  Lady  Flabella,  inserting  her  mouse-like  feet  in  the 
blue  satin  slippers,  which  had  unwittingly  occasioned  the  half-playful,  half- 
angry  altercation  between  herself  and  the  youthful  Colonel  Befillaire,  in  the 
Duke  of  Mincefenille's  salon  de  danse  on  the  previous  night.  '  Cherizette,  iim 
chtre,  donnez-nwi  de  V eau-de-Cologne,  s'il  vous  plait,  mon  enfaixi,' 

•*  ^  M&rde — thank  you,'  said  the  Lady  Flabella,  as  the  lively  but  devoted 
Cherizette  plentifully  besprinkled  with  the  fragiant  compound  the  Lady 
FlaheUa's  momhmr  of  finest  cambric,  Qtlged  with  richest  lace,  and  emblazoned 
at  the  four  corners  with  the  Flabella  crest,  and  gorgeous  heraldic  bearings  of 
that  noble  family  ;  *  Merde — that  will  do.' 

•*At  this  instant,  while  the  Lady  Flabella  yet  inhaled  that  delicious 
fragrance  by  holding  the  mouclwir  to  her  exquisite,  but  thoughtfully-chiselled 
nose,  the  door  of  the  boudoir  (artfully  concealed  by  rich  hangings  of  silken 
damask,  the  hue  of  Italy's  firmament)  was  thrown  open,  and  with  noiseless 
tread  two  valets-de-chambre,  clad  in  sumi)tuous  liveries  of  peach-blossom  and 
gold,  advanced  into  the  room,  followed  by  a  page  in  has  de  soie — silk  stockings 
— who,  while  they  remained  at  some  distance  making  the  most  graceful 
obeisances,  advanced  to  the  feet  of  liis  lovely  mistress,  and  dropping  on  one 
knee  presented,  on  a  golden  salver  gorgeously  chased,  a  scented  billet. 

**  Tne  lady  Flabella,  with  an  agitation  she  could  not  repress,  hastily  tore  off 
the  envelope  and  broke  the  scented  seal.  It  was  from  Befillaire — the  young, 
the  slim,  the  low- voiced — her  own  Befillaire." 

**0h,  charming  !"  interrupted  Kate's  patroness,  who  was  sometimes  taken 
literary  ;  **  Poetic,  really.     Read  that  description  again,  Miss  Nickleby." 

Kate  complied. 

«•  Sweet,  mdeed  !  "  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  sigh.  "So  voluptuous,  is 
it  not — so  soft  ? " 

'•Yes,  I  think  it  is,"  replied  Kate,  gently  :  **  very  soft." 

«•  Close  tiie  book,  Miss  Nickleby,"  said  Mrs.   Wititterly.      "  I  can  hew: 


23±  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

nothing  more  to-day ;  I  should  be  sorry  to  disturb  the  impression  of  that 
sweet  description.     Close  the  book." 

Kate  complied,  not  unwillingly  ;  and  as  she  did  so,  Mrs.  Wititterly  raiaiiig 
her  fflass  with  a  languid  hand,  remarked  that  she  looked  pale. 

*' It  was  the  fright  of  that — that  noise  and  confusion  last  night,*'  said 
Kate. 

"  How  very  odd  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  look  of  surprise. 
And  certainly,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  it  vxus  very  odd  that  anything 
should  have  disturbed  a  companion.  A  steam-engine,  or  other  ingenious  piece 
of  mechanism  out  of  order,  would  have  been  nothing  to  it. 

'*  How  did  you  come  to  know  Lord  Frederick  and  those  other  delightful 
creatures,  child  ? "  asked  Mr.  Wititterly,  still  eyeing  Kate  through  her  glass. 

'*  I  met  them  at  my  uncle's,"  said  Kate,  vexed  to  feel  that  she  was  colour- 
ing deeply,  but  unable  to  keep  down  the  blood  which  rushed  to  her  iaee 
whenever  she  thought  of  that  man. 

**  Have  you  known  them  long  ? " 

**  No,"  rejoined  Kate  ;  **  not  long." 

"  I  was  very  glad  of  the  opportunity  which  that  respectable  person,  yonr 
mother,  gave  us  of  being  known  to  them,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  in  a  lofty 
manner.  "  Some  friends  of  ours  were  on  the  very  point  of  introducing  1U| 
which  makes  it  quite  remarkable." 

This  was  said  lest  Miss  Nickleby  should  grow  conceited  on  the  honour  and 
dignity  of  having  known  four  great  people  (for  Pike  and  Pluck  were  incladed 
among  the  delightful  creatures),  wliom  Mrs.  Wititterly  did  not  know.  Bnt 
as  the  circumstance  had  made  no  impression  one  way  or  other  upon  Kate's 
mind,  the  force  of  the  observation  was  quite  lost  upon  her. 

**  They  asked  permission  to  call,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly.  **  I  gave  it  theiBf 
of  course." 

**  Do  you  expect  them  to-day  ? "  Kate  ventured  to  inquire. 

Mrs.  Wititterly's  answer  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  a  tremendous  rapping  at 
the  street-door,  and,  before  it  had  ceased  to  vibrate,  there  drove  up  a  hand- 
some cabriolet,  out  of  which  leaped  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  and  his  friend  Lord 
Verisopht. 

"They  are  here  now,"  said  Kate,  rising  and  hurrying  away. 

**  Miss  Nickleby  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Wititterly,  perfectly  aghast  at  a  companion's 
attempting  to  quit  the  room  without  her  permission  first  had  and  obtained. 
"  Pray  don't  think  of  going." 

**  You  are  very  good  !  "  replied  Kate  ;  '*but " 

**  For  goodness'  sake,  don  t  agitate  me  by  making  me  speak  so  much," 
said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  great  sharpness.  *'Dcar  me.  Miss  Nickleby,  1 
beg " 

It  was  in  vain  for  Kate  to  protest  that  she  was  unwell,  for  the  footsteps  oi 
the  knockers,  whoever  they  were,  were  already  on  the  stairs.  She  resumed 
her  scat,  and  had  scarcely  done  so,  when  the  doubtful  page  darted  into  the 
room  and  announced — Mr.  Pyke,  and  Mr.  Pluck,  and  Lord  Verisopht,  and  Sir 
Mulberry  Hawk,  all  at  one  burst. 

**Tlie  most  extraordinary  thing  in  the  world,"  said  Mr.  Pluck,  salatiog 
both  ladies  with  the  utmost  cordiality  ;  ' '  the  most  extraordinary  thin^  Aa 
Lord  Frederick  and  Sir  Mulberry  drove  up  to  the  door,  Pyke  and  I  had  tlvt 
instant  knocked." 

*'That  instant  knocked,"  said  Pyke. 

*•  No  matter  how  you  came,  so  that  you  are  here,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly, 
who,  by  dint  of  lying  on  the  same  sofa  for  three  years  and  a-half,  had  got  up 
quite  a  little  pantomine  of  graceful  attitudes,  and  now  threw  heriself  into  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  233 

most  striking  of  the  whole  series,  to  astonish  the  visitors.     *'  I  am  delighted, 
I  am  sure." 

"  And  how  is  Miss  Nickleby  ? "  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  accosting  Kate, 
in  a  low  voice — ^not  so  low,  however,  but  that  it  reached  the  ears  of  Mrs. 
Wititterly. 

"Why,  she  complains  of  suffering  from  the  fright  of  last  night,"  said  tbe 
lady,  "  I  am  sure  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  for  my  nerves  are  quite  torn  to 
pieces." 

"And  yet  you  look,"  observed  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  round  ;  "and  yet 
you  look " 

"  Beyond  everything,"  said  Mr.  Pyke,  coming  to  his  patron's  assistance. 
Of  course  Mr.  Pluck  said  the  same. 

"  I  am  afraid  Sir  Mulberry  is  a  flatterer,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs.  "Wititterly, 
taming  to  that  young  gentleman,  who  had  been  sucking  the  head  of  his  caue 
in  silence,  and  staring  at  Kate. 

•*  Oh,  dey vlish  I "  replied  Verisopht.  Having  given  utterance  to  which 
remarkable  sentiment,  ne  occupied  himself  as  before. 

** Neither  does  Miss  Nickleby  look  the  worse,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  bend- 
ing his  bold  gaze  upon  her.  "  She  was  always  handsome,  but,  upon  my  soul, 
ma*am,  you  seem  to  have  imparted  some  of  your  own  godd  looks  to  her 
besides.' 

To  judge  from  the  glow  which  suflfused  the  poor  girl's  countenance  after  this 
speech,  Mrs.  Wititterly  might,  with  some  show  of  reason,  have  been  supposed 
to  have  imparted  to  it  some  of  that  artificial  bloom  which  decorated  her  own. 
Mrs.  Wititterly  admitted,  though  not  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world,  that 
Kate  did  look  pretty.  She  began  to  think,  too,  that  Sir  Mulberry  was  not 
quite  so  agreeable  a  creature  as  she  had  at  first  supposed  him  ;  for,  although 
a  skilful  flatterer  is  a  most  delightful  companion  if  you  can  keep  him  all  to 
yourself,  his  tastes  becomes  very  doubtful  when  he  takes  to  complimenting 
other  people. 

*'  Pyke,"  said  the  watchful  Mr.  Pluck,  observing  the  eflect  which  the  praise 
of  Miss  Kickleby  had  produced. 

*•  Well,  Pluck,"  said  Pyke. 

•*  Is  there  anybody,"  demanded  Mr.  Pluck,  mysteriously,  "anybody  you 
know  that  Mrs.  Wititterly's  profile  reminds  you  of  ? " 

"  Beminds  me  of? "  answered  Pyke.     "  Of  course  there  is." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  % "  said  Pluck,  in  the  same  mysterious  manner.  "  The 
D.  ofB.!" 

'•  The  C.  of  B.,"  replied  Pyke,  with  the  faintest  trace  of  a  grin  lingering  in 
liis  countenance.     "  The  beautiful  sister  is  the  countess,  not  the  duchess." 

••  True,"  said  Pluck,  "  the  C.  of  B.     The  resemblance  is  wonderful !  " 

**  Perfectly  startling,"  said  Mr.  Pyke. 

Here  was  a  state  of  things  1  Mrs.  Wititterly  was  declared,  upon  the  testi- 
mony of  two  veracious  and  competent  witnesses,  to  be  the  very  picture  of  a 
countess  1  This  was  one  of  the  consequences  of  getting  into  good  society. 
Why,  she  might  have  moved  among  grovelling  people  for  twenty  years,  and 
never  heard  of  it.  How  could  she,  indeed  ?  What  did  they  know  about 
Qonntesses! 

The  two  gentlemen  having,  by  the  greediness  with  which  this  little  bait 
was  swallowed,  tested  the  extent  of  Mrs.  Wititterly's  appetite  for  adulation, 
proceeded  to  administer  that  commodity  in  very  large  doses,  thus  affording  to 
'  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  an  opportunity  of  pestering  Miss  Nickleby  with  questions 
ind  remarks  to  which  she  was  absolutely  obliged  to  make  some  reply.  Mean- 
while, Lord  Verisopht  enjoyed  unmolested  the  full  flavour  of  the  gold  knob  at 


234  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

the  top  of  his  cane,  as  he  would  have  done  to  the  end  of  the  interview  if  Mr. 
Wititterly  had  not  come  home,  and  caused  the  conversation  to  turn  to  his 
favourite  topic. 

**My  lord,"  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  **I  am  delighted — honoured — proud.  Be 
seated  again,  my  lord,  pray.     I  am  proud,  indeed — most  proud." 

It  was  to  the  secret  annoyance  of  his  wife  that  Mr.  Wititterly  said  all  this, 
for  although  she  was  bursting  with  pride  and  arrogance,  she  would  have  had 
the  illustrious  guests  believe  that  their  visit  was  quite  a  common  occurrence, 
and  that  they  had  lords  and  baronets  to  see  them  every  day  in  the  week. 
But  Mr.  Wititterly's  feelings  were  beyond  the  power  of  suppression. 

"  It  is  an  honour,  indeed  !  "  said  Mr.  Wititterly.  "Julia,  my  soul,  you 
will  suffer  for  this  to-morrow." 

"  Suffer  ! "  cried  Lord  Verisopht. 

*'The  reaction,  my  lord,  the  reaction,"  said  Mr.  Wititterly.  "This  violent 
strain  upon  the  nervous  system  over,  my  lord,  what  ensues  ?  A  sinking,  a 
depression,  a  lowness,  a  lassitude,  a  debility.  My  lord,  if  Sir  Tumley  Snumm 
was  to  see  that  delicate  creature  at  this  moment,  he  would  not  give  a — a  itM 
for  her  life."  In  illustration  of  which  remark  Mr.  Wititterly  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff  from  his  box,  and  jerked  it  lightly  into  the  air  as  an  emblem  of 
instability. 

"Not  Uvai^*  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  looking  about  him  with  a  serioiis 
countenance.  **  Sir  Tumley  Snuffin  would  not  give  that  for  Mrs.  Wititterly*! 
existence." 

Mr.  Wititterly  told  this  with  a  kind  of  sober  exultation,  as  if  it  were  no 
trifling  distinction  for  a  man  to  have  a  wife  in  such  a  desperate  state,  and 
Mrs.  Wititterly  sighed  and  looked  on,  as  if  she  felt  the  honour,  but  had  deter- 
mined to  bear  it  as  meekly  as  might  be. 

**  Mrs.  Wititterly,"  said  her  husband,  **  is  Sir  TumL^  Snuffim's  favourite 
patient  I  believe  I  may  venture  to  say  that  Mrs,  Wititterly  is  the  first 
l)erson  who  took  the  new  medicine  which  is  supposed  to  have  destroyed  a 
family  at  Kensington  Gravel  Pits.  I  believe  she  was.  If  I  am  wrong,  Julia, 
my  dear,  you  will  correct  me. "  . 

**  I  believe  I  was,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  in  a  faint  voice. 

As  there  appeared  to  be  some  doubt  in  the  mind  of  his  patron  how  bo  could 
best  join  in  tnis  conversation,  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Pike  threw  himself  into 
the  breach,  and,  by  way  of  saying  something  to  the  point,  inquired — with 
reference  to  the  aforesaid  medicine — whether  it  was  nice. 

"No,  sir,  it  was  not.  It  had  not  even  that  recommendation,"  said 
Mr.  W. 

"Mrs.  Wititterly  is  quite  a  martyr,"  observed  Pyke,  with  a  complimentaiy 
bow. 

"  I  think  I  am,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  smiling. 

"  I  think  you  are,  my  dear  Julia,"  replied  her  husband,  in  a  tone  which 
seemed  to  say  that  he  was  not  vain,  but  still  must  insist  upon  their  privile^ 
"  If  anybody,  my  lord,"  added  Mr.  Wititterly,  wheeling  round  to  the  noble- 
man, "  will  produce  to  me  a  greater  martyr  than  Mrs.  Wititterly,  adl  I  can 
say  is,  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  that  martyr,  whether  male  or  female — ^that's 
all,  my  lord." 

Pike  and  Pluck  promptly  remarked  that  certainly  nothing  could  be  feirer 
than  that ;  and  the  call  having  been  by  this  time  protracted  to  a  very  great 
length,  they  obeyed  Sir  Mulberry's  look,  and  rose  to  go.  This  brought  Sir 
Alulberry  and  Lord  Verisopht  on  their  legs  also.  Many  protestations  of 
friendship,  and  expressions  anticipative  of  the  pleasure  which  must  inevitably 
flow  from  so  happy  an  acquaintance,  were  exchanged,  and  the  visitors  departed. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  235 

with  renewed  assurances  that  at  all  times  and  seasons  the  mansion  of  the 
Wititterlys  would  be  honoured  by  receiving  them  beneath  its  roof. 

That  they  came  at  all  times  and  seasons — that  they  dined  there  one  day, 
supped  the  next,  dined  again  on  the  next,  and  were  constantly  to  and  fro  on 
all — ^that  they  made  parties  to  visit  public  places,  and  met  by  accident  at 
lounges — that  upon  all  these  occasions  Miss  Nickleby  was  exposed  to  the 
constant  and  unremitting  persecution  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  who  now  began 
to  feel  his  character,  even  m  the  estimation  of  his  two  dependants,  involved 
in  the  successful  reduction  of  her  pride — that  she  had  no  intervals  of  peace  or 
rest,  except  at  those  hours  when  she  could  -sit  in  her  solitary  room  and  weep 
over  the  trials  of  the  day — all  these  were  consequences  naturally  flowing  from 
the  well-laid  plans  of  Sir  Mulberry,  and  their  able  execution  by  the  auxiliaries, 
Pike  and  Pluck. 

And  thus  for  a  fortnight  matters  went  on.  That  any  but  the  weakest  and 
silliest  of  people  could  have  seen  in  one  interview  that  Lord  Verisopht,  though 
he  was  a  lord,  and  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  though  he  was  a  baronet,  were  not 
persons  accustomed  to  be  the  best  possible  companions,  and  were  certainly 
not  calculated  by  habits,  manners,  t^ustes,  or  conversation,  to  shine  with  any 

Seat  lustre  in  the  society  of  ladies,  need  scarcely  he  remarked.  But  with 
rs.  Wititterly  tlie  two  titles  were  all  sufficient ;  coarseness  became  humour, 
Yulgarity  softened  itself  down  into  the  most  charming  eccentricity  ;  insolence 
took  the  guise  of  an  easy  absence  of  reserve,  attainable  only  by  those  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  mix  with  high  folks. 

If  the  mistress  put  such  a  construction  upon  the  behaviour  of  her  new 
friends,  what  could  the  companion  urge  against  them  %  If  they  accustomed 
themselves  to  very  little  restraint  before  the  lady  of  the  house,  with  how  much 
more  freedom  could  they  address  her  paid  dependant !  Nor  was  even  this  the 
worst.  As  the  odious  Sir  Mulberiy  Hawk  attached  himself  to  Kate  with  less 
and  less  of  disguise,  Mrs.  Wititterly  began  to  grow  jealous  of  the  superior 
attractions  of  Miss  Nickleby.  If  this  feeling  had  led  to  her  banishment  from 
the  drawing-room  when  such  company  was  there,  Kate  would  have  been  only 
too  happy  and  willing  that  it  should  have  existed,  but  unfortunately  for  her 
she  possessed  that  native  grace  and  true  gentility  of  manner,  and  those 
thousand  nameless  accomplishments  which  give  to  female  society  its  greatest 
charm  ;  if  these  be  valuable  anywhere,  they  were  especially  so  where  the  lady 
of  the  house  was  a  mere  animated  doll.  The  consequence  was,  that  Kate  had 
the  double  mortification  of  being  an  indispensable  part  of  the  circle  when  Sir 
Mulberry  and  his  friends  were  there,  and  of  being  exposed,  on  that  very 
account,  to  all  Mrs.  Wititterly's  ill-humours  and  caprices  when  they  were 
gone.     She  became  utterly  and  completely  miserable. 

Mrs.  Wititterly  had  never  thrown  oflf  the  mask  with  regard  to  Sir  Mulberry, 
but  when  she  was  more  than  usually  out  of  temper,  attributed  the  circum- 
stance, as  ladies  sometimes  do,  to  nervous  indisposition.  However,  as  the 
dreadful  idea  that  Lord  Verisopht  alsQ  was  somewhat  taken  with  Kate,  and 
that  she,  Mrs.  Wititterly,  was  quite  a  secondary  person,  dawned  upon  that 
lady's  mind  and  gradually  developed  itself,  she  became  possessed  witn  a  largo 
quantity  of  highly  proper  and  most  virtuous  indignation,  and  felt  it  her  duty, 
as  a  married  lady  and  a  moral  member  of  society,  to  mention  the  circumstance 
to  **  the  young  person  "  without  delay. 

Accordingly,  Mrs.  Wititterly  broke  ground  next  morning,  during  a  pause 
in  the  novel  reading. 

"Miss  Nickleby,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  **I  wish  to  speak  to  you  very 
cravely.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  do  it,  upon  my  word  I  am  very  sorry,  but  you 
leave  me  no  alternative,  Miss  Nickleby."    Here  Mrs.  Wititterly  tossed  her 


236  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

head — not  passionately,  only  virtuously — and  remarked,  with  some  appmr- 
ance  of  excitement,  that  she  feared  that  palpitation  of  the  heart  was  coming 
on  again. 

"Your  behaviour,  Miss  Nickleby,"  resumed  the  lady,  "isverv  far  fifom 
pleasing  me — very  far.  I  am  very  anxious  indeed  that  you  should  do  well, 
but  you  may  depend  upon  it,  Miss  Nickleby,  you  will  not,  if  you  go  on  as 
you  do." 

**  Ma'am  I "  exclaimed  Eate,  proudly. 

"  Don't  agitate  me  by  speaking  in  that  way,  Miss  Nickleby,  don't,"  said 
Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  some  violence,  "or  you'll  compel  me  to  ring  the 
bell." 

Eate  looked  at  her,  but  said  nothing. 

"You  needn't  suppose,"  resumed  Mrs.  Wititterly,  "that  your  looking  at 
me  in  that  way,  Miss  Nickleby,  will  prevent  my  saying  what  I  am  going  to 
say,  which  I  feel  to  be  a  religious  duty.  You  needn't  direct  your  glances 
towards  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  spite  ;  "/am  not 
Sir  Mulberry ;  no,  nor  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht,  Miss  Nickleby ;  nor  am  I 
Mr.  Pike,  nor  Mr.  Pluck  either." 

Eate  looked  at  her  again,  but  less  steadily  than  before ;  and  resting  hff 
elbow  on  the  table,  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"  If  such  things  had  been  done  when  /  was  a  young  girl,"  said  Mn. 
Wititterly  (this,  oy- the- way,  must  have  been  some  little  time  before),  '*  I 
don't  suppose  anybody  would  have  believed  it." 

"  I  don  t  think  they  would,"  murmured  Eate.  "  I  do  not  think  anybody 
would  believe,  without  actually  knowing  it,  what  I  seem  doomed  to  unde^ 
go!" 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  being  doomed  to  undergo,  Miss  Nickleby,  if  yoa 
please,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly,  with  a  shrillness  of  tone  quite  surprising  in  so 
great  an  invalid.  "  I  will  not  be  answered.  Miss  Nickleby.  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  be  answered,  nor  will  I  permit  it  for  an  instant.  Do  701 
hear  ? "  she  added,  waiting  with  some  apparent  inconsistency /or  an  answer. 

**I  do  hear  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Eate,  "with  surprise — with  greater 
surprise  than  I  can  express." 

"  I  have  always  considered  you  a  particularly  well-behaved  young  persoD 
for  your  station  in  life,"  said  Mrs.  Wititterly  ;  "  and  as  you  are  a  person  of 
healthy  appearance,  and  neat  in  your  dress,  and  so  forth,  I  have  taken  as 
interest  in  you,  as  I  do  still,  considering  that  I  owe  a  sort  of  duty  to  that 
respectable  old  female,  your  mother.  For  these  reasons.  Miss  Nickleby,  I 
must  tell  you  once  for  all,  and  begging  you  to  mind  what  I  say,  that  I  most 
insist  upon  your  immediately  altering  your  very  forward  behaviour  to  the 
gentlemen  who  visit  at  this  house.  It  really  is  not  becoming,"  said  Mn 
Wititterly,  closing  her  chaste  eyes  as  she  spoke;  "it  is  improper— quit* 
improper." 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Eate,  looking  upwards  and  clasping  her  hands,  "  is  not  te 
is  not  this  too  cruel,  too  hard  to  bear  !  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  should  have 
suffered  as  I  have,  night  and  day ;  that  I  should  almost  have  sunk  in  my  own 
estimation  from  very  shame  of  having  been  brought  into  contact  with  such 
people ;  but  must  I  also  be  exposed  to  this  unjust  and  most  unfounded 
charge ! " 

"You  will  have  the  goodness  to  recollect,  Miss  Nickleby,"  said  Hn. 
Wititterly,  "  that  when  you  use  such  terms  as  *  unjust,*  and  *  unfoundsd,* 
you  charge  me,  in  effect,  with  stating  that  which  is  untrue." 

"I  do,"  said  Eate,  with  honest  indignation.  "Whether  you  make  this 
accusation  of  yourself,  or  at  the  prompting  of  others,  is  alike  to  me.     I  say  it 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  237 

is  vilely,  grossly,  wilfully  untrue.  Is  it  possible  !  "  cried  Kate,  "  that  any 
one  of  my  own  sex  can  have  sat  by  and  not  have  seen  the  misei^  these  men 
have  caused  me  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you,  ma'am,  can  have  been  present  and 
failed  to  mark  the  insulting  freedom  that  their  every  look  bespoke  ?  Is  it 
possible  ^at  you  can  have  avoided  seeing  that  these  libertines,  in  their  utter 
disrespect  for  you,  and  utter  disregard  of  all  gentlemanly  behaviour  and 
almost  of  decency,  have  had  but  one  object  in  introducing  themselves  here, 
and  that  the  furtherance  of  their  designs  upon  a  friendless,  helpless  girl,  who, 
without  this  humiliating  confession,  might  have  hoped  to  receive  from  one  so 
much  her  senior  something  like  womanly  aid  and  sympathy  ?  I  do  not — I 
cannot  believe  it  1 " 

If  poor  Kate  had  possessed  the  slightest  knowledge  of  the  world,  she 
certainly  would  not  have  ventured,  even  in  the  excitement  to  which  she  had 
been  lashed,  upon  such  an  injudicious  speech  as  this.  Its  effect  was  precisely 
what  a  more  experienced  observer  would  have  foreseen.  Mrs.  Wititterly 
received  the  attack  upon  her  veracity  with  exemplary  calmness,  and  listened 
with  the  most  heroic  fortitude  to  Kate's  account  of  her  own  sufferings.  But 
allusion  being  made  to  her  bein^  held  in  disregard  by  the  gentlemen,  she 
evinced  violent  emotion,  and  this  blow  was  no  sooner  followed  up  by  the 
remark  concerning  her  seniority,  than  she  fell  back  upon  the  sofa,  uttering 
dismal  screams. 

•*  What  is  the  matter ! "  cried  Mr.  Wititterly,  bouncing  into  the  room. 
'*  Heavens,  what  do  I  see  !    Julia  !  Julia  !  look  up,  my  life,  look  up  !  " 

Bat  Julia  looked  down  most  perseveringly,  and  screamed  still  louder  !  so 
Mr.  Wititterly  rang  the  bell,  and  danced  in  a  frenzied  manner  round  the  sofa 
on  which  Mrs.  Wititterly  lay ;  uttering  perpetual  cries  for  Sir  Tumley 
Snnffim,  and  never  once  leaving  off  to  ask  for  any  explanation  of  the  scene 
before  him. 

•'  Run  for  Sir  Tumley,"  cried  Mr.  Wititterly,  menacing  the  page  with  both 
fiat&  "  I  knew  it.  Miss  Nickleby,"  he  said,  looking  round  with  an  air  of 
melancholy  triumph,  **  that  society  has  been  too  much  for  her.  This  is  all 
aoul,  you  know,  every  bit  of  it."  With  this  assurance  Mr.  Wititterly  took  up 
the  prostrate  form  of  Mrs.  Wititterly  and  carried  her  bodily  off  to  bed. 

Sate  waited  until  Sir  Tumley  Snuffim  had  paid  his  visit  and  looked  in  with 
a  report,  that,  through  the  special  interposition  of  a  merciful  Providence  (thus 
spake  Sir  Tumley),  Mrs.  Wititterly  had  gone  to  sleep.  She  then  hastily 
attired  herself  for  walking,  and  leaving  word  that  she  should  return  within  a 
couple  of  hours,  hurried  away  towards  her  uncle's  house. 

It  had  been  a  good  day  with  Ralph  Nickleby — quite  a  lucky  day ;  and  as 
j^0  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  little  back  room  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
''ioiy  adding  up  in  his  own  mind  all  the  sums  that  had  been,  or  would  be, 
jetted  from  the  business  done  since  morning,  his  mouth  was  drawn  into  a 
"*i^,  stem  smile  ;  while  the  firmness  of  the  lines  and  curves  that  made  it  up, 
■*  Well  as  the  cunning  glance  of  his  cold,  bright  eye,  seemed  to  tell,  that  if 
*ny  resolution  or  cunning  would  increase  the  profits,  they  would  not  fail  to  be 
belted  for  the  purpose. 

**  Very  good  ! "  said  Ralph,  in  allusion,  no  doubt,  to  some  proceeding  of 
the  day  ;  **he  defies  the  usurer,  does  he?  Well,  we  shall  see.  *  Honesty  is 
the  best  policy,'  is  it  ?    We'll  try  that,  too." 

He  stopped,  and  then  walked  on  again. 

"He  is  content,"  said  Ralph,  relaxing  into  a  smile,  "to  set  his  known 
character  and  conduct  against  the  power  of  money — dross  as  he  calls  it. 
Why,  what  a  dull  blockhead  this  fellow  must  be  !  Dross  too — dross  ! — Who's 
that?" 


238  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

*•  Me,"  said  Newmau  Noggs,  looking  in.     •*  Your  niece." 

**  What  of  her  ? "  asked  Ralph,  sharply. 

"  She's  here." 

"Here!" 

Newman  jerked  his  head  towards  his  little  room,  to  signify  that  she  waa 
waiting  there. 

*•  What  does  she  want  ? "  asked  Ralph. 

'*  I  don't  know,"  rejoined  Newman.     "  Shall  I  ask  !  "  he  added  quickly. 

**No,"  replied  Ralph.  **Show  her  in — stay."  He  hastily  put  away  a 
padlocked  cash-box  that  was  on  t)ie  table,  and  substituted  in  its  stead-  an 
empty  purse.     **  There,"  said  Ralph,  "  now  she  may  come  in." 

Newman,  with  a  grim  smile  at  this  manoeuvre,  beckoned  the  young  lady  to 
advance,  and  having  placed  a  chair  for  her,  retired  ;  looking  stealthily  over 
his  shoulder  at  Ralph  as  he  limped  slowly  out. 

**  Well,"  said  Ralph,  roughly  enough  ;  but  still  with  something  more  of 
kindness  in  his  manner  than  ho  would  have  exhibited  towards  anybody  elao. 
"  Well,  my— dear.     What  now  ?  " 

Kate  raised  her  eyes,  which  were  filled  with  tears  ;  and  with  an  effort  to 
master  her  emotion  strove  to  speak,  but  in  vain.  So  drooping  her  head  a^D, 
she  remained  silent.  Her  face  was  hidden  from  his  view,  but  Ralph  coola  see 
that  she  was  weeping. 

"  I  can  guess  the  cause  of  this  !  "  thought  Ralph,  after  looking  at  her  for 
some  time  in  silence.  **I  can — I  can  guess  the  cause.  Well!  Wdl!"— 
thought  Ralph — for  the  moment  quite  disconcerted,  as  he  watched  the  anguish 
of  his  beautiful  niece.  "  Where  is  the  harm  ?  only  a  few  tears  ;  and  ifs  ao 
excellent  lesson  for  her — an  excellent  lesson." 

'*  What  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  Ralph,  drawing  a  chair  opposite,  and  sitting 
down. 

He  was  rather  taken  aback  by  the  sudden  firmness  with  which  Kate  looked 
up  and  answered  him. 

•'  The  matter  which  brings  me  to  you,  sir,"  she  said,  "  is  one  which  should 
call  the  blood  up  into  your  cheeks,  and  make  you  bum  to  hear,  as  it  does  me 
to  tell.  I  have  been  wronged  ;  my  feelings  have  been  outraged,  insulted, 
wounded  past  all  healing,  and  by  your  friends."  \ 

'*  Friends  ! "  cried  Ralph,  sternly.     *'  /  have  no  friends,  girL" 

**By  the  men  I  saw  here,  then,"  returned  Kate,  quickly.     "If  they  were 
no  friends  of  yours,  and  you  knew  what  they  were — oh,  the  more  sliamo 
on  you,  uncle,  for  bringing  me  among  them.      To   have  subjected  me  to 
what  I  was  exposed  to  here,  through  any  misplaced  confidence  or  imperfect 
knowledge  of  your  guests,  would  have  required  some  strong  excuse ;  but  if  yoi 
did  it — as  I  now  believe  you  did — knowing  them  well,  it  was  most  dastarul; 
and  cruel." 

Ralph  drew  back  in  utter  amazement  at  this  plain  speaking,  and  regardet- 
Kate  with  his  sternest  look.     But  she  mCt  his  gaze  proudly  and  firmly,  aoC 
although  her  face  was  very  pale,  it  looked  more  noble  and  handsome,  light«^ 
up  as  it  was,  than  it  had  ever  appeared  before. 

**  There  is  some  of  that  boy's  blood  in  you,  I  see,"  said  Ralph,  speaking  in 
his  harshest  tones,  as  something  in  the  flashing  eye  reminded  him  of  Nicholas 
at  their  last  meeting. 

**  I  hope  there  is  ! "  replied  Kate.  "  I  should  be  proud  to  know  it  I 
am  young,  uncle,  and  all  the  ditficulties  and  miseries  of  my  situation  ht^e 
kept  it  down,  but  I  have  been  roused  to-day  beyond  all  endurance,  awi 
come  what  may,  I  will  noty  as  I  am  your  brother's  child,  bear  these  insults 
longer." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  239 

"  What  insults,  girl  ? "  demanded  Ralph,  sharply. 

"  Remember  what  took  place  here,  and  ask  yourself,"  replied  Kate,  colouring 
deeply.  *•  Uncle,  you  must — I  am  sure  you  will — release  mo  from  such  vile 
ana  degrading  companionship  as  I  am  exposed  to  now.  I  do  not  mean," 
said  Kate,  hurrying  to  the  old  man  and  laying  her  arm  upon  his  shoulder, 
**  I  do  not  mean,  to  be  angry  and  violent—-!  beg  your  pardon  if  I  have 
seemed  so,  dear  uncle — but  you  do  not  know  what  I  have  suffered,  you  do 
not  indeed.  You  cannot  tell  what  the  heart  of  a  young  girl  is — I  have  no 
right  to  expect  you  should ;  but  when  I  tell  you  I  am  wretched,  and  that 
my  heart  is  breaking,  I  am  sure  you  will  help  me.  I  am  sure — I  am  sure  you 
will!" 

Ralph  looked  at  her  for  an  instant ;  then  turned  away  his  head,  and  beat 
his  foot  nervously  upon  the  ground. 

"  I  have  ffone  on  day  after  day,"  said  Kate,  bending  over  him,  and  timidly 

f lacing  her  little  hand  in  his,  "  in  the  hope  that  this  persecution  would  cease; 
have  eone  on  day  after  day,  compelled  to  assume  the  appearance  of  cheerful- 
ness, when  I  was  most  unhappy.  I  have  had  no  counsellor,  no  adviser,  no 
one  to  protect  me.  Mamma  supposes  that  these  are  honourable  men,  rich  and 
distinguished,  and  how  can  I — how  can  I  undeceive  her — when  she  is  so 
happy  in  these  little  delusions,  which  are  the  only  happiness  she  has  ?  The 
la^  with  whom  you  placed  me  is  not  the  person  to  wliora  I  could  confide 
matters  of  so  much  delicacy,  and  I  have  come  at  last  to  you,  the  only  friend  I 
have  at  hand — almost  the  only  friend  I  have  at  all — to  entreat  and  implore  you 
to  assist  me." 

"How  can  1  assist  you,  child?"  said  Ralph,  rising  from  his  chair,  and 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room  in  his  old  attitude. 

"You  have  influence  with  one  of  these  men,  I  know"  rejoined  Kate, 
emphatically.  "  Would  not  a  word  from  you  induce  them  to  desist  from  this 
unmanly  course? " 

••No,"  said  Ralph,  suddenly  turning ;  **  at  leastr— that— I  can't  say  it,  if  it 
would." 
"  Can't  say  it ! " 

*•  No,"  said  Ralph^^  coming  to  a  dead  stop,  and  clasping  his  hands  more 
ti^tly  behind  him.     **  I  can  t  say  it." 

1SaX»  feU  back  a  step  or  two,  and  looked  at  him,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  she 
i&<3  heard  aright. 

•  •  We  are  connected  in  business,"  said  Ralph,  poising  himself  alternately  on 
£s  toes  and  heels,  and  looking  coolly  in  his  niece's  face,  *•  in  business,  and  I 
i-K^'t  afford  to  offend  them.     What  is  it  after  all?    We  have  all  our  trials, 

this  is  one  of  yours.     Some  girls  would  be  proud  to  have  such  gallants  at 
J  feet." 

•  •  Proud  ! "  %ied  Kate. 

••I  don't  say,"  rejoined  Ralph,  raising  his  forefinger,   **but  that  you  do 
i^lit  to  despise  them ;  no,  you  show  your  good  sense  in  that,  as  indeed  I 
^^ew  from  tne  first  you  would.     Well.     In  all  other  respects  you  are  com- 
[ortaibly  bestowed.     It's  not  much  to  bear.     If  this  young  lord  does  dog  your 
footsteps,  and  whisper  his  drivelling  inanities  in  your   ears,  what  of  it? 
Wa  a  dishonourable  passion.     So  be  it ;  it  won't  last  long.      Some  other 
novelty  will  spring  up  one  day,  and  you  will  be  released.      In  the  mean- 
time  '*  ^ 

"  In  the  meantime,"  interrupted  Kate,  with  becoming  pride  and  indigna- 
tion, "  I  am  to  be  the  scorn  of  my  own  sex,  and  the  toy  of  the  other  ;  justly 
oondemned  by  all  women  of  right  feeling,  and  despised  by  all  honest  and 
honourable  men  ;  sunken  in  my  own  esteem,  and  degraded  in  every  eye  that 


240  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

looks  upon  me.  No,  not  if  I  work  my  iiDgers  to  the  bone,  not  if  I  am  driven 
to  the  roughest  and  hardest  labour.  Do  not  mistake  mo.  I  will  not  disgrace 
your  recommendation.  I  will  remain  in  the  house  in  which  it  placed  me, 
until  I  am  entitled  to  leave  it  by  the  terms  of  my  engagement — though,  miod, 
I  see  these  men  no  more.  When  I  quit  it,  I  will  hide  myself  from  them  and 
you,  and,  striving  to  support  my  mother  by  hard  service,  I  will  live  at  least 
in  peace,  and  trust  in  God  to  help  me." 

With  these  words,  she  waved  her  hand,  and  quitted  the  room,  leaving 
Ralph  Nickleby  motionless  as  a  statue. 

Tne  surprise  with  which  Kate,  as  she  closed  the  room  door,  beheld,  close 
beside  it,  Newman  Noggs  standing  bolt  upright  in  a  little  niche  in  the  wall, 
like  some  scarecrow  or  Guy  Faux  laid  up  in  winter  quarters,  almost  occasioned 
her  to  call  aloud.  But  Newman  laying  his  Unger  upon  his  lips,  she  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  refrain. 

'*  Don't,"  said  Newman,  gliding  out  of  his  recess,  and  accompanying  her 
across  the  hall.  **  Don't  cry,  don't  cry."  Two  very  large  tears,  by-the-by, 
were  running  down  Newman's  face  as  ho  spoke. 

*'  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  poor  Noggs,  drawing  from  his  pocket  what  seemed 
to  be  a  very  old  duster,  ana  wiping  Kate's  eyes  with  it,  as  gently  as  if  she  were 
an  infant.  **  You're  giving  way  now.  Yes,  yes,  very  good  ;  that's  right,  I 
like  that.  It  was  right  not  to  give  way  before  him.  Yes,  yes  1  Ha,  ha,  hat 
Oh,  yes.     Poor  thing ! " 

With  these  disjointed  exclamations,  Newman  wiped  his  own  eyes  with  the 
afore-mentioned  duster,  and  limping  to  the  street  door,  opened  it  to  let  her 
out. 

**  Don't  cry  any  more,"  whispered  Newman.  **  I  shall  see  you  soon.  Hal 
ha  !  ha  !    And  so  shall  somebody  else,  too.     Yes,  yes.     Ho  !  ho  ! " 

**  God  bless  you,"  answered  Kate,  hurrying  out,  **  God  bless  you." 

**Same  to  you,"  rejoined  Newman,  opening  the  door  again  a  little  way  to 
say  so.     **  Ha,  ha,  ha  !     Ho  !  ho  !  ho  I  ' 

And  Newman  Noggs  opened  the  door  once  again  to  nod  cheerfully  and 
laugh — and  shut  it,  to  shake  his  head  mournfully  and  cry. 

Ralph  remained  in  the  same  attitude  till  he  heard  the  noise  of  the  closing 
door,  when  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  after  a  few  turns  about  the  room 
— hasty  at  first,  but  gradually  becoming  slower,  as  he  relapsed  into  himself 
sat  down  before  his  desk. 

It  is  one  of  those  problems  of  human  nature  which  may  be  noted  down 
but  not  solved — although  Ralph  felt  no  remorse  at  that  moment  for  his  con- 
duct towards  the  innocent,  true-hearted  girl ;  although  his  libertine  clients 
had  done  precisely  what  he  had  expected,  precisely  what  he  most  wished,  and 
precisely  what  would  tend  most  to  his  advantage,  still  he  kated  them  for 
doing  it,  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  soul. 

"  Ugh  !  "  said  Ralph,  scowling  round,  and  shaking  his  clenched  hand  as 
the  faces  of  the  two  profligates  rose  up  before  his  mind  ;  **  you  shall  pay  for 
this.     Oh,  you  shall  pay  for  this  ! " 

As  the  usurer  turned  for  consolation  to  his  books  and  papers,  a  perfonnance 
was  going  on  outside  his  office  door,  which  would  have  occasioned  him  no 
snmll  surprise  if  he  could  by  any  means  have  become  acquainted  with  it 

Newman  Noggs  was  the  sole  actor.  lie  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  tVe 
door,  with  his  face  towards  it ;  and  with  the  sleeves  of  his  coat  turned  bad[ 
at  tlie  wrists,  was  occupied  in  bestowing  the  most  vigorous,  scientific,  and 
straightforward  blows  upon  the  empty  air. 

At  first  sight,  this  would  have  appeared  merely  a  wLse  nrecaution  in  a  man 
of  sedentary  habits,  with  a  view  of  opening  the  chest  anu  strengthening  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  241 

cIqb  of  the  arms.  But  the  intense  eagerness  and  joy  depicted  in  the  face 
l^ewman  Noggs,  which  was  sutfused  with  perspiration  ;  the  surprising 
gy  with  which  he  directed  a  constant  succession  of  blows  towards  a  par- 
lar  panel  about  five  feet  eight  from  the  ground,  and  still  worked  away  in 
most  untiring  and  persevering  manner,  would  have  sufficiently  explained 
he  attentive  observer,  that  his  imagination  was  thrashing,  to  within  an 
,  of  his  life,  his  body's  most  active  employer,  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


PBOCEEDINOS  OF  NICHOLAS,  AND  CERTAIN  INTERNAL  DIVISIONS  IN  THE 
COMPANY  OF  MR.    VINCENT  CRUMMLES. 

tHE  unexpected  success  and  favour  with  which  his  experiment  at  Ports- 
mouth nad  been  received,  induced  Mr.  Crummies  to  prolong  his  stay 
in  that  town  for  a  fortnight  beyond  the  period  he  had  originally 
^ed  for  the  duration  of  his  visit,  during  which  time  Nicholas  personated 
at  variety  of  characters  with  undiminished  success,  and  attracted  so  many 
)le  to  the  theatre  who  had  never  been  seen  there  before,  that  a  benefit  was 
ddered  by  the  manager  a  very  promising  speculation.  Nicholas  assenting 
be  terms  proposed,  the  benefit  was  had,  and  by  it  he  realised  no  less  a  sum 
1  twenty  pounds. 

ossessed  of  this  unexpected  wealth,  his  first  act  was  to  enclose  to  honest 
a  Browdie  the  amount  of  bis  friendly  loan,  which  he  accompanied  with 
ly  expressions  of  gratitude  and  esteem,  and  many  cordial  wishes  for  his 
rimonial  happiness.  To  Newman  Noggs  he  forwarded  one  half  of  the 
he  had  realised,  entreating  him  to  take  an  opportunity  of  handing  it  to 
e  in  secret,  and  conveying  to  her  the  warmest  assurances  of  his  love  and 
;tion.  He  made  no  mention  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  employed  him- 
;  merely  informing  Newman  that  a  letter  addressed  to  him  under  his 
med  name  at  the  Post  Office,  Portsmouth,  would  readily  find  him,  and 
mating  that  worthy  friend  to  write  full  particulars  of  the  situation  of  his 
her  and  sister,  and  an  account  of  all  the  grand  things  that  Ralph  Nickleby 
done  for  them  since  his  departure  from  London. 

You  are  out  of  spirits,"  said  Smike,  on  the  night  after  the  letter  had  been 
latched. 

Not  I  I"  rejoined  Nicholas,  with  assumed  gaiety,  for  the  confession 
Id  have  made  the  boy  miserable  all  night ;   ''I  was  thinking  about  my 
jT,  Smike."  ' 
Sister  I " 
Aye." 

Is  she  Uke  you  ? "  inquired  Smike. 
Why,  so  they  say,"  replied  Nicholas,  laughing,  **only  a  great  deal  band- 


er." 


She  must  be  very  beautiful,"  said  Smike,  after  thinking  a  little  while 

I  his  hands  folded  together,  and  his  eyes  bent  upon  his  friend. 

Anybody  who  didn't  know  you  as  well  as  I  do,  my  dear  fellow,  would  say 

were  an  accomplished  courtier,"  said  Nicholas. 

I   don't  even  Know  what  that  is,"  replied  Smike,  shaking  his  head. 

lall  I  ever  see  your  sister  ? " 

To  be  sure,"  cried  Nicholas  ;  "  we  shall  all  be  together  one  of  these  days 

hen  we  are  rich,  Smike." 


242  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  How  is  it  that  you,  who  are  so  kind  and  good  to  me,  have  nobody,  to  be 
kind  to  you  ? "  asked  Smike.     **  I  cannot  make  that  out." 

"Why,  it  is  a  long  story,"  replied  Nicholas,  **and  one  you  would  have 
some  difficulty  in  comprehending,  I  fear.  I  have  an  enemy — you  understaod 
what  that  is  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand  that,"  said  Smike. 

**  Well,  it  is  owing  to  him,"  returned  Nicholas.  **  He  is  rich,  and  not  so 
easily  punished  as  your  old  enemy,  Mr.  Squeers.  He  is  my  uncle,  but  he  is  a 
villain,  and  has  done  me  wrong." 

**  Has  he  though  ? "  asked  Smike,  bending  eagerly  forward.  *'  What  is  hia 
name  ?    Tell  me  his  name."  \ 

"  Ralph— Ralph  Nickleby." 

"Ralph  Nickleby,"  repeated  Smike.  "Ralph.  I'll  get  that  name  by 
heart." 

He  had  muttered  it  over  to  himself  some  twenty  times,  when  a  loud  knock 
at  the  door  disturbed  him  from  his  occupation.  Before  he  could  open  it,  lif. 
Folair,  the  pantoraimist,  thrust  in  his  head. 

Mr.  Folair's  head  was  usually  decorated  with  a  very  round  hat,  unusually 
high  in  the  crown,  and  curled  up  quite  tight  in  the  brims.  On  the  present 
occasion  he  wore  it  very  much  on  one  side,  with  the  back  part  forward,  in 
consequence  of  its  being  the  least  rusty  ;  round  his  neck  he  wore  a  flaming 
red  worsted  comforter,  whereof  the  straggling  ends  peeped  out  beneath  his 
threadbare  Newmarket  coat,  which  was  very  tight  and  buttoned  all  the  way 
up.  He  carried  in  his  hand  one  dirty  glove,  und  a  cheap  dress  cane  with  a 
glass  handle ;  in  short,  his  whole  appearance  was  unusually  dashing,  and 
demonstrated  a  far  more  scrupulous  attention  to  his  toilet  than  he  was  in  thfl 
habit  of  bestowing  upon  it. 

"Good  evening,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  taking  off  the  tall  hat,  and  running 
his  fingers  through  liis  hair.     "  I  bring  a  communication.     Hem  !  " 

"  From  whom,  and  what  about  ? "  inquired  Nicholas.  "  You  are  unusually 
mysterious  to-night." 

"Cold,  perhaps,"  returned  Mr.  Folair  ;  "cold,  perhaps.  That  is  the  fault 
of  my  position — not  of  myself,  Mr.  Johnson.  My  position  as  a  mutual  friend 
requires  it,  sir."  Mr.  Folair  paused  with  a  most  impressive  look,  and  diving 
into  the  hat  before  noticed,  drew  from  thence  a  small  piece  of  whitey-brown 
paper,  curiously  folded,  whence  he  brought  forth  a  note,  which  it  had  served 
to  keep  clean,  and  handing  it  over  to  Nicholas,  said — 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  read  that,  sir." 

Nicholas,  in  a  state  of  much  amazement,  took  the  note  and  broke  the  seilf 
glancing  at  Mr.  Folair  as  he  did  so,  who,  knitting  his  brow,  and  pursing  tip 
his  mouth  with  great  dignity,  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  the 
ceiling. 

It  was  directed  to  blank  Johnson,  Esq.,  by  favour  of  Augustus  Folair,  Esq.; 
and  the  astonishment  of  Nicholas  was  in  no  degree  lessened  when  he  found  it 
to  be  couched  in  the  following  laconic  terms — 

"Mr.  Lenville  presents  his  kind  regards  to  Mr.  Johnson,  and  will  feel 
obliged  if  he  will  inform  him  at  what  hour  to-morrow  morning  it  will  be  most 
convenient  to  him  to  meet  Mr.  L.  at  the  theatre,  for  the  purpose  of  having  hii 
nose  pulled  in  the  presence  of  the  company. 

"  Mr.  Lenville  requests  Mr.  Johnson  not  to  neglect  making  an  appointment, 
as  he  has  invited  two  or  three  professional  friends  to  witness  the  ceremonyt 
and  cannot  disappoint  them  upon  anv  account  whatever. 

**  FortsTnouthf  Tuesday  nigM." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  243 

iDdignant  as  he  was  at  this  impertinence,  there  was  something  so  exquisitely 
absard  in  such  a  cartel  of  defiance,  that  Nicholas  was  obliged  to  bite  his  lip 
and  read  the  note  over  two  or  three  times  before  he  could  muster  sufficient 
grayity  and  sternness  to  address  the  hostile  messenger,  who  had  not  taken 
his  eyes  from  the  ceiling,  nor  altered  the  expression  of  his  face  in  the  slightest 
degree. 

••  Do  you  know  the  contents  of  this  note,  sir  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length. 

'•  Yes,"  rejoined  Mr.  Folair,  looking  round  for  an  instant,  and  immediately 
carrying  his  eyes  back  again  to  the  ceiling. 

"And  how  dare  you  bring  it  here,  sir?"  asked  Nicholas,  tearing  it  into 
very  little  pieces,  and  jerking  it  in  a  shower  towards  the  messenger.  *'  Had 
you  no  fear  of  being  kicked  aownstairs,  sir  ? " 

Mr.  Folair  turned  his  head — now  ornamented  with  several  fragments  of  the 
note — towards  Nicholas,  and  with  the  same  imperturbable  dignity,  briefly 
replied  "No." 

•*  Then,"  said  Nicholas,  taking  up  the  tall  hat,  and  tossing  it  towards  the 
door,  **you  had  better  follow  that  article  of  your  dress,  sir,  or  you  may  find 
yourself  very  disagreeably  deceived,  and  that  within  a  dozen  seconds." 

"  I  say,  Johnson,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Folair,  suddenly  losing  all  his  dignity, 
•*none  of  that,  you  know.     No  tricks  with  a  gentleman's  wardrobe." 

**  Leave  the  room,"  returned  Nicholas.  **  How  could  you  presume  to  come 
here  on  such  an  errand,  you  scoundrel  ? " 

•*  Pooh  !  pooh  ! "  said  Mr.  Folair,  unwinding  his  comforter,  and  gradually 
Ijretting  himself  out  of  it.     "There — that's  enough." 

"Enough ! "  cried  Nicholas,  advancing  towards  him.    "  Take  yourself  off",  sir. " 

"Pooh!  pooh!  I  tell  you,"  returned  Mr.  Folair,  waving  his  hand  in 
deprecation  of  any  further  wrath  ;  '*  I  wasn't  in  earnest.  I  only  brought  it  in 
joke." 

"You  had  better  be  careful  how  you  indulge  in  such  jokes  again,"  said 
Kicholas,  "  or  you  may  find  an  allusion  to  pulling  noses  rather  a  dangerous 
reminder  for  the  subject  of  your  facetiousness.  Was  it  written  in  joke  too, 
pray  ?  " 

"No,  no,  that's  the  best  of  it,"  returned  the  actor ;  "right  down  earnest — 
honour  bright." 

Nicholas  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  the  odd  figure  before  him,  which,  at 
all  times  more  calculated  to  provoke  mirth  than  anger,  was  especially  so  at 
that  moment,  when,  with  one  knee  upon  the  ground,  Mr.  Folair  twirled  his 
old  hat  round  upon  his  hand,  and  affected  the  eztremest  agony  lest  any  of  the 
nap  should  have  been  knocked  off — an  ornament  which,  it  is  almost  super- 
fluous to  say,  it  had  not  boasted  for  many  months. 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  Nicholas,  laughing  in  spite  of  himself,  "  have  the  good- 
ness to  explain." 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  sitting  himself  down  in  a 
chair,  with  great  coolness.  "  Since  you  came  here  Lenvule  has  done  nothing 
but  second  business,  and,  instead  of  having  a  reception  every  night,  as  he 
used  to  have,  they  have  let  him  come  on  as  if  he  was  nobody. " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  reception  ?  "  asked  Nicholas. 

"  Jupiter ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Folair,  "  what  an  unsophisticated  shepherd  you' 
are,  Johnson  !  Why,  applause  from  the  hoiLse  when  you  first  come  on.  So^ 
he  has  gone  on  night  after  night,  never  getting  a  hand  and  you  getting  a 
couple  of  rounds  at  least,  and  sometimes  three,  till  at  length  he  got  quite 
desperate,  and  had  half  a  mind  last  night  to  play  Tybalt  with  a  real  sword, 
and  pink  you — not  dangerously,  but  just  enough  to  lay  you  up  for  a  month 
or  two." 


244  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Very  considerate,"  remarked  Nicholas. 

'*  Yes,  I  think  it  was,  under  the  circumstances  ;  his  professional  repntatioQ 
being  at  stake,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  quite  seriously.  '*  But  his  heart  failed  him, 
and  he  cast  about  for  some  other  way  of  annoying  you,  and  making  himself 
popular  at  the  same  time — for  that's  the  point.  Notoriety,  notoriety  is  the 
thing.  Bless  you,  if  he  had  pinked  you,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  stopping  to  make 
a  calculation  in  his  mind,  '*  it  woiUd  have  been  worth — ah,  it  would  have 
been  worth  eight  or  ten  shillings  a- week  to  him.  All  the  town  would  have 
come  to  see  the  actor  who  nearly  killed  a  man  by  mistake ;  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  it  had  got  him  an  engagement  in  London.  However,  he  was  obliged  to  tiy 
some  other  mode  of  getting  popular,  and  this  one  occurred  to  him.  It's  a 
clever  idea,  really.  If  you  had  shown  the  white  feather,  and  let  him  pull  your 
nose,  he'd  have  got  it  into  the  paper ;  if  you  had  sworn  the  peace  againat  him 
it  would  have  been  in  the  paper  too ;  and  he'd  have  been  just  as  much  talked 
about  as  you — don't  you  see  \ " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  rejoined  Nicholas  ;  "  but  suppose  I  were  to  turn  the  tables 
and  puU  Ais  nose,  what  then  ?    Would  that  make  his  fortune  ?  " 

''Why,  I  don't  think  it  would,"  replied  Mr.  Folair,  scratching  his  head, 
"because  there  wouldn't  be  any  romance  about  it,  and  he  wouldn't  be  favour* 
ably  known.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  though,  he  didn't  calculate  much  upon 
that,  for  you're  always  so  mild  spoken,  and  are  so  popular  among  the  women, 
that  we  didn't  suspect  you  of  showing  fight  If  you  did,  however,  he  has  a 
way  of  getting  out  of  it  easily,  depend  upon  that" 

"Has  he?  rejoined  Nicholas.  "We  will  try  to-morrow  morning.  Ib 
the  meantime,  you  can  give  whatever  account  of  our  interview  you  like  best 
Good  night" 

As  Mr.  Folair  was  pretty  well  known  among  his  fellow-actors  for  a  mtn 
who  delighted  in  mischief,  and  was  by  no  means  scrupulous,  Nicholas  had  not 
much  doubt  but  that  he  had  secretly  prompted  the  tragedian  in  the  course  he 
had  taken,  and,  moreover,  that  he  would  have  carried  his  mission  with  a  very 
high  hand  if  he  had  not  been  disconcerted  by  the  very  unexpected  demon* 
strations  with  which  it  had  been  received.  It  was  not  worth  his  while  to  be 
serious  with  him,  however,  so  he  dismissed  the  pantomimist,  with  a  gentle 
hint  that  if  he  offended  again  it  would  be  under  the  penalty  of  a  broken  head ; 
and  Mr.  Folair,  taking  the  caution  in  exceedingly  good  part,  walked  away  to 
confer  with  his  principal,  and  give  such  an  account  of  his  proceedings  as  be 
might  think  best  calculated  to  carry  on  the  joke. 

He  had  no  doubt  reported  that  Nicholas  was  in  a  state  of  extreme  bodily 
fear  ;  for  when  that  young  gentleman  walked  with  much  deliberation  down  to 
the  theatre  next  morning  at  the  usual  hour,  he  found  all  the  company  assembled 
in  evident  expectation,  and  Mr.  Lenville,  with  his  severest  stage  face,  sitting 
majestically  on  a  table,  whistling  defiance. 

Now,  the  ladies  were  on  the  side  of  Nicholas,  and  the  gentlemen  (being 
jealous)  were  on  the  side  of  the  disappointed  tragedian ;  so  that  the  latter 
formed  a  little  group  about  the  redoubtable  ^Ir.  Lenville,  and  the  fonner  looked 
on  at  a  little  distance  in  some  trepidation  and  anxiety.  On  Nicholas  stopping 
to  salute  them,  Mr.  Lenville  laughed  a  scornful  laugh,  and  made  some  generu 
remark  touching  the  natural  history  of  puppies. 

**  Oh  !"  said  Nicholas,  looking  quietly  round,  **  are  you  there  \  " 
"  Slave  ! "  returned  Mr.  Lenville,  flourishing  his  right  arm,  and  approach- 
ing Nicholas  with  a  theatrical  stride.  But  somehow  he  appeared  just  at  that 
moment  a  little  startled,  as  if  Nicholas  did  not  look  quite  so  frightened  at  be 
had  expected,  and  came  all  at  once  to  an  aw^kward  halt,  at  which  the  asaemUfld 
Jailies  burst  into  a  shrill  laugh. 


»t , 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  245 

Object  of  my  scorn  and  hatred  1 "  said  Mr.  Lenville,  "  I  hold  ye  in 
contempt." 

Nicholas  laughed  in  very  unexpected  enjoyment  of  this  performance ;  and 
the  ladies,  by  way  of  encouragement,  laughed  louder  than  before  ;  whereat  Mr. 
Lenyille  assumed  his  bitterest  smile,  and  expressed  his  opinion  that  they  were 
•'minions." 

"  But  they  shall  not  protect  ye ! "  said  the  tragedian,  taking  an  upward 
look  at  Nicholas,  beginning  at  his  boots  and  ending  at  the  crown  of  his  head, 
and  then  a  downward  one,  oeginning  at  the  crown  of  his  head,  and  ending  at 
his  boots — which  two  looks,  as  everybody  knows,  express  defiance  on  the  stage. 
**  They  shall  not  protect  ye — boy  1 " 

Thus  speaking,  Mr.  Lenville  folded  his  arms,  and  treated  Nicholas  to  that 
expression  of  face  with  which,  in  melo-dramatic  performances,  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  regarding  the  tyrannical  kings  when  they  said,  **  Away  with  him  to 
the  deepest  dungeon  beneath  the  castle  moat ; "  and  which,  accompanied  with 
a  little  jingling  of  fetters,  had  been  known  to  produce  great  effects  in  its 
time. 

Whether  it  was  the  absence  of  the  fetters  or  not,  it  made  no  very  deep 
impression  on  Mr.  Lenville's  adversary,  however,  but  rather  seemed  to  increase 
the  good-humour  expressed  in  his  countenance  ;  in  which  stage  of  the  contest, 
one  or  two  gentlemen,  who  had  come  out  expressly  to  witness  the  pulling  of 
Nicholas's  nose,  grew  impatient,  murmuring  that  if  it  were  to  be  done  at  all 
it  had  better  be  done  art  once,  and  that  if  Mr.  Lenville  didn't  mean  to  do  it  he 
had  better  say  so,  and  not  keep  them  waiting  there.  Thus  urged,  the 
tragedian  adjusted  the  cuff  of  his  right  coat-sleeve  for  the  performance  of  the 
operation,  and  walked  in  a  very  stately  manner  up  to  Nicholas,  who  suffered 
him  to  approach  to  within  the  requisite  distance,  and  then,  without  the 
smallest  discomposure,  knocked  him  down. 

Before  the  discomfited  tragedian  could  raise  his  head  from  the  boards,  Mrs. 
Lenville  (who,  as  has  before  been  hinted,  was  in  an  interesting  state)  rushed 
from  the  rear  rank  of  ladies,  and  uttering  a  piercing  scream  threw  herself  upon 
the  body. 

"  Do  you  see  this,  monster  ?  Do  you  see  this  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Lenville,  sitting 
up,  and  pointing  to  his  prostrate  lady,  who  was  holding  him  very  tight  round 
the  waist. 

**  Come,"  said  Nicholas,  nodding  his  head,  '*  apologise  for  the  insolent  note 
yon  wrote  to  me  last  night,  and  waste  no  more  time  in  talking. " 

**  Never ! "  cried  Mr.  Lenville. 

'•Yes — yes — yes,"  screamed  his  wife.  "For  my  sake  —  for  mine,  Len- 
Tille — forego  all  idle  forms,  unless  you  would  see  me  a  blighted  corse  at  your 

feet." 

'*  This  is  affectiuff ! "  said  Mr.  Lenville,  looking  round  him,  and  drawing 
the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  **  The  ties  of  nature  are  strong.  The 
weak  husband  and  the  father — the  father  that  is  yet  to  bo — relents.  I 
apol^ise." 

•*  Humbly  and  submissively? "  said  Nicholas. 

•*  Humbly  and  submissively,"  returned  the  tragedian,  scowling  upwards. 
*•  But  only  to  save  her — for  a  time  will  come " 

**  Very  good,"  said  Nicholas ;  "  I  hope  Mrs.  Lenville  may  have-a  good  one  ; 
and  when  it  does  come,  and  you  are  a  father,  you  shall  retract  it  if  you  have 
the  courage.  There.  Be  careful,  sir,  to  what  lengths  jour  jealousy  carries 
you  another  time  ;  and  be  careful,  also,  before  you  venture  too  far,  to  ascertain 
year  rival's  temper."  With  this  parting  advice,  Nicholas  picked  up  Mr.  Len- 
ville's ash  stick,  which  had  flown  out  of  his  hand,  and  breaking  it  m  VksXi^ 


246  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

threw  him  the  pieces  and  withdrew,  bowing  slightly  to  the  spectators  as  he 
walked  out. 

The  profoundest  deference  was  paid  to  Nicholas  that  night,  and  the  people 
who  had  been  most  anxious  to  have  his  nose  puUed  in  the  morning  embraoed 
occasions  of  taking  him  aside,  and  telling  him,  with  great  feeling,  how  voy 
friendly  they  took  it  that  he  should  have  treated  that  Lenville  so  properly, 
who  was  a  most  unbearable  follow,  and  on  whom  they  had  all,  by  a  romaAable 
coincidence,  at  one  time  or  other  contemplated  the  infliction  of  condign  punish- 
ment, which  they  had  only  been  restrained  from  administering  by  considen- 
tions  of  mercy  ;  indeed,  to  judge  from  the  invariable  termination  of  all  these 
stories,  there  never  was  such  a  charitable  and  kind-hearted  set  of  people  as  the 
male  members  of  Mr.  Crummles's  company. 

Nicholas  bore  his  triumph,  as  he  had  his  success  in  the  little  world  of  the 
theatre,  with  the  utmost  moderation  and  good-humour.  The  crest-fallen  Mr. 
Lenville  made  an  expiring  effort  to  obtain  revenge  by  sending  a  boy  into  the 
gallery  to  hiss,  but  he  fell  a  sacrifice  to  popular  indignation,  and  was  promptiy 
turned  out  without  having  his  money  back. 

'*  Well,  Smike,"  said  Nicholas,  when  the  first  piece  was  over,  and  he  had 
almost  finislied  dressing  to  go  home,  "  is  there  any  letter  yet  ?  " 

*'  Yes,"  replied  Smike,   **  I  got  this  one  from  the  post-office." 

'*From  Newman  Noggs,"  said  Nicholas,  casting  his  eye  upon  the  cramped 
direction  ;  ^'  it's  no  easy  matter  to  make  his  writing  out.  Let  me  see — let  me 
see." 

By  dint  of  poring  over  the  letter  for  half-au-hour  he  contrived  to  nuke 
himself  master  of  the  contents,  which  were  certainly  not  of  a  nature  to  set  his 
mind  at  ease.  Newman  took  upon  himself  to  send  back  the  ten  ponnda^ 
observing  that  he  had  ascertained  that  neither  Mrs.  Nickleby  nor  Kate  was  in 
actual  want  of  money  at  the  moment,  and  that  a  time  might  shortly  come 
when  Nicholas  might  want  it  more.  He  entreated  him  not  to  be  alarmed  at 
what  he  was  about  to  say  ;  there  was  no  bad  news — they  were  in  good  health 
— but  he  thought  circumstances  might  occur,  or  were  occuiTing,  which  would 
render  it  absolutely  necessary  that  Kate  should  have  her  brother's  protectioi ; 
and  if  so,  Newman  said,  he  would  write  to  him  to  that  effect,  either  by  the 
next  post  or  the  next  but  one. 

Nicholas  read  this  passage  very  often,  and  the  more  he  thoupjht  of  it  the 
more  he  began  to  fear  some  treachery  upon  the  part  of  Ralph.  Once  or  twiee 
he  felt  tempted  to  repair  to  London  at  all  hazards  without  an  hour's  delay,  bat 
a  little  reflection  assured  him  that  if  such  a  step  were  necessary,  Newmaa 
would  have  spoken  out  and  told  him  so  at  once. 

**  At  all  events  I  should  prepare  them  here  for  the  possibility  of  my  going 
away  suddenly,"  said  Nicholas  ;  **  I  should  lose  no  time  in  doing  that  Ai 
the  thought  occurred  to  him,  he  took  up  his  hat  and  hurried  to  the  green- 
room. 

**  Well,  Mr.  Johnson,"  said  Mrs.  Crummies,  who  was  seated  there  in  fiiD 
regal  costume,  with  the  phenomenon  as  the  maiden  in  her  maternal  amu^ 
**  next  week  for  Ryde,  then  for  Winchester,  then  for " 

**  I  have  some  reason  to  fear,"  interrupted  Nicholas,  **  that  before  yon  leife 
here  my  career  with  you  will  have  closed." 

**  Closed  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Crummies,  raising  her  hands  in  astonishment 

"Closed!"  cried  Miss  Snevellicci,  trembling  so  much  in  her  ti^ti 
that  she  actually  laid  her  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  manageress  for 
support. 

**  Why,  he  don't  mean  to  say  he's  going ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Grnddei. 
making  her  way  towards  Mrs.  Crummies.     *'  Hoity,  toity  !  nonsense." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  247 

The  phenomenon,  being  of  an  affoctiouate  nature,  and,  moreover,  excitable, 
raised  a-  lend  cry,  and  Miss  Belvawney  and  Miss  Bravassa  actually  shed  tears. 
Even  the  male  performers  stopped  in  their  conversation,  and  echoed  the  word 
"  Going  1 "  although  some  among  them  (and  they  had  been  the  loudest  in 
their  congratulations  that  day)  winked  at  each  other  as  though  they  would  not 
be  sorry  to  lose  such  a  favoured  rival ;  an  opinion,  indeed,  which  the  honest 
Mr.  Folair,  who  was  ready  dressed  for  the  savage,  openly  stated  in  so  many 
words  to  a  demon  with  whom  he  was  sharing  a  pot  of  porter. 

Nicholas  briefly  said  that  he  feared  it  would  be  so,  although  he  could  not 
yet  speak  with  any  degree  of  certainty ;  and  getting  away  as  soon  as  he 
could,  went  home  to  con  Newman's  latter  once  more,  and  speculate  upon  it 
afresh. 

How  trifling  all  that  had  been  occupying  his  time  and  thoughts  for  many 
weeks  seemed  to  him  during  that  sleepless  night,  and  how  constantly  and 
incessantly  present  to  his  imagination  was  the  one  idea  that  Kate,  in  the  midst 
of  some  great  trouble  and  distress,  might  even  then  be  looking — and  vainly, 
too— for  him. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

FESTIVITIES  ARE  HELD  IN  HONOUR  OF  NICHOLAS,  WHO  SUDDENLY  WITH- 
DRAWS HIMSELF  FROM  THE  SOCIETY  OF  MR.  VINCENT  CRUMMLES  AND 
HIS  THEATRICAL  COMPANIONS. 

MR.  VINCENT  CRUMMLES  was  no  sooner  acquainted  with  the  public 
announcement  which  Nicholas  had  made  relative  to  the  probability  of 
his  shortly  ceasing  to  be  a  member  of  the  company,  than  he  evinced 
many  tokens  of  grief  and  consternation  ;  and  in  the  extremity  of  his  despair, 
even  held  out  certain  vague  promises  of  a  speedy  improvement  not  only  in  the 
amonnt  of  his  regular  salary,  but  also  in  the  contingent  emoluments  appertain- 
ing to  his  authorship  Finding  Nicholas  bent  upon  quitting  the  society — for 
he  had  now  determined  that,  even  if  no  further  tidings  came  from  Newman, 
he  would,  at  all  hazards,  ease  his  mind  by  repairing  to  London  and  ascertain- 
ing the  exact  position  of  his  sister — Mr.  Crummies  was  fain  to  content  himself 
by  calculating  the  chances  of  his  coming  back  again,  and  taking  prompt  and 
energetic  measures  to  make  the  most  of  him  before  he  went  away. 

*'Let  me  see,"  said  Mr  Crummies,  taking  oif  his  outlaw's  wig,  the  better 
to  arrive  at  a  cool-headed  view  of  the  whole  case.  '*Let  mo  see.  This  is 
Wednesday  night.  We'll  have  posters  out  the  first  thing  in  the  morning, 
announcing  positively  your  last  appearance  for  to-morrow." 

*  *  But  perhaps  it  may  not  be  my  last  appearance,  you  know,"  said  Nicholas. 
*•  Unless  I  am  summoned  away,  I  should  be  sorry  to  inconvenience  you  by 
leaving  before  the  end  of  the  week." 

**  So  much  the  better,"  returned  Mr.  Crummies.  *'  We  can  have  positively 
your  last  appearance,  on.  Thursday — re-engagement  for  one  night  more,  on 
Friday — ana  yielding  to  the  wishes  of  numerous  influential  patrons,  who  were 
disappointed  in  obtaining  seats,  on  Saturday.  That  ought  to  bring  three  very 
decent  houses." 

"Then  I  am  to  make  three  last  appearances,  am  I?"  inquired  Nicholas, 
smiling. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  the  manager,  ecratehing  his  head  with  an  air  of  some 
vexation;  *' three  is  not  enough,  and  its  very  bungling  and  irregular  not  to 


248  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

have  more,  but  if  we  can't  help  it  we  can't,  so  there's  no  use  in  talking.  A 
novelty  would  be  very  desirable.  You  couldn't  sing  a  comic  song  on  tlie 
pony's  back,  could  you  ?  " 

'*  No,"  replied  Nicholas,  "  I  couldn't,  indeed." 

'*  It  has  drawn  money  before  now,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  with  a  look  of  dis- 
appointment.    **  What  do  you  think  of  a  brilliant  display  of  fireworks  I " 

'*  That  it  would  be  rather  expensive,"  replied  Nicholas,  dryly. 

**  Eighteenpence  would  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Crummies.  "  You  on  the  top  oft 
pair  of  steps  with  the  phenomenon  in  an  attitude ;  '  Farewell '  on  a  trans- 
parency behind  ;  and  nine  people  at  the  wings  with  a  squib  in  each  hand— all 
the  dozen-and-a-half  going  off  at  once — it  would  be  very  grand — awful  from 
the  front,  quite  awful." 

As  Nicholas  appeared  by  no  means  impressed  with  the  solemnity  of  the 
proposed  effect,  but,  on  the  contrary,  received  the  proposition  ^in  a  most 
irreverent  manner,  and  laughed  at  it  very  heartily,  Mr.  Crummies  abandoned 
the  project  in  its  birth,  and  gloomily  observed  that  they  must  make  up  the 
best  bill  they  could  with  combats  and  hornpipes,  and  so  stick  to  the  legitmiate 
drama. 

For  the  purpose  of  carrying  this  object  into  instant  execution,  the  manager 
at  once  repaired  to  a  small  dressing-room  adjacent,  where  Mrs.  Crummies  was 
then  occupied  in  exchanging  the  habiliments  of  a  melo-dramatic  empress  for 
the  ordinary  attire  of  matrons  in  the  nineteenth  century.  And  with  the 
assistance  of  tliis  lady  and  the  accomplished  Mrs.  Grudden  (who  had  quite 
a  genius  for  making  out  bills,  being  a  great  hand  at  throwing  in  the  notes  of 
admiration,  and  knowing  from  long  experience  exactly  where  the  largest 
capitals  ought  to  go),  he  seriously  applied  himself  to  the  composition  of  the 
poster. 

*'Heigho  !"  sighed  Nicholas,  as  he  threw  himself  back  in  the  prompter's 
chair,  after  telegraphing  the  needful  directions  to  Smike,  who  had  been  play- 
ing a  meagre  tailor  in  the  interlude,  with  one  skirt  to  his  coat,  and  a  little 
pocket  handkerchief  with  a  large  hole  in  it,  and  a  woollen  nightcap,  and  i 
red  nose,  and  other  distinctive  marks  peculiars  to  tailors  on  the  stage. 
■**  Ileigho  !    I  wish  all  this  were  over." 

"  Over,  Mr.  Johnson  ! "  repeated  a  female  voice  behind  him,  in  a  kind  of 
plaintive  surprise. 

*'It  was  an  ungallant  speech,  certainly,"  said  Nicholas,  looking  up  to  see 
who  the  speaker  was,  and  recognising  Miss  Snevellicci.  *'  I  would  not  hare 
made  it  if  I  had  known  you  had  been  within  hearing." 

"  What  a  dear  that  Mr.  Digby  is  !"  said  Miss  Snevellicci,  as  the  tailor  went 
off  on  the  opposite  side,  at  the  end  of  the  piece,  with  great  applause.  (Smike'i 
theatrical  name  was  Digby.) 

**  I'll  tell  him  presently,  for  his  gratification,  that  you  said  so,"  returned 
Nicholas. 

*'  Oh,  you  naughty  thing  ! "  rejoined  Miss  Snevellicci.  **  I  don't  knov, 
though,  that  I  should  much  mind  liis  knowing  my  opinion  of  him ;  with 

some  other  people,  indeed,  it  might  be "    Here  Miss  Snevellicci  stopped, 

as  though  waiting  to  be  questioned,  but  no  questioning  came,  for  Nichdai 
was  thinking  about  more  serious  matters. 

"How  kind  it  is  of  j^ou,"  resumed  Miss  Snevellicci,  after  a  short  silenee^ 
"  to  sit  waiting  here  for  him  night  after  night,  night  after  night,  no  matter 
how  tired  you  are  ;  and  taking  so  much  pains  with  him,  and  doing  it  all  with 
as  much  delight  and  readiness  as  if  you  were  coining  gold  by  it !  " 

*'  He  well  deserves  all  the  kindness  I  can  show  him,  and  a  great  deal  more," 


NIC  HO  LA  S  NICKLEB  K  249 

said  Nicholas.     "  He  is  the  most  grateful,  single-heaited,  affectionate  creature 
that  ever  breathed." 

•*  So  odd,  too,"  remarked  Miss  Snevellicci,  **  isn't  he  ? " 

''  God  help  him,  and  those  who  have  made  him  so,  he  is  indeed,"  rejoined 
Nicholas,  shaking  his  head. 

"  He  is  such  a  devilish  close  chap,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  who  had  come  up  a 
little  before,  and  now  joined  in  the  conversation.  "  Nobody  can  ever  get 
anything  out  of  him." 

"  What  should  they  get  out  of  him  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  turning  round  with 
some  abruptness. 

"Zooks!  what  a  fire-eater  you  are,  Johnson!"  returned  Mr.  Folair,  pull- 
ing up  the  heel  of  his  dancing  shoe.  *'  I'm  only  talking  of  the  natural 
curiosity  of  the  people  here,  to  know  what  he  has  been  about  all  his  life." 

'*  Poor  fellow !  it  is  pretty  plain,  I  should  think,  that  he  has  not  the  in- 
tellect to  have  been  about  anything  of  much  importance  to  them  or  anybody 
else,"  said  Nicholas. 

"Ay,"  reioined  the  actor,  contemplating  the  effect  of  his  face  in  a  lamp 
reflector,  "  but  that  involves  the  whole  question,  you  know." 

"What  question ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

"Why,  the  who  he  is  and  what  he  is,  and  how  you  two,  who  are  so 
different,  came  to  be  such  close  companions,"  replied  Mr.  Folair,  deh'ghted 
with  the  opportunity  of  saying  something  disagreeable.  "That's  in  every- 
body's mouth." 

"The  'everybody*  of  the  theatre,  I  suppose?"  said  Nicholas,  coutempt- 
nously. 

"  In  it  and  out  of  it,  too,"  replied  the  actor.  "  Why,  you  know,  Lenville 
says " 

"  I  thought  I  had  silenced  him  effectually,"  interrupted  Nicholas,  red- 
dening. 

"Perhaps  you  have,"  rejoined  the  immovable  Mr.  Folair;  "if  you  have, 
he  said  this  before  he  was  silenced :  Lenville  says  that  you're  a  regular  stick 
of  an  actor,  and  that  it's  only  the  mystery  about  you  that  has  caused  you  to 
go  down  with  the  people  here,  and  that  Crummies  keeps  it  up  for  his  own 
sake ;  though  Lenville  says  he  don't  believe  there's  anything  at  all  in  it,  ex- 
cept your  having  got  into  a  scrape  and  run  away  from  somewhere,  for  doing 
something  or  other."  ' 

"  Oh  !     said  Nicholas,  forcing  a  smile. 

"That's  a  part  of  what  he  says,"  added  Mr.  Folair.  "  I  mention  it  as  the 
friend  of  botn  parties,  and  in  strict  confidence.  /  don't  agree  with  him,  you 
know.  He  says  he  takes  Digby  to  be  more  knave  than  fool ;  and  old  Fluggers, 
who  does  the  heavy  business,  you  know,  ?ie  says  that  when  he  delivered  mes- 
sages at  Covent  Garden  the  season  before  last,  there  used  to  be  a  pickpocket 
hovering  about  the  coach-stand,  who  had  exactly  the  face  of  Digby  ;  though, 
as  he  very  properly  says,  Digby  may  not  be  the  same,  but  only  his  brother, 
or  some  near  relation." 

"  Oh  f "  cried  Nicholas  again. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Folair,  with  undisturbed  calmness,  "that's  what  they 
say.  I  thought  I'd  tell  you,  because  really  you  ought  to  know.  Oh,  here's 
this  blessed  phenomenon  at  last.  U^h,  you  little  imposition,  I  should  like 
to — quite  ready,  my  darling — humbug — King  up  Mrs.  G.,  and  let  the  favourite 
wake  'em." 

Uttering  in  a  loud  voice  such  of  the  latter  allusions  as  were  complimentary 
to  the  unconscious  phenomenon,  and  giving  the  rest  in  a  confidential  "  aside" 
to  Nicholas,  Mr.  Folair  followed  the  ascent  of  the  curtain  with  his  eyes, 


250  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

res^arded  with  a  sneer  the  reception  of  Miss  Crammles  as  the  Maiden,  and,  fall- 
ing back  a  step  or  two  to  advance  with  the  better  effect,  uttered  a  preliminanr 
howl,  and  "went  on  "  chattering  his  teeth  and  brandishing  his  tin  tomahawk 
as  the  Indian  Savage. 

"So  these  are  some  of  the  stories  they  invent  about  us,  and  bandy  from 
mouth  to  mouth  1 "  thought  Nicholas.  "  If  a  man  would  commit  an  in- 
expiable offence  against  any  society,  large  or  small,  let  him  be  saccessfaL 
They  will  forgive  him  any  crime  but  that." 

"  You  surely  don't  mind  what  that  malicious  creature  says,  Mr.  Johnson  t" 
observed  Miss  Snevellicci  in  her  most  winning  tones.. 

*  *  Not  I,"  replied  Nicholas.  *  *  If  I  were  going  to  remain  here,  I  might  think 
it  worth  my  while  to  embroil  myself.  As  it  is,  let  them  talk  till  they  are 
hoarse.  But  here,"  added  Nicholas,  as  Smike  approached,  "  here  comes  tiie 
subject  of  a  portion  of  their  good-nature,  so  lot  he  and  I  say  good  night 
together." 

"No,  I  will  not  let  either  of  yon  say  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  Wm 
Snevellicci.  "You  must  come  home  and  see  mamma,  who  only  came  to 
Portsmouth  to-day,  and  is  dying  to  behold  you.  Led,  my  dear,  persuade  Mr. 
Johnson." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure,"  returned  Miss  Ledrook,  with  considerable  vivacity,  "if 

you  can't  persuade  him "    Miss  Ledrook  said  no  more,  but  intimated, 

by  a  dexterous  playfulness,  that  if  Miss  Snevellicci  couldn't  persuade  him, 
nobody  could. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lilly vick  have  taken  lodgings  in  our  house,  and  share  our 
sitting-room  for  the  present,"  said  Miss  Snevellicci  "Won't  that  induce 
you  % " 

"Surely,"  returned  Nicholas,  "I  can  require  no  possible  inducemeDt 
beyond  your  invitation. " 

"Oh,  no  !  I  dare  say,"  rejoined  Miss  Snevellicci.  And  Miss  Ledrook  said 
"  Upon  my  word  ! "  Upon  which  Miss  Snevellicci  said  that  Miss  Ledrook 
was  a  giddy  thing;  and  Miss  Ledrook  said  that  Miss  Snevellicci  needn't 
colour  up  quite  so  much  ;  and  Miss  Snevellicci  beat  Miss  Ledrook,  and  Mias 
Ledrook  beat  Miss  Snevellicci. 

"Come,"  said  Miss  Ledrook,  "it's  high  time  we  were  there,  or  we  shall 
have  poor  Mrs.  Snevellicci  thinking  that  you've  run  away  with  her  daughter, 
Mr.  Johnson  ;  and  then  we  should  have  a  pretty  to  do." 

"  My  dear  Led,"  remonstrated  Miss  Snevellicci,  "  how  you  do  talk  ! " 
Miss  Ledrook  made  no  answer,  but  taking  Smike's  arm  in  hers,  left  her 
friend  and  Nicholas  to  follow  at  their  pleasure ;  which  it  pleased  them,  or 
ratlier  pleased  Nicholas,  who  had  no  great  fancy  for  a  tMe-H-UU  under  the  cir 
cunistances,  to  do  at  once. 

There  were  not  wanting  matters  of  conversation  when  they  reached  th« 
street,  for  it  turned  out  that  Miss  Snevellicci  had  a  small  basket  to  cany 
home,  and  Miss  Ledrook  a  small  bandbox,  both  containing  such  minor  articlei 
of  theatrical  costume  as  the  lady  performers  usually  carried  to  and  fro  eveij 
evening.  Nicholas  would  insist  upon  carrying  the  basket,  and  Miss  SnevelUed 
would  insist  upon  carrying  it  herself,  which  gave  rise  to  a  struggle,  in  which 
Nicholas  captured  the  basket  and  bandbox  likewise.  Then  Nicholas  said, 
that  he  wondered  what  could  possibly  bo  inside  the  basket,  and  attempted  to 
peep  in,  whereat  Miss  Snevellicci  screamed,  and  declared  that  if  she  thought 
he  had  seen,  she  was  sure  she  should  faint  away.  This  declaration  'was  rol- 
lowed  by  a  similar  attempt  on  the  bandbox,  and  similar  demonstrations  on  the 
part  of  Miss  Ledrook,  and  then  both  ladies  vowed  that  they  wouldn't  move  i 
step  further  until  Nicholas  had  promised  that  he  wouldn't  offer  to  peep  again. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  25 1 

At  last  Nicholas  pledged  himself  to  betray  no  farther  cariosity,  and  they 
walked  on  ;  both  ladies  giggling  very  mach,  and  declaring  that  they  never  had 
seen  snch  a  wicked  creatare  in  all  their  bom  days — never. 

Lightening  the  way  with  such  pleasantry  as  this,  they  arrived  at  the  tailor's 
house  in  no  time ;  and  here  they  made  qaite  a  little  party,  there  being 
present,  besides  Mr.  Lillyvick  and  Mrs.  Lillyvick,  not  only  Miss  Snevellicci's 
mamma,  bat  her  papa  also.  And  an  uncommonly  fine  man  Miss  Snevellicci's 
papa  was,  with  a  hook  nose,  and  a  white  forehead,  and  curly  black  hair, 
and  high  cheek-bones,  and  altogether  quite  a  handsome  face,  only  a  little 

Simply,  as  though  with  drinking.  He  had  a  very  broad  chest  had  Miss 
nevebicci's  i»pa,  and  he  wore  a  threadbare  blue  dress  coat,  buttoned  with 
gilt  buttons  tight  across  it ;  and  he  no  sooner  saw  Nicholas  come  into  the 
room  than  he  whipped  the  two  fore-fingers  of  his  right  hand  in  between 
the  two  centre  buttons,  and  sticking  his  other  arm  gracefully  akimbo, 
seemed  to  say,  "Now,  here  I  am,  my  buck,  and  what  have  you  got  to  say 
tome?" 

Such  was,  and  in  such  an  attitude  sat.  Miss  Snevellicci's  papa,  who  had 
been  in  the  profession  ever  since  he  had  first  played  the  ten-year-old  imps  in 
the  Christmas  pantomimes ;  who  could  sing  a  little,  dance  a  little,  fence  a 
little,  act  a  little,  and  do  everything  a  little,  but  not  much  ;  who  had  been 
sometimes  in  the  ballet,  and  sometimes  in  the  chorus,  at  every  theatre  in 
London  ;  who  was  always  selected  in  virtue  of  his  figure  to  play  the  military 
visitors  and  the  speechless  noblemen ;  who  always  wore  a  smart  dress,  and 
came  on  arm-in-arm  with  a  smart  lady  in  short  petticoats — and  always  did  it 
too  with  such  an  air  that  people  in  the  pit  had  been  several  times  known  to 
cry  out  '*  Bravo  1 "  under  the  impression  that  he  was  somebody.  Such  was 
Miss  Snevellicci's  papa,  upon  whom  some  envious  persons  cast  the  imputation 
that  he  occasionally  heat  Miss  Snevellicci's  mamma,  who  was  still  a  dancer, 
with  a  neat  little  figure,  and  some  remains  of  good  looks  ;  and  who  now  sat, 
as  she  danced^ — being  rather  too  old  for  the  full  glare  of  the  footlights — in  the 
background. 

To  these  good  people  Nicholas  was  presented  with  much  formality.  The  in- 
troduction bieing  completed.  Miss  Snevellicci's  papa  (who  was  scented  with  rum 
and  water)  said  that  he  was  delighted  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  gentle- 
man so  highly  talented ,  and  furthermore  remarked  that  there  hadn't  been 
such  a  hit  made — no,  not  since  the  first  appearance  of  his  friend  Mr.  Glavor- 
melly,  at  the  Coburg. 

*'  You  have  seen  him,  sir  1 "  said  Miss  Snevellicci's  papa. 

"No,  really  I  never  did,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  You  never  saw  my  friend  Glavormelly,  sir  !  "  said  Miss  Snevellicci's  papa. 
*•  Then  you  have  never  seen  acting  yet.     If  he  had  lived " 

'*  Oh,  he  is  dead,  is  he  ? "  interrupted  Nicholas. 

"  He  is,"  said  Mr.  Snevellicci,  "  but  he  isn't  in  Westminster  Abbey,  moro's 

the  shame.     He  was  a Well,  no  matter.     He  is  gone  to  that  bourne 

from  whence  no  traveller  returns.     I  hope  he  is  appreciated  tlicre.'' 

So  saying.  Miss  Snevellicci's  papa  rubbed  the  tip  of  his  nose  with  a  very 
yellow  silk  handkerchief,  and  gave  the  company  to  understand  that  thcs(; 
recollections  overcame  him. 

'•  Well,  Mr.  Lillyvick,"  said  Nicholas,  '*  and  how  are  you  ? " 

**  Quite  well,  sir,"  replied  the  collector.  "  There  is  nothing  like  the  married 
state,  sir,  depend  upon  it" 

••  Indeed  I     said  Nicholas,  laughing. 

"Ah  I  nothing  like  it,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  solemnly.     "Hov"!  da 


252  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

m 

you  think,"  whispered  the  collector,  drawing  him  aside,  "how  do  yon  think 
she  looks  to-night  ? " 

*'As  handsome  as  ever,"  replied  Nicholas,  glancing  at  the  late  Mitt 
Petowker. 

**  Why,  there's  a  air  about  her,  sir,"  whispered  the  collector,  "  that  I  nefer 
saw  in  anybody.  Look  at  her  now  she  moves  to  put  the  kettle  on.  There  I 
Isn't  it  fascination,  sir  ?" 

'*  You're  a  lucky  man,"  said  Nicholas. 

**  Ha,  ha,  ha  I"  rejoined  the  collector.  **  No.  Do  you  think  I  am,  though, 
eh  ?  Perhaps  I  may  be,  perhaps  I  may  be.  I  say  I  couldn't  have  done  much 
better  if  I  had  been  a  young  man,  could  I  ?  You  couldn't  have  done  much 
better  yourself,  could  you — eh — could  you  ? "  With  such  inquiries,  and 
many  more  such,  Mr.  Lilly vick  jerked  his  elbow  into  Nicholas  s  side,  and 
chuckled  till  his  face  became  quite  purple  in  the  attempt  to  keep  down  lus 
satisfaction. 

By  this  time  the  cloth  had  been  laid  under  the  joint  superintendence  of  all 
the  ladies,  upon  two  tables  put  together,  cue  being  high  and  narrow,  and  tibe 
other  low  and  broad.  There  were  oysters  at  the  top,  sausages  at  the  bottom, 
a  pair  of  snuffers  in  the  centre,  and  baked  potatoes  wherever  it  was  most  con- 
venient to  put  them.  Two  additional  chairs  were  brought  in  from  the  bed- 
room ;  Miss  SneveUicci  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  Mr.  Lillyvick  at  tiie 
foot ;  and  Nicholas  had  not  only  the  honour  of  sitting  next  Miss  SneveUiod, 
but  of  having  Miss  Snevellicci's  mamma  on  his  right  hand,  and  Miss  Snevel- 
licci's  papa  over  the  way.  In  short,  he  was  the  hero  of  the  feast ;  and  when 
the  table  was  cleared  and  something  warm  introduced.  Miss  Snevellicci's  papt 
got  up  and  proposed  his  health  in  a  speech  containing  such  affecting  alluaiont 
to  his  coming  departure  that  Miss  SneveUicci  wept,  and  was  compelled  to 
retire  into  the  bed-room. 

**  Hush  !  Don't  take  any  notice  of  it,"  said  Miss  Ledrook,  peeping  in  from 
the  bed-room.  "  Say,  when  she  comes  back,  that  she  exerts  herself  too 
much." 

Miss  Ledrook  eked  out  this  speech  with  so  many  mysterious  nods  and  frowns 
before  she  shut  the  door  again,  that  a  profound  silence  came  upon  all  the 
company,  during  which  Miss  Snevellicci's  papa  looked  very  bie  indeed-- 
several  sizes  larger  than  life — ^at  everybody  in  turn,  but  particularly  at 
Nicholas,  and  kept  on  perpetually  emptying  his  tumbler,  and  tiUin^  it  again, 
until  the  ladies  returned  in  a  cluster,  with  Miss  SneveUicci  among  them. 

"You  needn't  alarm  yourself  a  bit,  Mr.  SneveUicci,"  said  Mrs.  Lillyvick. 
''  She  is  only  a  little  weak  and  nervous ;  she  has  been  so  ever  since  the 
morning." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  SneveUicci,  **  that's  all,  is  it  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  all.  Don't  make  a  fuss  about  it,"  cried  all  the  ladies 
together. 

Now,  this  was  not  exactly  the  kind  of  reply  suited  to  Mr.  SnevelliccTs 
importance  as  a  man  and  a  father,  so  he  picked  out  the  unfortunate  Mn> 
SneveUicci,  and  asked  her  what  the  devU  she  meant  by  talking  to  him  in  that 
way. 

* '  Dear  me,  my  dear "  said  Mrs.  SneveUicci. 

"  Don't  call  me  your  dear,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  SneveUicci,  **if  you  please." 

**  Pray,  pa,  don't,"  interposed  Miss  SneveUicci 

"Don't  what,  my  child?" 

"Talk  in  that  way." 

"Why  not?"  said  Mr.  SneveUicci.  "I  hope  you  don't  suppose  there's 
anybody  here  who  is  to  prevent  my  talking  as  I  like  ? " 


NICHOLAS  NICKLE BY.  253 

•'  Nobody  wants  to,  pa,"  rejoined  his  daughter. 

•*  Nobody  would  if  they  did  want  to, "  said  Snevellicci.  "  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  myself.  Snevellicci  is  my  name ;  I'm  to  be  found  in  Broad  Court,  Bow 
Street,  when  I'm  in  town.  If  I'm  not  at  home,  let  any  man  ask  for  me  at  the 
stage  door.  Damme,  they  know  me  at  the  stage  door,  I  suppose.  Most  men 
have  seen  my  portrait  at  the  cigar  shop  round  the  comer.  I've  been  mentioned 
in  the  newspapers  before  now,  haven't  I  ?  Talk  !  I'll  tell  you  what ;  if  I 
fonnd  out  that  any  man  had  been  tampeiing  with  the  affections  of  my 
daughter,  I  wonlihi't  talk.  I'd  astonish  him  without  talking — that's  my 
way." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Snevellicci  stmck  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  three  smart 
blows  with  nis  clenched  fist,  pulled  a  phantom  nose  with  his  right  thumb  and 
fore-finger,  and  swallowed  another  glassful  at  a  draught.  '*  That's  my  way," 
repeated  Mr.  Snevellicci. 

Most  pnblic  characters  have  their  failings ;  and  the  truth  is,  that  Mr. 
Snevellicci  was  a  little  addicted  to  drinking ;  or,  if  the  whole  truth  must  bo 
told,  that  he  was  scarcely  ever  sober.  He  knew  in  his  cups  three  distinct 
stages  of  intoxication — the  dignified — the  quarrelsome — the  amorous.  When 
professionally  enga^d  he  never  got  beyond  the  dignified  ;  in  private  circles 
he  went  through  all  three,  passing  from  one  to  another  with  a  rapidity  of 
transition  often  rather  perplexing  to  those  who  had  not  the  honour  of  his 
aconaintance. 

Thnfl  Mr.  Snevellicci  had  no  sooner  swallowed  anotlier  glassful  than  he 
smUed  upon  all  present,  in  happy  forgetfuluess  of  having  exhibited  symptoms 
of  pn^^nacity,  and  proposed  **  The  ladies — bless  their  hearts  !  "  in  a  most 
▼ivadOQS  manner. 

"  I  love  'em,"  said  Mr.  Snevellicci,  looking  round  the  table.  "  I  love  'em, 
every  one." 

"Not  every  one,"  reasoned  Mr.  Lilly vick,  mildly. 

••Yes,  everyone,"  repeated  Mr.  Snevellicci. 

••  That  would  include  the  married  ladies,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick. 

•*  I  love  them  too,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Snevellicci. 

Tho  collector  looked  into  the  surrounding  faces  with  an  aspect  of  grave 
astonishment,  seeming  to  say,  "  This  is  a  nice  man  1 "  and  appeared  a  little 
surprised  that  Mrs.  Lillyvick's  manner  yielded  no  evidence  of  horror  and 
indignation. 

**  C^ne  good  turn  deserves  another,"  said  Mr.  Snevellicci.  "  I  love  them  and 
they  love  me."  And  as  if  this  avowal  were  not  made  in  sufficient  disregard 
and  defiance  of  all  moral  obli^tions,  what  did  Mr.  Snevellicci  do  ?  He  winked 
— winked  openly  and  undisguisedly ;  winked  with  his  right  eye — upon 
Henrietta  Lulyvick  ! 

The  collector  fell  back  in  his  chair  in  the  intensity  of  his  astonishment.  If 
anybody  had  winked  at  her  as  Henrietta  Petowker,  it  would  have  been 
inaecorons  in  the  last  degree  ;  but  as  Mrs.  Lillyvick  !  While  he  thought  of 
it  in  a  cold  perspiration,  and  wondered  whether  it  was  possible  that  he  could 
be  dreaming,  Mr.  Snevellicci  repeated  the  wiuk,  and  drinking  to  Mrs.  Lilly- 
vick in  dumb  show,  actually  blew  her  a  kiss  !  Mr.  Lillyvick  left  his  chair, 
walked  straight  up  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  fell  upon  him — literally 
fell  upon  him — instantaneously.  Mr.  Lillyvick  was  no  light  weight,  and 
consequently  when  he  fell  upon  Mr.  Snevellicci,  Mr.  Snevellicci  fell  under  the 
table.     Mr.  Lillyvick  followed  him,  and  the  ladies  screamed. 

•*  What  is  the  matter  with  the  men — are  they  mad  ? "  cried  Nicholas, 
diving  under  the  table,  dragging  up  the  collector  by  main  force,  and  thrusting 
him,  all  doubled  up,  into  a  cnair,  as  if  he  had  been  a  stuffed  figure.     **  What 


254  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

do  you  m&'in  to  do  ?  what  do  you  want  to  do  ?   what  is  the  matter  with 
you  1  " 

Whilo  Nicholas  raised  up  tlie  collector,  Smike  had  performed  the  same  office 
for  Snovellicci,  who  now  regarded  his  late  adversary  in  tipsy  amazement. 

"  Look  here,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  pointing  to  his  astonished  wife, 
'Miere  is  purity  and  elegance  combined,  whose  feelings  have  been  outraged— 
violated,  sir  ! " 

'*  Lor,  what  nonsense  he  talks  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lillyvick,  in  answer  to  the 
inquiring  look  of  Nicholas.     ''  Nobody  has  said  anything  to  me." 

"  Said,  Henrietta  !  "  cried  the  collector.      **  Didn't  I  see  him "    Mr. 

Lillyvick  couldn't  bring  himself  to  utter  the  word,  but  he  counterfeited  tlie 
motion  of  the  eye. 

"  Well ! "  cried  Mrs.  Lillyvick,  '*  do  you  suppose  nobody  is  ever  to  look  at 
me  ?    A  pretty  thing  to  be  married,  indeed,  if  that  was  law  1 " 

"  You  didn  t  mind  it  I "  cried  the  collector. 

'*  Mind  it  I "  repeated  Mrs.  Lillyvick,  contemptuously.  "  Yon  ought  to  go 
down  on  your  knees  and  beg  everybody's  pardon,  that  you  ought" 

"  Pardon,  my  dear  ?  "  said  the  dismayed  collector.' 

"Yes,  and  mine  lirst,"  replied  Mrs.  Lillyvick.  *'Do  you  suppose /ain't 
the  best  judge  of  what's  proper  and  what's  improper  \ " 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  all  the  ladies.  " Do  you  suppose  ^Dt  shouldn't  be  the 
first  to  speak,  if  there  was  anything  that  ought  to  be  taken  notice  of  ? " 

"Do  you  suppose  ihey  don't  know,  sir?"  said  Miss  Snevellicci'a  pani, 
pulling  up  his  collar,  and  muttering  something  abont  a  punching  of  heau8» 
and  bcmg  only  withheld  by  considerations  of  ago.  With  wliich  Mrs.  Snevel* 
licci's  papa  looked  steadily  and  sternly  at  Mr.  Lillyvick  for  some  seconds,  and 
then  rising  deliberately  from  his  chair,  kissed  the  ladies  all  round,  beginning 
with  Mrs.  Lillyvick. 

The  unhappy  collector  looked  piteously  at  his  wife,  as  if  to  see  whether 
there  was  any  one  trait  of  Miss  Petowker  left  in  Mrs.  Lillyvick,  and  flnduig 
too  surely  that  there  was  not,  begged  panlon  of  all  the  company  with  great 
humility,  and  sat  down  such  a  crest-fallen,  dispirited,  disenchanted  man  that^ 
despite  all  his  selfishness  and  dotage,  he  was  quite  an  object  of  compassion. 

Miss  Snevellicci's  papa  being  greatly  exalted  by  this  triumph  and  incon* 
testable  proof  of  his  popularity  with  the  fair  sex,  quickly  grew  convivial,  not 
to  say  uproarious  ;  volunteering  more  than  one  song  of  no  inconsiderable 
length,  and  regaling  the  social  circle  botween-whiles  with  recollections  of 
tlin'rs  splendid  women  who  had  been  supposed  to  entertain  a  passion  for 
himself,  several  of  whom  he  toasted  by  name,  taking  occasion  to  remark  at 
the  same  time  that  if  he  had  been  a  little  more  alive  to  his  own  interest,  he 
might  have  been  rolling  at  that  moment  in  his  chariot-and-four.  These 
reminiscences  appeared  to  awaken  no  very  torturing  pangs  in  the  breast  of 
Mrs.  Snevellicci,  who  was  sutiiciontly  occupied  in  de^'cauting  to  Nicholai 
upon  the  mainfold  accomplishments  and  mt-rits  of  her  ilau^htcr.  Nor  was  the 
young  lady  herself  at  all  behind-hand  in  displaying  her  choicest  allurements; 
but  these,  heightened  as  they  were  by  the  artifices  of  Miss  Ledrook,  had  no 
effect  whatever  in  increasing  the  attentions  of  Nicholas,  whn,  with  the  prece- 
dent of  3[iss  Squeers  stiU  fresh  in  his  memory,  steadily  resist^  every 
fascination,  and  placed  so  strict  a  guard  upon  his  behaviour,  that  when  he 
had  taken  his  leave  the  ladies  were  unanimous  in  pronouncing  him  quite  • 
monster  of  insensibility. 

Next  day  the  posters  appeared  in  J'le  course,  and  the  public  were  informed, 
in  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  and  in  letters  aulicted  with  every  possible 
variation  of  spinal  deformity,  how  that  Mr.  Johnson  would  have  the  nonoor 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  255 

of  making  his  last  appearance  that  evening,  and  how  that  an  early  application 
for  places  was  requested,  in  consequence  of  the  extraordinary  overflow  atten- 
dant on  his  performances — it  being  a  remarkable  fact  in  theatrical  history, 
bat  one  long  since  established  beyond  dispute,  that  it  is  a  hopeless  endeavour 
to  attract  people  to  a  theatre  unless  they  can  be  first  brought  to  believe  that 
they  will  never  get  into  it. 

Nicholas  was  somewhat  at  a  loss,  on  entering  tlie  theatre  at  niglit,  to 
account  for  the  unusual  perturbation  and  excitement  visible  in  the  counten- 
ances of  all  the  company,  but  he  was  not  long  in  doubt  as  to  tlie  cause,  for 
before  he  could  make  any  inquiry  respecting  it  Mr.  Crummies  approached, 
and,  in  an  agitated  tone  of  voice,  informed  him  that  there  was  a  London 
manager  in  the  boxes. 

"It's  the  phenomenon,  depend  upon  it,  sir,"  said  Crummies,  dragging 
Nicholas  to  the  little  hole  in  the  curtain  that  ho  might  look  through  at  the 
London  manager.     "  I  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  it's  the  fame  of  the 

Shenomenon — tiiat's  the  man  !  him  in  the  great-coat  and  no  shirt-collar. 
he  shall  have  ten  pound  a-week,  Johnson ;  she  shall  not  appear  on  the 
London  boards  for  a  farth'ing  less.  They  shan't  engage  her  either,  unless 
they  engage  Mrs.  Crummies  too — twenty  pound  a-weck  for  the  pair ;  or  I'll 
tell  yon  what,  I'll  throw  in  myself  and  the  two  boys,  and  they  shall  have  the 
famuy  for  thirty.  I  can't  say  fairer  than  that.  They  must  take  us  all,  if 
none  of  us  will  go  without  the  others.  That's  the  way  some  of  the  London 
people  do,  and  it  always  answers.  Thirty  pound  a- week.  It's  too  cheap 
Johnson.     It's  dirt  cheap." 

Nicholas  replied  that  it  certainly  was  ;  and  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  taking 
several  huge  pinches  of  snuif  to  compose  his  feelings,  hurried  away  to  tell 
Mra.  Crommles  that  he  had  quite  settled  the  only  terms  that  could  be 
accepted,  and  had  resolved  not  to  abate  one  single  farthing. 

"When  everybody  was  dressed  and  the  curtain  went  up,  the  excitement 
occaaioued  by  the  presence  of  the  London  manager  increased  a  thousand-fold. 
Everybody  happened  to  know  that  the  London  manager  had  come  down 
specially  to  witness  his  or  her  own  performance,  and  all  were  in  a  flutter  of 
aoxiety  and  expectations.  Some  of  those  who  were  not  in  the  first  scene 
hurriea  to  the  wings,  and  there  stretched  their  necks  to  have  a  peep  at  him  ; 
others  stole  up  into  the  two  little  private  boxes  over  the  stage  doors,  and  from 
that  position  reconnoitred  the  London  manager.  Once  the  London  manager 
was  seen  to  smile — he  smiled  at  the  comic  countryman's  pretending  to  catch 
a  blue-bottle  while  Mrs.  Crummies  was  making  her  greatest  eifect.  ''Very 
fjood,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  countryman 
"when  he  came  off,  "  you  leave  this  company  next  Saturday  night." 

In  the  same  way,  everybody  who  was  on  the  stage  beheld  no  audience  but 
one  individual ;  everybody  played  to  the  London  manager.  When  Mr. 
Xienville  in  a  sudden  burst  of  passion  called  the  emperor  a  miscreant,  and 
then  biting  his  glove  said,  '*But  I  must  dissemble,"  instead  of  looking 
gloomily  at  the  boards,  and  so  waiting  for  his  cue,  as  is  proper  in  such  cases,  he 
£ept  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  London  manager.  When  Miss  Bravassa  sang  her 
ftong  at  her  lover,  who  according  to  custom  stood  ready  to  shake  hands  with 
Iier  between  the  verses,  they  looked,  not  at  each  other,  but  at  the  London 
v&anager.  Mr.  Crummies  died  point-blank  at  him  ;  and  when  the  two  guards 
came  m  to  take  the  body  off  after  a  very  hard  death,  it  was  seen  to  o))cn  its  eyes 
%Qd  glance  at  the  London  manager.  At  length  the  London  manager  was  dis- 
Qcvered  to  be  asleep,  and  shortly  after  that  he  woke  up  and  went  away ; 
thereupon  all  the  company  fell  foul  of  the  unhappy  comic  countryman, 
<teclaring  that  his  buffoonery  was  the  sole  cause;  and  Mr.  Crummies  said 


256  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

that  he  had  put  up  with  it  for  a  long  time,  but  that  he  really  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer,  and  therefore  would  feel  obliged  by  his  looking  out  for  another 
engagement. 

All  this  was  the  occasion  of  much  amusement  to  Nicholas,  whose  only 
feeling  upon  the  subject  was  one  of  sincere  satisfaction  that  the  great  man 
went  away  before  ho  appeared.     He  went  through  his  part  in  the  two  last 

Eieces  as  briskly  as  he  could,  and  having  been  received  with  unbounded 
ivour  and  unprecedented  applause — so  said  the  bills  for  next  day,  which  had 
been  printed  an  hour  or  two  before — he  took  Smikc's  arm,  and  walked  home 
to  bed. 

With  the  post  next  morning  came  a  letter  from  Newman  Noggs,  very  inky, 
very  short,  very  dirty,  very  small,  and  very  mysterious,  urging  Nicholas  to 
return  to  London  instantly  ;  not  to  lose  an  instant ;  to  be  there  that  night  if 
possible. 

"I  will,"  said  Nicholas.  "Heaven  knows  I  have  remained  here  for  the 
best,  and  sorely  against  my  own  will ;  but  even  now  I  may  have  dallied  too 
long.  What  can  have  hapi)ened ;  Smike,  my  good  fellow,  here — take  my 
purse.  Put  our  things  together,  and  pay  what  little  debts  we  owe — quick, 
and  we  shall  be  in  time  for  the  morning  coach.  I  will  only  tell  them  that  ve 
are  going,  and  will  return  to  you  immediately." 

So  saying,  he  took  his  hat,  and  hurrying  away  to  the  lodgings  of  Mr. 
Crummies,  applied  his  hand  to  the  knocker  with  such  hearty  good-will,  that 
ho  awakened  that  gentleman,  who  was  still  in  bed,  and  caused  Mr.  Bulph  the 
pilot  to  take  his  morning's  pipe  very  nearly  out  of  his  mouth  in  the  extremity 
of  his  surprise. 

The  door  being  opened,  Nicholas  ran  upstairs  without  any  ceremony,  and 
bursting  into  the  darkened  sitting-room  on  the  one-pair  front,  found  that  the 
two  Master  Crummleses  had  sprung  out  of  the  sofa-bedstead,  and  were  putting 
on  their  clothes  with  great  rapidity,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  the 
middle  of  the  night,  and  the  next  house  was  on  fire. 

Before  be  could  undeceive  them,  Mr.  Crummies  came  down  in  a  flannel 
gown  and  nightcap  ;  and  to  him  Nicholas  briefly  explained  that  circumstances 
had  occurred  which  rendered  it  necessary  for  him  to  repair  to  London  im- 
mediately. 

"So,  good-bye,"  said  Nicholas  ;  "good-bye,  good-bye." 

He  was  half-way  downstairs  before  Mr.  Crummies  had  sufficiently  recovered 
his  surprise  to  be  able  to  gasp  out  something  about  the  posters. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  replied  Nicholas.  "Set  whatever  I  may  have  earned 
this  week  against  them,  or  if  it  will  not  repay  you,  say  at  once  what  will 
Quick,  quick." 

"Well  cry  quits  about  that,"  returned  Crummies.  "But  can't  we  haw 
one  last  night  more  ? " 

"  Not  an  J^our — not  a  minute,"  replied  Nicholas,  impatiently. 

"  Won't  you  stop  to  say  something  to  Mrs.  Crummies  ? "  asked  the 
manager,  following  him  down  to  the  door. 

"  I  couldn't  stop  if  it  were  to  prolong  my  life  a  score  of  years,"  rejoined 
Nicholas.  "  Here,  take  my  hand,  and  with  it  my  hearty  thanks.  Oh,  thet 
I  should  have  been  fooling  here  ! " 

Accompanying  these  words  with  an  impatient  stamp  on  the  ground,  he  ton 
himself  from  the  manager's  detaining  grasp,  and  darting  rapidly  down  the 
street  was  out  of  sight  in  an  instant. 

"Dear  me,  dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  looking  wistfully  towards  the 
point  at  which  he  had  just  disappeared  ;  "if  he  only  acted  like  that,  whati 
deal  of  money  he'd  draw  !    He  should  have  kept  upon  this  circuit ;  he'd  have 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  257 

been  very  useful  to  me.    But  he  don't  know  what's  good  for  him.     He  is  an 
impetuous  youth.     Young  men  are  rash,  very  rash." 

Mr.  Crummies  being  in  a  moralising  mood,  might  possibly  have  moralised 
for  some  minutes  longer  if  he  had  not  mechanically  put  his  hand  towards  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  where  he  was  accustomed  to  keep  his  snuif.  The  absence  of 
any  pocket  at  all  in  the  usual  direction  suddenly  recalled  to  his  recollection 
that  fact  that  he  had  no  waistcoat  on ;  and  this  leading  him  to  a  contempla- 
tion of  the  extreme  scantiness  of  his  attire,  he  shut  the  door  abruptly,  and 
retired  upstairs  with  great  precipitation. 

Smike  had  made  good  speed  while  Nicholas  was  absent,  and  with  his  help 
everything  was  soon  ready  for  their  departure.  They  scarcely  stopped  to  take 
a  morsel  of  breakfast,  and  in  less  than  half-an-hour  arrived  at  the  coach-office  : 
quite  out  of  breath  with  the  haste  they  had  made  to  reach  it  in  time.  There 
were  yet  a  few  minutes  to  spare,  so,  having  secured  the  places,  Nicholas 
hurried  intd  a  slopseller's  hard  by,  and  bought  Smike  a  great-coat.  It  would 
have  been  rather  lar^e  for  a  substantial  yeoman,  but  the  shopman  averring 
(and  with  considerable  truth)  that  it  was  a  most  uncommon  fit,  Nicholas 
would  have  purchased  it  in  his  impatience  if  it  had  been  twice  the  size. 

As  they  hurried  up  to  the  coach,  which  was  now  in  the  open  street  and  all 
ready  for  starting,  Nicholas  was  not  a  little  astonished  to  find  himself 
suddenly  clutched  in  a  close  and  violent  embrace,  which  nearly  took  him  off 
his  legs  ;  nor  was  his  amazement  at  all  lessened  by  hearing  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Chmmmles  exclaim,  **  It  is  he — my  friend,  my  friend  !  " 

"  Bless  my  heart, "  cried  Nicholas,  struggling  in  the  manager's  arms,  '  *  what 
are  you  about  ? " 

The  manager  made  no  reply,  but  strained  him  to  his  breast  again,  exclaim- 
ing as  he  did  so,  **  Farewell,  my  noble,  my  lion-hearted  boy  !  " 

In  fact,  Mr.  Crummies,  who  could  never  lose  any  opportunity  for  profes- 
sional display,  had  turned  out  for  the  express  purpose  of  taking  a  public 
farewell  of  Nicholas  ;  and  to  render  it  the  more  imposing,  he  was  now,  to 
that  young  gentleman's  most  profound  annoyance,  inflicting  upon  him  a  rapid 
succession  of  stage  embraces,  which,  as  everybody  knows,  are  performed  by 
the  embracer's  laying  his  or  her  chin  on  the  shoulaer  of  the  object  of  aifectiou, 
and  looking  over  it  This  Mr.  Crummies  did  in  the  highest  style  of  melo- 
drama, pouring  fortl^  at  the  same  time  all  the  most  dismal  foi*ms  of  farewell 
he  could  think  of,  out  of  the  stock  pieces.  Nor  was  this  all,  for  the  elder 
Master  Crummies  was  going  through  a  similiar  ceremony  with  Smike  ;  while 
Master  Percy  Crumimles,  with  a  very  little  second-hand  camlet  cloak,  worn 
theatrically  over  his  left  shoulder,  stood  by,  in  the  attitude  of  an  attendant 
officer,  waiting  to  convey  the  two  victims  to  the  scaffold. 

The  lookers-on  laughed  very  heartily,  and  as  it  was  as  well  to  put  a  good 
face  upon  the  matter,  Nicholas  laughed  too  when  he  had  succeeded  in  dis- 
engaging himself;  and  rescuing  the  astonished  Smike,  climbed  up  to  the 
coach  after  him,  and  kissed  his  hand  in  the  honour  of  the  absent  Mrs. 
Crummies  as  they  rolled  away. 


U  V\ 


258  LJFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

OF  RALril   NICKLEBY  AND    NEWMAN   NOGGS,    AND  SOME  WISE  PRBCATJTI0N8, 
TUE  SUCCESS  OR  FAILURE  OF  WHICH  WILL  APPEAR  IN  THE  SEQUEL. 

iN  blissful  uncoDsciousuess  that  his  nephew  was  hastening  at  the  utmost 
speed  of  four  good  horses  towards  his  sphere  of  action,  and  that  every 
passing  minute  diminished  the  distance  oetween  them,  Ralph  Nickleby 
sat  that  morning  occupied  in  his  customary  avocations,  and  yet  unable  to 
prevent  his  thoughts  wandering  from  time  to  time  back  to  the  interview 
which  had  taken  place  between  himself  and  his  niece  on  the  previous  day. 
At  such  intervals,  after  a  few  moments  of  abstraction,  Ralph  would  murmur 
some  peevish  interjection,  and  apply  himself  with  renewed  steadiness  of  purpose 
to  the  ledger  before  him,  but  again  and  again  the  same  train  of  thought  came 
back  despite  all  his  ctlbrts  to  prevent  i^  confusing  him  in  his  calculationsy 
and  utterly  distracting  liis  attention  from  the  figures  over  which  he  bent.  At 
length  Ralph  laid  down  his  pen,  and  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  ai 
though  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  allow  the  obtrusive  current  of  reflectum 
to  take  its  own  course,  and,  by  giving  it  full  scope,  to  rid  himself  of  it 
effectually. 

*'  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  moved  by  a  pretty  face,"  muttered  Ralph,  sternly. 
**  There  is  a  grinning  skull  beneath  it,  and  men  like  me  who  look  and  wore 
below  the  surface  see  that,  and  not  its  delicate  covering.  And  yet  I  almost 
like  the  girl,  or  should  if  she  had  been  less  proudly  and  squeamishly  brought 
up.  If  the  boy  were  drowned  or  hanged,  and  the  "mother  dead,  tnis  honae 
should  be  her  home.     I  wish  they  were,  with  all  my  soul." 

Notwithstanding  the  deadly  hatred  which  Ralph  felt  towards  Nicholas,  sod 
the  bitter  contempt  with  which  he  sneered  at  poor  Mrs.  Nickleby — notwith* 
standing  the  baseness  with  which  he  had  behaved,  and  was  then  behaving,  and 
would  behave  again  if  his  interest  prompted  him,  towards  Kate  herself—- still 
there  was,  strange  though  it  may  seem,  something  humanising  and  evn 
gentle  in  his  thoughts  at  that  moment     He  thought  of  what  his  home  might 
be  if  Kate  were  there ;  he  placed  her  in  the  empty  chair,  looked  upon  h«r, 
heard  her  speak  ;  he  felt  again  upon  his  arm  the  gentle  pressure  of  tbo 
trembling  hand  ;  he  strewed  nis  costly  rooms  with  the  hundred  silent  token 
of  feminine  presence  and  occupation  ;  he  came  back  again  to  the  cold  firesids 
and  the  silent  dreary  splendour  ;  and  in  that  one  glimpse  of  a  better  nature^ 
horn  as  it  was  of  selfish  thoughts,  the  rich  man  felt  himself  friendless,  child- 
less, and  alone.     Gold,  for  the  instant,  lost  its  lustre  in  his  eyes,  for  thec^ 
were  countless  treasures  of  the  heart  which  it  could  never  purchase. 

A  very  slight  circumstance  was  sulBcient  to  banish  such  reflections  from  tb* 
mind  of  such  a  man.  As  Ralph  looked  vacantly  out  across  the  yard  toward* 
the  window  of  the  other  office,  he  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  earned 
observation  of  Newman  Noggs,  who  with  his  red  nose  almost  touching  tl** 
glass,  feigned  to  be  mending  a  pen  with  a  rusty  fragment  of  a  knife,  but 
in  r(;ality  staring  at  his  employer  with  a  countenance  of  the  closest  and 
eag(;r  scrutiny. 

Ralph  exchanged  his  dreamy  posture  for  his  accustomed  business  attitude  - 
the  face  of  Newman  disappeared,  and  the  train  of  thought  took  to  fl^^ht,  •^ 
simultaneously  and  in  an  instant. 

A/'t(;r  a  few  minutes  Ralph  rang  his  bell.     Newman  answered  the  summoM 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  259 

and  Ralph  raised  his  eyes  stealthily  to  his  face,  as  if  he  almost  feared  to  read 
there  a  knowledge  of  his  recent  thoughts. 

There  was  not  the  smallest  speculation ,  however,  in  the  countenance  of 
Newman  Noggs.  If  it  be  possible  to  imagine  a  man  with  two  eyes  in  his 
head,  and  both  wide  open,  looking  in  no  direction  whatever,  and  seeing 
nothing,  Newman  appeared  to  be  that  man  while  Ralph  Nickleby  regarded 
him. 

**  How  now  ? "  growled  Ralph. 

"  Oh  1 "  said  Newman,  throwing  some  intelligence  into  his  eyes  all  at  once, 
and  dropping  them  on  his  master,  **  I  thought  you  rang."  With  which 
laconic  remark  Newman  turned  round  and  hobbled  away. 

"Stopl"  said  Ralph. 

Newman  stopped,  not  at  all  disconcerted. 

*'  I  did  ring.^' 

"I  knew  you  did." 

**  Then  why  did  you  offer  to  go  if  you  knew  that  ? " 

"I  thought  you  rang  to  say  you  didn't  ring,"  replied  Newman.  "You 
often  do." 

"  How  dare  jrou  pry,  and  peer,  and  stare  at  me,  sirrah  ? "  demanded  Ralph. 

"  Stare  ! "  cried  Newman,  **ai  you  I  Ha,  ha  !  "  which  was  all  the  explana- 
tion Newman  deigned  to  offer. 

"  Be  careful,  sir,"  said  Ralph,  looking  steadily  at  him.  **  Let  me  have  no 
dmnken  fooling  here.     Do  you  see  this  parcel  ?  " 

*•  It's  big  enough,"  rejoined  Newman. 

"  Carry  it  into  the  city ;  to  Cross,  in  Broad  Street,  and  leave  it  there — 
quick.     Do  you  hear  ? " 

Newman  gave  a  dogged  kind  of  nod  to  express  an  affirmative  reply,  and, 
leaving  the  room  for  a  few  seconds,  returned  with  his  hat.  Having  made 
various  ineffective  attempts  to  fit  the  parcel  (which  was  some  two  feet  square) 
into  the  crown  thereof,  Newman  took  it  under  his  arm,  and  after  putting  on 
bis  fineerless  gloves  with  great  precision  and  nicety,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  Kr.  Ralph  Nickleby  all  the  time,  he  adjusted  his  nat  upon  his  head 
with  as  much  care,  real  or  pretended,  as  if  it  were  a  brand-new  one  of  the  most 
expensive  quality,  and  at  last  departed  on  his  errand. 

He  executed  his  commission  with  groat  promptitude  and  despatch,  only 
calHng  at  one  public-house  for  half-a-minute,  and  even  that  might  be  said  to 
be  in  his  way,  for  he  went  in  at  one  door  and  came  out  at  the  other  ;  but  as 
he  returned  and  had  got  so  far  homewards  as  the  Strand,  Newman  began  to 
loiter  with  the  uncertain  air  of  a  man  who  has  not  quite  made  up  his  mind 
whether  to  halt  or  go  strai^t  forwards.  After  a  very  short  consideration,  the 
former  inclination  prevailed,  and  making  towards  the  point  he  had  had  in  his 
iiund,  Newman  knocked  a  modest  double-knock,  or  rather  a  nervous  single 
one,  at  Miss  La  Creevy's  door. 

It  was  opened  by  a  strange  servant,  on  whom  the  odd  figure  of  the  visitor 
^  not  appear  to  make  the  most  favourable  impression  possible,  inasmuch  as 
^e  no  sooner  saw  him  than  she  very  nearly  closed  it,  and  placing  herself  in 
the  narrow  gap,  inquired  what  ho  wanted.  But  Newman  merely  uttering  the 
Jionosyllable  "  Noggs,"  as  if  it  were  some  cabalistic  word,  at  sound  of  which 
^Ita  would  fly  back  and  doors  open,  pushed  briskly  past  and  gained  the  door 
of  Miss  La  Creevy's  sitting-room,  before  the  astonished  servant  could  offer  any 
opposition. 

"Walk  in,  if  you  please,"  cried  Miss  La  Creevy  in  reply  to  the  sound  of 
Newman's  knuckles  ;  and  in  he  walked  accordingly. 


26o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Tiless  us ! "  cried  Mi^  La  Crcevy,  startiug  as  Newman  bolted  in  ;  "what 
did  you  want,  sir  ?  " 

*' You  have  forprotten  mo,"  said  Newman,  with  an  inclination  of  the  head. 
*'  I  wonder  at  that.  That  nobody  should  remember  me  who  knew  mo  in  other 
days  is  natural  enough  ;  but  there  are  few  people  who,  seeing  me  once,  for« 
^t  me  twxty  He  glanced,  as  he  spoke,  at  his  shabby  clothes  and  paralytic 
limb,  and  slightly  shook  his  head. 

*'  I  did  forget  j'ou,  I  declare,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  rising  to  receive  New- 
man, who  met  her  half-way,  *'  and  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  doing  so ;  for 
you  are  a  kind,  good  creature,  Mr.  Noggs.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  aboat 
3liss  Nickleby.     Poor  dear  thing  !  I  haven't  seen  her  for  this  many  a  week." 

'*  How's  that  \  *'  asked  Newman. 

"  Why.  the  truth  is,  Mr.  Noggs,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  "  that  I  have  been 
out  on  a  visit — the  first  visit  I  have  made  for  fifteen  years." 

"That  is  a  long  time,"  said  Newman,  sadly. 

"  So  it  is  a  very  long  time  to  look  back  upon  in  years,  thoi^h,  somehow  or 
other,   tliauk  heaven,  the  solitary  days  roll  away  peacafdlly  and  happily 
enough."  replied  the  miniature  painter.     '*  I  have  a  brother,  Mr.  Noggs — ^the 
only  relation  I  have — and  all  that  time  I  never  saw  him  once.     Not  tltat  we 
ever  tiuarrelled,  but  he  was  apprenticed  down  in  the  coon  try,  and  he  got 
married  there,  and  new  ties  and  atfections  springing  up  about  him,  he  foi^t 
a  poor  little  woman  like  me,  as  it  was  very  reasonable  he  should,  yon  know. 
Don't  suppose  that  I  vOinpI.iin  about  tha:,  beoaiise  I  always  said  to  mjrself, 
*  It  is  very  uatuni :  p^x^r  liear  John  is  making  Lis  way  in  the  world,  and  has  a 
wife  to  teU  his  oare^  aaxl  tToubIe:s  to.  and  chiliren  now  to  play  about  him,  so 
G\\l  b'.ess  l:ir.i  aTi.i  ti:er.i.  and  send  we  may  all  meet  together  one  day  when  we 
sha'I  i^rt  r.s^  more.*     Bu:  what  do  you  th;'j.k,  Mr.  No^ii^cs,*'  said  the  miniatue 
l^nti-r.  br:i:Ii:^'.i:r.g  up  aud  oliprii:^  Ler  \ m  '.<.   •'of  I'.iat  very  same  brother 
oomiiij:  i:p  :.^  Lov.ien  a:  las:,  il.!  ::-:-vrr  r«::rp  :l"  ie  found  me  out? — what 
do  Vv-^'i  tLink  of  Lis  comin,:  here  ar.  i  5::::*g  iow^.  13.  that  very  chair,  and  cry- 
ir.;:  like  a  cr.ili  Necau5<-  lie  wis  glii  to  see  me  \ — what  do  yon  think  of  his 
i:i>i*ti::c  '-  nkinc  me  »>lowTi  all  tlie  wiv  :-:o  the  counrrv  to  his  own  house 
.  :-;:c  a  >umT:u:us  ^Ia,:e,  Mr.  Noix^  w::h  a  lirj:*  cirieu  and  I  don't  know 
r.-T  r.-.izy  r.rl ;>.  ir. i  a  !v.i::  in  .ivery  TC-i;:i:i^ i;  t^:.*.  iz.i  CtWa,  and  horses, 
a::  i  t:^>  4z.i  I  d:-'t  kuj-v  v.-lii:  ^ctfiiw  .  iz.  1  r. .ii:-^  me  stay  a  whole  month, 
an.;  Tr;^5«i;v.^  mc-  :o  stcv  t.::r;-  a.,  my  .::f  — j;5.  i_  my  jSt — and  so  did  his 
w.:>,  i-i  sc  1:1  the  chill:: r. — ^mi  :h=r--  T.r-r  ::ur  cf  thtm,  and  one,  the 
i".  li$:  jT.rl  c:'  ill.  th*y — thiy  h^l  -im;\i  he:  aitc:  m=  elrh:  r»i  years  before, 
:..:v  hil  ml  .-.oh     I  l-t;:  T.-i<  <c  hirtv :  m  ill  mv  lif*  I  £=vcr  was  I"    The 
^vrthyscm  h.l  h-:  :*.;;  :v.  h::  hii:-i*:.:li-h:.  a::!  <.-r:'=d  al;ui ;  for  it  was 
:  .'.0  7.:^:  cTtct«««iiiT~  s.'..'  .'.iL '.  .'.■*•!  J  J  "^zc'-ir^in'-zc  ^£c  JLw^krt.  anv*  iiwc-ulu  Dave 

■  :■  u:  :l.-ss  -■■  l:*-.  s:-.  1  y.■.s^  1a  Jr-r-r-.  -ziTmc  h-:  fTe>  ifrer  a  short 
Til .::<:•.  tv.l  :Tt7-m-.-c  h::  >*L::l"xir:h:::  v. f  >..:  TCi/ii:  -i:l.  ^.j.:  bustle  and 
.\:s-.*:.V.  .  •vhi:  a  :"xl;<h  .tjvLtm:-  I  :..u>t  jeifm  ::  y:m  Mr.  Noggs!  I 
*:.■!.■.■;. :  "i-.-  si:.l  iv^thmc  i":*--.-.:  ::.  ;-""  I  -jjitiii  :^-  iitlifz.  t^Touhowit 
wij  1  :.*. ".  :  ?*f,-7.  M-.!«  N::'i..':T. 

■  ":U-  ■  -•z  scv-;.  :h.-  cli  Itlv  '      iisi::':  V.t-v. '.i 

v.-'.:  --.MT.  K-rs;   y-.:il::7  '  "  siil  V..?*  Li  iTftfTj.     -".isi  I  tell  yoa 

▼"m:.  3^?.  y.vjtr?'  ::"  ~--  '^^~"  •'  "'^■^T  --  *^*--  P*-"'-  ">'»-is  ^  tha*  c:iirter,  you 
>.fc.l  >t=:t.'-:  7;:-:  :x"  1'.;:  :h:  ,-M  liv~  1:.-  m::^.  *-:  I  ?:r57ȣc:  *h.*  wouldn't  be 
>*ft«  T.l:*!v\i  T^*  h'«A:  TV."  V^Sw  1  v:::  ::.::.-  :"■.:  «  ::1 :  :i:::r*  lisi.  but  she 
^r:»  ca  t^  t'^h  rc-Tv*  aK-ct  A-c.-cthiz.^.  tr  1  vl* ii:  irxi-i  ari  mysterious, 
1  JWLASL'4  2uk{  azys^Ttr  di  ^vz  :  s:.  ;.:  TiCl  y:c  !!•(  t;sib,'l  took  it 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  261 

into  my  head  to  be  grand  too,  and  came  away  in  state.  I  thought  she  would 
have  come  round  again  before  tliis,  but  she  hasn't  been  here." 

**  About  Miss  Nickleby "  said  Newman. 

'*  Why,  she  was  here  twice  while  I  was  away,"  returned  Miss  La  Creevy. 
"  I  was  afraid  she  mightn't  like  to  have  me  calling  on  her  amongst  those  great 
folks  in  what's-its-name  Place,  so  I  thought  I'd  wait  a  day  or  two,  and  if  I 
didn't  see  her,  write." 

**  Ah  ! "  exclaimed  Newman,  cracking  his  fingers. 

"  However,  I  want  to  hear  all  the  news  about  them  from  you,"  said  Miss 
La  Creevy,  **  How  is  the  old  rough-and- tough  monster  of  Golden  Square  ? 
Well,  of  course ;  such  people  always  are.  I  don't  mean  how  is  he  in  health, 
bat  how  is  he  going  on  ;  how  is  he  behaving  himself? " 

**  Damn  him  ! "  cried  Newman,  dashing  his  cherished  hat  on  the  floor ; 
*'  like  a  false  hound." 

**  Gracious,  Mr.  Noggs,  you  quite  terrify  me  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  La  Creevy, 
turning  pale. 

"  I  should  have  spoilt  his  features  yesterday  afternoon  if  I  could  have 
afforded  it,"  said  Newman,  moving  restlessly  about,  and  shaking  his  fist  at  a. 
portrait  of  Mr.  Canning  over  the  mantlepiece.  *'  I  was  very  near  it.  I  was 
obliged  to  put  my  hands  in  my  pockets,  and  keep  'em  there  very  tight.  I 
shall  do  it  some  day  in  that  little  back-parlour,  1  know  I  shall.  I  should 
have  done  it  before  now,. if  I  hadn't  been  afraid  of  making  bad  worse.  I  shall 
donble-lock  myself  in  with  him  and  have  it  out  before  I  die,  I'm  quite  certain 
of  it." 

**I  shall  scream  if  you  don't  compose  yourself,  Mr.  Noggs,"  said  Miss  La 
Creevy  ;  **  I'm  sure  I  shan't  be  able  to  help  it." 

"Never  mind,"  rejoined  Newman,  darting  violently  to  and  fro.  "He's 
coming  np  to-night :  I  wrote  to  tell  him.  He  little  thinks  I  know  ;  he  little 
thinks  I  care.  Cunning  scoundrel !  he  don't  think  that.  Not  he,  not  he. 
Never  mind,  I'll  thwart  him — /,  Newman  Noggs.     Ho,  ho,  the  rascal ! " 

Lashing  himself  up  to  an  extravagant  pitch  of  fury,  Newman  Noggs  jerked 
himself  about  the  room  with  the  most  eccentric  motion  ever  beheld  in  a 
human  being ;  now  sparring  at  the  little  miniatures  on  the  wall,  and  now 
giving  himself  violent  thumps  on  the  head,  as  if  to  heighten  the  delusion, 
until  ne  sank  down  in  his  former  seat  quite  breathless  and  exhausted. 

"  There,"  said  Newman,  picking  up  nis  hat ;  **  that's  done  me  good.  Now 
I'm  better,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it. " 

It  took  some  little  time  to  reassure  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  had  been  almost 
frightened  out  of  her  senses  by  this  remarkable  demonstration  ;  but  that  done, 
Kewman  faithfully  related  all  that  had  passed  in  the  interview  between  Kate 
and  her  uncle,  prefacing  his  narrative  with  a  statement  of  his  previous  sus- 
picions on  the  subject,  and  his  reasons  for  forming  them  ;  and  concluding 
with  a  communication  of  the  step  he  had  taken  in  secretly  writing  to  Nicholas. 

Though  little  Miss  La  Creevy  s  indignation  was  not  so  singularly  displayed 
as  Newman's,  it  was  scarcely  inferior  in  violence  and  intensity.  Indeed,  if 
lUlph  Nickleby  had  happened  to  make  his  appearance  in  the  room  at  that 
moment,  there  is  some  doubt  whether  he  would  not  have  found  ISIiss  La 
Creevy  a  more  dangerous  opponent  than  even  Newman  Noggs  himself. 

"God  forgive  me  for  saying  so,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  as  a  wind-up  to  all 
her  expressions  of  anger,  "  but  I  really  feel  as  if  I  could  stick  this  into  him 
with  pleasure." 

It  was  not  a  very  awful  weapon  that  Miss  La  Creevy  held,  it  being  in  fact 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  blacklead  pencil ;  but  discovering  her  mistake, 
the  little  portrait  painter  exchanged  it  for  a  mother-of-pearl  fruit-knife^ 


262  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

wherewith,  in  proof  of  her  desperate  thoughts,  she  made  a  lange  as  she  spoke, 
wliich  would  have  scarcely  disturbed  the  crumb  of  a  half-ciuartem  loaf. 

*'She  won't  stop  where  she  is  after  to-night,"  said  Newman.  "That's  a 
comfort." 

**  Stop  ! "  cried  Miss  La  Creevy,  "  she  should  have  left  there  weeks  ago." 

** If  we  had  known  of  this,"  rejoined  Newman.  *'  But  we  didn't.  No- 
body could  properly  interfere  but  her  mother  or  brother.  The  mother's  weak 
— poor  thing — weak.     The  dear  young  man  will  be  here  to-night." 

"  Heart  alive  ! "  cried  Miss  La  Creevy.  "  He  will  do  something  desperate, 
Mr.  Noggs,  if  you  tell  him  all  at  once.* 

Newman  left  off  rubbing  his  hands,  and  assumed  a  thoughtful  look. 

**  Depend  upon  it,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  earnestly,  **  if  you  are  not  very 
careful  in  breaking  out  the  truth  to  him,  he  will  do  some  violence  upon  his 
uncle  or  one  of  these  men  that  will  bring  some  terrible  calamity  upon  his  own 
head,  and  grief  and  sorrow  to  us  all." 

**  I  never  thought  of  that,"  rejoined  Newman,  his  countenance  falling  more 
and  more.  "  I  came  to  ask  you  to  receive  his  sister  in  case  he  brought  her 
here,  but " 

''  But  this  is  a  matter  of  much  greater  importance/'  interrupted  Miss  La 
Creevy  ;  **  that  you  might  have  been  sure  of  before  you  came,  but  the  end  of 
this  nobody  can  foresee,  unless  you  are  very  guarded  and  careful." 

''What  can  I  do  ? "  cried  Newman,  scratching  his  head  with  an  air  of  great 
vexation  and  perplexity.  "If  he  was  to  talk  of  pistolling  'em  all,  I  should 
be  obliged  to  say,   *  Certainly — serve  'em  right.' " 

Miss  La  Creevy  could  not  suppress  a  small  skriek  on  hearing  this,  and  in- 
stantly set  about  extorting  a  solemn  pledge  from  Newman  that  he  would  nso 
his  utmost  endeavours  to  pacify  the  wrath  of  Nicholas ;  which,  after  some 
demur,  was  conceded.  They  then  consulted  together  on  the  safest  and  surest 
mode  of  communicating  to  him  the  circumstances  which  had  rendered  hii 
X^rescnce  necessary. 

"  He  must  have  time  to  cool  before  he  can  possibly  do  anything,"  said  Miss 
La  Creevy.  "That  is  of  the  greatest  consecpence.  He  must  not  be  told 
until  late  at  night." 

"But  he'll  be  in  town  between  six  and  seven  this  evening,'*  replied  New- 
man.    "  /  can't  keep  it  from  him  when  he  asks  me." 

"Then  you  must  go  out,  Mr.  Noggs,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  "You  caa 
easily  have  been  kept  away  by  business,  and  must  not  return  till  nearly  mid- 
night." 

"  Then  he'll  come  straight  here,"  retorted  Newman. 

"  So  I  suppose,"  observed  Miss  La  Creevy  ;  "  but  he  won't  find  me  at  home, 
for  I'll  go  straight  to  the  City  the  instant  you  leave  me,  make  up  matters  with 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  take  her  away  to  the  theatre,  so  that  he  may  not  jBvea 
know  where  his  sister  lives." 

Upon  further  discussion,  this  appeared  the  safest  and  most  feasible  mode  of 
proceeding  that  could  possibly  be  adopted.  Therefore  it  was  finally  dettf' 
mined  that  matters  should  be  so  arranged,  and  Newman,  after  listening  t» 
many  supplementary  cautions  and  entreaties,  took  his  leave  of  Miss  La  Cnevy 
and  trudged  back  to  Golden  Square ;  ruminating  as  he  went  upon  a  xtA 
number  of  possibilities  and  impossibilities  which  crowded  upon  his  Drain,  ttd 
aiose  out  of  the  conversation  that  had  just  terminated. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  263 


N 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

KELATING     CHIEFLY     TO     SOME     IlEMAllKABLE      CONVERSATION,     AND      SOME 
BEMARKABLB  PROCEEDINGS  TO  WUICH  IT  GIVES  RISE. 


It 


LONDON"  at  last ! "  cried  Nicholas,  throwing  back  his  great-coat  and 
rousing  Smike  from  a  long  nap.     **  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  wo 
should  never  reach  it." 
"  And  yet  vou  came  along  at  a  tidy  pace,  too,"  observed  the  coachman, 
looking  over  his  shoulder  at  Nicholas,  with  no  very  pleasant  expression  of 
countenance. 

**  Ay,  I  know  that,"  was  the  reply  ;  '*but  I  have  been  very  anxious  to  be 
at  my  journey's  end,  and  that  makes  the  way  seem  long." 

**  "Well,"  remarked  the  coachman,  **  if  the  way  seemed  long  with  such  cattle 
as  you've  sat  behind,  you  mu%t  have  been  most  uncommon  anxious  ;  "  and  so 
saying,  he  let  out  his  whip-lash,  and  touched  up  a  little  boy  on  the  calves  of 
his  legs  by  way  of  emphasis. 

They  rattled  on  through  the  noisy,  bustling,  crowded  streets  of  London, 
now  displaying  long  double  rows  of  brightly-burning  lamps,  dotted  here 
and  there  with  the  chemist's  glaring  lights,  and  illuminated  besides  with 
the  brilliant  flood  that  streamed  from  the  windows  of  the  shops  where 
sparkling  jewellery,  silks  and  velvets  of  the  richest  colours,  the  most  inviting 
delicacies,  and  most  sumptuous  articles  of  luxurious  ornament,  succeeded 
each  other  in  rich  and  guttering  profusion.  Streams  of  people  apparently 
without  end  poured  on  and  on,  jostling  each  other  in  the  crowd  and  hurrying 
forward,  scarcely  seeming  to  notice  the  riches  that  surrounded  them  on  every 
side  ;  while  vehicles  of  all  shapes  and  makes,  mingled  up  together  in  one 
moving  mass  like  running  water,  lent  their  ceaseless  roar  to  swell  the  noise 
and  tumult. 

As  they  dashed  by  the  quickly-changing  and  ever- varying  objects,  it  was 

curious  to  observe  in  what  a  strange  procession  they  passed  before  the  eye. 

Emporiums  of  splendid  dresses,  the  materials  brought  from  every  quarter  of 

the  world  ;  tempting  stores  of  everything  to  stimulate  and  pamper  the  sated 

appetite  and  give  new  relish  to  the  oft-repeated  feast  ;  vessels  of  burnished 

gold  and  sUver,  wrought  into  every  exquisite  form  of  vase,  and  dish,  and 

goblet ;  guns,  swords,  pistols,  and  patent  engines  of  destruction  ;  screws  and 

irons  for  the  crooked,  clothes  for  the  newly-born,  drugs  for  the  sick,  coffins  for 

the  dead,  and  churchyards  for  the  buried — all  these  jumbled  each  with  the 

other,  and  flocking  side  by  side,  seemed  to  flit  by  in  motley  dance  like  the 

fantastic  groups  of  the  old  Dutch  painter,  and  with  the  same  stern  moral  for 

the  unheeding,  restless  crowd. 

Nor  were  there  wanting  objects  in  the  crowd  itself  to  give  new  point  and 

Sarpose   to   the   shifting   scene.     The   rags   of   the    squalid    ballad-singer 
attered  in  the  rich  lignt  that  showed  the  goldsmith's  treasures,  pale  and 
pinched-up  faces  hovered  about  the   windows   where   was   tempting  food, 
tungry  eyes  wandered  over  the  profusion  guarded  by  one  thin  sheet  of  brittle 
.       I^iass — an  iron  wall  to  them  ;  half-naked  shivering  figures  stopped  to  gaze  at 
\       Chinese  shawls  and  golden  stufls  of  India.     There  was  a  christening-party  at 
I       the  largest  coffin-m^er's,  and  a  funeral  hatchment  had  stopped  some  great 
improvements  in  the  bravest  mansion.     Life  and  death  went  hand  in  hand  : 


264  LIFE  ANb  ADVENTURES  OF 

wrulth  and  itovoriy  ntood  side  by  side ;  rox)lution  and  starvation  laid  tbem 
down  together. 

lUit  it  >vuH  London  ;  and  tho  old  countiy  lady  inside,  who  had  put  her  head 
out  of  the  coach-window  a  mile  or  two  this  side  Kingston,  and  cried  oat  to  the 
driver  that  she  was  sure  he  must  have  passed  it,  and  forgotten  to  set  her 
down,  wiia  satiafiod  at  last. 

NirlioluM  engaged  beds  for  himself  and  Smike  at  the  inn  where  the  coach 
Htoppod,  and  roiiaired,  without  the  delay  of  another  moment,  to  the  lodgings 
of  Nownian  Noggs  ;  for  his  anxiety  and  impatience  had  increased  with  every 
Huroeeding  minute,  and  were  almost  beyond  control. 

'I'liora  Wiis  a  tire  in  Newman's  garret,  and  a  candle  had  been  left  burning ; 
tho  floor  was  clounly  swept,  the  room  was  as  comfortably  arranged  as  such  a 
ii>om  I'ould  bo,  and  meat  and  drink  were  placed  in  order  upon  the  table. 
IC  very  thing  bosuoko  tho  atfoctionate  care  and  attention  of  Newman  Noggs,  but 
Nowniiin  himself  was  not  there. 

*'  Do  you  know  what  time  he  will  be  home?"  inquired  Nicholas,  tapping 
at  t  ho  door  of  Newman's  front  neighbour. 

"Ah,  Mr.  .lohuson  !"  said  Crowl,  presenting  himself,  "Welcome,  sir. — 
lliiw  woU  you're  looking  !    1  never  could  have  oelieved " 

*' l^riloii  mo,"  iutor|H)sed  Nicholas.  *' My  question — I  am  extremely 
anxious  to  know." 

**  Why,  ho  has  a  tnmblesomo  atl'air  of  business,"  replied  Crowl,  "and  will 
not  W  homo  K'fore  twelve  o'oliH'k.  He  was  very  unwilling  to  go,  I  can  tell 
YOU,  but  thon^  ^>a8  no  help  for  it.  However,  he  left  word  that  you  were  to 
make  yourself  comfortable  till  he  came  back,  and  that  I  was  to  entertain  you, 
whioh  I  shall  Ih^  very  glad  to  di\" 

lu  priH^f  of  his  oktrtMuo  roadim^ss  to  exert  himself  for  the  general  enie^ 
taiumont,  Mr.  I'l-owl  drt^w  a  chair  to  tho  table  as  ho  spoke,  and  helping  him- 
st'lf  plentifully  to  tho  cold  meat,  iuviteil  NichoUis  and  Smike  to  follow  his 
o\un»ple. 

lHsapjK»inted  and  uneasy,  Nicholas  could  touch  no  foixl,  so,  after  he  had 
seen  Smike  cvnufv^rtaMy  es;abUshi\l  at  iho  table,  he  walked  out  (desmte  t 
i^ivat  uiAiiv  di:;suasious  \itter\»d  bv  Mr.  Crowl  with  his  mouth  full),  and  left 
Smike  10  ileiain  Xowmau  iu  case  he  rvturued  first. 

As  Miss  \jk  lVvvv  had  antici)>atevl,  Nicholas  betook  himsolf  straight  to  her 
luniso.  Kinding  her  frv^m  home,  ho  dolviicvl  wiiliin  himself  for  some  tiini 
wheilier  he  shouUl  gv^  to  his  morher's  rvidvlence  ami  so  cv^mpromise  her  with 
K.i*i»h  Nicklebv.  Fully  ivi-sxudi\l,  however,  that  Newman  would  not  h»« 
svvioitcvl  hi:u  to  n't  urn  uule^s  therv  was  some  strvnig  reason  which  Pfquired 
l-.is  prvsK'ivvv  at  home,  he  n,'sv^Ived  to  gv>  therv,  auvl  hastened  eastwaids  with  ill 

SJVv\l 

Mi^  Ni."k!eby  would  ::v*:  Iv  at  hvuiie.  the  girl  said,  until  ^>ast  twelw 
vr  'auv.  S1:o  Ivlievixl  Mi>s  Niv-klcoy  was  we",  but  she  didn't  live  at  hoiw 
i:o\\\  !io:  vlivl  sV.e  vvuie  ho:v.e  e\».vi»:  wry  st\U^m.  She  couldn't  say  whert 
svl'.o  wus  s'.ov.'ius:,  but  i;  was  v.o:  a:  Mji.Uv.io  Mautaliiii's — she  was  sure  rf 

NVith  !:ls  hear:  K*a:iiv^  v:o*cr.:!v.  iv.,l  irvrehcrdiu;:  he  know  not  wW 
c,i!<^N:or.  Nix'IuvAs  re:uriie\l  to  wV.e^.'  :c  :.a,1  *.c:"t  Silks'.  Newman  had  not 
\vv.  l;oitu'.  He  wouIJ.u*t  N*  tiV.  iwvlvo  o\.\a'x  :  thertr  was  no  chance  of  it 
^^  ji*  :>.,'!v  no  isvscbil::^-  of  s<'*:v;:v^  to  fe:^'::  hir.i  if  i:  wvre  only  fv»r  an  instanti 
v»r  '..*rwarvli::^  tv»  h:iii  o:*.;*  Uue  of  wr:::::^  :o  wh:,'h  be  irLii:ht  return  a  verbil 
Tvi»*>  ■  I'hAt  ^is  v^uitv  i:v.yra/;:.jil*I.'  lu-  >*-is  ri.^:  a:  OoLlea  S^][ua^e,  and 
|^j\»iHab!\  had  N.vit  sent  tv*  ei.*,vu:c  *v.*iiie  vvr^rLiission  a?  a  dissiacxf. 

NWhcXas  utKxi  u>  w^uaiu  s^uieuy  «h<w  h«  «a^  be;  h<:  f«fli  so  ncrvooiiid 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  265 

excited  that  he  coald  not  sit  still.  Ho  seenicd  to  bu  losing  tinio  unless  he  was 
moviii^.  It  was  an  absurd  faucy,  ho  knew,  but  lie  was  wholly  unable  to 
resist  it.     So  he  took  up  his  hat,  and  rambled  out  again. 

He  strolled  westward  this  time,  pacing  the  long  streets  with  hurried  foot- 
steps, and  agitated  by  a  thousand  misgivings  and  apprehensions  which  ho 
comd  not  overcome.  He  passed  into  Hyde  Park,  now  silent  and  deserted, 
and  increased  his  rate  of  walking  as  if  in  the  hope  of  leaving  his  thoughts 
behind.  They  crowded  upon  him  more  thickly,  however,  now  there  was  no 
passing  objects  to  attract  his  attention  ;  and  the  one  idea  was  always  upper- 
most, that  some  stroke  of  ill-fortune  must  have  occurred  so  calamitous  in  its 
nature  that  all  were  fearful  of  disclosing  it  to  him.  The  old  question  arose 
again  and  again — What  could  it  be  ?  Nicholas  walked  till  ho  was  weary,  but 
was  not  one  bit  the  wiser ;  and  indeed  he  came  out  of  the  Park  at  last  a  great 
deal  more  confused  and  perplexed  than  when  he  went  in. 

He  bad  taken  scarcely  anything  to  eat  or  drink  since  early  in  the  morning, 
and  felt  quite  worn-out  and  exhausted.  As  he  returned  langui<lly  towards 
the  point  from  which  he  had  started,  along  one  of  the  thorougli fares  which 
lies  between  Park  Lane  and  Bond  Street,  ho  passed  a  handsome  hotel,  before 
which  he  stopped  mechanically. 

"An  expensive  place,  I  dare  say,"  thought  Nicholas  ;  "  but  a  pint  of  wine 
and  a  biscuit  arQ  no  great  debauch  wherever  they  are  had.  And  yet  I  don't 
know." 

He  walked  on  a  few  steps,  but  looking  wistfully  down  the  long  vista  of  gas 
lamps  before  him,  and  thmking  how  long  it  would  take  to  reach  the  cud  of  it 
— and  being,  besides,  in  that  kind  of  mood  in  which  a  man  is  most  disposed 
to  yield  to  his  first  impulse — and  being,  besides,  strongly  attracted  to  the 
hotel.  In  part  by  curiosity,  and  in  jiart  by  some  odd  mixture  of  feelings  which 
he  wonld  have  been  troubled  to  define — Nicholas  turned  back  again «  and 
walked  into  the  coffee-room. 

It  was  very  handsomely  furnished.  The  walls  were  ornamented  with  the 
choicest  specimens  of  French  paper,  enriched  with  a  gilded  cornice  of  elegant 
design.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a  rich  carpet ;  and  two  superb  mirrors, 
one  above  the  chimney-piece,  and  one  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  reaching 
from  floor  to  ceiling,  multiplied  the  other  beauties,  and  added  new  ones  of 
their  own,  to  enhance  the  general  effect.  There  was  a  rather  noisy  party  of 
four  gentlemen  in  a  box  by  the  fire-place,  and  only  two  other  persons  present 
— ^both  elderly  gentlemen,  and  both  alone. 

Observing  all  this  in  the  first  comprehensive  glance  with  which  a  stranger 
surveys  a  place  that  is  new  to  him,  Nicholas  sat  himself  down  in  the  box 
next  to  the  noisy  party,  with  his  back  towards  them,  and  postponing  his 
order  for  a  pint  of  claret  until  such  time  as  the  waiter  and  one  of  the  elderly 
gentlemen  should  have  settled  a  disputed  question  relative  to  the  price  of  an 
item  in  the  bill  of  fare,  took  up  a  newspaper  and  began  to  read. 

He  had  not  read  twenty  lines,  and  was  in  truth  half  dozing,  when  he  was 
startled  by  the  mention  of  his  sister's  name.  **  Little  Kate  Nickleby"  were 
the  words  that  caught  his  ear.  He  raised  his  head  in  amazement,  and  as  ho 
did  so  saw  by  the  reflection  in  the  opposite  glass  that  two  of  the  party  behind 
him  had  risen,  and  were  standing  before  the  fire.  **  It  must  have  come  from 
one  of  them,"  thought  Nicholas.  Ho  waited  to  hear  more,  with  a  countenance 
of  some  indignation,  for  the  tone  of  speech  had  been  anything  but  respectful, 
and  the  appearance  of  the  individual  whom  he  presumed  to  have  boon  the 
speaker  was  coarse  and  swaggering. 

This  person — so  Nicholas  observed  in  the  same  glance  at  the  mirror  which 
bad  enabled  him  to  sec  his  face — was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 


266  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

conversing  with  a  younfjer  man,  who  stood  with  his  back  to  the  company,  wore 
his  hat,  and  was  adjusting  his  shirt  collar  by  tho  aid  of  the  glass.  They 
s|>oke  in  whispers,  now  and  then  bursting  into  a  loud  laugh,  but  Nicholas 
could  catch  no  repetition  of  the  words,  nor  anything  sounding  at  all  like  the 
words  which  had  attracted  his  attention. 

At  length  the  two  resumed  their  seats,  and  more  wine  being  ordered,  the 
party  grew  louder  in  their  mirth.  Still,  tliere  was  no  reference  made  to  any- 
body with  whom  he  was  acquainted,  and  Nicholas  became  persuaded  that  his 
excited  fancy  had  either  imagined  the  sounds  altogether,  or  converted  some 
other  words  into  the  name  which  had  been  so  much  in  his  thoughts. 

**It  is  remarkable,  too,"  thought  Nicholas;  "if  it  had  been  'Kate'  or 
'  Kate  Nickleby,'  I  should  not  have  been  so  much  surprised ;  but  'little  Kate 
Nickleby ! ' " 

The  wine  coming  at  the  moment  prevented  his  finishing  the  sentence.  He 
swallowed  a  glassful,  and  took  up  the  paper  again.     At  tliat  instant 

**  Little  Kate  Nickleby  !  "  cried  a  voice  behind  him. 

**  I  was  right,"  muttered  Nicholas,  as  the  paper  fell  from  his  hand.  "And 
it  was  the  man  I  supposed." 

"As  there  was  a  proper  objection  to  drinking  her  in  heel-taps,"  said  the 
voice,  "we'll  give  her  the  first  glass  in  the  new  magnum.  Little  Kate 
Nickleby  ! " 

"  Little  Kate  Nickleby,"  cried  the  other  three.  And  the  glasses  were  Bet 
down  empty. 

Keenly  alive  to  the  tone  and  manner  of  this  slight  and  careless  mention  of 
his  sister's  name  in  a  public  place,  Nicholas  fired  at  once ;  but  he  kept  himself 
quiet  by  a  great  effort,  and  did  not  even  turn  his  head. 

"  The  jade  ! "  said  the  same  voice  which  had  spoken  before.  "  She's  a  true 
Nickleby — a  worthy  imitator  of  her  old  uncle  Ralph — she  hangs  back  to  be 
more  sought  after — so  does  he  ;  nothing  to  be  got  out  of  Ralph  unless  yoa 
follow  him  up,  and  then  the  money  comes  doubly  welcome,  and  the  bargain 
doubly  hard,  for  you're  impatient  and  he  isn't.     Oh,  infernal  cunning." 

**  Infernal  cunning,"  echoed  two  voices. 

Nicholas  was  in  a  perfect  agony  as  the  two  elderly  gentlemen  opposite  ro* 
one  after  the  other,  and  went  away,  lest  they  should  be  the  means  of  hii 
losing  one  word  of  what  was  said.  But  the  conversation  was  suspended  « 
they  withdrew,  and  resumed  with  even  greater  freedom  when  they  had  left 
the  room. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  the  younger  gentleman,  "that  the  old  woman  htf 
grown  jea-a-lous,  and  locked  her  up.     Upon  my  soul  it  looks  like  it." 

"If  they  quarrel,  and  little  Nickleby  goes  home  to  her  mother,  so  moA 
the  better,"  said  the  first.  "  I  can  do  anything  with  the  old  lady.  SiwTl 
believe  anything  I  tell  her." 

"Egad,  that's  true,"  returned  the  other  voice.  "Ha,  ha,  ha!  Po« 
deyvle ! " 

The  laugh  was  taken  up  by  the  two  voices  which  always  came  in  togethBTi 
and  became  general  at  Mrs.  Nickleby's  expense.  Nicholas  turned  bornim 
hot  with  rage,  but  he  commanded  himself  for  the  moment,  and  waited  to  \0 
more. 

What  he  heard  need  not  be  repeated  here.     Suffice  it  that  as  the  wine  fi^ 
round  he  heard  enough  to  acquaint  him  with  the  characters  and  desigoi* 
those  whose  conversation  hs  overheard  ;  to  possess  him  with  the  full  extent* 
Ralph's  villainy,  and  the  real  reason  of  his  own  presence  being  required  i*  ft j 
London.     He  heard  all  this  and  more.     He  heard  his  sister's  sufferinp  m... 
derided,  and  her  virtuous  conduct  jeered  at  and  brutally  misconstrued ;  b* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  267 

heard  hor  name  bandied  from  month  to  mouth,  and  herself  made  the  Bubjcct 
of  coarse  and  insolent  wagers,  free  speech,  and  licentious  jesting. 

The  man  who  had  spoken  first  led  the  conversation,  and,  indeed,  almost 
engrossed  it,  being  only  stimulated  from  time  to  time  by  some  slight  observa- 
tion from  one  or  other  of  his  companions.  To  him,  then,  Nicholas  addressed 
liimsolf  when  he  was  sufficiently  composed  to  stand  before  the  party,  and  force 
the  words  from  his  parched  and  scorching  throat. 

**  Let  me  have  a  word  with  you,  sir,"  said  Nicholas. 

**  With  me,  sir  I "  retorted  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  eyeing  him  in  disdainful 
surprise. 

**  I  said  with  you,"  replied  Nicholas,  speaking  with  great  difficulty,  for  his 
passion  choked  him. 

**  A  mysterious  stranger,  upon  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Mulberry,  raising 
his  wine-glass  to  his  lips,  and  looking  round  upon  his  friends. 

"  Will  you  step  apart  with  me  for  a  few  minutes,  or  do  you  refuse  ? "  said 
Nicholas,  sternly. 

Sir  Mulberry  merely  paused  in  the  act  of  drinking,  and  bade  him  either 
name  his  business  or  leave  the  table. 

Nicholas  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket,  and  tlirew  it  before  him. 

**  There,  sir,"  said  Nicholas  ;  **  my  business  you  will  ^ess." 

A  momentary  expression  of  astonishment,  not  unmixed  with  some  con- 
fnsion,  appeared  in  the  face  of  Sir  Mulberry  as  he  read  the  name ;  but  he 
subdued  it  in  an  instant,  and  tossing  the  card  to  Lord  Ycrisopht,  who  sat 
opposite,  drew  a  toothpick  from  a  glass  before  him,  and  very  leisurely  applied 
it  to  his  mouth. 

•*  Your  name  and  address  ? "  said  Nicholas,  turning  paler  as  his  passion 
kindled. 

"  I  shall  give  you  neither,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry. 

**  If  there  is  a  gentleman  in  this  party,"  said  Nicholas,  looking  round  and 
scarcely  able  to  make  his  white  lips  form  the  words,  "he  will  acquaint  me 
with  the  name  and  residence  of  this  man." 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

**  I  am  the  brother  of  the  young  lady  who  has  been  the  subject  of  conver- 
sation here,"  said  Nicholas.  '*  I  denounce  this  person  as  a  liar,  and  in)])cach 
him  as  a  coward.  If  he  has  a  friend  here,  he  will  save  him  the  disgrace  of  the 
paltry  attempt  to  conceal  his  name — an  utterly  useless  one — for  I  will  find  it 
out,  nor  leave  him  until  I  have." 

Sir  Mulberry  looked  at  him  contemptuously,  and,  addressing  his  com- 
panions, said — 

**  Let  the  fellow  talk,  I  have  nothing  serious  to  say  to  boys  of  his  station  ; 
and  his  pretty  sister  shall  save  him  a  broken  head,  if  he  talks  till  midnight." 

*'Yon  are  a  base  and  spiritless  scoundrel !"  said  Nicholas,  "and  shall 
he  proclaimed  so  to  the  world.  I  will  know  you  ;  I  will  follow  you  home,  if 
you  walk  the  streets-till  morning." 

Sir  Mulberry's  hand  involuntarily  closed  upon  the  decanter,  and  he  seemed 
for  an  instant  about  to  launch  it  at  the  head  of  his  challenger.  But  he  only 
filled  his  glass,  and  laughed  in  derision. 

Nicholas  sat  himself  down  directly  opposite  to  the  party,  and  summoning 
the  waiter,  paid  his  bill. 

"  Do  you  know  that  person's  name  ? "  he  inquired  of  the  man  in  an  audible 
voice  ;  pointing  out  Sir  Mulberry  as  he  put  the  question. 

Sir  Mulberry  laughed  again,  and  the  two  voices  which  had  always  spoken 
together  echoed  the  laugh  ;  but  rather  feebly. 

"  That  gentleman,  sir  ? "  replied  the  waiter,  who,  no  doubt,  knew  his  cue, 


268  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

and  answered  with  just  as  little  respect,  and  just  as  much  impertineDce,  as  he 
could  safely  show  ;  **  no,  sir,  I  do  not,  sir." 

"Here,  you,  sir,"  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  as  the  man  was  retiring ;  "do  you 
know  that  person's  name  ? " 

"Name,  sir?    No,  sir." 

"Then  you'll  find  it  there,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  throwing  Nicholas's  curd 
towards  him  ;  "  and  when  you  have  made  yourself  master  of  it,  put  that  piece 
of  pasteboard  in  the  fire — do  you  hear  me  I " 

The  man  grinned,  and,  looking  doubtfully  at  Nicholas,  compromised  the 
matter  by  sticking  the  card  in  the  chimney-glass.  Having  done  this,  he 
retired. 

Nicholas  folded  his  arms,  and,  biting  his  lip,  sat  perfectly  quiet ;  sufficiently 
expressing  by  his  manner,  however,  a  firm  determination  to  carry  his  threat 
of  following  Sir  Mulberry  home  into  steady  execution. 

It  was  evident  from  the  tone  in  which  the  younger  member  of  the  party 
appeared  to  remonstrate  with  his  friend,  that  he  objected  to  this  course  of 
proceeding,  and  urged  him  to  comply  with  the  request  which  Nicholas  had 
made.  Sir  Mulberry,  however,  who  was  not  quite  sober,  a^d  who  was  in  a 
sullen  and  dogged  stete  of  obstinacy,  soon  silenced  the  representations  of  his 
weak  young  friend,  and  further  seemed — as  if  to  save  himself  from  a  repetition 
of  them — to  insist  on  being  left  alone.  However  this  might  have  been,  the 
young  gentleman  and  the  two  who  had  always  spoken  together,  actaally  rose 
to  go  after  a  short  interval,  and  presently  retirea,  leaving  their  friend  alone 
with  Nicholas. 

It  will  be  very  readily  supposed*  that  to  one  in  the  condition  of  Nicholas  the 
minutes  appeared  to  move  with  leaden  wings  indeed,  and  that  their  prcMfieo 
did  not  seem  the  more  rapid  from  the  monotonous  ticking  of  a  French  doek, 
or  the  shrill  sound  of  its  little  bell  which  told  the  quarters.  But  there  he 
sat ;  and  in  his  old  seat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  reclined  Sir  Mulbenj 
Hawk,  with  his  legs  upon  the  cushion,  and  his  handkerchief  thrown  negli- 
gently over  his  knees,  finishing  his  magnum  of  claret  with  the  utmost  coolnesi 
and  indifference. 

Thus  they  remained  in  perfect  silence  for  upwards  of  an  hour — NiehdM 
would  have  thought  for  three  hours  at  least,  but  that  the  little  bell  had  only 
gone  four  times.  Twice  or  thrice  he  looked  angrily  and  impatiently  round ; 
but  there  was  Sir  Mulberry  in  the  same  attitude,  putting  his  class  to  his  line 
from  time  to  time,  and  looking  vacantly  at  the  wall,  as  if  ne  were  whdiy 
ignorant  of  the  presence  of  any  living  person. 

At  length  he  yawned,  stretched  himself,  and  rose  ;  walked  coolly  to  the 
glas5?,  and  having  surveyed  himself  therein,  turned  round  and  honoured 
Nicholas  with  a  long  and 'contemptuous  stare.  Nicholas  stared  again  witb 
right  good- will ;  Sir  Mulberry  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled  slightlyp  XXD% 
the  bell,  and  ordered  the  waiter  to  help  him  on  with  his  great-coat. 

The  man  did  so,  and  held  the  door  open. 

"  Don't  wait,"  said  Sir  Mulberry  ;  and  they  were  alone  again. 

Sir  Mulberry  took  several  turns  up  and  doAvn  the  room,  vmistling  careleobT 
all  the  time  ;  stopped  to  finish  the  last  glass  of  claret  which  he  had  mvm 
out  a  few  minutes  before,  walked  again,  put  on  his  hat,  adjusted  it  by*^ 
glass,  drew  on  his  gloves,  and  at  last  walked  slowly  out.  Nicholae,  whe 
had  been  fuming  and  chafing  until  he  was  nearly  wild,  darted  from  hie  serf 
and  followed  him — so  closely,  that  before  the  door  had  swung  upon  iti 
hinges  after  Sir  Mulberry's  passing  out,  they  stood  side  by  side  in  the  etrtt* 
together. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  269 

There  was  a  private  cabriolet  in  waiting  ;  the  groom  opened  the  apron,  and 
jumped  ont  to  the  horse's  head. 

"Will  you  make  yourself  known  to  me  ? "  asked  Nicholas,  in  a  suppressed 
voice: 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  fiercely,  and  confirming  the  refusal  with  an  oath: 
"  No." 

**  If  you  trust  to  your  horse's  speed,  you  will  find  yourself  mistaken,"  said 
Nicholas.  **  I  will  accompany  you.  By  heaven  I  will,  if  I  hang  on  to  the 
footboard." 

"You  shall  be  horsewhipped  if  you  do,"  returned  Sir  Mulberry. 

"You  are  avUlain,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  You  are  an  errand-boy  for  aught  I  know,"  said  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk. 

"I  am  the  son  of  a  country  gentleman,"  returned  Nicholas,  "your  equal 
in  birth  and  education,  and  your  superior,  I  trust,  in  everything  besides,  I 
tell  you  again,  Miss  Nickleby  is  my  sister.  Will  you  or  will  you  not  answer 
for  your  unmanly  and  brutal  conduct  ? " 

"  To  a  proper  champion — ^yes.  To  you — no,"  returned  Sir  Mulberry,  taking 
the  reins  in  nis  hands.  **  Stand  out  of  the  way,  dog.  William,  let  go  her 
head!" 

•*  You  had  better  not,"  cried  Nicholas,  springing  on  the  step  as  Sir  WxH- 
berry  jumped  in,  and  catching  at  the  reins.  **  He  nas  no  command  over  tlie 
horse,  mind.  You  shall  not  go — you  shall  not,  I  swear — till  you  have  told 
me  who  you  are." 

The  groom  hesitated,  for  the  mare,  who  was  a  high-spirited  animal,  and 
thorougn-bred,  plunged  so  violently  that  he  could  scarcely  hold  her. 

"  Leave  go,  I  tell  you  ! "  thundered  his  master. 

The  man  obeyed.  The  animal  reared  and  plunged  as  though  it  would  dash 
tbe  carriage  into  a  thousand  pieces,  but  Nicholas,  blind  to  all  sense  of  danger, 
and  conscious  of  nothing  but  his  fury,  still  maintained  his  place  and  his  hold 
Qpon  the  reins. 

"  Will  you  unclasp  your  hand  ? " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  who  you  are  ? " 

"No!'^ 

"  No ! " 

In  less  time  than  the  quickest  tongue  could  tell  it,  these  words  were 
exchanged,  and  Sir  Mulberry,  shortening  his  whip,  applied  it  furiously  to 
the  heiS  and  shoulders  of  Nicholas.  It  was  broken  in  the  struggle  ;  Nicholas 
gained  the  heavy  handle,  and  with  it  laid  open  one  side  of  his  antagonist's 
face,  from  the  eye  to  the  lip.  He  saw  the  gash,  knew  that  the  mare  had  darted 
off  at  a  wild,  mad  gallop  ;  a  hundred  lights  danced  in  his  eyes,  and  he  felt 
hhnself  flnn^  violently  upon  the  ground. 

He  was  giddy  and  sick,  but  staggered  to  his  feet  directly,  roused  by  the 
loud  shouts  of  tne  men  who  were  tearing  up  the  street,  and  screaming  to  those 
ahead  to  clear  the  way.  He  was  conscious  of  a  torrent  of  people  rushing 
quickly  by — looking  up,  could  discern  the  cabriolet  whirled  along  the  foot 
JpKvement  with  ■  frighttul  rapidity — then  heard  a  loud  cry,  the  smashing  of 
■wne  heavy  body,  and  the  breaking  of  glass — and  then  the  crowd  closed  in  in 
^e  distance,  and  he  could  see  or  hear  no  more. 

The  genend  attention  had  been  entirely  directed  from  himself  to  the  person 

*J  the  carriage,  and  he  was  quite  alone.     Rightly  judging  that  under  such 

'^^'cumstances  it  would  be  madness  to  follow,  he  turned  down  a  bye-street  in 

*®ftrch  of  the  nearest  coach-stand,  finding  after  a  minute  or  two  that  he  was 

J*®ling  like  a  drunken  man,  and  aware  for  the  first  time  of  a  stream  of  blood 

^Ht  was  trickling  down  his  face  and  breast. 


270  LIFE  AND  ADVENfURES  OF 


CHAPTER    XXXIIL 

IN"  WHICH   MK.    RALPH    NICKLEBY    IS   RELIEVED,   BY   A  VERY  E^PBDiriOUB 
PROCESS,  FROM  ALL  COMMERCE  WITH  HIS  RELATIONB. 

SMIKE  aud  Kewman  Koggs,  who,  in  his  impatience,  had  returned  lunod 
long  before  the  time  agreed  upon,  sat  before  the  fire,  listening  anxiously 
to  every  footstep  on  the  stairs,  and  the  slightest  sound  &at  stined 
within  the  house,  for  the  approach  of  Nicholas.  Time  had  worn  on,  and  it 
was  growing  late.  He  had  promised  to  be  back  in  an  hour ;  and  his  prolonged 
absence  began  to  excite  considerable  alarm  in  the  minds  of  both,  as  was 
abundantly  testified  by  the  blank  looks  they  cast  upon  each  other  at  eyoy 
new  disappointment. 

At  length  a  coach  was  heard  to  stop,  and  Newman  ran  out  to  li^^ht  NicholM 
up  the  stair.  Beholding  him  in  the  trim  described  at  the  conclasion  of  tiw 
last  chapter,  he  stood  aghast  in  wonder  and  consternation. 

*'  Don't  be  alarmed,  said  Nicholas,  hurrying  him  back  into  the  room. 
"  There  is  no  harm  done,  beyond  what  a  basin  of  water  can  repair." 

*'  No  harm  ! "  cried  Newman,  passing  his  hands  hastily  over  the  back  and 
arms  of  Nicholas,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  he  had  broken  no  bonet 
"  What  have  you  been  doing? " 

**  I  know  all,"  interrupted  Nicholas ;  *'  I  have  heard  a  part,  and  guessed  tba 
rest.  But  before  I  remove  one  jot  of  these  stains,  I  must  hear  the  whole  fima 
you.  You  see  I  am  collected.  My  resolution  is  taken.  Now,  my  good 
friend,  speak  out ;  for  the  time  for  any  palliation  or  concealment  is  past,  and 
nothing  will  avail  Ralph  Nickleby  now. ' 

'  *  Your  dress  is  torn  in  several  places  ;  you  walk  lame,  and  I  am  sure  ars 
suffering  pain,"  said  Newman.     *'  Let  me  see  to  your  hurts  first." 

''  I  have  no  hurts  to  see  to  beyond  a  little  soreness  and  stiffness,  that  will 
soon  pass  off,"  said  Nicholas,  seating  himself  with  some  difficulty.  **  But  if 
I  had  fractured  every  limb,  and  still  preserved  my  senses,  you  should  not 
bandage  one  till  you  had  told  me  what  I  have  the  right  to  know.  Come^" 
said  Nicholas,  giving  his  hand  to  Noggs.  '*  You  had  a  sister  of  your  owd^ 
you  told  me  once,  who  died  before  you  fell  into  misfortune.  Now  tUnk  of 
her,  and  tell  me,  Newman." 

*'  Yes,  I  will,  I  will,"  said  Noggs.     "  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  truth." 

Newman  did  so.  Nicholas  nodded  his  head  from  time  to  time,  as  ft 
corroborated  the  particulars  he  had  already  gleaned ;  but  he  fixed  his  ejM 
upon  the  fire,  and  did  not  look  round  once. 

His  recital  ended,  Newman  insisted  upon  his  young  friend's  stripping  off  hit 
coat,  and  allowing  whatever  injuries  he  had  received  to  be  properly  tended. 
Nicholas,  after  some  opposition,  at  length  consented,  and  while  some  pre^r 
severe  bruises  on  his  arms  and  shoulders  were  being  rubbed  with  ou  aw 
vinegar,  and  various  other  efficacious  remedies  which  Newman  borrowed  froB 
the  different  lodgers,  related  in  what  manner  they  had  been  received.  1^ 
recital  made  a  strong  impression  on  the  warm  imagination  of  Newman ;  fiv 
wlien  Nicholas  came  to  the  violent  part  of  the  quarrel,  he  rubbed  so  hard  » 
to  occasion  him  the  most  exquisite  pain,  which  he  would  not  have  exhibiH 
however,  for  the  world,  it  being  perfectly  clear  that,  for  the  moment,  NewBU 
was  operating  on  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  and  had  quite  lost  sight  of  his  ml 
patient 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  271 

This  martyrdom  over,  Nicholas  arranged  with  Newman  that  while  he  was 
otherwise  occapied  next  morning,  arrangements  should  be  made  for  his 
mother's  immediately  quitting  her  present  residence,  and  also  for  despatching 
Miss  La  Creevy  to  break  the  intelligence  to  her.  He  then  wrapped  himself 
in  Smike's  great-coat,  and  repaired  to  the  inn  where  they  were  to  pass  the 
night,  and  where  (after  writing  a  few  lines  to  Ralph,  the  delivery  of  which 
was  to  be  entrusted  to  Newman  next  day)  he  endeavoured  to  obtain  the 
repose  of  which  he  stood  so  much  in  need. 

l)ranken  men,  they  say,  may  roll  down  precipices,  and  be  quite  unconscious 
of  any  serious  personal  inconvenience  when  their  reason  returns.  The  remark 
may  possibly  apply  to  injuries  received  in  other  kinds  of  violent  excitement ; 
certain  it  is,  that  although  Nicholas  experienced  some  pain  on  first  awakening 
next  morning,  he  sprung  out  of  bed  as  the  clock  struck  seven  with  very  little 
difficulty,  and  was  soon  as  much  on  the  alert  as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 

Merely  looking  into  Smike*s  room,  and  telling  him  that  Newman  Noggs 
w^nld  call  for  him  very  shortly,  Nicholas  descended  into  the  street,  and  calling 
a  hackney-coach,  bade  the  man  drive  to  Mrs.  Wititterly's,  according  to  the 
direction  which  Newman  had  given  him  on  the  previous  night. 

It  wanted  a  quarter  to  eight  when  they  reached  Cadogan  Place.  Nicholas 
bc^n  to  fear  that  no  one  might  be  stirring  at  that  early  hour,  when  he  was 
reueved  by  the  sight  of  a  female  servant,  employed  in  cleaning  the  door-steps. 
By  this  functionary  he  was  referred  to  the  doubtful  page,  who  appeared  with 
dishevelled  hair  and  a  very  warm  and  glossy  face,  as  of  a  page  who  had  just 
got  out  of  bed. 

By  this  young  gentleman  he  was  informed  that  Miss  Nickleby  was  then 
taking  her  morning's  walk  in  the  gardens  before  the  house.  On  the  question 
being  propounded  whether  he  could  go  and  find  her,  the  page  desponded  and 
thought  not ;  but  being  stimulated  with  a  shilling,  the  page  grew  sanguine 
and  uiought  he  could. 

"Say  to  Miss  Nickleby  that  her  brother  is  here,  and  in  great  haste  to  see 
her,"  said  Nicholas. 

The  plated  buttons  disappeared  with  an  alacrity  most  unusual  to  them,  and 
Nicholas  paced  the  room  in  a  state  of  feverish  agitation  which  made  the  delay 
even  of  a  minute  insupportable.  He  soon  heard  a  light  footstep  ^hich  he  well 
knew,  and  before  he  could  advance  to  meet  her,  Kate  had  fallen  on  his  neck 
and  burst  into  tears. 

**Mv  darling  girl,"  said  Nicholas,  as  he  embraced  her,  "how  pale  you 
are!"" 

"I  have  been  so  unhappy  here,  dear  brother,"  sobbed  poor  Kate;  **so 
very,  very  miserable.  Do  not  leave  me  here,  dear  Nicholas,  or  I  shall  die  of 
a  broken  heart." 

"  I  willleave  you  nowhere,"  answered  Nicholas — **  never  again,  Kate,"  he 
cried,  moved  in  spite  of  himself  as  he  folded  her  to  his  heart.  **  Tell  me  that 
1  acted  for  the  best.  Tell  me  that  wo  parted  because  I  feared  to  bring  niis- 
fiirtune  on  your  head  ;  that  it  was  a  trial  to  me  no  less  than  to  yourself,  and 
that  if  I  did  wrong  it  was  in  ignorance  of  the  world  and  unknowingly." 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you  what  we  know  so  well  ? "  returned  Kate,  sooth- 
in^y.     *'  Nicholas — dear  Nicholas — how  can  you  give  way  thus  ? " 

"  It  is  such  bitter  reproach  to  me  to  know  what  you  have  undergone,"  re- 
turned her  brother  ;  "  to  see  you  so  much  altered,  and  yet  so  kind  and  patient 
•*God  ! "  cried  Nicholas,  clenching  his  fist  and  suddenly  changing  his  tone 
^manner,   "it  sets  my  whole  blood  on  fire  again.     You  must  leave  hero 
^  fc     ^th  me  directly  ;  yon  should  not  have  slept  here  last  night,  but  that  I  knew 
I    ^  this  too  late.    To  whom  can.I  speak  before  we  drive  away  1 " 


272  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Tliis  question  was  most  opportunely  put,  for  at  that  instant  Mr.  Wititterly 
walked  in,  and  to  him  Kate  introduced  her  brother,  who  at  onoe  annonnced 
his  purpose,  and  the  impossibility  of  deferring  it. 

'*  The  quarter's  notice,"  said  Mr.  "Wititterly,  with  the  gravity  of  a  man  on 
the  right  side,  **  is  not  yet  half  expired.     Therefore " 

"Therefore,"  interposed  Nicholas,  **  the  quarter's  salary  mnst  be  lost,  sir. 
Yon  will  excuse  this  extreme  haste,  but  circumstances  require  that  I  should 
immediately  remove  my  sister,  and  I  have  not  a  moment's  time  to  lose. 
Whatever  she  brought  here  I  will  send  for,  if  you  will  allow  mo,  in  the  coone 
of  the  day." 

Mr.  Wititterly  bowed,  but  offered  no  opposition  to  Kate's  immediate  de- 
parture ;  with  which,  indeed,  he  was  rather  gratified  than  otherwise,  Sir 
Tumley  Snuifim  having  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  she  rather  disagreed  with 
Mrs.  Wititterly's  constitution. 

"  With  regard  to  the  trifle  of  salary  that  is  due,"  said  Mr.  Wititterly,  "I 
will — "  here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  violent  fit  of  coughing — **  I  will — owe  it 
to  Miss  Nickleby." 

Mr.  Wititterly,  it  should  be  observed,  was  accustomed  to  owe  small  accountB, 
and  to  leave  them  owing.  All  men  have  some  little  pleasant  way  of  their  own ; 
and  this  was  Mr.  Wititterly's. 

**  If  you  please,"  said  Nicholas.  And  once  more  offering  a  hurried  apology 
for  so  sudden  a  departure,  lie  hurried  Kate  into  the  vehicle,  and  bade  the  man 
drive  with  all  speed  into  the  City. 

To  the  City  they  went  accordingly,  Anth  all  the  speed  the  backney-coach 
could  make  ;  and  as  the  horses  happened  to  live  at  Whitechapel,  and  to  be  in 
the  habit  of  taking  their  breakfast  there,  when  they  breakfasted  at  all,  they 
performed  the  journey  with  greater  expedition  than  could  reasonably  have 
been  expected. 

Nicholas  sent  Kate  upstairs  a  few  minutes  before  him,  that  his  unlooked-for 
appearance  might  not  alarm  his  mother,  and  when  the  way  had  been  paved, 
presented  himself  with  much  duty  and  affection.  Newman  had  not  been  idle, 
for  there  was  a  little  cart  at  the  door,  and  the  effects  were  hurrying  oot 
already. 

Now,  Mi's.  Nickleby  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to  be  told  anything  in  t 
hurry,  or  rather  to  comprehend  anything  of  peculiar  delicacy  or  importance  oi 
a  short  notice.  Wherefore,  although  the  good  lady  had  been  subjected  to  t 
full  hour's  preparation  by  little  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  was  now  addressed  in 
most  lucid  terms  both  by  Nicholas  and  his  sister,  she  was  in  a  state  of  siugoUr 
bewilderment  and  confusion,  and  could  by  no  means  be  made  to  comprehend 
the  necessity  of  such  hurried  proceedings. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  your  uncle,  my  dear  Nicholas,  what  he  can  possibly 
mean  by  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

**  My  dear  mother,"  returned  Nicholas,  "  the  time  for  talking  has  gone  by. 
There  is  but  one  step  to  take,  and  that  is  to  cast  him  off  with  the  scorn  and 
indignation  he  deserves.  Your  own  honour  and  good  name  demand  thift, 
after  the  discovery  of  his  vile  proceedings,  you  should  not  be  beholden  to  him 
one  hour,  even  for  the  shelter  of  these  bare  walls. " 

*'To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  crying  bitterly,  "he  is  a  brute,  i 
monster  ;  and  the  walls  are  very  bare,  and  want  painting  too,  and  I  have  had 
this  ceiling  whitewashed  at  the  expense  of  eighteen  pence,  which  ia  a  very 
distressing  thing,  considering  that  it  is  so  much  gone  into  your  uncle's  pocket 
I  never  could  have  believed  it — never." 

**  Nor  I,  nor  anybody  else,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  Lord  bless  my  life  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nickleby.     "  To  tbink  that  that 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  273 

Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  should  be  such  an  abandoned  wretch  as  Miss  La  Creevy 
says  ho  is,  Nicholas,  my  dear ;  when  I  was  congratulating  myself  ev(;ry  day 
on  his  being  an  admirer. of  our  dear  Kate's,  and  thinking  what  a  thing  it 
would  be  for  the  family  if  he  was  to  become  connected  with  us,  and  use  his 
interest  to  get  you  some  profitable  government  place.  There  are  very  good 
places  to  be  got  about  the  court,  I  know  ;  for  a  friend  of  ours  (Mr.  Cropley, 
at  Exeter,  my  dear  Kate,  you  recollect),  he  had  one,  and  I  know  that  it  was 
the  chief  part  of  his  duty  to  wear  silk  stockings,  and  a  bag  wig  like  a  black 
watch-pocket ;  and  to  think  that  it  should  come  to  this  sS'ter  all — oh,  dear, 
dear,  it's  enough  to  kill  one,  that  it  is  !  "  With  which  expressions  of  sorrow, 
Mrs.  Nickleby  gave  fresh  vent  to  her  grief,  and  wept  piteously. 

As  Nicholas  and  his  sister  were  by  this  time  compelled  to  superintend  the 
removal  of  the  few  articles  of  furniture,  Miss  La  Creevy  devoted  herself  to  the 
consolation  of  the  matron,  and  observed  with  great  kindness  of  manner  that 
she  must  really  make  an  eifort  and  cheer  up. 

**0h,  I  dare  say.  Miss  La  CJreevy,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a 
petulance  not  unnatural  in  her  unhappy  circumstances,  "  it's  very  easy  to  say 

cheer  up,  but  if  you  had  had  as  many  occasions  to  cheer  up  as  I  have  had and 

there/'  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  stopping  short,  "think  of  Mr.  Pykc  and  Mr. 
Plack,  two  of  the  most  perfect  gentlemen  that  ever  lived,  what  am  I  to  say  to 
them — what  can  I  say  to  them  ?  Why,  if  I  was  to  say  to  them,  *  I'm  told 
your  friend  Sir  Mulberry  is  a  base  wretch,'  they'd  laugh  at  me." 

**  They  will  laugh  no  more  at  us,  I  take  it,"  said  Nicholas,  advancing. 
"  CfOme,  mother,  there  is  a  coach  at  the  door,  and  until  Monday,  at  all  events, 
we  will  return  to  our  old  quarters." 

** ^Wliere  everything  is  ready,  and  a  hearty  welcome  into  the  bargain," 

added  Miss  La  Creevy.     "  Now,  let  me  go  with  you  downstairs." 

Bat  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  not  to  be  so  easily  moved,  for  iirst  she  insisted  on 
going  upstairs  to  see  that  nothing  had  been  left,  and  then  on  going  downstairs 
to  see  that  everything  had  been  taken  away  :  and  when  she  was  getting  into 
the  coach  she  had  a  vision  of  a  forgotten  cofTec-pot  on  the  back-kitchen  hob, 
and  after  she  was  shut  in,  a  dismal  recollection  of  a  green  umbrella  behind 
some  unknown  door.  At  last  Nicholas,  in  a  condition  of  absolute  despair, 
ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  away,  and  in  the  unexpected  jerk  of  a  sudden 
atarting,  Mrs.  Nickleby  lost  a  shilling  amon^  the  straw,  which  fortunately 
confin^  her  attention  to  the  coach  until  it  was  too  late  to  remember  anything 
else. 

Having  seen  everything  safely  out,  discharged  the  servant,  and  locked  the 
door,  Nicholas  jumped  into  a  cabriolet  and  drove  to  a  bye-place  near  Golden 
Square,  where  he  had  appointed  to  meet  Noggs  ;  and  so  quickly  had  evcry- 
tmng  been  done,  that  it  was  barely  half-past  nine  when  he  reached  the  place 
of  meeting. 

"Here  is  the  letter  for  Ralph,"  said  Nicholas,  "and  here  the  key. 
When  you  come  to  me  this  evening,  not  a  word  of  last  night.  Ill  news 
travels  fast,  and  they  will  know  it  soon  enough.  Have  you  heard  if  he  was 
much  hurt?" 

Newman  shook  his  head. 

**  I  will  ascertain  that  myself  without  loss  of  time,"  said  Nicholas. 

'*  You  had  better  take  some  rest,"  returned  Newman.  •*  You  are  fevered 
and  ilL" 

Nicholas  waved  his  hand  carelessly,  and  concealing  the  indisi)osition  ho 
really  felt,  now  that  the  excitement  which  had  sustained  him  was  over,  took 
a  hurried  farewell  of  Newman  Noggs,  and  left  him. 

Newman  was  not  three  minutes'  walk  from  Golden  Square,  bat  in  the 

u  18 


274  LJPE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

course  of  tlint  three  miuutes  lie  took  tlie  letter  ont  of  his  hat  and  pot  it  in 
Dgaia  twenty  times  at  least.  First  tlie  front,  then  tlie  back,  then  tbe  sides, 
then  the  Biiperscription,  then  the  seal,  were  objncts  of  Newman's  admira- 
tion, nien  he  held  it  at  arm's  length,  as  if  to  take  in  the  whole  at  one 
delicious  surrey,  and  then  he  rubbed  his  hands  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  with  liii 


He  reached  the  office,  hung  his  bat  on  its  accustomed  peg,  laid  the  letter 
and  key  upon  the  desk,  and  waited  impatiently  until  Ealph  Nicklehy  should 
appear.  After  a  fcir  minutes  the  well-known  creaking  of  his  boots  waa  heard 
on  the  stairs,  and  then  the  bell  rung. 

"  Has  the  post  come  in  \  " 

"No." 

"  Any  other  letters ! " 

"  One."    Newman  eyed  him  closely,  and  laid  it  on  the  desk. 

"What's  this?"  asked  Balph,  taking  up  the  key. 

"  Left  with  the  letter — a  boy  brought  them — q^uarter  of  an  hour  igo,  or 

Kalph  glanced  at  the  direction,  opened  the  letter,  and  read  as  follows  : — 
"  Yon  are  known  to  me  now.     There  are  no  reproaches  I  could  heap  upon 

your  head  which  would  carry  with  them  one  thousandth  part  of  the  grovelfing 

shame  that  this  assurance  will  awaken  eren  in  your  breast. 

"Yonr  brother's  widow  and  her  orphan  child  spurn  the  shelter  of  year 

roof,  and  shnn  you  with  disgust  and  loathing.     Your  kindred  renounce  yon, 

for  they  know  no  shame  but  the  ties  of  blood  which  bind  them  in  name  witb 

' '  Yon  are  an  old  man,  and  I  leave  you  to  the  grave.  May  every  recollac- 
tion  of  yonr  life  cling  to  your  false  heart,  and  caat  their  dArknesa  on  ync 
death-hed." 

Kalph  Nicklehy  read  this  letter  twice,  and  frowning  heavily,  fell  into  •  fit 
of  musing ;  the  ivipcr  fluttered  from  his  hand  and  dropped  upon  the  floor,  bat 
he  clasped  his  hngers  as  if  he  held  it  still. 

Suddenly,  he  started  from  his  seat,  and  thrusting  it  all  crumpled  into  bii 

Eckat,  tnrned  furiously  to  Ncwjnan  Noggs,  a.%  tliough  to  ask  him  why  k 
Lgered.  But  Newman  stood  unmoved,  wjth  Itis  hack  towards  him,  foUowiiig 
np,  with  the  worn  and  blackened  stump  of  an  old  pen,  some  figures  ir  "  ' 
interest- table  which  was  pasted  against  the  wall,  and  apparently  q 
abatmctcd  from  every  other  object. 


CHAPTEB    XSXIT. 

!■  PERSOSB  WITH  waoK  W 

IE  ACQUAINTED. 

BAT  a  demnition  lone  time  jou  hare  kept  me  rin^ng  at  tiuttf" 
fanndod  old  cracked  tua-kuttle  of  a  bell,  every  tinkk  of  whidil 

i_  ^  throw  a  strong  man  into  blue  convulnona,  npon  ni^ 

-«dd  Mr.  Mantalini  to  Newman  Hok^i  •cr^«(''' 
Jph  Nickleby's  scraper. 

ire  than  once,"  replied  Newman. 

ansely  and  outrtgeoosly  deaf,"  said  Hr.  Uantiliii 

IB  Into  the  paxaage,  and  w*i  makiif  ^ 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  27s 

way  to  the  door  of  Ealph's  office  with  very  little  ceremony,  when  Newman 
interposed  his  body ;  and  hinting  that  Mr.  Nickleby  was  unwilling  to  bo 
disturbed,  inquired  whether  the  client's  business  was  of  a  pressing  nature. 

"It  is  most  demnebly  particular,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini.  "It  is  to  melt 
some  scraps  of  dirty  paper  into  bright,  shining,  chinking,  tinkling,  dcmd  mint 
sauce." 

Newman  uttered  a  significant  grunt,  and  taking  Mr.  Mantalini's  proffered 
card,  limped  with  it  into  his  master's  of  Hoe.  As  he  thrust  his  head  m  at  the 
door,  he  saw  that  Balph  had  resumed  the  thoughtful  posture  into  which  ho 
had  fallen  after  perusing  his  nephew's  letter,  and  that  ho  seemed  to  have  been 
reading  it  again,  as  he  once  more  held  it  open  in  his  hand.  The  glance  was 
but  momentary,  for  Ralph,  being  disturbed,  turned  to  demand  the  cause  of  the 
interruption. 

As  Newman  stated  it,  the  cause  himself  swaggered  into  the  room,  and 
grasping  Ralph's  horny  hand  with  uncommon  auection,  vowed  that  ho  had 
never  seen  him  looking  so  well  in  all  his  life. 

"  There  is  quite  a  bloom  upon  your  demd  countenance,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini, 
seating  himself  unbidden,  and  arranging  his  hair  and  whiskers.  **  You  look 
quite  juvenile  and  jolly,  demmit !  " 

"We  are  alone,"  returned  Ralph,  tartly.  "What  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

"  Good  !  "  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  displaying  his  teeth.  *'  What  did  I  want ! 
Yes.     Ha,  ha  !    Very  good.      What  did  1  want.     Ha,  ha  1    Oh,  dem  ! " 

"  What  do  you  want,  man  ? "  demanded  Ralph,  sternly. 

"Demnition  discount,"  returned  Mr.  Mantalini,  with  a  grin,  and  shaking 
his  head  waggishly. 

"  Money  is  scarce,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Demd  scarce,  or  I  shouldn  t  want  it,"  interrupted  Mr.  Mantalini. 

"The  times  are  bad,  and  one  scarcely  knows  whom  to  trust,"  continued 
Ralph.  "  I  don't  want  to  do  business  just  now,  in  fact,  I  would  rather  not ; 
but  as  you  are  a  friend — how  many  bills  have  you  there  ? " 

"  Two,"  returned  Mr.  Mantalini. 

•*  What  is  the  gross  amount  ? " 

•'Demd  trifling — five-and-seventy." 

••  And  the  dates  ? " 

"  Two  months,  and  four." 

"  I'll  do  them  for  you — mind,  for  you  ;  I  wouldn't  for  many  people — for 
five-aud-twenty  pounds,"  said  Ralph,  deliberately. 

"Oh,  demmit  1"  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  whose  face  lengthened  considerably 
at  this  handsome  proposal. 

"  Why,  that  leaves  you  fifty,"  retorted  Ralph.  "  What  would  you  have  ? 
Let  me  see  the  names. " 

"  You  are  so  demd  hard,  Nickleby,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Mantalini. 

"  Let  me  see  the  names,"  replied  Ralph,  impatiently  extending  his  hand 
for  the  bills.  "Well !  They  are  not  sure,  but  they  are  safe  enough.  Do 
you  consent  to  the  terms,  and  will  you  take  the  money  ?  I  don't  want  you  to 
do  so.     I  would  rather  you  didn't." 

"Demmit,  Nickleby,  can't  you "  began  Mr.  Mantalini. 

"No,"  replied  Ralph,  inteVrupting  him.  "I  can't.  Will  you  take  the 
money—down,  mind ;  no  delay,  no  going  into  the  City  and  pretending  to 
negotiate  with  some  other  party  who  has  no  existence  and  never  had.  Is  it  a 
bargain  or  i^  it  not  ? " 

Ralph  pushed  some  papers  from  him  as  he  spoke,  and  carelessly  rattled  his 
cash-boZi  as  though  by  mere  accident     The  sound  was  too  much  for  Mr. 


276  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Mantalini.     Ho  closed  tlic  batgaiu  directly  it  reached  his  ears,  and  Ralph  told 
the  money  upon  the  tahlc. 

llo  liad  scarcely  douo  so,  and  Wx.  Mantalini  had  not  yet  gathered  it  all  ap, 
when  a  ring  was  heard  at  the  hell,  and  immediately  afterwards  Newman 
ushered  in  no  less  a  person  than  Madame  Mantalini,  at  sight  of  whom  Mr. 
Mantalini  evinced  cousiderahlo  discomposure,  and  swept  the  cash  into  his 
pocket  with  remarkable  alacrity. 

'*  Oh,  you  art  hero,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  tossing  her  head. 

**  Yes,  my  life  and  soul,  I  am,"  replied  her  husband,  dropping  on  his  knees, 
and  pouncing  with  kitten-like  playfulness  upon  a  stray  sovereign.  **  I  am 
here,  my  soul's  delight,  upon  Tom  Tiddler's  ground,  picking  up  the  demnition 
gold  and  silver." 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  with  much  indignation. 

*' Ashamed?  Of  wmj,  my  joy?  It  knows  it  is  talking  demd  charming 
sweetness,  but  naughty  fibs,"  returned  Mr.  Mantalini.  "  It  knows  it  is  not 
ashamed  of  its  own  popolorum  tibby." 

Whatever  were  the  circumstAnces  which  had  led  to  such  a  result,  it  certainly 
appeared  as  though  the  popolorum  tibby  had  rather  miscalculated,  for  th« 
nonce,  the  extent  of  his  lady's  affection.  Madame  Mantalini  only  looked 
scornful  in  reply  ;  and,  turning  to  Ralph,  begged  him  to  excuse  her  intmsioii. 

"  Which  is  entirely  attributable,"  said  Madame,  "  to  the  gross  misconduct 
and  most  improper  behaviour  of  Mr.  Mantalini." 

'*  Of  me,  my  essential  juice  of  pine-apple  !  " 

**  Of  you,"  returned  his  wife.  "  But  I  will  not  allow  it  I  will  not  snbmit 
to  bo  ruined  by  the  extravagance  and  profligacy  of  any  man.  I  call  Mr. 
Kickleby  to  witness  the  course  I  intend  to  pursue  with  you." 

"Pray  don't  call  mo  to  witness  anything,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph.  "Settla 
it  between  yourselves,  settle  it  between  yourselves." 

**  No,  but  I  must  beg  you  as  a  favour,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  **  to  heir 
me  ijivo  him  notice  of  what  it  is  my  fixed  intention  to  do — my  fixed  intention, 
sir,'    repeated  Madame  Mantalini,  darting  an  angry  look  at  her  husband. 

*•  Will  she  call  me,  *  Sir' ! "  cried  Mantalini.  "  Me  who  doat  upon  her  with 
the  demdst  ardour  !  She  wlio  coils  her  fascinations  round  me  like  a  pure  snd 
angelic  rattlesnake  1  It  will  be  all  up  with  my  feelings  ;  she  will  throw  bw 
into  a  demd  state." 

"  Don't  talk  of  feelings,  sir,"  rejoined  Madame  Mantalini,  seating  hersel( 
and  turning  hor  back  upon  him.     "  You  don't  consider  mine." 

'*  I  do  not  consider  yours,  my  soul  1 "  exclaimed  lilr.  MantalinL 

"  No,"  replied  his  wife. 

And  notwithstandini;  various  blandishments  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Mantalinii 
^ladame  JMantalini  still  said  no,  and  said  it,  toii,  with  such  determined  and 
resolute  ill-temper,  tluit  Mr.  Alantalini  was  clearly  taken  aback. 

"His  extravagance,  Mr.  Niekleby,"  said  jSlatlame  Mantalini,  addresstn^ 
hoi-self  to  Ralph,  who  leant  against  his  easy-chair  with  his  hands  behind  hnBt 
and  regarded  the  amiable  couple  with  a  smile  of  the  supivmest  and  most 
unmitigated  contempt,   **his  extravagance  is  beyond  all  bounds." 

'*  1  should  scaively  have  supposed  it,"  answered  Ralph,  sarcasticallv. 

**  I  assui^e  you,  Mr.  Niekleby,  however,  that  it  is,"  returned  MaduM 
Jjilantalini.  "It  makes  mo  miserable.  I  am  under  constant  apprehensioUi 
and  in  constant  ditficulty.  And  even  this,"  said  Madame  Mantsuini,  wipioff 
her  eyes,  **  is  not  the  worst  Ho  took  some  pai)ers  of  value  oat  of  my  (w 
this  morning  without  asking  my  i^ermission." 

Mr.  Mantalini  cnvaned  slightly,  and  buttoned  his  trousers  pocket. 

**  1  am  obliged, '  continued  Madame  Mantalini,  *'  since  our  late  misfortooaib 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  277 

to  pay  Misfl  Knag  a  great  deal  of  money  for  having  her  name  in  the  business, 
anu  I  really  cannot  aiford  to  encourage  him  in  all  his  wastefulness.  As  I 
have  no  doubt  that  he  came  straight  hero,  Mr.  Nickleby,  to  convert  the 
papers  I  have  spoke  of  into  money,  and  as  you  have  assisted  us  very  often 
before,  and  are  veir  much  connected  with  us  in  this  kind  of  matters,  I  wish 
yon  to  know  the  determination  .at  which  his  conduct  has  compelled  me  to 
arrive. " 

Mr.  Mantalini  groaned  once  more  from  behind  his  wife's  bonnet,  and  fitting 
a  sovereign  into  one  of  his  eyes,  winked  with  the  other  at  Ralph.  Having 
achieved  this  performance  with  great  dexterity,  he  whipped  the  coin  again 
into  his  pocket  and  groaned  again  with  increased  penit(;nco. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  as  tokens  of  im- 
patience manifested  themselves  in  Ralph's  countenance,  "  to  allowance  him." 

"To  do  what,  my  joy  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Mantalini,  who  did  not  seem  to  have 
caught  the  words. 

"To  put  him,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  looking  at  Ralph,  and  prudently 
abstaining  from  the  slightest  glance  at  her  husband,  lest  his  many  graces 
should  induce  her  to  falter  in  her  resolution,  "  to  put  him  upon  a  fixed 
allowance  ;  and  I  say  that  if  he  has  a  hundred  and  twentv  pounds  a-year  for 
his  clothes  and  pocket-money,  be  may  consider  himself  a  very  fortunate 


man." 


Mr.  Mantalini  waited,  with  much  decorum,  to  hear  the  amount  of  the  pro- 
posed stipend,  but  when  it  reached  his  ears,  he  cast  his  hat  and  cane  upon 
the  floor,  and  drawing  out  his  pocket-handkerchief,  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in 
a  dismal  moan. 

"Deranition  !"  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  suddenly  skipping  out  of  his  chair, 
and  as  suddenly  skipping  into  it  again,  to  the  great  discomposure  of  his  lady's 
nerves.     "  But  no.     It  is  a  demd  horrid  dream.     It  is  not  reality.     No  !  " 

Comforting  himself  with  this  assurance,  Mr.  Mantalini  closed  his  eyes,  and 
waited  patiently  till  such  time  as  he  should  wake  up. 

"A  very  judicious  arrangement,"  observed  Ralph,  with  a  sneer,  "  if  your 
husband  will  keep  within  it,  ma'am — as  no  doubt  he  will." 

"  Demmit ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Mantalini,  opening  his  eyes  at  the  sound  of 
Ralph's  voice,  "  it  is  a  horrid  reality.  She  is  sitting  there  before  me.  There 
is  tne  graceful  outline  of  her  form  ;  it  cannot  bo  miHtakon — there  is  nothing 
like  it.  The  two  countesses  had  no  outlines  at  all,  and  the  dowager's  was  a 
demd  outline.  Why  is  she  so  excruciatingly  beautiful  that  I  cannot  bo  angry 
with  her,  even  now  ? " 

'*  You  have  brought  it  upon  yourself,  Alfred,"  returned  Madame  Mantalini 
— still  reproachfully,  but  in  a  softened  tone. 

"I  am  a  demd  villain  !  "  cried  Mr.  Mantalini,  smiting  himself  on  the  head. 
•'  I  will  fill  my  pockets  with  change  for  a  sovereign  in  halfpence,  and  drown 
myself  in  the  Thames  ;  but  I  will  not  be  angry  with  her,  even  then,  for  I  will 

Sut  a  note  in  the  twojjenny  post  as  I  go  along,  to  tell  her  whore  the  body  is. 
he  will  be  a  lovely  widow.     I  shall  bo  a  body.     Some  handsome  women  will 
cry  ;  she  will  laugh  demnebly." 

"  Alfred,  you  cruel,  cruel  creature,"  said  Madame  Mantalini,  sobbing  at  tho 
dreadful  picture. 

"She  calls  me  cruel — mo — mc — who  for  her  sake  will  become  a  demd, 
damp,  moist,  unpleasant  body  1 "  exclaimed  Mr.  Mantalini. 
*     "You  know  it  almost  breaks  my  heart  even  to  hear  you  talk  of  such  a 
thing,"  replied  Madame  Mantalini. 

"Can  I  live  to  be  mistrusted?"  cried  hor  husband.  "Have  I  cut  my 
heart  into  a  demd  extraordinary  number  of  little  pieces,  and  given  them  all 


278  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

away,  one  after  another,  to  the  same  little  engrossing  demnition  captivater, 
and  can  I  live  to  be  suspected  by  her  %    Demmit,  no  I  can't" 

*'Ask  Mr.  Nickleby  whether  the  sum  I  have  mentioned  is  not  a  proper 
one,"  reasoned  Madame  MantalinL 

**I  don't  want  any  sum,"  replied  her  disconsolate  hnsband ;  "I  shall 
require  no  demd  allowance.     I  will  be  a  body. " 

On  this  repetition  of  Mr.  Mantalini's  fatal  threat,  Madame  Mantalini  wrung 
her  hands,  and  implored  the  interference  of  Ralph  Nickleby ;  and  after  a 

Scat  quantity  of  tears  and  talking,  and  several  attempts  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
antalini  to  reach  the  door,  preparatory  to  straightway  committing  violence 
upon  himself,  that  gentleman  was  prevailed  upon,  with  difficulty,  to  pronuae 
that  he  wouldn't  be  a  body.  This  great  point  attained,  Madame  Mantalini 
argued  the  question  of  the  allowance,  and  Mr.  Mantalini  did  the  same,  taking 
occasion  to  show  that  he  could  live  with  uncommon  satisfaction  upon  bread 
and  water,  and  go  clad  in  rags,  but  that  he  could  not  support  existence  with 
the  additional  burden  of  being  mistrusted  by  the  object  of  his  most  devoted 
and  disinterested  affection.  This  brought  fresh  tears  into  Madame  Mantalini's 
eyes,  which  having  just  begun  to  open  to  some  few  of  the  demerits  of  Mr. 
^[antalini,  were  only  open  a  very  little  way,  and  could  be  easily  closed  again. 
The  result  was,  that  without  quite  giving  up  the  allowance  question,  Madame 
^lantalini  postponed  its  further  consideration  ;  and  Ralph  saw  clearly  enondi 
that  ^Ir.  Mantalini  had  gained  a  fresh  lease  of  his  easy  life,  and  that^'  for 
some  time  longer  at  all  events,  his  degradation  and  downfall  were  postponed. 

*'  But  it  will  come  soon  enough,"  thought  Ralph  ;  "all  love — ^bah  1  that  I 
should  use  the  cant  of  boys  and  girls — is  fleeting  enough ;  thongh  that  whieh 
has  its  sole  root  in  the  admiration  of  a  whiskered  face  like  that  of  yonder 
baboon,  perhaps  lasts  the  longest,  as  it  originates  in  the  greater  blindness  and 
is  fed  by  vanity.  Meantime,  the  fools  bring  grist  to  my  mill,  so  let  them  live 
out  their  day,  and  the  longer  it  is  the  better." 

These  agreeable  reflections  occurred  to  Ralph  Nickleby  as  sundry  small 
caresses  and  endearments,  supposed  to  be  unseen,  were  exchanged  between 
the  objects  of  his  thoughts. 

**  If  von  have  nothiuor  more  to  sav,  mv  dear,  to  Mr.  Nicklebv,"  said  Madame 
Mantalini,  **we  will  take  our  leave.  I  am  sure  we  have  detained  him  much 
too  long  alreadv." 

Mr.  Mantalini  answerevl,  in  the  first  instance,  by  tapping  Madame  Man- 
talini several  times  on  the  nose,  and  then,  by  remarking  in  words  that  he  had 
nothing  more  to  say. 

"Demmit !  I  have,  though/'  he  a  lied,  almost  immediately,  drawing  Ralph 
into  a  corner.  "Here's  an  afair  about  your  friend.  Sir  Mulberry.  Sack  • 
demd  extraordinary  out-of-the-u-ay  kind  of  thing  as  never  was  ! " 

**What  do  you  mean  • ''  asked  Ralph. 

'*  Don't  you  know,  demmit  \ "  asked  Mr.  MantalinL 

**  I  s«e  by  ihe  paper  that  he  was  thrown  from  his  cabriolet  last  night,  and 
severely  injured,  and  that  Lis  life  is  in  sc'ine  danger,"  answered  Ralph,  wilk 
jrrtit  composure  ;  "  bu:  I  sce  nothing  eitn-^r-iiaary  in  that.  Accidents  an 
nor  ir.iraculous  events  when  :::en  live  hari,  ani  ilrive  after  dinner." 

••"Whew!"  crie-i  Mr.  Mmuliai  in  a  Iol^:.  shrill  whistle.  "Then  doa't 
Ton  know  how  it  was  ■  * 

•*Nv.>:  unless  i:  was  as  I  hive  ;:i5r  s:ippc»;i."  r*i'I:ed  Ralph,  shrugging  bis 
should :^rs  carelessly,  as  i:'  :o  iiiv:  bis  «3::fs:i%;nrr  to  understand  that  he  had  no 
curiosity  upon  tlie  sucjrv::. 

**  Dtmuiit,  you  amaze  me  ! "  ori-ri  MiutalinL 

Ralph  shrog;^  hb  shooklers  again,  as  M  it  were  no  great  feat  to  amaze  Mr. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  279 

Kantalini,  and  cast  a  wistful  glance  at  the  face  of  Newman  Noggs,  which  hod 
several  times  appeared  behind  a  couple  of  panes  of  glass  in  the  room  door  ; 
it  being  a  part  ot  Newman's  duty,  when  unimportant  people  called,  to  make 
various  feints  of  supposing  that  the  bell  had  rung  for  him  to  show  them  out : 
by  way  of  a  gentle  hint  to  such  visitors  that  it  was  time  to  go. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  taking  Ralph  by  the  button,  **  that 
it  wasn't  an  accident  at  all,  but  a  demd,  furious,  manslaughtering  attack  made 
upon  him  by  your  nephew  % " 

"  What !     snarled  Balph,  clenching  his  fists,  and  turning  a  livid  white. 

"Demmit,  Nickleby,  you're  as  great  a  tiger  as  he  is, '  said  Mantalini, 
alarmed  at  these  demonstrations. 

"  Qo  on,"  cried  Balph.  **Tell  me  what  you  mean.  What  is  this  story  ? 
Who  told  you  ?    Speak,"  growled  Ralph.     "  Do  you  hear  mo  ? " 

"Gad,  Nickleby,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  retreating  towards  his  wife,  *'what 
a  demneble  fierce  old  evil  genius  you  are  !  You're  enough  to  frighten  my  life 
and  sonl  out  of  her  little  delicious  wits — flying  all  at  once  into  such  a  blazing, 
ravacing,  taging  passion  as  never  was,  demmit ! " 

"Pshaw  1     rejoined  Ralph,  forcing  a  smile.     "  It  is  but  manner." 

"  It  is  a  demd  uncomfortable,  private-madhouse  sort  of  manner,"  said  Mr. 
Mantalini,  picking  up  his  cane. 

Ralph  affected  to  smile,  and  once  more  inquired  from  whom  Mr.  Mantalini 
had  derived  his  information. 

"  From  Pyke  ;  and  a  demd  fine,  pleasant,  gentlemanly  dog  it  is,"  replied 
Mantalini     "Demnition  pleasant,  and  a  tip-top  sawyer." 

"  And  what  said  he  ? "  asked  Ralph,  knitting  his  brows. 

"That  it  happened  this  way — that  your  nephew  met  him  at  a  coffee-house, 
fell  npon  him  with  the  most  demneble  ferocity,  followed  him  to  his  cab, 
swore  he  would  ride  home  with  him,  if  he  rode  upon  the  horse's  back  or 
hooked  himself  on  to  the  horse's  tail ;  smashed  his  countenance,  which  is  a 
demd  fine  countenance  in  its  natural  state  ;  frightened  the  horse,  pitched  out 
Sir  Mulberry  and  himself,  and " 

"And  was  killed?"  interposed  Ralph,  with  gleaming  eyes.  "Was  he? 
Is  he  dead?" 

Mantalini  shook  his  head. 

"Ugh  !"  said  Ralph,  turning  away,  "then  he  has  done  nothing — stay," 
he  added,  looking  round  a^ain.  "He  broke  a  leg  or  an  arm,  or  put  his 
shoulder  out,  or  fractured  his  collar-bone,  or  ground  a  rib  or  two  ?  His  neck 
was  saved  for  the  halter,  but  he  got  some  painful  and  slow-healing  injury  for 
his  trouble — did  he  ?    You  must  have  heard  that,  at  least  ? " 

"No,"  rejoined  Mantalini,  shaking  his  head  again.  "Unless  ho  was 
dashed  into  such  little  pieces  that  they  blew  away,  he  wasn't  hurt,  for  he  went 
oiT  as  quiet  and  comfortable  as— as — as  demnition,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini, 
rather  at  a  loss  for  a  simile. 

"And  what,"  said  Ralph,  hesitating  a  little,  "what  was  the  cause  of 
quarrel  ?  '* 

"You  are  the  demdest  knowing  hand,"  replied  Mr.  Mantalini,  in  an 
admiring  tone  ;  "the  cunningest,  rumracst,  superlativest  old  fox — oh,  deni ! 
to  pretend  not  to  know  that  it  was  the  little  briglit-cycd  niece,  the  softest, 
sweetest,  prettiest " 

"  Alfrad ! "  interposed  Madame  Mantalini. 

"  She  is  always  right,"  rejoined  Mr.  Mantalini,  soothingly,  "  and  when  she 
says  it  is  time  to  go,  it  is  time,  and  go  she  shall ;  and  when  she  walks  along 
the  streets  with  her  own  tulip,  the  women  shall  say,  with  envy,  she  has  got  a 


28o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

«lcm(l  fine  husband  ;  and  the  men  shall  say  with  rapture,  he  has  got  a  deiad 
fine  wife  ;  and  they  shall  both  be  right  and  neither  wrong,  upon  my  life  and 
soul — oh,  demmit ! " 

With  which  remarks,  and  many  more,  no  less  intellectual  and^  to  fbe 
purpose,  Mr.  Mantalini  kissed  the  fingers  of  his  gloves  to  Ralph  Nickleby, 
and  drawing  his  lady's  arm  through  his,  led  her  mincingly  away. 

"So,  so,"  muttered  Ralph,  dropping  into  his  chair,  "this  devil  is  loose 
again,  and  thwarting  me,  as  he  was  born  to  do,  at  every  turn.  He  told  me 
once  there  should  be  a  day  of  reckoning  between  us,  sooner  or  later.  I'll 
make  him  a  true  prophet,  for  it  shall  surely  come." 

"  Are  you  at  home  ?  "  asked  Newman,  suddenly  popping  in  his  head. 

"No,"  replied  Ralph,  with  equal  abruptness. 

Newman  withdrew  his  head,  but  thrust  it  in  again. 

**  You're  (inito  sure  you're  not  at  home,  are  you  ? "  said  Newman. 

*'  What  does  the  idiot  mean  ? "  cried  RAlph,  testily. 

"  He  has  been  waiting  nearly  ever  since  they  first  came  in,  and  may  have 
heard  your  voice — that's  all,"  said  Newman,  rubbing  his  hands.    « 

"  Who  has  ? "  demanded  Ralph,  wrought  by  the  intelligence  he  had  just 
heard,  and  his  clerk's  provoking  coolness,  to  an  intense  pitch  of  irritation. 

The  necessity  of  a  reply  was  superseded  by  the  unlooked-for  entrance  of  a 
third  party — the  individual  in  question — who,  bringing  his  one  eye  (for  he  had 
but  one)  to  bear  on  Ralph  Nickleby,  made  a  great  many  shambling  bows,  and 
sat  himself  down  in  an  arm-chair,  with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  his  short, 
black  trousers  drawn  up  so  high  in  the  legs  by  the  exertion  of  seating  himself 
that  they  scarcely  reached  below  the  tops  of  his  Wellington  boots. 

"  Why,  this  is  a  surprise  I "  said  Ralph,  bending  his  gaze  upon  the  visitor, 
and  half  smiling  as  he  scrutinised  him  attentively;  "I  should  know  your 
face,  Mr.  Squeers." 

"Ah  !  "  replied  that  worthy,  "and  you'd  have  know'd  it  better,  sir,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  all  that  I've  been  a-going  through.  Just  lift  that  little  boy 
off  the  tall  stool  in  the  back  oflice,  and  tell  him  to  come  in  here,  will  you,  my 
man  ?"  said  S(iuoers,  addressing  himself  to  Newman.  "  Oh,  he's  lifted  his- 
sclf  oir.  My  son,  sir,  little  Wackford.  What  do  you  think  of  him,  sir,  fori 
specimen  of  the  Dothcboys  Hall  feeding?  ain't  he  fit  to  bust  out  of  his  clothei 
and  start  the  scams,  and  make  the  very  buttons  fly  off  with  his  fatness! 
Here's  ilesli  ! "  cried  Squeers,  turning  the  boy  about,  and  indenting  the 
plumpest  ]\arts  of  his  hgure  with  divers  pokes  and  punches,  to  the  great 
discomposure  of  his  son  and  heir.  "  Hero's  firmness,  here's  solidness  !  why, 
you  can  hardly  get  up  enough  of  him  between  your  finger  and  thumb  to  pinch 
him  anywhere." 

In  however  good  condition  blaster  Squeers  might  have  been,  he  certainly 
(lid  not  present  this  remarkable  compactness  of  person,  for  on  his  father'i 
closing  his  ihiger  and  thumb  in  illustration  of  his  remark,  he  uttered  a  sharp 
cry,  and  rubboil  the  place  in  the  most  natural  maimer  possible. 

"Well,"  remarked  Squeers,  a  little  disconcerted,  "I  had  him  there;  bnt 
that's  because  we  breakfasted  early  this  morning,  and  he  hasn't  had  his  lunch 
yot.  Why,  you  couldn't  shut  a  bit  of  him  in  a  door,  when  he's  hatl  his 
Ilinner.  Look  at  them  tears,"  said  Squeers,  with  a  triumphant  air,  as  Master 
Wackford  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  cutf  of  his  jacket,  "  there's  oiliness  \ " 

"Ho  looks  well,  indeed,"  returned  Ralph,  who,  for  some  purposes  of  his 
own,  soemed  desirous  to  conciliate  the  schoolmaster.  "  But  how  is  Mrs. 
Stiueors,  and  how  are  you  ? " 

"  Mi's.  Siiueera,  sir,"  replied  the  proprietor  of  Dotheboys,  '*  is  as  she  always 
is — a  mother  to  them  lads,  tand  a  blessing,  and  a  comfort,  and  a  joy  to  all 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  281 

them  as  knows  her.  One  of  our  boys — gorging  his-self  with  vittlcs,  and  then 
taming  ill — ^that's  their  way — got  a  abscess  on  him  last  week.  To  see  how 
she  operated  upon  him  with  a  pen-knife  !  Oh,  Lor  ! ''  said  Squeers,  heaving 
a  sigh,  and  nodding  his  head  a  great  many  times,  "  what  a  member  of  society 
that  wovian  is  ! " 

Mr.  Sqneers  indulged  in  a  retrospective  look  for  some  quarter  of  a  minute, 
as  if  this  allusion  to  his  lady's  excellencies  had  naturally  led  his  mind  to  the 
peaceful  village  of  Dotheboys,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  and  he  then 
looked  at  Ralph,  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  say  something. 

"Have  you  quite  recovered  that  scoundrel's  attack  ? "  asked  Ralph. 

**  I've  only  just  done  it,  if  I've  done  it  now,"  replied  Squeers.  **  I  was  one 
blessed  bruise,  sir,"  said  Squeers,  touching  first  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and 
then  the  toes  of  his  boots,  '  *  from  here  to  tliere.  Vinegar  and  brown  paper, 
vinegar  and  brown  paper,  from  morning  to  night.  I  suppose  there  was  a 
matter  of  half-a-ream  or  brown  paper  stuck  upon  me,  from  iirst  to  last.  As  I 
laid  all  of  a  heap  in  our  kitchen,  plastered  all  over,  you  might  have  thought 
I  was  a  large  brown  paper  parcel,  chock  full  of  nothing  but  groans.  Did  I 
ffroan  loud,  Wackford,  or  did  I  groan  soft  ? "  asked  Mr.  Squeers,  appealing  to 
his  son. 

**  Loud,**  replied  Wackford. 

"  Was  the  boys  sorry  to  see  me  in  such  a  dreadful  condition,  Wackford,  or 
was  they  glad !     asked  Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  sentimental  manner. 

"  Gl " 

**  Eh  ? "  cried  Squeers,  turning  sharp  round. 

•*  Sorry,"  rejoined  his  son. 

**  Oh  ! "  said  Squeers,  catching  him  a  smart  box  on  the  ear.  **  Then  take 
your  hands  out  of  your  pockets,  and  don't  stammer  when  you're  asked  a  quos- 
tion.  Hold  your  noise,  sir,  in  a  gentleman's  office,  or  I'll  run  away  from  my 
family  and  never  come  back  any  more  ;  and  then  what  would  become  of 
all  them  precious  and  forlorn  lads  as  would  bo  let  loose  on  the  world  without 
their  best  friend  at  their  el  hers  ! " 

"  Were  you  obliged  to  have  medical  attendance  ? "  inquired  Ralph. 

•*  Ay,  was  I,"  rejoined  Seducers,  **  and  a  precious  bill  the  medical  attendant 
bronffht  in  too ;  but  I  paid  it  though." 

i^ph  elevated  his  eyebrows  in  a  manner  which  might  well  be  expressive 
of  either  sympathy  or  astonishment — ^just  as  the  beholder  was  pleased  to 
take  it. 

'•Yes,  I  paid  it,  every  farthing,"  replied  Squeers,  who  seemed  to  know  the 
man  he  had  to  deal  with  too  well  to  suppose  that  any  blinking  of  the 
question  would  induce  him  to  subscribe  towards  the  expenses  ;  **  I  wasn't  out 
of  pocket  by  it  after  all,  either." 

•'No!"  said  Ralph. 

"  Not  a  halfpenny,"  replied  Squeers.  **  The  fact  is,  wo  have  only  one 
extra  with  our  Doys,  and  that  is  for  doctors  when  required — and  not  tlien, 
unless  we're  sure  of  our  customers.     Do  you  see  ? " 

'•  I  understand,"  said  Ralph. 

"Very  good,"  rejoined  Squeers.  "Then,  after  my  bill  was  run  up,  we 
picked  out  five  little  boys  (sons  of  small  tradesmen,  as  was  sure  pay)  that  had 
never  had  the  scarlet  fever,  and  we  sent  one  to  a  cottage  where  they'd  got  it, 
and  he  took  it>  and  then  we  put  the  four  others  to  sleep  with  him,  and  tJmj 
took  it,  and  then  the  doctor  came  and  attended  'em  once  all  round,  and  we 
divided  my  total  among  'em,  and  added  it  on  to  their  little  bills,  and  the 
parents  paid  it.     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

"  And  a  good  plan  too,"  said  Ralph,  eyeing  the  schoolmaster  stealthily. 


282  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  I  belicvo  you,"  rejoined  Sqiieers.  "  We  always  do  it.  Why,  when  Mra. 
Squeers  was  brought  to  bed  with  little  Wackford  here,  we  ran  the  whooping- 
cough  through  half-a-dozen  boys,  and  charged  her  expenses  among  'em, 
monthly  nurse  included.     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

Ralph  never  laughed,  but  on  this  occasion  he  produced  the  nearest  approach 
to  it  that  he  could,  and  waiting  until  Mr.  Squeers  had  enjoyed  the  professional 
joke  to  his  heart's  content,  inquired  what  had  brought  him  to  town. 

*'  Some  bothering  law  business,"  replied  Squeers,  scratching  his  head, 
**  connected  with  an  action  for  what  they  call  neglect  of  a  boy.  I  don't 
know  what  they  would  have.  He  had  as  good  grazing,  that  boy  had,  as  there 
is  about  us." 

Ealph  looked  as  if  he  did  not  quite  understand  the  observation. 

"Grazing,"  said  Squeers,  raising  his  voice,  under  the  impression  that  as 
Ralph  failed  to  comprehend  him,  he  must  be  deaf.  ''When  a  boy  gets  weak 
and  ill,  and  don't  relish  his  meals,  we  give  him  a  change  of  diet— turn  him 
out,  for  an  hour  or  so  every  day,  into  a  neighbour's  turnip-field,  or  sometimes, 
if  it's  a  delicate  case,  a  turnip-field  and  a  piece  of  carrots  alternately,  and  let 
him  eat  as  many  as  he  likes.  There  ain't  better  land  in  the  county  than 
this  perwerse  lad  grazed  on,  and  yet  he  goes  and  catches  cold  and  indigestion 
and  what  not,  and  then  his  friends  brings  a  lawsuit  against  me  /  Now,  you'd 
hardly  suppose,"  added  Squeers,  moving  in  his  chair  with  the  impatience  of 
an  ill-used  man,  ''that  people's  ingratitude  would  carry  them  quite  as  far  as 
that,  would  you  % " 

"A  hard  case,  indeed,"  observed  Ralph. 

"You  don't  say  more  than  the  truth  when  you  say  that,"  replied  Squeers. 
"I  don't  suppose  there's  a  man  going  as  possesses  the  fondness  for  yoath 
that  I  do.  There's  youth  to  the  amount  of  eight  hundred  pound  a-year  at 
Dotheboys  Hall  at  this  present  time.  I'd  take  sixteen  hundred  pound  worth 
if  I  could  get  'cm,  and  be  as  fond  of  every  individual  twenty  pound  among 
'em  as  nothing  should  equal  it ! " 

"  Are  you  stopping  at  your  old  quarters  ? "  asked  Ralph. 

"  Yes,  we  are  at  the  Saracen,"  replied  Squeers,  "  and  as  it  don't  want  veiy 
long  to  the  end  of  the  half-year,  we  shall  continney  to  stop  there,  till  I've 
collected  the  money,  and  some  new  boys  too,  I  hope.  I've  brought  little 
Wackford  up  on  purpose  to  show  to  parents  and  guardians.  I  shall  put  him 
in  the  advertisement  this  time.  Look  at  that  boy — himself  a  pupil — why,  he's 
a  miracle  of  high  feeding,  that  boy  is  !  " 

"  1  should  like  to  have  a  word  with  you,"  said  Ralph,  who  had  both 
spoken  and  listened  mechanically  for  some  time,  and  seemed  to  have  been 
thinking. 

"  As  many  words  as  you  like,  sir,"  rejoined  Squeers.  "  Wackford,  you  go 
and  play  in  the  back  office,  and  don't  move  about  too  much  or  you'll  get  thin, 
and  that  won't  do.  You  haven't  got  such  a  thing  as  twopence,  Mr.  Nickleby, 
have  you  ? "  said  Squeers,  rattling  a  bunch  of  keys  in  his  coat-pocket,  and 
muttering  something  about  its  being  all  silver. 

"  I — think  1  liave,"  said  Ralph,  very  slowly,  and  producing,  after  much 
rummaging  in  an  old  drawer,  a  penny,  a  halfpenny,  and  two  farthings. 

"Thankee,"  said  Squeers,  bestowing  it  upon  his  son.  "Here  I  You  go 
and  buy  a  tart — Mr.  Nickleby's  man  will  show  you  where — and  mind  you 
buy  a  rich  one.  Pastry,"  added  Squeers,  closing  the  door  on  Master 
Wackford,  "  makes  his  fiesh  shine  a  good  deal,  and  parents  thinks  that  a 
healthy  sign." 

With  this  explanation,  and  a  peculiarly  knowing  look  to  eke  it  out,  Mr. 
Squeers  moved  his  chair  so  as  to  bring  himself  opposite  to  Ralph  Nickleby  at 


I 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  283 

no  great  distance  off;  and  having  planted  it  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  sat 
down. 

"  Attend  to  me,"  said  Ralph,  bending  forward  a  little. 

Sqoeen  nodded. 

"I  am  not  to  suppose,"  said  Ealph,  ''  that  you  are  dolt  enough  to  forgive 
or  forget,  very  readily,  the  violence  that  was  committed  upon  you,  or  the 
exposure  which  accompanied  it  ? " 

*'  Devil  a  bit,"  replied  Squeors,  tartly. 

"Or  to  lose  an  opportunity  of  repaying  it  with  interest,  if  you  could  get 
one  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"  Show  me  one,  and  try,"  rejoined  Squeers. 

"  Some  such  object  it  was  that  induced  you  to  call  on  me  ? "  said  Ralph, 
raising  his  eyes  to  the  schoolmaster's  face. 

"N—n — no,  I  don't  know  that,"  replied  Squeers.  "I  thought  that  if  it 
was  in  your  power  to  make  me,  besides  the  trifle  of  money  you  sent,  any 
compensation " 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  Ralph,  interrupting  him.     "  You  needn't  go  on." 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which  Ralph  appeared  absorbed  in  contempla- 
tion, he  a^ain  broke  silence  oy  asking — 

"  Who  IS  this  boy  that  he  took  with  him  ? " 

Squeers  stated  his  name. 

"Was  he  young  or  old,  healthy  or  sickly,  tractable  or  rebellious?  Speak 
out,  man,"  retorted  Ralph. 

"Why,  he  wasn't  young,"  answered  Squeers  ;  "that  is,  not  young  for  a 
boy,  you  know." 

"  That  is,  he  was  not  a  boy  at  all,  I  suppose  ? "  interrupted  Ralph. 

"  Well,"  returned  Squeers,  briskly,  as  if  he  felt  relieved  by  the  suggestion, 
"  he  might  have  been  nigh  twenty.  He  wouldn't  seem  so  old,  though,  to 
them  as  didn't  know  him,  for  he  was  a  little  wanting  here,"  touching  his 
forehead  ;  "  nobody  at  home,  you  know,  if  you  knocked  ever  so  often." 

"  And  you  did  knock  pretty  often,  I  dare  say  1 "  muttered  Ralph. 

"  Pretty  well,"  returned  Squeers,  with  a  grin. 

"  When  you  wrote  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  this  trifle  of  money  as  you 
call  it,"  said  Ralph,  "you  told  me  his  friends  had  deserted  him  long  ago, 
and  that  you  had  not  the  faintest  clue  or  trace  to  tell  you  who  he  was.  Is 
that  the  truth  ? " 

"  It  is,  worse  luck  !  "  replied  Squeers,  becoming  more  and  more  easy  and 
familiar  in  his  manner,  as  Ralph  pursued  his  inquiries  with  the  less  resorve. 
"  It's  fourteen  years  ago,  by  the  entry  in  my  book,  since  a  strange  man 
brought  him  to  my  place,  one  autumn  night,  and  left  him  there  :  paying  five 
ponim  five  for  his  first  quarter  in  advance.  He  might  have  been  five  or  six 
year  old  at  that  time,  not  more." 

"  What  more  do  you  know  about  him  \ "  demanded  Ralph. 

"Devilish  little,  I'm  sorry  to  say,"  replied  Squeers.  "The  money  was 
paid  for  some  six  or  eight  year,  and  then  it  stopped.  He  had  given  an 
address  in  London,  had  this  chap  ;  but  when  it  came  to  the  point,  of  course 
nobody  knowed  anything  about  him.     So  I  kept  the  lad  out  of— out  of " 

"  Charity  1 "  suggested  Ralph,  drily. 

"Charity,  to  be  sure,"  returned  Squeers,  rubbing  his  knees,  "and  wlien 
ho  begins  to  be  useful  in  a  certain  sort  of  way,  this  young  scoundrel  of  a 
Nickleby  comes  and  carries  him  off.  But  the  most  vexatious  and  aggravating 
part  of  the  whole  afiair  is,"  said  Squeers,  dropping  his  voice,  and  drawing 
nis  chair  still  closer  to  Ralph,  "  that  some  questions  have  been  asked  about 
him  at  last — ^not  of  me,  but,  in  a  roundabout  kind  of  way,  of  people  in  our 


284  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

villa^.  So  that,  just  when  I  might  have  had  all  arrears  paid  np^  perhaps, 
and  perhaps — who  knows  %  such  things  have  happened  in  our  business  bdTon 
— a  present  besides,  for  putting  him  out  to  a  farmer,  or  sending  Him  to  sea,  so 
that  he  might  never  turn  up  to  disgrace  his  parents,  supposing  him  to  be  a 
natural  boy,  as  many  of  our  boys  are — damme,  if  that  vulain  of  a  Nickleby 
don't  collar  him  in  open  day,  and  commit  as  good  as  highway  robbery  upon 
my  pocket." 

**  We  will  both  cry  quits  with  him  before  long,"  said  Balph,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  arm  of  the  Yorkshire  schoolmaster. 

"Quits!"  echoed  Squeers.  *'Ah!  and  I  should  like  to  leave  a  small 
balance  in  his  favour,  to  be  settled  when  he  can.  I  only  wish  Mrs.  Squeers 
could  catch  hold  of  him.  Bless  her  heart !  She'd  murder  him,  Mr.  Ni(^eby 
— she  would,  as  soon  as  eat  her  dinner." 

**  We  will  talk  of  this  again,"  said  Ralph.     **  I  must  have  time  to  think  of 

it.     To  wound  him  through  his  own  affections  and  fancies ,     If  I  could 

strike  him  through  this  boy " 

*'  Strike  him  how  you  like,  sir,"  interrupted  Squeers,  "  only  hit  him  hard 
enough,  that's  all — and  with  that  I'll  say  good  morning.  Here  !— just 
chuck  that  little  boy's  hat  off  that  comer  peg,  and  lift  him  off  the  stool,  will 
you  ? " 

Bawling  these  requests  to  Newman  Noggs,  Mr.  Squeers  betook  himself  to 
the  little  back  office,  and  fitted  on  the  child's  hat  with  parental  anxiety,  while 
Newman,  with  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  sat,  stiff  and  immovable,  on  his  stool, 
regarding  the  father  and  son  by  turns  with  a  broad  stare. 

"  He's  a  fine  boy,  ain't  he  ? "  said  Squeers,  throwing  his  head  a  little  on  one 
side,  and  falling  back  to  the  desk,  the  better  to 'estimate  the  proportions  of 
little  Wackford. 

**  Very,"  said  Newman. 

** Pretty  well  swelled  out,  ain't  he?"  pursued  Squeers.  **He  has  the 
fatness  of  twenty  boys,  he  has." 

**  Ah  1 "  replied  Newman,  suddenly  thrusting  his  face  into  that  of  Squeers, 
"he  has — the  fatness  of  twenty — more  !  He's  got  it  all.  God  help  the  others. 
Ha  !  ha  !    0  Lord  !  " 

Having  uttered  these  fragmentary  observations,  Newman  dropped  upon  his 
desk  and  began  to  write  with  most  marvellous  rapidity. 

"Why,  what  does  the  man  mean?"  cried  Squeers,  colouring.  **Is  he 
drunk?" 

Newman  made  no  reply. 

"  Is  he  mad  ? "  said  Squeers. 

But  still  Newman  betrayed  no  consciousness  of  any  presence  save  his  own ; 
so  Mr.  Squeers  comforted  himself  by  saying  that  he  was  both  drunk  awi 
mad  ;  and  with  this  parting  observation,  he  led  his  hopeful  son  away. 

In  exact  proportion  as  Ralph  Nickleby  became  conscious  of  a  struggling  and 
lingering  regard  for  Kate,  had  his  detestation  of  Nicholas  augmented.    It 
might  be,  that  to  atone  for  the  weakness  of  inclining  to  any  one  person,  be 
held  it  necessary  to  hate  some  other  more  intensely  than  before ;  but  such 
had  been  the  course  of  his  feelings.     And  now,  to  be  defied  and  spumed,  to 
be  held  up  to  her  in  the  worst  and  most  repulsive  colours,  to  know  that  she 
was  taught  to  hate  and  despise  him  ;  to  feel  that  there  was  infection  in  his 
touch  and  taint  in  his  companionship — to  know  all  this,  and  to  know  that 
the  mover  of  it  all  was  that  same  boyish,  poor  relation  who  had  twitted  hiffl 
in  their  very  first  interview,  and  openly  bearded  and  braved  him  since, 
wrought  his  quiet  and  stealthy  malignity  to  such  a  pitch,  that  there  vas 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  285 

scarcely  anything  lie  would  not  have  hazarded  to  gratify  it,  if  lie  could  have 
seen  his  way  to  some  immediate  retaliation. 

But,  fortunately  for  Nicholas,  Ralph  Nicklohy  did  not ;  and  although  ho 
cast  about  all  that  day,  and  kept  a  corner  of  his  brain  working  on  the  one 
anxious  subject  through  all  the  round  of  schemes  and  business  that  camo  with 
it,  ni^ht  found  him  at  last  still  harping  on  the  same  theme,  and  still 
pursuing  the  same  unprofitable  reflections. 

"  When  my  brother  was  such  as  he,"  said  Ralph,  **  the  first  comparisons 
were  drawn  between  us — always  in  my  disfavour.     He  was  open,  liberal, 

gallant,  gay  ;  /a  crafty  hunks,  of  cold  and  stagnant  blood,  with  no  passion 
ut  love  of  saving,  and  no  spirit  beyond  a  thirst  for  gain.     I  recollected  it 
well  when  I  first  saw  this  whipster  ;  but  I  remember  it  better  now." 

He  had  been  occupied  in  tearing  Nicholas's  letter  into  atoms ;  and  as  he 
spoke,  he  scattered  it  in  a  tiny  shower  about  him. 

"Recollections  like  these,"  pursued  Ralph,  with  a  bitter  smile,  "flock 
upon  me — when  I  resign  myself  to  them — in  crowds,  and  from  countless 
quarters.  As  a  portion  of  the  world  affect  to  despise  the  power  of  money,  I 
must  try  and  show  them  what  it  is. " 

And  being,  by  this  time,  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  for  slumber,  Ralph 
NicJdeby  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

8MIKE  BECOMES  KNOWN  TO  MRS.  NICKLEBY  AND  KATE.  NICHOLAS  ALSO 
MEETS  WITH  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES.  BRIGHTEll  DAYS  SEEM  TO  DAWN 
UPON  THE  FAMILY. 

HAVING  established  his  mother  and  sister  in  the  apartments  of  the  kind- 
hearted  miniature  painter,  and  ascertained  that  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk 
was  in  no  danger  of  losing  his  life,  Nicholas  turned  his  thoughts  to 
poor  Smike,  who,  after  breakfasting  with  Newman  Noggs,  had  remained, 
in  a  disconsolate  state,  at  that  worthy  creature's  lodgings,  waiting,  with  much 
anxiety,  for  further  intelligence  of  his  protector. 

**  As  he  will  be  one  of  our  own  little  household,  wherever  we  live,  or  what- 
ever fortune  is  in  reserve  for  us,"  thoucht  Nicholas,  "  I  must  present  the 
poor  fellow  in  due  form.  They  will  be  kind  to  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  if 
not  (on  that  account  solely)  to  the  full  extent  I  could  wish,  they  will  stretch  a 
point,  I  am  sure,  for  mine." 

Nicholas  said  "they,"  but  his  misgivings  were  confined  to  one  person. 
He  was  sure  of  Elate,  but  he  knew  his  mother's  peculiarities,  and  was  not 
quite  so  certain  that  Smike  would  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Nicklcby. 

**  However,"  thought  Nicholas,  as  he  departed  on  his  benevolent  errand, 
"  she  cannot  fail  to  become  attached  to  him,  when  she  knows  what  a  devoted 
creature  he  is,  and  as  she  must  quickly  make  the  discovery,  his  probation  will 
be  a  short  one." 

**  I  was  afraid,"  said  Smike,  overjoyed  to  see  his  friend  again,  **that  you 
had  fallen  into  some  fresh  trouble  ;  the  time  seemed  so  long,  at  last,  that  1 
almost  feared  you  were  lost." 

'*  Lost,"  replied  Nicholas,  gaily.  "You  will  not  be  rid  of  me  so  easily,  I 
promise  you.  I  shall  rise  to  the  surface  many  thousand  times  yet,  and  the 
harder  the  thrust  that  pushes  ine  down  the  more  quickly  I  shall  rebound, 
^inike.     But  come  ;  my  errand  here  is  to  take  you  home." 


286  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Home  !  "  faltered  Smike,  drawiDg  timidly  back. 

"  Ay,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  taking  his  arm.     "  Why  not  ? " 

"  1  had  such  hopes  once,"  said  Smike  ;  **  day  and  night,  day  and  night, 
for  many  years.  1  longed  for  home  till  I  was  weary,  and  pined  away  with 
grief,  but  now " 

**  And  what  now  ?  "  asked  Nicholas,  looking  kindly  in  bis  face.  "  What 
now,  old  friend  ? " 

"  I  could  not  part  from  you  to  go  to  any  home  on  earth,"  replied  Smike, 
pressing  his  hand  ;  **  except  one,  except  one.  I  shall  never  be  an  old  man ; 
and  if  your  hand  placed  me  in  the  grave,  and  I  could  think,  before  I  died, 
that  you  would  come  and  look  upon  it  sometimes  with  one  of  your  kind  smiles, 
and  in  the  summer  weather,  when  everything  was  alive — not  dead  like  me— I 
could  ffo  to  that  home  almost  without  a  tear." 

"  Why  do  you  talk  thus,  poor  boy,  if  your  life  is  a  happy  one  with  met" 
said  Nicholas. 

"Because  /  should  change  ;  not  those  about  me.  And  if  they  forget  me» 
./should  never  know  it,"  replied  Smike.  **In  the  churchyard  we  are  all 
alike,  but  here  there  are  none  like  me.  I  am  a  poor  creature,  but  I  know 
that." 

**  You  are  a  foolish,  silly  creature,"  said  Nicholas,  cheerfully.  "  If  that  is 
what  you  mean,  I  grant  you  that.  Why,  here's  a  dismal  face  for  ladies' 
company  ! — my  pretty  sister,  too,  whom  you  have  so  often  asked  me  aboat 
Is  this  your  Yorkshire  gallantry  ?    For  shame  1  for  shame  I " 

Smike  brightened  up  and  smiled. 

"When  I  talk  of  homes,"  pursued  Nicholas,  "I  talk  of  mine,  winch  is 
yours,  of  course.  If  it  were  defined  by  any  particular  four  walls  and  a  rooft 
God  knows  I  should  be  sufficiently  puzzled  to  say  whereabouts  it  lay ;  but 
that  is  not  what  I  mean.  When  I  speak  of  home,  I  speak  of  the  place  where 
— in  default  of  a  better — those  that  I  love  are  gathered  together  ;  and  if  that 
place  were  a  gipsy's  tent,  of  a  bam,  I  should  call  it  by  tlie  same  good  name 
notwithstanding.  And  now  for  what  is  my  present  home,  which,  however 
alarming  your  expectations  may  be,  will  neither  terrify  you  by  its  extent  nor 
its  magnificence.' 

So  saying,  Nicholas  took  his  companion  by  the  arm,  and  saying  a  great  deal 
niore  to  the  same  purpose,  and  pointing  out  various  things  to  amuse  aud 
interest  him  as  they  went  along,  led  the  way  to  Miss  La  Creevy's  house. 

"And  this,  Kate,"  said  Nicholas,  entering  the  room  where  his  sister  firt 
alone,  "  is  the  faithful  friend  and  affectionate  fellow-traveller  whom  I  prepared 
you  to  receive." 

^  Poor  Smike  was  bashful,  and  awkward,  and  frightened  enough,  at  first,  bat 
Kate  advanced  towards  him  so  kindly,  and  said,  in  such  a  sweet  voice,  how 
anxious  she  had  been  to  see  him  after  all  her  brother  had  told  her,  and  how 
much  she  had  to  thank  him  for  having  comforted  Nicholas  so  greatly  in  their 
very  trying  reverses,  that  he  began  to  bo  very  doubtful  whether  he  should  shed 
tears  or  not,  and  became  still  more  flurried.  However,  he  managed  to  say,  i* 
a  broken  voice,  that  Nicholas  was  his  only  friend,  and  that  he  would  lay  down 
his  life  to  help  him ;  and  Kate,  although  she  was  so  kind  and  considerate, 
seemed  to  be  so  wholly  unconscious  of  his  distress  and  embarrassment,  that  be 
recovered  almost  immediately  and  felt  quite  at  home. 

Then  ^liss  La  Creevy  came  in  ;  and  to  her  Smike  had  to  be  presented  ilea 
And  Miss  La  Creevy  was  very  kind  too,  and  wonderfully  talKative — not  to 
Sniikc,  for  that  would  have  made  him  uneasy  at  first,  but  to  Nicholas  and  his 
sister.  Then,  after  a  time,  she  would  speak  to  Smike  himself  now  and  tlien, 
asking  him  whether  he  was  a  judge  of  likenesses,  and  whether  he  thought 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  287 

[lat  picture  in  the  comer  was  like  herself,  and  whether  he  didn't  think  it 
'onla  have  looked  better  if  she  had  made  lierself  ten  years  yoaugcr,  and 
'hetber  he  didn't  think,  as  a  matter  of  general  observation,  that  young  ladies 
K>ked  better,  not  only  in  pictares,  but  out  of  them  too,  than  old  ones  ;  with 
lany  more  small  jokes  and  facetious  remarks,  which  were  delivered  with  such 
ood-hnmour  and  merriment,  that  Smike  thought  within  himself,  she  was  the 
Icest  lady  he  had  ever  seen  ;  even  nicer  than  Mrs.  Grudden,  of  Mr.  Vincent 
mmmles'  theatre  ;  and  she  was  a  nice  lady  too,  and  talked,  perhaps  more, 
at  certainly  louder,  than  Miss  La  Creevy. 

At  length  the  door  opened  again,  and  a  lady  in  mourning  came  in  ;  and 
icholas  kissing  the  lady  in  mourning  afifcctionately,  and  calling  her  his 
.other,  led  her  towards  the  chair  from  which  Smike  had  risen  when  slie 
Ltered  the  room. 

**  You  are  always  kind-hearted,  and  anxious  to  help  the  oppressed,  my  dear 
other,"  said  Nicholas,  **  so  you  will  be  favourably  disposed  towards  him, 
know." 

"I  am  sure,  my  dear  Nicholas,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  looking  very  hard 
,  her  new  friend,  and  bending  to  him  with  something  more  of  majesty  than 
le  occasion  seemed  to  require — *^  I  am  sure  any  friend  of  yours  has,  as  indeed 
^  naturally  ought  to  have,  and  must  have,  of  course,  you  know — a  great 
sdm  upon  me,  and  of  course,  it  is  a  very  great  pleasure  to  me  to  be  introduced 

anybody  you  take  an  interest  in — there  can  be  no  doubt  about  that ;  none 
,  all  ;  not  the  least  in  the  world,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  '*  At  the  same  time  I 
nst  say,  Nicholas,  my  dear,  as  I  used  to  say  to  your  poor  dear  papa,  when  ho 
tn/M  bring  gentlemen  home  to  dinner,  and  there  was  nothing  in  the  house, 
lat  if  he  usA  come  the  day  before  yesterday — no,  I  don't  mean  the  day  before 
3Sterday  now ;  I  should  have  said,  perhaps,  the  year  before  last — wo  should 
ave  been  better  able  to  entertain  him." 

^■ith  which  remarks,  Mrs.  Nickleby  turned  to  her  daughter,  and  inquired, 
I  an  audible  whisper,  whether  the  gentleman  was  going  to  stop  all  night. 

"  Because  if  he  is,  Kate,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  I  don't  see  that 
/spossible  for  him  to  sleep  anywhere,  and  that's  the  truth." 

Eate  stepped  graciously  forward,  and  without  any  show  of  annoyance  or 
litation,  breathed  a  few  words  into  her  mother's  ear. 

"La,  Kate,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  shrinking  back,  ''how  you  do 
^ckle  one.  Of  course,  I  understand  thatf  my  love,  without  your  telling  mc  ; 
ad  I  said  the  same  to  Nicholas,  and  I  am  very  much  pleased.  You  didn't 
»I1  me,  Nicholas,  my  dear,"  added  Mrs.  Nicldeby,  turning  round  with  an 
ir  of  less  reserve  than  she  had  before  assumed,  "  what  your  friend's  name 

"His  name,  mother,"  replied  Nicholas,  "is  Smike." 

The  effect  of  this  communication  was  by  no  means  anticipated ;  but  the 
lime  was  no  sooner  pronounced,  than  Mrs.  Nickleby  dropped  upon  a  chair, 
KUl  burst  into  a  fit  of  crying. 

•*  What's  the  matter?  "  exclaimed  Nicholas,  running  to  support  her. 

•'It's  so  Hke  Pyke,"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby;  "so  exactly  like  Pyke.  Oh, 
ou't,  don't  speak  to  me — I  shall  be  better  presently." 

And  after  exhibiting  every  symptom  of  slow  suffocation  in  all  its  stages, 
lid  drinking  about  a  teaspoonful  of  water  from  a  full  tumbler,  and  spilling 
^  remainder,  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  better,  and  remarked,  with  a  feeble  smile, 
^t  she  was  very  foolish,  she  knew. 

••It's  a  weakness  in  our  family,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "so,  of  course,  I 
Bla't  be  blamed  for  it.  Your  grandmamma,  Kate,  was  exactly  the  same — 
(lecisely.      The  least  excitement,  the  slightest  surprise,  she  fainted  away 


288  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

diicctly.  I  havo  licard  hor  say,  often  and  often,  that  when  she  was  a  yoang 
lady,  and  before  she  was  married,  she  was  turning  a  comer  into  Oxford  Street 
one  day,  when  she  ran  against  her  own  hair-dresser,  who,  it  seems,  was  escap- 
ing from  a  bear,  the  mere  suddenness  of  the  encounter  made  her  ficdnt  away 
directly.  Wait,  though,"  added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  pausing  to  consider,  "let 
me  be  sure  I'm  right.  Was  it  her  hair-dresser  who  had  escaped  from  a  bear, 
or  was  it  a  bear  who  had  escaped  from  her  hair-dresser's  %  I  declare  I  can't 
remember  just  now,  but  the  hair-dresser  was  a  very  handsome  man,  I  know, 
and  quite  a  gentleman  in  his  manners  ;  so  that  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
point  of  the  story." 

Mrs.  Nickleby  having  fallen  imperceptibly  into  one  of  her  retrospective 
moods,  improved  in  temper  from  that  moment,  and  glided,  by  an  easy  chaDse 
of  the  conversation  occasionally,  into  various  other  anecdotes,  no  less  remark- 
able for  their  strict  ajiplication  to  the  subject  in  hand. 

''Mr.  Smike  is  from  Yorkshire,  Nicholas,  my  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
after  dinner,  and  when  she  had  been  silent  for  some  time. 

"Certainly,  mother,"  replied  Nicholas.  **I  see  you  have  not  foi^tten 
his  melancholy  history." 

**0h,  dear  no,"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby.  *'Ah!  melancholy,  indeed.  Yon 
don't  happen,  Mr.  Smike,  ever  to  have  dined  with  the  Grimblea  of  Grimble 
Hall,  somewhere  in  the  North  Ridins:,  do  you  ? "  said  the  good  lady,  addren- 
ing  herself  to  him.  ''A  very  proud  man,  Sir  Thomas  Grimble,  with  six 
grown-up  and  most  lovely  daughters,  and  the  finest  park  in  the  county." 

*'My  dear  mother,"  reasoned  Nicholas,  *'do  you  suppose  that  the  un- 
fortunate outcast  of  a  Yorkshire  school  was  likely  to  receive  msmy  cards  of 
invitation  from  the  nobility  and  gentry  in  the  neighbourhood  ? " 

**  Really,  my  dear,  I  don't  know  why  it  should  oe  so  very  extraordinary," 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby.     '*  1  know  that  when  /was  at  school,  I  always  went  at  . 
loast  twice  every  half-year  to  the  Hawkinses  at  Taunton  Vale,  and  they  an 
niurh  richer  than  the  Orimbles,  and  connected  with  them  in  marriage ;  soyoo 
set'  it's  not  so  very  unlikely,  after  all." 

Maving  ))ut  down  Nicholas  in  this  triumphant  manner,  I^Irs.  Nickleby  wm 
suddenly  seized  with  a  forgetfulness  of  Smike's  real  name,  and  an  irresistible 
tendency  to  call  him  Mr.  Slammons  ;  which  circumstance  she  attributed  to 
the  remarkable  similarity  of  the  two  names  in  point  of  sound,  both  beginmiig 
with  an  S,  and,  moreover,  being  spelt  with  an  M.  But  whatever  doubt  tiien 
might  bo  on  this  point,  there  was  none  as  to  his  being  a  most  exeellwt 
listener  ;  which  circumstance  had  considerable  influence  in  placing  them  os 
the  very  best  terms,  and  in  inducing  I^Irs.  Nickleby  to  express  the  hi^^Kit 
opinion  of  his  general  do])ortment  and  disposition. 

Thus  the  little  circle  remained,  on  the  most  amicable  and  agreeable  footing 
until  the  l^londay  morning,  when  Nicholas  withdraw  himself  from  it  for  t 
sliort  time,  seriously  to  rotlect  ui)on  the  state  of  his  aAairs,  and  to  dctermiiM^ 
if  he  could,  upon  some  course  of  life  which  would  enable  him  to  support 
thoso  who  weri^  so  entirely  dependent  upon  his  exertions. 

^Ir.  Crummlos  occurred  to  him  more  than  once ;  but  although  Kata  W 
aoi)uainted  with  the  whole  history  of  his  connection  with  that  geutlcmai^  hii 
mother  was  not ;  and  he  foresaw  a  thousand  fretful  objections,  on  her  port, 
to  his  seeking  a  livelihood  upon  the  stage.  There  were  graver  reasons,  too^ 
against  his  returning  to  that  moilo  of  life.  Independently  of  those  arifiiV 
out  of  its  s{uire  and  precarious  earnings,  and  his  own  internal  conviction  thit 
he  could  never  hope  to  as})ire  to  any  great  distinction,  even  as  a  pEOvinciol 
actor,  how  could  he  carry  his  sister  from  town  to  town,  and  place  to  nlsNi 
and  debar  her  from  any  other  associates  than  those  with  whom  he  woiud  bt 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  289 

compelled,  almost  without  distinction,  to  mingle.      **  It  won't  do/'   said 
Nicholas,  shaking  his  head  ;  *'  I  must  try  something  else." 

It  was  much  easier  to  make  this  resolution  than  to  carry  it  into  eflect. 
With  no  greater  experience  of  the  world  than  he  had  acquired  for  himself  in 
his  short  trials  ;  with  a  sufficient  share  of  headlong  rashness  and  precipitation 
(qualities  not  altogether  unnatural  at  his  time  of  life) ;  with  a  very  slender 
stock  of  money,  and  a  still  more  scanty  stock  of  friends  ;  what  could  ho  do  ? 
•*]^ad  !  "  said  Nicholas,  "  I'll  try  that  Register  Office  again." 

He  smiled  at  himself  as  he  walked  away,  with  a  quick  step ;  for,  an 
instant  before,  he  had  been  internally  blaming  his  own  precipitation.  He  did 
not  laugh  himself  out  of  the  intention,  however,  for  on  ho  went ;  picturing  to 
himself,  as  he  approached  the  place,  all  kinds  of  splendid  possibilities,  and 
impossibilities  too,  for  that  matter,  and  thinking  himself,  perhaps  with  good 
reason,  very  fortunate  to  be  endowed  with  so  buoyant  and  sanguine  a 
tempeitiment. 

The  office  looked  just  the  same  as  when  he  had  left  it  last,  and,  indeed, 
with  one  or  two  exceptions,  there  seemed  to  bo  the  very  same  placards  in  tlio 
window  that  he  had  seen  before.  There  were  the  same  unimpeachable 
masters  and  mistresses  in  want  of  virtuous  servants,  and  the  same  virtuous 
servants  in  want  of  unim])eac]mble  masters  and  mistresses,  and  the  same 
magnificent  estates  for  the  investment  of  capital,  and  the  same  enormous 
quantities  of  capital  to  bo  invested  in  estates,  and,  in  short,  the  same  oppor- 
tunities of  all  sorts  for  people  who  wanted  to  make  their  fortunes.  And  a 
most  extraordinary  proof  it  was  of  the  national  prosperity  that  people  had  not 
been  found  to  avail  themselves  of  such  advantages  long  ago. 

As  Nicholas  stopped  to  look  in  at  the  window,  an  old  gentleman  happened 
to  stop  too  ;  and  Nicholas,  carrying  his  eye  along  the  window-panes  from  loft 
to  right  in  search  of  some  capital-text  placard  which  should  be  applicable  to 
his  own  case,  caught  sight  of  this  old  gentleman's  figure,  and  instinctively 
withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  window,  to  observe  the  same  more  closely. 

He  was  a  sturdy  old  fellow  in  a  broad-skirted  blue  coat,  made  pretty  large 
to  fit  easily,  and  with  no  particular  waist ;  his  bulky  legs  clothed  in  drab 
lra«eches  and  high  gaiters,  and  his  head  protected  by  a  low-crowned  broad- 
brimmed  white  hat,  such  as  a  wealthy  grazier  might  wear.  He  wore  his  coat 
Imttoned  ;  and  his  dimpled  double-chin  rested  in  the  folds  of  a  white  necker- 
chief— not  one  of  your  stiff-starched,  apoplectic  cravats,  but  a  good,  easy,  old- 
fuihioned  white  neck-cloth  that  a  man  might  go  to  bed  in  and  be  none  the 
worse  for.  But  what  principally  attracted  tho  attention  of  Nicholas  was  the 
old  gentleman's  eye — never  was  such  a  clear,  twinkling,  honest,  merry,  happy 
ere,  as  that.  And  there  he  stood,  looking  a  little  upward,  with  one  hand 
fhrost  into  the  breast  of  his  coat,  and  the  other  playing  with  his  old- 
fashioned  gold  watchrchain  :  his  head  thrown  a  little  on  one  side,  and  his  hat 
a  little  more  on  one  side  than  his  head  (but  that  was  evidently  accident ;  not 
his  ordinanr  way  of  wearing  it),  with  such  a  pleasant  smile  playing  about  his 
month,  and  sucn  a  comical  expression  of  mingled  slyness,  simplicity,  kind- 
heartedness,  and  good-humour,  lighting  up  his  jolly  old  face,  that  Nicholas 
would  have  been  content  to  have  stood  there,  and  looked  at  him  until 
evening,  and  to  have  forgotten,  meanwhile,  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
a  soan^  mind  or  a  crabbed  countenance  to  be  met  with  in  the  whole  wide 
world. 

But  even  a  very  remote  approach  to  this  gratification  was  not  to  be  made, 
fo(t  although  he  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  having  been  tho  subject  of 
observation,  he  looked  casually  at  Nicholas  ;  and  tlio  latter,  fearful  of  giving 
ofEence,  resumed  his  scrutiny  of  the  window  instantly. 

u  \^ 


290  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Still  the  old  gentleman  stood  there,  glancing  from  placard  to  placard,  and 
Nicholas  could  not  forbear  raising  his  eyes  to  his  face  again.  Grafted  npon 
the  qiiaintness  and  oddity  of  his  appearance  was  something  so  indescribahly 
engaging,  and  bespeaking  so  much  worth,  and  there  were  so  many  little  lighte 
hovering  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  eyes,  that  it  was  not  a  mere 
amusement,  but  a  positive  pleasure  and  delight  to  look  at  him. 

This  being  the  case,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  old  man  caught  Nicholas  in 
the  act  more  than  once.  At  such  times,  Nicholas  coloured  and  looked 
embarrassed  ;  for  the  truth  is,  that  he  had  begun  to  wonder  whether  the 
stranger  could,  by  any  possibility,  be  looking  for  a  clerk  or  secretary ;  and 
thinking  this.,  he  felt  as  if  the  old  gentleman  must  know  it 

Long  as  all  this  takes  to  tell,  it  was  not  more  than  a  couple  of  minntes  in 
passing.  As  the  stranger  was  moving  away,  Nicholas  caught  his  eye  again, 
and,  in  the  awkwardness  of  tlie  moment,  stammered  out  an  apology, 

"  No  offence — oh,  no  offence  !  "  said  the  old  man. 

This  was  said  in  such  a  hearty  tone,  and  the  voice  was  so  exactly  what  it 
should  have  been  from  such  a  speaker,  and  there  was  such  a  cordiality  in  the 
manner,  that  Nicholas  was  emboldened  to  speak  again. 

**A  great  many  opportunities  here,  sir,"  he  said,  half  smiling,  as  he 
motioned  towards  the  window. 

**  A  great  many  people  willing  and  anxious  to  be  employed  have  seriously 
thought  so,  very  often,  I  dare  say,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  Poor  fellows,  poor 
fellows ! " 

He  moved  away  as  he  said  this  ;  but  seeing  that  Nicholas  was  about  to 
speak,  good-naturedly  slackened  his  pace,  as  if  he  were  unwilling  to  cut  him 
short.  After  a  little  of  that  hesitation  which  may  be  sometimes  observed 
between  two  people  in  the  street  who  have  exchanged  a  nod,  and  are  both 
uncertain  whether  they  shall  turn  back  and  speak  or  not,  Nicholas  found 
himself  at  the  old  man's  side. 

"  You  were  about  to  speak,  young  gentleman  ;  what  were  you  going  to 
say  ? " 

"Merely  that  I  almost  hoped — I  mean  to  say,  thought — you  had  some 
object  in  consulting  these  advertisements,"  said  Nicholas. 

"Ay,  ay  ?  what  object  now — what  object  ?"  returned  the  old  man,  lookiuff 
slyly  at  Nicholas.  "Did  you  think  I  wanted  a  situation  now — Eh  I  Did 
you  think  I  did  ?  " 

Nicholas  shook  his  head. 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! "  laughed  the  old  gentleman,  rubbing  his  hands  and  wrists  as  if 
he  were  washing  them.  '*  A  very  natural  thought,  at  all  events,  after  seeinff 
me  gazing  at  tliose  bills.  I  thought  the  same  of  you  at  first,  upon  my  wordi 
did." 

"  If  you  had  thought  so  at  last,  too,  sir,  you  would  not  have  been  far  froB 
the  truth,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"Eh?"  cried  the  old  man,  surveying  him  from  head  to  foot.  "Whit! 
Dear  me  !  No,  no.  Well-behaved  young  gentleman  reduced  to  such  • 
necessity  !     No  no,  no  no." 

Nicholas  bowed,  and  bidding  him  good  morning,  turned  upon  his  heeL 

"Stay,"  said  the  old  man,  beckoning  him  into  a  bye-street,  where  tbef 
could  converse  with  less  interruption.     "  What  d'ye  mean,  eh  !" 

"Merely  that  your  kind  face  and  manner — both  unlike  any  I  have  ewr 
seen — tempted  me  into  an  avowal,  which,  to  any  other  stranger  in  this 
wilderness  of  Loudon,  I  should  not  have  dreamed  of  making,"  retomol 
Nicholas. 

"  Wildiiiips-.  !     Yes  it  is,  it  is.     Good  !     It  is  a  wilderness,"  said  theoH 


a«>l 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  291 

man,  with  mnch  animation.  *'  It  was  a  wilderness  to  me  once.  I  came  here 
barefoot — I  have  never  forgotten  it  Thank  God ! "  and  he  raised  his  hat 
from  his  head,  and  looked  very  grave. 

"  What's  the  matter — what  is  it — how  did  it  all  come  about  ? "  said  the  old 
man,  lajring  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Nicholas,  and  walking  him  up  the 
street.  "You're — ehl"  laying  his  finger  on  the  sleeve  of  his  black  coat. 
"  Who's  it  for— eh  ?  " 

*'  My  father,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  old  gentleman,  quickly.  *'  Bad  thing  for  a  young  man  to 
lose  his  &ther.     Widowed  mother,  perhaps  ? " 

Nicholas  sighed. 

"  Brothers  and  sisters,  too — eh  f* 

"One  sister,"  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"  Poor  thing,  poor  thing  !  You're  a  scholar  too,  I  dare  say  ? "  said  the  old 
man,  looking  wistfully  into  the  face  of  the  young  one. 

••I  have  been  tolerably  well  educated,"  said  Nicholas. 

"Fine  thing,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "education  a  great  thing — a  very 
great  thing — I  never  had  any.  I  admire  it  the  more  in  others.  A  very  fine 
thing — ^yei,  yes.  Tell  me  more  of  your  history.  Let  me  hear  it  all.  No 
impertinent  curiosity — no,  no,  no." 

There  was  something  so  earnest  and  guileless  in  the  way  in  which  all  this 
was  said,  and  such  a  complete  disregard  of  all  conventional  restraints  and 
coldnesses,  that  Nicholas  could  not  resist  it.  Among  men  who  have  any  sound 
and  sterling  qualities,  there  is  nothing  so  contagious  as  pure  openness  of  heart. 
Nicholas  took  the  infection  instantly,  and  ran  over  the  main  points  of  his 
little  history  without  reserve ;  merely  suppressing  names,  and  touching  as 
lightly  as  possible  upon  his  uncle's  treatment  of  Kate.  The  old  man  listened 
with  great  attention,  and  when  he  had  concluded,  drew  his  arm  eagerly 
through  his  own. 

"  Don't  say  another  word — not  another  word,"  said  he.  "  Come  along  with 
me.     We  mustn't  lose  a  minute." 

So  saying,  the  old  gentleman  dragged  him  back  into  Oxford  Street,  and 
huling  an  omnibus  on  its  way  to  the  City,  pushed  Nicholas  in  before  him,  and 
followed  himself. 

As  he  appeared  in  a  most  extraordinary  condition  of  restless  excitement, 
and  whenever  Nicholas  offered  to  speak,  immediately  interposed  with — 
"Don't  say  another  word,  my  dear  sir,  on  any  account — not  another  word," 
the  young  man  thought  it  better  to  attempt  no  further  interruption.  Into  the 
City  they  journeyed  accordingly,  without  interchanging  any  conversation  ;  and 
the  farther  they  went  the  more  Nicholas  wondered  what  the  end  of  the 
■dventnre  could  possibly  be. 

The  old  gentleman  got  out  with  great  alacrity  when  they  reached  the  Bank, 
and  once  more  taking  Nicholas  by  the  arm,  hurried  him  along  Threadneedle 
Street,  and  through  some  lanes  and  passages  on  the  right,  until  they  at  length 
emerged  in  a  quiet,  shady  little  square.  Into  the  oldest  and  cleanest-looking 
house  of  business  in  the  square  he  led  the  way.  The  only  inscription  on  the 
door-post  was  "  Cheeryble  Brothers  ;  "  but  from  a  hasty  glance  at  the  direc- 
tions of  some  packages  which  were  lying  about,  Nicholas  supposed  that  the 
Brothers  Cheeryble  were  German  merchants. 

Passing  through  a  warehouse  which  presented  every  indication  of  a  thriving 

hiisiness,  Mr.  Cheeryble  (for  such  Nicholas  supposed  him  to  be,  from  the 

fisspect  which  had  been  shown  him  by  the  warehousemen  and  porters  whom 

'hey  passed)  led  him  into  a  little,  partition ed-oflf  counting-house,  like  a  largo 

^lass  case,  in  which  counting-house  there  sat — as  free  from  dust  and  \A^\\\\A\ 


292  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

as  if  he  had  been  fixed  into  the  glass  case  before  the  top  was  put  on,  and  bad 
never  come  out  since — a  fat,  elderly,  large-faced  clerk,  with  silver  spectades 
and  a  powdered  head. 

**  Is  my  brother  in  his  room,  Tim  ? "  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  with  no  less  kind- 
ness of  manner  than  he  had  sliown  to  Nicholas. 

"Yes,  he  is,  sir,"  replied  the  fat  clerk,  turning  his  spectacle-glasses  towards 
his  principal,  and  his  eyes  towards  Nicholas,  "but  Mr.  Trimmers  is  with 
him." 

**  Ay  !  and  what  has  he  come  about,  Tim  ? "  said  Mr.  Cheeryble. 

"  He  is  getting  up  a  subscription  for  the  widow  and  family  of  a  man  who 
was  killed  in  the  East  India  Docks  this  morning,  sir,"  rejoined  Tim. 
"  Smashed,  sir,  by  a  cask  of  sugar." 

*'  He  is  a  good  creature,"  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  with  great  earnestness.  "He 
is  a  kind  soul.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Trimmers.  Trimmers  is  one  of 
the  best  friends  we  have.  He  makes  a  thousand  cases  known  to  us  that  we 
should  never  discover  of  ourselves.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Trimmers." 
Saying  which,  Mr.  Cheeryble  rubbed  his  hands  with  infinite  delight,  and,  Mr. 
Trimmers  happening  to  pass  the  door  that  instant  on  his  way  out,  shot  out 
after  him,  and  caught  him  by  the  hand. 

**  I  owe  you  a  thousand  thanks.  Trimmers — ten  thousand  thanks — I  tike  it 
very  friendly  of  you — very  friendly  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  dragging  him 
into  a  corner  to  get  out  of  hearing.  "  How  many  children  are  tbere^  tod 
what  has  my  brotner  Ned  given.  Trimmers  ? " 

"  There  are  six  children,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "  and  your  brother  his 
given  twenty  pounds." 

*'My  brother  Ned  is  a  good  fellow,  and  you're  a  good  fellow  too* 
Trimmers,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  him  by  both  hands  with  trembling 
eagerness.  "  Put  me  down  for  another  twenty — or — stop  a  minute,  stop  t 
minute.  'We  mustn't  look  ostentatious  ;  put  me  down  ten  pound,  and  Tim 
Linkinwater  ten  pound.  A  cheque  for  twenty  pound  for  Mr.  Trimmers,  Tim. 
God  bless  you,  Trimmers — and  come  and  dine  with  us  some  day  this  week; 
you'll  always  find  a  knife  and  fork,  and  we  shall  be  delighted.  Now,  my  detr 
sir — cheque  from  jNlr.  Linkinwater,  Tim.  Smashed  by  a  cask  of  sugar,  and  six 
poor  cliildren — oh  dear,  dear,  dear  ! " 

Talking  on  in  this  strain,  as  fast  as  he  could,  to  prevent  any  friendly 
remonstrances  from  the  collector  of  the  subscription  on  the  large  amount  « 
his  donation,  Mr.  Cheeryble  led  Nicholas,  equally  astonished  and  affected  bf 
what  he  had  seen  and  heard  in  this  short  space,  to  the  half-opened  door  of 
another  room. 

**  Brother  Ned,"  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  tapping  with  his  knuckles,  tnd 
stooping  to  listen,  "are  you  busy,  my  dear  brother,  or  can  you  spare  timefv 
a  word  or  two  with  me  ? " 

**  Brother  Charles,  my  dear  fellow,"  re])lied  a  voice  from  the  inside ;  so  lib 
in  its  tones  to  that  which  had  just  spoken,  that  Nicholas  started,  and  almost 
thought  it  was  the  same.  "Don't  ask  me  such  a  question,  but  come  it 
dire<tly." 

They  went  in,  without  further  parley.  What  was  the  amazement  of 
Nicholas  when  his  conductor  advanced,  and  exchanged  a  warm  greeting 
with  another  old  gentleman,  the  very  type  and  model  of  himself — the  suae 
face,  the  same  figure,  the  same  coat,  waistcoat,  and  neckcloth,  the  suw 
breeches  and  gaiters — nay,  there  was  the  very  same  white  hat  hanging  aguut 
the  wall ! 

As  they  shook  each  other  by  the  liand  the  face  of  each  lighted  np  by 
beaming  looks  of  affection,  which  would  have  been  most  delightful  to  benoU 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  293 

in  infants,  and  which,  in  men  so  old,  was  inexpressibly  touching  ;  Nicbolns 
ooold  observe  that  the  last  old  gentleman  was  something  stouter  than  his 
brother ;  this,  and  a  slight  additional  shade  of  clumsiness  in  his  gait  and 
stature,  formed  the  only  perceptible  difference  between  them.  Nobody  could 
have  doubted  their  being  twin  brothers. 

"  Brother  Ned,"  said  Nicholas's  friend,  closing  the  room-door,  "  here  is  a 
jronng  friend  of  mine  that  we  must  assist.  We  must  make  proper  inquiries 
into  nis  statements,  in  justice  to  him  as  well  as  to  ourselves,  and  if 
they  ibre  confirmed — as  I  feel  assured  they  will  be — ^we  must  assist  him  ;  we 
most  assist  him,  brother  Ned." 

'*  It  is  enough,  my  dear  brother,  that  you  say  we  should,"  returned  the 
other.  "When  you  say  that,  no  further  inquiries  are  needed.  He  shall  be 
assisted.  What  are  his  necessities,  and  what  does  he  require  ?  Where  is  Tim 
Linkinwater  ?    Let  us  have  him  here." 

Both  the  brothers,  it  may  be  here  remarked,  had  a  very  emphatic  and 
earnest  delivery ;  both  had  lost  nearly  the  same  teeth,  which  imparted  the 
same  peculiarity  to  their  speech  ;  and  both  spoke  as  if,  besides  possessing  the 
utmost  serenity  of  mind  that  the  kindliest  and  most  unsuspecting  nature 
could  bestow,  they  had,  in  collecting  the  plums  from  Fortune's  choicest 
padding,  retained  a  few  for  present  use,  and  kept  them  in  their  mouths. 
"  Where  is  Tim  Linkiuwater  ?  "  said  brother  Ned. 

"  Stop,  stop,  stop  !  "  said  brother  Charles,  taking  the  other  aside.  "I've 
a  plan,  my  dear  brother,  I've  a  plan.  Tim  is  getting  old,  and  Tim  has  been  a 
fiuthful  servant,  brother  Ned ;  and  I  don't  think  pcLsiouing  Tim's  mother 
aod  sister,  and  buying  a  little  tomb  for  the  family  when  his  poor  brother 
died,  was  a  sufficient  recompense  for  his  faithful  services." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  replied  the  other.  *'  Certainly  not.  Not  half  enough,  not 
h*lf." 

'*  If  we  could  lighten  Tim's  duties,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  **  and  prevail 
npon  him  to  go  into  the  country  now  and  then,  and  sleep  in  the  fresh  air  two 
or  three  times  a- week  (which  he  could,  if  he  began  business  an  hour  later  in 
the  morning),  old  Tim  Linkinwatcr  would  grow  young  again  in  time  ;  and 
he's  three  good  years  our  senior  now.  Old  Tim  Linkiuwater  young  again  ! 
Eh,  brother  Ned,  eh  ?  Why,  I  recollect  old  Tim  Linkiuwater  quite  a  little 
boy,  don't  you  ?    Ha,  ha,  ha  !    Poor  Tim,  poor  Tim  ! " 

The  fine  old  fellows  laughed  pleasantly  together  ;  each  with  a  tear  of  regard 
for  old  Tim  linkiuwater  standing  in  bis  eye^ 

"But  hear  this  first — ^hear  this  first,  brother  Ned,"  said  the  old  man, 
hastily,  placing  two  chairs,  one  on  each  side  of  Nicholas.  ' '  I'll  tell  it  you 
myself,  brother  Ned,  because  tbe  young  gentleman  is  modest,  and  is  a 
scholar,  Ned,  and  I  shouldn't  feel  it  right  that  he  should  tell  us  his  story 
over  and  over  again,  as  if  he  was  a  beggar,  or  as  if  we  doubted  him.  No,  no, 
no." 

**No,  no,  no,"  returned  the  other,  nodding  his  head  gravely.  *'Very 
right,  my  dear  brother,  very  right. " 

•'  He  will  tell  me  I'm  wrong  if  I  make  a  mistake,"  said  Nicholas's  friend. 
•*  But  whether  I  do  or  not,  you'll  be  very  much  affected,  brother  Ned, 
xememberine  the  time  when  we  were  two  friendless  lads,  and  earned  our  first 
shilHng  in  this  great  city." 

The  twins  pressed  each  other's  hands  in  silence ;  and,  in  his  own  homely 
ananner,  brother  Charles  related  the  particulars  he  had  heard  from  Nicholas. 
The  conversation  which  ensued  was  a  long  one,  and  when  it  was  over,  a  secret 
QonfeTenc^  of  almost  equal  duration  took  place  between  brother  Ned  and  Tim 
linkinwater  in  another  room.     It  is  no  disparagement  to  Nicholas  to  say, 


294  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

that  before  he  had  been  closeted  with  the  two  brothers  ten  minutes,  he  could 
only  wave  his  hand  at  every  fresh  expression  of  kindn^  and  sympathy,  and 
sob  like  a  little  child. 

At  length  brother  Ned  and  Tim  Linkinwat^r  came  back  topjether,  when 
Tim  instantly  walked  up  to  Nicholas  and  whispered  in  his  ear  in  a  very 
brief  sentence  (for  Tim  was  ordinarily  a  man  oi  few  words),  that  he  had 
taken  down  the  address  in  the  Strand,  and  would  call  upon  him  thit 
evening  at  eight.  Having  done  which,  Tim  wiped  his  spectacles  and  put 
them  on,  preparatory  to  hearing  what  more  the  brothers  Cheeryhle  had  got  to 
say. 

**  Tim,"  said  brother  Charles,  **  you  understand  that  we  have  an  intention 
of  taking  this  young  gentleman  into  the  counting-house  \ " 

Brother  Ned  remarked  that  Tim  was  aware  of  that  intention,  and  qnita 
approved  of  it ;  and  Tim  having  nodded,  and  said  he  did,  drew  himself  np^ 
ami  looked  particularly  fat  and  very  important.  After  which  there  was  a 
profound  silence. 

"I'm  not  coming  an  hour  later  in  the  morning,  you  know,"  said  Tim, 
breaking  out  all  at  once,  and  looking  very  resolute.  "  I'm  not  going  to  sleep 
in  the  fresh  air — no,  nor  I'm  not  going  into  the  country  either.  A  pret^ 
thinff  at  this  time  of  day,  certainly.     Pho  !  " 

"Damn  your  obstinacy,  Tim  Linkin water,"  said  brother  Charles,  lookiiiig 
at  him  without  the  faintest  spark  of  anger,  and  with  a  countenance  radiant 
with  attachment  to  the  old  clerk.  ' '  Da\un  your  obstinacy,  Tim  Linkinwater, 
what  do  you  mean,  sir  ? " 

**  It's  forty-four  year,"  said  Tim,  making  a  calculation  in  the  air  with  hia 
pen,  and  drawing  an  imaginary  line  before  ho  cast  it  up,  *'  forty-four  year, 
next  ^lay,  since  I  first  kept  the  books  of  Cheery ble  Brothers.  I've  opened 
the  safe  every  morning  all  that  time  (Sundays  excepted)  as  the  clock  struck 
nine,  and  gone  over  the  house  every  night  at  half-j^ast  ten  (except  on  Foreign 
rv>st  nights,  and  thon  twenty  minutes  before  twelve)  to  see  the  doors  fastened, 
and  the  tires  out.  Tvo  never  slept  out  of  the  back  attic  one  single  night 
Thort^'s  the  same  mignonette  box  in  the  middle  of  the  window,  and  the  same 
four  tlower-i>ots,  two  on  each  side,  that  I  brought  with  me  when  I  first  came. 
'I'hore  an't — I've  said  it  agsiin  and  again,  and  I'll  maintain  it — there  an't  such 
a  S(|uare  as  tliis  in  the  world.  I  knoxc  there  an't,"  said  Tim,  with  sudden 
energy,  and  looking  sternly  about  him.  *  *  Not  one.  For  business  or  pleasure, 
in  summer  time  or  winter — I  don't  care  which — there's  nothing  like  it 
Theiv's  not  such  a  spring  in  England  as  the  pump  under  the  archway. 
There's  not  such  a  view  in  Knglund  as  the  view  out  of  my  window  ;  Fve  seen 
it  every  morning  before  I  shaveil,  and  I  ought  to  know  something  about  it 
I  have  slept  in  that  room,"  added  Tim,  sinking  his  voice  a  little,  ••  for  fou^ 
and-forty  year ;  and  if  it  wasn't  inconvenient,  and  didn't  interfere  witk 
business,  I  should  reouest  leave  to  die  there." 

"  Damn  you,  Tim  Linkinwater,  how  dare  you  talk  about  dying!"  roawd 
the  twins  by  one  impulse,  and  blowing  their  old  noses  violently. 

"That's  what  I've  got  to  say.  Mr.  Kdwin  and  Mr.  Charles,"  said  Tiffli 
squaiing  his  shouldei*;?  again.  "  This  isn't  the  first  time  you've  talked  about 
superannuating  me  ;  but,  if  you  please,  we'll  make  it  the'  last,  and  drop  the 
subjoot  for  evermore." 

With  these  woixls,  Tim  Tinkinwator  stalked  out,  and  shut  himself  up  in  liii 
glass  case,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  had  his  say,  and  was  thoro^jMf 
resolved  not  to  be  put  down. 

The  brothers  interchanged  looks,  and  coughed  some  half-doien  times 
out  speaking. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  295 

**  He  most  be  done  something  with,  brother  Ned,"  said  the  other  warmly  ; 
**  we  mnst  disregard  his  old  scruples  ;  they  can't  be  tolerated  or  borne.  He 
moat  be  made  partner,  brother  Ned ;  and  if  he  won't  submit  to  it  peaceably, 
we  mast  have  recourse  to  violence." 

"  Qoite  right,"  replied  brother  Ned,  nodding  his  head  as  a  man  thoroughly 
determined  ;  "quite  right,  my  dear  brother.  If  he  won't  listen  to  reason,  we 
must  do  it  against  his  will,  and  show  him  that  we  are  determined  to  exert  our 
authority.     We  mnst  quarrel  with  him,  brother  Chailes." 

'*  We  mnst — we  certainly  must  have  a  quarrel  with  Tim  Linkiu water," 
■aid  the  other.  **  But  in  the  meantime,  my  dear  brother,  we  are  keeping  our 
yonng  friend  ;  and  the  poor  lady  and  her  daughter  will  be  anxious  for  his  re- 
turn. So  let  us  say  good-bye  for  the  present,  and — there,  there — take  care  of 
that  box,  my  dear  sir — and — no,  no,  no,  not  a  word  now ;  be  careful  of  the 
crossings  an 


I 


And  with  any  disjointed  and  unconnected  words  which  would  prevent 
Nicholas  from  pouring  forth  his  thanks,  the  brothers  hurried  him  out ;  shak- 
ing hands  with  him  all  the  way,  and  affecting  very  unsuccessfully — they  were 
poor  hands  at  deception  ! — to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the  feelings  that 
mastered  him. 

Nicholas's  heart  was  too  full  to  allow  of  his  turning  into  the  street  until  he 
had  recovered  some  composure.  When  he  at  last  glided  out  of  the  dark  door- 
way comer  in  which  he  had  been  compelled  to  halt,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
twins  stealthily  peeping  in  at  one  corner  of  the  glass-case,  evidently  undecided 
whether  they  should  follow  up  their  late  attack  without  delay,  or  for  the 
present  postpone  laying  further  siege  to  the  inflexible  Tim  Linkinwater. 

To  recount  all  the  delight  and  wonder  which  the  circumstances  just  detailed 
awakened  at  Miss  La  Creevy's,  and  all  the  things  that  were  done,  said,  thought, 
expected,  hoped,  and  prophesied  in  consequence,  is  beside  the  present  course 
and  purpose  of  these  adventures.  It  is  sufficient  to  state,  in  brief,  that  Mr. 
Timothy  Linkinwater  arrived,  punctual  to  his  appointment :  that,  oddity  as 
he  was,  and  jealous  as  he  was  bound  to  be  of  the  proper  exercise  of  his  em- 
ployers* most  comprehensive  liberality,  he  reported  strongly  and  warmly  in 
favoar  of  Nicholas  ;  and  that,  next  day,  he  was  appointed  to  the  vacant  stool 
in  the  counting-house  of  Cheeryble  Brothers,  with  a  present  salary  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a-year. 

*•  And  I  think,  my  dear  brother,"  said  Nicholas's  first  friend,  "that  if  we 
were  to  let  them  that  little  cottage  at  Bow  which  is  empty,  at  something 
uuder  the  usual  rent,  now — Eh,  brother  Ned  ? " 

•*  For  nothing  at  all,"  said  brother  Ned.  "We  are  rich,  and  should  be 
ashamed  to  touch  the  rent  under  such  circumstances  as  these.  Where  is  Tim 
lankinwater  ? — for  nothing  at  all,  my  dear  brother,  for  nothing  at  all." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say  something,  brother  Ned,"  suggested 
the  other,  mildly  ;  **  it  would  help  to  preserve  habits  of  frugality,  you  know, 
and  remove  any  painful  sense  of  overwhelming  obligations.  We  might  say 
fifteen  pound,  or  twenty  pound,  and  if  it  was  punctually  paid,  make  it  up  to 
them  in  some  other  way.  And  I  might  secretly  advance  a  small  loan  towards 
a  little  furniture,  and  you  might  secretly  advance  another  small  loan,  brother 
Ned  ;  and  if  we  find  them  doing  well — as  we  shall ;  there's  no  fear,  no  fear — 
we  can  change  the  loans  into  gifts — carefully,  brother  Ned,  and  by  degrees, 
and  without  pressing  upon  them  too  much  ;  what  do  you  say  now,  brother  ? " 

Brother  Ned  gave  his  hand  upon  it,  and  not  only  said  it  should  be  done,  but 
had  it  done  too  ;  and,  in  one  short  week,  Nicholas  took  possession  of  the 
stool,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  and  Kate  took  possession  of  the  house,  and  all  was 
hope,  bustle,  and  light-heartedness. 


296  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

There  snrcl  j  never  \i*as  such  a  week  of  discoveries  and  surprises  as  the  first 
week  of  that  cottage.  Every  night  when  Nicholas  came  home  something  new 
had  been  found  out.  One  day  it  was  a  grape-vine,  and  another  day  it  was  a 
bi^iler,  and  another  day  it  was  the  key  of  the  front-parlour  closet  at  the  bottom 
of  the  water-butt,  and  so  on  through  a  hundred  items.  Then,  this  room  wis 
embellished  with  a  muslin  curtain,  and  tliat  room  was  rendered  quite  elecant 
by  a  window-blind,  and  such  improvements  were  made  as  no  one  would  hSTe 
supposed  possible.  Then,  there  iK*as  ^liss  La  Creevy,  who  had  come  out  in  the 
omnibus  to  stop  a  day  or  two  and  help,  and  who  was  perpetually  losing  a  very 
small  brown  pa(>or  jKircel  of  tin  tacks  and  a  very  large  hammer,  and  Fanning 
about  with  her  sleeves  tucked  up  at  the  wrists,  and  &lling  off  pun  of  stepi 
and  hurting  herself  very  much — and  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  talked  incessantly, 
and  did  something  now  and  then,  but  not  often — and  Kate,  who  busied  he^ 
self  noiselessly  everywhere,  and  was  pleased  with  everything — and  Smike,  irfio 
made  the  ganlen  a  perfect  wonder  to  look  upon — and  Nicholas,  who  helped 
and  encouraged  them,  every  one — all  the  peace  and  cheerfulness  of  home  re- 
stored, with  such  new  zest  imparted  to  every  frugal  pleasure,  and  sach  delight 
to  everv  hour  of  meeting,  as  misfortune  and  separation  alone  could  give ! 

In  shoix,  the  poor  2vioklebys  were  social  and  happy ;   while  the  rich 
Nickleby  was  alone  and  miserable. 


CHAPTER    XXXTI. 


TKIVATK  AND  COXFIPKXTIAL  ;  RELATING  TO  FAMILY  XATTEBS.  8H0WI5a 
Hv^W  MK.  KENWIti^  rNPEEWENT  VIOLKXT  AGITATIOX,  AND  HOW  SU& 
KKNWlvV^  WAS  AS  WELL  AS  a>rLI»   BE  SXFECrED. 

V  T  ni^rh:  have  been  seven  o'clvvk  in  the  evcaiai;.  and  it  was  growing  dirk 
t  in  the  UATTv^w  streets  near  Ov'.i::n  S^'Jiiif.  when  Mr.  Ken  wigs  sent  oat 
lor  a  j-^air  o:  i::e  chfjiw^Si:  w:i::c  k:i  jrloves — 1!:«^  ai  fourteen  pence— and 
a^.oour.i:  :ho  strv^npfst,  w:::^:!  hsyp::.-:d  ro  l^  i::e  ri^hi-Land  one,  walked 
vix'wnsrAirjSi.  w;:h  a:i  air  of  |vr."ip  *r*ii  uiu.-h  ex^^iteaiiai,  and  proceeded  to 
:v.::t^i'  :^c  kv.rb  o:"  :^e  s::;-^:-.:vvr  knx-ktr  tLirvi:i.  Haviug  executed  this 
isyi  w::>.  cr^^a:  ii:.\"tv.  Mr.  Kitiviis  r:iU<Ni  the  duvr  to  afD^r  him,  ind 


lo  McTl<Hf.:ia  to  o:>cn  u:(  dvv>r.  VAi^uhed  i::;o  ibe  hosae,  and  wms  teen  no 
So««  ^.'-.T^ier^.l  as  an  ahj^irac:  cir:^cr.:<r&r«.-<«.  there  was  no  more  obrioa 


gnafetf 

occTTf  *!«!,•*  oc  t^:?  r.-;v.fr»"::*  Io.ipifrR.  \u<  strft't  c.vr  always  stood  wide<^ieit 
a*.;i  ii»  kii*vkfr  «•*>  r.^r^r  usr^i  at  all  Tr.?  ::r&;  f..vc.  the  second  floor,  sad 
«ibf  :V.ri  f.»vc.  h*,l  «*.:.  a  hf-1  *m"  its  cvr..  A*  t*-*  tit  atti?&.  no  one  ever  dlkd 
oi&  l^f^s: ;  :;  4;:>b,>i>  »*'  :;\;  tl*^  rwir'.^irs..  t-\:y  iPirt  sli.>se  at  band,  and  all 
li*  )kai  Ti"  00  ^:a$  to  wall  $^7^j:':::  ::::,-  t^.;d:  :  vh£^-  the  kitchen  hid  a 
>H»rfc»  f£;»ak*«  «iow£  ihf  arna  ivr^^cts;.  A$  a  ^.if^s^^-a  of  men  neceasitj  ^ 
Bkitfii'bi  1 1 1   Ui«svjoo6»  tlis  x&r.f°'r^  o^  i^c  ka^a^cr  was  ihoroqg^y  iiiooiB|n- 


1N(t  )»^k«r»  ::;uky  'Sf  =:«£<<c  roc  ot^e^  ;v;;;7ok»  :.':.as  thoM  of  mm  v^ 


I 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  297 

tarianism,  as,  in  the  present  instance,  was  clearly  shown.  There  are  certain 
polite  forms  and  ceremonies  which  must  bo  observed  in  civilised  life,  or 
mankind  relapse  into  their  original  barbarism.  No  genteel  lady  was  ever  y«t 
confined — indeed,  no  genteel  confinement  can  possibly  take  place — without 
the  accompanying  symhol  of  a  muffled  knocker.  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  a  lady  of 
some  jpretensions  to  gentility  ;  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  confined.  And,  therefore, 
Mr.  ELjenwigs  tied  up  the  silent  knocker  on  the  premises  in  a  white  kid  glove. 

"I'm  not  quite  certain  neither,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  arranging  his  shirt- 
collar  and  walking  slowly  upstairs,  "  whether,  as  it's  a  boy,  I  won't  have  it  in 
the  papers." 

Pondering  upon  the  advisability  of  this  step,  and  the  sensation  it  was  likely 
to  create  in  the  neighbourhood,  Mr.  Kenwigs  betook  himself  to  the  sitting- 
room,  where  various  extremely  diminutive  articles  of  clothing  were  airing  on  a 
horse  before  the  fire,  and  Mr.  Lumbey,  the  doctor,  was  dandling  the  baby — 
that  is,  the  old  baby,  not  the  new  one. 

''  It's  a  fine  boy,  Mr.  Kenwigs,"  said  Mr.  Lumbey,  the  doctor. 

•'You  consider  him  a  fine  boy,  do  you,  sir  ?  "  returned  Mr.  Kenwigs. 

"  It's  the  finest  boyM  ever  saw  in  all  my  life,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  never 
saw  such  a  baby." 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  reflect  upon,  and  furnishes  a  complete  answer  to 
those  who  contend  for  the  gradual  degeneration  of  the  human  species,  that 
every  baby  bom  into  the  world  is  a  finer  one  than  the  last. 

**  I  ne — ver  saw  such  a  fine  baby,"  said  Mr.  Lumbey,  the  doctor. 

"  Morleena  was  a  fine  baby,"  remarked  Mr.  Kenwigs  ;  as  if  this  were  rather 
an  attack,  by  implication,  upon  the  family. 

•*  They  were  all  fine  babies,"  said  Mr.  Lumbey.  And  Mr.  Lumbey  went 
on  nursing  the  baby  with  a  thoughtful  look.  Whether  he  was  considering 
nnder  what  head  he  could  best  charge  the  nursing  in  the  bill  was  best  known 
to  himself. 

During  this  short  conversation.  Miss  Morleena,  as  the  eldest  of  the  family, 
and  natural  representative  of  her  mother  during  her  indisposition,  had  been 
hustling  and  slapping  the  three  younger  Miss  Kenwigses  without  intermis- 
sion ;  which  considerate  and  aficctiouate  conduct  brought  tears  into  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Kenwigs,  and  caused  him  to  declare  that,  in  understanding  and 
behaviour,  that  child  was  a  woman. 

**  She  will  be  a  treasure  to  the  man  she  marries,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs, 
half  aside  ;  **  I  think  she'll  marry  above  her  station,  Mr.  Lumbey." 

•*  I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all,"  replied  the  doctor. 

•*  You  never  see  her  dance,  sir,  did  you  ? "  asked  Mr.  Kenwigs. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

•'  Ay  1 "  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  as  though  he  pitied  him  from  his  heart,  "  then 
yoa  don't  know  what  she's  capable  of. ' 

All  this  time  there  had  been  a  great  whisking  in  and  out  of  the  other  room  ; 
the  door  had  been  opened  and  shut  very  softly  about  twenty  times  a  minute 
(for  it  was  necessary  to  keep  Mrs.  Kenwigs  quiet ;)  and  the  baby  had  been 
exhibited  to  a  score  or  two  of  deputations  from  a  select  body  of  female  friends, 
who  had  assembled  in  the  passage,  and  about  the  street-door,  to  discuss  the 
event  in  all  its  bearings.  Indeed,  the  excitement  extended  itself  over  the 
whole  street,  and  groups  of  ladies  might  be  seen  standing  at  the  door — some  in 
tiie  interesting  condition  in  which  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  last  appeared  in  public 
—-relating  their  experiences  of  similar  occurrences.  Some  few  acquired  great 
credit  from  having  prophesied,  the  day  before  yesterday,  exactly  when  it 
^ffOQld  come  to  pass ;  others,  again,  related,  how  that  they  guessed  what  it 
directly  they  saw  Mr.  Kenwigs  turn  pale  and  run  up  the  street  as  hard 


298  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

as  ever  he  oould  go.  Some  said  one  thing,  and  some  another  ;  but  all  talked 
to^rother,  ami  all  agreed  upon  two  points :  tirst,  that  it  was  very  meritorious 
au^L  hi&:hly  praiseworthy  in  Mrs.  Eenwicis  to  do  as  she  had  done  ;  and 
secondly,  that  there  never  was  such  a  skilful  and  scientific  doctor  as  that 
Di.  Lu::iboy. 

In  t:;e  mivist  of  this  general  hubbub,  Dr.  Lnmbey  sat  in  the  first  floor 
front,  as  bet'ore  related,  nursing  the  deposeil  baby,  and  talking  to  Mr. 
Konwig:«.  He  was  a  stout,  blull'-looking  gentleman,  with  no  shirt-collar  to 
speak  of.  and  a  beard  tliat  had  been  crowing  since  yesterday  morning ;  for 
Dr.  Lu:ii>:y  w.is  jv-pu'ir,  and  t'ne  ueigLli-ocrhood  was  prolific  ;  and  there  hid 
Uer.  ::o  loss  than  three  other  knockers  mu£ei,  one  after  the  other,  within 
t'::e  ^i>:  lorty-ei^ht  hours. 

"^Vt'l.  Mr.  kenwigs.*"  said  Dr.  Lur.-.bt-y,  "  tLL«  makes  six.  Yon*llharea 
r.v.e  :".in::lv  in  time,  sir." 

**  I  :'.;:r.k  six  is  a'.nirisr  enough,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Keawigs. 

"  :\-  x: '.  TVToh  :  *"  sail  the  dc-cior.     **Xoii5*nse  :  no;  half  enough." 

V*'::':-  tj-is.  the  d:.::cr  Iaur':.r-i :  but  Le  diin't  laugh  ha]f  as  much  as  i 
n^a:ri-:\L  :::c2i  of  M:?.  Ker^wics's.  wis  had  jasr  <ine  in  from  the  sick 
ciAnber  :-:  rer-rr:  T::^rf5c.  an  1  :ike  a  snail  siji  of  brar-iy  and  water;  and 
wh:>  ««::ned  :<>  ojlsi  1- r  ::  clc  c:  :ie  l;«c.si  ;;kcs  erer  l3un:L-rd  uj^n  society. 

*"  Tr.ey  a:r  -::  altr^fthrr  i:-:»7-.:tL:  -y:-  p:oi  f:r::i=*-  EtitLer,"  said 
M:.  Ar-w:^  Zo^kizj:  l.:^  j^:::z.i  Ii3^:.:er  c-  ":::=  k=«  ;  "  they  have  expecti- 

**A-d  viTT  e:oi  i::-.^.  ::•:.  I  iirlieTf,  haTei.'i  thsT?"  sik*^!  tae  married 
-i.y. 

••'S^'.T.  n:;'i~.'  siii  Mr,  Ziz—lr?.  "i:'?  z.::  rziif.T  f:r  rce  t/o  say  whit 
:r.:7  ziiy  ri?.  ;r  —..it  rhey  i_i."  z::  :»;,  Its  r.:t  ::.-  n=  tD  b:«3»t  of iS; 
::7J..ly  "Britl.  -crl.i.h  1  l.i~f  tie  h.i.:z:  t:  :»z  ii'-ritel  :  it  tr.r  same  tim?. 
Mr*.  K:7.— ^"s  is — 1  <':.:-! i  siy.  '  si:l  Vt.  Zi-"^*.  5.::t:ttly.  ai:d  raisi'.? 
l..>  t:_;  i.s  ":.r  s:'.V.f.  "tiit  t^y  i:'.!:--  ~-rht  ::iir  :t.tj  a  il alter  of  i 
:.  17. 1 .-i'i  7«:  1-  i  i -  v : ?:•;,  t»:  r h L7^^.  :-:::.  it »>  ti :  rf,  ":  zt  :•:  nsizlT  t ':. at- " * 
Azi  &  Tir"«"  1 !': rt~  .".tt.t  urrzi-i.     smi  ti.*  iiiirr.r-  -l-t. 

t  '.  17..  i  ::  sztLf  :r:—  tif  i:»::;:  s  :i:r  lz  i  tl-iz  riifrlzr  "y^r^  Lari,  f:r  he 
T  Lf 7. :  t:?:!  t:  :t-  *  tiit  r..:c:.t  Ifi":  tlri:  '7ii:-:'l  t'lzzi  a-^-:&:se  to  ttnsM 
-.I.--.  !i,  l:  1  ~:t  z::  r:  ":i:cr-t  j  vl:z  tlry  hii  l:zi  :z  " 

.         .  •  .  ■  o 

•     ■    r     • 
«.  «   •.    •• 

■  1  7:iLl-  7Z'-":.r.':-z  ::  z:  i:lz_:S  lz:!  T  visi  t:  t-iiii  zz-:zz::ti  ■:'  no  names," 
>v.  1  ]-■  i^iLv^;.  T-.:.:.  t7'  r:  -::z5  l:«:'i:  '"Illz-  ■:  ZLyfrifzis  have  met 
L  •:  .l:"..z  :■;'  IiIt'n  l^-zv^r^s  .z  this  ^-rjr  r:»:ti..  ii  wi-zll  It  htSLrtir  to  any 

•'Ir;    ziij   :.:z_.'     Sill  thf    z.  Lrr:-'l  It  if    vztz  a  rlLz:-f    towards  Dr. 

•■  1:  s  T.LtrrL'.lT  ri:rr  CT:. :-■'-.:  z  ::  :.  ~  -".-zrf  Lf  l  i'lij.-::  x:  sm  5u?hain« 
&s  :.:ii.:  i.-i.iis».:.j;  li_  :z;..:.^  :.7»>-:  :■:  ti-  iiJ^iz."  t'zrrZvl  ilr.  KrZ«it> 
••"1:  s  i.ttirLlly  ^■:r-  -x::.:  .i.z  ::  zy  :t":_i^s  ls  l  zzli..  z:  hzzw  ihii  mis. 
-t  w_l  :«  ii».r£:-JL..-  r~:t.:;.:-:  t,"  ::.t  ti-Ll:.,:?  ls  l  zzshi^z  z;  itikkt  thit  nm 

«      *  ■  «  •  « 

Ai«r  nL  T-A.-   \-.:.Z  ZLIS  :  Vt-Z:.  ' 

£ariiu:  Qishrfcni   his  *»:  zriTP-. :  :*   it    :h:f   irtrn.    :i:   w:«riA.   Mr.   Eenvi^ 
noiotii^  £»  Mo-ini  :  bur'itji:  s  fikz&x  il..  ld.!  ba^iif  iisr  be  a  rcKii  cirl  ibh 


v^hK  iier  aiscc:  X  nrj»'SL  su  ^ 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y,  299 

"That  girl  grows  more  like  her  mother  every  day,"  said  Mr.  Lumboy, 
suddenly  stricken  with  an  enthusiastic  admiration  of  Morleena. 

"There!"  rejoined  the  married  lady.  "What  I  always  say — what  I 
always  did  say  J  She's  the  very  picter  of  her."  Having  thus  directed  the 
general  attention  to  the  young  lady  in  question,  the  married  lady  embraced 
the  opportunity  of  taking  another  sip  of  the  brandy  and  water — and  a  pretty 
long  sip  too. 

"Yes  I  there  is  a  likeness,"  said  Mr.  Ken  wigs,  after  some  reflection. 
"  But  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Ken  wigs  was  afore  she  was  married  I  Good 
gracioos,  such  a  woman  ! " 

Mr.  Lumbey  shook  his  head  with  great  solemnity,  as  though  to  imply  that 
he  supposed  she  must  have  been  rather  a  dazzler. 

"  Talk  of  fairies  1 "  cried  Mr.  Kenwigs.  "  /  never  see  anybody  so  light  to 
be  alive — never.  Such  manners,  too  ;  so  playful,  and  yet  so  sewerely  proper  ! 
As  for  her  figure  1  It  isn't  generally  known,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  dropping 
his  Yoice ;  "  but  her  figure  was  such,  at  that  time,  that  the  sign  of  the 
Britannia  over  in  the  Holloway  Road  was  painted  from  it !  " 

"  But  only  see  what  it  is  now,"  urged  the  married  lady.  "Does  she  look 
like  the  mother  of  six  ? " 

"  Quite  ridiculous,"  cried  the  doctor. 

"She  looks  a  deal  more  like  her  own  daughter,"  said  the  married  lady. 

"So  she  does,"  assented  Mr.  Lumbey.     "A  great  deal  more." 

Mr.  Kenwigs  was  about  to  make  some  further  observations,  most  probably 
in  confirmation  of  this  opinion,  when  another  married  lady,  who  had  lookeil 
in  to  keep  up  Mrs.  Kenwigs's  -spirits,  and  help  to  clear  off  anything  in  the 
eating  and  drinking  way  that  might  be  going  about,  put  in  her  head  to 
announce  that  she  had  just  been  down  to  answer  the  bell,  and  that  there  was 
a  ffentleman  at  the  door  who  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Kenwigs  "  most  particular." 

Shadowy  visions  of  his  distinguished  relation  flitted  through  the  brain  of 
Mr.  Kenwigs  as  this  message  was  delivered ;  and  under  their  influence  he 
despatched  Morleena  to  show  the  gentleman  up  straightway. 

"  Why,  I  do  declare,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  standing  opposite  the  door  so  as 
to  get  the  earliest  glimpse  of  the  visitor  as  he  came  upstairs,  "it's  Mr. 
Johnson  !    How  do  you  iind  yourself,  sir  ? " 

Nicholas  shook  hands,  kissed  his  old  pupils  all  round,  entrusted  a  large 
parcel  of  toys  to  the  guardianship  of  Morleena,  bowed  to  the  doctor  and  the 
married  ladies,  and  inquired  after  Mrs.  Kenwigs  in  a  tone  of  interest  which 
went  to  the  very  heart  and  soul  of  the  nurse,  who  had  come  in  to  warm  some 
niysterious  compound  in  a  little  saucepan  over  the  fire. 

"  I  ought  to  make  a  hundred  apologies  to  you  for  calling  at  such  a  season," 
said  Nicholas,  "  but  I  was  not  aware  of  it  until  I  had  rung  the  bell,  and  my 
time  is  so  fully  occupied  now,  that  I  feared  it  might  be  some  days  before  I 
could  possibly  come  again." 

••No  time  like  the  present,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  "The  sitiwation  of 
Mrs.  Kenwigs,  sir,  is  no  obstacle  to  a  little  conversation  between  you  and  mc, 
I  hope  ?  •' 

••You  are  very  good,"  said  Nicholas. 

At  this  juncture  proclamation  was  made  by  another  married  lady,  that  the 
baby  had  begun  to  eat  like  anything ;  whereupon  the  two  married  ladies 
already  mentioned  rushed  tumultuously  into  the  bed-room  to  behold  him  in 
the  act. 

«•  The  fact  is,"  resumed  Nicholas,  "  that  before  I  left  the  country,  where  I 
hare  been  for  some  time  past,  I  undertook  to  deliver  a  message  to  you." 

•  •  Ay,  ay  ? "  said  Mr.  Kenwigs. 


300  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**And  I  have  been,"  added  Nicholas,  "already  in  town  for  some  days, 
without  haviug  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  so." 

"  It's  no  matter,  sir,"  said  ilr.  Ken  wigs.  "  I  dare  say  it's  none  the  worse 
for  keeping  cold.  Message  from  the  country ! "  said  Mr.  Eenwigs,  mmin- 
ating  ;  "  that's  curious.     I  don't  know  anybody  in  the  country." 

*'  Miss  Petowker,"  suggested  Nicholas. 

"Oh,  from  her,  is  it?  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  "Oh  dear,  yes.  Ah  I  Mre. 
Kenwigs  will  be  glad  to  hear  from  her.  Henrietta  Petowker,  eh  ?  How  odd 
things  come  about,  now  I  That  you  should  have  met  her  in  the  country— 
AVell  ! " 

Hearing  this  mention  of  their  old  friend's  name,  the  four  Miss  Kenwif^ 
gathered  round  Nicholas,  open  eyed  and  mouthed,  to  hear  more.  llr. 
Kenwigs  looked  a  little  curious  too,  but  quite  comfortable  and  nnsuspectmg. 

"The  message  relates  to  family  matters,"  said  Nicholas,  hesitating. 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Kenwigs,  glancing  at  Mr.  Lumbey,  who  having 
rashly  taken  charge  of  little  Lillyvick,  found  nobody  disposed  to  relieve  bim 
of  his  precious  burden.     "All  friends  here." 

Nicholas  hemmed  once  or  twice,  and  seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  in 
proceeding. 

"At  Portsmouth,  Henrietta  Petowker  is,"  observed  Mr:  Kenwigs. 

"  Yes,"  said  Nicholas.     "  Mr.  Lillyvick  is  there." 

^Ir.  Kenwigs  turned  pale,  but  he  recovered,  and  said  (luU  was  an  odd 
coincidence  alsa 

"  The  message  is  from  him,"  said  Nicholas. 

Mr.  Kenwigs  appeared  to  revive.     He  knew  that  his  niece  was  in  a  delicatB 
state,  and  had,  no  doubt,  sent  word  that  they  were  to  forward  fnU  particnlan* 
,Ye^     That  ^"as  very  kind  of  him — so  like  him,  too  ! 

"  He  desired  me  to  give  his  kindest  love,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  Very  much  oblicre*!  to  him,  I'm  sure.  Yoar  great-uncle,  Lillyvick,  my 
dears  I  *"  interiK>s«?d  Mr.  Kenwigs,  conlescendingLy  explaining  it  to  tltf 
children. 

**ni3  kindest  love,"  resumed  Nicholas  :  "and  to  say  that  he  had  no  time 
to  write,  but  that  he  was  married  to  Miss  Petowker.'' 

Mr.  Kenwigs  started  from  his  seat  with  a  petritied  stare,  canght  his  second 
dauLihter  by  her  flaxen  tail,  and  covenai  his  face  wit'u  his  pocket-handkerchief. 
Morleena  fell,  all  stitf  and  rigid,  into  the  baby's  chair,  as  she  had  seen  her 
n.otlier  fall  when  she  fainted  away,  and  the  two  remaining  little  EenvigM 
shrieked  in  atVright. 

'•  My  children,  my  defrauded,  swinjllod  infants  I  "  cried  Mr.  Eenwigii 
pulling  so  hard,  in  his  vehemence,  at  the  flaxen  tail  of  his  second  daughter 
that  he  lifted  her  up  on  riotoe,  and  kept  her  for  some  seconds  in  that  attitude 
*•  Villain,  ass,  traitor  !  ** 

*'Drat  the  man  !"  cr:e\.l  the  nurse,  looking  angrily  round.  "Whatdooi 
he  mean  bv  makiac  that  nnise  here  • " 

"Silence,  woman!"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  fiercely. 

"  I  won':  be  silent."  rerr.rue.l  the  nurse.  "  Be  silent  yourself,  yoa  wretek. 
Have  vou  no  re^rd  f-rr  v-.r  biiov  ■  " 

**No!"  ret".rn^'i  Mr.  K.^nwip?. 

"More  shaT'.iv}  for  yo-i,"*  rerortel  the  nurse.  "Ugh!  you  unnatnnl 
monster." 

"Let  him  die  I"  cried  Mr.  Kenwi^  in  the  torrent  of  his  wrath.  "Let 
him  die  !  He  has  no  exrvotations*  no  property  to  come  into.  We  want  bo 
babies  here/'  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  recklessly,  "take  'em  away,  take  *emawa/ 
to  Uie  Fondling  \ " 


NICHOLAS  NICK LEBY.  301 

With  these  awful  remarks,  Mr.  Ecnwigs  sat  himself  down  in  a  chair,  and 
defied  the  nurse,  who  made  the  best  of  her  way  into  the  adjoining  room,  and 
returned  with  a  stream  of  matrons :  declaring  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  had  spoken 
blasphemy  against  his  family,  and  must  be  raving  mad. 

Appearances  were  certainly  not  in  Mr.  Kenwigs's  favour,  for  the  exertion  of 
speaking  with  so  much  vehemence,  and  yet  in  such  a  tone  as  should  prevent 
his  lamentations  reaching  the  ears  of  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  had  made  him  very  black 
in  the  face  ;  besides  which,  the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  and  an  unwonted 
indulgence  in  various  strong  cordials  to  celebrate  it,  had  swollen  and  dilated 
his  features  to  a  most  unusual  extent.  But  Nicholas  and  the  doctor — who 
had  been  passive  at  lirst,  doubting  very  much  whether  Mr.  Kenwigs  could  bo 
in  eamesl^interposing  to  explain  the  immediate  cause  of  his  condition,  the 
Indignation  of  the  matrons  was  changed  to  pity,  and  they  implored  him,  with 
mncn  feeling,  to  go  quietly  to  bed. 

''The  attention,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  looking  around  with  a  plaintive  air, 
"the  attention  that  I've  shown  to  that  man  !    The  hysters  he  has  eat,  and 

the  pints  of  ale  he  has  drank,  in  this  house !  " 

"Ifs  very  trying,  and  very  hard  to  bear,  we  know,"  said  one  of  the  married 
ladies ;  "  but  think  of  your  dear,  darling  wife." 

"Oh,  yes,  and  what  she's  been  a  undergoing  of,  only  this  day,"  cried  a  great 
many  voices.     "There's  a  good  man,  do." 

"The  presents  that  have  been  made  to  him,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  reverting 
to  his  calamity,  "  the  pipes,  the  snuif- boxes,  a  pair  of  india-rubber  goloshes, 

that  cost  six-and-six * 

"Ah  !'it  won't  bear  thinking  of,  indeed!"  cried  the  matrons  generally  ; 
"  but  it'll  all  come  home  to  liim,  never  fear." 

Mr.  Kenwigs  looked  darkly  upon  the  ladies,  as  if  he  would  prefer  it's  all 
coming  home  to  Am,  as  there  was  nothing  to  bo  got  by  it ;  but  he  said 
nothing,  and  resting  his  head  upon  his  hand,  subsided  into  a  kind  of  doze. 

Then,  the  matrons  again  expatiated  on  the  expediency  of  taking  the  good 
gentleman  to  bed  ;  observing  that  he  would  be  better  to-morrow,  and  that 
they  knew  what  was  the  wear  and  tear  of  some  men's  minds  when  their  wives 
were-  taken  as  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  been  that  day,  and  that  it  did  him  great 
credit,  and  there  was  nothing  to  bo  ashamed  of  in  it ;  far  from  it ;  they  liked 
to  see  it,  they  did,  for  it  showed  a  good  heart.  And  one  lady  observed,  as  a 
ease  bearing  upon  the  present,  that  her  husband  was  often  quite  light-lieaded 
fh>ni  anxiety  on  similar  occasions,  and  that  once,  when  her  little  Johnny  was 
bom,  it  was  nearly  a  week  before  he  came  to  himself  again,  during  the  whole 
of  which  time  he  did  nothing  but  cry,  "  Is  it  a  boy,  is  it  a  boy  ? "  in  a  manner 
which  went  to  the  hearts  of  all  his  hearers. 

At  length  Morleena  (who  quite  forgot  she  had  fainted,  when  she  found  she 
was  not  noticed)  announced  that  a  chamber  was  ready  for  her  atflicted  parent ; 
and  Mr.  Kenwigs,  having  partially  smothered  his  four  daughters  in  the  close^ 
ness  of  his  embrace,  accepted  the  doctor's  arm  on  one  side,  and  the  support  of 
Kicholas  on  the  other,  and  was  conducted  upstairs  to  a  bed-room,  which  had 
been  secured  for  the  occasion. 

Having  seen  him  sound  asleep,  and  heard  him  snore  most  satisfactorily,  and 
having  further  presided  over  the  distribution  of  the  toys,  to  the  perfect 
contentment  of  all  the  little  Kenwigses,  Nicholas  took  his  leave.  The 
matrons  dropped  off,  one  by  one,  with  the  exception  of  six  or  eight  particular 
friends,  who  had  determined  to  stop  all  night ;  the  li;?hts  in  the  houses 
f^radually  disappeared  ;  the  last  bulletin  was  issued  that  ^Irs.  Kenwigs  was  as 
Well  as  could  be  expected  ;  and  the  whole  family  were  left  to  their  repose. 


302  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

NICHOLAS  FINDS  FURTHER  FAVOUR  IN  THE  EYES  OF  THE  BROTHERS  CHEEBYBLE 
AND  MR.  TIMOTHY  LINKINWATER.  THE  BROTHERS  GIVE  A  BANQUET  ON 
A  GREAT  ANNUAL  OCCASION.  NICHOLAS,  ON  RETURNING  HOME  FROM  IT, 
RECEIVES  A  MYSTERIOUS  AND  IMPORTANT  DISCLOSURE  FROM  THE  LIPS  OF 
MRS.  NICKLEBY. 

THE  Square  in  which  the  counting-house  of  the  Brothers  Cheeryble  vas 
situated,  although  it  might  not  wholly  realise  the  very  sanguine  expec- 
tations which  a  stranger  would  be  dis|K)sed  to  form  on  nearing  the 
fervent  encomiums  bestowed  upon  it  by  Tim  Linkinwater,  was,  neyertbeless, 
a  sufficiently  desirable  nook  in  the  heart  of  a  busy  town  like  London,  and  one 
which  occupied  a  high  place  in  the  affectionate  remembrance  of  several  ffra?e 
persons  domiciled  in  the  neighbourhood,  whose  recollections,  however,  dated 
from  a  much  more  recent  period,  and  whose  attachment  to  the  spot  was  far 
less  absorbing  than  were  the  recollections  and  attachments  of  the  enthusiastic 
Tim. 

And  let  not  those  Londoners  whose  eyes  have  been  accostomed  to  the 
aristocratic  gravity  of  Grosvenor  Square  and  Hanover  Square,  the  dowacer 
barrenness  and  frigidity  of  Fitzroy  Square,  or  the  gravel  walks  and  garaen 
seats  of  the  Squares  of  Russell  and  Euslon,  suppose  that  the  aifections  of  Tim 
Linkinwater,  or  the  inferior  lovers  of  this  particular  locality,  had  been 
awakened  and  kept  alive  by  any  refreshing  associations  with  leaves,  however 
dingy,  or  grass,  however  bare  and  thin.  The  City  square  has  no  encloson^ 
save  the  lamp-post  in  the  middle  •;  and  no  grass  but  tne  weeds  which  spring 
up  round  its  base.  It  is  a  quiet,  little-frequented,  retired  spot,  favourable  to 
melancholy  and  contemplation,  and  appointments  of  long  waiting  ;  and  up 
and  down  its  every  side  the  Appointed  saunters  idly  by  the  hour  together, 
wakening  the  echoes  with  the  monotonous  sound  of  his  footsteps  on  tiie 
smooth  worn  stones,  and  counting,  first  the  windows,  and  then  the  very  bricks 
of  the  tall  silent  houses  that  hem  him  round  about.  In  winter-time,  the  snow 
will  linger  there  long  after  it  has  melted  from  the  busy  streets  and  highwayi 
The  summer's  sun  holds  it  in  some  respect,  and  while  he  darts  his  cheerfiil 
rays  sparingly  into  the  Square,  keeps  his  fiery  heat  and  glare  for  noisier  and 
less-imposing  precincts.  It  is  so  quiet  that  you  can  almost  hear  the  ticking 
of  your  own  watch  when  you  stop  to  cool  in  its  refreshing  atmosphere.  There 
is  a  distant  hum — of  coaches,  not  of  insects — but  no  other  sound  disturbs  ^ 
stillness  of  the  Sauare.  The  ticket  porter  leans  idly  against  the  post  at  tlie 
corner  ;  comfortaoly  warm,  but  not  hot,  although  the  day  is  broiling.  Hit 
white  apron  flaps  languidly  in  the  air,  his  head  gradually  droops  upon  hit 
breast,  lie  takes  very  long  winks  with  both  eyes  at  once  ;  even  he  is  unable  to 
withstand  the  soporific  influence  of  the  place,  and  is  gradually  falling  aaleepi 
But  now  he  starts  into  full  wakefulness,  recoils  a  step  or  two,  and  gazes  ont 
before  him  with  eager  wildness  in  his  eye.  Is  it  a  job,  or  a  boy  at  marbles? 
Does  he  see  a  ghost,  or  hear  an  organ  ?  No  ;  sight  more  unwonted  still 
— there  is  a  butterfly  in  the  square — a  real,  live  butterily  !  astray  from 
flowers  and  sweets,  and  fluttering  among  the  iron  heads  of  the  dusty  ant 
railings. 

But  if  there  were  not  many  matters  immediately  without  the  doors  of 
Cheeryble  Brothers  to  engage  the  attention  or  distract  the  thoughts  ol  tb* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  303 

young  clerk,  there  were  not  a  few  within  to  interest  and  amuse  him.  There 
was  scarcely  an  object  in  the  place,  animate  or  inanimate,  which  did  not 
partake  in  some  degree -of  the  scrupulous  method  and  punctuality  of  Mr. 
Timothy  Linkinwater.  Punctual  as  the  counting-house  dial,  which  he  main- 
tained to  be  the  best  time-keeper  in  London  next  after  the  clock  of  some  old, 
hidden,  unknown  church  hard  by  (for  Tim  held  the  fabled  goodness  of  that  at 
the  Horse  Guards  to  be  a  pleasant  fiction,  invented  by  jealous  West-enders), 
the  old  clerk  performed  the  minutest  actions  of  the  day,  and  arranged  the 
minutest  articles  in  the  little  room,  in  a  precise  and  regular  order,  which  could 
not  have  been  exceeded  if  it  had  actually  been  a  real  glass  case,  fitted  with  the 
choicest  curiosities.  Paper,  pens,  ink,  ruler,  sealing-wax,  wafers,  pounce-box, 
string-box,  fire-box,  Tim's  hat,  Tim's  scrupulously-folded  gloves,  Tim's  other 
coat — looking  precisely  like  a  back  view  of  himself  as  it  hung  against  the  wall 
— all  had  their  accustomed  inches  of  space.  Except  the  clock,  there  was  not 
such  an  accurate  and  unimpeachable  instrument  in  existence  as  the  little 
thermometer  which  hung  behind  the  door.  There  was  not  a  bird  of  such 
methodical  and  business-like  habits  in  all  the  world  as  the  blind  blackbird, 
who  dreamed  and  dozed  away  his  days  in  a  large,  snug  cage,  and  had  lost  his 
voice,  from  old  age,  years  before  Tim  first  bought  him.  There  was  not  such 
an  eventful  story  in  the  whole  range  of  anecdote  as  Tim  could  tell  concerning 
the  acquisition  of  that  very  bird ;  how,  compassionating  his  starved  and 
suffering  condition,  he  had  purchased  him,  with  the  view  of  humanely  ter- 
minating his  wretched  life  ;  how  he  determined  to  wait  three  days  and  see 
whether  the  bird  revived  ;  how,  before  half  the  time  was  out,  the  bird  did 
revive  ;  and  how  he  went  on  reviving  and  picking  up  his  appetite  and  good 
looks  until  he  gradually  became  what — "what  you  sec  him  now,  sir,"  Tim 
would  say,  glancing  proudly  at  the  cage.  And  with  that,  Tim  would  utter  a 
melodious  chirrup,  and  cry  **  Dick  ;  "  and  Dick,  who,  for  any  sign  of  life  he 
had  previously  given,  might  have  been  a  wooden  or  stufied  representation  of  a 
blackbird  indifferently  executed,  would  come  to  the  side  of  the  cage  in  three 
small  jumps,  and,  thrusting  his  bill  between  the  bars,  would  turn  his 
sightless  head  towards  his  old  master — and  at  that  moment  it  would  be  very 
difficult  to  determine  which  of  the  two  was  the  happier,  the  bird  or  Tim 
Linkinwater. 

Nor  was  this  all.  Everything  gave  back,  besides,  some  reflection  of  the 
kindly  spirit  of  the  brothers.  The  warehousemen  and  porters  were  such 
sturdy,  jolly  fellows  that  it  was  a  treat  to  see  them.  Among  the  shipping 
announcements  and  steam-packet  lists  which  decorated  the  counting-house 
wall,  were  designs  for  almshouses,  statements  of  charities,  and  plans  for  new 
hospitals.  A  blunderbuss  and  two  swords  hung  above  the  chimneypiece,  for 
the  terror  of  evil-doers,  but  the  blunderbuss  was  rusty  and  shattered,  and  the 
swords  were  broken  and  edgeless.  Elsewhere,  their  open  display  in  such  a 
condition  would  have  raised  a  smile  ;  but  there  it  seemed  as  though  even 
violent  and  offensive  weapons  partook  of  the  reigning  influence,  and  became 
emblems  of  mercy  and  forbearance. 

Such  thoughts  as  tliese  occurred  to  Nicholas  very  strongly  on  the  morning 
when  he  first  took  possession  of  the  vacant  stool  and  looked  about  him,  more 
freely  and  at  ease  than  he  had  before  enjoyed  an  opportunity  of  doing.  Per- 
haps they  encouraged  and  stimulated  him  to  exertion,  for,  during  the  next 
two  weeks,  all  his  spare  hours,  late  at  night  and  early  in  the  morning,  were 
incessantly  devoted  to  acquiring  the  mysteries  of  book-kee})ing  and  some  other 
forms  of  mercantile  account.  To  these  he  applied  himself  witli  such  steadi- 
ness and  |)erseveranco  that,  although  he  brouglit  no  greater  amount  of  previous 
knowledge  to  the  subject  than  certain  dim  recollections  of  two  or  three  very 


304  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

long  sums  entered  into  a  cyphering-book  at  school,  and  relieved  for  parental 
inspection  by  the  effigy  of  a  fat  swan  tastefully  flourished  by  the  writing- 
master's  own  hand,  he  found  himself,  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight,  in  a  condition 
to  report  his  proficiency  to  J!ilr.  Linkinwater,  and  to  claim  his  promise  that 
he,  Nicholas  Nickleby,  should  now  be  allowed  to  assist  him  in  his  graver 
labours. 

It  was  a  sight  to  behold  Tim  Linkinwater  slowly  bring  out  a  massive  ledger 
and  day-book,  and,  after  turning  them  over  and  over,  and  affectionately 
dusting  their  iDacks  and  sides,  open  the  leaves  here  and  there,  and  cast  his 
eyes,  half-mournfully,  half-proudly,  upon  the  fair  and  unblotted  entries. 

"  Four-and-forty  year,  next  May  I  "  said  Tim.  "  Many  new  ledgers  since 
then.     Four-and-forty  year  !  " 

Tim  closed  the  book  again. 

*'  Come,  come,"  said  Nicholas,  **  I  am  all  impatience  to  begin." 

Tim  Linkinwater  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  mild  reproof.  Mr.  Nickleby 
was  not  sufficiently  impressed  with  the  deep  and  awful  nature  of  his  under- 
taking.    Suppose  there  should  be  any  mistake — any  scratching  out ! — 

Young  men  are  adventurous.  It  is  extraordinary  what  they  will  rush  upon, 
sometimes.  Without  even  taking  the  precaution  of  sitting  himself  down  npon 
his  stool,  but  standing  leisurely  at  the  desk,  and  ^vith  a  smile  npon  his  face-* 
actually  a  smile  (there  was  no  mistake  about  it ;  Mr.  Linkinwater  often  men- 
tioned it  afterwards) — Nicholas  dipped  his  pen  into  the  iukstand  before  him, 
and  plunged  into  the  books  of  Cheeryblc  Brothers  ! 

Tim  Linkinwater  turned  pale,  and  tilting  up  his  stool  on  the  two  legs 
nearest  Nicholas,  looked  over  his  shoulder  in  breathless  anxiety.  Brother 
Charles  and  brother  Ned  entered  the  counting-house  together  ;  bnt  Tim 
Linkinwater,  without  looking  round,  impatiently  waved  his  nand  as  a  cantioii 
that  profound  silence  must  be  observed,  and  followed  the  nib  of  the  inex- 
perienced pen  with  strained  and  eager  eyes. 

The  brothers  looked  on,  with  smiling  faces,  but  Tim  Linkinwater  smiled 
not,  nor  moved  for  some  minutes.  At  length,  ho  drew  a  long,  slow  breath,  lod 
still  maintaining  his  position  ou  the  tilted  stool,  glanced  at  brother  Chario^. 
secretly  pointed  with  the  feather  of  his  pen  towards  Nicholas,  and  nodded  Ut  j 
head  in  a  grave  and  resolute  manner,  plainly  signifying,  **  He'll  do.** 

Brother  Charles  nodded  again,  and  exchanged  a  laugning  look  with 
Ned  ;  but  just  then  Nicholas  stopped  to  refer  to  some  other  page,  and 
Linkinwater,  unable  to  contain  his  satisfaction  any  longer,  descended 
his  stool  and  caught  him  rapturously  by  the  hand. 

**  He  has  done  it !  "  said  Tim,  looking  round  at  his  employers  and  al 
his  head  triumphantly.     **His  capital  13's  and  D's  are  exactly  like  mine; 
dots  all  his  small  i's  and  crosses  every  t  as  he  writes  it.     There  an't 
young  man  as  this  in  all  London,"  said  Tim,  clapping  Nicholas  on  the 
"  not  one.     Don't  tell  me  !    The  city  can't  produce  his  equaL     I  d 
the  city  to  do  it." 

With  this  casting  down  of  his  gauntlet,  Tim  Linkinwater  struck  the 
such  a  blow  with  his  clenched  fist,  that  the  old  blackbird  tumbled  off 
perch  with  the  start  it  gave  him,  and  actually  uttered  a  feeble  croak,  in  tht 
extremity  of  his  astonishment. 

"  Well  said,  Tim — well  said,  Tim  Linkinwater  !  "  cried  brother  CharlM^ 
scarcely  less  pleased  than  Tim  himself,  and  clapping  his  hands  gently  as  he 
s})oke.  "  I  knew  our  young  friend  would  take  great  pains,  and  I  was  quite 
certain  he  would  succeed  in  no  time.     Didn't  I  say  so,  orother  Ned  %  " 

**  You  did,  my  dear  brother — certainly,  my  dear  brother,  you  said  so,  and 
you  were  quite  right,"  replied  Ned.     **  Quite  right.      Tim  Linkinwater  is 


T  H  I.  IKIfWATEB  ClOa  IT  HIM 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  305 

excited,  but  he  is  justly  excited,  properly  excited.     Tim  is  a  fine  fellow. 
Tim  Liiikin water,  sir — you're  a  fine  fellow.' 

**  Here's  a  pleasant  thing  to  think  of  I  "  said  Tim,  wholly  regardless  of 
this  address  to  himself,  and  raising  his  spectacles  from  the  ledger  to  the 
brothers.  **  Here's  a  pleasant  thing.  Do  you  suppose  I  haven't  often  thouglit 
what  would  become  of  these  books  when  1  was  gone  ?  Do  you  suppose  I 
haven't  often  thought  that  things  might  go  on  irregular  and  untidy  here,  after 
I  was  taken  away?  But  now,"  said  Tim,  extending  his  forefinger  towards 
Nicholas,  *'now,  when  I've  shown  him  a  little  more,  I'm  satisfied.  The 
business  will  go  on  when  Tm  dead  as  well  as  it  did  when  I  was  alive — ^just  the 
same  ;  and  I  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  there  never  were  such 
books — never  were  such  books !  No,  nor  ever  will  be  such  books — as  the 
books  of  Cheeryble  Brothers. " 

Having  thus  expressed  his  sentiments,  Mr.  Linkin water  gave  vent  to  a 
short  laugh,  indicative  of  defiance  to  the  cities  of  London  and  Westminster, 
and,  turning  again  to  his  desk,  quietly  carried  seventy-six  from  the  last 
column  he  had  added  up,  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

**Tim  Linkinwater,  sir,"  said  brother  Charles;  "give  me  your  hand,  sir. 
This  is  your  birthday.  How  dare  you  talk  about  anything  else  till  you  have 
been  wished  many  happy  returns  of  the  day,  Tim  Linkinwater  ?  God  bless 
you,  Tim  !    God  bless  you  !  " 

•* My  dear  brother,"  said  the  other j^  seizing  Tim's  disengaged  fist,  "Tim 
Linkinwater  looks  ten  years  younger  than  he  did  on  his  last  birthday." 

"Brother  Ned,  my  dear  boy,"  returned  the  other  old  fellow,  "I  believe 
that  Tim  Linkinwater  was  born  a  hundred-and-fifty  years  old,  and  is  gradually 
coming  down  to  five-and-twenty  ;  for  he's  younger  every  birthday  than  he 
was  the  year  before." 

"So  he  is,  brother  Charles,  so  he  is,"  replied  brother  Ned.  "There's  not 
a  doubt  about  it." 

"Remember,  Tim,"  said  brother  Charles,  "that  we  dine  at  half-past  five 
to-day  instead  of  two  o'clock  ;  we  always  depart  from  our  usual  custom  on  this 
anniversary,  as  you  very  well  know,  Tim  Linkinwater.  Mr.  Nickleby,  my 
dear  sir,  you  will  make  one.  Tim  Linkinwater,  give  me  your  snuff'-box  as  a 
remembrance  to  brother  Charles  and  myself  of  an  attached  and  faithful  rascal, 
and  take  that,  in  exchange,  as  a  feeble  mark  of  our  respect  and  esteem, 
and  don't  open  it  until  you  go  to  bed,  and  never  say  another  word  upon  the 
subject,  or  I'll  kill  the  blackbird.  A  'dog !  He  should  have  had  a  golden 
cage  half-a-dozen  years  ago,  if  it  would  have  made  him  or  his  master  a  bit  the 
happier.  Now,  brother  Ned,  my  dear  fellow,  I'm  ready.  At  half-past  five, 
remember,  Mr.  Nickleby  1  Tim  Linkinwater,  sir,  take  care  of  Mr.  Nickleby 
at  half-past  five.     Now,  brother  Ned." 

Chattering  away  thus,  according  to  custom,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of 
any  thanks  or  acknowledgment  being  expressed  on  the  other  side,  the  twins 
trotted  off,  arm-in-arm,  having  endowed  Tim  Linkinwater  with  a  costly  gold 
snuff-box,  enclosing  a  bank-note  worth  more  than  its  value  ten  times  told. 

At  a  quarter-past  five  o'clock,  punctual  to  the  minute,  arrived,  according  to 
annual  usage,  Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  ;  and  a  gieat  to-do  there  was  between 
Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  and  the  old  housekeeper,  respecting  Tim  Linkin- 
water's sister's  cap,  which  had  been  despatched,  per  boy,  from  the  house  of 
the  family  where  Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  boarded,  and  had  not  yet  come  to 
hand  ;  notwithstanding  that  it  had  been  packed  up  in  a  bandbox,  and  the 
bandbox  in  a  handkerchief,  and  the  handkerchief  tied  on  to  the  boy's  arm  ;  and 
notwithstanding,  too,  that  the  place  of  its  consignment  had  been  duly  set 
forth,  at  full  length,  on  the  back  of  an  old  letter,  and  the  boy  enjoined, 

u  \<^ 


3o6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

under  pain  of  divers  horrible  penalties,  the  full  extent  of  which  the  eye  of  man 
could  not  foresee,  to  deliver  tlie  same  with  all  possible  speed,  and  not  to  loiter 
by  the  wav.  Tim  Linkin water's  sister  lamented  ;  the  nousekeeper  condoled ; 
and  both  kept  thrusting  their  heads  out  of  the  second-floor  window  to  see  if 
the  boy  was  *'  coming" — which  would  have  been  highly  satisfactory,  and 
upon  the  whole,  tantamount  to  his  being  come,  as  the  distance  to  the  comer 
was  not  quite  five  yards — when,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  when  he  was  least  ex- 
pected, the  messenger,  carrying  the  bandbox  with  elaborate  caution,  appeared 
in  an  exactly  opposite  direction,  puffing  and  panting  for  breath,  and  flushed 
with  recent  exorcise  ;  as  well  he  might  be  ;  for  he  had  taken  the  air,  in  the 
first  instance,  behind  a  hackney-coach  that  went  to  Camberwell,  and  had  fol* 
lowed  two  Punches  afterwards,  and  had  seen  the  Stilts  homo  to  their  own 
door.  The  cap  was  all  safe,  however — that  was  one  comfort — and  it  was  no 
use  scolding  him — that  was  another  ;  so  the  boy  went  upon  his  way  rejoicing, 
and  Tim  Linkin  water's  sister  presented  herself  to  the  company  below  stairs, 
just  five  minutes  after  the  half-hour  had  struck  by  Tim  Linkinwater's  own 
infallible  clock. 

The  company  consisted  of  the  Brothers  Cheeryble,  Tim  Linkinwater,  a 
rudd)''-faced,  white-headed  friend  of  Tim's  (who  was  a  superannuated  bank 
clerk),  and  Nicholas,  who  was  presented  to  Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  with 
much  gravity  and  solemnity.  The  party  being  now  completed,  brother  Ned 
rang  for  dinner,  and,  dinner  being  shortly  afterwards  announced,  led  Tim 
Linkinwater's  sister  into  the  next  room,  where  it  was  set  forth  with  great 

Preparation.  Then  brother  Ned  took  the  head  of  the  table,  and  brother 
harles  the  foot ;  and  Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  sat  on  the  left  band  of 
brother  Ned,  and  IMm  Linkinwater  himself  on  his  right ;  and  an  ancient 
butler,  of  apoplectic  appearance,  and  with  very  short  legs,  took  up  hi« 
position  at  tiie  back  of  trother  Ned's  arm-cliair,  and,  waving  his  right  arm 
])reparatory  to  taking  off  the  covers  with  a  flourish,  stood  bolt  upright  and 
motionless. 

**  For  these  and  all  other  blessings,  brother  Charles,"  said  Ned. 

**  Lord,  make  us  truly  thankful,  brother  Ned,"  said  Charles. 

Whereupon  the  apoplectic  butler  whisked  off  the  top  of  the  soup  tureen, 
and  shot,  all  at  once,  into  a  state  of  violent  activity. 

There  was  abundance  of  conversation,  and  little  fear  of  its  ever  flagging,  for 
the  good-humour  of  the  glorious  old  twins  drew  everybody  out,  and  Tim 
Linkinwater's  sister  went  off  into  a  long  and  circumstantial  account  of  Tim 
Linkinwater's  infancy,  immediately  after  the  very  first  ^lass  of  champagne- 
taking  care  to  premise  that  she  was  very  much  Tim's  junior,  and  had  only 
become  acquainted  with  the  facts  from  their  being  preserved  and  handed 
down  in  the  family.  This  history  concluded,  brother  Ned  related  how  that, 
exactly  thirty-five  years  ago,  Tim  Linkinwater  was  suspected  to  have  received 
a  love-letter,  and  how  that  vague  information  had  been  brought  to  the 
counting-house  of  his  having  been  seen  walking  down  Cheapside  with  an 
uncommonly  handsome  spinster  ;  at  which  there  was  a  roar  of  langhter,  and 
Tim  Linkinwater  being  charged  with  blushing,  and  called  upon  to  explain, 
denied  that  the  accusation  was  true ;  and  further,  that  there  would  hare 
been  any  harm  in  it  if  it  had  been  ;  which  last  position  occasioned  the 
superannuated  bank  clerk  to  laugh  tremendously,  and  to  declare  that  it  wn 
the  very  best  thing  he  had  ever  heard  in  his  life,  and  that  Tim  Linkinmtar 
might  say  a  great  many  things  before  he  said  anything  which  would  beat 
thai. 

There  was  one  little  ceremony  peculiar  to  the  day,  both  the  matter  and 
manner  of  which  made  a  very  strong  impression  upon  Nicholas.     The  doth 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV.  307 

Laving  been  removed  and  the  decanters  sent  round  for  the  first  time,  a 
profonnd  silence  succeeded,  and  in  the  cheerful  faces  of  the  brothers  there 
appeared  an  expression,  not  of  absolute  melancholy,  but  of  quiet  thoughtful- 
ness,  very  unusual  at  a  festive  table.  As  Nicholas,  struck  by  this  sudden 
alteration,  was  wondering  what  it  could  portend,  the  brothers  rose  together, 
and  the  one  at  the  top  of  the  table  leaning  forward  towards  the  other,  and 
speaking  in  a  low  voice  as  if  he  were  addressing  him  individually,  said — 

"  Brother  Charles,  my  dear  fellow,  there  is  another  association  connected 
with  this  day  which  must  never  be  forgotten,  and  never  can  be  forgotten  by 
you  and  me.  This  day,  which  brought  into  the  world  a  most  faithful  and 
excellent  and  exemplary  fellow,  took  from  it  the  kindest  and  very  best  of 
parents — the  very  best  of  parents  to  us  both.  I  wish  that  she  could  have 
seen  us  in  our  prosperity,  and  shared  it,  and  had  the  happiness  of  knowing 
how  dearly  we  loved  her  in  it,  as  we  did  when  we  were  two  poor  boys — but 
that  was  not  to  be.     My  dear  brother — The  Memory  of  pur  Mother." 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  thought  Nicholas,  "  and  there  are  scores  of  people  of  their 
own  station,  knowing  all  this,  and  twenty  thousand  times  more,  who  wouldn't 
ask  these  men  to  dinner,  because  they  eat  with  their  knives  and  never  went  to 
school ! " 

But  there  was  no  time  to  moralise,  for  the  joviality  again  became  very 
brisk,  and  the  decanter  of  port  being  nearly  out,  brother  Ned  pulled  the  bell, 
which  was  instantly  answered  by  the  apoplectic  butler. 

**  David,"  said  brother  Ned. 

**  Sir,"  replied  the  butler. 

"A  magnum  of  the  double-diamond,  David,  to  drink  the  health  of  Mr. 
liinkinwater." 

Instantly,  by  a  feat  of  dexterity,  which  was  the  admiration  of  all  the 
company,  and  had  been,  annually,  for  some  years  past,  the  apoplectic  butler, 
bringing  his  left  hand  from  behind  the  small  of  his  back,  produced  the  bottle 
with  the  corkscrew  already  inserted  ;  uncorked  it  with  a  jerk  ;  and  placed  the 
magnnm  and  the  cork  before  his  master  with  the  dignity  of  conscious  clever- 
ness. 

"Hal"  said  brother  Ned,  first  examining  the  cork  and  afterwards  filling 
his  glass,  while  the  old  butler  looked  complacently  and  amiably  on,  as  if  it 
were  all  his  own  property,  but  the  company  were  quite  welcome  to  make  free 
with  it,  "  this  looks  well,  David." 

•*  It  ought  to,  sir,"  replied  David.  "You'd  be  troubled  to  find  such  a 
glass  of  wine  as  is  our  douole-diamond,  and  that  Mr.  Linkinwater  knows  very 
well.  That  was  laid  down  when  Mr.  Linkinwater  first  come  :  that  wine  was, 
gentlemen." 

*'  Nay,  David,  nay,"  interposed  brother  Charles. 

•*  I  wrote  the  entry  in  the  cellar-book  myself,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said 
David,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  quite  confident  in  the  strength  of  his  facts. 
**Mr.  Linkinwater  had  only  been  here  twenty  year,  sir,  when  that  pipe  of 
double-diamond  was  laid  down. " 

•*  David  is  quite  right — quite  right,  brother  Charles,"  said  Ned  ;  **  are  the 
people  here,  David  ?  * 

*•  Outside  the  door,  sir,"  replied  the  butler. 

'*  Show  'em  in,  David,  show  'em  in." 

At  this  bidding,  the  old  butler  placed  before  his  master  a  small  tray  of  clean 
glasses,  and  opening  the  door,  admitted  the  jolly  porters  and  warehousemen 
whom  Nicholas  haaseen  below.  They  were  four  in  all,  and  as  they  came  in, 
bowingi  and  grinning,  and  blushing,  the  housekeeper,  and  cook,  and  house- 
maid, Drought  up  the  rear 


3o8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Seven,"  said  brother  Ned,  filling  a  corresponding  number  of  glasses  with 
the  double-diamond,  "and  David,  eight — there  !  Now,  you're  all  of  you  to 
<lrink  the  health  of  your  best  friend,  Mr.  Timothy  Linkinwater,  and  wish  him 
health  and  long  life  and  many  happy  returns  of  this  day,  both  for  his  own 
sake  and  that  of  your  old  masters,  who  consider  him  an  inestimable  treasure. 
Tim  Linkinwater,  sir,  your  health.  Devil  take  you,  Tim  Linkinwater,  sir, 
God  bloss  you." 

With  this  singular  contradiction  of  teims,  brother  Ned  gave  Tim  Linkin- 
water a  slap  on  the  back  which  made  him  look,  for  the  moment,  almost  as 
apoplectic  as  the  butler :  and  tossed  off  the  contents  of  his  glass  in  a 
twinkling. 

The  toast  was  scarcely  drunk  with  all  honour  to  Tim  Linkinwater  when  the 
sturdiest  and  jolliest  subordinate  elbowed  himself  a  little  in  advance  of  his 
fellows,  and  exhibiting  a  very  hot  and  flushed  countenance,  pulled  a  single 
lock  of  grey  hair  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead  as  a  respectful  salute  to  the 
company,  and  delivered  himself  as  follows — rubbing  the  palms  of  his  hands 
very  hard  on  a  blue  cotton  handkerchief  as  he  did  so — 

"We're  allowed  to  take  a  liberty  once  a-year,  gen'lemen,  and  if  you  please 
we'll  take  it  now  ;  there  being  no  time  like  the  present,  and  no  two  birds  in 
the  hand  worth  one  in  the  bush,  as  is  well  known — leastways  in  a  contraiiy 
sense,  which  the  meaning  is  the  same.  (A  pause — the  butler  unconvinced.) 
What  we  mean  to  say  is,  that  there  never  was  (looking  at  the  butler) — such 
(looking  at  the  cook)  noble — excellent — (looking  everywhere  and  seeing 
nobody)  free,  generous,  spirited  masters  as  them  as  has  treated  us  so  handsome 
this  day.  And  here's  thanking  of  'em  for  all  their  goodness  as  is  so  constancy 
a  difl'using  of  itself  over  everywhere,  and  wishing  they  may  live  long  and  die 
happy  ! " 

When  the  foregoing  speech  was  over — and  it  might  have  been  much  more 
elegant  and  much  less  to  the  purpose — the  whole  body  of  subordinates  under 
command  of  the  apoplectic  butier  gave  three  soft  cheers  ;  which,  to  that 
gentlenian's  great  indignation,  were  not  very  regular,  inasmuch  as  the  women 
persisted  in  giving  an  immense  number  of  little  shrill  hurrahs  among  them- 
selves, in  utter  disregard  of  the  time.  This  done,  they  withdrew ;  shortly 
afterwards,  Tim  Liukinwater's  sister  withdrew  ;  in  reasonable  time  after  that 
the  sitting  was  broken  up  for  tea  and  coffee,  and  a  round  game  of  cards. 

At  half-past  ten — late  hours  for  the  Square — there  appeared  a  little  tray  of 
sandwiches  and  a  bowl  of  bishop,  which  bishop  coming  on  the  top  of  the 
double-diamond,  and  other  excitements,  had  such  an  effect  upon  Tim  linkin- 
water, that  he  drew  Nicholas  aside,  and  gave  him  to  imderstand,  confidentially, 
that  it  was  quite  true  about  the  uncommonly  handsome  spinster,  and  that  she 
was  to  the  full  as  good-looking  as  she  had  been  described — more  so,  indeed— 
but  that  she  was  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  change  her  condition,  and  conse- 
(juently,  while  Tim  was  courting  her,  and  thinking  of  changing  his,  got 
married  to  somebody  else.  "After  all,  I  dare  say  it  was  my  fault,"  said  Tun. 
"  I'll  show  you  a  print  I  have  got  upstairs,  one  of  these  days.  It  cost  me 
five-and-twenty  shillings.  I  bought  it  soon  after  we  were  cool  to  each  other. 
Don't  mention  it,  but  it's  the  most  extraordinary  accidental  likeness  you  ever 
saw — her  very  portrait,  sir  ! " 

By  this  time  it  was  past  eleven  o'clock  ;  and  Tim  Linkinwater*s  sister 
declaring  that  she  ought  to  have  been  at  home  a  full  hour  ago,  a  coach  w«b 
procured,  into  which  she  was  handed  with  great  ceremony  by  brother  Ned, 
while  brother  Charles  imparted  the  fullest  directions  to  the  coachman,  and, 
besides  paying  the  man  a  shilling  over  and  above  his  fare,  in  order  that  he 
might  take  the  utmost  care  of  the  lady,  all  but  choked  him  with  a  glass  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  309 

8|»irits  of  uncommon  strength,  and  then  nearly  knocked  all  the  breath  out  of 
hu  body  in  his  energetic  endeavours  to  knock  it  in  again. 

At  lenffth  the  coach  rumbled  off,  and  Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  being  now 
fairly  on  ner  way  home,  Nicholas  and  Tim  Linkinwater's  friend  took  their 
leaves  together,  and  left  old  Tim  and  the  worthy  brothers  to  their  repose. 

Ab  Nicholas  had  some  distance  to  walk,  it  was  considerably  past  midnight 
by  the  time  he  reached  home,  where  he  found  his  mother  and  Smike  sitting  up 
to  receive  him.  It  was  long  after  their  usual  hour  of  retiring,  and  they  had 
expected  him,  at  the  very  latest,  two  hours  ago  ;  but  the  time  had  not  hung 
heavily  on  their  hands,  for  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  entertained  Smike  with  a 
genealogical  account  of  her  family  by  the  mother's  side,  comprising  bio- 
graphical sketches  of  the  principal  members,  and  Smike  had  sat  wondering 
what  it  was  all  about,  and  whether  it  was  learnt  from  a  book,  or  said  out  of 
Mrs.  Nickleby's  own  head  ;  so  that  they  got  on  together  very  pleasantly. 

Nicholas  could  not  go  to  bed  without  expatiating  on  the  excellence  and 
munificence  of  the  Brothers  Cheeryble,  and  relating  the  great  success  which 
had  attended  his  efforts  that  day.  But  before  he  had  said  a  dozen  words,  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  with  many  sly  winks  and  nods,  observed  that  she  was  sure  Mr. 
Smike  must  be  quite  tired  out,  and  that  she  positively  must  insist  on  his  not 
sitting  up  a  minute  longer. 

'•A  most  biddable  creature  he  is,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  when 
Smike  had  wished  them  good-night  and  left  the  room.  *'  I  know  you'll 
excuse  me,  Nicholas,  my  dear,  but  I  don't  like  to  do  this  before  a  third 
person ;  indeed,  before  a  young  man  it  would  not  be  quite  proper,  though 
really,  after  all,  I  don't  know  what  harm  there  is  in  it,  except  that  to  be  sure 
it's  not  a  very  becoming  thing,  though  some  people  say  it  is  very  much  so,  and 
really  I  don't  know  why  it  should  not  be,  if  it's  weU  got  up,  and  the  borders 
are  small-plaited ;  of  course  a  good  deal  depends  upon  that.  ' 

With  vmich  preface  Mrs.  Nickleby  took  her  nightcap  from  between  the 
leaves  of  a  very  large  prayer-book,  where  it  had  been  folded  up  small,  and 
proceeded  to  tie  it  on  :  talking  away,  in  her  usual  discursive  manner,  all  the 
time. 

"  People  may  say  what  they  like,"  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  **  but  there's  a 
great  deal  of  comfort  in  a  nightcap,  as  I'm  sure  you  would  confess,  Nicholas, 
my  dear,  if  you  would  only  have  strings  to  yours,  and  wear  it  like  a  Christian, 
instead  of  sticking  it  upon  the  very  top  of  your  head,  like  a  blue-coat  boy.  You 
needn't  think  it  an  unmanly  or  quizzical  thing  to  be  particular  about  yoiu* 
nightcap,  for  I  have  often  heard  your  poor,  dear  papa,  and  the  Reverend  Mr. 
wbat's-his-name,  who  used  to  read  prayers  in  that  old  church  with  the 
curious  little  steeple  that  the  weather-cock  was  blown  off  the  night  week 
before  you  were  born — I  have  often  heard  them  say  that  the  young  men  at 
college  are  uncommonly  particular  about  their  nightcaps,  and  that  the  Oxford 
nightcaps  are  quite  celebrated  for  their  strength  and  goodness  ;  so  much  so, 
ind^,  that  the  young  men  never  dream  of  going  to  bed  without  'em,  and  I 
believe  it's  admitted  on  all  hands  that  tJiey  know  what's  good,  and  don't 
coddle  themselves." 

Nicholas  laughed,  and  entering  no  further  into  the  subject  of  this  lengthened 
harangue,  reverted  to  the  pleasant  tone  of  the  little  birthday  party.  And  as 
Mrs.  Nickleby  instantly  became  very  curious  respecting  it,  and  made  a  great 
number  of  inquiries  touching  what  they  had  for  dinner,  and  how  it  was  put  on 
table,  and  whether  it  was  overdone  or  underdone,  and  who  was  there,  and 
what  **  the  Mr.  Cheerybles  "  said,  and  what  Nicholas  said,  and  what  the  Mr. . 
Cheerybles  said  when  he  said  that ;  Nicholas  described  the  festivities  at  full 
lengtii,  and  also  the  occurrences  of  the  morning. 


3ro  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

''Late  as  it  is/'  said  Nicholas,  '*I  am  almost  selfish  enough  to  wish  that 
Kate  had  been  up  to  hear  all  this.  I  was  all  impatience  as  I  came  along 
to  tell  her." 

''  Why,  Eate,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  putting  her  feet  npon  the  fender,  and 
drawing  her  chair  close  to  it,  as  if  settling  herself  for  a  lonz  talk,  "  Eate  has 
been  in  bed^-oh  !  a  couple  of  hours — and  I'm  very  glad,  Nicholas,  my  dear, 
that  I  prevailed  upon  her  not  to  sit  np,  for  I  wished  very  much  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  sajnng  a  few  words  to  you.  I  am  naturally  anxious  about  it, 
and,  of  course,  it's  a  very  delightful  and  consoling  thing  to  have  a  grown-np 
son  that  one  can  put  conMence  in  and  advise  with — indeed,  I  don't  know 
any  use  there  woula  be  in  having  sons  at  all,  unless  people  could  put  confidence 
in  them." 

Nicholas  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sleepy  yawn  as  his  mother  began  to 
speak,  and  looked  at  her  with  fixed  attention. 

''  There  was  a  lady  in  our  neighbourhood,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "speaking 
of  sons  puts  me  in  mind  of  it — a  lady  in  our  neighbourhood  when  we  lived 
near  Dawlish,  I  think  her  name  was  Rogers ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  it  was  if  it 
wasn't  Murphy,  which  is  the  only  doubt  I  have." 

*'  Is  it  about  her,  mother,  that  you  wished  to  speak  to  me  f  "  said  Nicholas, 
quietly. 

"  About  Tier!"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "  Good  gracious,  Nicholas,  my  dear, 
how  can  you  be  so  ridiculous  !  But  that  was  always  the  way  with  your  poor, 
dear  papa — just  his  way,  always  wandering,  never  able  to  fix  his  thoughts  on 
any  one  subject  for  two  minutes  toother.  I.  think  I  see  him  now  ; "  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  looking  at  me  while  I  was  talking  to  him  about 
his  affairs,  just  as  if  his  ideas  were  in  a  state  of  perfect  conglomeration ! 
Anybody  who  had  come  in  upon  us  suddenly  would  have  supposed  I  was 
confusing  and  distracting  him  instead  of  making  things  plainer ;  upon  my 
word  they  would." 

**  I  am  very  sorry,  mother,  that  I  should  inherit  this  unfortunate  slowness 
of  apprehension,"  said  Nicholas,  kindly,  **  but  I'll  do  my  best  to  understand 
you,  if  you'll  only  go  straight  on  ;  indeed  I  will." 

"  Your  poor  papa  ! "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  pondering.  "  He  never  knew, 
till  it  was  too  late,  what  I  would  have  had  him  do  ! " 

This  was  undoubtedly  the  case,  inasmuch  as  the  deceased  Mr.  Nickleby  had 
not  arrived  at  the  knowledge  when  he  died.  Neither  had  Mrs.  Nickleby  her- 
self ;  which  is,  in  some  sort,  an  explanation  of  the  circumstance. 

*' However,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  drying  her  tears,  "this  has  nothing 
to  do — certainly,  nothing  whatever  to  do — with  the  gentleman  in  the  next 
house. " 

' '  I  should  suppose  that  the  gentleman  in  the  next  house  has  as  little  to  do 
with  us,"  returned  Nicholas. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  that  he  is  a  gentleman, 
and  has  the  manners  of  a  gentleman,  and  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman, 
although  he  does  wear  smalls  and  grey  worsted  stockings.  That  may  be 
eccentricity,  or  he  may  be  proud  of  his  legs.  I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't  be. 
The  Prince  Regent  was  proud  of  his  legs,  and  so  was  Daniel  Lambert,  who 
was  also  a  fat  man  ;  he  was  proud  of  his  legs.  So  was  Miss  Biffin  ;  she  was — 
no,"  added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  correcting  herself,  "I  think  she  had  only  toes, 
but  the  principle  is  the  same." 

Nicholas  looked  on,  quite  amazed  at  the  introduction  of  this  new  theme. 
Which  seemed  just  what  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  expected  him  to  be. 

"You  may  well  be  surprised,  Nicholas,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sure  / 
was.     It  came  upon  me  like  a  llash  of  fire,  and  almost  froze  my  blood.     The 


NICHOLAS  NJCKLEB  K  31 1 

bottom  of  his  garden  joins  the  bottom  of  ours,  and  of  course  I  had  several 
times  seen  him  sitting  amonp:  the  scarlet-beans  in  his  little  arbour,  or  working 
at  his  little  hot-beds.  I  used  to  think  he  stared  rather,  but  1  didn't  take  any 
particnlar  notice  of  that,  as  we  were  new-comers,  and  he  might  be  curious  to 
see  what  we  were  like.  But  when  he  beean  to  throw  his  cucumbers  over  our 
wall " 

•*  To  throw  his  cucumbers  over  our  wall ! "  repeated  Nicholas,  in  great 
astonishment 

"Yes,  Nicholas,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  very  serious  tone ; 
"  his  cucumbers  over  our  walL    And  vegetable-marrows  likewise." 

'*  Confound  his  impudence  t "  said  Nicholas,  firing  immediately.  ''What 
does  he  mean  by  that  ? " 

**  I  don't  think  he  means  it  impertinently  at  all,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"  What  I "  said  Nicholas,  "  cucumbers  and  vegetable-marrows  flying  at  the 
heads  of  the  family  as  they  walk  in  their  own  garden,  and  not  meant  im- 
pertinently !    Why,  mother " 

Nicholas  stopped  short ;  for  there  was  an  indescribable  expression  of  placid 
triumph,  mingled  with  a  modest  confusion,  lingering  between  the  borders  of 
Mrs.  Nickleby's  nightcap,  which  arrested  his  attention  suddenly. 

"  He  must  be  a  very  weak,  and  foolish,  and  inconsiderate  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby ;  "  blamable  indeed — at  least  I  suppose  other  people  would  consider 
him  so  ;  of  course  I  can't  be  expected  to  express  any  opinion  on  that  point, 
especially  after  always  defendms  your  poor,  dear  papa  when  other  people 
blamed  nim  for  making  proposals  to  me ;  and  to  oe  sure  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  he  has  taken  a  very  singular  way  of  showing  it  Still,  at  the  same 
time,  his  attentions  are — that  is,  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  to  a  certain  extent,  of 
course — a  flattering  sort  of  thmg;  and  altnough  I  should  never  dream  of 
marrying  again  with  a  dear  girl  like  Kate  still  unsettled  in  life " 

"Surely,  mother,  such  an  idea  never  entered  your  brain  for  an  instant  t" 
said  Nicholas. 

*'  Bless  my  heart,  Nicholas,  my  dear,"  returned  his  mother,  in  a  peevish 
tone,  "  isn't  that  precisely  what  1  am  saying,  if  you  would  only  let  me  speak? 
Of  course,  I  never  gave  it  a  second  thought,  and  I  am  surprised  and  astonished 
that  you  should  suppose  me  capable  of  such  a  thing.  All  I  say  is,  what  step 
is  the  best  to  take,  so  as  to  reject  these  advances  civilly  and  delicately,  and 
without  hurting  his  feelings  too  much,  and  driving  him  to  despair,  or  any- 
tiiing  of  that  kind  ?  My  goodness  me ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a 
half  simper,  **  suppose  he  was  to  go  doing  anything  rash  to  himself.  Could  1 
ever  be  happy  again,  Nicholas  ? " 

Despite  his  vexation  and  concern,  Nicholas  could  scarcely  help  smiling,  as 
he  rejoined,  "  Now,  do  you  think,  mother,  that  such  a  result  would  be  likely 
to  ensue  from  the  most  cruel  repulse  ? " 

"tTpon  my  word,  my  dear,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Mrs.    Nickleby  ; 
**  really  I  don't  know.     I  am  sure  there  was  a  case  in  the  day  before  yester- 
day's paper,  extracted  from  one  of  the  French  newspapers,  about  a  journeyman 
shoemaker  who  was  jealous  of  a  young  girl  in  an  adjoining  village,  because 
she  wouldn't  shut  herself  up  in  an  air-tight  three-pair  of  stairs,  and  charcoal 
herself  to  death  with  him,  and  who  went  and  hid  himself  in  a  wood  with  a 
aharn-nointed  knife,  and  rushed  out,  as  she  was  passing  by  with  a  few  friends, 
and  Killed  himself  first,  and  then  all  the  friends,  and  then  her — no,  killed  all 
the  friends  first,  and  then  herself,  and  then  himself — which  it  is  quite  fright- 
ful to  think  of.     Somehow  or  other,"  added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  after  a  momentary 
pause,  "they  always  are  journeyman  shoemakers  who  do  these  things  in 


3ia  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

France,  according  to  the  papers.     I  don't  know  how  it  is— something  in  the 
leather,  I  suppose. " 

"  But  this  man,  who  is  not  a  shoemaker — what  has  he  done,  mother,  what 
has  he  said  % "  inquired  Nicholas,  fretted  almost  beyond  endurance,  but  looking 
nearly  as  resignea  and  patient  as  Mrs.  Nickleby  herself.  **  You  know,  there 
is  no  language  of  vegetables  which  converts  a  cucumber  into  a  formal 
declaration  of  attachment." 

**My  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  tossing  her  head  and  looking  at  the 
ashes  in  the  grate,  *'  he  has  done  and  said  all  sorts  of  things." 

"  Is  there  no  mistake  on  your  part  ? "  asked  Nicholas.- 

"Mistake!"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "Lord,  Nicholas,  my  dear,  do  you 
suppose  I  don't  know  when  a  man's  in  earnest  ? " 

*'  Well,  well !  "  muttered  Nicholas. 

"Every  time  I  go  to  the  window,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "he  kisses  one 
hand,  and  lays  the  other  upon  his  heart — of  course  it's  very  foolish  of  him  to 
do  so,  and  I  dare  say  vou'll  say  it's  very  wrong,  but  he  does  it  very  respect- 
fully— very  respectfully  indeed — and  very  tenderly,  extremely  tenderly.  So 
far,  he  deserves  the  greatest  credit ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  that.  Then, 
there  are  the  presents  which  come  pouring  over  the  wall  every  day,  and  very 
fine  they  certainly  are,  very  fine ;  we  had  one  of  the  cucumbers  at  dinner 
yesterday,  and  think  of  pickling  the  rest  for  next  winter.  And  last  evening," 
added  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  increased  confusion,  "he  called  gently  over  the 
wall,  as  I  was  walking  in  the  garden,  and  proposed  marriage,  and  an  elope- 
ment. His  voice  is  as  clear  as  a  bell  or  a  musical  glass — very  like  a  musical 
glass  indeed — but  of  course  I  didn't  listen  to  it.  Then  the  question  is, 
Nicholas,  my  dear,  what  am  I  to  do  ? " 

"  Does  Kate  know  of  this  ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

"  I  have  not  said  a  word  about  it  yet,"  answered  his  mother. 

"Then,  for  heaven's  sake,'*  rejoined  Nicholas,  rising,  "do  not,  for  it 
would  make  her  very  unhappy.  And  with  regard  to  what  you  should  do,  my 
dear  mother,  do  what  your  good  sense  and  feeling,  and  respect  for  my  father's 
memory,  would  prompt.  There  are  a  thousand  ways  in  which  you  can  show 
your  dislike  of  these  preposterous  and  doting  attentions.  If  you  act  as 
decidedly  as  you  ought,  and  they  are  still  continued,  and  to  your  annoyance, 
I  can  speedily  put  a  stop  to  them.  But  I  should  not  interfere  in  a  matter  so 
ridiculous,  and  attach  importance  to  it,  uutil  you  have  vindicateil  yourself. 
Most  women  can  do  that,  but  especially  one  of  your  age  and  condition,  in 
circumstances  like  these,  which  are  unworthy  of  a  serious  thought.  I  would 
not  shame  you  by  seeming  to  take  them  to  heart,  or  treat  them  earnestly  for 
an  instant.     Absurd  old  idiot !  " 

So  saying,  Nicholas  kissed  his  mother,  and  bade  her  good-night,  and  they 
retired  to  tlieir  respective  chambers. 

To  do  Mrs.  Nickleby  justice,  her  attachment  to  her  children  would  have 
prevented  her  seriously  contemplating  a  second  marriage,  even  if  she  could  have 
so  far  conquered  her  recollections  of  her  late  husband  as  to  have  any  strong 
inclinations  that  way.  But  although  there  was  no  evil  and  little  real  selfish- 
ness in  Mrs.  Nickleby's  heart,  she  had  a  weak  head  and  a  vain  one  ;  and 
there  was  something  so  flattering  in  being  sought  (and  vainly  sought)  in 
marriage  at  this  time  of  day,  that  she  could  not  dismiss  the  passion  of  the 
unknown  gentleman  quite  so  summarily  or  lightly  as  Nicholas  appeared  to 
deem  becoming. 

"As  to  its  being  preposterous,  and  doting,  and  ridiculous,"  thought  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  communing  with  herself  in  her  own  room,  "  I  don't  see  that  at  alL 
It's  hopeless  on  his  j^rt,  certainly  ;  but  why  he  should  be  an  absurd  old  idiot, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  313 

confeas  I  don't  see.  He  is  not  to  be  supposed  to  know  it's  hopeless.  Poor 
illow !    He  is  to  be  pitied,  /  think  ! " 

Haying  made  these  reflections,  Mrs.  Nickleby  looked  in  her  little  dressing- 
lass,  and,  walking  backward  a  few  steps  from  it,  tried  to  remember  who  it 
as  who  used  to  say  that  when  Nicholas  was  one-and-tvventy  he  would  have 
tore  the  appearance  of  her  brother  than  her  son.  Not  being  able  to  call 
le  authority  to  mind,  she  extinguished  her  candle,  and  drew  up  the 
indow-blind  to  admit  the  light  of  morning,  which  had,  by  this  time,  begun 
>  dawn. 

"  It's  a  bad  light  to  distinguish  objects  in,"  murmured  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
Bering  into  the  garden,  "and  my  eyes  are  not  very  good — I  was  short- 
ghted  from  a  cmld — but,  upon  my  word,  I  think  there's  another  large 
3getable-marrow  sticking,  at  this  moment,  on  the  broken  glass  bottles  at 
le  top  of  the  wall ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


3MPRISE8  CERTAIN  PARTICULARS  ARISING  OUT  OF  A  VISIT  OF  CONDOLENCE, 
WHICH  MAY  PROVE  IMPORTANT  HEREAFTER.  SMIKB  UNEXPECTEDLY 
ENCOUNTERS  A  VERY  OLD  FRIEND,  WHO  INVITES  HIM  TO  HIS  HOUSE,  AND 
WILL  TAKE  NO  DENIAL. 

'A  UITE  unconscious  of  the  demonstrations  of  their  amorous  neighbour,  or 
\  of  their  effects  upon  the  susceptible  bosom  of  her  mamma,  Kate 
%  Nickleby  had,  by  this  time,  begun  to  enjoy  a  settled  feeling  of  tran- 
uillity  and  happiness,  to  which,  even  in  occasional  and  transitory  glimpses, 
be  had  long  been  a  stranger.  Living  under  the  same  roof  with  the  beloved 
•rother  from  whom  she  had  been  so  suddenly  and  hardly  separated  :  with  a 
nind  at  ease,  and  free  from  any  persecutions  which  could  call  a  blush  into  her 
heek  or  a  pang  into  her  heart :  she  seemed  to  have  passed  into  a  new 
tate  of  being.  Her  former  cheerfulness  was  restored,  her  step  regained  its 
/asticity  and  lightness,  the  colour  which  had  forsaken  her  cheek  visited  it 
ice  again,  and  Kate  Nickleby  looked  more  beautiful  than  ever. 
Such  was  the  result  to  which  Miss  La  Creevy's  ruminations  and  observa- 
ous  led  her,  when  the  cottage  had  been,  as  she  emphatically  said, 
thoroughly  got  to  rights,  from  the  chimney-pots  to  the  street-door  scraper," 
d  the  busy  little  woman  had  at  length  a  moment's  time  to  think  about  its 
rnates. 

•  *  Which  I  declare  I  haven't  had  since  I  first  came  down  here,"  said  Misa 
t  Creevy  ;  **  for  I  have  thought  of  nothing  but  hammers,  nails,  screwdrivers, 
^gimlets,  morning,  noon,  and  night." 

••  You  never  bestow  one  thought  upon  yourself,  I  believe,"  returned  Kate, 
kiliug. 

•  *  Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  when  there  are  so  many  pleasanter  things  to 
ink  of,  I  should  be  a  goose  if  I  did,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy,  "  By-the-by,  I 
n%  thought  of  somebody  too.     Do  you  know,  that  I  observe  a  great  change 

•  one  of  this  family — a  very  extraordinary  change  ? " 

**  In  whom  ? "  asked  Kate,  anxiously.     **  Not  in " 

*•  Not  in  your  brother,  my  4ear,"  returned  Miss  La  Creevy,  anticipating 
^e  dose  of  the  sentence,  "for  he  is  always  the  same  affectionate,  good- 
matured,  clever  creature,  with  a  spice  of  the — I  won't  say  who — in  liini  when 
^^ere's  any  occasion,  that  he  was  when  I  first  knew  him.     No.     Smike,  as  ho 


314  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

will  be  called,  poor  fellow  !  for  he  won't  hear  of  a  Ur,  before  his  name,  is 
greatly  altered,  even  in  this  short  time." 

"  How  % "  asked  Kate.     *'  Not  in  health  ? " 

''  N-n-o  ;  perhaps  not  in  health  exactly,"  Raid  Miss  La  Creevy,  pausing  to 
consider,  **  although  he  is  a  worn  and  feeble  creature,  and  has  that  in  his  face 
which  it  would  wring  my  heart  to  see  in  yours.     No  ;  not  in  healtii." 

"How  then?" 

'*!  scarcely  know,"  said  the  miniature  painter^  "But  I  have  watched 
him,  and  he  has  brought  the  tears  into  my  eyes  many  times.  It  is  not  a  very 
difficult  matter  to  do  that,  certainly,  for  I  am  easily  melted  ;  still,  I  think 
these  came  with  good  cause  and  reason.  I  am  sure  since  he  has  been  here  he 
has  grown,  from  some  strong  cause,  more  conscious  of  his  weak  intellect.  He 
feels  it  more.  It  gives  him  greater  pain  to  know  that  he  wanders  sometimes, 
and  cannot  understand  very  simple  things.  I  have  watched  him  when  yoa 
have  not  been  by,  my  dear,  sit  brooding  .by  himself,  with  such  a  look  of  pain 
as  I  could  scarcely  bear  to  see,  and  tnen  get  up  and  leave  the  room :  so 
sorrowfully,  and  in  such  dejection,  that  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  has  hart  me. 
Not  three  weeks  ago  he  was  a  light-hearted,  busy  creature,  overjoyed  to  be  in 
a  bustle,  and  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long.  Now,  he  is  another  being — the 
same  willing,  harmless,  faithful,  loving  creature — but  the  same  in  nothing 
else." 

**  Surely  this  will  all  pass  oflf,"  said  Kate.     **  Poor  fellow  1 " 

"  I  hope,"  returned  her  little  friend,  with  a  gravity  very  unusual  in  her, 
"  it  may.  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  that  poor  lad,  it  may.  However,"  said  Miss 
La  Creevy,  relapsing  into  the  cheerful,  chattering  tone,  which  was  baMtaal  to 
her,  **  I  have  said  my  say,  and  a  very  long  say  it  is,  and  a  very  wrong  say 
too,  I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all.  I  shall  cheer  him  up  to-night,  at  all  events ; 
for  if  he  is  to  be  my  squire  all  the  way  to  the  Strand,  I  shaU  tails,  on,  and  on, 
and  on,  and  never  leave  ofif,  till  I  have  roused  him  into  a  laugh  at  somethings 
So  the  sooner  he  goes,  the  better  for  him,  and  the  sooner  I  go,  the  better  for 
me,  I  am  sure,  or  else  I  shall  have  my  maid  gallivanting  with  somebody  who 
may  rob  the  house — though  what  there  is  to  take  away,  besides  tables  and 
chairs,  I  don't  know,  except  the  miniatures  ;  and  he  is  a  clever  thief  who  can ' 
dispose  of  them  to  any  great  advantage,  for  /  can't,  I  know,  and  that's  the 
honest  truth." 

So  saying,  little  Miss  La  Creevy  hid  her  face  in  a  very  flat  bonnet,  and  her- 
self  in  a  very  big  shawl ;  and  fixing  herself  tightly  into  the  latter,  by  means 
of  a  large  pin,  declared  that  the  omnibus  might  come  as  soon  as  it  pleased,  for 
she  was  quite  ready. 

But  there  was  still  Mrs.  Nickloby  to  take  leave  of ;  and  long  before  that 
good  lady  had  concluded  some  reminiscences,  bearing  upon,  and  appropriate 
to,  the  occasion,  the  omnibus  arrived.  This  put  Miss  La  Creevy  in  a  great 
bustle,  in  consequence  whereof,  as  she  secretly  rewarded  the  servant-girl  with 
eighteenpence  behind  the  street-door,  she  pulled  out  of  her  reticule  ten-penny' 
worth  of  halfpence,  which  rolled  into  all  possible  corners  of  the  passage,  and  occu- 
pied some  considerable  time  in  the  picking  up.  The  ceremony  ha3,  of  course, 
to  be  succeeded  by  a  second  kissing  of  Kate  and  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  a  gatile^ 
ing  together  of  the  little  basket  and  the  brown-paper  parcel,  during  which 
proceedings,  **  the  omnibus,"  as  Miss  La  Creevy  protested,  "swore  so  dnjad- 
fully,  that  it  was  quite  awful  to  hear  it. "  At  length  and  at  last  it  made  a 
feint  of  going  away,  and  then  Miss  La  Creevy  darted  out,  and  darted  in, 
apologising  with  great  volubility  to  all  the  passengers,  and  declaring  that  she 
wouldn't  purposely  have  kept  them  waiting  on  any  account  whatever.  While 
she  was  looking  about  for  a  convenient  seat,  the  conductor  pushed  Smike  in, 


1 


NICHOLAS  mCKLEBY.  315 

that  it  was  all  right — though  it  wasn't — and  away  went  the  huge 
ith  the  noise  of  half-a-dozen  brewers'  drays  at  least. 

it  to  pursue  its  journey  at  the  pleasure  of  the  conductor  afore- 
,  who  lounged  gracefully  on  his  little  shelf  behind,  smoking  an 
LS  cigar ;  and  leaving  it  to  stop,  or  go  on,  or  gallop,  or  crawl,  as  that 

I  deemed  expedient  and  advisable  ;  this  narrative  may  embrace  the 
ty  of  ascertaining  the  condition  of  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  and  to  what 
had,  by  this  time,  recovered  from  the  injuries  consequent  on  being 
ently  from  his  cabriolet,  under  the  circumstances  already  detailed. 

,  shattered  limb,  a  body  severely  bruised,  a  face  disfigured  by  half- 
ars,  and  pallid  from  the  exhaustion  of  recent  pain  and  fever,  Sir 
Hawk  lay  stretched  upon  his  back,  on  the  couch  to  which  he  was 
o  be  a  prisoner  for  some  weeks  yet  to  come.  Mr.  Pyke  and  Mr. 
;  drinking  hard  in  the  next  room,  now  and  then  varying  the  mono- 
ormurs  01  their  conversation  with  a  half-smothered  laugh,  while  the 
d — the  only  member  of  the  party  who  was  not  thoroughly  irredeem- 
who  really  bad  a  kind  heart — sat  beside  his  Mentor,  with  a  ci^r  in 
1,  and  read  to  him  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  such  scraps  of  intelligence 
per  of  the  day  as  were  most  likely  to  yield  him  interest  or  amuse- 

)  those  hounds  ! "  said  the  invalid,  turning  his  head  impatiently 
he  adjoining  room  ;  *'  will  nothing  stop  their  infernal  throats  !  " 

Fyke  and  Pluck  heard  the  exclamation,  and  stopped  immediately  ; 
!;o  each  other  as  they  did  so,  and  filling  their  glasses  to  the  brim,  as 
»mpense  for  the  deprivation  of  speech. 
q!"  muttered  the  sick  man  between  his  teeth,  and  writhing  im- 

in  his  bed.  *'  Isn't  this  mattrass  hard  enough,  and  the  room  dull 
md  pain  bad  enough,  but  ^^^must  torture  me  ?  What's  the  time ?" 
-past  eight,"  replied  his  friend. 

,  draw  the  table  nearer,  and  let  us  have  the  cards  again,"  said  Sir 
•.     "More  piquet.     Come." 

carious  to  see  how  eagerly  the  sick  man,  debarred  from  any  change 
n  save  the  mere  turning  of  his  head  from  side  to  side,  watched  every 
r  his  friend  in  the  progress  of  the  game  ;  and  with  what  eagerness  and 
he  played,  and  yet  how  warily  and  coolly.  His-  address  and  skill 
e  than  twenty  times  a  match  for  his  adversary,  who  could  make  little 
inst  them,  even  when  fortune  favoured  him  with  good  cards,  which 
often  the  case.  Sir  Mulberry  won  every  game  ;  and  when  his  com- 
irew  down  the  cards,  and  refused  to  play  any  longer,  thrust  forth  his 
.rm  and  caught  up  the  stakes  with  a  boastful  oath,  and  the  same 
lugh,  though  considerably  lowered  in  tone,  that  had  resounded  in 
ickleby's  dining-room  months  before. 

he  was  thus  occupied,  his  man  appeared,  to  announce  that  Mr.  Ralph 
r  was  below,  and  wished  to  know  how  he  was  to-night, 
er,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  impatiently. 
Nickleby  wishes  to  know,  sir ' 

II  you,  better,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry,  striking  his  hand  upon  the 

an  hesitated  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  said  that  Mr.  Nickleby 
aested  permission  to  see  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk,  if  it  was  not  incon- 

s  inconvenient.  I  can't  see  him.  I  can't  see  anybody,"  said  his 
more  violently  than  before.     **  You  know  that,  you  blockhead." 


3i6  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  returned  the  man.  *'  But  Mr,  Nickleby  pressed  M 
much,  sir " 

The  fact  was,  that  Ralph  Niokleby  had  bribed  the  man,  who,  being  anzioiu 
to  earn  his  money  with  a  view  to  future  favours,  held  the  door  in  his  hand, 
and  ventured  to  linger  still. 

' '  Did  he  say  whether  he  had  any  business  to  speak  about  ? "  inquired  Sir 
Mulberry,  after  a  little  impatient  consideration. 

''  No,  sir.  He  said  he  wished  to  see  you,  sir.  Particularly,  Mr.  Nickleby 
said,  sir." 

"Tell  him  to  come  up.  Here,"  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  calling  the  man  back, 
as  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  disfi^red  face,  "  move  that  lamp,  and  put  it 
on  the  stand  behind  me.  Wheel  that  table  away,  and  place  a  chair  there- 
further  off.     Leave  it  so." 

The  man  obeyed  these  directions  as  if  he  quite  comprehended  the  motive 
with  which  they  were  dictated,  and  left  the  room.  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht, 
remarking  that  he  would  look  in  presently,  strolled  into  the  adjoining  apart* 
ment,  and  closed  the  folding-door  behind  him. 

Then  was  heard  a  subdued  footstep  on  the  stairs ;  and  Ralph  Nickleby, 
hat  in  hand,  crept  softly  into  the  room,  with  his  body  bent  forward,  as  if  in 
profound  respect,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  face  of  his  worthy  client. 

"Well,  Nickleby,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  motioning  him  to  the  chair  by  the 
couch  side,  and  waving  his  hand  in  assumed  carelessness,  "  I  have  had  a  bid 
accident,  you  see." 

"I  see,"  rejoined  Ralph,  with  the  same  steady  gaze.  "Bad,  indeed!  I 
should  not  have  known  you.  Sir  Mulberry.     Dear,  dear  !    This  is  bad." 

Ralph's  manner  was  one  of  profound  humility  and  respect ;  and  his  low  tone 
of  voice  was  that  which  the  gentlest  consideration  for  a  sick  man  would  have 
taught  a  visitor  to  assume.  But  the  expression  of  his  face.  Sir  Molbenys 
being  averted,  was  in  extraordinary  contrast ;  and  as  he  stood,  in  his  osoal 
attitude,  calmly  looking  on  the  prostrate  form  before  him,  all  that  part  of  his 
features  which  was  not  cast  into  shadow  by  his  protruding  and  contracted 
brows  bore  the  impress  of  a  sarcastic  smile. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  towards  him,  as  though  by  a 
violent  effort.     "Am  I  a  sight,  that  you  stand  gazing  there  ?  " 

As  he  turned  his  face,  Ralph  recoiled  a  step  or  two,  and  making  as  though 
he  were  irresistibly  impelled  to  express  astonishment,  but  was  determined  not 
to  do  so,  sat  down  with  well-acted  confusion. 

"I  have  inquired  at  the  door.  Sir  Mulberry,  every  day,"  said  Balph, 
"twice  a-day,  indeed,  at  first — and  to-night,  presuming  upon  old  acquaint- 
ance, and  past  transactions,  by  which  we  have  mutually  oenefited  in  Bome 
degree,  I  could  not  resist  soliciting  admission  to  your  chamber.  Have  you— 
have  you  suffered  much  ? "  said  Ralph,  bending  forward,  and  allowing  the 
same  harsh  smile  to  gather  upon  his  face,  as  the  other  closed  his  eyes. 

"  More  than  enough  to  please  me,  and  less  than  enough  to  please  sooe 
broken-down  hacks  that  you  and  I  know  of,  and  who  lay  their  ruin  betwees 
us,  I  dare  say,"  returned  Sir  Mulberry,  tossing  his  arm  restlessly  upon  the 
coverlet. 

Ralpli  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  deprecation  of  the  intense  irritation  with 
which  this  had  been  said  ;  for  there  was  an  aggravating,  cold  distinctness  in 
his  speech  and  manner  which  so  grated  on  the  sick  man  that  he  could  scarcely 
endure  it. 

"And  what  is  it  in  these  'past  transactions*  that  brought  you  hereto- 
night  ? "  asked  Sir  Mulberry. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Ralph.     "  There  are  some  bills  of  my  lord's  which  need 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  317 

renewal ;  but  let  them  be  till  you  are  well.  I — I— came,"  said  Ralph, 
speaking  more  slowly,  and  with  harsher  emi)hasis,  **  I  came  to  say  how 
irrieyed  I.  am  that  any  relative  of  mine,  although  disowned  by  me,  should 
have  inflicted  such  punishment  on  you  as " 

**  Punishment  I "  interposed  Sir  Mulberry. 

"  I  know  it  has  been  a  severe  one,"  said  Ralph,  wilfully  mistaking  the 
meaning  of  the  interruption,  ''and  that  has  made  me  the  more  anxious  to  tell 
you  that  I  disown  this  vagabond — that  I  acknowledge  him  as  no  kin  of  mine 
— and  that  I  leave  him  to  take  his  deserts  from  you,  and  every  man  besides. 
You  may  wring  his  neck  if  you  please,    /shall  not  interfere." 

•*  This  story  that  they  tell  me  here  has  got  abroad  then,  has  it  ? "  asked  Sir 
Mulberry,  clenching  his  hands  and  teeth. 

**  Noised  in  all  directions,"  replied  Ralph.  **  Every  clnb  and  gaming-rooin 
has  run^  with  it.  There  has  been  a  good  song  made  about  it,  as  I  am  told," 
said  Ralph,  looking  eagerly  at  his  questioner.  **  I  have  not  heard  it  myself, 
not  being  in  the  way  of  such  things,  but  I  have  been  told  it's  even  printed — 
for  private  circulation — but  that's  all  over  town,  of  course." 

**  It's  a  lie  !  "  said  Sir  Mulberry  ;  **  I  tell  you  it's  all  a  lie.  The  mare  took 
fright." 

"  They  say  he  frightened  her,"  observed  llalph,  in  the  same  unmoved  and 
quiet  manner.  "Some  say  he  frightened  you,  but  tlmCs  a  lie,  I  know.  I 
have  said  that  boldly — oh,  a  score  of  times  1  I  am  a  peaceable  man,  but  I 
can't  hear  folks  teU  that  of  you — no,  no. " 

When  Sir  Mulberry  found  coherent  words  to  utter,  Ralph  bent  forward  with 
his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  a  face  as  calm  as  if  its  every  line  of  sternness  had 
been  cast  in  iron. 

"When  I  am  oflf  this  cursed  bed,"  said  the  invalid,  actually  striking  at 
his  broken  leg  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  passion,  ''  I'll  have  such  revenge  as  never 

man  had  yet.     By  G I  will  1    Accident  favouring  him,  he  has  marked  me 

for  a  week  or  two,  but  I'll  put  a  mark  on  him  that  he  shall  carry  to  his  grave. 
I'U  slit  his  nose  and  ears — flog  him — maim  him  for  life.  I'll  do  more  than 
that ;  I'll  drag  that  pattern  of  chastity,  that  pink  of  prudery,  his  delicate 
sister,  through " 

It  might  have  been  that  even  Ralph's  cold  blood  tingled  in  his  cheeks  at 
that  moment.  It  might  have  been  that  Sir  Mulberry  remembered  that, 
knave  and  usurer  as  he  was,  he  must,  in  some  early  time  of  infancy,  have 
twined  his  arm  about  her  father's  neck.  He  stopped,  and  menacing  with  his 
hand,  confirmed  the  unuttered  threat  \vith  a  tremendous  oath. 

"  It  is  a  galling  thing,"  said  Rtilph,  after  a  short  term  of  silence,  during 
which  he  had  eyed  the  sufferer  keenly,  "to  think  that  the  man  about  town, 
the  rake,  the  rmU^  the  rook  of  twenty  seasons,  should  be  brought  to  this  pass 
by  a  mere  boy  1 " 

Sir  Mulberry  darted  a  wrathful  look  at  him,  but  Ralph's  eyes  were  bent 
upon  the  ground,  and  his  face  wore  no  other  expression  than  one  of  thought- 
fulness. 

**A  raw,  slight  stripling,"  continued  Ralph,  "against  a  man  whoso  very 
weight  might  crush  him  ;  to  say  nothing  of  his  skill  in — I  am  right,  I  think," 
said  Ralph,  raising  his  eyes,  '*  you  were  a  patron  of  the  ring  once,  were  you 
not  ?  " 

The  sick  man  made  an  impatient  gesture,  which  Ralph  chose  to  consider  as 
one  of  acquiescence. 

**  Ha  !  he  said,  **  I  thought  so.  That  was  before  I  knew  you,  but  I  was 
pretty  sure  I  couldn't  be  mistaken.     He  is  light  and  active,  I  suppose.     But 


3i8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

those  were  slight  advantages  compared  with  yours.     Luck,  luck — ^theso  hang- 
dog  outcasts  have  it." 

"He'll  need  the  most  he  has  when  I  am  well  again,"  said  Sir- Mulberry 
Hawk,   '*  let  him  fly  where  he  will." 

"  Oh  ! "  returned  Ralph,  quickly,  '*  he  doesn't  dream  of  that.  He  is  here, 
good  sir,  waiting  your  pleasure — here  in  London,  walking  the  streets  at  noon- 
day ;  carrying  it  off  jauntily  ;  looking  for  you,  I  swear,"  said  Ralph,  his  face 
darkening,  and  his  own  hatred  getting  the  upper  hand  of  him,  for  the  first 
time,  as  this  gay  picture  of  Nicholas  presented  itself;  **if  we  were  only 
citizens  of  a  country  where  it  could  be  safely  done,  I'd  give  good  money  to 
have  him  stabbed  to  the  heart,  and  rolled  into  the  kennel  for  the  dogs  to 
tear." 

As  Ralph,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  his  old  client,  vented  this  little  piece 
of  sound  family  feeling,  and  took  up  his  hat  preparatory  to  departing,  Lord 
rredorick  Verisopht  looked  in. 

•*  Why,  what  in  the  deyrle's  name.  Hawk,  have  you  and  Nickleby  been 
talking  about  ? "  said  the  young  man.  •*  I  neyver  heard  such  an  insufferable 
riot.     Croak,  croak,  croak.     Bow,  wow,  wow.     What  has  it  all  been  about?" 

*'  Sir  Mulberry  has  been  angry,  my  lord,'*  said  Ralph,  looking  towards  the 
couch. 

'*  Not  about  money,  I  hope  ?  Nothing  has  gone  wrong  in  business,  has  it, 
Nickleby  ? " 

"No,  my  lord,  no,"  returned  Ralph.  **0n  that  point  we  always  agree. 
Sir  Mulberry  has  been  calling  to  mind  the  cause  of " 

There  was  neither  necessity  nor  opportunity  for  Ralph  to  proceed ;  for  Sir 
Mulberry  took  up  the  theme,  and  vented  his  threats  and  oaths  against 
Nicholas  almost  as  ferociously  as  before. 

Ralph,  who  was  no  common  observer,  was  surprised  to  see  that  as  thi« 
tirade  proceeded,  the  manner  of  Lord  Frederick  Verisopht,  who  at  the  com- 
mencement had  been  twirling  his  whiskers  with  a  most  dandified  and  listless 
air,  underwent  a  complete  alteration.  He  was  still  more  surprised  when,  Sir 
Mulberry  ceasing  to  speak,  the  young  lord  angrily,  and  almost  unaffectedlyi 
requested  never  to  have  the  subject  ruuewed  in  his  presence. 

"  Mind  that,  Hawk  ! "  he  added,  with  unusual  energy,   "  I  never  will  be  a 
party  to,  or  permit,  if  I  can  help  it,  a  cowardly  attack  upon  this  young      ] 
fellow." 

"Cowardly!"  interrupted  his  friend. 

"Ye-es,"  said  the  other,  turning  full  upon  him      "If  you  had  told  him 
who  you  were  ;  if  you  had  given  him  your  card,  and  found  out  alterwanl* 
that  his  station  or  character  prevented  your  fighting  him,  it  would  have  bett* 
bad  enough  then  ;  upon  my  soul  it  would  have  been  bad  enough  then.    Aa  it; 
is,  you  did  wrong.     I  did  wrong,  too,  not  to  interfere,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it- 
What  happened  to  you  afterwards  was  as  much  the  consequence  of  acciden"fc 
as  design,  and  more  your  fault  than  his  ;  and  it  shall  not,  with  my  knor— 
ledge,  be  cruelly  visited  upon  him — it  shall  not  indeed." 

With  this  emphatic  repetition  of  his  concluding  words,  the  young  Iw^ 
turned  upon  his  heel ;  but  before  he  had  reached  the  adjoining  room  he  tumeii 
back  again,  and  said,  with  even  greater  vehemence  than,  he  had  displaye*^ 
before — 

"I  do  believe,  now,  upon  my  honour  I  do  believe,  that  the  sister  ii*^ 
virtuous  and  modest  a  young  lady  as  she  is  a  handsome  one ;  and  of  the 
brother,  I  say  this,  that  he  acted  as  a  brother  should,  and  in  a  manly  tn» 
spirited  manner.  And  I  only  wish,  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  that  any  on* 
of  us  came  out  of  this  matter  half  as  well  as  he  does." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  319 

So  saying,  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht  walked  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Ralph 
l^ickleby  and  Sir  Mulberry  in  most  unpleasant  astonishment. 

"la  this  your  pupil?"  asked  Ralph,  softly,  *'orhas  he  come  fresh  from 
ome  cotmtry  parson  ! " 

"Green  fools  take  these  fits  sometimes,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry  Hawk, 
dting  his  lip,  and  pointing  to  the  door.     *'  Leave  him  to  me." 

Ralph  exchanged  a  familiar  look  with  his  old  acquaintance  ;  for  they  had 
uddenly  grown  confidential  agaiii  in  this  alarming  surprise ;  and  took  his 
yav  home,  thoughtfully  and  slowly. 

While  these  things  were  being  said  and  done,  and  long  before  they  wcio 
onclnded,  the  omnibus  had  disgorged  Miss  La  Creevy  and  her  escort,  and 
hey  had  arrived  at  her  own  door  Now,  the  good-nature  of  the  little 
uiniature  painter  would  by  no  means  allow  of  Smike's  walking  back  again 
intil  he  had  been  previously  refreshed  with  just  a  sip  of  something  com- 
ortable  and  a  mixed  biscuit  or  so  ;  and  Smike,  entertaining  no  objection 
ither  to  the  sip  of  something  comfortable,  or  the  mixed  biscuit,  but, 
onsidering  on  the  contrary  that  they  would  be  a  very  pleasant  preparation 
or  a  walk  to  Bow,  it  fell  out  that  he  delayed  much  longer  than  he  originally 
ntended,  and  that  it  was  some  half-hour  after  dusk  when  ho  set  forth  on  his 
onmey  home. 

There  was  no  likelihood  of  his  losing  his  way,  for  it  lay  quite  straight 
•ofore  him,  and  he  had  walked  into  town  with  Nicholas,  and  back  alone, 
.Imost  every  day.  So  Miss  La  Creevy  and  he  shook  hands  with  mutual  con- 
idence,  and. being  charged  with  more  kind  remembrances  to  Mrs.  and  Miss 
l^ickleby,  Smike  started  off. 

At  the  foot  of  Ludgate  Hill  he  turned  a  little  out  of  the  road  to  satisfy  his 
mriosity  by  having  a  look  at  Newgate.  After  staring  up  at  the  sombre  walls, 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  with  great  care  and  dread  for  some  minutes, 
he  tamed  back  again  into  the  old  track,  and  walked  briskly  through  the 
City  ;  stopping  now  and  then  to  gaze  in  at  the  window  of  some  particularly 
ittractive  shop,  then  running  for  a  little  way,  then  stopping  again,  and  so 
<ni,  as  any  other  country  lad  might  do. 

He  had  been  gazing  for  a  long  time  through  a  jeweller's  window,  wishing 
be  ooold  take  some  of  the  beautiful  trinkets  home  as  a  present,  and  imagining 
wiat  delight  they  would  afford  if  he  could,  when  the  clocks  struck  three- 
IQarters  past  eight ;  roused  by  the  sound,  he  hurried  on  at  a  very  quick  pace, 
md  was  crossing  the  comer  of  a  bye-street  when  he  felt  himself  violently 
wrought  to,  with  a  jerk  so  sudden  that  he  was  obliged  to  cling  to  the  lamp- 
o«t  to  save  himself  from  falling.  At  the  same  moment  a  small  boy  clung 
;/?ht  round  his  leg,  and  a  shrill  cry  of  **Here  he  is,  father — hooray!" 
^bi-ated  in  his  ears. 

Smike  knew  that  voice  too  well.  He  cast  his  despairing  eyes  downward 
'Wards  the  form  from  which  it  had  proceeded,  and  shuddering  from  head  to  foot, 
5>lced  round.     Mr.  Squeers  had  hooked  him  in  the  coat  collar  mth  tlie  handle 

Hia  umbrella,  and  was  hanging  on  at  the  other  end  with  all  his  might  and 
'^in.  The  cry  of  triumph  proceeded  from  Master  Wackford,  who,  regardless 
^  ^11  his  kicks  and  struggles,  clung  to  him  with  the  tenacity  of  a  bull-dog  ! 

One  glance  showed  him  this  ;  and  in  that  one  glance  the  terrified  creature 
•^^me  utterly  powerless  and  unable  to  utter  a  sound. 

**  Here's  a  go  ! "  cried  Mr.  Squeers,  gradually  coming  hand-over-hand  down 
toe  umbrella,  and  only  unhooking  it  when  he  had  got  tight  hold  of  the 
^ctim's  collar.     **  Here's  a  delicious  go  !    Wackford,  my  boy,  call  up  one  of 
^bem  coaches." 
"A  coach,  father  1 "  cried  little  Wackford. 


320  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Yes,  a  coach,  sir,"  replied  Squeers,  feasting  his  eyes  on  the  ooantenance 
of  Sinike.     *'  Damn  the  expense.     Let's  have  him  in  a  coach." 

**  What's  he  been  a  doing  of?"  asked  a  labourer,  with  a  hod  of  bricks, 
against  wlioin  and  a  fellow- labourer  Mr.  Squeers  had  backed,  on  the  first  jerk 
of  the  umbrella. 

**  Every  tiling  !  "  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  looking  fixedly  at  his  old  pupil  In  a 
sort  of  rapturous  trance.  "Everything — running  away,  sir — joining  in 
bloodthirsty  attacks  upon  his  master — there's  nothing  that's  bad  that  he 
hasn't  done.     Oh,  what  a  delicious  go  is  this  here,  good  Lord  1 " 

The  man  looked  from  Squeers  to  Smike  ;  but  such  mental  faculties  as  the 
poor  fellow  possessed  had  utterly  deserted  him.  The  coach  came  up  ;  Master 
Wackford  entered  ;  Squeers  pushed  in  his  prize,  and  following  close  at  hia 
heels,  pulled  up  the  glasses.  The  coachman  mounted  his  box  and  drove 
slowly  off,  leaving  the  two  bricklayers,  and  an  old  apple-woman,  and  a  town- 
made  little  boy  returning  from  an  evening  school,  who  had  been  the  only 
witnesses  of  the  scene,  to  meditate  upon  it  at  their  leisure. 

Mr.  Squeers  sat  himself  down  on  the  opposite  seat  to  the  unfortunate 
Smike,  and,  planting  his  hands  firmly  on  his  knees,  looked  at  him  for  some 
five  minutes,  when,  seeming  to  recover  from  his  trance,  he  uttered  a  load 
laugh,  and  slapped  his  old  pupil's  face  several  times — taking  the  right  and  left 
sides  alternately. 

**  It  isn't  a  dream  1 "  said  Squeers.  "  That's  real  flesh  and  blood  !  I  know 
the  feel  of  it ; "  and  being  quite  assured  of  his  good  fortune  by  these  experi- 
ments, Mr.  Squeers  administered  a  few  boxes  on  the  ear,  lest  the  entertain- 
ments should  seem  to  partake  of  sameness,  and  laughed  louder  and  longer  at 
every  one. 

"  Your  mother  will  be  fit  to  jump  out  of  her  skin,  my  boy,  when  she  he»B 
of  this,"  said  Squeers  to  his  son. 

"  Oh,  won't  she  though,  father  ?  "  replied  Master  Wackford. 

*'  To  think,"  said  Squeers,  *'  that  you  and  me  should  be  turning  out  of  a 
street,  and  come  upon  him  at  the  very  nick ;  and  that  I  should  have  him 
tight,  at  only  one  cast  of  the  umbrella,  as  if  I  had  hooked  him  with  a 
grappling-iron  ! — Ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Didn't  I  catch  hold  of  his  leg,  neither,  father  ? "  said  little  Wackford. 

*'  You  did !  like  a  good  'un,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  patting  his 
son's  head;  "and  you  shall  have  the  best  button-over  jacket  and  waistcoat 
that  the  next  new  boy  brings  down,  as  a  reward  of  merit — mind  tliat  Yoa 
always  keep  on  in  the  same  path,  and  do  them  things  that  you  see  your 
lather  do,  and  when  you  die  you'll  go  right  slap  to  heaven  and  no  question 
asked." 

Improving  the  occasion  in  these  words,  Mr.  Squeers  patted  his  son's  head 
again,  and  then  patted  Smike's — but  harder ;  and  inquired  in  a  bantering 
tone  how  he  found  himself  by  this  time. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  replied  Smike,  looking  wildly  round. 

*' To  be  sure  you  must  You're  about  right  there,"  replied  Mr.  Sqneeri 
**  You'll  go  home  very  soon,  you  will.  You'll  find  yourself  at  the  pwusafni 
village  of  Dotheboys,  in  Yorkshire,  in  something  under  a  v/eek's  tune,  my 
young  friend  ;  and  the  next  time  you  get  away  from  there,  I  •  ive  you  leave  to 
keep  away.  Where's  the  clothes  you  run  off  in,  you  ungrateful  rabber  t "  aail 
Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  severe  voice. 

Smike  glanced  at  the  neat  attire  which  the  care  of  Nicholas  had  proTiJei 
for  him,  and  wrung  his  hands. 

•*Do  you  know  that  I  could  hang  you  up,  outside  of  the  Old  Bailev,  f* 
making  away  with  them  articles  of  property  ?    said  Squeers.     "  Do  you  no* 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y,  32 1 

that  it's  a  haa^ug  matter — and  I  an't  quite  certain  whether  it  an't  an 
anatomy  one  besides — to  walk  off  with  up'ards  of  the  valley  of  five  pound 
from  a  dwelling-house  ?  Eh — do  you  know  that  ?  What  do  you  suppose  was 
the  worth  of  them  clothes  you  had  %  Do  you  know  that  the  Wellington  boot 
you  wore  cost  eight-and- twenty  shillings  when  it  was  a  pair,  and  the  shoo 
sevon-and-slz  ?  But  you  came  to  the  right  shop  for  mercy  when  you  camu 
to  me,  and  thank  your  stars  that  it  i»  me  as  has  got  to  serve  you  with  the 
irtide." 

Anybody  not  in  Mr.  Squeers's  confidence  would  have  supposed  that  he  was 
quite  out  of  the  article  in  question,  instead  of  having  a  large  stock  on  hand 
ready  for  all  comers ;  nor  would  the  opinion  of  sceptical  persons  have  under- 
gone much  alteration  when  he  followed  up  the  remark  by  poking  Smike  in  tlic 
chest  with  the  ferrule  of  his  umbrella,  and  dealing  a  smart  shower  of  blows, 
with  the  ribs  of  the  same  instrument,  upon  his  head  and  shoulders. 

"I  never  thrashed  a  boy  in  a  hackney-coach  before,"  said  Mr.  Squeers, 
when  he  stopped  to  rest.  "  There's  inconveniency  in  it,  but  tlie  novelty  gives 
it  a  sort  of  relish  too  ! " 

Poor  Smike  1  He  warded  off  the  blows  as  well  as  he  could,  and  now 
Bhrank  into  a  comer  of  the  coach,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands,  and  his 
elbows  on  his  knees ;  he  was  stunned  and  stupefied,  and  had  no  more  idea 
that  any  act  of  his  would  enable  him  to  escape  from  the  all-powerful  Squeers, 
now  that  he  had  no  friend  to  speak  to  or  advise  with,  than  he  had  hacl 
in  all  the  weary  years  of  his  Yorkshire  life  which  preceded  the  arrival  of 
Nicholas. 

The  journey  seemed  endless ;  street  after  street  was  entered  and  left  behind ; 
and  stul  thev  went  jolting  on.  At  last,  Mr.  Squeers  began  to  thrust  his  head 
ont  at  the  window  every  half-minute,  and  to  bawl  a  variety  of  directions  to 
the  coachman  ;  and  after  passing,  with  some  difficulty,  through  several  mean 
streets  which  the  appearance  of  the  houses  and  the  bad  state  of  the  road 
denoted  to  have  been  recently  built,  Mr.  Squeers  suddenly  tugged  at  the 
eheck-string  with  all  his  might,  and  cried,  ''Stop  !  " 

"  What  are  you  pulling  a  man's  arm  off  for  ? "  said  the  coachman,  looking 
angrilv  down. 

"That's  the  house,"  replied  Squeers.  "The  second  of  them  four  little 
honses,  one  storey  high,  with  the  green  shutters — there's  a  brass  plate  on  the 
door,  with  the  name  of  Snawley. " 

"  Couldn't  you  say  that,  without  wrenching  a  man's  limbs  off  his  body  ? " 
inquired  the  coachman. 

"No  I "  bawled  Mr.  Squeers.  " Say  another  word,  and  I'll  summons  you 
for  having  a  broken  winder.     Stop  ! " 

Obedient  to  this  direction,  the  coach  stopped  at  Mr.  Snawley's  door.  Mr. 
Suawley  may  be  remembered  as  the  sleek  and  sanctified  gentleman  who 
confided  two  sons  (in  law)  to  the  parental  care  of  Mr.  Squeers,  as  narrated  in 
the  fourth  chapter  of  this  history.  Mr.  Snawley's  house  was  on  the  extreme 
borders  of  some  new  settlements  adjoining  Somers  Town,  and  Mr.  Squeers  had 
taken  lodgings  therein  for  a  short  time,  as  his  stay  was  longer  than  usual,  and 
the  Saracen,  having  experience  of  Master  Wackford's  appetite,  had  declined 
to  receive  him  on  any  other  terms  than  as  a  full-grown  customer. 

"Here  we  are  I"  said  Squeers,  hurrying  Smike  into  the  little  parlour, 
"*»here  Mr.  Snawley  and  his  wife  were  taking  a  lobster  supper.  "  Here's  the 
Vagrant — the  felon — the  rebel — the  monster  of  unthankfulness." 

"  What  I  The  boy  that  run  away  I "  cried  Snawley,  resting  his  knife  and 
fork  upright  on  the  table,  and  opening  his  eyes  to  their  full  width. 

"The  very  boy,"  said  Squeers,  putting  his  fist  close  to  Smike's  nose,  and 

u  ^\ 


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-.Tir-  -  :.-u":  ssLiiviii 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  323 

the  heart,  which  beat  a  quick  response  to  the  voice  of  gentleness  and  affection, 
must  have  msted  and  broken  in  their  secret  places,  and  bear  the  lingering 
echo  of  no  old  word  of  love  or  kindness.  Gloomy,  indeed,  must  have  been 
the  short  day,  and  dull  the  long,  long  twilight,  preceding  such  a  night  of 
intellect  as  his. 

There  were  voices  which  would  have  roused  him  even  then  ;  but  their 
welcome  tones  could  not  penetrate  there ;  and  he  crept  to  bed  the  same 
listless,  hopeless,  blighted  creature,  that  Nicholas  had  first  found  him  at 
the  Yorkshire  school. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 


IN  WHICH  ANOTHER  OLD  FRIEND    ENCOUNTERS    SMIKE,   VERT  OPPORTUNELY 

AND  TO  SOME  PURPOSE. 


rE  night,  fraught  with  so  much  bitterness  to  one  poor  soul,  had  given 
place  to  a  bright  and  cloiidless  summer  morning,  wben  a  north- 
country  mail-coach  traversed,  with  cheerful  noise,  the  yet  silent 
itieeta  of  Islington,  and,  giving  brisk  note  of  its  approach  with  the  lively 
winding  of  the  guard's  horn,  clattered  onward  to  its  halting-place  hard  by 
the  Post  Office. 

The  only  outside  passenger  was  a  burly,  honest-looking  countryman  on  the 
box,  who,  with  liis  eyes  fixed  upon  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  appeared 
■0  wrapt  in  admiring  wonder  as  to  be  quite  insensible  to  all  the  bustle  of 
getting  out  the  bags  and  parcels,  until  one  of  the  coach  windows  being  let 
narply  down,  he  looked  round  and  encountered  a  pretty  female  face  which 
"Vu  just  then  thrust  out. 

"See  there,  lass,"  bawled  the  countryman,  pointing  towards  the  object  of 
litt  admiration.  ''There  be  Paul's  Church.  Ecod,  he  be  a  soizable  'un, 
l»be." 

"  Goodness,  John  !  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  could  have  been  half  the 
■ifiB.    What  a  monster  !  " 

"  Ifonsther  I — Ye're  aboot  right  theer,  I  reckon,  Mrs.  Browdie,"  said  the 
^oimiryman,  good-humouredly,  as  he  came  slowly  down  in  his  huge  topcoat, 
'•and  wa'at  dost  thee  tak  yon  place  to  be,  noo — thot  *un  ower  the  wa* ?  Ye'd 
^evor  coom  near  it  'gin  ye  thried  for  twelve  moonths.  It's  na'  but  a  Poast 
2pce  !  Ho  !  ho  !  They  need  to  charge  for  dooble  latthers.  A  Poast  Office  ! 
jj^a  at  dost  thee  think  o*^  thot  ?  'Ecod,  if  thot's  on'y  a  Poast  Office,  I'd  loike 
**>  aee  where  the  Lord  Mayor  0*  Lunnon  lives." 

80  saying,  John  Browdie — for  he  it  was — opened  the  coach-door,  and 
J'*'Pping  Mrs.  Browdie,  late  Miss  Price,  on  the  cheek  as  he  looked  in,  burst 
***to  a  boisterous  fit  of  laughter. 

**  Weel ! "  said  John.     "Dang  my  bootuns  if  she  bean't  asleep  agean  ! " 
**  She's  been  asleep  all  night,  and  was  all  yesterday,  except  for  a  minute  or 


now  and  then,"  replied  John  Browdie's  choice,  "and  I  was  very  sorry 
^^*^en  she  woke,  for  she  has  been  so  cross  !  " 

T^e  subject  of  these  remarks  was  a  slumbering  figure,  so  muffled  in  shawl 
?i^^  cloak,  that  it  would  have  been  matter  of  impossibility  to  guess  at  its  sex 
^^*  for  a  brown  beaver  bonnet  and  green  veil  which  ornamented  the  head, 
jJJ^^  which,  having  been  crushed  and  flattened,  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
^^^lea,  in  that  particidar  angle  of  the  vehicle  from  which  the  lady's  snores 


322  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

drawing  it  away  again,  and  repeating  the  process  several  times,  witli  a  vicioas 

aspect.     *'  If  there  wasn't  a  lady  present,  I'd  fetch  him  such  a ;  never 

mind,  I'll  owe  it  him." 

And  hero  Mr.  Squoers  related  how,  and  in  what  manner,  and  when  and 
where,  he  had  picked  up  the  runaway. 

"  It's  clear  that  there  has  heen  a  Providence  in  it,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Snawley, 
casting  down  his  eyes  with  an  air  of  humility,  and  elevating  his  fork,  with  a 
bit  of  lobster  on  the  top  of  it,  towards  the  ceiling. 

**  Providence  is  again'  him,  no  doubt,"  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  scratching  his 
nose.  "  Of  course  ;  that  was  to  be  expected.  Anybody  miglit  have  known 
that." 

'*  Hard-heartedness  and  evil-doing  will  never  prosper,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Snawley. 

**  Never  was  such  a  thing  known,"  rejoined  Squoers,  taking  a  little  roll  of 
notes  from  his  pocket-book  to  see  that  they  were  all  safe. 

*'  I  have  been,  Mrs.  Snawley,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  when  he  had  satisfied 
himself  upon  this  point,  *'  I  have  been  that  chap's  benefactor,  feeder,  teacher, 
and  clother.  I  have  been  that  chap's  classical,  commercial,  mathematical, 
philosophical,  and  trigonomical  friend.-  My  son — my  only  son,  Wackford— 
nas  been  his  brother :  Mrs.  Squeers  has  been  his  mother,  grandmother,  aunt 
— ah  1  and  I  may  say  uncle,  too,  all  in  one.  She  never  cottoned  to  anybody, 
except  them  two  engaging  and  delightful  boys  of  yours,  as  she  cottoned  to  thu 
chap.  What's  my  return  ?  What's  come  of  my  milk  of  human  kindnefls  t 
It  turns  into  curds  and  whey  when  I  look  at  him." 

**  Well  it  may,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Snawley.     **  Oh  !  well  it  may,  sir." 

"Where  has  he  been  all  this  time?"  inquired  Snawley.  ''Has  he  been 
living  with % " 

"  Ah,  sir  !  "  interposed  Squeers,  confronting  him  again.  **  Have  you  been 
a  living  with  that  there  devilish  Nickleby,  sir  ?  " 

But  no  threats  or  cuflfs  could  elicit  from  Smike  one  word  of  reply  to  thii 
question  ;  for  he  had  internally  resolved  that  he  would  rather  perish  in  the 
wretched  prison  to  which  he  was  again  about  to  bo  consigned,  than  utter  one 
syllable  which  could  involve  his  first  and  true  friend.  He  had  already  called 
to  mind  the  strict  injunctions  of  secrecy  as  to  his  past  life  which  Nicholu 
had  laid  upon  him  when  they  travelled  from  Yorkshire  ;  and  a  confused  and 
perplexed  idea  that  his  benefactor  might  have  committed  some  terrible  crime 
in  bringing  him  away,  which  would  render  him  liable  to  heavy  puni^ment  if 
detected,  had  contributed,  in  some  degree,  to  reduce  him  to  his  present  state 
of  apathy  and  terror. 

Such  wore  the  thoughts — if  to  visions  so  imperfect  and  undefined  as  those 
which  wandered  through  his  enfeebled  brain  the  term  can  bo  applied — whk'b 
were  present  to  the  mind  of  Smike,  and  rendered  him  deaf  alike  to  intimidi- 
tion  and  persuasion.  Finding  every  effort  useless,  Mr.  Squeers  condocted 
him  to  a  little  back-room  upstairs,  where  he  was  to  pass  the  night ;  and, 
taking  the  precaution  of  removing  his  shoes,  and  coat  and  waistcoat,  tn«I 
also  of  locking  the  door  on  the  outside,  lest  he  should  muster  up  sutfideDt 
energy  to  make  an  attempt  at  escape,  that  worthy  gentleman  loft  him  to  hit 
meditations. 

What  those  meditations  were,  and  how  the  poor  creature's  heart  sank  withii 
him  when  he  thought — when  did  he,  for  a  moment,  cease  to  think  ! — of  his 
late  home,  and  the  dear  friends  and  familiar  faces  with  which  it  mi 
associated,  cannot  be  told.  To  prepare  the  mind  for  such  a  heavy  sleeps 
its  growth  must  be  sto[)pcd  by  rigour  and  cruelty  in  childhood  ;  there  mifiit 
be  years  of  misery  and  suffering  lightened  by  no  ray  of  hope  ;  the  chords  of 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  323 

the  heart,  which  beat  a  quick  response  to  the  voice  of  gentleness  and  affection, 
must  have  msted  and  broken  in  their  secret  places,  and  bear  the  lingering 
echo  of  no  old  word  of  love  or  kindness.  Gloomy,  indeed,  must  have  been 
the  short  day,  and  dull  the  long,  long  twilight,  preceding  such  a  night  of 
intellect  as  his. 

There  were  voices  which  would  have  roused  him  even  then  ;  but  their 
welcome  tones  could  not  penetrate  there ;  and  he  crept  to  bed  the  same 
listless,  homeless,  blighted  creature,  that  Nicholas  had  first  found  him  at 
the  Yorkshire  school. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 


IN  WHICH  ANOTHER  OLD  FRIEND    ENCOUNTERS    SMIKE,   VERT  OrPORTUNELY 

AND  TO  SOME  PURPOSE. 


THE  night,  fraught  with  so  much  bitterness  to  one  poor  soul,  had  given 
place  to  a  bright  and  cloudless  summer  morning,  when  a  north- 
conntry  mail-coach  traversed,  with  cheerful  noise,  tbo  yet  silent 
streets  of  Islington,  and,  giving  brisk  note  of  its  approach  with  the  lively 
winding  of  the  guard's  horn,  clattered  onward  to  its  halting-place  hard  by 
the  Post  Office. 

The  only  outside  passenger  was  a  burly,  honest-looking  countryman  on  the 
box,  who,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  appeared 
so  wrapt  in  admiring  wonder  as  to  be  quite  insensible  to  all  the  bustle  of 
getting  out  the  bags  and  parcels,  until  one  of  the  coach  windows  being  let 
sharply  down,  he  looked  round  and  encountered  a  pretty  female  face  which 
was  just  then  thrust  out. 

"See  there,  lass,"  bawled  the  countryman,  pointing  towards  the  object  of 
his  admiration.  **  There  be  Paul's  Church.  Ecod,  he  be  a  soizable  'un, 
he  be." 

•*  Goodness,  John  !  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  could  have  been  half  the 
size.     What  a  monster  ! " 

**  Ifonsthcr  I — Ye're  aboot  right  theer,  I  reckon,  Mrs.  Browdie,"  said  the 
coantryman,  good-humouredly,  as  he  came  slowly  down  in  his  huge  topcoat, 
"  and  wa'at  dost  thee  tak  yon  place  to  be,  noo — thot  'un  ower  the  wa*  ?  Ye'd 
nerer  coom  near  it  'gin  ye  thried  for  twelve  moonths.  It's  na'  but  a  Poast 
Office  !  Ho  !  ho  !  They  need  to  charge  for  dooble  latthers.  A  Poast  Office  ! 
Wa'at  dost  thee  think  o*^  thot  ?  'Ecod,  if  thot's  on'y  a  Poast  Office,  I'd  loike 
to  see  where  the  Lord  Mayor  o'  Lunnon  lives." 

So  saying,  John  Browdie — for  he  it  was — opened  the  coach-door,  and 
tapping  Mrs.  Browdie,  late  Miss  Price,  on  the  cheek  as  he  looked  in,  burst 
into  a  Doisterous  fit  of  laughter. 

"  Weel ! "  said  John.     "Dang  my  bootuns  if  she  bean't  asleep  agean  ! " 

"  She's  been  asleep  all  night,  and  was  all  yesterday,  except  for  a  minute  or 
two  now  and  then,  replied  John  Browdie's  choice,  "  and  I  was  very  sorry 
when  she  woke,  for  she  has  been  so  cross  ! " 

The  subject  of  these  remarks  was  a  slumbering  figure,  so  muffled  in  shawl 
and  cloak,  that  it  would  have  been  matter  of  impossibility  to  guess  at  its  sex 
"bnt  for  a  brown  beaver  bonnet  and  green  veil  which  ornamented  the  head, 
and  which,  having  been  crushed  and  flattened,  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
miles,  in  that  particidar  angle  of  the  vehicle  from  which  the  lady's  snores 


324  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

now  proceeded,  presented  an  appearance  sufficiently  ludicrous  to  have  moved 
less  risible  muscles  than  those  of  John  Browdie's  ruddy  face. 

**  Hollo  !  "  cried  John,  twitching  one  end  of  the  dragged  veiL  **  Coom, 
wakken  oop,  will  *ee." 

After  several  burrowings  into  the  old  corner,  and  many  exclamations  of 
impatience  and  fatigue,  the  figure  struggled  into  a  sitting  posture  ;  and  there, 
under  a  mass  of  crumpled  beaver,  and  surrounded  by  a  semi-circle  of  bloe 
curl-papers,  were  the  delicate  features  of  Miss  Fanny  Squeers. 

**0h,  "lilda,"  cried  Miss  Squeers,  **how  you  have  been  kicking  of  me 
through  this  blessed  night  I  " 

"  Well,  I  do  like  that,"  replied  her  friend,  laughing,  **  when  you  have  had 
nearly  the  whole  coach  to  yourself." 

** Don't  deny  it,  Tilda,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  impressively,  "because. you 
have,  and  it's  no  use  to  go  attempting  to  say  you  haven't.  You  mightn't 
have  known  it  in  your  sleep,  'Tilda,  but  I  haven't  closed  my  eyes  for  a  single 
wink,  and  so  I  thinlc  I  am  to  be  believed." 

With  which  reply  Miss  Squeers  adjusted  the  bonnet  and  veil,  which  nothing 
but  supernatural  interference,  and  an  utter  suspension  of  nature's  laws,  conld 
have  reduced  to  any  shape  or  form ;  and  evidently  flattering  herself  that  it 
looked  uncommonly  neat,  brushed  off  the  sandwich-crumbs  and  bits  of  biscmt 
which  had  accumulated  in  her  lap,  and  availing  herself  of  John  Browdie's 
proffered  arm,  descended  from  the  coach. 

'*  Noo,"  said  John,  when  a  hackney-coach  had  been  called,  and  the  ladies 
and  the  luggage  hurried  in,  *'gang  to  the  Sarah's  Head,  mun." 

"  To  the  wre  1 "  cried  the  coachman. 

"  Lawk,  Mr.  Browdie  ! "  interrupted  Miss  Squeers.  ''  The  idea  !  Saracen's 
Head." 

**Sure-ly,"  said  John,  **I  know'd  it  was  something  aboot  Sarah — to  the 
Sarah's  Son's  Head.     Dost  thou  know  thot  ?  " 

'*0h,  ha — I  know  that,"  replied  the  coachman,  gruffly,  as  he  banged  the 
door. 

"'Tilda,  dear — really,"  remonstrated  Miss  Squeers,  "  we  shall  be  taken  for 
I  don't  know  what." 

"  Let  them  tak  us  as  they  foind  us,"  said  John  Browdie  ;  "  we  dean't  come 
to  Lunnun  to  do  nought  but  'joy  oursel,  do  we  ? " 

"  I  hope  not,  Mr.  Browdie,"  replied  Miss  Squeers,  looking  singularly 
dismal. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  John,  "  it's  no  matther.  I've  only  been  a  married  man 
fower  days,  'account  of  poor  old  feyther  deein'  and  puttin'  it  off.  Here  be  a 
weddin'-party — broide  and  broidesmaid,  and  the  groom — if  a  mun  deu't 
'joy  himsel  noo,  when  ought  he,  hey  ?  Drat  it  all,  thot's  what  I  want  to 
know." 

So,  in  order  that  he  might  begin  to  enjoy  himself  at  once,  and  lose  no  time^ 
Mr.  Browdie  gave  his  wife  a  hearty  kiss,  and  succeeded  in  wresting  another 
from  Miss  Squeers,  after  a  maidenly  resistance  of  scratching  and  strug^liof 
on  the  part  of  that  young  lady,  which  was  not  quite  over  when  they  reached 
the  Saracen's  Head. 

Here  the  party  straightway  retired  to  rest ;  the  refreshment  of  sleep  being 
necessary  after  so  long  a  journey ;  and  here  they  met  again,  about  noon,  to 
a  substantial  breakfast,  spread  by  direction  of  Mr.  John  Browdie,  in  a  small 
private  room  upstairs,  commanding  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  stables. 

To  have  seen  Miss  Squeers  now,  divested  of  the  brown  beaver,  thegww 
veil,  and  the  blue  curl-papers,  and  arrayed  in  all  the  virgin  splendour  of  i 
iF/iite  frock  and  spencer,  with  a  white  muslin  bonnet,  and  an  imitative  damask 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  325 

rose  in  full  bloom  on  the  inside  thereof :  her  luxuriant  crop  of  hair  arranged 
in  curls  so  tight,  that  it  was  impossible  they  could  come  out  by  any  accident, 
and  her  bonnet-cap  trimmed  with  little  damask  roses,  which  might  be  sup- 
posed to  be  so  many  promising  scions  of  the  big  one — to  have  seen  all  this, 
and  to  have  seen  the  broad,  damask  belt,  matching  both  the  family  rose  and 
the  little  ones,  which  encircled  her  slender  waist,  and  by  a  happy  ingenuity 
took  off  from  the  shortness  of  the  spencer  behind — to  have  beheld  £dl  this,  and 
to  have  taken  further  into  account  the  coral  bracelets  (rather  short  of  beads, 
and  with  a  very  visible  black  string)  which  clasped  her  wrists,  and  the  coral 
necklace  which  rested  on  her  neck,  supporting,  outside  her  frock,  a  lonely 
cornelian  heart,  typical  of  her  own  disengaged  affections — to  have  contem- 
plated all  these  mute  but  expressive  appeals  to  the  purest  feelings  of  our 
nature,  might  have  thawed  the  frost  of  age,  and  added  new  and  inextinguish- 
able fuel  to  the  fire  of  youth. 

The  waiter  was  touched.  Waiter  as  he  was,  he  had  human  passions  and 
feelings,  and  he  looked  very  hard  at  Miss  Squeers  as  he  handed  the  muffins. 

*'  Is  my  i>a  in,  do  you  know  %  "  asked  Miss  Squeers,  with  dignity. 

**  Beg  your  pardon,  miss  1 " 

•*  My  pa,"  repeated  Miss  Squeers ;  "  is  he  in  ? " 

**  In  where,  miss  ? " 

**  In  here — in  the  house  1 "  replied  Miss  Squeers.  **  My  pa — Mr.  Wackford 
Squeers — he's  stopping  here.     Is  he  at  home  ? " 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  any  ^enTman  of  that  name  in  the  house,  miss," 
replied  the  waiter.     **  There  may  oe,  in  the  coffee-room." 

May  he.  Very  pretty  this,  indeed !  Here  was  Miss  Squeers,  who  had 
been  depending,  all  the  way  to  London,  ui)on  showing  her  friends  how 
much  at  home  she  would  be,  and  how  much  respectful  notice  her  name 
and  connexions  would  excite,  told  that  her  father  might  be  there  I  **  As 
if  he  was  a  feller  ! "  observed  Miss  Squeers,  with  emphatic  indignation. 

**  Ye'd  betther  inquire,  mun,"  said  John  Browdie.  "An*  bond  up  another 
pigeon-pie,  will  'eel  Dang  the  chap,"  muttered  John,  looking  into  the 
empty  dish,  as  the  waiter  retired  ;  "  does  he  ca'  this  a  pie — three  youn^ 
pigeons  and  a  troiiling  matther  o'  steak,  and  a  crust  so  loight  that  you  doant 
know  when  it's  in  your  mooth  and  when  it's  gane  ?  I  wonder  hoo  many  pies 
goes  to  a  breakfast ! " 

After  a  short  interval,  which  John  Browdie  employed  upon  the  ham  and  a 
cold  round  of  beef,  the  waiter  returned  with  another  pie,  and  the  information 
that  Mr.  Squeers  was  not  stopping  in  the  house,  but  that  he  came  there  every 
day,  and  that  directly  he  arrived  he  should  be  shown  upstairs.  With  this 
he  retired  ;  and  he  had  not  retired  two  minutes  when  he  returned  with  Mr. 
Squeers  and  his  hopeful  son. 

"  Why,  who'd  have  thought  of  this  ? "  said  Mr.  Squeers,  when  he  had 
sainted  the  party,  and  received  some  private  family  intelligence  from  his 
daughter. 

'•Who,  indeed,  pa  !"  replied  that  young  lady,  spitefully.  **  But  you  see 
'Tilda  is  married  at  last." 

"And  I  stond  threat  for  a  soight  o'  Lunnun,  schoolmeasther,"  said  John, 
vigorously  attacking  the  pie. 

"  One  of  them  things  that  young  men  do  when  they  get  married,"  returned 
Squeers  ;  **  and  as  runs  through  with  their  money  like  notliing  at  all !  How 
much  better  wouldn't  it  be  now,  to  save  it  up  for  the  eddication  of  any  little 
boys,  for  instance.  They  come  on  you,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  in  a  moralising 
way,  **  before  you're  aware  of  it ;  mine  did  upon  me." 

•*  Will  'ee  pick  a  bit  ? "  said  John. 


326  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  I  won't  myself,"  returned  Squeers  ;  **  but  if  you'll  just  let  little  Wackford 
tuck  into  something  fat,  I'll  be  obliged  to  you.  Give  it  him  in  his  fingers, 
else  the  waiter  charges  it  on,  and  there's  lot  of  profit  on  this  sort  of  vittles 
without  that.  If  you  hear  the  waiter  coming,  sir,  shove  it  in  your  pocket, 
and  look  out  of  the  window,  d'ye  hear  ? " 

**  I'm  awake,  father,"  replied  the  dutiful  Wackford. 

"Well,"  said  Squeers,  turning  to  his  daughter,  "it's  your  turn  to  be 
married  next.     You  must  make  haste." 

**  Oh,  I'm  in  no  hurry,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  very  sharply. 

"  No,  Fanny  ? "  cried  her  old  friend,  with  some  archness. 

' '  No,  'Tilda,"  replied  Miss  Squeers,  shaking  her  head  vehemently.  "  / can 
wait." 

"  So  can  the  young  men,  it  seems,  Fanny,"  observed  Mrs.  Browdie. 

"They  an't  draw'd  into  it  by  7/ic,  'Tilda,"  retorted  Miss  Squeers. 

"  No,  *  returned  her  friend  ;  "  that's  exceedingly  true." 

The  sarcastic  tone  of  this  reply  mi^ht  have  provoked  a  rather  acrimonious 
retort  from  Miss  Squeers,  who,  besides  being  of  a  constitutionally  vicioos 
temper — aggravated,  just  now,  by  travel  and  recent  jolting — was  somewhat 
irritated  by  old  recollections,  and  the  failure  of  her  own  designs  upon  Mr. 
Browdie  ;  and  the  acrimonious  retort  might  have  led  to  a  ^eat  many  other 
retorts,  which  might  have  led  to  heaven  knows  what,  if  the  subject  of 
conversation  had  not  been,  at  that  precise  moment,  accidentally  changed  by 
Mr.  Squeers  himself. 

"  What  do  you  think  ? "  said  that  gentleman  ;  "  who  do  you  suppose  we 
have  laid  hands  on,  Wackford  and  me  ? " 

"  Pa  !  not  Mr. ?"    Miss  Squeers  was  unable  to  finish  the  sentence,  bat 

Mrs.  Browdie  did  it  for  her,  and  added  "  Nickleby." 

"  No,"  said  Squeers.     "  But  next  door  to  him  though." 

*  *  You  can't  mean  Smike  ? "  cried  Miss  Squeers,  clapping  her  hands. 

"Yes,  I  can  though,"  rejoined  her  father.  "  I  ve  got  him,  hard  asd 
fast." 

"  Wa'at ! "  exclaimed  John  Browdie,  pushing  away  his  plate.  "Got  that 
poor — dom'd  scoundrel — where  ? " 

"  Why,  in  the  top  back-room,  at  my  lodging,"  replied  Squeers,  "with  him 
on  one  side,  and  the  key  on  the  other." 

"At  thy  loodgin'  %  Thee'st  gotten  him  at  thy  loodgin'  ?  Ho  !  ho !  The 
schoolmeasther  agin  all  England.  Give  us  the  bond,  mun — I'm  darned  but  I 
must  shak  thee  by  the  bond  for  thot — gotten  him  at  thy  loodgin*  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Squeers,  staggering  m  liis  chair  under  the  congratulatoiy 
blow  on  the  chest  which  the  stout  Yorkshireman  dealt  him — "thankee. 
Don't  do  it  again.  You  mean  it  kindly,  I  know,  but  it  hurts  rather— ye8> 
there  he  is,     That's  not  so  bad,  is  it  ? " 

"  Ba'ad  ! "  repeated  John  Browdie.     "  It's  encaf  to  scare  a  man  to  hearteD 


on. 


"  I  thought  it  would  surprise  you  a  bit,"  said  Squeers,  rubbing  his  bandL 
**  It  was  pretty  neatly  done,  and  pretty  quick  too." 

"  Hoo  wor  it  ?  "  cried  John,  sitting  down  close  to  him.  "  Tell  us  all  about 
it,  mun  ;  coom,  quick." 

Although  he  could  not  keep  pace  with  John  Browdie's  impatience,  Mr. 
Squeers  related  the  lucky  chance  by  wliich  Smike  had  fallen  into  his  hands 
as  quickly  as  he  could,  and,  except  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  admiiing 
remarks  of  his  auditors,  paused  not  in  the  recital  until  he  had  brought  it  to 
an  end. 

"  For  fear  he  should  give  me  the  slip,  by  any  chance,"  obseired  Squeers, 


NICHOLAS  NICK LE BY.  327 

when  he  had  finisheil,  looking  very  cunning,  "  I've  taken  three  outsidcs  for 
to-morrow  morning — for  Wackford,  and  him,  and  mo — and  have  arranged  to 
leave  the  accounts  and  the  now  boys  to  the  agont,  don't  you  sco  ?  So,  it's 
very  lucky  you  come  to-day,  or  you'd  have  missed  us ;  and  as  it  is,  unless  you 
could  come  and  tea  with  me  to-night,  we  shan't  see  anything  more  of  you 
before  we  go  away." 

"  Dean't  say  anoother  wurd,"  returned  the  Yorkshiroman,  shaking  him  by 
the  hand.     **  We'd  coom,  if  it  was  twonty  mile.'' 

"  No,  would  you  though  ? "  returned  Mr.  Squeers,  who  had  not  expected 
quite  such  a  ready  acceptance  of  his  invitation,  or  he  would  have  considered 
twice  before  he  gave  it. 

John  Browdie's  only  reply  was  another  squeeze  of  the  hand,  and  an 
assurance  that  they  would  not  begin  to  see  London  till  to-morrow,  so  that 
they  might  be  at  Mr.  Snawley's  at  six  o'clock  without  fail  ;  and  after  sonic 
further  conversation,  Mr.  Squeers  and  his  sou  de})arted. 

During  the  remainder  ot  the  day  Mr.  Browdie  was  in  a  very  odd  and 
excitable  state  :  bursting  occasionally  into  an  explosion  of  laughter,  and  then 
taking  up  his  hat  and  running  into  the  coach-yard  to  have  it  out  by  himself. 
He  was  very  restless,  too,  constantly  walking  in  an  out,  and  snapping  his 
lingers,  and  dancing  scraps  of  uncouth  country  dances,  and  in  short,  conduct- 
ing himself  in  such  a  very  extraordinary  manner,  that  Miss  Scj^ueers  opined  he 
was  going  mad,  and,  begging  her  dear  'Tilda  not  to  distress  herself,  communi- 
cated her  suspicions  in  so  many  words.  Mrs.  Browdie,  however,  without 
discovering  any  great  alarm,  observed  that  she  had  seen  him  so  once  before, 
and  that  although  he  was  almost  sure  to  be  ill  after  it,  it  would  not  be 
anything  very  serious,  and  therefore  he  was  better  left  alone. 

The  result  proved  her  to  be  perfectly  correct ;  for.  while  they  were  all 
sitting  in  Mr.  Snawley's  parlour  that  night,  and  just  as  it  was  beginning  to 
get  dusk,  John  Browdie  was  taken  so  ill,  and  seized  with  such  an  alarming 
dizziness  in  the  head,  that  the  whole  company  were  thrown  into  the  utmost 
consternation.  His  good  lady,  indeed,  was  the  only  person  present  who 
retained  presence  of  mind  enough  to  observe  that  if  he  were  allowed  to  lie 
down  on  Mr.  Squeers's  bed  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  left  entirely  to  himself,  he 
would  be  sure  to  recover  again  almost  as  quickly  as  he  had  been  taken  ill. 
Nobody  could  refuse  to  try  the  etl'ect  of  so  reasonable  a  proposal,  before  send- 
ing for  a  surpeon.  Accordingly,  John  was  supported  upstairs,  with  great 
difficulty  ;  bemg  a  monstrous  weight,  and  regularly  tumbling  down  two  steps 
every  time  they  hoisted  him  up  three  ;  and,  being  laid  on  the  bed,  was  left  in 
charge  of  his  wife,  who,  after  a  short  interval,  reappeared  in  the  parlour,  with 
the  gratifying  intelligence  that  he  had  fallen  fast  asleep. 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that,  at  that  particular  moment,  John  Browdie  was 
sitting  on  the  bed  with  the  reddest  face  ever  seen,  cramming  the  comer  of  the 
pillow  into  his  mouth,  to  prevent  his  roaring  out  loud  with  laughter.  He  had 
no  sooner  succeeded  in  suppressing  this  emotion  than  he  slipped  off  his  shoes, 
and  creeping  to  the  adjoining  room  where  the  prisoner  was  confined,  turned 
the  key,  which  was  on  the  outside,  and  darting  in,  covered  Smike's  mouth 
with  his  huge  hand  before  he  could  utter  a  sound. 

**  Ods-bobs,  dost  thee  not  know  me,  mun  ? "  whispered  the  Yorkshircman 
to  the  bewildered  lad.  **  lirowdie — chap  as  met  thee  efther  schoolmcasther 
was  banged  ? " 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Smike.     *'  Oh,  help  me  !  " 

"Help  thee  ! "  replied  John,  stopping  his  mouth  again,  the  instant  he  had 
said  this  much.  "  Thee  didn't  need  help,  if  thee  warn't  as  silly  yoongster  as 
ever  draw'd  breath.     Wa'at  did  'ee  come  hero  for,  then  ? " 


328  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

*'  Ho  brought  me  ;  oh  !  he  brought  me,"  cried  Smike. 

**  Brout  thee  !  "  replied  John.  **  Why  didn't  *ee  punch  his  head,  or  lay 
thcosolf  doon  and  kick,  and  squeal  out  for  the  pollis  ?  I'd  ha'  licked  a  doozen 
such  as  him  when  I  was  yoong  as  thee.  But  thee  bee'st  a  poor  broken-doon 
chap,"  said  John,  sadly,  "  and  God  forgi'  me  for  bragging  ower  yan  o'  His 
weakest  creoturs  ! " 

Smike  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  John  Browdie  stopped  him. 

''Stan'  still,"  said  the  Yorkshireman,  ''and  doant  'ee  speak  a  morsel  o' 
talk  till  I  tell 'ec." 

With  this  caution,  John  Browdie  shook  his  head  significantly,  and  draw- 
ing a  screwdriver  from  his  pocket,  took  off  the  box  of  the  lock  in  a  very 
deliberate  and  workman-like  manner,  and  laid  it,  together  with  the  implement, 
on  the  floor. 

"See  that ? "  said  John.     " Thot  be  thy  doin'.     Noo,  coot  awa* ! " 

Smiko  looked  vacantly  at  him,  as  if  unable  to  comprehend  his  meaning. 

"I  say,  coot  awa',''  repeated  John,  hastily.  "  Dost  "thee  know  where  thee 
11  vest  ?    Thee  dost  ?    Weol.     Are  yon  thy  clothes  or  schoolmeasther's  \ " 

"  Mine,"  replied  Smike,  as  the  Yorkshireman  hurried  him  to  the  adjoining 
room,  and  pointed  out  a  pair  of  shoes  and  a  coat  which  were  lying  on  a  chair. 

"  On  wi  em,"  said  John,  forcing  the  wrong  arm  into  the  wrong  sleeve, 
and  winding  the  tails  of  the  coat  round  the  fugitive's  neck.  "  Noo,  foUerme, 
and  when  thee  get'st  ootside  door,  turn  to  the  right,  and  they  wean't  see  thee 
pass." 

"  But— but — he'll  hear  me  shut  the  door,"  replied  Smike,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot. 

"Then  dean't  shut  it  at  all,"  retorted  John  Browdie.  "Dang  it,  thee 
bean't  afeard  o'  schoolmeasther's  takkin'  cold,  I  hope  ? " 

"  N-no,"  said  Smike,  his  teeth  chattering  in  his  head.  "  But  ho  brought 
me  back  before,  and  will  again.     He  will,  he  will,  indeed." 

"  He  wull,  he  wuU  !  "  replied  John,  impatiently.  "  He  wean't,  he  wean't 
Look'ee !  I  wont  to  do  this  neighbourly  loike,  and  let  them  think  thee's 
gotten  awa'  o'  theoself,  but  if  he  cooms  oot  o'  thot  parlour  awhile  thee'rt 
clearing  off,  he  mun'  have  mercy  on  his  oun  boans,  for  I  wean't.  If  he  foinds 
it  oot,  soon  efther,  I'll  put  'un  on  a  wrong  scent,  I  warrant  'ee.  But  if  thee 
kocp'st  a  good  heart,  thee'lt  be  at  whoam  afore  they  know  thee'st  gotten  o£ 
Coom  ! " 

Smike,  who  comprehended  just  enough  of  this  to  know  it  was  intended  as 
encouragcTuont,  prepared  to  follow  with  tottering  steps,  when  John  whispered 
in  his  ear — 

"  Thee'lt  just  tell  young  measther  that  I'm  sploiced  to  'Tilly  Price,  and  to 
be  heerd  on  at  the  Saracen  by  latther,  and  that  I  beanSt  jealous  of  'un — dang 
it,  I'm  loike  to  boost  when  I  think  o'  that  ncight !  'Cod,  I  think  I  see  'on 
now,  a  powderin'  awa*  at  the  thin  bread  an  butther  !  " 

It  was  rather  a  ticklish  recollection  for  John  just  then,  for  he  was  within  an 
ace  of  breaking  out  into  a  loud  guffaw.  Restraining  himself,  however,  just  in 
time,  by  a  great  effort,  he  glided  downstairs,  hauling  Smike  behind  lum  ;  and 
placing  himself  close  to  the  parlour-door,  to  confront  the  first  person  that 
might  come  out,  signed  to  him  to  make  off. 

Having  got  so  far,  Smike  needed  no  second  bidding.  Opening  the  hoon 
door  gently,  and  casting  a  look  of  mingled  gratitude  and  terror  at  hia 
deliverer,  he  took  the  direction  which  had  been  indicated  to  him,  and  sped 
away  like  the  wind. 

The  Yorkshireman  remained  on  his  post  for  a  few  minutes,  but,  finding  that 
there  was  no  pause  in  the  conversation  inside,  crept  back  again  anheara^  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  329 

stood  listening  over  the  stair-rail  for  a  full  hour.  Everything  remaining  per- 
fectly ^uiet,  he  got  into  Mr.  Squeers's  bed  once  more,  and,  drawing  the  clothes 
over  his  head,  laughed  till  he.  was  nearly  smothered. 

If  there  could  only  have  been  somebody  by  to  see  how  the  bed-clothes 
shook,  and  to  see  the  Yorkshireman's  great  red  face  and  round  head  appear 
above  the  sheets  every  now  and  then,  like  some  jovial  monster  coming  to  the 
sar£BU^  to  breathe,  and  once  more  dive  down  convulsed  with  the  laughter 
which  came  bursting  forth  afresh — that  somebody  would  have  been  scarcely 
less  amused  that  John  Browdie  himself. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

IN  WHICH  NICHOLAS  FALLS  IN  LOVE.  HE  EMPLOYS  A  MEDIATOR,  WHOSE 
PBOCEEDINGS  ABE  CEOWNED  WITH  UNEXPECTED  SUCCESS,  EXCEPTING  IN 
ONE  SOLITAKY  PARTICULAR. 

ONCE  more  out  of  the  clutches  of  his  old  persecutor,  it  needed  no  fresh 
stimulation  to  call  forth  the  utmost  energy  and  exertion  that  Smike 
was  capable  of  summoning  to  his  aid.  Without  pausing  for  a  moment 
to  reflect  upon  the  course  he  was  taking,  or  the  probability  of  its  leading  him 
homewards  or  the  reverse,  he  fled  away  with  surprising  swiftness  and  con- 
stancy of  purpose,  borne  upon  such  wings  as  only  Fear  can  wear,  and 
impelled  by  imaginary  should  in  the  well-remembered  voice  of  Squeers,  who, 
with  a  host  of  pursuers,  seemed  to  the  poor  fellow's  disordered  senses  to  press 
hard  apon  his  track;  now  left  at  a  greater  distance  in  the  rear,  and  now 
gaining  faster  and  faster  upon  him,  as  the  alternations  of  hope  and  terror 
agitated  him  by  turns.  Long  after  he  had  become  assured  that  these  sounds 
were  but  the  creation  of  his  excited  brain,  he  still  held  on  at  a  pace  which 
even  weakness  and  exhaustion  could  scarcely  retard.  It  was  not  until  the 
darkness  and  quiet  of  a  country  road  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  external 
objects,  and  the  starry  sky  above  warned  him  of  the  rapid  flight  of  time, 
that,  covered  with  dust  and  panting  for  breath,  he  stopped  to  listen  and  look 
about  him. 
All  was  still  and  silent.     A  glare  of  light  in  the  distance,  casting  a  warm 

flow  upon  the  sky,  marked  where  the  huge  city  lay.  Solitary  fields,  divided 
y  hedges  and  ditches,  through  many  of  which  he  had  crashed  and  scrambled 
in  his  flight,  skirted  the  road,  both  by  the  way  he  had  come  and  ui)on  the 
opposite  side.  It  was  late  now.  -  They  could  scarcely  trace  him  by  such  paths 
as  ne  had  t^en,  and  if  he  could  hope  to  regain  his  own  dwelling,  it  must 
rarely  be  at  such  a  time  as  that,  and  under  cover  of  the  darkness.  This,  by 
degrees,  became  pretty  plain,  even  to  the  mind  of  Smike.  He  had,  at  first, 
entertained  some  vague  and  childish  idea  of  travelling  into  the  country  for 
ten  or  a  dozen  miles,  and  then  returning  homewards  by  a  wide  circuit,  which 
should  keep  him  clear  of  London — so  great  was  his  apprehension  of  traversing 
the  streets  alone,  lest  he  should  again  encounter  his  dreaded  enemy — but, 
yielding  to  the  conviction  which  these  thoughts  inspired,  he  turned  back,  and 
taking  the  open  road,  though  not  without  many  fears  and  misgivings,  made 
for  London  again,  with  scarcely  less  speed  of  foot  than  that  with  which  he  had 
left  the  temporary  abode  of  Mr.  Squeers. 

By  the  time  he  re-entered  it,  at  the  western  extremity,  the  greater  part  of 
the  shops  were  closed.  Of  the  throngs  of  people  who  had  been  tempted 
abroad  after  the  heat  of  the  day,  but  few  remained  in  the  streets,  and  they 


330  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

were  lounging  home.     But  of  those  he  asked  his  way  from  time  to  time,  and 
hy  dint  of  repeated  inquiries  he  at  length  reached  the  dwelling  of  Newman 

Noggs.  .     ,.  , 

All  that  evening  Newman  had  been  hunting  and  searching  in  by-ways  and 
corners  for  the  very  person  who  now  knooked  at  his  door,  while  Nicholas  had 
been  pursuing  the  same  inquiry  in  other  directions.  He  was  sitting,  with  a 
melancholy  air,  at  his  poor  supper,  when  Smike's  timorous  and  uncertain 
knock  reached  his  ears.  Alive  to  every  sound,  in  his  anxious  and  expectant 
state,  Newman  hurried  downstairs,  and  uttering  a  cry  of  joyftd  siirprise, 
dragged  the  welcome  visitor  into  the  passage  and  up  the  stairs,  and  said  not  a 
word  until  he  had  him  safe  in  his  own  garret,  and  the  door  was  shut  behind 
them,  when  he  mixed  a  great  mugful  of  gin  and  water,  and  holding  it  to 
Smike's  mouth,  as  one  might  hold  a  bowl  of  medicine  to  the  lips  of  a  refrac- 
tory child,  commanded  him  to  drain  it  to  the  last  drop. 

Newman  looked  uncommonly  blank  when  he  found  that  Smike  did  little 
more  than  put  his  lips  to  the  precious  mixture  ;  he  ^As  in  the  act  of  raising 
the  mug  to  his  own  mouth,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  compassion  for  his  poor 
friend's  weakness,  when  Smike,  beginning  to  relate  the  adventures  which  had 
befallen  him,  arrested  him  half-way,  and  he  stood  listening  with  the  mug  in 
his  hand. 

It  was  odd  enough  to  see  the  change  that  came  over  Newman  as  Smike  pro- 
ceeded. At  first  he  stood  rubbing  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his  hand  aa  a 
preparatory  ceremony  towards  composing  himself  for  a  draught ;  then,  at  the 
mention  of  Squeers,  he  took  the  mug  under  his  arm,  and  opening  his  eyes 
very  wide,  looked  on  in  the  utmost  astonishment.  When  Smike  came  to  the 
assault  upon  himself  in  the  hackney-coach,  he  hastily  deposited  the  nn^ 
upon  the  table,  and  limped  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  state  of  the  greateit 
excitement,  stopping  himself  with  a  jerk  every  now  and  then,  as  if  to  listeB 
more  attentively.  When  John  Browdie  came  to  be  spoken  of,  he  dropped, 
by  slow  and  gradual  degrees,  into  a  chair,  and  rubbing  his  hands  upon  hit 
knees — quicker  and  Quicker  as  the  story  reached  its  climax — burst  at  last 
into  a  laugh  composed  of  one  loud,  sonorous  *'  Ha  !  ha  ! "  having  given  vent 
to  which,  his  countenance  immediately  fell  again  as  he  inquired,  with  the 
utmost  anxiety,  whether  it  was  probable  that  John  Browdie  and  Squeers  had 
come  to  blows. 

'*  No  !  I  think  not,"  replied  Smike.  "  I  don't  think  he  could  have  missed 
me  till  I  got  quite  away. " 

Newman  scratched  his  head  with  a  show  of  great  disappointment,  and  once 
more  lifting  up  the  mug,  applied  himself  to  the  contents  ;  smiling,  meanwhile^ 
over  the  rim,  with  a  grim  and  ghastly  smile  at  Smike. 

"You  shall  stay  here,"  said  Newman  ;  *' you're  tired — fagged.  I'll  teD 
them  you're  come  back.  They  have  been  half  mad  about  you.  lir. 
Nicholas " 

"  God  bless  him  ! "  cried  Smike. 

''Amen  !  "  returned  Newman.  "He  hasn't  had  a  minute's  rest  or  peace; 
no  more  has  the  old  lady,  nor  Miss  Nickleby." 

"  No,  no.  Has  slie,  thought  about  me  ? "  said  Smike.  "  Has  she,  thoD^; 
oh,  has  she — has  she  \    Don't  tell  me  so  if  she  has  not" 

"She  has,"  cried  Newman.     "  She  is  as  noble- hearted  as  she  is  beautifnl" 

•  *  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  Smike.     '  *  Well  said  ! " 

"So  mild  and  gentle,"  said  Newman. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  Smike,  with  increasing  eagerness. 

"  And  yet  with  such  a  true  and  gallant  spirit, '  pursued  Newman. 

He  was  going  on  in  his.  enthusiasm,  when,  chancing  to  look  at  his  eon- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  331 

panioDi  he  saw  that  He  had  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  that  tears 
were  stealing  ont  between  his  fingers. 

A  moment  before  the  boy's  eyes  were  sparkling  with  unwonted  fire,  and 
every  feature  had  been  lighted  up  with  an  excitement  which  made  him  appear, 
for  the  moment,  quite  a  different  being. 

'*  Well,  well,"  muttered  Newman,  as  if  he  were  a  little  puzzled.  ''  It  has 
touched  97M,  more  than  once,  to  think  how  such  a  nature  should  have  been 
exposed  to  such  trials ;  this  poor  fellow — yes,  yes — he  feels  that  too — it 
softens  him — makes  him  think  of  his  former  misery.  Ha  !  Yes,  that's — 
hum!" 

It  was  by  no  means  clear,  from  the  tone  of  these  broken  reflections,  that 
Newman  Noggs  considered  them  as  explaining,  at  all  satisfactorily,  the  emotion 
which  had  sujggested  them.  He  sat  in  a  musing  attitude  for  some  time, 
regarding  Sm£e  occasionally  with  an  anxious  and  doubtful  glance,  which 
sufficiency  showed  that  he  was  not  very  remotely  connected  with  his 
thoughts. 

At  length  he  repeated  his  proposition  that  Smike  should  remain  where  he 
was  for  that  night,  and  that  he  (Noggs)  should  straightway  repair  to  the 
cotta^  to  relieve  the  suspense  of  the  family.  But  as  Smike  would  not  hear 
qS  this — pleading  his  anxiety  to  see  his  friends  again — they  eventually  sallied 
forth  together ;  and  the  night  being  by  this  time  far  advanced,  and  Smike 
being,  beisides,  so  footsore  that  he  could  hardly  crawl  along,  it  was  within  an 
hour  of  sunrise  when  they  reached  their  destination. 

At  the  first  sound  of  their  voices  outside  of  the  house,  Nicholas,  who  had 
passed  a  sleepless  night  devising  schemes  for  the  recovery  of  his  lost  charge, 
started  from  his  bed  and  jo3rfulIy  admitted  them.  There  was  so  much  noisy 
conversation,  and  congratulation,  and  indignation,  that  the  remainder  of  the 
fiunily  were  soon  awakened,  and  Smike  received  a  warm  and  cordial  welcome, 
not  only  from  Eate,  but  from  Mrs.  Nickleby  also,  who  assured  him  of  her 
future  uivour  and  regard,  and  was  so  obliging  as  to  relate,  for  his  entertain- 
ment and  that  of  the  assembled  circle,  a  most  remarkable  account,  extracted 
from  some  work  the  name  of  which  she  had  never  known,  of  a  miraculous 
escape  from  some  prison,  but  what  one  she  couldn't  remember,  effected  by  au 
officer  whose  name  she  had  forgotten,  confined  for  some  crime  which  she 
didn't  clearly  recollect. 

At  first  Nicholas  was  disposed  to  give  his  uncle  credit  for  some  portion  of 
this  bold  attempt  (which  had  so  nearly  proved  successful)  to  carry  off  Smike  ; 
bat  on  more  mature  consideration,  he  was  inclined  to  think  that  the  full 
merit  of  it  rested  with  Mr.  Squeers.  Determined  to  ascertain,  if  he  could, 
through  John  Browdie,  how  the  case  really  stood,  he  betook  himself  to  his 
daily  occupation  ;  meditating  as  he  went  on  a  great  variety  of  schemes  for  the 
punishment  of  the  Yorkshire  schoolmaster,  all  of  which  had  their  foundation 
in  the  strictest  principles  of  retributive  justice,  and  had  but  the  one  drawback 
of  being  wholly  impracticable. 

"  A  fine  morning,  Mr.  Linkinwater ! "  said  Nicholas,  entering  the  office. 

"Ah  1"  replied  Tim,  *'talk  of  the  country,  indeed  I  What  do  you  think 
of  this  now  for  a  day — a  London  day — eh  ? " 

**  It's  a  little  clearer  out  of  town, '  said  Nicholas. 

"  Clearer  ! "  echoed  Tim  Linkinwater.  *'  You  should  see  it  from  my  bed- 
room window. " 

"  You  should  see  it  from  mine"  replied  Nicholas,  with  a  smile. 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  said  Tim  Linkinwater,  ** don't  tell  me.  Country!" 
(Bow  was  quite  a  rustic  place  to  Tim.)  ''Nonsense  I  What  can  you  get  in 
the  country  but  new-laid  eggs  and  flowers?    I  can  buy  new-laid  eggs  in 


332  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Leadenhall  Market,  any  morning  before  breakfast ;  and  as  to  flowers,  it's 
worth  a  run  upstairs  to  smell  my  mignonette,  or  to  see  the  double-wallliower 
in  the  back-attic  window  at  No.  6,  in  the  court" 

"There  is  a  double- wallflower  at  No.  6,  in  the  court,  is  there t"  said 
Nicholas. 

"Yes  is  there  !"  replied  Tim,  "and  planted  in  a  cracked  jog,  without  a 

spout     There  were  hyacinths  there  this  last  spring,  blossoming  in bat 

you'll  laugh  at  that,  of  course." 

"At  what?" 

"At their  blossoming  in  old  blacking-bottles,"  said  Tim. 

"  Not  I,  indeed,"  returned  Nicholas. 

Tim  looked  wistfully  at  him  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  were  encouraged  by  the 
tone  of  this  reply  to  be  more  communicative  on  the  subject ;  and  sticking 
behind  his  ear  a  pen  that  he  had  been  making,  and  shutting  ap  his  knife 
Wiith  a  smart  click,  said — 

"  They  belong  to  a  sickly,  bedridden,  hump-backed  boy,  and  seem  to  be  the 
only  pleasures,  Mr.  Nickleby,  of  his  ssid  existence.  How  many  years  is  it," 
said  Tim,  pondering,  "since  I  first  noticed  him,  quite  a  little  child,  dragging 
himself  about  on  a  pair  of  tiny  crutches  T  Well !  weU  !  not  many  ;  bat 
though  they  would  appear  nothing,  if  I  thought  of  other  things,  they  seem  a 
long,  long  time,  when  I  think  of  him.  It  is  a  sad  thing,"  said  ^Hm,  breakipg 
off,  "  to  see  a  little,  deformed  child  sitting  apart  from  other  children,  who 
are  active  and  merry,  watching  the  games  he  is  denied  the  power  to  share  in. 
He  made  my  heart  ache  very  often.' 

"It  is  a  good  heart,"  said  Nicholas,  " that  disentangles  itself  from  the 
close  avocations  of  every  day,  to  heed  such  things.     You  were  saying '* 

"That  the  flowers  belonged  to  this  poor  boy,"  said  Tim  ;  "that's  all 
When  it  is  fine  weather,  and  he  can  crawl  out  of  bed,  he  draws  a  chair  cIosp 
to  the  window,  and  sits  there,  looking  at  them  and  arranging  them,  all  day 
long.  We  used  to  nod  at  first,  and  then  we  came  to  speak.  Formerly,  when 
I  called  to  him  of  a  morning,  and  asked  him  how  he  was,  he  would  smile  and 
say,  '  Better ; '  but  now  he  shakes  his  head,  and  only  bends  more  closely  over 
his  old  plants.  It  must  be  dull  to  watch  the  dark  house-tops  and  the  flying 
clouds  for  so  many  months  ;  but  he  is  very  patient" 

"  Is  there  nobody  in  the  house  to  cheer  or  help  him  !  "  asked  Nicholas. 

"  His  father  lives  there,  I  believe,"  replied  Tim,  "  and  other  people,  too; 
but  no  one  seems  to  care  much  for  the  poor,  sickly  cripple.  I  have  asKed  him, 
very  often,  if  I  can  do  anything  for  him  ;  his  answer  is  always  the  same— 
'  Nothing.*  His  voice  is  growing  weak  of  late,  but  I  can  9ee  Uiat  he  makei 
the  old  reply.  He  can't  leave  his  bed  now,  so  they  have  moved  it  close  besidB 
the  window,  and  there  he  lies  all  day:  now  looking  at  the  sky,  and  now  it 
his  flowers,  which  he  still  makes  shift  to  trim  and  water  with  his  own  this 
hands.  At  night,  when  he  sees  my  candle,  he  draws  back  his  curtain,  ud 
leaves  it  so,  till  I  am  in  bed.  It  seems  such  company  to  him  to  know  that  I 
am  there,  that  I  often  sit  at  my  window  for  an  hour  or  more,  that  he  may  see 
I  am  still  awake  ;  and  sometimes  I  get  up  in  the  night  to  look  at  the  dolli 
melancholy  light  in  his  little  room,  and  wonder  whether  he  is  amke  er 
sleeping. 

"  The  night  will  not  be  long  coming,"  said  Tim,  "  when  he  will  sleep,  ind 
never  wake  a^in  on  earth.  We  have  never  so  much  as  shaken  hands  in  all 
our  lives  ;  and  yet  I  shall  miss  him  like  an  old  friend.  Are  there  any  country 
flowers  that  could  interest  me  like  these,  do  you  think  T  Or  do  Ton  suppose 
that  the  withering  of  a  hundred  kinds  of  the  choicest  flowers  that  blow,  called 
by  the  hardest  Ditin  names  that  were  ever  invented,  would  give  me  one 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  333 

fraction  of  the  pain  that  I  shall  feel  when  those  old  jugs  and  bottles  are  swept 
away  as  lumber  !  Country ! "  cried  Tim,  with  a  contemptuous  emphasis ; 
"don't  you  know  that  I  couldn't  have  such  a  court  under  my  bed-room 
window  anywhere  but  in  London  ? " 

With  which  inquiry,  Tim  turned  his  back,  and  pretending  to  be  absorbed  in 
his  accounts,  tooK  an  opportunity  of  hastily  wiping  his  eyes  when  he  supposed 
Nicholas  was  looking  another  way. 

Whether  it  was  that  Tim's  accounts  were  more  than  usually  intricate  that 
morning,  or  whether  it  was  that  his  habitual  serenity  had  been  a  little 
disturbed  by  these  recollections,  it  so  hapi)ened  that  when  Nicholas  returned 
from  executing  some  commission,  and  inquired  whether  Mr.  Cliarles  Cheeryblo 
was  ^one  in  his  room,  Tim  promptly,  and  without  the  smallest  hesitation, 
replied  in  the  affirmative,  although  somebody  had  passed  into  the  room  not 
ten  minutes  before,  and  Tim  took  especial  and  particular  pride  in  preventing 
any  intrusion  on  either  of  the  brothers  when  they  were  engaged  with  any 
visitor  whatever. 

"  III  take  this  letter  to  him  at  once,"  said  Nicholas,  "  if  that's  the  case." 
And  with  that,  he  walked  to  the  room  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

No  answer. 

Another  knock,  and  still  no  answer. 

«•  He  can't  be  here,"  thought  Nicholas.     "  I'll  lay  it  on  his  table." 

So  Nicholas  opened  the  door  and  walked  in  ;  and  very  quickly  ho  turned  to 
walk  out  again,  when  he  saw,  to  his  great  astonishment  and  discomfiture,  a 
young  lady  upon  her  knees  at  Mr.  Cheeryble's  feet,  and  Mr.  Cheeryble 
Deseeching  her  to  rise,  and  entreating  a  third  person,  who  had  the  appearance 
of  the  young  lady's  female  attendant,  to  add  her  persuasions  to  his  to  induce 
her  to  do  so. 

Nicholas  stammered  out  an  awkward  apology,  and  was  precipitately  retiring, 
when  the  young  lady,  turning  her  head  a  little,  presented  to  his  view  the 
features  of  the  lovely  girl  whom  he  had  seen  at  the  register-office  on  his  first 
visit  long  before.  Glancing  from  her  to  the  attendant,  he  recognised  the  same 
clumsy  servant  who  had  accompanied  her  then  ;  and  between  his  admiration 
of  the  ^oung  lady's  beauty,  and  the  confusion  and  surprise  of  this  unexpected 
recognition,  he  stood  stock-still,  in  such  a  bewildered  state  of  surprise  and 
embarrassment,  that  for  the  moment  he  was  quite  bereft  of  the  power  either 
to  speak  or  move. 

"My  dear  ma'am — my  dear  young  lady,"  cried  brother  Charles,  in  violent 
agitation,  "  pray  don't — not  another  word,  I  beseech  and  entreat  you  I  I 
implore  you — I  beg  of  you — to  rise.     We — we — are  not  alone." 

As  he  spoke,  he  raised  the  young  lady,  who  staggered  to  a  chair  and 
swooned  away. 

"  She  has  fainted,  sir,"  said  Nicholas,  darting  eagerly  forward. 

"  Poor  dear,  poor  dear  !  "  cried  brother  Charles.  **  Where  is  my  brother 
Ned  ?    Ned,  my  dear  brother,  come  here,  i)ray." 

"Brother  Charles,  my  dear  follow,"  replied  his  brother,  hurrying  into  the 
room,   '*  what  is  the ah  !  what " 

•*  Hush  !  hush  !  not  a  word  for  your  life,  brother  Ned,"  returned  the  other. 
"  Ring  for  the  housekeeper,  my  dear  brother — call  Tim  Linkin water  I  Here, 
Tim  Linkinwater,  sir — Mr.  Nickloby,  my  dear  sir,  leave  the  room,  I  beg  and 
beseech  of  you." 

•*  I  think  she  is  better  now,"  said  Nicholas,  who  had  been  watching  the 
patient  so  eagerly  that  he  had  not  heard  the  request. 

"Poor  bii3  ! "  cried  brotluT  Charles,  gently  taking  her  hand  in  his,  and 
laying  her  head  upun  his  arm.     "Brother  Ned,  my  dear  fellow,  you  will  be 


334  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

surprised,  I  know,  to  witness  this  in  business  hours  ;  but "  here  he  was 

again  reminded  of  the  presence  of  Nicholas,  and,  shaking  him  by  the  hand, 
earnestly  requested  him  to  leave  the  room,  and  to  send  Tim  Lihkinwater 
without  an  instant's  delay. 

Nicholas  immediately  withdrew,  and,  on  his  way  to  the  counting-house, 
met  both  the  old  housekeeper  and  Tim  Linkinwater,  jostling  each  other  in  the 
passage,  and  hurrying  to  the  scene  of  action  with  extraordinary  speed. 
Without  waiting  to  hear  his  message,  Tim  Linkinwater  darted  into  the 
room,  and  presently  afterwards  Nicholas  heard  the  door  shut  and  locked  on 
the  inside. 

He  had  abundance  of  time  to  ruminate  on  this  discovery,  for  Tim  Linkin- 
water was  absent  during  the  greater  part  of  an  hour,  during  the  whole  of 
which  time  Nicholas  thought  of  nothing  but  the  voung  lady,  and  her  exceed- 
ing beauty,  and  what  could  possibly  have  brougnt  her  there,  and  why  thej 
made  such  a  mystery  of  it.  The  more  he  thought  of  all  this,  the  more  it 
perplexed  him,  and  the  more  anxious  he  became  to  know  who  and  what  she 
Was.  "  I  should  have  known  her  among  ten  thousand,"  thought  Nicholas. 
And  with  that  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  recalling  her  face  and 
figure  (of  which  he  had  a  peculiarly  vivid  remembrance},  discarded  all  other 
subjects  of  reflection  and  dwelt  upon  that  alone. 

At  length  Tim  Linkinwater  came  back — provokingly  cool,  and  with  papers 
in  his  hand,  and  a  pen  in  his  mouth,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

'  *  Is  she  quite  recovered  ? "  said  Nicholas,  impetuously. 

"  Who  ?     returned  Tim  Linkinwater. 

**  Who  ! "  repeated  Nicholas.     "The  young  lady." 

'*  What  do  you  make,  Mr.  Nickleby,'  said  Tim,  taking  his  pen  out  of  his 
month,  "what  do  you  make 'of  four  hundred  and  twenty-seven  times  three 
thousand  two  hundred  and  thirty-eight  ? " 

"Nay,"  returned  Nicholas,  **  what  do  you  make  of  my  question  first?  I 
asked  you " 

"About  the  young  lady,"  said  Tim  Linkinwater,  putting  on  his  spectacles. 
"  To  be  sure.     Yes.     Oh,  she's  very  well." 

* '  Very  well,  is  she  ? "  returned  Nicholas. 

**  Very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Linkinwater,  gravely. 
.  "  Will  she  be  able  to  go  home  to-day  ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

"She's  gone,"  said  Tim. 

"Gone!" 

"Yes." 

"I  hope  she  has  not  far  to  go?"  said  Nicholas,  looking  earnestly  at  the 
other. 

"  Aye,"  replied  the  immovable  Tim,  "  I  hope  she  hasn't." 

Nicholas  hazarded  one  or  two  further  remarks,  but  it  was  evident  that  Tim 
Linkinwater  had  his  own  reasons  for  evading  the  subject,  and  that  he  wta 
determined  to  afford  no  further  information  respecting  the  fair  unknown,  who 
had  awakened  so  much  curiosity  in  the  breast  of  his  young  friend.  Nothing 
daunted  by  this  repulse,  Nicholas  returned  to  the  charge  next  day,  emboldened 
by  the  circumstance  of  Mr.  Linkinwater  being  in  a  very  talkative  and  com- 
municative mood  ;  but  directly  he  resumed  the  theme,  Tim  relapsed  into  a 
state  of  the  most  provoking  taciturnity,  and  from  answering  in  monosyllables, 
came  to  returning  no  answers  at  all,  save  such  as  were  to  be  inferred  from 
several  grave  noS&  and  shrugs,  which  only  served  to  whet  tiiat  appetite 
for  intelligence  in  Nicholas  which  had  already  attained  a  most  tmreasonihle 
lieight. 

Foiled  in  these  attempts,  he  was  fain  to  content  himself  with  watching  for 


NICHOLAS  NICKLILBY.  33; 

the  jonng  ladj't  next  risit,  but  here  again  ho  was  disappointGd.  Da;  afti'v 
day  passed,  and  aha  did  not  return.  I{o  looked  caf^rly  at  tho  superscription 
of  aU  the  notee  and  Utters,  hut  there  was  not  eiie  amouj;  them  which  he 
could  fancy  to  be  in  her  handwritiug.  Oq  two  or  three  occaaions  hs  was 
emplojed  on  business  which  took  him  to  a  distance,  and  had  formerly 
been  transacted  by  Tim  Linkiiiwater.  Nicholas  could  not  help  Buspoctiug 
that,  for  some  reaaou  .or  other,  he  was  sent  out  of  tlie  way  on  purpose, 
and  thit  the  young  lady  was  there  in  hia  absence.  Nothiug  tmnspirod, 
howoTcr,  to  confirm  this  suspicion,  and  Tim  could  not  be  entrapped  into 
any  confession  or  admission  tending  to  support  it  in  the  smallest  degree. 

MyHtery  and  disappointment  are  not  absolutely  indispensable  to  tJie  growth 
of  love,  bat  they  are,  very  often,  its  powerful  auxiliaries.  ' '  Out  of  sight,  out 
of  mind,"  is  well  enongh  as  a  proverb  applicable  to  cases  of  friendship,  thon{;h 
Absence  is  not  always  necessary  to  hollowness  of  heart,  even  between  frionds  ; 
and  tmth  and  honesty,  like  precious  stones,  nro  perhaps  most  easily  imitateil 
at  a  diatonco,  when  the  counterfeits  often  paas  for  real.  Lnve,  however,  is 
Tcry  materially  assisted  by  a  warm  and  scLivo  imagination  :  which  has  a  long 
memory,  and  will  thrive,  for  a  considerable  time,  on  very  slight  snd  sparing 
food.  ITius  it  is  that  it  often  attains  its  most  luxuriant  growth  in  separation, 
and  nnder  circumstances  of  the  utmost  difhculty  ;  and  thus  it  was  that 
Nicholas,  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  unknown  young  lady  from  day  to  day 
and  fHim  honr  to  hour,  began  at  last  to  think  that  he  was  very  desperately  in 
love  with  her,  and  that  never  was  such  an  Ul-used  and  persecuteil  lover  as  be. 

Still,  though  he  loved  and  langnisbed  after  the  most  ortbodos:  models,  and 
ms  only  deterred  from  making  a  canJldBnto  of  Kate  by  the  sliglit  cousidcia- 
tions  of  having  never,  in  all  his  lire,  spoken  to  tlie  object  of  his  passion,  and 
having  never  set  eyes  npon  her  except  on  two  occasions,  on  both  of  which  shs 
had  come  and  gone  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  or,  as  Nicholas  himself  said,  in 
tbt  numerous  conversations  he  held  with  himself,  like  a  vision  of  youth  and 
hctnty,  mnch  too  bright  to  last — his  aidour  and  devotion  remained  without 
Ui  reward.  The  young  lady  appeared  no  more  ;  so  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
Im  wasted  (enongh,  indeed,  to  have  sot  up  half-a-dozcu  young  gentlemen,  as 
"times  go,  with  the  utmost  decency),  and  nobody  was  a  bit  the  wiser  for  it,  not 
*Wn  Nicholas  himself,  who,  on  the  contrary,  became  more  dull,  sontimeutalj 
*ild  lackadaisical  every  day. 

While  matters  were  iu  this  state,  tho  failure  of  a  correspondent  of  the 
^nithera  Cheeryble  in  Germany  imposed  upon  Tim  Linkinnater  and  Nicholas 
ftha  necesaity  of  going  through  some  very  long  and  complicated  accounts, 
•standing  ove^  4  wmEvJrtTihU  ¥paco  of  time.  To  get  through  them  with  the 
K'Ba.ter  di^spateh,  Tim  Linkinnater  proposed  that  they  should  remain  at  the 
L  .««anting-hoTi^e,  far  a  week  or  so,  until  ten  o'clock  at  night ;  to  this,  as 
*y«>thing  ilampod  the  seal  of  Nicholas  in  tho  service  of  hie  kind  patrons— not 

kw_ ,^,^  which  hnsseldon  buflin ess  habits— he  cheerfully  assented.     On 

.  — Jt  night  of  these  later  honrs,  at  nine  exactly,  there  came,  not  the 
Jul^  herself,  but  her  servant,  who,  being  closeted  with  brother  CIibtIub 
IB  time,  went  away,  and  returned  next  night  at  tho  same  hour,  and  on 
tt,  and  on  the  next  agili. 

hnpoated  visits  inllamod  the  curiosity  of  Nicholas  to  tho  very  highest 

"  "*■    '  and  c.teited  beyond  all  bearing,  and  unable  to  fathom  the 

his  duty,  he  confided  the  whole  secret  to  Newman 

^„  je  on  the  watch  next  night ;  to  follow  the  girl 

«ncJl  inqniries  relative  to  the  tinme,  condition,  and 

~  y.-  euold,  without  exciting  suspicion  ;  and  to  report 

it  possiUe  dehiy. 


336  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Beyond  all  measure  proud  of  this  commission,  Newman  Noggs  took  up  his 
post  in  the  square  on  the  following  crening,  a  full  hour  before  \,\\\  needful 
time ;  and  planting  himself  behind  the  pump,  and  pulling  liis  hat  over  bis 
eyes,  began  his  watch  with  an  elaborate  appearance  of  mystery,  admirably 
calculated  to  excite  the  suspicion  of  all  beholders.  Indeed,  divers  servant- 
girls  who  came  to  draw  water,  and  sundry  little  boys  who  stopped  to  drink  at 
the  ladle,  were  almost  scared  out  of  their  senses  by  the  apparition  of  Newman 
Noggs,  looking  stealthily  round  the  pump,  with  nothing  of  him  visible  bat 
his  face,  and  that  wearing  the  expression  of  a  meditative  ogre. 

Punctual  to  her  time  the  messenger  came  again,  and  aucr  an  interview  of 
rather  longer  duration  than  usual,  departed.  Newman  had  made  two 
appointments  with  Nicholas — one  for  the  next  evening,  conditional  on  his 
success,  and  one  the  next  night  following,  which  was  to  be  kept  under  all 
circumstances.  The  first  night  he  was  not  at  the  place  of  meeting  (a  certain 
tavern  about  half-way  between  the  City  and  Golden  Square),  but  on  the 
second  night  he  was  there  before  Nicholas,  and  received  him  with  open 
arms. 

•*  It's  all  right,"  whispered  Newman.  **  Sit  down — sit  down,  there's  a  dear 
young  man,  and  let  me  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Nicholas  needed  no  second  invitation,  and  eagerly  inquired  what  was  the 
news. 

"  There's  a  great  deal  of  news,"  said  Newman,  in  a  flutter  of  exultation. 
"  It's  all  right  Don't  be  anxious.  I  don't  know  where  to  begin.  Ne?er 
mind  that.    Keep  up  your  spirits.     It's  all  right" 

"Well?"  said  Nicholas,  eagerly,  **yes?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Newman,     *'  That's  it" 

**  What's  it  ? "  said  Nicholas.     **  The  name — the  name,  my  dear  fellow ! " 

**  The  name's  Bobster,"  replied  Newman. 

"  Bobster  ! "  repeated  Nicholas,  indignantly. 

**  That's  the  name,"  said  Newman.     *'  I  remember  it  by  lobster." 

"Bobster  I"  repeated  Nicholas,  more  emphatically  than  before.  "That 
must  be  the  sei*vant's  name." 

"No,  it  an't,"  said  Newman,  shaking  his  head  with  great  poaitivenesa. 
"Miss  Cecilia  Bobster." 

"  Cecilia,  eh  ? "  returned  Nicholas,  muttering  the  two  names  together  over 
and  over  again  in  every  variety  of  tone,  to  try  the  effect  "  Well,  Cecilia  is  a 
])retty  name." 

"  Very.     And  a  pretty  creature  too,"  said  Newman. 

"Who?"  said  Nicholas. 

"Miss  Bobster." 

"  Why,  where  have  you  seen  her  ? "  demanded  Nicholas. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  boy,"  retorted  Noggs,  clapping  him  on  the 
shoulder.     "  I  luvoe  seen  her.     You  shall  see  her.     I  have  managed  it  all." 

"My  dear  Newman,"  cried  Nicholas,  grasping  his  hand,  "are  yon 
serious  ? " 

"  I  am,"  replied  Newman.  "  I  mean  it  all.  Every  word.  You  shall  see 
her  to-morrow  night.  She  consents  to  hear  you  speak  for  yourself.  I  per 
suaded  her.     She  is  all  affability,  goodness,  sweetness,  and  beauty." 

"  I  know  she  is ;  1  know  she  must  be,  Newman  !  "  said  Nicholas,  wringing 
his  hand. 

"  You  are  right,"  returned  Newman. 

"  Where  does  she  live  ? "  cried  Nicholas.  "  What  have  you  learnt  of  her 
history  ?  Has  she  a  father — mother — any  brothers — sisters  ?  What  did  she 
say  ?    How  came  you  to  see  her  ?    Was  she  not  very  much  snrpriaed  ?    Did 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  337 

yoa  say  how  passionately  I  have  longed  to  speak  to  her  ?  Did  you  toll  her 
where  I  had  seen  her  ?  Did  you  tell  her  how,  and  when,  and  where,  and  how 
long,  and  how  often,  I  have  thought  of  that  sweet  face,  which  came  upon  me 
in  my  bitterest  distress  like  a  glimpse  of  some  better  world — did  you, 
Newman— <lid  you  t " 

Poor  Noggs  literally  gasped  for  breath  as  this  flood  of  questions  rushed 
npon  him,  and  moved  spasmodically  in  his  chair  at  every  fresh  inquiry, 
staring  at  Nicholas  meanwhile  with  a  most  ludicrous  expression  of  perplexity. 

"  No,"  said  Newman,  "  I  didn't  tell  her  that." 

"  Didn't  tell  her  which  »•"  asked  Nicholas. 

"  About  the  glimpse  of  the  better  world,"  said  Ne>vman.  "  I  didn't  tell 
her  who  you  were,  either,  or  where  you'd  seen  her.  I  said  you  loved  her  to 
distraction." 

"That's  true,  Newman,"  replied  Nicholas,  with  his  characteristic  vehe- 
mence.    "  Heaven  knows  I  do  !  " 

"  I  said,  too,  that  you  had  admired  her  for  a  long  time  in  secret,"  said 
Newman. 

"  Yes,  yes.     What  did  she  say  to  that  f "  asked  Nicholas. 

"Blushed,"  said  Newman. 

"  To  be  sure.    Of  course  she  would,"  said  Nicholas,  approvingly. 

Newman  then  went  on  to  say,  that  the  young  lady  was  an  only  child,  that 
her  mother  was  dead,  that  she  resided  with  her  father,  and  that  she  had  been 
induced  to  allow  her  lover  a  secret  interview,  at  the  intercession  of  her 
servant,  who  had  great  influence  with  her.  Ho  further  related  how  it 
required  much  moving  and  great  eloquence  to  bring  the  young  lady  to  this 
pass  ;  how  it  was  expressly  understood  that  she  merely  afforded  Nicholas  an 
opportunity  of  declaring  his  passion  ;  and  how  she  by  no  means  pledged 
her»df  to  be  favourably  impressed  with  his  attentions.  The  mystery  of  her 
visits  to  the  Brothers  Cheeryble  remained  wholly  unexplained,  for  Newman 
luui  not  alluded  to  them,  either  in  his  preliminary  conversations  with  the 
servant  or  his  subsequent  interview  with  the  mistress  ;  merely  remarking  that 
he  had  been  instructed  to  watch  the  girl  home  and  plead  his  young  friend's 
cause,  and  not  sa3ring  how  far  he  had  followed  her,  or  from  what  point.  But 
Newman  hinted  that  from  what  had  fallen  from  the  confidante,  he  had  been 
led  to  suspect  that  the  young  lady  led  a  very  miserable  and  unhappy  life, 
under  the  strict  control  of  her  only  parent,  who  was  of  a  violent  and  brutal 
temper — a  circumstance  which  he  thought  might  in  some  degree  account, 
both  for  her  having  sought  the  protection  and  friendship  of  the  brothers,  and 
her  suffering  herself  to  be  prevailed  upon  to  grant  the  promised  interview. 
The  last  he  neld  to  be  a  very  logical  deduction  from  the  premises,  inasmuch 
■8  it  was  but  natural  to  suppose  that  a  young  lady,  whose  present  condition 
was  so  nnenviable,  would  be  more  than  commonly  desirous  to  change  it. 

It  appeared,  on  further  questioning — for  it  was  only  by  a  very  long  and 
arduous  process  that  all  this  could  be  got  out  of  Newman  Noggs — that 
Newman,  in  explanation  of  his  shabby  appearance,  had  represented  himself  as 
being,  for  certain  wise  and  indispensable  purposes  connected  with  that 
intrigue,  in  disguise ;  and,  being  questioned  how  he  had  come  to  exceed  his 
commission  so  far  as  to  procure  an  interview,  he  responded,  that  the  lady 
appearing  willing  to  grant  it,  he  considered  himself  bound,  both  in  duty  and 
gaUantry,  to  avail  himself  of  such  a  golden  means  of  enabling  Nicholas  to 
prosecute  his  addresses.  After  these  and  all  possible  questions  had  been  asked 
and  answered  twenty  times  over,  they  parted,  undertaking  to  meet  on  the 
following  night  at  half-past  ten,  for  the  purpose  of  fulfilling  the  appointment : 
which  was  for  eleven  o'clock. 

u  ^^ 


33S  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Things  come  about  very  strangely ! "  thought  Nicholas,  as  he  walked 
home.  **  I  never  contemplated  anything  of  this  kind  ;  never  dreamt  of  the 
possibility  of  it.  To  know  something  of  the  life  of  one  in  whom  I  felt  such 
interest ;  to  see  her  in  the  street,  to  pass  the  house  in  which  she  lived,  to 
meet  her  sometimes  in  her  walks,  to  hope  that  a  day  might  come  when  I 
might  be  in  a  condition  to  tell  her  of  my  love — this  was  the  utmost  extent  of 
my  thoughts.  Now,  however — but  I  should  be  a  fool,  indeed,  to  repine  at  my 
own  good  fortune  !  " 

Still,  Nicholas  was  dissatisfied  ;  and  there  was  more  in  the  dissatisfaction 
than  mere  revulsion  of  feeling.  He  was  angry  withjthe  young  lady  for  being 
so  easily  won,  ''Because,"  reasoned  Nichoms,  *'it  is  not  as  if  she  knew  it 
was  I,  but  it  might  have  been  anybody  " — which  was,  certainly,  not  pleasant 
The  next  moment  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  entertaining  such  thoughts, 
arguing  that  nothing  but  goodness  could  dwell  in  such  a  temple,  and  that  the 
behaviour  of  the  brothers  sufficiently  showed  the  estimation  in  which  they 
held  her.  "The  fact  is,  she's  a  mystery  altogether,"  said  Nicholas.  This 
was  not  more  satisfactory  than  his  previous  course  of  reflection,  and  only 
drove  him  out  upon  a  new  sea  of  speculation  and  conjecture,  where  he  tossed 
and  tumbled,  in  great  discomfort  of  mind,  until  the  clock  struck  ten,  and  the 
hour  of  meeting  drew  nigh. 

Nicholas  had  dressed  himself  with  great  care,  and  even  Newman  Noggs  had 
trimmed  himself  up  a  little ;  his  coat  presenting  the  phenomenon  of  two 
consecutive  buttons,  and  the  supplementary  pins  being  inserted  at  tolerably 
regular  intervals.  He  wore  his  hat,  too,  in  the  newest  taste,  with  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  in  the  crown,  and  a  twisted  end  of  it  straggling  out  oehind, 
after  the  fashion  of  a  pigtail;  though  he  could  scarcely  lay  claim  to  the 
ingenuity  of  inventing  this  latter  decoration,  inasmuch  as  he  was  utterly  un- 
conscious of  it ;  being  in  a  nervous  and  excited  condition,  which  rendered  him 
quite  insensible  to  everything  but  the  great  object  of  the  expedition. 

They  traversed  the  streets  in  profound  silence  ;  and  after  walking  at  a 
round  pace  for  some  distance,  arrived  in  one,  of  a  gloomy  appearance  and  very 
little  frequented,  near  the  Edgeware  Road. 

*'  Number  twelve,"  said  Newman. 

"Oh  !  "  replied  Nicholas,  looking  about  him. 

**  Good  street,"  said  Newman. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Nicholas.     "Rather  dull." 

Newman  made  no  answer  to  this  remark,  but,  halting  abruptly,  planted 
Nicholas  with  his  back  to  some  area  railings,  and  gave  him  to  understand  that 
he  was  to  wait  there,  without  moving  hand  or  foot,  until  it  was  satisfactorily 
ascertained  that  the  coast  was  clear.  This  done,  Noggs  limped  away  with 
great  alacrity  ;  looking  over  his  shoulder  every  instant,  to  make  quite  certain 
that  Nicholas  was  obeying  his  directions  ;  and,  ascending  the  steps  of  a  house 
some  half-dozen  doors  off,  was  lost  to  view. 

After  a  short  delay  he  reappeared,  and  limping  back  again,  halted  midwaj, 
and  beckoned  Nicholas  to  follow  him. 

"  Well  ! "  said  Nicholas,  advancing  towards  him  on  tiptoe. 

"  All  right,"  replied  Newman,  in  high  glee.  "  All  right ;  nobody  at  home. 
Couldn't  be  better.     Ha  !  ha  ! " 

With  this  fortifying  assurance,  he  stole  past  a  street-door,  on  which  Nicholas 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  brass  plate,  with  "Bobster,"  in  very  large  letters; 
and,  stopping*  at  the  area-gate,  which  was  open,  signed  to  his  young  fiiend  to 
descend. 

"  What  the  devil ! "  cried  Nicholas,  drawing  back.  "Are  we  to  sneak  into 
the  kitchen  as  if  we  came  after  the  forks  ? " 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  339 

"Hush  I"  replied  Newman.  **01d  Bobster— ferocious  Turk.  He'd  kill 
'em  all — box  the  young  lady's  ears — he  does — otten." 

"What  r*  cried  Nicholas,  in  high  wrath,  **  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
any  man  would  dare  to  box  the  ears  of  such  a " 

He  had  no  time  to  sing  the  praises  of  his  mistress  just  then,  for  Newman 
gaye  him  a  gentle  push  which  had  nearly  precipitated  him  to  the  bottom  of 
the  area  stepa.  Thinking  it  best  to  take  the  hint  in  good  paii,  Nicholas 
descended  without  further  remonstrance,  but  with  a  countenance  bespeaking 
anything  rather  than  the  hope  and  rapture  of  a  passionate  lover.  Newman 
followed — ^he  would  have  followed  head  first,  but  for  the  timely  assistance  of 
Nicholas — and,  taking  his  hand,  led  him  through  a  stone  passage,  profoundly 
dark,  into  a  iNick  kitchen  or  cellar,  of  the  blackest  and  most  pitchy  obscurity, 
where  they  stopped. 

**  Well  I "  said  Nicholas,  in  a  discontented  whisper,  "  this  is  not  all,  I 
sappose,  is  it  ? " 

•*  No,  no,"  rejoined  Noggs  ;  "  they'll  bo  here  directly.     It's  all  right." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Nicholas.  **  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it,  I 
confess." 

They  exchanged  no  further  words,  and  there  Nicholas  stood,  listening  to 
the  loud  breathuig  of  Newman  Noggs,  and  imagining  that  his  nose  seemed  to 
glow  like  a  red-hot  coal,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  which  enshrouded 
them.  Suddenly  the  sound  of  cautious  footsteps  attracted  his  ear,  and  directly 
afterwards  a  female  voice  inquired  if  the  gentleman  was  there. 

"Yes,"  replied  Nicholas,  turning  towards  the  corner  from  which  the  voice 
proceeded.     *  *  Who  is  that  ? " 

'*  Only  me,  sir,"  replied  the  voice.     "Now  if  you  please,  ma'am." 

A  gleam  of  light  shone  into  the  place,  and  presently  the  servant  girl  ap- 
peared, bearing  a  light,  and  followed  by  her  young  mistress,  who  seemed  to  ho 
overwhelmed  by  modesty  and  confusion. 

At  sight  of  the  young  lady,  Nicholas  started  and  changed  colour ;  his  heart 
beat  violently,  and  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  At  that  instant,  and  almost 
simultaneously  with  her  arrival  and  that  of  the  candle,  there  was  heard  a  loud 
and  furious  knocking  at  the  street-door,  which  caused  Newman  Noggs  to 
jump  up  with  great  agility  from  a  beer-barrel  on  which  he  had  boon  seated 
astride,  and  to  exclaim  abruptly,  and  with  a  face  of  ashy  paleness,  * '  Bobster, 
by  the  Lord  1 " 

The  young  lady  shrieked,  the  attendant  wrung  her  hands,  Nicholas  gazed 
from  one  to  the  other  in  apparent  stupefaction,  and  Newman  hurried  to 
and  fro,  thrusting  his  hands  into  all  his  pockets  successively,  and  drawing 
ont  the  linings  of  every  one  in  the  excess  of  his  irresolution.  It  was  but  a 
moment,  but  the  confusion  crowded  into  that  one  moment  no  imagination  can 
exa^ierate. 

**Leave  the  house,  for  heaven's  sake  !  We  have  done  wrong — we  deserve 
it  all,"  cried  the  young  lady.  "  Leave  tbe  house,  or  I  am  ruined  and  undone 
for  ever." 

"  Will  you  hear  me  say  but  one  word  ? "  cried  Nicholas.  "  Only  one.  I 
will  not  detain  you.  Will  you  hear  me  say  one  word  in  explanation  of  this 
mischance ! " 

But  Nicholas  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  wind,  for  the  young  lady, 
with  distracted  looks,  hurried  up  the  stairs.  He  would  have  followed  her,  but 
Newman,  twisting  his  hand  in  his  coat  collar,  dragged  him  towards  the 
passage  by  which  they  had  entered. 

"Letnie  go,  Newman,  in  the  devil's  name!"  cried  Nicholas.  "I  must- 
speak  to  her — I  will !    I  mil  not  leave  this  house  without. " 


340  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  Reputation — character — violence — consider,"  said  Newman,  clinging 
round  nim  with  both  arms,  and  hurrying  him  away.  "  Let  them  open  the 
door.     We'll  go,  as  we  came,  directly  it's  shut.     Come.     This  way.     Here." 

Overpowered  by  the  remonstrances  of  Newman,  and  the  tears  and  prayers 
of  the  girl,  and  the  tremendous  knocking  above,  which  had  never  ceased, 
Nicholas  allowed  himself  to  be  hurried  off;  and,  precisely  as  Mr.  Bobster 
made  his  entrance  by  the  street-door,  he  and  Noggs  made  their  exit  by  the 
area-gate. 

They  hurried  away,  through  several  streets,  without  stopping  or  speaking. 
At  last  they  halted,  and  confronted  each  other  with  blank  and  rueful  faces. 

'*  Never  mind,"  said  Newman,  gasping  for  breath.  **  Don't  be  cast  down. 
It's  all  right.  More  fortunate  next  time.  It  couldn't  be  helped.  I  did  my 
part." 

**  Excellently,"  replied  Nicholas,  taking  his  hand.  '*  Excellently,  and  like 
the  true  and  zealous  friend  you  are.  Only — mind,  I  am  not  disappointed,  New- 
man, and  feel  just  as  much  indebted  to  you — only  ii  was  the  wrong  lady, " 

**  Eh  ? "  cried  Newman  Noggs.     "  Taken  in  by  the  servant  ? " 

''Newman,  Newman,"  said  Nicholas,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
"  it  was  the  wrong  servant  too." 

Newman's  under-jaw  dropped,  and  he  gazed  at  Nicholas,  with  his  sound  eye 
fixed  fast  and  motionless  in  nis  head. 

"  Don't  take  it  to  heart,"  said  Nicholas  ;  "  it's  of  no  consequence ;  you  see 
I  don't  care  about  it ;  you  followed  the  wrong  person,  that's  all." 

That  tpos  all.  Whether  Newman  Noggs  had  looked  round  the  pump  in  a 
slanting  direction  so  long  that  his  sight  became  impaired  ;  or  whether,  finding 
that  there  was  time  to  spare,  he  had  recruited  hmiself  with  a  few  drops  of 
something  stronger  than  the  pump  could  yield — by  whatsoever  means  it 
had  come  to  pass,  this  was  his  mistake.  And  Nicholas  went  home  to 
brood  upon  it,  and  to  meditate  upon  the  charms  of  the  unknown  young 
lady,  now  as  far  beyond  his  reach  as  ever. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 


CONTAINING  SOME  ROMANTIC  PASSAGES  BETWEEN  MRS.    NICKLEBY  AND  THE 
GENTLEMAN   IN  THE  SMALL-CLOTHES   NEXT  DOOB. 

YfX  VER  since  her  last  momentous  conversation  with  her  son,  Mrs.  Nickleby 
tt>  had  begun  to  display  an  unusual  care  in  the  adornment  of  her  person, 
^-^  gradually  superadding  to  those  staid  and  matronly  habiliments  which 
had,  up  to  that  time,  formed  her  ordinary  attire,  a  variety  of  embellishments 
and  decorations,  slight,  perhaps,  in  themselves,  but,  taken  together,  and 
considered  with  reference  to  the  subject  of  her  disclosure,  of  no  mean  import- 
ance. Even  her  black  dress  assumed  something  of  a  deadly-lively  air,  worn 
the  jaunty  style  in  which  it  was  worn  ;  and,  eked  out  as  its  lingering  attrac- 
tions were,  by  a  prudent  disposal  here  and  there  of  certain  juvenile  ornaments 
of  little  or  no  value,  which  had,  for  that  reason  alone,  escaped  the  general 
wreck,  and  been  permitted  to  slumber  peacefully  in  odd  comers  of  old  £aweTS 
and  boxes  where  daylight  seldom  shone,  her  mourning  garments  assumed  quite 
a  new  character.  From  being  the  outward  tokens  of  respect  and  sorrow  for 
the  dead,  they  became  converted  into  signals  of  very  slaughterous  and  killing 
^designs  upon  the  living. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  might  have  been  stimulated  to  this  proceeding  by  a  lofty 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  34 1 

sense  of  dutji  and  the  impulses  of  nnqaestionable  excellence.  She  might,  by 
this  time,  have  become  impressed  with  the  sinfulness  of  loog  indulgence  in 
unavailing  woe,  or  the  necessity  of  setting  a  proper  example  of  neatness  and 
deoofrnm  to  her  blooming  daughter.  Considerations  of  duty  and  responsibility 
apart,  l^e  change  might  have  taken  its  rise  in  feelings  of  the  purest  and 
most  disinterested  charity.  The  gentleman  next  door  had  been  yillificd 
by  Nicholas ;  rudely  stigmatised  as  a  dotard  and  an  idiot ;  and  for  those 
attacks  upon  his  understSuiding,  Mrs.  Nickleby  was,  in  some  sort,  account- 
able. She  might  have  felt  that  it  was  the  act  of  a  good  Christian  to  show,  by 
all  means  in  her  power,  that  the  abused  gentleman  was  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  And  what  better  means  could  she  adopt  towards  so  virtuous  and 
laudable  an  end,  than  proving  to  all  men,  in  her  own  person,  that  his  passion 
was  the  most  rational  and  reasonable  in  the  world,  and  just  the  very  result, 
of  all  others,  which  discreet  and  thinking  persons  mi^ht  have  foreseen,  from 
her  incautiously  displaying  her  matured  charms,  without  reserve,  under  the 
very  eve,  as  it  were,  of  an  ardent  and  too-susceptible  man  % 

"An  I"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  gravely  shaking  her  head  ;  **  if  Nicholas  knew 
what  his  poor,  dear  papa  sufifered  before  we  were  engaged,  when  I  used  to  bate 
him,  he  would  have  a  little  more  feeling.  Shall  I  ever  forget  the  morning  I 
looked  scornfully  at  him  when  he  offered  to  carry  my  parasol  ?  Or  that  niglit 
when  I  frowned  at  him  ?  It  was  a  mercy  he  didn't  emigrate.  It  very  nearly 
drove  him  to  it." 

Whether  the  deceased  might  not  have  been  better  off  if  he  had  emigrated  in 
his  bachelor  days  was  a  (question  which  his  relict  did  not  stop  to  consider,  for 
Kate  entered  the  room  with  her  work-box  in  this  stage  of  her  reflections ;  and 
a  much  slighter  interruption,  or  no  interruption  at  all,  would  have  diverted 
Mrs.  Nickleby's  thoughts  into  a  new  channel  at  any  time. 

*•  Kate,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  a 
fine,  warm,  summer  day  like  this,  with  the  birds  singing  in  every  direction, 
always  puts  me  in  mind  of  roast  pig,  with  sage  and  onion  sauce,  and  made 
gravy.* 

**  That's  a  curious  association  of  ideas,  is  it  not,  mamma  t " 

•'Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby.  **  Roast 
pig — let  me  see.  On  the  day  five  weeks  after  you  were  christened  we  had  a 
roast — no,  that  couldn't  have  been  a  pig  either,  because  I  recollect  there  were 
\  pair  of  them  to  carve,  and  your  poor  papa  and  I  could  never  have  thought  of 
sitting  down  to  two  pigs — ^they  must  have  been  partridges.  Boast  pig  !  I 
hardly  tlunk  we  ever  could  have  had  one,  now  I  come  to  remember  ;  for  your 
papa  co^d  never  bear  the  sight  of  them  in  the  shops,  and  used  to  say  that 
they  always  put  him  in  mind  of  very  little  babies,  only  the  pigs  had  much 
hirer  complexions ;  and  he  had  a  horror  of  little  babies,  because  he  couldn't 
very  well  afford  any  increase  to  his  family,  and  had  a  natural  dislike  to  tlie 
subject.  It's  very  odd  now,  what  can  have  put  tliat  in  my  head  ?  I  recollect 
dining  once  at  Mrs.  Bevan's,  in  that  broad  street  round  the  comer  by  the 
coacbmaker's,  where  the  tipsy  man  fell  through  the  cellar-flap  of  an  empty 
house,  nearly  a  week  before  the  quarter-day,  and  wasn't  found  till  the  new 
tenant  went  in — ^and  we  had  roast  pig  there.  It  must  bo  that,  I  think,  that 
reminds  me  of  it,  especially  as  there  was  a  little  bird  in  the  room  that  would 
keep  on  singing  all  the  time  of  dinner — at  least,  not  a  little  bird,  for  it  was  a 
parrot,  and  he  didn't  sing  exactly,  for  he  talked  and  swore  dreadfully  ;  but  I 
think  it  must  be  that.  Indeed  I  am  sure  it  must.  Shouldn't  you  say  so,  my 
dear  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  there  was  no  doubt  about  it,  mamma,"  returned  Kate,  with 
a  cheerful  smile. 


342  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"Nay,  but  do  you  think  so,  Kate?"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  as  much 
gravity  as  if  it  were  a  question  of  the  most  imminent  and  thrilling  interest 
"  If  you  don't,  say  so  at  once,  yon  know;  because  it's  just  as  well  to  be 
correct,  particularly  on  a  point  of  this  kind,  which  is  very  curious,  and  worth 
settling  while  one  thinks  about  it. " 

Kate  laughingly  replied  that  she  was  quite  convinced  ;  and  as  her  mamma 
still  appeared  undetermined  whether  it  was  not  absolutely  essential  that  the 
subject  should  be  renewed,  proposed  that  they  should  take  their  work  into 
the  summer-house,  and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  tJie  afternoon.  Mrs.  Nickleby 
readily  assented,  and  to  the  summer-house  they  repaired  without  further 
discussion. 

"Well,  I  will  say,"  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  as  she  took  her  seat,  *'  that 
there  never  was  such  a  good  creature  as  Smike.  Upon  my  word,  the  pains  he 
has  taken  in  putting  this  little  arbour  to  rights,  and  training  the  sweetest 

flowers  about  it,  are  beyond  anything  I  could  have 1  wish  he  wouldn't  put 

all  the  gravel  on  your  side,  Kate,  my  dear,  though,  and  leave  nothing  but 
mould  for  me." 

"Dear  mamma,"  returned  Eate,  hastily,  "take  this  scat — do— to  oblige 
me,  mamma." 

"No,  indeed,  my  dear.  I  shall  keep  my  own  side,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
"  Well,  I  declare  !  " 

Kate  looked  up  inquiringly. 

'*  If  he  hasn't  been,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "and  got,  from  somewhere  or 
other,  a  couple  of  roots  of  those  flowers  that  I  said  I  was  so  fond  of,  the  other 
night,  and  asked  you  if  you  were  not — no,  that  you  said  you,  were  so  fond  of, 
the  other  night,  and  asked  me  if  I  wasn't — it's  the  same  thing — now' upon  my 
word,  I  take  that  as  very  kind  and  attentive  indeed  !  I  don't  see,*  addeii 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  looking  narrowly  about  her,  "  any  of  them  on  my  side,  but  I 
suppose  tliey  grow  best  near  the  gravel.  You  may  depend  upon  it  they  do, 
Kate,  and  that's  the  reason  they  are  all  near  you,  and  he  has  put  the  gravel 
there,  because  it's  the  sunny  side.  Upon  my  word,  that's  very  clever  now ! 
I  shouldn't  have  had  half  so  much  thought  myself !  " 

"  Mamma,"  said  Kate,  bending  over  her  work  so  that  her  face  was  almost 
hidden,   "  before  vou  were  married " 

"Dear  me,  Kate,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "what  in  the  name  of 
gomluoss  graciousness  makes  you  fly  otf  to  the  time  before  I  was  married, 
when  I  am  talking  to  you  about  his  thoughtfuluess  and  attention  to  me  ? 
You  don't  seem  to  take  the  smallest  interest  in  the  garden." 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  "  said  Kate,  raising  her  face  again,   "  you  know  I  do." 

"  Well  then,  my  dear,  why  don't  you  praise  the  neatness  and  prettiness 
witli  which  it  is  kept?"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "How  very  odd  you  ire, 
Kate  ! " 

"  I  do  praise  it,  mamma,"  answered  Kate,  gently.     "  Poor  fellow  ! " 

"  I  scarcely  ever  hear  you,  my  dear,"  retorted  Airs.  Nickleby  ;  "  that's  ill 
I've  got  to  say. "  By  this  time  the  good  lady  had  been  a  long  while  upon  one 
topic,  so  she  fell  at  once  into  her  daughter's  little  trap— if  trap  it  were— inJ 
inquired  what  she  had  been  goin^  to  say. 

"  About  what,  mamma  ? "  said  Kate,  who  had  apparently  quite  foigottea 
her  diversion. 

"Lor,  Kate,  my  dear,"  returned  her  mother,  "why,  you're  asleep  or 
stupid  !    About  the  time  before  I  was  marrieil." 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  said  Kate,  "  I  remember.  I  was  going  to  ask,  mamma, 
before  you  were  married,  had  you  many  suitors  ? " 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  343 

"  Suitors,  my  dear  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  smile  of  wonderful  com. 
placency.     "  First  and  last,  Kate,  I  must  have  had  a  dozen  at  least" 

' '  Mfljnma  !  "  returned  Kate,  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance. 

**  I  had  indeed,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  "  not  including  your  poor 
papa,  or  a  young  gentleman  who  used  to  go,  at  that  time,  to  the  same  dancing - 
school,  and  who  would  send  gold  watches  and  bracelets  to  our  house  in  gi  It- 
cdged  paper  (which  were  always  returned),  and  who  afterwards  unfortunately 
went  out  to  Botany  Bay  in  a  cadet  ship — a  convict  ship  I  mean — and  escaped 
into  a  bush  and  kUled  sheep  (I  don't  know  how  they  got  there),  and  was  going 
to  be  hung,  only  he  accidentally  choked  himself,  and  the  government  pardoned 
him.  Then  there  was  young  Lukin,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  beginning  with  her 
left  thumb  and  checking  off  the  names  on  her  fingers — "  Mogley — Tipslark — 
Cabbery — Smifser " 

Having  now  reached  her  little  finger,  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  carrying  tlio 
account  over  to  the  other  hand,  when  a  loud  "Hem  !"  which  appealed  to 
come  from  the  very  foundation  of  the  garden  wall,  gave  both  herself  and  h(!r 
daughter  a  violent  start 

"  Mamma  !  what  was  that  ? "  said  Kate,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice. 

"Upon  my  word,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  considerably  startled, 
"unless  it  was  the  gentleman  belonging  to  the  next  house,  I  don't  know  what 
it  could  possibly " 

"A — hem  ! "  cried  the  same  voice  ;  and  that,  not  in  the  tone  of  an  ordinary 
clearing  of  the  throat,  but  in  a  kind  of  bellow,  which  woke  up  all  the  echoes 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  was  prolonged  to  an  extent  which  must  have  made 
the  unseen  bellower  quite  black  in  the  face. 

"  I  understand  it  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  laying  her  hand  on 
Kate's ;  "  don't  be  alarmed,  my  love  ;  it's  not  directed  to  you,  and  is  not 
intended  to  frighten  anybody.  Let  us  give  everybody  their  due,  Kate  ;  I  am 
bound  to  say  that" 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Nickleby  nodded  her  head,  and  patted  the  back  of  her 
daughter's  hand,  a  great  many  times,  and  looked  as  if  she  could  tell  some- 
thing vastly  important  if  she  chose  ;  but  had. self-denial,  thank  heaven  !  and 
wooldn't  do  it 

**  What  do  you  mean,  mamma  ? "  demanded  Kate,  in  evident  surprise. 

"  Don't  be  flurried,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  looking  towards  the 
earden  wall,  *'  for  you  see  /m  not,  and  if  it  would  be  excusable  in  anybody  to 
be  flurried,  it  certainly  would — under  all  the  circumstances — be  excusable  in 
mo,  but  I  am  not,  Kate — not  at  all." 

"  It  seems  designed  to  attract  our  attention,  mamma,"  said  Kate. 

**  It  ts  designed  to  attract  our  attention,  my  dear  ;  at  least,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  drawing  herself  up,  and  patting  her  daughter's  hand  more  blandly 
than  before,  **  to  attract  the  attention  of  one  of  us.  Hem  !  you  needn't  be  at 
all  uneasy,  my  dear." 

Kate  looked  very  much  perplexed,  and  was  apparently  about  to  ask  for 
further  explanation,  when  a  snouting  and  scuflling  noise,  as  of  an  elderly 
gentleman  whooping  and  kicking  up  his  legs  on  loose  gravel  with  great 
violence,  was  heard  to  proceed  from  the  same  direction  as  the  former  sounds  ; 
and,  before  they  had  subsided,  a  large  cucumber  was  seen  to  shoot  up  in  tlio 
air  with  the  velocity  of  a  sky-rocket,  whence  it  descended,  tumbling  over  and 
over,  until  it  fell  at  Mrs.  Nickleby's  feet. 

This  remarkable  appearance  was  succeeded  by  another  of  a  precisely  similar 
description ;  then,  a  fine  vegetable-man'ow,  of  unusually  large  dimensions, 
was  seen  to  whirl  aloft,  and  come  top])ling  down  ;  then  several  cucumbers 
shot  up  together  ;  and,  finally,  the  air  was  darkened  by  a  shower  of  onions, 


344  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

turnip-radishes,  and  other  small  vegetables,  which  fell  rolling,  and  scattering, 
and  bumping  about  in  all  directions. 

As  Kate  rose  from  her  seat  in  some  alarm,  and  caught  her  mother's  hand 
to  run  with  her  into  the  house,  she  felt  herself  rather  retarded  than  assisted 
in  her  intention ;  and,  following  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Nickleby's  eyes,  was 
quite  terrified  by  the  apparition  of  an  old  black  velvet  cap,  which,  by  slow 
degrees,  as  if  its  wearer  were  ascending  a  ladder  or  pair  of  steps,  rose  above  the 
wall  dividing  their  garden  from  that  of  the  next  cottage  (which,  like  their 
own,  was  a  detached  building),  and  was  gradually  followed  by  a  very  large 
head,  and  an  old  face,  in  which  were  a  pair  of  most  extraordinary  grey  eyes : 
very  wild,  very  wide  open,  and  rolling  in  their  sockets,  with  a  dull,  languish- 
ing, leering  look,  most  ugly  to  behold. 

"  Mamma  ! "  cried  Kate,  really  terrified  for  the  moment,  "  why  do  you  stop^ 
why  do  you  lose  an  instant  ?    Mamma,  pray  come  in  1 " 

"  Kate,  my  dear,"  returned  her  mother,  still  holding  back,  *'  how  can  you 
be  so  foolish  ?  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  How  do  you  suppose  you  are  ever  to  get 
through  life,  if  you're  such  a  coward  as  this !  What  do  you  want,  sir  ? " 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  addressing  the  intruder  with  a  sort  of  simpering  dis- 
pleasure.    *'  How  dare  you  look  into  this  garden  ? " 

"  Queen  of  my  soul,"  replied  the  stranger,  folding  his  hands  together, 
"this  goblet  sip." 

"Nonsense,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.     **  Kate,  my  love,  pray  be  quiet" 

"  Won't  you  sip  the  goblet?"  urged  the  stranger,  with  his  head  implo^ 
ingly  on  one  side,  and  his  right  hand  on  his  breast.  "Oh,  do  sip  the 
goblet ! " 

"I  shall  not  consent  to  do  anything  of  the  kind,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
"Pray,  begone." 

"  Why  is  it,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  coming  up  a  step  higher,  and  leaning 
his  elbows  on  the  wall,  with  as  much  complacency  as  if  he  were  looking  out  of  a 
window,  "  why  is  it  that  beauty  is  always  obdurate,  even  when  admiration  is 
as  honourable  and  respectful  as  mine  ? "  Here  he  smiled,  kissed  his  hand, 
and  made  several  low  bows.  "  Is  it  owing  to  the  bees,  who,  when  the  honey 
season  is  over,  and  they  are  supposed  to  have  been  killed  with  brimstone,  in 
reality  fly  to  Barbary,  and  lull  the  captive  Moors  to  sleep  with  their  drowsy 
songs  ?  Or  is  it,"  he  added,  dropping  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  **  in  con- 
sequence of  the  statue  at  Charing  Cross  having  been  lately  seen  on  the  Stod^ 
Exchange  at  midnight,  walking  arm-in-arm  with  the  Pump  from  Aldgate,  in 
a  riding-habit  ? " 

"Mamma,"  murmured  Kate,  "do  you  hear  him?" 

"  Hush,  my  dear  !  "  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  the  same  tone  of  voice,  "he 
is  very  polite,  and  I  think  that  was  a  quotation  from  the  poets.  Pray,  don't 
worry  mo  so,  you'll  pinch  ray  arm  black  and  blue.     Go  away,  sir  ! " 

"  Quite  away  ? "  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  languishing  look.  "  Oh,  qmte 
away  ? " 

"Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "certainly.  You  have  no  business  here. 
This  is  private  property,  sir  ;  you  ought  to  know  that." 

"  I  do  know,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  laying  his  finger  on  his  nose  with  an 
air  of  familiarity  most  reprehensible,  "  that  this  is  a  sacred  and  enchanted 
spot,  where  the  most  divine  charms  " — here  he  kissed  his  hand  and  bowed 
again — "  waft  raellifluousness  over  the  neighbours'  gardens,  and  force  the  fruit 
and  vegetables  into  premature  existence.  That  fact  I  am  acquainted  with. 
Dut  will  you  permit  me,  fairest  creature,  to  ask  you  one  question,  in  the 
absence  of  the  planet  Venus,  who  has  gone  on  business  to  the  Horse  Guards, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  345 

and  would  otherwise— jealous  of  your  superior  charms — interpose  between 
us?" 

"Kate,"  observed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  turning  to  her  daughter,  "it's  very 
awkward,  positively.  I  really  don't  know  what  to  say  to  this  gentleman. 
One  ought  to  be  civil,  you  know." 

"Dear  mamma,"  rejoined  Kate,  "don't  say  a  word  to  him,  but  let  us  run 
away  as  fast  as  we  can,  and  shut  ourselves  up  till  Nicholas  comes  home." 

A&8.  Nickleby  looked  very  grand,  not  to  say  contemptuous,  at  this  humiliat- 
ing proposal ;  and,  turning  to  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  watched  them 
during  these  whispers  with  absorbing  eagerness,  said — 

"  If  you  will  conduct  yourself,  sir,  like  the  gentleman  I  should  imagine  you 
to  be  from  your  language,  and — and — appearance  (quite  the  counterpart  of 
your  grandpapa,  Kate,  my  dear,  in  his  best  days),  and  will  put  the  question  to 
me  in  plain  words,  I  will  answer  it." 

If  Mrs.  Nickleby's  excellent  papa  had  borne,  in  his  best  days,  a  resemblance 
to  the  neighbour  now  looking  over  the  wall,  he  must  have  been,  to  say  the 
least,  a  very  queer-looking  old  gentleman  in  his  prime.  Perhaps  Kate  thouglit 
so,  for  she  ventured  to  glance  at  his  living  portrait  with  some  attention  as  he 
took  ofif  his  black  velvet  cap,  and,  exhibiting  a  perfectly  bald  head,  made  a 
long  series  of  bows,  each  accompanied  with  a  fresh  kiss  of  the  hand.  After 
ezhansting  himself,  to  all  appearance,  with  this  fatiguing  performance,  he 
covered  his  head  once  more,  pulled  the  cap  very  carefully  over  the  tips  of  his 
ears,  and  resuming  his  former  attitude,  said — 

"  The  question  is " 

Here  he  broke  off  to  look  round  in  every  direction,  and  satisfy  himself 
beyond  all  doubt  that  there  were  no  listeners  near.  Assured  that  there  were 
not,  he  tapped  his  nose  several  times,  accompanying  the  action  with  a  cunning 
look,  as  though  congratulating  himself  on  his  caution  ;  and  stretching  out  his 
neck,  said  in  a  loud  whisper — 

"  Are  you  a  princess  % 

"You  are  mocking  me,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  making  a  feint  of 
retreating  towards  the  house. 

"  No,  but  are  you  ? "  said  the  old  gentleman. 

"You  know  I  am  not,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"Then  are  you  any  relation  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  ? "  inquired 
the  old  gentleman,  with  great  anxiety,  "or  to  the  Pope  of  Rome ?  or  the 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  ?  Forgive  me  if  I  am  wrong,  but  I  was 
told  you  were  niece  to  the  Commissioners  of  Paving,  and  daughter-in-law  to 
the  £ord  Mayor  and  Court  of  Common  Council,  which  would  account  for  your 
relationship  to  all  three." 

"Whoever  has  spread  such  reports,  sir,"  returne(J  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  some 
warmth,  "has  taken  great  liberties  with  my  name,  and  one  which  I  am  sure 
my  son  Nicholas,  if  he  was  aware  of  it,  would  not  allow  for  an  instant.  The 
idea  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  drawing  herself  up,  "niece  to  the  Commissioners 
of  Paving ! " 

"Pray,  mamma,  come  away  !  "  whispered  Kate. 

"  "Pray,  mamma  1'  Nonsense,  Kate,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  angrily,  "but 
that's  just  the  way.  If  they  had  said  I  was  niece  to  a  piping  bullfinch,  what 
would  you  care  !  But  I  have  no  sympathy,"  whimpered  Mrs.  Nickleby  ;  "I 
don't  expect  it,  that's  one  thing." 

"Tears!"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  with  such  an  energetic  jump,  that  he 
fell  down  two  or  three  steps,  and  grated  his  chin  against  the  wall.  "  Catch 
the  crystal  globules — catch  *em — bottle  *em  up— ^cork  'em  tight — put  sealing 
wax  on  the  top — seal  'em  with  a  Cupid — label  'em  *  Best  quality  * — and  stow 


346  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

*cm  away  in  the  fourteen  bin,  with  a  bar  of  iron  on  the  top  to  keep  the 
thunder  off ! " 

Issuing  these  commands  as  if  there  were  a  dozen  attendants  all  actively 
engaged  in  their  execution,  he  turned  his  velvet  cap  inside  out,  put  it  on  with 
great  dignity,  so  as  to  obscure  his  right  eye  and  three-fourths  of  his  nose,  and 
sticking  his  arms  a-kimbo,  looked  very  fiercely  at  a  sparrow  hard  by,  till  the 
bird  flew  away,  when  he  put  his  cap  in  his  pocket  with  an  air  of  groat  satis- 
faction, and  addressed  himself  with  a  respectful  demeanour  to  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"Beautiful  madam,"  such  were  his  words — '*if  I  have  made  any  mistake 
with  regard  to  your  family  or  connexions,  I  humbly  beseech  you  to  pardon  me. 
If  I  supposed  you  to  be  related  to  Foreign  Powers  and  Native  Boards,  it  is 
because  you  have  a  manner,  a  carriage,  a  dignity,  which  you  will  excuse  me 
saying  that  none  but  yourself  (with  the  single  exception,  perhaps,  of  the 
tragic  muse,  when  playing  extemporaneously  on  the  barrel  organ  before  the 
East  India  Company)  can  parallel.  I  am  not  a  youth,  ma'am,  as  you  see ; 
and  although  beings  like  you  can  never  grow  old,  I  venture  to  presume  that 
we  are  fitted  for  each  other." 

"  Really,  Kate,  my  love  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  faintly,  and  looking  another 
way. 

**I  have  estates,  ma'am,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  flourishing  his  right 
hand  negligently,  as  if  he  made  very  light  of  such  matters,  and  speaking  very 
fast ;  "jewels,  light-houses,  fish-ponds,  a  whalery  of  my  own  in  the  North  Sea, 
and  several  oyster-beds  of  great  profit  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  If  you  will  have 
the  kindness  to  step  down  to  the  Royal  Exchange,  and  to  take  the  cocked  hat 
off  the  stoutest  beadle's  head,  you  will  find  my  card  in  the  lining  of  the  crown, 
wrapped  up  in  a  piece  of  blue  paper.  My  walking-stick  is  also  to  be  seen 
on  application  to  the  chaplain  of  the  House  of  Commons,  who  is  strictly  for- 
bidden to  take  any  money  for  showing  it.  I  have  enemies  about  me,  ma'am,** 
lie  looked  towards  his  house  and  spoke  very  low,  "who  attack  me  on  all 
occasions,  and  wish  to  secure  my  property.  If  you  bless  mo  with  your  hand 
and  heart,  you  can  apply  to  the  Lord  Chancellor  or  call  out  the  military  if 
necessary — sending  my  tooth-pick  to  the  commander-in-chief  will  be  sufficient 
— and  so  clear  the  house  of  them  before  the  ceremony  is  performed.  After 
that,  love,  bliss,  and  rapture  ;  rapture,  love,  and  bliss.     Be  mine,  be  mine!" 

Repeating  these  last  words  with  great  rapture  and  enthusiasm,  the  old 
gentleman  jiut  on  his  black  velvet  cap  again,  and  looking  up  into  the  sky  in  a 
hasty  manner,  said  something  that  was  not  quite  intelligible  concerning  t 
balloon  he  expected,  and  which  was  rather  after  its  time. 

"  Be  mine,  be  mine  !  "  repeated  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Kate,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  I  have  hardly  the  power  to  speak ; 
but  it  is  necessary  for  the  happiness  of  all  parties  that  this  matter  should  be 
set  at  rest  for  ever." 

"  Surely  there  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  say  one  word,  mamma  ?  **  reasoned 
Kate. 

"You  will  allow  me,  my  dear,  if  you  please,  to  judge  for  myself,"  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"  Be  mine,  be  mine  ! "  cried  the  old  gentleman. 

"  It  can  scarcely  be  expected,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  fixing  her  eyn 
modestly  on  the  ground,  "  that  I  should  tell  a  stranger  whether  I  feri 
flattered  and  obliged  by  such  proposals  or  not.  They  certainly  are  madd 
under  very  singular  circumstances  ;  still,  at  the  same  time,  as  far  as  it  goeat 
and  to  a  certain  extent,  of  course  **  (Mrs.  Nickleby's  customary  qualificati<w)» 
"  they  must  be  gratifying  and  agreeable  to  one's  feelings:" 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  347 

"Be  mine,  be  niiue,"  cried  tlio  old  gentleman.  **Gog  and  Magog,  Gog 
and  Magqs.    Be  mine,  be  mine  ! " 

"  It  i^ill  be  sufficient  for  me  to  say,  sir,"  resumed  Airs.  Nickleby,  with 
{•crfect  seriousness — "and  I  am  sure  you'll  see  the  i)ropricty  of  taking  an 
answer  and  going  away — ^that  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  remain  a  widow, 
and  to  devote  myself  to  my  children.  You  may  not  supj>oRo  I  am  the  mother 
of  two  children — ^indeed,  many  people  have  doubted  it,  and  sai<l  tliat  notliin*; 
on  earth  could  ever  make  *em  believe  it  possible — but  it  is  the  case,  and  they 
are  both  grown  up.  We  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you  for  a  neif^hbour — very 
glad  ;  deSghted,  I'm  sure — but  in  any  other  cliaracter,  it's  «[uito  imiiossibh?, 
t|uite.  As  to  my  being  young  enough  to  inan-y  again,  that  perhaps  may  be 
so,  or  it  may  not  be  ;  but  I  couldn't  think  of  it  for  an  instant,  not  on  any 
account  whatever.  I  said  I  never  would,  and  I  never  will.  It's  a  very  painful 
thing  to  have  to  reject  proTK)sals,  and  I  would  much  rather  that  none  were 
made  ;  at  the  same  time  this  is  the  answer  that  I  dutcrniincd  lung  agu  to 
make,  and  this  is  the  answer  I  shall  always  give. " 

These  observations  were  partly  addressed  to  the  old  gcintleman,  j)artly  to 
Kato,  and  partly  delivered  in  soliloquy.  Towards  their  conclusion,  tlie  suitor 
evinoeda  very  irreverent  degree  of  inattention,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  scarcely 
finished  speaking  when,  to  the  great  terror  both  of  that  lady  and  her  daughter, 
he  saddemy  flung  off  his  coat,  and  springing  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  threw 
himself  into  an  attitude  which  displayed  his  small  clothes  and  grey  worsteds 
to  tiie  fullest  advantage,  and  concluded  by  standing  on  one  leg,  and  rex>cating 
his  favourite  bellow  with  increase  vehemence. 

While  he  was  still  dwelling  on  the  last  note,  and  embellishing  it  with  a 
prolouffed  flourish,  a  dirty  hand  was  observed  to  glide  stealthily  and  swiftly 
along  the  top  of  the  wall,  as  if  in  pursuit  of  a  fly,  and  then  to  clas[)  with  the 
ntmost  dexterity  one  of  the  old  gentleman's  ankles.  This  done,  the  com- 
panion hand  ap|)eared,  and  clasi)ed  tlie  other  ankle. 

Thus  encumbered  the  old  gentleman  lifted  his  legs  awkwardly  once  oi- 
twice,  as  if  they  were  very  clumsy  and  imperfect  pieces  of  machinery,  and 
then  looking  down  on  his  own  side  of  the  wall,  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  It's  you,  is  it  ? "  said  the  old  gentleman. 

*'  Yes,  it's  me,"  replied  a  grulF  voice. 

'•  How's  the  Emperor  of  Tartary  ?  "  said  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Oh,  he's  much  the  same  as  usual,"  was  the  reply.  "  No  better  and  no 
worse." 

"  The  young  Prince  of  China,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  much  interest. 
"  Is  he  reconciled  to  his  father-in-law,  the  gi-eat  potato  salesman  ? " 

"  No,"  answered  the  grutt  voice ;   "  and  he  says  he  never  will  be,  that 

more." 

"If  that's  the  case,"  observed  the  old  gentleman,  "perhaps  I'd  bettor 
come  down." 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  on  the  other  side,  "  I  think  you  had,  perhaps." 

One  of  the  hands  being  then  cautiously  unclasped,  the  old  gentleman 
dropped  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  was  looking  round  to  smile  and  bow  to 
Mrs.  Nickleby,  when  he  disappeared  with  some  x>i'ccix)itation,  as  if  his  logs 
had  been  pulled  from  below. 

Very  much  relieved  by  his  disapf)earance,  Kate  was  turning  to  speak  to  her 
mamma,  when  the  dirty  hands  again  became  visible,  and  were  iui mediately 
followed  by  the  figure  of  a  coarse,  squat  man,  who  ascended  by  the  steps 
whicli  had  been  recently  occupied  by  their  singular  neighbour. 

"Beg  your  i>ardon,  latlies,"  said  this  new  comer,  grinning  and  touching  his 
hat     "  ilas  he  been  making  love  to  either  of  you  ? " 


348  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Yes,"  said  Kate. 

"Ah  !"  rejoined  the  man,  taking  his  handkerchief  out  of  his  hat  and 
wiping  his  face,  **he  always  will,  you  know.  Nothing  will  prevent  his 
making  love." 

"  I  need  not  ask  you  if  he  is  out  of  his  mind,  poor  creature,"  said  Eate. 

"Why,  no,"  replied  the  man,  looking  into  his  hat,  throwing  his  hand- 
kerchief in  at  one  dab,  and  putting  it  on  again.  "  That's  pretty  plain, 
that  is." 

"  Has  he  been  long  so  ? "  asked  Kate. 

"A  long  while." 

"  And  is  there  no  hope  for  him  % "  said  Kate,  compassionately. 

'*  Not  a  bit,  and  don  t  deserve  to  be,"  replied  the  keeper.  "He's  a  deal 
pleasanter  without  his  senses  than  with  'em.  He  was  the  cruellest,  wickedest, 
out-aud-outerest  old  flint  that  ever  drawed  breath. " 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Kate. 

"  By  George  !  "  replied  the  keeper,  shaking  his  head  so  emphatically  that 
he  was  obliged  to  frown  to  keep  his  hat  on.  "I  never  come  across  such 
a  vagabond,  and  my  mate  says  the  same.  Broke  his  poor  wife's  heart, 
turned  his  daughters  out  of  doors,  drove  his  sons  into  the  streets — ^it  was 
a  blessing  he  went  mad  at  last,  through  evil  tempers,  and  covetousneaii 
and  selfisnness,  and  guzzling,  and  drinking,  or  he'd  nave  drove  many  othen 
so.  Hope  for  him^  an  old  rip !  There  isn't  too  much  hope  going,  bnt  m 
bet  a  crown  that  what  there  is,  is  saved  for  more  deserving  chaps  than  hiiD, 
anyhow." 

With  which  confession  of  his  faith,  the  keeper  shook  his  head  again,  n 
much  as  to  say  that  nothing  short  of  this  would  do,  if  things  were  to  go  on  at 
all ;  and  touching  his  hat  sulkily — not  that  he  was  in  an  ill-humour,  bat  that 
his  subject  ruffled  him — descended  the  ladder,  and  took  it  away. 

During  this  conversation  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  regarded  the  man  with  a 
severe  and  steadfast  look.  She  now  heaved  a  profound  sigh,  and  pursing  op 
her  lips,  shook  her  head  in  a  Slow  and  doubtful  manner. 

'*  Poor  creature  !  "  said  Kate. 

**  Ah  !  poor  indeed  !  "  rejoined  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "It's  shameful  that  soch 
things  should  be  allowed — shameful !  " 

"How  can  they  be  helped,  mamma?"  said  Kate,  mournfully.  "The 
infirmities  of  nature " 

"Nature!"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "What!  Do  you  suppose  this  poor 
gentleman  is  out  of  his  mind  ? " 

"  Can  anybody  who  sees  him  entertain  any  other  opinion,  mamma  ?" 

"  Why,  then,  I  just  tell  you  this,  Kate,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "  that  ha 
is  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  I  am  surprised  you  can  be  so  imposed  upon. 
It's  some  plot  of  these  people  to  possess  themselves  of  his  property— didsit 
he  say  so  himself?  He  may  be  a  little  odd  and  flighty,  perhaps ;  many  of 
us  are  that ;  but  downright  mad  !  and  express  himself  as  he  does,  respect- 
fully, and  in  quite  poetical  language,  and  making  offers  with  so  mieh 
thought,  and  care,  and  prudence — not  as  if  he  ran  into  the  streets,  and  went 
down  upon  his  knees  to  the  first  chit  of  a  girl  he  met,  as  a  madman  wooJdt 
No,  no,  Kate,  there's  a  great  deal  too  much  method  in  his  madness ;  depend 
upon  that,  my  dear." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  349 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

ILLUSTRATIYE  OF  THE  CONVIVIAL  SEin-IMENT,   THAT  THE  BEST  OF  FIIIENP> 

MUST  SOMETIMES  FART. 

r£  pavement  of  Snow  Hill  had  been  baking  and  frying  all  day  in  the 
heat,  and  the  twin  Saracen's  heads  guarding  the  entrance  to  the 
hostelry  of  whose  name  and  sign  they  are  the  duplicate  presentments, 
looked— or  seemed  in  the  e^es  of  jaded  and  footsore  passers-by,  to  look — more 
▼icdoas  than  usual,  after  blistering  and  scorching  in  the  sun,  when,  in  one  of 
the  inn*8  smallest  sitting-rooms,  through  whose  open  window  there  rose,  in  a 
Mlpable  Bteam,  wholesome  exhalations  from  reeking  coach-horses,  the  usual 
fiiriiitare  of  a  tea-table  was  displayed  in  neat  and  inviting  order,  flanked  by 
luge  joints  of  roast  and  boiled,  a  tongue,  a  pigeon-pie,  a  cold  fowl,  a  tankard 
of  ale*  and  other  little  matters  of  the  like  kind,  which,  in  degenerate  towns  and 
cities  are  cenerally  understood  to  belong  more  particularly  to  solid  lunches, 
stiffe-coach  dinners,  or  unusually  substantia]  breakfasts. 

ur.  John  Browdie,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  hovered  restlessly  about 
these  delicacies,  stopping  occasionally  to  whisk  the  flies  out  of  the  sugar  basin 
with  his  wife's  pocket-handkerchief,  or  to  dip  a  teaspoon  in  the  milkpot  and 
earry  it  to  his  mouth,  or  to  cut  off  a  little  knob  of  crust,  and  a  little  comer  of 
meat,  and  swallow  them  at  two  gulps  like  a  couple  of  pills.  After  every  one 
of  these  flirtations  with  the  eatables,  he  pulled  out  his  watch,  and  declared 
with  an  earnestness  quite  pathetic  that  he  couldn't  undertake  to  hold  out  two 
minutes  longer. 

"  Tilly  1"  said  John  to  his  lady,  who  was  reclining  half  awake  and  half 
asleep  upon  a  sofa. 

"Well,  John!" 

"Weel,  John!"  retorted  her  husband,  impatiently.  "Dost  thou  feel 
hoongry,  lass  \  ** 

**  Not  very,"  said  Mrs.  Browdie. 

"Not  vary  I"  repeated  John,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "Hear  her 
say  not  vary,  and  us  dining  at  three,  and  loonching  off  pasthry  thot  aggra- 
Tates  a  mon  'stead  of  pacifying  him  !    Not  vary  ! " 

"Here's  a  gen'l'man  for  you,  sir,"  said  the  waiter,  looking  in. 

"A  wa'at,  for  me  ? "  cried  John,  as  though  he  thought  it  must  bo  a  letter 
or  a  parcel. 

"AgenTman,  sir." 

"  Stan  and  garthers,  chap ! "  said  John,  "  wa'at  dost  thou  coom  and  say 
thot  for.    In  wi'  'un." 

•*  Are  you  at  home,  sir  ? " 

"At  whoami"  cried  John,  "I  wish  I  wur ;  I'd  ha  tea'd  two  hour  ago. 
Why,  I  told  t'oother  chap  to  look  sharp  ootside  door,  and  tell  'un  d'rectly  he 
eoom  thot  we  war  faint  wi'  hoonger.  In  \n'  un'.  Aha !  Thee  bond, 
Misther  Nickleby.  This  is  nigh  to  be  the  pioodest  day  o*  my  life,  sir.  Hoo 
be  all  wi'  ye  ?    Ding  I    But,  fm  glod  o'  this  ! " 

Quite  forgetting  even  his  hunger  in  the  heartiness  of  his  salutation,  John 
Browdie  shook  Nicholas  by  the  hand  again  and  again,  slapping  his  palm  with 
great  violence  between  each  shake,  to  add  warmth  to  the  reception. 

"  Ah  !  there  she  be,"  said  John,  observing  the  look  which  Nicholas  directed 
towards  his  wife.     "There  she  be — we  shan't  quarrel  about  her  noo — eh? 


350  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Ecod,  when  I  think  o'  thot — but  thou  want'st  soom'at  to  eat.     Fall  to,  mun, 
fall  to,  and  for  wa'at  we're  aboot  to  receive " 

No  doubt  the  grace  was  properly  finished,  but  nothing  more  was  heard,  for 
John  had  already  begun  to  ply  such  a  knife  and  fork,  that  his  speech  was, 
for  the  time,  gone. 

**  I  shall  take  the  usual  license,  Mr.  Browdie,"  said  Nicho.las,  as  he  placed 
a  chair  for  the  bride. 

**Tak'  whatever  thou  like'st,"  said  John,  "and  when  a's  gane,  ca'  for 
more." 

Without  stopping  to  explain,  Nicholas  kissed  the  blushing  Mrs.  Browdie, 
and  handed  her  to  her  seat. 

*'  I  say,"  said  John,  rather  astounded  for  the  moment,  *'  mak'  theeself  quite 
at  whoam,  will  *ee  ? " 

"  You  may  depend  upon  that,"  replied  Nicholas  ;  "  on  one  condition." 

"And  wa'at  may  thot  be  ? "  asked  John. 

*■ '  That  you  make  me  a  godfather  the  very  first  time  you  have  occasion  for 
one." 

**  Eh  !  d'ye  hear  thot  ? "  cried  John,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork.  *' A 
godfeyther  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Tilly — Jiear  till  *un — a  godfeyther  !  Divn't  say 
a  word  more,  yo'U  never  beat  thot.  Occasion  for  'un — a  godfeyther  I  Ua ! 
ha  !  ha  ! " 

Never  was  man  so  tickled  with  a  respectable  old  joke  as  John  Browdie  wu 
with  this.  He  chuckled,  roared,  half  sufibcated  himself  by  laughing  luge 
pieces  of  beef  into  his  windpipe,  roared  again,  persisted  in  eating  at  the  same 
time,  got  red  in  the  face  and  black  in  the  forehead,  coughed,  cried,  got  better, 
went  otf  again  laughing  inwardly,  got  worse,  choked,  had  his  back  thnmped, 
stamped  about,  frightened  his  wife,  and  at  last  recovered  in  a  state  of  the  list 
exhaustion,  and  with  tho  water  streaming  from  his  eyes,  but  still  faintly 
ejaculating,  **  A  godfeyther — a  godfeyther,  Tilly  !  "  in  a  tone  bespeaking  an 
exc|uisite  relish  of  the  sally,  which  no  suffering  could  diminish. 

"  You  remember  the  night  of  our  first  tea-drinking  ? "  said  Nicholas. 

"  Shall  I  e'er  forget  it,  mun  ?  "  replied  John  Browdie. 

"He  was  a  desperate  fellow  that  night  though,  was  he  not,  Mrs.  Browdie  J" 
said  Nicholas.     "  Quito  a  monster  ! " 

* '  If  you  had  only  heard  him  as  we  were  going  home,  Mr.  Nickleby,  yon'«l 
have  said  so,  indeed,"  returned  the  bride.  "  I  never  was  so  frightened  in  lU 
my  life. " 

"  Coom,  coom,"  said  John,  with  a  broad  grin  ;  **  thou  know'st  betther  thin 
thot,  Tilly." 

"So  I  was,"  replied  Mrs.  Browdie,  "  I  almost  made  up  my  mind  never  to 
speak  to  you  again." 

"  A'most !  "  said  John,  with  a  broader  grin  than  the  last.  "  A*most  made 
up  her  mind  !  And  she  wuv  coaxin',  and  coaxin',  and  wheodlin',  ami 
wheedlin'  a'  tho  blessed  wa*.  'Wa'at  didst  thou  let  yon  chap  raak*  oop 
tiv'ee  for?*  says  I.  *  I  deedn't,  Jolm,'  says  she,  a  squoedgin  ray  arm.  *Yoe 
didn't,'  says  1.     *  Noa,'  says  she,  a  squoedgin  of  me  agean." 

"Lor,  John  !"  interposed  his  pretty  wife,  colouring  very  much.  **Ha» 
can  you  talk  such  nonsense  ?    As  if  I  should  have  dreamt  of  such  a  thing !" 

• '  I  dinnot  know  whether  thou'd  ever  dreamt  of  it,  though  I  think  tnat'i 
loike  eneaf,  mind,"  retorted  John  ;  "but  thou  didst  it  *  Ye're  a  jfeeckle^ 
changeable,  weathercock,  lass,'  says  I.  *  Not  fceckle,  John,*  says  she. 
*Ycs,'  says  I,  *feeckle,  dom'd  feockle.  Dinnot  tell  me  thou  bean't,  efther 
yon  chap  at  schoolmeasther's,'  says  I.  *  Him  !*  says  she,  quite  screechin}(' 
*  Ah  1  him  !'  says  I.     *Why,  John,'  says  she — and  she  coom  a  deal  closer 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  351 

aud  squeedged  a  deal  harder  than  she'd  deanc  afore — '  dost  tliou  think  it's 
nat'ral  noo,  that  having  such  a  proper  mun  as  thou  to  keep  company  wi',  I'd 
ever  tak*  oop  wi'  such  a  lettle  scanty  whipper-snapper  as  yon  ?  *  she  says. 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  She  said  whipper-snapper  !  '  Ecod  !  I  says,  *  afther  thot, 
neame  the  day,  and  let's  have  it  ower  ! '    Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

Nicholas  laughed  very  heartily  at  this  story,  both  on  account  of  its  telling 
aeainst  himseli^  and  his  being  desirous  to  spare  the  blushes  of  Mrs.  Browdic, 
vmoee  protestations  were  drowned  in  peaJs  of  laughter  from  her  husband. 
His  good  nature  soon  put  her  at  her  ease  ;  and  although  she  still  denied  the 
charge,  she  laughed  so  heartily  at  it,  that  Nicholas  had  the  satisfaction  of 
feeling  assured  that  in  all  essential  respects  it  was  strictly  true. 

"  This  is  the  second  time,"  said  Nicholas,  **  that  we  have  ever  taken  a  meal 
together,  and  only  the  third  I  have  ever  seen  you  ;  and  yet  it  really  seems  to 
me  aA  if  I  were  among  old  friends." 

**  Weel ! "  observed  the  Yorkshireman,  **  so  I  say." 

"And  I  am  sure  I  do,"  added  his  young  wife. 

"I  have  the  best  reason  to  be  impressed  with  the  feeling,  mind,"  said 
Nicholas  ;  "  for  if  it  had  not  been  for  your  kindness  of  heart,  my  good  friend, 
when  I  had  no  right  or  reason  to  e:^pect  it,  I  know  not  what  might  have 
become  of  me,  or  \diat  plight  I  should  have  been  in  by  this  time." 

"Talk  aboot  soom'at  else,"  replied  John,  gruffly,  "and  diunot  bother." 

"  It  must  be  a  new  song  to  the  same  tune,  then,"  said  Nicholas,  smiling. 
"I  told  you  in  my  letter  that  I  deeply  felt  and  admired  your  sympathy  with 
that  poor  lad,  whom  you  released  at  the  risk  of  involving  yourself  in  trouble 
and  difficulty  ;  but  I  can  never  tell  you  how  grateful  he  and  I,  and  others 
whom  you  don't  know,  are  to  you  for  taking  pity  on  him." 

" Ecod  !"  rejoined  John  Browdie,  drawing  up  his  chair  ;  "and  I  can  never 
tell  you  hoo  ^teful  soom  folks  that  we  do  know  would  be  loikewise,  if  they 
know'd  I  haa  takken  pity  on  him.'^ 

"  Ah  I "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Browdie,  **  what  a  state  I  was  in  that  night !  " 

"  Were  they  at  all  disposed  to  ^ive  you  credit  for  assisting  in  the  escape  ? " 
inquired  Nicholas  of  John  Browdie. 

"Not  a  bit,"  replied  the  Yorkshireman,  extending  his  mouth  from  ear  to 
ear. 

"There  I  lay,  snoog  in  schoolmeasther's  bed  long  efther  it  was  dark,  and 
nobody  coom  nigh  the  pleace.  *  Weel ! '  thinks  I,  *  he's  got  a  pretty  good 
start,  and  if  he  bean't  whoam  by  noo,  he  never  will  bo  ;  so  you  may  cooni  as 
quick  as  you  loike,  and  foind  us  reddy ' — that  is,  you  know,  sclioolmeasther 
might  coom." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  Presently,"  rejoined  John,  "  he  did  coom.  I  heerd  door  shut  doonstairs, 
and  him  a  warking  oop  in  the  dark.  *Slow  and  steddy,'  I  says  to  myself, 
'tak  your  time,  sir — no  hurry.'  He  cooms  to  the  door,  turns  the  key — turns 
the  key  when  there  warn't  nothing  to  hoold  the  lock — and  ca's  oot,  *  Hallo, 
there  !  *  *  Yes,*  thinks  I,  '  you  may  do  thot  agean,  and  not  wakken  anybody, 
sir.'  'Hallo,  there,'  he  says,  and  then  he  stops.  *  Thou'd  bctther  not 
aggravate  me,'  says  schoolmeasther,  efther  a  little  time.  '  I'll  brak  every  boan 
in  your  boddy,  Smike,'  he  says,  efther  another  little  time.  Then  all  of  a  sudden 
he  sings  out  for  a  loight,  and  when  it  cooms — ecod,  such  a  hoorly-boorly  ! 
'Wa'at's  the  matter,*  says  I.     *He's  gane,'  says  he,  stark  mad  wi'  vengeance. 

*  Have  you  heerd  nought  ? '  *  Ees,'  says  I,  *  I  heerd  street  door  shut,  no  time 
at  a*   ago.      I  heerd  a  person   run  doon  there'  (pointing  t'other  wa' — eh). 

*  Help  !  he  cries.  *  I'll  help  you,'  says  I ;  and  olf  we  set — the  wrong  wa  1' 
Hoi  ho!  hoi" 


353  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  Did  you  go  far  ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

*'Far  ! "  replied  John  ;  "  I  run  him  clean  off  his  legs  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hoor.  To  see  old  schoolmeasther  wi'out  his  hat,  skimming  along  oop  to  his 
knees  in  mud  and  wather,  tumbling  over  fences,  and  rowling  into  ditches, 
and  bawling  oot  like  mad,  wi'  his  one  eye  looking  sharp  out  for  the  lad,  and 
his  coat-tails  flying  out  behind,  and  him  spattered  wi  mud  all  ower,  face 
and  all — I  thot  \  should  ha'  dropped  doon  and  killed  myself  wi'  laughing." 

John  laughed  so  heartily  at  the  mere  recollection,  that  he  commanicated 
the  contagion  to  both  his  hearers,  and  all  three  burst  into  peals  of  laughter, 
which  were  renewed  again  and  again,  until  they  could  laugh  no  longer. 

"  He's  a  bad  'un,"  said  John,  wiping  his  eyes  ;  "a  very  bad  'un,  is  school- 
measther. " 

**  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  him,  John,"  said  his  wife. 

•*  Coom,"  retorted  John,  *'  thot's  tidy  in  you,  thot  is.  If  it  wa'nt  along  o' 
you  we  shouldn't  know  nought  about  'un.  Thou  know'd  'un  first,  Tuly, 
didn't  thou  ? " 

"  I  couldn't  help  knowing  Fanny  Squeers,  John,"  returned  his  wife  ;  "she 
was  an  old  playmate  of  mine,  you  know." 

"  Weel,"  replied  John,  **  dean't  I  say  so,  lass  ?  It's  best  to  be  neighbouriy, 
and  keep  up  old  acquaintance  loikc  ;  and  what  I  say  is,  dean't  quarrel  if  'ee 
can  help  it.     Dinnot  think  so,  Mr.  Nickleby  ? " 

''Certainly,"  returned  Nicholas;  "and  you  acted  upon  that  principle 
when  I  met  you  on  horseback  on  the  road  after  our  memorable  evening." 

"  Sure-ly,''  said  John.     **  Wa'at  I  say  I  stick  by." 

"And  that's  a  fine  thing  to  do,  and  manly  too,"  said  Nicholas,  "though 
it's  not  exactly  what  we  understand  by  'coming  Yorkshire  over  us*  in 
London.     Miss  Squeers  is  stopping  with  you,  you  said  in  your  note." 

"Yes,"  replied  John,  "Tilly's  bridesmaid;  and  a  queer  bridesmaid  she 
be,  too.     She  wean't  be  a  bride  in  a  hurry,  I  reckon." 

"  For  shame,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Browdie ;  with  an  acute  perception  of  the 
joke,  though  being  a  bride  herself. 

"The  groom  will  be  a  blessed  mun,"  said  John,  his  eyes  twinkling  at  the 
idea.     "  He  will  be  in  luck,  he  will." 

"You  see,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  his  wife,  "that  it  was  in  consequence  of 
her  being  here  that  John  wrote  to  you  and  fixed  to-night,  because  we 
thought  that  it  wouldn't  be  pleasant  for  you  to  meet,  after  what  has 
passed " 

"Unquestionably.  You  were  quite  right  in  that,"  said  Nicholas,  inter- 
rupting. 

"Especially,"  observed  Mrs.  Browdie,  looking  very  sly,  "after  what  we 
know  about  past  and  gone  love  mattera." 

"We  know,  indeed!"  said  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head.  "You  behavcil 
rather  wickedly  there,  I  suspect." 

"0'  course  she  did,"  said  John  Browdie,  passing  his  huge  forefinger 
through  one  of  his  wife's  pretty  ringlets,  and  looking  very  proud  of  her. 
"She  wur  always  as  skittish  and  full  o'  tricks  as  a " 

"  Well,  as  a  what  ?  "  said  his  wife. 

"As  a  woman,"  returned  John.  "  Ding  1  But  I  dinnot  know  ought  else 
that  cooms  near  it. " 

"  You  were  speaking  about  Miss  Squeers,"  said  Nicholas,  with  the  view  of 
stopping  some  slight  connubialities  which  had  begun  to  pass  between  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Browdie,  and  which  rendered  the  position  of  a  third  party  in  some 
degree  embarrassing,  as  occasioning  him  to  feel  rather  in  the  way  than 
otherwise. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  353 

*'  Oh,  yes,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Browdie,  "John,  ha'  done — John  fixed  to-night, 
because  she  had  settled  that  she  would  go  and  drink  toa  with  her  father.  And 
to  make  quite  sure  of  there  being  nothing  amiss,  and  of  your  being  quite  alone 
with  us,  he  settled  to  go  out  there  and  fetch  her  home." 

"  That  was  a  very  good  arrangement,"  said  Nicholas  ;  "  though  I  am  sorry 
to  be  the  occasion  of  so  much  trouble." 

•'Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  returned  Mrs.  Browdie ;  "for  we  have 
looked  forward  to  seeing  you — John  and  I  have — with  the  greatest  possible 
pleasure.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Mrs.  Browdie,  with  her  archest 
smile,  "  that  I  really  think  Fanny  Squeers  was  very  fond  of  you  ? " 

**  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  her,"  said  Nicholas  ;  "  but  upon  my  word,  I 
never  aspired  to  making  any  impression  upon  her  virgin  heart." 

"How  you  talk!"  tittered  Mrs.  Browdie.  **No,  but  do  you  know  that 
really — seriously  now  and  without  any  joking — I  was  given  to  understand  ])y 
Fanny  herself,  that  you  had  made  an  offer  to  her,  and  that  you  two  were 
going  to  be  engaged  quite  solemn  and  regular." 

**  "Was  you,  ma'am — was  you  ? "  cried  a  shrill  female  voice,  "  was  you  given 
to  understand  that  I — I — was  going  to  be  engaged  to  an  assassinating  thief 
that  shed  the  gore  of  my  pa  ?  Do  you — do  you  think,  ma'am — that  I  was 
very  fond  of  such  dirt  beneath  my  feet,  as  I  couldn't  condescend  to  toucli 
with  kitchen-tongs,  'without  blacking  and  crocking  myself  by  the  contact  ? 
Do  you,  ma'am — do  you  ?    Oh,  base  and  degrading  Tilda  ! " 

With  these  reproaches  Miss  Squeers  flung  the  door  wide  open,  and  disclosed 
to  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  ^rowdies  and  Nicholas,  not  only  her  own 
symmetrical  form,  arrayed  in  the  chaste  white  garments  before  described  (a 
little  dirtier),  but  the  form  of  her  brother  and  father,  the  pair  of  Wackfords. 

"This  is  the  hend,  is  it?"  continued  Miss  Squeers,  who,  being  excited, 
aspirated  her  h's  strongly  ;  "this  is  the  hend,  is  it,  of  all  my  forbearance  and 
friendship  for  that  double-faced  thing — that  viper,  that — that — mermaid  ?  " 
(Miss  Squeers  hesitated  a  long  time  for  this  last  epithet,  and  brouglit  it  out 
triumphantly  at  dast,  as  if  it  ^uite  clinched  the  business.)  "This  is  the 
hend,  is  it,  of  all  my  bearing  with  her  deceitfulness,  her  lowness,  her  false- 
ness, her  laying  herself  out  to  catch  the  admiration  of  vulgar  minds,  in  a  way 
which  made  me  blush  for  my — for  my " 

"  (lender,"  suggested  Mr.  Squeers,  regarding  the  spectators  with  a  malevolent 
eye — literally  a  malevolent  eye. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Squeers ;  "  but  I  thank  my  stars  that  my  ma'  is  of  the 


same " 


" Hear,  hear !"  remarked  Mr.  Squeers ;  "and  I  wish  she  was  here  to  have 
a  scratch  at  this  company." 

"  This  is  the  hend,  is  it,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  tossing  her  head,  and  looking 
contemptuously  at  the  floor,  "of  my  taking  notice  of  that  rubbisliiug 
creature,  and  demeaning  myself  to  patronise  her  ? " 

"Oh,  come,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Browdie,  disregarding  all  the  endeavours  of  her 
spouse  to  restrain  her,  and  forcing  herself  into  a  front  row,  "  don't  talk  such 
nonsense  as  that." 

**  Have  I  not  patronised  you,  ma'am  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Squeers. 

**  No,"  returned  Mrs.  Browdie. 

"I  will  not  look  for  blushes  in  such  a  quarter,"  said  Miss  Squeers, 
haughtily,  "for  that  countenance  is  a  stranger  to  everything  but  hignoniin- 
iousness  and  red-faced  boldness." 

"  I  say,"  interposed  John  Browdie,  nettled  by  these  accumulated  attacks 
on  his  wife,  *'dra'  it  mild,  dra*  it  mild." 

u  2.0 


( 


354  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  You,  Mr.  Browdie,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  taking  him  very  quickly,  "I  pity. 
I  have  no  feeling  for  you,  sir,  but  one  of  unliquidated  pity." 

*'0h!"  said  John. 

*'No,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  looking  sideways  at  her  parent,  ".although  I  am 
a  queer  bridesmaid,  and  shavHi  be  a  bride  in  a  hurry,  and  although  my  husband 
will  be  in  luck,  I  entertain  no  sentiments  towards  you,  sir,  but  sentiments  of 
pity." 

Here  Miss  Squeers  looked  sideways  at  her  father  again,  who  looked  sideways 
at  her,  as  much  as  to  say,  **  There  you  had  him." 

•  "  /  know  what  you've  got  to  co  through,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  shaking  her 
curls  violently.  * '  /  know  what  life  is  before  you,  and  if  you  was  my  bitterest 
and  deadliest  enemy,  I  could  wish  you  nothing  worse." 

''Couldn't  you  wish  to  be  married  to  him  yourself,  if  that  was  the  case?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Browdie,  with  great  suavity  of  manner. 

**0h,  ma'am,  how  witty  you  are,"  retorted  Miss  Squeers,  with  a  low 
curtsey,  **  almost  as  witty,  ma'am,  as  you  are  clever.  How  very  clever  it 
was  in  you,  ma'am,  to  choose  a  time  when  I  had  gone  to  tea  with  my  pa,  and 
was  sure  not  to  come  back  without  beirtg  fetched  !  What  a  pity  you  ne?er 
thought  that  other  people  might  be  as  clever  as  yourself,  and  spoil  year 
plans !  " 

''You  won't  vex  me,  child,  with  such  airs  as  these,"  said  the  late  Miss 
Price,  assuming  the  matron. 

"  Don't  missis  me,  ma'am,  if  you  please,"  returned  Miss  Squeers,  sharply. 
"  I'll  not  bear  it.     Is  ^Ais  the  hend " 

"Dang  it  a*,"  cried  John  Browdie,  impatiently.  "Say  thee  say  oat, 
Fanny,  and  mak  sure  it's  the  end,  and  dinnot  ask  nobody  whether  it  is  or 
not." 

"Thanking  you  for  your  advice,  which  was  not  required,  Mr.  Browdie," 
returned  Miss  Squeers,  with  laborious  politeness,  "  have  the  goodness  not  to 
presume  to  meddle  with  my  Christian  name.  Even  my  pity  shall  never  make 
me  forget  what's  due  to  myself,  Mr.  Browdie.  'Tilda,"  said  Miss  Squeers, 
with  such  a  sudden  accession  of  violence  that  John  started  in  his  boots,  "I 
throw  you  off  for  ever,  miss.  I  abandon  you.  I  renounce  you.  I  wouldn't," 
cried  Miss  Squeers,  in  a  solemn  voice,  "have  a  child  named  'Tilda — not  to 
save  it  from  its  grave." 

"  As  for  the  maither  o*  that,"  observed  John,  "it'll  be  time  eneaf  to  think 
aboot  naming  of  it  when  it  cooms." 

"John  ! "  interposed  his  wife,  "  don't  tease  her." 

"Oh!  Tease,  indeed!"  cried  Miss  Squeers,  bridling  up.  "Tease^ 
indeed  !  He  !  he  !  Tease,  too  !  No,  don't  tease  her.  Consider  her  feelings, 
pray  ! " 

"  If  it's  fated  that  listeners  are  never  to  hear  any  good  of  themselves,"  said 
Mrs.  Browdie,  "  I  can't  help  it,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it  But  I  will  sty, 
Fanny,  that  times  out  of  number  I  have  spoken  so  kindly  of  you  behind  your 
back,  that  even  you  could  have  found  no  fault  with  what  I  said." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  not,  ma'am  I"  cried  Miss  Squeers,  with  another cartaey. 
* '  Best  thanks  to  you  for  your  goodness,  and  begging  and  praying  you  not  to 
be  hard  upon  me  another  time  !  " 

"I  don't  know,"  resumed  Mrs.  Browdie,  "that  I  have  said  anything  voir 
bad  of  you,  even  now — at  all  events,  what  I  did  say  was  quite  true  ;  but  if  I 
have  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  and  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  have  said  much 
worse  of  me,  scores  of  times,  Fanny ;  but  I  have  never  borne  any  malice  to 
you,  and  I  hope  you'll  not  bear  any  to  me." 

Miss  Squeers  made  no  more  direct  reply  than  surveying  her  former  friend 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  355 

from  top  to  toe,  and  elevating  her  nose  in  the  air  with  ineffable  disdain.  But 
some  indistinct  allusion  to  a  '* puss,"  and  a  ''minx/' and  a  "  coDtemptible 
creature,"  escaped  her ;  and  this,  together  with  a  severe  biting  of  the  lips, 
great  difficulty  in  swallowing,  and  very  frequent  comings  and  goings  of  breath, 
seemed  to  imply  that  feelings  were  swelling  in  Miss  Squeers's  bosom  too  great 
for  utterance. 

While  the  foregoing  conversation  was  proceeding.  Master  Wackford,  finding 
himself  unnotic^,  and  feeling  his  preponderating  inclinations  strong  upon 
him,  had  by  little  and  little  sidled  up  to  the  table  and  attacked  the  fo^  with 
such  slight  skirmishing  as  drawing  his  fingers  round  and  round  the  inside  of 
the  plates,  and  afterwards  sucking  them  with  infinite  relish — picking  the 
bread,  and  dragging  the  pieces  over  the  suiface  of  the  butter — pocketing  lumps 
of  sugar,  pretending  all  the  time  to  be  absorbed  in  thought — and  so  forth. 
Finding  toat  no  interference  was  attempted  with  these  small  liberties,  he 
gradui^y  mounted  to  greater,  and  after  helping  himself  to  4  moderately  good 
cold  collation,  was  by  this  time  deep  in  the  pie. 

Nothing  of  this  had  been  unobserved  by  Mr.  Squeers,  who,  as  long  as  the 
attention  of  the  company  was  fixed  upon  other  subjects,  hugged  himself  to 
think  that  his  son  and  heir  should  be  fattening  at  the  enemy's  expense.  But 
there  being  now  an  appearance  of  a  temporary  calm,  in  "which  the  proceedings 
of  little  \l^kford  could  scarcely  fail  to  be  observed,  he  feigned  to  be  aware  of 
the  circumstance  for  the  first  time,  and  inflicted  upon  the  face  of  that  young 
gentleman  a  slap  that  made  the  very  tea-cups  ring. 

"Eating!"  cried  Mr.  Squeers,  ''of  what  his  father's  enemies  has  left! 
It's  fit  to  poison  you,  you  unnat'ral  boy." 

"  It  wean't  hurt  him,"  said  John,  apparently  very  much  relieved  by  the 
prospect  of  having  a  man  in  the  quarrel ;  '*  let  'un  eat.  I  wish  the  whole 
school  was  here.  I'd  give  'em  soom  ut  to  stay  their  unfort'nate  stomachs  wi', 
if  I  spent  the  last  penny  I  had  ! " 

Squeers  scowled  at  him  with  the  worst  and  most  malicious  expression  of 
which  his  face  was  capable — it  was  a  face  of  remarkable  capabihty,  too,  in 
that  way — and  shook  his  fit^t  stealthily. 

"  Coom,  coom,  schoolmeasther,"  said  John  ;  ''dinnot  make  a  fool  o'  thyself ; 
for  if  I  was  to  sheake  mine — only  once — thou'd  fa'  doon  wi'  the  wind  o'  it" 

"  It  was  you,  was  it,"  returned  Squeers,  "  that  helped  off  my  runaway 
boy  ?    It' was  you,  was  it  ?  '* 

"Me  1"  returned  John,  in  a  loud  tone.  "  Yes,  it  wa*  me  ;  coom,  wa'at  o' 
that !    It  wa'  me.     Noo,  then  ! " 

"  You  hear  him  say  he  did  it,  my  child  !  "  said  Squeers,  appealing  to  his 
daughter.     "  You  hear  him  say  he  did  it !  " 

**  Did  it ! "  cried  John.  **  I'll  tell  'ee  more  ;  hear  this,  too.  If  thou'd  got 
another  runaway  boy,  I'd  do  it  agean.  If  thou'd  got  twonty  roonaway  boys, 
rd  do  it  twonty  times  ower,  and  twonty  more  to  thot ;  and  I  tell  thee  more," 
said  John,  **  noo  my  blood  is  oop,  that  thou'rt  an  old  ra'ascal :  and  that  it's 
weel  for  thou  thou  be'st  an  old  'un,  or  I'd  ha'  pounded  thee  to  flour  when 
thon  told  an  honest  mun  hoo'  thou'd  licked  that  poor  chap  in  t'  coorch." 

*'  An  honest  man  ! "  cried  Squeers,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Ah  !  an  honest  man,"  replied  John  ;  *'  honest  in  ought  but  ever  putting 
legs  under  seame  table  wi'  such  as  thou." 

"Scandal !"  said  Squeers,  exultingly.  "Two  witnesses  to  it ;  Wackford 
knows  the  nature  of  an  oath,  ho  does — we  shall  have  you  there,  sir.  Rascal, 
eh  f  "  Mr.  Squeers  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  made  a  note  of  it.  "  Very 
good.  I  should  say  that  was  worth  full  twenty  pound  at  the  next  assizes, 
without  the  honesty,  sir." 


3S6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  'Soizes/'  ciied  John,  "  thon'd  better  not  talk  to  me  a'  'soizea.  Yorkshire 
schools  have  been  shone  up  at  'soizes  afore  noo,  man,  and  it's  a  ticklish  sobjact 
to  revive,  I  can  tell  ye." 

Mr.  Sqneers  shook  his  head  in  a  threatening  manner,  looking  very  white 
with  passion ;  and  taking  his  daughter's  arm,  and  dragging  litUe  Wackford 
by  the  hand,  retreated  towards  the  door. 

'*  As  for  yon,"  said  Squeers,  taming  roand  and  addressing  Nicholas,  who, 
as  he  had  caused  him  to  smart  prettv  soundly  on  a  former  occasion,  parposely 
abstained  from  taking  any  part  in  the  discussion,  "  see  if  I  ain't  down  upon 
you  before  long.  You'll  go  a  kidnapping  of  boys,  will  you  f  Take  care  their 
fathers  don't  turn  up — mark  that — take  care  their  fathers  don't  tnm  ap,  and 
send  'em  back  to  me  to  do  as  I  like  with,  in  spite  of  you." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that,"  replied  NioholM,  shrugging  his  shoolders  con- 
temptuously, and  turning  away. 

'*  Ain't  you  ? "  retorted  Squeers,  with  a  diabolical  look.  "  Now,  then,  come 
along." 

*' I  leave  such  society,  with  my  pa,  for  Aever,"  said  Miss  Squeers,  lookiiig 
contemptuously  and  loftily  around.  "  I  am  defiled  by  breathing  the  air  with 
such  creatures.  Poor  Mr.  Browdie  1  He  !  he !  he  !  I  do  pity  him,  that  I 
do  ;  he's  so  deluded  !    He  I  he  !  he  ! ^Artful  and  designing  Tilda  1 " 

With  this  sudden  relapse  into  the  sternest  and  most  majestic  wrath,  Hisi 
Squeers  swept  from  the  room  ;  and  having  sustained  her  dignity  antil  the 
last  possible  moment,  was  hfoid  to  sob  and  scream  and  straggle  in  the 
passage. 

John  Browdie  remained  standing  behind  the  table,  lookine  from  hia  wife  tt 
Nicholas,  and  back  again,  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  until  his  hand  accidentally 
fell  upon  the  tankard  of  ale,  when  he  took  it  up,  and  having  obscnred  his 
features  therewith  for  some  time,  drew  along  breath,  handed  it  over  to  Nid)ola% 
and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Here,  waither,"  said  John,  briskly,  '*look  alive  here.  Tak  these  things 
awa',  and  let's  have  soomat  broiled  for  sooper — vary  comfortable  and  plentj 
o'  it — at  ten  o'clock.  Bring  soom  brandy  and  soom  wather,  and  a  pair  o' 
slippers — the  largest  pair  in  the  house — and  be  quick  aboot  it.  Dash  my 
wig  ! "  said  John,  rubbing  his  hands,  '*  thei'e's  no  ganging  oot  toneeght,  noo^ 
to  fetch  anybody  whoam,  and  ecod,  we'll  begin  to  spend  the  evening  in 
airnest." 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 


OFFICIATES  AS  A  KIND  OF  GENTLEMAN  USHER,  IN  BRINOINO  TABIOUS  PlOni 

TOGETHER. 

THE  storm  had  long  given  place  to  a  calm  the  most  profoond,  and  ths 
evening  was  pretty  far  advanced — indeed,  supper  was  over,  and  ths 
process  of  digestion  proceeding  as  favourably  as,  under  the  inflneiiee  of 
complete  tranquillity,  cheeerful  conversation,  and  a  moderate  allowance  of 
brandy  and  water,  most  wise  men  conversant  with  the  anatomy  and  functioBS 
of  the  human  frame  will  consider  that  it  ought  to  have  proceeded,  when  ths 
three  friends,  or  as  one  might  say,  both  in  a  civil  and  reli^ous  sense,  and 
with  proper  deference  and  regard  to  the  holy  state  of  matrimony,  the  two 
friends  (Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie  counting  as  no  more  than  one),  were  started  fay 
the  noise  of   loud  and  angry  threatenings  below  stairs,  which   piessBtly 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  357 

attained  so  high  a  pitch,  and  were  conveyed,  besides,  in  language  so  towering, 
sanguinary,  and  ferocious,  that  it  could  hardly  have  been  surpassed,  if  there 
had  actually  been  a  Saracen's  head  then  present  in  the  establishment,  sup- 
ported on  the  shoulders  and  surmounting  the  trunk  of  a  real,  live,  furious, 
and  most  una|)peasable  Saracen. 

This  turmoil,  instead  of  quickly  subsiding  after  the  first  outburst  (as 
turmoils  not  unfrequently  do,  whether  in  taverns,  legislative  assemblies,  or 
elsewhere)  into  a  mere  grumbling  and  growling  squabble,  increased  every 
moment ;  and  although  tne  whole  din  appeared  to  be  raised  by  but  one  pair 
of  lungs,  yet  that  one  pair  was  of  so  powerful  a  quality,  and  repeated  such 
words  as  "scoundrel,'  ** rascal,"  "insolent  puppy,"  and  a  variety  of 
expletives  no  less  flattering  to  the  party  addressed,  with  such  great  relish  and 
strength  of  tone,  that  a  dozen  voices  raised  in  concert  under  any  cir- 
cumstances would  have  made  far  less  uproar  and  created  much  smaller 
consternation. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  said  Nicholas,  moving  hastily  towards  the 
door. 

John  Browdie  was  striding  in  the  same  direction,  when  Mrs.  Browdic  turned 
pale,  and  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  requested  him  with  a  faint  voice  to  take 
notice,  that  if  he  ran  into  any  danger  it  was  her  intention  to  fall  into  hysterics 
immediately,  and  that  the  consequences  might  be  more  serious  than  he  thought 
for.  John  loooked  rather  disconcerted  by  this  intelligence,  though  there  was 
a  lurking  grin  on  his  face  at  the  same  time  ;  but  being  quite  unable  to  keep 
out  of  the  fray,  he  compromised  the  matter  by  tucking  iiis  wife's  arm  under 
his  own,  and,  thus  accompanied,  followed  Nicholas  downstairs  with  all  speed. 

The  passage  outside  the  coiTec-room  door  was  the  scene  of  disturbance,  and 
here  were  congregated  the  coffee-room  customers  and  waiters,  together  with 
two  or  three  coachmen  and  helpers  from  the  yard.  These  had  hastily 
assembled  round  a  young  man,  who,  from  his  appearance,  might  have  been  a 
year  or  two  older  than  Nicholas,  and  who,  besides  having  given  utterance  to 
the  defiances  just  now  described,  seemed  to  have  proceeded  to  even  greater 
lengths  in  his  indignation,  inasmuch  as  his  feet  had  no  other  covering  than  a 
pair  of  stockings,  while  a  couple  of  slippers  lay  at  no  ^reat  distance  from  the 
head  of  a  prostrate  figure  in  an  opposite  corner,  who  bore  the  appearance  of 
having  been  shot  into  his  present  retreat  by  means  of  a  kick,  and  complimented 
by  having  the  slippers  flung  about  his  ears  afterwards. 

The  coffee-room  customers,  and  the  waiters,  and  the  coachmen,  and  the 
'helpers — not  to  mention  a  barmaid  who  was  looking  on  from  behind  an  open 
sasn-window — seemed  at  that  moment,  if  a  spectator  might  judge  from  their 
winks,  nods,  and  muttered  exclamations,  strons^ly  disposed  to  take  part 
against  the  young  gentleman  in  the  stockings.  Observing  this,  and  that  the 
young  gentleman  was  nearly  of  his  own  age,  and  had  in  nothing  the  appear- 
ance of  an  habitual  brawler,  Nicholas,  impelled  by  such  feelings  as  will 
influence  young  men  sometimes,  felt  a  very  strong  disposition  to  side  with 
the  weaker  party,  and  so  thrust  himself  at  once  into  the  centre  of  the  group, 
and  in  a  more  emphatic  tone,  perhaps,  than  circumstances  might  seem  to 
warrant,  demanded  what  all  that  noise  was  about. 

"Hallo  !  "  said  one  of  the  men  from  the  yard,  "  this  is  somebody  in  dis- 
guise, this  is." 

"  Room  for  the  eldest  son  of  the  Emperor  of  Roosher,  gen'l'men  ! "  cried 
another  fellow. 

Disregarding  these  sallies,  which  were  uncommonly  well  received,  as  sallies 
at  the  expense  of  the  best-dressed  persons  in  a  crowd  usually  are,  Nicholas 
glanced  carelessly  round,  and  addressing  the  young  gentleman,  who  had  by 


36o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

It  was,  indeed,  Tom — the  ugly  clerk. 

**  That's  odd  enough  ! "  said  Nicholas,  ruminating  upon  the  strange  mannei 
in  which  that  register-office  seemed  to  start  up  and  stare  him  in  the  face  every 
now  and  then,  and  when  he  least  expected  it. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  advocacy  of  my  cause  when  it 
most  needed  an  advocate,"  said  the  young  man,  laughing,  and  drawing  a  card 
from  his  pocket  "  Perhaps  you'll  do  me  the  favour  to  let  me  know  where  I 
can  thank  you." 

Nicholas  took  the  card,  and  glancing  at  it  involuntarily  as  he  returned  the 
compliment,  evinced  very  great  surprise. 

**Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble!"  said  Nicholas.  "Surely  not  the  nephew  of 
Checryble  Brothers,  who  is  expected  to-morrow  1 " 

''  I  don't  usually  call  myself  the  nephew  of  the  firm,"  said  Mr.  Frank,-  good- 
Immourcdly,  ''  but  of  the  two  excellent  individuals  who  compose  it,  I  am  prond 
to  say  I  wm  the  nephew.  And  you,  I  see,  are  Mr.  Nickleby,  of  whom  I  have 
heard  so  much  !  This  is  a  most  unexpect(Kl  meeting,  but  not  the  less  welcome, 
I  assure  you." 

Nicliolas  responded  to  these  compliments  with  others  of  the  same  kind,  and 
they  shook  hands  warmly.  Then  he  introduced  John  Browdie,  who  bad 
remained  in  a  state  of  great  admiration  ever  since  the  young  lady  in  the  bar  bid 
been  so  skilfully  won  over  to  the  right  side.  Then  Mrs.  John  firowdie  was  in- 
troduced, and  finally  they  all  went  upstairs  together  and  spent  the  next  half- 
hour  with  gieat  satisfaction  and  mutual  entertainment ;  Mrs.  John  Browdie 
beginning  the  conversation  by  declaring  that  of  all  the  made-ap  things  she 
ever  saw,  that  young  woman  below-stairs  was  the  vainest  and  the  plainest 

This  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble,  although,  to  judge  from  what  had  recently 
taken  place,  a  hot-headed  young  man  (which  is  not  an  absolute  miracle  and 
phenomenon  in  nature),  was  a  sprightly,  good-humoured,  pleasant  fellow, 
with  much,  both  in  his  countenance  and  disposition,  that  reminded  Nicholas 
very  strongly  of  the  kind-hearted  brothers.  His  manner  was  as  unaffected  as 
theirs,  and  his  demeanour  full  of  that  heartiness  which,  to  most  people  who 
have  anything  generous  in  their  composition,  is  peculiarly  prepossessing. 
Add  to  this,  that  he  was  good-looking  and  intelligent,  had  a  plentifal  share 
of  vivacity,  was  extremely  cheerful,  and  accommodated  himself  in  five  minntes' 
time  to  all  John  Browdie's  oddities  with  as  much  case  as  if  he  had  known  bim 
from  a  boy  ;  and  it  will  be  a  source  of  no  great  wonder  that,  when  tiiey 
parted  for  the  night,  he  had  produced  a  most  favourable  inijpression,  not  only 
upon  the  worthy  Yorkshireman  and  his  wife,  but  upon  Nicholas  also,  who, 
revolving  all  these  things  in  his  mind  as  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  bome^ 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  he  had  laid  the  foundation  of  a  most  agreeabb 
and  desirable  acquaintance. 

"But  it's  a  most  extraordinary  thing  about  that  register-office  fellow!" 
thought  Nicholas.  **  Is  it  likely  that  this  nephew  can  know  anything  about 
that  beautiful  girl?  When  Tim  Linkiuwater  gave  me  to  understand  the 
other  day  that  he  was  coming  to  take  a  share  in  the  business  here,  he  said  ha 
had  been  superintending  it  in  Germany  for  four  years,  and  that  during  the 
last  six  months  he  had  been  engaged  in  establishing  an  agency  in  the  North 
of  England.  That's  four  years  aiid  a-half — four  years  and  a-half.  She  can't 
]je  more  than  seventeen — say  eighteen  at  the  outside.  She  was  quite  a  child 
wliL'U  he  went  away  then.  I  should  say  he  knew  nothing  about  her,  and  hid 
never  seen  her,  so  he,  can  give  me  no  information.  At  all  events,"  thougbt 
Nicholas,  coming  to  the  real  point  in  his  mind,  '*  there  can  be  no  danger  of 
any  i)rior  occupation  of  her  anections  in  that  quarter  ;  that's  quite  clear." 
Is  seliishness  a  necessary  ingredient  in  the  comxK)sition  of  that  posaiuu 


THB  DISTURBUICE  OUTSIDB  the  COPFBB-'fiOOIl.— ¥.  V![. 


I 

I 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  361 

called  love^  or  does  it  deserve  all  the  fine  things  which  poets,  in  the  exercise 
of  their  undoubted  vocation,  have  said  of  it  ?  There  are,  no  doubt,  authenti- 
cated instances  of  gentlemen  having  given  up  ladies  and  ladies  having  given 
up  gentlemen  to  meritorious  rivals,  under  circumstances  of  great  high-minded- 
ness ;  but  is  it  quite  established  that  the  majority  of  such  ladies  and gentlemeh 
have  not  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  nobly  resigned  what  was  beyond 
their  reach ;  as  a  private  soldier  might  register  a  vow  never  to  accept  the 
order  of  the  Garter,  or  a  poor  curate  of  great  ^iety  and  learning,  but  of  no 
family — save  a  very  large  family  of  children — might  renounce  a  bishopric  ? 

Here  was  Nicholas  Nickleby,  who  would  have  scorned  the  thought  of 
counting  how  the  chances  stood  of  his  rising  in  favour  or  fortune  with  the 
Brothers  Cheeryble,  now  that  their  nephew  had  returned,  already  deep  in 
calculations  whether  that  same  nephew  was  likely  to  rival  him  in  the  affec- 
tions of  the  fair  unknown — discussing  the  matter  with  himself,  too,  as  gravely 
as  if,  with  that  one  exception,  it  were  all  settled  ;  and  recurring  to  the  subject 
again  and  again,  and  feeling  quite  indignant  and  ill-used  at  the  notion  of 
anybody  else  making  love  to  one  with  whom  he  had  never  exchanged  a  word 
in  all  his  life.  To  be  sure,  he  exaggerated  rather  than  depreciated  the  meiits 
of  his  new  acquaintance  ;  but  still  he  took  it  as  a  kind  of  personal  offence  that 
he  should  have  any  merits  at  all — in  the  eyes  of  this  particular  young  lady, 
that  is  ;  for  elsewhere  lie  was  quite  welcome  to  have  as  many  as  he  pleased. 
There  was  undoubted  selfishness  in  all  this,  and  yet  Nicholas  was  of  a  most 
free  and  generous  nature,  with  as  few  mean  or  sordid  thoughts,  perhaps,  as 
ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  any  man  ;  and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that,  being 
in  love,  he  felt  and  thought  differently  from  other  people  in  the  like  sublime 
condition. 

He  did  not  stop  to  set  on  foot  an  inquiry  into  his  train  of  thought  or  state 
of  feeling,  however,  but  went  thinking  on  all  the  way  home,  and  continued 
to  dream  on  in  the  same  strain  all  night.  For,  having  satisfied  himself  that 
Frank  Cheeryble  could  have  no  knowledge  of,  or  acquaintance  with  the 
inysterious  young  lady,  it  began  to  occur  to  him  that  even  he  himself  might 
never  see  her  again ;  upon  which  hypothesis  he  built  up  a  very  ingenious 
succession  of  tormenting  ideas  which  answered  his  purpose  even  better  than 
the  vision  of  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble,  and  tantalised  and  worried  him  waking 
and  sleeping. 

Notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  and  sung  to  the  contrary,  there  is 
no  well-established  case  of  morning  having  either  deferred  or  hastened  its 
approach  by  the  term  of  an  hour  or  so  for  the  mere  gratification  of  a  splenetic 
feeling  against  some  unoffending  lover :  the  sun  having,  in  the  discharge  of 
his  public  duty,  as  the  books  of  precedent  report,  invariably  risen  according 
to  the  almanacks,  and  without  suffering  himself  to  be  swayed  by  any  private 
considerations.  So  morning  came  as  usual,  and  with  it  business  hours,  and 
with  them  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble,  and  with  him  a  long  train  of  smiles  and 
Welcomes  from  the  worthy  brothers,  and  a  more  grave  and  clerk-like,  but 
scarcely  less  hearty  reception  from  Mr.  Timothy  Linlrin water. 

**  That  Mr.  Frank  and  Mr.  Nickleby  should  have  met  last  night,"  said  Tim 
Hiinkinwater,  getting  slowly  off  his  stool,  and  looking  round  the  counting- 
house  with  his  back  against  the  desk,  as  was  his  custom  when  he  had 
anything  very  particular  to  say — **that  those  two  young  men  should  have 
met  last  night  in  .that  manner  is,  I  say,  a  coincidence — a  remarkable  coinci- 
clence.  Why,  I  don't  believe  now,"  added  Tim,  taking  off  his  spectacles,  and 
Smiling  as  with  gentle  pride,  *'  that  there's  such  a  place  in  all  the  world  for 
coincidences  as  lK>ndon  is  !  " 

••  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Frank  ;  **  but " 


362  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"Don't  know  aboat  it,  Mr.  Fcancis  1 "  interrupted  Tim,  wth  an  obstinate 
air.  *'  Well,  but  let  us  know.  If  there  is  any  better  place  for  such  things, 
where  is  it  ?  Is  it  in  Europe  ?  No,  that  it  isn't.  Is  it  in  Asia  1  Why,  of 
course  it's  not.  Is  it  in  Africa  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Is  it  in  America  ?  Yaf 
know  better  than  that,  at  all  events.  Well,  then,"  said  Tim,  folding  his 
arms  resolutely,   *'  where  is  it  ? " 

**I  was  not  about  to  dispute  the  point,  Tim,"  said  young  Cheeryble, 
laughing.  "  I  am  not  such  a  heretic  as  that.  All  I  was  going  to  say  was, 
that  I  hold  myself  under  an  obligation  to  the  coincidence,  that's  all." 

"Oh  I  if  you  don't  dispute  it, '  said  Tim,  quite  satisfied,  " that's  another 
thing.  I'll  tell  you  what,  though — I  wish  you  had.  I  wish  you  or  anybody 
would.  I  would  so  put  that  man  down,"  said  Tim,  tapping  the  forefinger  d 
his  left  hand  emphatically  with  his  spectacles,  "  so  put  that  man  down  by 
argument " 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  find  language  to  express  the  degree  of  meotal 
prostration  to  which  such  an  adventurous  wight  would  be  reduced  in  the  keen 
encounter  with  Tim  Linkinwater,  so  Tim  gave  up  the  rest  of  his  declaration 
in  pure  lack  of  words,  and  mounted  his  stool  again. 

"We  may  consider  ourselves,  brother  Ned,"  said  Charles,  after  he  had 
patted  Tim  Linkinwater  approvingly  on  the  back,  "  very  fortunate  in  lutving 
two  such  young  men  about  us  as  our  nephew  Frank  and  Mr.  Nickleby.  It 
should  be  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  and  pleasure  to  us." 

"  Certainly,  Charles,  certainly,"  returned  the  other. 

"  Of  Tim,"  added  brother  Ned,  "  I  say  nothing  whatever,  because  Tim  is* 
mere  child — an  infant — a  nobody — that  we  never  think  of  or  take  into  account 
at  all.     Tim,  you  villain,  what  do  you  say  to  that,  sir  ? " 

"I  am  jealous  of  both  of  'em,"  said  Tim,  *'and  mean  to  look  out  for 
another  situation  ;  so  provide  yourselves,  gentlemen,  if  you  please." 

Tim  thought  this  such  an  exquisite,  unparalleled,  and  most  extraordinaij 
joke,  that  he  laid  his  pen  upon  the  inkstand,  and  rather  tumbling  off  his 
stool  than  getting  down  with  his  usual  deliberation,  laughed  till  he  was  quite 
faint,  shaking  his  head  all  the  time  so  that  little  particles  of  powder  flew 
palpably  about  the  office.  Nor  were  the  brothers  at  all  behind-hand,  for 
they  laughed  almost  as  heartily  at  the  ludicrous  idea  of  any  voluntiiy 
separation  between  themselves  and  old  Tim.  Nicholas  and  Mr.  Frank 
laughed  quite  boisterously,  perhaps  to  conceal  some  other  emotion  awakened 
by  this  little  incident  (and  so,  indeed,  did  the  three  old  fellows,  after  the  fint 
burst),  so  perhaps  there  was  as  much  keen  enjoyment  and  relish  in  that  langh 
altogether  as  the  politest  assembly  ever  derived  from  the  most  poignant 
witticism  uttered  at  any  one  person's  expense. 

"Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  brother  Charles,  calling  him  aside,  and  taking  him 
kindly  by  the  hand,  "I — I — am  anxious,  my  dear  sir,  to  see  that  yon  are 
properly  and  comfortably  settled  in  the  cottage.  We  cannot  allow  those  who 
serve  us  well  to  labour  under  any  privation  or  discomfort  that  it  is  in  oor 
l)ower  to  remove.  I  wish,  too,  to  see  your  mother  and  sister — to  knowthera, 
Mr.  Nickleby,  and  have  an  opportunity  of  relieving  their  minds  by  assnrine 
them  that  any  trifling  service  we  have  been  able  to  do  them  is  a  great  dew 
more  than  repaid  by  the  zeal  and  ardour  you  display.  Not  a  word,  my  dear 
sir,  I  beg.  To-morrow  is  Sunday.  I  shall  make  bold  to  come  out  at  tea- 
time,  and  take  the  chance  of  finding  you  at  home  ;  if  you  are  not,  you  know, 
or  the  ladies  should  feel  a  delicacy  in  being  intruded  on,  and  would  rather 
not  be  known  to  me  just  now,  why,  I  can  come  again  another  time  ;  any  other 
time  would  do  for  me.  Let  it  remain  upon  that  understanding.  Brother 
Ned,  my  dear  fellow,  let  me  have  a  word  with  you  this  way." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  363 

The  twins  went  out  of  the  office  arm-in-arm,  and  Nicholas,  who  saw  in  this 
ct  of  kindness,  and  many  others  of  which  he  had  been  the  subject  that 
lorning,  only  so  many  delicate  renewals  on  the  arrival  of  their  nephew  of  the 
ind  assurances  which  the  brothers  had  given  him  in  his  absence,  could 
3arcely  feel  sufficient  admiration  and  gratitude  for  such  extraordinary  con- 
ideration. 

The  intelligence  that  they  were  to  have  a  visitor — and  such  a  visitor — next 
ay,  awakened  in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Nickleby  mingled  feelings  of  exultation 
Eld  regret ;  for  whereas  on  the  one  hand  she  haned  it  as  an  omen  of  her 
leedy  restoration  to  good  society,  and  the  almost-forgotten  pleasures  of 
loming  calls  and  evening  tea-drinkings,  she  could  not,  on  the  other,  but 
)flect  with  bitterness  of  spirit  on  the  absence  of  a  silver  teapot  with  an  ivory 
Dob  on  the  lid,  and  a  milk-jug  to  match,  which  had  been  the  pride  of  her 
eart  in  days  of  yore,  and  had  been  kept  from  year's  end  to  year's  end 
Tapped  up  in  wasn-leather  on  a  certain  top-shelf  which  now  presented  itself 
I  lively  colours  to  her  sorrowing  imagination. 

**  I  wonder  who's  got  that  spice-box,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  shaking  her 
ead.  **It  used  to  stand  in  the  left-hand  corner,  next  but  two  to  the 
ickled  onions.    »You  remember  that  spice-box,  Kate  ? " 

**  Perfectly  well,  mamma." 

**  I  shoiddn't  think  you  did,  Kate,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  severe 
nanner,  **  talking  about  it  in  that  cold  and  unfeeling  way  !  If  there  is  any 
5ne  thing  thati  vexes  me  in  these  losses  more  than  the  losses  themselves,  I  do 
protest  and  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  rubbing  her  nose  with  an  impas- 
sioned air,  **  that  it  is  to  have  people  about  me  who  take  things  with  such 
pft)voking  calmness." 

**  My  dear  mamma,"  said  Kate,  stealing  her  arm  round  her  mother's  neck, 
Vhy  do  you  say  what  I  know  you  cannot  seriously  mean  or  think,  or  why 
5  angry  with  me  for  being  happy  and  content  ?  You  and  Nicholas  are  left 
,oae,  we  are  together  once  again,  and  what  regard  can  I  have  for  a  few 
[fling  things  of  which  we  never  feel  the  want  ?  When  I  have  seen  all  the 
®ery  and  desolation  that  death  can  bring,  and  known  the  lonesome  feeling 
^eing  solitary  and  alone  in  crowds,  and  all  the  agony  of  separation  in  grief 
^  X^verty  when  we  most  needed  comfort  and  support  from  each  other,  can 
^  Wonder  that  I  look  upon  this  as  a  place  of  such  delicious  quiet*  and  rest, 
A't  "With  you  beside  me  I  have  nothing  to  wish  for  or  regret  %  There  was  a 
n^^>  and  not  long  since,  when  all  the  comforts  of  our  old  home  did  come 
act  upon  me,  I  own,  very  often — oftener  than  you  would  think,  perhaps — 
)ttt  I  affected  to  care  nothing  for  them,  in  the  hope  that  you  would  so  be 
Dtought  to  regret  them  less.  I  was  not  insensible,  indeed.  I  might  have 
{dt  happier  if  I  had  been.  Dear  mamma,"  said  Kate,  in  great  agitation,  ''  I 
Traow  no  difference  between  this  home  and  that  in  which  we  were  all  so 
h^Ppy  for  so  many  years,  except  that  the  kindest  and  gentlest  heart  that  ever 
■cfied  on  earth  has  passed  in  peace  to  heaven." 
"Kate,  my  dear  Kate,"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  folding  her  in  her  arms. 
"I  have  so  often  thought,"  sobbed  Kate,  **  of  all  his  kind  words — of  the 
'aat  time  he  looked  into  my  little  bed-room,  as  he  passed  upstairs  to  bed,  and 
'^id,  *God  bless  you,  darling.'  There  was  a  paleness  in  his  face,  mamma — 
iie  broken  heart — I  know  it  was — I  little  thought  so — then " 

A  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  relief,  and  Kate  laid  her  head  upon  her 
^other's  breast,  and  wept  like  a  little  child. 

It  is  an  exquisite  and  beautiful  thing  in  our  nature,  that  when  the  heart  is 
tQcbed  and  softened  by  some  tranquil  happiness  or  affectionate  feeling,  the 
emory  of  the  dead  comes  over  it  most  powerfully  and  irresistibly.     It  would 


364  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

almost  seem  as  though  our  better  thoughts  and  sympathies  were  charms,  in 
virtue  of  which  the  soul  is  enabled  to  hold  some  vague  and  mysterious  inter- 
course with  the  spirits  of  those  whom  we  dearly  loved  in  life.  Alas  !  how 
often  and  how  long  may  those  patient  angels  hover  above  us,  watching  for  the 
spell  which  is  so  seldom  uttered  and  so  soon  forgotten  1 

Poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  accustomed  to  give  utterance  to  whatever  came  upper- 
iTWst  in  her  mind,  had  never  conceived  the  possibility  of  her  daughter's 
dwelling  upon  these  thoughts  in  secret,  the  more  especially  as  no  hard  trial  or 
querulous  reproach  had  ever  drawn  them  from  her.  But  now,  when  the 
happiness  of  all  that  Nicholas  had  just  told  them,  and  of  their  new  and 
peaceful  life,  brought  these  recollections  so  strongly  upon  Kate  that  she  could 
not  suppress  them,  Mrs.  Nickleby  began  to  have  a  glimmering  that  she  had 
been  rather  thoughtless  now  and  then,  and  was  conscious  of  something  like 
self-reproach  as  she  embmced  her  daughter,  and  yielded  to  the  emotiona  , 
which  such  a  conversation  naturally  awakened. 

There  was  a  mighty  bustle  that  night,  and  a  vast  quantity  of  preparation 
for  the  expected  visitor,  and  a  very  large  nosegay  was  brought  from  a 
gardener's  hard  by,  and  cut  up  into  a  number  of  very  small  ones,  with  which 
Mrs.  Nickleby  would  have  garnished  the  little  sitting-room,  in  a  style  that 
certainly  could  not  have  failed  to  attract  anybody's  attention,  if  Kate  had  not 
offered  to  spare  her  the  trouble,  and  arrange  them  in  the  prettiest  and  neatest 
manner  possible.  If  the  cottage  ever  looked  pretty,  it  must  have  been  on 
such  a  bright  and  sunshiny  day  as  the  next  day  was.  But  Smike's  pride  in 
the  garden,  or  Mrs.  Nickleby's  in  the  condition  of  the  furniture,  or  Kate's  in 
everything,  was  nothing  to  the  pride  with  which  Nicholas  looked  at  Kate  her- 
self ;  and  surely  the  costliest  mansion  in  all  England  might  have  found  in  her 
beautiful  face  and  graceful  form  its  most  exquisite  and  peerless  ornament 

About  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  thrown  into  a  great 
flutter  of  spirits  by  the  long-expected  knock  at  the  door,  nor  was  this  flutter 
at  all  composed  by  the  audible  tread  of  two  pair  of  boots  in  the  passage,  which 
Mrs.  Nickleby  augured,  in  a  breathless  state,  must  be  **the  two  Mr. 
Cheerybles  ;  "  as  it  certainly  was,  though  not  the  two  Mrs.  Nickleby  expected, 
because  it  was  Mr.  Charles  Cheery ble  and  his  nephew,  Mr.  Frank,  who  made  a 
thousand  apologies  for  his  intrusion,  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  (having  teaspoons 
enougli  and  to  spare  for  all)  most  graciously  received.  Nor  did  the  appeuance 
of  this  unexpected  visitor  occasion  the  least  embarrassment  (save  in  kate,  and 
that  only  to  the  extent  of  a  blush  or  two  at  first),  for  the  old  gentleman  was 
so  kind  and  cordial,  and  the  young  gentleman  imitated  him  in  this  respect  so 
well,  that  the  usual  stiffness  and  formality  of  a  first  meeting  showed  no  signs 
of  appearing,  and  Kate  really  more  than  once  detected  herself  in  the  very  act 
of  wondering  when  it  was  going  to  begin. 

At  the  tea-table  there  was  plenty  of  conversation  on  a  great  variety  of  sub- 
jects, nor  were  there  wanting  jocose  matters  of  discussion,  such  as  they  were; 
for  young  Mr.  Cheeryble's  recent  stay  in  Germany  happening  to  be  alluded  to, 
old  Mr.  Cheery  ble  informed  the  company  that  the  aforesaid  young  Mr.  Cheeryble 
was  suspected  to  have  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  a  certain 
German  burgomaster.    This  accusation  young  Mr.  Cheeryble  most  indignantly 
repelled,  upon  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  slyly  remarked  that  she  suspect^,  from 
the  very  warmth  of  the  denial,  there  must  be  something  in  it.     Young  Mr. 
Cheeryble  then  earnestly  entreated  old  Mr.  Cheeryble  to  confess  that  it  was  all 
a  jest,  which  old  Mr.  Cheeryble  at  last  did,  young  Mr.  Cheeryble  being  » 
much  in  earnest  about  it,  that — as  Mrs.  Nickleby  said  many  thousand  times 
afterwards  in  recalling  the  scene — he  **  quite  coloured,"  which  she  rightly  con- 
sidered a  memorable  circumstance,  and  one  worthy  of  remark,  young  meu  uot 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  365 

beinff,  as  a  class,  remarkable  for  modesty  or  self-denial,  especially  when  there  is 
a  lady  in  the  case,  when,  if  they  colour  at  all,  it  is  rather  their  practice  to 
colour  the  story  and  not  themselves. 

After  tea  there  was  a  walk  in  the  garden,  and  the  evening  being  very  lino 
they  strolled  out  at  the  garden  gate  into  some  lanes  and  byroads,  and 
sauntered  up  and  down  until  it  grew  quite  dark.  The  time  seemed  to  pass 
Tery  quickly  with  all  the  party.  Kate  went  first,  leaning  upon  her  brotherii 
arm,  and  talking  with  him  and  Mr.  Frank  Cheery ble  ;  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  and 
the  elder  gentleman  followed  at  a  short  distance,  the  kindness  of  the  good 
merchant,  his  interest  in  the  welfare  of  Nicholas,  and  his  admiration  of  Kate, 
80  operating  upon  the  good  lady's  feelings,  that  the  usual  current  of  her  speech 
was  confined  within  very  narrow  and  circumscribed  limits.  Smike  (who,  if  he 
had  ever  been  an  object  of  interest  in  his  life,  had  been  one  that  day)  accom- 
panied them,  joining  sometimes  one  gi'oup  and  sometimes  the  other,  as  brother 
Charles,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  bade  him  walk  with  him  ;  or 
Nicholas,  looking  smilingly  round,  beckoned  him  to  come  and  talk  with  the 
old  friend  who  understood  him  best,  and  who  could  win  a  smile  into  his  care- 
worn face  when  none  else  could. 

Pride  is  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins ;  but  it  cannot  be  the  pride  of  a 
mother  in  her  children,  for  that  is  a  compound  of  two  cardinal  virtues — faith 
and  hope.  This  was  the  pride  that  swelled  Mrs.  Nicklcby's  heart  that  night, 
and  this  it  was  which  left  upon  her  face,  glistening  in  the  light  when  they 
letamed  home,  traces  of  the  most  grateful  tears  she  liad  ever  shed. 

There  was  a  quiet  mirth  about  the  little  supper  which  harmonised  exactly 
with  this  tone  of  feeling,  and  at  length  the  two  gentlemen  took  their  leave. 
There  was  one  circumstance  in  the  leave-taking  wnich  occasioned  a  vast  deal 
of  smiling  and  pleasantry,  and  that  was,  that  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble  offered  his 
liand  to  Kate  twice  over,  quite  forgetting  that  he  had  bade  her  adieu  already. 
Tilts  was  held  up  by  the  eider  Mr.  Cheeryble  to  be  a  convincing  proof  that  he 
was  thinking  of  his  German  flame,  and  the  jest  occasioned  immense  laughter. 
So  easy  is  it  to  move  light  hearts. 

In  short,  it  was  a  day  of  serene  and  tranquil  happiness  ;  and  as  we  all  have 
some  bright  day — many  of  us,  let  us  hope,  among  a  crowd  of  others — to 
which  we  revert  with  particular  delight,  so  this  one  was  often  looked  back  to 
as  holding  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  calendar  of  those  who  shared  it. 

Was  there  one  exception,  and  that  one  he  who  needed  to  have  been  hap- 
piest ? 

Who  was  that  who,  in  the  silence  of  his  own  chamber,  sank  upon  his  knees 
to  pray  as  his  first  friend  had  taught  him,  and  folding  his  hands  and  stretch- 
log  them  wildly  in  the  air,  fell  upon  his  face  in  a  passion  of  bitter  grief  ? 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

MB.  BALPH  NICKLEBY  CUTS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.  IT  WOULD  ALSO  APPEARt 
FROM  THE  CONTENTS  HEREOF,  THAT  A  JOKE,  EVEN  BETWEEN  HUSBAND 
AND  WIFE,   MAY  BE  SOMETIMES  CARRIED  TOO    FAR. 

THERE  are  some  men,  who,  living  with  the  one  object  of  enriching  them- 
selves, no  matter  by  what  means,  and  being  perfectly  conscious  of  the 
baseness  and  rascality  of  the  means  which  they  will  use  every  day  to- 
wards this  end,  affect,  nevertheless — even  to  themselves — a  higli  tone  of  moral 
rectitude,  and  shake  their  heads  and  sigh  over  the  depravity  of  the  world. 


366  LTFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Somo  of  tho  craftiest  scoundrels  that  ever  walked  this  earth,  or  rather^for 
walking  implies,  at  least,  an  erect  position  and  the  bearing  of  a  man—that 
ever  crawled  and  crept  through  life  by  its  dirtiest  and  narrowest  ways,  will 
gravely  jot  down  in  diaries  the  events  of  every  day,  and  keep  a  regular  debtor 
and  creditor  account  with  heaven,  which  sh&U  always  show  a  floating  balance 
in  their  own  favour.  Whether  this  is  a  gratuitous  (the  only  gratuitous)  part 
^  the  falseliood  and  trickery  of  such  men  s  lives,  or  whether  they  really  hope 
to  cheat  heaven  itself,  and  lay  up  treasure  in  the  next  world  by  the  same  pro- 
cess which  has  enabled  them  to  lay  up  treasure  in  this — ^not  to  question  how 
it  is,  so  it  is.  And,  doubtless,  such  book-keeping  (like  certain  autobiographies 
which  have  enlightened  the  world)  cannot  fail  to  prove  serviceable  in  the  one 
respect  of  sparing  the  recording  angel  some  time  and  labour. 

lialph  Nickleby  was  not  a  man  of  this  stamp.  Stern,  unyielding,  dogged, 
and  impenetrable,  Ralph  cared  for  nothing  in  life,  or  beyond  it,  save  the 
gi'atification  of  two  passions — avarice,  the  first  and  predominant  appetite  of 
his  nature  ;  and  hatred,  the  second.  Affecting  to  consider  himself  but  a  type 
of  all  humanity,  he  was  at  little  pains  to  conceal  his  true  character  ^m  the 
world  in  general,  and  in  his  own  heart  he  exulted  over  and  cherished  eyerr 
bad  design  as  it  had  birth.  The  only  scriptural  admonition  that  Balph 
Nickleby  heeded,  in  the  letter,  was  **  know  thyself."  He  knew  himself  well, 
and  choosing  to  imagine  that  all  mankind  were  cast  in  the  same  mould,  hated 
them  ;  for,  though  no  man  hates  himself,  the  coldest  among  us  having  too 
much  self-love  for  that,  yet,  most  men  unconsciously  judge  the  world  from 
themselves,  and  it  will  be  very  generally  found  that  those  who  sneer 
habitually  at  human  nature,  and  affect  to  despise  it,  are  among  its  worst  and 
least  pleasant  samples. 

But  the  present  business  of  these  adventures  is  with  Ralph  himself^  who 
stood  regarding  Newman  Noggs  with  a  heavy  frown,  while  that  worthy  took 
off  his  fingerless  gloves,  and  spreading  them  carefully  on  the  palm  of  his  left 
hand,  and  flattening  them  with  his  right  to  take  the  creases  out,  proceeded  to 
roll  them  up  with  an  absent  air,  as  if  he  were  utterly  regardless  of  all  things 
else,  in  the  deep  interest  of  the  ceremonial. 

"Gone  out  of  town  !"  said  Ralph,  slowly.  **A  mistake  of  yours.  Go 
back  again." 

*'  No  mistake,"  returned  Newman.     "  Not  even  going  ;  gone." 

**  Has  he  turned  girl  or  baby  ?  "  muttered  Ralph,  with  a  n*etfiil  gestura 

**  I  don't- know,"  said  Newman,  **but  he's  gone." 

The  repetition  of  the  word  *'gone"  seemed  to  afford  Newman  Nogffl 
inexpressible  delight,  in  proportion  as  it  annoyed  Ralph  Nickleby.  He 
uttered  tho  word  with  a  full,  round  emphasis,  dwelling  upon  it  as  long  as  he 
decently  could,  and  when  he  could  hold  out  no  longer  without  attracting 
observation,  stood  gasping  it  to  himself,  as  if  even  that  were  a  satisfaction. 

**  And  where  has  he  gone  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"France,"  replied  Newman.  "Danger  of  another  attack  of  erysipelas— 
a  worse  attack — in  the  head.  So  the  doctors  ordered  him  ofil  And  he's 
gone." 

"  And  Lord  Frederick ? "  began  Ralph. 

**  He's  gone  too,"  replied  Newman. 

"  And  he  carries  his  "drubbing  with  him,  does  he  I "  said  Ralph,  turning 
away — "  pockets  his  bruises,  and  sneaks  off  without  the  retaliation  of  a  word, 
or  seeking  the  smallest  reparation  !  " 

"  He's  too  ill,"  said  Newman. 

"  Too  ill  I "  repeated  Ralph.  "  Why,  /would  have  it  if  I  were  dying ;  in 
that  case  I  should  only  be  the  more  determined  to  have  it^  and  that  w£hoat 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  367 


• 


delay — I  mean  if  I  were  he.     But  he's  too  ill !    Poor  Sir  Mulberry  I    Too 
ill!'^' 

Uttering  these  words  with  supreme  contempt  and  great  irritation  of  manner, 
Balph  signed  hastily  to  Newman  to  leave  the  room  ;  and  throwing  himself 
into  his  chair,  beat  his  foot  impatiently  upon  the  ground. 

"There  is  some  spell  about  that  boy,"  said  Ralph,  grinding  his  teeth. 
"Circumstances  conspire  to  help  him.  Talk  of  fortune's  favours  !  What^s 
even  money  to  such  devil's  luck  as  this  !  '* 

He  thrust  his  hands  impatiently  into  his  pockets  ;  but  notwithstanding  his 
previous  reflection  there  was  some  consolation  there,  for  his  face  relaxed  a 
little  ;  and  although  there  was  still  a  deep  frown  upon  the  contracted  brow,  it 
was  one  of  calculation,  and  not  of  disappointment. 

**  This  Hawk  will  come  back,  however,"  muttered  Ralph  ;  "  and  if  I  know 
the  man — and  I  should  by  this  time — his  wiath  will  have  lost  nothing  of  its 
▼iolence  in  the  meanwhile.  Obliged  to  live  in  retirement — the  monotony  of  a 
rick-room  to  a  man  of  his  habits — no  life — no  drink — no  play — nothing  that 
he  likes  and  lives  by.  He  is  not  likely  to  forget  his  obligations  to  the  cause 
of  all  this.     Few  men  would  ;  but  he  of  all  others — no,  no  !  " 

Ue  smiled  and  shook  his  head,  and  resting  his  chin  upon  his  hand,  fell  a 
musing,  and  smiled  again.     After  a  time  he  rose  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  That  Mr.  Squeers  ;  has  he  been  here  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"  He  was  here  last  night.  I  left  him  here  when  I  went  home,"  returned 
Newman. 

"  I  know  that,  fool,  do  I  not  ? "  said  Ralph,  irascibly.  "  Has  he  been  hero 
rince  f    Was  he  liere  this  morning  ? " 

"  No,"  bawled  Newman,  in  a  very  loud  key. 

**  If  he  comes  while  I  am  out — he  is  pretty  sure  to  be  here  by  nine  to-night 
— let  him  wait  And  if  there's  another  man  ^vith  him,  as  there  will  be — 
perhaps,"  said  Ralph,  checking  himself,  "  let  him  wait  too." 

"  Let  'em  both  wait  % "  said  Newman. 

"Ay,"  replied  Ralph,  turning  upon  him  with  an  angry  look.  "  Help  me 
on  with  this  spencer,  and  don't  repeat  after  me,  like  a  croaking  parrot." 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  parrot,"  said  Newman,  sulkily. 

"  I  wish  you  were,"  rejoined  Ralph,  drawing  his  spencer  on  ;  "  I'd  have 
wrung  your  neck  long  ago." 

Newman  returned  no  answer  to  this  compliment,  but  looked  over  Ralph's 
shoulder  for  an  instant  (he  was  adjusting  the  collar  of  the  spencer  beliind, 
just  then),  as  if  he  were  strongly  disposed  to  tweak  him  by  the  nose.  Meet- 
ing Ralph's  eye,  however,  he  suddenly  recalled  his  wandering  fingers,  and 
robbed  his  own  red  nose  with  a  vehemence  quite  astonishing. 

Bestowing  no  further  notice  upon  his  eccentric  follower  than  a  threatening 
look,  and  an  admonition  to  be  careful  and  make  no  mistake,  Ralph  took  his 
hat  and  gloves  and  walked  out. 

He  appeared  to  have  a  very  extraordinary  and  miscellaneous  connection, 
and  very  odd  calls  he  made — some  at  great  rich  houses,  and  some  at  small 
poor  ones — but  all  upon  one  subject :  money.  His  face  was  a  talisman  to  the 
porters  and  servants  of  his  more  dashing  clients,  and  procured  him  ready 
admission,  though  he  trudged  on  foot,  and  others,  who  were  denied,  rattled 
to  the  door  in  carriages.  Here  he  was  all  softness  and  cringing  civility  ;  his 
step  so  light,  that  it  scarcely  produced  a  sound  upon  the  thick  carpets  ;  his 
voice  so  soft,  that  it  ^vas  not  audible  beyond  tne  person  to  whom  it  was 
addressed.  But  in  the  poorer  habitations  Ralph  was  another  man  ;  his  boots 
croaked  upon  the  passage  floor  as  he  walked  boldly  in,  his  voice  was  harsh  and 
loud  as  he  demanded  the  money  that  was  overdue :  his  threats  were  coarse 


368  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

and  angry.  With  another  class  of  customers  Ralph  was  again  another  man. 
These  were  attorneys  of  more  than  doub'tful  reputation,  who  helped  him  to 
new  business,  or  raised  fresh  profits  upon  old.  With  them  Ralph  was 
familiar  and  jocose — humorous  upon  the  topics  of  the  day,  and  especially 
pleasant  upon  bankruptcies  and  pecuniary  difficulties  that  made  eood  for 
trade.  In  short,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  have  recognised  uie  same 
m^n  under  these  various  aspects,  but  for  the  bulky  leather  case  full  of  bills 
and  notes  which  he  drew  from  his  pocket  at  every  house,  and  the  constant 
repetition  of  the  same  complaint  (varied  only  in  tone  and  style  of  deliveiy), 
tliat  the  world  thought  him  rich,  and  that,  perhaps,  he  mi^ht  be  if  he  hadnis 
own  ;  but  there  was  no  getting  money  in  when  once  it  was  out,  either 
principal  or  interest,  and  it  was  a  hard  matter  to  live — even  to  live  ffom  day 
to  day. 

It  was  evening  before  a  long  round  of  such  visits  (interrupted  only  by  a 
scanty  dinner  at  an  eating-house)  terminated  at  Hmlico,  and  Ralph  walked 
along  Saint  James's  Park,  on  his  way  home. 

There  were  some  deep  schemes  in  his  head,  as  the  puckered  brow  and  firmly- 
set  mouth  would  have  abundantly  testified,  even  if  they  had  been  unaccom- 
panied by  a  complete  indifference  to,  or  unconsciousness  of,  the  obiects  about 
him.  So  complete  was  his  abstraction,  however,  that  Ralph,  usually  as  quick 
sighted  as  any  man,  did  not  observe  that  he  was  followed  by  a  shambling 
figure,  which  at  one  time  stole  behind  him  with  noiseless  footsteps,  at  another 
crept  a  few  paces  before  him,  and  at  another  glided  along  by  his  side  ;  at  all 
times  regarding  him  with  an  eye  so  keen,  and  a  look  so  eager  and  attentive^ 
that  it  was  more  like  the  expression  of  an  intrusive  face  in  some  powerful 
picture,  or  strongly-marked  dream,  than  the  scrutiny  even  of  a  most  interested 
and  anxious  observer. 

The  sky  had  been  lowering  and  dark  for  some  time,  and  the  commencement 
of  a  violent  storm  of  rain  drove  Ralph  for  shelter  to  a  tree.  He  was  leaning 
against  it  with  folded  arms,  still  buried  in  thought,  when,  happening  to  raise 
his  eyes,  he  suddenly  met  those  of  a  man  who,  creeping  round  tne  trank, 
peered  into  his  face  with  a  searching  look.  There  was  somethins  in  the 
usurer's  expression  at  the  moment  which  the  man  appeared  to  rememoer  well, 
for  it  decided  him  ;  and  stepping  close  up  to  Ralph,  he  pronounced  his  name. 

Astonished  for  the  moment,  lUilph  fell  back  a  couple  of  paces,  and  surveyed 
him  from  head  to  foot.  A  spare,  dark,  withered  man,  of  about  his  own  ace^ 
with  a  stooping  body,  and  a  very  sinister  face,  rendered  more  ill-favoured  oy 
hollow  and  hungry  cheeks,  deeply  sunburnt,  and  thick,  black  eyebroii% 
blacker  in  contrast  with  the  perfect  whiteness  of  his  hair ;  roughly  clothed  in 
shabby  garments,  of  a  strange  and  uncouth  make  ;  and  having  about  him  an 
indefinable  manner  of  depression  and  degradation — this,  for  a  moment,  wis 
all  he  saw.  But  he  looked  again,  and  the  face  and  person  seemed  gradually 
to  grow  less  strange ;  to  change  as  he  looked,  to  subside  and  soften  into 
lineaments  that  were  familiar,  until  at  last  they  resolved  themselves,  as  if  by 
sonic  strange  optical  illusion,  into  those  of  one  whom  he  had  known  for  many 
years,  and  forgotten  and  lost  sight  of  for  nearly  as  many  more. 

The  man  saw  that  the  recognition  was  mutual,  and  beckoning  to  Ralph  to 
take  his  former  place  under  the  tree,  and  not  to  stand  in  the  falling  rain,  of 
which,  in  his  first  surprise,  he  had  been  quite  regardless,  addressed  mm  in  a 
hoarse,  faint  voice. 

**You  would  hardly  have  known  me  from  my  voice,  I  suppose,  Mr. 
Nicklebv?"  he  said. 

**  No,  returned  Ralph,  bending  a  severe  look  upon  him.  **  Though  there 
is  something  in  that  that  I  remember  now." 


NICHOLAS  mCKLEBY.  369 

"  Tilers  ia  tittle  in  ms  that  joa  caa  colt  to  mind  as  having  been  there  oight 
jrears  a^,  I  lUie  aay  t "  observed  the  otber. 

"Quite  euongh,  said  Ralph,  carelessly,  and  averting  hia  face.  "Mora 
than  enough." 

"  If  I  had  remained  in  doubt  about  you,  Mr.  Nicktebjr,"  said  the  other, 
"  this  reception  and  y(yu,r  msunGr  would  bave  decided  me  very  soon. " 

"  Did  TOU  expect  any  other  I "  asked  Ralph,  sharply, 

"  No  I     said  the  man. 

"Yon  were  right,"  retorted  Ralph  ;   "and  as  you  feel  no  surpriao,  need 

"Mr.  Niokleby,"  said  the  man,  bluntly,  after  a  brief  pause,  during  which 
he  liad  Boemed  to  struggle  with  an  iDelinHtion  to  answer  him  by  some  reproaeli, 
"  will  70a  hear  a  few  words  that  I  have  to  say  1 " 

'  ■  I  am  obliged  to  wait  here  till  the  rain  holds  a  little,"  said  Ralph,  looking 
abroad.  "  If  yon  talk,  sir,  I  shall  not  put  my  fingsrs  in  my  ears,  though  your 
talking  may  have  as  much  effect  as  if  1  did." 

"  I  was  once  in  your  confidence "  thus  his  companion  began.     Ralph 

looked  round  and  amOed  involuntarily. 

""Well,"  said  the  other,  "as  much  in  your  confidence  as  you  ever  choso  to 
letanylxidy  be." 

"Ah  1"  rejoined  Ralph,  folding  his  arms  ;  "that's  another  thing— (iuitB 
•notber  tMog." 

"Don't  let  us  play  upon  words,  Mr.  Nickleby,  in  the  name  of  humanity." 
"Of  what!"  said  Ralph. 

"  Of  bmnanity,"  replied  the  other,  sternly.  "  I  am  hungry,  and  in  want. 
If  tile  change  that  you  muat  see  in  me  after  so  loag  an  absence— laust  see,  for 
_  ti  npvn  iiV^Tc  it  has  come  by  slow  and  hard  degrees,  see  it  and  know  It  well 
fti — will  not  move  von  to  pity,  let  the  knowledge  that  bread  ;  not  the  daily 
^bread  of  the  Lovil'a  Prayer,  which,  as  it  ia  ofl'ered  up  in  cities  like  this,  is 
Imdcratooii  to  include  half  the  luxuries  of  the  world  for  the  rich,  and  just  as 
^Mth  coarse  fcod  as  will  support  life  for  the  poor— not  that,  but  bread,  a  crust 
*f  dry,  hard  hread,  ia  beyond  my  reach  to-day — let  that  have  acme  weight 
KvllliyDU,  if  nuthlug  else  has." 

I  "If  this  is  UiB  usual  form  in  which  you  beg,  sir,"  said  Ralph,  "you  liave 
^Miedyour  purt  well ;  but  if  you  wUl  take  advice  from  one  who  knows  soma- 
li™ag  of  tha  vorld  and  its  ways,  I  should  recommend  a  lower  tone,  a  little 
fio^er  tone,  or  you  stand  a  fair  chance  of  being  starved  in  good  earnest." 
r  As  he  said  ihis,  Ralph  clenched  his  left  wrist  tightly  with  his  right  hand, 
1  iiiclinjug  his  head  a  little  on  one  aide,  and  dropping  his  chin  upon  hia 
"'t,  looked  at  hjin  nhom  be  addressed  with  a  frowning,  aulleu  face  :  the 
picture  ofa  man  whom  nothing  could  move  or  soften. 
^  I  estcrday  was  my  firat  day  in  LoaOion,"  said  the  old  man,  glancing  at  his 
J^^' -stained  drees  and  worn  shoea. 

B  It  Would  have  been  better  for  you,  I  think,  it  it  had  been  your  lost  also," 
miliod  Kaluh. 

t_IliavB  been  seeking  you  these  two  days,  where  I  thought  you  were  most 
""^  *tl"'  found,"  resumed  the  other,  more  humbly,  "aiidlmetyou  litre 
^  n  1  had  (jmost  given  up  the  hope  of  encountering  you,  Mr. 

d  to  wait  ibr  some  reply,  but  Ralph  giving  him  none,  be  con- 

t  miserable  and  wretched  outcast,  nearly  sixty  yeais  ol<I,  and 

L  Wpless  B>  a  child  of  six." 

'  jMn  old,  too,"  replied  Ralph,  "  and  am  neither  d^'stituto 


370  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

iior  hulplesa.     Work.     Don't  make  fine  play-acting  speeches  about  bread,  but 
earn  it.  ' 

*'How?"  cried  the  other.  "Where?  Show  me  the  means.  Will  you 
give  them  to  me — will  you  ? " 

"I  did  once,"  replied  Ralph,  composedly,  "you  scarcely  need  ask  me 
whether  I  will  again." 

"  It's  twenty  years  ago,  or  more,"  said  the  man,  in  a  suppressed  voice, 
"since  you  and  I  fell  out.  You  remember  that  ?  I  claimed  a  share  in  the 
profits  of  some  business  I  brought  to  you,  and,  as  I  persisted,  you  arrested  rae 
lor  an  old  advance  often  pounds,  odd  shillings — including  interest  at  fifty  per 
cent,  or  so." 

"I  remember  something  of  it,"  replied  Ralph,  carelessly.  "What 
then  ? " 

"  That  didn't  part  us,"  said  the  man.  "  I  made  gubmission,  being  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  bolts  and  bars  ;  and  as  you  were  not  the  made  man  then 
that  you  are  now,  you  were  glad  enough  to  take  back  a  clerk  who  wasn't  over 
nice,  and  wlio  knew  something  of  the  trade  you  drove." 

"You  begged  and  prayed,  and  I  consented,"  replied  Ralph.  "That was 
kind  of  me.  Perhaps  I  did  want  you — I  forget.  I  should  think  I  did,  or  you 
would  have  begged  in  vain.  You  were  useful — not  too  honest,  not  too 
delicate,  not  too  nice  of  hand  or  heart — but  useful." 

"Useful,  indeed  ! "  said  the  man.  "  Come.  You  had  pinched  and  ground 
me  down  for  some  years  before  that,  but  I  had  served  you  faithfully  up  to 
that  time,  in  spite  of  all  your  dog's  usage — had  I  ? " 

Ralph  made  no  reply. 

"Had  I  ? "  said  the  man,  again. 

"You  had  had  you  wages,  rejoined  Ralph,  "and  had  done  your  work. 
We  stood  on  equal  ground  so  far,  and  could  both  cry  quits." 

"  Then,  but  not  afterwards,"  said  the  other. 

"  Not  afterwards,  certainly,  not  even  then,  for  (as  you  have  just  said)  yon 
owed  me  money,  and  do  still,"  replied  Ralph. 

''That's  not  all,"  said  the  man,  eagerly.  "That's  not  all.  Mark  that 
I  didn't  forget  that  old  sore,  trust  me.  Partly  in  remembrance  of  that,  and 
partly  in  the  hope  of  making  monev  some  day  by  the  scheme,  I  took  advan- 
tatije  of  my  position  about  you,  and  possessed  myself  of  a  hold  upon  yoUf 
which  you  would  give  half  of  all  you  nave  to  know,  and  never  can  know  but 
through  me.  I  left  you — long  after  that  time,  remember — and,  for  some  poor 
trickery  that  came  within  the  law,  but  was  nothing  to  what  you  money- 
makers daily  practise  just  outside  its  bounds,  was  sent  away  a  convict  for 
seven  years.  I  have  returned  what  you  see  me.  Now,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said 
the  man,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  humility  and  sense  of  power,  "  what  help 
and  assistance  will  you  give  me— what  bribe,  to  speak  out  plainly?  My 
expectations  are  not  monstrous,  but  I  must  live,  and  to  live  I  must  eat  and 
drink.  Money  is  on  your  side,  and  hunger  and  thirst  on  mine.  You  may 
drive  an  easy  bargain." 

"Is  that  all?  '  said  Ralph,  still  eyeing  his  companion  with  the  same 
steady  look,  and  moving  nothing  but  his  lips. 

"  It  depends  on  you,  Mr.  Nickleby,  whether  that's  all  or  not,"  was  the 
rejoinder. 

**  Why,  then,  harkye,  Mr.  ,  I  don't  know  by  what  name  I  am  to  call 

you,"  .said  Ralph. 

*'  l»y  my  old  one,  if  you  like." 

"Why,  then,  harkye,  Mr.  Brooker,"  said.  Ralph,  in  his  harshest  accents, 
*'aud  don't  expect  to  draw  another  speech  from  me — harkye,  sir.     1  know 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  371 

you  of  old  for  a  ready  scoundrel,  but  you  never  had  a  stout  heart ;  and  hard 
work,  with  (maybe)  chains  upon  those  legs  of  yours,  and  shorter  food  than 
when  I  *  pinched '  and  '  ground '  you,  has  blunted  your  wits,  or  you  would 
not  come  with  such  a  tale  as  this  to  me.  You  a  hold  upon  me  1  Keep  it,  or 
publish  it  to  the  world,  if  you  like. " 

**  I  can't  do  that,"  interposed  Brooker.     ** That  wouldn't  serv^  me." 

.**  Wouldn't  it  ? "  said  Kalph.*  **  It  will  serve  you  as  much  as  bringing  it 
to  me,  I  promise  you.  To  be  plain  with  you,  I  am  a  careful  man,  and  know 
my  affairs  thoroughly.  I  know  the  world,  and  the  world  knows  me.  What- 
ever you  gleaned,  or  heard,  or  saw,  when  you  served  me,  the  world  knows 
and  magnifies  already.  You  could  tell  it  nothing  that  would  surprise  it — 
unless,  indeed,  it  redounded  to  my  credit  or  honour,  and  then  it  would  scout 
you  for  a  liar.  And  yet  I  don't  find  business  slack,  or  clients  scrupulous. 
Quite  the  contrary.  I  am  reviled  or  threatened  every  day  by  one  man  or 
another,"  said  Ralph  ;  "  but  things  roll  on  just  the  same,  and  I  don't  grow 
poorer  either." 

**I  neither  revile  nor  threaten,"  rejoined  the  man.  "I  can  tell  you  of 
what  you  have  lost  by  my  act,  what  I  only  can  restore,  and  what,  if  I  die 
without  restoring,  dies  with  me,  and  never  can  be  regained." 

**  I  tell  my  money  pretty  accurately,  and  generally  keep  it  in  my  own 
custody,"  said  Ralph.  **  I  look  sharply  after  most  men  that  I  deal  with,  and 
most  of  all  I  looked  sharply  after  you.  You  are  welcome  to  all  you  have 
kept  from  me." 

**  Are  those  of  your  own  name  dear  to  you  ? "  said  the  man,  emphatically. 
«  If  they  are " 

**  They  are  not,"  returned  Ralph,  exasperated  at  this  perseverance,  and  the 
thought  of  Nicholas,  which  the  la&t  question  awakened.  **They  are  not. 
If  you  had  come  as  a  common  beggar,  I  might  have  thrown  a  sixpence  to  you 
in  remembrance  of  the  clever  knave  you  used  to  be ;  but  since  you  try  to 
palm  these  stale  tricks  upon  one  you  might  have  known  better,  I'll  not  part 
with  a  half-penny — nor  would  I  to  save  you  from  rotting.  And  remember  this, 
'scape-gallows,"  said  Ralph,  menacing  him  with  his  hand,  "that  if  we  meet 
again,  and  you  so  much  as  notice  me  by  one  begging  gesture,  you  shall 
see  the  inside  of  a  jaU  once  more,  and  tighten  this  hold  upon  me  in  intervals 
of  the  hard  labour  that  vagabonds  are  put  to.  There's  my  answer  to  your 
trash.     Take  it." 

With  a  disdainful  scowl  at  the  object  of  his  anger,  who  met  his  eye  but 
uttered  not  a  word,  Ralph  walked  away  at  his  usual  pace,  without  manifesting 
the  slightest  curiosity  to  see  what  became  of  his  late  companion,  or  indeed 
once  looking  behind  him.  The  man  remained  on  the  same  spot  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  his  retreating  figure  until  it  was  lost  to  view,  and  then  drawing 
his  arms  about  his  chest,  as  if  the  damp  and  lack  of  food  struck  coldly  to  him, 
lingered  with  slouching  steps  by  the  wayside,  and  begged  of  those  who  passed 
along. 

Ralph,  in  nowise  moved  by  what  had  lately  passed,  further  than  as  he 
had  akeady  expressed  himself,  walked  deliberately  on,  and  turning  out  of  the 
Park  and  leaving  Golden  Square  on  his  right,  took  his  way  through  some 
streets  at  the  west  end  of  the  town  until  he  arrived  in  that  particular  one  in 
which  stood  the  residence  of  Madame  Mantalini.  The  name  of  that  lady  no 
longer  appeared  on  the  flaming  door-plate,  that  of  Miss  Knag  being  substituted 
in  its  stead  ;  but  the  bonnets  and  drosses  were  still  dimly  visible  in  the  first- 
floor  windows  by  the  decaying  light  of  a  summer's  evening,  and,  excepting 
this  ostensible  alteration  in  the  proprietorship,  the  establishment  wore  its  old 
appearance. 


372  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"Humph  ! "  muttered  Ralph,  drawing  his  hand  across  his  mouth  with  a 
connoisseur-like  air,  and  surveying  the  house  from  top  to  bottom ;  "  these 
people  look  pretty  well.  They  can  t  last  long  ;  but  if  I  know  of  their  goin^, 
in  good  time,  I  am  safe,  and  a  fair  profit,  too.  I  must  keep  them  closely  in 
view — that's  all. " 

So,  nodding  his  head  very  complacently,  Balph  was  leaving  the  spot,  when 
his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  confused  noise  and  hubbub  of  voices, 
mingled  with  a  great  running  up  and  down  stairs,  in  the  very  house  which 
had  been  the  subject  of  his  scrutiny  ;  and  while  he  was  hesitating  whether  to 
knock  at  the  door  or  listen  at  the  key -hole  a  little  longer,  a  female  servant  of 
Madame  Mantalini's  (whom  he  had  often  seen)  opened  it  abruptly,  and 
bounced  out,  with  her  blue  cap-ribands  streaming  in  the  air. 

"Hallo,  here.  Stop  !"  cried  Ralph,  "what's  the  matter.  Here  am  I. 
Didn't  you  hear  me  knock  ? " 

**  Oh  !  Mr.  Nickleby,  sir,"  said  the  girl.  "  Go  up,  for  the  love  of  gracious. 
Master's  been  and  done  it  again." 

"  Done  what  ? "  said  Ralph,  tartly,  "  what  d'ye  mean  ? " 

"  I  knew  he  would,  if  he  was  drove  to  it,"  cried  the  girL  "  I  said  so  all 
along." 

"  Come  here,  you  silly  wench,"  said  Ralph,  catching  her  by  the  wrist ;  "and 
don't  carry  family  matters  to  the  neighbours,  destroying  the  credit  of  the 
establishment.     Come  here,  do  you  hear  me,  girl  ? " 

Without  any  further  expostulation  he  led,  or  rather  pulled  the  frightened 
handmaid  into  the  house,  and  shut  the  door  ;  then  bidding  her  walk  upstairs 
before  him,  followed  without  more  ceremony. 

Guided  by  the  noise  of  a  great  many  voices  all  talking  together,  and  passing 
the  girl  in  his  impatience,  before  they  had  ascended  many  steps,  Ralph  quickly 
reached  the  private  sitting-room,  when  he  was  rather  amazea  by  the  confused 
and  inexplicable  scene  in  which  ho  suddenly  found  himself. 

There  were  all  the  young-lady  workers,  some  with  bonnets  and  some  with- 
out, in  various  attitudes  expressive  of  alarm  and  consternation  ;  some  gathered 
round  Madame  Mantalini,  who  was  in  tears  upon  one  chair  ;  and  others  round 
Miss  Knag,  who  was  in  opposition  tears  upon  another ;  and  others  round  Mr. 
Mantalini,  who  was  perhaps  the  most  striking  figure  in  the  whole  group,  for 
Mr.  Mantalini's  legs  were  extended  at  full  length  upon  the  floor,  and  his  head 
and  shoulders  were  supported  by  a  very  tall  footman,  who  didn't  seem  to  know 
what  to  do  with  them,  and  Mr.  Mantalini's  eyes  were  closed,  and  his  face  was 
pale,  and  his  hair  was  comparatively  straight,  and  his  whiskers  and  moustache 
were  limp,  and  his  teeth  were  clenched,  and  he  had  a  little  bottle  in  his  right 
hand,  and  a  little  teaspoon  in  his  left;  and  his  hands,  arms,  legs,  and 
shoulders  were  all  stiff  and  powerless.  And  yet  Madame  Mantalini  was  not 
weeping  upon  the  body,  but  was  scolding  violently  upon  her  chair  ;  and  all 
this  amidst  a  clamour  of  tongues  perfectly  deafening,  and  which  really 
appeared  to  have  driven  the  unfortunate  footman  to  the  uttermost  verge  of 
distraction. 

**  What  is  the  matter  here  ? "  said  Ralph,  pressing  forward. 

At  this  inquiry  the  clamour  was  increased  twenty-fold,  and  an  astounding 
string  of  such  shrill  contradictions  as  "  he's  j)oi8oned  himself" — *'  he  hasn't 
—"  send  for  a  doctor  "—"don't  "—"he's  dying"—**  he  isn't,  he's  onlyj»r»- 
tt'uding  " — with  various  other  cries,  ])oured  forth  with  bewildering  volubility, 
until  Madame  Mantalini  was  seen  to  address  herself  to  Ral])b,  when  female 
curiosity  to  know  what  she  would  say  prevailed  ;  and,  as  if  by  general  consent, 
a  dead  silence,  unbroken  by  a  single  whisper,  instantaneously  succeeded. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  373 

"  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  Madame  Mantalini ;  **by  what  chance  yon  came  here 
I  don't  know." 

Here  a  gurgling  voice  was  heard  to  ejaculate — as  part  of  the  wanderings  of 
a  sick  man — the  words  **Demnition  sweetness!"  out  nobody  heeded  tnem 
except  the  footman,  who,  being  startled  to  hear  such  awful  tones  proceeding, 
as  it  were,  from  between  his  very  fingers,  dropped  his  master's  head  upon  the 
floor  with  a  pretty  loud  crash,  and  then,  without  an  effort  to  lift  it  up, 
gazed  npon  the  bystanders,  as  if  he  had  done  something  rather  clever  than 
otherwise. 


gances  and  viciousness  again.  I  have  been  a  dupe  and  a  fool  to  him  long 
enongh.  In  future  he  shall  support  himself,  if  he  can  ;  and  then  he  may 
spend  what  money  he  pleases,  upon  whom  and  how  he  pleases ;  but  it  shall 
not  be  mine,  and,  therefore,  you  had  better  pause  before  you  trust  him 
further." 

Thereupon,  Madame  Mantalini,  quite  unmoved  by  some  most  pathetic 
lamentations  on  the  part  of  her  husband,  that  the  apothecary  had  not  mixed 
the  prussic  acid  strong  enough,  and  that  he  must  take  another  bottle  or  two 
to  finish  the  work  he  had  in  hand,  entered  into  a  catalogue  of  that  amiable 
gentleman's  gallantries,  deceptions,  extravagances,  and  infidelities  (especially 
the  last),  winding  up  with  a  protest  against  being  supposed  to  entertain  the 
smallest  remnant  of  regard  for  him  ;  and  adducing,  in  proof  of  the  altered 
state  of  her  affections,  the  circumstance  of  his  having  poisoned  himself  in 
private  no  less  than  six  times  within  the  last  fortnight,  and  her  not  having 
once  interfered,  by  word  or  deed,  to  save  his  life. 

"And  I  insist  on  being  separated,  and  left  to  myself,"  said  Madame  Man- 
talini, sobbing.  '*  If  he  dares  to  refuse  me  a  separation,  I'll  have  one  in  law 
— I  can — and  I  hope  this  will  be  a  warning  to  all  girls  who  have  seen  this 
disgracefol  exhibition." 

Miss  Knag,  who  was  unquestionably  the  oldest  girl  in  company,  said  with 
great  solemnity,  that  it  would  be  a  warning  to  Aer,  and  so  did  the  young 
ladies  generally,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two,  who  appeared  to  entertain 
some  doubts  whether  such  whiskers  could  do  wrong. 

**  Why  do  you  say  all  this  before  so  many  listeners  ? "  said  Ralph,  in  a  low 
voice.     **  You  know  you  are  not  in  earnest." 

**  I  am  in  earnest,'  replied  Madame  Mantalini,  aloud,  and  retreating  toward 
Miss  Knag. 

**Well,  but  consider,"  reasoned  Ralph,  who  had  a  great  interest  in  the 
matter.     "  It  would  be  well  to  reflect.     A  married  woman  has  no  property." 

**Not  a  solitary  single  individual,  dem  my  soul,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini, 
raising  himself  upon  his  elbow. 

**  I  am  quite  aware  of  that,"  retorted  Madame  Mantalini,  tossing  her  head  ; 
"  and  /have  none.  The  business,  the  stock,  this  house,  and  everything  in  it, 
all  belong  to  Miss  Knag." 

*'Thats  quite  true,  Madame  Mantalini,"  said  Miss  Knag,  with  whom  her 
late  employer  had  secretly  come  to  an  amicable  understanding  on  this  point. 
'•Very  true,  indeed,  Madame  Mantalini — hem — very  tnie.  And  I  never  was 
more  glad  in  all  my  life  that  I  had  strength  of  mind  to  resist  matrimonial 
offers,  no  matter  how  advantageous,  than  1  am  when  I  think  of  my  present 
position  as  compared  with  your  most  unfortunate  and  most  undeserved  one, 
Madame  Mantaiini." 

*'Demmit!"   cried  Mr.   Mantalini,  turning  his  head  towards  hia  ^\&k« 


374  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

'*  Will  it  not  slap  and  pinch  the  envious  dowager,  that  dares  to  reflect  upon 
its  own  delicious  ? " 

But  the  day  of  Mr.  Mantalini's  blandishments  had  departed.  **  Miss  Knag, 
sir,"  said  his  wife,  **is  my  particular  friend  ; "  and  although  Mr.  Mantalini 
leered  till  his  eyes  seemed  in  danger  of  never  coming  back  to  their  right  places 
again,  Madame  Mantalini  showed  no  signs  of  softening. 

To  do  the  excellent  Miss  Enag  justice,  she  had  been  mainly  instrumental  in 
bringing  about  this  altered  state  of  things,  for,  finding  by  daily  experience 
that  there  was  no  chance  of  the  business  thriving,  or  even  continuing  to  exist, 
while  Mr.  Mantalini  had  any  hand  in  the  expenditure,  and  having  now  a  con- 
siderable interest  in  its  well-doing,  she  had  sedulously  applied  herself  to  the 
investigation  of  some  little  matters  connected  with  that  gentleman's  private 
character,  which  she  had  so  well  elucidated,  and  artfully  imparted  to  Afadame 
Mantalini,  as  to  open  her  eyes  more  effectually  than  the  closest  and  most 
philosophical  reasoning  could  have  done  in  a  series  of  years.  To  which  end 
the  accidental  discovery  by  Miss  Knag  of  some  tender  correspondence,  in 
which  Madame  Mantalini  was  described  as  *'  old  "  and  "  ordinary,"  had  most 
providentially  contributed. 

However,  notwithstanding  her  firmness,  Madame  Mantalini  wept  very 
piteously ;  and  as  she  leant  upon  Miss  Knag,  and  signed  towards  the  door, 
that  young  lady  and  all  the  other  young  ladies  with  sympathising  faces, 
proceeded  to  bear  her  out. 

"  Nickleby,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini,  in  tears,  '*  you  have  been  made  a  witness 
to  this  demnition  cruelty,  on  the  part  of  the  demdest  enslaver  and  captivator 
that  never  was,  oh  dem  !    I  forgive  that  woman." 

"Forgive  !  "  repeated  Madame  Mantalini,  angrily. 

**I  do  forgive  her,  Nickleby,"  said  Mr.  Mantalini.  **You  will  blame  me, 
the  world  will  blame  me,  the  women  will  blame  me ;  everybody  will  laugh, 
and  scofiP,  and  smile,  and  grin  most  demnebly.  They  will  say,  *  She  had  a 
blessing.  She  did  not  know  it.  He  was  too  weak  ;  he  was  too  good  ;  he  was 
a  demd  fine  fellow,  but  he  loved  too  strong ;  he  could  not  bear  her  to  he 
cross,  and  call  him  wicked  names.  It  was  a  demd  case,  there  never  was  a 
demder.*    But  I  forgive  her." 

With  this  affecting  speech  Mr.  Mantalini  fell  down  again  very  flat,  and  lay 
to  all  appearance  without  sense  or  motion,  until  all  the  females  had  left  the 
room,  when  he  came  cautiously  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  confronted  Ralph 
with  a  very  blank  face,  and  the  little  bottle  still  in  one  hand  and  the  teaspoon 
in  the  other. 

* '  You  may  put  away  those  fooleries  now,  and  live  by  your  wits  again," 
said  Ralph,  coolly  putting  on  his  hat. 

"Demmit,  Nickleby,  you're  not  serious." 

"  I  seldom  joke,"  said  Ralph.     **  Good  night." 

**No,  but,  Nickleby "  said  Mantalini 

"  I  am  wrong,  perhaps,"  rejoined  Ralph.  **  I  hope  so.  You  should  know 
best.     Good  night." 

Affecting  not  to  hear  his  entreaties  that  he  would  stay  and  advise  with 
him,  Ralph  left  the  crestfallen  Mr.  Mantalini  to  his  meditations,  and  left  the 
house  quietly. 

*'  Oho  !  "  he  said,  '*  sets  the  wind  that  way  so  soon  ?  Half  knave  and  half 
fool,  and  detected  in  both  characters — hum — I  think  your  day  is  over,  sir." 

As  he  said  this,  he  made  some  memorandum  in  his  pocket-book,  in  which 
Mr.  Mantalini's  name  figured  conspicuously,  and  finding  by  his  watch  that  it 
was  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  made  all  speed  home. 

"Are  they  here  V  Yraa  the  first  question  he  asked  of  Newman. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  375 

Kewman  nodded.     ''  Been  here  half-an-hour." 

"  Two  of  them  ?  one  a  fat,  sleek  man  ? " 

"  Ay,"  said  Newman.     **  In  your  room  now." 

"  Good,"  rejoined  Ralph.     **  Get  me  a  coach." 

"A  coach  !    What  you — ^^oing  to — eh  ? "  stammered  Newman.  • 

Ralph  angrily  rej^eated  his  orders,  and  Noggs,  who  might  well  have  heen 
excused  for  wondering  at  such  an  unusual  and  extraordinary  circumstauce — 
for  he  had  never  seen  Ralph  in  a  coach  in  his  life — departed  on  his  errand, 
and  presently  returned  witn  the  conveyance. 

Into  it  went  Mr.  Squeers,  and  Ralph,  and  the  third  man,  whom  Newman 
Noggs  had  never  seen.  Newman  stood  upon  the  door-step  to  see  them  ofl', 
not  tronbling  himself  to  wonder  where  or  upon  what  business  they  were 
going,  nntil  ne  chanced  by  mere  accident  to  near  Ralph  name  the  address 
whi&er  the  coachman  was  to  drive. 

Quick  as  lightning,  and  in  a  state  of  the  most  extreme  wonder,  Newman 
dait^  into  his  little  office  for  his  hat,  and  limped  after  the  coach  as  if  with 
tile  intention  of  getting  up  behind  ;  but  in  this  design  he  was  balked,  for  it 
had  too  much  the  start  of  him  and  was  soon  hopelessly  ahead,  leaving  him 
gaping  in  the  empty  street. 

•'  I  don't  know,  though,"  said  Nogg,  stopping  for  breath,  "any  good  that 
I  could  have  done  by  going  too.  He  would  have  seen  me  if  I  had.  Drive 
there  I  What  can  come  of  this  ?  If  I  had  only  known  it  yesterday  I  could 
have  told — drive  there  !    There's  mischief  in  it.     There  must  be." 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  a  grey-haired  man  of  a  very  remarkable, 
though  far  from  prepossessing  appearance,  who,  coming  stealthily  towards 
him,  solicited  relief. 

Newman,  still  cogitating  deeply,  turned  away,  but  the  man  followed  him, 
and  pressed  him  with  such  a  tale  of  misery  that  Newman  (who  might  have 
been  considered  a  hopeless  person  to  beg  from,  and  who  had  little  enough  to 
give)  looked  into  his  hat  for  some  halfpence  which  he  usually  kept  screwed 
up,  when  he  had  any,  in  a  comer  of  his  pocket-handkerchief. 

While  he  was  busily  untwisting  the  knot  with  his  teeth,  the  man  said  some- 
thing which  attracted  his  attention  ;  whatever  that  something  was  it  led  to 
something  else,  and  in  the  end  he  and  Newman  walked  away  side  by  side — 
the  strange  man  talking  earnestly,  and  Newman  listening. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

CONTAINING  MATTER  OF  A  SURPRISING  KIND. 

«*  M  S  we  gang  awa*  fra*  Lunnun  to-morrow  nee^ht,  and  as  I  dinnot  know 
TST^     that  I  was  e'er  so  happy  in  a'  my  days,  Misther  Nickleby,  ding  !  but 
^  ^    I  mill  tdc'  anoother  glass  to  our  next  merry  meeting  ! " 
So  said  John  Browdie,   rubbing  his  hands  with  great  joyousness,  and 

looking  round  him  with  a  ruddy,  shining  face,  quite  in  keeping  with  the 

declaration. 

The  time  at  which  John  found  himself  in  this  enviable  condition  was  the 

same  evening  to  which  the  last  chapter  bore  reference  ;   the  place  was  the 

cottage ;  and  the  assembled  company  were  Nicholas,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  Mrs. 

Browdie,  Kate  Nickleby,  and  Smike. 

A  very  merry  party  they  had  been.     Mrs.  Nickleby,  knowing  of  her  son's 

obligations  to  the  honest  Yorkshireman,  had,  after  some  demur,  yielded  her 


376  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

consent  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdic  being  invited  out  to  tea ;  in  the  ^ray  of 
which  arrangement  tjiere  were  at  first  sundry  difficulties  and  obstacles,  arisiDg 
out  of  her  not  having  had  an  opportunity  of  ''  calling  "  upon  Mrs.  Browdie 
first ;  for  although  Mrs.  Nickleby  very  often  observed  with  much  complacency 
(as  most  punctilious  people  do)  that  she  had  not  an  atom  of  pride  or  formalily 
about  her,  still  she  was  a  great  stickler  for  dignity  and  ceremonies  ;  and  as  it 
was  manifest  that,  until  a  call  had  been  made,  she  could  not  be  (politely 
speaking,  and  according  to  the  laws  of  society)  even  cognisant  of  the  fact  of 
Mrs.  Browdie's  existence,  she  felt  her  situation  to  be  one  of  peculiar  delicacy 
and  difficulty. 

*  *  The  call  must  originate  with  me,  my  dear, "  said  Mrs .  Nickleby,  '  *  that's  in- 
dispensable. The  fact  is,  my  dear,  that  it's  necessary  there  should  be  a  sort  of 
condescension  on  my  part,  and  that  I  should  show  this  young  person  that  I  am 
willing  to  take  notice  of  her.  There's  a  very  respectable-lookins  young  man," 
added  Mrs.  Kickleby,  after  a  short  consideration,  '*  who  is  conductor  to  one  of 
the  omnibuses  that  go  by  here,  and  who  wears  a  glazed  hat — your  sister  and  I 
have  noticed  him  very  often — he  has  a  wart  upon  his  nose,  Kate,  you  know, 
exactly  like  a  gentleman's  servant." 

' '  Have  all  gentlemen's  servant's  warts  upon  their  noses,  mother  ? "  asked 
Nicholas. 

**  Nicholas,  my  dear,  how  very  absurd  you  are,"  returned  his  mother;  "of 
course  I  mean  his  glazed  hat  looks  like  a  gentleman's  servant,  and  not  the 
wart  upon  his  nose — though  even  that  is  not  so  ridiculous  as  it  may  seem  to 
you,  for  we  had  a  footboy  once  who  had  not  only  a  wart,  but  a  wen  also,  and 
a  very  large  wen  too,  and  he  demanded  to  have  his  wages  raised  in  conse- 
quence, because  he  found  it  came  very  expensive.  Let  me  see,  what  was  I^oh, 
yes,  I  know.  The  best  way  that  I  can  think  of,  would  be  to  send  a  card  and 
my  compliments  (I've  no  doubt  he'd  take  'em  for  a  pot  of  porter)  by  this  young 
man,  to  the  Saracen  with  Two  Necks — if  the  waiter  took  him  for  a  gentleman's 
servant,  so  much  the  better.  Then  all  Mrs.  Browdie  would  have  to  do  would 
be  to  send  her  card  back  by  the  carrier  (he  could  easily  come  with  a  double 
knock)  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

*'  My  dear  mother,"  said  Nicholas,  **  I  don't  suppose  such  unsophisticated 
people  as  these  ever  had^  a  card  of  their  own,  or  ever  will  have." 

"Oh  that,  indeed,  Nicholas,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "that's 
another  thing.  If  you  put  it  upon  that  ground,  why,  of  course,  I  have  no 
more  to  say  than  I  have  no  doubt  they  are  very  good  sort  of  persons,  and  that 
I  have  no  kind  of  objection  to  their  coming  here  to  tea  if  they  like,  and  shall 
make  a  point  of  being  very  civil  to  them  if  they  do." 

The  point  being  thus  effectually  set  at  rest,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  duly  placed 
in  the  patronising  and  mildly-condescending  position  which  became  her  rank 
and  matrimonial  years,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie  were  invited  and  came  ;  and  as 
they  were  very  deferential  to  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and  seemed  to  have  a  becoming 
appreciation  of  her  greatness,  and  were  very  much  pleased  with  everything, 
the  good  lady  had  more  than  once  ^ven  Kate  to  understand,  in  a  whisper, 
that  she  thought  they  were  the  very  Dest-meaning  people  she  had  ever  seen,  and 
perfectly  well  behaved. 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  John  Browdie  declared  in  the  parlour  after 
supper — to  wit,  at  twenty  minutes  before  eleven  o'clock,  p.m.,  that  be  had 
never  been  so  happy  in  all  his  days. 

Nor  was  Mrs.  Browdie  much  behind  her  husband  in  this  respect,  for  that 
young  matron — whose  rustic  beauty  contrasted  very  prettily  with  the  more 
delicate  loveliness  of  Kate,  and  without  suffering  by  the  contrast  either,  for 
each  served,  as  it  were,  to  set  off  and  decorate  the  other — could  not  sufficiently 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  377 

admire  tbe  gentle  and  winning  manners  of  the  young  lady,  or  the  engaging 
affability  of  the  elder  one.  Then  Kate  had  the  art  of  turning  the  conversa- 
tion to  salnects  apon  which  the  country  girl,  bashful  at  first  in  strange  com- 
ponjr,  conld  feel  herself  at  home ;  and  if  Mrs.  Nicklcby  was  not  quite  so 
felicitons  at  times  in  the  selection  of  topics  of  discourse,  or  if  she  did  seem,  as 
Mrs.  Browdie  expressed  it,  "rather  high  in  her  notions,"  still  nothing  could 
be  kinder  ;  and  that  she  took  considerable  interest  in  the  young  couple  was 
manifest  from  the  very  long  lectures  on  housewifery  with  which  she  was  so 
obliging  as  to  entertain  Mrs.  Browdie's  private  ear,  which  were  illustrated  by 
yarioos  references  to  the  domestic  economy  of  the  cottage,  in  which  (thos  ^ 
dnties  falling  exclusively  upon  Kate)  the  good  lady  had  about  as  much  share, 
either  in  theory  or  practice,  as  any  one  of  the  statues  of  the  Twelve  Apostles 
which  embellish  the  exterior  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral. 

"Mr.  Browdie,"  said  Kate,  addressing  his  young  wife,  *'is  the  best- 
hnmonred,  the  kindest  and  heartiest  creature  I  ever  saw.  If  I  were  oppressed 
with  I  don't  know  how  many  cares,  it  would  make  me  happy  only  to  look  at 
him." 

"He  does  seem  indeed,  upon  my  word,  a  most  excellent  creature,  Kate," 
said  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  "  most  excellent.  And  I  am  sure  that  at  all  times  it 
will  give  me  pleasure — really  pleasure  now — to  have  you,  Mrs.  Browdie,  to 
see  me  in  this  plain  and  homely  manner.  We  make  no  display,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  with  an  air  which  seemed  to  insinuate  that  they  could  make  a  vast 
deal  if  they  were  so  disposed — **no  fuss,  no  preparation  ;  I  wouldn't  allow  it. 
I  said,  *  Kate,  my  dear,  you  will  only  make  Mrs.  Browdie  feel  uncomfortable, 
and  how  very  foolish  and  inconsiderate  that  would  be  ! '" 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure,  ma'am,"  returned  Mrs. 
Browdie,  gratefully.  **  It's  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  John.  I  am  afraid  we  are 
keeping  you  up  very  late,  ma'am. " 

"Late  1 "  cned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  sharp,  thin  laugh,  and  one  little  cough 
at  the  end,  like  a  note  of  admiration  expressed.  "  This  is  quite  early  for  us. 
We  used  to  keep  such  hours  !  Twelve,  one,  two,  three  o'clock  was  nothing  to 
ns.  Balls,  dinners,  card-parties — never  were  such  rakes  as  the  people  about 
where  we  used  to  live.  I  often  think  now,  I  am  sure,  that  how  we  ever  could 
ffo  through  with  it  is  quite  astonishing — and  that  is  just  the  evil  of  having  a 
large  connection  and  being  a  great  deal  sought  after,  which  I  would  recom- 
mend all  young  married  people  steadily  to  resist ;  though  of  course,  and  it's 
perfectly  clear,  and  a  very  happy  thing  too,  /  think,  that  very  few  young 
married  people  can  be  exposed  to  such  temptations.  There  was  one  family  iu 
particular,  tnat  used  to  live  about  a  mile  from  us — not  straight  down  the 
road,  but  turning  sharp  off  to  the  left  by  the  turnpike  where  the  Plymouth 
mail  ran  over  the  donkey — that  were  quite  extraordinary  people  for  giving  the 
most  extrava^nt  parties,  with  artificial  flowers  and  champagne,  and  variegated 
lamps,  and,  m  short,  every  delicacy  of  eating  and  drinking  that  the  moat 
singular  epicure  could  possibly  require — I  don  t  think  there  ever  were  such 
people  as  those  Peltiroguses.     You  remember  the  Peltiroguses,  Kate  ? " 

Kate  saw  that  for  the  ease  and  comfort  of  the  visitors  it  was  high  time  to 
stay  this  flood  of  recollection,  so  answered  that  she  entertained  of  the  Pelti- 
roguses a  most  vivid  and  distinct  remembrance  ;  and  then  said  that  Mr. 
Browdie  had  half  promised,  early  in  the  evening,  that  he  would  sing  a  York- 
shire song,  aud  that  she  was  most  impatient  that  ho  should  redeem  his  pro- 
mise, because  she  was  sure  it  would  afford  her  mamma  more  amusement  and 
pleasure  than  it  was  possible  to  express. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  confirming  her  daughter  with  the  best  possible  grace — for 
there  was  patronage  in  that,  too,  and  a  kind  of  implication  that  she  had  a  dis- 


378  LIFE  AND  .ADVENTURES  OF 

cerning  taste  in  such  matters,  and  was  something  of  a  critic — John  Browdie 
proceeded  to  consider  the  words  of  some  north-country  ditty,  and  to  take  his 
wife's  recollection  respecting  the  same.  This  done,  he  made  divers  ungainly 
movements  in  his  chair,  and  singling  out  one  particular  fly  on  the  ceiling  from 
the  other  flies  there  asleep,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him,  and  began  to  roar  a  m^k 
sentiment  (supposed  to  be  uttered  by  a  gentle  swain  fast  pining  away  with 
love  and  despair)  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  verse,  as  though  some  person  without  had  waited 
until  then  to  make  himself  audible,  was  heard  a  loud  and  violent  knocking  at 
the  street  door — so  loud  and  so  violent,  indeed,  that  the  ladies  started  as  by 
one  accord,  and  John  Browdie  stopped. 

"It  must  be  some  mistake,"  said  Nicholas,  carelessly.  "We  know 
nobody  who  would  come  here  at  this  hour." 

Mrs.  Nickleby  surmised,  however,  that  perhaps  the  counting-house  was 
burnt  down,  or  perhaps  "  the  Mr.  Cheerybles  "  had  sent  to  take  Nicholas  into 
partnership  (which  certainly  appeared  highly  probable  at  that  time  of  night), 
or  perhaps  Mr.  Linkinwater  had  run  away  witn  the  property,  or  perhaps  Miss 
La  Creevy  was  taken  ill,  or  perhaps 

But  a  hasty  exclamation  from  Kate  stopped  her  abruptly  in  her  conjectures, 
and  Ralph  Nickleby  walked  into  the  room. 

**Stay,"  said  Ralph,  as  Nicholas  rose,  and  Kate,  making  her  way  towards 
him,  threw  herself  upon  his  arm.     *'  Before  that  boy  says  a  word,  hear  me." 

Nicholas  bit  his  lip  and  shook  his  head  in  a  threatening  manner,  bat 
appeared  for  the  moment  unable  to  articulate  a  syllable.  Kate  clung  closer  to 
liis  arm,  Smike  retreated  behind  them,  and  John  Browdie,  who  had  heard  of 
Ralph,  and  appeared  to  have  no  great  difficulty  in  recognising  him,  stepped 
between  the  old  man  and  his  young  friend,  as  if  with  the  intention  of 
preventing  either  of  them  from  advancing  a  step  further. 

**  Hear  me,  I  say,"  said  Ralph,  "and  not  him." 

"Say  what  thou  *st  gotten  to  say  then,  sir,"  retorted  John  ;  "and  tak' 
care  thou  dinnot  put  up  angry  bluid  which  thou  'dst  betther  try  to  quiet" 

"  I  should  know  you,"  said  Ralph,  "  by  your  tongue  ;  and  Aim"  (pointing 
to  Smike)  "  by  his  looks." 

"Don't  speak  to  him,"  said  Nicholas,  recovering  his  voice.  **I  will  not 
have  it.  I  will  not  hear  him.  I  do  not  know  that  man.  I  cannot  breathe 
the  air  that  he  corrupts.  His  presence  is  an  insult  to  my  sister.  It  is  shame 
to  see  him.     I  will  not  bear  it,  by " 

"  Stand  ! "  cried  John,  laying  his  heavy  hand  upon  his  chest 

"Then  let  him  instantly  retire,"  said  Nicholas,  struggling.  "I  am  not 
going  to  lay  hands  upon  him,  but  he  shall  withdraw.  I  will  not  have  him 
here.  John — John  Browdie — is  this  my  house — am  I  a  child  ?  If  he  stands 
there,"  cried  Nicholas,  burning  with  fury,  "looking  so  calmly  upon  those 
who  know  his  black  and  dastardly  heart,  he'll  drive  me  mad." 

To  all  these  exclamations  John  Browdie  answered  not  a  word,  but  he 
retained  his  hold  upon  Nicholas  ;  and  when  he  was  silent  agstiHj  spoke. 

"  There's  more  to  say  and  hear  than  thou  think'st  for,  said  John.  "I 
tell  *ee  I  ha'  gotten  scent  o'  thot  already.  Wa'at  be  that  shadow  ootsidc  door 
there  ?  Noo  schoolmeasther,  show  thyself,  mun  ;  dinnot  be  sheame-feaced. 
Noo,  auld  gen'lm'n,  let's  have  schoolmeasther,  coom. " 

Hearing  this  adjuration,  Mr.  Squeers,  who  had  been  lingering  in  the  passage 
until  such  time  as  it  should  be  expedient  for  him  to  enter  and  he  could  appear 
with  eflect,  was  fain  to  present  himself  in  a  somewhat  undignified  and  sneak- 
ing way ;  at  which  John  Browdie  laughed  with  such  keen  and  heartfelt 


I 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  379 

delight,  that  even  Kate,  in  all  the  pain,  anxiety,  and  surprise  of  the  scene, 
and  thongh  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  felt  a  disposition  to  join  him. 

"  Have  you  done  enjoying  yourself,  sir  ? "  said  Ralph,  at  length. 

"  Pratty  nigh  for  the  prasant  time,  sir,"  replied  John. 

••  I  can  wait,"  said  Ralph.     "  Take  your  own  time,  pray." 

Ralph  waited  until  there  was  a  perfect  silence,  and  then  turning  to  Mrs. 
Nickleby,  but  directing  an  eager  glance  at  Kate,  as  if  more  anxious  to  watch 
his  effect  upon  her,  said — 

"  Now,  ma'am,  listen  to  me.  I  don't  imagine  that  you  were  a  party  to  a 
very  fine  tirade  of  words  sent  me  by  that  boy  of  yours,  because  I  don't  believe 
that  under  his  control,  you  have  the  slightest  will  of  your  own,  or  that  your 
advice,  your  opinion,  your  wants,  your  wishes — anything  which  in  nature  and 
reason  (or  of  what  use  is  your  great  experience  ?)  ought  to  weigh  with  him — 
has  the  slightest  influence  or  weight  whatever,  or  is  taken  for  a  moment  into 
account." 

Mrs.  Nickleby  shook  her  head  and  sighed,  as  if  there  were  a  good  deal  in 
that,  certainly. 

**For  this  reason,"  resumed  Ralph,  "I  address  myself  to  you,  ma'am. 
For  this  reason,  partly,  and  partly  because  I  do  not  wish  to  be  disgraced  by 
the  acts  of  a  vicious  stripling  whom  /  was  obliged  to  disown,  and  who,  after- 
wards, in  his  boyish  majesty,  feigns  to — ha  !  na  ! — to  disown  ine,  I  present 
myself  here  to-night.  I  have  another  motive  for  coming — a  motive  of 
humanity.  I  come  here,"  said  Ralph,  looking  round  with  a  biting  and 
triumphant  smile,  and  gloating  and  dwelling  upon  the  words  as  if  he  were 
loath  to  lose  the  pleasure  of  saying  them,  *'to  restore  a  parent  his  child. 
Ay,  sir,"  he  continued,  bending  eagerly  forward,  and  addressing  Nicholas,  as 
he  marked  the  change  of  his  countenance,  **  to  restore  a  parent  his  child — his 
son,  sir — trepanned,  waylaid,  and  guarded  at  every  turn  by  you,  with  the 
base  design  of  robbing  him  some  day  of  any  little  wretched  pittance  of  which 
he  might  become  possessed." 

•*  In  that,  you  know  you  lie,"  said  Nicholas,  proudly. 

"In  this,  I  know  I  speak  the  truth — I  have  his  father  here,"  retorted 
Balph. 

"  Here  !  **  sneered  Squeers,  stepping  forward.  "  Do  you  you  hear  that  ? 
Here  !  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  be  carefiU  that  his  father  didn't  turn  up,  and 
send  him  back  to  me  ?  Why,  his  father's  my  friend  ;  he's  to  come  back  to 
nae  directly,  he  is.  Now,  what  do  you  say — eh  ? — now — come — what  do  you 
say  to  that  ? — an't  you  sorry  you  took  so  much  trouble  for  nothing  ?  an't  you  ? 
an't  you  ? " 

**  You  bear  upon  your  body  certain  marks  I  gave  you,"  said  Nicholas, 
looking  quietly  away,  "and  may  talk  in  acknowledgment  of  them  as  much 
as  you  please.  You'll  talk  a  long  time  before  you  rub  them  out,  Mr. 
Squeers. 

The  estimable  gentleman  last  named  cast  a  hasty  look  at  the  table,  as  if  he 
were  prompted  by  this  retort  to  throw  a  jug  or  bottle  at  the  head  of  Nicholas, 
but  he  was  interrupted  in  this  design  (if  such  design  ho  had)  by  Ralph,  who, 
touching  him  on  the  elbow,  bade  him  tell  the  father  that  he  might  now 
appear  and  claim  his  son. 

This  being  purely  a  labour  of  love,  Mr.  Scpeers  readily  complied,  and 
leaving  the  room  for  the  purpose,  almost  immediately  returned,  supporting  a 
sleek  personage  with  an  oily  face,  who,  bursting  from  him,  and  giving  to  view 
the  form  and  face  of  Mr.  Snawloy,  made  straight  up  to  Smike,  and  tucking 
that  poor  fellow's  head  under  his  arm  in  a  most  uncouth  and  awkward 
embrace,  elevated  his  broad-brimmed  hat  at  arm's  length  in  the  air  as  a 


L 


380  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

token  of  devoat  thaii1utt;iTiiig,  exclaiming,  meanwliile,  "  How  little  did  I 
think  of  this  here  joyful  meeting  when  I  saw  him  last !  Oh,  how  little  did  I 
think  it ! " 

' '  Be  composed,  sir,"  said  Ralph,  with  a  gmfi' expiesBioii  of  sympathy,  "  m 
have  ^t  him  now.** 

"Gothim!  Oh,  haren't  I  got  him  !  HaTcI  gothim,  thoogfal"  criedMr. 
Snawley,  scarcely  able  to  believe  it.  "  Yes,  here  he  is,  flesh  and  blood,  flesh 
and  blood." 

"  Vary  little  flesh,"  said  John  Browdie. 

Mr.  Snawley  was  too  mnch  occupied  by  his  parental  feelings  to  notice  this 
remark  ;  and  to  assure  himself  more  completely  of  the  lestoranon  of  his  childi 
tacked  his  head  under  his  arm  again,  and  kept  it  there. 

**  What  was  it,"  said  Snawley,  "  that  made  me  take  such  a  strong  interest 
in  him,  when  that  worthy  instructor  of  youth  brought  him  to  my  house  \ 
AVhat  was  it  that  made  me  bum  all  over  with  a  wish  to  chastise  him  severelj 
for  cutting  away  from  his  best  Mends — his  pastors  and  masters  !" 

"It  was  parental  instinct,  sir,"  observed  Squeers. 

"  That's  what  it  was,  sir,"  rejoined  Snawley  ;  **  the  elevated  feeling— the 
feeling  of  the  ancient  Romans  and  Grecians,  and  of  the  beasts  of  the  field  and 
birds  of  the  air,  with  the  exception  of  rabbits  and  tom-cats,  which  sometimes 
devour  their  ofispring.  My  heart  yearned  towanls  him.  I  could  hare— I 
don't  know  what  I  couldn't  have  done  to  him  in  the  angirr  of  a  father." 

"  It  onlv  shows  what  Xatur*  is,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Squeers.  "  She's  a  rum  'on, 
b  Xatur'." 

"She  is  a  holy  thing,  sir,"  remarked  Snawley. 

"  I  believe  you,"  added  Mr.  Squeers,  with  a  moral  sigh.  "  I  should  like  to 
know  how  we  should  ever  get  on  without  her.  Xatur',"  said  Mr.  Squeen, 
soiTinnly,  "is  more  easier  conceived  than  described.  Oh,  what  a  blessed 
thing,  sir,  to  be  in  a  state  of  catur* ! " 

Peii'Iing  this  philosophical  discourse,  the  bystanders  had  been  quite 
sfjpene^l  with  amazement,  while  Nicholas  had  looked  keenlv  from  Snawler 
to  S^^ueers,  and  from  Squeers  to  Ralph,  divided  between  his  feelings  of  uis- 
gu>r,  doubt,  and  surprise.  At  this  juncture  Smike,  escaping  from  his  father, 
fled  to  Nicholas,  and  implored  him,  in  most  moving  terms,  never  to  give  him 
up,  but  to  let  him  live  and  die  beside  him. 

"If  you  are  this  boy's  father,"  said  Nicholas,  "look  at  the  wreck  he  is, 
and  tell  me  that  you  purpose  to  send  him  back  to  that  loathsome  den  from 
which  I  brought  him." 

"ScantJal  a^ain  !"  cried  Squeers.  "Recollect  you  an't  worth  powder  and 
shot,  but  rU  be  even  with  you  one  way  or  another." 

"Stop,"  interposed  Ralph,  as  Snawley  was  about  to  speak.  "  Let  us  cot 
this  matter  short,  and  no:  bandy  words  here  with  hair-brained  profligates. 
This  is  your  son,  as  you  can  prove — and  you,  Mr.  Squeers,  you  know  thu  boy 
to  be  the  same  tlut  was  with  you  for  so  many  years  under  the  name  of  Smike 
— do  you  ? " 

"  Do  I "  returned  Squeers.     "  Don't  I  ? " 

"  Good,"  said  Ralph ;  "a  very  few  words  will  be  sulflcient  here.  You  had 
a  son  by  your  first  wife,  Mr.  Snawley  ? " 

"  I  had,"  replied  that  person,  "  and  there  he  stands." 

"Well  show  that  presently,"  said  Ralph.     "You  and  your  wife  were 
separated,  and  she  had  the  boy  to  live  with  her,  when  he  was  a  year  old.    Yoa 
BV«d  a  communication  from  her,  when  you  had  lived  apart  a  year  or  two^ 
'  the  boy  was  dead ;  and  you  believed  it  1 " 

*'0r  CQUiBe  I  did ! "  zetomed  Snawley.     "  Oh,  the  joy  of ^ 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  381 

*'Be  rational,  sir,  pray,"  said  Ralj)!!.  '*This  is  busiuess,  and  transports 
interfere  with  it.  This  wife  died  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  or  thereabouts — not 
more — ^in  some  obscure  place^  where  she  was  housekeeper  in  a  family.  Is  that 
the  case  ? " 

•*  That's  the  case,"  replied  Snawley. 

*'  Haying  written  on  her  death-bed  a  letter  of  confession  to  you  about  this 
very  boy,  which,  as  it  was  not  directed  otherwise  than  in  your  name,  only 
reached  you,  and  that  by  a  circuitous  course,  a  few  days  since  ? " 

•*  Just  so,"  said  Snawley.     *'  Correct  in  every  particular,  sir." 

**  And  this  confession,"  resumed  Ralph,  "  is  to  the  effect  that  his  death  was 
an  invention  of  hers  to  wound  you — was  a  part  of  a  system  of  annoyance,  in 
short,  which  you  seem  to  have  adopted  towards  each  other — that  the  boy 
lived,  but  was  of  weak  and  imperfect  intellect — that  she  sent  him  by  a  trusty 
hand  to  a  cheap  school  in  Yorkshire — that  she  had  paid  for  his  education  for 
some  years,  and  then,  being  poor,  and  going  a  long  way  off,  gradually  deserted 
him,  for  which  she  prayed  forgiveness  ? " 

Si^awley  nodded  his  head,  and  wiped  his  eyes ;  the  first  slightly,  the  last 
violently. 

"  The  school  was  Mr.  Squeera's,"  continued  Ralph  ;  **  the  boy  was  left  there 
in  the  name  of  Smike  ;  eveiy  description  was  fully  given,  dates  tally  exactly 
with  Mr.  Squeers's  books,  Mr.  Squeers  is  lodging  with  you  at  this  time  ;  you 
have  two  other  boys  at  his  school ;  you  communicated  the  whole  discovery  to 
him,  ho  brought  you  to  me  as  the  person  who  had  recommended  to  him  the 
kidnapper  of  his  child  ;  and  I  brought  you  here.     Is  that  so  % " 

•'  You  talk  like  a  good  book,  sir,  that's  got  nothing  in  it's  inside  but  what's 
the  truth,"  replied  Snawley. 

**  This  is  your  pocket-book,"  said  Ralph,  producing  one  from  his  coat ;  "  the 
ccrtiiicates  of  your  first  marriage  and  of  the  boy's  birth,  and  your  wife's  two 
letters,  and  every  other  paper  that  can  support  these  statements  directly  or  by 
implication,  are  here,  are  tney  ? " 

•*  Every  one  of  *em,  sir." 

**  And  you  don't  object  to  their  being  looked  at  here,  so  that  these  people 
may  be  convinced  of  your  power  to  substantiate  your  claim  at  once  in  law  and 
reason,  and  you  may  resume  your  control  over  your  own  son  without  more 
delay.     Do  I  understand  you  ? " 

**  I  couldn't  have  understood  myself  better,  sir." 

'*  There,  then,"  said  Ralph,  tossing  the  pocket-book  upon  the  table.  "Let 
them  see  them  if  they  like  ;  and  as  these  arc  the  original  papei's,  I  should 
recommend  you  to  stand  near  while  they  are  being  examined,  or  you  may 
chance  to  lose  some." 

With  these  words  Ralph  sat  down  unbidden,  and  compressing  his  lips, 
which  were  for  the  moment  slightly  parted  by  a  smile,  folded  his  arms,  and 
looked  for  the  first  time  at  his  nephew. 

Nicholas,  stung  by  the  concluding  taunt,  darted  an  indignant  glance  at 
him  ;  but  commanding  himself  aa  well  as  he  could,  entered  upon  a  close 
examination  of  the  documents,  at  which  John  Browdie  assisted.  Tlicre  was 
nothing  about  them  which  could  be  called  into  question.  The  certificates 
were  regularly  signed  as  extracts  from  the  parish  books,  the  first  letter  liad  a 
genuine  appearance  of  having  been  written  and  preserved  for  some  years,  the 
handwriting  of  the  second  tallied  with  it  exactly  (making  proper  allowance 
for  its  having  been  written  by  a  person  in  extremity),  and  there  were  several 
other  corroboratory  scraps  of  entries  and  memoranda,  which  it  was  equally 
diiUcult  to  question. 


382  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  Dear  Nicholas,"  whispered  Kate,  who  had  been  looking  anxiously  over 
his  shoulder,   "  can  this  be  really  the  case  ?    Is  this  statement  true  ?  " 

*'  I  fear  it  is,"  answered  Nicholas.     "  What  say  you,  John  ? " 

Jqhn  scratched  his  head  and  shook  it,  but  said  nothing  at  alL 

"You  will  observe,  ma'am,"  said  Ralph,  addressing  himself  to  Mrs. 
K  icklcby,  '  *  that  this  boy  being  a  minor  and  not  of  strong  mind,  we  might  have 
come  here  to-night  armed  with  the  powers  of  the  law,  and  backed  up  by  a 
troop  of  its  myrmidons.  I  sliould  liave  done  so,  ma'am,  unquestionably,  but 
for  my  regard  for  the  feelings  of  yourself— and  your  daughter. " 

"You  have  shown  your  regard  for  her  feelings  well,"  said  Nicholas, 
drawing  his  sister  towards  him. 

**  Thank  you,"  replied  Ralph.  **Your  praise,  sir,  is  commendation,  in- 
deed." 

"  Well,"  said  Squeers,  "what's  to  be  done?  Them  hackney-coach  horses 
will  catch  cold  if  we  don't  think  of  moving  ;  there's  one  of  'em  a  sneezing 
now,  so  that  he  blows  the  street-door  right  open.  What's  the  order  of  the 
day — eh  ?     Is  Master  Snawley  to  come  along  with  us  ? " 

"No,  no,  no,"  replied  Smike,  drawing  back,  and  clinging  to  Nicholas. 
"  No.     Pray,  no.     I  will  not  go  from  you  with  him.     No,  no.  ' 

"This  is  a  cruel  thing,"  said  Snawley,  looking  to  his  friends  for  support 
"  Do  parents  bring  children  into  the  world  for  thw  ? " 

"Do  parents  bring  children  into  the  world  for  Hwt  1 "  said  John  Browdie, 
bluntly,  pointing,  as  he  spoke,  to  Squeers. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  retorted  that  gentleman,  topping  his  nose  derisively. 

"Never  I  mind!"  said  John,  "no,  nor  never  nobody  mind,  say'st  thou, 
schoolmeasther.  It's  nobody's  minding  that  keeps  sike  men  as  thou  afloat 
Noo,  then,  where  be'st  thou  coomin'  to  ?  Dang  it,  dinnot  coom  treadin' 
ower  me,  mun." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  John  Browdie  jerked  his  elbow  into  the 
chest  of  Mr.  Squeers,  who  was  advancing  upon  Smike,  with  so  much  dexterity 
that  the  schoolmaster  reeled  and  staggered  back  upon  Ralph  Nickleby,  and 
being  unable  to  recover  his  balance,  knocked  that  gentleman  off  his  chair, 
and  stumbled  heavily  upon  him. 

This  accidental  circumstance  was  the  signal  for  some  very  decisive  pro- 
ceediii.cjs.  In  the  midst  of  a  great  noise,  occasioned  by  the  prayers  and 
entreaties  of  Smike,  the  cries  and  exclamations  of  the  women,  and  the 
vehemence  of  the  men,  demonstrations  were  made  of  carrying  off  the  lost  son 
by  violence  ;  and  Squeers  had  actually  begun  to  haul  him  out,  when  Nicholas 
(who,  until  then,  had  been  evidently  undecided  how  to  act)  took  him  by  the 
collar,  and  shaking  him  so  that  such  teeth  as  he  had  chattered  in  his  head, 
politely  escorted  him  to  the  door,  and  thrusting  him  into  the  passage,  shut  it 
upon  him. 

"Now,"  said  Nicholas  to  the  other  two,  "have  the  kindness  to  follow 
your  friend." 

"  I  want  my  son,"  said  Snawley. 

"Your  sou,"  replied  Nicholas,  "chooses  for  himself.  He  chooses  to 
remain  here,  and  he  shall." 

"  You  won't  give  him  up  ?  "  said  Snawley. 

"  I  would  not  give  him  up  against  his  will,  to  be  the  victim  of  such  brutality 
as  that  to  which  you  would  consign  him,"  replied  Nicholas,  "if  he  were  a 
dog  or  a  rat. " 

"  Knock  that  Nickleby  down  with  a  candlestick,"  cried  Mr.  Squeers. 
through  the  keyhole,  "and  bring  out  my  hat,  somebody  will  you,  umeasUe 
wants  to  steal  it." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  383 

**  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who,  with  Mrs.  Browdie 
had  stood  crying  and  biting  her  fingers  in  a  corner,  while  Kate — very  pale, 
but  perfectly  quiet — had  kept  as  near  her  brother  as  she  could.  "  I  am  very 
sorry,  indeed,  for  all  this.  I  really  don't  know  what  would  be  the  best  to  do, 
and  that's  the  truth.  Nicholas  ought  to  be  the  best  judge,  and  I  hope  ho  is. 
Of  course  it's  a  hard  thing  to  have  to  keep  other  people's  children,  though 
young  Mr.  Snawley  is  certainly  as  useful  and  willing  as  it's  possible  for  any- 
body to  be ;  but  if  it  could  be  settled  in  any  friendly  manner — if  old  Mr. 
Snawley,  for  instance,  would  settle  to  pay  something  certain  for  his  board 
and  lodging,  and  some  fair  arrangement  was  come  to,  so  that  we  undertook 
to  have  fish  twice  a-week,  and  a  pudding  twice,  or  a  dumpling,  or  something 
of  that  sort,  I  do  think  that  it  might  be  very  satisfactory  and  pleasant  for  all 
parties." 

This  compromise,  which  was  proposed  with  abundance  of  tears  and  sighs, 
not  exactly  meeting  the  point  at  issue,  nobody  took  any  notice  of  it ;  ami 
poor  Mrs.  Nickleby  accordingly  proceeded  to  enlighten  Mrs.  Browdie  upon 
the  advantages  of  such  a  scheme  ;  and  the  unhappy  results  flowing  on  all 
occasions  from  her  not  being  attended  to  when  she  proffered  her  advice. 

**You,  sir,"  said  Snawley,  addressing  the  terrified  Smike,  "are  an  un- 
natural, ungrateful,  unlovable  boy.  You  won't  let  me  love  you  when  I  want 
to.     Won't  you  come  home — won't  you  ? " 

**No,  no,  no,"  cried  Smike,  shrinking  back. 

**He  never  loved  nobody,"  bawled  Squeers,  through  the  keyhole.  "He 
never  loved  me ;  he  never  loved  Wackford,  who  is  next  door  but  one  to  a 
cherubim.  How  can  you  expect  that  he'll  love  his  father  ?  He'll  never  love 
his  father,  he  won't.  He  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  father.  He  don't 
understand  it.     It  an't  in  him." 

Mr.  Snawley  looked  steadfastly  at  his  son  for  a  full  minute,  and  then 
covering  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  once  more  raising  his  hat  in  the  air, 
appeared  deeply  occupied  in  deploring  his  black  ingratitude.  Then  drawing 
his  arm  across  his  eyes,  he  picked  up  Mr.  Squeors's  hat,  and  taking  it  under 
one  arm,  and  his  own  under  the  other,  walked  slowly  and  sadly  out. 

"Your  romance,  sir,"  said  Ralph,  lingering  for  a  moment,  "is  destroyed, 
I  take  it  No  unknown  ;  no  persecuted  descendant  of  a  man  of  high  degree  ; 
but  the  weak,  imbecile  son  of  a  poor,  petty  tradesman.  We  shall  see  how 
your  sympathy  melts  before  plain  matter  of  fact." 

**  You  shall,"  said  Nicholas,  motioning  towards  the  door. 

"And  trust  me,  sir,"  added  Ralph,  "that  I  never  supposed  you  would 
give  him  up  to-night.  Pride,  obstinacy,  reputation  for  fine  feeling,  were  all 
against  it.  These  must  be  brought  down,  sir,  lowered,  crushed,  as  they  shall 
be  soon.  The  protracted  and  wearing  anxiety  and  expense  of  the  law  in  its 
most  oppressive  form,  its  torture  from  hour  to  hour,  its  weary  days  and  sleep- 
less nights — with  these  I'll  prove  you  and  break  your  haughty  spirit,  strong  as 
you  deem  it  now.  And  when  you  make  this  house  a  hell,  and  visit  these 
trials  upon  yonder  wretched  object  (as  you  will ;  I  know  you),  and  those  who 
think  you  now  a  young-fledged  hero,  we'll  go  into  old  accounts  between  us 
two,  and  see  who  stands  the  debtor,  and  comes  out  best  at  last — even  before 
the  world." 

Ralph  Nickleby  withdrew.  But  Mr.  Squeers,  who  had  heard  a  i)ortion  of 
this  closing  address,  and  was  by  this  time  wound  up  to  a  jutch  of  impotent 
malignity  almost  unprecedented,  could  not  refrain  from  returning  to  the 
parlour-door,  and  actually  cutting  some  dozen  capers  with  various  wry  fai;es 
and  hideous  grimaces,  expressive  of  his  triumphant  confidence  in  the  downfall 
and  defeat  of  Nicholas. 


384  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Having  concluded  this  war-dance,  in  which  his  short  trousers  and  large 
boots  had  borne  a  very  conspicuous  figure,  Mr.  Squeers  followed  his  friends, 
and  the  family  were  left  to  meditate  upon  recent  occurrences. 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

THROWS  SOME  LIGHT  UPON  NICHOLAS'S  LOVE  ;    BUT  WHETHER  FOR  GOOD  OR 

EVIL  THE   READER  MUST  DETERMINE. 

AFTER  an  anxious  coiisideration  of  the  painful  and  embarrassing  position 
in  which  he  was  placed,  Nicholas  decided  that  he  ought  to  lose  no  time  in 
frankly  stating  it  to  the  kind  brothers.  Availing  himself  of  the  first 
opportunity  of  being  alone  with  Mr.  Charles  Cheeryble  at  the  close  of  the  next 
day,  he  accordingly  related  Smike's  little  history,  and  modestly  but  firmly 
expressed  his  hope  that  the  good  old  gentleman  would,  under  such  circumstances 
as  ho  described,  hold  him  justified  in  adopting  the  extreme  course  of  interfering 
between  parent  and  child,  and  upholding  the  latter  in  his  disobedience ;  even 
though  his  horror  and  dread  of  his  father  might  seem,  and  would  doubtless  be 
represented  as  a  thing  so  repulsive  and  unnatural,  as  to  render  those  who 
countenaced  him  in  it  fit  objects  of  general  detestation  and  abhorrence. 

••  So  deeply-rooted  does  this  horror  of  the  man  appear  to  be,"  said  Nicholas, 
''  that  I  can  hardly  believe  he  really  is  his  son.  Nature  does  not  seem  to 
have  implanted  in  his  breast  one  lingering  feeling  of  afifection  for  him,  and 
surely  she  can  never  err." 

"My  dear  sir,"  replied  brother  Charles,  **you  fall  into  the  very  common 
mistake  of  charging  upon  Nature  matters  with  which  she  has  not  the  smallest 
connection,  and  for  which  she  is  in  no  way  responsible.  Men  talk  of  nature 
as  an  abstract  thing,  and  lose  sight  of  what  is  natural  while  thev  do  so.  Here 
is  a  poor  lad  who  has  never  felt  a  parent's  care,  who  has  scarcely  known  any- 
thing all  his  life  but  suffering  and  sorrow,  presented  to  a  man  who  he  is  told 
is  his  father,  and  whose  first  act  is  to  signify  his  intention  of  putting  an  end 
to  his  short  term  of  happiness  :  of  consigning  him  to  his  old  fate,  and  taking 
him  from  the  only  friend  he  has.  ever  had — which  is  yourself.  If  Nature,  in 
such  a  case,  put  into  that  lad's  breast  but  one  secret  prompting  which  urged 
him  towards  his  father  and  away  from  you,  she  would  be  a  liar  and  an  idiot" 

Nicholas  was  delighted  to  find  that  the  old  gentleman  spoke  so  warmly, 
and  in  the  hope  that  he  might  say  something  more  to  the  same  purpose  made 
no  reply. 

*•  The  same  mistake  presents  itself  to  me,  in  one  shape  or  other,  at  every 
turn,"  said  brother  Charles.  *' Parents  who  never  showed  their  love,  com- 
plain of  want  of  natural  affection  in  their  children — children  who  never 
showed  their  duty,  complain  of  want  of  natural  feeling  in  their  parents — law- 
makers who  find  both  so  miserable  that  their  affections  have  never  had  enough 
of  life's  sun  to  develop  them,  are  loud  in  their  moralisings  over  parents  and 
children  too,  and  cry  that  the  very  ties  of  nature  are  disregarded.  Natural 
affections  and  instincts,  my  dear  sir,  are  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Almighty's 
works,  but  like  other  beautiful  works  of  His,  they  must  be  reared  and  fostered, 
or  it  is  as  natural  that  they  should  be  wholly  obscured,  and  that  new  feelings 
should  usurp  their  place,  as  it  is  that  the  sweetest  productions  of  the  earth, 
left  un  tended,  should  be  choked  with  weeds  and  briars.  I  wish  we  could  be 
brought  to  consider  this,  and  remembering  natural  obligations  a  little  more  at 
the  right  time,  talk  about  them  a  little  less  at  the  wrong  one." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  385 

After  this  brother  Charles,  who  had  talked  himself  into  a  great  heat,  stopped 
to  cool  a  little,  and  then  continued — 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  surprised,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  have  listened  to  your 
recital  with  so  little  astonishment.  That  is  easily  explained — your  uncle  has 
been  here  this  morning." 

Nicholas  coloured,  and  drew  back  a  step  or  two. 

**Yes,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  tapping  his  desk  emphatically,  "here — in 
this  room.  He  would  listen  neither  to  reason,  feeling,  nor  justice.  But 
brother  Ned  was  hard  upon  him — brother  Ned,  sir,  might  have  melted  a 
l)aving-stone." 

**  He  came  to **  said  Nicholas. 

**To  complain  of  you,"  returned  brother  Charles,  "to  poison  our  ears  with 
calumnies  and  falsehoods  ;  but  he  came  on  a  fruitless  errand,  and  went  away 
with  some  wholesome  truths  in  his  car  besides.  Brother  Ned,  my  dear  Air. 
Nickleby — brother  Ned,  sir,  is  a  perfect  lion.  So  is  Tim  Linkinwater — Tim 
is  quite  a  lion.  We  had  Tim  in  to  face  him  at  first,  and  Tim  was  at  him,  sir, 
before  you  could  say  '  Jack  Robinson.*  " 

"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  for  all  the  deep  obligations  you  impose  upon 
me  every  day  ? "  said  Nicholas. 

"  By  keeping  silence  upon  the  subject,  my  dear  sir,"  returned  brother 
Charles.  *'  You  shall  be  righted.  At  least  you  shall  not  be  wronged.  No- 
body belonging  to  you  shall  be  wronged.  They  shall  not  hurt  a  hair  of  your 
head,  or  the  boy's  head,  or  your  mother's  head,  or  your  sister's  head.  I  have 
said  it,  brother  Ned  has  said  it,  Tim  Linkinwater  has  said  it.  We  have  all 
said  it,. and  we'll  all  do  it.  I  have  seen  the  father — if  he  is  the  father — and  I 
suppose  he  must  be.  He  is  a  barbarian  and  a  hypocrite,  Air.  Nickleby.  I 
tola  him,  'You  are  a  barbarian,  sir.'  I  did.  I  said,  'You're  a  barbarian, 
sir.*  And  I'm  glad  of  it — I  am  very  glad  I  told  him  he  was  a  barbarian — very 
glad,  indeed  !  "• 

By  this  time  brother  Charles  was  in  such  a  very  warm  state  of  indignation, 
that  Nicholas  thought  he  might  venture  to  put  in  a  word,  but  the  moment  he 
essayed  to  do  so,  Mr.  Cheeryble  laid  his  hand  softly  upon  his  arm,  and  pointed 
to  a  chair. 

**  The  subject  is  at  an  end  for  the  present,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  wiping 
his  face.  *' Don't  revive  it  by  a  single  word.  I  am  going  to  speak  upon 
another  subject — ^a  confidential  subject,  Mr.  Nickleby.  Wo  must  be  cool 
again,  we  must  be  cool." 

After  two  or  three  turns  across  the  room  he  resumed  his  scat,  and  drawing 
his  chair  nearer  to  that  on  which  Nicholas  was  seated,  said — 

**I  am  about  to  employ  you,  my  dear  sir,  on  a  confidential  and  delicate 
mission." 

**  You  might  employ  many  a  more  able  messenger,  sir,"  said  Nicholas, 
**but  a  more  trustworthy  or  zealous  one,  I  may  be  bold  to  say,  you  could  not 
find." 

•*0f  that  I  am  well  assured,"  returned  brother  Charles,  "well  assured. 
You  will  give  me  credit  for  thiuking  so  when  I  tell  you  that  the  object  of 
this  mission  is  a  young  lady." 

**  A  young  lady,  sir  ! "  cried  Nicholas,  quite  trembling  for  the  moment  with 
his  eagerness  to  hear  more. 

**  A  very  beautiful  young  lady,"  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  gravely. 

"Pray  go  on,  sir,"  returned  Nicholas. 

**  I  am  thinking  how  to  do  so,"  said  brother  Charles — sadly,  as  it  seemed 
to  his  young  friend,  and  with  an  expression  allied  to  pain.     "You  acci- 

u  25 


386  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

dentally  saw  a  young  lady  in  this  room  one  morning,  my  dear  sir,  in  a 
Vainting  fit.     Do  you  remember  ?    Perhaps  yon  have  forgotten " 

**0h,  no,"  replied  Nicholas,  hurriedly.  **I — I — remember  it  very  well 
indeed." 

^*  She  is  the  lady  I  speak  of,"  said  brother'  Charles.  Like  the  famous 
parrot,  Nicholas  thought  a  good  deal,  but  was  unable  to  utter  a  word. 

**She  is  the  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  **of  a  lady  who,  when  she 
was  a  beautiful  girl  herself,  and  I  was  very  many  years  younger — t — ^it  seems 
a  strange  word  for  me  to  utter  now — I  loved  very  dearly.  You  will  smile, 
perhaps,  to  hear  a  grey-headed  man  talk  about  such  things ;  you  will  not 
offend  me,  for  when  I  was  as  young  as  you,  I  daresay  I  should  have  done  the 


same." 


it 
it 


I  have  no  such  inclination,  indeed,"  said  Nicholas. 

My  dear  brother  Ned,"  continued  Mr.  Cheeryble,  "was  to  have  married 
her  sister,  but  she  died.     She  is  dead,  too,  now,  and  has  been  for  many  years. 
She  married — her  choice  ;  and  I  wish  I  could  add  that  her  after-life  was  as 
happy  as,  God  knows,  I  ever  prayed  it  might  be  ! " 
A  short  silence  intervened,  which  Nicholas  made  no  effort  to  break. 

*'  If  trial  and  calamity  had  fallen  as  lightly  on  his  head  as  in  the  deepeajt 
truth  of  my  own  heart  I  ever  hoped  (for  her  sake)  it  would,  his  life  would 
have  been  one  of  peace  and  happiness,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  calmly.  "It 
will  be  enough  to  say  that  this  was  not  the  case — that  she  was  not  happy— 
that  they  fell  into  complicated  distresses  and  difficulties — that  she  came, 
twelve  months  before  her  death,  to  appeal  to  my  old  friendship  ;  sadly 
changed,  sadly  altered,  broken -spirited  from  suflering  and  ill-usa^e,  and 
almost  broken-hearted.  He  readily  availed  himself  of  the  money  which,  to 
give  her  but  one  hour's  peace  of  mind,  I  would  have  poured  out  as  freely  as 
water — nay,  he  often  sent  her  back  for  more — and  yet  even  while  he  squandered 
it,  he  made  the  very  success  of  these,  her  applications  to  me,  the  groundwork 
of  cruel  taunts  and  jeers,  protesting  that  he  knew  she  thought  with  bitter 
remorse  of  the  choice  she  had  made,  that  she  had  married  him  from  motives 
of  interest  and  vanity  (he  was  a  gay  young  man  with  great  friends  about  him 
when  she  chose  him  for  her  husband),  and  venting,  in  short,  upon  her,  by 
every  unjust  and  unkind  means,  the  bitterness  of  that  ruin  and  disappoint* 
nient  which  had  been  brought  about  by  his  profligacy  alone.  In  those  times 
this  young  lady  was  a  mere  child.  I  never  saw  her  again  until  that  morning 
when  you  saw  her  also.     But  my  nephew,  Frank * 

Nicholas  started,  and  instantly  apologising  for  the  interruption,  begged 
his  patron  to  proceed. 

"My  nephew,  Frank,  I  say,"  resumed  Mr.  Cheeryble,  ** encountered  her 
by  accident,  and  lost  sight  of  her  almost  in  a  minute  afterwards,  within  two 
days  after  he  returned  to  England  Her  father  lay  in  some  secret  place  to 
avoid  his  creditors,  reduced,  between  sickness  and  poverty,  to  the  verge  of 
death,  and  she,  a  child — we  might  almost  think,  if  we  did  not  know  the 
wisdom  of  all  heaven's  decrees,  who  should  have  blessed  a  better  roan — was 
steadily  braving  privation,  degradation,  and  everything  most  terrible  to  such 
a  young  and  delicate  creature's  heart,  for  the  purpose  of  supporting  hiuL  Sbe 
was  attended,  sir,"  said  brother  Charles,  "in  these  reverses,  by  one  faithfol 
creature,  who  had  been,  in  old  times,  a  poor  kitchen  wench  in  the  family, 
wlio  was  then  their  solitary  servant,  but  who  might  have  been,  for  the  truth 
and  fidelity  of  her  heart — who  might  have  been — ah  !  the  wife  of  Tim  Linkin* 
water  himself,  sir  !  " 

Pursuing  tiiis  encomium  upon  tlio  poor  follower  with  such  energy  and 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  387 

relish  as  no  words  can  describe,  brother  Charles  leant  back  in  his  chair,  and 
delivered  the  remainder  of  his  relation  with  greater  composure. 

It  was  in  substance  this :  That  proudly  resisting  all  o&ers  of  permanent  aid 
and  support  from  her  late  mother's  friends,  because  they  were  made  conditional 
upon  her  quitting  the  wretched  man,  her  father,  who  had  no  friends  left,  and 
shrinking  with  instinctive  delicacy  from  appealing  in  their  behalf  to  that  true 
and  noble  heart  which  he  hated,  and  had,  through  its  greatest  and  purest 
goodness,  deeply  wronged  by  misconstruction  and  ill-report,  this  young  girl 
had  struggled  alone  and  unassisted  to  maintain  him  by  the  labour  of  her 
hands.  That  through  the  utmost  depths  of  poverty  and  affliction  she  had 
toiled,  never  turning  aside  for  an  instant  from  her  task,  never  wearied  by  the 
petulant  gloom  of  a  sick  man  sustained  by  no  consoling  recollections  of  the 
past  or  hopes  of  the  future  ;  never  repining  for  the  comforts  she  had  rejected, 
or  bewailing  the  hard  lot  she  bad  voluntarily  incurred.  That  every  little 
accomplishment  she  had  acquired  in  happier  days  had  been  put  into  requisi- 
tion for  this  purpose,  and  directed  to  this  one  end.  That  for  two  long  years, 
toiling  by  day  and  often,  too,  by  night,  working  at  the  needle,  the  pencil,  and 
the  pen,  and  submitting,  as  a  daily  governess,  to  such  caprices  and  indignities 
as  women  (with  daughters,  too)  too  often  love  to  inflict  upon  their  own  sex  when 
they  serve  in  such  capacities,  as  though  in  jealousy  of  the  superior  intelligence 
which  they  are  necessitated  to  employ — indignities,  in  ninety-nine  cases  out 
iA  every  hundred,  heaped  upon  persons  immeasurably  and  incalculably  their 
betters,  but  outweighing  in  comparison  any  that  the  most  heartless  blackleg 
would  put  upon  his  groom — that  for  two  long  years,  by  dint  of  labouring  iu 
all  these  capacities  and  wearying  in  none,  she  had  not  succeeded  in  the  sole 
aim  and  object  of  her  life,  but  that,  overwhelmed  by  accumulated  difficulties 
and  disappointments,  she  had  been  compelled  to  seek  out  her  mother's  old 
friend,  and  with  a  bursting  heart,  to  coniide  in  him  at  last. 

**If  I  had  been  poor,"  said  brother  Charles,  with  sparkling  eyes;  "if  I 
had  been  poor,  Mr.  Nickleby,  my  dear  sir,  which  thank  God  I  am  not,  I 
would  have  denied  myself — of  course  anybody  would  under  such  circumstances 
— the  commonest  necessaries  of  life,  to  help  her.  As  it  is,  the  task  is  a 
difficult  one.  If  her  father  were  dead,  nothing  could  be  easier,  for  then  she 
ahonld  share  and  cheer  the  happiest  home  that  brother  Ned  and  I  could  have, 
as  if  she  were  our  child  or  sister.  But  he  is  still  alive.  Nobody  can  help 
liim — that  has  been  tried  a  thousand  times ;  he  was  not  abandoned  by  all 
irithout  good  cause,  I  know." 

**  Cannot  she  be  persuaded  to "    Nicholas  hesitated  when  he  had  got 

thus  far. 

••To  leave  him?"  said  brother  Charles.  "Who  could  entreat  a  child  to 
desert  her  parent  ?  Such  entreaties,  limited  to  her  seeing  him  occasionally, 
liave  been  urged  upon  her — not  by  me — but  always  with  the  same  result." 

"  Is  he  kind  to  her  ? "  said  Nicholas.     **  Does  he  requite  her  affection  ? " 

"True  kindness,  considerate,  self-denying  kindness,  is  not  in  his  nature," 
tetomed  Mr.  Cheeryble.  "  Such  kindness  as  he  knows,  ho  regards  her  with, 
I  believe.  The  mother  was  a  gentle,  loving,  confiding  creature,  and  although 
he  wounded  her  from  their  marriage  till  her  death  as  cruelly  and  wantonly  as 
ever  man  did,  she  never  ceased  to  love  him.  She  commended  him  on  her 
death-bed  to  her  child's  care.  Her  child  has  never  forgotten  it,  and  never 
WiU." 

'•  Have  you  no  influence  over  him  ? "  asked  Nicholas. 

••  I,  my  dear  sir  !  The  last  man  in  the  world.  Such  is  his  jealousy  and 
hatred  of  me,  that  if  he  knew  his  daughter  had  opened  her  heart  to  me,  ho 
Mroold  render  her  life  miserable  with  his  reproaches  ;  although — this  is  tlu^ 


388  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

iDconsisteDcy  and  selfishness  of  his  character — although,  if  he  knew  that 
every  penny  she  had  came  from  me,  he  would  not  relinquish  one  personal 
desire  that  the  most  reckless  expenditure  of  her  scanty  stock  could  gratify." 

"  An  unnatural  scoundrel  ! "  said  Nicholas,  indignantly. 
Wo  will  use  no  harsh  terms,"  said  brother  Charles,  in  a  gentle  voice; 

but  accommodate  ourselves  to  the  circumstances  in  which  this  young  lady 
is  placed.  Such  assistance  as  I  have  prevailed  upon  her  to  accept,  I  liave 
beeu  obliged,  at  her  own  earnest  request,  to  dole  out  in  the  smallest  portions, 
lest  he,  finding  how  easily  money  was  procured,  should  squander  it  even  more 
lightly  than  he  is  accustomed  to  do.  She  has  come  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro, 
secretly  and  by  night,  to  take  even  this,  and  I  cannot  bear  that  things  should 
go  on  in  this  way,  Mr.  Nickleby — I  really  cannot  bear  it." 

Then  it  came  out  by  little  and  little,  how  that  the  twins  had  been  rerolving 
in  their  good  old  heads  manifold  plans  and  schemes  for  helping  this  young 
lady  in  the  most  delicate  and  considerate  way,  and  so  that  her-  father  should 
not  suspect  the  source  whence  the  aid  was  derived  ;  and  how  they  had  at  last 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  best  course  would  be  to  make  a  feint  of 
purchasing  her  little  drawings  and  ornamental  work  at  a  high  price,  and 
keeping  up  a  constant  demand  for  the  same.  For  the  furtherance  of  which 
end  and  object  it  was  necessary  that  somebody  should  represent  the  dealer  in 
such  commodities,  and  after  great  deliberation,  they  had  pitched  upon 
Nicholas  to  support  this  character. 

*'  He  knows  me,"  said  brother  Charles,  **  and  he  knows  my  brother  Ned. 
Neither  of  us  would  do.  Frank  is  a  very  good  fellow — a  very  fine  fellow— 
but  we  are  afraid  that  he  might  be  a  little  flighty  and  thoughtless  in  such  a 
delicate  matter,  and  that  he  might,  perhaps — that  he  might,  in  short,  be  too 
susceptible  (for  she  is  a  beautiful  creature,  sir  ;  just  what  her  poor  mother 
was),  and  falling  in  love  with  her  before  he  well  knew  his  own  mind,  carry 
j)ain  and  sorrow  into  that  innocent  breast,  which  we  would  be  the  humble 
instruments  of  making  gradually  happy.  He  took  an  extraordinary  interest 
in  her  fortunes  when  he  lirst  hai)pened  to  encounter  her  ;  and  we  gather  from 
the  inquiries  we  have  made  of  him,  that  it  was  she  in  whose  behalf  he  made 
that  turmoil  which  led  to  your  first  acquaintance." 

Nicholas  stammered  out  that  he  had  before  suspected  the  possibility  of 
such  a  thing ;  and  in  explanation  of  its  having  occurred  to  him,  described 
when  and  where  he  had  seen  the  young  lady  himself. 

*'  Well,  then,  you  see,"  continued  brother  Charles,  "  that  he  wouldn't  do. 
Tim  Linkinwater  is  out  of  the  question  ;  for  Tim,  sir,  is  such  a  tremendous 
fellow,  that  he  could  never  contain  himself,  but  would  go  to  loggerheads  with 
the  father  before  he  had  been  in  the  place  five  minutes.  You  don't  know 
what  Tim  is,  sir,  when  he  is  roused  by  anything  that  appeals  to  his  feelings 
very  strongly — then  he  is  terrific,  sir,  is  Tim  Linkinwater — absolutely  terrific. 
Now,  in  you  we  can  repose  the  strictest  confidence  ;  in  you  we  have  seen— or 
at  least  /  have  seen,  and  that's  the  same  thing,  for  there's  no  ditference 
between  me  and  my  brother  Ned,  except  that  he  is  the  finest  creature  that 
ever  lived,  and  that  there  is  not,  and  never  will  be,  anybody  like  him  in  all 
the  world — in  you  we  have  seen  domestic  virtues  and  affections,  and  delicacy 
of  feeling,  which  exactly  qualify  you  for  such  an  ofiice.  And  you  are  the 
man,  sir." 

"The  young  lady,  sir,"  said  Nicholas,  who  felt  so  embarrassed  that  he  had 
no  small  difficulty  in  saying  anything  at  all — **does — is — is  she  a  party  to 
this  innocent  deceit  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Mr.  Cheery blc  ;  **  at  least  she  knows  you  come  from 
us ;  she  docs  not  know,  however,  but  that  we  shall  dispose  of  these  little 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  389 

productions  that  you'll  purchase  from  time  to  time  ;  and,  perhaps,  if  you  did 
it  very  well  (that  is,  very  well  indeed),  perhaps  she  might  be  brought  to 
believe  that  we — that  we  made  a  profit  of  them.     Eh  ? — Eh  ? " 

In  this  guileless  and  most  kind  simplicity,  brother  Charles  was  so  happy, 
and  in  this  possibility  of  the  young  lady  being  led  to  think  that  she  was 
under  no  obli^tion  to  him,  he  evidently  felt  so  sanguine  and  had  so  mucli 
delisht,  that  Nicholas  would  not  breathe  a  doubt  upon  the  subject. 

AU  this  time,  however,  there  hovered  upon  the  tip  of  his  tongue  a  con- 
fession that  the  very  same  objections  which  Mr.  Cheeryble  had  stated  to  the 
employment  of  his  nephew  in  this  commission  applied  with  at  least  equal 
force  and  validity  to  himself,  and  a  hundred  times  had  he  been  upon  the 
point  of  avowing  the  real  state  of  his  feelings,  and  entreating  to  be  released 
from  it.  But  as  often,  treading  upon  the  heels  of  this  impulse,  came  another 
which  urffcd  him  to  refrain,  and  to  keep  his  secret  to  his  own  breast.  **  Why 
should  I, '  thought  Nicholas,  **  why  should  I  throw  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
this  benevolent  and  high-minded  design  ?  What  if  I  do  love  and  reverence 
this  good  and  lovely  creature — should  I  not  appear  a  most  arrogant  and 
shallow  coxcomb  if  I  gravely  represented  that  there  was  any  danger  of  her 
falling  in  love  with  me?  Besides,  have  I  no  confidence  in  myself?  Am  I 
not  now  bound  in  honour  to  repress  these  thoughts  ?  Has  not  this  excellent 
msiji  a  right  to  my  best  and  heartiest  services,  and  should  any  considerations 
of  self  deter  me  from  rendering  them  ? " 

Asking  himself  such  questions  as  these,  Nicholas  mentally  answered  with 
great  emphasis,  **  No !  *  and  persuading  himself  that  he  was  a  most  con- 
scientious and  glorious  martyr,  nobly  resolved  to  do  what,  if  he  had  examined 
his  own  heart  a  little  more  carefully,  he  would  have  found  he  could  not  resist. 
Snch  is  the  sleight-of-hand  by  which  we  juggle  with  ourselves,  and  change 
our  very  weaknesses  into  staunch  and  most  magnanimous  virtues  ! 

Mr.  Cheeryble,  being  of  course  wholly  unsuspicious  that  such  reflections 
were  presenting  themselves  to  his  young  friend,  proceeded  to  give  him  tli(5 
needful  credentials  and  directions  for  his  first  visit,  which  was  to  be  made 
next  morning  ;  and  all  preliminaries  being  arranged,  and  the  strictest  secresy 
enjoined,  Nicholas  walked  home  for  the  night  very  thoughtfully  indeed. 

The  place  to  which  Mr.  Cheeryble  had  directed  him  was  a  row  of  mean  and 
not  over-cleanly  houses,  situated  within  "the  Rules"  of  the  King's  Bench 
Prison,  and  not  many  hundred  paces  distant  from  the  obelisk  in  Saint 
Greorge's  Fields.  The  Rules  are  a  certain  liberty  adjoining  the  prison,  autl 
compiising  some  dozen  streets  in  which  debtors  who  can  raise  money  to  pay 
large  fees,  from  which  their  creditors  do  not  derive  any  benefit,  are  permitted 
to  reside  by  the  wise  provisions  of  the  same  enliglitened  laws  which  leave  tlio 
debtor  who  can  raise  no  money  to  starve  in  jail,  without  the  food,  clothing, 
lodging,  or  warmth,  which  are  provided  for  felons  convicted  of  the  mobt 
atrocious  crimes  that  can  disgrace  humanity.  There  are  many  pleasant 
fictions  of  the  law  in  constant  operation,  but  there  is  not  one  so  pleasant  or 
practically  humorous  as  that  which  supposes  every  man  to  be  of  equal  value 
in  its  impartial  eye,  and  the  benefits  of  all  laws  to  be  equally  attainable  by  all 
men,  without  the  smallest  reference  to  the  furniture  of  their  pockets. 

To  the  row  of  houses  indicated  to  liini  by  Mr.  Charles  Cheeryble,  Nicholas 
directed  his  steps,  without  much  troubling  his  head  with  such  matters  as 
these  ;  and  at  this  row  of  houses — after  traversing  a  very  dirty  and  dusty 
suburb,  of  which  minor  theatricals,  shell-fish,  ginger-beer,  spring  vans,  green- 
grocery, and  brokers'  shops,  appeared  to  compose  the  main  and  most 
prominent  features — he  at  length  arrived  with  a  palpitating  heart.  There 
vere  small  gardens  in  front  which,   being  wholly  neglected  in  all   other 


390  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

respects,  served  as  little  pens  for  the  dust  to  collect  in,  until  the  wind  came 
round  the  corner  and  blew  it  down  the  road.  Opening  the  rickety  gate 
which,  dangling  on  its  broken  hinges  before  one  of  these,  naif  admitted  and 
half  repulsed  the  visitor,  Nicholas  knocked  at  the-  street-door  with  a  faltering 
hand. 

It  was,  in  truth,  a  shabby  house  outside,  with  very  dim  parlour  windows  and 
very  small  show  of  blinds,  and  very  dirty  muslin  curtains,  daufflinc  across 
the  lower  panes  on  very  loose  and  limp  strings.  Neither,  when  the  ooor  was 
opened,  did  the  inside  appear  to  belie  the  outward  promise,  as  there  was  faded 
carpeting  on  the  stairs  and  faded  oilcloth  in  the  passa^ ;  in  addition  to  which 
discemfbrts  a  gentleman  Ruler  was  smoking  hard  in  tne  front-parlour  (though 
it  was  not  yet  noon),  while  the  lady  of  the  house  was  busily  engaged  in 
turpentining  the  disjointed  fragments  of  a  tent-bedstead  at  the  door  of  the 
back-parlour,  as  if  in  preparation  for  the  reception  of  some  new  lodger  who 
had  been  fortunate  enough  to  engage  it. 

Nicholas  had  ample  time  to  make  these  observations  while  the  little  boy, 
who  went  on  errands  for  the  lodgers,  clattered  down  the  kitchen  stairs,  and 
was  heard  to  scream,  as  in  some  remote  cellar,  for  Miss  Bray's  servant, 
who  presently  appearing,  and  requesting  him  to  follow  her,  caused  him  to 
evince  greater  symptoms  of  nervousness  and  disorder  than  so  natural  a 
consequence  of  his  having  inquired  for  that  young  lady  would  seem  calculated 
to  occasion. 

Upstairs  he  went,  however,  and  into  a  front  room  he  was  shown,  and  there, 
seated  at  a  little  table  by  the  window,  on  which  were  drawing  materiaU  witJi 
which  she  was  occupied,  sat  the  beautiful  girl  who  had  so  engrossed  his 
thoughts,  and  who,  surrounded  by  all  the  new  and  strong  interest  which 
Nicholas  attached  to  her  story,  seemed  now,  in  his  eyes,  a  thousand  times 
more  beautiful  than  he  had  ever  yet  supposed  her. 

But  how  the  graces  and  elegancies  which  she  had  dispersed  about  the 
poorly-furnished  room  went  to  the  heart  of  Nicholas  !  Flowers,  plants,  birds, 
the  harp,  the  old  piano  whose  notes  had  sounded  so  much  sweeter  in  bygone 
times — ^now  many  struggles  had  it  cost  her  to  keep  these  two  last  links  of  that 
broken  chain  which  bound  her  yet  to  home  !  With  every  slender  ornament, 
the  occupation  of  her  leisure  hours,  replete  with  that  graceful  charm  which 
lingers  in  every  little  tasteful  work  of  woman's  hands,  how  much  patient 
endurance  and  how  many  gentle  affections  were  entwined  !  He  felt  as  though 
the  smile  of  heaven  were  on  the  little  chamber  ;  as  though  the  beautiful 
devotion  of  so  young  and  weak  a  creature  had  shed  a  ray  of  its  own  on  the 
inanimate  things  around  and  made  them  beautiful  as  itself ;  as  though  the 
halo  with  which  old  painters  surround  the  bright  angels  of  a  sinless  world 
played  about  a  being  akin  in  spirit  to  them,  and  its  light  were  visibly  before 
him. 

And  yet  Nicholas  was  in  the  Rules  of  the  King's  Bench  Prison  !  If  he  had 
been  in  Italy  indeed,  and  the  time  had  been  sunset,  and  the  scene  a  stately 
terrace  :  but,  there  is  one  broad  sky  over  all  the  world,  and  whether  it  be  blue 
or  cloudy,  the  same  heaven  beyond  it,  so,  perhaps,  he  had  no  need  of  com- 
punction for  thinking  as  he  did. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  took  in  everything  at  one  glance,  for  he  had 
as  yet  been  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  a  sick  man  propped  up  with  pillows 
in  an  easy-chair,  who,  moving  restlessly  and  impatiently  in  his  seat,  attracted 
his  attention. 

He  was  scarce  fifty,  perhaps,  but  so  emaciated  as  to  appear  much  older. 
His  features  presented  the  remains  of  a  handsome  countenance,  but  one  in 
which  the  embers  of  strong  and  impetuous  passions  were  easier  to  be  traced 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  391 

than  any  expression  which  wonld  have  rendered  a  far  plainer  face  much  more 
prepossessiD^.  His  looks  were  very  hazard,  and  his  limbs  and  body  literally 
worn  to  the  bone,  but  there  was  something  of  the  old  iire  in  the  large  sunken 
eye  notwithstanding,  and  it  seemed  to  kindle  afresh  as  he  struck  a  thick  stick, 
with  which  he  seemed  to  have  supported  himself  in  his  seat,  impatiently  on 
the  floor  twice  or  thrice,  and  called  his  daughter  by  her  name. 

"Madeline,  who  is  this — what  does  anybody  want  here — who  told  a 
stranger  we  could  be  seen  ¥    What  is  it  ¥ " 

**  i  believe ^"  the  young  lady  began,  as  she  inclined  her  head  with  an 

air  of  some  confusion,  in  reply  to  the  stdutation  of  Nicholas. 

*•  You  always  believe,"  returned  her  father,  petulantly.     "  What  is  it  ? " 

By  this  time  Nicholas  had  recovered  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  speak 
for  himself,  so  he  said  (as  it  had  been  agreed  he  should  say)  that  he  had  called 
aboat  a  pair  of  hand-screens,  and  some  painted  velvet  for  an  ottoman,  both  of 
which  were  required  to  be  of  the  most  elegant  design  possible,  neither  time 
nor  expense  being  of  the  smallest  consideration.  He  had  also  to  pay  for  the 
two  dnwings,  with  many  thanks,  and,  advancing  to  the  little  table,  he  laid 
upon  it  a  bsuik-note,  folded  in  an  envelope  and  sealed. 

**  See  that  the  money  is  right,  Madeline,"  said  the  father.  *'  Open  the 
paper,  my  dear." 

•*  It's  quite  right,  papa,  I'm  sure." 

"  Here  I "  said  Mr.  Bray,  putting  out  his  hand,  and  opening  and  shutting 
his  bony  fingers  with  irritable  impatience.  **  Let  me  see.  What  are  you 
talking  about,  Madeline — you're  sure — how  can  you  be  sure  of  any  such 
thing — five  pounds — well,  is  thai  right  ? " 

**  Quite,"  said  Madeline,  bending  over  him.  She  was  so  busily  employed 
in  arranging  the  pillows  that  Nicholas  could  not  see  her  face,  but  as  she 
stooped  he  thought  he  saw  a  tear  fall. 

"  xUng  the  bell,  ring  the  bell,"  said  the  sick  man,  with  the  same  nervous 
eagerness,  and  motioning  towards  it  with  such  a  quivering  hand  that  the 
bank-note  rustled  in  the  air.  **  Tell  her  to  get  it  changed — to  get  me  a  news- 
paper— to  buy  me  some  grapes — another  bottle  of  the  wine  that  I  had  last 
week — and — and — I  forget  half  I  want  just  now,  but  she  can  go  out  again. 
Let  her  get  those  first — those  first.  Now,  Madeline,  my  love,  quick,  quick  I 
Good  (jo3,  how  slow  you  are  ! " 

**He  remembers  nothing  that  she  wants!"  thought  Nicholas.  Perhaps 
something  of  what  he  thought  was  expressed  in  his  countenance,  for  the  sick 
man,  turning  towards  him  with  great  asperity,  demanded  to  know  if  he 
waited  for  a  receipt. 

"  It  is  no  matter  at  all,"  said  Nicholas. 

"No  matter!  what  do  you  mean,  sir?"  was  the  tart  rejoinder.  "No 
matter !  Do  you  think  you  bring  your  paltiy  money  here  as  a  favour  or 
a  gift  ;  or  as  a  matter  of  business,  and  in  return  for  value  received  ?  D — n 
yon,  sir,  because  you  can't  appreciate  the  time  and  taste  which  are  bestowed 
upon  the  goods  you  deal  in,  do  you  think  you  give  your  money  away  ? 
Do  you  know  that  you  are  talking  to  a  gentleman,  sir,  who  at  one  time 
could  have  bought  up  fifty  such  men  as  you  and  all  you  have  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ¥ " 

"  I  merely  mean  that  as  I  shall  have  many  dealings  with  this  lady,  if 
she  will  kindly  allow  me,  I  will  not  trouble  her  with  such  forms,"  said 
Nicholas. 

"Then /mean,  if  you  please,  that  we'll  have  as  many  forms  as  we  can," 
returned  the  father.  "  My  daughter,  sir,  requires  no  kindness  from  you  or 
anybody  else.     Have  the  goodness  to  confine  your  dealings  strictly  to  trade 


392  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

aud  business,  and  not  to  travel  beyond  it.  Every  petty  tradesman  is  to  begin 
to  pity  her  now,  is  he  ?  Upon  my  soul !  Very  pretty.  Madeline,  my  dear, 
give  him  a  receipt ;  and  mind  you  always  do  so.' 

While  she  was  feigning  to  write  it,  and  Nicholas  was  ruminating  upon  the 
extraordinary,  but  by  no  means  uncommon  character  thus  presented  to  his 
observation,  the  invalid,  who  appeared  at  times  to  suffer  great  bodily  pain, 
sank  back  in  his  chair  and  moaned  out  a  feeble  complaint  that  the  girl  had 
been  gone  an  hour,  and  that  everybody  conspired  to  goad  him. 

'*  When,"  said  Nicholas,  as  he  took  the  piece  of  paper,  **  when  shall  I— 
call  again  %  *' 

This  was  addressed  to  the  daughter,  but  the  father  answered  immediately— 

**  When  you  are  requested  to  call,  sir,  and  not  before.  Don't  worry  and 
persecute.     Ikladeline,  ray  dear,  when  is  this  i>erson  to  call  again  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  not  for  a  long  time — not  for  three  or  four  weeks — it  is  not  necessary, 
indeed — I  can  do  without,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  great  eagerness. 

**  Why,  how  are  we  to  do  without  ? "  urged  her  father,  not  speaking  above 
his  breath.     **  Three  or  four  weeks,  Madeline  !     Three  or  four  weeks  I " 

"Then  sooner — sooner,  if  you  please,"  said  the  young  lady,  turning  to 
Nicholas. 

'*  Three  or  four  weeks  !  "  muttered  the  father.  **  Madeline,  what  on  earth 
— do  nothing  for  three  or  four  weeks  !  " 

**  It  is  a  long  time,  ma'am,"  said  Nicholas. 

'*  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  "  retorted  the  father,  angrily.  "  If  I  chose  to 
beg,  sir,  and  stoop  to  ask  assistance  from  people  I  despise,  three  or  four 
months  would  not  be  a  long  time — three  or  four  years  would  not  be  a  long 
time.  Understand,  sir,  that  is  if  I  chose  to  be  dependent  j  but  as  I  don't,  you 
may  call  in  a  week." 

Nicholas  bowed  low  to  the  young  lady  and  retired,  pondering  upon 
Mr.  Bray's  ideas  of  independence,  and  devoutly  hoping  that  there  might 
be  few  such  independent  spirits  as  he  mingling  with  the  baser  clay  of 
humanity. 

He  heard  a  light  footstep  above  him  as  he  descended  the  stairs,  and  looking 
round  saw  that  the  young  lady  was  standing  there,  and  glancing  timidly 
tawards  him,  seemed  to  hesitate  whether  she  should  call  him  back  or  no. 
The  best  way  of  settling  the  question  was  to  turn  back  at  once,  which 
Nicholas  did. 

**I  don't  know  whether  I  do  right  in  asking  you,  sir,"  said  Madeline, 
hurriedly,  "  but  pray — pray — do  not  mention  to  my  poor  mother's  dear 
friends  what  has  passed  here  to-day.  He  has  suffered  much,  and  is  worse  this 
morning.     I  hes  you,  sir,  as  a  boon,  a  favour  to  myself." 

"You  have  but  to  hint  a  wish,"  returned  Nicholas,  fervently,  "and  I 
would  hazard  my  life  to  gratify  it." 

"  You  speak  hastily,  sir." 

"  Truly  and  sincerely,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  his  lips  trembling  as  he  formed 
the  words,  *  *  if  ever  man  spoke  truly  yet.  I  am  not  skilled  in  disguising  my 
feelings,  and  if  I  were,  I  could  not  hide  my  heart  from  you.  Dear  madam,  as 
I  know  your  history,  and  feel  as  men  and  angels  must  whoTiear  and  see  such 
things,  I  do  entreat  you  to  believe  that  I  would  die  to  serve  you." 

The  young  lady  turned  away  her  head,  and  was  plainly  weeping. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Nicholas,  with  respectful  earnestness,  **if  I  seem  to 
say  too  much,  or  to  presume  upon  the  confidence  which  has  been  entrusted  to 
me.  But  I  could  not  leave  you  as  if  my  interest  and  sympathy  expired  with 
the  commission  of  the  day.  I  am  your  faithful  servant,  humbly  devoted  to 
you  from  this  hour — devoted  in  strict  truth  and  honour  to  him  who  sent  me 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  393 

licre,  and  in  pure  integrity  of  heart,  and  distant  respect  for  you.  If  I  meant 
more  or  less  than  this,  I  should  be  unworthy  his  regard,  and  false  to  the  very 
nature  that  prompts  the  honest  words  I  utter." 

She  waved  her  nand,  entreating  him  to  be  gone,  but  answered  not  a  word. 
Nicholas  could  say  no  more,  and  silently  withdrew.  And  thus  ended  his  first 
interview  with  Madeline  Bray. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  HAS  SOME  CONFIDENTIAL  INTERCOURSE  WITH  ANOTHKIl 
OLD  rillEND.  THEY  CONCERT  BETWEEN  THEM  A  PROJECT,  WHICH 
PROMISES  WELL  FOR  BOTH. 

«  jrjXHERE  go  the  three-quarters  past !  "  muttered  Newman  Noggs,  listen- 
t  ing  to  the  chimes  of  some  neighbouring  church,  "and  my  dinner 
time's  two.  He  does  it  on  purpose.  He  makes  a  point  of  it.  It's 
just  like  him." 

It  was  in  his  own  little  den  of  an  office,  and  on  tlie  top  of  his  official  stool, 
that  Newman  thus  soliloquised  ;  and  the  soliloquy  referred,  as  Newman's 
grumbling  soliloquies  usually  did,  to  Ralph  Nicklcby. 

**  I  don't  believe  he  ever  had  an  appetite,"  said  Newman,  "except  for 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  and  with  them  he's  as  greedy  as  a  wolf.  I 
should  like  to  have  him  compelled  to  swallow  one  of  every  English  coin.  The 
penny  would  be  an  awkward  morsel — but  the  crown — ha  !  ha  !  " 

His  good-humour  being  in  some  degree  restored  by  the  vision  of  Ralph 
Nickleby  swallowing  perforce  a  five-shilling  piece,  Newman  slowly  brought 
forth  froln  his  desk  one  of  those  portable  bottles  currently  known  as  jiockot- 
pistols,  and  shaking  the  same  close  to  his  ear  so  as  to  produce  a  rippling 
sound  very  cool  and  pleasant  to  listen  to,  suffered  his  features  to  relax,  ami 
took  a  gurgling  drink,  which  relaxed  them  still  more.  Replacing  the  cork 
he  smacked  his  lips  twice  or  thrice  with  an  air  of  great  relish,  and,  the 
taste  of  the  liquor  having  by  this  time  evaporated,  recurred  to  his  grievances 
again. 

"Five  minutes  to  three,"  growled  Newman,  "it  can't  want  more  by  this 
time  ;  and  I  had  my  breakfast  at  eight  o'clock,  and  such  a  breakfast !  and  my 
right  dinner  time  two  !  And  I  might  have  a  nice  little  bit  of  hot  roast  meat 
spoiling  at  home  all  this  time — how  does  he  know  I  haven't  1  *  Don't  go  till 
I  come  back,'  *  don't  go  till  I  come  back,*  day  after  day.  What  do  you 
always  go  out  at  my  dinner  time  for  then — eh  ?  Don't  you  know  it's  nothing 
but  aggravation — eh  ? " 

These  words,  though  uttered  in  a  very  loud  key,  were  addressed  to  nothing 
but  empty  air.  The  recital  of  his  wrongs,  however,  seemed  to  have  tlie 
effect  of  making  Newman  Noggs  desperate  ;  for  he  flattened  his  old  hat  upon 
his  head,  and  drawing  on  the  everlasting  gloves,  declared,  with  great  vehe- 
mence, that  come  what  might,  he  would  go  to  dinner  that  very  minute. 

Carrying  this  resolution  into  instant  effect,  he  had  advanced  as  far  as  the 
passage,  when  the  sound  of  the  latch-key  in  the  street-door  caused  him  to 
make  a  precipitate  retreat  into  his  own  office  again. 

"Here he  is,"  growled  Newman,  "  and  somebody  with  him.  Now  it'll  be 
*  Stop  till  this  gentleman's  gone.*    But  I  won't — that's  flat." 

So  saying,  iftwman  slipped  into  a  tall  empty  closet  which  opened  with  two 


394  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

lialf  doors,  and  shut  himself  np  ;  intending  to  slip  out  directly  Balph  was  safe 
inside  his  own  room. 

'  *  Noggs  1 "  cried  Ralph.     *  *  Where  is  that  fellow  ?— Noggs  I " 

But  not  a  word  said  Newman. 

'*  The  dog  has  gone  to  his  dinner,  though  I  told  him  not,"  muttered  Salpli, 
looking  into  the  office  and  pulling  out  his  watch.  "Humph!  You  had 
better  come  in  here,  Gride.  My  man's  out,  and  the  sun  is  hot  upon  my  room. 
Tills  is  cool  and  in  the  shade,  if  you  don't  mind  rouffhing  it." 

''  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Nickleby,  oh,  not  at  all.  All  places  are  alike  to  me,  sir. 
Ah  I  very  nice  indeed.     Oh  1  very  nice  ! " 

The  person  who  made  this  reply  was  a  little  old  man  of  about  seventy  or 
seventy-five  years  of  age,  of  a  very  lean  figure,  much  bent,  and  slightly 
twisted.  He  wore  a  grey  coat  with  a  very  narrow  collar,  an  old-fasbionea 
waistcoat  of  ribbed  black  silk,  and  such  scanty  trousers  as  displayed  his 
shrunken  spindle-shanks  in  their  full  ugliness.  The  only  articles  of  display 
or  ornament  in  his  dress  were  a  steel  watch-chain,  to  which  were  attached  some 
large  gold  seals  ;  and  a  black  ribbon  into  which,  in  compliance  with  an  old 
fashion  scarcely  ever  observed  in  these  days,  his  grey  hair  was  gathered 
behind.  His  nose  and  chin  were  sharp  and  prominent,  his  jaws  had  fallen 
inwards  from  loss  of  teeth,  his  face  was  shrivelled  and  yellow,  save  where  the 
cheeks  were  streaked  with  the  colour  of  a  dry  winter  apple  ;  and  where  his 
beard  had  been,  there  lingered  yet  a  few  grey  tufts  whicn  seemed,  like  the 
ragged  eyebrows,  to  denote  the  badness  of  the  soil  from  which  they  sprung. 
The  whole  air  and  attitude  of  the  form  was  one  of  stealthy,  cat-like  obsequions- 
ness  ;  the  whole  expression  of  the  face  was  concentrated  in  a  wrinklcMi  leer, 
compounded  of  cunning,  lecherousness,  slyness,  and  avarice. 

Such  was  old  Arthur  Gride,  in  whose  face  there  was  not  a  wrinkle,  in  whose 
dress  there  was  not  one  spare  fold  or  plait,  but  expressed  the  most  covetous 
and  griping  penury,  and  sufiiciently  indicated  his  belonging  to  that  class  of 
which  Ralph  Nickleby  was  a  member.  Such  was  old  Arthur  Gride,  as  he  sat 
in  a  low  chair  looking  up  into  the  face  of  Ralph  Nickleby,  who,  lounging 
upon  the  tall  office  stool,  with  his  arms  upon  his  knees,  looked  down  into  niSi 
— a  match  for  him  on  whatever  errand  he  had  come. 

"  xind  how  have  you  been  ? "  said  Gride,  feigning  great  interest  in  Ralph's 
state  of  health.     **  I  haven't  seen  you  for — oh  !  not  for " 

••Not  for  a  long  time,"  said  Ralph,  with  a  peculiar  smile,  importing  that 
he  very  well  knew  it  was  not  on  a  mere  visit  of  compliment  that  his  friend  had 
come.  •'  It  was  a  narrow  chance  that  you  saw  me  now,  for  I  had  only  just 
come  up  to  the  door  as  you  turned  the  corner." 

*•  I  am  very  lucky,"  observed  Gride. 

"So  men  say,"  replied  Ralph,  drily. 

The  older  money-lender  wagged  his  chin  and  smiled,  but  he  originated  no 
new  remark,  and  they  sat  for  some  little  time  without  speaking.  Each  wai 
looking  out  to  take  the  other  at  a  disadvantage. 

'•  Come,  Gride,"  said  Ralph,  at  length  ;  **  what's  in  the  wind  to-day?" 

"Aha!  you're  a  bold  man,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  cried  the  other,  apparently 
very  much  relieved  by  Ralph's  leading  the  way  to  business.  *  *  Oh,  dear,  dear, 
what  a  bold  man  you  are." 

•'  Why,  you  have  a  sleek  and  slinking  way  with  you  that  makes  me  seemio 
by  contrast,"  returned  Ralph.  "I  don't  know  but  that  yours  may  answer 
better,  but  I  want  the  patience  for  it." 

••  You  were  born  a  genius,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  old  Arthur.  "  Deep,  deep^ 
deep.     Ah  1 " 

"Deep  enough,"  retorted  Ralph,  "  to  know  that  I  shall  need  all  the  depth 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  395 

I  haye,  when  men  like  you  beffin  to  compliment.  You  know  I  have  stood  by 
when  you  fawned  and  nattered  other  people,  and  I  remember  pretty  wjII  what 
tiuxt  afways  led  to." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  1 "  rejoined  Arthur,  rubbing  bis  hands.  ''  So  you  do,  so  you 
do,  no  doubt.  Not  a  man  knows  it  better.  Well^  it's  a  pleasant  thing  now  to 
think  that  von  remember  old  times.     Oh,  dear  !  " 

"  Now,  tnen,"  said  Ralph,  composedly ;  **  what's  in  the  wind,  I  ask  again — 
what  ia  it ! " 

"See  that  now!"  cried  the  other.  "He  can't  even  keep  from  business 
while  we're  chatting  over  bygones.     Oh  dear,  dear,  what  a  man  it  is  ! " 

"  Which  of  the  bygones  do  you  want  to  revive  ? "  said  Ralph.  *'  One  of  them, 
I  know,  or  you  wouldn't  talk  about  them." 

"  He  suspects  even  me  1 "  cried  old  Arthur,  holding  up  his  hands.  **  Even 
me— oh  dear,  even  me.  What  a  man  it  is  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  What  a  man  it  is  ! 
Mr.  Nickleby  against  all  the  world — there's  nobody  like  him.  A  giant  among 
picnniefl — a  giant — a  giant ! " 

Kalph  looked  at  the  old  dog  with  a  quiet  smile  as  he  chuckled  on  in  this 
strain,  and  Newman  Noggs  in  the  closet  felt  his  heart  sink  within  him  as  the 
prospect  of  dinner  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 

"  I  mutit  humour  him,  though,"  cried  old  Arthur  ;  "he  must  have  his  way 
— a  wilful  man,  as  the  Scotch  say — well,  well,  they're  a  wise  people,  the 
Scotch — he  will  talk  about  business,  and  won't  give  away  his  time  for  nothing. 
He's  yery  right.    Time  is  money — time  is  money." 

"He  was  one  of  us  who  made  that  saying,  I  should  think,"  said  Ralph. 
'•Time  is  money,  and  very  good  money  too,  to  those  who  reckon  interest  by 
it.  Time  is  money !  Yes,  and  time  costs  money — it's  rather  an  expensive 
article  to  some  people  we  could  name,  or  I  forget  my  trade." 

In  rejoinder  to  this  sally,  old  Arthur  again  raised  his  hands,  again  chuckled, 
and  again  ejaculated,  "What  a  man  it  is  !"  which  done,  he  dragged  the  low 
chair  a  little  nearer  to  Ralph's  high  stool,  and  looking  u}>wards  into  his  im- 
xnoyable  face,  said — 

'  *  "What  would  you  say  to  me,  if  I  was  to  tell  you  that  I  was — that  I  was — 
£^oing  to  be  married  ? " 

*-' I  should  tell  you,"  replied  Ralph,  looking  coldly  down  upon  him,  "that 
for  some  purpose  of  your  own  you  told  a  lie,  and  that  it  wasn't  the  first  time 
and  wouldn't  be  the  last ;  that  I  wasn't  surprised  and  wasn't  to  be  taken  in." 
"  Then  I  tell  you  seriously  that  I  am,"  said  old  Arthur. 
"  And  I  tell  you  seriously,"  rejoined  Ralph,  "  what  I  told  you  this  minute. 
Stay.  Let  me  look  at  you.  There's  a  liquorish  devilry  in  your  face — what 
is  this?" 

**  I  wouldn't  deceive  yott,  you  know,"  whined  Arthur  Gride ;  "I  couldn't 
do  it,  I  should  be  mad  to  try.     I — I — to  deceive  Mr.  Nickleby  !    The  pigmy 
to  impose  upon  the  giant.     I  ask  again — he,  he,  he  ! — what  should  you  say  to 
me  if  I  was  to  tell  you  that  I  was  going  to  be  married  ? " 
"  To  some  old  hag  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Arthur,  interrupting  him,  and  rubbing  his  hands  in  an 
ecstasy.  "  Wrong,  wrong  again.  Mr.  Nickleby  for  once  at  fault — out,  quite 
out  1  To  a  young  and  beautiful  girl ;  fresh,  lovely,  bewitching,  and  not 
nineteen.  Dark  eyes — long  eyelashes — ripe  and  ruddv  lips,  that  to  look  at  is 
to  long  to  kiss — beautiful  clustering  hair,  that  one's  nngcrs  itch  to  play  with 
— such  a  waist  as  might  make  a  man  clasp  the  air  involuntarily,  thinking  of 
twining  his  arm  about  it — little  feet,  that  tread  so  lightly  they  hardly  seem 
•■to  walk  upon  the  ground — to  marry  all  this,  sir — this — hey,  hey  I " 

*'ThiB  is  someUiing  more  than  common  drivelling,"  said  Ralph,   after 


396  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

listening  with  a  curled   lip  to  the  old   sinnei^s  raptures.      "The  girl's 
iiarae  ? 

"  Oh,  deep,  deep  !  See,  now,  how  deep  that  is  !  **  exclaimed  old  Arthur. 
*'  He  knows  I  want  liis  help,  he  knows  he  can  give  it  me,  he  knows  it  most 
all  turn  to  his  advantage,  no  sees  the  thing  already.  Her  name — ^is  there 
nobody  within  hearing  ? " 

**  Why,  who  the  devil  should  there  be  ? "  retorted  Balph,  testily. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  that  perhaps  somebody  might  be  passing  up  or  doffn 
the  stairs,"  said  Arthur  Gride,  after  looking  out  at  the  door,  kvA  carefully 
re-closing  it ;  "  or  but  that  your  man  might  have  come  back  and  might  have 
been  listening  outside — clerks  and  servants  have  a  trick  of  listening,  and  I 
should  have  been  very  uncomfortable  if  Mr.  Noggs '* 

"  Curse  Mr.  Noggs,"  said  Balph,  sharply,  **  and  go  on  with  what  you  hare 
to  say." 

'*  Curse  Mr.  Xoggs,  by  all  means,"  rejoined  old  Arthur  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  have 
not  the  least  objection  to  that.     Her  name  is " 

•*  Well,"  said  Ralph,  rendered  very  irritable  by  old  Arthur's  pausing  again, 
"what  is  it?" 

"Madeline  Bray." 

Whatever  reasons  there  might  have  been — and  Arthur  Gride  appeared  to 
have  anticipated  some — for  the  mention  of  this  name  producing  an  effect  upon 
llalph,  or  whatever  effect  it  really  did  produce  upon  him,  he  permitted  none 
to  manifest  itself,  but  calmly  repeated  the  name  several  times,  as  if  reflecting 
when  and  where  he  had  heard  it  before. 

**  Bray,"  said  Ralph.     **  Bray — there  was  young  Bray  of no,  he  never 

had  a  daughter. " 

"  You  remember  Bray  ? "  rejoined  Arthur  Gride. 

"No,"  said  Ralph,  looking  vacantly  at  him. 

"Not  Walter  Bray!  The  dashing  man,  who  used  his  handsome  wife  so 
ill  ? "  * 

"  If  you  seek  to  recall  any  particular  dashing  man  to  ray  recollection  by 
such  a  trait  as  that,"  said  Ralph,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  **  1  sliall  coufouu'l 
him  with  nine-tenths  of  the  dashing  men  I  have  ever  known." 

"Tut,  tut.  That  Ikay  who  is  now  in  the  Rules  of  the  Bench,"  saidolJ 
Arthur.  "You  can't  have  forgotten  Bray.  Both  of  us  did  business  with 
him.     Why,  he  owes  you  money " 

*'0h,  him!''  rejoined  Ralph.  "Ay,  ay.  Now  you  speak.  Oh  1  it's  Atf 
daughter,  is  it  ? " 

Naturally  as  this  was  said,  it  was  not  said  so  naturally  but  that  a  kindred 
spirit  like  old  Arthur  Gride  might  have  discerned  a  design  upon  the  part  of 
Ralph  to  lead  him  on  to  much  more  explicit  statements  and  explanations  than 
lie  would  have  volunteered,  or  than  Ralph  could  in  all  likelihood  have 
obtained  by  any  other  means.  Old  Arthur,  however,  was  so  intent  upon  his 
own  designs,  that  he  sulfercd  himself  to  be  over-reached,  and  had  no  suspicion 
but  that  his  good  friend  was  in  earnest. 

*'  I  knew  you  couldn't  forget  him,  when  you  came  to  think  for  a  moment," 
he  said. 

"You  were  right,"  answered  Ralph.  "But  old  Arthur  Gride  and  matri- 
mony is  a  most  anomalous  conjunction  of  words  ;  old  Arthur  Gride  and  dark 
eyes  and  eyelashes,  and  lips  that  to  look  at  is  to  long  to  kiss,  and  clustering 
hair  that  he  wants  to  play  with,  and  waists  that  he  wants  to  span,  and  little 
feet  that  don't  tread  upon  anything — old  Arthur  Gride  and  such  things  as 
these  is  more  monstrous  still ;  but  old  Arthur  Gride  marrying  the  daughter 
of  a  rained  '  dashing  man  '  in  the  Rules  of  the  Bench,  is  the  most  monstrous 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  397 

and  incredible  of  all.  Plainly,  friend  Arthur  Gride,  if  you  want  any  help  from 
me  in  this  business  (which  of  course  you  do,  or  you  would  not  be  here),  speak 
out,  and  to  the  purpose.  And  above  all,  don't  talk  to  me  of  it's  turning  to 
xny  advantage,  for  I  know  it  must  turn  to  yours  also,  and  to  a  good  round 
tune,  too,  or  you  would  have  no  finger  in  such  a  pie  as  this." 

There  was  enough  acerbity  and  sarcasm  not  only  in  the  matter  of  Ralph's 
speech,  but  in  the  tone  of  voice  in  which  he  uttered  it,  and  the  looks  witli 
which  he  eked  it  out,  to  have  fired  even  the  ancient  usurer's  cold  blood,  and 
flushed  even  his  withered  cheek.  But  he  gave  vent  to  no  demonstration  of 
an^er,  contenting  himself  with  exclaiming,  as  before,  "  What  a  man  it  is  !  " 
and  rolling  his  head  from  side  to  side,  as  if  in  unrestrained  enjoyment  of  his 
freedom  and  drollery.  Clearly  observing,  however,  from  the  expression  in 
Ralph's  features,  that  he  had  best  come  to  the  point  as  speedily  as  might  be, 
he  composed  himself  for  more  serious  business,  and  entered  upon  the  pith  and 
marrow  of  his  negotiation. 

First,  he  dwelt  upon  the  fact  that  Madeline  Bray  was  devoted  to  the  support 
aud  maintenance,  and  was  a  slave  to  every  wish  of  her  only  parent,  who  had 
no  other  friend  on  earth  ;  to  which  Ralph  rejoined  that  he  had  heard  some- 
thing of  the  kind  before,  and  that  if  she  had  known  a  little  more  of  the  world 
she  wouldn't  have  been  such  a  fool. 

Secondly,  he  enlarged  upon  the  character  of  her  father,  arguing  that  even 
taking  it  for  granted  that  he  loved  her  in  return  with  the  utmost  affection  of 
^hich  he  was  capable,  yet  he  loved  himself  a  great  deal  better  ;  which  Ralph 
said  it  was  quite  unnecessary  to  say  anything  more  about,  as  that  was  very 
natural,  and  probable  enough. 

And  thirdly,  old  Arthur  premised  that  the  girl  was  a  delicate  and  beautiful 
creature,  and  that  he  had  really  a  hankering  to  have  her  for  his  wife.  To 
this  Ralph  deigned  no  other  rejoinder  than  a  harsh  smile,  and  a  glance 
it  the  shrivelled  old  creature  before  him,  which  were,  however,  sufficiently 
expressive. 

*•  Now,"  said  Gride,  **  for  the  little  plan  I  have  in  my  mind  to  bring  this 
Eihout ;  because  I  haven't  offered  myself  even  to  the  father  yet.  I  should  have 
told  you.  But  that  you  have  gathered  already  1  Ah,  oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  what 
an  edged  tool  you  are  !  " 

**  Don't  play  with  me,  then,"  said  Ralph,  impatiently.  **  You  know  the 
proverb. " 

••A  reply  always  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  !  "  cried  old  Arthur,  raising  his 
hands  and  eyes  in  admiration.  '*He  is  always  prepared  !  Oh,  dear,  what  a 
blessing  to  have  such  a  ready  wit,  and  so  much  ready  money  to  back  it ! " 
Then  suddenly  changing  his  tone,  he  went  on  ;  "I  have  been  backwards  and 
forwards  to  Bray's  lodgings  several  times  withiu  the  last  six  months.  It  is 
just  half-a-year  since  I  first  saw  this  delicate  morsel,  and  oh,  dear,  what  a 
delicate  morsel  it  is  !  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  I  am  his  detaining 
creditor  for  seventeen  hundred  pounds." 

"You  talk  as  if  you  were  the  only  detaining  creditor,"  said  Ralph,  pulling 
out  his  pocket-book.  "I  am  another  for  nine  hundred  and  seventy-five 
pounds,  lour  and  threepence." 

*'  The  only  other,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  old  Arthur,  eagerly.  **  The  only 
other.  Nobody  else  went  to  the  expense  of  lodging  a  detainer,  trusting  to 
our  holding  him  fast  enough,  I  warrant  you.  AVe  both  fell  into  the  same 
snare — oh,  dear,  what  a  pitfall  it  was ;  it  almost  ruined  me  !  And  lent 
him  our  money  upon  bills,  with  only  one  name  besides  his  own,  which, 
to  be  sure,  everybody  supposed  to  be  a  good  one,  and  was  as  negotiable 
as  money,  but  which  turned  out — you  know  how.     Just  as  we  should  have 


398  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

come  upon  him,  he  died  insolvent     Ah  !  it  went  very  nigh  to  ruin  me,  that 
loss  did  ! " 

"  Go  on  with  your  scheme,"  said  Ralph.  **  It's  of  no  use  raising  the  cry 
of  our  trade  just  now  ;  there's  nobody  to  hear  us." 

**  It's  always  as  well  to  talk  that  way,"  returned  old  Arthur,  with  a 
chuckle,  *' whether  there's  anybody  to  hear  us  or  not.  Practice  makes 
perfect,  you  know.  Now,  if  I  offer  myself  to  Bray  as  his  son-in-law,  upon 
one  simple  condition,  that  the  moment  I  am  fast  married  he  shall  be  quietly 
released,  and  have  an  allowance  to  live  just  t'other  side  the  water  like  a 
gentleman  (he  can't  live  long,  for  I  have  asked  his  doctor,  and  he  declares 
that  his  complaint  is  one  of  the  heart,  and  it  is  impossible),  and  if  all  the 
advantages  of  this  condition  are  properly  stated  and  dwelt  upon  to  him, 
do  you  think  he  could  resist  me  ?  And  if  he  could  not  resist  9n«,  do  you 
think  his  daughter  could  resist  Mml  Shouldn't  I  have  her  Mrs.  Arthur 
Gride — pretty  Mrs.  Arthur  Gride — a  tit-bit — a  dainty  chick — shouldn't  I 
have  her  Mrs.  Arthur  Gride  in  a  week,  a  month,  a  day — any  time  I  chose  to 
name  ? " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Ralph,  nodding  his  head  deliberately,  and  speaking  in  a  tone 
whose  studied  coldness  presented  a  strange  contrast  to  the  rapturous  squeak 
to  which  his  friend  had  gradually  mounted.  **  Go  on.  You  didn't  come  her» 
to  ask  me  that." 

"  Oh,  dear,  how  you  talk  !  "  cried  old  Arthur,  edging  himself  closer  still  to 
Ralph.     *'0f  course  I  didn't — I  don't  pretend  I  did!     I  came  to  ask  what 
you  would  take  from  me,  if  I  prospered  with  the  father,  for  this  debt  of 
yours — five  shillings  in  the  pound — six  and  eightpence — ten  shillings?   I 
would  go  as  far  as  ten  for  such  a  friend  as  you,  we  have  always  been  on  such 
good  terms,  but  you  won't  be  so  hard  upon  me  as  that,  I  know.     Now,  will 
you  ? " 

"There's  something  more  to  be  told,"  said  Ralph,  as  stony  and  immovable 
as  ever. 

**  Yes,  yes,  there  is,  but  you  won't  give  me  time,"  returned  Arthur  Gride. 
*'  I  want  a  backer  in  this  matter — one  who  can  talk,  and  urge,  and  press 
a  point,  which  you  can  do  as  no  man  can.  I  can't  do  that,  for  I  am  a  poor, 
timid,  nervous  creature.  Now,  if  you  get  a  good  composition  for  this  debt, 
which  you  long  ago  gave  up  for  lost,  you'll  stand  my  friend,  and  help  me. 
Won't  you  ? " 

"  There's  something  more,"  said  Ralph. 

**  No,  no,  indeed,"  cried  Arthur  Gride. 

*'  Yes,  yes,  indeed.     I  tell  you,  yes,"  said  Ralph. 

"Oh  !  "  returned  old  Arthur,  feigning  to  be  suddenly  enlightened.  "Yon 
mean  something  more,  as  concerns  myself  and  my  intention.  Ay,  sorelyi 
surely.     Shall  I  mention  that  ? " 

"i  think  you  had  better,"  rejoined  Ralph,  drily. 

**  I  didn't  like  to  trouble  you  with  that,  because  I  supposed  your  interest 
would  cease  with  your  own  concern  in  the  affair,"  said  Arthur  Gride. 
"  That's  kind  of  you  to  ask.  Oh,  dear,  how  very  kind  of  you  !  Why,  sup- 
posing I  had  a  knowledge  of  some  property — some  little  property — very  little 
— to  which  this  pretty  chick  was  entitled  ;  which  nobody  does  or  can  know  of 
at  this  time,  but  which  her  husband  could  sweep  into  his  pouch,  if  he  knew 
as  much  as  I  do,  would  that  account  for " 

"For  the  whole  proceeding,"  rejoined  Ralph,  abruptly.  "Now,  let  me 
turn  this  matter  over,  and  consider  what  I  ought  to  have  if  I  should  help  you 
to  success. " 

"  But  don't  be  hard,"  cried  old  Arthur,  raising  his  hands  with  an  imploring 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  399 

itnre,  and  speakiDg  in  a  tremulous  voice.  **  Don't  be  too  hard  upon  me. 
8  a  very  small  property,  it  is  indeed.  Say  the  ten  shillings,  and  we'll  close 
3  bargain.  It's  more  than  I  ought  to  give,  but  you're  so  kind — shall  we  say 
J  tenl    Do  now,  do. " 

EUlph  took  no  notice  of  these  supplications,  but  sat  for  three  or  four 
antes  in  a  brown  study,  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  person  from  whom 
)y  proceeded.  After  sufficient  cogitation  he  broke  silence,  and  it  certainly 
ud  not  be  objected  that  he  used  any  needless  circumlocution,  or  failed  to 
»k  directly  to  the  purpose. 

"  If  you  married  tiais  girl  without  me,"  said  Ralph,  "you  must  pay  my 
3t  in  full,  because  you  couldn't  set  her  father  free  otherwise.  It's  plain, 
m,  that  I  must  have  the  whole  amount,  clear  of  all  deduction  or  encum- 
luce,  or  I  should  lose  from  being  honoured  with  your  confidence,  instead  of 
ning  by  it.  That's  the  first  article  of  the  treaty.  For  the  second,  I  shall 
palate  that  for  my  trouble  in  negotiation  and  persuasion,  and  helping  you 
this  fortune,  I  have  five  hundred  pounds — that's  very  little,  because  you 
76  the  ripe  lips,  and  the  clustering  hair,  and  what  not,  all  to  yourself.  For 
\  third  and  last  article,  I  require  that  you  execute  a  bond  to  me,  this  day, 
iding  yourself  in  the  payment  of  these  two  sums,  before  noon  of  the  day  of 
ar  marriage  with  Miss  Madeline  Bray.  You  have  told  me  I  can  urge  and 
MS  a  point.  I  press  this  one,  and  will  take  nothing  less  than  these  terms. 
cept  them  if  you  like.  If  not,  marry  her  without  me  if  you  can.  I  shall 
11  get  my  debt. " 

I?o  all  entreaties,  protestations,  and  ofiers  of  compromise  between  his  own 
>posals  and  those  which  Arthur  Gride  had  first  suggested,  Ralph  was  deaf 
«n  adder.  He  would  enter  into  no  further  discussion  of  the  subject,  and 
lile  old  Arthur  dilated  on  the  enormity  of  his  demands  and  proposed 
edifications  of  them,  approaching  by  de«;rees  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  terms 
Tesisted,  sat  perfectly  mute,  looking  with  an  air  of  quiet  abstraction  over 
3  entries  and  papers  in  his  pocket-book.  Finding  that  it  was  impossible  to 
ike  any  impression  upon  his  staunch  friend,  Arthur  Gride,  who  had 
spared  himself  for  some  such  result  before  he  came,  consented  with  a  heavy 
urt  to  the  proposed  treaty,  and  upon  the  spot  filled  up  the  bond  required 
Uph  kept  such  instruments  handy),  after  exacting  the  condition  that  Mr. 
ckleby  should  accompany  him  to  Bray's  lodgings  that  very  hour,  and  open 
>  negotiation  at  once,  should  circumstances  appear  auspicious  and  favourable 
their  designs. 

[n  pursuance  of  this  last  understanding  the  worthy  gentlemen  went  out 
;ether  shortly  afterwards,  and  Newman  Noggs  emerged,  bottle  in  hand, 
m  the  cupboard,  out  of  the  upper  door  of  which,  at  the  imminent  risk  of 
lection,  he  had  more  than  once  thrust  his  red  nose  when  such  parts  of  the 
»ject  were  under  discussion  as  interested  him  most. 

•  I  have  no  appetite  now,"  said  Newman,  putting  the  flask  in  his  pocket. 
*ve  had  iny  dinner." 

BDaving  delivered  this  observation  in  a  very  grievous  and  doleful  tone,  New- 
u  reached  the  door  in  one  long  limp,  and  came  back  again  in  another. 

•  I  don't  know  who  she  maybe,  or  what  she  may  be,"  he  said;  "but  I 
y  her  with  all  my  heart  and  soul ;  and  I  can't  help  her,  nor  can  I  help  any 
the  people  against  whom  a  hundred  tricks — but  none  so  vile  as  this — are 
itted  every  day !  Well,  that  adds  to  my  pain,  but  not  to  theirs.  The 
Qg  is  no  worse  because  I  know  it,  and  it  tortures  me  as  well  as  them, 
ide  and  Nickleby !  Good  pair  for  a  curricle — oh  roguery !  roguery ! 
fuery !' 

Il7ith  these  reflections,  and  a  very  hard  knock  on  the  crown  of  his  unfor- 


400  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

tunate  Lat  at  each  repetition  of  the  last  word,  Newman  Noggs,  whose^  brain 
was  a  little  muddled  by  so  much  of  the  contents  of  the  pocket-pistol  as  had 
found  their  way  there  during  his  recent  concealment,  went  forth  to  seek  such 
consolation  as  might  bo  derivable  from  the  beof  and  greens  of  some  cheap 
eating-liouse. 

Meanwhile  the  two  plotters  had  betaken  themselves  to  the  same  house 
whither  Nicholas  had  repaired  for  the  first  time  but  a  few  mornings  before, 
and  having  obtained  access  to  Mr.  Bray,  and  found  his  daughter  from  houic, 
had,  by  a  train  of  tlie  most  masterly  approaches  that  Ralph's  utmost  skill 
could  frame,  at  length  laid  open  the  real  object  of  their  visit. 

**  There  he  sits,  Mr.  Bray,  '  said  Ralph,  as  the  invalid,  not  yet  recovered 
from  his  surprise,  reclined  in  his  chair,  looking  alternately  at  him  and  Arthur 
Gride.  *'  What  if  he  has  had  the  ill  fortune  to  be  one  cause  of  your  detention 
in  this  place — I  have  been  another  ;  men  must  live  ;  you  are  too  much  a  man 
of  the  world  not  to  see  that  in  its  true  light.  We  offer  the  best  reparation  in 
our  power.  Reparation  !  Here  is  an  offer  of  marriage,  that  many  a  titled 
father  would  leap  at,  for  his  child.  Mr.  Arthur  Gride,  with  the  fortune  of  a 
prince.     Think  what  a  haul  it  is  ! " 

"My  daughter,  sir,"  returned  Bray,  haughtily,  "as  /have  brou^^htberup, 
would  be  a  rich  recompense  for  the  largest  fortune  that  a  man  could  bestow  in 
exchange  for  her  hand." 

"  Precisely  what  I  told  you,"  said  the  artful  Ralph,  turning  to  his  friend, 
old  Arthur.  "  Precisely  what  made  me  consider  the  thing  so  fair  and  easy. 
There  is  no  obligation  on  either  side.  You  have  money,  and  Miss  MadeUne 
has  beauty  and  worth.  She  has  youth,  you  have  money.  She  has  not 
money,  you  have  not  youth.  Tit  for  tat — quits — a  match  of  heaven's  own 
making  ! " 

"Matches  are  made  in  heaven,  they  say,"  added  Arthur  Gride,  leering 
hideously  at  the  father-in-law  he  wanted.  "  If  we  are  married,  it  will  1» 
destiny,  according  to  that." 

"Then,  think,  Mr.  Bray,"  said  Ralph,  hastily  substituting  for  this  argu- 
ment considerations  more  nearly  allied  to  earth.  "  Think  what  a  stake  is 
involved  in  the  acceptance  or  rejection  of  these  proposals  of  my  friend ^" 

"How  can  I  accept  or  reject?"  interrupted  Mr.  Bray,  with  an  irritable 
consciousness  that  it  really  rested  with  him  to  decide.  "  It  is  for  my  daughter 
to  accept  or  reject ;  it  is  for  my  daughter.     You  know  that." 

"  True,"  said  Ralph,  emphatically;  "  but  you  have  still  the  power  to  advise; 
to  state  the  reasons  for  and  against ;  to  hint  a  wish." 

"To  hint  a  wish,  sir  ! "  returned  the  debtor,  proud  and  mean  by  turns,  and 
selfish  at  all  times.  "  I  am  her  father,  am  I  not  ?  Why  should  I  hint  and 
beat  about  the  bush  ?  Do  you  suppose,  like  her  mother's  friends  and  my 
enemies — a  curse  upon  them  all — that  there  is  anything  in  what  she  has  done 
for  me  but  duty,  sir,  but  duty  ?  Or  do  you  think  that  my  having  been 
unfortunate  is  a  sufficient  reason  why  our  relative  positions  should  be  changed, 
and  that  she  should  oommand  and  1  should  obey  ?  Hint  a  wish,  too  1  Per- 
haps you  think  because  you  see  me  in  this  place,  and  scarcely  able  to  leave  this 
chair  without  assistance,  that  I  am  some  broken -spirited,  dependent  creature, 
without  the  courage  or  power  to  do  what  I  think  best  for  my  own  child.  Still 
the  power  to  hint  a  wish  !     I  hope  so  !  " 

"Pardon  me,"  returned  Ralph,  who  thoroughly  knew  his  man,  and  had 
taken  his  ground  accordingly  ;  "you  do  not  hear  me  out.  I  was  about  to  sty, 
that  your  hinting  a  wish — even  hinting  a  wish — would  surely  be  equivalent 
to  commanding." 

"Why,  of  course  it  would,"  retorted  Mr.   Bray,  in  an  exasperated  tonet 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  401 

"  If  you  don't  happen  to  have  heard  of  the  time,  sir,  I  tell  you  thafc  there  was 
a  time  when  I  carried  every  point  in  triumph  against  her  mother's  whole 
family,  although  they  had  power  and  wealth  on  their  side — by  my  will 
alone.*' 

"Still,"  rejoined  Ralph,  as  mildly  as  his  nature  would  allow  him,  "you 
have  not  heam  me  out.  You  are  a  man  yet  qualified  to  shine  in  society,  with 
many  years  of  life  before  you — that  is,  if  you  lived  in  freer  air,  and  under 
brighter  skies,  and  chose  your  own  companions.  Gaiety  is  your  element,  you 
have  shone  in  it  before.  Fashion  and  freedom  for  you.  France,  and  an 
annuity  that  would  support  you  there  in  luxury,  would  give  you  a  new  lease 
of  life — transfer  you  to  a  new  existence..  The  town  rang  with  your  expensive 
pleasures  once,  and  you  could  blaze  upon  a  new  scene  again,  profiting  by 
experience,  and  living  a  little  at  others'  cost,  instead  of  letting  othera  live  at 
yours.  What  is  there  on  the  reverse  side  of  the  picture  ?  What  is  there  ?  I 
don't  know  which  is  the  nearest  churchyard,  but  a  gravestone  there,  where- 
ever  it  is,  and  a  date — perhaps  two  years  hence,  perhaps  twenty.     That's  all." 

Mr.  Bray  rested  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  shaded  his  face  with 
his  hand. 

"  I  speak  plainly,"  said  Ralph,  sitting  down  beside  him,  "because  I  feel 
strongly.  It's  my  interest  that  you  should  marry  your  daughter  to  my  friend 
Gride,  because  then  he  sees  me  paid — in  part,  that  is.  I  don't  disguise  it.  I 
acknowledge  it  openly.  But  what  interest  have  you  in  recommending  her  to 
such  a  step  ?  Keep  that  in  view.  She  might  object,  remonstrate,  shed  tears, 
talk  of  his  being  too  old,  and  plead  that  her  life  would  be  rendered  miserable. 
But  what  is  it  now  ? " 

Several  slight  gestures  on  the  part  of  the  invalid  showed  that  these 
arguments  were  no  more  lost  upon  him  than  the  smallest  iota  of  his 
demeanour  was  upon  Ralph. 

"What  is  it  now,  I  say,"  pursued  the  wily  usurer,  "or  what  has  it  a 
chance  of  being  ?  If  you  died,  indeed,  the  peo})le  you  hate  would  make  her 
happy.     But  can  you  bear  the  thought  of  that  ? " 

"No!"  returned  Bray,  urged  by  a  vindictive  impulse  he  could  not 
repress. 

"  I  should  imagine  not,  indeed  ! "  said  Ralph,  quietly.  "  If  she  profits  by 
anybody's  death,"  this  was  said  in  a  lower  tone,  "  let  it  be  by  her  husband's 
—don't  let  her  have  to  look  back  to  yours,  as  the  event  from  which  to  date  a 
happier  life.  Where  is  the  objection  ?  Let  me  hear  it  stated.  What  is  it?  That 
her  suitor  is  an  old  man.  Why,  how  often  do  men  of  family  and  fortune,  who 
haven't  your  excuse,  but  have  all  the  means  and  superfluities  of  life  within 
their  reach — how  often  do  they  marry  their  daughters  to  old  men,  or  (worse 
still)  to  young  men  without  heads  or  hearts,  to  tickle  some  idle  vanity, 
strengthen  some  family  interest,  or  secure  some  seat  in  Parliament !  Judge 
for  her,  sir,  judge  for  her.  You  must  know  best,  and  she  will  live  to  thank 
you." 

"  Hush!  hush ! "  cried  Mr.  Bray,  suddenly  starting  up,  and  covering  Ralph's 
mouth  with  his  trembling  hand.     "I  hear  her  at  the  door !  " 

There  was  a  gleam  of  conscience  in  the  shame  and  terror  of  this  hasty 
action,  which,  in  one  short  moment,  tore  the  thin  covering  of  sophistry  from 
the  cruel  design,  and  laid  it  bare  in  all  its  meanness  and  heartless  deformity. 
The  father  fell  into  his  chair  pale  and  trembling  ;  Arthur  Gride  plucked  and 
fumbled  at  his  hat,  and  durst  not  raise  his  eyes  from  the  floor  ;  even  Ralph 
crouched  for  the  moment  like  a  beaten  hound,  cowed  by  the  presence  of  one 
young  innocent  girl ! 

The  effect  was  almost  as  brief  as  sudden.     Ralph  was  the  first  to  rec(.V(;r 

u  a^ 


402  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

himself,  and  observing  Madeline's  looks  of  alarm,  entreated  the  poor  girl  to 
be  composed,  assuring  her  there  was  no  cause  for  fear. 

"A  sudden  spasm,"  said  Ralph,  glancing  at  Mr.  Bray.  **He  is  quite  well 
now." 

It  might  have  moved  a  very  hard  and  worldly  lieart  to  see  the  young  and 
beautiful  creature,  whose  certain  misery  they  had  been  contriving  but  a 
minute  before,  throw  her  arms  about  her  father's  neck,  and  pour  forth  words 
of  tender  sympathy  and  love,  the  sweetest  a  father's  ear  can  know,  or  child's 
lips  form.  But  Ralph  looked  coldly  on  ;  and  Arthur  Gride,  whose  bleared 
eyes  gloated  only  over  the  outward  beauties,  and  were  blind  to  the  spirit 
which  reigned  within,  evinced — a  fantastic  kind  of  w^^rmth  certainly,  but  not 
exactly  that  kind  of  warmth  of  feeling  which  the  contemplation  of  virtue 
usually  inspires. 

"  Madeline,"  said  her  father,  gently  disengaging  himself,  **  it  was  no- 
thing." 

*'  But  you  had  that  spasm  yesterday,  and  it  is  terrible  to  see  you  in  such 
pain.     Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ? " 

*'  Nothing  just  now.  Here  are  two  gentlemen,  Madeline,  one  of  whom  you 
have  seen  before.  She  used  to  say,"  added  Mr.  Bray,  addressing  Artliur 
Gride,  "that  the  sight  of  you  always  made  me  worse.  That  was  natural, 
knowing  what  she  did,  and  only  what  she  did,  of  our  connection  and  its 
results.  Well,  well.  Perhaps  she  may  change  lier  mind  on  that  point; 
girls  have  leave  to  change  their  minds,  you  know.  You  are  very  tired,  my 
dear." 

**  J  am  not,  indeed." 

"  Indeed  you  are.     You  do  too  much." 

**  I  wish  I  could  do  more." 

**I  know  you  do,  but  you  overtask  your  strength.  This  wretched  life,  my 
love,  daily  labour  and  fatigue,  is  more  than  you  can  bear,  I  am  sure  it  is. 
Poor  Madeline  ! " 

With  these  and  many  more  kind  words,  Mr.  Bray  drew  his  daughter  to  him 
and  kissed  her  cheek  affectionately.  Ralph,  watching  him  sharply  and 
closely  in  the  meantime,  made  his  way  towards  the  door,  and  signed  to  Gride 
to  follow  him. 

"You  will  communicate  with  us  again?"  said  Ralph. 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  Mr.  Bray,  hastily  thrusting  his  daughter  aside. 
**  In  a  week.     Give  me  a  week." 

"  One  week,"  said  Ralph,  turning  to  his  companion,  **  from  to-day. 
Good  morning.     Miss  Madeline,  I  kiss  your  hand." 

"We  will  shake  hands,  Gride,"  said  Mr.  Bray,  extending  his,  as  old 
Arthur  bowed.  "You  mean  well,  no  doubt.  I  am  bound  to  say  so  now, 
If  I  owed  you  money,  that  was  not  your  fault.  Madeline,  my  love — your 
hand  here." 

"Oh,  dear!  If  the  young  lady  would  condescend — only  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,"  said  Arthur,  hesitating  and  half  retreating. 

Madeline  shrunk  involuntarily  from  the  goblin  figure,  but  she  placed  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  in  his  hand  and  instantly  withdrew  them.  After  an 
ineffectual  clutch,  intended  to  detain  and  carry  them  to  his  lips,  old  Arthur 
gave  his  own  fingers  a  mumbling  kiss,  and  with  many  amorous  distortions  of 
visage,  went  in  pursuit  of  his  friend,  who  was  by  this  time  in  the  street. 

^  "  What  does  he  say,  what  does  he  say — what  does  the  giant  say  to  the 
pigmy  ?  "  inquired  Arthur  Gride,  hobbling  up  to  Ralph. 

"  What  does  the  pigmy  aay  to  W\^  9;\a.\\'t'\"  \^\<iVM<id  Ralph,  elevating  hi» 
eyebrowa  and  looking  dowiv  Aip^m\\\a  c^w^^'Cvqii^x. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  403 

"He  doesn't  know  what  to  say,"  replied  Arthur  Gride.  "Ho  hopes  and 
fears.     But  is  she  not  a  dainty  morsel  ? " 

**  I  have  no  great  taste  for  beauty,"  p*owled  Ralph. 

**But  I  have,"  rejoined  Arthur,  rubbing  his  hands.  **  Oh,  dear!  How 
handsome  her  eyes  looked  when  she  was  stooping  over  him — such  long  lashes 
— such  delicate  fringe  !    She — she— looked  at  me  so  soft." 

"  Not  over-lovingly,  I  think  ! "  said  Ralph.     "  Did  she  ? " 

**  No,  you  think  not  ? "  replied  old  Arthur.  **  But  don't  you  think  it  can 
be  brought  about — don't  you  tliink  it  can  ? " 

Ralph  looked  at  him  with  a  contemptuous  frown,  and  replied  with  a  sncci-, 
and  between  his  teeth — 

**  Did  you  mark  liis  telling  her  she  was  tired  and  did  too  much,  and  over- 
tasked her  strength  ? " 

**Ay,  ay.     What  of  it?" 

**  When  do  you  think  he  ever  told  her  that  before  ?  The  life  is  more  than 
she  can  bear.     Yes,  yes.     He'll  change  it  for  her." 

**  D'ye  think  it's  done  ?  "  inquired  old  Arthur,  peering  into  his  companion's 
face  with  half-closed  eyes. 

**  I  am  sure  it's  done,"  said  Ralph.  **  He  is  trying  to  deceive  himself,  even 
before  our  eyes  already — making  believe  that  he  thinks  of  her  good  and  not 
liis  own — acting  a  virtuous  part,  and  so  considerate  and  alloctionate,  sir, 
that  the  daughter  scarcely  knew  him.  I  saw  a  tear  of  surprise  in  her  eye. 
There'll  be  a  few  more  tears  of  sur})rise  there  before  long,  though  of  a  different 
kind.     Oh,  we  may  wait  with  conhdence  for  this  day  week." 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 


BEING  FOR  THE  BENEFIT   OF  MR.    VINCENT  CRUMMLE.S,  AND  POSITIVELY  HIS 

LAST  APPEARANCE  ON  THIS  STAGE. 

Y  T  was  with  a  very  sad  and  heavy  heart,  oppressed  by  many  painful  ideas, 
t  that  Nicholas  retraced  his  steps  eastward  and  betook  himself  to  the 
^  counting-house  of  Cheeryble  Brothers.  Whatever  the  idle  hopes  he  had 
suffered  himself  to  entertain,  whatever  the  pleasant  visions  which  had  sprung 
up  in  his  mind  and  grouped  themselves  round  the  fair  image  of  Madeline  Bray, 
they  were  now  dispelled,  and  not  a  vestige  of  their  gaiety  and  brightness 
remained. 

It  would  be  a  poor  compliment  to  Nicholas's  better  nature,  and  one  which 
he  was  very  far  from  deserving,  to  insinuate  that  the  solution,  and  such  a 
solution,  of  the  mystery  which  had  seemed  to  surround  Jkladeline  Bray,  when 
lie  was  ignorant  even  of  her  name,  had  damped  his  ardour  or  cooled  the 
fervour  of  his  admiration.  H  he  had  regarded  her  before  with  such  a 
passion  as  young  men  attracted  by  mere  beauty  and  elegance  may  entertain, 
tie  was  now  conscious  of  much  deeper  and  stronger  feelings.  But,  reverence 
for  the  truth  and  purity  of  her  heart,  respect  for  the  helplessness  and  loneliness 
of  her  situation,  sympathy  with  the  trials  of  one  so  young  and  fair,  and 
admiration  of  her  great  and  noble  spirit,  all  seemed  to  raise  lier  far  above  his 
reach,  and  while  they  imparted  new  depth  and  dignity  to  his  love,  to 
whisper  that  it  was  hopeless. 

**I  will  keep  my  word,  as  I  have  pledged  it  to  her,"  s^id  "^SsXvqV^'?., 
manfully.     **  This  is  no  common  trust  that  I  have  to  d\ac\\ai^'i,  ^TiO^  \  ^"^ 
perform  the  double  duty  thsit  ia  imposed  upon,  me  moat  actxx^xi^ciNN.^"^  ^'^^ 


404  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

strictly.     My  secrot  feelings  deserve  no  consideration  in  sucli  a  case  as  this, 
ami  they  shall  have  none. 

Still,  there  were  the  secret  feelings  in  existence  just  the  same,  and  in 
secret  Nicholas  rather  encouraged  them  than  otherwise ;  reasoning  (if  he 
reasoned  at  all)  that  there  they  could  do  no  harm  to  anybody  but  himself,  and 
that  if  he  kept  them  to  himself  from  a  sense  of  duty,  he  had  -an  additional 
right  to  entertain  himself  with  them  as  a  reward  for  lus  heroism. 

All  these  thouglits,  coupled  with  what  he  had  seen  that  morning  and  the 
anticipation  of  his  next  visit,  rendered  him  a  very  dull  and  abstracted  com- 
panion ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  Tim  Linkinwater  suspected  he  must  have 
made  the  mistake  of  a  iigure  somewhere,  which  was  preying  upon  his  mind, 
and  seriously  conjured  him,  if  such  were  the  case,  to  make  a  clean  breast  and 
scratch  it  out,  rather  than  have  his  whole  life  embittered  by  the  tortures  of 
remorse. 

But  in  reply  to  these  considerate  representations,  and  many  others  both 
from  Tim  and  Mr.  Frank,  Nicholas  could  only  be  brought  to  state  that  he  wm 
never  merrier  in-  his  life  ;  and  so  went  on  all  day,  and  so  went  towards  home 
at  night,  still  turning  over  and  over  again  the  same  subjects,  thinking  oyer 
and  over  again  the  same  things,  and  arriving  over  and  over  again  at  the  same 
conclusions. 

In  this  pensive,  wayward,  and  imcertain  state,  people  are  apt  to  lounge  and 
loiter  without  knowing  why,  to  read  placards  on  the  walls  with  great  atten- 
tion, and  without  the  smallest  idea  of  one  word  of  their  contents,  and  to  stare 
most  earnestly  through  shop- windows  at  things  which  they  don't  see.  It  was 
thus  that  Nicholas  found  himself  poring  with  the  utmost  interest  over  a  laijje 
play-bill  hanging  outside  a  Minor  Theatre  which  he  had  to  pass  on  his  way 
home,  and  reading  a  list  of  the  actors  and  actresses  who  had  promised  to  do 
honour  to  some  approaching  benefit,  with  as  much  gravity  as  if  it  had  been  a 
catalogue  of  the  names  of  those  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  stood  highest  upon 
the  Book  of  Fate,  and  he  had  been  looking  anxiously  for  his  own.  He 
glanced  at  the  top  of  the  bill,  with  a  smile  at  his  own  dullness,  as  he  prepared 
to  resume  his  walk,  and  there  saw  announced  in  large  letters,  with  a  large  space 
between  each  of  them ,  *  *  Positively  the  last  appearance  of  Mr.  Vincent 
Crummies  of  Provincial  Celebrity  !  !  ! " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Nicholas,  turning  back  again.     **  It  can't  be." 

But  there  it  was.  In  one  line  by  itself  was  an  announcement  of  the  first 
night  of  a  new  melodrama  ;  in  another  line  by  itself  was  an  announcement  of 
the  last  six  nights  of  an  old  one  ;  a  third  line  was  devoted  to  the  re-engage- 
ment of  the  unrivalled  African  Knife-swallower,  who  had  kindly  suffered 
himself  to  be  prevailed  upon  to  forego  his  country  engagements  for  one  week 
longer  ;  a  fourth  lino  announced  that  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry,  having  recovered 
from  his  late  severe  indisposition,  would  have  the  honour  of  appearing  that 
evening  ;  a  fifth  line  said  that  there  were  "  Cheers,  Tears,  and  Laughter!" 
every  night ;  a  sixth,  that  that  was  positively  the  last  appearance  of  Hr. 
Vincent  Crummies  of  Provincial  Celebrity. 

'•  Surely  it  must  be  the  same  man,"  thought  Nicholas.  **  There  can't  be 
two  Vincent  Crummleses." 

The  better  to  settle  this  question  he  referred  to  the  bill  again,  and  fmdiog 
that  there  was  a  Baron  in  the  first  piece,  and  that  Roberto  (his  son)  wu 
enacted  by  one  Master  Crummies,  and  Spaletro  (his  nephew)  by  one  Master 
Percy  Crummies — their  last  appearances — and  that,  incidental  to  the  piece, 
was  a  characteristic  dance  by  the  characters,  and  a  castanet  pojs  seul  by  the 
Infant  Phenomenon — her  last  5i\v\v&«.\«.xvc.^— \v^  wa  \QiW9i^r  entertained  any 
doubt ;  and  presenting  Yiimadt  «X  ui^  «Xa.^^  ^qqx»  vsA  ^\^j5iMv^vQ.  v  >«i^  « 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  405 

Siper  with  **Mr.  Johnson"  written  thereon  in  pencil,  was  presently  con- 
ucted  by  a  Robberi  with  a  very  large  belt  and  buckle  round  his  waist,  and 
very  large  leather  gauntlets  on  his  hands,  into  the  presence  of  his  former 
manager. 

Mr.  Crummies  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him,  and  starting  up  from 
before  a  small  dressing-glass,  with  one  very  bushy  eyebrow  stuck  on  crooked 
oyer  his  left  eye,  and  the  fellow  eyebrow  and  the  calf  of  one  of  his  legs  in  his 
hand,  embraced  him  cordially ;  at  the  same  time  observing  that  it  would  do 
Mrs.  Crummles's  heart  good  to  bid  him  good-bye  before  they  went. 

"  You  were  always  a  favourite  of  hers,  Johnson,"  said  Crummies,  **  always 
were  from  the  first.  I  was  quite  easy  in  my  mind  about  you  from  the  first 
day  you  dined  with  us.  One  that  Mrs.  Crummies  took  a  fancy  to  was  sure  to 
turn  out  right.     Ah  1  Johnson,  what  a  woman  that  is  !  " 

"  I  am  sincerely  obliged  to  her  for  her  kindness  in  this  and  all  other 
respects,"  said  Nicholas.  **  But  where  are  you  going,  that  you  talk  about 
bidding  good-bye  ? " 

**  Haven't  you  seen  it  in  the  papers  ? "  said  Crummies,  with  some  dignity. 

**  No,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  I  wonder  at  that,"  said  the  manager.  **  It  was  among  the  varieties.  I 
had  the  paragraph  here  somewhere — but  I  don't  know — oh,  yes,  here  it  is  !  " 

So  sayinff,  Mr.  Crummies,  after  pretending  that  he  thought  he  must  have 
loet  it,  produced  a  square  inch  of  newspaper  from  the  pocket  of  the  pantaloons 
he  wore  in  private  life  (which,  together  with  the  plain  clothes  of  several 
other  gentlemen,  lay  scattered  about  on  a  kind  of  dresser  in  the  room),  and 
gave  it  to  Nicholas  to  read. 

•'The  talented  Vincent  Crummies,  long  favourably  known  to  fame  as  a 
country  mana^r  and  actor  of  no  ordinary  pretensions,  is  about  to  cross  the, 
.  Atlantic  on  a  histrionic  expedition.  Crummies  is  to  be  accompanied,  we  hear, 
by  his  lady  and  gifted  family.  We  know  no  man  superior  to  Crummies  in  his 
particular  line  of  character,  or  one  who,  whether  as  a  public  or  private 
individual,  could  carry  with  him  the  best  wishes  of  a  larger  circle  of  friends. 
Cmmmles  is  certain  to  succeed." 

"Here's  another  bit,"  said  Mr.  Crummies,  handing  over  a  still  smaller 
Bcnp.     **  This  is  from  the  noticed  to  correspondents,  this  one." 

Nicholas  read  it  aloud.  **  *Philo  Dramaticus. — Crummies,  the  country 
manager  and  actor,  cannot  be  more  than  forty-three  or  forty-four  years  of 
age.  Crummies  is  not  a  Prussian,  having  been  born  at  Chelsea.*  Humph  !  " 
aaid  Nicholas,  ''that's  an  odd  paragraph. 

**  Very,"  returned  Crummies,  scratching  the  side  of  his  nose,  and  looking 
at  Nicholas  with  an  assumption  of  great  unconcern.  '  *  I  can't  think  who  puts 
these  things  in.    /  didn't. 

Still  keeping  his  eye  on  Nicholas,  Mr.  Crummies  shook  his  head  twice  or 
thrice  with  profound  gravity,  and  remarking  that  he  could  not  for  the  life  of 
him  imagine  how  the  newspapers  found  out  the  things  they  did,  folded  up  the 
extracts  and  put  them  in  his  pocket  again. 

"  I  am  astonished  to  hear  this  news,"  said  Nicholas.  "  Going  to  America  ! 
You  had  no  such  thing  in  contemplation  when  I  was  with  you." 

"Ifo,"  replied  Crummies,  "I  hadn't  then.  The  fact  is  that  Mrs. 
Crummies — most  extraordinary  woman,  Johnson  " — here  he  broke  off  and 
whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

" Oh  I "  said  Nicholas,  smiling.  "The  prospect  of  an  addition  to  your 
family  ? " 

"  The  seventh  addition,  Johnson, "  returned  Mr.  CtummVea,  ?»Q\vi\xiTv\^ .    ^^  '^ 


4o6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

tbonght  sncli  a  child  as  the  Pbenoinenoii  must  have  been  a  closer ;  hot 
it  seems  we  are  to  have  another.     She  is  a  very  remarkable  woman." 

"  I  congratulate"  you,"  said  Nicholas,  *'  and  I  hope  this  may  prove  a  pheno- 
menon too." 

"  Why,  it's  pretty  sure  to  be  something  uncommon,  I  suppose,"  rejoined 
Jfr.  Crummies.  "  The  talent  of  the  other  three  is  principally  in  combat  and 
serious  pantomime.  I  should  like  this  one  to  have  a  turn  for  juvenile 
tragedy ;  I  understand  they  want  something  of  that  sort  in  America  very 
much'  However,  we  must  take  it  as  it  comes.  Perhaps  it  may  hare  a  genius 
for  the  tight-rope.  It  may  have  any  sort  of  genius,  in  short,  if  it  takes  after 
its  mother,  Johnson,  for  she  is  an  universal  genius  ;  but,  whatever  its  genius 
is,  that  genius  shall  be  developed." 

Expressing  himself  after  these  terms,  Mr.  Crummies  put  on  bis  other  eye- 
brow, and  the  calves  of  his  legs,  and  then  put  on  his  legs,  which  were  of  a 
yellowish  flesh-colour,  and  rather  soiled  about  the  knees,  from  frequent  going 
down  upon  those  joints,  in  curses,  prayers,  last  struggles,  and  other  stroog 
passages. 

While  the  ex-manager  completed  his  toilet  he  informed  Nicholas  that  as  lie 
should  have  a  fair  start  in  America,  from  the  proceeds  of  a  tolerably  good 
engagement  which  he  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  obtain,  and  as  he  and 
Mrs.  Crummies  could  scarcely  hope  to  act  for  ever — not  being  immortal, 
except  in  the  breath  of  Fame  and  in  a  figurative  sense — ^he  had  made  up  lus 
mind  to  settle  there  permanently,  in  the  hope  of  acquiring  some  land  of  his 
own  which  would  support  them  in  their  old  age,  and  which  they  could  after- 
wards bequeath  to  their  children.  Nicholas,  having  highly  commended  this 
resolution,  Mr.  Crummies  went  on  to  impart  such  further  intelligence  relative 
to  their  mutual  friends  as  he  thought  might  prove  interesting  ;  informing 
Nicholas,  among  other  things,  that  Miss  Snevellicci  was  happily  married 
to  an  affluent  young  wax-chandler  who  had  supplied  the  theatre  with 
candles,  and  that  Mr.  Lilly vick  didn't  dare  say  his  soul  was  his  own,  such 
was  the  tyrannical  sway  of  Mrs.  Lilly  vick,  who  reigned  paramount  and 
supreme. 

Nicholas  responded  to  this  confidence  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Crummies  by 
coiiluling  to  him  his  own  name,  situation,  and  prospects,  and  informing  him 
in  as  few  general  words  as  he  could,  of  the  circumstances  which  had  led  to 
their  first  ac([uaintance.  After  congratulating  him  with  great  heartiness  on 
the  improved  state  ot*  his  fortunes,  Mr.  Crummies  gave  him  to  understand 
that  next  morning  he  and  his  were  to  start  for  Liverpool,  where  the  vessel 
lay  which  was  to  carry  tliom  Irom  the  shores  of  England,  and  that  if  Nicholas 
wished  to  take  a  last  adieu  of  Mrs.  Crummies,  he  must  repair  with  him  that 
iii.i^ht  to  a  farewell  su[)j)er,  f^iven  in  honour  of  the  family  at  a  neighbouring 
tavern  ;  at  which  Mr.  Snittlc  Tiniberry  would  preside,  while  the  honours  of 
the  vice-chair  would  be  sustained  by  the  African  Swallower. 

The  room  being  by  this  time  very  warm  and  somewhat  crowded,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  influx  of  four  gentlemen,  who  had  just  killed  each  other  in 
the  piece  under  representation,  Nicholas  accepted  the  invitation,  and 
promised  to  return  at  the  conclusion  of  the  performances  ;  preferring  the  cool 
air  and  twilight  out  of  doors  to  the  mingled  perfume  of  gas,  orange-peel,  and 
gunpowder,  which  pervaded  the  hot  and  glaring  theatre. 

He  availed  himscdf  of  this  interval  to  buy  a  silver  snuff-box — the  best  his 
funds  would  ailbrd — as  a  token  of  remembrance  for  Mr.  Crummies,  and 
having  purchased,  besides,  a  pair  of  earrings  for  Mra.  Crummies,  a  necklace  for 
the  riicnonienon,  and  a  flaming  shirt-pin  for  each  of  the  young  gentlemen,  he 
refreshed  himself  with  a  walk,  and  returning  a  little  after  the  appointed 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  407 

rand  the  lights  out,  the  theatre  empty,  the  curtain  raised  for  the 
ind  Mr.  Grammles  walking  up  ana  down  the  stage  expecting  his 

ftberry  won't  be  long,"  said  Mr.  Crummies.  "  He  played  the  audience 
tight.  He  does  a  faithful  black  in  the  last  piece,  and  it  takes  him  a 
nger  to  wash  himself." 

rery  unpleasant  line  of  character,  I  should  think  ? "  said  Nicholas. 
,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mr.  Crummies  ;  "it  comes  off  easily  enough, 
re's  only  the  face  and  neck.  We  had  a  first-tragedy  man  in  our  corn- 
ice, who,  when  he  played  Othello,  used  to  black  himself  all  over.  But 
3eling  a  part  and  going  into  it  as  if  you  meant  it ;  it  isn't  usual  — 
the  pity." 

Jnittle  Timberry  now  appeared,  arm-in-arm  with  the  African  Swal- 
.nd,  being  introduced  to  Nicholas,  raised  his  hat  half-a-foot,  and  said 
proud  to  know  him.     The  Swallower  said  the  same,  and  looked  and 
3markably  like  an  Irishman, 
je  by  the  bills  that  you  have  been  ill,  sir,"  said  Nicholas  to  Mr.  Tim- 

**  I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse  for  your  exertions  to-night  ? " 
?imberry,  in  reply,  shook  his  head  with  a  gloomy  air,  tapped  his  chest 
times  with  great  significancy,  and  drawing  his  cloak  more  closely 
im,  said,  **  But  no  matter — no  matter.  Come  !  " 
observable  that  when  people  upon  the  stage  are  in  any  strait  involving 
r  last  extremity  of  weakness  and  exhaustion,  they  invariably  perform 
'  strength  requiring  great  ingenuity  and  muscular  power.  Thus,  a 
d  prince  or  bandit-chief,  who  is  bleeding  to  death  and  too  faint  to 
xcept  to  the  softest  music  (and  then  only  upon  his  hands  and  knees), 

seen  to  approach  a  cottage  door  for  aid,  in  such  a  series  of  writhings 
stings,  and  with  such  curlings  up  of  the  legs,  and  such  rollings  over 
id  such  gettings  up  and  tumblings  down  again,  as  could  never  be 
i  save  by  a  very  strong  man  sknled  in  posture-making.  And  so 
did  this  sort  of  performance  come  to  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry,  that  on 
ly  out  of  the  theatre  and  towards  the  tavern  where  the  supper  was  to 
3n,  he  testified  the  severity  of  his  recent  indisposition  and  its  wasting 
pon  the  nervous  system,  by  a  series  of  gymnastic  performances,  which 
3  admiration  of  all  witnesses. 

y,  this  is  indeed  a  joy  I  had  not  looked  for  !  "  said  Mrs.  Crummies, 
icholas  was  presented. 

I,"  replied  Nicholas,  **  It  is  by  a  mere  chance  that  I  have  this 
nity  of  seeing  you,  although  I  would  have  made  a  great  exertion  to 
liled  myself  of  it. " 

•0  is  one  whom  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Crummies,  thrusting  forward 
nomenon  in  a  blue  gauze  frock,  extensively  flounced,  and  trousers  of 
ne ;  "and  here  another — and  another,"  presenting  the  Master 
eses.  **  And  how  is  yonr  friend,  the  faithful  Digby  ?  " 
by  ! "  said  Nicholas,  forgetting  at  the  instant  that  this  had  been 
theatrical  name.  '  *  Oh,  yes.  He's  quite — what  am  I  saying  ? — he  is 
from  well." 

V  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Crummies,  with  a  tragic  recoil, 
ar,"  said  Nicholas,  shaking  his  head,  and  making  an  attempt  to  smile, 
our  better-half  would  be  more  struck  with  him  now  than  ever. " 
at   mean   you  ? "    rejoined    Mrs.    Crummies,  in  her    most  popular 

"  Whence  comes  this  altered  tone  ? " 
lean  that  a  dastardly  enemy  of  mine  has  struck  at  me  through  him, 
t  while  he  thinks  to  torture  me,  he  inflicts  on  him  such  agonies  of 


4o8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

terror  and  suspense  as ^Yon  will  excuse  me,  I  am  sure,"  said  Nicbolai^ 

chiH'king  himself.  "  I  should  never  speak  of  this,  and  never  do,  except  to 
tliosc  who  know  the  facts,  but  for  a  moment  I  forgot  mysell*' 

With  this  hasty  apology  Nicholas  stooped  down  to  salute  the  Phenomenon, 
and  changed  the  subject ;  inwardly  cursing  his  precipitation,  and  very  much 
wondering  what  Mrs.  Crummies  must  think  of  so  sudden  an  explosion. 

That  lady  seemed  to  think  very  little  about  it,  for  the  supper  being  by  this 
time  on  the  table,  she  gave  her  hand  to  Nicholas,  and  repaired  with  a  stately 
s;ep  to  the  left  hand  of  ^Ir.  Snlttle  Timberry.  Nicholas  had  the  honour  to 
sup(Hirt  her.  and  ^Ir.  Crummies  was  placed  upon  the  chairman's  right ;  the 
riionomenon  and  the  Master  Crummleses  sustained  the  vice. 

The  company  amouuceil  in  number  to  some  twenty-five  or  thirty,  being 
oomix)sed  ot  suoh  members  of  the  theatrical  profession,  then  engaged  or  dls- 
eugiigeil  in  London,  as  were  numbered  among  the  most  intimate  friends  of  Mr. 
anvi  Mrs.  Crunuiile&  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  pretty  equally  balanced, 
the  ox^vus^'s  of  the  entertainment  being  defrayed  by  the  latter,  each  of  whom 
had  the  privilege  of  inviting  one  of  the  former  as  his  guest. 

It  was,  upouthe  whole,  a  very  distinguished  party,  for  independently  of  the 
los&ior  theatrical  lights  who  clustered  on  this  occasion  round  Sr.  Snittle  Tim- 
berry,  there  \i*as  a'literary  gentleman  present  who  had  dramatised  in  his  time 
nvo  hundrevl  ;ind  fortv-seven  novels,  as  fast  as  the v  had  come  out — some  of 
thorn  faster  than  they  bad  come  out — and  irtu  a  literary  gentleman  in  eon- 
<iHmonce. 

V Ills  geurlomaii  sat  on  the  left  hand  of  Nicholas,  to  whom  he  was  intro»iuced 
l»y  hl«  friv  ikI  the  African  Swaliower.  from  the  bottom  of  the  table,  with  a  hisrh 
r  uloijium  lii^ou  his  t'.ime  and  rerutasion. 

••  I  am  I'.appy  to  know  a  geniieuLvn  of  such  great  distinction,"  said  Nicholas 
Tvliicly. 

'•  'i-.r."  rep'.i-.il  :I*.o  wi:.  "you.* re  very  wel.jouie,  I'm  sure.  Th*?  honour  i- 
-'. .  :■  i-va\  <::•.  ;i>  I  '.:siL.r.iv  siv  when  I  drimaiise  a  book.  Diil  Vi3u  ever  hr.ii 
i  ■:    Mii-ri  .'i  ::i:iio.  sir 

■  L  '-avL'  '•..irl  -k'vjril."  replieii  Nic!"./Ias,  ^"i:Ii  a  smilo.  *•  What  L? 
V. '!::■'< 

'  ^v;^.:l  1  v:ri:**..i::so  ibrok.  sir."  a;iiL  :!:■*  Ur-inry  gentleman,  ''"'h.ft'i  fanii 
i"t  •■  -i  \\.\wyr  " 

••  V'*.i:  <  an-.:.  >:■.""  <;r  I  :"  '  iirnry  ^".TloLia:!. 

•  ■  >« '  U ;■.'!'. I  "■ :  Uv;  r •  ■  I : : .   '.':•:  -v •.'.:.  a :: i  L  ^  .'  itv  A  j ■.' r>sl:a w  Iia ve  Uar.- 1-?!  I  * :  j  wt^  to 

■    •■    1,'      "■■•('      ••  1*'','<       "  r"     ""'i'**;"         '?'      VV   '.'"'I       "■   'i>V       "i"  ri' "1  •""  »•  ■      "'*.-!'•      TT1t"<*       •  111  »■.■■".•  — •■-' 

■    .i,«f.>^>*«*  "  * 

:■■•.•.  I' r'.i>*        sr.'L  >  :«■  *.  ■  .i.^. 

■  1  . : ^' i : ' :  'i •  •  ■  •  'Y  .i :: ;.:!•■.:::;  j. ji* i: :  : lia :.  si  •. " "  i::;^ -.v.' ■•  .m I  ::: e  li:enr}'  z»r mlenur.. 

■  -^/..i'v.'s^hm:-.'  :-.i::m:-.si«:  <r'r.;s  w:;-.- !l  Iia-l  ^^.f^".OIlsi- arrrar>.ri  ii  pi-.i*:. 

'.VIS    i'\    u!.i:tjl-.    :v:-'.i::'",   >•    *■..•  -.vis    -.Li'L  v.^rv  wLl  lie  iLarrc«L  r.:o 

oT  !i!s  -i.-;-:  ■•■'Mn  M  ';ucs  .i:i'L  !.u^':i<:s  "i  ^  u-'i-il  ::-".iIj.:l.ii  :  ''iir  ir  s.'erj.s  :.. 
THo  taa:  s^iiin'  ^m*  ::io  .^'iirli- •::!.■  :i  :i  ;•'■::*  •ri.':  .i:  :iio  ■'r.'seiir  iay  '.la.v  sli^c  ":;:" 
fiir  beyoud  jim " 

Iti:?  ciiair.   y.ui  ■'\\'r-\^r^.z   r^  :.H»r  i;^'U'\.       ""/.  nui;:  :::r'!li'«jr.  -sLr.  !i.is::.- 
■Mil  ^cti  ; I ;s  ; itiio  -  -.s  *;  f  c*"" is^v.v^  —a \" .'  - ^ v- ^ -.r.-r  ^ ' 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  409 

for  whereas  he  brought  within  the  magic  circle  of  his  genius  traditions 
peculiarly  adapted  for  his  purpose,  and  turned  familiar  things  into  constel- 
lations which  should  enlighten  the  world  for  ages,  you  drag  within  the  magic 
circle  of  your  dulness  subjects  not  at  all  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  the  stage, 
and  debase  as  he  exalted.  For  instance,  you  take  the  uncompleted  books  of 
living  authors,  fresh  from  their  hands,  wet  from  the  press,  cut,  hack,  and 
carve  them  to  the  powers  and  capacities  of  your  actors,  and  the  capability  of 
yonr  theatres,  finish  unfinished  works,  hastily  and  cioidcly  vamp  up  ideas  not 
yet  worked  out  by  their  original  projector,  but  which  have  doubtless  cost  him 
many  thoughtful  days  and  sleepless  nights  ;  by  a  comparison  of  incidents  and 
dialogue,  down  to  the  very  last  word  he  may  have  written  a  fortnight  before, 
do  your  utmost  to  anticipate  his  plot — all  this  without  his  permission,  and 
against  his  will ;  and  then,  to  crown  the  whole  proceeding,  publish  in  some 
mean  pamphlet,  an  unmeaning  farrago  of  garbled  extracts  from  his  work,  to 
which  you  put  your  name  as  author,  with  the  honourable  distinction  annexed, 
of  having  perpetrated  a  hundred  other  outrages  of  the  same  description. 
Now,  show  me  the  distinction  between  such  pilfering  as  this,  and  picking  a 
man's  pocket  in  the  street ;  unless,  indeed,  it  oe  that  the  legislature  has  a  re- 
gard for  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  leaves  men's  brains,  except  when  they  are 
knocked  out  by  violence,  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

"Men  must  live,  sir,"  said  the  literary  gentleman,  shrugging  his 
shonlders. 

"  That  would  be  an  equally  fair  plea  in  both  cases,"  replied  Nicholas  ; 
"but  if  you  put  it  upon  that  ground,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  than  that  if 
I  were  a  writer  of  books,  and  you  a  thirsty  dramatist,  I  would  rather  pay  your 
tavern  score  for  six  months — ^large  as  it  might  be — than  have  a  niche  in  the 
Temple  of  Fame  with  you  for  the  humblest  corner  of  my  pedestal,  through  six 
hundred  generations." 

The  conversation  threatened  to  take  a  somewhat  angry  tone  when  it  had 
arrived  thus  far,  but  Mrs.  Crummies  opportunely  inter j)osed  to  prevent  its 
leading  to  any  violent  outbreak,  by  making  some  inc[uiries  of  tne  literary 
gentleman  relative  to  the  plots  of  the  six  new  pieces  which  he  had  written  by 
contract  to  introduce  the  African  Knife-swallower  in  his  various  unrivalled 
performances.  This  speedily  engaged  him  in  an  animated  conversation  with 
that  lady,  in  the  interest  of  which  all  recollection  of  his  recent  discussion  with 
Nicholas  very  quickly  evaporated. 

The  board  being  now  clear  of  the  more  substantial  articles  of  food,  and 
punch,  wine,  and  spirits  being  placed  upon  it  and  handed  about,  the  guests, 
who  had  been  previously  conversing  in  little  groups  of  three  or  four,  gradually 
fell  off  into  a  dead  silence,  while  the  majority  of  those  present  glanced  from 
time  to  time  at  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry,  and  the  bolder  spirits  did  not  even 
liesitate  to  strike  the  table  with  their  knuckles,  and  plainly  intimate  their 
expectations  by  uttering  such  encouragements  as,  "Now,  Tim,"  "  Wake  up, 
Mr.  Chairman,"  "  All  charged,  sir,  and  waiting  for  a  toast,"  and  so  forth. 

To  these  remonstrances  Mr.  Timberry  deigned  no  other  rejoinder  than 
striking  his  chest  and  gasping  for  breath,  and  giving  many  other  indications 
of  being  still  the  victim  of  indisposition — for  a  man  must  not  make  himself 
too  cheap  either  on  the  stage  or  off — while  Mr.  Crummies,  who  knew  full  well 
that  he  would  be  the  subject  of  the  forthcoming  toast,  sat  gracefully  in  his 
chair,  with  his  arm  thrown  carelessly  over  the  back,  and  now  and  then  lifted 
his  ^lass  to  his  mouth,  and  drank  a  little  puncli,  with  the  same  air  with 
whiwi  he  was  accustomed  to  take  long  draughts  of  nothing  out  of  the  paste- 
board goblets  in  banquet  scenes. 

At  length  Mr.  SnittJe  Timbevxy  rose  in  the  most  a^^Tov<i^«AX\\.\x.^'&^^*Ock.«tv^ 


4IO  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

hand  in  the  breast  of  his  waistcoat  and  the  other  on  the  nearest  snnff-box, 
and  having  been  received  with  great  enthusiasm,  proposed,  with  abundance  of 
quotations,  his  friend  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies :  ending  a  pretty  long  speech 
by  extending  his  right  hand  on  one  side  and  his  left  on  the  other,  and  severally 
calling  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crummies  to  grasp  the  same.  This  done,  Mr. 
Vincent  Crummies  returned  thanks,  and  that  done,  the  African  Swallower 
proposed  Mrs.  Vincent  Crummies,  in  affecting  terms.  Then  were  heard  loud 
moans  and  sobs  from  Mrs.  Crummies  and  the  ladies,  despite  of  which  that 
heroic  woman  insisted  upon  returning  thanks  herself,  which  she  did,  in 
a  manner  and  in  a  speech  which  has  never  been  8urpa.ssed  and  seldom 
equalled.  It  then  became  the  duty  of  Mr.  Snittle  Timberry  to  give  the  young 
Crummleses,  which  he  did  ;  after  which  Mr.  Vincent  Crummies,  as  their  father, 
addressed  the  company  in  a  supplementary  speech,  enlarging  on  their  virtues, 
amiabilities,  and  excellences,  and  wishing  that  they  were  the  sons  and 
daughter  of  every  lady  and  gentleman  present.  These  solemnities  having 
been  succeeded  by  a  decent  interval,  enlivened  by  musical  and  other  entertain- 
ments, Mr.  Crummies  proposed  that  ornament  of  the  profession,  Mr.  Snittle 
Timberry  ;  and  at  a  little  later  period  of  the  evening,  the  health  of  that  other 
ornament  of  the  profession,  the  African  Swallower — his  very  dear  friend  if  he 
would  allow  him  to  call  him  so  ;  which  liberty  (there  being  no  particular 
reason  why  he  should  not  allow  it)  the  African  Swallower  graciously  per- 
mitted. The  literary  gentleman  was  then  about  to  be  drunk,  but  it  being 
discovered  that  he  had  Deen  drunk  for  some  time  in  another  acceptation  of  the 
term,  and  was  then  asleep  on  the  stairs,  the  intention  was  abandoned,  and  the 
honour  transferred  to  the  ladies.  Finally,  after  a  very  long  sitting,  Mr. 
Snittle  Timberry  vacated  the  chair,  and  the  company  with  many  adieus  and 
embraces  dispersed. 

Nicholas  waited  to  the  last  to  give  his  little  presents.  When  he  had  said  good- 
bye  all  round  and  came  to  Mr.  Crummies,  he  could  not  but  mark  the  difference 
between  their  present  separation  and  their  parting  at  Portsmouth.  Not  a  jot 
of  his  theatrical  manner  remained  ;  he  put  out  his  hand  with  an  air  which,  if 
he  could  have  summoned  it  at  will,  would  have  made  him  the  best  actor  of 
his  day  in  homely  parts,  and  when  Nicholas  shook  it  with  the  warmth  he 
honestly  felt,  appeared  thoroughly  melted. 

**"We  were  a  very  happy  little  company,  Johnson,"  said  poor  Crummies. 
"You  and  I  never  had  a  word.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to-morrow  morning  to 
think  that  I  saw  you  again,  but  now  I  almost  wish  you  hadn't  come." 

Nicholas  was  about  to  return  a  cheerful  reply,  when  he  was  greatly  discon- 
certed by  the  sudden  apparition  of  Mrs.  Grudden,  who  it  seemed  had  declined 
to  attend  the  supper,  in  order  that  she  might  rise  earlier  in  the  morning,  and 
who  now  burst  out  of  an  adjoining  bod-room,  habited  in  very  extraordinary 
white  robes  ;  and  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck,  hugged  him  with  great 
affection. 

**  What  !  Are  you  going  too?"  said  Nicholas,  submitting  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  if  she  had  been  the  finest  young  creature  in  the  world. 

**  Going  ? "  returned  Mrs.  Grudden.  "  Lord  ha'  mercy,  what  do  you  think 
they'd  do  without  me?" 

Nicholas  submitted  to  another  hug  with  even  a  better  grace  than  before,  if 
that  were  possible,  and  waving  his  hat  as  cheerfully  as  he  could,  took  farewell 
of  the  Vincent  Crummleses. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  411 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

CHBOKIOLBS  THE  FUBTHER  PROCEEDINGS  OF  THE  NICKLEBY  FAMILY,  AND  THE 
SEQUEL  OF  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN  IN  THE  SMALL-CLOTHES. 

WHILE  Nicholas,  absorbed  in  the  one  engrossing  subject  of  interest  which 
had  recently  opened  upon  him,  occupied  his  leisure  hours  witli 
thoughts  of  Madeline  Bray,  and,  in  execution  of  the  commissions 
which  the  anxiety  of  brother  Charles  in  her  behalf  imposed  upon  him,  saw 
her  again  and  again,  and  each  time  witli  greater  danger  to  his  ])eace  of  mind 
and  a  more  weakening  eifect  upon  the  lofty  resolutions  he  had  formed,  Mrs. 
Nickleby  and  Kate  continued  to  live  in  peace  and  quiet,  agitated  by  no  other 
cares  than  those  which  were  connected  witU  certain  harassing  proceedings  taken 
by  Mr.  Snawley  for  the  recovery  of  his  son,  and  their  anxiety  for  Smike  himself, 
whose  health,  long  upon  the  wane,  began  to  be  so  much  afiected  by  apprehen- 
sion and  uncertainty  as  sometimes  to  occasion  both  them  and  Nicholas  con- 
siderable uneasiness  and  even  alarm. 

It  was  no  complaint  or  murmur  on  the  part  of  the  poor  fellow  himself  that 
thus  disturbed  them .  Ever  eager  to  be  employed  in  such  light  services  as  ho 
could  render,  and  always  anxious  to  repay  his  benefactors  with  cheerful  and 
happy  looks,  less  friendly  eyes  might  have  seen  in  him  no  cause  for  any  mis- 
nving.  But  there  were  times — and  often,  too — when  the  sunken  eye  was  too 
bright,  the  hollow  cheek  too  flushed,  the  breath  too  thick  and  heavy  in  its 
coarse,  the  frame  too  feeble  and  exhausted  to  escape  their  regard  and  notice. 

There  is  a  dread  disease  which  so  prepares  its  victim,  as  it  were,  for  death  ; 
which  so  refines  it  of  its  grosser  aspect,  and  throws  around  familiar  looks 
unearthly  indications  of  the  coming  change — a  dread  disease  in  which  the 
straggle  between  soul  and  body  is  so  gradual,  quiet,  and  solemn,  and  the 
result  so  sure,  that  day  by  day,  and  grain  by  grain,  the  mortal  part  wastes 
and  withers  away,  so  that  the  spirit  grows  light  and  sanguine  with  its  light- 
ening load,  and  feeling  immortality  at  hand,  deems  it  but  a  new  term  of 
mortal  life — a  disease  in  which  death  and  life  are  so  strangely  blended,  that 
death  takes  the  glow  and  hue  of  life,  and  life  the  gaunt  and  grisly  form  of  death 
— a  disease  which  medicine  never  cured,  wealth  warded  off,  or  poverty  could 
boast  exemption  from — which  sometimes  moves  in  giant  strides,  and  sometimes 
at  a  tardy,  sluggisli  pace,  but,  slow  or  quick,  is  ever  sure  and  certain. 

It  was  with  some  faint  reference  in  his  own  mind  to  this  disorder,  though 
he  would  by  no  means  admit  it,  even  to  himself,  that  Nicholas  had  already 
carried  his  faithful  companion  to  a  physician  of  great  repute.  There  was  no 
cause  for  immediate  alarm,  he  said.  There  were  no  present  symptoms  which 
could  be  deemed  conclusive.  The  constitution  had  been  greatly  tried  and 
injured  in  childhood,  but  still  it  might  not  be — and  that  was  all. 

But  he  seemed  to  grow  no  worse,  and  as  it  was  not  difficult  to  find  a  reason 
for  these  symptoms  of  illness  in  the  shock  and  agitation  he  had  recently 
undergone,  Nicholas  comforted  himself  with  the  hope  that  his  poor  friend 
would  soon  recover.  This  hope  his  mother  and  sister  shared  with  him  ;  and 
as  the  object  of  their  joint  solicitude  seemed  to  have  no  uneasiness  or  despon- 
dency for  himself,  but  each  day  answered  with  a  quiet  smile  that  he  felt 
better  than  he  hatl  upon  the  day  before,  their  fears  abated,  and  the  general 
happiness  was  by  degrees  restored. 

Many  and  many  a  time  in  after  years  did  Nicholas  look  \i^tV  \.q  \)cC\^  ^^\\»^ 
of  his  life,  and  tread  again  the  humble,  quiet,  homeVy  sccii^a\)cv"a.\.tQ^^N^'^^'s»^1 


412  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

old  before  him.  Many  and  many  a  time,  in  the  twilight  of  a  snmmir 
evening,  or  beside  the  flickering  winter's  fire — but  not  so  often  or  so  sadly 
then — would  his  thoughts  wander  back  to  these  old  days,  and  dwell  with  a 

Eleasant  sorrow  upon  every  slight  remembrance  which  they  brought  crowding 
ome.  The  little  room  in  which  they  had  so  often  sat  long  after  it  was  duk, 
figuring  such  happy  futures — Kate's  cheerful  voice  and  merry  laugh ;  and 
how,  if  she  were  from,  home,  they  used  to  sit  and  watch  for  her  return,  scarcely 
bret^ing  silence  but  to  say  how  dull  it  seemed  without  her — the  ^ee  with 
which  poor  Smike  would  start  from  the  darkened  comer  where  he  used  io  sit, 
and  hurry  to  admit  her,  and  the  tears  they  often  saw  upon  his  &ce,  half 
wondering  to  see  them,  too,  and  he  so  pleased  and  happy — every  Uttie 
incident,  and  even  slight  words  and  looks  of  those  old  days,  little  heeded 
then,  but  well  remembered  when  busy  cares  and  trials  were  quite  foreot,  came 
fresh  and  thick  before  him  many  and  many  a  time,  and  rustling  iSwve  the 
dusty  growth  of  years,  came  back  green  boughs  of  yesterday. 

But  there  were  other  persons  associated  with  these  recollections,  and  many 
changes  came  about  before  they  had  being — a  necessary  reflection  for  the 
purposes  of  these  adventures,  which  at  once  subside  into  their  accustomed  train, 
and  shunning  all  flighty  anticipations  or  wayward  wanderings,  pursue  their 
steady  and  decorous  course. 

If  the  Brothers  Gheeryble,  as  they  found  Nicholas  worthy  of  trust  and  con- 
fidence, bestowed  upon  him  every  day  some  new  and  substantial  mark  of 
kindness,  they  were  not  less  mindful  of  those  who  depended  on  him.  Yarions 
little  presents  to  Mrs.  Nickleby — always  of  the  very  things  they  most  required 
— tended  in  no  slight  degree  to  the  improvement  and  embellishment  of  the 
cottage.      Kate's  little  store  of  trinkets  became  (|uite  dazzling ;   and  for 

company !    If  brother  Charles  and  brother  Ned  failed  to  look  in  for  at  least 

a  few  minutes  every  Sunday,  or  one  evening  in  the  week,  there  was  Mr.  Tim 
Linkinwater  (who  had  never  made  half-a-dozen  other  acquaintances  in  all  his 
life,  and  who  took  such  delight  in  his  new  friends  as  no  words  can  express) 
constantly  coming  and  going  in  bis  evening  walks  and  stopping  to  rest ;  while 
;Mr.  Frank  Gheeryble  happened,  by  some  strange  conjunction  of  circumstances, 
to  be  passing  the  door  on  some  business  or  other  at  least  three  nights  in  the 
week. 

**He  is  the  most  attentive  young  man  /  ever  saw,  Kate,"  said  Mrs. 
Nickleby  to  her  daughter,  one  evening  when  this  last-named  gentleman  had 
been  the  subject  of  the  worthy  lady's  eulogium  for  some  time,  and  Kate  had 
sat  perfectly  silent. 

"  Attentive,  mamma  !  "  rejoined  Kate. 

**  Bless  my  heart,  Kate!"  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby  with  her  wonted  sudden- 
ness,  **  what  a  colour  you  have  got  ;  why,  you're  quite  flushed  !  " 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  what  strange  things  you  fancy." 

'*  It  wasn't  fancy,  Kate,  my  dear,  I'm  certain  of  that,"  returned  her 
mother.  "  However,  it's  gone  now,  at  any  rate,  so  it  don't  much  matter 
whether  it  was  or  not.  What  was  it  we  were  talking  about  ?  Oh  !  Mr. 
Frank.     I  never  saw  such  attention  in  my  life,  never." 

"Surely  you  are  not  serious,"  returned  Kate,  colouring  again  ;  and  this 
time  beyond  all  dispute. 

"Not  serious ! "  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby;  "why  shouldn't  I  be  serious! 
I'm  sure  I  never  was  more  serious.  I  will  say  that  his  politeness  and  atten- 
tion to  me  is  one  of  the  most  becoming,  gratifying,  pleasant  things  I  have 
seen  for  a  very  long  time.  You  don't  often  meet  with  such  behaviour  in 
young  men,  and  it  strikes  one  uvoie  -vlieu.  oue  does  meet  with  it" 

Oh\  attention  to  you,  mamm^"  -t^^o\\i^*i'^L3aL\A,  o^vOiX^— '^^  Oo^-^^i," 


(*, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  413 

"Dear  me,  Kate,"  retorted  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "what  an  extraordinary  girl 
you  are.  Was  it  likely  I  should  be  talking  of  his  attention  to  anybody  else  ? 
I  declare  I*m  quite  sorry  to  think  he  should  be  in  love  with  a  German  lady, 
that  I  am." 

**  He  said  very  positively  that  it  was  no  such  thing,  mamma,"  returned 
Kate.  "  Don't  you  remember  his  saying  so  that  very  first  night  he  came 
here  t  Besides,"  she  added,  in  a  more  gentle  tone,  **  why  should  we  be  sorry 
if  it  is  the  case  ?    What  is  it  to  us,  mamma  ? " 

**  Nothing  to  us^  Kate,  perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  emphatically  ;  **  but 
something  to  vm^  I  confess.  I  like  English  people  to  be  thorough  English 
people,  and  not  half  English  and  half  I  don't  know  what.  I  shsdl  tell  him 
point-blank  next  time  he  comes,  that  I  wish  he  would  marry  one  of  his  own 
countrywomen  ;  and  see  what  he  says  to  that." 

**  Pray  don't  think  of  such  a  thing,  mamma,"  returned  Kate,  hastily  ; 
'*  not  for  the  world.     Consider — how  very " 

**  Well,  my  dear,  how  very  what? "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  opening  her  eyes 
in  great  astonishment 

Before  Kate  had  returned  any  reply,  a  queer  little  double  knock  announced 
that  Miss  La  Creevy  had  called  to  see  them  ;  and  when  Miss  La  Creevy 
presented  herself,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  though  strongly  disposed  to  be  argumenta- 
tive on  the  previous  question,  forgot  all  about  it  in  a  gush  of  supposes  about 
the  coach  she  had  come  by  ;  supposing  that  the  man  who  drove  must  have 
heen  either  the  man  in  the  shirt-sleeves  or  the  man  with  the  black  eye  ;  that 
whoever  he  was,  he  hadn't  found  that  parasol  she  left  inside  last  week  ;  that 
no  doubt  they  had  stopped  a  long  while  at  the  Half-way  House  coming  down  ; 
or  that  perhaps  being  full,  they  had  come  straight  on  ;  and  lastly,  that  they 
surely  must  have  passed  Nicholas  on  the  road. 

'*  I  saw  nothing  of  him,"  answered  Miss  La  Creevy  ;  **  but  I  saw  that  dear 
old  soul  Mr.  Linkinwater." 

"  Taking  his  evening  walk,  and  coming  on  to  rest  here,  before  he  turns  back 
to  the  City,  I'll  be  bound  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

**  I  should  think  he  was,"  returned  Miss  La  Creevy  ;  **  especially  as  young 
Mr.  Oheeryble  was  with  him. " 

**  Surely  that  is  no  reason  why  Mr.  Linkinwater  should  be  coming  here," 
said  E^te. 

•*Why,  I  think  it  is,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  La  Creevy.  **For  a  young 
man,  Mr.  Frank  is  not  a  very  great  walker  ;  and  I  observe  that  he  generally 
falls  tired,  and  requires  a  good  long  rest,  when  he  has  come  as  far  as  this. 
But  where  is  my  friend  ? "  said  the  little  woman,  looking  about,  after 
having  glanced  slyly  at  Kate.  "  He  has  not  been  run  away  with  again,  has 
het" 

"Ah!  where  is  Mr.  Smike?"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby;  **he  was  here  this 
instant" 

Upon  further  inv^uiry,  it  turned  out,  to  the  good  lady's  unbounded  astonish- 
ment, that  Smike  had  that  moment  gone  upstairs  to  bed. 

"Weil,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "he  is  .the  strangest  creature!  Last 
Tuesday — was  it  Tuesday  ?  Yes,  to  be  sure  it  was  ;  you  recollect,  Kate,  my 
dear,  the  very  last  time  young  Mr.  Cheery ble  was  here — last  Tuesday  night 
he  went  oflf  in  just  the  same  strange  way,  at  the  very  moment  the  knock  came 
to  the  door.  It  cannot  be  that  he  don't  like  company,  because  he  is  always 
fond  of  people  who  are  fond  of  Nicholas,  and  I  am  sure  young  Mr.  Cheeryble 
is.  And  the  strangest  thing  is,  that  he  does  not  go  to  bed  ;  therefore  it 
cannot  be  because  he  is  tired.  I  know  he  doesn't  go  to  \ie<i,\i^^'a»a.^  \xi:^  wsvss. 
is  the  next  one,  and  when  I  went  upstairs  last  Tw^adOb^ ,  Siomt^  ^IXrx  Vxxs^.^'V 


414  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

found  that  ho  had  not  even  taken  his  shoes  off ;  and  he  had  no  candle,  so  he 
must  have  sat  moping  in  the  dark  all  the  time.  Now,  upon  my  word,"  said 
Mrs.  Nickleby,   '*  when  I  come  to  think  of  it,  that's  very  extraordinary ! " 

As  the  hearers  did  not  echo  this  sentiment,  but  remained  profoundly  silent, 
either  as  not  knowing  what  to  say,  or  as  being  unwilling  to  interrupt,  Mi's. 
Nickleby  pursued  the  thread  of  her  discourse  after  her  own  fashion. 

"  I  hope,"  said  that  lady,  **  that  this  unaccountable  conduct  may  not  be 
the  beginning  of  his  taking  to  his  bed  and  living  there  all  his  life,  like  the 
Thirsty  Woman  of  Tutbury,  or  the  Cock  Lane  Ghost,  or  some  of  those  extra- 
ordinary creatures.  One  of  them  had  some  connection  with  our  family.  I 
forget,  without  looking  back  to  some  old  letters  I  have  upstairs,  whether  it 
was  my  great-grandfather  who  went  to  school  with  the  Cock  Lane  Ghost,  or 
the  Tliirsty  Woman  of  Tutbury  who  went  to  school  with  my  grandmother. 
jMiss  La  Creevy,  you  know,  of  course.  Which  was  it  that  didn't  mind  what 
the  clergyman  said  ?  The  Cock  Lane  Ghost  or  the  Thirsty  Woman  of 
Tutbury  ? " 

"The  Cock  Lane  Ghost,  I  believe." 

"Then  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "that  it  was  with  him  my 
great-grandfather  went  to  school ;  for  I  know  the  master  of  his  school  was  a 
(lissenter,  and  that  would,  in  a  great  measure,  account  for  the  Cock  Lane 
Ghost's  behaving  in  such  an  improper  manner  to  the  clergyman  when  he  grew 
up.     Ah  !    Train  up  a  Ghost — child,  I  mean " 

Any  further  reflections  on  this  fruitful  theme  were  abruptly  cut  short  by 
the  arrival  of  Tim  Linkinwater  and  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble  ;  in  the  hurry  of 
receiving  whom,  Mrs.  Nickleby  speedily  lost  sight  of  everything  else. 

"I  am  so  sorry  Nicholas  is  not  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "Kate, 
my  dear,  you  must  be  both  Nicholas  and  yourself." 

"Miss  Nickleby  need  be  but  herself,"  said  Frank.  "I — if  I  may  venture 
to  say  so — oppose  all  change  in  her. " 

"Then  at  all  events  she  shall  press  you  to  stay,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby. 
"Mr.  Linkinwater  says  ten  minutes,  but  I  cannot  let  you  go  so  soon; 
Nicholas  would  be  very  much  vexed,  I  am  sure.     Kate,  my  dear " 

In  obedience  to  a  great  number  of  nods,  and  winks,  and  frowns  of  extra 
significance,  Kate  added  her  entreaties  that  the  visitors  would  remain  ;  but  it 
was  observable  that  she  addressed  them  exclusively  to  Tim  Linkinwater  ;  ami 
there  was,  besides,  a  certain  embarrassment  in  her  manner,  which,  although 
it  was  as  far  from  impairing  its  graceful  character  as  the  tinge  it  communi- 
cated to  her  cheek  was  from  diminishing  her  beauty,  was  obvious  at  a  glance 
even  to  Mrs.  Nickleby.  Not  being  of  a  very  speculative  character,  however, 
save  under  circumstances  when  her  speculations  could  be  put  into  words  and 
uttered  aloud,  that  discreet  matron  attributed  the  emotion  to  the  circumstance 
of  her  daughter's  not  happening  to  have  her  best  frock  on — "though  I  never 
saw  her  look  better,  certainly,"  she  reflected  at  the  same  time.  Having 
settled  the  question  in  this  way,  and  being  most  complacently  satisfied  that 
in  this,  as  in  all  other  instances,  her  conjecture  could  not  fail  to  be  the  right 
one,  Mrs.  Nickleby  dismissed  it  from  her  thoughts,  and  inwardly  congratu- 
lated herself  on  being  so  shrewd  and  knowing. 

Nicholas  did  not  come  home,  nor  did  Smike  reappear  ;  but  neither  circum- 
stance, to  saj'  the  truth,  had  any  great  eifect  upon  the  little  party,  who  were 
all  in  the  best  humour  possible.  Indeed,  there  sprung  up  quite  a  flirtation 
between  Miss  La  Creevy  and  Tim  Linkinwater,  who  said  a  thousand  jocose 
and  facetious  things,  and  became,  by  degrees,  quite  gallant,  not  to  say  tender. 
Little  Miss  La  Creevy,  on  her  part,  was  in  high  spirits,  and  rallied  Tim  on 
having  remained  a  bachelor  all  his  life  with  so  much  succeai,  that  Tim  waa 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  415 

actually  induced  to  declare,  that  if  he  could  get  anybody  to  have  him,  he 
didn't  know  but  what  he  might  change  his  condition  even  yet.  Miss  La 
Creevy  earnestly  recommended  a  lady  she  knew,  who  would  exactly  suit  Mr. 
Linkinwater,  and  had  a  very  comfortable  property  of  her  own  ;  but  this  latter 
qualification  had  very  little  effect  upon  Tim,  who  manfully  protested  that 
fortune  would  be  no  object  with  him,  but  that  true  worth  and  cheerfulness  of 
disposition  were  what  a  man  should  look  for  in  a  wife,  and  that  if  he  had 
these,  he  could  find  money  enough  for  the  moderate  wants  of  both.  This 
avowal  was  considered  so  honourable  to  Tim,  that  neither  Mrs.  Nickleby 
nor  Miss  La  Creevy  could  sufficiently  extol  it ;  and  stimulated  by  their 
praises,  Tim  launched  out  into  several  other  declarations  also  manifesting 
the  disinterestedness  of  his  heart,  and  a  great  devotion  to  the  fair  sex  ; 
which  were  received  with  no  less  approbation.  This  was  done  and  said  with 
a  comical  mixture  of  jest  and  earnest,  and  leading  to  a  great  amount  of 
laughter,  made  them  very  merry  indeed. 

Kate  was  commonly  the  life  and  soul  of  the  conversation  at  home  ;  but  she 
was  more  silent  than  usual  upon  this  occasion — perhaps  because  Tim  and  Miss 
La  Creevy  engrossed  so  much  of  it — and  keeping  aloof  from  the  talkers,  sat  ot 
the  window  watching  the  shadows  as  the  evening  closed  in,  and  enjoying  the 
quiet  beauty  of  the  night,  which  seemed  to  have  scarcely  less  attractions  for 
Frank  who  first  lingered  near,  and  then  sat  down  beside  her.  No  doubt 
there  are  a  great  many  things  to  be  said  appropriate  to  a  summer  eveuini;, 
and  no  doubt  they  are  best  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  being  most  suitable  to  the 
peace  and  serenity  of  the  hour  ;  long  pauses,  too,  at  times,  and  then  an  earnest 
word  or  so,  and  then  another  interval  of  silence,  which,  somehow,  does  not 
SQeni  like  silence  either,  and  perhaps  now  and  then  a  hasty  turning  away  of 
the  head,  or  drooping  of  the  eyes -towards  the  ground — all  these  minor  circum- 
stances, with  a  disinclination  to  haVe  candles  introduced,  and  a  tendency  to 
confuse  hours  with  minutes,  are  doubtless  mere  influences  of  the  time,  as  many 
lovely  lips  can  clearly  testify.  Neither  was  there  the  slightest  reason  why  Mrs. 
Nickleby  should  have  expressed  surprise  when,  candles  being  at  length  brought 
in,  Kate's  bright  eyes  were  unable  to  bear  the  light,  which  obliged  her  to  avert 
her  face,  and  even  to  leave  the  room  for  some  short  time  ;  because  when  one 
has  sat  in  the  dark  so  long,  candles  are  dazzling,  and  nothing  can  be  more 
strictly  natural  than  that  such  results  should  be  produced,  as  all  well- 
informed  young  people  know.  For  that  matter  old  people  know  it  too,  or  did 
know  it  once,  but  they  forget  these  things  sometimes,  and  more's  tlie  pity. 

The  good  lady's  surprise,  however,  did  not  end  here.  It  was  greatly  in- 
creased when  it  was  discovered  that  Kate  had  not  the  least  appetite  for 
supper  :  a  discovery  so  alarming  that  there  is  no  knowing  in  what  unaccount- 
able efforts  of  oratory  Mrs.  Nickleby's  apprehension  might  have  been  vented, 
if  the  general  attention  had  not  been  attracted,  at  the  moment,  by  a  very 
strange  and  uncommon  noise,  proceeding,  as  the  pale  and  trembling  servant- 
girl  affirmed,  and  as  everybody's  sense  of  hearing  seemed  to  affirm  also, 
**  right  down"  the  chimney  of  the  adjoining  room. 

It  being  quite  plain  to  the  comprehension  of  all  present  that,  however 
extraordinary  and  improbable  it  might  appear,  the  noise  did  nevertheless 
proceed  from  the  chimney  in  question  ;  and  the  noise  (which  was  a  strange 
combound  of  various  shuffling,  sliding,  rumbling,  and  struggling  sounds,  all 
muffled  by  the  chimney)  still  continuing,  Frank  Cheeryble  caught  up  a 
candle,  and  Tim  Linkinwater  the  tongs,  and  they  would  have  very  quickly 
ascertained  the  cause  of  this  disturbance  if  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  not  been  taken 
very  faint,  and  declined  being  left  behind  on  any  account.  This  produced  a 
short  remonstrancei  which  terminated  in  their  all  proceeding  to  the  troubled 


4i6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

chamber  in  a  body,  excepting  only  Miss  La  Creevy,  who — as  the  servant- 
girl  volunteered  a  confession  of  having  been  subject  to  fits  in  her  infancy 
— remained  with  her  to  give  the  alarm  and  apply  restoratives,  in  case  of 
extremity. 

Advancing  to  the  door  of  the  mysterious  apartment,  they  were  not  a 
little  surprised  to  hear  a  human  voice,  chanting  with  a  highly  elaborate 
expression  of  melancholy,  and  iu  tones  of  sujQTocation  which  a  human  voice 
might  produce  from  under  five  or  six  feather-beds  of  the  best  quality,  the 
once  popular  air  of  *  •  Has  she  then  failed  in  her  truth,  the  beautiful  maid 
I  adore ! "  Nor,  on  bursting  into  the  room  without  demanding  a  parley, 
was  their  astonishment  lessened  by  the  discovery  that  these  romantic  sounds 
certainly  proceeded  from  the  throat  of  some  man  up  the  chimney,  of  whom 
nothing  was  visible  but  a  pair  of  legs,  which  were  dangling  above  the  grate; 
apparently  feeling,  with  extreme  anxiety,  for  the  top  bar  whereon  to  effect  a 
landing. 

A  sight  so  unusual  and  unbusiness-like  as  this  completely  paralysed  Tim 
Linkinwater,  who,  after  one  or  two  gentle  pinches  at  the  stranger's  ankles, 
which  were  productive  of  no  eflTect,  stood  clapping  the  tongs  together,  as  if  he 
were  sharpening  them  for  another  assault,  and  did  nothing  else. 

•*This  must  be  some  drunken  fellow,"  said  Frank.  "No  thief  woold 
announce  his  presence  thus." 

As  he  said  this,  witii  great  indignation,  he  raised  the  candle  to  obtain  a 
better  view  of  the  legs,  and  was  darting  forward  to  pull  them  down  with  very 
little  ceremony,  when  Mrs.  Nickleby,  clasping  her  hands,  uttered  a  sharp 
sound,  something  between  a  scream  and  an  exclamation,  and  demanded  to 
know  whether  the  mysterious  limbs  were  not  clad  in  small-clothes  and  grey 
worsted  stockings,  or  whether  her  eyes  had  deceived  her. 

'*  Yes,"  cried  Frank,  looking  a  little  closer.  "  Small-clothes  certainly,  and 
— and — rough  grey  stockings,  too.     Do  you  know  him,  ma'am  ? " 

**Kate,  my  aear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  deliberately  sitting  herself  down  in 
a  chair  with  that  sort  of  desperate  resignation  which  seemed  to  imply  that 
now  matters  had  come  to  a  crisis,  and  all  disguise  was  useless,  "  you  wiU  have 
the  goodness,  my  love,  to  explain  precisely  how  this  matter  stands.  I  have 
pjiven  him  no  encouragement — none  whatever — not  the  least  in  the  world. 
You  know  that,  my  dear,  perfectly  well.  He  was  very  respectful — exceed* 
ingly  respectful — when  he  declared,  as  you  were  a  witness  to  ;  still  at  the 
same  time,  if  I  am  to  be  persecuted  in  this  way,  if  vegetable  what's-his-names 
and  all  kinds  of  garden-stuff  are  to  strew  my  path  out  of  doors,  and  gentle- 
men are  to  come  choking  up  our  chimneys  at  home,  1  really  don't  know— 
upon  my  word  I  do  not  know — what  is  to  become  of  me.  It's  a  very  hard 
case — harder  than  anything  I  ever  was  exposed  to,  before  I  married  your  poor, 
dear  pa})a,  though  I  suffered  a  good  deal  of  annoyance  then — but  that,  of 
course,  I  expected,  and  made  up  my  mind  for.  When  I  was  not  nearly  so  old 
as  you,  my  dear,  there  was  a  young  gentleman  who  sat  next  us  at  church,  who 
used,  almost  every  Sunday,  to  cut  my  name  in  large  letters  in  the  front  of  his 
pew  while  the  sermon  was  going  on.  It  was  gratifying,  of  course,  naturally 
so,  but  still  it  was  an  annoyance,  because  the  pew  was  in  a  very  conspicuous 
place,  and  he  was  several  times  publicly  taken  out  by  the  beadle  for  doin^ 
it.  But  that  was  nothing -to  this.  This  is  a  great  deal*  worse,  andaffreat 
deal  more  embarrassing.  I  would  rather,  Kate,  my  dear,"  said  m» 
Nickleby,  with  great  solemnity,  and  an  effusion  of  tears — **  I  would  rather, 
I  declare,  have  been  a  pig-faced  lady,  than  be  exposed  to  such  a  life  as 
this ! " 

Frank  Cliecryble  and  Tim  Linkinwater  looked,  in  irrepressible  astonish- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  417 

ment,  first  at  each  other  and  then  at  Kate,  who  felt  that  some  explanation 
was  necessary,  bat  who,  between  her  terror  at  the  apparition  of  the  legs,  her 
fear  lest  their  owner  should  be  smothered,  and  her  anxiety  to  give  the  least 
ridiculous  solution  of  the  mystery  that  it  was  capable  of  bearing,  was  quite 
unable  to  utter  a  single  wora. 

**  He  gives  me  great  pain,"  continued  Mrs.  Nickleby,  drying  her  eyes — 
"  great  pain  ;  but  don't  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head,  I  beg.  On  no  account  hurt  a 
hair  of  nishead." 

It  would  not,  under  existing  circumstances,  have  been  quite  so  easy  to  hurt 
a  hair  of  the  gentleman's  head  as  Mrs.  Nickleby  seemed  to  imagine,  inasmuch 
as  that  part  of  his  person  was  some  feet  up  the  chimney,  which  was  by  no 
means  a  wide  one.  But  as  all  this  time  he  had  never  left  off  singing  about 
the  bankruptcy  of  the  beautiful  maid  in  respect  of  truth,  and  now  began  not 
only  to  croak  very  feebly,  but  to  kick  with  great  Violence  as  if  respiration 
bedune  a  task  of  difficulty,  Frank  Cheeryble,  without  further  hesitation, 
polled  at  the  shorts  and  worsteds  with  such  heartiness  as  to  bring  him 
flonndering  into  the  room  with  greater  precipitation  than  he  had  quite 
calcmlated  upon. 

*•  Oh  !  yes,  yes,"  said  Kate,  directly  the  whole  fi^re  of  the  singular  visitor 
appeared  in  this  abrupt  manner.  '*  I  know  who  it  is.  Pray  dont  be  rough 
with  hinL     Is  he  hurt  ?    I  hope  not — oh,  pray  see  if  he  is  hurt. " 

**  He  is  not,  I  assure  you,"  replied  Frank,  handling  the  object  of  his 
snrprise,  after  this  appeal,  with  sudden  tenderness  and  respect.     '*  He  is  not  ' 
hnrb  in  the  least." 

"  Don't  let  him  come  any  nearer,"  said  Kate,  retiring  as  far  as  she  could. 
"No,  no,  he  shall  not,     rejoined  Frank.     "You  see  I  have  him  secure 
here.     But  may  I  ask  you  what  this  means,  and  whether  you  expected  this 
old  gentleman ! " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Kate,  '*  of  course  not ;  but  he — mamma  does  not  think  so,  I 
believe — ^but  he  is  a  mad  gentleman  who  has  escaped  from  the  next  house,  and 
must  have  found  an  opportunity  of  secreting  himself  here." 

"  Kate,"  interposed  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  severe  dignity,  "  I  am  surprised  at 
you." 

"  Dear  mamma "  Kate  gently  remonstrated. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  you,"  repeated  Mrs.  Nickleby  ;  "  upon  my  word,  Kate, 
I  am  quite  astonished  that  you  should  join  the  persecutors  of  this  unfortunate 

gentleman,  when  you  know  very  well  that  they  have  the  basest  designs  upon 
is  property,  and  that  that  is  the  whole  secret  of  it.  It  would  he  much 
kinoer  of  you,  Kate,  to  ask  Mr.  Linkin water  or  Mr.  Cheeryble  to  interfere  in 
his  behalf  and  see  him  righted.  You  ought  not  to  allow  your  feelings  to 
influence  you ;  it's  not  right — very  far  from  it.  What  should  my  feelings  be, 
do  you  suppose  ?  If  anybody  ought  to  be  indignant,  who  is  it  ?  I,  of  course, 
and  very  properly  so.  Still,  at  the  same  time,  I  wouldn't  commit  such  an 
injustice  for  the  world.  No,"  continued  Mrs.  Nickleby,  drawing  herself  up, 
and  looking  another  way  with  a  kind  of  bashful  stateliness  ;  *'  this  gentleman 
will  understand  me  when  I  tell  him  that  I  repeat  the  answer  I  gave  him  the 
other  dav — that  I  always  will  repeat  it,  thougn  I  do  believe  him  to  be  sincere 
when  I  nnd  him  placing  himself  in  such  dreadful  situations  on  my  account — 
and  that  I  request  him  to  have  the  goodness  to  go  away  directly,  or  it  will  be 
impossible  to  keep  his  behaviour  a  secret  from  my  son  Nicholas.  I  am 
obliged  to  him,  very  much  obliged  to  him,  but  I  cannot  listen  to  his  addresses 
for  a  moment.     It's  quite  impossible. " 

While  this  address  was  in  course  of  delivery,  the  old  gentleman,  with  his 
nose  and  cheeks  embellished  with  large  patches  of  soot,  sat  upon  the  ground 


4i8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

with  arms  folded,  eyeing  the  spectators  in  profound  silence,  and  with  a  very 
majestic  demeanour.  He  did  not  appear  to  take  the  smallest  notice  of  what 
Mrs.  Nickleby  said,  bat  when  she  ceased  to  speak  he  honoured  her  with  a  long 
stare,  and  inquired  if  she  had  quite  finished. 

**I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  replied  that  lady,  modestly.  **I  really 
cannot  say  anything  more." 

* '  Very  good, "  said  the  old  gentleman,  raising  his  voice,  ' '  then  bring  in  tbe 
bottled  li^tning,  a  clean  tumbler,  and  a  corkscrew." 

Nobody  executing  this  order,  the  old  gentleman,  after  a  short  pause,  raised 
his  voice  again,  and  demanded  a  thunder  sandwich.  This  article  not  beine 
forthcoming  either,  he  requested  to  be  served  with  a  fricassee  of  boot-tops  and 
^old-fish  sauce,  and  then  laughing  heartily,  gratified  his  hearers  with  a  very 
long,  very  loud,  and  most  melodious  bellow. 

But  still  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  reply  to  the  significant  looks  of  all  about  her, 
shook  her  head  as  though  to  assure  them  that  she  saw  nothing  whatever  in  all 
this,  unless,  indeed,  it  were  a  slight  degree  of  eccentricity.  She  might  have 
remained  impressed  with  these  opinions  down  to  the  latest  moment  of  her 
life,  but  for  a  slight  train  of  circumstances,  which,  trivial  as  they  were, 
altered  the  whole  complexion  of  the  case. 

It  happened  that  Miss  La  Creevy,  finding  her  padent  in  no  very  threatening 
condition,  and  being  strongly  impelled  bv  curiosity  to  see  what  was  goinc 
forward,  bustled  into  the  room  while  the  old  gentleman  was  in  the  very  act  a 
bellowing.  It  happened,  too,  that  the  instant  the  old  gentleman  saw  her  he 
stopped  short,  skipped  suddenly  on  his  feet,  and  fell  to  kissinff  his  haid 
violently :  a  change  of  demeanour  which  almost  terrified  the  litue  port]li^ 
painter  out  of  her  senses,  and  caused  her  to  retreat  behind  Tim  Linkinwater 
with  the  utmost  expedition. 

''Aha !"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  folding  his  hands,  and  squeezing  them 
with  great  force  against  each  other.  "  I  see  her  now  ;  I  see  her  now  !  My 
love,  my  life,  my  bride,  mv  peerless  beauty.  She  is  come  at  last — at  last— 
and  all  is  gas  and  gaiters  !  ' 

Mrs.  Nickleby  looked  rather  disconcerted  for  a  moment,  but  immediately 
recovering,  nodded  to  Miss  La  Creevy  and  the  other  spectators  several  times, 
and  frowned,  and  smiled  gravely ;  giving  them  to  understand  that  she  ssv 
where  the  mistake  was,  ana  would  set  it  all  to  rights  in  a  minute  or  two. 

*'  She  is  come  ! "  said  the  old  gentleman,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  heait 
**  Cormoran  and  Blunderbore  !  She  is  come  I  All  the  wealth  I  have  is  hen 
if  she  will  take  me  for  her  slave.  Where  are  grace,  beauty,  and  blandish- 
ments like  those  ?  In  the  Empress  of  Madagascar  ?  No.  In  the  Queen  of 
Diamonds  ?  No.  In  Mrs.  Rowland,  who  every  morning  bathes  in  Ealydor 
for  nothing  ?  No.  Melt  all  these  down  into  one,  with  the  three  Graces,  the 
nine  Muses,  and  fourteen  biscuit-bakers'  daughters  from  Oxford  Street,  ind 
make  a  woman  half  as  lovely.     Pho  !     I  defy  you." 

After  uttering  this  rhapsody,  the  old  gentleman  snapped  his  fingers  twenty 
or  thirty  times,  and  then  subsided  into  an  ecstatic  contemplation  of  Miss  li 
Creevy's  charms.  This  affording  Mrs.  Nickleby  a  favourable  opportunity  of 
explanation,  she  went  about  it  straight 

"I  am  sure,"  said  the  worthy  lady,  with  a  prefatory  cough,  "that  it's  t 
great  relief,  under  such  trying  circumstances  as  these,  to  have  anybody  else 
mistaken  for  me — a  very  great  relief ;  and  it's  a  circumstance  that  new 
occurred  before,  although  I  have  several  times  been  mistaken  for  my  diusfater 
KsitQ.  I  have  no  doubt  the  people  were  very  foolish,  and  perhaps  ought  to 
have  known  better,  but  a\.Vi\  tu«kN  ^\^  \*^^  m^  C^t  her,  and  of  coarse  that  wis 
no  fault  of  mine  ;  and  \t  vioxsiVa  '^  n^\i  >aa.\^/\sAa^^^M  \nk^  to  be  intde 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  419 

Tosponsiblfi  for  it.  However,  in  this  instance,  of  coarse,  I  most  feel  that  I 
ihoold  do  exceedingly  wrong  if  I  suffered  anybody— especially  anybody  that  I 
un  under  great  obligations  to — to  be  made  uncomfortaolo  on  my  account,  and 
therefore  1  think  it  my  duty  to  tell  that  gentleman  that  he  is  mistaken — that 
I  am  the  lady  who  he  was  told  by  some  impeitinent  person  was  niece  to  the 
Council  of  Pavingstones,  and  that  I  do  beg  and  entreat  of  him  to  go  quietly 
away,  if  it's  only  for" — here  Mrs.  Nickleby  simpered  and  hesitated — **for 
my  sake." 

It  might  have  been  expected  that  the  old  gentleman  would  have  been 
penetrated  to  the  heart  by  the  delicacy  and  condescension  of  this  appeal,  and 
that  he  would  at  least  have  returned  a  courteous  and  suitable  reply.  What, 
then,  was  the  shock  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  received  when,  accosting  her  in  the 
most  mimistakable  manner,  he  replied  in  a  loud  and  sonorous  voice,  ''Avaunt 
Cat  I" 

"Sir  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Nickleby,  in  a  faint  tone. 

"  Cat  1 "  repeated  the  old  gentleman.  **  Puss,  Kit,  Tit,  Grimalkin,  Tabby, 
Brindle — ^Whoosh  ! "  with  which  last  sound,  uttered  in  a  hissing  manner 
between  his  teeth,  the  old  gentleman  swung  his  arms  violently  round  and 
rmmd,  and  at  the  same  time  alternately  advanced  on  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and 
retreated  from  her,  in  that  species  of  savage  dance  with  which  boys  on  market 
days  may  be  seen  to  frighten  pi^,  sheep,  and  other  animals,  when  they  give 
oat  obstinate  indications  of  turning  down  a  wrong  street. 

lbs.  Kickleby  wasted  no  words,  but  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror  and 
■arprise,  and  immediately  fainted  away  ! 

''I'll  attend  to  mamma,"  said  Kate,  hastily ;  '*  I  am  not  at  all  frightened. 
Bat  pray  take  him  away  ;  pray  take  him  away  1 " 

Frank  was  not  at  all  confident  of  his  power  of  complying  with  this  request, 
until  he  bethought  himself  of  the  stratagem  of  sending  Miss  La  Creevy  on  a 
few  paces  in  advance,  and  urging  the  old  gentleman  to  follow  her.  It  suc- 
ceeded to  a  miracle  ;  and  he  v^ont  away  in  a  rapture  of  admiration,  strongly 
guarded  by  Tim  Linkinwater  on  one  side,  and  Frank  himself  on  the  other. 

"  Kate,  murmured  Mrs.  Nickleby,  reviving  when  the  coast  was  clear,  "  is 
he  ffone  f " 

She  was  assured  that  he  was. 

'*  I  shall  never  forgive  myself,  Kate,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "  Never.  That 
gentleman  has  lost  his  senses,  and  /  am  the  unhappy  cause." 

"  Ten  the  cause  1 "  said  Kate,  greatly  astonished. 

"I,  my  love,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  a  desperate  calmness.  "You 
saw  what  he  was  tne  other  day ;  you  see  what  he  is  now.  I  told  your 
brother,  weeks  and  weeks  a^o,  Kate,  that  I  hoped  a  disappointment  might 
not  be  too  much  for  him.  You  see  what  a  wreck  he  is.  Making  allowance 
for  his  being  a  little  flighty,  you  know  how  rationally,  and  sensibly,  and 
honourably  he  talked,  when  we  saw  him  in  the  garden.  You  have  heard  the 
dreadful  nonsense  he  has  been  guilty  of  this  night,  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  has  gone  on  with  that  poor  unfortunate  little  old  maid.  Can  anybody 
doubt  how  all  this  has  been  brought  about ! " 

"I  should  scarcely  think  they  could,"  said  Kate,  mildly. 

"/ should  scarcely  think  so,  either,"  rejoined  her  mother.  "Well !  if  I 
am  the  unfortunate  cause  of  this,  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  I  am 
not  to  blame.  I  told  Nicholas — I  said  to  him,  '  Nicholas,  my  dear,  we  should 
be  yery  careful  how  we  proceed.*    He  would  scarcely  hear  me.     If  the  matter 

had  only  been  properly  taken  up  at  first,  as  I  wished  it  to  be .     B\i.t  ^qns^ 

are  both  of  you  so  like  your  poor  papa.    However,  1  Yiav^  m^j  ^oiyaic^^'^'Si^  wA 
that  should  be  enough  for  me  I " 


420  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Washing  her  hands,  thus,  of  all  responsibility  nnder  this  head,  past, 
present,  or  to  come,  Mrs.  Nickleby  kindly  added  that  she  hoped  her  childrea 
might  never  have  greater  cause  to  reproach  themselves  than  she  had,  and 
prepared  herself  to  receive  the  escort,  "who  soon  returned  with  the  intelligence 
that  the  old  gentleman  was  safely  housed,  and  that  they  found  his  custodians, 
who  had  been  making  merry  with  some  friends,  wholly  ignorant  of  his 
absence. 

Quiet  being  again  restored,  a  delicious  half-hour — so  Frank  called  it,  in  the 
course  of  subsequent  conversation  with  Tim  Linkinwater  as  they  were  walking 
home — a  delicious  half-hour  was  spent  in  conversation,  and  Tim's  watch  i, 
length  apprising  him  that  it  was  high  time  to  depart,  the  ladies  were  left 
alone,  though  not  without  many  offers  on  the  part  of  Frank  to  remain  until 
Nicholas  arrived,  no  matter  what  hour  of  the  night  it  might  be,  if,  after  the 
late  neighbourly  irruption,  they  entertained  the  least  fear  of  being  left  to 
themselves.  As  their  freedom  from  all  further  apprehension,  however,  left 
no  pretext  for'  his  insisting  on  mounting  guard,  ne  was  obliged  to  abandon 
the  citadel,  and  to  tetire  with  the  trustv  Tim. 

Nearly  three  hours  of  silence  passed  away.  Kate  blushed  to  find,  wheH 
Nicholas  returned,  how  long  she  had  been  sitting  alone,  occupied  with  her 
own  thoughts. 

*■*  I  reafiy  thought  it  had  not  been  half-an-hour,"  she  said. 

''They  must  have  been  pleasant  thoughts,  Kate,"  said  Nicholas,  gaily, 
**  to  make  the  time  pass  away  like  that.     What  were  they,  now." 

Kate  was  confused  ;  she  toyed  with  some  trifle  on  the  table — ^looked  up  aad 
smiled — looked  down  and  dropped  a  tear. 

"Why,  Kate,"  said  Nicholas,  drawing  his  sister  towards  him  and  kissitf 
her,  ''let  me  see  your  face.  No?  Ah  !  that  was  but  a  climpse ;  thttj 
scarcely  fair.  A  longer  look  than  that,  Kate.  Come — and  rif  read  your 
thoughts  for  you." 

There  was  something  in  this  proposition,  albeit  it  was  said  without  the 
slightest  consciousness  or  application,  which  so  alarmed  his  sister,  that 
Nicholas  laughingly  changed  the  subject  to  domestic  matters,  and  thoi 
gathered,  by  degrees,  as  they  left  the  room  and  went  upstairs  together,  bov 
lonely  Smike  had  been  all  night — and  by  very  slow  degrees,  too  ;  for  on  this 
subject  also,  Kate  seemed  to  speak  with  some  reluctance. 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Nicholas,  tapping  gently  at  his  door,  "what  can  be 
the  cause  of  all  this  ! " 

Kate  was  hanging  on  her  brother's  arm.  The  door  being  quickly  opened, 
she  had  not  time  to  disengage  herself,  before  Smike,  very  pale  and  haggaii 
and  completely  dressed,  confronted  them. 

"And  have  you  not  been  to  bed  I "  said  Nicholas. 

"  N — ^n — no,"  was  the  reply. 

Nicholas  gently  detained  liis  sister,  who  made  an  effort  to  retire ;  ani 
asked,  "Why  not?" 

"I  could  not  sleep,"  said  Smike,  grasping  the  hand  which  his  frieid 
extended  to  him. 

"You  are  not  well  ? "  rejoined  Nicholas. 

"  I  am  better,  indeed — a  great  deal  better,"  said  Smike,  quickly. 

* '  Then  why  do  you  give  way  to  these  fits  of  melancholy  ? "  inquired  Nicbolaik 
in  his  kindest  manner ;  "  or  why  not  tell  us  the  cause  ?  You  grow  a  differeitf 
creature,  Smike." 

"  I  do ;  I  know  I  do,"  he  replied.  "  I  will  tell  you  the  reason  one  day,  hd 
not  now.  I  hate  myself  for  this  ;  you  are  all  so  good  and  kind.  Bot  I 
cannot  help  it     My  heart  is  very  full — you  do  not  know  how  fall  it  ia** 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  421 

He  fnxxxag  Nicholas's  hand  before  he  released  it ;  and  glancing  for  a  moment 
at  the  brother  and  sister  as  they  stood  together,  as  if  there  were  something  in 
tiioLr  strong  affection  which  touched  him  very  deeply,  withdrew  into  his 
chamber,  and  was  soon  the  only  watcher  under  that  quiet  roof. 


CHAPTER    L. 

INVOLVES  A  SERIOUS  CATASTBOPHE. 


rE  little  lace-course  at  Hampton  was  in  the  full  tide  and  height  of  its 
gaiety ;  the  day  as  dazzling  as  day  could  be ;  the  sun  high  in  the 
cloudless  sky,  and  shining  in  its  fullest  Splendour.  Every  gaudy 
ooloiar  that  fluttered  in  the  air  from  carriage  seat  and  garish  tent  top,  shone 
oat  in  its  gaudiest  hues.  Old  dingy  flags  grew  new  again,  faded  gilding  was 
xe-bomished,  stained  rotten  canvas  looked  a  snowy  white,  the  very  beggars' 
ngs  were  freshened  up,  and  sentiment  quite  forgot  its  charity  in  its  fervent 
admiration  of  poverty  so  picturesque. 

It  was  one  of  those  scenes  of  life  and  animation,  caught  in  its  very  brightest 
and  freshest  moments,  which  can  scarcely  faU  to  please ;  for  if  the  eye  be 
tired  of  show  and  glare,  or  the  ear  be  weaiy  with  a  ceaseless  round  of  noise, 
the  one  may  repose,  turn  almost  where  it  will,  on  eager,  happy,  and  expectant 
fajo^  and  the  other  deaden  all  consciousness  of  more  annoying  sounds  in 
those  of  mirth  and  exhilaration.  Even  the  sunburnt  faces  of  gipsy  children, 
half  naked  though  tiiey  be,  suggest  a  drop  of  comfort.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing 
to  see  that  the  sun  has  been  uiere ;  to  know  that  the  air  and  light  are  on 
them  every  day ;  to  feel  that  they  art  children,  and  lead  children's  lives  ; 
that  if  their  pillows  be  damp,  it  is  with  the  dews  of  heaven,  and  not  with 
tsars  ;  tiiat  the  limbs  of  their  girls  are  free,  and  that  they  are  not  crippled 
\if  distortions,  imposing  an  unnatural  and  horrible  penance  upon  their  sex  ; 
that  their  lives  are  spent,  from  day  to  day,  at  least  among  the  waving  trees, 
and  not  in  the  midst  of  dreadful  engines  which  make  youn^  children  old  before 
thflj  know  what  childhood  is,  and  give  them  the  exhaustion  and  infirmity  of 
■ge,  without,  like  age,  the  privilege  to  die.  God  send  that  old  nursery  tales 
were  true,  and  that  gipsies  stole  such  children  by  the  score  1 

The  great  race  of  the  day  had  just  been  run  ;  and  the  close  lines  of  people, 
OB  either  side  of  the  course,  suddenly  breaking  up  and  pouring  into  it, 
imparted  a  new  liveliness  to  the  scene,  which  was  again  all  busy  movement. 
Some  harried  eagerly  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  winning  horse  ;  others  darted 
to  and  fro,  searching  no  less  eagerly  for  the  carriages  they  had  left  in  quest  of 
better  stations.  Here  a  little  knot  gathered  round  a  pea  and  thimble  table, 
to  watch  the  plucking  of  some  unhappy  greenhorn  ;  and  there,  another  pro- 
prietor, with  his  confederates  in  various  disguises — one  man  in  spectacles, 
another  with  an  eye-glass  and  a  stylish  hat ;  a  third,  dressed  as  a  farmer  well 
to  do  in  the  world,  with  his  top-coat  over  his  arm,  and  his  flash  notes  in  a 
\a^  leathern  pocket-book  ;  and  all  with  heavy-handled  whips,  to  represent 
moet  innocent  country  fellows,  who  had  trotted  there  on  horseback — sought, 
br  loud  and  noisy  talk,  and  pretended  play,  to  entrap  some  unwary  customer, 
while  the  gentlemen  confederates  (of  more  villainous  aspect  still,  in  clean 
linen  and  good  clothes)  betrayed  their  close  interest  in  the  concern  by  the 
uudoas,  furtive  glances  they  cast  on  all  new  comers.  These  would  be  hanging 
on  the  outskirts  of  a  vdde  circle  of  people,  assembled  round  some  itinerant 
Juggler,  opposed,  in  his  turn,  by  a  noisy  band  of  music,  or  the  classic  game  of 


422  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"Ring  the  Bull;"  while  ventriloquists,  holding  dialogaes  with  wooden 
dolls,  and  fortune-telling  women,  smothering  the  cries  of  real  habies,  divided 
with  them,  and  many  more,  the  general  attention  of  the  company.  Drinking* 
teats  were  fall,  gla^  be^a  to  clink  in  carriages,  hamper  to  be  unpack^ 
tempting  provisions  to  be  set  forth,  knives  and  forks  to  rattle,  champagne 
corkis  to  fly,  eyes  to  brighten  that  were  not  dull  before,  and  pickpockets  to 
count  their  gains  during  the  last  heat.  The  attention  so  recently  strained  on 
one  object  of  interest  was  now  divided  among  a  hundred  ;  and,  look  where  you 
would,  there  was  a  motley  assemblage  of  feasting,  laughing,  talking,  begging, 
gambling,  and  mummery. 

Of  the  gambling  booths  there  was  a  plentiful  show,  flourishing  in  all  the 
splendour  of  carpeted  ground,  striped  hangings,  crimson  cloth,  pinnacled 
roofs,  geranium  pots,  and  livery  servants.  There  were  the  Stranger's  club- 
house, the  Athenaeum  club-house,  the  Hampton  club-house,  the  Saint  James's 
club-house,  and  half-a-mile  of  club-houses  to  play  m  ;  and  there  were  TotMjfe- 
et-7unr,  French  hazard,  and  La  Merveille  to  play  <U,  It  is  into  one  of  these 
booths  that  our  story  takes  its  way. 

Fitted  up  with  three  tables  for  the  purposes  of  play,  and  crowded  with 
players  and  lookers-on,  it  was — although  the  largest  place  of  the  kind  upon 
the  course — intensely  hot,  notwithstanding  that  a  portion  of  the  canvas  loof 
was  rolled  back  to  admit  more  air,  and  there  were  two  doors  for  a  free  passage 
in  and  out.  Excepting  one  or  two  men  who— each  with  a  long  roll  of  half- 
crowns,  chequered  with  a  few  stray  sovereigns  in  his  left  hand — staked  their 
money  at  every  roll  of  the  ball  with  a  business-like  sedateness,  which  showed 
that  they  were  used  to  it,  and  had  been  playing  all  day,  and  most  probably  all 
the  day  before,  there  was  no  very  distinctive  character  about  the  players,  who 
were  chiefly  young  men,  apparently  attracted  by  curiosity,  or  staiking  smidl 
sums  as  part  of  the  amusement  of  the  day,  with  no  very  great  interest  in 
winning  or  losing.  There  were  two  persons  present,  however,  who,  as 
peculiarly  good  specimens  of  a  class,  deserve  a  passing  notice. 

Of  these,  one  was  a  man  of  six  or  eight-and-flfty,  who  sat  on  a  chair  near 
one  of  the  entrances  of  the  booth,  with  his  hands  folded  on  the  top  of  his 
stick,  and  his  chin  appearing  above  them.  He  was  a  tall,  fat,  long-bodied 
man,  buttoned  up  to  the  throat  in  a  light  green  coat,  which  made  his  body 
look  still  longer  than  it  was  ;  and  wore,  besides,  drab  breeches  and  gaiters,  a 
white  neckerchief,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat.  Amid  all  the  buzzing  noise  of 
the  games,  and  the  perpetual  passing  in  and  out  of  people,  he  seemed  perfectly 
calm  and  abstracted,  without  the  smallest  particle  of  excitement  in  his  com- 
position. He  exhibited  no  indication  of  weariness,  nor,  to  a  casual  observer, 
of  interest  either.  There  he  sat,  quite  still  and  collected.  Sometimes,  bat 
very  rarely,  he  nodded  to  some  passing  face,  or  beckoned  to  a  waiter  to  obey 
a  call  from  one  of  the  tables.  The  next  instant  he  subsided  into  his  old  state. 
He  might  have  been  some  profoundly  deaf  old  gentleman,  who  had  come  in  to 
take  a  rest,  or  he  might  have  been  patiently  waiting  for  a  friend,  without  the 
least  consciousness  of  anybody's  presence,  or  fixed  in  a  trance,  or  under  th* 
influence  of  opium.  People  turned  round  and  looked  at  him  ;  he  made  no 
gesture,  caught  nobody's  eye — let  them  pass  away,  and  others  come  on  and  be 
succeeded  by  others,  and  took  no  notice.  When  he  did  move,  it  seemed 
wonderful  how  he  could  have  seen  anything  to  occasion  it.  And  so,  in  truth, 
it  was.  But  there  was  not  a  face  that  passed  in  or  out  which  this  man  failed 
to  see  ;  not  a  gesture  at  any  one  of  the  three  tables  that  was  lost  upon  him ; 
not  a  word  spoken  by  the  bankers  but  reached  his  ear  ;  not  a  winner  or  loser 
he  could  not  have  marked  ;  and  he  was  the  proprietor  of  the  place. 

The  other  presided  over  the  rouge-et-noir  table.     He  was  probably  some  tea 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  423 

years  younger,  and  was  a  plump,  pannchy,  sturdy-looking  fellow,  with  his 
under  lip  a  little  pursed,  from  a  nabit  of  counting  money  inwardly  as  he  paid 
it,  bnt  with  no  decidedly  bad  expression  in  his  face,  which  was  rather  an 
lionest  and  jolly  one  than  otherwise.     He  wore  no  coat,  the  weather  being  hot, 
and  atood  behind  the  table  with  a  huge  mound  of  crowns  and  half-crowns 
before  him,  and  a  cash-box  for  notes.     This  game  was  constantly  playing. 
Perhaps  twenty  people  would  be  staking  at  the  same  time.    This  man  had  to 
roll  the  ball,  to  watch  the  stakes  as  they  were  laid  down,  to  gather  them  off 
the  colour  which  lost,  to  pay  those  who  won,  to  do  it  all  with  the  utmost 
despatch,  to  roll  the  ball  again,  and  to  keep  this  game  perpetually  alive.     He 
did  it  all  with  a  rapidity  absolutely  marvellous ;   never  hesitating,  never 
making  a  mistake,  never  stopping,  and  never  ceasing  to  repeat  such  uncon- 
nected phrases  as  the  following,  which,  partly  from  habit,  and  partly  to  have 
something  appropriate  and  business-like  to  say,  he  constantly  poured  out 
with  the  aame  monotonous  emphasis,  and  in  nearly  the  same  oraer,  all  day 
long— 

"  Booge-a-nore  from  Paris  !  Grentlemen,  make  your  game  and  back  your 
own  opinions — any  time  while  the  ball  rolls — rooge-a-nore  from  Paris,  gentle- 
men, it's  a  French  game,  gentlemen,  I  brought  it  over  myself,  I  did,  indeed  ! 
Tooge-a-nore  from  Paris—nijlack  wins — black,  stop  a  minute,  sir,  and  I'll  pay 
you  directly — two  there,  half-a-pound  there,  three  there — and  one  there — 
ffentlemen,  the  ball's  a  rolling — any  time,  sir,  while  the  ball  rolls  ! — the 
beauty  of  this  game  is  that  you  can  double  your  stakes  or  put  down  your 
money,  gentlemen,  any  time  while  the  ball  rolls — ^black  again — black  wins — 
I  neyer  saw  such  a  thine — I  never  did,  in  all  my  life,  upon  my  word  I  never 
did ;  tf  any  gentleman  had  been  backing  the  black  in  the  last  five  minutes  he 
must  have  won  five-and-forty  pound  in  four  rolls  of  the  ball,  he  must,  indeed 
— Gentlemen,  we've  port,  sherry,  cigars,  and  most  excellent  champagne. 
Here,  wai-ter,  bring  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and  let's  have  a  dozen  or  fifteen 
cigars  here — and  let's  be  comfortable,  gentlemen — and  bring  some  clean 
glasses — any  time  while  the  ball  rolls  1 — I  lost  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
pound  yesterday,  gentlemen,  at  one  roll  of  the  ball,  I  did  indeed  ! — ^how  do 
you  do,  sir"  (recognising  some  knowing  gentleman  without  any  halt  or 
change  of  voice,  ana  giving  a  wink  so  slight  that  it  seems  an  accident),  '*  will 
you  take  a  glass  of  sherry,  sir — here,  wai-ter  !  bring  a  clean  glass,  and  hand 
the  sherry  to  this  gentleman — and  hand  it  round,  will  you,  wai-ter — this  is 
the  ropge-a-nore  from  Paris,  gentlemen — any  time  while  the  ball  rolls  ! — 
gentlemen,  make  your  game,  and  back  your  own  opinions — it's  the  rooge-a- 
nwe  from  Paris — qtdte  a  new  game,  I  brought  it  over  myself,  I  did,  indeed — 
gentlemen,  the  ball's  a  rolling  1 " 

This  officer  was  busily  plying  his  vocation  when  half-a-dozen  persons 
aanntered  through  the  booth,  to  whom — but  without  stopping  either  in  his 
speech  or  work — he  bowed  respectfully;  at  the  same  time  directing,  by  a 
look,  the  attention  of  a  man  beside  him  to  the  tallest  figure  in  the  group,  in 
recognition  of  whom  the  proprietor  pulled  off  his  hat.  This  was  Sir  Mul- 
berry Hawk,  with  whom  were  his  friend  and  pupil,  and  a  small  train  of 
gentlemanly-dressed  men,  of  characters  more  doubtful  than  obscure. 

The  proprietor,  in  a  low  voice,  bade  Sir  Mulberry  good-day.  Sir  Mulberry, 
in  the  same  tone,  bade  the  proprietor  go  to  the  devil,  and  turned  to  speak 
witii  his  friends. 

There  was  evidently  an  irritable  consciousness  about  him  that  he  was  an 
object  of  curiosity,  on  this  first  occasion  of  showing  himself  in  public  after 
the  accident  that  had  befallen  him  ;  and  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  he 
appeared  on  the  race-course  that  day  more  in  the  hope  of  meeting  with  a  great 


424  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

many  people  who  knew  him,  and  so  getting  over  as  much  as  poasibile  of  tiM 
annoyance  at  once,  than  wiUi  any  porpose  of  enjoying  the  spcwL  There  yet 
remained  a  slight  scar  upon  his  fiice,  and  whenever  he  was  reocgniaed,  as  lie 
was  almost  every  minote  by  people  sauntering  in  and  out,  he  made  a  restles 
effort  to  conceal  it  with  his  glove  ;  showing  how  keenly  he  felt  the  disgrace 
he  had  undergone. 

"  Ah  !  Hawk,*'  said  one  very  spnicely-dressed  persoiia|p  in  m  Newmiiket 
coat,  a  choice  neckerchief,  and  all  other  accessories  of  the  most  nnexoeptioB- 
able  kind,  "  how  d'ye  do,  old  fellow  ? " 

This  was  a  rival  trainer  of  young  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  and  the  person 
of  all  others  whom  Sir  Mulberry  most  hated  and  dreaded  to  meet  They 
shook  hands  with  excessive  cordiality. 

"  And  how  are  yon  now,  old  fellow,  hey  \  " 

"  Quite  well,  quite  weU,"  said  Sir  Mulberry. 

"That's  right,"  said  the  other.  <*How  d'ye  do,  Yerisoplit!  He'salitde 
pulled  down,  our  friend  here — rather  out  of  condition  still,  hey  I " 

It  should  be  observed  that  the  gentleman  had  very  white  teeth,  and  that 
when  there  was  no  excuse  for  laughing,  he  genially  finished  with  the  wdb 
monosyllable,  which  he  uttered  so  as  to  display  them. 

*'  He*3  in  very  good  condition  ;  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  him,**  said 
the  young  man  carelessly. 

*'  Upon  my  soul  Fm  glad  to  hear  it,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  Have  you  just 
returned  from  Brussels  \ " 

'*  We  only  reached  town  late  last  ni^t,"  said  Lord  Frederick.  Sir  Mul- 
berry turned  away  to  speak  to  one  of  his  own  party,  and  fieigiied  not  to  hear. 

*'  Xow,  upcm  my  life,"  said  the  friend,  atteetiiig  to  spMk  in  a  whiapei^ 
'*  it's  an  uncommonly  bold  and  game  thing  in  Hawk  to  sikow  liima^lf  so  sooa. 
I  say  it  advisedly ;  there's  a  vast  deal  of  courage  in  it.  You  see  he  has  just 
rusticated  long  enough  to  excite  curiosity,  and  not  long  enough  for  moi  to 
have  forgotten  that  deuced  unpleasant — by-the-by,  you  know  the  rights  of 
the  atf;iir,  of  course  \  Why  did  you  never  give  those  confounded  papers  the 
lie  \  I  seldom  read  the  papers,  Irat  I  looked  in  the  papers  for  that,  and  may  I 
be " 

^*  Look  in  the  papers,"  interrupted  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  suddenly  rounds 
**  to-morrow — no,  next  day,  will  you  \  " 

*'  Upon  my  life,  my  dear  fellow,  I  seldom  or  never  read  the  papers,"  said 
the  other,  shnLzgin;^  his  shoulders,  *'  bat  I  will,  at  your  recommendatioiL 
What  shall  I  look  for  ?  ' 

*'  Good-day,"  said  Sir  Mulberry,  turning  abruptly  on  his  heel,  and  drawing 
his  pupil  with  him.  Falling,  ag:iin,  into  the  loitering,  i^i-^T^iy^  pace  at  which 
they  had  entered,  they  lounged  out,  ann-in-arm. 

"  I  wou't  give  him  a  cLse  of  murder  to  read,"  muttered  Sir  Mulberry,  with 
an  oath :  "*  but  it  shall  be  something  very  near  it,  if  whipcord  outs  vtl 
bludgeons  bruise." 

His  componiou  said  nothing,  but  there  wjs  something  in  his  manner  whkh 
galled  Sir  Mulberry  to  add,  witii  ueody  as  m.m:h  ferocity  as  if  his  friend  hsi 
b-een  Nicholas  himself — 

**  I  sent  Jenkins  to  old  Xiekleby  before  eight  o'clock  this  momiii^  He's  a 
staunch  one  :  he  was  back  with  me  before  the  messenger.  I  bad  it  all  firoa 
him  in  the  tirst  tive  miiLu:e&  I  know  where  this  hound  is  to  be  naet  with 
— time  and  place  both.  But  there's  no  need  to  talk ;  to-morrow  will  aooa  be 
here." 

*•  And  wha-at's  to  be  done  to-morrow  ?  "  inquired  Lord  Frederick. 

Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  honoured  him  with  an  angry  giance,  bat  coadeKenicd 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  425 

to  retarn  no  yerbal  answer  to  this  inquiry.  Both  walked  sullenly  on,  as 
thouffh  their  thoughts  were  busily  occupied,  until  they  were  quite  clear  of  the 
crowd,  and  almost  alone,  when  Sir  Mulberry  wheeled  round  to  return. 

"  Stop,"  said  his  companion,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you — in  earnest.  Don't 
tarn  back.    Let  us  walk  here  a  few  minutes." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  me,  that  you  could  not  say  yonder  as  well  as 
here  f  "  returned  his  Mentor,  disengaging  his  arm. 

*'Hawk,"  rejoined  the  other,  **  tell  me — I  must  know " 

**  Must  know,"  interrupted  the  other,  disdainfully.  **  Whew.  Go  on.  If 
you  must  know,  of  course  there's  no  escape  for  me.     Must  know  !  " 

"Must  ask,  then,"  returned  Lord  Frederick,  "and  must  press  you  for  a 
plain  and  straightforward  answer — is  what  you  have  just  said  only  a  mere 
whim  of  the  moment,  occasioned  by  your  being  out  of  humour  and  irri- 
tated, or  is  it  your  serious  intention,  and  one  that  you  have  actually  con- 
tempted  I " 

"Why,  don't  you  remember  what  passed  on  the  subject  one  night,  when  I 
was  laid  up  with  a  broken  limb  ? "  said  Sir  Mulberry,  with  a  sneer. 

"Perfectly  well." 

"  Then  take  that  for  an  answer,  in  the  devil's  name,"  replied  Sir  Mulberry, 
"  and  ask  me  for  no  other." 

Such  was  the  ascendancy  he  had  acquired  over  his  dupe,  and  such  the 
latter's  eeneral  habit  of  submission,  that,  for  the  moment,  the  young  man- 
seemed  half-afraid  to  pursue  the  subject  He  soon  overcame  this  feeling, 
however,  if  it  had  restrained  him  at  all,  and  retorted  angrily — 

'*  If  I  remember  what  passed  at  the  time  you  speak  of,  I  expressed  a  strong 
opinion  on  this  subject,  and  said  that,  with  my  knowledge  or  consent,  you 
never  should  do  what  you  threaten  now." 

"  Will  you  prevent  me  ?  "  asked  Sir  Mulberry,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Ye-es,  if  1  can,"  returned  the  other,  promptly. 

"A  very  proper  saving  clause,  that  last,"  said  Sir  Mulberry ;  "and  one 
yon  stand  m  need  of.  Oh  !  look  to  your  own  business,  and  leave  me  to  look 
to  mine." 

"  This  18  mine,"  retorted  Lord  Frederick.  "  I  make  it  mine  ;  I  will  make 
it  mine.     It's  mine  already.     I  am  more  compromised  than  I  should  be,  as 

It  IS. 

"Do  as  you  please,  and  what  you  please,  for  yourself,"  said  Sir  Mulberry, 
affiscting  an  easy  good-humour.  "Surely  that  must  content  you!  Do 
nothing  for  me,  that's  alL  I  advise  no  man  to  interfere  in  proceedings  that 
I  (^oose  to  take.  I  am  sure  you  know  me  better  than  to  do  so.  The  fact  is, 
I  see,  you  mean  to  otfer  me  advice.  It  is  well  meant,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  I 
reject  it.  Now,  if  you  please,  we  will  return  to  the  carriage.  I  find  no 
entertainment  here,  but  quite  the  reverse.  If  we  prolonged  this  conver- 
sation, we  might  quarrel,  which  would  be  no  proof  of  wisdom  in  either 
you  or  me." 

With  this  rejoinder,  and  waiting  for  no  further  discussion.  Sir  Mulberry 
Hawk  yawned,  and  very  leisurely  turned  back. 

There  was  not  a  little  tact  and  knowledge  of  the  young  lord's  disposition  in 
tliis  mode  of  treating  him.  Sir  Mulberry  clearly  saw  that  if  his  dominion 
were  to  last  it  must  be  established  now.  He  knew  that  the  moment  he 
became  violent  the  young  man  would  become  violent  too.  He  had,  many 
times,  been  enabled  to  strengthen  his  influence,  when  any  circumstance  had 
occurred  to  weaken  it,  by  adopting  this  cool  and  laconic  style  ;  and  he  trusted 
to  it  now,  with  very  little  doubt  of  its  entire  success. 

But  while  he  did  this,  and  wore  the  most  careless  and  indiflerent  deport- 


426  UFE  AXD  ADVEXTCRES  OF 

ment  that  his  practise  arts  enabled  Liin  to  aasnnie,  he  inwardly  resolved,  not 
only  to  visit  all  the  i::or::n carion  of  being  compellel  to  suppress  his  feelings, 
wiih  adi::io::il  s^vfrity  ci^^n  yicLolas,  but  also  to  make  the  yoang  lord  piy 
dearlv  for  it  one  cjv,  in  some  shai^  or  other.  So  Ion?  as  he  had  been  a 
pii-sive  ir.s:r-:::e_:  in  his  ban  is.  Sir  Mulberry  had  regarded  him  with  no 
c:::er  feeliiig  ri.in  coz.:en:p:  ;  bu:  now  :Li:  he  presiiEed  to  avow  opinions  in 
*.  prk.^s::ion  :.•  his.  i^i  even  to  turn  ui-cn  Lim  with  a  loftv  tone  and  an  air  of 
>'i:d  r:ori:v,  he  h-fr.--u  to  ha:e  him.  Cousoious  that,  in  the  vilest  and  most 
worthless  sense  of  :hr  teru:.  he  was  der»fzieL:  upon  the  weak  young  lord.  Sir 
MulV^rry  cculi  the  less  b::ok  Lu:L.ilii::on  a:  his  hands  :  and  when  he  begin 
to  iislike  hi:::  he  :r.r^sur>ri  his  dislike — as  rien  often  do^by  the  extent  of  the 
i:.;uries  he  hil  izd:::ri  ut-rr.  its  or';e:t.  When  it  is  remembered  that  Sir 
Mulr-erry  Hiwk  hi  I  rluuivrei.  iur»r.:.  ieinriTei,  and  icoled  his  pupil  in  every 
rossiblr  wjv.  i:  iri.l  ::o:  h-e  wc"  ierri  at,  that,  t^Mnin^  to  hate  him,  he 

Ou  the  t:h:r  h.zi.  the  y:uZi:  l:ri  having  thi>T2eht — which  he  very  seLinm 
c:.;  i:-:ut  a-ytr.:--^ — ^iu.:  sen: us .y.  t».  ur-:u  tj.e  izair  wiin  IS  icholas,  auu 
th:  .irjuir.stau.rs  whi.h  l:i  t:  it.  hiu  arr.vei  at  a  :uai.ly  and  honest  eon- 
v:'.;:>::u.  Sir  >LulV;-r:y  s  :.\4T<^  au.i  ir. suiting  &ehavi:ur  on  the  occasion  in 
o-.:.-t::n  hii  yroiu.'i.l  a  Ui--T  iuiTrcssi.r.  :u  .~.is  niiui  :  a  strong  suspicion  of 
:.:>  l-iviTii:  Iri  hiui  ju  to  ^u^^ur  ^liss  Xijklr'rv  ::.r  lurroscs  of  his  own,  Lad 
I'TiU  lurkiug  there  ::7  scuie  t::v.r  :  he  was  rurally  ashauiei.  of  his  share  in  the 
trAusa.t:::..  aui  ■-i-^ly  ui:rt:r.;-i  ":;.-  the  tuis^>:z.g  :hat  he  had  been  gollni. 
}i-  hii  hi.:  su±.::rut  l::>ure  t:  r.f  :■::  u:cu  thrse  thi:ig3  during  their  bie 
::t:r-;:ur7.t  :  iu.:.  at  tiiues.  ^l.-r.  his  .■sreless  auJL  iud:lent  nature  wouM 
:';rui:t,  hii  aviil;-i  hiuisfl:  .-:  the  vyrorturity.  Slight  cirjumstanee>,  too, 
hii  C'j.u::;!  :;  :u;ri:;.sr  l.:s  5Ust::::u.     It  wautel  b-t  a  very  slight  oircum- 

>.ji...>r    .,     x r    ...>   ".A.—   A^A._>.    ?..    ^ ^--.'-       i— i.    H-a    i— S'uainilU  an-l 

ir.sc.izt  t.".".:  ".u  t.". .".r  ?:■,": 7.t  J"." u •  rTSitt ." u  tr.r  Tu.y  rr.r  t.iey  r.iu  Le^u  UJKin 
. .". :"  > ".". .■ " ;"■«" .  s".v. ." -.  t .". ;  V'r r ". ."'.i  t .*  ^ .~. "-:."".  ^17  ^- ".1. ..•rtry  tJiitze-   enejtr-.i. 

-  ..u>  t  -■- :"  V  "  r "  ■  iv.-," ..  1 1".;  ".7  t7i: u  .".s :  ri ."  1  ^".t  —  Jviuses  J '.  L'.^.'.sii  i^iinst  the  other 

..-...• «    ...    -.  .>   • »,>.  :    .i., ..    ...;     •,..... A—    -.J -.  ...    .r>-.T>.   Wi.n  taOUJill^ 

:    * -r    .;-..h......    ..     • —  ~.-.?    .  ..r: .*.-.  _;■—   .a^i.— .>.    -N  ._ .^i.  .aSy  aiiii  tR'^ 

.,...&...  ^    .,     .rt«L_.    ..    ,•    s- r    ^ ?.-,..    -.    .',•>".. *ic-       I>Ut   tillS  n.» 

t".  ■  t  i . ..       ?  ".r    .' .  U .  r»-,"  77 ".    ."  J  U  ."■;■ ". "•  ".V. .r  t ."-.". t  _  ■.-  . .  l ..  S l . f  U  :■■:-..  .-1 '. U   r  "  i- .  t Ua..y,  eOUi'l 

:.:t  jUTTTiss  :.:s  t7:v.:v.y  ..  :7  :::.•: it  :7":tu  ::..:T:-g  up  wj.At  ;ie  oonoeivtd  ti^ 
1 :  1 . : s  -  -  -iu Tig:'-  >  1 7  y  •■  V  ;•■  — is  :  h f  7e,  iu  i  M 7 .  i'  1  u :  k  w:.s  t  here,  and  Colonrl 
C:  si^.  ir.i  :thr7  g::::l:".;U  ::'  th:  ssv-.e  ."^iste.  ar.-  it  wis  a  great  point  oi 
^.:  -.u.:';77-  t:  ?.;-.  :..:r.:  t  »t  ir  .'i".  u.t  -:^t  „:s  -.unueu^*.  At  nrst,  the 
;•.,-■ .:  1::  .1  ,,■  ::v.:;l '  ■.■..>.■■.:  •-.-h  a  s..:u:  I:t:7":iit:;u  t."»  take  iiieasurcs  fur 

•  *  -  .  B  ^^  B  - 

•• ,  »>*^..i»    .....>; A..    _    .._ :*...A.r.>.       -?  •    \.»rj..tcs  lie  tjicw 

■  .:•:  ii.—y.  av..".  xk-is  ;\i-;..,:v.::-l  :  -  :<:>  iul  :*u:il:i.7-.ri-:s  v%h::h  a  f-.w  iiours 
-■. :  re  vr.u.  i  h/vT;  h«ui  >...-..  ::  ;.  ..->.7..:ut  ::  l-itu.  xh:s  did  not  serve 
:  :.u  ;  tVt.  it  su.h  hiutct-.v,^  . :  :.:.::  i>  >.;::.".  :  e  :::..-.^uy^he  was  no  match 
:  w  Sir  >'.ul":«f  77- .  S : .'. " .  v  •  ■■: . ". : :.  t  7 1  y  t .:  :•  :  :•  k  r  Li:  i.  a  hey  :  e:  u  i  ued  to 
Tx'wu  ;  >l;x>r^  V;k:  iv..:  y.-:k  aui  .-:..r7  j.-:i.t.r-.^fu  ire-^ueutly  protesting  on 
fie  w»T  :h::hi7.  that  S:7  >-i.":«sr7T  hii  u;Vc-  ..-:u  n:  suJ:  tiv-toD  spirits  in 
•Hh-lsVlfe.  .        ^ 

l^T  diu-ivi  r.""C:th;T  su-ty :,::■.>"        7".;  "c-.tir  l:w;-i  trrfly.  as.  inJeeJ,  it 
Wl<ii^4ll  iarl     S:7  Vu'V«::7;  .. -ivk  :;  r:.-.-.u-ii-5c  h:u.>el:  for  his  recrut 
»:  t.::^  r'-*":V  ■"^■""  '"*  '•"•*-      ^  ".....r:.i:i.u  ;  ii.u  tue  :eTua:nii«:r I't 
T,  "Sf.TjLUStf  :hi  ^■•.r.^  -^if  .":  '.■:  -  s:  it. :  :..;;  ..i;  u::h:ui:  to  jay.    1: 
cr>  ?ivr.-.i": :  tk"    ■-.  :". : .-  t.:^"  .-i  .  .:t.  --_  ..  ";  .■.7u:r.g  w-.:ii  wiiiC."  their 
*       *aa  i-.ii:  -rrtus  ci.  t.ri.  :.'  L.f  ca:..-u;-ti.lr. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  427 

Here  they  encountered  another  party,  mad  like  themselves.  The  excite- 
ment of  play,  hot  rooms,  and  glaring  lights,  was  not  calculated  to  allay  the 
fever  of  the  time.  In  that  giddy  whirl  of  noise  and  confusion  the  men  were 
delirious.  Who  thought  of  money,  ruin,  or  the  morrow,  in  the  savage 
intoxication  of  the  moment  ?  More  wine  was  called  for,  glass  after  glass  was 
drained,  their  parched  and  scalding  mouths  were  cracked  with  thirst.     Down 

Soured  the  wine  like  oil  on  blazing  fire.  And  still  the  riot  went  on.  The 
ebanchery  gained  its  height ;  glasses  were  dashed  upon  the  floor,  by  hands 
that  could  not  carry  them  to  nps ;  oaths  were  shouted  out  by  lips  which 
could  scarcely  form  the  words  to  vent  them  in  ;  drunken  losers  cursed  and 
roared ;  some  mounted  on  the  tables,  waving  bottles  above  their  heads,  and 
bidding  defiance  to  the  rest ;  some  danced,  some  sang,  some  tore  the  cards 
and  raved.  Tumult  and  frenzy  reigned  supreme ;  when  a  noise  arose  that 
drowned  all  others,  and  two  men,  seizing  each  other  by  the  throat,  struggled 
into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

A  dozen  voices,  until  now  unheard,  called  aloud  to  part  them.  Those  who 
had  kept  themselves  cool,  to  win,  and  who  earned  their  living  in  such  scenes, 
threw  themselves,  upon  the  combatants,  and  forcing  them  asunder,  dragged 
them  some  space  apart. 

"  Let  me  go  I "  cried  Sir  Mulberry,  in  a  thick,  hoarse  voice  ;  **  he  struck 
me  !  Do  you  hear  ?  I  say,  he  struck  me.  Have  I  a  friend  here  ?  Who  is 
this  ?    Westwood.     Do  you  hear  me  say  he  struck  me  ? " 

**  I  hear,  I  hear,"  replied  one  of  those  who  held  him.  "  Come  away,  for 
to-night  I " 

"I  will  not,  by  G — ,"  he  replied.  **A  dozen  men  about  us  saw  the 
blow." 

"  To-morrow  will  be  ample  time,"  said  the  friend. 

**  It  will  not  be  ample  time  1 "  cried  Sir  Mulberry.  **  To-night — at  once — 
here  ! "  His  passion  was  so  great  that  he  could  not  articulate,  but  stood 
clenching  his  fist,  tearing  his  hair,  and  stamping  upon  the  ground. 

*•  What  is  this,  my  lord  ? "  said  one  of  those  who  surrounded  him.  **  Have 
blows  passed  ? " 

**  One  blow  has,"  was  the  i>anting  reply.  "  I  struck  him — I  proclaim  it  to 
all  here  !  I  struck  him,  and  he  knows  why.  I  say,  with  him,  let  this 
quarrel  be  adjusted  now.  Captain  Adams,"  said  the  young  lord,  looking 
hurriedly  about  him,  and  addressing  one  of  those  who  had  interposed,  '*  let 
me  speak  vdth  you,  I  beg." 

The  person  addressed  stepped  forward,  and,  taking  the  young  man's 
arm,  they  retired  together,  followed  shortly  afterwards  by  Sir  Mulberry  and 
his  friend. 

It  was  a  profligate  haunt  of  the  worst  repute,  and  not  a  place  in  which  such 
an  affair  was  likely  to  awaken  any  sympathy  for  either  party,  or  to  call  forth 
any  further  remonstrance  or  interposition.  Elsewhere,  its  further  progress 
would  have  been  instantly  prevented,  and  time  allowed  for  sober  and  cool  re- 
flection ;  but  not  there.  Disturbed  in  their  orgies,  the  party  broke  up ;  some 
reeled  away  with  looks  of  tipsy  gravity ;  others  withdrew,  noisily  discussing 
what  had  just  occurred  ;  the  gentlemen  of  honour  who  lived  upon  their  win- 
nings remarked  to  each  other,  as  they  went  out,  that  Hawk  was  a  good  shot ; 
and  those  who  had  been  most  noisy,  feU  fast  asleep  upon  the  sofas,  and 
thought  no  more  about  it. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  seconds,  as  they  may  be  called  now,  after  a  long  con- 
ference, each  with  his  principal,  met  together  in  another  room.  Both  utterly 
heartless,  both  men  upon  town,  both  thoroughly  initiated  in  its  worst  vices, 
both  deeply  in  debt,  both  fallen  from  some  higher  estate,  both  addicted  to 


428  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

every  depravity  for  which  society  can  find  some  genteel  name  and  plead  its 
most  depraving  conventionalities  as  an  excuse,  they  were,  natorally,  gentle* 
men  of  most  unblemished  honour  themselves,  and  of  great  nicety  concerning 
the  honour  of  other  people. 

These  two  gentlemen  were  unusually  cheerful  just  now ;  for  the  affair  was 
pretty  certain  to  make  some  noise,  and  could  scarcely  faU  to  enhance  their 
reputations. 

"  This  is  an  awkward  affair,  Adams,"  said  Westwood,  drawing  himself  up. 

''  Very,"  returned  the  captain ;  '*  a  blow  has  been  struck,  and  there  is  bat 
one  course,  ^course." 

"  No  apology,  I  suppose  ? "  said  Mr.  "Westwood. 

*'  Not  a  syllable,  sir,  from  my  man,  if  we  talk  till  doomsday,"  returned  the 
captain.  ''The  original  cause  of  dispute,  I  understand,  was  some  sirl  or 
other,  to  whom  your  principal  applied  certain  terms,  which  Lord  Frederick, 
defending  the  girl,  repelled.  But  this  led  to  a  long  recrimination  upon  a  great 
many  sore  subjects,  charges,  and  counter-charges.  Sir  Mulberry  was  sarcastic ; 
Lord  Frederick  was  excited,  and  struck  him  in  the  heat  of  provocation,  and 
under  circumstances  of  great  aggravation.  That  blow,  unless  there  is  a  inll 
retraction  on  the  part  of  Sir  Mulberry,  Lord  Frederick  is  ready  to  justify." 

"  There  is  no  more  to  be  said,"  returned  the  other,  "but  to  settle  the  hoar 
and  the  place  of  meeting.  It's  a  responsibility ;  but  there  is  a  strong  feeling 
to  have  it  over.     Do  you  object  to  say  at  sunrise  ? " 

"Sharp  work,"  replied  the  captain,  referring  to  his  watch  ;  "however,  as 
this  seems  to  have  been  a  long  time  breeding,  and  negotiation  is  only  a  waste 
of  words — no." 

"Something  may  be  possibly  said,  out  of  doors,  after  what  passed  in  the 
other  room,  which  renders  it  desirable  that  we  should  be  off  without  delay, 
and  quite  clear  of  town,"  said  Mr.  "Westwood.  "  "What  do  you  say  to  one  of 
the  meadows  opposite  Twickenham,  by  the  river-side  ? " 

The  captain  saw  no  objection. 

"  Shall  we  join  company  in  the  avenue  of  trees  which  leads  from  Petersham 
to  Ham  House,  and  settle  the  exact  spot  when  we  arrive  there  ? "  said  Mr. 
"Westwood. 

To  this  the  captain  also  assented.  After  a  few  other  preliminaries,  equally 
brief — ^and  having  settled  the  road  each  party  should  take  to  avoid  suspicion 
— they  separated. 

"  "We  snail  just  have  comfortable  time,  my  lord,"  said  the  captain,  when  be 
had  communicated  the  arrangements,  ' '  to  call  at  my  rooms  for  a  case  of 
pistols,  and  then  jog  coolly  down.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  dismiss  your 
servant,  we'll  take  my  cab  ;  for  yours,  perhaps,  might  be  recognised." 

"What  a  contrast,  when  they  reached  the  street,  to  the  scene  they  had  just 
left !  It  was  already  daybreak.  For  the  flaring  yellow  light  within  was  sub- 
stituted the  clear,  bright,  glorious  morning ;  for  a  hot,  close  atmosphere, 
tainted  with  the  smell  of  expiring  lamps,  and  reeking  with  the  steams  of  riot 
and  dissipation,  the  free,  fresh,  wholesome  air.  But  to  the  fevered  head  on 
which  that  cool  air  blew  it  seemed  to  come  laden  with  remorse  for  time  mis- 
spent and  countless  opportunities  neglected..  "With  throbbing  veins  and 
burning  skin,  eyes  wild  and  heavy,  thoughts  hurried  and  disordered,  he  felt 
as  though  the  light  were  a  reproach,  and  shrunk  involuntarily  from  the  day 
as  if  he  were  some  foul  and  hideous  thing. 

*  *  Shivering  1 "  said  the  captain.     "  You  are  cold. " 

"Rather." 

''  It  does  strike  cool,  coming  out  of  those  hot  rooms.  "Wrap  that  cloak 
about  you.    So,  so  ;  now  we're  off." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  429 

They  rattled  through  the  qniet  streets,  made  their  call  at  the  captain's 
lodgings,  cleared  the  town,  and  emerged  upon  the  open  road,  without 
hindrance  or  molestation. 

Fields,  trees,  gardens,  hedges,  everything  looked  very  beautiful ;  the  young 
man  scarcely  seemed  to  have  noticed  them  oefore,  though  he  had  passed  the 
same  objects  a  thousand  times.  There  was  a  peace  and  serenity  upon  them 
all,  strangely  at  variance  with  the  bewilderment  and  confusion  of  his  own 
half-sobered  thoughts,  and  yet  impressive  and  welcome.  He  had  no  fear 
upon  his  mind ;  but,  as  he  looked  about  him,  he  had  less  anger ;  and  though 
otd  delusions,  relative  to  his  worthless  late  companion,  were  now  cleared 
away,  he  rather  wished  he  had  never  known  him  than  thought  of  its  having 
come  to  this. 

The  past  night,  the  day  before,  and  many  other  days  and  nights  beside, 
all  mingled  themselves  up  in  one  unintelligible  and  senseless  whin  ;  he  could 
not  separate  the  transactions  of  one  time  from  those  of  another.  Now,  the 
noise  of  the  wheels  resolved  itself  into  some  wild  tune  in  which  he  could 
recognise  scraps  of  airs  he  knew ;  now,  there  was  nothing  in  his  ears  but  a 
stunning  and  bewildering  sound,  like  rushing  water.  But  his  companion 
rallied  him  on  being  so  silent,  and  they  talked  and  laughed  boisterously. 
When  they  stopped,  he  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  himself  in  the  act  of 
smoking ;  but,  on  reflection,  he  remembered  when  and  where  he  had  taken  the 
cigar. 

They  stopped  at  the  avenue  gate  and  alighted,  leaving  the  carriage  to  the 
care  of  the  servant,  who  was  a  smart  fellow,  and  nearly  as  well  accustomed  to 
such  proceedings  as  his  master.  Sir  Mulberry  and  his  friend  were  already 
there.  All  four  walked  in  profound  silence  up  the  aisle  of  stately  elm  trees, 
which,  meeting  far  above  their  heads,  formed  a  long  green  perspective  of 
gothic  arches,  terminating,  like  some  old  ruin,  in  the  open  sky. 

After  a  pause,  and  a  bnef  conference  between  the  seconds,  they  at  length 
turned  to  the  right,  and  taking  a  track  across  a  little  meadow,  passed  Ham 
House,  and  came  into  some  fields  beyond.  In  one  of  these  they  stopped. 
The  ground  was  measured,  some  usual  forms  gone  through,  the  two  principals 
were  placed  front  to  front  at  the  distance  agreed  upon,  and  Sir  Mulberry 
turned  his  face  towards  his  young  adversary  for  the  first  time.  He  was  very 
pale,  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  dress  disordered,  and  his  hair  dishevelled — 
all,  most  probably,  the  consequences  of  the  previous  day  and  night.  For  the 
face,  it  eimressed  nothing  but  violent  and  evil  passions.  He  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand ;  gazed  at  his  opponent  steadfastly  for  a  few  moments ;  and 
then,  taking  the  weapon  which  was  tendered  to  him,  bent  his  eyes  upon  that, 
and  looked  up  no  more  until  the  word  was  given,  when  he  instantly  fired. 

The  two  snots  were  fired,  as  nearly  as  possible,  at  the  same  instant.  In 
that  instant  the  young  lord  turned  his  head  sharply  round,  fixed  upon  his 
adversary  a  ghastly  stare,  and,  without  a  groan  or  stagger,  fell  down  dead. 

**  He's  gone  ! "  cried  "Westwood,  who,  with  the  other  second,  had  run  up  to 
the  body,  and  fallen  on  one  knee  beside  it. 

**  His  blood  on  his  own  head,"  said  Sir  Mulberry.  *'  He  brought  this  upon 
himself,  and  forced  it  upon  me." 

**  Captain  Adams,"  cried  "Westwood,  hastily,  **  I  call  you  to  witness  that 
this  was  fairly  done.  Hawk,  we  have  not  a  moment  to  lose.  We  must  leave 
this  place  immediately,  push  for  Brighton,  and  cross  to  France  with  all  speed. 
This  has  been  a  bad  business,  and  may  be  worse,  if  we  delay  a  moment. 
Adams,  consult  your  own  safety,  and  don't  remain  here  ;  the  living  before  the 
dead — good-bye  ! " 

With  these  words,  he  seized  Sir  Mulberry  by  the  arm,  and  hurried  him 


430  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

away.  Captain  Adams — only  pausing  to  convince  himself,  beyond  all 
question,  of  the  fatal  result — sped  off  in  the  same  direction,  to  concert 
measures  with  his  servant  for  removing  the  body,  and  securing  his  own  safety 
likewise. 

So  died  Lord  Frederick  Yerisopht,  by  the  hand  which  he  had  loaded  with 
gifts  and  clasped  a  thousand  times  ;  by  the  act  of  him,  but  for  whom,  and 
others  like  him,  he  might  have  lived  a  happy  man,  and  died  with  childien's 
faces  round  his  bed. 

The  sun  came  proudly  up  in  all  his  majesty,  the  noble  river  ran  its  winding 
course,  the  leaves  quiyered  and  rustled  in  the  air,  the  birds  poured  their 
cheerful  songs  from  every  tree,  the  short-lived  butterfly  fluttered  its  little 
wings  ;  all  the  light  and  life  of  day  came  on  ;  and,  amidst  it  all,  and  pressing 
down  the  grass  whose  every  blade  bore  twenty  tiny  leaves,  lay  t^e  dead  man, 
with  his  stark  and  rigid  face  turned  upwards  to  the  sky. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

THE  PROJECT  OF  MR.  RALPH  NICKLEBY  AND  HIS  FRIEND  APPROACHING  A 
SUCCESSFUL  ISSUE,  BECOMES  UNEXPECTEDLY  KNOWN  TO  ANOTHER  PARTY, 
NOT  ADMITTED  INTO  THEIR  CONFIDENCE. 

JN  an  old  house,  dismal,  dark,  and  dusty,  which  seemed  to  have  withered, 
like  himself,  and  to  have  grown  yellow  and  shrivelled  in  hoarding  him 
from  the  light  of  day,  as  he  had,  in  hoarding  his  money,  lived  Arthur 
Gride.  Meagre  old  chairs  and  tables,  of  spare  and  bony  make,  and  hard  and 
cold  as  miser's  hearts,  were  ranged,  in  grim  array,  against  the  gloomy  walls ; 
attenuated  presses,  grown  lank  and  lantern-jawed  in  guarding  the  treasures 
they  enclosed,  and  tottering,  as  though  from  constant  fear  and  dread  of 
thieves,  shrunk  up  in  dark  corners,  whence  they  cast  no  shadows  on  the 
ground,  and  seemed  to  hide  and  cower  from  observation.  A  tall  grim  clock 
upon  the  stairs,  with  long,  lean  hands  and  famished  face,  ticked  in  cautions 
whispers ;  and  when  it  struck  the  time,  in  thin  and  piping  sounds,  like  an 
old  man's  voice,  rattled,  as  if  'twere  pinched  with  hunger. 

No  fireside  couch  was  there,  to  invite  repose  and  comfort.  Elbow-chairs 
there  were,  but  they  looked  uneasy  in  their  minds,  cocked  their  arms 
suspiciously  and  timidly,  and  kept  upon  their  guard.  Others  were  fantasti- 
cally grim  and  gaunt,  as  having  drawn  themselves  up  to  their  utmost  height, 
and  put  on  their  fiercest  looks  to  stare  all  comers  out  of  countenance. 
Others,  again,  knocked  up  against  their  neighbours,  or  leant  for  support 
against  the  wall — somewhat  ostentatiously,  as  if  to  call  all  men  to  witness 
that  they  were  not  worth  the  taking.  The  dark  square  lumbering  bedsteads 
seemed  built  for  restless  dreams  ;  the  musty  hangings  seemed  to  creep  in 
scanty  folds  together,  whispering  among  themselves,  when  rustled  by  the 
wind,  their  trembling  knowledge  of  the  tempting  wares  that  lurked  within  the 
dark  and  tight-locked  closets. 

From  out  the  most  spare  and  hungry  room  in  all  this  spare  and  hungry 
house,  there  came,  one  morning,  the  tremulous  tones  of  old  Gride's  voice,  as 
it  feebly  chirruped  forth  the  fag  end  of  some  forgotten  song,  of  which  the 
burden  ran — 

**  Ta— ran— tan — too, 
Throw  the  old  shoe, 
And  may  the  wedding  be  lucky  ! " 


NICHOLAS  mCKLEBV.  431 

which  he  repeated,  in  the  same  shrill,  quavering  notes,  again  and  again,  nntil 
a  violent  fit  of  coughing  obliged  him  to  desist,  and  to  pursue,  in  silence,  the 
occupation  upon  wiiich  he  was  engaged. 

This  occupation  was,  to  take  down  from  the  shelves  of  a  worm-eaten  ward- 
robe a  quantity  of  frowsy  garments,  one  by  one  ;  to  subject  each  to  a  careful 
and  minute  inspection  by  holding  it  up  against  the  light,  and  after  folding  it 
with  great  exactness,  to  lay  it  on  one  or  other  of  two  little  heaps  beside  him. 
He  never  took  two  articles  of  clothing  out  together,  but  always  brought  them 
forth  singly  ;  and  never  failed  to  shut  the  wardrobe  door,  and  turn  the  key, 
between  each  visit  to  its  shelves. 

"  The  snuff-coloured  suit,"  said  Arthur  Gride,  surveying  a  threadbare  coat. 
•*  Did  I  look  well  in  snuff-colour  %  let  me  think." 

The  result  of  his  cogitations  appeared  to  be  unfavourable,  for  he  folded  the 
garment  once  more,  laid  it  aside,  and  mounted  on  a  chair  to  get  down  another, 
chirping  while  he  did  so— 

"  Young,  loving,  and  fair, 
Oh,  what  happiness  there  ! 
The  wedding  is  sure  to  be  lucky  !" 

"They  always  put  in  *  young,'"  said  old  Arthur,  "but  songs  are  only 
written  for  the  sake  of  rhyme,  and  this  is  a  silly  one  that  the  poor  country 
people  sang  when  I  was  a  little  boy.  Though  stop — young  is  quite  right,  too 
— it  means  the  bride — yes.  He,  he,  he  !  It  means  the  bride.  On,  dear, 
that's  good.     That's  very  cood.     And  true,  besides — quite  true  ! " 

In  the  satisfaction  of  this  discovery  he  went  over  the  verse  again,  with 
increased  expression,  and  a  shake  or  two  here  and  there.  He  then  resumed 
his  employment. 

"  The  bottle-green,"  said  old  Arthur ;  "  the  bottle-green  was  jei  famous  suit 
to  wear,  and  I  bought  it  very  cheap  at  a  pawnbroker's,  and  there  was — he, 
he,  he! — a  tarnished  shilling  in  the  waistcoat  pocket     To  think- that  the 

rwnbroker  shouldn't  have  known  there  was  a  shilling  in  it !  /  knew  it ! 
felt  it  when  I  was  examining  the  quality.  Oh,  what  a  dull  dog !  It 
was  a  lucky  suit,  too,  this  bottle-green.  The  very  day  I  put  it  on  first, 
old  Lord  Mallowford  was  burnt  to  death  in  his  bed,  and  all  the  post-obits  fell 
in.  I'll  be  married  in  the  bottle-green.  Peg — Peg  Sliderskew — I'll  wear  the 
bottle-green  1 " 

This  call,  loudly  repeated  twice  or  thrice  at  the  room  door,  brought  into 
the  apartment  a  short,  thin,  weasen,  blear-eyed  old  woman,  palsy-stricken 
and  hideously  ugly,  who,  wiping  her  shrivelled  face  upon  her  dirty  apron, 
inquired,  in  that  subdued  tone  in  which  deaf  people  commonly  speak — 

**  Was  that  you  a  calling,  or  only  the  clock  a  striking  ?  My  hearing  gets 
80  bad,  I  never  know  which  is  which  ;  but  when  I  hear  a  noise,  I  know  it 
must  be  one  of  you,  because  nothing  else  never  stirs  in  the  house." 

"  Me,  Peg — me,"  said  Arthur  Gride,  tapping  himself  on  the  breast  to  render 
the  reply  more  intelligible. 

**  You,  eh  ? "  returned  Peg.     "And  what  do  you  want ? " 

**  I'll  be  married  in  the  bottle-green,"  cried  Arthur  Gride. 

"  It's  a  deal  too  good  to  be  married  in,  master,"  rejoined  Peg,  after  a  short 
inspection  of  the  suit     *'  Haven't  you  got  anything  worse  than  this  ? " 

"  Kothing  that'll  do,"  replied  old  Arthur. 

"Why  not  do?"  retorted  Peg.  "Why  don't  you  wear  your  every-day 
clothes,  like  a  man — eh  ? " 

**  They  an't  becoming  enough.  Peg,"  returned  her  master. 

'*  Not  what  enough  ?     said  Peg. 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"Not  becoming  too  old  to 

Arthur  Gride  notlerecl  an  imprecation  on  his  housekeeper's  deafness,  ti  hi 
roared  in  her  ear — 

"  Not  smart  enongh  1     I  want  to  look  *s  veil  is  I  can." 

"  Look  I "  cried  P^  "  If  she's  as  handsooie  aa  yon  say  she  is,  she  won't 
took  mach  st  yon,  master,  take  your  oath  of  that ;  and  aa  to  how  yoa  look 
yourself — pepper-and-salt,  bottle-green,  sky-blue,  or  tartan-plaid,  will  mi^ 
no  difference  tn  yoa." 

With  which  consolatory  assnrance,  Peg  31idetikew  gathered  up  the  cbuea 
suit,  and  foldioc  her  skinny  arms  upon  the  bundle,  stood,  mouthing  tad 
grinning,  and  blinking  her  watery  eyes,  like  an  nncouth  Ggnre  in  snu 
monstrous  piece  of  carving. 

"  You're  in  a  funny  humonr,  an't  yon,  Pegl"  said  Atthor,  with  not  Ibt 
best  possible  grace. 

"  Why,  isn  t  it  enough  to  make  roe  t  "  rejoined  the  old  woman.  "I  shill 
Boon  enough  be  put  out,  though,  if  anybody  tries  to  domineer  it  over  ma; 
and  so  I  give  you  notice,  master.  Nobody  shall  bo  put  over  Peg  Slidersken'i 
bead,  after  so  many  years  ;  yon  know  that,  and  bo  1  needn't  tdt  yon  I  Ttiit 
won't  do  for  me-— no,  no,  nor  for  you.     "tr^  that  once,  and  come  to  rain-' 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  shall  never  try  it,"  said  Arthur  Gride,  appalled  by  tbi 
mention  of  the  word,  "not  for  the  world.  It  would  be  very  ewy  to  rain 
me  ;  we  must  be  very  careful ;  more  saving  than  ever,  with  another  montb  U) 
feed     Only  we— we  mustn't  let  her  lose  her  good  looks,  Peg,  becaoae  I  lik« 

"  Take  care  you  don't  Snd  good  looks  come  eipenaive,"  returned  F^ 
shaking  her  foreSuger. 

"  Bxit  she  can  earn  menej  hetsalf,  Peg,"  said  Arthur  Gride,  eagerly 
watching  what  effect  his  comiDUnicatioD  produced  upon  the  old  womui 
countenance.  "  She  can  draw,  paint,  work  all  manner  of  pretty  things  for 
ornamenting  stools  and  chairs  ;  slippers,  Peg,  watch-guards,  hair-chaina,  md 
a  thouEand  little  dainty  trifles  that  I  couldn't  give  you  half  the  names  of. 
Then  she  can  play  the  piano  (and  what's  more,  she's  got  one),  and  dug  like  * 
little  bird.     She'll  be  very  cheap  to  dress  and  keep.  Peg ;  don't  you  tbink  elu 

"If  you  don't  let  her  make  a  fool  of  you,  she  may,"  returned  Peg. 

"A  fool  oS  me!"  eiclaimed  Arthur.  "Trust  your  old  master  not  to  h 
fooled  by  pretty  faces.  Peg  ;  no,  no,  no— nor  by  ugly  ones  neither,  Mn. 
Sliderskew,"  he  softly  added,  by  way  of  soliloquy. 

"  You're  a  saying  something  you  don't  want  me  to  hear,"  said  Peg;  "1 

"Oh,  dear  I  the  devil's  in  this  woman,"  muttered  Arthur  ;  adding  with  an 
.ugly  leer,   "  I  said  I  trusted  everything  to  you,  Peg.     That  was  all.' 

"  You  do  that,  master,  and  all  your  cares  are  over,"  said  Peg,  approvingly. 
"  W?ien  I  do  -.hat,  Peg  Slidetskew,"   thought  Arthur  Gride,   "  they  "ill 

Itbough  ho  tliought  this  very  distinctly,  he  dnrst  not  move  his  lips  lest 

-'d  woniazi  thould  detect  him.      He  even  seemed  half-afraid  that  sbt 

have  read  his  thoughts ;  for  he  leered  coaiingly  upon  her,  as  be  tul 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  433 

a  ^od  idea,  Peg,  and  one  you'll  like,  I  know — as  I  have  never  given  her  any- 
thing yet,  and  girls  like  such  attentions,  you  shall  polish  up  a  sparkling 
necklace  that  I've  got  upstairs,  and  I'll  give  it  her  upon  the  wedding  morning 
—clasp  it  round  her  charming  little  neck  myself — and  take  it  away  again 
next  oay.  He,  he,  he  ! — ^lock  it  up  for  her,  Peg,  and  lose  it.  Who'll  be 
made  the  fool  of  there,  I  wonder,  to  begin  with — eh.  Peg  ? " 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  appeared  to  approve  highly  of  this  ingenious  scheme,  and 
expressed  her  satisfaction  by  various  rackings  and  twitchings  of  her  head  and 
iMoidy,  which  by  no  means  enhanced  her  charms.  These  she  prolonged  until 
she  had  hobbled  to  the  door,  when  she  exchanged  them  for  a  sour,  malignant 
look,  and  twisting  her  under-jaw  jfrom  side  to  side,  muttered  hearty  curses 
upon  the  future  Mrs.  Gride,  as  she  crept  slowly  down  the  stairs,  and  paused 
for  breath  at  nearly  every  one. 

"  She's  half  a  witch,  I  think,"  said  Arthur  Gride,  when  he  found  himself 
again  alone.  ''  But  she's  very  frugal,  and  she's  very  deaf.  Her  living  costs 
me  next  to  nothing  ;  and  it's  no  use  her  listening  at  keyholes  ;  for  she  can't 
hear.  She's  a  charming  woman — for  the  purpose  ;  a  most  discreet  old  house- 
keeper, and  worth  her  weight  in — copper. ' 

Having  extolled  the  merits  of  his  domestic  in  these  high  terms,  old  Arthur 
went  back  to  the  burden  of  his  song.  The  suit  destined  to  grace  his 
approaching  nuptials  being  now  selected,  he  replaced  the  others  with  no  less 
care  than  he  had  displaved  in  drawing  them  from  the  musty  nooks  where 
they  had  silently  reposed!  for  many  years. 

Startled  by  a  ring  at  the  door,  he  hastily  concluded  this  operation,  and 
locked  the  press  ;  but  there  was  no  need  for  any  particular  hurry,  as  the  dis- 
creet Peg  seldom  knew  the  bell  was  rung  unless  she  happened  to  cast  her  dim 
eyes  upwards,  and  to  see  it  shaking  against  the  kitchen  ceiling.  After  a  short 
delay,  however.  Peg  tottered  in,  followed  by  Newman  Noggs. 

"Ah  !  Mr.  Noggs  !  "  cried  Arthur  Gride,  rubbing  his  hands.  "My  good 
friend,  Mr.  Noggs,  what  news  do  you  bring  for  me  ? " 

Newman,  with  a  steadfast  and  immovable  aspect,  and  his  fixed  eye  very 
fixed  indeed,  replied,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  '*  A  letter.  From  Mr. 
Nickleby.     Bearer  waits." 

"  Won't  you  take  a— a " 

Kewman  looked  up,  and  smacked  his  lips. 

** ^A  chair  ? "  said  Arthur  Gride. 

"No,"  replied  Newman.     "  Thank'ee. " 

Arthur  opened  the  letter  with  trembling  hands,  and  devoured  its  contents 
with  the  utmost  greediness :  chuckling  rapturously  over  it,  and  reading  it 
several  times  before  he  could  take  it  from  before  his  eyes.  So  many  times 
did  he  peruse  and  re-peruse  it,  that  Newman  considered  it  expedient  to  remind 
him  of  his  presence. 

"  Answer,"  said  Newman.     **  Bearer  waits." 

••  True,"  replied  old  Arthur.     **  Yes — yes ;  I  almost  forgot,  I  do  declare." 

•*  I  thought  you  were  forgetting,"  said  Newman. 

*•  Quite  right  to  remind  me,  Mr.  Noggs.  Oh,  very  right  indeed,"  said 
Arthur.  **Yes.  I'll  write  a  line.  I'm — I'm — rather  flurried,  Mr.  Noggs. 
The  news  is " 

**  Bad  ? "  interrupted  Newman. 

"  No,  Mr.  Noggs,  thank  you  ;  good,  good.  The  very  best  of  news.  Sit 
down.  I'U  get  the  pen  and  ink,  and  write  a  line  in  answer.  I'll  not  detain 
you  lon^.  i  know  you're  a  treasure  to  your  master,  Mr.  Noggs.  He  speaks 
of  yon  in  such  terms,  sometimes,  that,  oh,  dear  I  you'd  be  astonished.  I 
may  aay  that  I  do,  too,  and  always  did.     I  always  say  the  same  of  you." 

u  ^^ 


454  ^JF^  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  TLat's  *  Curae  Mr.  Xoggs  with  all  my  he«t ! '  then,  if  yoa  do,"  thooght 
Newman,  as  Gride  homed  oat. 

The  letter  had  fallen  on  the  gronnd.  Looking  carefiollj  aboat  him  for  u 
instant,  Xewman,  impelled  bj  coriositj  to  know  the  lesolt  of  the  desiga  he 
had  oTerheard  from  his  office  closet,  caoght  it  up,  and  lapidly  raid  as 
follows : — 

"Gride, 

"  I  saw  Bray  again  this  morning  and  proposed  the  day  after  t»- 
moRow  (as  yoa  suggested)  for  the  marria^  Tkexe  ii  no  objeetion  on  kis 
part,  and  ail  days  are  alike  to  his  daughter.  We  will  go  togethtf  ,  and  yoa 
most  be  with  me  by  seren  in  the  morning:  I  need  not  tell  yoa  to  be 
panctnal. 

**  Make  no  farther  visits  to  the  girl  in  the  meantime.  You  haTe  been  tben 
of  late  much  oftener  than  yoa  shoold.  She  doea  not  langidah  for  yoo,  and  it 
might  have  been  dangerous^  Restrain  yoar  yoathfol  ardour  Ux  exght-tnd- 
forty  hoois^  and  leave  her  to  the  fiither.  Ton  only  undo  what  he  doea^  and 
does  welL 

"Yoars, 

-'-  Ralph  ^SficKLZBT." 


A  footstep  was  heard  without.  Xe^rman  dropped  the  letter  on  the 
spot  again,  pressed  it  with  his  foot  to  prevent  its  fiiittering  away,  regiunel 
his  seat  in  a  single  stride,  and  looked  as  vacant  and  oneonacioos  as  ever  mortal 
looked.  Arthur  Gride,  after  peering  nervoosly  about  him,  ^lied  it  oa  tk 
groond,  picked  it  op,  and  sitting^  down  to  write,  ^anoed  at  Newman  Keggi^ 
who  was  staring  at  the  wall  with  an  intensity  ao  twnarkahle  that  Arthor  vis 
quite  iLiniied. 

^"Do  you  see  anything  particular,  Mr.  S^oggs  ? "  said  Arthur,  trying  to 
follow  the  direotioa  of  Newman's  eyes — which  was  an  impoasibility,  and  i 
thio^  no  man  had  ever  ^<itxi!t^ 

*'  Only  a  cobweb/*  replied  Newman. 

-Oh,  isthataUr* 

••  Xo,^  said  Xewniau.     **  There's  a  fly  in  it."' 

"  There  are  a  good  many  cobwebs  here,'*  observed  Arthur  Gride. 

•*  So  there  are  in  ocr  plice,**  returned  Newman  ;  ''  and  dies,  ujol" 

Newman  appeared  to  derive  great  entertainment  firom  this  repartee,  and  to 
the  great  discomposure  of  Arthur  Gride's  nerves,  produced  a  series  of  sharp 
eracks  firom  his  duger -joints,  resembling  the  noise  of  a  distant  discharge  oif 
smjil  artillery.  Arthur  succeeded  in  duLshing  his  reply  to  Ralph's  note, 
nevertheless,  and  at  Ieni;tli  handed  ic  over  to  the  eccentrit:  messenger  ior 
delivirr. 

"  That's  ir.  Mr.  No«igs."  said  Gride. 

Newniaa  gave  a  nod,  pat  it  in  his  hat.  and  wns  shutBinf  away,  when  Gride. 
wjose  dotin;^  icliclit  knew  uo  bounds,  beckoned  him  bocJt  j^gi^w^  and  saii,  in 
a  shrill  whisper,  and  witii  a  ^^rrin.  which  puckered  up  his  whole  fiace,  and  ahaost 
ooiycuiv^i  his  eyes — 

'*  Will  yon — will  you.  :ak^  a  little  irop  of  aomething — -Just  a  taste  ? " 

I-^  goool  rVellows-lLio  ,i;  Arthur  Gride  liad  been  capable  of  it'.  Newman  wotld 
■ot  have  druiii  with  him  one  bubb^  of  the  richest  wine  that  was  ever  m*ie : 
but  to  see  what  he  wou.d  b-e  at,  and  to  punish  him  as  much  as  he  coold,  b< 
accepted  the  otfer  iauaLetiiaceiv. 

Arthur  Gride,  ther^toce.  a,zaui  anplied  himself  to  tiie  press,  and  fr«»m  a  sbeif 
laden  with  tail  FumiLih  dri:ikin^,asseSi  and  ^^uaint  bottles — same  withnecb 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  435 

like  80  many  storks,  and  others  with  square,  Dutch-built  bodies,  and  short, 
fat,  apoplectic  throats — took  down  one  dusty  bottle  of  promising  appearance, 
and  two  glasses  of  curiously  small  size. 

"  You  never  tasted  this,"  said  Arthur.  "It's  eau-dCor — golden  water.  I 
like  it  on  account  of  it's  name.  It's  a  delicious  name.  Water  of  gold,  golden 
water  !    Oh,  dear  me,  it  seems  quite  a  sin  to  drink  it ! " 

As  his  courage  appeared  to  be  fast  failinc:  him,  and  he  trifled  with  the 

stopper  in  a  manner  which  threatened  the  dismissal  of  the  bottle  to  its  old 

place,  Newman  took  up  one  of  the  little  glasses,  and  clinked  it  twice  or  thrice 

,  a^inst  the  bottle,  as  a  gentle  reminder  that  he  had  not  been  helped  yet. 

'  With  a  deep  sigh,  Arthur  Gride  slowly  filled  it — though  not  to  the  brim— and 

then  filled  his  own. 

"  Stop,  stop ;  don't  drink  it  yet,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Newman's  ; 
"  it  was  given  to  me  twenty  years  ago,  and  when  I  take  a  little  taste,  which 
is  ve — ^ry  seldom,  I  like  to  think  of  it  beforehand,  and  teaze  myself.  We'll 
d^ink  a  toast.    Shall  we  drink  a  toast,  Mr.  Noggs  % " 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Newman,  eyeing  his  little  glass  impatiently.  '*  Look  sharp. 
Bearer  waits." 

"Why,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  tittered  Arthur,  "we'll  drink— he,  he, 
he ! — we'll  drink  a  lady." 

"  Tk&  ladies  ? "  said  Newman. 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Noggs,"  replied  Gride,  arresting  his  hand,  "a  lady.  You 
wonder  to  hear  me  say  a  lady.  I  know  you  do,  I  know  you  do.  Here's  little 
Madeline — that's  the  toast,  Mr.  Noggs — little  Madeline  !  " 

*•  Madeline  ! "  said  Newman  ;  inwardly  adding,  **  and  God  help  her ! " 

The  rapidity  and  unconcern  with  which  Newman  dismissed  his  portion  of 
the  golden  water  had  a  great  effect  upon  the  old  man,  who  sat  upright  in  his 
chair,  and  gazed  at  him,  open-mouthed,  as  if  the  sight  had  taken  away  his 
breath.  Quite  unmoved,  however,  Newman  left  him  to  sip  his  own  at  leisure, 
or  to  pour  it  back  again  into  the  bottle,  if  he  chose,  and  departed ;  after 
greatly  outraging  the  dignity  of  Peg  Sliderskew  by  brushing  past  her  in  the 
passage  without  a  word  of  apology  or  recognition. 

Mr.  Gride  and  his  housekeeper,  immediately  on  being  left  alone,  resolved 
themselves  into  a  committee  of  ways  and  means,  and  discussed  the  arrange- 
ments which  should  be  made  for  the  reception  of  the  young  bride.  As  they 
were,  like  some  other  committees,  extremely  dull  and  prolix  in  debate,  this 
history  may  pursue  the  footsteps  of  Newman  Noggs ;  thereby  combining 
advantage  with  necessity ;  for  it  would  have  been  necessary  to  do  so  under 
any  circumstances,  and  necessity  has  no  law,  as  all  the  world  know. 

"  You've  been  a  long  time,"  said  Ralph,  when  Newman  returned. 

** He  was  a  long  time,"  replied  Newman. 

"Bah !"  cried  Ralph,  impatiently.  "Give  me  his  note  if  he  gave  you 
one :  his  message,  if  he  didn't.  And  don't  go  away.  I  want  a  word  with 
you,  sir." 

Kewman  handed  in  the  note,  and  looked  very  virtuous  and  innocent  while 
his  employer  broke  the  seal,  and  glanced  his  eye  over  it. 

"  He'll  be  sure  to  come  1 "  muttered  Ralph,  as  he  tore  it  to  pieces  ;  "why, 
of  course  I  know  he'll  be  sure  to  come.  What  need  to  say  that  \  Noggs  ! 
Pray,  sir,  what  man  was  that  with  whom  I  saw  you  in  the  street  last 
night  %  " 

•*  I  don't  know,"  replied  Newman. 

"You  had  better  refresh  your  memory,  sir,"  said  Ralph,  with  a  threaten- 
ing look. 

"  I  tell  you,"  returned  Newman,  boldly,    "  that  I  don't  know.     He  came 


436  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

here  twice  and  asked  for  yon.  Yon  were  out.  He  came  agun.  Yon  pacfad 
him  off  yoarseH     He  ^ve  the  name  of  Brooker." 

"  I  know  he  did,"  said  Balph  ;  "  what  then  I " 

"  What  then  \  Why,  then  he  lurked  about  and  dogged  me  in  the  street 
He  follows  me,  night  airer  night,  and  urges  me  to  bring  him  face  to  face  with 
you  ;  as  he  says  he  has  been  once,  and  not  long  ago  either.  He  wants  to  see 
jou  face  to  face,  he  says,  and  yonll  soon  hear  him  out,  he  warrants." 

"  And  what  say  you  to  that  I "  inquired  Balph,  Looking  keenly  at  Lis 
dnid£;e. 

*'  TLat  if  3  no  business  of  mine,  and  I  won^t.  I  to!d  him  he  mi^t  catch 
you  in  the  street,  if  that  was  all  he  wanted,  but  no,  that  wouldn't  do.  Too 
woTiIdn't  hear  a  word  there,  he  said.  He  must  hare  you  alone,  in  a  room 
with  the  door  locked,  where  he  oould  speak  without  fear,  and  you'd  soon 
change  your  tone,  anl  hear  him  patiently. " 

"  An'andafioos  dog  ! "  Balph  muttered. 

"  That's  all  I  kTiow,"  said  Xewman.  "  I  say  again,  I  don't  know  what 
man  he  isL  I  don't  beliere  he  knows  hinwelf.  Yon  hare  seen  him,  pnfa^ 
W0U  da** 

"  I  think  I  do,"  repjcd  Eaiph. 

"  Well,"'  r=:on&i  X^wtt; >rj/sz!jdly,  *'  don't  ei^ect  me  to  know  him  tioo ; 
that's  all  YoTill  ask  ise  r.eii  why  I  never  told  you  this  before.  What 
wo!£ld  you  say  if  I  was  to  t^Il  you  all*  that  people  aay  of  you  ?  Wliat  do  yoo 
call  a'e  when  I  sofaietimes  co  \    '  Brote,  ass ! '    and  siap  at  me  like  i 

This  was  true  esoiigh  ;  T^ungh  the  qsestxm  which  Xewman  anticipated, 
was.  in  fact,  upon  Balph's  lips  ai  ibe  s<C3€^ni. 

''  He  is  as  lUe  m^jtiu'*  said  Ralph  :  *'a  rarabond  from  beyond  the  i*ei, 
whtr&  he  iriTtZlTvi  :;'■  his  criins*  :  &  f*l:n  Itz  l-xiat  za  run  Lis  neck  into  il:^ 
hihrT  :  a  5«ir:il*!r.  wh:-  has  ihe  a-ia-rrr  zo  vtt  his  ^bemea  on  me  who  kii«iw 
l-ini  -Well  Th*  i:*rT  ii=L*  he  TtTr  lers  ^zh  jozl.  f  a-^i  him  over  to  the  police, 
fr-r  an-rniT-nni!  ic-  exi>:r:  juca^x  hx  lies  atd  iLrsas — d"ve  Lear  ? — and  leave 
iLt  r^r^l  zc-  =:*-  Ht  <''.i"  r^iol  his  irfft-ls  in  ;sfl  a  lizzit  liiae,  and  I'll  be  bound 
he  !:•:£<  fc-r  c-th*r  folks  *.:  lie»  whsa  he  oc.^ies  oaL     You  mind  what  I  a/i 


u 


a  T-:r  * 


I  isLr,"  siSi  Xei 


"Do  iz.  ihezi.'"  rfr=rTi*ii  Eihi-  ''mdi  m  reward  von.     "Sow  yon  miy 

Xewmszi  rPAiflj  aTLL.?!  hirst-jf  cf  ibe  psrn-ypnT^,  and  shrrting  himself  op 
i-  his  linlt  cfij*^.  re-r.fc-'^ic  ihrr^  ii:  TirrflHracras  eocilaiion  ail  dav.  Whea 
1?  was  rcjeaasc  ai  zirhi.  he  prcirwE^isi  wiih  ill  ibe  expediiiira  he  oould  use  to 
ibi-  ritT,  aai  io:k  zz  his  :li  T»ns:iicc:  bthfzii  iiit  pi=.js  ^  watcL  for  Xicholu 
— far  Xewmaa  Xd^^  "stls  tcmii  ii  his  wij.  luz.  er-iQi  not  bear  to  appear  ai 
Lis  fnsnl  b*-:\-«-  ih*  ririThers  rhftfcyrut,  iz:  tb=  sj-ar-iy  azid  degraded  »Uie 
T*=  whirii  be  was  raiarsei. 

He  bai  X'K  cinrsToei  tiis  p^iiiDit  zulilt  lEinmss.  when  be  was  rejoiced  to 
««e  N5;bSia$  ap^irja^hrrc^  ^^^  Lmtu'-i  z*i:i  trxL  his  asibcscaJe  to  meet  him. 
Xacbcuas.  «ib  tis  T*rL.  was  rr-  Isas  TucLsei  t.:  ^ii^MZiieir  Lis  frieiid,  whom  he 
SM«  SMffi  for  si:c.:»e  lim*  ;  fC'  ihf :i:  r^BKLTir  was  a  warm  one. 
*1  w«i  tkxnkiiic  of  t:«ti  £I  zzilz  TLiattii."   sLii  Xiabr-ias. 
'T^i's  ntJiL."  rt-^niiH»i  Xt  wintz^  ""izii  I  :•:  j:»il     I  '.-.Mil  lu't  help  coming 
^••iciiX.     I  say,  \  7.'r.-.T.k  1  il  ^rninr  t:*  tni  »"*c:  sctTneihiiig."' 
'JkBit  «iH}  snay  tbu  be'^  Tkazrndi  Xi:iii:>'i&«L.  sTT.y-Tig  at  this  odd  com- 

w^n:  s:  mar  be.  I  aoc  i  kniFw  whai  it  may  not  be,**  sihi 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  437 

Newman  ;  "it's  some  secret  in  which  your  uncle  is  concerned,' but  what,  I've 
not  yet  been  able  to  discover,  although  I  have  my  strong  suspicions.  I'll 
not  hint  'em  now,  in  case  you  should  bs  disappointed." 

"/disappointed  I "  cried  Nicholas  ;  "am  I  interested ? " 

"  I  think  you  are,"  replied  Newman.  **  I  have  a  crotchet  in  my  head  that 
it  must  be  so.  I  have  found  out  a  man  who  plainly  knows  more  than  he  cares 
to  tell  at  once.  And  he  has  already  dropped  such  hints  to  me  as  puzzle  me — 
I  say,  as  puzzle  me,"  said  Newman,  scratching  his  red  nose  into  a  state  of 
violent  inflammation,  and  staring  at  Nicholas  with  all  his  might  and  main 
meanwhile. 

Admiring  what  could  have  wound  his  friend  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  mystery, 
Nicholas  endeavoured,  by  a  series  of  questions,  to  elucidate  the  cause  ;  but  in 
▼ain.  Newman  could  not  be  drawn  into  any  more  explicit  statement  than  a 
repetition  of  the  perplexities  he  had  already  thrown  out,  and  a  confused  oration, 
showing  how  it  was  necessary  to  use  the  utmost  caution  ;  how  the  lynx-eyed 
Balph  had  already  seen  him  in  company  with  his  unknown  correspondent ; 
and  how  he  had  baffled  the  said  Ralph  by  extreme  guardedness  of  manner  and 
ingenuity  of  speech ;  having  prepared  himself  for  such  a  contingency  from 
the  first. 

Remembering  his  companion's  propensity — of  which  his  nose,  indeed,  per- 
petually warned  all  beholders  like  a  beacon — Nicholas  had  drawn  him  into  a 
sequestered  tavern.  Here  they  fell  to  reviewing  the  origin  and  progress  of 
their  acquaintance,  as  men  sometimes  do,  and  tracing  out  the  little  events  by 
which  it  was  most  strongly  marked,  came  at  last  to  Miss  Cecilia  Bobster. 

**  And  that  reminds  me,"  said  Newman,  "  that  you  never  told  me  the 
young  lady's  real  name." 

**  Madeline  ! "  said  Nicholas. 

"Madeline!"  cried  Newman;  "what  Madeline?  Her  other  name — say 
her  other  name." 

"  Bray,"  said  Nicholas,  in  great  astonishment. 

"It's  the  same  !  "  cried  Newman.  "Sad  story  !  Can  you  stand  idly  by 
and  let  that  unnatural  marriage  take  place  without  one  attempt  to  save 
her?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  exclaimed  Nicholas,  starting  up  ;  "  marriage !  are 
you  mad  ? " 

"Are  you?  is  she?  are  you  blind,  deaf,  senseless,  dead?"  said  Newman. 
*'  Do  you  know  that  within  one  day,  by  means  of  your  uncle  Ralph,  she  will 
be  married  to  a  man  as  bad  as  he,  and  worse,  if  worse  there  is  ?  Do  you 
know  that  within  one  day  she  will  be  sacrificed,  as  sure  as  you  stand  there 
alive,  to  a  hoary  wretch — a  devil  born  and  bred,  and  grey  in  devils'  ways  ? " 

"  Be  careful  what  you  say,"  replied  Nicholas.  "For  heaven's  sake  be 
careful !  I  am  left  here  alone,  and  those  who  could  stretch  out  a  hand  to 
rescue  her  are  far  away.     What  is  it  that  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  never  heard  her  name,"  said  Newman,  choking  with  his  energy. 
*•  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  How  was  I  to  know  ?  We  might,  at  least,  have 
had  some  time  to  think  !  " 

"  What  is  it  that  you  mean  ? "  cried  Nicholas. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  arrive  at  this  information  ;  but,  after  a  great 
quantity  of  extraordinary  pantomime,  which  in  no  way  assisted  it,  Nicholas, 
who  was  almost  as  wild  as  Newman  Noggs  himself,  forced  the  latter  down 
upon  his  seat,  and  held  him  down  until  he  began  his  tale. 

Rage,  astonishment,  indignation,  and  a  storm  of  passions,  rushed  through 
the  iStener's  heart  as  the  plot  was  laid  bare.    He  no  sooner  understood  it  all 


438  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

than,  with  a  face  of  ashy  paleness,  and  trembling  in  every  limb,  he  darted 
from  the  house. 

"Stop  him  !"  cried  Newman,  bolting  out  in  pursuit  **He*ll  be  doing 
something  desperate — he'll  murder  some£>dy — ^hallo,  there  1  stop  him.  Stop 
thief !  stop  thief ! " 


CHAPTER    LIL 

NICHOLAS  DESPAIRS  OF  BESCUING  MADELINE  BEAY,  BUT  PLUCKS  UP  HI8 
8PIEITS  AGAIN,  AND  DETEBMINES  TO  ATTEMPT  IT.  DOMESTIC  INTELLI- 
GENCE OF  THE  KENWIGSES  AND  LILLTYICKS. 

FINDING  that  Newman  was  determined  to  arrest  his  progress  at  any 
hazard,  and  apprehensive  that  some  well-intentioned  passenger,  at- 
tracted by  the  cry  of  "  Stop  thief,"  might  really  lay  violent  hands 
upon  his  person,  and  place  him  in  a  disagreeable  predicament,  from  which  he 
might  have  some  difficulty  in  extricating  himself,  Nicholas  soon  slackened  his 
pace,  and  suffered  Newman  Noggs  to  come  up  with  him  ;  which  he  did  in  so 
oreathlcss  a  condition,  that  it  seemed  impossible  he  could  have  held  out  for  i 
minute  longer. 

**  I  will  go  straight  to  Bray's,"  said  Nicholas.  "  I  will  see  this  man.  If 
there  is  a  feeling  of  humanity  lingering  in  his  breast,  a  spark  of  consideration 
for  his  own  child,  motherless  and  friendless  as  she  is,  I  will  awaken  it." 

"  You  will  not,"  replied  Newman.     "You  will  not,  indeed." 

"Then,"  said  Nicholas,  pressing  onward,  "I  will  act  upon  my  first 
impulse,  and  go  straight  to  Ralph  Nickleby. " 

**  By  the  time  you  reach  his  house  he  will  be  in  bed,"  said  Newman. 

"  I  will  drag  him  from  it,"  cried  Nicholas. 

"  Tut,  tut,'^  said  Noggs.     "  Be  yourself." 

"  You  are  the  best  of  friends  to  me,  Newman,"  rejoined  Nicholas,  after 
a  pause,  and  taking  his  hand  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  made  head  against 
many  trials  ;  but  the  misery  of  another,  and  such  misery,  is  involved  in 
this  one,  that  I  declare  to  you  I  am  rendered  desperate,  and  know  not  how 
to  act. " 

In  truth,  it  did  seem  a  hopeless  case.  It  was  impossible  to  make  any  use 
of  such  intelligence  as  Newman  Noggs  had  gleaned  when  he  lay  concealed  in 
the  closet.  The  mere  circumstance  of  the  compact  between  Ralph  Nickleby 
and  Gride  would  not  invalidate  the  marriage,  or  render  Bray  averse  to  it,  who, 
if  he  did  not  actually  know  of  the  existence  of  some  such  understanding, 
doubtless  suspected  it.  What  had  been  hinted  with  reference  to  some  fraud 
on  Madeline,  had  been  put  with  sufficient  obscurity  by  Arthur  Gride,  but 
coming  from  Newman  Noggs,  and  obscured  still  further  by  the  smoke  of 
his  pocket-pistol,  it  became  wholly  unintelligible,  and  involved  in  utter 
darkness. 

"  There  seems  no  ray  of  hope,"  said  Nicholas. 

**  The  greater  necessity  for  coolness,  for  reason,  for  consideration,  for 
thought,"  said  Newman,  pausing  at  every  alternate  word  to  look  anxiously  in 
his  friend's  face.     **  Where  are  the  brothers  ?  " 

"  Both  absent  on  urgent  business,  as  they  will  be  for  a  week  to  come." 

"  Is  there  no  way  of  communicating  with  them  ?  no  way  of  getting  one  of 
them  here  bv  to-morrow  night  ? " 

"  Impossible  I  "  said  Nicholas,  "  the  sea  is  between  us  and  them.    With 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  K  439 

the  fairest  winds  that  ever  blew,  to  go  and  return  would  take  three  days  and 
nights." 

**  Their  nephew — "  said  Newman,  **  their  old  clerk." 

**"What  could  either  do  that  I  cannot?"  rejoined  Nicholas.  **With 
reference  to  them,  especially,  I  am  enjoined  to  the  strictest  silence  on  this 
subject.  What  right  have  I  to  betray  the  confidence  reposed  in  me,  when 
nothing  but  a  miracle  can  prevent  this  sacrifice  ? " 

*•  Think,"  urged  Newman.     **  Is  there  no  way  ? " 

"There  is  none,"  said  Nicholas,  in  utter  dejection.  **Not  one.  The 
father  urges — the  daughter  consents.  These  demons  have  her  in  their  toils  ; 
legal  right,  might,  power,  money,  and  every  influence  are  on  their  side.  How 
can  I  hope  to  save  her  ? " 

'*  Hope  to  the  last !  "  said  Newman,  clapping  him  on  the  back.  "  Always 
hope  ;  that's  a  dear  boy.  Never  leave  off  hoping,  it  don't  answer.  Do  you 
mind  me,  Nick  ?  it  don't  answer.  Don't  leave  a  stone  unturned.  It's  always 
something,  to  know  you've  done  the  most  you  could.  But  don't  leave  off 
hoping,  or  it's  of  no  use  doing  anything.     Hope,  hope,  to  the  last  1 " 

Nicholas  needed  encouragement.  The  suddenness  with  which  intelligence 
of  the  two  usurers'  plans  had  come  upon  him,  the  little  time  which  remained 
for  exertion,  the  probability,  almost  amounting  to  certainty  itself,  that  a  few 
hours  would  place  Madeline  Bray  for  ever  beyond  his  reach,  consign  her  to 
unspeakable  misery,  and  perhaps  to  an  untimely  death  :  all  this  quite  stunned 
and  overwhelmed  him.  Every  hope  connected  with  her  that  he  had  suffered 
himself  to  form,  or  had  entertained  unconsciously,  seemed  to  fall  at  his  feet, 
withered  and  dead.  Every  charm  with  which  his  memory  or  imagination  had 
surrounded  her  presented  itself  before  him,  only  to  heighten  his  anguish  and 
add  new  bitterness  to  his  despair.  Every  feeling  of  sympathy  for  her  forlorn 
condition,  and  of  admiration  for  her  heroism  and  fortitude,  aggravated  the 
indignation  which  shook  him  in  every  limb,  and  swelled  his  heart  almost  to 
bursting. 

But  if  Nicholas's  own  heart  embarrassed  him,  Newman's  came  to  his  relief. 

There  was  so  much  earnestness  in  his  remonstrance,  and  such  sincerity  and 

fervour  in  his  manner,  odd  and  ludicrous  as  it  always  was,  that  it  imparted  to 

Nicholas  new  firmness,  and  enabled  him.  to  say,  after  he  had  walked  on  some 

ittle  way  in  silence — 

'*  You  read  me  a  good  lesson,  Newman,  and  I  will  profit  by  it.  One  step, 
at  least,  I  may  take — am  bound  to  take,  indeed — and  to  that  I  will  apply 
myself  to-morrow. " 

"  What  is  that  ? "  asked  Noggs,  wistfully.  *'  Not  to  threaten  Ralph  ?  Not 
to  see  the  father  ? " 

"To  see  the  daughter,  Newman,"  replied  Nicholas.  "To  do  what,  after 
all,  is  the  utmost  that  the  brothers  could  do,  if  they  were  here,  as  heaven 
send  they  were  !  To  reason  with  her  upon  this  hideous  union,  to  point  out  to 
her  all  the  horrors  to  which  she  is  hastening  ;  rashly,  it  may  be,  and  without 
due  reflection.  To  entreat  her,  at  least,  to  pause.  She  can  have  had  no 
counsellor  for  her  good.  Perhaps  even  I  may  move  her  so  far  yet,  though  it  is 
the  eleventh  hour,  and  she  upon  the  very  brink  of  ruin." 

"  Bravely  spoken  !  "  said  Newman.  "Well  done,  well  done  !  Yes.  A^'ery 
good." 

"And  I  do  declare,"  cried  Nicholas,  with  honest  enthusiasm,  "that  in 
this  effort  I  am  influenced  by  no  selfish  or  personal  considerations,  but  by  pity 
for  her,  and  detestation  and  abhorrence  of  this  scheme  ;  and  that  I  would  do 
the  same,  were  there  twenty  rivals  in  the  field,  and  I  the  last  and  least 
favoured  of  them  all." 


440  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**You  would,  I  believe,"  said  Newman.  **But  where  are  you  hurrying 
now  ? " 

**  Homewards,"  answered  Nicholas.  **  Do  you  come  with  me,  or  shall  I  say 
good-night  ? " 

**  FU  come  a  little  way,  if  you  will  but  walk,  not  run,"  said  Noggs. 

"I  cannot  walk  to-night,  Newman,"  returned  Nicholas,  hurriedly.  "I 
must  move  rapidly,  or  I  could  not  draw  my  breath.  I'll  tell  you  what  I've 
said  and  done  to-morrow  ! " 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  darted  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  and,  plunging 
into  the  crowds  which  thronged  the  street,  was  quickly  lost  to  view. 

**  He's  a  violent  youth  at  times,"  said  Newman,  looking  after  him  ;  "and 
yet  I  like  him  for  it.  There's  cause  enough  now,  or  the  deuce  is  in  it  Hope ! 
I  said  hope,  I  think  1  Ralph  Nickleby  and  Gride  with  their  heads  together 
— and  hope  for  the  opposite  party  I    Ho  1  ho  !  " 

It  was  with  a  very  melancholy  laugh  that  Newman  Noggs  concluded  thia 
soliloquy :  and  it  was  with  a  very  melancholy  shake  of  the  bead,  and  a  very 
rueful  countenance,  that  he  turned  about,  and  went  plodding  on  his  way. 

This,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  have  been  to  some  small  tavern 
or  dram-shop  :  that  being  his  way  in  more  senses  than  one.  But  Newnuin 
was  too  much  interested,  and  too  anxious,  to  betake  himself  even  to  this 
resource,  and  so,  with  many  desponding  and  dismal  reflections,  went  straight 
home. 

It  had  come  to  pass  that  afternoon  that  Miss  Morleena  Ken  wigs  had 
received  an  invitation  to  repair  next  day,  per  steamer  from  Westminster 
Bridge,  unto  the  Eel- pie  Island  at  Twickenham ;  there  to  make  merry  upon  a 
cold  collation,  bottlea-beer,  shrub,  and  shrimps,  and  to  dance  in  the  open  air 
to  the  music  of  a  locomotive  band,  conveyed  thither  for  the  purpose :  the 
steamer  being  specially  engaged  by  a  dancing-master  of  extensive  connection 
for  the  accommodation  of  his  numerous  pupils,  and  the  pupils  displaying  their 
appreciation  of  the  dancing-master's  services  by  purchasing  themselves,  and 
inducing  their  friends  to  do  the  like,  divers  light-blue  tickets,  entitling  them 
to  join  the  expedition.  Of  these  light-blue  tickets,  one  had  been  presented 
by  an  ambitious  neighbour  to  Miss  Morleena  Kenwigs,  with  an  invitation  to 
join  her  daughters ;  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  rightly  deeming  that  the  honour  of 
the  family  was  involved  in  Miss  Morleena's  making  the  most  splendid 
appearance  possible  on  so  short  a  notice,  and  testifying  to  the  dancing- master 
that  there  were  other  dancing-masters  besides  him,  and  to  all  fathers  and 
mothers  present  that  other  people's  children  could  learn  to  be  genteel  besides 
theirs,  had  fainted  away  twice  under  the  magnitude  of  her  preparations,  but, 
upheld  by  a  determination  to  sustain  the  family  name  or  perish  in  the  attempt, 
was  still  hard  at  work  when  Newman  Noggs  came  home. 

Now,  between  the  italian-ironing  of  frills,  the  flouncing  of  trousers,  the 
trimming  of  frocks,  the  faintings  and  the  comings-to  again,  incidental  to  the 
occasion,  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  been  so  entirely  occupied  that  she  had  not 
observed,  until  within  half-an-hour  before,  that  the  flaxen  tails  of-  Miss 
Morleena's  hair  were,  in  a  manner,  run  to  seed  ;  and  that,  unless  she 
were  put  under  the  hands  of  a  skilful  hair-dresser,  she  never  could  achieve 
that  signal  triumph  over  the  daughters  of  all  other  people,  anything  less  than 
which  would  be  tantamount  to  defeat.  This  discovery  drove  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
to  despair ;  for  the  hair-dresser  lived  three  streets  and  eight  dangerous  c^oa^ 
ings  off;  Morleena  could  not  be  trusted  to  go  there  alone,  even  if  such  a 
proceeding  were  strictly  proper,  of  which  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  her  doubts ;  Mr. 
Kenwigs  had  not  returned  from  business ;  and  there  was  nobody  to  take  her. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  441 

So  Mrs.  Eenwigs  first  slapped  Miss  Eenwigs  for  beiug  the  cause  of  her  vexa- 
tion, and  thenrshed  tears. 

"  You  ungrateful  child  I "  said  Mrs.  Eenwigs,  "  after  I  have  gone  through 
what  I  have  this  night  for  your  good." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  ma,"  replied  Morleena,  also  in  tears ;  **  my  hair  wUl 
grow." 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  you  naughty  thing  ! "  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  ** don't  I 
Even  if  I  was  to  trust  you  by  yourself,  and  you  were  to  escape  being  run  over, 
I  know  you'd  run  in  to  Laura  Chopkins  " — who  was  the  daughter  of  the 
ambitious  neighbour — "and  tell  her  what  you're  going  to  wear  to-morrow,  I 
know  you  would.  You've  no  proper  pride  in  yourself,  and  are  not  to  bo 
trusted  out  of  sight  for  an  instant." 

Deploring  the  evil-mindedness  of  her  eldest  daughter  in  these  terms,  Mrs. 
Eenwigs  distilled  fresh  drops  of  vexation  from  her  eyes,  and  declared  that  she 
did  believe  there  never  was  anybody  so  tried  as  she  was.  Thereupon  Morleena 
Kenwigs  wept  afresh,  and  they  bemoaned  themselves  together. 

Matters  were  at  this  point  as  Newman  Noggs  was  heard  to  limp  past  the 
door  on  his  way  upstairs  !  when  Mrs.  Eenwigs,  gaining  new  hope  from  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps,  hastily  removed  from  her  countenance  as  many  traces 
of  her  late  emotion  as  were  effaceable  on  so  short  a  notice  ;  and  presenting 
herself  before  him,  and  representing  their  dilemma,  entreated  that  he  would 
escort  Morleena  to  the  hair-dresser's  shop. 

**  I  wouldn't  ask  you,  Mr.  Noggs,"  said  Mrs.  Eenwigs,  '*  if  I  didn't  know 
what  a  good,  kind-hearted  creature  you  are — no,  not  for  worlds.  I  am  a  weak 
constitution,  Mr.  Noggs,  but  my  spirit  would  no  more  let  me  ask  a  favour 
where  I  thought  there  was  a  chance  of  its  being  refused,  than  it  would  let  me 
submit  to  see  my  children  trampled  down  and  trod  upon  by  envy  and 
lowness  I " 

Newman  was  too  good-natured  not  to  have  consented,  even  without  this 
avowal  of  confidence  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Eenwigs.  Accordingly,  a  very  few 
minutes  had  elapsed,  when  he  and  Miss  Morleena  were  on  their  way  to  the 
hair-dresser's. 

It  was  not  exactly  a  hair-dresser's ;  that  is  to  say,  people  of  a  coarse  and 
vulgar  turn  of  mind  might  have  called  it  a  barber's  ;  for  they  not  only  cut  and 
corl^  ladies  elegantly  and  children  carefully,  but  shaved  gentlemen  easily. 
Still,  it  was  a  highly  genteel  establishment — quite  first-rate,  in  fact — and  there 
were  displayed  in  the  window,  besides  other  elegancies,  waxen  busts  of  a  light 
lady  and  a  dark  gentleman,  which  were  the  admiration  of  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood. Indeed,  some  ladies  had  gone  so  far  as  to  assert  that  the  dark 
gentleman  was  actually  a  portrait  of  the  spirited  young  proprietor  ;  and  the 
great 'similarity  between  their  head-dresses — both  wore  very  glossy  hair,  with 
a  narrow  walk  straight  down  the  middle,  and  a  profusion  of  flat  circular  curls 
on  both  sides— encouraged  the  idea.  The  better  informed  among  the  sex, 
however,  made  light  of  this  assertion,  for  however  willing  they  were  (and  they 
were  very  willing)  to  do  full  justice  to  the  handsome  face  and  figure  of  the 
proprietor,  they  held  the  countenance  of  the  dark  gentleman  in  the  window 
to  be  an  exquisite  and  abstract  idea  of  masculine  beauty,  realised  sometimes, 
perhaps,  among  angels  and  military  men,  but  very  rarely  embodied  to  gladden 
the  eyes  of  mortals. 

It  was  to  this  establishment  that  Newman  Noggs  led  Miss  Eenwigs  in 
safety.  The  proprietor,  knowing  that  Miss  Eenwigs  had  three  sisters,  each 
with  two  flaxen  tails,  and  all  good  for  sixpence  a-piece,  once  a  month  at  least, 
promptly  deserted  an  old  gentleman  whom  he  had  just  lathered  for  shaving, 
and  handing  him  over  to  the  journeyman  (who  was  not  very  popular  among 


442  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

the  ladies,  by  reasou  of  his  obesity  and  middle  age),  waited  on  the  young  lady 
himself.  .  . 

Just  as  this  change  had  been  effected,  there  presented  himself  for  shaving 
a  big,  burly,  good-humoured  coal-heaver,  witn  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  who, 
drawing  his  hand  across  his  chin,  requested  to  know  when  a  shaver  would  be 
disengaged. 

The  journeyman  to  whom  this  question  was  put  looked  doubtfully  at  the 
young  proprietor,  and  the  young  proprietor  looked  scornfully  at  the  coal* 
heaver,  observing  at  the  same  time — 

**  You  won't  get  shaved  here,  my  man." 

*  •  Why  not  ? '    said  the  coal-heaver. 

"We  don't  shave  gentlemen  in  your  line,"  remarked  the  young  pro- 
prietor. 

''Why,  I  see  you  a  shaving  of  a  baker,  when  I  was  a  looking  through  the 
winder  last  week,"  said  the  coal-heaver. 

**  It's  necessary  to  draw  the  line  somewheres,  my  fine  feller,"  replied  the 
principaL  **  We  draw  the  line  there.  We  can't  go  beyond  bakers.  If  we 
was  to  get  any  lower  than  bakers,  our  customers  would  desert  us,  and  we 
miglit  shut  up  shop.  You  must  try  some  other  establishment,  sir.  We 
couldn't  do  it  here. 

The  applicant  stared  ;  grinned  at  Newman  Noggs,  who  appeared  highly 
entertained ;  looked  slightly  round  the  shop,  as  if  in  depreciation  of  the 
pomatum  pots  and  other  articles  of  stock ;  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
and  gave  a  very  loud  whistle,  and  then  put  it  in  again  and  walked  out 

The  old  gentjleman  who  had  just  been  lathered,  and  who  was  sitting  in  a 
melancholy  manner,  with  his  face  turned  towards  the  wall,  appeared  quite 
unconscious  of  this  incident,  and  to  be  insensible  to  everything  around  him  in 
the  depth  of  a  reverie — a  very  mournful  one,  to  judge  from  the  sighs  he 
occasionally  vented — in  which  he  was  absorbed.  Affected  by  this  example, 
the  proprietor  began  to  clip  Miss  Kenwigs,  the  journeyman  to  scrape  the  old 
gentleman,  and  Newman  Noggs  to  read  last  Sunday's  paper,  all  three  in 
silence,  when  Miss  Kenwigs  uttered  a  shrill  little  scream,  and  Newman, 
raising  his  eyes,  saw  that  it  had  been  elicited  by  the  circumstance  of  the  old 
gentleman  turning  his  head,  and  disclosing  the  features  of  Mr.  Lillyvick  the 
collector. 

The  features  of  Mr.  Lillyvick  they  were,  but  strangely  altered.  If  ever 
an  old  gentleman  had  made  a  point  of  appearing  in  public  'shaved  close 
and  clean,  that  old  gentleman  was  Mr.  Lillyvick.  If  ever  a  collector  had 
borne  himself  like  a  collector,  and  assumed,  before  all  men,  a  solemn  and 
portentous  dignity,  as  if  he  had  the  world  on  his  books,  and  it  was  all  two 
quarters  in  arrear,  that  collector  was  Mr.  Lillyvick.  And  now,  there  he  sat, 
with  the  remains  of  a  beard  at  least  a  week  old  encumbering  his  chin ;  a 
soiled  and  crumpled  shirt-frill,  crouching,  as  it  were,  upon  his  breast  inst^ 
of  standing  boldly  out ;  a  demeanour  so  abashed  and  drooping,  so  despondent 
and  expressive  of  such  humiliation,  grief,  and  shame,  that  if  the  souls  of  forty 
unsubstantial  housekeepers,  all  of  whom  had  had  their  water  cut  off  for  non- 
payment of  the  rate,  could  have  been  concentrated  in  one  body,  that  one  body 
could  hardly  have  expressed  such  mortification  and  defeat  as  were  now 
expressed  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Lillyvick  the  collector. 

Newman  Noggs  uttered  his  name,  and  Mr.  Lillyvick  groaned  ;  then  coughed 
to  hide  it.  But  the  groan  was  a  full-sized  groan,  and  the  cough  was  bat  a 
wheeze. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ?  "  said  Newman  Noggs. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  443 

'*  Matter,  sir  1 "  cried  Mr.  Lillyvick.  "  The  plug  of  life  is  dry,  sir,  and  but 
the  mud  is  left." 

This  speech — the  style  of  which  Newman  attributed  to  Mr.  Lillyvick's 
recent  association  with  theatrical  characters — not  being  quite  explanatory, 
Newman  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  ask  another  question,  when  Mr. 
LillyYick  prevented  him  by  shaking  his  hand  mournfully,  and  then  waving 
his  own. 

"Let  me  be  shaved!"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick.  "I  shall  be  done  before 
Morleena — it  is  Morleena^  isn't  it  ? " 

**  Yes,"  said  Newman. 

**  Kenwigses  have.^ot  a  boy,  haven't  they  ? "  inquired  the  collector. 

Again  Newman  said  "  Yes." 

"  Is  it  a  ni(fe  boy  ! "  demanded  the  collector. 

**  It  ain't  a  very  nasty  one,"  returned  Newman,  rather  embarrassed  by  the 
question. 

"Snsan  Eenwigs  used  to  say,"  observed  the  collector,  "that  if  ever  she 
had  another  boy,  she  hoped  it  might  be  like  me.  Is  this  one  like  me,  Mr. 
Noggs?" 

This  was  a  puzzling  inquiry  ;  but  Newman  evaded  it  by  replying  to  Mr. 
Lillyvick  that  he  thought  the  baby  might  possibly  come  like  him  in  time. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  have  somebodylike  me,  somehow,"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick, 
"before  I  die." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  do  that  yet  awhile  ?  "  said  Newman. 

Unto  which  Mr,  Lillyvick  replied  in  a  solemn  voice,  "  Let  me  be  shaved  ! " 
and  again  consigning  himself  to  the  hands  of  the  journeyman,  said  no  more. 

This  was  remarkable  behaviour.  So  remarkable  did  it  seem  to  Miss  Mor- 
leena, that  that  young  lady,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of  having  her  ear  sliced 
off,  had  not  been  able  to  forbear  looking  round,  some  scores  of  times,  during 
the  foregoing  colloquy.  Of  her,  however,  Mr.  Lillyvick  took  no  notice : 
rather  smving  (so,  at  least,  it  seemed  to  Newman  Noggs),  to  evade  her  obser- 
Yation,  and  to  shrink  into  himself  whenever  he  attractea  her  regards.  Newman 
wondered  very  much  what  could  have  occasioned  this  altered  behaviour  on  the 
part  of  the  collector ;  but,  philosophically  reflecting  that  ho  would  most 
•likely  know,  sooner  or  later,  and  that  he  could  perfectly  afford  to  wait, 
he  was  very  little  disturbed  by  the  singularity  of  the  old  gentleman's 
deportment. 

The  cutting  and  curling  being  at  last  concluded,  the  old  gentleman,  who 
had  been  some  time  waiting,  rose  to  go,  and  walking  out  with  Newman  and 
his  charge,  took  Newman's  arm,  and  proceeded  for  some  time  without  making 
mny  observation.  Newman,  who  in  power  of  taciturnity  was  excelled  by  few 
peopft,  made  no  attempt  to  break  silence  ;  and  so  they  went  on,  until  they 
haa  very  nearly  reached  Miss  Morleena's  home,  when  Mr.  Lillyvick  said — 

"  Were  the  Kenwigses  very  much  overpowered,  Mr.  Noggs,  by  that  news  ? " 

"  What  news  ? "  returned  Newman. 

"  That  about — my — being " 

"  Married  ? "  suggested  Newman. 

"  Ah  I "  replied  Mr.  Lillyvick,  with  another  groan— this  time  not  even 
disguised  by  a  wheeze. 

"  It  made  ma  cry  when  she  knew  it,"  interposed  Miss  Morleena,  "but  we 
kept  it  from  her  for  a  long  time  ;  and  pa  was  very  low  in  his  spirits,  but  he  is 
better  now  ;  and  I  was  very  ill,  but  I  am  better  too." 

"  Would  you  give  your  great-uncle  Lillyvick  a  kiss  if  he  was  to  ask  you, 
Morleena  ? "  said  the  collector,  with  some  hesitation. 

"  Yes— uncle  Lillyvick,  I  would,"  returned  Miss  Morleena,  with  the  energy 


444  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

of  both  her  parents  combined  ;  *'  but  not  aunt  Lilly vick.     She's  not  an  aunt 
ot  mine,  and  I'll  never  call  her  one." 

Immediately  upon  the  utterance  of  these  words,  Mr.  Lillyvick  caught  Miss 
Morleena  up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her ;  and  being  by  this  time  at  the  door 
of  the  house  where  Mr.  Kenwigs  lodged  (which,  as  has  been  before  mentioned, 
usually  stood  wide  open),  he  walked  straight  up  into  Mr.  Kenwigs's  sitting- 
room,  and  put  Miss  Morleena  down  in  the  midst.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  were 
at  supper.  At  sight  of  their  perjured  relative  Mrs.  Kenwigs  turned  £amt  and 
pale,  and  Mr.  Kenwigs  rose  majestically. 

*'  Kenwigs,"  said  the  collector,   **  shake  hands." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  **  the  time  has  been  when  I  was  proud  to  shake 
hands  with  such  a  man  as  that  man  as  now  surweys  me.  The  time  has  been, 
sir,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  "  when  a  wisit  from  that  man  has  excited  in  me  and 
my  family's  bobzums  sensations  both  nateral  and  awakening.  But  now  I 
look  upon  that  man  with  emotions  totally  surpassing  everythink,  and  I  ask 
myself  where  is  his  honour,  where  is  his  straight-for'ardness,  and  where  is  his 
human  natur'  ? " 

"Susan  Kenwigs,"  said  Mr.  Lilly  vick,  turning  humbly  to  his  niece, 
"  don't  you  say  anything  to  me  ? " 

''She  is  not  equal  to  it,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  striking  the  table 
emphatically.  **  What  with  the  nursing  of  a  healthy  babby,  and  the  reflec- 
tions upon  your  cruel  conduct,  four  pinte  of  malt  liquor  a  day  is  hardly  able 
to  sustain  her. "  , 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  the  poor  collector,  meekly,  **  that  the  baby  is  a  healthy 
one.     I  am  very  glad  of  that." 

This  was  touching  the  Kenwigses  on  their  tenderest  point.  Mrs.  Kenwigs 
instantly  burst  into  tears,  and  Mr.  Kenwigs  evinced  great  emotion. 

"  My  pleasantest  feeling,  all  the  time  that  child  was  expected,"  said  Mr. 
Kenwigs,  mournfully,  **  was  a- thinking,  *  If  it's  a  boy,  as  I  hope  it  may  be ; 
for  I  have  heard  its  uncle  Lilly  vick  say  again  and  again  he  would  prefer  oar 
having  a  boy  next — if  it's  a  boy,  what  will  his  uncle  Lillyvick  say — what  will 
he  like  him  to  be  called — will  he  be  Peter,  or  Alexander,  or  Pompey,  or 
Diorgeenes,  or  what  will  he  be  ? '  and  now  when  I  look  at  him — ^a  precious, 
unconscious,  helpless  infant,  with  no  use  in  his  little  arms  but  to  tear  his 
little  cap,  and  no  use  in  his  little  legs  but  to  kick  his  little  self — when  I  see 
him  a-lying  on  his  mother's  lap,  cooing  and  cooing,  and,  in  his  innocent  state, 
almost  a-choking  hisself  with  his  little  fist — when  I  see  him  such  a  infant  as 
he  is,  and  think  that  that  uncle  Lillyvick,  as  was  once  a-going  to  be  so  fond 
of  him,  has  withdrawed  himself  away,  such  a  feeling  of  wengeance  comes  over 
me  as  no  language  can  depicter,  and  I  feel  as  if  even  that  holy  babe  was  a 
telling  me  to  hate  him."  • 

This  afiecting  picture  moved  Mrs.  Kenwigs  deeply.  After  several  imperfect 
words,  which  vainly  attempted  to  struggle  to  the  surface,  but  were  drowned 
aud  washed  away  by  the  strong  tide  of  her  tears,  she  spake. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  **  to  think  that  you  should  have  turned  your 
back  upon  me  and  my  dear  children,  and  upon  Kenwigs,  which  is  the  author 
of  their  being — you  who  was  once  so  kind  and  afifectionate,  and  who,  if  any- 
body had  told  us  such  a  thing  of,  we  should  have  withered  with  scorn  like 
lightning — you  that  little  Lillyvick,  our  first  and  earliest  boy,  was  named 
after  at  the  very  altar  —oh,  gracious  !  " 

"Was  it  money  that  we  cared  for?"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs.  "Was  it 
property  that  we  ever  thought  of  ? " 

*'  No,"  cried  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  **  I  scorn  it." 

**  So  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  **  and  always  did." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  445 

"  My  feelings  have  been  lancerated,"  said  Mrs.  Ken  wigs,  "my  heart  has 
been  torn  asunder  with  anguish,  I  have  been  thrown  back  in  my  confinement, 
my  unofifendin^  infant  has  been  rendered  uncomtortable  and  fractious. 
Morleena  has  pined  herself  away  to  nothing ;  all  this  I  forget  and  forgive,  and 
with  you,  uncle,  I  never  can  quarrel.  But  never  ask  me  to  receive  her — 
never  do  hit,  uncle.     For  I  will  not,  I  won't,  I  won't,  I  won't  1 " 

**  Susan,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Kenwigs,  **  consider  your  child." 

**  Yes,"  shrieked  Mrs.  Kenwigs,  **  I  will  consider  my  child  !  I  will 
consider  my  child  1  my  own  child,  that  no  uncles  can  deprive  me  of ;  my  own 
hated,  despised,  deserted,  cut-off  little  child."  And  here  the  emotions  of 
Mrs.  Kenwigs  became  so  violent  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  was  fain  to  administer 
hartshorn  internally  and  vinegar  externally,  and  to  destroy  a  staylace,  four 
petticoat  strings,  and  several  small  buttons. 

Newman  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of  this  scene  ;  for  Mr.  Lillyvick  had 
signed  to  him  not  to  withdraw,  and  Mr.  Kenwigs  had  further  solicited  his 

Sresence  by  a  nod  of  invitation.  When  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  been,  in  some 
egree,  restored,  and  Newman,  as  a  person  possessed  of  some  influence  with 
her,  had  remonstrated  and  begged  her  to  compose  herself,  Mr.  Lillyvick  said, 
in  a  faltering  voice — 

•*  I  never  shall  ask  anybody  here  to  receive  my — I  needn't  mention  the 
word  ;  you  know  what  I  mean.  Kenwigs  and  Susan,  yesterday  was  a  week 
she  eloped  with  a  half-pay  captain  !  " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  started  together. 

"Eloped  with  a  half-pay  captain,"  repeated  Mr.  Lillyvick,  "basely  and 
falsely  eloped  with  a  half-pay  captain — with  a  bottle-nosed  captain  that  any 
man  might  have  considered  himself  safe  from.  It  was  in  this  room,"  said 
Mr.  Lillyvick,  looking  sternly  round,  "that  I  first  see  Henrietta  Petowker. 
It  is  in  this  room  that  I  turn  her  off  for  ever." 

This  declaration  completely  changed  the  whole  posture  of  affairs.  Mrs. 
Kenwigs  threw  herself  upon  the  old  gentleman's  neck,  bitterly  reproaching 
herself  for  her  late  harshness,  and  exclaiming,  if  she  had  suffered,  what  must 
his  sufferings  have  been  )  Mr.  Kenwigs  grasped  his  hand,  and  vowed  eternal 
friendship  and  remorse.  Mrs.  Kenwigs  was  horror-stricken  to  think  that  she 
should  ever  have  nourished  in  her  bosom  such  a  snake,  adder,  viper,  serpent, 
and  base  crocodile,  as  Henrietta  Petowker.  Mr.  Kenwigs  argued  that  she 
must  have  been  bad  indeed  not  to  have  improved  by  so  long  a  contemplation 
of  Mrs.  Kenwigs's  virtue.  Mrs.  Kenwigs  remembered  that  Mr.  Kenwigs  had 
often  said  that  he  was  not  quite  satisfied  of  the  propriety  of  Miss  Petowker's 
conduct,  and  wondered  how  it  was  that  she  could  have  been  blinded  by  such 
a  wrttch.  Mr.  Kenwigs  remembered  that  he  had  had  his  suspicions,  but  did 
not  wonder  why  Mrs.  Kenwigs  had  not  had  hers,  as  she  was  all  chastity, 
purity,  and  truth,  and  Henrietta  all  baseness,  falsehood,  and  deceit.  And 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenwigs  both  said,  with  strong  feeling  and  tears  of  sympathy, 
that  everything  happened  for  the  best ;  and  conjured  the  good  collector  not 
to  give  way  to  unavailing  grief,  but  to  seek  consolation  in  the  society  of  those 
affectionate  relations  whoso  arms  and  hearts  were  ever  open  to  him. 

**  Out  of  aflection  and  regard  for  you,  Susan  and  Kenwigs,"  said  Mr. 
Lillyvick,  **  and  not  out  of  revenge  and  spite  against  her,  for  she  is  below  it,  I 
shall,  to-morrow  morning,  settle  upon  your  children,  and  make  payable  to 
the  survivors  of  them  when  they  come  of  age  or  marry,  that  money  that  I 
once  meant  to  leave  'em  in  my  will.  The  deed  shall  be  executed  to-morrow, 
and  Mr.  Noggs  shall  be  one  of  the  witnesses.  He  hears  me  promise  this,  and 
he  shall  see  it  done. " 

Overpowered  by  this  noble  and  generous  offer,  Mr.  Kenwigs,  Mrs.  Kenwigs, 


446  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

and  Miss  Morleena  Kenwigs,  all  began  to  sob  together ;  and  the  noise  of  their 
sobbing  communicating  itself  to  the  next  room,  where  the  children  lay  a-bed, 
and  causing  them  to  cry  too,  Mr.  Eenwigs  rushed  wildly  in,  and  briDging 
them  out  in  his  arms,  by  two  and  two,  tumbled  them  down  in  their  night- 
caps and  gowns  at  the  feet*of  Mr.  Lillyvick,  and  called  upon  them  to  thank 
and  bless  him. 

''And  now,"  said  Mr.  Lillyvick,  when  a  heart-rending  scenepiad  ensued, 
and  the  children  were  cleared  away  again,  "give  me  some  supper.  This 
took  place  twenty  miles  from  town.  I  came  up  this  morning,  and  nave  been 
lingering  about  all  day,  vnthout  bein^  able  to  make  up  my  mind  to  come  and 
see  you.  I  humoured  her  in  everything,  she  had  her  own  way,  she  did  jost 
as  she  pleased,  and  now  she  has  done  this.  There  was  twelve  teaspoons  and 
twenty-four  pound  in  sovereigns — I  missed  them  first — it's  a  iaial — I  fed  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  knock  a  double  knock  again,  when  I  go  my  rounds— 
don't  say  anything  more  about  it,  please — ^the  spoons  were  worth — never  mind 
— never  mind  ! " 

With  such  muttered  outpourings  as  these,  the  old  gentleman  shed  a 
few  tears ;  but  they  got  him  into  the  elbow-chair,  and  prevailed  upon 
him,  without  much  pressing,  to  make  a  hearty  supper,  and  by  the  time 
he  had  finished  his  first  pipe  and  disposed  of  half-a-dozen  glasses  out  of  a 
crown  bowl  of-  punch,  ordered  by  Mr.  Kenwigs  in  celebration  of  his  retnrn 
to  the  bosom  of  his  family,  he  seemed,  though  still  very  humble,  quite 
resigned  to  his  fate,  and  rather  relieved  than  otherwise  by  the  flight  of  his 
wife. 

''When  I  see  that  man,"  said  Mr.  Eenwigs,  with  one  hand  round  Mrs. 
Kenwigs's  waist ;  his  other  hand  supporting  his  pipe  (which  made  him 
wink  and  cough  very  much,  for  he  was  no  smoker) ;  and  his  eyes  on 
Morleena,  who  sat  upon  her  uncle's  knee,  "when  I  see  that  man  as  mingling 
once  again  in  the  spear  which  he  adorns,  and  see  his  afifections  dewelopine 
themselves  in  legitimate  sitiwations,  I  feel  that  his  natui''  is  as  elewated 
and  expanded  as  his  standing  afore  society  as  a  public  character  is  on- 
impeached,  and  the  woices  of  my  infant  children  purvided  for  in  life  seem 
to  whisper  to  me  softly,  *  This  is  an  ewent  at  which  Evins  itself  looks 
downl'^' 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

CONTAINING  THE  FUKTHER  PROGRESS  OF  THE  PLOT  CONTRIVED  BY  MR.  RALPH 

NICKLEBY  AND  MB.   ARTHUR  GRIDE. 

WITH  that  settled  resolution  and  steadiness  of  purpose  to  which  extreme 
circumstances  so  often  give  birth,  acting  upon  I'ar  less  excitable  and 
more  sluggish  temperaments  than  that  which  was  the  lot  of  Madeline 
Bray's  admirer,  xficholas  started,  at  dawn  of  day,  from  the  restless  conch 
which  no  sleep  had  visited  on  the  previous  night,  and  prepared  to  make  that 
last  appeal,  by  whose  slight  and  fragile  thread  her  only  remaining  hope  of 
escape  depended. 

Although  to  restless  and  ardent  minds  morning  may  be  the  fitting  season 
for  exertion  and  activity,  it  is  not  always  at  that  time  that  hope  is  strongest 
or  the  spirit  most  sanguine  and  buoyant.  In  trying  and  doubtful  positiona, 
use,  custom,  a  steady  contemplation  of  the  difficulties  which  surround  us,  and 
a  familiarity  with  them,  imperceptibly  diminish  our  apprehensions  and  beget 


NICHOLAS  NICK LE BY,  447 

comparative  indifference,  if  not  a  vague  and  reckless  confidence  in  some 
relief,  the  means  or  nature  of  which  we  care  not  to  foi'esce.  But  when  we 
come,  fresh,  upon  such  things  in  the  morning,  with  that  dark  and  silent 

gap  between  us  and  yesterday ;  with  every  link  in  the  brittle  chain  of 
ope  to  rivet  afresh  ;  our  hot  enthusiasm  subdued,  and  cool,  calm  reason 
substituted  in  its  stead  ;  doubt  and  misgiving  revive.  As  the  traveller  sees 
farthest  by  day,  and  becomes  aware' of  rugged  mountains  and  trackless  plains 
which  the  friendly  darkness  had  shrouded  from  his  sight  and  mind  together, 
80,  the  wayfarer  in  the  toilsome  path  of  human  life,  sees,  with  each 
returning  sun,  some  new  obstacle  to  surmount,  some  new  height  to  be 
attained.  Distadces  stretch  out  before  him  which  last  night  were  scarcely 
taken  into  account,  and  the  light  which  gilds  all  nature  with  its  cheerful 
beams  seems  but  to  shine  upon  the  weary  obstacles  that  yet  lie  strewn 
between  him  and  the  grave. 

So  thought  Nicholas,  when,  with  the  impatience  natural  to  a  situation  like 
his,  he  softly  left  the  house,  and,  feeling  as  though  to  remain  in  bed  were 
to  lose  most  precious  time,  and  to  be  up  and  stirring  were  in  some  way  to 
pipmote  the  end  he  had  in  view,  wanaered  into  .  London  ;  perfectly  well 
knowing  that  for  hours  to  come  he  could  not  obtain  speech  with  Madeline, 
and  could  do  nothing  but  wish  the  intervening,  time  away. 

And,  even  now,  as  he  paced  the  streets,  and  listlessly  looked  round  on  the 
gradually-increasing  bustle  and  preparation  for  the  day,  everything  ap- 
peared to  yield  him  some  new  occasion  for  despondency.  Last  night,  the 
sacrifice  of  a  young,  affectionate,  and  beautiful  creature,  to  such  a  wretch,  and 
in  such  a  cause,  had  seemed  a  thing  too  monstrous  to  succeed ;  and  the 
warmer  he  grew,  the  more  confident  he  felt  that  some  interposition  must  save 
her  from  his  clutches.  But  now,  when  he  thought  how  regularly  things  went 
CD,  from  day  to  day,  in  the  same  unvarying  round — how  youth  and  beauty 
died,  and  ugly  griping  age  lived  tottering  on — how  crafty  avarice  grew  rich, 
and  manly,  honest  hearts  were  poor  and  sad — how  few  they  were  who  tenanted 
the  stately  houses,  and  how  many  those  who  lay  in  noisome  pens,  or  rose  each 
day  and  laid  them  down  each  night,  and  lived  and  died,  father  and  son, 
mother  and  child,  race  upon  race,  and  generation  upon  generation,  without  a 
home  to  shelter  them  or  the  energies  of  one  single  man  directed  to  their  aid — 
how  in  seeking,  not  a  luxurious  and  splendid  life,  but  the  bare  means  of  a 
most  wretched  and  inadequate  subsistence,  there  were  women  and  children  in 
that  one  town,  divided  into  classes,  numbered  and  estimated  as  regularly  as 
the  noble  families  and  folks  of  great  degree,  and  reared  from  infancy  to  drive 
most  criminal  and  dreadful  trades — how  ignorance  was  punished  and  never 
taught — how  jail-door  gaped  and  gallows  loomed,  for  thousands  urged 
towards  them  by  circumstances  darkly  curtaining  their  very  cradles*  heads, 
and  but  for  which  they  might  have  earned  their  honest  bread  and  lived  in 
peace — how  many  died  in  soul,  and  had  no  chance  of  life — bow  many  who 
could  scarcely  go  astray,  be  they  vicious  as  they  would,  turned  haughtily  from 
the  crushed  and  stricken  wretch  who  could  scarce  do  otherwise,  and  who 
would  have  been  a  greater  wonder  had  he  or  she  done  well,  than  even  they, 
had  they  done  ill — how  much  injustice,  misery,  and  wrong  there  was,  and 
yet  how  the  world  rolled  on,  from  year  to  year,  alike  careless  and  indifferent, 
and  no  man  seeking  to  remedy  or  redress  it — when  he  thought  of  all  this, 
and  selected  from  the  mass  the  one  slight  case  on  which  his  thoughts 
were  bent,  he  felt,  indeed,  that  there  was  little  ground  for  hope,  aud 
little  reason  why  it  should  not  form  an  atom  in  the  huge  aggregate  of 
distress  and  sorrow,  and  add  one  small  and  unimportant  unit  to  swell  the 
great  amount. 


448  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

But  youth  is  not  prone  to  contemplate  the  darkest  side  of  a  picture  it  c&o 
shift  at  will.  By  dint  of  reflecting  on  what  he  had  to  do,  and  reviving  the 
train  of  thought  which  night  had  intermpted,  Nicholas  gradually  summoned 
up  his  utmost  energy,  and  when  the  morning  was  sufficiently  advanced  for  his 
purpose,  had  no  thought  hut  that  of  using  it  to  the  best  advantage.  A  hasty 
oreakfast  taken,  and  such  affairs  of  business  as  required  prompt  attention  dis- 
posed of,  he  directed  his  steps  to  the  residence  of  Madeline  Bray  :  whither  be 
lost  no  time  in  arriving. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  that,  very  possibly,  the  young  lady  might  be 
denied,  although  to  him  she  never  had  been  ;  and  he  was  stiU  pondering  upon 
the  surest  method  of  obtaining  access  to  her  in  that  case,  wnen,  comine  to 
the  door  of  the  house,  he  found  it  had  been  left  ajar — probably  by  the  last 
person  who  had  gone  out.  The  occasion  was  not  one  upon  which  to  observe 
the  nicest  ceremony  ;  therefore,  availing  himself  of  this  advantage,  Nicholas 
walked  gently  upstairs  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  room  into  which  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  be  shown.  Receiving  permission  to  enter  from  some 
person  on  the  other  side,  he  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

Bray  and  his  daughtevwere  sitting  there  alone.  It  was  nearly  three  weeks 
since  he  had  seen  her  last,  but  there  was  a  change  in  the  lovely  girl  before 
him  which  told  Nicholas,  in  startling  terms,  how  much  mental  si^ering  bad 
been  compressed  into  that  short  time.  There  are  no  words  which  can  express, 
nothing  with  which  can  be  compared,  the  perfect  pallor,  the  clear  transparent 
whiteness,  of  the  beautiful  face  which  turned  towards  him  when  he  entered. 
Her  hair  was  a  rich  deep  brown,  but  shading  that  face,  and  straying  upon  i 
neck  that  rivalled  it  in  whiteness,  it  seemed  by  the  strong  contrast  raven 
black.  Something  of  wildness  and  restlessness  there  was  in  the  dark  eye,  bat 
there  was  the  same  patient  look,  the  same  expression  of  gentle  moumfnlness 
which  he  well  remembered,  and  no  trace  of  a  single  tear.  Most  beautiful— 
more  beautiful,  perhaps,  than  ever — there  was  something  in  her  face  which 
quite  unmanned  him,  and  appeared  far  more  touching  than  the  wildest  agony 
of  grief.  It  was  not  merely  calm  and  composed,  but  fixed  and  rigid,  as  though 
the  violent  effort  which  had  summoned  that  composure  beneath  her  father's 
eye,  while  it  mastered  all  other  thoughts,  had  prevented  even  the  momentary 
expression  they  had  communicated  to  the  features  from  subsiding,  and  had 
fastened  it  there,  as  an  evidence  of  its  triumph. 

The  father  sat  opposite  to  her — not  looking  directly  in  her  face,  bnt 
glancing  at  her,  as  he  talked  with  a  gay  air  which  ill-disguised  the  anxiety  of 
his  thoughts.  The  drawing  materials  were  not  on  their  accustomed  table, 
nor  were  any  of  the  other  tokens  of  her  usual  occupations  to  be  seen.  The 
little  vases  which  Nicholas  had  always  seen  filled  with  fresh  flowers  were 
empty,  or  supplied  only  with  a  few  withered  stalks  and  leaves.  The  bird  w«s 
silent.  The  cloth  that  covered  his  cage  at  night  was  not  removed.  His 
mistress  had  forgotten  him. 

There  are  times  when  the  mind,  being  painfully  alive  to  receive  impressions, 
a  gr(;at  deal  may  be  noted  at  a  glance.  This  was  one,  for  Nicholas  had  but 
glanced  round  him  when  he  was  recognised  by  Mr.  Bray,  who  said  im- 
patiently— 

"Now,  sir,  what  do  you  want?  Name  your  errand  here,  quickly,  if  yoo 
please,  for  my  daughter  and  I  are  busily  engaged  with  other  and  more 
important  matters  than  those  you  come  about.  Come,  sir,  address  yourwlf 
to  your  business  at  once." 

JVicholas  could  very  we\\  discwu  that  the  irritability  and  impatience  of  this 
speocJi  were  assumed,  aivd  U\a.\.  "ftxa.^,  Va.  \\\s  V^-ax^,,  ^^aa  rejoiced  at  any 
iwfcrruption  wliich  promised  lo  exv^^^e  ^iXi«^  ^\X.'i\\\:\w\.  ^\  V\^  ^xv^jj^fc^.    He 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y,  449 

bent  'his  eyes  involuntarily  upon  the  father  as  he  spoke,  and  marked  his 
uneasiness  ;  for  ho  coloured  and  turned  liis  head  away. 

The  device,  however,  so  far  as  it  was  a  device  for  causing  Madeline  to 
interfere,  was  successful.  She  rose,  and  advancing  towards  Nicholas  paused 
half-way,  and  stretched  out  her  hand  as  expecting  a  letter. 

"Madeline,"  said  her  father,  impatiently,  **my  love,  what  are  you 
doing!" 

"  MIbs  Bray  expects  an  enclosure  perhaps,"  said  Nicholas,  speaking  very 
distincfly,  and  with  an  emphasis  sue  could  scarcely  understand.  "My 
employer  is  absent  from  England,  or  I  should  have  brought  a  letter  with  mc. 
I  hope  she  will  give  me  time — a  little  time — I  ask  a  very  little  time." 

'*  if  that  is  all  you  come  about,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bray,  **  you  may  make  your- 
self easy  on  that  head.  Madeline,  my  dear,  I  didn't  know  this  person  was  in 
your  debt  ? " 

•*  A — trifle,  I  believe,"  returned  Madeline,  faintly. 

"  I  suppose  you  think,  now,"  said  Bray,  wheeling  his  chair  round  and  con- 
fronting Nicholas,  "  that  but  for  such  pitiful  sums  as  you  bring  here,  because 
xnj  daughter  has  chosen  to  employ  her  time  as  she  has,  we  should  starve  % " 

•*I  have  not  thought  about  it,"  returned  Nicholas. 

"  Yon  have  not  thought  about  it !  "  sneered  the  invalid.  *'  You  know  you 
have  thought  about  it,  and  have  thought  that,  and  think  so  every  time  you 
come  here.  Do  you  suppose,  young  man,  that  I  don't  know  what  little  purse- 
proud  tradesmen  are,  when,  through  some  fortunate  circumstances,  they  get 
the  upper  hand  for  a  brief  day — or  think  they  get  the  upper  hand — of  a 
gentleman  ? " 

**  My  business,"  said  Nicholas,  respectfully,  "  is  with  a  lady." 

•'"With  a  gentleman's  daughter,  sir,"  returned  the  sick  man,  **and  the 
pettifogging  spirit  is  the  same.  But  perhaps  you  bring  orders,  eh?  Have 
you  any  fresh  orders  for  my  daughter,  sir  ? " 

Nicholas  understood  the  tone  of  triumph  in  which  this  interrogatory  was 
pat,  but,  remembering  the  necessity  of  supporting  his  assumed  character, 
produced  a  scrap  of  paper  purporting  to  contain  a  list  of  some  subjects  for 
drawings  which  his  employer  desired  to  have  executed ;  and  with  which  ho 
had  prepared  himself  in  case  of  any  contingency. 

*•  Oh  1 "  said  Mr.  Bray.     **  These  are  the  orders,  are  they  ? " 

•'Since  you  insist  upon  the  term,  sir — yes,"  replied  Nicholas. 

"  Then  you  may  tell  your  master,"  said  Bray,  tossing  the  paper  back  again, 
with  an  exulting  smile,  *'that  my  daughter — Miss  Madeline  Bray — con- 
descends to  employ  herself  no  longer  in  such  labours  as  these  ;  that  she  is  not 
at  his  beck  and  call,  as  he  supposes  ner  to  be ;  that  we  don't  live  upon  his  money, 
as  he  flatters  himself  we  do  ;  that  he  may  give  whatever  he  owes  us  to  the 
first  beggar  that  passes  his  shop,  or  add  it  to  his  own  profits  next  time  lie 
calculates  them ;  and  that  he  may  go  to  the  devil,  for  me.  That's  my 
acknowledgment  of  his  orders,  sir  ! " 

"  And  this  is  the  independence  of  a  man  who  sells  his  daughter  as  he  has 
sold  that  weeping  girl !  "  thought  Nicholas. 

The  fother  was  too  much  absorbed  with  his  own  exultation  to  mark  the  look 
of  scorn  which,  for  an  instant,  Nicholas  could  not  have  suppressed  had  he 
been  npon  the  rack.  "There,"  he  continued,  after  a  short  silence,  "you 
have  your  message  and  can  retire — unless  you  have  any  further — ha  ! — any 
further  orders." 

•*  I  have  none,"  said  Nicholas  ;  "  nor  in  consideration  ol  Wv^  sXaXKow  ^wsl 
once  held,  have  I  used  that  or  any  other  word  w\nc\\,  \ioviev«t  \\vi\Tc^<i^'&  'vck- 
itself,  could  be  supposed  to  imply  authority  on  n\y  \3avt  ot  ^ie\w.\\vV.\\vi^  vi^^- 


450  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

yours.  I  have  no  orders,  but  I  have  feavs — fears  that  I  will  exjjress,  chafe  as 
you  may— fears  that  you  may  be  cousigning  that  young  lady  to  something 
worse  than  supporting  you  by  the  labour  of  her  hands,  had  she  worked 
herself  dead.  These  are  my  fears,  and  these  fears  I  found  upon  your  own 
demeanour.  Your  conscience  will  tell  you,  sir,  whether  I  construe  it  well  or 
not." 

"  For  heaven's  sake  I "  cried  Madeline,  interposing  in  alarm  between  them. 
*'  Remember,  sir,  he  is  ill." 

"1111"  cried  the  invalid,  gasping  and  catching*  for  breath.  "111!  111! 
I  am  bearded  and  bullied  by  a  shop-boy,  and  she  beseeches  him  to  pity  me 
and  remember  I  am  ill  ! " 

He  fell  into  a  paroxysm  of  his  disorder,  so  violent  that  for  a  few  moments 
Nicholas  was  alarmed  for  his  life  ;  but  finding  that  he  began  to  recover,  he 
withdrew,  after  signifying  by  a  gesture  to  the  young  lady  that  he  had  some- 
thing important  to  communicate,  and  would  wait  for  her  outside  the  room. 
He  could  hear  that  the  sick  man  came  gradually  but  slowly  to  himself,  and 
that  without  any  reference  to  what  had  just  occurred,  as  though  he  had  no 
distinct  recollection  of  it  as  yet,  he  requested  to  be  left  alone. 

**  Oh  !  "  thought  Nicholas,  **  that  this  slender  chance  might  not  be  lost, 
and  that  I  might  prevail,  if  it  were  but  for  one  week's  time  and  reconsidera- 
tion ! " 

"You  are  charged  with  some  commission  to  me,  sir,"  said  Madeline, 
presenting  herself  in  great  agitation.  "  Do  not  press  it  now,  I  beg  and  pray 
of  you.     The  day  after  to-morrow — come  hero  then." 

'*  It  will  be  too  late — too  late  for  what  I  have  to  say,"  rejoined  Nichoks, 
"  and  you  will  not  be  here.  Oh,  madam,  if  you  have  but  one  thought  of  him 
who  sent  me  here,  but  one  last  lingering  care  for  your  own  peace  of  mind  and 
heart,  I  do  for  God's  sake  urge  you  to  give  me  a  hearing." 

She  attempted  to  pass  him,  but  Nicholas  gently  detained  her. 

'*  A  hearing,"  said  Nicholas.  "  I  ask  you  but  to  hear  me — not  me  alone, 
but  him  for  whom  I  speak,  who  is  far  away  and  does  not  know  your  danger. 
In  the  name  of  heaven  hear  me  !  " 

The  poor  attendant,  with  her  eyes  swollen  and  red  with  weeping,  stood 
by  ;  and  to  her  Nicholas  appealed  in  such  passionate  terms  that  she  opened  a 
side-door,  and,  supporting  her  mistress  into  an  adjoining  room,  b^koned 
Nicholas  to  follow  them. 

**  Leave  me,  sir,  pray,"  said  the  young  lady. 

**  I  cannot,  will  not  leave  you  thus,"  returned  Nicholas.  "  I  have  a  duty 
to  discharge  ;  and  either  here  or  in  the  room  from  which  we  have  just  now 
come,  at  whatever  risk  or  hazard  to  Mr.  Bray,  I  must  beseech  you  to  con- 
template again  the  fearful  course  to  which  you  have  been  impelled." 

"  What  course  is  this  you  speak  of,  and  impelled  by  whom,  sir  ?  "  demanded 
the  young  lady,  with  an  effort  to  speak  proudly. 

"  I  speak  of  this  marriage,"  returned  Nicholas,  **  of  this  marriage,  fixed  for 
to-morrow,  by  one  who  never  faltered  in  a  bad  purpose,  or  lent  his  aid  to  any 
.ij[ood  design  ;  of  this  marriage,  the  history  of  which  is  known  to  me,  better, 
iar  better  than  it  is  to  you.  I  know  what  web  is  wound  about  you.  I, 
know  what  men  they  are  from  whom  these  schemes  have  come.  You  aw 
betrayed,  and  sold  for  money — for  gold,  whose  every  coin  is  rusted  with  tears, 
\i  not  red  with  the  blood  of  ruined  men,  who  have  fallen  desperately  by  their 
uwn  mad  hands." 

"  You  say  you  have  a  duty  to  dischaige,"  said  Madeline,  **aud  so  have  L 
And  with  the  help  of  heaven  I  will  perform  it." 


(( 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  45 1 

Say  rather  with  the  help  of  devils,"  replied  Nicholas,   '*  with  the  help  of 

men,  one  of  them  your  destined  husband,  who  are " 

"  I  must  not  hear  this,"  cried  the  young  lady,  striving  to  repress  a 
shudder,  occasioned,  as  it  seemed,  even  by  this  slight  allusion  to  Arthur 
Gride.  "  This  evil,  if  evil  it  be,  has  been  of  my  own  seeking.  I  am  impelled 
to  this  course  by  no  one,  but  follow  it  of  my  own  free  will.  You  see  I  am  not 
constrained  or  forced.  Keport  this,"  said  Madeline,  **  to  my  dear  friend  and 
benefactor,  and,  taking  with  you  my  prayers  and  thanks  for  him  and  for 
yourself,  leave  me  for  ever  !  " 

*  *  Not  until  I  have  besought  you  with  all  the  earnestness  and  fervour  by 
which  I  am  animated,"  cried  Nicholas,  "  to  postpone  this  marriage  for  one 
short  week.  Not  until  I  have  besought  you  to  think  more  deeply  than  you 
can  have  done,  influenced  as  you  are,  upon  the  step  you  are  about  to  take. 
Although  you  cannot  be  fully  conscious  of  the  villainy  of  this  man  to  whom 
you  are  about  to  give  your  hand,  some  of  his  deeds  you  know.  You  have 
heard  him  speak,  and  have  looked  upon  his  face.  Reflect,  reflect,  before  it  is 
too  late,  on  the  mockery  of  plighting  to  him  at  the  altar,  faith  in  which  your 
heart  can  have  no  share — of  uttering  solemn  words,  against  which  nature  and 
reason  must  rebel — of  the  degradation  of  yourself  in  your  own  esteem,  which 
must  ensue,  and  must  be  aggravated  every  day,  as  his  detested  character 
opens  upon  you  more  and  more.  Shrink  from  the  loathsome  companionship 
of  this  wretch  as  you  would  from  corruption  and  disease.  Suffer  toil  and 
labour  if  you  will,  but  shun  him,  shun  him,  and  be  happy.  For,  believe  me, 
I  speak  the  truth  ;  the  most  abject  poverty,  the  most  wretched  condition  of 
human  life,  with  a  pure  and  upright  mind,  would  be  happiness  to  that  which 
you  must  undergo  as  the  wife  of  such  a  man  as  this  ! " 

Long  before  Nicholas  ceased  to  speak,  the  young  lady  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  gave  her  tears  free  way.  In  a  voice  at  first  inarticulate  with 
emotion,  but  gradually  recovering  strength  as  she  proceeded,  she  answered 
him — 

**  I  will  not  disguise  from  you,  sir — though  perhaps  I  ought — that  I  have 
undergone  great  pain  of  mind,  and  have  been  nearly  broken-hearted  since  I 
saw  you  last.  I  do  Tiot  love  this  gentleman.  The  difference  between  our 
ages,  tastes,  and  habits,  forbids  it.  This  he  knows,  and  knowing,  still  offers 
me  his  hand.  By  accepting  it,  and  by  that  step  alone,  I  can  release  my 
father  who  .is  dying  in  this  place  ;  prolong  his  life,  perhaps,  for  many  years  ; 
restore  him  to  comfort — I  may  almost  call  it  affluence — and  relieve  a  generous 
man  from  the  burden  of  assisting  one,  by  whom,  I  grieve  to  say,  his  noble 
heart  is  little  understood.  Do  not  think  so  poorly  of  me  as  to  believe  that  I 
feign  a  love  I  do  not  feel.  Do  not  report  so  ill  of  me,  for  that  I  could  not 
bear.  If  I  cannot,  in  reason  or  in  nature,  love  the  man  who  pays  this  price 
for  my  poor  hand,  I  can  discharge  the  duties  of  a  wife  :  I  can  be  all  he  seeks 
in  me,  and  will.  He  is  content  to  take  me  as  I  am.  I  have  passed  my  word, 
and  should  rejoice,  not  weep,  that  it  is  so.  I  do.  The  interest  you  take  in 
one  80  friendless  and  forlorn  as  I,  the  delicacy  with  which  you  have  discharged 
your  trust,  the  faith  you  have  kept  with  me,  have  my  warmest  thanks,  and, 
while  I  make  this  last  feeble  acknowledgment,  move  me  to  tears,  as  you  see. 
But  I  do  not  repent,  nor  am  I  unhappy.  I  am  happy  in  the  prospect  of  all  I 
can  achieve  so  easily.  I  shall  be  more  so  when  I  look  back  upon  it,  and  all  is 
done,  I  know. " 

"Your  tears  fall  faster  as  you  talk  of  happiness,"  said  Nicholas,  "and  you 
shun  the  contemplation  of  that  dark  future  which  must  be  laden  with  so 
much  misery  to  you.     Defer  this  marriage  for  a  week — for  but  one  week  ! " 

"  He  was  talking,  when  you  came  upon  us  just  now,  with  such  smiles  as  I 


45^  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

remember  to  have  seen  of  old,  and  have  not  seen  for  many  and  many  a  day, 
of  the  freedom  that  was  to  come  to-morrow,"  said  Madeline,  with  momentary 
firmness,  "of  the  welcome  change,  the  fresh  air:  all  the  new  scenes  and 
objects  that  would  bring  fresh  life  to  his  exhausted  frame.  His  eye  grew 
bnght,  and  his  face  lightened  at  the  thought.  I  will  not  defer  it  for  an 
hour." 

**  These  are  but  tricks  and  wiles  to  urge  you  on,"  cried  Nicholas. 

**  I'll  hear  no  more,"  said  Madeline,  hurriedly.  **  I  have  heard  too  much- 
more  than  I  should — already.  What  I  have  said  to  you,  sir,  I  have  said  as  to 
that  dear  friend  to  whom  I  trust  in  you  honourably  to  repeat  it.  Some  time 
hence,  when  I  am  more  composed  and  reconciled  to  my  new  mode  of  life,  if  I 
should  live  so  long,  I  will  write  to  him.  Meanwhile,  all  holy  angels  shower 
blessings  on  his  head,  and  prosper  and  preserve  him." 

She  was  hurrying  past  Nicholas,  when  he  threw  himself  before  her,  and 
implored  her  to  think  but  once  again  upon  the  fate  to  which  she  was  pre- 
cipitately hastening. 

**  There  is  no  retreat,"  said  Nicholas,  in  an  agony  of  supplication ;  "no 
withdrawing  !  All  regret  will  be  unavailing,  and  deep  and  bitter  it  must  be. 
What  can  I  say  that  wUl  induce  you  to  pause  at  this  last  moment  \  What 
can  I  do  to  save  j'ou  ? " 

"Nothing,"  she  incoherently  replied.  "This  is  the  hardest  trial  I  have 
had.  Have  mercy  on  me,  sir,  I  beseech,  and  do  not  pierce  my  heart  with 
such  appeals  as  these.  I — I  hear  him  calling.  I — I — must  not,  will  not 
remain  here  for  another  instant." 

**  If  this  were  a  plot,"  said  Nicholas,  with  the  same  violent  rapidity  with 
which  she  spoke,  **a  plot,  not  yet  laid  bare  by  me,  but  which,  with  time,  I 
might  unravel ;  if  you  were  (not  knowing  it)  entitled  to  fortune  of  your  own, 
which,  being  recovered,  would  do  all  that  this  marriage  can  accomplish,  would 
you  not  retract  ? " 

*'  No,  no,  no  ! — it  is  impossible  ;  it  is  a  child's  tale  ;  time  would  bring  his 
death.     He  is  calling  again  ! " 

**  It  may  be  the  last  time  we  shall  ever  meet  on  earth,"  said  Nicholas ;  "it 
may  be  better  for  me  that  we  should  never  meet  more." 

* '  For  both — for  both,"  replied  Madeline,  not  heeding  what  she  said.  "  The 
time  will  come  wlien  to  reccill  the  memory  of  this  one  interview  might  drive 
me  mad.  Be  sure  to  tell  them  that  you  left  me  calm  and  happy.  And  God 
be  with  you,  sir,  and  my  grateful  heart  and  blessing  !  " 

She  was  gone.  Nicholas,  staggering  from  the  house,  thought  of  the  hurried 
scene  which  had  just  closed  upon  him,  as  if  he  were  the  phantom  of  some 
wild,  unquiet  dream.  The  day  wore  on  ;  at  night,  having  been  enabled  in 
some  measure  to  collect  his  thoughts,  he  issued  forth  again. 

That  night,  being  the  last  of  Arthur  Gride's  bachelorship,  fonnd  him  in 
tip- top  spirits  and  great  glee.  The  bottle-green  suit  had  been  brushed,  ready 
for  the  morrow.  Peg  Sliderskow  had  rendered  the  accounts  of  her  past  house- 
keeping ;  the  eighteenpence  had  been  rigidly  accounted  for  (she  was  never 
trusted  with  a  larger  sum  at  once,  and  the  accounts  were  not  usually 
balanced  more  than  twice  a-day) ;  every  preparation  had  been  made  for  the 
coming  festival ;  and  Arthur  might  have  sat  down  and  contemplated  his 
approaching  happiness,  but  that  he  preferred  sitting  down  and  contemplating 
the  entries  in  a  dirty  old  vellum  book,  with  rusty  clasps. 

"  Well-a-day  ! "  he  chuckled,  as,  sinking  on  his  knees  before  a  strong  chest 
screwed  down  to  the  floor,  he  thrust  in  his  arm  nearly  up  to  the  shoulder, 
and  slowly  drew  forth  this  greasy  volume.  "  Well-a-day,  now,  this  is  all  my 
library,  but  it's  one  of  the  most  entertaining  books  that  were  ever  written! 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  453 

It's  a  delightful  book,  and  all  true  and  real — that's  the  best  of  it — true  as  the 
Bank  of  England,  and  real  as  its  gold  and  silver.  Written  by  Arthur  Gride — 
lie,  he,  he  1  None  of  your  story-book  writers  will  ever  make  as  good  a  book 
as  this,  I  warrant  me.  It's  composed  for  private  circulation — For  my  own 
particular  reading,  and  nobody  else's.     He,  he,  he  i  '- 

Muttering  this  soliloquy,  Arthur  carried  his  precious  volume  to  the  table, 
and  adjusting  it  upon  a  dusty  desk,  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  began  to  pore 
among  the  leaves. 

"It's  a  large  sum  to  Mr.  Nickleby,"  he  said,  in  a  dolorous  voice,  *'  Debt 
to  be  paid  in  full,  nine  hundred  and  seventy-five,  four,  three.  Additional 
sum  as  per  bond,  five  hundred  pound.  One  thousand,  four  hundred  and 
soTenty-nve  pounds,  four  shillings,  and  threepence,  to-morrow  at  twelve 
o'clock.     On  the  other  side,  though,  there's  the  per  contra,  by  means  of  this 

Eretty  chick.  But,  again,  there's  the  question  whether  I  mightn't  have 
rought  all  this  about  myself.  *  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady.  Why  was 
my  heart  so  faint  ?  Why  didn't  I  boldly  open  it  to  Bray  myself,  and  save 
one  thousand,  four  hundred  and  seventy-five,  four,  three  1 " 

These  reflections  depressed  the  old  usurer  so  much  as  to  wring  a  feeble  groan 
or  two  from  his  breast,  and  cause  him  to  declare,  with  uplifted  Hands,  that  he 
would  die  in  a  workhouse.  Remembering  on  further  cogitation,  however, 
that  under  any  circumstances  he  must  have  paid,  or  handsomely  compounded 
for  Ralph's  debt,  and  being  by  no  means  confident  that  he  would  have 
succeeded  had  he  undertaken  his  enterprise  alone,  he  regained  his  equanimity, 
and  chattered  and  mowed  over  more  satisfactory  items,  until  the  entrance  of 
Peg  Sliderskew  interrupted  him. 

"  Aha,  Peg  ! "  said  Arthur,  "  what  is  it  ?    What  is  it  now,  Pe^  ? " 

"  It's  the  fowl,"  replied  Peg,  holding  up  a  plate  containing  a  little— a  very 
little  one— quite  a  phenomenon  of  a  fowl — so  very  small  and  skinny. 

"  A  beautiful  bird  1 "  said  Arthur,  after  inquiring  the  price,  and  findingf  it 
proportionate  to  the  size.  **  With  a  rasher  of  ham,  and  an  egg  made  into 
sauce,  and  potatoes,  and  greens,  and  an  apple-pudding,  Peg,  and  a  little  bit  of 
cheese,  we  shall  have  a  dinner  for  an  emperor.  There'll  only  be  she  and  me 
— and  you,  Peg,  when  we've  done." 

"Don't  you  complain  of  the  expense  afterwards,"  said  Mrs..  Sliderskew, 
sulkily. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  must  live  expensively  for  tlie  first  week,"  returned  Arthur, 
with  a  groan,  "  and  then  we  must  make  up  for  it.  I  won't  eat  more  than  I 
can  help,  and  I  know  you  love  your  old  master  too  much  to  eat  more  than  yoto 
can  help,  don't  you,  Peg  ? " 

"  Don't  I  what  ? "  said  Peg. 

"Love  your  old  master  too  much " 

"  No,  not  a  bit  too  much,"  said  Peg. 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  the  devil  had  this  woman  ! "  cried  Arthur — "  love  him 
too  much  to  eat  more  than  you  can  help  at  his  expense." 

"At  his  what?"  said  Peg. 

"  Oh,  dear !  she  can  never  hear  the  most  important  word,  and  hears  all 
the  others  ! "  whined  Gride.     "  At  his  expense— you  catamaran  I  " 

The  last-mentioned  tribute  to  the  charms  of  Mrs.  Sliderskew  being  uttered 
in  a  whisper,  that  lady  assented  to  the  general  proposition  by  a  harsh  growl, 
which  was  accompanied  by  a  ring  at  the  street-door. 

**  There's  the  bell,"  said  Arthur. 

**  Ah,  ay  ;  I  know  that,"  rejoined  Peg; 

•*Then  why  don't  you  go  ? "  bawled  Arthur. 

*' Go  where  ? "  retorted  Peg.     "  I  ain't  doing  any  harm  here,  am  I? " 


454  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Arthur  Gride  in  reply  repeated  the  word  **bell "  as  loud  as  he  could  roar; 
and  his  meaning  being  rendered  further  intelligible  to  Mrs.  Sliderskew's  dull 
sense  of  hearing  by  pantomime  expressive  of  ringing  at  a  street-door,  Peg 
hobbled  out,  after  sharply  demanding  why  he  hadn't  said  there  was  a  ring 
before,  instead  of  talking  about  all  manner  of  things  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  and  keeping  her  half-pint  of  beer  waiting  on  the  steps. 

"There's  a  change  come  over  you,  Mrs.  Peg, '  said  Arthur,  following  her 
out  with  his  eyes.  "What  it  means  I  don't  quite  know ;  but  if  it  lasts,  we 
shan't  agree  together  long,  I  see.  You  are  turning  crazy,  I  think.  If  you 
are,  you  must  take  yourself  off,  Mrs.  Peg — or  be  taken  off.  All's  one  to  me." 
Turning  over  the  leaves  of  his  book  as  he  muttered  this,  he  soon  lighted  upon 
something  which  attracted  his  attention,  and  forgot  Peg  Sliderskew  and 
everything  else  in  the  engrossing  interest  of  its  pages. 

The  room  had  no  other  light  than  that  which  it  derived  from  a  dim  and 
dirt-clogged  lamp,  whose  lazy  wick,  being  still  further  obscured  by  a  dark 
shade,  cast  its  feeble  rays  over  a  very  little  space,  and  left  all  beyond  in  heavy 
shadow.  This  lamp  the  money-lender  had  drawn  so  close  to  him,  that  there 
was  only  room  between  it  and  himself  for  the  book  over  which  he  bent ;  and 
as  he  sat  with  his  elbows  on  the  desk,  and  his  sharp  cheek-bones  resting  on 
his  hands,  it  only  served  to  bring  out  his  ugly  features  in  strong  rSief, 
together  with  the  little  table  at  which  he  sat,  and  to  shroud  all  the  rest  of 
the  chamber  in  a  deep,  sullen  gloom.  Raising  his  eyes,  and  looking  vacantly 
into  this  gloom,  as  he  made  some  mental  calculation,  Arthur  Gride  suddenly 
met  the  fixed  gaze  of  a  man. 

"Thieves  !  thieves  ! "  shrieked  the  usurer,  starting  up  and  folding  his  book 
to  his  breast,   **  robbers  !  murder  ! " 

**  What  is  the  matter  ? "  said  the  form,  advancing. 

**  Keep  off ! "  cried  the  trembling  wretch.     "  Is  it  a  man  or  a — a " 

**  For  what  do  you  take  me,  if  not  for  a  man  ? "  Was  the  inquiry. 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Arthur  Gride,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  baud,  "it  is  a 
man,  and  not  a  spirit.     It  is  a  man.     Robbers  !  robbers  ! " 

"For  what  are  these  cries  raised — unless,  indeed,  you  know  me,  and  have 
some  purpose  in  your  brain  ? "  said  the  stranger,  coming  close  up  to  him. 
"I  am  no  thief." 

"  What,  then,  and  how  come  you  here  ? "  cried  Gride,  somewhat  reassured, 
but  still  retreating  from  his  visitor,  "  what  is  your  name,  and  what  do  you 
want?" 

"  My  name  you  need  not  know,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  came  here  because  I 
was  shown  the  way  by  your  servant.  I  have  addressed  you  twice  or  thrice, 
but  you  were  too  profoundly  engaged  with  your  book  to  hear  me,  and  I  have 
been  silently  waiting  until  you  should  be  less  abstracted.  What  I  want  I 
will  tell  you  when  you  can  summon  up  courage  enough  to  hear  and  understand 


me." 


Arthur  Gride  venturing  to  regard  his  visitor  more  attentively,  and  perceiv- 
ing that  he  was  a  young  man  of  good  mien  and  bearing,  returned  to  his  seat, 
and  muttering  that  there  were  bad  characters  about,  and  that  this,  with 
former  attempts  upon  his  house,  had  made  him  nervous,  requested  his  visitor 
to  sit  down.     This,  however,  he  declined. 

"  Good  God  !  I  don't  stand  up  to  have  you  at  an  advantage,"  said 
Nicholas  (for  Nicholas  it  was),  as  he  observed  a  gesture  of  alarm  on  the  part 
of  Gride.     "  Listen  to  me.     You  are  to  be  married  to-morrow  morning." 

"N — n — no,"  rejoined  Gride.  "Who  said  I  was?  How  do  you  know 
that  ? " 

"No  matter  how,"  replied  Nicholas,  "I  know  it     The  young  lady  who 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  455 

ia  to  give  yon  her  hand  hates  and  despises  you.  Her  blood  runs  cold  at  the 
mention  of  yonr  name — the  vulture  and  the  lamb,  the  rat  and  the  dove, 
cx>iild  not  be  worse  matched  than  you  and  she.     You  see  I  know  her." 

Gride  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  petrified  with  astonishment,  but  did  not 
spcAk  ;  perhaps  lacking  the  power. 

'  •  You  and  another  man,  Kalph  Nickleby  by  name,  have  hatched  this  plot 
between  you,"  pursued  Nicholas.  **  You  pay  him  for  his  share  in  bringing 
about  the  sale  of  Madeline  Bray.  You  do.  A  lie  is  trembling  on  your  lips, 
I  see." 

He  paused ;  but  Arthur  making  no  reply,  resumed  again. 

•*  You  pay  yourself  by  defrauding  her.  How  or  by  what  means — for  I 
9Com  to  sully  her  name  by  falsebood  or  deceit — I  do  not  know  ;  at  present  I 
do  not  know,  but  I  am  not  alone  or  single-handed  in  this  business.  If  the 
Bnergy  of  man  can  compass  the  discovery  of  your  fraud  and  treachery  before 
^oor  death — if  wealth,  revenge,  and  just  hatred,  can  hunt  and  track  you 
throngh  your  windings — you  will  yet  be  called  to  a  dear  account  for  this. 
We  are  on  the  scent  already — judge  you,  who  know  what  we  do  not,  when  we 
shall  have  you  down  ! " 

He  paused  again,  and  still  Arthur  Gride  glared  upon  him  in  silence. 

**  If  you  were  a  man  to  whom  I  could  appeal  with  any  hope  of  touching  his 
compassion  or  humanity,"  said  Nicholas,  ''  I  would  urge  upon  you  to  re- 
member the  helplessness,  the  innocence,  the  youth  of  this  lady  j  her  worth 
and  beauty,  her  hlial  excellence,  and  last,  and  more  than  all,  as  concerning  you 
more  nearly,  the  appeal  she  has  made  to  your  mercy  and  your  manly  feeling. 
But  I  take  the  only  ground  that  can  be  taken  with  men  like  you,  and  ask 
what  money  will  buy  yon  off.  Remember  the  danger  to  which  you  are 
exposed.  You  see  I  know  enough  to  know  much  more  with  very  little  help. 
Bate  some  expected  gain  for  the  risk  you  save,  and  say  what  is  your  price." 

Old  Arthur  Gride  moved  his  lips,  but  they  only  formed  an  ugly  smile  and 
were  motionless  again. 

"  You  think,"  said  Nicholas,  "  that  the  price  would  not  be  paid.  Miss 
Bray  has  wealthy  friends  who  would  coin  their  very  hearts  to  save  her  in 
such  a  strait  as  this.  Name  your  price,  defer  these  nuptials  but  for  a  few 
days,  and  see  whether  those  I  speak  of  shrink  from  the  payment.  Do  you 
hear  me \ " 

"When  Nicholas  began,  Arthur  Gride's  impression  was  that  Ralph  Nickleby 
had  betrayed  him  ;  but  as  he  proceeded,  he  felt  convinced  that,  however  ho 
had  come  by  the  knowledge  he  possessed,  the  part  he  acted  was  a  genuine 
one,  and  that  with  Ralph  he  had  no  concern.  All  he  seemed  to  know  for 
certain  was,  that  he,  Gride,  paid  Ralph's  debt ;  but  that,  to  anybody  who 
knew  the  cii-cumstances  of  Bray's  detention — even  to  Bray  himself  on  Ralph's 
own  statement — must  be  perfectly  notorious.  As  to  the  fraud  on  Madeline 
herself,  his  visitor  knew  so  little  about  its  nature  or  extent,  that  it  niiglit  be 
a  lucky  guess  or  a  hap-hazard  accusation.  Whether  or  no,  he  had  clearly  no 
key  to  tne  mystery,  and  could  not  hurt  him  who  kept  it  close  within  his  own 
breast.  The  allusion  to  friends,  and  the  otfer  of  money,  Gridj  held  to  be 
mere  empty  vapouring  for  purposes  of  delay.  "  And  even  if  money  were  to 
be  had,  thought  Arthur  Gride,  as  he  glanced  at  Nicholas,  and  trembled 
with  passion  at  his  boldness  and  audacity,  ''  I'd  have  that  dainty  chick  for 
my  wife,  and  cheat  you  of  her,  young  smooth-face  !  " 

Long  habit  of  weighing  and  noting  well  what  clients  said,  and  nicely 
balancing  chances  in  his  mind,  and  calculating  odds  to  their  faces,  without 
the  least  appearance  of  being  so  engaged,  had  rendered  Gride  quick  in 
forming  conclusions,  and  arriving,  from  puzzling,  intricate,  and  often  con- 


456  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

tradictory  premises,  at  very  cunning  deductions.  Hence  it  was  that,  as 
Nicholas  went  on,  ho  followed  him  closely  with  his  own  constructions,  and 
when  he  ceased  to  speak,  was. as  well  prepared  as  if  he  had  deliberated  for  a 
fortnight. 

'*  I  hear  you,"  he  cried,  starting  from  his  seat,  casting  back  the  fastenings 
of  the  window-shutters,  and  throwing  up  the  sash.  *•  Help,  here  !  Help ! 
Help!" 

**  What  are  you  doing  ? "  said  Nicholas,  seizing  him  by  the  arm. 

**  I'll  cry  robbers,  thieves,  murder,  alarm  tne  neighbourhood,  straggle 
with  you,  let  loose  some  blood,  and  swear  you  came  to  rob  me,  if  you  don't 
quit  my  house,"  replied  Gride,  drawing  in  his  head  with  a  frightful  grin,  "I 

**  Wretch  !"  cried  Nicholas. 

**  YcAill  bring  your  threats  here,  will  you  ? "  said  Gride,  whom  jealonsy  of 
Nicholas  and  a  sense  of  his  own  triumph  had  converted  into  a  perfect  fiend. 
"You,  the  disappointed  lover — oh,  dear!  He!  he!  he! — but  you  shan't 
have  her,  nor  she  you.  She's  my  wife,  my  doting  little  wife.  Do  you  think 
she'll  miss  you  ?  Do  you  think  she'll  weep  ?  I  shall  like  to  see  her  weep— I 
shan't  mind  it.     She  looks  prettier  in  tears." 

**  Villain  !  "  said  Nicholas,  choking  with  his  rage. 

"One  minute  more,"  cried  Arthur  Gride,  "and  I'll  rouse  the  street  with 
such  screams  as,  if  they  were  raised  by  anybody  else,  should  wake  me  even  in 
the  arms  of  pretty  Madeline." 

"  You  hound  !  "  said  Nicholas,  "if  you  were  but  a  younger  man " 

"Oh,  yes!"  sneered  Arthur  Gride,  "if  I  was  but  a  younger  man  it 
wouldn't  be  so  bad  ;  but  for  me,  so  old  and  ugly — to  be  jilted  by  little 
Madeline  for  me  !  " 

"Hear  me,"  said  Nicholas,  "and  be  thankful  I  have  enough  command 
over  myself  not  to  fling  you  into  the  street,  which  no  aid  could  prevent  my 
doing  if  I  once  grappled  with  you.  I  have  been  no  lover  of  this  lady's.  No 
contiact  or  engagement,  no  word  of  love,  has  ever  passed  between  us.  She 
does  not  even  know  my  name." 

"  I'll  ask  it  for  all  that — I'll  beg  it  of  her  with  kisses,"  said  Arthur  Gride. 
"  Yes,  and  she'll  tell  me,  and  pay  them  back,  and  we'll  laugh  together,  and 
hug  ourselves — and  be  very  merry — when  we  think  of  the  poor  youth  that 
wanted  to  have  her,  but  couldn't,  because  she  was  bespoke  by  me  !  " 

This  taunt  brought  such  an  expression  into  the  face  of  Nicholas  that 
Arthur  Gride  i)lainly  apprehended  it  to  be  the  forerunner  of  his  putting  his 
threat  of  throwing  him  into  the  street  in  immediate  execution  ;  for  he  thrust 
his  head  out  of  the  window,  and  holding  tight  on  with  both  hands,  raised  a 
pretty  brisk  alarm.  Not  thinking  it  necessary  to  abide  the  issue  of  the 
noise,  Nicholas  gave  vent  to  an  indignant  defiance,  and  stalked  from  the  room 
and  from  the  house.  Arthur  Gride  watched  him  across  the  street,  and  then, 
drawing  in  his  head,  fastened  the  window  as  before,  and  sat  down  to  take 
breath. 

*  •  If  she  ever  turns  pettish  or  ill-humoured,  I'll  taunt  her  with  that  spark," 
he  said,  when  he  had  recovered.  "She'll  little  think  I  know  about  him; 
and,  if  I  manage  it  well,  I  can  break  her  spirit  by  this  means  and  have  her 
under  my  thumb.  I'm  glad  nobody  came.  I  didn't  call  too  loud.  The 
audacity  to  enter  my  house,  and  open  upon  me  !  But  I  shall  have  a  very 
good  triumph  to-morrow,  and  he'll  be  gnawing  his  fingers  off :  perhaps  drown 
himself,  or  cut  his  throat !  I  shouldn  t  wonder  !  That  would  make  it  quite 
complete,  that  would — quite." 

When  ho  had  become  restored  to  his  usual  condition  by  these  and  other 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  457 

comments  on  his  approaching  triumph,  Arthur  Gride  put  away  his  book,  and, 
having  locked  the  chest  with  great  caution,  descentfed  into  the  kitchen  to 
warn  reg  Sliderskew  to  bed,  and  scold  her  for  having  afforded  such  ready 
admission  to  a  stranger. 

The  unconscious  Peg,  however,  not  being  able  to  comprehend  the  offence 
of  which  she  had  been  guilty,  he  summoned  her  to  hold  the  light,  while 
he  made  a  tour  of  the  fastenings,  and  secured  the  street  door  with  his  own 
hands. 

**Top  bolt,"  muttered  Arthur,  fastening  as  he  spoke,  "bottom  bolt — 
chain — bar — double-lock — and  key  out  to  put  under  my  pillow  !  So,  if 
any  more  rejected  admirers  come,  they  may  come  through  the  keyhole. 
And  now  I'll  go  to  sleep  till  half-past  five,  when  I  must  get  up  to  be  married. 

With  that,  he  jocularly  tapped  Mrs.  Sliderskew  under  the  chin,  and 
appeared,  for  the  moment,  inclined  to  celebrate  the  close  of  his  bachelor 
days  by  imprinting  a  kiss  on  her  shrivelled  lips.  Thinking  better  of  it, 
however,  he  gave  her  chin  another  tap,  in  lieu  of  that  warmer  familiarity, 
and  stole  away  to  bed. 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

THE  CRISIS  OF  THE  PROJECT  AND  ITS  RESULT. 

THERE  are  not  many  men  who  lie  abed  too  late,  or  oversleep  themselves, 
on  their  wedding  morning.  A  legend  there  is,  of  somebody  remarkable 
for  absence  of  mind,  who  opened  his  eyes  upon  the  day  which  was  to 
give  him  a  young  wife,  and  forgetting  all  about  the  matter,  rated  his  servants 
for  providing  him  with  such  fine  clothes  as  had  been  prepared  for  the  festival. 
There  is  also  a  legend  of  a  young  gentleman,  who,  not  having  before  his  eyes 
the  fear  of  the  canons  of  the  church  for  such  cases  made  and  provided,  con- 
ceived a  passion  for  his  grandmother.  Both  cases  are  of  a  singular  and 
special  kind,  and  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  either  can  be  considered  as  a 
precedent  likely  to  be  extensively  followed  by  succeeding  generations. 

Arthur  Gride  had  enrobed  himself  in  his  marriage  garments  of  bottle-green 
a  full  hour  before  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  shaking  off  her  more  heavy  slumbers, 
knocked  at  his  chamber  door  ;  and  he  had  hobbled  downstairs  in  full  array, 
and  smacked  his  lips  over  a  scanty  taste  of  his  favourite  cordial,  ere  that 
delicate  piece  of  antiquity  enlightened  the  kitchen  with  her  presence. 

**  Faugh  ! "  said  Peg,  grubbing,  in  the  discharge  of  her  domestic  functions, 
among  a  scanty  heap  of  ashes  in  the  rusty  grate,  "wedding,  indeed  !  A 
precious  wedding  !  He  wants  somebody  better  than  his  old  Peg  to  take  caro 
of  him,  does  he  ?  And  what  has  he  said  to  me,  many  and  many  a  time,  to 
keep  me  content  with  short  food,  small  wages,  and  little  fire  ?  *  My  will.  Peg  ! 
my  wUl ! '  says  he,  *  I'm  a  bachelor — no  friends — no  relations,  Peg.*  Lies  ! 
And  now  he's  to  bring  home  a  new  mistress,  a  baby-faced  chit  of  a  girl !  If 
he  wanted  a  wife,  the  fool,  why  couldn't  he  have  one  suitable  to  his  age  and 
that  knew  his  ways  ?  She  won't  come  in  my  way,  he  says.  No,  that  she 
won't ;  but  you  little  think  why,  Arthur,  bov  !  " 

While  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  influenced  possibly  by  some  lingering  feelings  of 
disappointment  and  personal  slight,  occasioned  by  her  old  master  s  preference 
for  another,  was  giving  loose  to  these  grumblings  below-stairs,  Arthur  Grido 
was  cogitating  in  the  parlour  upon  what  had  taken  place  last  night. 


458  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  I  can't  tbink  how  he  can  have  picked  up  what  he  knows,"  said  Arthnr, 
**  unless  I  have  committed  myself — let  something  drop  at  Bray's,  for  instance, 
which  has  been  overheard.  Perhaps  I  may.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  that 
was  it.  Mr.  Kickleby  was  often  angry  at  my  talking  to  him  before  we  got  out- 
side of  the  door.  I  mustn't  tell  him  that  part  of  the  business,  or  he'll  put  me 
out  of  sorts,  and  make  me  nervous  for  the  day." 

Ralph  was  universally  looked  up  to,  and  recogilised  among  his  fellows  as  a 
superior  genius,  but  upon  Arthur  Gride  his  stern,  unyielding  character  and 
consummate  art  had  made  so  deep  an  impression,  that  he  was  actually  afraid 
of  him.  Cringing  and  cowardly  to  the  core  by  nature,  Arthur  Gride  humbled 
himself  in  the  dust  before  Ralph  Nickleby,  and,  even  when  they  had  not  tius 
stake  in  common,  would  have  licked  his  shoes  and  crawled  upon  the  groond 
before  him  rather  then  venture  to  return  him  word  for  word,  or  retort 
upon  him  in  any  other  .spirit  than  one  of  the  most  slavish  and  abject 
sycophancy. 

To  Ralph  Nickleby's  Arthur  Gride  now  betook  himself  according  to 
appointment ;  and  to  Ralph  Nickleby  he  related,  how,  last  night,  some  yoont 
blustering  blade,  whom  ho  had  never  seen,  forced  his  way  into  his  house  and 
tried  to  frighten  him  from  the  proposed  nuptials :  told,  in  short,  what 
Nicholas  had  said  and  done,  with  the  slight  reservation  upon  which  he  had 
determined. 

**  Well,  what  then  ?"  said  Ralph. 

**0h  !  nothing  more,"  rejoined  Gride. 

**He  tried  to  frighten  you,"  said  Ralph,  "and  you  ivere  frightened,  I 
suppose  ;  is  that  it  ?  " 

*'  I  frightened  him  by  crying  thieves  and  murder,"  replied  Gride.  "Once 
I  was  in  earnest,  I  tell  you  that,  for  I  had  more  than  half  a  mind  to  swear 
he  uttered  threats  and  demanded  my  life  or  my  money." 

"Oh  !  "  said  Ralph,  eyeing  him  askew.     **  Jealous,  too  !  " 

"Dear  now,  see  that !"  cried  Arthur,  rubbing  his  hands  and  affecting  to 
laugh. 

"Why  do  you  make  those  grimaces,  man?"  said  Ralph.  "You  an 
jealous — and  with  good  cause,  I  think." 

'  *  No,  no,  no — not  with  good  cause,  hey  ?  You  don't  think  with  good 
cause,  do  you  ? "  cried  Arthur,  faltering.     "  Do  you,  though — hey  ? " 

"Why,  how  stands  the  fact?"  returned  Ralph.  "Here  is  an  old  roan 
about  to  be  forced  in  marriage  upon  a  girl ;  and  to  this  old  man  there  comes 
a  handsome  young  fellow — you  said  he  was  handsome,  didn't  you  ? " 

"No  !  "  snarled  Arthur  Gride. 

"Oh  !  "  rejoined  Ralph,  "  I  thought  you  did.  Well !  Handsome  or  not 
handsome,  to  this  old  man  there  comes  a  young  fellow  who  casts  all  manner 
of  lierce  defiances  in  his  teeth — gums  I  should  rather  say — and  tells  him  ia 
plain  terms  that  his  mistress  hates  him.  What  does  he  do  that  for  ?  Philan- 
thropy's sake  ? " 

"Not  for  love  of  the  lady,"  replied  Gride,  "for  he  said  that  no  word  ol 
love — his  very  words — had  ever  passed  between  'em." 

"He  said!"  repeated  Ralph,  contemptuously.  "But  I  like  him  for  oae 
thing,  and  that  is,  his  giving  you  this  fair  warning  to  keep  your — what  ia  it! 
Tit-tit  or  dainty  chick — which  ? — under  lock  and  key.  Be  careful,  Gride,  be 
careful.  It's  a  triumph  too,  to  tear  her  away  from  a  gallant  young  rivdl :  » 
great  triumph  for  an  old  man  !  It  only  remains  to  keep  her  safe  when  pa 
have  her — that's  all." 

"  What  a  man  it  is  1 "  cried  Arthur  Gride,  affecting,  in  the  extremity  of  Iw 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  459 

torture,  to  be  highly  amused.  And  then  he  added  anxiously,  "Yes;  to 
keep  her  safe,  that  s  all.     And  that  isn't  much,  is  it  ? " 

"Much  I "  said  Ralph,  with  a  sneer.  "  Why,  everybody  knows  what  easy 
things  to  understand  and  to  control  women  are.  But  come,  it's  very  nearly 
time  for  you  to  be  made  happy.  You'll  pay  the  bond  now,  I  suppose,  to  save 
OB  trouble  afterwards." 

"  Oh,  what  a  man  you  are  1 "  croaked  Arthur. 

"  Why  not  ? "  said  Ralph.  **  Nobody  will  pay  you  interest  for  the  money, 
I  suppose,  between  this  and  twelve  o'clock,  will  tliey  ? " 

"  mt  nobody  would  pay  you  interest  for  it  either,  you  know,"  returned 
Arthur,  leering  at  Ralph  with  all  the  cunning  and  slyness  he  could  throw  into 
his  face. 

"  Besides  which,"  said  Ralph,  suffering  his  lip  to  curl  into  a  smile,  "  you 
haven't  the  money  about  you  ;  and  you  weren't  prepared  for  this,  or  you'd 
have  brought  it  with  you  ;  and  there's  nobody  you'd  so  much  like  to  accom- 
modate as  me.  I  see.  We  trust  each  other  in  about  an  equal  degree.  Are 
you  ready  % " 

Gride  who  bad  done  nothing  but  grin,  and  nod,  and  chatter,  during  this 
last  speech  of  Ralph's,  answered  in  the  afl&rmative  ;  and  producing  from  his 
hat  a  couple  of  large  white  favours,  pinned  one  on  his  breast,  and  with  con- 
siderable difficulty  induced  his  friend  to  do  the  like.  Thus  accoutred,  they 
got  into  a  hired  coach  which  Ralph  had  in  waiting,  and  drove  to  the  residence 
of  the  fair  and  most  wretched  bride. 

Gride,  whose  spirits  and  courage  had  gradually  failed  him  more  and  more  as 
they  approached  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  house,  was  utterly  dismayed  and 
cowed  by  the  mournful  silence  which  pervaded  it  The  face  of  the  poor 
servant-girl,  the  only  person  they  saw,  was  disfigured  with  tears  and  want  of 
sleep.  There  was  nobody  to  receive  or  welcome  them  ;  and  they  stole  upstairs 
into  the  usual  sitting-room  more  like  two  burglars  than  the  bridegroom  and 
his  friend. 

"One  would  think,"  said  Ralph,  speaking,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  a  low 
and  subdued  voice,  "that  there  was  a  funeral  going  on  here,  and  not  a 
wedding." 

"He,  he  ! "  tittered  his  friend,  "  you  are  so — so  very  funny  ! " 

"  I  need  be,"  remarked  Ralph,  drily,  "  for  this  is  rather  dull  and  chilling. 
Look  a  little  brisker,  man,  and  not  so  hang-dog  like  !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  will,"  said  Gride.  "But — but — you  don't  think  she's 
coming  just  yet,  do  you  ?  " 

"Why,  I  suppose  she'll  not  come  till  she  is  obliged,"  returned  Ralph, 
looking  at  his  watch,  "  and  she  has  a  good  half-hour  to  spare  yet.  Curb 
your  impatience." 

**I — 1 — am  not  impatient,"  stammered  Arthur.  "I  wouldn't  be  hard 
with  her  for  the  world.  Oh,  dear,  dear,  not  on  any  account.  Let  her  take 
her  time — her  own  time.     Her  time  shall  be  ours  by  all  means." 

While  Ralph  bent  upon  his  trembling  friend  a  keen  look,  wliich  showed 
that  he  perfectly  understood  the  reason  of  this  great  consideration  and  regard, 
a  footstep  was  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and  Bray  himself  came  into  the  room  on 
tiptoe,  and  holding  up  his  hand  with  a  cautious  gesture  as  if  there  were  some 
sick  person  near  who  must  not  be  disturbed. 

"  Hush  !  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "She  was  very  ill  last  night.  I  thought 
she  would  have  broken  her  heart.  She  is  dressed,  and  crying  bitterly  in  lier 
own  room ;  but  she's  better,  and  quite  quiet — that's  everything  ! " 

**  She  is  ready,  is  she  ? "  said  Ralph. 

**  Quite  ready,"  returned  the  father. 


46o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  And  not  likely  to  delay  us  by  any  yoang-lady  weaknesses — fainting— or 
so  forth?"  said  Ralph. 

"  She  may  be  safely  trusted  now,"  returned  Bray.  "  I  have  been  talking 
to  her  this  morning.     Here — come  a  little  this  way." 

He  drew  Ralph  Nickleby  to  the  further  end  "of  the  room,  and  pointed 
towards  Gride,  who  sat  huddled  together  in  a  corner,  fumbling  nervously  with 
the  buttons  of  his  coat,  and  exhibiting  a  face,  of  which  every  skulking  and 
base  expression  was  sharpened  and  aggravated  to  the  utmost  by  his  anxiety 
and  trepidation. 

**  Look  at  that  man,"  whispered  Bray,  emphatically.  "This  seems  a  cruel 
thing,  after  all. " 

*' What  seems  a  cruel  thing?"  inquired  Ralph,  with  as  much  stolidity  of 
face  as  if  he  really  were  in  utter  ignorance  of  the  other's  meaning. 

**  This  marriage,"  answered  Bray.  **  Don't  ask  me  what.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  do." 

Ralph  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  silent  depreciation  of  Bray's  impatience, 
and  elevated  his  eyebrows,  and  pursed  his  lips,  as  men  do  when  they  are  pre- 
pared with  a  sufficient  answer  to  some  remark,  but  wait  for  a  more  favourable 
opportunity  of  advancing  it,  or  think  it  scarcely  worth  while  to  answer  tbeir 
adversary  at  all. 

**  Look  at  him.     Does  it  not  seem  cruel  ? "  said  Bray. 

"  No  1 "  replied  Ralph,  boldly. 

"  I  say  it  does,"  retorted  Bray,  with  a  show  of  much  irritation.  "  It  is  a 
cruel  thing,  by  all  that's  bad  and  treacherous  !  " 

When  men  are  about  to  commit,  or  to  sanction  the  commission  of  some 
injustice,  it  is  not  uncommon  for  them  to  express  pity  for  the  object  either 
of  that  or  some  parallel  proceeding,  and  to  feel  themselves  at  the  time 
quite  virtuous  and  moral,  and  immensely  superior  to  those  who  express  no 
pity  at  all.  This  is  a  kind  of  upholding  of  faith  above  works,  and  is  very 
comfortable.  To  do  Ralph  Nickleby  justice,  he  seldom  practiced  this  sort  of 
dissimulation  ;  but  he  understood  those  who  did,  and  therefore  suffered  Bray 
to  say,  again  and  again,  with  great  vehemence,  that  they  were  jointly  doing  a 
very  cruel  thing,  before  he  again  offered  to  interpose  a  word. 

**  You  see  what  a  dry,  shrivelled,  withered  old  chip  it  is,"  returned  Ralph, 
when  the  other  was  at  length  silent.  **  If  he  were  younger  it  might  be  cruel, 
but  as  it  is^hark'ee,  Mr.  Bray,  he'll  die  soon,  and  leave  her  a  rich  young 
widow !  Miss  Madeline  consults  your  taste  this  time  ;  let  her  consult  her 
own  next." 

**  True,  true,"  said  Bray,  biting  his  nails,  and  plainly  very  ill  at  ease.  "  I 
couldn't  do  anything  better  for  her  than  advise  her  to  accept  these  proposals, 
could  I  ?    Now,  I  ask  you,  Nickleby,  as  a  man  of  the  world — could  I  ?  ' 

"Surely  not,"  answered  Ralph.  **I  tell  you  what,  sir  —  there  are 
a  hundred  fathers,  within  a  circuit  of  five  miles  from  this  place,  well 
off,  good,  rich,  substantial  men,  who  would  gladly  give  their  daughters, 
and  their  own  ears  with  them,  to  that  very  man  yonder,  ape  and  mummy  as 
he  looks." 

"  So  there  are  ! "  exclaimed  Bray,  eagerly  catching  at  anything  which 
seemed  a  justification  of  himself.  "And  so  I  told  her,  both  last  night  and 
to-day." 

"  You  told  her  truth,"  said  Ralph,  "  and  did  well  to  do  so  ;  though  I  must 
say,  at  the  same  time,  that  if  I  had  a  daughter,  and  my  freedom,  pleasure 
nay,  my  very  health  and  life  depended  on  her  taking  a  husband  whom  I 
pointed  out,  I  should  hope  it  would  not  be  necessary  to  advance  any  other 
arguments  to  induce  her  to  consent  to  my  wishes." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  461 

Bray  looked  at  Ralph  as  if  to  see  whether  he  spoke  in  earnest,  and 
having  nodded  twice  or  thrice  in  unqualified  assent  to  what  had  fallen  from 
him,  said — 

*•  I  must  go  upstairs  for  a  few  minutes,  to  finish  dressing.  When  I  come 
down  I'll  bring  Madeline  with  me.  Do  you  know  I  had  a  very  strange  dream  last 
night,  which  I  have  not  remembered  till  this  instant !  I  dreamt  that  it  was 
this  morning,  and  you  and  I  had  been  talking,  as  we  have  been  this  minute  ; 
that  I  went  upstairs  for  the  very  purpose  for  which  I  am  going  now ;  and  that 
as  I.  stretched  out  my  hand  to  take  Madeline's,  and  lead  lier  down,  the  fioor 
sank  with  me,  and  after  falling  from  such  an  indescribable  and  tremendous 
height  as  the  imagination  scarcely  conceives,  except  in  dreams,  I  alighted  in 
a  grave." 

**  And  you  awoke,  and  found  you  were  lying  on  your  back,  or  with  your 
head  hanging  over  the  bedside,  or  suffering  some  pain  from  indigestion  ? "  said 
Ralph.  **  Pshaw,  Mr.  Bray,  do  as  I  do  (you  will  have  the  opportunity,  now 
that  a  constant  round  of  pleasure  and  enjoyment  opens  upon  you)  and  occupy- 
ing yourself  a  little  more  oy  day,  have  no  time  to  think  of  what  you  dream  by 
ni^t." 

Kalph  followed  him,  with  a  steady  look,  to  the  door ;  and  turning  to  the 
bridegroom,  when  they  were  again  alone,  said — 

**  Mark  my  words.  Gride,  you  won't  have  to  pay  his  annuity  very  long.  You 
have  the  devil's  luck  in  bargains  always.  If  he  is  not  booked  to  make  the 
long  voyage  before  many  months  are  past  and  gone,  I  wear  an  orange  for  a 
head!" 

To  this  prophecy,  so  agreeable  to  his  ears,  Arthur  returned  no  answer  than 
a  cackle  of  great  delight.  Ralph,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  they  both 
sat  waiting  in  profound  silence.  Ralph  was  thinking,  with  a  sneer  upon  his 
lips,  on  the  altered  manner  of  Bray  that  day,  and  how  soon  their  fellowship  in 
a  bad  design  had  lowered  his  pride  and  established  a  familiarity  between  them, 
when  his  attentive  ear  caught  the  rustling  of  a  female  dress  upon  the  stairs, 
and  the  footstep  of  a  man. 

**  Wake  up,  he  said,  stamping  his  foot  impatiently  upon  the  ground, 
**  and  be  something  like  life,  man,  will  you  ?  They  are  here.  Urge  those  dry 
old  bones  of  yours  this  way— quick,  man,  quick ! " 

Gride  shambled  forward,  and  stood,  leering  and  bowing,  close  by  Ralph's 
side,  when  the  door  opened  and  there  entered  in  haste — not  Bray  and  his 
daughter,  but  Nicholas  and  his  sister  Kate. 

If  some  tremendous  apparition  from  the  world  of  shadows  had  suddenly 
presented  itself  before  him,  Ralph  Nickleby  couJd  not  have  been  more  thunder- 
stricken  than  he  was  by  this  surprise.  His  hands  fell  powerless  by  his  side,  he 
reeled  back  ;  and  with  open  mouth,  and  a  face  of  ashy  paleness,  stood  gazing 
at  them  in  speechless  rage  ;  his  eyes  so  prominent,  and  his  face  so  convulsed 
and  changed  by  the  passions  which  raged  within  him,  that  it  would  have  been 
difi&cult  to  recognise  in  him  the  same  stern,  composed,  hard-featured  man  he 
had  been  not  a  minute  ago. 

'*The  man  that  came  to  me  last  night,"  whispered  Gride,  plucking  at  his 
elbow.     **  The  man  that  came  to  me  last  night ! " 

"I  see,"  muttered  Ralph,  **Iknbw!  1  might  have  guessed  as  much 
before.  Across  my  every  path,  at  every  turn,  go  where  I  will,  do  what  I  may, 
he  comes ! " 

The  absence  of  all  colour  from  the  face  ;  the  dilated  nostril  ;  the  quivering 
of  the  lips,  which,  though  set  firmly  against  each  other,  would  not  be  still ; 
showed  what  emotions  were  struggling  for  the  mastery  with  Nicholas.     But 


462  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

lie  kept  them  down,  and  gently  pressing  Kate's  arm  to  reassure  her,  stood 
erect  and  undaunted,  front  to  front  with  his  unworthy  relative. 

As  the  hrotlicr  and  sister  stood  side  hy  side,  with  a  gallant  bearing  which 
became  them  well,  a  close  likeness  between  them  was  apparent,  which 
many,  had  they  only  seen  them  apart,  might  have  failed  to  remark.  The 
air,  carriage,  and  very  look  and  expression  of  the  brother  were  all  reflected 
in  the  sister,  but  softened  and  refined  to  the  nicest  limit  of  feminine 
delicacy  and  attraction.  More  striking  still  was  some  indefinable  resem- 
blance in  the  face  of  Ralph  to  both.  While  they  had  never  looked  so 
handsome,  nor  he  more  ugly ;  while  they  had  never  held  themselves  more 
proudly,  nor  he  shrunk  half  so  low ;  there  never  had  been  a  time  when 
this  resemblance  was  so  perceptible,  or  when  all  the  worst  characteristics  of 
a  face  rendered  coarse  and  harsh  by  evil  thoughts  were  half  so  manifest  as 
now. 

"  Away  ! "  was  the  first  word  he  could  utter,  as  he  literally  gnashed  his 
teeth.     "  Away  !    What  brings  you  here — liar — scoundrel — dastard — thief!" 

*'  I  come  here,"  said  Nicholas,  in  a  low,  deep  voice,  **  to  save  your  victim  if 
I  can.  Liar  and  scoundrel  you  are,  in  every  action  of  your  life  ;  theft  is  yonr 
trade  ;  and  double  dastard  you  must  be,  or  you  were  not  here  to-day.  Hard 
words  will  not  move  me,  nor  would  hard  blows.  Here  I  stand,  and  will,  till 
I  have  done  my  errand." 

*'  Girl !  "  said  Ralph,  "retire  !  We  can  use  force  to  him,  but  I  would  not 
hurt  you  if  I  could  help  it  Retire,  you  weak  and  silly  wench,  and  leave  this 
dog  to  be  dealt  with  as  he  deserves." 

"  I  will  not  retire,"  cried  Kate,  with  flashing  eyes  and  the  red  blood 
mantling  in  her  cheeks.  ' '  You  will  do  him  no  hurt  that  he  will  not  repay. 
You  may  use  force  with  me  ;  I  think  you  will,  for  I  avu  a  girl,  and  that 
would  well  become  you.  But  if  I  have  a  girl's  weakness,  I  have  a  woman's 
heart ;  and  it  is  net  you  who,  in  a  cause  like  this,  can  turn  that  from  its 
purpose." 

** And  what  may  your  purpose  be,  most  lofty  lady?"  said  Ralph. 

"To  offer  to  the  unhappy  subject  of  your  treachery,  at  tliis  last  moment," 
replied  Nicholas,  "a  refuge  and  a  home.  If  the  near  prospect  of  such  a 
liusband  as  you  have  provided  will  not  prevail  upon  her,  I  hope  she  may  be 
moved  by  the  prayers  and  entreaties  of  one  of  her  own  sex.  At  all  events 
they  shall  be  tried.  I  myself,  avowing  to  her  father  from  whom  I  come  and 
by  whom  I  am  commissioned,  will  render  it  an  act  of  greater  baseness,  mean- 
ness, and  cruelty  in  him  if  he  still  dares  to  force  this  marriage  on.  Here  I 
wait  to  see  him  and  his  daughter.  For  this  I  came  and  brought  my  sister 
even  into  your  presence.  Our  purpose  is  not  to  see  or  speak  with  you  ;  there- 
fore to  you  we  stoop  to  say  no  more. " 

"Indeed!"  said  Ralph.  "You  persist  in  remaining  here,  ma'am,  do 
you  ? " 

I  lis  nifece's  bosom  heaved  with  the  indignant  excitement  into  which  he  had 
lashed  her,  but  she  gave  him  no  roply. 

"  Now,  Gride,  see  here,"  said  Ralph.  "This  fellow — I  grieve  to  say  niv 
brother's  son  ;  a  reprobate  and  profligate,  stained  with  every  mean  and  selfish 
crime — this  fellow,  coming  here  to-day  to  disturb  a  solemn  ceremony,  and 
knowing  that  the  consequence  of  his  presenting  himself  in  another  man's 
house  at  such  a  time,  and  persisting  in  remaining  there,  mnst  be  his  being 
kicked  into  the  streets  and  dragged  through  them  like  the  vagabond  he  is— 
this  fellow,  mark  you,  brings  with  him  his  sister  as  a  protection;  thiukiug  we 
would  not  expose  a  silly  girl  to  the  degradation  and  indignity  which  is  no 
novelty  to  him  ;  and,  even  alter  1  have  warned  her  of  what  must  cu«ue,  he 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  463 

still  keeps  her  by  him,  as  you  see,  and  clings  to  her  apron-strings  like  a 
cowardly  boy  to  his  mother's.  This  is  a  pretty  fellow  to  talk  as  big  as  you 
have  heard  him  now  ! " 

"And  as  I  heard  him  last  night,"  said  Arthur  Gride  ;  '' as  I  heard  him 
last  night  when  he  sneaked  into  my  house,  and — he  !  he !  he  ! — very  soon 
sneaked  out  again,  when  I  nearly  frightened  him  to  death.  And  he  wanted 
to  marry  Miss  Madeline,  too  1  Oh,  dear  !  Is  there  anything  else  he'd  like — 
anything  else  we  can  do  for.  him,  besides  giving  her  up  ?  Would  he  like  his 
debts  paid  and  his  house  furnished,  and  a  few  bank-notes  for  shaving  paper,  if 
he  shaves  at  all !    He  !  he  !  he  ! " 

"You  will  remain,  girl,  will  you  ?"  said  Ralph,  turning  upon  Kate  again, 
•*  to  be  hauled  downstairs  like  a  drunken  drab — as  1  swear  you  shall  if  you 
stop  here  1  No  answer  !  Thank  your  brother  for  what  follows.  Gride,  call 
down  Bray — and  not  his  daughter.     Let  them  keep  her  above." 

**If  you  value  your  head,"  said  Nicholas,  taking  up  a  position  before  the 
door,  and  speaking  in  the  same  low  voice  in  which  he  had  spoken  before,  and 
with  no  more  outward  passion  than  he  had  before  displayed ;  ''  stay  where 
you  are ! " 

"Mind  me,>and  not  him,  and  call  down  Bray,"  said  Ralph. 
**  Mind  yourself  rather  than  either  of  us,  and  stay  where  you  are !"  said 
Nicholas. 

'*  Will  you  call  down  Bray  ? "  cried  Ralph. 
"  Remember  that  you  come  near  me  at  your  peril,"  said  Nicholas. 
Gride  hesitated.  Ralph,  being  by  this  time  as  furious  as  a  baffled  tiger, 
made  for  the  door,  and,  attempting  to  pass  Kate,  clasped  licr  arm  roughly 
with  his  hand.  Nicholas,  with  his  eyes  darting  fire,  seized  him  by  the 
collar.  At  that  moment,  a  heavy  body  fell  with  great  violence  on  the  floor 
above,  and,  in  an  instant  afterwards,  was  heard  a  most  appalling  and  terrific 
scream. 

They  all  stood  still,  and  gazed  upon  each  other.  Scream  succeeded  scream, 
a  heavy  pattering  of  feet  succeeded ;  and  many  shrill  voices  clamouring 
together  were  heard  to  cry,*'*  He  is  dead  ! " 

"Stand  oflF ! "  cried  Nicholas,  letting  loose  all  the  passion  he  had  restrained 
till  now,  "if  this  is  what  I  scarcely  dare  to  hope  it  is,  you  are  caught, 
'villains,  in  your  own  toils." 

He  burst  from  the  room,  and,  darting  upstairs  to  the  quarter  from  whence 
the  noise  proceeded,  forced  his  way  through  a  crowd  of  persons  who  quite 
filled  a  small  bed-chamber,  and  found  Bray  lying  on  the  floor  quite  dead  \  his 
daughter  clinging  to  the  body. 

"  How  did  this  happen  ? "  he  cried,  looking  wildly  about  him. 
Several  voices  answered  together,  that  he  had  been  observed,  through  the 
half-opened  door,  reclining  in  a  strange  and  uneasy  position  upon  a  chair ; 
that  he  had  been  spoken  to  several  times,  and  not  answering,  was  supposed  to 
be  asleep,  until  some  person  going  in  and  shaking  him  by  the  arm,  he  fell 
heavily  to  the  ground  and  was  discovered  to  be  dead. 

"  Who  is  the  owner  of  this  house  ? "  said  Nicholas,  hastily. 
An  elderly  woman  was  pointed  out  to  him  ;  and  to  her  he  said,  as  he  knelt 
down  and  gently  unwound  Madeline's  arms  from  the  lifeless  mass  round 
which  they  were  entwined,  "I  represent  this  lady's  nearest  friends,  as  her 
servant  here  knows,  and  must  remove  her  from  this  dreadful  scene.  This  is 
my  sister  to  whose  charge  you  confide  her.  My  name  and  address  are  upon 
that  card,  and  you  shall  receive  from  me  all  necessary  directions  for  tlie 
arrangements  that  must  be  made.  Stand  aside,  every  one  of  you,  and  give 
lue  room  and  air,  for  God's  sake  1 " 


464  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

The  people  fell  back,  scarce  wondering  more  at  "what  had  just  occurred  than 
at  tlie  excitement  and  impetuosity  of  him  who  spoke.  iJicholas,  taking  the 
insensible  girl  in  his  arms,  bore  her  from  the  chamber  and  downstairs  into 
the  room  he  had  just  quitted,  followed  by  his  sister  and  the  faithful  servant, 
whom  he  charged  to  procure  a  coach  directly,  while  he  and  Kate  bent  over 
their  beautiful  charge  and  endeavoured,  but  in  vain,  to  restore  her  to  anima- 
tion.  The  girl  performed  her  office  with  such  expedition,  that  in  a  very  few 
minutes  the  coach  was  ready. 

Ralph  Nickleby  and  Gride,  stunned  and  paralysed  by  the  awful  event  which 
had  so  suddenly  overthrown  their  schemes  (it  would  not  otherwise,  perhaps, 
have  made  much  impression  on  them),  and  carried  away  by  the  extraordinary 
energy  and  precipitation  of  Nicholas,  which  bore  down  all  before  him,  looked 
on  at  those  proceedings  like  men  in  a  dream  or  trance.  It  was  not  until 
every  preparation  was  made  for  Madeline's  immediate  removal  that  Ralph 
broke  sileUce  by  declaring  she  should  not  be  taken  away. 

' '  Who  says  so  ? "  cried  Nicholas,  rising  from  his  knee  and  confrontiog 
them,  but  still  retaining  Madeline's  lifeless  hand  in  his. 

**  I  !  "  answered  Ralph,  hoarsely. 

'*  Hush,  hush  !  "  cried  the  terrified  Gride,  catching  him  by  the  ana  agiiBi 
**  Hear  what  he  says." 

"Aye  !  "  said  Nicholas,  extending  his  disengaged  hand  in  the  air,  "i 
what  he  says.    That  both  your  debts  are  paid  in  the  one  great  debt  of  nat 
that  the  bond  due  to-day  at  twelve  is  now  waste  paper — that  yonr  coni 
plated  fraud  shall  bo  discovered  yet — that  your  schemes  are  known  to 
and  overthrown  by  heaven — wretches,  that  he  defies  you  both  to  do 
worst ! " 

"  This  man,"  said  Ralph,  in  a  voice  scarcely  intelligible,  **  this  man  olaiiiui 
his  wife,  and  he  shall  have  her." 

"  That  man  claims  what  is  not  his,  and  he  should  not  have  her  if  he  were 
fifty  men,  witli  fifty  more  to  back  him,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  Who  shall  prevent  him  ? " 

"I  will." 

"  By  what  right,  I  should  like  to  know  ? "  said  Ralph.  **  By  what  right  I 
ask  ? " 

"  By  this  right — that,  knowing  what  I  do,  you  dare  not  tempt  me  further," 
said  Nicholas  ;  **  and  by  this  better  right — that  those  I  serve,  and  with  whom 
you  would  have  done  me  base  wrong  and  injury,  are  her  nearest  and  her 
dearest  friends.     In  their  name  I  bear  her  hence.     Give  way  !  " 

**  One  word  !  "  cried  Ralph,  foaming  at  the  mouth. 

"  Not  one,"  replied  Nicholas,  **  I  will  not  hear  of  one — save  this.  Look 
to  yourself,  and  heed  this  warning  that  I  give  you  !  Your  day  is  past,  and 
night  is  coming  on " 

"  My  curse,  my  bitter,  deadly  curse  upon  you,  boy  !  " 

*  *  Whence  will  curses  come  at  your  command  ?  or  what  avails  a  corse  or 
blessing  from  a  man  like  you  ?  I  tell  you  that  misfortune  and  discovery  are 
thickening  about  your  head  ;  that  the  structures  you  have  raised,  through  all 
your  ill-spent  life,  are  crumbling  into  dust ;  that  your  path  is  beset  with 
spies  ;  that  this  very  day,  ten  thousand  pounds  of  your  hoarded  wealth  have 
gone  in  one  gi-eat  crash  !  " 

*'  'Tis  false  ! "  cried  Ralph,  shrinking  back. 

"  'Tis  true,  and  you  shall  find  it  so.  I  have  no  more  words  to  waste. 
Stand  from  the  door.  Kate,  do  you  go  first.  Lay  not  a  hand  on  her,  or  on 
that  woman,  or  on  me,  or  so  much  as  brush  their  garments  as  tliey  i»ass  you 
by  ! — You  let  them  pass  and  he  blocks  the  door  again  1 " 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  465 

Arthur  Gride  happened  to  be  in  the  doorway,  but  whether  intentionally  or 
from  confusion  was  not  quite  apparent  Nicholas  swung  him  away  with  such 
violence  as  to  cause  him  to  spin  round  the  room  until  he  was  caught  by  a 
sharp  angle  of  the  wall  and  there  knocked  down  ;  and  then  taking  his  beauti- 
ful burden  in  his  arms  rushed  out.  No  one  cared  to  stop  him,  if  any  wore  so 
disposed.  Making  his  way  through  a  mob  of  people,  whom  a  report  of  the 
circumstances  had  attracted  round  the  house,  and  carrying  Madeline,  in  his 
excitement,  as  easily  as  if  she  were  an  infant,  he  reached  me  coach  in  which 
Kate  and  the  girl  were  already  waiting,  and,  confiding  his  charge  to  them, 
jumped  up  beside  the  coachman  and  bade  him  drive  away. 


CHAPTER    LV. 

OP  FAMILY  MATTERS,    CARES,    HOPES,   DISAPPOINTMENTS,   AND  SORROWS. 


ALTHOUGH  Mrs.  Nickleby  had  been  made  acquainted  by  her  son  and 
daughter  with  every  circumstance  of  Madeline  Bray's  history  which 
was  known  to  them ;   although  the  responsible  situation  in  which 
Nicholas  stood  had  been  carefully  explained  to  her,   and  she  had  been 

I)repared  even  for  the  possible  contingency  of  having  to  receive  the  young 
ady  in  her  own  house — improbable  as  such  a  result  had  appeared  only  a  few 
minutes  before  it  came  about — still,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  from  the  moment  when 
this  confidence  was  first  reposed  in  her,  late  on  the  previous  evening,  had 
remained  in  an  unsatisfactory  and  profoundly  mystified  state,  from  which 
no  explanations  or  arguments  could  relieve  her,  and  which  every  fresh 
soliloQuy  and  reflection  only  aggravated  more  and  more. 

"  Bless  my  heart,  Kate  ; "  so  the  good  lady  argued  ;  **  if  the  Mr.  Clieerybles 
don't  want  this  young  lady  to  be  married,  why  don't  they  file  a  bill  against 
the  Lord  Chancellor,  make  her  a  chancery  ward,  and  shut  her  up  in  the  Fleet 
prison  for  safety  ? — I  have  read  of  such  things  in  the  newspapers  a  hundred 
times — or,  if  they  are  so  very  fond  of  her  as  Nicholas  says  they  are,  why  don't 
tliey  marry  her  themselves — one  of  them  I  mean  ?  And  even  supposing  they 
don't  want  her  to  be  married,  and  don't  want  to  marry  her  themselves,  why 
in  the  name  of  wonder  should  Nicholas  go  about  the  world  forbidding  people's 
banns?" 

'*  I  don't  think  you  quite  understand,"  said  Kate,  gently. 

**Well  I  am  sure,  Kate,  my  dear,  you're  very  polite!'*  replied  Mrs. 
Nickleby.  **  I  have  been  married  myself  I  hope,  and  I  have  seen  other  people 
married.     Not  understand,  indeed  !  ' 

**  I  know  you  have  had  great  experience,  dear  mamma,"  said  Kate  ;  "  I 
mean,  that  perhaps  you  don  t  quite  understand  all  the  circumstances  in  this 
instance.     We  have  stated  them  awkwardly,  I  dare  say." 

'*  That  I  dare  say  you  have,"  retorted  her  mother,  briskly.  **  Tliat's  very 
likely.  I  am  not  to  be  held  accountable  for  that ;  though,  at  the  same  time, 
as  the  circumstances  speak  for  themselves,  I  shall  take  the  liberty,  my  love,  of 
saying  that  I  do  understand  them,  and  perfectly  well  too  :  whatever  you  and 
Nicholas  may  choose  to  think  to  the  contrary.  Why  is  such  a  great  fuss 
made  because  this  Miss  Magdalen  is  going  to  marry  somebody  who  is  older 
than  herself  ?  Your  poor  papa  was  older  than  I  was — four  years  and  a  half 
older.  Jane  Dibabs — the  Dibabses  lived  in  the  beautiful  little  thatched  white 
house  one  storey  high,  covered  all  over  with  ivy  and  creeping  plants,  with  an 
exquisite  little  porch  with  twining  honeysuckles  and  all  sorts  of  things : 

u  30 


466  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

whoro  the  earwigs  used  to  fall  into  one*s  tea  on  a  summer  evening,  and  always 
fell  upon  their  backs  and  kicked  dreadfully,  and  where  the  frogs  used  to  get 
into  the  rushlight  shades  when  one  stopped  all  night,  and  sit  up  and  look 
through  the  little  holes  like  Christians— Jane  Dib£U)s,  she  married  a  man  who 
was  a  great  deal  older  than  herself,  and  would  marry  him,  notwithstanding  all 
that  could  be  said  to  the  contrary,  and  she  was  so  fond  of  him  that  nothing 
was  ever  equal  to  it.  There  was  no  fuss  made  about  Jane  Dibabs,  and  her 
husband  was  a  most  honourable  and  excellent  man,  and  everybody  spoke  well 
of  him.     Then  why  should  there  be  any  fuss  about  this  Magdalen  ? ' 

**  Her  husband  is  much  older  ;  he  is  not  her  own  choice  ;  his  character  is 
the  very  reverse  of  that  which  you  have  just  described.  Don't  you  see  a 
broad  distinction  between  the  two  cases  ? "  said  Kate. 

To  this  Mrs.  Nickleby  only  replied  that  she  durst  say  she  was  very  stupid, 
indeed  she  had  no  doubt  she  was,  for  her  own  children  almost  as  much  as  told 
her  so  every  day  of  her  life  ;  to  be  sure  she  was  a  little  older  than  they,  and 
perhaps  some  foolish  people  might  think  she  ought  reasonably  to  know  best 
However,  no  doubt  she  was  wrong  ;  of  course  she  was — she  always  was — she 
couldn't  be  right,  indeed — couldn't  be  expected  to  be — so  she  had  better  not 
expose  herself  any  more  ;  and  to  all  Kate's  conciliations  and  concessions  for 
an  hour  ensuing,  the  good  lady  gave  no  other  replies  than — Oh,  certainly— 
why  did  they  ask  her — her  opinion  was  of  no  consequence — it  didn't  matter 
what  she  said — with  many  other  rejoinders  of  the  same  class. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  (expressed,  when  she  had  become  too  resigned  for 
speech,  by  nods  of  the  head,  upliftinffs  of  the  eyes,  and  little  beginnings  of 
groans,  converted  as  they  attracted  attention,  into  short  coughs),  Mrs. 
Nickleby  remained  until  Nicholas  and  Kate  returned  with  the  object  of  their 
solicitude ;  when,  having  by  this  time  asserted  her  own  importance,  and 
becoming,  besides,  interested  in  the  trials  of  one  so  young  and  beautiful,  she 
not  only  displayed  the  utmost  zeal  and  solicitude,  but  took  great  credit  to 
herself  for  recommending  the  course  of  procedure  which  her  son  had  adopted : 
frequently  declaring,  with  an  expressive  look,  that  it  was  very  fortunate 
things  were  as  they  were  ;  and  hinting,  that  but  for  great  encouragement  and 
wisdom  on  her  own  part,  they  never  could  have  been  brought  to  that  pass. 

Not  to  strain  the  question  whether  Mrs.  Nickeby  had  or  had  not  any  great 
hand  in  bringing  matters  about,  it  is  unc^uestionable  that  she  had  strong 
ground  for  exultation.  The  brothers,  on  their  return,  bestowed  such  commend- 
ations on  Nicholas  for  the  part  he  had  taken,  and  evinced  so  much  joy  at  the 
altered  state  of  events,  and  the  recovery  of  their  young  friend  from  trials  so 
great  and  dangers  so  threatening,  that,  as  she  more  than  once  informed  her 
daughter,  she  now  considered  the  fortunes  of  the  family  **  as  good  as  "  made. 
Mr.  Charles  Cheeryble,  indeed,  Mrs.  Nickleby  positively  asserted,  had,  in 
the  first  tranports  of  his  surprise  and  delight,  **a8  good  as  "  said  so.  With- 
out precisely  explaining  what  this  qualification  meant,  she  subsided,  whenever 
slie  mentioned  the  subject,  into  such  a  mysterious  and  important  state,  and 
had  such  visions  of  wealth  and  dignity  in  perspective,  that  (vague  and 
clouded  as  they  were)  she  was,  at  such  times,  almost  as  happy  us  if  she  had 
really  been  permanently  provided  for  on  a  scale  of  great  splendour. 

The  sudden  and  terrible  shock  she  had  received,  combined  with  the  great 
affliction  and  anxiety  of  mind  which  she  had,  for  a  lon^  time,  endured,  proved 
too  much  for  Madeline's  strength.  Recovering  from  the  state  of  stupenictioa 
into  which  the  sudden  death  of  her  father  happily  plunged  her,  she  only 
exchanged  that  condition  for  one  of  dangerous  and  active  illness.  When  the 
delicate  physical  powers  which  have  been  sustained  by  an  unnatural  strain 
upon  the  mental  energies  and  a  resolute  determination  not  to  yield,  at  last 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  467 

give  way,  their  degree  of  prostration  is  usually  proportionate  to  the  strength 
of  the  effort  which  has  previously  upheld  them.  Thus  it  was  that  the  illness 
which  fell  on  Madeline  was  of  no  slight  or  temporary  nature,  but  one  which, 
for  a  time,  threatened  her  reason,  and — scarcely  worse — her  life  itself. 

"Who,  slowly  recovering  from  a  disorder  so  severe  and  dangerous,  could  be 
insensible  to  the  unremitting  attentions  of  such  a  nurse  as  gentle,  tender, 
earnest  Kate?  On  whom  could  the  sweet,  soft  voicej  the  light  step,  the 
delicate  hand,  the  quiet,  cheerful,  noiseless  discharge  of  those  thousand  little 
offices  of  kindness  and  relief  which  we  feel  so  deeply  when  we  are  ill,  and 
forget  so  lightly  when  we  are  well — on  whom  could  they  make  so  deep  an 
impression  as  on  a  young  heart  stored  with  every  pure  and  true  affection  that 
women  cherish  ;  almost  a  stranger  to  the  endearments  and  devotion  of  its  own 
sex,  save  as  it  learnt  them  from  itself ;  and  rendered,  by  calamity  and  suffer- 
ing,  keenly  susceptible  of  the  sympathy  so  long  unknown  and  so  long  sought 
in  vain?  What  wonder,  that  days  became  years  in  knitting  them  to- 
gether ?  What  wonder,  if  with  every  hour  of  returning  health  there  came 
some  stronger  and  sweeter  recognition  of  the  praises  which  Kate,  when  they 
recalled  old  scenes — they  seemed  old  now,  and  to  have  been  acted  years  ago — 
would  lavish  on  her  brother  !  Where  would  have  been  the  wonder,  even,  if 
those  praises  had  found  a  quick  response  in  the  breast  of  Madeline,  and  if, 
with  the  image  of  Nicholas  so  constantly  recurring  in  the  features  of  his 
sister  that  she  could  scarcely  separate  the  two,  she  had  sometimes  found  it 
equally  difficult  to  assign  to  each  the  feelings  they  had  first  inspired,  and  had 
imperceptibly  mingled  with  her  gratitude  to  Nicholas  some  of  that  warmer 
feeling  which  Bhe  had  assigned  to  Kate  i 

**My  dear,"  Mrs.  Nickleby  would  say,  coming  into  the  room  with  an 
elaborate  caution,  calculated  to  discompose  the  nerves  of  an  invalid  rather  more 
than  the  entry  of  a  horse-soldier  at  full  gallop,  **  how  do  you  find  yourself 
to-night  ?    I  hope  you  are  better." 

"Almost  well,  mamma,"  Kate  would  reply,  laying  down  her  work,  and 
taking  Madeline's  hand  in  hers. 

"  Kate  ! "  Mrs.  Nickleby  would  say,  reprovingly,  "  don't  talk  so  loud  "  (the 
worthy  lady  herself  talking  in  a  whisper  that  would  have  made  the  blood  of 
the  stoutest  man  run  cold  in  his  veins). 

Kate  would  take  this  reproof  very  quietly,  and  Mrs.  Nickleby,  making  every 
board  creak,  and  every  thread  rustle  as  she  moved  stealthily  about,  would  add — 

"My  son  Nicholas  has  just  come  home,  and  I  have  come,  according  to 
custom,  my  dear,  to  know,  from  your  own  lips,  exactly  how  you  are  ;  for  he 
won't  take  my  account,  and  never  will." 

"He  is  later  than  usual  to-night,"  perhaps  Madeline  would  reply. 
'*  Nearly  half-an-hour." 

"  Well,  I  -never  saw  such  people  in  all  ray  life  as  you  are  for  time,  up 
here  ! "  Mrs.  Nickleby  would  exclaim  in  great  astonLshment ;  "  I  declare  I 
never  did !  I  had  not  the  least  idea  that  Nicholas  was  after  his  time — 
not  the  smallest.  Mr.  Nickleby  used  to  say — your  poor  papa  I  am  speaking 
of,  Kate,  my  dear — used  to  say  that  appetite  was  the  best  clock  in  the  world, 
but  you  have  no  appetite,  my  dear  Miss  Bray  ;  I  wish  you  had  ;  and  upon  my 
word  I  really  think  you  ought  to  take  something  that  would  give  you  one — I 
am  sure  I  don't  know,  but  I  have  heard  that  two  or  three  dozen  native  lobsters 
give  an  appetite,  though  that  comes  to  the  same  thing  after  all,  for  I  suppose 
you .  must  have  an  appetite  before  you  can  take  'em.  If  I  said  lobsters,  I 
meant  oysters,  but  of  course  it's  all  the  same,  though  really  how  you  came  to 
know  about  Nicholas " 

"  Wo  happened  to  be  just  talking  about  him,  mamma ;  that  was  it." 


468  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  Yon  never  seem  to  me  to  be  talking  about  anything  else,  Kate,  and  npon 
my  word  I  am  quite  surprised  at  your  being  so  very  thoughtless.  You  can 
find  subjects  enough  to  talk  about,  sometimes,  and  when  you  know  how 
important  it  is  to  keep  up  Miss  Bray's  spirits,  and  interest  her,  and  all  that, 
it  really  is  quite  extraordinary  to  me  what  can  induce  you  to  keep  on  prose, 
prose,  prose,  din,  din,  din,  everlastingly,  upon  the  same  theme.  You  are  a 
very  kind  nurse,  Kate',  and  a  very  good  one,  and  I  know  you  mean  very  well ; 
but  I  will  say  this — that  if  it  wasn  t  for  me,  I  really  don't  know  what  would 
become  of  Miss  Bray's  spirits,  and  so  I  tell  the  doctor  every  day.  He 
says  he  wonders  how  I  sustain  my  own,  and  I  am  sure  I  very  often  wonder 
myself  how  I  can  contrive  to  keep  up  as  I  do.  Of  course  it's  an  exertion,  but 
still,  when  I  know  how  much  depends  upon  me  in  this  house,  I  am  obliged 
to  make  it.  There's  nothing  praiseworthy  in  that,  but  it's  necessary,  and 
I  do  it." 

With  that,  Mrs.  Nickleby  would  draw  up  a  chair,  and  for  some  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  run  through  a  great  variety  of  distracting  topics,  in  the 
most  distracting  manner  possible :  tearing  herself  away,  at  length,  on  the  plea 
that  she  must  now  go  and  amuse  Nicholas  while  he  took  his  supper.  After  a 
preliminary  raising  of  his  spirits  with  the  information  that  she  considered 
the  patient  decidedly  worse,  she  would  further  cheer  him  up  by  relating 
how  dull,  listless,  and  low-spirited  Miss  Bray  was,  because  Kate  foolishly 
talked  about  nothing  else  but  him  and  family  matters.  When  she  had 
made  Nicholas  thoroughly  comfortable  with  these  and  other  inspiriting 
remarks,  she  would  discourse,  at  length,  on  the  arduous  duties  sue  had 
performed  that  day ;  and,  sometimes,  be  moved  to  tears  in  wondering  how, 
if  anything  were  to  happen  to  herself,  the  family  would  ever  get  on  without 
her. 

At  other  times,  when  Nicholas  came  home  at  night,  he  would  be  accom- 
panied by  Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble,  who  was  commissioned  by  the  brothers  to 
inquire  how  Madeline  was  that  evening.  On  such  occasions  (and  they  were 
of  very  frequent  occurrence),  Mrs.  Nickleby  deemed  it  of  particular  im- 
portance that  she  should  have  her  wits  about  her  ;  for,  from  certain  signs  and 
tokens  which  had  attracted  her  attention,  she  shrewdly  suspected  that  Mr. 
Frank,  interested  as  his  uncles  were  in  Madeline,  came  quite  as  much  to  see 
Kate  as  to  inquire  after  her  ;  the  more  especially  as  the  brothers  were  in 
constant  communication  with  the  medical  man,  came  backwards  and  forwards 
very  frequently  themselves,  and  received  a  full  report  from  Nicholas  every 
morning.  These  were  proud  times  for  Mrs.  Nickleby ;  never  was  anybody 
half  so  discreet  and  sage  as  she,  or  half  so  mysterious  withal  ;  and  never  were 
there  such  cunning  generalship,  and  such  unfathomable  designs,  as  she 
brought  to  bear  upon  Mr.  Frank,  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  whether  her 
suspicions  were  well  founded  :  and  if  so,  of  tantalising  him  into  taking  her 
into  his  confidence  and  throwing  himself  upon  her  merciful  consideration. 
Extensive  was  the  artillery,  heavy  and  light,  which  Mrs.  Nickleby  brought 
into  play  for  the  furtherance  of  these  great  schemes  :  various  and  opposite 
were  the  means  she  employed  to  bring  about  the  end  she  had  in  view.  At 
one  time,  she  was  all  cordiality  and  ease  ;  at  another,  all  stiffness  and 
frigidity.  Now,  she  would  seem  to  open  her  whole  heart  to  her  unhappy 
victim  ;  the  next  time  they  met,  she  would  receive  him  with  the  most 
distant  and  studious  reserve,  as  if  a  new  light  had  broken  in  upon  her,  and, 
guessing  his  intentions,  she  had  resolved  to  nip  them  in  the  bud  ;  as  if  she 
felt  it  her  bounden  duty  to  act  with  Spartan  firmness,  and  at  once  and  for 
ever  to  discourage  hopes  which  never  could  be  realised.  At  other  times, 
when  Nicholas  was  not  there  to  overhear,  and  Kate  was  upstairs  bikdly 


NICHOLAS  mCKLEBY..  469 

tending  her  sick  friend,  the  worthy  lady  would  throw  out  dark  hints  of 
an  intention  to  send  her  daughter  to  France  for  three  or  four  years,  or  to 
Scotland,  for  the  improvement  of  her  health  impaired  by  her  late  fatigues, 
or  to  America  on  a  visit,  or  anywhere  that  threatened  a  long  and  tedious 
separation.  Nay,  she  even  went  so  far  as  to  hint,  obscurely,  at  an  attach- 
ment entertained  for  her  daughter  by  the  son  of  an  old  neighbour  of  theirs, 
one  Horatio  Peltirogus  (a  young  gentleman  who  might  have  been,  at  that  time, 
four  years  old,  or  thereabouts),  and  to  represent  it,  indeed,  as  almost  a  settled 
thing  between  the  families — only  waiting  for  her  daughter's  final  decision,  to 
come  off  with  the  sanction  of  the  church,  and  to  the  unspeakable  happiness 
and  content  of  all  parties. 

It  was  in  the  full  pride  and  glory  of  having  sprung  this  last  mine  one 
night,  with  extraordinary  success,  that  Mrs.  Nickleby  took  the  opportunity 
of  being  left  alone  with  her  son  before  retiring  to  rest,  to  sound  him  on  the 
subject  which  so  occupied  her  thoughts :  not  doubting  that  they  could  have 
but  one  opinion  respecting  it.  To  this  end,  she  approached  the  question  with 
divers  laudatory  and  appropriate  remarks  touching  the  general  amiability  of 
Mr.  Frank  Cheeryble. 

**  You  are  quite  right,  mother,"  said  Nicholas,  "  quite  right.  He  is  a  fine 
fellow." 

**  Grood-looking,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby. 

"  Decidedly  good-looking,"  answered  Nicholas. 

"  What  may  you  call  his  nose,  now,  my  dear  ? "  pursued  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
wishing  to  interest  Nicholas  in  the  subject  to  the  utmost. 

"  Call  it  % "  repeated  Nicholas. 

"Ah  !"  returned  his  mother,  **what  style  of  nose— what  order  of  archi- 
tecture, if  one  may  say  so.  I  am  not  very  learned  in  noses.  Do  you  call  it  a 
Roman  or  a  Grecian  ? " 

"Upon  my  word,  mother,"  said  Nicholas,  laughing,  "as  well  as  I  re- 
member, I  should  call  it  a  kind  of  Composite,  or  mixed  nose.  But  I  have  no 
very  strong  recollection  on  the  subject.  If  it  will  afford  you  any  gratification, 
1*11  observe  it  more  closely,  and  let  you  know." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  an  earnest 
look. 

"  Very  well,"  returned  Nicholas.     "  I  will." 

Nicholas  returned  to  the  perusal  of  the  book  he  had  been  reading,  when  the 
dialogue  had  gone  thus  far.  Mrs.  Nickleby,  after  stopping  a  little  for  con- 
sideration, resumed — 

"  He  is  very  much  attached  to  you,  Nicholas,  my  dear." 

Nicholas  laughingly  said,  as  he  closed  his  book,  that  he  was  glad  to  hear  it, 
and  observed  tnat  his  mother  seemed  deep  in  their  new  friend's  confidence 
already. 

"  Hem  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nickleby.  "  I  don't  know  about  that,  my  dear,  but  I 
think  it  is  very  necessary  that  somebody  should  be  in  his  confidence — highly 
necessary." 

Elated  by  a  look  of  curiosity  from  her  son,  and  the  consciousness  of 
possessing  a  great  secret,  all  to  herself,  Mrs.  Nickleby  went  on  with  great 
animation — 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Nicholas,  how  you  can  have  failed  to  notice  it 
is  to  me  quite  extraordinary ;  though  I  don't  know  why  I  should  say  that 
either,  because,  of  course,  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  to  a  certain  extent,  there  is  a 
great  deal  in  this  sort  of  thing,  especially  in  this  early  stage,  which,,  however 
clear  it  may  be  to  females,  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  be  so  evident  to  men. 
I  don't  say  that  I  have  any  particular  penetration  in  such  matters.     I  may 


470  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

have  ;  those  about  me  should  know  best  about  that,  and  perhaps  do  know. 
Upon  that  point  I  shall  express  no  opinion — it  wouldn't  become  me  to  do  so 
— it's  quite  out  of  the  question — quite." 

Nicholas  snuffed  the  candles,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  assumed  a  look  of  patient  suffering  and  melancholy 
resignation. 

"  I  think  it  my  duty,  Nicholas,  my  dear,"  resumed  his  mother,  "to  tell 
you  what  I  know :  not  only  because  you  have  a  right  to  know  it  too,  and  to 
know  everything  that  happens  in  this  family,  but  because  you  have  it  in  your 
power  to  promote  and  assist  the  thing  very  much  ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that 
the  sooner  one  can  come  to  a  clear  understanding  on  such  subjects,  it  is 
always  better,  every  way.  There  are  a  great  many  things  you  might  do ; 
such  as  taking  a  walk  in  the  garden  sometimes,  or  sitting  upstairs  in  your  own 
room  for  a  little  while,  or  making  believe  to  fall  asleep  occasionally,  or  pre- 
tending that  you  recollected  some  business,  and  going  out  for  an  hour  or  so, 
and  taking  Mr.  Smike  with  you.  These  seem  very  slight  things,  and  I  dare 
say  you  will  be  amused  at  my  making  them  of  so  much  importance  ;  at  the 
same  time,  my  dear,  I  can  assure  you  (and  you'll  find  this  out,  Nicholas,  for 
yourself  lOne  of  these  days,  if  you  ever  fall  in  love  with  anybody  ;  as  I  trust 
and  hope  you  will,  provided  she  is  respectable  and  well-conducted,  and  of 
course  you'd  never  dream  of  falling  in  love  with  anybody  who  was  not),  I  say, 
I  can  assure  you  that  a  great  deal  more  depends  upon  these  little  things  than 
you  would  suppose  possible.  If  your  poor  papa  was  alive,  he  would  tell  you 
now  much  depended  on  the  parties  being  left  alone.  Of  course  you  are  not  to 
go  out  of  the  room  as  if  you  meant  it  and  did  it  on  purpose,  but  as  if  it  was 
quite  an  accident,  and  to  come  back  again  in  the  same  way.  If  you  cough  in 
the  passage  before  you  open  the  door,  or  whistle  carelessly,  or  hum  a  tune,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  to  let  them  know  you're  coming,  it's  always  better ; 
because,  of  course,  though  it's  not  only  natural,  but  perfectly  correct  and 
proper  under  the  circumstances,  still  it  is  very  confusing  if  you  interrupt 
young  people  when  they  are — when  they  are  sitting  on  the  sofa,  and — and  all 
that  sort  of  thing ;  which  is  very  nonsensical,  perhaps,  but  still  they  will 
do  it." 

The  profound  astonishment  with  which  her  son  regarded  her  during  this 
long  address,  gradually  increasing  as  it  approached  its  climax,  in  no  way  dis- 
composed Mrs.  Nickleby,  but  rather  exalted  her  opinion  of  her  own  cleverness  ; 
therefore,  merely  stopping  to  remark,  with  much  complacency,  that  she  had 
fully  expected  him  to  oe  surprised,  she  entered  on  a  vast  quantity  of  circum- 
stantial  evidence  of  a  particularly  incoherent  and  perplexing  kind  ;  the  upshot 
of  which  was,  to  establish  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt,  that  Mr.  Frank 
Cheeryble  had  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  Kate. 

*  *  With  whom  ? "  cried  Nicholas. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  repeated,  with  Kate. 

*•  What !  (mr  Kate — my  sister  ! " 

"Lord,  Nicholas  !"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "whose  Kate  should  it  be, 
if  not  ours  ;  or  what  should  I  care  about  it,  or  take  any  interest  in  it  for,  if  it 
was  anybody  but  your  sister  % " 

"  Dear  mother,"  said  Nicholas,   "  surely  it  can't  be  !  " 

"Very  good,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  great  confidence. 
"Wait  and  see." 

Nicholas  had  never,  until  that  moment,  bestowed  a  thought  upon  the 
remote  possibility  of  such  an  occurrence  as  that  which  was  now  communicated 
to  him  ;  for,  besides  that  he  had  been  much  from  home  of  late,  and  closely 
occupied  with  other  matters,  his  own  jealous  fears  had  prompted  the  suspicion 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV.  471 

that  some  secret  interest  in  Madeline,  akin  to  that  which  he  felt  himself, 
occasioned  those  visits  of  Frank  Cheeryble  which  had  recently  become  so 
frequent.  Even  now,  although  he  knew  that  the  observation  of  an  anxious 
mother  was  much  more  likely  to  be  correct  in  such  a  case  than  his  own,  and 
although  she  reminded  him  of  many  little  circumstances  which,  taken 
together,  were  certainly  susceptible  of  the  construction  she  triumphantly  put 
upon  them,  he  was  not  quite  convinced  but  that  they  arose  from  mere  good- 
natured,  thoughtless  gallantry,  which  would  have  dictated  the  same  conduct 
towards  any  other  ^rl  who  was  young  and  pleasing— at  all  events,  he  hoped 
so,  and  therefore  tried  to  believe  it. 

**  I  am  very  much  disturbed  by  what  you  tell  me,"  said  Nicholas,  after  a 
little  reflection,  **  though  I  yet  hope  you  may  be  mistaken." 

**I  don't  understand  why  you  should  hope  so,"  said  Mrs.  Nicklcby,  **I 
confess  ;  but  you  may  depend  upon  it  I  am  not." 

**  What  of  Kate  ? "  inquired  Nicholas. 

**  Why,  that,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "is  just  the  point  upon 
which  I  am  not  yet  satisfied.  During  this  sickness  she  has  been  constantly 
at  Madeline's  bedside — never  were  two  people  so  fond  of  each  other  as  they 
have  grown — and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Nicholas,  I  have  rather  kept  her  away 
now  and  then,  because  I  think  it's  a  good  plan,  and  urges  a  young  man  on. 
He  doesn't  get  too  sure,  you  know." 

She  said  this  with  such  a  mingling  of  high  delight  and  self-congrntulation, 
that  it  was  inexpressibly  painful  to  Nicholas  to  dash  her  hopes  ;  but  he  felt 
that  there  was  only  one  honourable  course  before  him,  and  that  he  was  bound 
to  take  it. 

"Dear  mother,"  he  said,  kindly,  "don't  you  see  that  if  there  were  really 
any  serious  inclination  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Frank  towards  Kate,  and  we 
suffered  ourselves  for  a  moment  to  encourage  it,  we  should  be  acting  a  most 
dishonourable  and  ungrateful  part  ?  I  ask  you  if  you  don't  see  it ;  but  I  need 
not  say  that  I  know  you  don't,  or  you  would  have  been  more  strictly  on 
your  guard.      Let  me  explain  my  meaning  to  you — remember  how  poor 


we  are." 


Mrs.  Nickleby  shook  her  head,  and  said,  through  her  tears,  that  poverty 
was  not  a  crime. 

**No,"  said  Nicholas,  "and  for  that  reason  poverty  should  engender  an 
honest  pride,  that  it  may  not  lead  and  tempt  us  to  unworthy  actions,  and 
that  we  may  preserve  the  self-respect  which  a  hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of 
water  may  maintain — and  does  better  in  maintaining  than  a  monarch  his. 
Think  what  we  owe  to  these  two  brothers  ;  remember  what  they  have  done, 
and  what  they  do  every  day  for  us  with  a  generosity  and  delicacy  for  which 
the  devotion  of  our  whole  lives  would  be  a  most  imperfect  and  inadequate 
return.  What  kind  of  return  would  that  be  which  would  be  comprised  in 
our  permitting  their  nephew,  their  only  relative,  whom  they  regard  as  a  son, 
and  for  whom  it  would  be  mere  childishness  to  suppose  they  have  not  formed 
plans  suitably  adapted  to  the  education  he  has  had,  and  the  fortune  he  will 
inherit — in  our  permitting  him  to  marry  a  portionless  girl,  so  closely 
connected  with  us  that  the  irresistible  inference  must  be  that  he  was  en- 
trapped by  a  plot ;  that  it  was  a  deliberate  scheme,  and  a  speculation  amongst 
us  three.  Bring  the  matter  clearly  before  yourself,  mother.  Now,  how 
would  you  feel  if  they  were  married,  and  the  brothers,  coming  here  on  one  of 
those  kind  errands  which  bring  them  here  so  often,  you  had  to  break  out  to 
them  the  truth  ?  Would  you  be  at  ease,  and  feel  that  you  had  played  an  open 
partr* 


472  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Poor  Mrs.  Nickleby,  crying  more  and  more,  murmured  that  of  course  Mr. 
Frank  would  ask  the  consent  of  his  uncles  first. 

**  ^Vhy,  to  be  sure,  that  would  place  him  in  a  better  situation  with  them," 
said  Nicholas,  '*  but  we  would  still  be  open  to  the  same  suspicions  ;  the  dis- 
tance between  us  would  still  be  as  great ;  the  advantages  to  be  gained  would 
still  be  as  manifest  as  now.  We  may  be  reckoning  without  our  host  in  all  this," 
he  added  more  cheerfully,  ''and  I  trust,  and  almost  believe  we  are.  If  it  be 
otherwise,  I  have  that  confidence  in  Kate  that  I  know  she  will  feel  as  I  do— 
and  in  you,  dear  mother,  to  be  assured  that  after  a  little  consideration  yoa 
will  do  the  same." 

After  many  more  representations  and  entreaties,  Nicholas  obtained  a  pro- 
mise from  Mrs.  Nickleby  that  she  would  try  all  she  could  to  think  as  he  aid ; 
and  that  if  Mr.  Frank  persevered  in  his  attentions  she  would  endeavour  to 
discourage  them,  or,  at  the  least,  would  render  him  no  countenance  or 
assistance.  He  determined  to  forbear  mentioning  the  subject  to  Kate  until 
he  was  quite  convinced  that  there  existed  a  real  necessity  for  his  doing  so ; 
and  resolved  to  assure  himself  as  well  as  he  could,  by  close  personal  observa- 
tion, of  the  exact  position  of  affairs.  This  was  a  very  ¥rise  resolution,  but  he 
was  prevented  from  putting  it  in  practice  by  a  new  source  of  anxiety  and 
uneasiness. 

Smike  became  alarmingly  ill ;  so  reduced  and  exhausted  that  he  could 
scarcely  move  from  room  to  room  without  assistance ;  and  so  worn  and 
emaciated  that  it  was  painful  to  look  upon  him.  Nicholas  was  warned,  by  the 
same  medical  authority  to  whom  he  had  at  first  appealed,  that  the  last  chance 
and  hope  of  his  life  depended  on  his  being  instantly  removed  from  London. 
That  part  of  Devonshire  in  which  Nicholas  had  been  himself  bred  was  named 
as  the  most  favourable  spot ;  but  this  advice  was  cautiously  coupled  with  the 
information,  that  whoever  accompanied  him  thither  must  be  prepared  for  the 
worst ;  for  every  token  of  rapid  consumption  had  appeared,  and  he  might 
never  return  alive. 

The  kind  brothers,  who  were  acquainted  with  the  poor  creature's  sad 
history,  despatched  old  Tim  to  be  present  at  this  consultation.  That  same 
morning  Nicholas  was  summoned  by  brother  Charles  into  his  private  room, 
and  thus  addressed — 

"My  dear  sir,  no  time  must  be  lost.  This  lad  shall  not  die,  if  such  human 
means  as  we  can  use  can  save  his  life  ;  neither  shall  he  die  alone,  and  in  a 
strange  place.  Remove  him  to-morrow  morning,  see  that  he  has  every  com- 
fort that  his  situation  requires,  and  don't  leave  him — don't  leave  him,  my 
dear  sir,  until  you  know  that  there  is  no  longer  any  immediate  danger.  It 
would  be  hard  indeed  to  part  you  now — no,  no,  no  !  Tim  shall  wait  upon 
you  to-night,  sir ;  Tim  shall  wait  upon  you  to-night  with  a  parting  word  or 
two.  Brother  Ned,  my  dear  fellow,  Mr.  Nickleby  waits  to  shake  hands  and 
say  good-bye  ;  Mr.  Nickleby  won't  be  lon^  gone  ;  this  poor  chap  will  soon  get 
better — very  soon  get  better — and  he'll  find  out  some  nice  homely  country 
people  to  leave  him  with,  and  will  go  backwards  and  forwards  sometimes— 
backwards  and  forwards  you  know,  Ned — and  there's  no  cause  to  be  down- 
hearted, for  he'll  very  soon  get  better,  very  soon,  won't  he — won*t  he,  Ned  ?" 

What  Tim  Linkinwater  said,  or  what  he  brought  with  him  that  night, 
need  not  to  be  told.  Next  morning  Nicholas  and  his  feeble  companion  began 
their  journey. 

And  who  but  one — and  that  one  he  who,  but  for  those  who  crowded  ronnd 
him  then,  had  never  met  a  look  of  kindness,  or  known  a  word  of  pity — could 
tell  what  agony  of  mind,  what  blighted  thoughts,  what  unavailing  sorrow 
were  involved  in  that  sad  parting  1 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  473 

"  See,"  cried  Nicholas,  eagerly,  as  he  looked  from  the  coach  window,  "  tliey 
are  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  still  !  And  now  there's  Kate — poor  Kate,  whom 
you  said  you  couldn't  bear  to  say  good-bye  to — waving  her  handkercliief. 
Don't  go  without  one  gesture  of  farewell  to  Kate  ! " 

**I  cannot  make  it ! "  cried  his  trembling  companion,  falling  back  in  his 
seat  and  covering  his  eyes.     **  Do  you  see  her  now  ?    Is  she  there  still  ? " 

** Yes,  yes!"  said  Nicholas,  earnestly.  "There!  She  waves  her  hand 
a^in  !  I  have  answered  it  for  you — and  now  they  arc  out  of  sight.  Do  not 
give  way  so  bitterly,  dear  friend,  don't.     You  will  meet  them  all  again." 

He  wnom  he  thus  encouraged  raised  his  withered  bauds  and  clasped  them 
fervently  together. 

**  In  heaven — I  humbly  pray  to  God — in  heaven  ! " 

It  sounded  like  the  prayer  of  a  broken  heart. 


CHAPTER    LVI. 

RALPH  NICKLEBY,  BAFFLED  RY  HIS  NEPHEW  IN  HIS  LATE  DESIGN,  HATCIIICS 
A  SCHEME  OF  IIKTALIATION  WHICH  ACCIDENT  SUGGESTS  TO  HIM,  AND 
TAKES  INTO   HIS  COUNSELS  A  TRIED  AUXILIARY. 

THE  course  which  these  adventures  shape  out  for  themselves,  and  imper- 
atively call  upon  the  historian  to  observe,  now  demands  that  they 
should  revert  to  the  point  they  attained  previous  to  the  commencement 
of  the  last  chapter,  when  Ralph  Nickleby  and  Arthur  Gride  were  left  together 
in  the  house  where  death  had  so  suddenly  reared  his  dark  and  heavy  banner. 

With  clenched  hands,  and  teeth  gi'ouml  together  so  firm  and  tight  that  no 
locking  of  the  jaws  could  have  fixed  and  riveted  them  more  securely,  Ralph 
stood,  for  some  minutes,  in  the  attitude  in  which  he  had  last  addressed  his 
nephew :  breathing  heavily,  but  as  rigid  and  motionless  iu  other  respects  as  if 
he  had  been  a  brazen  statue.  After  a  time,  he  began,  by  slow  degrees,  as  a  man 
rousins  himself  from  a  heavy  slumber,  to  relax.  For  a  moment  he  shook  his 
clasped  fist  towards  the  door  by  which  Nicholas  had  disappeared  :  and  then 
thrusting  it  into  his  breast,  as  if  to  repress  by  force  even  this  show  of  passion, 
turned  round  and  confronted  the  less  hardy  usurer,  who  had  not  yet  risen 
from  the  ground. 

The  cowering  wretch,  who  still  shook  in  every  limb,  and  whose  few  grey 
hairs  trembled  and  quivered  on  his  head  with  abject  dismay,  tottered  to  his 
feet  as  he  met  Ralph's  eye,  and,  shielding  his  face  with  both  hands,  protested, 
while  he  crept  towards  the  door,  that  it  was  no  fault  of  his. 

**  Who  said  it  was,  man  ? "  returned  Ralph,  in  a  suppressed  voice.  **  Who 
said  it  was  ? " 

**  You  looked  as  if  you  thought  I  was  to  blame,"  said  Gride,  timidly. 

**  Pshaw  !  "  Ralph  muttered,  forcing  a  laugh.  "  I  blame  him  for  not  living 
an  hour  longer — one  hour  longer  would  have  been  long  enough — I  blame  no 
one  else." 

**  N — n — no  one  else  ? "  said  Gride. 

"Not  for  this  mischance,"  replied  Ralph.  "I  have  an  old  score  to  clear 
with  that — that  young  fellow  who  has  carried  off  your  mistress  ;  but  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  his  blustering  just  now,  for  we  should  soon  have  been  quit 
of  him  but  for  this  cursed  accident." 

There  was  something  so  unnatural  in  the  calmness  with  which  Ralph 
Nickleby  spoke,  when  coupled  with  the  face,  the  expression  of  the  features,  to 


474  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

which  everv  nerve  and  muscle,  as  it  twitched  and  throbbed  with  a  spasm 
whose  workings  no  effort  could  conceal,  gave,  every  instant,  some  new  and 
frightful  aspect — there  was  something  so  unnatural  and  ghastly  in  the 
contrast  between  his  harsli,  slow,  st^y  voice  (only  altered  by  a  certain 
halting  of  the  breath,  which  made  him  pause  between  almost  every  word  like  a 
drunken  man  bent  upon  speaking  plainly),  and  these  evidences  of  the  most 
intense  and  violent  passions,  and  the  struggle  he  made  to  keep  them  under— 
that  if  the  dead  body  which  lav  above  had  stood,  instead  of  nim,  before  the 
cowering  Gride,  it  could  scarcely  have  presented  a  spectacle  which  would  have 
terrifiod  him  more. 

"  The  coach,"  said  Ralph,  after  a  time,  during  which  he  had  struggled  like 
Bouio  strong  man  against  a  fit.     **  We  came  in  a  coach.     Is  it — waiting  ? " 

Gride  gladly  availed  himself  of  the  pretext  for  going  to  the  window  to 
sec.  Ralph,  keeping  his  face  steadily  the  other  way,  tore  at  his  shirt 
with  the  hand  whicn  he  had  thrust  into  his  breast,  and  muttered  in  s 
hoarse  whisper — 

•'  Ten  thousand  pounds  1  He  said  ten  thousand  1  The  precise  sum  paid  in 
but  yesterday  for  tne  two  mortgages,  and  which  would  have  gone  out  again, 
at  heavy  interest,  to-morrow.  If  that  house  has  failed,  and  he  the  first  to 
bring  the  news  1 — Is  the  coach  there  ? " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Gride,  startled  by  the  fierce  tone  of  the  inquiry.  ''It's 
here.     Dear,  dear,  what  a  fiery  man  you  are  !  " 

**  Come  here,"  said  Ralph,  beckoning  to  him.  *'  We  mustn't  make  a  show 
of  being  disturbed.     We'll  go  down  arm-in-arm." 

"  But  you  pinch  me  black  and  blue,"  urged  Gride. 

Ralph  let  him  go,  impatiently,  and  descending  the  stairs  with  his  usual 
firm  and  heavy  tread,  got  into  the  coach.  Arthur  Gride  followed.  After 
looking  doubtfully  at  Ralph  when  the  man  asked  where  he  was  to  drive, 
and  finding  that  he  remained  silent,  and  expressed  no  wish  upon  the  subject, 
Arthur  mentioned  his  own  house,  and  thither  they  proceeded. 

On  their  way  Ralph  sat  in  the  furthest  corner  with  folded  arms,  and 
uttered  not  a  word.  With  his  chin  sunk  upon  his  breast,  and  his  downcast 
eyes  quite  hidden  by  the  contraction  of  his  knotted  brows,  he  might  have 
been  asleep  for  any  sign  of  consciousness  he  gave,  until  the  coach  stopped, 
when  he  raised  his  head,  and,  glancing  through  the  window,  inquired  what 
place  that  was. 

"My  house,"  answered  the  disconsolate  Gride,  affected  perhaps  by  its 
loneliness.     "Oh,  dear  1  my  house." 

" True,"  said  Ralph.  "I  have  not  observed  the  way  we  came.  I  should 
like  a  glass  of  water.     You  have  that  in  the  house,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  You  shall  have  a  glass  of— of  anything  you  like,"  answered  Gride,  with  a 
groan.     "  It's  no  use  knocking,  coachman.     Ring  the  bell ! " 

The  man  rang,  and  rang,  and  rang  again  ;  then  knocked  until  the  street 
re-echoed  with  the  sounds  ;  then  listened  at  the  keyhole  of  the  door. 
Nobody  came.     The  house  was  silent  as  the  grave. 

"  How's  this  ? "  said  Ralph,  impatiently. 

"  Peg  is  so  very  deaf,"  answered  Gride,  with  a  look  of  anxiety  and  alarm. 
"  Oh,  dear  1    Ring  again,  coachman.     She  sees  the  bell." 

Again  the  man  rang  and  knocked,  and  knocked  and  rang  again.  Some  of 
the  neighbours  threw  up  their  windows,  and  called  across  the  street  to  each 
other  that  old  Gride's  housekeeper  must  have  dropped  down  dead.  Otheri 
collected  round  the  coach,  and  gave  vent  to  various  surmises  ;  some  held  that 
she  had  fallen  asleep  ;  some  that  she  had  burnt  herself  to  death  ;  some  that 
she  had  got  drunk ;  and  one  very  fat  man  that  she  had  seen  Bomething  to  eati 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  475 

which  had  frightened  her  so  much  (not  heing  used  to  it)  that  she  had  fallen 
into  a  fit.  This  last  suggestion  particular^  delighted  the  bystanders,  who 
cheered  it  rather  uproariously,  and  were,  with  some  difficulty,  deterred  from 
dropping  down  the  area  and  breaking  open  the  kitchen  door  to  ascertain  the 
fact.  Nor  was  this  alL  Rumours  having  gone  abroad  that  Arthur  was  to  be 
married  that  morning,  very  particular  inquiries  were  made  after  the  bride, 
who  was  held  by  the  majority  to  be  disguised  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Ralph 
Nickleby,  which  gave  rise  to  much  jocose  indignation  at  the  public  appear- 
ance of  a  bride  in  boots  and  pantaloons,  and  called  forth  a  great  many  hoots 
and  groans.  At  length  the  two  money-lenders  obtained  shelter  in  a  house 
next  door,  and,  being  accommodated  with  a  ladder,  clambered  over  the  wall 
of  the  back-yard,  which  was  not  a  high  one,  and  descended  in  safety  on  the 
other  side. 

**  I  am  almost  afraid  to  go  in,  I  declare,"  said  Arthur,  turning  to  Ralph, 
when  they  were  alone.  "  Suppose  she  should  be  murdered — lying  with  her 
brains  knocked  out  by  a  poker — eh  ?  " 

"Suppose  she  were,"  said  Ralph.  **  I  tell  you,  I  wish  such  things  were 
more  common  than  they  are,  and  more  easily  done.  You  may  stare  and 
shiver — I  do  1 " 

He  applied  himself  to  a  pump  in  the  yard ;  and,  having  taken  a  deep 
draught  of  water  and  flung  a  quantity  on  his  head  and  face,  regained  his 
accustomed  manner  and  led  the  way  into  the  house  ;  Gride  following  close  at 
his  heels. 

It  was  the  same  dark  place  as  ever ;  every  room  dismal  and  silent  as  it 
was  wont  to  be,  and  every  ghostly  article  of  furniture  in  its  customary  place. 
The  iron  heart  of  the  grim  old  clock,  undisturbed  by  all  the  noise  with- 
out, still  beat  heavily  within  its  dusty  case ;  the  tottering  presses  slunk 
from  the  sight,  as  usual,  in  their  melancholy  corners ;  the  echoes  of  foot- 
steps returned  the  same  dreary  sound  ;  the  long-legged  spider  paused  in  his 
nimble  run,  and,  scared  by  the  sight  of  men  in  that  his  dull  domain,  hung 
motionless  on  the  wall,  counterfeiting  death  until  they  should  have  passed 
him  by. 

From  cellar  to  garret  went  the  two  usurers,  opening  every  creaking  door 
and  looking  into  every  deserted  room.  But  no  Peg  was  there.  At  last  they 
sat  them  down  in  the  apartment  which  Arthur  Gride  usually  inhabited,  to 
rest  after  their  search. 

"The  hag  is  out,  on  some  preparation  for  your  wedding  festivities,  I 
suppose,"  said  Ralph,  preparing  to  depart  "See  here  1  I  destroy  the  bond  ; 
we  shall  never  need  it  now." 

Gride,  who  had  been  peering  narrowly  about  the  room,  fell,  at  that 
momenl^  upon  his  knees  before  a  large  chest,  and  uttered  a  terrible  yell. 

*  •  How  now  ? "  said  Ralph,  looking  sternly  round. 

"  Robbed  !  robbed  ! "  screamed  Arthur  Gride. 

"Robbed!    Of  money?" 

"  No,  no,  no.     Worse  !    Far  worse  !  " 

"  Of  what  then  ? "  demanded  Ralph. 

"  Worse  than  money,  worse  than  money  1 "  cried  the  old  man,  casting  the 
papers  out  of  the  chest,  like  some  beast  tearing  up  the  earth.  <<She  had 
better  have  stolen  money — all  my  money — I  haven't  much  I  She  had  better 
have  made  me  a  beggar,  than  have  done  this  !  " 

"  Done  what  ? "  said  Ralph.     "  Done  what,  you  devil's  dotard  ? " 

Still  Gride  made  no  answer,  but  tore  and  scratched  among  the  papers,  and 
yelled  and  screeched  like  a  fiiend  in  torment. 


476  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  There  is  something  missing,  you  say,"  said  Ralph,  shaking  him  furiously 
by  the  collar.     "  What  is  it  ?  '^ 

**  Papers— deeds.  I  am  a  ruined  man — lost — lost !  I  am  robbed,  I  am 
mined  !  She  saw  me  reading  it — reading  it  of  late — I  did  very  often.  She 
watched  me — saw  me  put  it  in  the  box  that  fitted  into  this — the  box  is  gone 
— she  has  stolen  it.     Damnation  seize  her,  she  has  robbed  me  ! " 

**  Of  what?"  cried  Ralph,  on  whom  a  sudden  li^ht  appeared  to  break,  for 
his  eyes  flashed  and  his  frame  trembled  with  agitation  as  he  clutched  Gride  by 
his  bony  arm.     "  Of  what  ? " 

**  She  don't  know  what  it  is  ;  she  can't  read  ! "  shrieked  Gride,  not  heeding 
the  inquiry.  "  There's  only  one  way  in  which  money  can  be  made  of  it,  and 
that  is  by  taking  it  to  Iter.  Somebody  will  read  it  for  her,  and  tell  her  what 
to  do.  She  and  her  accomplice  will  get  money  for  it  and  be  let  off  besides ; 
they'll  make  a  merit  of  it — ^say  they  found  it — knew  it — and  be  evidence 
against  me.     The  only  person  it  will  fall  upon  is  me — me — me  !  " 

"Patience!"  said  Ralph,  clutching  him  still  tighter  and  eyeing  him 
with  a  side-long  look,  so  fi^ced  and  eager  as  sufficiently  to  denote  that  he  had 
some  hidden  purpose  in  what  he  was  about  to  say.  ''Hear  reason.  She 
can't  have  been  gone  long.  I'll  call  the  police.  Do  you  but  give  information 
of  what  she  has  stolen,  and  they'll  lay  hands  upon  her,  trust  me.  Here- 
help  ! " 

*'No — no — no!"  screamed  the  old  man,  putting  his  hand  on  Ralph's 
mouth.     "I  can't,  I  daren't." 

"Help!  help!"  cried  Ralph. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  shrieked  the  other,  stamping  on  the  ground  with  the  energy 
of  a  madman.     "  I  tell  you  no.     I  daren't,  I  daren't ! 

"  Daren't  make  this  robbery  public  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"No!"  rejoined  Gride,  wringing  his  hands.  "Hush!  hush!  Not  a 
word  of  this ;  not  a  word  must  be  said.  I  am  undone.  Whichever  way  I 
turn,  I  am  undone.  I  am  betrayed.  I  shall  be  given  up.  I  shall  die  in 
Newgate ! " 

Witli  frantic  exclamations  such  as  these,  and  with  many  others  in  which 
fear,  grief,  and  rage  were  strangely  blended,  the  panic-stricken  wretch 
gradually  subdued  his  first  loud  outcry,  until  it  had  softened  down  into  a  low, 
despairing  moan,  chequered  now  and  then  by  a  howl,  as,  going  over  such 
papers  as  were  left  in  the  chest,  he  discovered  some  new  loss.  With  very 
little  excuse  for  departing  so  abruptly,  Ralph  left  him,  and  greatly  disappoint- 
ing the  loiterers  outside  the  house  by  telling  them  there  was  nothing  the 
matter,  got  into  the  coach  and  was  driven  to  his  own  home. 

A  letter  lay  on  his  table.  He  let  it  lie  there  for  some  time,  as  if  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  open  it,  but  at  length  did  so  and  turned  deadly  pale. 

"  The  worst  has  happened,"  he  said;  "the  house  has  failed.  I  see — the 
rumour  was  abroad  m  the  City  last  night,  and  reached  the  ears  of  those 
merchants.     Well — well !  " 

He  strode  violently  up  and  down  the  room  and  stopped  again. 

"Ten  thousand  pounds  !  And  only  lying  there  for  a  day — for  one  day! 
How  many  anxious  years,  how  many  pinching  days  and  sleepless  nights, 
before  I  scraped  together  that  ten  thousand  pounds  !  Ten  thousand  pounds ! 
How  many  proud  painted  dames  would  have  fawned  and  smiled,  and  how 
many  spendthrift  blockheads  done  me  lip-service  to  my  face,  and  cursed  me  in 
their  hearts,  while  I  turned  that  ten  thousand  pounds  into  twenty  !  While  I 
ground,  and  pinched,  and  used  these  needy  borrowers  for  my  pleasure  and 
profit,  what  smooth-tongued  speeches,  and  courteous  looks,  and  civil  letters, 
they  would  have  giveu  me  1    The  cant  of  the  lying  world  is,  that  men  like 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  477 

me  compass  our  riches  by  dissimulation  and  treachery  :  by  fawning,  cringing, 
and  stooping.  Why,  how  many  lies,  what  mean  and  abject  evasions,  what 
humbled  behaviour  from  upstarts  who,  but  for  my  money,  would  spurn  me 
aside  as  they  do  their  betters  every  day,  would  that  ten  thousand  pounds 
have  brought  me  in  !  Grant  that  I  had  doubled  it — made  cent,  per  cent. — 
for  every  sovereign  told  another — there  would  not  be  one  piece  of  money  in  all 
the  heap  which  wouldn't  represent  ten  thousand  mean  and  paltry  lies,  told — 
not  by  the  money-lender,  on,  no  !  but  by  the  money-borrowers — your  liberal, 
thoughtless,  generous,  dashing  folks,  who  wouldn't  be  so  mean  as  to  save  a 
sixpence  for  the  world  !  " 

Striving,  as  it  would  seem,  to  lose  part  of  the  bitterness  of  his  regrets  in 
the  bitterness  of  these  other  thoughts,  Ralph  continued  to  pace  the  room. 
There  was  less  and  less  of  resolution  in  his  manner  as  his  mind  gradually 
reverted  to  his  loss  ;  at  length,  dropping  into  his  elbow-chair,  and  grasping 
its  sides  so  firmly  that  they  creaked  again,  he  said — 

"The  time  has  been  when  nothing  could  have  moved  me  like  the  loss  of 
this  great  sum — nothing — for  births,  deaths,  and  marriages,  and  all  the  events 
which  are  of  interest  to  most  men,  have  (unless  they  are  connected  with  gain 
or  loss  of  money)  no  interest  for  me.  But  how,  I  swear,  I  mix  up  with  the 
loss  his  triumph  in  telling  it.  If  he  had  brought  it  about — 1  almost  feel  as  if 
he  had — I  couldn't  hate  him  more.  Let  me  but  retaliate  upon  liim,  by 
degrees,  however  slow — let  me  but  begin  to  get  the  better  of  him,  let  me  but 
turn  the  scale,  and  I  can  bear  it." 

His  meditations  were  long  and  deep.  They  terminated  in  his  despatching 
a  letter  by  Newman,  addressed  to  Mr.  Squeers  at  the  Saracen's  Head,  witli 
instructions  to  inquire  whether  he  had  arrived  in  town,  and,  if  so,  to  wait 
an  answer.  Newman  brought  back  the  information  that  Mr.  Squeers  had 
come  by  mail  that  morning,  and  had  received  the  letter  in  bed  ;  but  that  he 
sent  his  duty,  and  word  that  he  would  get  up  and  wait  upon  Mr.  Nickleby 
directly. 

The  interval  between  the  delivery  of  this  message  and  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Squeers  was  very  short  ;  but  before  he  came  Ralph  had  suppressed  every 
sign  of  emotion,  and  once  more  regained  the  hard,  immovable,  inflexible 
manner  which  was  habitual  to  him,  and  to  which,  perhaps,  was  ascribable  no 
small  part  of  the  influence  which,  over  many  men  of  no  very  strong  prejudices 
on  the  score  of  morality,  he  could  exert  almost  at  will. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Squeers,"  he  said,  welcoming  that  worthy  with  his  accustomed 
smile,  of  which  a  sharp  look  and  a  thoughtful  frown  were  part  and  parcel — 
**  how  do  yoM  do  ? " 

'*  Why,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  **  I'm  pretty  well.  So's  the  family,  and 
so's  the  boys,  except  for  a  sort  of  rash  as  is  a  running  through  the  school,  and 
rather  puts  'em  off  their  feed.  But  it's  a  ill  wind  as  blows  no  good  to  nobody  ; 
that's  what  I  always  say  when  them  lads  has  a  wisitation.  A  wisitation,  sir, 
is  the  lot  of  mortality.  Mortality  itself,  sir,  is  a  wisitation.  The  world  is 
chock  full  of  wisitations  ;  and  if  a  boy  repines  at  a  wisitation  and  makes  you 
uncomfortable  with  his  noise,  he  must  have  his  head  punched.  That's  going 
according  to  the  scripter,  that  is." 

"Mr.  Squeers,"  said  Ralph,  drily. 

"Sir." 

"  We'll  avoid  these  precious  morsels  of  moralit)%  if  you  please,  and  talk  of 
business." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir,"  rejoined  Squeers,  "and  first  let  me  say " 

•*  First  let  we  say,  if  you  please.     Noggs  1 ' 


478  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Kewinan  presented  himself  when  the  sammons  had  been  twice  or  thrice 
repeated,  and  asked  if  his  master  called. 

**  I  did.     Go  to  your  dinner.     And  go  at  once.     Do  you  hear  ?" 

**  It  an't  time,"  said  Newman,  doggedly. 

"  My  time  is  yours,  and  I  say  it  is, '  returned  Ralph. 

*'  You  alter  it  every  day,"  said  Newman.     "  It  isn't  fair." 

**  You  don't  keep  many  cooks,  and  can  easily  apologise  to  them  for  the 
trouble,"  retorted  Ralph.     **  Begone,  sir  !  " 

Ralph  not  only  issued  this  order  in  his  most  peremptory  manner,  but,  under 
pretence  of  fetching  some  paper  from  the  little  office,  saw  it  obeyed,  and,  when 
Newman  had  left  the  house,  chained  the  door,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of 
his  returning  secretly,  by  means  of  his  latch-key. 

**  I  have  reason  to  suspect  that  fellow,"  said  Ralph,  when  he  returned  to 
his  own  office.  '*  Therefore,  until  I  have  thought  of  the  shortest  and  least 
troublesome  way  of  ruining  him,  I  hold  it  best  to  keep  him  at  a  distance." 

**  It  wouldn't  take  much  to  ruin  him,  I  should  think,"  said  Sqaeers,  with  a 
grin. 

*  *  Perhaps  not, "  answered  Ralph.  *  *  Nor  to  ruin  a  great  many  people  whom 
I  know.     You  were  going  to  say ? " 

Ralph's  summary  and  matter-of-course  way  of  holding  up  this  example  and 
throwing  out  the  hint  that  followed  it,  had  evidently  an  effect  (as  doubtless  it 
was  designed  to  have)  upon  Mr.  Squeers,  who  said  after  a  little  hesitation  and 
in  a  more  subdued  tone — 

**  Why,  what  I  was  a  going  to  say,  sir,  is  that  this  here  business  regarding 
of  that  ungrateful  and  hard-hearted  chap  Snawle}',  senior,  puts  me  out  of  my 
way,  and  occasions  a  inconvenience  quite  unparalleled,  besides,  as  I  may  say, 
making,  for  whole  weeks  together,  Mrs.  Squeers  a  perfect  widder.  It's  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  act  with  you,  of  course. " 

"Of  course,"  said  Ralph,  drily. 

*'  Yes,  I  say  of  course,  *  resumed  Mr.  Squeers,  rubbing  his  knees  ;  "but  at 
the  same  time,  when  one  comes,  as  I  do  now,  better  than  two  hundred  and 
fifty  mile  to  take  a  afferdavid,  it  does  put  a  man  out  a  good  deal,  letting  alone 
the  risk." 

"  And  where  may  the  risk  be,  Mr.  Squeers  ? "  said  Ralph. 

"  I  said  letting  alone  the  risk,"  replied  Squeers,  evasively. 

'*  And  I  said,  wliere  was  the  risk  ?  " 

*'I  wasn't  complaining,  you  know,  Mr.  Nickleby,"  pleaded  Squeers. 
*'  Upon  my  word  I  never  see  such  a " 

"  I  ask  you  where  is  the  risk  ? "  repeated  Ralph,  emphatically. 

"Where's  the  risk?"  returned  Squeers,  rubbing  his  knees  still  harder. 
*'  Why,  it  an't  necessary  to  mention — certain  subjects  is  best  awoided.  Oh, 
you  know  what  risk  I  mean." 

**  How  often  have  I  told  you,"  said  Ralph,  *'  and  how  often  am  I  to  tell  yon, 
that  you  run  no  risk  ?  What  have  you  sworn,  or  what  are  you  asked  to  swear, 
but  that  at  such  and  such  a  time  a  boy  was  left  with  you  in  the  name  of 
Smike  ;  that  he  was  at  your  school  for  a  given  number  of  years,  was  lost  under 
sucli  and  such  circumstances,  is  now  found,  and  has  been  identified  by  you  in 
such  and  such  keeping.     This  is  all  true — is  it  not  % " 

"Yes,"  replied  Squeers,  "that's  all  true." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Ralph,  "  what  risk  do  you  run  ?  Who  swears  to  a  lie 
but  Snawley — a  man  whom  I  have  paid  much  less  than  I  have  you  % " 

"  He  certainly  did  it  cheap,  did  Snawley,"  observed  Squeers. 

"  He  did  it  cheap  1 "  retorted  Ralph,  testily,  "  yes,  and  he  did  it  well,  and 
carries  it  off  with  a  hypocritical  face  and  a  sanctiiied  air,  but  you— risk ! 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  479 

What  do  you  mean  by  risk  ?  The  certificates  are  all  genuine ;  Snawley  had 
another  son,  he  hciA  been  married  twice,  his  first  wife  is  dead,  none  but  her 
ghost  could  tell  that  she  didn't  write  that  letter,  none  but  Snawley  himself 
can  tell  that  this  is  not  his  son,  and  that  his  son  is  food  for  worms  !  The  only 
peijury  is  Snawley's,  and  I  fancy  he  is  pretty  well  used  to  it.  Where's  your 
risk  ? " 

**  Why,  you  know,"  said  Squeers,  fidgeting  in  his  chair,  **if  you  come  to 
that,  I  might  say  where's  yours  % " 

"You  might  say  where's  mine  ! "  returned  Ralph  ;  **you  may  say  where's 
mine.  I  don't  appear  in  the  business — neither  do  you.  All  Snawley's  interest 
is  to  stick  well  to  the  story  he  has  told  ;  and  all  his  risk  is,  to  depart  from  it 
in  the  least.     Talk  of  yoicr  risk  in  the  conspiracy  1 " 

"  I  say,"  remonstrated  Squeers,  iooking  uneasily  around ;  "  don't  call  it 
that — just  as  a  favour  don't 

"Call  it  what  you  like,"  said  Ralph,  irritably,  "but  attend  to  me.  This 
tale  was  originally  fabricated  as  a  means  of  annoyance  against  one  who  hurt 
your  trade  and  half-cudgelled  you  to  death,  and  to  enable  you  to  obtain 
repossession  of  a  half-dead  drudge,  whom  you  wished  to  regain,  because,  while 
you  wreaked  your  vengeance  on  him  for  his  share  in  the  business,  you  knew 
that  the  knowledge  that  he  was  again  in  your  power  would  be  the  punish- 
ment you  could  inflict  upon  your  enemy.     Is  that  so,  Mr.  Squeers  ? " 

"Why,  sir,"  returned  Squeers,  almost  overpowered  by  the  determination 
which  Ralph  displayed  to  make  everything  tell  against  him,  and  by  his  stern, 
unyielding  manner,  "  in  a  measure  it  was." 

'*  What  does  that  mean  ? "  said  Ralph. 

**Why,  in  a  measure  means,"  returned  Squeers,  "as  it  maybe,  that  it 
•wasn't  all  on  my  account,  because  you  had  some  old  grudge  to  satisfy,  too." 

**  If  I  had  not  had,"  said  Ralph,  in  no  way  abashed  by  the  reminder,  "  do 
you  think  I  should  have  helped  you  ? " 

"  Why,  no,  I  don't  suppose  you  would,"  Squeers  replied.  "  I  only  wanted 
that  point  to  be  all  square  and  straight  between  us." 

"How  can  it  ever  be  otherwise?"  retorted  Ralph.  "Except  that  the 
account  is  against  me,  for  I  spend  money  to  gratify  my  hatred,  and  you 
pocket  it,  and  gratify  yours  at  the  same  time.  You  are,  at  least,  as  avari- 
cious as  you  are  revengeful — so  am  I.  Which  is  best  off  ?  You,  who  win 
money  and  revenge  at  the  same  time  and  by  the  same  process,  and  who  arc, 
at  all  events,  sure  of  money,  if  not  of  revenge ;  or  I,  who  am  only  sure  of 
spending  money  in  any  case,  and  can  but  win  bare  revenge  at  last. " 

As  Mr.  Squeers  could  only  answer  this  proposition  by  shrugs  and  smiles, 
Kalph  bade  him  be  silent,  and  thankful  that  he  was  so  well  off ;  and  then, 
fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon  him,  proceeded  to  say — 

First,  that  Nicholas  had  thwarted  him  in  a  plan  he  had  formed  for  the  dis- 
posal in  marriage  of  a  certain  young  lady,  and  had  in  the  confusion  attendant 
on  her  father's  sudden  death,  secured  that  lady  himself,  and  borne  her  off  in 
triumph. 

Secondly,  that  by  some  will  or  settlement — certainly  by  some  instrument  in 
writing,  which  must  contain  the  young  lady's  name,  and  could  be,  therefore, 
easily  selected  from  others,  if  access  to  the  place  where  it  was  deposited  were 
once  secured — she  was  entitled  to  property,  which,  if  the  existence  of  this  deed 
ever  became  known  to  her,  would  make  her  husband  (and  Kalph  represented 
that  Nicholas  was  certain  to  marry  her)  a  rich  and  prosperous  man,  and  most 
formidable  enemy. 

Thirdly,  that  this  deed  had  been,  with  others,  stolen  from  one  who  had 


48o  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

himself  obtained  or  concealed  it  fraudulently,  and  who  feared  to  take  any 
stops  for  its  recovery  ;  and  that  he  (Ralph)  knew  the  thief. 

To  all  this  Mr.  Squeers  listened,  with  greedy  ears  that  devoured  every 
syllable,  and  with  his  one  eye  and  his  mouth  wide  open  ;  marvelling  for  what 
special  reason  he  was  honom'ed  with  so  much  of  Ralpli's  confidence,  and  to 
what  it  all  tended. 

'*  Now,"  said  Balph,  leaning  forward,  and  placing  his  hand  on  Squeers's 
arm,  **hear  the  desi^'u  which  I  have  conceived,  and  which  I  must — I  say, 
must,  if  I  can  ripen  it — have  carried  into  execution.  No  advantage  can  be 
reaped  from  this  deed,  whatever  it  is,  save  by  the  girl  herself,  or  her 
husband  ;  and  the  possession  of  this  deed  by  one  or  other  of  them  is  in- 
dispensable to  any  advantage  being  gained.  Thai  I  have  discovered,  beyond 
the  possibility  of  doubt.  I  want  that  deed  brought  here,  that  I  may  give 
the  man  who  brings  it  fifty  pounds  in  gold,  and  burn  it  to  ashes  before 
his  face. " 

Mr.  Squeers,  after  following  with  his  eye  the  action  of  Ralph's  hand  towards 
the  fireplace,  as  if  he  were  at  that  moment  consuming  the  paper,  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  said — 

"  Yes  ;  but  who's  to  bring  it  1" 

''  Nobody,  perhaps,  for  much  is  to  be  done  before  it  can  be  got  at,"  said 
Ralph.     "  But  if  anybody— you  !  " 

Mr.  Squeers's  first  tokens  of  consternation,  and  his  fiat  relinquishment  of 
the  task,  would  have  staggered  most  men,  if  they  had  not  immediately 
occasioned  an  utter  abandonment  of  the  proposition.  On  Ralph  they  pro- 
duced not  the  slightest  efiect.  Resuming,  when  the  schoolmaster  had  quite 
talked  himself  out  of  breath,  as  coolly  as  if  he  had  never  been  interruptet^ 
Ralph  proceeded  to  expatiate  on  such  features  of  the  case  as  he  deemed  it 
most  advisable  to  lay  the  greatest  stress  on. 

Tliese  were  the  age,  decrepitude,  and  weakness  of  Mrs.  Sliderskew ;  the 
great  improbability  of  her  having  any  accomplice  or  even  acquaintance; 
taking  into  account  her  secluded  habits,  and  her  long  residence  in  such  a 
house  as  Gride's  ;  the  strong  reason  there  was  to  suppose  that  the  robbery  was 
not  the  result  of  a  concerted  plan  :  otherwise  she  would  have  watched  au 
opportunity  of  carrying  off"  a  sum  of  money  ;  the  difficulty  she  would  be  placed 
in  when  she  began  to  think  on  what  she  had  done,  and  found  herself  en- 
cumbered with  documents  of  whose  nature  slio  was  utterly  ignorant ;  and  the 
comparative  ease  with  which  somebody,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  her  position, 
obtaining  access  to  her  and  working  on  her  fears,  if  necessary,  might  worm 
himself  into  her  confidence,  and  obtain,  under  one  pretence  or  another,  free 
possession  of  the  deed.  To  these  were  added  such  considerations  as  the 
constant  residence  of  Mr.  Squeers  at  a  long  distance  from  London,  which 
rendered  his  association  with  Mrs.  Sliderskew  a  mere  masquerading  frolic,  in 
which  nobody  was  likely  to  recognise  him,  either  at  the  time  or  afterwards ; 
the  impossibility  of  Ralph's  undertaking  the  task  himself,  he  being  already 
known  to  her  by  sight ;  and  various  comments  on  the  uncommon  tact  and 
experience  of  Mr.  Squeers ;  which  would  make  his  overreaching  one  old 
woman  a  mere  matter  of  child's  play  and  amusement.  In  addition  to  these 
influences  and  persuasions,  Ralph  drew,  with  his  utmost  skill  and  power, 
a  vivid  picture  of  the  defeat  which  Nicholas  would  sustain,  should  they 
succeed,  in  linking  himself  to  a  beggarj  where  he  expected  to  wed  an  heiress- 
glanced  at  the  immeasurable  importance  it  must  be  to  a  man  situated  as 
Siiueers  to  preserve  such  a  friend  as  himself — dwelt  on  a  long  train  of  benefits, 
conferred  since  their  first  acquaintance,  when  he  had  reported  favourably  of 
his  treatment  of  a  sickly  boy  who  had  died  under  his  hands  (and  whose  death 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  48 1 

was  very  convenient  to  Ralph  and  his  clients,  but  this  he  did  not  say) — and 
tinally  hinted  that  the  fifty  pounds  might  be  increased  to  seventy-five,  or,  in 
the  event  of  very  great  success,  even  to  a  hundred. 

These  arguments  at  length  concluded,  Mr.  Squeers  crossed  his  legs,  un- 
crossed them,  scratched  his  head,  rubbed  his  eye,  examined  the  palms  of  his 
hands,  and  bit  his  nails,  and  after  exhibiting  many  other  signs  of  restlessness 
and  indecision,  asked  "  whether  one  hundred  pound  was  the  highest  that  Mr. 
Nickleby  could  go."  Being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  became  restless 
again,  and,  after  some  thought,  and  an  unsuccessful  inquiry  "  whether  he 
couldn't  go  another  fifty,"  said  he  supposed  he  must  try  and  do  the  most 
he  could  for  a  friend  ;  which  was  alwa3's  his  maxim,  and  therefore  he  under- 
took the  job. 

**  But  how  are  you  to  get  at  the  woman?"  he  said;  "that's  what  it  is 
as  puzzles  me. " 

"I  may  not  get  at  her  at  all,"  replied  Ralph,  "but  I'll  try.  I  have 
hunted  people  in  this  city  before  now,  who  have  been  better  hid  than  she  ; 
and  I  know  quarters  in  which  a  guinea  or  two,  carefully  spent,  will  often 
solve  darker  riddles  than  this — ay,  and  keep  them  close,  too,  if  need  be  !  I 
hear  my  man  ringing  at  the  door.  We  may  as  well  part.  You  had  better 
not  come  to  and  fro,  but  wait  till  you  hear  from  me. " 

**Good!"  returned  Squeers.  **I  say!  If  you  shouldn't  find  her  out, 
you'll  pay  expenses  at  the  Saracen,  and  something  for  loss  of  time  !  " 

**  Well,"  said  Ralph,  testily  ;  *'  yes  !     You  have  nothing  more  to  say  ?  " 

Squeers  shaking  his  head,  Ralph  accompanied  him  to  the  street-door,  and, 
audibly  wondering,  for  the  edification  of  Newman,  why  it  was  fastened  as  if 
it  were  night,  let  him  in  and  Squeers  out,  and  returned  to  his  own  room. 

**  Now  !  "  he  muttered,  **  come  what  come  may,  for  the  present  I  am  firm 
and  unshaken.  .  Let  me  but  retrieve  this  one  small  portion  of  my  loss  and 
disgrace  ;  let  me  but  defeat  him  in  this  one  hope,  dear  to  his  heart  as  I  know 
it  must  be  :  let  me  but  do  this  ;  and  it  shall  be  the  first  link  in  such  a  chain 
which  I  will  wind  about  him  as  never  man  forged  yet." 


CHAPTER   LVII. 


HOW  RALPH   NICKLEBY  S   AUXILIARY  WENT  ABOUT  HIS  WORK,  AND   HOW  HE 

PROSPERED  WITH   IT. 

Y  T  was  a  dark,  wet,  gloomy  night  in  autumn,  when  in  an  upper  room  of  a 
T  mean  house,  situated  in  an  obscure  street  or  rather  court  near  Lambeth, 
^  there  sat,  all  alone,  a  one-eyed  man,  grotesquely  habited,  either  for  lack 
of  better  garments  or  for  purposes  of  disguise,  in  a  loose  great-coat,  with  arms 
half  as  long  again  as  his  own,  and  a  capacity  of  length  and  breadth  which 
would  have  admitted  of  his  winding  himself  in  it,  head  and  all,  with  the 
utmost  ease,  and  without  any  risk  of  straining  the  old  and  greasy  material  of 
which  it  was  composed. 

So  attired,  and  in  a  place  so  far  removed  from  his  usual  haunts  and  occupa- 
tions, and  so  very  poor  and  wretched  in  its  character,  perhaps  Mrs.  Squeers 
herself  would  have  had  some  difficulty  in  recognising  her  lord  ;  quickened 
though  her  natural  sagacity  doubtless  would  have  been  by  the  allectionato 
yearnings  and  impulses  of  a  tender  wife.  But  Mrs.  Snueers's  lord  it  was  ; 
and  in  a  tolerably  disconsolate  mood  Mrs.  Squeers's  lord  appeared  to  be,  as, 
helping  himself  from  a  black  bottle  which  stood  on  the  table  beside  him,  he 

u  31 


482  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

cast  round  tbe  chamber  a  look,  in  which  very  slij^ht  regard  for  the  objects 
within  view  was  plainly  mingled  with  some  regretful  and  impatient  recollec- 
tions of  distant  scenes  and  persons. 

There  were,  certainly,  no  particular  attractions,  either  in  the  room  over 
which  the  glance  of  Mr.  Squeers  so  discontentedly  wandered,  or  in  the  narrow 
street  into  which  it  might  have  penetrated,  if  he  had  thought  fit  to  approach 
the  window.  The  attic-chamber  in  which  he .  sat  was  bare  and  mean  ;  the 
bedstead,  and  such  few  other  articles  of  necessary  furniture  as  it  contained, 
were  of  the  commonest  description,  in  a  most  crazy  state,  and  of  a  most 
uninviting  appearance.  The  street  was  muddy,  dirty,  and  deserted.  Having 
but  one  outlet,  it  was  traversed  by  few  but  the  inhabitants  at  any  time  ;  and 
the  night  being  one  of  those  on  which  most  people  are  glad  to  be  within 
doors,  it  now  presented  no  other  signs  of  life  than  the  dull  glimmering  of 
poor  candles  from  the  dirty  windows,  and  few  sounds  but  the  pattering  of  the 
rain,  and  occasionally  the  heavy  closing  of  some  creaking  door. 

Mr.  Squeers  continued  to  look  disconsolately  about  him,  and  to  listen  to 
these  noises  in  profound  silence,  broken  only  by  the  rustling  of  his  large  coat, 
as  he  now  and  then  moved  his  arm  to  raise  his  glass  to  his  lips — Mr.  Squeers 
continued  to  do  this  for  some  time,  until  the  increasing  ^loom  warned  him  to 
snuff  the  candle.  Seeming  to  be  slightly  roused  by  this  exertion,  he  raised 
his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  fixing  them  upon  some  uncouth  and  fantastic 
figures,  traced  upon  it  by  the  wet  and  damp  which  had  penetrated  through 
the  roof,  broke  into  the  following  soliloquy — 

"  Well,  this  is  a  pretty  go,  is  this  here  ! — an  uncommon  pretty  go  \  Here 
have  I  been,  a  matter  of  how  many  weeks — hard  upon  six — a-foUering  up  this 
here  blessed  old  dowager  petty  larcener  " — Mr.  Squeers  delivered  himself  of 
this  epithet  with  great  difficulty  and  effort — **and  Dotheboys  Hall  a-running 
itself  regularly  to  seed  the  while  !  That's  the  worst  of  ever  being  in  with  a 
owdacious  chap  like  that  old  Nickleby.  You  never  know  when  he's  done 
with  you,  and  if  you're  in  for  a  penny  j^ou'rc  in  for  a  pound." 

This  remark,  perhaps,  remlnoed  Mr.  Squeers  that  ne  was  in  for  a  hundred 
pound ;  at  any  rate,  his  countenance  relaxed,  and  he  raised  his  glass  to  his 
mouth  with  an  air  of  greater  enjoyment  of  its  contents  than  he  had  before 
evinced. 

"I  never  see,"  soliloquised  Mr.  Squeers,  in  continuation,  **I  never  see 
nor  come  across  such  a  file  as  that  old  Nickleby — never.  He's  out  of  every- 
body's depth,  he  is.  He's  what  you  may  a-call  a  rasper,  is  Nickleby.  To  see 
how  sly  and  cunning  he  grubbed  on,  day  after  day,  a- worming  and  plodding 
and  tracing  and  turning  and  twining  of  hisself  about,  till  he  found  out  where 
this  precious  Mrs.  Peg  was  hid,  and  cleared  the  ground  for  mo  to  work  upon 
—creeping  and  crawling  and  gliding,  like  a  ugly  old,  bright-eyed,  staj^ation 
blooded  adder  !  Ah  !  He'd  have  made  a  good  'un  in  our  line,  but  it  would 
have  been  too  limited  for  him  ;  his  genius  would  have  busted  all  bonds,  and 
coming  over  every  obstacle,  broke  down  all  before  it,  'till  it  erected  itself  into 

a  monneyment  of well,  I'll  think  of  the  rest,  and  say  it  when  con- 

wenient.'^ 

Making  a  halt  in  his  reflections  at  this  place,  Mr.  Squeers  again  put  his 
glass  to  his  lips,  and  drawing  a  dirty  letter  from  his  pocket,  proceeded  to  con 
over  its  contents  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  read  it  very  often,  and  now 
refreshed  his  memory  rather  in  the  absence  of  better  amusement  than  for  any 
specific  information. 

"  The  pigs  is  well,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  "the  cows  is  well,  and  the  boys  is 
bobbish.  Young  Sprouter  has  been  a-winking,  has  he  ?  I'll  wink  him  when 
I  get  back.     'Cobbey  would  persist  in  snifhng  while  he  was  a-eating  his 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  483 

dioner,  and  said  that  the  beef  was  so  strong  it  made  him. ' — Yery  goodi  Cobbey, 
we'll  see  if  we  can't  make  you  sniff  a  little  without  beef.  '  Pitcher  was  took 
with  another  fever' — of  course  he  was — *and  being  fetched  by  his  friends, 
died  the  day  after  he  got  home,'  of  course  he  did,  and  out  of  aggravation ; 
it's  part  of  a  deep-laid  system.  There  an't  another  chap  in  the  school  but 
that  boy  as  would  have  died  exactly  at  the  end  of  the  quarter  ;  taking  it  out 
of  me  to  the  very  last,  and  then  carrying  his  spite  to  the  utmost  extremity. 
*The  juniorest  ralmer  said  he  wished  he  was  in  heaven* — I  really  don't 
know,  I  do  no^  know  what's  to  be  done  with  that  young  fellow  ;  he's  always 
a-wishing  something  horrid.  He  said  once  he  wished  he  was  a  donkey, 
because  then  he  wouldn't  have  a  father  as  didn't  love  him  ! — pretty  wicious 
that,  for  a  child  of  six  !  " 

Mr.  Squeers  was  so  much  moved  by  the  contemplation  of  this  hardened 
nature  in  one  so  young,  that  he  angrily  put  up  the  letter,  and  sought,  in  a 
new  train  of  ideas,  a  subject  of  consolation. 

"  It's  a  long  time  to  ha^'^e  been  a-lingering  in  London,"  he  said,  "and  this 
is  a  precious  hole  to  come  and  live  in,  even  if  it  has  been  only  for  a  week  or 
80.  Still,  one  hundred  pound  is  five  boys,  and  five  boys  take  a  whole  year 
to  pay  one  hundred  pound,  and  there's  their  keep  to  be  substracted,  besides. 
There  s  nothing  lost,  neither,  by  one's  being  here  ;  because  the  boys*  money 
comes  in  just  the  same  as  if  I  was  at  home,  and  Mrs.  Squeers  she  keeps  them 
in  order.  There'll  be  some  lost  time  to  make  up,  of  course — there'll  be  an 
arrear  of  flogging  as  '11  have  to  be  gone  through  ;  still,  a  couple  of  days  makes 
that  all  right,  and  one  don't  mind  a  little  extra  work  for  one  hundred  pound. 
It's  pretty  nigh  the  time  to  wait  upon  the  old  woman.  From  what  she  said 
last  night,  I  suspect  that  if  I  am  to  succeed  at  all,  I  shall  succeed  to-night ; 
so  I'll  have  half-a-glass  more,  to  wish  myself  success,  and  put  myself  in 
spirits.     Mrs.  Squeers,  my  dear,  your  health  ! " 

Leering  with  his  one  eye  as  if  the  lady  to  whom  he  drank  had  been  actually 
present,  Mr.  Squeers — in  his  enthusiasm,  no  doubt — ^poured  out  a  full  glass, 
and  emptied  it ;  and  as  the  liquor  was  raw  spirits,  and  he  had  applied  himself 
to  the  same  bottle  more  than  once  already,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  found 
himself,  by  this  time,  in  an  extremely  cheerful  state,  and  quite  enough  excited 
for  his  purpose. 

What  that  purpose  was,  soon  appeared ;  for  after  a  few  turns  about  the 
room  to  steady  himself,  he  took  the  bottle  under  his  arm  and  the  glass  in  his 
hand,  and  blowing  out  the  candle  as  if  he^purposed  being  gone  some  time, 
stole  out  upon  the  staircase,  and  creeping  softly  to  a  door  opposite  his  own, 
tapped  gently  at  it 

**  But  what's  the  use  of  tapping  ? "  he  said,  *'  she'll  never  hear.  I  suppose 
3he  isn't  doing  anything  very  particular  ;  and  if  she  is,  it  don't  much  matter, 
that  I  see." 

With  this  brief  preface,  Mr.  Squeers  applied  his  hand  to  the  latch  of  the 
door,  and  thrusting  his  head  into  a  garret  far  more  deplorable  than  that  he 
had  just  left,  and  seeing  that  there  was  nobody  there  but  an  old  woman,  who 
was  bending  over  a  wretched  fire  (for  although  the  weather  was  still  warm, 
the  evening  was  chilly),  walked  in,  and  tapped  her  on  the  shoulder. 

**  Well,  my  Slider,  *  said  Mr.  Squeers,  jocularly. 

"  Is  that  you  ? "  inquired  Peg. 

'*  Ah  !  it's  me,  and  me's  the  first  person  singular,  nominative  case,  agreeing 
with  the  verb  'it's,'  and  governed  by  Squeers  understood,  as  a  acorn,  a  hour  ; 
but  when  the  h  is  sounded,  the  a  only  is  to  be  used,  as  a  and,  a  art,  a 
ighway,"  replied  Mr.  Squeers,  quoting  at  random  from  the  grammar.     **  At 


484  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

least,  if  it  isn't,  you  don't   know  any  better,  and  i^  it  is,  I've  done  it 
accidentally." 

Delivering  this  reply  in  his  accustomed  tone  of  voice,  in  which  of  course  it 
was  inaudible  to  Peg,  Mr.  Squeers  drew  a  stool  to  the  fire,  and  placing  himself 
over  against  her,  and  the  bottle  and  glass  on  the  floor  between  them,  roared 
out  again,  very  loud — 
"Well,  my  Slider  !" 

**  I  hear  you,"  said  Peg,  receiving  him  very  graciously. 
**rve  come  according  to  promise,"  roared  Squeers. 

"So  they  used  to  say  in  that  part  of  the  country  I  come  from,"  observed  Peg, 
complacently,  "but  I  think  oil's  better." 

"  Better  than  what? "  roared  Squeers,  adding  some  rather  strong  language 
in  an  undertone. 

"  No,"  said  Peg,  "of  course  not." 

"I  never  saw  such  a  monster  as  you  are  !"  muttered  Squeers,  looking  as 
amiable  as  he  possibly  could  the  while  ;  for  Peg's  eye  was  upon  him,  and  she 
was  chuckling  fearfully,  as  though  in  delight  at  having  made  a  choice  repartee. 
"Do  you  see  this  ?  this  is  a  bottle." 
**  I  see  it,"  answered  Peg. 

"Well,  and  do  you  see  this?"  bawled  Squeers.  "This  is  a  glass  ! "  Peg 
saw  that  too. 

"  See  here,  then,"  said  Squeers,  accompanying  his  remarks  with  appropriate 
action,  "  I  fill  the  glass  from  the  bottle,  and  I  say  '  your  health,  Slider,'  and 
empty  it ;  then  I  rinse  it  genteelly  with  a  little  drop,  which  I'm  forced  to 
throw  into  the  fire — hallo  !  we  shall  have  the  chimbley  alight  next — fill  it 
again,  and  hand  it  over  to  you." 
"  Your  health,"  said  Peg. 

"She  understands  that,  anyways,"  muttered  Squeers,  watching  Mrs. 
Sliderskew  as  she  despatched  her  ])ortion,  and  choked  and  gasped  in  a  most 
awful  manner  after  so  doing;  "now,  then,  let's  have  a  talk.  How's  the 
rheumatics  ? " 

Mrs.  Sliderskew,  with  much  blinking  and  chuckling,  and  with  looks 
expressive  of  her  strong  admiration  of  Mr.  Squeers,  his  person,  manners,  and 
conversation,  replied  that  the  rheumatics  were  better. 

"  What's  the  reason,"  said  Mr.  Squeers,  deriving  fresh  facetiousness  from 
the  bottle  ;  "  what's  the  reason  of  rheumatics  ?  What  do  they  mean  ?  What 
do  people  have  'em  for — eh  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  didn't  know,  but  suggested  that  it  was  possibly  because 
they  couldn't  help  it. 

"Measles,  rheumatics,  hooping-cough,  fevers,  agers,  and  lumbagers,"  said 
Mr.  Squeers,  "  is  all  philosophy  together  ;  that's  what  it  is.  The  heavenly 
bodies  is  philosophy,  and  the  earthly  bodies  is  philosophy.  If  there's  a  screw 
loose  in  a  heavenly  body,  that's  philosophy  ;  and  if  there's  a  screw  loose  in  a 
earthly  body,  that's  philosophy  too ;  or  it  may  be  that  sometimes  there's  a 
little  metaphysics  in  it,  but  that's  not  often.  Philosophy's  the  chap  for  me. 
If  a  parent  asks  a  question  in  the  classical,  commercial,  or  mathematical 
line,  says  I,  gravely,  '  AVhy,  sir,  in  the  first  place,  are  you  a  philosopher  \ ' 
— *  No,  Mr.  Squeers,'  he  says,  '  I  an't.'  'Then,  sir,'  says  I,  *  I  am  sorry  for 
you,  for  I  slian't  be  able  to  explain  it.'  Naturally,  the  parent  goes  away  and 
wishes  he  was  a  philosopher,  and,  equally  naturally,  thinks  I'm  one." 

Saying  this,  and  a  great  deal  more,  with  tipsy  profundity  and  a  serio-comic 
air,  and  keeping  his  eye  all  the  time  on  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  who  was  unable  io 
hear  one  word,  Mr.  Squeers  concluded  by  helping  himself  and  passing  the 
bottle  ;  to  which  Peg  did  becoming  reverence. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  48$ 

"That's  the  time  of  day  !  "  said  Mr.  Squeers.  **You  look  twenty  pound 
ten  better  than  you  did. " 

Again  Mrs.  Sliderskew  chuckled,  but  modesty  forbade  her  assenting  verbally 
to  the  compliment. 

"Twenty  pound  ten  better,"  repeated  Mr.  Squeers,  ** than  you  did  that 
day  when  I  first  introduced  myself — don't  you  know  ?  " 

**  Ah  !  "  said  Peg,  shaking  her  head,  "  but  you  frightened  me  that  day." 

**  Did  I  ? "  said  Squeets  ;  "  well,  it  was  rather  a  startling  thing  for  a 
stranger  to  come  and  recommend  himself  by  saying  that  he  knew  all  about 
you,  and  what  your  name  was,  and  why  you  were  living  so  quiet  here,  and 
what  you  had  boned  and  who  you  boned  it  from,  wasn't  it  ? " 

Peg  nodded  her  head  in  strong  assent. 

"But  I  know  everything  that  happens  in  that  way,  you  see,"  continued 
Squeers.  "  Nothing  takes  place,  of  that  kind,  that  I  an't  up  to  entirely.  I'm 
a  sort  of  a  lawyer.  Slider,  of  first  rate  standing,  and  understanding  too  ;  I'm  the 
intimate  friend  and  confidential  adwiser  of  pretty  nigh  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  that  gets  themselves  into  difliculties  by  being  too  nimble  with  their 
fingers,  I'm " 

Mr.  Squeers's  catalogue  of  his  own  merits  and  accomplishments,  which  was 
partly  the  result  of  a  concerted  plan  between  himself  and  Ralph  Nickleby, 
and  flowed,  in  part,  from  the  black  bottle,  was  here  interrupted  by  Mrs. 
Sliderskew. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !."  she  cried,  folding  her  arms  and  wagging  her  head  ;  "  and 
so  he  wasn't  married  after  all,  wasn't  he — not  married  after  all  ? " 

"  No,  replied  Squeers,  "  that  he  wasn't ! " 

"  And  a  young  lover  come  and  carried  ofiT  the  bride,  eh  ? "  said  Peg. 

"From  under  his  very  nose,"  replied  Squeers  ;  "and  I'm  told  the  young 
chap  cut  up  rough  besides,  and  broke  the  winders,  and  forced  him  to  swaller 
his  wedding  favor,  which  nearly  choked  him." 

"Tell  me  all  about  it  again,"  cried  Peg,  with  a  malicious  relish  of  her  old 
master's  defeat,  which  made  her  natural  liideousness  something  quite  fearful ; 
"let's  hear  it  all  again,  beginning  at  the  beginning  now,  as  if  you'd  never  told 
me.  Let's  have  it  every  word — now — now — beginning  at  the  very  first,  you 
know,  when  he  went  to  the  house  that  morning  !  " 

Mr.  Squeers,  plying  Mrs.  Sliderskew  freely  with  the  liquor,  and  sustaining 
himself  under  the  exertion  of  speaking  so  loud  by  frequent  applications  to  it 
himself,  complied  with  this  request  by  describing  the  discomfiture  of  Arthur 
Gride,  with  such  improvements  on  the  truth  as  happened  to  occur  to  him,  and 
the  ingenious  invention  and  application  of  which  had  been  very  instrumental 
in  recommending  him  to  her  notice  in  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance. 
Mrs.  Sliderskew  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  rolling  her  head  about,  drawing 
up  her  skinny  shoulders,  and  wrinkling  her  cadaverous  face  into  so  many  and 
such  complicated  forms  of  ugliness,  as  awakened  the  unbounded  astonishment 
and  disgust  even  of  Mr.  Squeers. 

"  He's  a  treacherous  old  goat,"  said  Peg,  "  and  cozened  me  with  cunning 
tricks  and  lying  promises,  but  never  mind — I'm  even  with  him — I'm  even 
with  him." 

"  More  than  even.  Slider,"  returned  Squeers  ;  "  you'd  have  been  even  with 
him,  if  he'd  got  married  ;  but  with  the  disappointment  besides,  you're  a  long 
way  ahead — out  of  sight.  Slider,  quite  out  of  sight.  And  that  reminds  me," 
he  added,  handing  her  the  glass,  "if  you  want  me  to  give  you  my  opinion  of 
them  deeds,  and  tell  you  what  you'd  better  keep  and  what  you'd  better  burn, 
why,  now's  your  time.  Slider." 


4S6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"  There  an't  no  hurry  for  that,"  said  Peg,  with  several  knowing  looks  and 
winks. 

"  Oh  !  very  well ! "  observed  Sqneers,  "  it  don't  matter  to  me  ;  you  asked 
me,  you  know.  I  shouldn't  charge  you  nothing,  being  a  friend.  You're  the 
best  judge  of  course,  but  you're  a  bold  woman,  Slider — that's  all." 

**  How  do  you  mean  bold  ? "  said  Peg. 

*'  Why,  I  only  mean  that  if  it  was  me,  I  wouldn't  keep  papers  as  might 
hang  me,  littering  about  when  they  might  be  turned  into  money — them  as 
wasn't  useful  made  away  with,  and  them  as  waJs,  laid  by  soraewheres,  safe ; 
that's  all,"  returned  Saueers  ;  **  but  everybody's  the  best  judge  of  their  own 
affairs.     All  I  say  is.  Slider,  /wouldn't  do  it" 

**  Come,"  said  Peg,  *'  then  you  shall  see  'em." 

**  /don't  want  to  see  'em,"  replied  Snueers,  affecting  to  be  out  of  humour, 
**  don't  talk  as  if  it  was  a  treat.  Show  em  to  somebody  else,  and  take  their 
advice." 

Mr.  Squeers  would  very  likely  have  carried  on  the  farce  of  being  offended  a 
little  longer,  if  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  in  her  anxiety  to  restore  herself  to  her  former 
high  position  in  his  good  graces,  had  not  become  so  extremely  affectionate 
that  he  stood  at  some  risk  of  being  smothered  by  her  caresses.  Repressing, 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible,  these  little  familiarities — for  which,  there  is 
reason  to  believe,  the  black  bottle  was  at  least  as  much  to  blame  as  any  con- 
stitutional infirmity  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Sliderskew — he  protested  that  he  had 
only  been  joking  ;  and,  in  proof  of  his  unimpaired  good-humour,  that  he  was 
ready  to  examine  the  deeds  at  once,  if,  by  so  doing,  he  could  afford  any 
satisfaction  or  relief  of  mind  to  his  fair  friena. 

"And  now  you're  up,  my  Slider,"  bawled  Squeers,  as  she  rose  to  fetch 
them,  **  bolt  the  door. 

Peg  trotted  to  the  door,  and  after  fumbling  at  the  bolt,  crept  to  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  and  from  beneath  the  coals  which  filled  the  bottom  of  the 
cupboard,  drew  forth  a  small  deal  box.  Having  placed  this  on  the  floor  at 
Sc^ueers's  feet,  she  brought  from  under  the  pillow  of  her  bed  a  small  key, 
with  which  she  signed  to  that  gentleman  to  open  it.  Mr.  Squeers,  who 
had  eagerly  followed  her  every  motion,  lost  no  time  in  obeying  this  hint ; 
and,  throwing  back  the  lid,  gazed  with  rapture  on  the  documents  which  lay 
within. 

*'  Now  you  see,"  said  Peg,  kneeling  down  on  the  floor  beside  him,  and 
staying  his  impatient  hand  ;  **  what's  of  no  use  we'll  burn  ;  what  we  can  get 
any  money  by  we'll  keep  ;  and  if  there's  any  we  could  get  him  into  trouble 
by,  and  fret  and  waste  away  his  heart  to  shreds,  those  we'll  take  particular 
care  of ;  for  that's  what  I  want  to  do,  and  what  I  hoped  to  do  when  I  left 
him." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Squeers,  **  that  you  didn't  bear  him  any  particular  good- 
will.    But,  I  say,  why  didn't  you  take  some  money  besides  ? " 

*'  Some  what  ?  "  asked  Peg. 

*'  Some  money,"  roared  Squeers.  "  I  do  believe  the  woman  hears  me,  and 
wants  to  make  me  to  break  a  wessel,  so  that  she  may  have  the  pleasure 
of  nursing  me.     Some  money,  Slider — money  !  " 

*•  Why,  what  a  man  you  are  to  ask  ! "  cried  Peg,  with  some  contempt. 
**  If  I  had  taken  money  from  Arthur  Gride,  he'd  have  scoured  the  whole  earth 
to  find  me — ay,  and  he'd  have  smelt  it  out,  and  raked  it  up,  somehow,  if  I 
had  buried  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  deepest  well  in  England.  No,  no !  I 
knew  better  than  that.  I  took  what  I  thought  his  secrets  were  hid  in  ;  and 
them  he  couldn't  afford  to  make  public,  let  'em  be  worth  ever  so  much  money. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  487 

lie's  an  old  dog  ;  a  sly,  old,  cunning,  thankless  dog  !    He  first  starved,  and 
then  tricked  me  ;  and  if  I  could,  I'd  kill  him." 

"All  right,  and  very  laudable,"  said  Squeers.  "But,  first  and  foremost, 
Slider,  burn  the  box.  You  should  never  keep  things  as  may  lead  to  discovery 
— always  mind  that.  So  while  you  pull  it  to  pieces  (which  you  can  easily  do, 
for  it's  very  old  and  rickety)  and  burn  it  in  little  bits,  I'll  look  over  the 
papers  and  tell  you  what  they  are." 

reg  expressing  her  acquiescence  in  this  arrangement,  Mr.  Squeers  turned 
the  box  Dottom  upwards,  and  tumbling  the  contents  upon  the  floor,  handed  it 
to  her  ;  the  destruction  of  the  box  being  an  extemporary  device  for  engaging 
her  attention,  in  case  it  should  prove  desirable  to  distract  it  from  his  own 
proceedings. 

. "  There  ! "  said  Squeers  ;  **  you  poke  the  pieces  between  the  bars,  and 
make  up  a  good  fire,  and  I'll  read  the  while — let  me  see — let  me  see."  And 
taking  the  candle  down  beeide  him,  Mr.  Squeers,  with  great  eagerness  and  a 
cunning  grin  overspreading  his  face,  entered  upon  his  task  of  examination. 

If  the  old  woman  had  not  been  very  deaf,  she  must  hate  heard,  when  she 
last  went  to  the  door,  the  breathing  of  two  persons  close  behind  it :  and  if 
those  two  persons  had  been  unacquainted  with  her  infirmity  they  must 
probably  have  chosen  that  moment  either  for  presenting  themselves  or  taking 
to  flight.  But,  knowing  with  whom  they  had  to  deal,  they  remained  quite 
still,  and  now,  not  only  appeared  unobserved  at  the  door — which  was  not 
bolted,  for  the  bolt  had  no  nasp — but  warily,  and  with  noiseless  footsteps, 
advanced  into  the  room. 

As  they  stole  farther  and  farther  in  by  slight  and  scarcely  perceptible 
degrees,  and  with  such  caution  that  they  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe,  the  old 
hag  and  Squeers,  little  dreaming  of  any  such  invasion,  and  utterl}"*  un- 
conscious of  there  being  any  soul  near  but  themselves,  were  busily  occupied 
with  their  tasks.  The  old  woman,  with  her  wrinkled  face  close  to  the  bars  of 
the  stove,  puffing  at  the  dull  embers  which  had  not  yet  caught  the  wood — 
Squeers  stooping  down  to  the  candle,  which  brought  out  the  full  ugliness  of  his 
face,  as  the  fight  of  the  fire  did  that  of  his  companion — both  intently  engaged, 
and  wearing  faces  of  exultation  which  contrasted  strongly  with  the  anxious 
looks  of  those  behind,  who  took  advantage  of  the  slightest  sound  to  cover 
their  advance,  and,  almost  before  they  had  moved  an  inch,  and  all  was  silent, 
stopped  again — this,  with  the  large,  bare  room,  damp  walls,  and  flickering, 
doubtful  light,  combined  to  form  a  scene  which  the  most  careless  and 
indifferent  spectator  (could  any  have  been  present)  could  scarcely  have  failed 
to  derive  some  interest  from,  and  would  not  readily  have  forgotten. 

Of  the  stealthy  comers,  Frank  Cheeryble  was  one,  and  Newman  Noggs  the 
other.  Newman  had  caught  up,  by  the  rusty  nozzle,  an  old  pair  of  bellows, 
which  were  just  undergoing  a  nourish  in  the  air  preparatory  to  a  descent  upon 
the  head  of  Mr.  Squeers,  when  Frank,  with  an  earnest  gesture,  stayed  his 
arm,  and,  taking  another  step  in  advance,  came  so  close  behind  the  school- 
master that,  by  leaning  slightly  forward,  he  could  plainly  distinguish  the 
writing  which  he  held  up  to  his  eye. 

Mr.  Squeers,  not  being  remarkably  erudite,  appeared  to  be  considerably 
puzzled  by  this  first  prize,  which  was  in  an  engrossing  hand,  and  not  very 
legible  except  to  a  practised  eye.  Having  tried  it  by  reading  from  left  to 
right,  and  from  right  to  left,  and  finding  it  equally  clear  both  ways,  he  turned 
it  upside  down  with  no  better  success. 

**Ha,  ha,  ha!"  chuckled  Peg,  who,  on  her  knees  before  the  fire,  was 
feeding  it  with  fragments  of  the  box,  and  grinning  in  most  devilish  exultation. 
**  What's  that  writing  about,  eh  ? " 


488  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  Nothing  particular,"  replied  Squeers,  tossing  it  towards  her.  "  It's  only 
an  old  lease,  as  well  as  I  can  make  out     Throw  it  in  the  fire." 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  complied,  and  inquired  what  the  next  one  was. 

*'  This,"  said  Squeers,  "is  a  bundle  of  over-due  acceptances  and  renewed 
bills  of  six  or  eight  young  gentlemen,  but  they're  all  M.P.'s,  so  it's  of  no  use 
to  anybody.     Throw  it  in  the  fire  ! " 

Peg  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and  waited  for  the  next. 

"This,"  said  Squeers,  "seems  to  be  some  deed  of  sale  of  the  rigbt  of 
j)resentation  to  the  rectory  of  Purechurch,  in  the  valley  of  Cashup.  Take 
care  of  that,  Slider — literally  for  God's  sake.  It'll  fetch  a  price  at  the 
Auction  Mart." 

"  What's  the  next  ? "  inquired  Peg. 

**  "Why,  this,"  said  St^ueers,  "seems,  from  the  two  letters  that's. with  it,  to 
be  a  bond  from  a  curate  down  in  the  country,  to  pay  half-a-year's  wages  of 
forty  pound  for  borrowing  twenty.  Take  care  of  that,  for  if  he  don't  pay  it, 
liis  bishop  will  very  soon  be  down  upon  him.  We  know  what  the  camel  and 
the  needle's  eye  means — no  man  as  can't  live  upon  his  income,  whatever 
it  is,  must  expect  to  go  to  heaven  at  any  price — it's  very  odd  ;  I  don't  see 
anything  like  it  yet." 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  said  Peg. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Squeers,  "only  I'm  looking  for " 

Newman  raised  the  bellows  again.  Once  more,  Frank,  by  a  rapid  motion 
of  his  arm,  unaccompanied  by  any  noise,  checked  him  in  his  purpose. 

"Here  you  are,"  said  Squeers,  "bonds — take  care  of  them.  Warrant  of 
attorney — take  care  of  that.  Two  cognovits — take  care  of  them.  Lease  and 
release — burn  that.  Ah  !  *  Madeline  Bray — come  of  age  or  marry — the  said 
Madeline ' — Here,  burn  thai ! " 

Eagerly  throwing  towards  the  old  woman  a  parchment  that  he  caught  up 
for  the  purpose,  Squeers,  as  she  turned  her  head,  thrust  into  the  breast  of  his 
large  coat  the  deed  in  which  these  worIs  had  caught  his  eye,  and  burst  into 
a  shout  of  triumph. 

"I've  got  it!"  said  Squeers.  "I've  got  it!  Hurrah  !  The  plan  was 
a  good  one  though  the  chance  was  desperate,  and  the  day's  our  own  at 
last ! " 

Peg  demanded  what  he  laughed  at,  but  no  answer  was  returned.  New- 
man's arm  could  no  longer  bo  restrained  ;  the  bellows,  descending  heavily, 
and  with  unerring  aim,  on  the  very  centre  of  Mr.  Squeers's  head,  felled  him 
to  the  floor^  and  stretched  him  on  it  flat  and  senseless. 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

IN  WHICH   ONE  SCENE  OF  THIS   HISTORY  IS  CLOSED. 

DIVIDING  the  distance  into  two  days'  journey,  in  order  that  his  charge 
might  sustain  the  less  exhaustion  and  fatigue  from  travelling  so  far, 
Nicholas,  at  the  end  of  the  second  day  from  their  leaving  home,  found 
himself  within  a  very  few  miles  of  the  spot  where  the  happiest  years  of  his 
life  had  been  passed,  and  which,  while  it  filled  his  mind  with  pleasant  and 
peaceful  thoughts,  brought  back  many  painful  and  vivid  recollections  of  the 
circumstances  in  which  he  and  his  had  wandered  forth  from  their  old  home, 
cast  upon  the  rough  world  and  the  mercy  of  strangers. 
It  needed  no  such  reflections  as  those  which  the  memory  of  old  days,  and 


4 


NICHOLAS  NJCKLEBY.  489 

wanderings  among  scenes  where  our  childhood  has  been  passed,  usually 
awaken  in  the  most  insensible  minds,  to  soften  the  heart  of  Nicholas,  and 
render'  him  more  than  usually  mindful  of  his  drooping  friend.  By  night 
and  day,  at  all  times  and  seasons  ;  always  watchful,  attentive,  and  solicitous, 
and  never  varying  in  the  discharge  of  his  self-imposed  duty  to  one  so 
friendless  and  helpless  as  he  whose  sands  of  life  were  now  fast  running  out 
and  dwindling,  rapidly  away  ;  he  was  ever  at  his  side.  He  never  left 
him.  To  encourage  and  animate  hira,  administer  to  his  wants,  support  and 
cheer  him  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  was  now  his  constant  and  unceasing 
occupation. 

They  procured  a  humble  lodging  in  a  small  farm-house,  surrounded  by 
meadows,  where .  Nicholas  had  often  revelled  when  a  child  with  a  troop  of 
merry  schoolfellows  ;  and  here  they  took  up  their  rest. 

At  first  Smike  was  strong  enough  to  walk  about,  for  short  distances  at  a 
time,  with  no  other  support  or  aid  than  that  which  Nicholas  could  afford  him. 
At  this  time  nothing  appeared  to  interest  him  so  much  as  visiting  those 
places  which  had  been  most  familiar  to  his  friend  in  bygone  days.  Yielding 
to  this  fancy,  and  pleased  to  find  that  its  indulgence  beguiled  the  sick  boy  of 
many  tedious  hours,  and  never  failed  to  afford  him  matter  for  thought  and 
conversation  afterwards,  Nicholas  made  such  spots  the  scenes  of  their  daily 
rambles ;  driving  him  from  place  to  place  in  a  little  pony-chair,  and  support- 
ing him  on  his  arm  while  they  walked  slowly  among  these  old  haunts,  or 
lingered  in  the  sunlight  to  take  long  parting  looks  of  those  which  were  most 
quiet  and  beautiful. 

It  was  on  such  occasions  as  these  that  Nicholas,  yielding  almost  un- 
consciously to  the  interest  of  old  associations,  would  point  out  some  tree 
that  he  had  climbed  a  hundred  times,  to  look  at  the  young  birds  in  their 
nest ;  and  the  branch  from  which  he  used  to  shout  to  little  Kate,  who 
stood  below,  terrified  at  the  height  he  had  gained,  and  yet  urging  him 
higher  still  by  the  intensity  of  her  admiration.  There  was  the  old  house, 
too,  which  they  would  pass  every  day,  looking  up  at  the  tiny  window 
through  which  the  sun  used  to  stream  in  and  wake  him  on  the  summer 
morning — they  were  all  summer  mornings  then — and  climbing  up  the  garden- 
wall  and  looking  over,  Nicholas  could  see  the  very  rose-bush  which  had  come, 
a  present  to  Kate,  from  some  little  lover,  and  she  had  planted  with  her  own 
hands.  .  There  were  the  hedgerows,  where  the  brother  and  sister  had  so  often 
gathered  wild  flowers  together,  and  the  green  fields  and  shady  paths  where 
they  had  so  often  strayed.  There  was  not  a  lane,  a  brook,  or  copse,  or  cottage 
near,  with  which  some  childish  event  was  not  entwined,  and  back  it  came 
upon  the  mind — as  events  of  childhood  do — nothing  in  itself ;  perhaps  a  word, 
a  laugh,  a  look,  some  slight  distress,  a  passing  thought  or  fear  ;  and  yet  more 
strongly  and  distinctly  marked,  and  better  remembered,  than  the  hardest 
trials  or  severest  sorrows  of  a  year  ago. 

One  of  these  expeditions  led  them  through  the  churchyard  where  was  his 
father's  grave.  "Even  here,"  said  Nicholas,  softly,  "we  used  to  loiter 
before  we  knew  what  death  was,  and  when  we  little  thought  whose  ashes 
would  rest  beneath  ;  and  wondering  at  the  silence,  sit  down  to  rest  and 
speak  below  our  breath.  Once  Kate  was  lost,  and  after  an  hour  of  fruitless 
search,  they  found  her,  fast  asleep  under  that  tree  which  shades  my  father's 
grave.  Ho  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  said  when  he  took  her  up  in  his 
a.rm,  still  sleeping,  that  whenever  he  died  he  would  wish  to  be  buried  where 
his  dear  little  cbild  had  laid  her  head.     You  see  his  wish  was  not  forgotten." 

Nothing  more  passed  at  that  time,  but  that  night,  as  Nicholas  sat  beside  his 
bed,  Smike  started  from  what  had  seemed  to  be  a  plumber,  and  laying  his  hand 


490  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

in  his,  prayed,  as  the  tears  coursed  down  his  face,  that  he  would  make  him 
one  solemn  promise. 

"  What  is  that  ? "  said  Nicholas,  kindly.  **  If  I  can  redeem  it,  or  hope  to 
do  so,  you  know  I  will." 

*'  I  am  sure  you  will,"  was  the  reply.  **  Promise  me  that  when  I  die,  I 
shall  be  buried  near— as  near  as  they  can  make  my  grave — to  the  tree  we  saw 
to-day." 

Nicholas  gave  the  promise  ;  he  had  few  words  to  give  it  in,  but  they  were 
solemn  and  earnest.  His  poor  friend  kept  his  hand  in  his,  and  turned  as  if 
to  sleep.  But  there  were  stifled  sobs  ;  and  the  hand  was  pressed  more  than 
once,  or  twice,  or  thrice,  before  he  sank  to  rest  and  slowly  loosed  his  hold. 

In  a  fortnight's  time  he  became  too  ill  to  move  about.  Once  or  twice 
Nicholas  drove  him  out,  propped  up  with  pillows ;  but  the  motion  of  the 
chaise  was  painful  to  him,  and  brought  on  fits  of  fainting,  which  in  his 
weakened  state  were  dangerous.  There  was  an  old  couch  in  the  house,  which 
was  his  favourite  resting-place  by  day  ;  when  the  sun  shone,  and  the  weather 
was  warm,  Nicholas  had  this  wheeled  into  a  little  orchard  which  was  close  at 
hand,  and  his  charge  bein?  well  wrapped  up  and  carried  out  to  it,  they  used 
to  sit  there  sometimes  for  hours  together. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  a  circumstance  took  place,  which 
Nicholas,  at  the  time,  thoroughly  believed  to  be  the  mere  delusion  of  an 
imagination  affected  by  disease ;  but  which  he  had,  afterwards,  too  good 
reason  to  know  was  of  real  and  actual  occurrence. 

He  had  brought  Smike  out  in  his  arms — poor  fellow  !  a  child  might  have 
carried  him  then— to  see  the  sunset,  and,  having  arranged  his  couch,  had 
taken  his  seat  beside  it.  He  had  been  watching  the  whole  of  the  night  before, 
and  being  greatly  fatigued  both  in  mind  and  body,  gradually  fell  asleep. 

He  could  not  have  closed  his  eyes  five  minutes,  when  he  was  awakened  by 
a  scream,  and  starting  up  in  that  kind  of  terror  which  affects  a  person 
suddenly  roused,  saw,  to  his  great  astonishment,  that  his  charge  had  struggletl 
into  a  sitting  posture,  and  with  eyes  almost  starting  from  their  sockets,  cold 
dew  standing  on  his  forehead,  and  in  a  fit  of  trembling  which  quite  convulsed 
his  frame,  was  calling  to  him  for  help. 

"Good  heaven,  what  is  this?"  said  Nicholas,  bending  over  him.  "Be 
calm  ;  you  have  been  dreaming." 

"No,  no,  no  !"  cried  Smike,  clinging  to  him.  "Hold  me  tight.  Don't 
let  me  go.     There — there — behind  the  tree." 

Nicholas  followed  his  eyes,  which  were  directed  to  some  distance  behind 
the  chair  from  which  he  himself  had  just  risen.  But  there  was  nothing 
there. 

"This  is  nothing  but  your  fancy,"  he  said,  as  he  strove  to  compose  him; 
"  nothing  else,  indeed." 

"  I  know  better.  I  saw  as  plain  as  I  see  now,"  was  the  answer.  "Oh! 
say  you'll  keep  me  with  you — swear  you  won't  leave  me  for  an  instant ! " 

"  Do  I  ever  leave  you?"  returned  Nicholas.  "Lie  dow^  again — there! 
You  see  I'm  here.     Now,  tell  me — what  was  it  ?  " 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Smike,  in  a  low  voice,  and  glancing  fearfully 
around,  "  do  you  remember  my  telling  you  of  the  man  who  first  took  me  to 
the  school  ? " 

"Yes,  surely." 

"I  raised  my  eyes  just  now  towards  that  tree — that  one  with  the  thick 
trunk — and  there,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  me,  he  stood  ! " 

"  Only  reflect  for  one  moment,"  said  Nicholas.  "  Granting,  for  an  instant, 
that  it's  likely  he  is  alive  and  wandering  about  a  lonely  place  like  this,  so  lar 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  49^ 

removed  from  the  public  road,  do  yon  think  that  at  this  distance  of  time  you 
could  possibly  know  that  man  again  ? " 

**  Anywhere  —  in  any  dress,"  returned  Sraike  ;  "but  just  now  he  stood 
leaning  upon  his  stick  and  looking  at  me,  exactly  as  I  told  you  I  remembered 
him.  He  was  dusty  with  walking,  and  poorly  dressed — I  think  his  clothes 
were  ragged — but  directly  I  saw  him,  the  wet  night,  his  face  when  he  left  me, 
the  parlour  I  was  left  in,  and  the  people  that  were  there,  all  seemed  to  come 
back  together.  When  he  knew  I  saw  him,  he  looked  frightened ;  for  he 
started  and  shrunk  away.  I  have  thought  of  him  by  day  and  dreamt  of  him 
by  night.  He  looked  in  my  sleep,  when  I  was  quite  a  little  child,  and  has 
looked  in  my  sleep  ever  since,  as  he  did  just  now.  ' 

Nicholas  endeavoured  by  every  persuasion  and  argument  he  could  think 
of  to  convince  the  terrified  creature  that  his  imagination  had  deceived  him, 
and  that  this  close  resemblance  between  the  creation  of  his  dreams  and  the 
man  he  supposed  he  had  seen  was  but  a  proof  of  it ;  but  all  in  vain.  When 
he  could  persuade  him  to  remain,  for  a  few  moments,  in  the  care  of  the  people 
to  whom  the  house  belonged,  ho  instituted  a  strict  inquiry  whether  any 
stranger  had  been  seen,  and  searched  himself  behind  the  tree,  and  through 
the  orchard,  and  upon  the  land  immediately  adjoining,  and  in  every  place 
near,  where  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to  lie  concealed  ;  but  all  in  vain.  Satis- 
fied that  he  was  ri^t  in  his  original  conjecture,  he  applied  himself  to  calm- 
ing the  fears  of  Smike,  which,  after  some  time,  he  partially  succeeded  in  doing, 
though  not  in  removing  the  impression  upon  his  mind ;  for  he  still  declared 
again  and  again,  in  the  most  solemn  and  fervid  manner,  that  he  had  positively 
seen  what  he  had  described,  and  that  nothing  could  ever  remove  his  convic- 
tion of  its  reality. 

And  now  Nicholas  began  to  see  that  hope  was  gone,  and  that,  upon  the 
partner  of  his  poverty,  and  the  sharer  of  his  better  fortune,  the  world  was 
closing  fast  There  was  little  pain,  little  uneasiness,  but  there  was  no  rally- 
ing, no  effort,  no  struggle  for  life.  He  was  worn  and  wasted  to  the  last 
degree  ;  his  voice  had  sunk  so  low  that  he  could  scarcely  be  heard  to  speak. 
I^ature  was  thoroughly  exhausted,  and  he  had  lain  him  down  to  die. 

On  a  fine  mild  autumn  day,  when  all  was  tranquil  and  at  peace :  when  the 
soft,  sweet  air  crept  in  at  the  open  window  of  the  auiet  room,  and  not  a  sound 
was  heard  but  the  gentle  rustling  of  the  leaves  :  Nicholas  sat  in  his  old  place 
by  the  bedside,  and  knew  that  the  time  was  nearly  come.  So  very  still  it  was, 
that,  every  now  and  then,  he  bent  down  his  ear  to  listen  for  the  breathing  of 
him  who  lay  asleep,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  life  was  still  there,  and  that  he 
had  not  fallen  into  that  deep  slumber  from  which  on  earth  there  is  no  waking. 

While  he  was  thus  employed,  the  closed  eyes  opened,  and  on  the  pale  face 
there  came  a  placid  smile. 

'•That's  well !  "  said  Nicholas.     **  The  sleep  has  done  you  good." 

"  I  have  had  such  pleasant  dreams,"  was  the  answer.  "  Such  pleasant, 
happy  dreams  ! " 

•*  Of  what  %  "  said  Nicholas. 

The  dying  boy  turned  towards  him,  and  putting  his  arm  about  his  neck, 
made  answer,  **  I  shall  soon  be  there  !  " 

After  a  short  silence  he  spoke  again. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,"  he  said.  "  I  am  quite  contented.  I  almost  think 
that  if  I  could  rise  from  this  bed  quite  well,  I  would  not  wish  to  do  so  now. 
You  have  so  often  told  me  we  shall  meet  again — so  very  often  lately,  and 
now  I  feel  the  truth  of  that  so  strongly — that  I  can  even  bear  to  part  from 
yon." 

The  trembling  voice  and  tearful  eye,  and  the  closer  grasp  of  the  arm  which 


492  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

accompanied  these  latter  words,  showed  how  they  filled  the  speaker's  heart ; 
nor  were  there  wanting  indications  of  how  deeply  they  had  touched  the  heart 
of  him  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 

* '  You  say  well, "  returned  Nicholas  at  length,  **  and  comfort  me  very  much, 
dear  fellow.     Let  me  hear  you  say  you  are  happy,  if  you  can." 

**  Let  me  tell  you  something  first.  I  should  not  have  a  secret  from  yon. 
You  would  not  blame  me  at  a  time  like  this,  I  know." 

*'  /blame  you  !  "  exclaimed  Nicholas. 

*'  I  am  sure  you  would  not.  You  asked  me  why  I  was  so  changed,  and— 
and  sat  so  much  alone.     Shall  I  tell  you  why  \ " 

"Not  if  it  pains  yon,"  said  Nicholas.  *'  I  only  asked  that  I  might  make 
you  happier,  if  1  could." 

"I  know — I  felt  that,  at  the  time."  He  drew  his  friend  closer  to  him. 
**  You  will  forgive  me  ;  I  could  not  help  it,  but  though  I  would  have  died  to 
make  her  happy,  it  br('\e  my  heart  to  see — I  know  he  loves  her  dearly— oh! 
who  could  fina  that  oul  so  soon  as  I  !  " 

The  words  which  fo]:t)wed  were  feebly  and  faintly  uttered,  and  broken  hy 
long  pauses  ;  but  from  tu^ra  Nicholas  learnt,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  dying 
boy,  with  all  the  ardour  «)f  a  nature  concentrated  on  one  absorbing,  hopeless, 
secret  passion,  loved  his  sister  Kate. 

He  had  procured  a  lock  of  her  hair,  which  hung  on  his  breast,  folded  in  one 
or  two  slight  ribands  she  had  worn.  He  prayed  that,  when  he  was  dwwl, 
Nicholas  would  take  it  off,  so  that  no  eyes  but  his  might  see  it,  and  then 
when  he  was  laid  in  his  coffin,  and  about  to  be  placed  in  the  earth,  he  would 
hang  it  round  his  neck  again,  that  it  might  rest  with  him  in  the  grave. 

Upon  his  knees  Nicholas  gave  him  this  pledge,  and  promised  again  that  he 
should  rest  in  the  spot  he  had  pointed  out.  They  embraced,  and  kissed  each 
other  on  the  cheek.  . 

**  Now,"  he  murmured,   **I  am  happy." 

He  fell  into  a  slight  slumber,  and  waking,  smiled  as  before  ;  then  spoke  of 
beautiful  gardens,  which  he  said  stretched  out  before  him,  and  were  filled  with 
figures  of  men,  women,  and  many  children,  all  with  light  upon  their  faces; 
then  whispered  that  it  was  Eden — and  so  died. 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

THE    PLOTS    BEGIN    TO    FAIL,    AND    DOUBTS    AND    DANGERS   TO    DISTURB  THE 

PLOTTEil. 

RALPH  sat  alone,  in  the  solitary  room  where  he  was  accustomed  to  take 
his  meals,  and  to  sit  of  nights  when  no  profitable  occupation  called 
him  abroad.  Before  him  was  an  untasted  breakfast,  and  near  to  where 
his  fingers  beat  restlessly  upon  the  table  lay  his  watch.  It  was  long  past  the 
time  at  which,  for  many  years,  he  had  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  gone  with 
measured  steps  downstairs  to  the  business  of  the  day,  but  he  took  as  little 
heed  of  its  monotonous  warning  as  of  the  meat  and  drink  before  him,  and 
remained  with  his  head  resting  on  one  hand,  and  his  eyes  fixed  moodily  on 
the  ground. 

This  departure  from  his  regular  and  constant  habit,  in  one  so  regular  and 
unvarying  in  all  that  appertained  to  the  daily  pursuit  of  riches,  would  almost 
of  itself  have  told  that  the  usurer  was  not  well.  That  he  laboured  under  some 
mental  or  bodily  indisposition,  and  that  it  was  one  of  no  slight  kind  so  to 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  493 

affect  a  man  like  him,  was  sufficiently  shown  by  his  haggard  face,  jaded  air, 
and  hollow,  languid  eyes  :  which  he  raised  at  last  with  a  start,  and  a  hasty 
glance  around  him,  as  one  who  suddenly  awakes  from  sleep,  and  cannot 
immediately  recognise  the  place  in  which  he  finds  himself. 

**  What  is  this,"  he  said,  **  that  hangs  over  me,  and  I  cannot  shake  off?  I 
have  never  pampered  myself,  and  should  not  be  ill.  1  have  never  moped,  and 
pined,  and  yielded  to  fancies  ;  but  what  can  a  man  do  without  rest  ? " 

He  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  forehead. 

"Night  after  night  comes  and  goes,  and  I  have  no  rest.  If  I  sleep,  what 
rest  is  that  which  is  disturbed  by  constant  dreams  of  the  same  detested  faces 
crowding  round  me — of  the  same  detested  people,  in  every  variety  of  action, 
mingling  with  all  I  say  and  do,  and  always  to  my  defeat  ?  "Waking,  what 
rest  have  I,  constantly  haunted  by  this  heavy  shadow  of — I  know  not  what — 
whicli  is  its  worst  character  !  I  must  have  rest.  One  night's  unbroken  rest, 
and  I  should  be  a  man  again." 

Pushing  the  table  from  him  while  he  spoke,  as  though  he  loathed  the 
sight  of  food,  he  encountered  the  watcli :  the  hands  of  which  were  almost 
upon  noon. 

**This  is  strange!"  ho  said,  "noon,  and  Noggs  not  here  !  what  drunken 
brawl  keeps  Him  away  ?  I  would  give  something  now — something  in  money, 
even  after  that  dreadful  loss — if  he  had  stabbed  a  man  in  a  tavern  scuffle,  or 
broken  into  a  house,  or  picked  a  pocket,  or  done  anything  that  would  send 
liini  abroad,  with  an  iron  ring  upon  his  leg,  and  rid  me  of  him.  Better  still, 
if  I  could  throw  temptation  in  his  way,  and  lure  him  on  to  rob  me.  He 
should  be  welcome  to  what  he  took,  so  I  brought  the  law  upon  him  ;  for  he 
is  a  traitor,  1  swear  !  How,  or  when,  or  wliere  I  don't  know,  though  I 
suspect." 

After  waiting  for  anotlier  half-hour,  he  despatched  the  woman  who  kept 
his  house  to  Newman's  lodgings,  to  inquire  if  he  were  ill,  and  why  he  had 
not  come  or  sent.  She  brought  back  answer  that  he  had  not  been  home 
all  night,  and  that  no  one  could  tell  her  anything  about  him. 

"But  there  is  a  gentleman,  sir,"  she  said,  "below,  who  was  standing  at 
the  door  when  I  came  in,  and  he  says " 

"What  says  he?"  demanded  Ralph,  turning  angrily  upon  her.  **  I  told 
you  I  would  see  nobody." 

**  He  says,"  replied  the  woman,  abashed  by  his  harshness,  **  that  he  comes 
on  very  particular  business  which  admits  of  no  excuse  ;  and  I  thought  perhaps 
it  might  be  about " 

**  About  what,  in  the  devil's  name?"  said  Ralph.  "  You  spy  and  specu- 
late on  people's  business  with  me,  do  you  ?  " 

•  *  Dear,  no,  sir  !  I  saw  you  were  anxious,  and  thought  it  might  be  about 
Mr.  Noggs;  that's  all." 

•*Saw  I  was  anxious!"  muttered  Ralph;  "they  all  watch  me  now. 
Wliere  is  this  person  ?     You  did  not  say  I  was  not  down  yet,  I  hope  ? " 

The  woman  replied  that  he  was  in  the  little  office,  and  that  she  had  said 
her  master  was  engaged,  but  she  would  take  the  message. 

•*  Well,"  said  Ralph,  "I'll  see  him.  Go  you  to  your  kitchen,  and  keep 
there — do  you  mind  me  ? " 

Glad  to  be  released,  the  woman  quickly  disappeared.  Collecting  himself, 
an<l  assuming  as  much  of  his  accustomed  manner  as  his  utmost  resolution 
could  summon,  Ralph  descended  the  stairs.  Attir  ))ausing  for  a  few  moments, 
with  his  hand  U]ion  the  lock,  he  entered  Newman's  room,  and  confronted  Mr. 
Charles  Cheeryble. 

Of  all  men  alive,  this  was  one  of  the  last  he  would  have  wished  to  meet  at 


494  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

any  time  ;  but  now  that  he  recognised  in  him  only  the  patron  and  protector 
of  Nicholas,  he  would  rather  have  seen  a  spectre.  One  beneficial  effect,  how- 
ever, the  encounter  had  npon  him.  It  instantly  roused  all  his  dormaDt 
energies  ;  rekindled  in  his  breast  the  passions  that,  for  many  years,  had  found 
an  improving  home  there  ;  called  up  all  his  wrath,  hatred,  and  malice ; 
restored  the  sneer  to  his  lip,  and  the  scowl  to  his  brow ;  and  made  him  again, 
in  all  outward  appearance,  the  same  Ralph  Nickleby  whom  so  many  had 
bitter  cause  to  remember. 

'* Humph  !"  said  Ralph,  pausing  at  the  door.  "This  is  an  unexpected 
favour,  sir," 

"An  unwelcome  one,"  said  brother  Charles;  **an  un welcome  one,  I 
know. " 

"  Men  say  you  are  truth  itself,  sir,"  replied  Ralph.  **  You  apeak  trnth 
now,  at  all  events,  and  I'll  not  contradict  you.  The  favour  is,  at  least,  as 
unwelcome  as  it  is  unexpected.     I  can  scarcely  say  more  ! " 

**  Plainly,  sir "  began  brother  Charles. 

"Plainly,  sir,"  interrupted  Ralph,  "I  wish  this  conference  to  be  a  short 
one,  and  to  end  where  it  begins.  I  guess  the  subject  upon  which  you  are 
about  to  speak,  and  I'll  not  hear  you.  You  like  plaiimess,  I  believe — there  it 
is.  Here  is  the  door,  as  you  see.  Our  way  lies  in  very  different  directions 
Take  yours,  I  beg  of  you,  and  leave  me  to  pursue  mine  in  quiet." 

"In  quiet!"  repeated  brother  Charles,  mildly,  and  looking  at  him  with 
more  of  pity  than  reproach.     "  To  pursue  his  way  in  quiet !  " 

"You  will  scarcely  remain  in  my  house,  I  presume,  sir,  against  my  will,** 
said  Ralph,  "  or  you  can  scarcely  hope  to  make  an  impression  upon  a  man 
who  closes  his  ears  to  all  that  you  can  say,  and  is  firmly  and  resolutely  deter- 
mined  not  to  hear  you." 

"  Mr.  Nickleby,  sir,"  returned  brother  Charles,  no  less  mildly  than  before, 
but  firmly  too,  "  I  come  here  against  my  will — sorel}'  and  grievously  against 
my  will.  I  have  never  been  in  this  house  before ;  and,  to  speak  my  mind, 
sir,  I  don't  feel  at  home  or  easy  in  it,  and  have  no  wish  ever  to  be  here  again. 
You  do  not  guess  the  subject  on  which  I  come  to  speak  to  you  ;  you  do  not, 
indeed.     I  am  sure  of  that,  or  your  manner  would  be  a  very  different  one." 

Ralph  glanced  keenly  at  him,  but  the  clear  eye  and  open  countenance  of 
the  honest  old  merchant  underwent  no  change  of  expression,  and  met  bis 
look  without  reserve. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  "  said  Mr.  Cheery ble. 

"Oh,  by  all  means,  if  you  please,"  returned  Ralph,  drily.  "Here  are 
walls  to  speak  to,  sir,  a  desk,  and  two  istools — most  attentive  auditors,  and 
certain  not  to  interrupt  you.  Go  on,  I  beg  ;  make  my  house  yours,  and 
perhaps  by  the  time  I  return  from  my  walk  you  will  have  finished  what  you 
have  to  say,  and  will  yield  me  up  possession  again." 

So  saying,  he  buttoned  his  coat,  and  turning  into  the  passage,  took  down 
his  hat.  The  old  gentleman  followed,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  Ralph 
waved  him  off  impatiently,  and  said — 

"  Not  a  word.  I  tell  you,  sir,  not  a  word.  Virtuous  as  you  are,  you  are 
not  an  angel  yet,  to  appear  in  men's  houses  whether  they  will  or  no,  and  pour 
your  speech  into  unwilling  ears.     Preach  to  the  walls  I  tell  you — not  to  rae ! " 

"I  am  no  angel,  heaven  knows,"  returned  brother  Charles,  shaking  his 
head,  ' '  but  an  erring  and  imperfect  man  ;  nevertheless,  there  is  one  quality 
which  all  men  have,  in  common  with  the  angels,  blessed  opportunities  oif 
exercising,  if  they  will— mercy.  It  is  an  errand  of  mercy  tnat  brings  me 
here.     Pray,  let  me  discharge  it" 

"I  show  no  mercy,"  retorted  Ralph,  with  a  triumphant  smile,  "and  I 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  495 

ask  none.  Seek  no  mercy  from  me,  sir,  in  behalf  of  the  fellow  who  has 
imposed  upon  your  childish  credulity,  but  let  him  expect  the  worst  that  I 
can  do." 

** He  ask  mercy  at  your  hands!"  exclaimed  the  old  merchant,  warmly, 
*'ask  it  at  his,  sir;  ask  it  at  his.  If  you  will  not  hear  me,  now,  when 
you  may,  hear  me  when  you  must,  or  anticipate  what  I  would  say,  and  take 
measures  to  prevent  our  ever  meeting  again.  Your  nephew  is  a  noble  lad, 
sir,  an  honest,  noble  lad.  What  you  are,  Mr.  Nickleby,  I  will  not  say  ;  but 
what  you  have  done,  I  know.  Now,  sir,  when  you  go  about  the  business  in 
"which  you  have  been  recently  engaged,  and  find  it  difficult  of  pursuing,  come 
to  me  and  my  brother  Ned,  and  Tim  Linkinwater,  sir,  and  we'll  explain  it  for 
you — and  come  soon,  or  it  may  be  too  late,  and  you  may  have  it  explained 
with  a  little  more  roughness,  and  a  little  less  delicacy — and  never  forget,  sir, 
that  I  came  here  this  morning  in  mercy  to  you,  and  am  still  ready  to  talk  to 
you  in  the  same  spirit." 

With  these  words,  uttered  with  great  emphasis  and  emotion,  brother 
Charles  put  on  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  passing  Ralph  Nickleby  without 
any  other  remark,  trotted  nimbly  into  the  street.  Ralph  looked  after  him, 
but  neither  moved  nor  spoke  for  some  time,  when  he  broke  what  almost 
seemed  the  silence  of  stupefaction  by  a  scornful  laugh. 

"This,"  he  said,  ''from  its  wildness  should  be  another  of  those  dreams 
that  have  so  broken  my  rest  of  late.  In  mercy  to  me  ! — Pho  !  The  old 
simpleton  has  gone  mad." 

Although  he  expressed  himself  in  this  derisive  and  contemptuous  manner, 
it  was  plain  that  the  more  Ralph  pondered  the  more  ill  at  ease  he  became, 
and  the  more  he  laboured  under  some  vague  anxiety  and  alarm,  which 
increased  as  the  time  passed  on  and  no  tidings  of  Newman  Noggs  arrived. 
After  waiting  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  tortured  by  various  apprehensions 
and  mis^ivinffs,  and  the  recollection  of  the  warning  which  his  nephew  had 
given  him  when  they  last  met :  the  further  confirmation  of  which  now 
presented  itself  in  one  shape  of  probability,  now  in  another,  and  haunted 
aim  perpetually :  he  left  home,  and  scarcely  knowing  why,  save  that  he  was 
in  a  suspicious  and  agitated  mood,  betook  himself  to  Snawley's  house.  His 
wife  presented  herself;  and  of  her  Ralph  inquired  whether  her  husband  was 
at  home. 

**  No,"  she  said,  sharply,  "  he  is  not,  indeed,  and  I  don't  think  he  will  be 
at  home  for  a  very  long  time  ;  that's  more." 

**  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? "  asked  Ralph. 

**  Oh,  yes,  I  know  you  very  well — too  well,  perhaps,«and  perhaps  ho  does 
too,  and  sorry  am  I  that  I  should  have  to  say  it." 

"Tell  him  that  I  saw  him  through  the  window-blind  above,  as  I  crossed 
the  road  just  now,  and  that  I  would  speak  to  him  on  business,"  said  Ralph. 
««Do  vou  hear?" 


phrases, 
before.' 

"Stop!  You  don't  come  in  here,"  said  Mr.  Snawley's  better-half,  inter- 
posing her  person,  which  was  a  robust  one,  in  the  doorway.  "You  have  said 
more  than  enough  to  him  on  business  before  now.  I  always  told  him  what 
dealing  with  you  and  working  out  your  schemes  would  come  to.  It  was 
either  you  or  the  schoolmaster — one  of  you,  or  the  two  between  you — that  got 
the  forged  letter  done  ;  remember  that !  That  wasn't  his  doing,  so  don't  ky 
it  at  his  door." 


496  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

*'  Hold  your  ton^e,  you  Jezebel,"  said  Ralph,  looking  fearfully  round. 

**  Ah,  I  know  when  to  hold  my  tongue,  and  when  to  speak,  Mr. 
Nickleby,"  retorted  the  dame.  •"  Take  care  that  other  people  know  when  to 
hold  theirs." 

"  You  jade,"  said  Ralph,  "  if  your  husband  has  been  idiot  enough  to  trust 
you  with  his  secrets,  keep  them — keep  them,  she-devil  that  you  are  ! " 

"  Not  so  much  his  secrets  as  other  people's  secrets,  perhaps,"  retorted  the 
woman  ;  "  not  so  much  his  secret  as  yours.  None  of  your  black  looks  at 
nie  !  You'll  want  'em  all  perhaps  for  another  time.  You  had  better  keep 
'em." 

**  Will  you,"  said  Ralph,  suppressing  his  passion  as  well  as  he  could,  aud 
clutching  lier  tightly  by  the  wrist :  **  will  you  go  to  your  husband  and  tell 
him  that  I  know  he  is  at  home,  and  that  I  must  see  him  ?  And  will  you  tell 
me  what  it  is  that  you  and  he  mean  by  this  new  style  of  behaviour  ? " 

**No,"  replied  the  woman,  violently  disengaging  herself,  "I'll  do 
neither." 

*  *  You  set  me  at  defiance,  do  you  ? "  said  Ralph. 

**  Yes,"  was  the  answer.     "  I  do." 

For  an  instant  Ralph  had  his  hand  raised,  as  though  ho  were  about  to 
strike  her ;  but  checking  himself,  and  nodding  his  head  and  muttering  as 
though  to  assure  her  he  would  not  forget  this,  walked  away. 

Thence  he  went  straight  to  the  inn  which  Mr.  Squeers  frequented,  and 
inquired  when  he  had  been  there  last ;  in  the  vague  hope  that,  successful  or 
unsuccessful,  he  might  by  this  time  have  returned  from  his  mission  and  be 
able  to  assure  him  tnat  all  was  safe.  But  Mr.  Squeers  had  not  been  there  for 
t^n  days,  and  all  that  the  people  could  tell  about  him  was,  that  he  had  left 
his  luggage  and  his  bill. 

Disturbed  by  a  thousand  fears  and  surmises,  and  bent  upon  ascertaining 
whether  Squeers  had  any  suspicion  of  Snawley,  or  was,  in  any  way,  a  party  to 
this  altered  behaviour,  Ralph  determined  to  hazard  the  extreme  step  of 
inquiring  for  him  at  the  Lambeth  lodging,  and  having  an  interview  with  him 
even  there.  Bent  upon  this  purpose,  and  in  that  mood  in  which  delay  is 
insupportable,  he  repaired  at  once  to  the  place  ;  and  being,  by  description, 
perfectly  acquainted  with  the  situation  of  his  room,  crept  upstairs  and 
knocked  gently  at  the  door. 

Not  one,  nor  two,  nor  three,  nor  yet  a  dozen  knocks  served  to  convince 
Ralph,  against  his  wish,  that  there  was  nobody  inside.  He  reasoned  that  he 
might  be  asleep  ;  and,  listening,  almost  persuaded  himself  that  he  could  hear 
him  breathe.  Even  wlien  he  was  satisfied  that  he  could  not  be  there,  he  sat 
patiently  on  a  broken  stair  and  waited  ;  arguing  that  he  had  gone  out  upon 
some  slight  errand,  and  must  soon  return. 

Many  feet  came  up  the  creaking  stairs  ;  and  the  step  of  some  seemed  to  his 
listening  ear  so  like  that  of  the  man  for  whom  he  waited,  that  Ralph  oft^u 
stood  up  to  be  ready  to  address  him  when  he  reached  the  top  ;  but,  one  by 
one,  each  person  turned  off  into  some  room  short  of  the  place  where  he 
was  stationed  ;  and  at  every  such  disappointment  he  felt  quite  chilled  and 
lonely. 

At  length  he  felt  it  was  hopeless  to  remain,  and  going  downstairs  again, 
inquired  of  one  of  the  lodgers  if  he  knew  anything  of  Mr.  Squeers's  move- 
ments— mentioning  that  worthy  by  an  assumed  name  which  had  been  agreed 
upon  between  them.  By  this  lodger  he  was  referred  to  another,  and  by  him 
to  someone  else,  from  whom  he  learnt  that,  late  on  the  previous  night,  he  bad 
gone  out  hastily  with  two  men,  who  had  shortly  afterwards  returned  for 
the  old  woman  who  lived  on  the  same  floor  ;  and  that,  although  the  circum- 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  497 

stance  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  informant,  he  had  not  spokeu  to 
them  at  the  time,  nor  made  any  inquiry  afterwards. 

This  possessed  him  with  the  idea  that,  perhaps,  Pe^  Sliderskew  had  heen 
apprehended  for  the  robbery,  and  that  Mr.  Squeers,  oeing  with  her  at  the 
time,  had  been  apprehended  also  on  suspicion  of  being  a  confederate.  If  this 
•were  so,  the  fact  must  be  known  to  Gride  ;  and  to  Gride's  house  he  directed 
his  steps  ;  now  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  fearful  that  there  were  indeed  plots 
afoot,  tending  to  his  discomfiture  and  ruin. 

Arrived  at  the  usurer's  house,  he  found  the  windows  close  shut,  the  dingy 
blinds  drawn  down  ;  all  silent,  melanclioly,  and  deserted.  But  this  was  its 
usual  aspect.  He  knocked — gently  at  first — then  loud  and  vigorously — but 
nobody  came.  He  wrote  a  few  words  in  pencil  on  a  card,  and  having  thrust 
it  under  the  door,  was  going  away,  when  a  noise  above,  as  though  a  window- 
sash  was  stealthily  raised,  caught  his  ear,  and  looking  up  he  could  just 
discern  the  face  of  Gride  himself  cautiously  peering  over  the  house  parapet 
from  the  window  of  the  garret.  Seeing  who  was  below,  he  drew  it  in  again  : 
not  so  quickly,  however,  but  that  Ralph  let  him  know  he  was  observed,  and 
called  to  him  to  come  down. 

The  call  being  repeated,  Gride  looked  out  again,  so  cautiously  that  no  part 
of  the  old  man's  body  was  visible.  The  sharp  features  and  white  hair 
appearing  alone,  above  the  parapet,  looked  like  a  severed  head  garnishing  the 
•wall. 

**  Hush  1 "  he  cried.     **  Go  away — go  away  !  " 

•*  Come  down,"  said  Ralph,  beckoning  to  him. 

**  Go  a — way  !  "  squeaked  Gride,  shaking  his  head  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy  of 
impatience.  '*  Don't  speak  to  me,  don't  knock,  don't  call  attention  to  tlie 
house,  but  go  away." 

**  I'll  knock,  I  swear,  till  I  have  your  neighbours  up  in  arms,"  said  Ralph, 
'*  if  you  don't  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  lurking  there,  you  whining  cur." 

**I  can't  hear  what  you  say — don't  talk  to  me — it  isn't  safe — go  away — go 
away  !  "  returned  Gride. 

**  Come  down,  I  say.     Will  you  come  down  !  "  said  Ralph,  fiercely. 

**  No — o — 0 — o,"  snarled  Gride.  He  drew  in  his  head  ;  and  Ralph,  left 
standing  in  the  street,  could  hear  the  sash  closed,  as  gently  and  carefully  as  it 
had  been  opened. 

**  How  is  this,"  said  he,  "  that  they  all  fall  from  me,  and  shun  me  like 
the  plague — these  men  who  have  licked  the  dust  from  my  feet !  Is  my  day 
past,  and  is  this  indeed  the  coming  on  of  night  ?  I'll  know  what  it  means  ! 
I  will,  at  any  cost  I  am  firmer  and  more  myself  just  now  than  I  have  been 
these  many  days." 

Turning  from  the  door,  which,  in  the  first  transport  of  his  rage,  he  had 
meditated  battering  upon,  until  Gride's  very  fears  should  impel  him  to  open 
it,  he  turned  his  face  towards  the  City,  and  working  his  way  steadily  through 
the  crowd  which  was  pouring  from  it  (it  was  by  this  time  between  five  and  six 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon)  went  straight  to  the  house  of  business  of  the  Brothers 
Cheeryble,  and  putting  his  head  into  the  glass  case,  found  Tim  Linkinwater 
alone. 

**My  name's  Nickleby,"  said  Ralph. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Tim,  surveying  him  through  his  spectacles. 

"Which  of  your  firm  was  it  who  called  on  me  this  morning  ? "  demanded 
Ralph.. 

**Mr.  Charles." 

"Then,  tell  Mr.  Charles  I  want  to  see  him." 

u  32 


498  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

"You  shall  see,"  said  Tim,  getting  off  his  stool  with  great  agility,  **you 
shall  see,  not  only  Mr.  Charles,  but  Mr.  Ned  likewise." 

Tim  stopped,  looked  steadily  and  severely  at  Ralph,  nodded  bis  head  once, 
in  a  curt  manner  which  seemed  to  say  there  was  a  little  more  behind,  and 
vanished.  After  a  short  interval  he  returned,  and  ushering  Ralph  into  the 
presence  of  the  two  brothers,  remained  in  the  room  himself. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you,  who  spoke  to  me  this  morning,"  said  Ralph, 
pointing  out  with  his  finger  the  man  whom  he  addressed. 

"I  have  no  secrets  from  my  brother  Ned,  or- from  Tim  Linkin water," 
observed  brother  Charles,  quietly. 

"I  have,"  said  Ralph. 

"Mr.  Nickleby,  sir,"  said  brother  Ned,  "the  matter  upon  which  my 
brother  Charles  called  upon  you  this  morning  is  one  which  is  already  per- 
fectly well  known  to  us  three,  and  to  others  besides,  and  must  unhappily 
soon  become  known  to  a  great  many  more.  He  waited  upon  you,  sir,  this 
morning,  alone,  as  a  matter  of  delicacy  and  consideration.  We  feel,  now, 
that  further  delicacy  and  consideration  would  be  misplaced  ;  and  if  we  confer 
together,  it  must  be  as  we  are  or  not  at  all." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Ralph,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  "talking  in 
riddles  would  seem  to  be  the  peculiar  forte  of  you  two,  and  I  suppose  your 
clerk,  like  a  prudent  man,  has  studied  the  art  also  with  a  view  to  your  good 
graces.     Talk  in  company,  gentlemen,  in  God's  name.     I'll  humour  you.' 

"Humour  !"  cried  Tim  Lin  kin  water,  suddenly  growing  very  red  in  the 
face.  "  He'll  humour  us  !  He'll  humour  Cheery ble  Brothers  !  Do  you  hear 
that?  Do  you  hear  him?  Do  you  hear  him  say  he'll  humour  Cheeryble 
Brothers  ? " 

"  Tim,"  said  Charles  and  Ned  toorether,  "  pray  Tim — pray  now,  don't." 

Tim,  taking  the  hint,  stifled  his  indignation  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
suffered  it  to  escape  through  his  spectacles,  with  the  additional  safety-valve 
of  a  short,  hysterical  laugh  now  and  then,  which  seemed  to  relieve  him 
mightily. 

"As  nobody  bids  me  to  a  seat,"  said  Ralph,  looking  round,  "I'll  take 
one,  for  I  am  fatigued  with  walking.  And  now,  if  you  please,  gentlemen,  I 
wish  to  know — I  demand  to  know  ;  I  have  the  right — what  you  have  to  say 
to  me,  which  justifies  such  a  tone  as  vou  have  assumed,  and  that  underhand 
interference  in  my  affairs  which,  I  have  reason  to  suppose,  you  have  been 
practising.  1  tell  you  plainly,  gentlemen,  that  little  as  I  care  for  the  opinion 
of  the  world  (as  the  slang  goes),  1  don't  choose  to  submit  quietly  to  slander 
and  malice.  Whether  you  suffer  yourselves  to  be  imposed  upon  too  easily,  or 
wilfully  make  yourselves  party  to  it,  the  result  to  me  is  the  same.  In  either 
case,  you  can't  expect  from  a  plain  man  like  myself  much  consideration  or 
forbearance." 

So  coolly  and  deliberately  was  this  said,  that  nine  men  out  of  ten,  ignorant 
of  the  circumstances,  would  have  supposed  Ralph  to  be  really  an  injur^  man. 
There  he  sat,  with  folded  arms  ;  paler  than  usu'.i,  certainly,  and  sufficiently 
ill-favoured,  but  quite  collected — far  more  so  than  the  brothers  or  the 
exasperated  Tim — and  ready  to  face  out  the  worst. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  brother  Charles.  "Very  well.  Brother  Ned,  will 
you  ring  the  bell  ? " 

"Charles,  my  dear  fellow;  stop  one  instant,"  returned  the  other.  "It 
will  be  better  for  Mr.  Nickleby,  and  for  our  object,  that  he  should  remain 
silent  if  he  can  till  we  have  said  what  we  have  to  say.  I  wish  him  to  under- 
stand that." 

"Quite  right,  quite  right,"  said  brother  Charles. 


NICHOLAS  NICK  LED  K  499 

Ralph  smiled,  but  made  no  reply.  The  bell  was  rung ;  the  room-door 
opeued ;  a  man  came  in  with  a  halting  step  ;  and  looking  round,  Ralph's 
eyes  met  those  of  Newman  Noggs.  From  that  moment  his  heart  began  to 
fail  him. 

"This  is  a  good  beginning,"  he  said,  bitterly.  **0h,  this  is  a  good 
beginning.  You  are  candid,  honest,  open-hearted,  fair-dealing  men  !  I 
always  knew  the  real  worth  of  such  characters  as  yours  !  To  tamper  with  a 
fellow  like  this,  who  would  sell  his  soul  (if  he  had  one)  for  drink,  and  whose 
every  word  is  a  lie — what  men  are  safe  if  this  is  done?  Oh,  it's  a  good 
beginning  ! " 

**  I  will  speak,"  cried  Newman,  standing  on  tiptoe  to  look  over  Tim's 
head,  who  had  interposed  to  prevent  him.  *'  Hallo,  you,  sir — old  Nickleby  ! 
— what  do  you  mean  when  you  talk  of  *  a  fellow  like  this  !  *  Who  made  me 
*  a  fellow  like  this  ? '  If  I  would  sell  my  soul  for  drink,  why  wasn't  I  a  thief, 
swindler,  housebreaker,  area  sneak,  robber  of  pence  out  of  the  trays  of  blind 
men's  dogs,  rather  than  your  drudge  and  packhorse  ?  If  my  every  word  was 
a  lie,  why  wasn't  I  a  pet  and  favourite  oi  yours  ?  Lie  !  When  did  I  ever 
cringe  and  fawn  to  you — eh  ?  Tell  me  that !  I  served  you  faithfully.  I  did 
more  work,  because  I  was  poor,  and  took  more  hard  words  from  you,  because 
I  despised  you  and  them,  than  any  man  you  could  have  got  from  the  parish 
workhouse.  I  did.  I  served  you  because  I  was  proud  ;  because  I  was  a 
lonely  man  with  you,  and  there  were  no  other  drudges  to  see  my  degradation  ; 
and  because  nobody  knew  better  than  you  that  I  was  a  ruined  man  :  that  I 
liadn't  always  been  what  I  am  :  and  that  I  might  have  been  better  off,  if  I 
hadn't  been  a  fool  and  fallen  into  the  hands  of  you  and  others  who  were 
knaves.     Do  you  deny  that — eh  ? " 

**  Gently,"  reasoned  Tim,   **  you  said  you  wouldn't." 

**I  said  I  wouldn't,"  cried  Newman,  thrusting  him  aside,  and  moving  his 
hand  as  Tim  moved,  so  as  to  keep  him  at  arm's  length,  "  don't  tell  me  ! 
Here,  you  Nickleby  !  don't  pretend  not  to  mind  me  ;  it  won't  do  ;  I  know 
better.  You  were  talking  of  taihpering  just  now.  Who  tampered  with  York- 
shire schoolmasters,  and  while  they  sent  the  drudge  out,  that  he  shouldn't 
overhear,  forgot  tliat  such  great  caution  might  render  him  suspicious,  and 
|;hat  he  might  watch  his  master  out  at  nights,  and  might  set  other  eyes  to 
watch  the  schoolmaster  ?  Who  tampered  with  a  selfish  father,  urging  him  to 
sell  his  daughter  to  old  Arthur  Gride,  and  tampered  with  Gride  too,  and  did 
so  in  the  little  office,  wiJlh  a  closet  in  the  room  f 

Ralph  had  put  a  great  command  upon  himself;  but  he  could  not  have 
suppressed  a  slight  start  if  he  had  been  certain  to  have  been  beheaded  for  it 
next  moment. 

**Aha!"  cried  Newman,  "you  mind  me  now,  do  you?  What  first  set 
this  fag  to  be  jealous  of  his  master's  actions,  and  to  feel  that,  if  he  hadn't 
crossed  him  when  he  might,  he  would  have  been  as  bad  as  he,  or  worse  ?  That 
master's  cruel  treatment  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  vile  designs  upon  a 
young  girl  who  interested  even  his  broken-down,  drunken,  miserable  hack, 
and  made  him  linger  in  service,  in  the  hope  of  his  doing  her  some  good  (as, 
thank  God,  he  had  done  others  once  or  twice  before)  ,when  he  would  other- 
wise have  relieved  his  feelings  by  pummelling  his  master  soundly,  and  then 
going  to  the  deviL  He  would — mark  that ;  and  mark  this — that  I'm  here 
now,  because  these  gentlemen  thought  it  best.  When  I  sought  them  out  (as 
I  did — there  was  no  tampering  with  me)  I  told  them  I  wanted  help  to  find 
you  out,  to  trace  you  down,  to  go  through  with  what  I  had  begun,  to  help 
the  right ;  and  that  when  I  had  done  it,  I'd  burst  into  your  room  and  tell 


500  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

you  all,  face  to  face,  man  to  man,  and  like  a  man.  Now  IVe  said  my  nj, 
and  let  anybody  else  say  theirs,  and  fire  away  ! " 

With  this  concluding  sentiment,  Newman  Noggs,  who  had  been  per- 
petually sitting  down  and  getting  up  again  all  through  his  speech,  which  he 
had  delivered  in  a  series  of  jerks  :  and  who  was,  from  the  violent  exercise  and 
the  excitement  combined,  in  a  state  of  most  intense  and  fiery  heat :  became, 
without  passing  through  any  intermediate  stage,  stiff,  upright,  and  motionless, 
and  so  remained,  staring  at  Ralph  Nickleby  with  all  his  might  and  main. 

Ralph  looked  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  for  an  instant  only  ;  then  wa?ed 
his  hand,  and  beating  the  ground  with  his  foot,  said  in  a  choking  voice — 

**  Go  on,  gentlemen,  go  on  !  I'm  patient,  you  see.  There's  law  to  be  had, 
there's  law.  I  shall  call  you  to  an  account  for  this.  Take  care  what  you 
say  ;  I  shall  make  you  prove  it." 

"The  proof  is  ready,"  returned  brother  Charles,  "quite  ready  to  our 
hands.     The  man  Snawlcy  last  night  made  a  confession. " 

"  Who  may  *  the  man  Snawley  *  be  1  *'  returned  Ralph,  **  and  what  may  his 
'  confession '  have  to  do  with  my  affairs  ? " 

To  this  inquiry,  put  with  a  dogged  inflexibility  of  manner,  the  old  gentle- 
man returned  no  answer,  but  went  on  to  say,  that  to  show  him  how  much 
they  were  in  earnest,  it  would  be  necessary  to  tell  him,  not  only  what  accusa- 
tions were  made  against  him,  but  what  proof  of  them  they  had,  and  how  that 
proof  had  been  acquired.  This  laying  open  of  the  whole  question  brought  up 
brother  Ned,  Tim  Linkinwater,  and  Newman  Noggs,  all  three  at  once,  who, 
after  a  vast  deal  of  talking  together,  and  a  scene  of  great  confusion,  laid  before 
Ralph,  in  distinct  terms,  the  following  statement : — 

That  Newman,  having  been  solemnly  assured  by  one  not  then  producible 
that  Smike  was  not  the  son  of  Snawley,  and  this  person  having  offered  to 
make  oath  to  that  effect,  if  necessary,  they  had  by  this  communication  been 
first  led  to  doubt  the  claim  set  up,  which  they  would  otherwise  have  seen  no 
reason  to  dispute  :  supported  as  it  was  by  evidence  which  they  had  no  power 
of  disproving.  That  once  suspecting  the  existence  of  a  conspiracy,  they  had 
no  difficulty  in  tracing  back  its  origin  to  the  malice  of  Ralph,  and  the 
vindictiveness  and  avarice  of  Squeers.  That  suspicion  and  proof  being  two 
very  diffcn  :it  things,  they  had  been  advised  by  a  lawyer,  eminent  for  his 
sagacity  ai:!  acuteness  in  such  practice,  to  resist  the  proceedings  taken  on  the 
other  side  for  the  recovery  of  the  youth  as  slowly  and  artfully  as  possible,  and 
meanwhile  to  beset  Snawley  (with  whom  it  was  clear  the  main  falsehood  must 
rest) ;  to  lead  him,  if  possible,  into  contradictory  and  conflicting  statements ; 
to  harass  him  by  all  available  means ;  and  so  to  practise  on  his  fears  and 
regard  for  his  own  safety,  as  to  induce  him  to  divulge  the  whole  scheme,  and 
to  give  up  his  employer  and  whomsoever  else  he  could  implicate.  That  all 
this  had  been  skilfully  done ;  but  that  Snawley,  who  was  well  practised  in 
tlie  arts  of  low  cunning  and  intrigue,  had  successfully  baffled  all  their 
attempts,  until  an  unexpected  circumstance  had  brought  him  last  night  upon 
his  knees. 

It  thus  arose.  Wlien  Newman  Noggs  reported  that  Squeers  was  again  in 
town,  and  that  an  interview  of  such  secrecy  had  taken  place  between  him  and 
Ralph  that  he  had  been  sent  out  of  the  house,  plainly  lest  he  should  overhear 
a  word,  a  watch  was  set  upon  the  schoolmaster,  in  the  hope  that  something 
might  be  discovered  which  would  throw  some  light  upon  the  suspected  plot 
It  being  found,  however,  that  he  held  no  further  communication  with  Raloh, 
nor  any  with  Snawley,  and  lived  quite  alone,  they  were  completely  at  fiiult ; 
the  watch  was  withdrawn,  and  they  would  have  observed  his  motionfl  no 
longer,  if  it  had  not  happened  that  one  night  Newman  stumbled  anobaerved 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  501 

on  him  and  Ralph  in  the  street  together.  Following  them  he  discovered,  to 
his  great  sarnrise,  that  they  repaired  to  various  low  lod^ng-honses  and 
taverns  kept  oy  broken  gamblers,  to  more  than  one  of  whom  Ralph  was 
known,  ana  that  they  were  in  pursuit — so  he  found  by  inquiries  when  they 
had  left — of  an  old  woman,  whose  description  exactly  tallied  with  thart;  of  deaf 
Mrs.  Sliderskew.  Affairs  now  appearing  to  assume  a  more  serious  complexion, 
the  watch  was  renewed  with  increased  vigilance  ;  an  officer  was  procured,  who 
took  up  his  abode  in  the  same  tavern  with  Squeers  ;  and,  by  him  and  Frank 
Cheeryble,  the  footsteps  of  the  unconscious  schoolmaster  were  dogged,  until 
he  was  safely  housed  in  the  lodging  at  Lambeth.  Mr.  Squeers  having  shifted 
his  lodging,  the  officer  shifted  his,  and  lying  concealed  in  the  same  street,  and, 
indeed,  in  the  opposite  house,  soon  found  that  Mr.  Squeers  and  Mrs.  Slider- 
skew  were  in  constant  communication. 

In  this  state  of  things  Arthur  Gride  was  appealed  to.  The  robbery,  partly 
owing  to  the  inquisitiveness  of  the  neighbours,  and  partly  to  his  own  grief  and 
rage,  had  lone  ago  become  known  ;  but  he  positively  refused  to  give  his 
sanction  or  yield  any  assistance  to  the  old  woman's  capture,  and  was  seized 
with  such  a  panic  at  the  idea  of  being  called  upon  to  give  evidence  against 
her,  that  he  shut  himself  up  close  in  his  house,  and  refused  to  hold  communi- 
cation with  anybody.  Upon  this,  the  pursuers  took  counsel  together,  and 
coming  so  near  the  truth  as  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  Gride  and  Ralph, 
with  Squeers  for  their  instrument,  were  negotiating  for  the  recovery  of  some 
of  the  stolen  papers  which  would  not  bear  the  light,  and  might  possibly 
explain  the  hints  relative  to  Madeline  which  Newman  had  overheard,  resolved 
that  Mrs.  Sliderskew  should  be  taken  into  custody  before  she  had  parted  with 
them :  and  Squeers  too,  if  anything  suspicious  could  be  attached  to  him. 
Accordingly,  a  search-warrant  being  procured,  and  all  prepared,  Mr.  Squeers's 
window  was  watched  until  his  light  was  put  out,  and  the  time  arrived  when, 
as  had  been  previously  ascertained,  he  usually  visited  Mrs.  Sliderskew.  This 
done,  Frank  Cheeryble  and  Newman  stole  upstairs  to  listen  to  their  discourse, 
and  to  give  the  signal  to  the  officer  at  the  most  favourable  time.  At  what  an 
opportune  moment  they  arrived,  how  they  listened,  and  what  they  heard,  is 
already  known  to  the  reader.  Mr.  Squeers,  still  half-stunned,  was  hurried 
otf  with  a  stolen  deed  in  his  possession,  and  Mrs.  Sliderskew  was  apprehended 
likewise.  The  information  being  promptly  carried  to  Snawley  that  Squeers 
was  in  custody — he  was  not  told  for  what — that  worthy,  first  extorting  a 
promise  that  he  should  be  kept  harmless,  declared  the  whole  tale  concerning 
Smike  to  be  a  fiction  and  forgery,  and  implicated  Ralph  Nickleby  to  the 
fullest  extent.  As  to  Mrs.  Squeers,  he  had  that  morning  undergone  a  private 
examination  before  a  magistrate  :  and  being  unable  to  account  satisfactorily 
for  his  possession  of  the  deed  or  his  companionship  with  Mrs.  Sliderskew,  had 
been,  with  her,  remanded  for  a  week. 

All  these  discoveries  were  now  related  to  Ralph,  circumstantially,  and  in 
detail.  Whatever  impression  they  secretly  produced,  he  suffered  no  sign  of 
emotion  to  escape  him,  but  sat  perfectly  still,  not  raising  his  frowning  eyes 
from  the  ground,  and  covering  his  mouth  with  his  hand.  When  the  narrative 
was  concluded,  he  raised  his  head  hastily,  as  if  about  to  speak,  but  on  brother 
Charles  resuming,  fell  into  his  old  attitude  again. 

**  I  told  you  this  morning,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  brother's  shoulder,  **  that  I  came  to  you  in  mercy.  How  far  you  may  be 
implicated  in  this  last  transaction,  or  how  far  the  person  who  is  now  in 
custody  may  criminate  you,  you  best  know.  But  justice  must  take  its  course 
against  the  parties  implicated  in  the  plot  against  this  poor,  unoffending, 
injured  lad.     It  is  not  in  my  power,  or  in  the  power  of  my  brother  Ned,  to 


502  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

save  you  from  the  consequences.  The  utmost  we  can  do  is  to  warn  you  in 
time,  and  to  cive  you  an  opportunity  of  escaping  them.  We  would  not  have 
an  old  man  like  you  disgraced  and  punished  by  your  near  relation ;  nor 
would  we  have  him  forget,  like  you,  all  ties  of  blood  and  nature.  We  entreat 
you — ^brother  Ned,  you  join  me,  I  know,  in  this  entreaty,  and  so,  Tim 
Linkinwater,  do  you,  although  you  pretend  to  be  an  obstinate  dog,  sir,  and 
sit  there  frowning  as  if  you  didn't — we  entreat  you  to  retire  from  London,  to 
take  shelter  in  some  place  where  you  will  be  safe  from  the  consequences  of 
these  wicked  designs,  and  where  you  may  have  time,  sir,  to  atone  for  them, 
and  to  become  a  better  man." 

**And  do  you  think,"  returned  Ralph,  rising,  "and  do  you  think  you 
will  so  easily  crush  mt  ?  Do  you  think  that  a  hundred  well-arranged  plans, 
or  a  hundred  suborned  witnesses,  or  a  hundred  false  curs  at  my  heels,  or  a 
hundred  canting  speeches  full  of  oily  words,  will  move  me  ?  I  thank  you  for 
disclosing  your  schemes,  which  I  am  now  prepared  for.  You  have  not  the 
man  to  deal  with  that  you  think  ;  try  me!  and  remember  that  I  spit  upon 
your  fair  words  and  false  dealing,  and  dare  you — provoke  you — ^taunt  you— to 
do  to  me  the  very  worst  you  can  ! " 

Thus  they  parted,  for  that  time  ;  but  the  worst  had  not  come  yet. 


CHAPTER   LX. 

THE  DANGERS  THICKEN,   AND  THE  WOBST  IS  TOLD. 

Y  NSTEAD  of  going  home,  Ralph  threw  himself  into  the  first  street  cabriolet 
t  he  could  find,  and  directing  the  driver  towards  the  police-office  of  the 
district  in  which  Mr.  Squeers's  misfortunes  had  occurred,  alighted  at  a 
short  distance  from  it,  and  discharging  the  man,  went  the  rest  of  his  way 
thither  on  foot.  Inquiring  for  the  object  of  his  solicitude,  he  learned  that  he 
had  timed  his  visit  well ;  for  Mr.  Squeers  was,  in  fact,  at  that  moment 
waiting  for  a  hackney-coach  he  had  ordered,  and  in  which  he  purposed 
proceeding  to  his  week's  retirement  like  a  gentleman. 

Demanding  speech  with  the  prisoner,,  he  was  ushered  into  a  kind  of  waiting- 
room,  in  which,  by  reason  of  his  scholastic  profession  and  superior  respecta- 
bility, Mr.  Squeers  had  been  peniiitted  to  pass  the  day.  Here,  by  the  light 
of  a  guttering  and  blackened  candle,  he  could  barely  discern  the  schoolmaster 
fast  asleep  on  a  bench  in  a  remote  corner.  An  empty  glass  stood  on  a  table 
before  him,  which,  with  his  somnolent  condition,  and  a  very  strong  smell  of 
brandy  and  water,  forewarned  the  visitor  that  Mr.  Squeers  had  been  seeking, 
in  creature  comforts,  a  temporary  forgetfulness  of  his  unpleasant  situation. 

It  was  not  a  very  easy  matter  to  rouse  him  ;  so  lethargic  and  heavy  were 
his  slumbers.  Regaining  his  faculties  by  slow  and  faint  glimmerings,  he  at 
length  sat  upright ;  and  displaying  a  very  yellow  face,  a  very  red  nose,  and  t 
very  bristly  beard  :  the  joint  effect  of  which  was  considerably  heightened  by 
a  dirty  white  handkercliief,  spotted  with  blood,  drawn  over  the  crown  of  liis 
head,  and  tied  over  his  chin  :  stared  ruefully  at  Ralph  in  silence,  until  his 
feelings  found  a  vent  in  this  pithy  sentence — 

*'  I  say,  young  fellow,  you've  been  and  done  it  now ;  you  have  ! " 

**  What's  the  matter  with  your  head  ?  "  asked  Ralph. 

'*  Why,  your  man,  your  informing,  kidnapping  man,  has  been  and  broke 
it,"  rejoined  Squeers,  sulkily ;  **  that's  what's  the  matter  with  it.  You've 
come  at  last,  have  you  ? " 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  503 

**  Why  have  yon  not  sent  to  me  ? "  said  Ralph.  **  How  could  I  come  till  I 
knew  what  had  befallen  yon  ? " 

"  My  family  ! "  hiccnped  Mr.  Squeers,  raising  his  eye  to  the  ceiling  ;  "  my 
daughter,  as  is  at  that  age  when  all  the  sensibilities  is  a  coming  out  strong  in 
blow — my  son,  as  is  the  young  Nerval  of  private  life,  and  the  pride  and 
ornament  of  a  doting  willage — here's  a  shock  for  my  family !  The  coat  of 
arms  of  the  Squeerses  is  tore,  and  their  sun  has  gone  down  into  the  ocean 
wave  ! " 

**  You  have  been  drinking,"  said  Ralph,  "  and  have  not  yet  slept  yourself 
sober." 

**I  haven't  been  drinking  your  health,  my  codger,"  replied  Mr.  Squeers; 
**  so  you  have  notliingto  do  with  that." 

Ralph  suppressed  the  indignation  which  the  schoolmaster's  altered  ani 
insolent  manner  awakened,  and  asked  again  why  he  had  not  sent  to  him. 

"What  should  I  get  by  sending  to  you?"  returned  Squeers.  '*To  be 
known  to  be  in  with  you  wouldn't  do  me  a  deal  of  good,  and  they  won't  take 
bail  till  they  know  something  more  of  the  case,  so  nere  am  I  hard  and  fast ; 
and  there  are  you,  loose  and  comfortable." 

.  "And  so  you  must  be,  in  a  few  days/'  retorted  Ralph,  with  affected  good- 
humour.     *•  They  can't  hurt  you,  man." 

"Why,  I  suppose  they  can't  do  much  to  me,  if  I  explain  how  it  was  that  I 

fot  into  the  good  company  of  that  there  ca-daverous  old  Slider,"  replied 
queers,  viciously,  "who  I  wish  was  dead  and  buried,  and  resurrected  and 
dissected,  and  hung  upon  wires  in  a  anatomical  museum,  before  ever  I  had 
anything  to  do  with  her.  This  is  what  him  with  the  powdered  head  says 
this  morning,  in  so  many  words — *  Prisoner  !  As  you  nave  been  found  in 
company  with  this  woman  ;  as  you  were  detected  in  possession  of  this 
document ;  as  you  were  engaged  with  her  in  fraudulentlv  destroying  others, 
and  can  give  no  satisfactory  account  of  yourself;  I  shall  remand  you  for  a 
week,  in  order  that  inquiries  may  be  made,  and  evidence  got — and  meanwhile, 
I  can't  take  any  bail  for  your  appearance.*  Well,  then,  what  I  say  now,  is, 
that  I  ccm  give  a  satisfactory  account  of  myself  ;  I  can  hand  in  the  card  of 
my  establishment,  and  say,  '  /  am  the  Wackford  Squeers  as  is  therein  named, 
sir.  I  am  the  man  as  is  guaranteed,  by  unimpeachable  references,  to  be  a 
out-and-outer  in  morals  ana  uprightness  of  principle.  Whatever  is  wrong  in 
this  business  is  no  fault  of  mine.  I  had  no  evil  design  in  it,  sir.  I  was  not 
aware  that  anything  was  wrong.  I  was  merely  employed  by  a  friend — my 
friend  Mr.  Ralph  Nickleby,  of  Golden  Square— send  for  him,  sir,  and  ask  him 
what  he  has  to  say — he's  the  man  ;  not  me  ! '  " 

"What  document  was  it  that  you  had  ?"  asked  Ralph,  evading,  for  the 
moment,  the  point  just  raised. 

"  What  document  ?  Why,  the  document,"  replied  Squeers.  "The  Made- 
line what's-her-name  one.     It  was  a  will ;  that's  what  it  was." 

"Of  what  nature,  whose  will,  when  dated,  how  benefiting  her,  to  what 
extent  ? "  asked  Ralph,  hurriedly. 

"A  will  in  her  favour ;  that's  all  I  know,"  rejoined  Squeers ;  "and  that's 
more  than  you'd  have  known,  if  you'd  had  them  bellows  on  your  head.  It's 
all  owing  to  your  precious  caution  that  they  got  hold  of  it.  If  you  had  let  me 
bum  it,  and  taken  my  word  that  it  was  gone,  it  would  have  been  a  heap  of 
ashes  behind  the  fire,  instead  of  being  whole  and  sound,  inside  of  my 
great-coat." 

"  Beaten  at  every  point ! "  muttered  Ralph. 

"  Ah  1 "  sighed  Squeers,  who,  between  the  brandy  and  water  and  his 


504  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

broken  head,  wandered  strangely,  **  at  the  delightful  village  of  Dotheboyi, 
near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  youth  are  boarded,  clothed,  booked,  washed, 
furnished  with  pocket-money,  provided  with  all  necessaries,  instructed  in  all 
languages,  living  and  dead,  mathematics,  orthography,  geometry,  astronomy, 
trigonometry — tnis  is  a  altered  state  of  trigonomics,  this  is  1  A  double  1— 
all,  everything — a  cobbler's  weapon.  U-p-up,  adjective,  not  down.  S-q-u- 
double  e-r-s-Squeers,  noun  substantive,  a  oaucator  of  youth.  Total,  all  up 
with  Squeers  !  ' 

His  running  on  in  this  way.  had  afforded  Ralph  an  opportunity  of  recover- 
ing his  presence  of  mind,  which  at  once  suggested  to  him  the  necessity  of 
removing,  as  far  as  possible,  the  schoolmaster's  misgivings,  and  leading  him  to 
believe  that  his  safety  and  best  policy  lay  in  tne  preservation  of  a  rigid 
silence. 

"  I  tell  you,  once  again,*'  he  said,  **  they  can't  hurt  you.  You  shall  have 
an  action  for  false  imprisonment,  and  make  a  profit  of  this  yet.  We  will 
devise  a  story  for  you  that  should  carry  you  through  twenty  times  such  a 
trivial  scrape  as  this ;  and  if  they  want  security  in  a  thousand  pounds  for 
your  reappearance  in  case  you  should  be  called  upon,  you  shall  have  it  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  keep  back  the  truth.  You're  a  little  fuddled  to-niffht,  and 
may  not  be  able  to  see  this  as  clearly  as  vou  would  at  another  time  ;  out  this 
is  what  you  must  do,  and  you'll  need  all  your  senses  about  you ;  for  a  slip 
might  be  awkward." 

"Ohl"  said  Squeers,  who  had  looked  cunningly  at  him,  with  his  head 
stuck  on  one  side,  like  an  old  raven.  **  That's  what  I'm  to  do,  is  it  ?  Now, 
then,  just  you  hear  a  word  or  two  from  me.  I  an't  a  going  to  have  any 
stories  made  for  me,  and  I  an't  a  going  to  stick  to  any.  If  I  find  matters 
going  again  me,  I  shall  expect  you  to  take  your  share,  and  Til  take  care  you 
do.  You  never  said  anything  about  danger.  I  never  bargained  for  being 
brought  into  such  a  plight  as  this,  and  I  don't  mean  to  take  it  as  quiet  as  you 
think.  I  let  you  lead  me  on,  from  one  thing  to  another,  because  we  had  been 
mixed  up  together  in  a  certain  sort  of  a  way,  and  if  you  had  liked  to  bo  ill-natured 
you  might  perhaps  have  hurt  the  business,  and  if  you  liked  to  be  good-natured 
you  might  throw  a  good  deal  in  my  way.  Well,  if  all  goes  right  now,  that's 
quite  correct,  and  I  don't  mind  it ;  but  if  anything  goes  wrong,  then,  tinn-s 
are  altered,  and  I  shall  just  say  and  do  whatever  I  think  may  serve  me  most, 
and  take  advice  from  nobody.  My  moral  influence  with  them  lads,"  ad<leil 
Mr.  Squeers,  with  deeper  gravity,  "  is  a  tottering  to  its  basis.  The  images  of 
Mrs.  Squeers,  my  daughter,  and  my  son  Wackford,  all  short  of  vittles,  is  per- 
j)ctually  before  me  ;  every  other  consideration  molts  away  and  vanishes  in 
front  of  these  ;  the  only  number  in  all  arithmetic  that  I  know  of,  as  a  husband 
and  a  father,  is  number  one,  under  this  here  most  fatal  go  1 " 

How  long  Mr.  Squeers  nilKht  have  declaimed,  or  how  stormy  a  discussion 
his  declamation  might  have  led  to,  nobody  knows.  Being  interrupted  at  this 
point  by  the  arrival  of  the  coach  and  an  attendant  who  was  to  bear  him 
company,  he  perched  his  liat  with  great  dignity  on  the  top  of  the  handker- 
chief that  bound  his  head  ;  and,  thrusting  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  taking 
the  attendant's  arm  with  the  other,  suffered  himself  to  be  led  forth. 

**  As  I  supposed,  from  his  not  sending  !  "  thought  Ralph.  **  This  fellow,  I 
plainly  see  through  all  his  tipsy  fooling,  has  made  up  his  mind  to  turn  upon 
me.  I  am  so  beset  and  hemmed  in,  that  tliey  are  not  only  struck  with  fear, 
but,  like  the  beasts  in  the  fable,  have  their  fling  at  me  now,  though  time  was, 
and  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday,  too,  when  they  were  all  civility  and  com- 
pliance. But  they  shall  not  move  me.  I'll  not  give  way.  I  will  not  budge 
one  inch  1 " 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  505 

He  went  borne,  and  was  glad  to  find  his  housekeeper  complaining  of  illness, 
that  he  might  have  an  excuse  for  being  alone  and  senaing  her  away  to 
where  she  Uved,  which  was  hard  by.  Then  he  sat  down  by  the  light  of  a 
single  candle,  and  began  to  think,  for  the  first  time,  on  all  that  had  taken 
place  that  day. 

He  had  neither  eaten  or  drunk  since  last  night,  and,  in  addition  to  the 
anxiety  of  mind  he  had  undergone,  had  been  travelling  about,  from  place  to 
place,  almost  incessantly,  for  many  hours.  He  felt  sick  and  exhausted,  but 
could  taste  nothing  save  a  glass  of  water,  and  continued  to  sit  with  his  head 
upon  his  hand — not  resting  or  thinking,  but  laboriously  trying  to  do  both, 
and  feeling  that  every  sense  but  one  of  weariness  and  desolation  was  for  the 
time  benumbed. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  he  heard  a  knocking  at  the  door,  and  still 
sat  quiet  as  before,  as  if  he  could  not  even  bring  his  thoughts  to  bear  upon 
that.  It  had  been  often  repeated,  and  he  had,  several  times,  heard  a  voice 
outside,  saying  there  was  a  light  in  the  window  (meaning,  as  he  knew,  his  own 
candle),  before  he  could  rouse  himself  and  go  downstairs. 

*'Mr.  Nickleby,  there  is  terrible  news  for  you,  and  I  am  sent  to  beg  you 
will  come  with  me  directly,"  said  a  voice  he  seemed  to  recognise.  He  held 
his  hand  above  his  eyes,  and,  looking  out,  saw  Tim  Linkinwater  on  the  steps. 

'*  Come  where  ? "  demanded  Ralph. 

"To  our  house — where  you  came  this  morning.     I  have  a  coach  here." 

'*  Why  should  I  go  there  ? "  said  Ralph. 

*'  Don't  ask  me  why,  but  pray  come  with  me." 

**  Another  edition  of  to-day  !  "  returned  Ralph,  making  as  though  he  would 
shut  the  door. 

**No,  no!"  cried  Tim,  catching  him  by  the  arm  and  speaking  most 
earnestly ;  "  it  is  only  that  you  may  hear  something  that  has  occurred — some- 
thing very  dreadful,  Mr.  Nickleby,  which  concerns  you  nearly.  Do  you  think 
I  would  tell  you  so,  or  come  to  you  like  this,  if  it  were  not  the  case  ? " 

Ralph  looked  at  him  more  closely.  Seeing  that  he  was  indeed  greatly 
excited,  he  faltered,  and  could  not  tell  what  to  say  or  think. 

"You  had  better  hear  this  now  than  at  any  other  time,"  said  Tim  ;  '*  it 
may  have  some  influence  with  you.     For  heaven's  sake,  come  ! " 

Perhaps  at  another  time  Ralph's  obstinacy  and  dislike  would  have  been 
proof  against  any  appeal  from  such  a  quarter,  however  emphatically  urged ; 
but  now,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  went  into  the  hall  for  his  hat,  and, 
returning,  got  into  the  coach  without  speaking  a  word. 

Tim  well  remembered  afterwards,  and  often  said,  that  as  Ralph  Nickleby 
went  into  the  house  for  this  purpose,  he  saw  him,  by  the  light  of  the  candle 
which  he  had  set  down  upon  a  chair^  reel  and  stagger  like  a  drunken  man. 
He  well  remembered,  too,  that  when  he  had  placed  his  foot  upon  the  coach- 
steps,  he  turned  round  and  looked  upon  him  with  a  face  so  ashy  pale  and  so 
very  wild  and  vacant  that  it  made  him  shudder,  and  for  the  moment  almost 
afraid  to  follow.  People  were  fond  of  saying  that  he  had  some  dark  presenti- 
ment upon  him  then,  out  his  emotion  might,  perhaps,  with  greater  show  of 
reason,  DC  referred  to  what  he  had  undergone  that  day. 

A  profound  silence  was  observed  during  the  ride.  Arrived  at  their  place  of 
destination,  Ralph  followed  his  conductor  into  the  house,  and  into  a  room 
where  the  two  brothers  were.  He  was  so  astounded,  not  to  say  awed,  by  some- 
thing of  a  mute  coifipassion  for  himself  which  was  visible  in  their  manner  and 
in  that  of  the  old  clerk,  that  he  could  scarcely  speak. 

Having  taken  a  seat,  however,   he  contrived  to  say,  though  in  broken 


5o6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

*  ___. 

words — "What — what   have  you  to  say  to  me— more  than  has  been  said 

already  ? " 

The  room  was  old  and  large,  very  imperfectly  lighted,  and  terminated  in  a 
bay  window  ;  about  which  hung  some  heavy  drapery.  Casting  his  eyes  in 
this  direction  as  he  spoke,  he  thought  he  made  out  the  dusky  figure  of  a  man. 
He  was  confirmed  in  this  impression  by  seeing  that  the  object  moved,  as  if 
uneasy  under  his  scrutiny. 

**  Who's  that  yonder?  "  he  said. 

"One  who  has  conveyed  to  u^,  within  these  two  hours,  the  intelligence 
which  caused  our  sending  to  you,"  replied  brother  Charles.  "Let  him  be, 
sir,  let  him  be  for  the  present." 

"  More  riddles  ! "  said  Ralph,  faintly.     "  Well,  sir  % " 

In  turning  his  face  towards  the  brothers  he  was  obliged  to  avert  it  from  the 
window ;  but  before  either  of  them  could  speak,  he  had  looked  round  again. 
It  was  evident  that  he  was  rendered  restless  and  uncomfortable  by  the 
presence  of  the  unseen  person,  for  he  repeated  this  action  several  times,  and 
at  length,  as  if  in  a  nervous  state  which  rendered  him  positively  unable  to 
turn  away  from  the  place,  sat  so  as  to  have  it  opposite  him,  muttering  as  an 
excuse  that  he  could  not  bear  the  light. 

The  brothers  conferred  apart  for  a  short  time,  their  manner  showing  that 
they  were  agitated.  Ralph  glanced  at  them  twice  or  thrice,  and  ultimately 
said,  with  a  great  efibrt  to  recover  his  self-possession,  '*  Now,  what  is  this? 
If  I  am  brought  from  home  at  this  time  of  night,  let  it  be  for  something. 
What  have  you  got  to  tell  me?"  After  a  short  pause,  he  added,  "Is  my 
niece  dead  ? " 

He  had  struck  upon  a  key  which  rendered  the  task  of  commencement  an 
easier  one.  Brother  Charles  turned,  and  said  that  it  was  a  death  of  which 
they  had  to  tell  him,  but  that  his  niece  was  well, 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Ralph,  as  his  eyes  brightened,  "that 
her  brother's  dead.  No,  that's  too  good.  I'd  not  believe  it  if  you  told  me 
so.     It  would  be  too  welcome  news  to  be  true. " 

"  Shame  on  you,  you  hardened  and  unnatural  man,"  cried  the  other  brother, 
warmly ;  "  prepare  yourself  for  intelligence,  which,  if  you  have  any  human 
feeling  in  your  breast,  will  make  even  you  shrink  and  tremble.  What  if  we 
tell  you  that  a  poor  unfortunate  boy  ;  a  child  in  everything  but  never  having 
known  one  of  those  tender  endearments,  or  one  of  those  lightsome  hours 
which  make  our  childhood  a  time  to  be  remembered  like  a  happy  dream 
through  all  our  after  life ;  a  warm-hearted,  harmless,  affectionate  creature, 
who  never  offended  you  or  did  you  wrong,  but  on  whom  you  have  vented  the 
malice  and  hatred  you  have  conceived  for  your  nephew,  and  whom  you  have 
made  an  instrument  for  wreaking  your  bad  passions  upon  him  ;  what  if  we 
tell  you  that,  sinking  under  your  persecution,  sir,  and  the  misery  and  ill- 
usage  of  a  life  short  in  years  but  long  in  suffering,  this  poor  creature  has  gone 
to  tell  his  sad  tale  where,  for  your  part  in  it,  you  must  needs  answer." 

*'  If  you  tell  me,"  said  Ralph  ;  **  if  you  tell  me  that  he  is  dead,  I  forgive 
you  all  else.  If  you  tell  me  that  he  is  dead,  I  am  in  your  debt  and  bound 
to  you  for  life.  He  is !  I  see  it  in  your  faces.  Who  triumphs  now  ?  Is 
this  your  dreadful  news  ;  this  your  terrible  intelligence  ?  You  see  how  it 
moves  me.  You  did  well  to  send.  I  would  have  travelled  a  hundred 
miles,  a-foot,  through  mud,  mire,  and  darkness,  to  hear  this  news,  just  at  this 
time." 

Even  then,  moved  as  he  was  by  this  savage  joy,  Ralph  could  see  in  the 
faces  of  the  two  brothers,  mingling  with  their  look  of  disgust  and  horror, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  507 

something  of  that  indefinable  compassion  for  himself  which  he  had  noticed 
before. 

"  And  he  brought  you  the  intelligence,  did  he  ? "  said  Ralph,  pointing  "with 
his  finger  towards  the  recess  already  mentioned  ;  "and  sat  there,  no  doubt,  to 
see  me  prostrated  and  overwhelmed  by  it !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  But  I  tell  him  that 
I'll 'be  a  sharp  thorn  in  his  side  for  many  a  long  day  to  come  ;  and  I  tell  you 
two  again  that  you  don't  know  him  yet ;  and  that  you'll  rue  the  day  you  took 
compassion  on  the  vagabond. " 

"You  take  me  for  your  nephew,"  said  a  hollow  voice  ;  **  it  would  be  better 
for  you  and  for  me  too  if  I  were  he  indeed." 

The  figure  that  he  had  seen  so  dimly,  rose,  and  came  slowly  down.  He 
started  back,  for  he  found  that  he  confronted — not  Nicholas,  as  he  had 
supposed,  but  Brooker. 

Ealph  had  no  reason,  that  he  knew,  to  fear  this  man  ;  he  had  never  feared 
liim  before ;  but  the  pallor  which  had  been  observed  in  his  face  when  ho 
issued  forth  that  night,  came  upon  him  again.  He  was  seen  to  tremble,  and 
his  voice  changed  as  he  said,  keeping  his  eyes  upon  him — 

**  What  does  this  fellow  here  ?  Do  you  know  he  is  a  convict — a  felon — a 
common  thief  ? " 

"  Hear  what  he  has  to  tell  you — oh,  Mr.  Nickleby,  hear  what  he  has  to  tell 
you,  be  he  what  he  may  ! "  cried  the  brothers,  with  such  emphatic  earnest- 
ness, that  Ralph  turned  to  them  in  wonder.  They  pointed  to  Brooker. 
Ralph  again  gazed  at  him  ;  as  it  seemed,  mechanically. 

"That  boy,"  said  the  man,  "that  these  gentlemen  have  been  talking 
of " 

"  That  boy,"  repeated  Ralph,  looking  vacantly  at  him. 

"  Whom  I  saw  stretched  dead  and  cold  upon  his  bed,  and  who  is  now  in  his 
grave " 

"  Who  is  now  in  his  grave,"  echoed  Ralph,  like  one  who  talks  in  his 
sleep. 

Tne  man  raised  his  eyes,  and  clasped  his  hands  solemnly  together — 

" Was  your  only  son,  so  help  me  God  in  heaven  ! " 

In  the  midst  of  a  dead  silence  Ralph  sat  down,  pressing  his  two  hands 
upon  his  temples.  He  removed  them,  after  a  minute,  and  never  was  there 
seen  part  of  a  living  man  undisfigured  by  any  wound,  such  a  ghastly  face  as 
he  then  disclosed.  He  looked  at  Brooker,  who  was  by  this  time  standing  at 
a  short  distance  from  him  ;  but  did  not  say  one  word,  or  make  the  slightest 
sound  or  gesture. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  man,  "I  offer  no  excuses  for  myself.  I  am  long 
past  that.  If,  in  telling  you  how  this  happened,  I  tell  you  that  I  was  harshly 
used  and  perhaps  driven  out  of  my  real  nature,  I  do  it  only  as  a  necessary 
part  of  my  story,  and  not  to  shield  myself.     I  am  a  guilty  man." 

He  stopped,  as  if  to  recollect,  and  looking  away  from  Ralph,  and  addressing 
himself  to  the  brothers,  proceeded  in  a  subdued  and  humble  tone— 

'*  Among  those  who  once  had  dealings  with  this  man,  gentlemen — that's 
from  twenty  to  five-and-twenty  years  ago — there  was  one :  a  rough  fox- 
hunting, hard-drinking  gentleman,  who  had  run  through  his  own  fortune, 
and  wanted  to  squander  away  that  of  his  sister  ;  they  were  both  orphans,  and 
she  lived  with  him  and  managed  his  house.  I  don  t  know  whether  it  was, 
originally,  to  back  his  influence  and  try  to  over-persuade  the  young  woman  or 
not,  but  he,"  pointing  to  Ralph,  "used  to  go  down  to  the  house  in  Leicester- 
shire pretty  often,  and  stop  there  many  days  at  a  time.  They  had  had  a 
great  many  dealings  together,  and  he  may  have  gone  on  some  of  those,  or  to 
patch  up  his  client's  affairs,  which  were  in  a  ruinous  state — of  course  he  went 


5o8  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

for  profit  The  gentlewoman  was  not  a  girl,  but  she  was,  I  have  heard  say, 
handsome,  and  entitled  to  a  pretty  large  property.  In  course  of  time  be 
married  her.  The  same  love  of  gain  which  led  him  to  contract  this  marriage, 
led  to  its  being  kept  strictly  private  ;  for  a  clause' in  her  father's  will  declared 
that  if  she  married  without  her  brother's  consent,  the  property,  in  which  she 
had  only  some  life  interest  while  she  remained  single,  should  pass  away 
altogether  to  another  branch  of  the  family.  The  brother  would  give  no 
consent  that  the  sister  didn't  buy  and  pay  for  handsomely ;  Mr.  Nickleby 
would  consent  to  no  such  sacrifice ;  and  so  they  went  on,  keeping  their 
marriage  secret,  and  waiting  for  him  to  break  his  neck  or  die  of  a  fever.  He 
did  neither,  and  meanwhile  the  result  of  this  private  marriage  was  a  son. 
The  child  was  put  out  to  nurse,  a  long  way  ofif ;  his  mother  never  saw  him 
but  once  or  twice,  and  then  by  stealth  ;  and  his  father — so  eagerly  did  he 
thirst  after  the  money  which  seemed  to  come  almost  within  hu  grasp  now, 
for  his  brother-in-law  was  very  ill,  and  breaking  more  and  more  every  day— 
never  went  near  him,  to  avoid  raising  any  suspicion.  The  brother  lingered 
on  ;  Mr.  Nickleby's  wife  constantly  urged  him  to  avow  their  marriage  ;  he 

Eeremptorily  refused.  She  remained  alone  in  a  dull  country  house  ;  seeing 
ttle  or  no  company  but  riotous,  drunken  sportsmen.  He. lived  in  London, 
and  clung  to  his  business.  Angry  quarrels  and  recriminations  took  place,  and 
when  they  had  been  married  nearly  seven  years,  and  were  within  a  few  weeks 
of  the  time  when  the  brother's  death  would  have  adjusted  all,  she  eloped  with 
a  younger  man,  and  left  him." 

Here  he  paused,  but  Ralph  did  not  stir,  and  the  brothers  signed  to  him  to 
proceed. 

*'  It  was  then  that  I  became  acquainted  with  these  circumstances  from  his 
own  lips.  They  were  no  secrets  then  ;  for  the  brother  and  others  knew  them ; 
but  they  were  communicated  to  me — not  on  this  account,  but  because  I  was 
wanted.  He  followed  the  fugitives — some  said  to  make  money  of  his  wife's 
shame,  but,  I  believe,  to  take  some  violent  revenge,  for  that  was  as  much  his 
character  as  the  other — perhaps  more.  He  didn't  find  them,  and  she  died 
not  long  after.  I  don't  know  whether  he  began  to  think  he  might  like  the 
child,  or  whether  he  wished  to  make  sure  that  it  should  never  fall  into  its 
mother's  hands  ;  but  before  he  went  he  entrusted  me  with  the  charge  of 
bringing  it  home.     And  I  did  so." 

He  went  on  from  this  point  in  a  still  more  humble  tone,  and  spoke  in  a 
very  low  voice  ;  pointing  to  Ralph  as  he  resumed. 

'  *  He  had  used  me  ill — cruelly — I  reminded  him  in  what,  not  long  ago, 
when  I  met  him  in  the  street — and  I  hated  him.  I  brought  the  child  home 
to  his  own  house  and  lodged  him  in  the  front  garret  Neglect  had  made  him 
very  sickly,  and  I  was  obliged  to  call  in  a  doctor,  who  said  he  must  be 
removed  for  change  of  air,  or  he  would  die.  I  think  that  first  put  it  in  my 
head.  I  did  it  then.  He  was  gone  six  weeks,  and  when  he  came  back,  I 
told  him — with  every  circumstance  well  planned  and  proved — nobody  could 
have  suspected  me — that  the  child  was  dead  and  buried.  He  might  have 
been  disappointed  in  some  intention  he  had  formed,  or  he  might  have  had 
some  natural  affection,  but  he  was  grieved  at  thcd^  and  I  was  confirmed  in  my 
design  of  opening  up  the  secret  one  day,  and  making  it  a  means  of  getting 
money  from  him.  I  had  heard,  like  most  other  men,  of  Yorkshire  schools. 
I  took  the  child  to  one  kept  by  a  man  named  Squeers,  and  left  it  there.  I 
gave  him  the  name  of  Smike.  Year  by  year  I  paid  twenty  pounds  a-year  for 
him  for  six  years  ;  never  breathing  the  secret  all  the  time  ;  for  I  had  left  his 
father's  service  after  more  hard  usage,  and  quarrelled  with  him  again.  I  was 
sent  away  from  this  country.     I  have  been  away  nearly  eight  years.    Directly 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  509 

I  came  home  again  I  travelled  down  into  Yorkshire,  and  skulking  in  the 
village  of  an  evening  time,  made  inquiries  about  the  boys  at  the  school,  and 
found  that  this  one,  whom  I  had  placed  there,  had  run  away  with  a  young 
man  bearing  the  name  of  his  own  father.  I  sought  his  father  out  in  London, 
and  hinting  at  what  I  could  tell  him,  tried  for  a  little  money  to  support  life  ; 
but  he  repulsed  me  with  threats.  I  then  found  out  his  clerk,  and,  going  on 
from  little  to  little,  and  showing  him  that  there  were  good  reasons  for  com- 
municating with  me,  learnt  what  was  going  on  ;  and  it  was  I  who  told  him 
that  the  boy  was  no  son  of  the  man  who  claimed  to  be  his  father.  All  this 
time  I  had  never  seen  the  boy.  At  length  I  heard  from  this  same  source  that 
he  was  very  ill,  and  where  he  was.  I  travelled  down  there,  that  I  might 
recall  myself,  if  possible,  to  his  recollection  and  confirm  my  story.  I  came 
upon  him  unexpectedly  ;  but  before  I  could  speak  he  knew  me — he  had  good 
cause  to  remember  me,  poor  lad  !— and  I  would  have  sworn  to  him  if  I  had 
met  him  in  the  Indies.  I  knew  the  piteous  face  I  had  seen  in  the  little  child. 
After  a  few  days'  indecision,  I  applied  to  the  young  gentleman  in  whose  care 
he  was,  and  I  found  that  he  was  dead.  He  knows  how  quickly  he  recognised 
me  again,  how  often  he  had  described  me  and  my  leaving  him  at  the  school, 
and  tow  he  told  him  of  a  garret  he  recollected,  which  is  the  one  I  have 
spoken  of,  and  in  his  father's  house  to  this  day.  This  is  my  story.  I  demand 
to  be  brought  face  to  face  with  the  schoolmaster,  and  put  to  any  possible 
proof  of  any  part  of  it,  and  I  will  show  that  it's  too  true,  and  that  I  have  this 
guilt  upon  my  soul." 

**  Unhappy  man  ! "  said  the  brothers.  "What  reparation  can  you  make  for 
this  ? " 

**  None,  gentlemen,  none  !  I  have  none  to  make,  and  nothing  to  hope  now. 
I  am  old  in  years,  and  older  still  in  misery  and  care.  This  confession  can 
bring  nothing  upon  me  but  new  suffering  and  punishment ;  but  I  make  it, 
and  will  abide  by  it  whatever  comes.  I  have  been  made  the  instrument  of 
working  out  this  dreadful  retribution  upon  the  head  of  a  man  who,  in  the  hot 
pursuit  of  his  bad  ends,  has  persecuted  and  hunted  down  his  own  child  to 
death.  It  must  descend  upon  me  too — I  know  it  must  fall — my  reparation 
comes  too  late  j  and,  neither  in  this  world  nor  in  the  next,  can  I  have  hope 
agam  ! 

He  had  hardly  spoken,  when  the  lamp,  which  stood  upon  the  table  close  to 
where  Ralph  was  seated,  and  which  was  the  only  one  in  the  room,  was  thrown 
to  the  ground  and  left  them  in  darkness.  There  was  some  trifling  confusion 
in  obtaming  another  light ;  the  interval  was  a  mere  nothing  ;  but  when  the 
light  appeared,  Ralph  Nickleby  was  gone. 

The  good  brothers  and  Tim  Linkiuwater  occupied  some  time  in  discussing 
the  probability  of  his  return  ;  and,  when  it  became  apparent  that  he  would 
not  come  back,  they  hesitated  whether  or  no  to  send  after  him.  At  length, 
remembering  how  strangely  and  silently  he  had  sat  in  one  immovable  position 
during  the  interview,  and  thinking  he  might  possibly  be  ill,  they  determined, 
although  it  was  now  very  late,  to  send  to  his  house  on  some  pretence. 
Finding  an  excuse  in  the  presence  of  Brooker,  whom  they  knew  not  how  to 
dispose  of  without  consulting  his  wishes,  they  concluded  to  act  upon  this 
resolution  before  going  to  bed. 


510  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


CHAPTER    LXI. 

WnEIlEIN    NICHOLAS   AND  HIS   SISTER   FORFEIT   THE  GOOD    OPINION   OF  ALL 

WORLDLY  AND  PRUDENT  PEOPLE. 

ON  the  next  morning  after  Brooker's  disclosure  had  been  made,  Nicholas 
returned  home.  The  meeting  between  him  and  those  whom  he  had  left 
there  was  not  without  strong  emotion  on  both  sides ;  for  they  had  been 
informed  by  his  letters  of  what  had  occurred  ;  and  besides  that  his  griefs 
were  theirs,  they  mourned  with  him  the  death  of  one  whose  forlorn  and 
helpless  state  had  first  established  a  claim  upon  their  compassion,  and  whose 
truth  of  heart  and  grateful,  earnest  nature  had  every  day  endeai*ed  him  to 
them  more  and  more. 

*•  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  wiping  her  eyes,  and  sobbing  bitterly, 
"I  have  lost  the  best,  the  most  zealous,  and  most  attentive  creature,  that  has 
ever  been  a  companion  to  me  in  my  life — putting  you,  my  dear  Nicholas,  and 
Kate,  and  your  poor  papa,  and  that  well-behaved  nurse  who  ran  away  with 
the  linen  and  the  twelve  small  forks,  out  of  the  question  of  course.  Of  all 
the  tractable,  equal-tempered,  attached,  and  faithful  beings  that  ever  lived,  I 
believe  he  was  the  most  so.  To  look  round  upon  the  garden  now,  that  he 
took  so  much  pride  in,  or  to  go  into  his  room  and  see  it  filled  with  so  many 
of  those  little  contrivances  for  our  comfort  that  he  was  so  fond  of  making, 
and  made  so  well,  and  so  little  thought  he  would  leave  unfinished — I  can  t 
bear  it,  I  cannot  really.  Ah  !  This  is  a  great  trial  to  me,  a  great  trial.  It 
will  be  a  comfort  to  you,  my  dear  Nicholas,  to  the  end  of  your  life,  to 
recollect  how  kind  and  good  you  always  were  to  him — so  it  will  be  to  me,  to 
think  what  excellent  terms  we  were  always  upon,  and  how  fond  he  always 
was  of  me.  poor  fellow  !  It  was  very  natural  you  should  have  been  attached 
to  him,  my  dear — very — and  of  course  you  were,  and  are  very  much  cut  up 
by  this.  I'm  sure  it's  only  necessary  to  look  at  you  and  see  how  changed  you 
are,  to  see  that ;  but  nobody  knows  what  my  feelings  are — nobody  can — it's 
quite  impossible  ! " 

While  Mrs.  Nickleby,  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  gave  vent  to  her  sorrows 
after  her  own  peculiar  fashion  of  considering  herself  foremost,  she  was  not  the 
only  one  who  indulged  such  feelings.  Kate,  although  well  accustomed  to 
forget  herself  when  others  were  to  be  considered,  could  not  repress  her  grief ; 
Madeline  was  scarcely  less  moved  than  she  ;  and  poor,  hearty,  honest  little 
Miss  La  Creevy,  who  had  come  upon  one  of  her  visits  while  Nicholas  was 
away,  and  had  done  nothing,  since  the  sad  news  arrived,  but  console  and  cheer 
them  all,  no  sooner  beheld  him  coming  in  at  the  door,  than  she  sat  herself 
down  upon  the  stairs,  and  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears,  refused  for  a  long 
time  to  be  comforted. 

"  It  hurts  me  so,"  cried  the  poor  body,  **to  see  him  come  back  alone.  I 
can't  help  thinking  what  he  must  have  suffered  himself.  I  wouldn't  mind  so 
much,  if  he  gave  way  a  little  more  ;  but  he  bears  it  so  manfully." 

**  Why,  so  I  should,"  said  Nicholas,   *'  should  I  not  ?  " 

*' Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  little  woman,  "and  bless  you  for  a  good  creature  T 
but  this  does  seem  at  first  to  a  simple  soul  like  me — I  know  it's  wrong  to  say 
so,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  for  it  presently — this  does  seem  such  a  poor  reward 
for  all  you  have  done." 

**Nay,"  said  Nicholas,  gently,    "what  better  reward  could  I  have  thai> 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  5" 

the  knowledge  that  his  last  days  were  peaceful  and  happy,  and  the  recollection 
that  I  was  his  constant  companion,  and  was  not  prevented,  as  I  might  have 
been  by  a  hundred  circumstances,  from  being  beside  him  ?  " 

"To  be  sure,"  sobbed  Miss  La  Creevy  ;  '*its  very  true,  and  I'm  an  un- 
grateful, impious,  wicked  little  fool,  I  know." 

With  that,  the  good  soul  fell  to  crying  afresh,  and  endeavouiing  to  recover 
herself,  tried  to  laugh.  The  laugh  and  the  cry  meeting  each  other  thus 
abruptly,  had  a  struggle  for  the  mastery  ;  the  result  was  that  it  was  a  drawn 
battle,  and  Miss  La  Creevy  went  into  hysterics. 

Waiting  until  they  were  all  tolerably  (juiet  and  composed  again,  Nicholas, 
who  stood  in  need  of  some  rest  after  his  long  journey,  retired  to  his  own 
room,  and  throwing  himself,  dressed  as  he  was,  upon  the  bed,  fell  into  a 
sound  sleep.  When  he  awoke,  he  found  Kate  sitting  by  his  bedside,  who, 
seeing  that  he  had  opened  his  eyes,  stooped  down  to  kiss  him. 

**  I  came  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  home  again." 

'*  But  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  yeu,  Kate." 

"We  have  been  wearying  so  for  your  return,"  said  Kate,  "mamma  and  I, 
and — and  Madeline. " 

"You  said  in  your  last  letter  that  she  was  quite  well,'-  said  Nicholas, 
rather  hastily,  and  colouring  as  he  spoke.  "  Has  nothing  been  said,  since  I 
have  been  away,  about  any  future  arrangements  that  the  brothers  have  in 
contemplation  for  her  ? " 

"Oh,  not  a  word,"  replied  Kate,  "I  can't  think  of  parting  from  her 
^thout  sorrow  ;  and  surely,  Nicholas,  you  don't  wish  it !  " 

Nicholas  coloured  again,  and  sitting  down  beside  his  sister  on  a  little  couch 
near  the  window,  said — 

"No,  Kate,  no,  I  do  not.  I  might  strive  to  disguise  my  real  feelings  from 
anybody  but  you  :  but  I  will  tell  you  that — briefly  and  plainly,  Kate — that  I 
love  her." 

Kate's  eyes  brightened,  and  she  was  going  to  make  some  reply,  when 
Nicholas  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  went  on — 

"  Nobody  must  know  this  but  you.     She,  last  of  all." 

"  Dear  Nicholas  ! " 

"Last  of  all — never,  though  never  is  a  long  day.  Sometimes  I  try  to 
think  that  the  time  may  come  when  I  may  honestly  tell  her  this  ;  but  it  is 
so  far  off,  in  such  distant  perspective,  so  many  years  must  ela])se  before  it 
comes,  and  when  it  does  come  (if  ever),  I  shall  be  so  unlike  what  I  am  now, 
alid  shall  have  so  outlived  my  youth  and  romance — though  not,  I  am  sure,  of 
love  for  her — that  even  I  feel  how  visionary  all  such  hopes  must  be,  and  try 
to  crush  them  rudely  myself,  and  have  the  pain  over,  rather  than  suiter  time 
to  wither  them,  and  keep  the  disappointment  in  store.  No,  Kate  !  Since  I 
have  been  absent,  I  have  had,  in  that  poor  fellow  who  is  gone,  perpetually 
before  my  eyes,  another  instance  of  the  munificent  liberality  of  these  noble 
brothers.  As  far  as  in  me  lies  I  will  deserve  it,  and  if  I  have  wavered  in  my 
bounden  duty  to  them  before,  I  am  now  determined  to  discharge  it  rigidly, 
and  to  put  further  delays  and  temptations  beyond  my  reach. " 

"Before  you  say  another  word,  dear  Nicholas,"  said  Kate,  turning  pale, 
"you  must  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  I  came  on  purpose,  but  I  had  not 
the  courage.  What  you  say  now  gives  me  new  heart.  She  faltered  and 
l>urst  into  tears. 

There  was  that  in  her  manner  which  prepared  Nicholas  for  what  was 
coming.     Kate  tried  to  speak,  but  her  tears  prevented  her. 

••  Come,  vou  foolish  girl,"  said  Nicholas  ;  "why,  Kate,  Kate,  be  a  woman  ! 


512  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

I  think  I  know  what  you  would  tell  me.  It  concerns  Mr.  Frank,  does  it 
not  ? " 

Kate  sunk  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  sohbed  out  **  Yes.** 

**  And  he  has  offered  you  his  hand,  perhaps,  since  I  have  been  away,"  said 
Nicholas  ;  **  is  that  it  ?  Yes.  Well,  well ;  it's  not  so  difficult,  you  see,  to 
tell  me,  after  all.     He  offered  you  his  hand  ? " 

"Which  I  refused,"  said  Kate. 

*'Yes;  and  why?" 

**  I  told  him,"  she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  all  that  I  have  since  found 
you  told  mamma  ;  and  while  I  could  not  conceal  from  him,  and  cannot  from 
you  that — that  it  was  a  pang  and  a  great  trial,  I  did  so,  firmly,  and  begged 
him  not  to  see  me  any  more." 

"  That's  my  own  brave  Kate  !  *'  said  Nicholas,  pressing  her  to  his  breast 
**  I  knew  you  would." 

"  He  tried  to  alter  my  resolution,"  said  Kate,  "  and  declared  that,  be  my 
decision  what  it  might,  he  would  not  only  inform  his  uncles  of  the  step  he  bad 
taken,  but  would  communicate  it  to  you  also,  directly  you  returned.  I  am 
afraid,"  she  added,  her  momentary  composure  forsaking  her,  **  I  am  afraid  I 
may  not  have  said,  strongly  enough,  how  deeply  I  felt  such  disinterested  love, 
and  how  earnestly  I  prayed  for  his  future  happiness.  If  you  do  talk  together, 
I  should — I  should  like  him  to  know  that." 

"And  did  you  suppose,  Kate,  when  you  had  made  this  sacrifice  to  what  you 
knew  was  right  and  honourable,  that  I  should  shrink  from  mine?"  said 
Nicholas,  tenderly. 

**  Oh,  no  !  not  if  your  position  had  been  the  same,  but " 

"But  it  is  the  same,'  interrupted  Nicholas;  "Madeline  is  not  the  near 
relation  of  our  benefactors,  but  she  is  closely  bound  to  them  by  ties  as  dear ; 
and  I  was  first  entrusted  with  her  history,  specially  because  they  reposed 
unbounded  confidence  in  me,  and  believed  that  I  was  as  true  as  steel.  How 
base  would  it  be  of  me  to  take  advantage  of  the  circumstances  which  placed 
her  here,  or  of  the  slight  service  I  was  happily  able  to  render  her,  and  to  seek 
to  engage  her  afi'ections  when  the  result  must  be,  if  I  succeeded,  that  the 
brothers  would  be  disappointed  in  their  darling  wish  of  establishing  her  as 
their  own  child,  and  that  I  must  seem  to  hope  to  build  my  fortunes  on  their 
compassion  for  the  young  creature  whom  I  had  so  meanly  and  unworthily 
entrapped  ;  turning  her  very  gratitude  and  warmth  of  heart  to  my  own  pur- 
pose and  account,  and  trading  in  her  misfortunes  !  I,  too,  whose  duty,  and 
pride,  and  pleasure,  Kate,  it  is,  to  have  other  claims  upon  me  which  I  will 
never  forget :  and  who  have  the  means  of  a  comfortable  and  happy  life 
already,  and  have  no  right  to  look  beyond  it  !  I  have  determined  to  remove 
this  weight  from  my  mind.  I  doubt  whether  I  have  not  done  wrong,  even 
now  ;  and  to-day  I  will,  without  reserve  or  equivocation,  disclose  my  real 
reasons  to  Mr.  Cheeryble,  and  implore  him  to  take  immediate  measui-es  for 
removing  this  young  lady  to  the  shelter  ofsome  other  roof." 

"  To-day  ?  so  very  soon  ! " 

"  I  have  thought  of  this  for  weeks,  and  why  should  I  postpone  it?  If  the 
scene  through  which  I  have  just  passed  has  taught  me  to  reflect,  and  has 
awakened  me  to  a  more  anxious  and  careful  sense  of  duty,  why  should  I  wait 
until  the  impression  has  cooled  ?  You  would  not  dissuade  me,  Kate  ;  now 
would  you  ? " 

"  You  may  grow  rich,  you  know,"  said  Kate. 

"  I  may  grow  rich  ! "  repeated  Nicholas,  with  a  mournful  smile,  "  ay,  and 
I  may  grow  old  !  But  rich  or  poor,  or  old  or  young,  we  shall  ever  be  the  same 
to  each  other,  and  in  that  our  comfort  lies.    What  if  we  had  but  one  home  ?   It 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  513 

can  never  be  a  solitary  one  to  you  and  me.  What  if  we  were  to  remain  so 
true  to  these  first  impressions  as  to  form  no  others  ?  It  is  but  one  more  link 
to  the  strong  chain  tnat  binds  us  together.  It  seems  but  yesterday  that  we 
were  playfellows,  Kate,  and  it  will  seem  but  to-morrow  when  we  are  staid  old 
people,  looking  back  to  these  cares  as  we  look  back,  now,  to  those  of  our 
childish  days  :  and  recollecting  with  a  melancholy  pleasure  that  the  time  was 
when  they  could  move  as.  Perhaps,  then,  when  we  are  quaint  old  folks  and  talk 
of  the  times  when  our  step  was  lighter  and  our  hair  not  grey,  we  may  be  even 
thankful  for  the  trials  that  so  endeared  us  to  each  other,  and  turned  our  lives 
into  that  current,  down  which  we  shall  have  glided  so  peacefully  and  calmly. 
And  having  caught  some  inkling  of  our  story,  the  young  people  about  us — as 
young  as  you  and  1  are  now,  Kate — ^may  come  to  us  for  sympathy,  and 
pour  distresses  which  hope  and  inexperience  could  scarcely  feel  enough 
for,  into  the  compassionate  ears  of  the  old  bachelor  brother  and  his  maiden 
sister." 

Kate  smiled  through  her  tears,  as  Nicholas  drew  this  picture ;  but  they 
were  not  tears  of  sorrow,  although  they  continued  to  fall  when  he  had  ceased 
to  speak. 

'*  Am  I  not  right,  Eate  % "  he  said,  after  a  short  silence. 

*'  Quite,  quite,  dear  brother  ;  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  am,  that 
I  have  acted  as  you  would  have  had  me." 

"You  don't  regret?" 

**  N — n — no,"  said  Kate,  timidly,  tracing  some  pattern  upon  the  ground 
with  her  little  foot.  *'  I  don't  regret  having  done  what  was  honourable  and 
right,  of  course;  but  I  do  regret  that  this  should  have  ever  happened — at 
least  sometimes  I  regret  it,  and  sometimes  I — I  don't  know  what  I  say  ;  I  am 
but  a  weak  girl,  Nicholas,  and  it  has  agitated  me  very  much. " 

It  is  no  vaunt  to  affirm  that  if  Nicholas  had  had  ten  thousand  pounds  at  the 
minute,  he  would,  in  his  generous  afifection  for  the  owner  of  the  blushing 
cheek  and  downcast  eye,  have  bestowed  its  utmost  farthing,  in  perfect  forget- 
fulness  of  himself,  to  secure  her  happiness.  But  all  he  could  do  was  to  com- 
fort and  console  her  by  kind  words  ;  and  words  they  were  of  such  love  and 
kindness,  and  cheerful  encouragement,  that  poor  Kate  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck  and  declared  she  would  weep  no  more. 

**What  man,"  thought  Nicholas,  proudly,  while  on  his  way  soon  after- 
wards to  the  brothers' house,  "would  not  be  sufficiently  rewarded  for  any 
sacrifice  of  fortune  by  the  possession  of  such  a  heart  as  Kate's,  which,  but  that 
hearts  weigh  light,  and  gold  and  silver  heavy,  is  beyond  all  praise  !  Frank 
has  money  and  wants  no  more.  Where  would  it  buy  him  such  a  treasure  as 
Kate  ?  And  yet,  in  unequal  marriages,  the  rich  party  is  always  supposed  to 
make  a  great  sacrifice,  and  the  other  to  get  a  good  oargain !  But  I  am  think- 
ing like  a  lover,  or  like  an  ass :  which  I  suppose  is  pretty  nearly  the  same." 

Checking  thoughts  so  little  adapted  to  the  business  on  which  he  was 
bound,  by  such  self-reproofs  as  this  and  many  others  no  less  sturdy,  he  pro- 
ceeded on  his  way,  ana  presented  himself  before  Tim  LiDkinwater. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Nickleby!"  cried  Tim.  "God  bless  you!  how  d'ye  do? 
Well  ?    Say  you're  quite  well  and  never  better — do,  now." 

"  Quite,"  said  Nicholas,  shaking  him  by  both  hands. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Tim,  "you  look  tired  though,  now  I  come  to  look  at  you. 
Hark !  there  he  is ;  d'ye  hear  him  ?  That  was  Dick,  the  blackbird.  He 
hasn't  been  himself  since  you've  been  gone.  He'd  never  get  on  without  you, 
now  ;  he  takes  as  naturally  to  you  as  he  does  to  me." 

"  Dick  is  a  far  less  sagacious  fellow  than  I  supposed  him,  if  he  thinks  I  am 
half  so  well  worthy  of  his  notice  as  you,"  replied  Nicholas. 

u  33 


514  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

''Why,  I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,"  said  Tim,  standing  in  his  favourite 
attitude  and  pointing  to  the  ca^e  with  the  feather  of  his  peii«  *'  it's  a  very 
extraordinary  thing  about  that  bird,  that  the  only  people  he  ever  takes  the 
smallest  notice  of,  are  Mr.  Charles,  Mr.  Ned,  and  you  and  me." 

Here  Tim  stopped  and  glanced  anxiously  at  Nicholas  ;  then  unexpectedly 
catching  his  eye,  repeated,  ''And  you  and  me,  sir,  and  vou  and  me."  And 
then  he  glanced  at  Nicholas  again,  and  squeezing  his  band,  said,  "  I  am  a 
bad  one  at  puttine  off  anything  I  am  interested  in.  I  didn't  mean  to  ask 
you,  but  I  shouldlike  to  hear  a  few  particulars  about  that  poor  boy.  Did  he 
mention  Cheeryble  Brothers  at  all  ? ' 

"  Yes,"  said  Nicholas,  "  many  and  many  a  time." 

"  That  was  right  of  him,"  returned  Tim,  wiping  his  eyes  ;  "  that  was  very 
right  of  him." 

"And  he  mentioned  your  name  a  score  of  times,"  said  Nicholas,  "and 
often  bade  me  carry  back  his  love  to  Mr.  Linkinwater." 

"No,  no,  did  he  though?"  rejoined  Tim,  sobbing  outright.  "Poor 
fellow,  I  wish  we  could  have  had  hin^  buried  in  town.  There  isn't  such  a 
burying-ground  in  all  London  as  that  little  one  on  the  other  side  of  the 
square — there  are  counting-houses  all  round  it,  and  if  you  go  in  there  on  a  fine 
day,  you  can  see  the  books  and  safes  through  the  open  windows.  And  he 
sent  his  love  to  me,  did  he  ?  I  didn't  expect  he  would  have  thought  of  me. 
Poor  fellow,  poor  follow  !     His  love,  too  !  " 

Tim  was  so  completely  overcome  by  this  little  mark  of  recollection,  that  he 
was  quite  unequal  to  any  more  conversation  at  the  moment  Nicholas  there- 
fore slipped  quietly  out,  and  went  to  brother  Charles's  room. 

If  he  had  previously  sustained  his  firmness  and  fortitude,  it  had  been  by  an 
effort  which  had  cost  him  no  little  pain  ;  but  the  warm  welcome,  the  hearty 
manner,  the  homely,  unaffected  commiseration  of  the  good  old  man  went  to 
his  heart,  and  no  inward  struggle  could  prevent  his  showing  it. 

"Come,  come,  my  dear  sir,  '  said  the  benevolent  merchant ;  "we  must 
not  be  cast  down  ;  no,  no.  We  must  learn  to  bear  misfortune,  and  we  most 
remember  that  there  are  many  sources  of  consolation  even  in  death.  Every 
day  that  this  poor  lad  had  lived,  he  must  have  been  less  and  less  qualified  for 
the  world,  and  more  and  more  unhappy  in  his  own  deficiencies.  It  is  better 
as  it  is,  my  dear  sir.     Yes,  yes,  yes,  its  better  as  it  is." 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  that,  sir,"  replied  Nicholas,  clearing  his  throat 
"  I  feel  it,  I  assure  you." 

"Yes,  that's  well,"  replied  Mr.  Cheeryble,  who,  in  the  midst  of  all  his 
comforting,  was  quite  as  much  taken  aback  as  honest  old  Tim  ;  "  that's 
well.  Where  is  my  brother  Ned  ?  Tim  Linkinwater,  sir,  where  is  my  brother 
Ned  ? " 

"  Gone  out  with  Mr.  Trimmers,  about  getting  that  unfortunate  man  into 
the  hospital,  and  sending  a  nurse  to  his  children,"  said  Tim. 

"My  brother  Ned  is  a  finrf  fellow — a  great  fellow!"  exclaimed  brother 
Charles,  as  he  shut  the  door  and  returned  to  Nicholas.  "  He  will  be  over- 
joyed to  see  you,  my  dear  sir.     We  have  been  speaking  of  you  every  day." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  sir,  I  am  glad  to  find  you  alone,"  said  Nicholas, 
with  some  natural  hesitation  ;  "for  I  am  anxious  to  say  something  to  yon. 
Can  you  spare  me  a  very  few  minutes  ?  " 

"Surely,  surely,"  returned  brother  Charles,  looking  at  him  with  an 
anxious  countenance.     "  Say  on,  my  dear  sir,  say  on." 

**  I  scarcely  know  how  or  where  to  begin,"  said  Nicholas.  "  If  ever  one 
mortal  had  reason  to  be  penetrated  with  love  and  reverence  for  another :  with 
such  attachment  as  would  make  the  hardest  service  in  his  behalf  a  pleasure 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  515 

and  delif  ht :  with  such  grateful  recollections  as  must  rouse  the  utmost  zeal 
and  fideUty  of  his  nature :  those  are  the  feelings  which  I  should  entertain  for 
you,  and  do,  from  my  heart  and  soul,  believe  me  1 " 

"  I  do  beHeve  you,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  "  and  I  am  happy  in  the 
belief.     I  have  never  doubted  it ;  I  never  shalL     I  am  sure  I  never  shall. " 

"Your  telling  me  that,  so  kindly,"  said  Nicholas,  ** emboldens  me  to 
proceed.  When  you  first  took  me  into  your  confidence,  and  despatched  me 
on  those  missions  to  Miss  Bray,  I  should  have  told  you  that  I  had  seen  her 
long  before  ;  that  her  beauty  had  made  an  impression  upon  me  which  I  could 
not  efiace  ;  and  that  I  had  fruitlessly  endeavoured  to  trace  her,  and  become 
acquainted  with  her  history.  I  did  not  tell  you  so,  because  I  vainly  thought 
I  could  conquer  my  weaker  feelings,  and  render  every  consideration  sub- 
servient to  my  duty  to  you." 

**  Mr.  Nickleby,  said  brother  Charles,  "  you  did  not  violate  the  confidence 
I  placed  in  you,  or  take  an  unworthy  advantage  of  it  I  am  sure  you  did 
not." 

*'  I  did  not,"  said  Nicholas,  firmly.  "  Although  I  found  that  the  necessity 
for  self-command  and  restraint  became  every  day  more  imperious,  and  the 
difficulty  greater,  I  never,  for  one  instant,  spoke  or  looked  but  as  I  would 
have  done  had  you  been  by.  I  never,  for  one  moment,  deserted  my  trust, 
nor  have  I  to  this  instant.  But  I  find  that  constant  association  and  com- 
panionship with  this  sweet  girl  is  fatal  to  my  peace  of  mind,  and  may  prove 
destructive  to  the  resolutions  I  made  in  the  beginning  and  up  to  this  time 
have  faithfully  kept  In  short,  sir,  I  cannot  trust  myself,  and  I  implore  and 
beseech  you  to  remove  this  young  lady  from  under  the  charge  of  my  mother 
and  sister  without  delay.  I  know  that  to  anyone  but  myself — to  you,  who 
consider  the  immeasurable  distance  between  me  and  this  young  lady,  who  is 
now  your  ward  and  the  object  of  your  peculiar  care — my  loving  her,  even  in 
thought,  must  appear  the  height  of  rashness  and  presumption.  I  know  it  is 
so.  %ut  who  can  see  her  as  I  have  seen — who  can  know  what  her  life  has 
been — and  not  love  her  ?  I  have  no  excuse  but  that ;  and  as  I  cannot  fly 
from  this  temptation,  and  cannot  repress  this  passion,  with  its  object 
constantly  before  me,  what  can  I  do  but  pray  and  beseech  you  to  remove  it, 
and  to  leave  me  to  forget  her  ! " 

'*  Mr.  Nickleby,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a  short  silence,  ''you  can  do  no 
more.  I  was  wrong  to  expose  a  young  man  like  you  to  this  trial.  I  might 
have  foreseen  what  would  happen.  Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you.  Madeline 
shall  be  removed." 

**  If  vou  would  grant  me  one  favour,  dear  sir,  and  sufier  her  to  remember 
me  with  esteem,  by  never  revealing  to  her  this  confession " 

"  I  will  take  care,"  said  Mr.  Cheerbyle.  **  And  now,  is  this  all  you  have 
to  tell  me?" 

*^  No  1 "  returned  Nicholas,  meeting  his  eye,  "  it  is  not." 

"  I  know  the  rest,"  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  apparently  very  much  relieved  by 
this  prompt  reply.     **  When  did  it  come  to  your  knowledge  ? " 

**  When  I  reached  home  this  morning." 

**  You  felt  it  your  duty  immediately  to  come  to  me,  and  tell  me  what  your 
sister  no  doubt  acquainted  you  with  ? " 

**  I  did,"  said  Nicholas,  "though  I  could  have  wished  to  have  spoken  to 
Mr.  Frank  first" 

**  Frank  was  with  me  last  night,"  replied  the  old  gentleman.  "  You  have 
done  well,  Mr.  Nickleby — very  well,  sir — and  I  thank  you  again." 

Upon  this  head,  Nicholas  requested  permission  to  add  a  few  words.  He 
ventured  to  hope  that  nothing  he  had  said  would  lead  to  the  estrangement  of 


5i6  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

Kate  and  Madeline,  who  had  formed  an  attachment  for  each  other,  any 
interruption  of  which  would,  he  knew,  he  attended  with  great  pain  to  them, 
and,  most  of  all,  with  remorse  and  pain  to  him,  as  its  unhappy  cause.  When 
these  things  were  all  forgotten,  he  hoped  that  Frank  and  he  might  still  be 
warm  friends,  and  that  no  word  or  thought  of  his  humhle  home,  or  of  her  who 
was  well  contented  to  remain  there  and  share  his  quiet  fortunes,  would  ever 
again  disturb  the  harmony  between  them.  He  recounted,  as  nearly  as  he 
could,  what  had  passed  between  himself  and  Eate  that  morning :  speaking  of 
her  with  such  warmth  of  pride  and  affection,  and  dwelling  so  cheerfully  upon 
the  confidence  they  had  of  overcoming  any  selfish  regrets,  and  living 
contented  and  happy  in  each  other's  love,  that  few  could  have  heard  him 
unmoved.  More  moved  himself  than  he  had  been  yet,  he  expressed  in  a  few 
hurried  words — ^as  expressive,  perhaps,  as  the  most  eloquent  phrases— his 
devotion  to  the  brothers,  and  his  hope  that  he  might  live  ana  die  in  their 
service. 

To  all  this  brother  Charles  listened  in  profound  silence,  and  with  his  chair 
so  turned  from  Nicholas  that  his  face  could  not  be  seen.  He  had  not  spoken 
either,  in  his  accustomed  manner,  but  with  a  certain  stiffness  and  embarrass- 
ment very  foreign  to  it.  Nicholas  feared  he  had  offended  him.  He  said, 
**No — no — he  had  done  quite  right,"  but  that  was  all. 

''Frank  is  a  heedless,  foolish  fellow,"  he  said,  after  Nicholas  had  pausei 
for  some  time ;  "a  very  heedless,  foolish  fellow.  I  will  take  care  that  this 
is  brought  to  a  close  without  delay.  Let  us  say  no  more  upon  the  subject ; 
it's  a  very  painful  one  to  me.  Come  to  me  in  half-an-hour.  I  have  strange 
things  to  tell  you,  my  dear  sir,  and  your  uncle  has  appointed  this  afternoon 
for  your  waiting  upon  him  with  me." 

*'  Waiting  upon  him  !    With  you,  sir  !"  cried  Nicholas. 

"  Ay,  with  me,"  replied  the  old  gentleman.  **  Return  to  me  in  half-an- 
hour,  and  I'll  tell  you  more." 

Nicholas  waited  upon  him  at  the  time  mentioned,  and  then  learnt  all  that 
had  taken  place  on  the  previous  day,  and  all  that  was  known  of  the  appoint- 
ment Ralph  had  made  with  the  brothers,  which  was  for  that  night,  and  for 
the  better  understanding  of  which  it  will  be  requisite  to  return  and  follow 
his  own  footsteps  from  the  house  of  the  twin  brothers.  Therefore,  we  leave 
Nicholas  somewhat  re-assured  by  the  restored  kindness  of  their  manner 
towards  him,  and  yet  sensible  that  it  was  different  from  what  it  had  been 
(though  he  scarcely  knew  in  what  respect) :  full  of  uneasiness,  uncertainty, 
and  disquiet. 


CHAPTER    LXII. 

RALPH  MAKES  ONE  LAST  APPOINTMENT— AND  KEEPS   IT. 

CREEPING  from  the  house,  and  slinking  off  like  a  thief;  groping  with 
his  hands  when  first  he  got  into  the  street  as  if  he  were  a  blind  man ; 
and  looking  often  over  his  shoulder  while  he  hurried  away,  as  though 
he  were  followed  in  imagination  or  reality  by  some  one  anxious  to  question  or 
detain  him  :  Ralph  Nickleby  left  the  City  behind  him,  and  took  tie  road  ia 
his  own  home. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  a  cold  wind  blew,  driving  the  clouds  furiously 
and  fast  before  it.  There  was  one  black,  gloomy  mass,  that  seemed  to 
follow  him :  not  hurrying  in  the  wild  chase  with  the  others,  but  lingering 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  V.  517 

sullenly  behind,  and  gliding  darkly  and  stealthily  on.  He  often  looked  back 
at  this,  and  more  than  once  stopped  to  let  it  pass  over ;  but,  somehow,  when 
lie  went  forward  again,  it  was  still  behind  him,  coming  mournfully  and 
slowly  up,  like  a  shadowy  funeral  train. 

He  had  to  pass  a  poor,  mean,  burial-ground — a  dismal  place,  raised  a  few 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  street,  and  parted  from  it  by  a  low  parapet-wall 
and  an  iron  railing  :  a  rank,  unwholesome,  rotten  spot,  where  the  very  grass 
and  weeds  seemed,  in  their  frowsy  growth,  to  tell  that  they  had  sprung  from 
paupers'  bodies,  and  had  struck  their  roots  in  the  graves  of  men,  sodden, 
while  alive,  in  steaming  courts,  and  drunken,  hungry  dens.  And  here,  in 
truth,  they  lay,  parted  from  the  living  by  a  little  earth  and  a  board  or  two — 
lay  thick  and  close — corrupting  in  body  as  they  had  in  mind — a  dense  and 
squalid  crowd.  Here  they  lay,  cheek  by  jowl  with  life  :  no  deeper  down  than 
the  feet  of  the  throng  that  passed  there  every  day,  and  piled  high  as  their 
throats.  Here  they  lay,  a  grisly  family,  all  these  dear  departed  brothers  and 
sisters  of  the  ruddy  clergyman  who  did  his  task  so  speedily  when  they  were 
hidden  in  the  ground. 

As  he  passed  here,  Balph  called  to  mind  that  he  had  been  one  of  a  jury, 
long  before,  on  the  body  of  a  man  who  had  cut  his  throat ;  and  that  he  was 
buried  in  this  place.  He  could  not  tell  how  he  came  to  recollect  it  now, 
when  he  had  so  often  passed  and  never  thought  about  him,  or  how  it  wa» 
that  he  felt  an  interest  in  the  circumstance ;  but  he  did  both  ;  and  stopping, 
and  clasping  the  iron  railings  with  his  hands,  looked  eagerly  in,  wondering 
which  might  be  his  grave. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  there  came  towards  him,  with  noise  of  shouts 
and  singing,  some  fellows  full  of  drink,  followed  by  others,  who  were 
remonstratmg  with  them,  and  urging  them  to  go  home  in  quiet.  They  were 
in  high  good-humour,  and  one  of  them,  a  little  weazen,  hump-backed  man, 
began  to  dance.  He  was  a  grotesque,  fantastic  figure,  and  the  few  bystanders 
laughed.  '  Balph  himself  was  moved  to  mirth,  and  echoed  the  laugh  of  one 
who  stood  near,  and  who  looked  round  to  his  face.  When  they  had  passed 
on,  and  he  was  left  alone  again,  he  resumed  his  speculation  with  a  new  kind 
of  interest ;  for  he  recollected  that  the  last  person  who  had  seen  the  suicide 
alive  had  left  him  very  merry,  and  remembered  how  strange  he  and  the  other 
jurors  had  thought  that  at  the  time. 

He  could  not  fix  upon  the  spot  among  such  a  heap  of  graves,  but  he 
conjured  up  a  strong  and  vivid  idea  of  the  man  himself,  and  how  he  looked, 
and  what  had  led  him  to  do  it :  all  of  which  he  recalled  with  ease.  By  dint 
of  dwelling  upon  this  theme,  he  carried  the  impression  with  him  when  he 
went  away :  as  he  remembered,  when  a  child,  to  have  had  freauently  before 
him  the  figure  of  some  goblin  he  had  once  seen  chalked  upon  a  door.  But  as 
he  drew  nearer  and  nearer  home,  he  forgot  it  again,  and  began  to  think  how 
very  dull  and  solitary  the  house  would  be  inside. 

This  feeling  became  so  strong  at  last,  that  when  he  reached  his  own 
door,  he  could  hardly  make  up  his  mind  to  turn  the  key  and  open  it. 
When  he  had  done  that,  and  gone  into  the  passage,  he  felt  as  though  to 
shut  it  again  would  be  to  shut  out  the  world.  But  he  let  it  go,  and  it  closed 
with  a  loud  noise.  There  was  no  light  How  very  dreary,  cold,  and  still 
it  was! 

Shivering  from  head  to  foot  he  made  his  way  upstairs  into  the  room  where 
he  had  been  last  disturbed.  He  had  made  a  kind  of  compact  with  himself 
that  he  would  not  think  of  what  had  happened  until  he  got  home.  He  was 
at  home  now,  and  suffered  himself  to  consider  it. 

His  own  child — his  own  child  1    He  never  doubted  the  tale ;  he  felt  it  was 


5i8  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

true  ;  knew  it  as  well  now  as  if  he  had  been  privy  to  it  all  along.  His  own 
child  !  And  dead  too.  Dying  beside  Nicholas — ^loving  him,  and  lookmg 
npon  him  as  something  like  an  angel  1  that  was  the  worst. 

They  had  all  turned  from  him  and  deserted  him  in  his  Yery  first  need. 
Even  money  could  not  buy  them  now ;  everything  must  come  out,  and  every- 
body must  know  alL  Here  was  the  young  lord  aead,  his  companion  abroad 
and  beyond  his  reach,  ten  thousand  pounik  gone  at  one  blow,  his  plot  with 
Gride  overset  at  the  very  moment  oi  triumph,  his  after-schemes  discovered, 
himself  in  danger,  the  object  of  persecution  and  Nicholas's  love,  his  own 
wretched  boy  ;  everything  crumbled  and  fallen  upon  him,  and  he  beaten  down 
beneath  the  ruins  and  grovelling  in  the  dust. 

If  he  had  known  his  child  to  be  alive ;  if  no  deceit  had  ever  been 
practised,  and  he  had  grown  up  beneath  his  eye ;  he  might  have  been  a 
careless,  indifferent,  rough,  harsn  father — like  enough — ^he  felt  that;  but 
the  thought  would  come  that  he  might  have  been  otherwise,  and  that  his 
son  might  have  been  a  comfort  to  him,  and  they  two  happy  together.  He 
began  to  think  now  that  his  supposed  death  ana  his  wife  s  flight  had  had 
some  share  in  making  him  the  morose,  hard  man  he  was.  He  seemed  to 
remember  a  time  when  he  was  not  quite  so  rough  and  obdurate ;  and  almost 
thought  that  he  had  first  hated  Nicholas  because  he  was  young  and  gallant, 
Snd  perhaps  like  the  stripling  who  had  brought  dishonour  and  loss  of  fortune 
on  his  head. 

But  one  tender  thought,  or  one  of  natural  regret,  in  his  whirlwind  of  passion 
and  remorse,  was  as  a  drop  of  calm  water  in  a  stormy,  maddened  sea.  His 
hatred  of  Nicholas  had  been  fed  upon  his  own  defeat,  nourished  on  his  inter- 
ference with  his  schemes,  fattened  upon  his  old  defiance  and  success.  There 
were  reasons  for  its  increase  ;  it  had  grown  and  strengthened  gradually.  Now 
it  had  attained  a  height  which  was  sheer  wild  lunacy.  That  his,  of  all 
others,  should  have  been  the  hands  to  rescue  his  miserable  child ;  that  be 
should  have  been  his  protector  and  faithful  friend ;  that  he  should  have  shown 
him  that  love  and  tenderness,  which,  from  the  wretched  moment  of  his  birth, 
he  had  never  known  ;  that  he  should  have  taught  him  to  hate  his  own  parent 
and  execrate  his  very  name  ;  that  he  should  now  know  and  feel  all  this,  and 
triumph  in  the  recollection,  was  gall  and  madness  to  the  usurer's  heart.  The 
dead  boy's  love  for  Nicholas,  and  the  attachment  of  Nicholas  to  him,  was  in- 
supportable agony.  The  picture  of  his  death-bed,  with  Nicholas  at  his  side, 
tending  and  supporting  him,  and  he  breathing  out  his  thanks  and  expiring  in 
his  arms,  when  he  would  have  had  them  mortal  enemies  and  hatmg  each 
other  to  the  last,  drove  him  frantic  He  gnashed  his  teeth  and  smote  the  air, 
and  looking  wildly  round,  with  eyes  which  gleamed  through  the  darkness, 
cried  aloud — 

**  I  am  trampled  down  and  ruined.  The  wretch  told  me  true.  The  night 
has  come.  Is  there  no  way  to  rob  them  of  further  triumph,  and  spurn  their 
mercy  and  compassion  \    Is  there  no  devil  to  help  me  ? " 

Swiftly  there  glided  again  into  his  brain  the  figure  he  had  raised  that  night 
It  seemed  to  lie  before  him.  The  head  was  covered  now.  So  it  was  when 
he  first  saw  it.  The  rigid,  upturned,  marble  feet  too,  he  remembered  well. 
Then  came  before  him  the  pale  and  trembling  relatives  who  had  told  their 
tale  upon  the  inquest — the  shrieks  of  women — the  silent  dread  of  men — the 
consternation  and  disquiet — the  victory  achieved  by  that  heap  of  clay,  which, 
with  one  motion  of  its  hand,  had  let  out  the  life  and  made  this  stir  among 
them 

He  spoke  no  more ;  but,  after  a  pause,  softly  groped  his  way  out  of  the 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV,  519 

room,  and  up  the  echoing  stairs — up  to  the  top — to  the  front  garret — where 
he  closed  the  door  behina  him  and  remained. 

It  was  a  mere  lumber-room  now,  but  it  yet  contained  an  old  dismantled 
bedstead ;  the  one  on  which  his  son  had  slept ;  for  no  other  had  ever  been 
there.     He  avoided  it  hastily,  and  sat  down  as  far  from  it  as  he  could. 

The  weakened  glare  of  the  lights  in  the  street  below,  shining  through  the 
window  which  had  no  blind  or  curtain  to  intercept  it,  was  enough  to  show 
the  character  of  the  room,  though  not  sufficient  fully  \q  reveal  the  various 
articles  of  lumber,  old  corded  trunks  and  broken  furniture,  which  were 
scattered  about.  It  had  a  shelving  roof ;  high  in  one  part,  and  at  another 
descending  almost  to  the  floor.  It  was  towards  the  highest  pai*t  that  Balph 
directed  his  eyes ;  and  upon  it  he  kept  them  fixed  steadily  for  some  minutes, 
when  he  rose,  and  dragging  thither  an  old  chest  upon  which  he  had  been 
seated,  mounted  on  it,  and  felt  along  the  wall  above  his  head  with  both 
hands.  At  length  they  touched  a  large  iron  hook,  firmly  driven  into  one  of 
the  beams. 

At  that  moment  he  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door  below. 
After  a  little  hesitation  he  opened  the  window,  and  demanded  who  it  was. 
**  I  want  Mr.  Nickleby,"  replied  a  voice. 
•*  What  with  him?" 

**  That's  not  Mr.  Nickleby's  voice,  surely  ? "  was  the  rejoinder.  .» 

It  was  not  like  it ;  but  it  was  Ralph  who  spoke,  and  so  he  said. 
The  voice  made  answer  that  the  twin  brothers  wished  to  know  whether  the 
man  whom  he  had  seen  that  night  was  to  be  detained  ;  and  that,  although  it 
was  now  midnight,  they  had  sent,  in  their  anxiety  to  do  right. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Balph,  **  detain  him  till  to-morrow  ;  then  let  them  bring  him 
here — him  and  my  nephew — and  come  themselves,  and  be  sure  that  I  will  be 
ready  to  receive  them. 

"  At  what  hour  ? "  asked  the  voice. 

"  At  any  hour,"  replied,  Ralph  fiercely.  "  In  the  afternoon,  tell  them.  At 
any  hour — at  any  minute — all  times  will  be  alike  to  me. " 

He  listened  to  the  man's  retreating  footsteps  until  the  sound  had  passed, 
and  then,  gazing  up  into  the  sky,  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  the  same  blapk 
cloud  that  had  seemed  to  follow  him  home,  and  which  now  appeared  to  hover 
directly  above  the  house. 

**  I  know  its  meaning  now,"  he  muttered,  "  and  the  restless  nights,  the 
dreams,  and  why  I  have  quailed  of  late — all  pointed  to  this.  Oh  !  if  men  by 
selUne  their  own  souls  could  ride  rampant  for  a  term,  for  how  short  a  term 
would  I  barter  mine  to-night ! " 
The  sound  of  a  deep  bell  came  along  the  wind.  One. 
**  Lie  on  f "  cried  the  usurer,  **  with  your  iron  tongue  !  Ring  merrily  for 
births  that  make  expectants  writhe,  and  marriages  that  are  made  in  hell,  and 
toll  ruefully  for  the  dead  whose  shoes  are  worn  already  1  Call  men  to  prayers 
who  are  godly  because  not  found  out,  and  ring  chimes  for  the  coming  in  of 
every  year  that  brings  this  cursed  world  nearer  to  its  end.  No  bell  or  book 
for  me  1    Throw  me  on  a  dunghill,  and  let  me  rot  there,  to  infect  the  air  1 " 

With  a  wild  look  around,  in  which  frenzy,  hatred,  and  despair  were 
horriblv  mingled,  he  shook  his  clenched  hand  at  the  sky  above  him,  which 
was  still  dark  and  threatening,  and  closed  the  window. 

The  rain  and  hail  pattered  against  the  glass ;  the  chimneys  quaked  and 
rocked ;  the  crazy  casement  rattled  with  the  wind,  as  though  an  impatient 
hand  inside  were  striving  to  burst  it  open.  But  no  hand  was  there,  and  it 
opened  no  more. 


520  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

**  How's  this  ? "  cried  one.  "  The  gentlemen  say  they  can't  make  anybody 
hear,  and  have  been  trying  these  two  hours." 

''And  yet  he  came  home  last  night,"  said  another ;  "for  he  spoke  to  some- 
body out  of  that  window  upstairs. 

They  were  a  little  knot  of  men,  and  the  window  being  mentioned,  went  out 
in  the  road  to  look  up  at  it.  This  occasioned  their  observing  that  the  house 
was  still  close  shut,  as  the  housekeeper  had  said  she  had  left  it  on  the  previous 
night,  and  led  to  a  great  many  suggestions :  which  terminated  in  two  or 
three  of  the  boldest  getting  round  to  the  back  and  so  entering  by  a  window, 
while  the  others  remained  outside  in  impatient  expectation. 

They  looked  into  all  the  rooms  below ;  opening  the  shutters  as  they  went, 
to  admit  the  fading  light :  and  still  finding  nobody,  and  everything  quiet  and 
in  its  place,  doubted  whether  they  should  go  farther.  One  man,  however, 
remarking  that  they  had  not  yet  been  into  the  garret,  and  that  it  was  there 
he  had  been  last  seen,  they  agreed  to  look  there  too,  and  went  up  softly  ;  for 
the  mystery  and  silence  made  them  timid. 

After  they  had  stood  for  an  instant  on  the  landing,  eyeing  each  other,  he 
who  had  proposed  their  carrying  the  search  so  far  turned  the  handle  of  the 
door,  and  pushing  it  open,  looked  through  the  chink,  and  fell  back  directly. 

**  It's  very  odd,"  he  whispered,  "  he's  hiding  behind  the  door.     Look  1 " 

They  pressed  forward  to  see ;  but  one  among  them,  thrusting  the  others 
aside  with  a  loud  exclamation,  drew  a  clasp-knife  from  his  pocket,  and  dashing 
into  the  room  cut  down  the  body. 

He  had  torn  a  Tope  from  one  of  the  old  trunks,  and  hung  himself  on  an 
iron  hook  immediately  below  the  trap-door  in  the  ceiling — in  the  very  place 
to  which  the  eyes  of  his  son,  a  lonely,  desolate  little  creature,  bad  so  often 
been  directed  in  childish  terror,  fourteen  years  before. 


CHAPTER    LXIII. 

THE  BROTHERS  OHEBRYBLE  MAKE  VARIOUS  DECLARATIONS  FOR  THEMSELVES 
AND  OTHERS.      TIM  LINKINWATER  MAKES  A  DECLARATION  FOR  HIMSELF. 

SOME  weeks  had  passed,  and  the  first  shock  of  these  events  had  subsided. 
Madeline  had  been  removed ;  Frank  had  been  absent ;  and  Nicholas 
and  Kate  had  begun  to  try  in  good  earnest  to  stifle  their  own  regrets, 
and  to  live  for  each  other  and  their  mother — who,  poor  lady,  could  in  no  wise 
be  reconciled  to  this  dull  and  altered  state  of  affairs — when  there  came  one 
evening,  per  favour  of  Mr.  Linkin water,  an  invitation  from  the  brothers  to 
dinner  on  the  next  day  but  one :  comprehending  not  only  Mrs.  Nickleby, 
Kate,  and  Nicholas,  but  little  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  was  most  particularly 
mentioned. 

**No'w,  my  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  when  they  had  rendered  becoming" 
honour  to  the  bidding,  and  Tim  had  taken  his  departure,  "what  does  this 
mean  ? " 

**  What  do  you  mean,  mother  I"  asked  Nicholas,  smiling. 

**  I  say,  my  dear,"  rejoined  that  lady,  with  a  face  of  unfathomable 
mystery,  **  what  does  this  invitation  to  dinner  mean — ^what  is  its  intention 
and  object  ? " 

"  I  conclude  it  means  that  on  such  a  day  we  are  to  eat  and  drink  in  their 
house,  and  that  its  intent  and  object  is  to  confer  pleasure  upon  ua,"  said 
Nicholas. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  521 

"And  that's  all  yon  conclude  it  is,  my  dear ? " 

"  I  have  not  yet  arriyed  at  anything  aeeper,  mother." 

"Then  I'll  just  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  "you'll  find 
yourself  a  little  surprised ;  that's  all.  You  may  depend  upon  it  that  this 
means  something  besides  dinner." 

"Tea  and  supper,  perhaps,"  suggested  Nicholas. 

'*  I  wouldn't  be  absurd,  my  dear,  if  I  were  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Kickleby,  in 
a  lofty  manner,  *'  because  it's  not  by  any  means  becoming,  and  doesn't  suit  you 
at  all.  What  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  the  Mr.  Cheerybles  don't  ask  us  to  dinner 
with  all  this  ceremony  for  nothing.  Never  mind  ;  wait  and  see.  You  won't 
believe  anything  I  say,  of  course.  It's  much  better  to  wait ;  a  great  deal 
better ;  it's  satisfactory  to  all  parties,  and  there  can  be  no  disputing.  All  I 
say  is,  remember  what  I  say  now,  and  when  I  say  I  said  so,  don't  say  I 
didn't;" 

With  this  stipulation,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  who  was  troubled  night  and  day  with 
a  vision  of  a  hot  messenger  tearing  up  to  the  door  to  announce  that  Nicholas 
had  been  taken  into  partnership,  quitted  that  branch  of  the  subject,  and 
entered  upon  a  new  one. 

"  It's  a  very  extraordinary  thing,"  she  said,  "a  most  extraordinary  thing, 
that  they  should  have  invited  Miss  La  Creevy.  It  quite  astonishes  me. 
Upon  my  word  it  does.  Of  course  it's  very  pleasant  that  she  should  be 
invited,  very  pleasant,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  she'll  conduct  herself 
extremely  well ;  she  always  does.  It's  very  gratifying  to  think  that  we 
should  have  been  the  means  of  introducing  her  into  such  society,  and  I'm 
quite  glad  of  it — quite  rejoiced — for  she  certainly  is  an  extremely  well-behaved 
and  good-natured  little  person.  I  could  wish  that  some  friend  would  mention 
to  her  how  very  badly  she  has  her  cap  trimmed,  and  what  very  preposterous 
bows  those  are  ;  but  of  course  that's  impossible,  and  if  she  likes  to  make  a 
fright  of  herself,  no  doubt  she  has  a  penect  right  to  do  so.  We  never  see 
ourselves  — never  do,  and  never  did — and  I  suppose  we  never  shall." 

This  moral  reflection  reminding  her  of  the  necessity  of  being  peculiarly 
smart  on  the  occasion,  so  as  to  counterbalance  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  be  herself 
an  efifectual  set-off  and  atonement,  led  Mrs.  Nickleby  into  a  consultation 
with  her  daughter  relative  to  certain  ribands,  gloves,  and  trimmings  :  which, 
being  a  compUcated  question,  and  one  of  paramount  importance,  soon  routed 
the  previous  one,  and  put  it  to  flight 

The  great  day  arriving,  the  good  lady  put  herself  into  Kate's  hands  an  hour 
or  so  after  breakfast,  and  dressing  by  easy  stages,  completed  her  toilet  in 
sufficient  time  to  allow  of  her  daugnter's  making  hers,  which  was  very  simple 
and  not  very  long,  though  so  satisfactory  that  she  had  never  appeared  more 
charming,  or  looked  more  lovely.  Miss  La  Creevy,  too,  arrived  with  two 
bandboxes  (whereof  the  bottoms  fell  out,  as  they  were  handed  from  the  coach) 
and  something  in  a  newspaper,  which  a  gentleman  had  sat  upon  coming 
down,  and  which  wa3  obliged  to  be  ironed  again  before  it  was  fit  for  service. 
At  last  everybody  was  dressed,  including  Nicholas,  who  had  come  home  to 
fetch  them,  and  they  went  away  in  a  coach  sent  by  the  brothers  for  the  pur- 
pose :  Mrs.  Nickleby  wondering  very  much  what  they  would  have  for  dinner, 
and  cross-examining  Nicholas  as  to  the  extent  of  his  discoveries  in  the 
morning ;  whether  Se  had  smelt  anything  cooking  at  aU  like  turtle,  and  if 
not,  what  he  had  smelt ;  and  diversifying  the  conversation  with  reminiscences 
of  dinners  to  which  she  had  gone  some  twenty  years  a^,  concerning  which 
she  particularised,  not  only  the  dishes  but  the  guests,  in  whom  her  hearers 
did  not  feel  a  very  absorbing  interest,  as  not  one  of  them  had  ever  chanced  to 
hear  their  names  before. 


522  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

The  old  butler  received  them  with  profound  respect  and  many  smiles,  and 
ushered  them  into  the  drawing-room,  where  they  were  received  by  the  brothers 
with  so  much  cordiality  and  kindness  that  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  quite  in  a 
flutter,  and  had  scarcely  presence  of  mind  enough  even  to  patronise  Miss  La 
Greevy.  £[ate  was  still  more  affected  by  the  reception  ;  for,  knowing  that  the 
brothers  were  acquainted  with  all  that  had  passed  between  her  and  Frank,  she 
felt  her  position  a  most  delicate  and  tryinff  one,  and  was  trembling  on  the  arm 
of  Nicholas  when  Mr.  Charles  took  her  in  nis,  and  led  her  to  another  part  of 
the  room. 

"Have  you  seen  Madeline,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "since  she  left  your 
house  % " 

*  *  No,  sir  1 "  repUed  Kate.     "  Not  once. " 

"  And  not  heard  from  her,  eh  I    Not  heard  from  her  ? " 

"  I  have  only  had  one  letter,"  rejoined  Eate,  gently.  "  I  thought  she 
would  not  have  forgotten  me  quite  so  soon." 

"  Ah  1 "  said  the  old  man,  patting  her  on  the  head,  and  speaking  as 
affectionately  as  if  she  had  been  his  favourite  child.  "  Poor  dear  1  what  do 
you  think  of  this,  brother  Ned  ?  Madeline  has  only  written  to  her  once — 
only  once,  Ned,  and  she  didn't  think  she  would  have  forgotten  her  quite  so 
soon,  Ned." 

"  Oh  f  sad,  sad — ^very  sad  I "  said  Ned. 

The  brothers  interchanged  a  glance,  and  looking  at  Kate  for  a  little  time 
without  speaking,  shook  hands,  and  nodded  as  if  they  were  congratulating 
each  other  on  something  very  delightful 

"  Well,  well,"  said  brother  Charles,  "  go  into  that  room,  my  dear — ^that 
door  yonder — ^and  see  if  there's  not  a  letter  for  you  firom  her.  I  think  there's 
one  upon  the  table.  You  needn't  hurry  back,  my  love,  if  there  is,  for  we 
don't  dine  just  yet,  and  there's  plenty  of  time — plenty  of  time." 

Kate  retired  as  she  was  directed.  Brother  Charles,  having  followed  her 
graceful  figure  with  his  eyes,  turned  to  Mrs.  Nickleby  and  said — 

"  We  took  the  liberty  of  naming  one  hour  before  the  real  dinner-time, 
ma'am,  because  we  had  a  little  business  to  speak  about,  which  would  occupy 
the  interval.  Ned,  my  dear  fellow,  will  you  mention  what  we  agreed  upon  ? 
Mr.  Nickleby,  sir,  have  the  goodness  to  follow  me. " 

Without  any  further  explanation,  Mrs.  Nickleby,  Miss  La  Creevy,  and 
brother  Ned  were  left  alone  together,  .and  Nicholas  followed  brother  Charles 
into  his  private  room ;  where,  to  his  great  astonishment,  he  encountered 
Frank,  whom  he  supposed  to  be  abroad. 

"Young  men,"  said  Mr.  Cheeryble,  "shake  hands  !" 

"I  need  no  bidding  to  do  that,"  said  Nicholas,  extending  his. 

"  Nor  I,"  rejoined  Frank,  as  he  clasped  it  heartily. 

The  old  gentleman  thought  that  two  handsomer  or  finer  young  fellows  could 
scarcely  stand  side  by  side  than  those  on  whom  he  looked  with  so  much 
pleasure.  Suffering  his  eyes  to  rest  upon  them  for  a  short  time  in  silence, 
he  said,  while  he  seated  himself  at  his  aesk — 

"  I  wish  to  see  you  friends — close  and  firm  friends — and  if  I  thought  you 
otherwise,  I  should  hesitate  in  what  I  am  about  to  say.  Frank,  look  here ! 
Mr.  Nickleby,  will  you  come  on  the  other  side  ? " 

The  young  men  stepped  up  on  either  hand  of  brother  Charles,  who  pro- 
duced a  paper  from  his  desk  and  unfolded  it. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  a  copy  of  the  will  of  Madeline's  maternal  grandfather, 
bequeathing  her  the  sum  of  twelve  thousand  pounds,  payable  either  upon  her 
coming  of  age  or  marrying.  It  would  appear  that  this  gentleman,  angry  with 
her  (his  only  relation)  because  she  would  not  put  Herseli  under  his  protection. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEB  Y.  523 

and  detach  herself  from  the  society  of  her  father,  in  compliance  with  his  repeated 
overtures,  made  a  will  leaving  this  property  (which  waa  all  he  possessed)  to  a 
charitable  institution.  He  would  seem  to  have  repented  this  aetermination, 
however,  for  three  weeks  afterwards,  and  in  the  same  month,  he  executed  this. 
By  some  fraud,  it  was  abstracted  immediately  after  his  decease,  and  the  other 
— the  only  will  found — was  proved  and  administered.  Friendly  negotiations, 
which  have  only  just  now  terminated,  have  been  proceeding  since  this  instru- 
ment  came  into  our  hands,  and,  as  there  is  no  doubt  of  its  authenticity,  and 
the  witnesses  have  been  discovered  (after  some  trouble),  the  money  has  been 
refunded.  Madeline  has  therefore  obtained  her  right,  and  is,  or  will  be,  when 
either  of  the  contingencies  which  I  have  mentioned  have  arisen,  mistress  of 
this  fortune.    You  understand  me  % " 

Frank  replied  in  the  affirmative.  Nicholas,  who  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak  lest  his  voice  should  be  heard  to  falter,  bowed  his  head. 

"Now,  Frank,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "you  were  the  immediate  means 
of  recovering  this  deed.  The  fortune  is  but  a  small  one  ;  but  we  love 
Madeline  ;  and  such  as  it  is,  we  would  rather  see  you  allied  to  her  with  that, 
than  to  any  other  girl  we  know  who  has  three  times  the  money.  Will  you 
become  a  suitor  to  her  for  her  hand  ? " 

**  No,  sir.  I  interested  myself  in  the  recovery  of  that  instrument,  believing 
that  her  hand  was  already  pledged  to  one  who  has  a  thousand  times  the 
claims  upon  her  gratitude,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  upon  her  heart,  that  I  or 
any  other  man  can  ever  urge.     In  this  it  seems  I  judged  hastily. " 

**As  you  always  do,  sir,"  cried  brother  Charles,  utterly  forgetting  his 
assumed  dignity,  "as  you  always  do.  How  dare  you  think,  Frank,  that  we 
would  have  you  marry  for  money,  when  youth,  beauty,  and  every  amiable 
virtue  and  excellence,  were  to  be  had  for  love  ?  How  dared  you,  Frank,  go 
and  make  love  to  Mr.  Nickleby's  sister  without  telling  us  first  what  you 
meant  to  do,  and  letting  us  speak  for  you  ? " 

**  I  hardly  dared  to  hope " 

"  You  hardly  dared  to  hope  1  Then  so  much  the  greater  reason  for  having 
Dur  assistance !  Mr.  Nickleby,  sir,  Frank,  although  he  judged  hastily, 
ludged,  for  once,  correctly.  Madeline's  heart  is  occupied — give  me  your 
hand,  sir ;  it  is  occupied  by  you,  and  worthily  and  naturally.  This  fortune 
is  destined  to  be  yours,  but  you  have  a  greater  fortune  in  her,  sir,  than  you 
would  have  in  money  were  it  forty  times  told.  She  chooses  you,  Mr. 
Nickleby.  She  chooses  as  we,  her  dearest  friends,  would  have  her  choose. 
Frank  chooses  as  we  would  have  him  choose.  He  should  have  your  sister's 
little  hand,  sir,  if  she  had  refused  it  a  score  of  tiines — ah,  he  should,  and  he 
shall  1  You  acted  nobly,  not  knowing  our  sentiments ;  but  now  you  know 
them,  sir,  you  must  do  as  you  are  bid.  What !  You  are  the  children  of  a 
worthy  gentleman  1  The  time  was,  sir,  when  my  dear  brother  Ned  and  I 
were  two  poor,  simple-hearted  boys,  wandering  almost  barefoot,  to  seek  our 
fortunes ;  are  we  changed  in  anything  but  years  and  worldly  circumstances 
since  that  time  ?  No,  God  forbid  i  Oh,  Ned,  Ned,  Ned,  what  a  happy  day 
this  is  for  you  and  me !  If  our  poor  mother  had  only  lived  to  see  us  now, 
Ned,  how  proud  it  would  have  made  her  dear  heart  at  last ! " 

Thus  apostrophised,  brother  Ned,  who  had  entered  with  Mrs.  Nickleby,  and 
who  had  been  before  unobserved  by  the  young  men,  darted  forward,  and 
fairly  hugged  brother  Charles  in  his  arms. 

"  Bring  in  my  little  Rate,"  said  the  latter,  after  a  short  silence.  "  Bring 
her  in,  Ned.  Let  me  see  Eate,  let  me  kiss  her.  I  have  a  right  to  do  so, 
now  ;  I  was  very  near  it  when  she  first  came  ;  I  have  often  been  very  near  it. 
Ah !    Did  you  find  the  letter,  my  bird !    Did  you  find  Madeline  herself, 


524  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

waiting  for  yon  and  expecting  you  ?  Did  you  find  that  she  had  not  quite  for- 
gotten her  friend  and  nurse  and  sweet  companion  %  Why,  this  is  almost  the 
hest  of  all  1 " 

'^  Come,  come/'  said  Ned,  ''Frank  will  be  jealous,  and  we  shall  have  some 
cutting  of  throats  before  dinner." 

'*  Then  let  him  take  her  away,  Ned,  let  him  take  her  away.  Madeline's  in 
the  next  room.  Let  all  the  lovers  get  out  of  the  way,  and  talk  among  them- 
selves, if  they've  anything  to  say.     Turn  *em  out,  Ned,  every  one  I  " 

Brother  Charles  began  the  clearance  by  leading  the  blushing  girl  to  the 
door,  and  dismissing  ner  with  a  kiss.  Frank  was  not  very  slow  to  follow,  and 
Nicholas  had  disappeared  first  of  alL  So  there  only  remained  Mrs.  Nickleby 
and  Miss  La  Creevy,  who  were  both  sobbing  heartily  ;  the  two  brothers  ;  and 
Tim  Linkinwater,  who  now  came  in  to  shake  hands  with  everybody ;  his 
round  face  all  radiant  and  beaming  with  smiles. 

**  Well,  Tim  Linkinwater,  sir,  said  brother  Charles,  who  was  always 
spokesman,  *'  now  the  young  folks  are  happy,  sir." 

''  You  didn't  keep  'em  in  suspense  as  long  as  you  said  you  would,  though," 
returned  Tim,  archly.  **  Why,  Mr.  Nickleby  and  Mr.  Frank  were  to  have 
been  in  your  room  for  I  don't  know  how  long  ;  and  I  don't  know  what  you 
wern't  to  have  told  them  before  you  came  out  with  the  truth." 

''Now,  did  ^ou  ever  know  such  a  villain  as  this,  Ned?"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  "did  you  ever  know  such  a  villain  as  Tim  Linkinwater?  He 
accusing  mo  of  being  impatient,  and  he  the  very  man  who  has  been  wearying 
us  morning,  noon,  and  night,  and  torturing  us  for  leave  to  go  and  tell  'em 
what  was  in  store,  before  our  plans  were  half  complete,  or  we  nad  arranged  a 
single  thin^ — a  treacherous  dog  !  " 

"So  he  18,  brother  Charles, '  returned  Ned,  "Tim  is  a  treacherous  dog. 
Tim  is  not  to  be  trusted.  Tim  is  a  wild  young  fellow — he  wants  gravity  and 
steadiness  ;  he  must  sow  his  wild  oats,  and  then  perhaps  he'll  become  in  time 
a  respectable  member  of  society." 

This  being  one  of  the  standing  jokes  between  the  old  fellows  and  Tim,  they 
all  three  laughed  very  heartily,  and  might  have  laughed  much  longer  ;  but 
that  the  brothers  seeing  that  Mrs.  Nickleby  was  labouring  to  express  her 
feelings,  and  was  reallv  overwhelmed  by  the  happiness  of  the  time,  took  her 
between  them,  and  led  her  from  the  room  under  pretence  of  having  to  consult 
her  on  some  most  important  arrangements. 

Now,  Tim  and  Miss  La  Creevy  had  met  very  often,  and  had  always  been 
very  chatty  and  pleasant  together — had  always  been  great  friends — and 
consequently  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  Tim,  finding 
that  she  still  sobbed,  should  endeavour  to  console  her.  As  Miss  La  Creevy 
sat  on  a  large,  old-fashioned  window-seat,  where  there  was  ample  room 
for  two,  it  was  also  natural  that  Tim  should  sit  down  beside  her  ;  and  as 
to  Tim's  being  unusually  spruce  and  particular  in  his  attire  that  day,  why  it 
was  a  high  festival  and  a  great  occasion,  and  that  was  the  most  natural  thing 
ofaU. 

Tim  sat  down  beside  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  crossing  one  leg  over  the  other, 
so  that  his  foot — he  had  very  comely  feet,  and  happened  to  be  wearing  the 
neatest  shoes  and  black  silk  stockings  possible — should  come  easily  withm  the 
range  of  her  eye,  said  in  a  soothing  way — 

"Don't  cry!" 

"  I  must,"  rejoined  Miss  La  Creevy. 

"  No,  don't,"  said  Tim.     "  Please  don't ;  pray  don't" 

"  I  am  so  happy  1 "  sobbed  the  little  woman. 

" Then  laugh,^'  said  Tim,  "do  laugh." 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  525 

Whet  in  the  world  Tim  was  doing  with  his  arm  it  is  impossible  to  con- 
jecture, but  he  knocked  his  elbow  against  that  part  of  the  window  which  was 
quite  on  the  other  side  of  Miss  La  Creevy  ;  and  it  is  clear  that  it  could  have 
no  business  there. 

"  Do  laugh,"  said  Tim,  "or  I'll  cry." 

"  Why  should  you  cry  % "  asked  Miss  La  Creevy,  smiling. 

*'  Because  I'm  happy  too,"  said  Tim.  "  We  are  both  happy,  and  I  should 
like  to  do  as  you  do. ' 

Surely  there  never  was  a  man  who  fidgeted  as  Tim  must  have  done  then  ; 
for  he  knocked  the  window  a^ain — almost  in  the  same  place — and  Miss  La 
Creevy  said  she  was  sure  he'd  break  it. 

**  I  knew,"  said  Tim,  "  that  you  would  be  pleased  with  this  scene." 

''  It  was  very  thoughtful  and  kind  to  remember  me,"  returned  Miss  La 
Creevy.     "  Nothing  could  have  delighted  me  half  so  much." 

Why  on  earth  should  Miss  La  Creevy  and  Tim  Linkinwater  have  said  all 
this  in  a  whisper  ?  It  was  no  secret.  And  why  should  Tim  Linkinwater 
have  looked  so  hard  at  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  why  should  Miss  La  Creevy 
have  looked  so  hard  at  the  ground  ? 

"  It's  a  pleasant  thing,"  said  Tim,  "  to  people  like  us,  who  have  passed 
all  our  lives  in  the  world  alone,  to  see  young  folks  that  we  are  fond  of, 
brought  together  with  so  many  years  of  happiness  before  them." 

*'  Ah  1 "  cried  the  little  woman  with  all  her  heart,  *'  that  it  is  !  " 

"Although,"  pursued  Tim — "although  it  makes  one  feel  quite  solitary 
and  cast  away — now  don't  it  ? " 

Miss  La  Creevy  said  she  didn't  know.  And  why  should  she  say  she  didn't 
know  %    Because  she  must  have  known  whether  it  did  or  not 

"  It's  almost  enough  to  make  us  get  married  after  all,  isn't  it  ? "  said  Tim. 

"  Oh,  nonsense  1 "  replied  Miss  I^  Creevy,  laughing,  "  we  are  too  old." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Tim,  "  we  are  too  old  to  b^  single — why  shouldn't  we 
both  be  married,  instead  of  sitting  through  the  long  winter  evenings  by  our 
solitary  firesides  ?  Why  shouldn't  we  make  one  fireside  of  it,  and  marry  each 
other  ? " 

**  Oh,  Mr.  Linkinwater,  you're  joking ! " 

"No,  no,  I'm  not.  I'm  not,  indeed,"  said  Tim.  "I  will,  if  you  will. 
Do,  my  dear  ! " 

"  It  would  make  people  laugh  so." 

"  Let  'em  laugh,'  cried  Tim,  stoutly,  "we  have  good  tempers,  I  know,  and 
we'll  laugh  too.  Why,  what  hearty  laughs  we  have  had  since  we  have  known 
each  other." 

"So  we  have,"  cried  Miss  La  Creevy — ^giving  way  a  little,  as  Tim 
thought. 

"  It  has  been  the  happiest  time  in  all  my  life — at  least,  away  from  the 
counting-house  and  Cheery ble  Brothers,"  said  Tim.  "Do,  my  dear  I  Now, 
say  you  wilL" 

"No,  no,  we  mustn't  think  of  it,"  returned  Miss  La  Creevy.  "What 
would  the  brothers  say  \  " 

"  Why,  God  bless  your  soul ! "  cried  Tim,  innocently,  "  you  don't  suppose 
I  should  think  of  such  a  thing  without  their  knowing  it !  Why,  they  left  us 
here  on  purpose." 

"  I  can  never  look  'em  in  the  face  again  1 "  exclaimed  Miss  La  Creevy, 
faintly. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Tim,  "  let's  be  a  comfortable  couple.  We  shall  live  in  the 
old  house  here,  where  I  have  been  for  four-and -forty  year  ;  we  shall  go  to  the 
old  church,  where  I've  been  every  Sunday  morning  all  through  that  time  ;  we 


526  UFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

shall  have  all  my  old  friends  about  us — Dick,  the  archway,  the  pump,  the 
flowerpots,  and  Mr.  Frank's  children,  and  Mr.  Nickleby's  children,  that  we 
shall  seem  like  grandfather  and  grandmother  too.  Let's  be  a  comfortable 
conple,  and  take  care  of  each  other  !  And  if  we  should  get  deaf,  or  lame,  or 
blind,  or  bed-ridden,  how  glad  we  shall  be  that  we  have  somebody  we  are 
fond  of,  always  to  talk  to  and  sit  with  1  Let's  be  a  comfortable  couple.  Now 
do,  my  dear  1 " 

Five  minutes  after  this  honest  and  straightforward  speech,  little  Miss  La 
Creevy  and  Tim  were  talking  as  pleasantly  as  if  they  had  been  married  for  a 
score  of  years,  and  had  never  once  quarrelled  all  the  time  ;  and  five  minutes 
after  that,  when  Miss  La  Oreevy  had  bustled  out  to  see  if  her  eyes  were  red, 
and  put  her  hair  to  rights,  Tim  moved  with  a  stately  step  towards  the 
drawing-room,  exclaiming  as  he  went,  *'  There  an't  such  another  woman  in 
all  London — I  hfww  there  an't ! " 

By  this  time  the  apoplectic  butler  was  nearly  in  fits,  in  consequence  of  the 
unheard-of  postponement  of  dinner.  Nicholas,  who  had  been  engl^^  in  a 
manner  in  which  every  reader  may  imagine  for  himself  or  herself,  was  hurrying 
downstairs,  in  obedience  to  his  angry  summons,  when  he  encountered  a  new 
surprise. 

On  his  way  down  he  overtook,  in  one  of  the  passages,  a  stranger  genteelly 
dressed  in  black,  who  was  also  moving  towards  the  <Sning-room.  k&  he  was 
rather  lame,  and  walked  slowly,  Nicholas  lingered  behind,  and  was  following 
him  step  by  step,  wondering  who  he  was,  when  he  suddenly  turned  round  and 
caught  nim  by  both  hands. 

**  Newman  Noggs  ! "  cried  Nicholas,  joyfully. 

''Ah  1  Newman,  your  own  Newman,  your  own  old  faithful  Newman  !  My 
dear  boy,  my  dear  Nick,  I  give  you  joy,  health,  happiness,  every  blessing.  1 
can't  bear  it — it's  too  much,  my  dear  boy — it  makes  a  child  of  me  1 " 

"Where  have  you  been?"  said  Nicholas  ;  **what  have  you  been  doing! 
How  often  have  I  inquired  for  you,  and  been  told  that  I  should  hear  before 
long ! " 

**  I  know,  I  know  I  "  returned  Newman.  "  They  wanted  all  the  happiness 
to  come  together.  I've  been  helping  'em.  I,  I — look  at  me,  Nick,  look 
at  me ! " 

'*You  would  never  let  vm  do  that,"  said  Nicholas,  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
reproach. 

"  I  didn't  mind  what  I  was  then.  I  shouldn't  have  had  the  heart  to  put 
on  gentlemen's  clothes.  They  would  have  reminded  me  of  old  times,  and 
made  me  miserable.  I  am  another  man  now,  Nick.  My  dear  boy,  I  can't 
speak — don't  say  anything  to  me — don't  think  the  worse  of  rae  for  these  tears 
— you  don't  know  what  I  feel  to-day  ;  you  can't,  and  never  will !  " 

They  walked  in  to  dinner  arm-in-arm,  and  sat  down  side  by  side. 

Never  was  such  a  dinner  as  that  since  the  world  began.  There  was  the 
superannuated  bank  clerk,  Tim  Linkinwater's  friend ;  and  there  was  the 
chubby  old  lady,  Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  ;  and  there  was  so  much  attention 
from  Tim  Linkinwater's  sister  to  Miss  La  Creevy,  and  there  was  so  many 
jokes  from  the  superannuated  bank  clerk,  and  Tim  Linkinwater  himself  was 
in  such  tip-top  spirits,  and  little  Miss  La  Creevy  was  in  such  a  comical  state, 
that  of  themselves  they  would  have  composed  the  pleasantest  party  conceiv- 
able. Then  there  was  Mrs.  Nickleby  so  grand  and  complacent  ;  Madeline 
and  Kate  so  blushing  and  beautiful ;  Nicholas  and  Frank  so  devoted  and 
proud  ;  and  all  four  so  silently  and  tremblingly  happy — there  was  Newman 
so  subdued  yet  so  oVeijoved,  and  there  were  the  twin  brothers  so  delighted 
and  interchanging  such  looks,  that  the  old  servant  stood  transfixed  behind 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  527 

his  master's  chair,  and  felt  his  eyes  grow  dim  as  they  wandered  round 
the  table. 

When  the  first  novelty  of  the  meeting  had  worn  off,  and  they  began  truly 
to  feel  how  happy  they  were,  the  conversation  became  more  general,  and  the 
harmony  and  pleasure  if  possible  increased.  The  brothers  were  in  a  perfect 
ecstasy  ;  and  their  insisting  on  saluting  the  ladies  all  round  before  they  would 
permit  them  to  retire,  gave  occasion  to  the  superannuated  bank  clers  to  say 
80  many  good  things  that  he  quite  outshone  himself,  and  was  looked  upon  as 
a  prodigy  of  humour. 

'*Eate,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Nickleby,  taking  her  daughter  aside,  directly 
they  got  upstairs,  **  you  don't  really  mean  to  tell  me  that  this  is  actually  true 
about  Miss  La  Creevy  and  Mr.  Linkinwater  % " 

**  Indeed  it  is,  mamma." 

"  Why,  I  never  heard  such  a  thing  in  my  life ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Nickleby. 

**  Mr.  Linkinwater  is  a  most  excellent  creature,"  reasoned  Kate,  "and,  for 
his  age,  quite  young  still." 

"For  his  age,  my  dear!"  returned  Mrs.  Nickleby,  **yes;  nobody  says 
anything  against  him,  except  that  I  think  he  is  the  weakest  and  most  foolish 
man  I  ever  knew.  It's  h>er  age  I  speak  of.  That  he  should  have  gone  and 
ofifered  himself  to  a  woman  who  must  be — ah,  half  as  old  again  as  I  am — and 
that  she  should  have  dared  to  accept  him  1  It  don't  signify,  Kate ;  I'm 
disgusted  with  her." 

Shaking  her  head  very  emphatically  indeed,  Mrs.  Nickleby  swept  away  ; 
and  all  the  evening,  in  the  midst  of  the  merriment  and  enjoyment  that  ensued, 
and  in  which,  with  that  exception,  she  freely  participated,  conducted  herself 
towards  Miss  La  Creevy  in  a  stately  and  distant  manner  designed  to  mark  her 
sense  of  the  impropriety  of  her  conduct,  and  to  signify  her  extreme  and  cutting 
disapprobation  of  the  misdemeanour  she  had  so  flagrantly  committed. 


CHAPTER    LXIV. 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  IS  RECOGNISED  UNDER  MELANCHOLY  CIRCUMSTANCES, 
AND  DOTHEBOYS    HALL  BREAKS  UP   FOR  EVER. 

HICHOLAS  was  one  of  those  whose  joy  is  incomplete  unless  it  is  shared 
by  the  friends  of  adverse  and  less  fortunate  days.  Surrounded  by 
every  fascination  of  love  and  hope,  his  warm  heart  yearned  towards 
plain  John  Browdie.  He  remembered  their  first  meeting  with  a  smile,  and 
their  second  with  a  tear  ;  saw  poor  Smike  once  again  with  the  bundle  on  his 
shoulder,  trudging  patiently  by  his  side  ;  and  heard  the  honest  Yorkshire- 
man's  rough  woras  of  encouragement,  as  he  left  them  on  their  road  to 
London. 

Madeline  and  he  sat  down,  very  many  times,  jointly  to  produce  a  letter 
which  should  acquaint  John  at  full  length  of  his  altered  fortunes,  and 
assure  him  of  his  friendship  and  gratitude.  It  so  happened,  however,  that 
the  letter  could  never  be  written.  Although  they  applied  themselves  to  it 
with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  it  chanced  that  they  always  fell  to 
talking  about  something  else,  and  when  Nicholas  tried  it  by  himself,  he 
found  it  impossible  to  write  one  half  of  what  he  wished  to  say,  or  to  pen 
anything,  indeed,  which  on  re-perusal  did  not  appear  cold  and  unsatis- 
factory compared  with  what  he  nad  in  his  mind.    At  last,  after  going  on 


528  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

thfu  ^m  day  to  day,  and  reproaching  himself  more  and  more,  he  resolved 
(the  more  readily  as  Madeline  strongly  urged  him)  to  make  a  hasty  trip  into 
Yorkshire,  and  present  himself  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browdie  without  a  word 
of  notice. 

Thus  it  was  that  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock  one  evening,  he  and  Kate 
found  themselves  in  the  Saracen's  Head  booking-office,  securing  a  place  to 
Greta  Bridge  by  the  next  mornings  coach.  They  had  to  go  westward,  to 
procure  some  little  necessaries  for  Sis  journey,  and,  as  it  was  a  fine  night,  they 
agreed  to  walk  there,  and  ride  home. 

The  place  they  had  just  been  in  called  up  so  many  recollections,  and 
Eate  had  so  many  anecdotes  of  Madeline,  and  Nicholas  so  many  anecdotes 
of  Frank,  and  each  was  so  interested  in  what  the  other  said,  and  both  were 
so  happy  and  confidinc^,  and  had  so  much  to  talk  about,  that  it  was  not 
until  they  had  plunged  for  a  full  half  hour  into  that  labyrinth  of  streets  which 
lies  between  Seven  Dials  and  Soho,  without  emerging  into  any  large  thorough- 
fare, that  Nicholas  began  to  think  it  just  possible  they  might  have  lost  their 
way. 

The  possibility  was  soon  converted  into  a  certainty ;  for,  on  looking  about, 
and  walkine  first  to  one  end  of  the  street  and  then  to  the  other,  he  could  find 
no  landmark  he  could  recognise,  and  was  fain  to  turn  back  again  in  quest  of 
some  place  at  which  he  coi3d  seek  a  direction. 

It  was  a  by-street,  and  there  was  nobody  about,  or  in  the  few  wretched 
shops  they  passed.  Making  towards  a  faint  gleam  of  light,  which  streamed 
across  the  pavement  from  a  cellar,  Nicholas  was  about  to  descend  two  or  three 
steps  so  as  to  render  himself  visible  to  those  below  and  make  his  inquiry,  when 
he  was  arrested  by  a  loud  noise  of  scolding  in  a  woman's  voice. 

** Oh,  come  away  !  "  said  Eate,  "they  are  quarrelling.     Youll  be  hurt" 

**Wait  one  instant,  Eate.  Let  us  hear  if  there's  anything  the  matter," 
returned  her  brother.     '*  Hush  1 " 

"You  nasty,  idle,  vicious,  good-for-nothing  brute,"  cried  the  woman, 
stamping  on  tne  ground,  "  why  don't  you  turn  the  mangje  ? " 

**  So  I  am,  my  life  and  soul ! "  replied  a  man's  voice.  **  I  am  always 
turning.  I  am  perpetually  turning,  like  a  demd  old  horse  in  a  demnition 
miU.     My  life  is  one  demd  horrid  grind  ! " 

"Then  why  don't  you  go  and  list  for  a  soldier?"  retorted  the  woman; 
"you're  welcome  to." 

"For  a  soldier!"  cried  the  man.  "  For  a  soldier  1  "Would  his  joy  and 
gladness  see  him  in  a  coarse  red  coat  with  a  little  tail  ?  Would  she  hear  of 
his  being  slapped  and  beat  by  drummers  demnebly  ?  Would  she  have  him 
fire  off  real  guns,  and  have  his  hair  cut,  and  his  whiskers  shaved,  and  his  eyes 
turned  light  and  left,  and  his  trousers  pipeclayed  ?  " 

"  Dear  Nicholas,"  whispered  Eate,  "  you  don't  know  who  that  is.  It's  Mr. 
Mantalini,  I  am  confident." 

"Do  make  sure!  Peep  at  him  while  I  ask  the  way,"  said  Nicholas. 
"  Come  down  a  step  or  two — come  !  " 

Drawing  her  after  him,  Nicholas  crept  down  the  steps  and  looked  into  a 
small  boarded  cellar.  There,  amidst  clothes-baskets  and  clothes,  stripped  to 
his  shirt-sleeves,  but  wearing  still  an  old  patched  pair  of  pantaloons  of 
superlative  make,  a  once  brilliant  waistcoat,  and  moustache  ana  whLskers  as 
of  yore,  but  lacking  their  lustrous  dye — there,  endeavouring  to  mollify  the 
wrath  of  a  buxom  female — not  the  lawful  Madame  Mantalini,  but  the  pro- 
prietress of  the  concern — and  grinding  meanwhile  as  if  for  very  life  at  the 
mangle,  whose  creaking  noise,  mingled  with  her  shrill  tones,  appeared  almost 


NICHOLAS  NJCKLEBY,  529 

to  deafen  him — there  was  the  graceful,  elegant,  fascinating,  and  once  dashing 
Mantalini 

"  Oh,  you  false  traitor  1 "  cried  the  lady,  threatening  personal  violence  on 
Mr.  Mantalini's  face. 

**  False.  Oh,  dem !  Now  my  soul,  my  gentle,  captivating,  hewitchiiig, 
and  most  demnehly  enslaving  chick-a-biddy,  be  calm,  said  Mr.  Mantalini, 
humbly. 

"I  won't !  "  screamed  the  woman.     "  I'll  tear  your  eyes  out  1 " 

*'  Oh  !    What  a  demd  savage  lamb  ! "  cried  Mr.  Mantalini. 

"You're  never  to  be  trusted,"  screamed  the  woman  ;  "lyou  were  out  all  day 
yesterday,  and  gallivanting  somewhere,  I  know — you  know  you  were  ?  Isn't 
it  enough  that  I  paid  two  pound  fourteen  for  you,  and  took  you  out  of  prison, 
and  let  you  live  here  like  a  gentleman,  but  must  you  go  on  like  this ; 
breaking  my  heart  besides  ? " 

**  I  will  never  break  its  heart,  I  will  be  a  good  boy,  and  never  do  so  any 
more ;  I  will  never  be  naughty  again  ;  I  beg  its  little  pardon,"  said  Mr. 
Mantalini,  dropping  the  handle  of  the  mangle,  and  folding  his  palms  together. 
"  It  is  all  up  with  its  handsome  friend  !  He  has  gone  to  the  aemnition  bow- 
wows. It  will  have  pity  1  it  will  not  scratch  and  claw,  but  pet  and  comfort  ? 
Oh,  demmit" 

Very  little  affected,  to  judge  from  her  action,  by  this  tender  appeal,  the 
lady  was  on  the  point  of  returning  some  angry  reply,  when  Nicholas,  raising 
his  voice,  asked  nis  way  to  PiccadSly. 

Mr.  Mantalini  turned  round,  caught  sight  of  Kate,  and,  without  another 
word,  leapt  at  one  bound  into  a  bed  which  stood  behind  the  door,  and  drew 
the  counterpane  over  his  face,  kicking  meanwhile  convulsively. 

" Demmit !  "  he  cried,  in  a  suffocating  voice,  "it's  little  Nickleby  1  Shut 
the  door,  put  out  the  candle,  turn  me  up  in  the  bedstead  !  Oh,  dem,  dem, 
dem ! " 

The  woman  looked,  first  at  Nicholas  and  then  at  Mr.  Mantalini,  as  if 
uncertain  on  whom  to  visit  this  extraordinary  behaviour ;  but  Mr.  Mantalini 
happening  by  ill-luck  to  thrust  his  nose  from  under  the  bedclothes  in  his 
anxiety  to  ascertain  whether  the  visitors  were  gone,  she  suddenly,  and 
with  a  dexteritv  which  could  only  have  been  acquired  by  lo«^  practice, 
flung  a  pretty  neavy  clothes-basket  at  him,  with  so  good  an  aim  that  he 
kicked  more  violently  than  before,  though  without  venturing  to  make  any 
effort  to  disengage  his  head,  which  was  quite  extinguished.  Thinking  this  a 
favourable  opportunity  for  departing  before  any  of  the  torrent  of  her  wrath 
discharged  itself  upon  him,  Nicholas  hurried  Kate  off,  and  left  the  un- 
fortunate subject  of  this  unexpected  recognition  to  explain  his  conduct  as  he 
best  could. 

The  next  morning  he  began  his  journey.  It  was  now  cold,  winter  weather, 
forcibly  recalling  to  his  mind  under  what  circumstances  he  had  first  travelled 
that  road,  and  how  many  vicissitudes  and  changes  he  had  since  undergone. 
He  was  alone  inside  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  and  sometimes,  when  he  had 
fallen  into  a  doze,  and,  rousing  himself,  looked  out  of  the  window,  and 
recognised  some  place  which  he  well  remembered  as  having  passed,  either  on 
his  journey  down,  or  in  the  long  walk  back  with  poor  Smike,  he  could  hardly 
believe  but  that  all  which  had  since  happened  had  been  a  dream,  and  that 
they  were  still  plodding  wearily  on  towards  London,  with  the  world  before 
them. 

To  render  these  recollections  the  more  vivid,  it  came  on  to  snow  as  night 
set  in  ;  and,  passing  through  Stamford  and  Grantham,  and  by  the  little  ale- 
house where  he  had  heard  the  story  of  the  bold  Baron  of  Grogzwig,  everything 

u  34 


530  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

looked  as  if  he  had  seen  it  bat  yesterday,  and  not  even  a  flake  of  the  white 
crust  on  the  roofs  had  melted  away,  ^coore^gine  the  train  of  ideas  which 
flocked  upon  him,  he  could  almost  persuade  himself  that  he  sat  a^in  outside 
the  coach  with  Squeers  and  the  boys  ;  that  he  heard  their  voices  in  the  air ; 
and  that  he  felt  again,  but  with  a  mingled  sensation  of  pain  and  pleasure 
now,  that  old  sinking  of  the  heart  and  longing  after  home.  While  he  was  yet 
yielding  himself  up  to  these  fancies  he  fell  asleep,  and,  dreaming  of  Madeline, 
forgot  tnem. 

He  slept  at  the  inn  at  Greta  Bridge  on  the  night  of  his  arrival,  and,  rising 
at  a  very  early  hour  next  morning,  walked  to  the  market-town,  and  inquired 
for  John  Browdie's  house.  John  lived  in  the  outskirts,  now  he  was  a  family 
man ;  and,  as  everybody  knew  him,  Nicholas  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  a 
boy  who  undertook  to  guide  him  to  his  residence. 

Dismissing  his  guide  at  the  gate,  and  in  his  impatience  not  even  stopping 
to  admire  the  thriving  look  of  cottage  or  garden  either,  Nicholas  made  his 
way  to  the  kitchen  door,  and  knocked  lustily  with  his  stick. 

"  Halloa ! "  cried  a  voice  inside,  '*  waat  be  the  matther  noo  ?  Be  the  toon 
a-fire  ?    Ding,  but  thou  mak'est  noise  eneaf ! " 

With  these  words,  John  Browdie  opened  the  door  himself,  and  opening  his 
eyes  to  their  utmost  width,  cried,  as  ne  clapped  his  hands  together  and  burst 
into  a  hearty  roar — 

"  Ecod,  it  be  the  godfeyther,  it  be  the  godfeyther  I  Tilly,  here  be  Misther 
Nickleby.  Gi'  us  thee  bond,  mun.  Goora  awa',  coom  awa'.  In  wi'  'un, 
doon  beside  the  fire ;  tak'  a  soop  o*  thot.  Dinnot  say  a  word  till  thoo'st 
droonk  it  a' !    Cop  wi'  it,  mun.     Ding !  but  I'm  reeght  glod  to  see  thee." 

Adapting  his  action  to  his  text,  Jomi  dragged  Nicholas  into  the  kitchen, 
forced  Dim  down  upon  a  huge  settle  beside  a  blazing  fire,  poured  oat  from  an 
enormous  bottle  about  a  quarter  of  a  pint  of  spirits,  thrust  it  into  his  hand, 
opened  his  mouth  and  threw  back  his  head  as  a  sign  to  him  to  drink  it 
instantly,  and  stood  with  a  broad  grin  of  welcome  overspreading  his  great  red 
face,  like  a  jolly  ^ant. 

**I  might  ha'  Kuowa'd,"  said  John,  "that  nobody  but  thou  would  ha' 
coom  wi'  sike  a  knock  as  yon.  Thot  was  the  wa'  thou  knocked  at  school- 
measther'sMoor,  eh  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  But  I  say — waa't  be  a'  this  aboot  school- 
measther  ? " 

."  You  know  it,  then  ? "  said  Nicholas. 

**  They  were  talking  aboot  it  doon  toon  last  neeght,"  replied  John,  **  but 
neane  on  'em  seemed  quite  to  un'erstan'  it  loike." 

"After  various  shiftings  and  delays,"  said  Nicholas,  **he  has  been  sen- 
tenced to  be  transported  for  seven  years,  for  being  in  the  unlawful  possession 
of  a  stolen  will ;  and,  after  that,  he  has  to  suffer  the  consequence  of  con- 
spiracy." 

"  Whew  ! "  oried  John,  "a  conspiracy  I  Soomat  in  the  pooder  plot  wa' — 
eh  ?    Soomat  in  the  Guy  Faux  line  ? " 

"  No,  no,  no,  a  conspiracy  connected  with  his  school ;  I'll  explain  it 
presently." 

**  Thot's  reeght !  "  said  John,  "  explain  it  arter  breakfast,  not  noo,  for  thou 
bees't  hoongry,  and  so  am  I ;  and  Tilly  she  mun'  be  at  the  bottom  o'  a* 
explanations,  for  she  says  thot's  the  mutual  confidence.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Ecod, 
it's  a  room  start,  is  the  mutual  confidence  !  " 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Browdie,  with  a  smart  cap  ot,  and  very  many 
apologies  for  their  having  been  detected  in  the  act  of  breakfasting  in  the 
kitchen,  stopped  John  in  his  discussion  of  this  grave  subject,  and  hastened 
the  breakfast;   which,  being  composed  of  vast  mounds  of  toast,  new-laid 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  531 

eggs,  boiled  ham,  Yorkshire  pie,  and  other  cold  substantials  (of  which 
heavy  relays  were  constantly  appearing  from  another  kitchen  under  the 
direction  of  a  very  plump  servant),  was  admirably  adapted  to  the  cold 
bleak  morning,  and  received  the  utmost  justice  from  all  parties.  At  last  it 
came  to  a  close  ;  and  the  fire  which  had  been  lighted  in  the  best  parlour 
having  by  this  time  burnt  up,  they  adjourned  thither,  to  hear  what  lucholas 
had  to  tell. 

Nicholas  told  them  all,  and  never  was  there  a  story  which  awakened  so 
many  emotions  in  the  breasts  of  two  eager  listeners.  At  one  time,  honest 
John  groaned  in  sympathy,  and  at  another  roared  with  joy  ;  at  one  time  he 
vowed  to  gor  up  to  London  on  purpose  to  get  a  sight  of  the  Brothers 
Cheeryble  ;  and,  at  another,  swore  that  Tim  Linkinwater  should  receive  such 
a  ham  by  coach,  and  carriage-free,  as  mortal  knife  had  never  carved.  When 
Nicholas  began  to  describe  Madeline,  he  sat  with  his  mouth  wide  open, 
nudging  Mrs.  Browdie  from  time  to  time,  and  exclaiming  under  his  breath 
that  she  must  be  "raa'ther  a  tidy  sart,"  and  when  he  heard  at  last  that  his 
young  friend  had  come  down  purposely  to  communicate  his  good  fortune,  and 
to  convey  to  him  all  those  assurances  of  friendship  which  he  could  not  state 
with  sufficient  warmth  in  writing — that  the  only  object  of  his  journey  was  to 
share  his  happiness  with  them,  and  to  tell  them  that  when  he  was  married 
they  must  come  up  to  see  him,  and  that  Madeline  insisted  on  it  as  well  as  he 
—John  could  hold  out  no  longer,  but  after  looking  indignantly  at  his  wife, 
and  demanding  to  know  what  she  was  whimpering  for,  drew  his  coat-sleeve 
over  his  eyes  and  blubbered  outright. 

"  Tell'ee  waa't,  though,"  said  John,  seriously,  when  a  great  deal  had  been 
said  on  both  sides,  **  to  return  to  schoolmeasther.  If  this  news  aboot  'un  has 
reached  school  to-day,  the  old  'ooman  wean't  have  a  whole  boan  in  her  boddy, 
nor  Fanny  neither." 

**  Oh,  John  I "  cried  Mrs.  Browdie. 

**  Ah  !  and  oh,  John,  agean,"  replied  the  Yorkshireman.  "  I  dinnot  know 
what  they  lads  mightn't  do.  when  it  first  got  aboot  that  schoolmeasther 
was  in  trouble,  soom  feythers  and  moothers  sent  and  took  their  young  chaps 
awa'.  If  them  as  is  loft  should  know  waa'ts  coom  tiv'un,  there  11  be  sike  a 
revolution  and  rebel  I  Ding  I  But  I  think  they'll  a'  gang  daft,  and  spill 
bluid  like  wather ! " 

In  fact  John  Browdie's  apprehensions  were  so  strong  that  he  determined  to 
ride  over  to  the  school  without  delay,  and  invited  Nicholas  to  accompany  him, 
which,  however,  he  declined,  pleading  that  his  presence  might  perhaps 
aggravate  the  bitterness  of  their  adversi^. 

"  Thot's  true ! "  said  John,  "  I  should  ne'er  ha'  thought  o'  thot" 

<<  I  must  return  to-morrow,"  said  Nicholas,  "  but  I  mean  to  dine  with  you 
to-day,  and  if  Mrs.  Browdie  can  give  me  a  bed " 

"  Bed  ! "  cried  John,  "  I  wish  thou  could'st  sleep  in  fower  beds  at  once. 
Ecod,  thou  should'st  have  'em  a'.  Bide  till  I  coom  back,  on'y  bide  till  I  coom 
back,  and  ecod,  we'll  mak'  a  day  of  it." 

Giving  his  wife  a  hearty  kiss,  and  Nicholas  a  no  less  hearty  shake  of  the 
hand,  John  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off :  leaving  Mrs.  Browdie  to  apply 
herself  to  hospitable  preparations,  and  his  young  friend  to  stroll  about  the 
neighbourhood,  and  revisit  spots  which  were  rendered  familiar  to  him  by 
many  a  miserable  association. 

John  cantered  away,  and  arriving  at  Dotheboys  Hall,  tied  his  horse  to  a 
^te  and  made  his  way  to  the  schoolroom  door,  which  he  found  locked  on  the 
mside.    A  tremendous  noise  and  riot  arose  from  within,  and  applying  his  eye 


532  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

to  a  convenient  crevice  in  the  wall,  he  did  not  remain  long  in  ignorance  of  its 
meaning. 

The  news  of  Mr.  Squeers's  downfall  had  reached  Dotheboys ;  that  was 
quite  clear.  To  all  appearance  it  had  very  recently  become  known  to  the 
yonng  gentlemen  ;  for  the  rebellion  had  just  broken  ont. 

It  was  one  of  the  brimstone-and-treacle  mornings,  and  Mrs.  Sqaeers  had 
entered  school  according  to  custom  with  the  large  bowl  and  spoon,  followed 
by  Miss  Squeers  and  the  amiable  Wackford :  who,  during  his  father's  absence, 
had  taken  upon  him  such  minor  branches  of  the  executive  as  kicking  the 
pupils  with  his  nailed  boots,  pulling  the  hair  of  some  of  the  smaller  boys, 
pinching  the  others  in  aggravating  places,  and  rendering  himself,  in  various 
similar  ways,  a  great  comfort  and  happiness  to  his  mother.  Their  entrance, 
whether  by  premeditation  or  a  simultaneous  impulse,  was  the  signal  of 
revolt.  While  one  detachment  rushed  to  the  door  and  locked  it,  and  another 
mounted  on  the  desks  and  forms,  the  stoutest,  and  consequently  the  newest- 
boy,  seized  the  cane,  and  confronting  Mrs.  Squeers  with  a  stern  countenance, 
snatched  off  her  cap  and  beaver-bonnet,  put  it  on  his  own  head,  arm^ 
himself  with  the  wooden  spoon,  and  bade  her,  on  pain  of  death,  go  down 
upon  her  knees  and  take  a  dose  directly.  Before  that  estimable  lady  could 
recover  herself,  or  offer  the  slightest  retaliation,  she  was  forced  into  a  kneeling 
posture  by  a  crowd  of  shouting  tormentors,  and  compelled  to  swallow  a 
spoonful  of  the  odious  mixture,  rendered  more  than  usually  savoury  by  the 
immersion  in  the  bowl  of  Master  Wackford's  head,  whose  ducking  was 
entrusted  to  another  rebeL  The  success  of  this  first  achievement  prompted 
the  malicious  crowd,  whose  faces  were  clustered  together  in  every  variety  of 
lank  and  half-starved  ugliness,  to  further  acts  of  outrage.  The  leader  was 
insisting  upon  Mrs.  Squeers  repeating  her  dose.  Master  Squeers  was  under- 
going another  dip  in  the  treacle,  and  a  violent  assault  had  been  commenced 
on  Miss  Squeers,  when  John  Browdie,  bursting  open  the  door  with  a  vigorous 
kick,  rushed  to  the  rescue.  The  shouts,  screams,  groans,  hoots,  and  clapping 
of  hands  suddenly  ceased,  and  a  dead  silence  ensued. 

"  Ye  be  noice  chaps,"  said  John,  looking  steadily  round.  **  What's  to  do 
here,  thou  yoong  dogs  1 " 

'* Squeers  is  inprison,  and  we  are  going  to  run  away !"  cried  a  score  of 
shrill  voices.     "  We  won't  stop,  we  won't !  ' 

**Weel  then,  dinnot  stop,'  replied  John,  "who  waants  thee  to  stop? 
Roon  awa'  loike  men,  but  dmnot  hurt  the  women." 

**  Hurrah  1 "  cried  the  shrill  voices,  more  shrilly  still. 

"Hurrah  I"  repeated  John.  **  Weel,  hurrah  loike  men  too.  Noo  then, 
look  out.    Hip — nip — hip-—hurrah  ! " 

"  Hurrah  ! '    cried  the  voices. 

"  Hurrah  !    Agean,"  said  John.     "  Looder  still." 

The  boys  obeyed. 

"Anoother  I  said  John.  "Dinnot  be  afeard  on  it.  Let's  have  a  £:ood 
•unl" 

"Hurrah!" 

"  Noo,  then,"  said  John,  "let's  have  yan  more  to  end  wi',  and  then  coot 
off  as  quick  as  you  loike.  Tak*  a  good  breath  noo — Squeers  be  in  jail^he 
school's  brokken  oop — it's  a'  ower — past  and  gane — think  o'  thot,  and  let  it 
be  a  hearty  *un  !    Hurrah  ! " 

Such  a  cheer  arose  as  the  walls  of  Dotheboys  Hall  had  never  echoed  before, 
and  were  destined  never  to  respond  to  again.  When  the  sound  had  died 
away,  the  school  was  empty ;  and  of  the  busy,  noisy  crowd  which  had  peopled 
it  but  five  minutes  before,  not  one  remained. 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  533 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Browdie  ! "  said  Miss  Squeers,  hot  and  flushed  from  the 
recent  encounter,  but  vixenish  to  the  last ;  "  you've  been  and  excited  our 
boys  to  run  away.  Now  see  if  we  don't  pay  you  out  for  that,  sir  !  If  my  pa 
is  unfortunate  and  trod  down  by  henemies,  we're  not  going  to  be  basely 
crowed  and  conquered  over  by  you  and  Tilda." 

"Noa  !"  replied  John,  bluntly,  "thou  bean't  Tak'  thy  oath  o'  thot 
Think  betther  o*  us,  Fanny.  I  tell  'ee  both,  thot  I'm  glod  the  old  man  has 
been  caught  out  at  last — dom'd  glod — but  ye'll  soo^r  eneaf  wi'out  any 
crowin'  fra'  me,  and  I  be  not  the  mun  to  crow,  nor  be  Tilly  the  lass,  so  I  tell 
'ee  flat.  More  than  thot,  I  tell  'ee  noo,  that  if  thou  needs  friends  to  help 
thee  awa*  from  this  place — dinnot  turn  up  thy  nose,  Fanny,  thou  may'st — 
thou'lt  foind  Tilly  and  I  wi'  a  thout  o'  old  times  aboot  us,  resuiy  to  lend  thee 
a  bond.  And  when  I  say  thot,  dinnot  think  I  be  asheamed  of  waa't  I've 
deane,  for  I  say  agean,  Humih  1  and  dom  the  schoolmeasther — there  ! " 

His  parting  woras  concluded,  John  Browdie  strode  heavily  out,  remounted 
his  nag,  put  him  once  more  into  a  smart  canter,  and  carolling  lustily  forth 
some  fragments  of  an  old  son^,  to  which  the  horse's  hoofs  rang  a  merry 
accompaniment,  sped  back  to  his  pretty  wife  and  to  Nicholas. 

For  some  days  afterwards  the  neighbouring  country  was  overrun  with 
boys,  who,  the  report  went,  had  been  secretly  furnished  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browdie,  not  only  with  a  hearty  meal  of  bread  and  meat,  but  with  sundry 
shillings  and  sixpences  to  help  them  on  their  way.  To  tbis  rumour  John 
always  returned  a  stout  denial,  which  he  accompanied,  however,  with  a 
lurking  erin,  that  rendered  the  suspicious  doubtful,  and  fully  confirmed  all 
previous  Delievers. 

There  were  a  few  timid  young  children,  who,  miserable  as  they  had  been, 
and  many  as  were  the  tears  they  had  shed  in  the  wretched  school,  still  knew 
no  other  home,  and  had  formed  for  it  a  sort  of  attachment,  which  made  them 
weep  when  the  bolder  spirits  fled,  and  cling  to  it  as  a  refage.  Of  these,  some 
were  found  crying  under  hedges,  and  in  such  places,  lightened  at  the 
solitude.  One  had  a  dead  bira  in  a  little  cage;  he  had  wandered  nearly 
twenty  miles,  and  when  his  poor  favourite  died,  lost  courage,  and  lay  down 
beside  him.  Another  was  discovered  in  a  yard  hard  by  the  school,  sleeping 
with  a  dog,  who  bit  at  those  who  came  to  remove  him,  and  licked  the 
sleeping  child's  pale  face. 

They  were  taken  back,  and  some  other  stragglers  were  recovered,  but  by 
degrees  they  were  claimed,  or  lost  again  ;  and,  in  course  of  time,  Dotheboys 
Hall  and  its  last  breaking  up  began  to  be  forgotten  by  the  neighbours,  or  to 
be  only  spoken  of  as  among  the  things  that  had  been. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

WHEN  her  term  of  mourning  had  expired,  Madeline  save  her  hand  and 
fortune  to  Nicholas ;  and  on  the  same  day  and  at  toe  same  time,  Kate 
became  Mrs.  Frank  Cheeryble.  It  was  expected  that  Tim  Linkinwater 
and  Miss  La  Creevy  would  have  made  a  third  couple  on  the  occasion,  but  they 
declined,  and  two  or  three  weeks  afterwards  went  out  together  one  morning 
before  breakfast,  and  coining  back  with  merry  fEices,  were  found  to  have  been 
quietly  married  that  day. 
The  money  which  Nicholas  acquired  in  right  of  his  wife  he  invested  in  the 


534  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

firm  of  Cheeryble  BrotherSi  in  which  Frank  had  become  a  partner.  Before 
many  years  elapsed,  the  business  began  to  be  carried  on  in  the  names  of 
<<  Cheeryble  and  Nickleby,"  so  that  Mrs.  Nickleby's  prophetic  anticipations 
were  realised  at  last. 

The  twin  brothers  retired.  Who  needs  to  be  told  that  Ihey  were  happy! 
They  were  sarroonded  by  happiness  of  their  own  creation,  and  lived  but  to 
increase  it.  Tim  Linkinwater  condescended,  after  much  entreaty  and  brow- 
beating, to  accept  a  share  in  the  house ;  but  he  could  never  be  prevailed  upon 
to  suffer  the  publication  of  his  name  as  a  partner,  and  always  persisted  in  the 
punctual  and  re^ar  discharge  of  his  clerkly  duties. 

He  and  his  wife  lived  in  the  old  house,  and  occupied  the  very  bed-chamber 
in  which  he  had  slept  for  fonr-and-forty  years.  As  his  wife  grew  older  she 
became  even  a  more  cheerful  and  light-hearted  little  creature  ;  and  it  was  a 
common  saying  among  their  frien&,  that  it  was  impossible  to  say  which 
looked  the  nappier — Tim  as  he  sat  calmly  smiling  in  his  elbow-chair  on  one 
side  of  the  fire,  or  his  brisk  little  wife  chatting  and  laughing,  and  constantly 
bustling  in  and  out  of  hers,  on  the  other. 

Dick,  the  blackbird,  was  removed  from  the  counting-house,  and  promoted 
to  a  warm  corner  in  the  common  sitting-room.  Beneath  his  cage  hung  two 
miniatures  of  Mrs.  Linkinwater's  execution  ;  one  representing  herself,  and  the 
other  Tim  ;  and  both  smiling  very  hard  at  all  beholders.  Tim's  head  being 
powdered  like  a  twelfth  cake,  and  his  spectacles  copied  with  great  nicety, 
strangers  detected  a  close  resemblance  to  him  at  the  first  glance,  and  this 
leading  them  to  suspect  that  the  other  must  be  his  wife,  and  emboldening 
them  to  say  so  without  scruple,  Mrs.  Linkinwater  grew  very  proud  of  these 
achievements  in  time,  and  considered  them  among  the  most  successful 
likenesses  she  had  ever  painted.  Tim  had  the  profoundest  faith  in  them, 
likewise ;  for  on  this,  as  on  all  other  subjects,  they  held  but  one  opinion ; 
and  if  ever  there  were  a  **  comfortable  couple  "  in  the  world,  it  was  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Linkinwater. 

Ralph  having  died  intestate,  and  having  no  relations  but  those  with  whom 
he  had  lived  in  such  enmity,  they  would  have  become  in  legal  course  his 
heirs.  But  they  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  growing  rich  on  money  so 
acquired,  and  felt  as  though  they  could  never  hope  to  prosper  with  it.  They 
made  no  claim  to  his  wealth  ;  and  the  riches  for  which  he  had  toiled  all  his 
days,  and  burdened  his  soul  with  so  many  evil  deeds,  were  swept  at  last  into 
the  coffers  of  the  state,  and  no  man  was  the  better  or  the  happier  for  them. 

Arthur  Gride  was  tried  for  the  unlawful  possession  of  the  will,  which  he 
had  either  procured  to  be  stolen,  or  had  dishonestly  acquired  and  retained  by 
other  means  as  bad.  By  dint  of  an  ingenious  counsel,  and  a  legal  flaw,  he 
escaped ;  but  only  to  undergo  a  worse  punishment ;  for,  some  y^ears  after- 
wards, his  house  was  broken  open  in  the  night  by  robbers,  tempted  by  the 
rumours  of  his  great  we'alth,  and  he  was  found  murdered  in  his  bed. 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  went  beyond  the  seas  at  nearly  the  same  time  as  Mr. 
Squeers,  and  in  the  course  of  nature  never  returned.  Brooker  died  penitent 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  lived  abroad  for  some  years,  courted  and  caressed,  and  in 
higli  repute  as  a  fine  dashing  fellow.  Ultimately,  returnins  to  this  country, 
he  was  thrown  into  jail  for  debt,  aud  there  perished  miserably,  as  such  high 
spirits  generally  do. 

The  first  act  of  Nicholas,  when  he  became  a  rich  and  prosperous  merchant, 
was  to  buy  his  father's  old  house.  As  time  crept  on,  and  there  came 
gradually  about  him  a  group  of  lovely  children,  it  was  altered  and  enlar^  ; 
but  none  of  the  old  rooms  were  ever  pulled  down,  no  old  tree  was  rooted  up, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBV.  535 

nothing  with  which  there  was  any  aasociation  of  bygone  times  was  ever 
removed  or  chaoged. 

Wittiin  a  stone's  throw  was  another  retreat,  enlivened  hy  ehildren'a  pleasant 
voices  too  ;  and  here  was  Kate,  with  many  new  cares  and  occapatiODs,  and 
many  new  faees  courting  ber  sweet  smile  (and  one  so  like  her  own,  that  to  her 
motlier  she  seemed  a  child  again),  the  aame  true,  gentle  creature,  the  same 
fond  sister,  tbe  same  in  the  love  of  all  about  her,  as  \n  ber  girlish  days. 

Mrs.  Nieltleby  lived  sometimes  with  her  daughter  and  aometimes  with  her  , 
son,  accompanyine  one  or  other  of  them  to  London  at  those  periods  when  the 
carea  of  busineaj  obliged  both  families  to  reside  there,  and  always  preserving 
a  great  appearance  of  dignity,  and  relating  her  experiences  (especially  on 
points  connected  with  the  management  and  bringing  up  of  children)  with 
much  aolemnity  and  importance.  It  was  a  very  long  time  before  sbe  conid  be 
indnced  to  receive  Mra  Linkinwater  into  favour,  and  it  is  even  doabtfnl 
whether  she  ever  thoroughly  forgave  ber. 

There  waa  one  grey-haired,  quiet,  harmleas  gentleman,  who,  winter  and 
summer,  lived  in  a  little  cottage  hard  by  Nicholes's  houao,  and  when  he  was 
not  there, -assumed  the  supenntendence  of  aSaira.  His  chief  pleasure  and 
delight  was  in  the  children,  with  whom  he  was  a  child  himself,  and  master 
of  tlie  revels.  The  little  people  could  do  nothing  without  dear  Newman 
Noggs. 

The  grass  waa  green  above  the  dead  boy's  grave,  and  trodden  by  feet  so 
small  and  light,  that  not  a  daisy  dropped  its  head  beneath  their  pressure. 
Through  all  the  spring  and  summer  time,  garlands  of  fresh  flowers,  wreathed 
by  infant  hands,  rested  on  the  stone  ;  and  when  the  children  came  to  change 
them  lest  they  should  wither  and  he  pleasant  to  him  no  longer,  their  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  tbey  spoke  low  and  softly  of  their  poor  dead  cousin. 


/Viniftiiy  Walter  Scott,  "  The  EcaUvjorlh  Prta,"  Feaing,  Newcastle-on-Tyne. 


534  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

firm  of  Cheeryble  Brothers,  in  which  Frank  had  become  a  partner.  Before 
many  years  elapsed,  the  business  began  to  be  carried  on  in  the  names  of 
*'  Cheeryble  and  Nickleby,"  so  that  Mrs.  Nickleby's  prophetic  anticipations 
were  realised  at  last. 

The  twin  brothers  retired.  Who  needs  to  be  told  that  ikey  were  happy ! 
They  were  surrounded  by  happiness  of  their  own  creation,  and  lived  but  to 
increase  it  Tim  Linkinwater  condescended,  after  much  entreaty  and  brow- 
beating, to  accept  a  share  in  the  house ;  but  he  could  never  be  prevailed  upon 
to  suffer  the  publication  of  his  name  as  a  partner,  and  always  persisted  in  the 
punctual  and  regular  discharge  of  his  clerkly  duties. 

He  and  his  mfe  lived  in  the  old  house,  and  occupied  the  very  bed-chamber 
in  which  he  had  slept  for  four-and-forty  years.  As  his  wife  grew  older  she 
became  even  a  more  cheerful  and  light-hearted  little  creature  ;  and  it  was  a 
common  saying  amon^  their  friends,  that  it  was  impossible  to  say  which 
looked  the  nappier — Tim  as  he  sat  calmly  smiling  in  nis  elbow-chair  on  one 
side  of  the  fire,  or  his  brisk  little  wife  chatting  and  laughing,  and  constantly 
bustling  in  and  out  of  hers,  on  the  other. 

Dick,  the  blackbird,  was  removed  from  the  counting-house,  and  promoted 
to  a  warm  comer  in  the  common  sitting-room.  Beneath  his  cage  hung  two 
miniatures  of  Mrs.  Linkin water's  execution  ;  one  representing  herself,  and  the 
other  Tim  ;  and  both  smiling  very  hard  at  all  beholders.  Tim's  head  being 
powdered  like  a  twelfth  cake,  and  his  spectacles  copied  with  great  nicety, 
strangers  detected  a  close  resemblance  to  him  at  the  first  glance,  and  this 
leading  them  to  suspect  that  the  other  must  be  lus  wife,  and  emboldening 
them  to  say  so  without  scruple,  Mrs.  Linkinwater  grew  very  proud  of  these 
achievements  in  time,  and  considered  them  among  the  most  8ucc€»sfal 
likenesses  she  had  ever  painted.  Tim  had  the  profoundest  faith  in  them, 
likewise ;  for  on  this,  as  on  all  other  subjects,  they  held  but  one  opinion ; 
and  if  ever  there  were  a  **  comfortable  couple  "  in  the  world,  it  was  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Linkinwater. 

Ralph  having  died  intestate,  and  having  no  relations  but  those  with  whom 
he  had  lived  in  such  enmity,  they  would  have  become  in  legal  course  his 
heirs.  But  they  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  growing  rich  on  money  so 
acquired,  and  felt  as  though  they  could  never  hope  to  prosper  with  it.  They 
made  no  claim  to  his  wealth  ;  and  the  riches  for  which  he  had  toiled  all  his 
days,  and  burdened  his  soul  with  so  many  evil  deeds,  were  swept  at  last  into 
the  coffers  of  the  state,  and  no  man  was  the  better  or  the  happier  for  them. 

Arthur  Gride  was  tried  for  the  unlawful  possession  of  the  will,  which  he 
had  either  procured  to  be  stolen,  or  had  dishonestly  acquired  and  retained  by 
other  means  as  bad.  By  dint  of  an  ingenious  counsel,  and  a  legal  flaw,  he 
escaped ;  but  only  to  undergo  a  worse  punishment ;  for,  some  years  after- 
wards, his  house  was  broken  open  in  the  night  by  robbers,  tempted  by  the 
rumours  of  his  great  we'alth,  and  he  was  found  murdered  in  his  bed. 

Mrs.  Sliderskew  went  beyond  the  seas  at  nearly  the  same  time  as  Mr. 
Squeers,  and  in  the  course  of  nature  never  returned.  Brooker  died  penitent 
Sir  Mulberry  Hawk  lived  abroad  for  some  years,  courted  and  caressed,  and  in 
higli  repute  as  a  fine  dashing  fellow.  Ultimately,  returnins  to  this  country, 
he  was  thrown  into  jail  for  debt,  and  there  perished  miserably,  as  such  high 
spirits  generally  do. 

The  first  act  of  Nicholas,  when  he  became  a  rich  and  prosperous  merchant, 
was  to  buy  his  father's  old  house.  As  time  crept  on,  and  there  came 
gradually  about  him  a  group  of  lovely  children,  it  was  altered  and  enlarged ; 
but  none  of  the  old  rooms  were  ever  pulled  down,  no  old  tree  was  rooted  up, 


NICHOLAS  NICKLMBY.  S3S 

nothing  with  which  there  wag  any  association  of  bygone  timea  was  ever 
removed  or  changed. 

Within  a  stone's  throw  was  another  retreat,  enliTened  by  children's  pleasant 
voices  too  J  and  here  was  Kate,  with  man;  new  cares  and  occupations,  and 
niaoy  new  faces  courting  her  sweet  smile  (and  one  so  like  her  own,  that  to  her 
mother  she  seemed  a  child  again),  the  same  true,  gentle  creature,  the  aams 
fond  sister,  the  same  in  the  love  of  all  about  her,  as  in  her  girlish  days. 

Mrs.  Nickleby  lived  sometimes  with  her  daughter  and  sometimes  with  her  , 
son,  accompanying  one  or  other  of  them  to  London  at  those  parioda  when  the 
c^rcs  of  business  obliged  both  familiea  Us  reside  there,  and  always  preserving 
a  ^rcat  appearance  of  dignity,  and  relating  her  experiencea  (especially  on 
points  connected  with  the  management  and  bringing  up  of  children)  with 
much  solomDity  and  importance.  It  was  a  very  long  time  beforeahe  conld  be 
induced  to  receive  Mrs  Linfcinwater  into  favour,  and  it  is  even  doubtful 
whether  she  ever  thoroughly  forgave  her. 

There  WES  one  gray-haired,  quiet,  harmless  gentleman,  who,  winter  and 
summer,  lived  in  a  little  cotloge  bard  by  Nicholas's  house,  and  when  he  was 
not  there,  assumed  the  supsrintendeQce  of  affairs.  Hia  chief  pleasure  and 
delight  was  in  the  children,  with  whom  he  was  a  child  himself,  and  master 
of  tlia  revels.  The  little  people  could  do  nothing  without  dear  Newman 
No™. 

Toe  grass  waa  green  above  the  dead  boy's  grave,  and  trodden  by  feet  so 
small  and  light,  that  not  a  daisy  dropped  its  head  beneath  their  pressure- 
Through  all  the  spring  and  summer  time,  garlands  of  fresh  flowers,  wreathed 
by  infant  bands,  rested  on  the  stone  ;  and  when  the  children  came  to  change 
them  lest  they  should  wither  and  be  pleasant  to  him  no  longer,  their  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  they  spoke  low  and  softly  of  their  poor  d^  cousin. 


Printed  by  Waltbr  Scorr,  "  The  Kenilvmrth  Prat,"  Felling,  tfeuvaatle-OK-Tyve. 


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